The Stone Warrior Read online

  Without coffee, an air of fatigue and misery will just have to do.

  Clenching her fists, she winced at the pain in her right hand, reminded of the self-inflicted wound on her palm. She sat up and rotated her head to work out some of the stiffness that had built in her neck after hours of looking down at the project in her lap. The project that was now smoldering uselessly in the hearth.

  “Damned useless book,” she grumbled.

  With a sigh, Adelyn got to her feet, stretched her arms one last time, and walked back to the ladder. She’d had her tantrum, she could suck it up for another day, get some rest that night, and start at it all again tomorrow.

  After setting a little pot of water over the fire to boil, she took a wooden cup from by the mantle and stood to leave. Grabbing a slightly undersized coat off a hook by the door, she pulled it on and walked outside.

  She had to brace herself against the windy morning. It was still only early into the harvest season, and the real bitter cold of winter was months away, but the windchill was miserable. Her brown hair flapped around with the wind in an unruly tangle, but she kept it out of her face by facing into the breeze.

  “Lords, give us a short winter,” she mumbled, nodding slightly to the sky as she trudged out to the stables. She doubted that the prayer would be heard, but if expressing her desire out loud made the planting season come even a day sooner, it’d be well worth it.

  The stable was a sturdy old building, save for the wall on the northward side marred with scorch marks, one patch sanded smooth to conceal where she’d painted the runes. It had cost her father three silver swords to have it built, a price that seemed cheap at the time for all the use they got out of it.

  Now, though, there were only three good horses in there sleeping under its roof, one for riding and two plow horses. Adelyn was expecting that come winter she’d need to sell one of the plow horses, she had neither the food nor the finances to keep them all.

  Opening the door to the stable, she felt for a rope in the dark room until she found it, giving the sturdy cord a steady tug, pulleys and rope began pulling back several window covers built into the roof. It was no spirit powered lighting system, but it let in the sun’s rays well enough. Besides, now that any hope of having a cable run to their estate for powered lighting was dashed, Adelyn supposed it was good fortune that the simpler pulley system was still in good repair. She didn’t know how to fix the mechanism that operated the windows should it break, and she couldn’t afford to hire someone to repair it. Any damage would mean her having to climb a ladder up to prop the windows open or shut every time it rained.

  “Good morning,” she said to the horses as she went about the morning’s chores. The tasks weren’t difficult, but Adelyn made sure to do everything carefully so as not to make a sleepy mistake.

  It was a simple routine: She pulled off the horse’s blankets, gave them a scoop of oats from the barrel by the door, turned them out to pasture. Even cleaning out the stalls, while demanding, didn’t leave her with too much room for error.

  When it came time to replace the horse’s water, the pump took a little longer than normal to get going, coughing and spluttering. Adelyn pumped a couple times on the handle, working it for half a minute before the water started flowing smoothly. She frowned, but there was nothing she could do about it besides make sure there were no obvious clogs. The water pump was another thing that Adelyn couldn’t fix.

  “Just a few more weeks?” She asked, without specifying whether she was talking to the Lords or the pump. “I’ll have them back by then.”

  No answer came, of course, but the pump didn’t give any more trouble, running as she filled the horses’ troughs with hay. Setting her pitchfork in the corner, she wiped a little sweat off her forehead and smiled at a job well done.

  Scooping her wooden cup into the barrel of oats, she pushed the door open and headed back to her house. She was glad to get back in the warmth, even if only for a little while to cook her breakfast. There was a wood burning stove in the corner, and a dining table in the center of the room, but she had no intention of using either.

  Adelyn was anything but a cook, but she wouldn’t be serving these oats to guests. There was neither honey nor fruit to serve as a sweetener, so it’d be unsuitable to serve anyways. As with her usual dining of late, she’d be cooking and eating from the same pot. She considered skipping the oatmeal entirely, not relishing the taste of plain oats, but doing the day’s work without sleep or breakfast was out of the question.

