Universe Next Door: The Vastlands
by Brian Lewis
Chapter 2: Brightwater
They come not for the waters for which the town is named they come for the ten days
of bloodsport which celebrate those waters. As part of a pagan festival the town
honors an earth god they call He Who Dwells Below with ten days of bloodsport. They
honor and thank him for blessing the town with the underground springs that makes
life in the town possible. Men and women come from all over the Vastlands and more
than a few from the great walled cities to compete. They fight in the thunderpit; a
converted rock quarry outside of town. Other cities have thunderpits but in those
cities the fighters are mostly slaves but during this festival the fighters are all fighting
for money and fame. Mostly the fights are just to first blood but more often than not,
they’re to the death.
It is during this time that the town’s populace swells from several hundred to several
thousand. As you can guess the inns in town fill quickly. This causes a second city of
tents to spring up around the city’s walls comprised of those less affluent to afford a
room at the few inns in town. It is through this second city that a man on a big grey war
horse rides. The cloak he wears matches the coat of the mount he rides and shields
his identity. The lateness of the hour; just past midnight gives him a ghostlike ethereal
quality. As he passes the benighted tents he hears the sounds of awed whispers. The
locals have taken to calling him the Grey Walker. The less sophisticated believe him to
be the living embodiment of death come to collect the souls of those that perish in the
thunderpit. It’s a notion that always makes the man smile as he makes his yearly
pilgrimage to this otherwise backwater town.
Approaching the gates of the town he sees that the portcullis is closed to keep out the
riffraff of the tent city. Without question or challenge the two guardsmen open it for
him. In passing he flips them each a silver Imperial for their trouble. They accept the
coinage with mumbled thanks as they close the portcullis behind him.
He arrives at the town’s stables and rouses the night attendant to see to his horse.
Upon doing so he notices in the adjoining stall a big black horse. Its coat is the color of
blackest night but its mane and tail are of silvery grey. Partially cloven hooves and
vestigial horn mark it as an equihorn; the product of a coupling of a wild stallion and a
unicorn mare. A mount that is as distinctive as the face of the man who rides him, a
man who should be dead.
“Silvermane?” The equihorn responds to his name by stamping its feet, and shaking its
head. “Where’s your master?”
“That one brought that abomination into my stables.” The attendant, a vile little man
who smells worse than his charges, replies. “He and that werebitch that what rode in
with him, they went in search of an inn.”
“How long ago?” The Grey Walker asks.
“About an hour ago, maybe less.”
The fact that Parkman was still alive after what happened strikes him with the surety as
a knife in the ribs. Last he saw he was cut down with no less than four arrows
protruding from his chest; inflicted in a disastrous battle with Syler’s forces. But, had
he not they likely all would have been slain or worse. Lessen his guilt it doesn’t, not in
the least, then or now. So it is with a lump in his throat and a head full of questions that
the Grey Walker leaves the stables in search of Parkman and his mysterious Were
companion.
“Am I going to find a friend long thought dead, or will I find an enemy who has sworn
my death?” He says to himself. Underneath his cloak he unfastens the strap that
secures his sword to its scabbard.
But in a tavern several paces up the street the object of his concern is already about
to engage in combat with a total stranger. Who also happens to be nearly twice his size
and half his age.
He unbuckles his sword belt and hands it to Simone. In the meantime the rest of the
patrons have moved the tables and other breakables out of harms way. Apparently,
they’re used to this kind of thing especially on the eve of the festival. Emotions run
high, blood runs hot and young men’s minds turn to thoughts of mayhem over the
smallest of slights.
As soon as he laid eyes on him he knew he was gifted beyond what was indicated by
his size. And he also saw something of himself in him at that age. Just coming into his
power, and questioning his own humanity. It is this time when the Gifted are most at
risk and the most dangerous to themselves and to others. When he helped Simone
they were alone in the forest with no one else to get hurt, but here in this tavern
conditions are far from ideal. Even then the effort left him incapacitated for hours and
that’s a luxury he cannot afford here.
“We don’t to have to do this.” Matt says to the red haired, ham fisted young man, who
towers over him. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He adds, but he knows he may be forced to
kill him or worse.
“Hurt me? Old man I gonna rip you apart. Then I’m gonna take your woman.”
“Boy she’ll rip your balls off and then shove them down your throat.” With those words
the tavern erupts with laughter. Above them all the loudest voice being Simone’s,
because it’s true.
His face turns beat red and his blue eyes are tinged with the madness of rage as he
charges. But Matt evades his attack and slams his elbow into the small of the big
boy/man’s back as he passes. And judging from his opponent’s limp he sees that the
blow has had the desired effect.
“Boy you move like a pregnant rhino.” Matt says goading him into another ill advised
charge which he easily side steps and kicks the boy’s already numb leg out from under
him. Gravity does the rest as he hits the stone floor face first; and lies still.
“Is he?” Simone asks as she hands him his sword belt.
“Unconscious, and will be for awhile.” