Chapter I

The beginning of my new book!

The day I met Hym was not life-changing. It did not send ripples of shock through my consciousness, like a pebble thrown into a still pond. I felt no surges of emotion when I saw what he did, what he always did. No, my introduction to Hym was more like a small breeze on a cloudless day, a subtle forerunner of an approaching storm. Meeting Hym was enough for me to know that to follow this man would be to follow a hurricane, whirling and raging. But follow him I did.

My life did not change when I met Hym. But, together, we changed the lives of everyone else.

Looking back, I find that Hym was a man who never made a move without contemplation. His actions, momentous as they were, were always thought out carefully. They may have taken me frequently by surprise, but, as I reminisce, I realize that everything that happened was forecast in his thoughts. Often we would sit at our fire, staring into the flickering flames, discussing our lives. Meaning, naturally, we discussed the slaves.

“The poor souls we Reclaim cannot be blamed for what they are doing.” Hym would insist as the conversation waxed into its more fervent portions. “They lead lives of horror in the Ring, and all they wish for is to escape the bonds that hold them.”

I would just nod and continue to stare, not trusting myself to speak. The Four Thrones employed us to capture the escaped slaves, not assist them with “escaping the bonds that held them.” I felt that Hym’s idealism, while applaudable was inappropriate for our station, At the end of the day, we were being paid to capture them. So that’s what we did.

Why do I tell you this? Because you must understand what kind of a man Hym was, and what kind of man I now strive to be. It is vital. To understand the importance of his legacy, you must understand his morals, his ethics. You must understand his thoughts.

That is the tale I wish to tell. A tale of the greatest man Vaughnder has ever known. The story I am about to relate is something no bard can sing of, not unless they were as I: one of Hym’s greatest friends- and ultimately his downfall.

At the beginning of all this, there was a Reclamation.

Part 1: Waste

Chapter I

The call came out as usual, trumpet fanfare playing one of the Four’s national anthems. The song today was Sanklation, a rolling, thundering tune that pounded in your heart and moved you to action. Hym and I instantly sat upright in our dusty wool cots, exhaustion and fatigue banished with the thrill of a hunt.

“Pytyr.” Hym said, throwing off the covers in a fluid motion. “Are you awake?”

I scowled as I tossed my own thin blanket off of my legs. “You really have to ask?”

He laughed, a striking sound that lightened the mood. “Of course. It’s become something of a joke, you see.”

“Ah, so you’re a fool now.”

Hym’s eyes lowered. “I didn’t mean to offend…”

“No, of course you didn’t.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, Hym. You know I’m not good in the morning.” My stomach gurgled. “Especially not after a Fest like that.” Celebrations of the Four Thrones’ Treaty were always raucous, but last night’s were particularly so. The amount of alcohol I consumed would probably haunt me for years to come.

Hym laughed again. “No, I would imagine not.” He stood and stretched. “Come. Vaughnder requires our services.”

He always spoke like that. He never said “the Four Thrones need us”. Never “Sanklat needs us”. He always spoke as if Vaughnder was a world where unity and brotherhood prevailed, instead of a world of nations on the brink of war, with slaves both literally and figuratively caught in the middle. Perhaps this was the reason he stood out so much. You never found many idealists out in the Wastes.

For all our show of alarum, we both stifled yawns as we strapped on our armor. It was early, about the fourth hour, and the sun was barely rising. My hands felt sluggish as I did up the straps, but at least they weren’t shaking. I’d been suffering from Blue Fever for the past few days, and I was glad that I wasn’t going to miss a single Reclamation. What more does a mercenary have to do than what he’s paid to?

A whoosh of hot air blew through the tent flap as someone pushed it aside.

“Come on, gents.” Jems gravelly voice barked. “No one’s paying you to stand around in your knickers.” I had to stifle a chuckle- something about Jems’s Danshyvan accent always managed to bring a smile to my face.