  Before tossing the oats into the pot, she dipped a rag in the boiling water, wiping her hands clean of dirt and sweat with the scalding cloth. The hot water stung on her cut palm, but she accepted that, dropping the rag and clasping her now-clean hands in a brief prayer.

  Hoofsteps clopped outside. Adelyn cocked her head and stood up straight, cutting the reverie short, listening, her heart hammering for a second until she heard the two men talking and recognized their voices.

  She dropped the oats in the pot, then walked to the door and swung it open. “Jason, Roger, I’m just heating up a little breakfast. Are you hungry?” It was a false offer, she knew that nobody in their right mind would want to share in her meal, but Adelyn would be damned if she gave up common courtesy.

  Jason and Roger were both in their mid-twenties, the former a little taller, the latter a little thinner. They had been out tracking a deer when the town was attacked, and as such were some of the only grown adults left for hire within a fifty mile radius. They’d agreed to come help on the farm twice a week for a price that was reasonable considering how overworked they had been around town. Even with how inexperienced they were with farm work, they had still been invaluable in preparing for what remained of the harvest.

  Most of the crops were dead and burned, but there were still places where the fire hadn’t spread, or where it simply hadn’t caught, and it was vital that every bit of salvageable crops be harvested. She’d have preferred to hire just about anyone else, but there was no one else, and a fifteen year old girl could not handle the whole farm entirely on her own.

  “What’s cookin’?” Roger asked, dismounting his horse.

  Adelyn smiled, stepping fully outside into the cold and pulling her coat a little closer. “Oatmeal,” she supplied. “I’m afraid there’s still no honey, but it’s something to fill your belly.”

  The two men exchanged a glance, and then Jason shook his head. “We had a little something already, but thank you.” Then, noticing Adelyn’s hand, he added with a note of curiosity, “Did you hurt your hand?”

  “Cut it on a loose nail,” Adelyn said quickly. “Cleaned it with a little hot water and wrapped it up, should be fine.”

  Again, the two men exchanged a glance, and Roger reached into a pocket to fish out a little chewing tobacco. “A lot of loose nails in your house. That’s the fourth time, now? Might want to do somethin’ about that. I didn’t know better, I’d say you ticked off the god o’ nails.”

  “It was a pitchfork before,” Jason corrected. “And a couple slips of the knife while making supper, I think?” He looked to Adelyn with an eyebrow raised.

  “Yes,” Adelyn replied, glancing away, thinking on how to change the subject. “I’ve been clumsy lately. Any news from town?”

  “Traders,” Jason said, not pursuing the topic further. “Eight of ‘em, carts, plenty of supplies. They’re only passing through, said they’d be around until lunch to shop their wares if anyone cares to look before they move on.”

  “Yeah,” Roger added, stuffing his wad of the tobacco into a cheek. “Apparently our town ain’t got ‘The kind o’ clients they’re lookin’ for.’” He spat on the ground pointedly, but shrugged. “Not like anyone’s got the money to buy what they’re selling anyhow.”

  “Which is?” Adelyn said, chewing on her lip as she thought.

  “What?” Roger asked.

  “What’re they selling? If it’s something I might need, I’d like to ride in and take a look, see if maybe I can’t haggle them down a bit.”

  “Oh,” Roger said, spitting on the ground. “Fancy stuff. Jewelry, books, funny stuff in jars.”

  “Spices,” Jason clarified, rolling his eyes. “They’re bringing in rare valuables up from Westbrig. But they’ve also got a lot of books, stuff they’re trying to get rid of since it’s taking up space. Might be able to get a good deal.”

  Adelyn nodded, thinking a second longer. Books would be her secondary objective, but if she could find a manuscript detailing how to cast spells that was better than her terrible little manual, that would be fantastic.

  Trying not to seem too eager, she said, “It might be worth looking into. I think I’ll ride in and see if there isn’t anything worth checking out.” Nodding to herself a little longer, she looked at Jason. “That’s the plan. I’ll have breakfast and ride into town to speak about trade. Can you saddle up Butler for me?”

  “Will do,” Jason said, nodding and then turning to go do as asked.

  “Much obliged. While I’m gone, see if you can get the grain cart fixed. The back wheel is still snapped off,” Adelyn said, before adding to Roger, “When that’s done, if you could get started splitting some firewood I’d appreciate it.”

  “Afraid you’ll cut yer’ hand if you take up‘n ax?” Roger asked, receiving a harsh look from Jason for the quip. “Gotcha.”

  Adelyn frowned at the comment, but she had no rebuttal. She went with silence, turning to head inside and eat the hot oats that would qualify as breakfast, and then to gather up her money and her things.

  The traders might have something useful, or they might not. Adelyn still had a few valuables that she hadn’t yet stripped from her home and sold, she could ask and see if they’d fetch a fair price. Her real g
oal, though, was to find herself a bounty hunter. If she could do that, it’d make a hundred trips worth it.

  Shutting the door behind herself, she yawned sleepily and muttered, “And, Lords betray me, while I’m there I’m getting some damned coffee.”

  Chapter 3

  The “Legend of Marstone” is one of the most popular fairy tales in the canon of what I’m going to be generously calling ‘Southeast Literature’. The tale—of a magic rock coming to earth from the heavens and inexplicably granting both power and rule to some random farm boy—was incredibly influential to the development of the provincial culture here. So influential, in fact, that no less than six towns are called ‘Marstone’, each more pathetic and empty than the last.

  - Taken from an analysis of Southeast stories, culture, and folklore. It is valuable to note that the author had been forced to travel to the Southeast to write this report, under threat of losing tenure

  At top speed, it was a five minute ride into the little town of Marstone. Adelyn wasn’t riding at top speed. It took half an hour at a reasonable pace, and in spite of the cold she still enjoyed the trip, appreciating the chance to ride Butler without the immediate pressure of her daily chores.

  The traders were easy to spot. Big carts with jars, books, and valuables stacked on display shelves were hard to miss. Even harder to miss were the people attending to the carts, with long brown robes that were of a foreign style, bearing arms that were as unfamiliar as the robes. The mere sight of three full grown people of working age in town square was enough to raise an eyebrow considering the circumstances.

  Keeping an eye out for the five remaining traders, Adelyn slowed Butler to a trot and rode up to a hitching rail in front of the local tavern, hotel, and eatery: Maggie’s. Maggie’s was the hub for traders, who took advantage of the tavern’s long hitching rail and the wide courtyard in front to park their horses. It was mutually beneficial; the traders had a convenient location to set up their wares, and Maggie’s got some extra business both from the traders and the customers that they drew in.

  Dismounting and tying Butler to the rail, Adelyn removed the long package she had strapped to his saddle and used the moment to size up the three traders by the carts. They hadn’t yet acknowledged her, busy arguing with a local about prices, and as they haggled she finally noticed the armor they wore beneath their robes.

  It was made of bronze, which wasn’t all too unusual by itself. Copper and tin deposits in the mountains to the north made it much easier to produce bronze than to import iron all the way from the west, a slow and expensive shipment if there ever was one.

  What was unusual was the shiny filigree worked into the plates. At first, Adelyn mistook the decoration for odd scratch marks, unable to get a clear view of the armor beneath the loose brown robes, but after a second look her eyes went wide and she realized it was hammered gold, arranged in Sacrosanct runes. They weren’t wearing bronze out of thrift, they were wearing it because the armor could take spirit power.

  Steel armor was great for turning away a blade or protecting from a physical blow, but it couldn’t hold a charge of spirit for peanuts. The same was true of iron, for that matter. Bronze, on the other hand, was great at it. Gold and silver were perhaps better, and copper worked as well, but those alone made for a poor suit of armor.

  With the golden runes and markings made in the armor, it would only take a little spirit to keep the traders well protected. A hundred years ago, they would have needed a sorcerer to keep the armor powered. Now, though, all they’d need was a few drops of blood and a spirit adapter.