“Leave ‘em alone, Jems.” A new voice snapped. Jone, Jems’s brother, followed him into the tent. “You were only up first because you had to visit the latrines.”

Jems scoffed. “Is it my fault that my body predicted the Reclamation?”

“Your body can go die in a hole.”

“Watch it now.” Jems laughed. “That may happen if those slaves actually manage to learn how to fight.” He threw a flurry of uncoordinated punches, grunting like an imbecile. I laughed at his portrayal of the slaves, but Hym’s face only grew dark.

“They learn only what they can steal.” He said evenly, though we could all see his feelings on his face. “We cannot choose to free them, but we can choose to respect them.”

“Respect them?” Jone replied. Hym’s ideals always seemed to annoy him. “What’s there to respect? Pitiful creatures, they are. The Ring would take care of them if they didn’t.” He pointed to the entry. “Where would they go if we didn’t stop them? What would they find? Dust, sand, and heat, that’s what. We’re doing them a service, mate.”

“It is no service to return them.” Hym countered. “Not when we could lead them to freedom.”

“Freedom.” Jone rolled his eyes. “There is no freedom in Vaughnder. A slave’s brand is recognized by all the Four Thrones, Hym. They couldn’t find freedom if it was only a hair’s breadth away.”

“Alright, alright.” Jems intervened. “That’s enough of that. You two have your differences, but we’re a unit, right? Fighting will only hurt us, mates. We’ve got to stick together.”

Hym tugged on his gauntlets harshly, but he gave no reply. I watched him as he finished dressing, wondering why he felt so strongly about the slaves. More than that, I wondered why he was here. If he wanted to free them, why was he capturing them?

The trumpets flared again. I strapped on my sword and let my thoughts float away. Regardless of his motives, Hym was here. He was ready to do his duty.

And there was work to be done.

* * *

Dust swirled around our horses’ feet as we rode out of the camp. The hostile sun beat down on our heads, stopped only by the moist wraps we had prepared. The Bandjyt was a fickle mistress, and only the prepared won her favor. We had provisions enough for two weeks, should a Sandfire catch us. Our horses were the best that Venxor had to offer and could run for far longer than any other creature in the waste. We had been taught to survive in the desert by men who had to do just that.

The slaves we sought had no chance at all.

A few minutes after leaving the camp, Hym stopped and jumped off of his horse. He knelt on the ground on put both palms flat on the sand, feeling for vibrations. Jems, Jone and I immediately felt an adrenaline rush. If the Hym could feel the slave’s movements, then perhaps he was close. An easy Reclamation meant easy pay.

“Interesting way to track.” A voice said behind me, and I groaned. “You’d think he would put his ear instead of his hands. Does he hear through them?”

“What are you doing here, Maryk?” I asked, wheeling my horse around. A weedy man riding behind us grinned. His armor was sloppy and

“The Chief Captain wanted me to learn from the best.” Maryk replied. “And who better than Hym’s Disciples?”

“Hym’s Disciples?” I scoffed. “You’ve been listening to the latrine boys again, Maryk. Only they could come up with something so sensational.”

“Regardless, I was ordered to come with you on your Reclamation.” He looked at Hym again. “Though I’m still not sure how he can track them with his hands.”

I shrugged. Jems and Jone weren’t going to say a word, and I certainly wasn’t going to betray Hym. The Jitdons had been exterminated centuries ago, and the Dusters with them. Telling Maryk what Hym was would be like telling him our captain was a living ghost.

“Just keep up.” I told Maryk as Hym stood. “Hym’s Disciples don’t linger when there’s a hunt to be had.” I looked back at Hym.

“He’s about a mile west of us.” Hym said, pointing in the same direction. “No horse, as usual.”

“That’s good.” I replied. “Easier to capture that way.”

“And less of a crime.” Hym looked relieved. “He won’t be executed.”