  Adelyn hesitated as she considered what the armor meant, suddenly uncertain about approaching the traders. That sort of armor wasn’t cheap. The traders were either very wealthy, or working for someone who was. The bag of coins tucked away in her jacket suddenly seemed very small.

  Their armament, at least, were less exquisite. They each had a matching weapon on their belt, resembling straight swords with a large hook on the end of each like you’d find on a shepherd’s crook. Adelyn recognized them by description, if not by sight—a Watcher’s Hook, a southwestern weapon used to disarm opponents. Beneath one of their robes, Adelyn also caught sight of a three-shot revolver tucked into a holster, the kind that would fire bullets as large as her thumb.

  One of the traders caught her staring and was looking intently back at her, so she quickly busied herself with tying up Butler and generally looking preoccupied. The act came too late, and before she could think of an appropriate excuse for why she’d been quietly watching them for the better part of a minute, he had already crossed the ten feet between them and extended his hand in a greeting.

  “Jeb,” he said, his voice considerably deeper than Adelyn had expected, and with a subtle accent she couldn’t place. His hair was dark, beard was short and wispy, and he could have been any age between thirty and fifty. “Are you looking to buy?”

  “I—” Adelyn started, before realizing he hadn’t asked why she’d been staring, or in fact even acknowledged it. She took his hand and shook it. “Yes, I heard you’d be in town for the morning. Are there only the three of you?”

  “No,” Jeb replied, pausing at the question. “The rest of our party is inside, getting a little food, but they aren’t the ones to be conducting trade. What are you looking for?”

  “Books,” Adelyn said, dodging the question with a nonspecific answer. “But I had no breakfast before riding in, I think I’ll go have a little food myself before we talk trade.” It was only half a lie, the bland oatmeal she’d eaten was hardly befitting the title of ‘Breakfast’.

  Jeb put on a disapproving look and stood up straight, the motion making his robes bulge out a bit where his revolver was concealed. “Well, we’ll be here most of the day. Take your time, but don’t delay too much.”

  “I’ll not be long,” Adelyn said, putting a hand on the package she carried and sticking out her chin. “I’d simply rather not barter on an empty stomach.”

  Jeb frowned, but he didn’t stop Adelyn as she took her bundle, stooped beneath the hitching rail where the horses were tied, and walked for the door of Maggie’s Tavern.

  The tavern was not owned by a woman named Maggie, despite its name. ‘Maggie’ was the name written on the painted sign hanging above the door, but for as long as Adelyn could remember, the tavern had been run by a man named Pete and his wife, Jenny. Now, it was just Jenny; Pete was in a cedar box buried behind the town hall.

  Jenny was busy behind the tavern’s bar, preparing something on the spirit stove while at the same time pouring drinks for two tables and boiling water for a fresh pot of coffee. She heard the bell above the door ring and looked over to see who had come in. The past two months had seen her blonde hair go almost entirely gray and made her look much older than her forty years, but she still had a warm smile to greet Adelyn.

  Maggie’s Tavern was the last thing that Jenny had left, and she would keep the old tables polished, the atmosphere inviting, and the stew appetizing until the day she died.

  “Addy,” Jenny said, her voice heard easily across the open room as she called out her pet name for Adelyn. “How have you been?”

  “Keeping alive,” Adelyn said, doing her best to return the smile but ending up with a vague, neutral expression.

  Jenny nodded. “The farm?”

  “Looks like we’ve lost about three quarters of the harvest,” Adelyn said. “There’ll be enough grain to get through the winter, but not to plant anew next year. We’ll get by, though. Once I have my family back, we’ll figure out something.”

  Pursing her lips, Jenny focused on the glass she was wiping clean for a moment before she responded. “Addy… I know you’re attached to the farm, but have you thought what you’ll do if you can’t keep it?”

  “I’ll be able to keep it,” Adelyn said stubbornly. “It’s been in my family for generations, I’m not gonna be the one to lose it.”

  Jenny sighed. “It’s been in your family for seven years, Addy. Before the war, it belonged to a land baron, same as the rest of the farmland around here.”