“Why would you care?” Maryk interrupted. “They’re slaves. Executing them would be a mercy.”

Hym just shook his head as he mounted his horse. “Come. The less time we spend out here, the more likely it is that we’ll make it home alive.” Maryk shrugged, but he didn’t press the matter. We were all grateful. Understanding Hym’s reticence was hard enough without having to explain it to another person.

We began to ride at a brisk pace, the hot wind whipping against our faces. As we rode, a strange feeling rose in my mind. I couldn’t shake the thought that something about today’s Reclamation was different- something was going to happen that would change everything.

I kept trying to put it out of my mind. Nothing about today was different- not even the Chief Captain saddling Maryk with us. Today was just a normal Reclamation.

A small silhouette appeared on the sandy horizon, growing larger with every minute. We quickened our pace; our quarry was at hand. We slowed, however, when we saw a second, much smaller shape appear next to the first. The thought instantly struck us all that, if the second was smaller, then the first was a…

“Stingclaw!” Hym roared, bringing his horse to a sudden stop. We all scrambled to do the same, the blood draining from our faces. The possibility was always there that we would have to fight one to Reclaim a slave, but it happened so infrequently that we never believed it would actually occur. To see one today… it strengthened the thought that something was different.

“Ready weapons!” Jems shouted, hefting his spear. “Prepare to engage!”

I drew my blade and tightened my fingers on the reigns. This was going to be difficult. We spurred our horses and began charging toward the battle, our hearts in our throats as we watched the silhouettes of the slave and the beast grow larger and clearer. Fighting a Stingclaw was an honorable way to die, for certain. But in the end, you’re still dead. And none of us wanted to die.

“Is it just me,” Maryk shouted, “or is that slave fighting the damn thing?”

We all looked and were astonished to see that Maryk was correct- the Stingclaw kept backing away from the slave as if it were being struck with something. The slave didn’t appear to hold anything, but at this distance it was hard to tell.

“Well,” I shouted back, urging my horse to go faster, “let’s go help him finish it off!”

“An excellent idea!” Hym shouted back, kicking his horse. Our pace increased, and in little time we were upon them.

The Stingclaw was massive- far larger than any of us had ever anticipated. It’s claws were easily the size of two men, and it’s ten legs scuttled across the sand at a blistering pace. Rising up from its rear was the appendage that gave it its name: a ten foot tall barbed stinger that dripped with venom. If that wasn’t enough, it was covered completely by a glossy black armor.

“Don’t damage the armor!” Maryk yelled as we prepared to dismount. “That stuff is worth a fortune!”

“You’re thinking about that now?” I yelled back. “Work with us, Maryk, and we’ll see!”

“Your call, mate!”

“Dismount!” Jems yelled, digging his horse’s hoofs into the sand. We all did the same and jumped off our mounts, knees bent and swords at the ready. Hym, however, kept riding until he was only a few yards away from the beast. At the last possible moment, he pulled back on the reigns before pulling his feet out of the stirrups and jumping off the moving horse. True to form, though, he somersaulted on the sand without any incident. The sand around him rippled, almost as if it had softened to meet his fall. Which it had.

Watch yourself, Hym. I thought. Wouldn’t want Maryk to see.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind when Hym whipped his hand toward the beast, and a tendril of sand shot up from the ground and pierced the beast’s eye. It writhed in agony and backed away from Hym.

“Guess he ain’t going for subtle today, is he!” Jone laughed. “Come on, men! Let’s go help our captain out!” We raised our weapons and yelled, charging towards the animal. It turned to meet us.

Almost as soon as we got close to it, a wall of sand rose out of the ground and slammed us back. We all shot back into the hot dunes, disoriented and confused. Hym hadn’t done that, and he was the only one who had the power. Unless…

“Stay back!” A deep baritone shouted from our right. “This beast is mine!” We turned our heads toward the sound and saw the slave holding twin blades. He stared menacingly at the Stingclaw, his teeth clenched and fists tight around the hilts. Hilts made of sand.

I looked instantly at Hym and saw my captain, for the first time, at a loss for words. He stood completely still, eying the slave with a look of shock and incredulity. But there was something else in his expression, something only I could read. Hym’s eyes held hope in them, a desperate hope of a man who has found a brother long lost.

Hym shook his head and raised his hands. “Allow me!” he shouted at the slave. With a quick movement of both of his hands, sand shot up and swirled around in his hands until they formed an elegant rapier about two feet in length. Hym hefted the blade in his hand before running up to the Stingclaw and thrust the sword into one of its eyes.

The beast let out a scream of pain and swiped its claws around to strike Hym, but he was too quick. He opened up a tunnel in the sand and dropped in, jumping out next to the slave a moment later. The slave eyed Hym with the same look of shock, hope, and disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hym held up his hand.

“Another time, brother.” He said. “For now, let us kill this menace.” The slave nodded, and together they turned toward the Stingclaw.

Jems, Jone, Maryk and I hadn’t moved the entire time. We all sat in the hot sand as the slave and Hym worked in perfect harmony to take down the Stingclaw. They moved like wind blowing through the dust, never settled and always angry. Their blades of sand, held together by a force known only to them, struck the Stingclaw in all of its most vulnerable areas. The eyes, the joints, the belly. None were safe. If it managed to get its claws or stinger within striking distance, Hym or the slave would just tunnel into the ground and pop back up on the other side to strike again. The Stingclaw could never find a target. After several minutes of this, it scuttled away as fast as it could go. Green blood dripped along its tracks.

Maryk stood up quickly, expressions of rage, fear, and surprise all crossing across his face.

“What was that?” He hissed, pulling me to my feet. “Was that what I thought it was?”

I smiled placidly, hoping I looked as idiotic as I wanted to. “What was what? All I saw was the Stingclaw retreating because of our superior skill.” I eyed Maryk up and down. “We’ll all be commended for this, you know. Men will buy you drinks for months.” I raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you were to admit that you stood by and allowed your captain to go against the beast alone…” I didn’t finish. Maryk knew what I would say.

“Of course not.” He said, looking back at Hym with a glint in his eyes. “I know a good thing when I hear it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“But we have a job to do.” Maryk nodded at the slave, who was walking toward us. Hym walked with him, a look of sadness on his face. “I’ve got the shackles.”

I sighed. “Yes, I know.” I nodded toward Hym. “Let me talk to him first.” I left Maryk and walked toward Hym and the slave.

“I know, Pytyr.” Hym said sadly as I approached him. “I know what still must be done.”

“I’m sorry, Hym.” I replied. “I really am.”

“Don’t be.” Hym looked back at Maryk. “Duty must be done.”

I looked at the slave, who stood back with a kind of righteous indignance. By the Four, I wouldn’t want to be a taskmaster to this man. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.

“What’s your name?” I asked. He didn’t reply- just stared at me with piercing blue eyes. His breathing was ragged, but he still managed to exude a kind of confidence I had never found in a slave.

“He asked you for your name, boy.” Maryk growled, coming up behind me with chains in his hand. “You want me to be gentle with these? Then you better start answering questions.”

“Do what you came to do.” The slave growled. “But know that I will kill you when I escape again.”

“Escape again.” Maryk laughed as he put the man in chains.  “Not likely, my friend. Vaughnder’s best prison guards are part of our operation, and they love to put prisoners in their place. You don’t have a prayer.” He yanked on the chains and dragged the slave back to the horses. The man looked back at Hym, a look of pleading and pride in his eyes. Hym said nothing, only shook his head. The man sighed and turned back his head.

“Hym.” I said after a moment. He didn’t answer.

“All this time…” He muttered. “All this time..”

He shook his head and walked back to the horses, leaving me with the sand, the wind, and my own spinning thoughts.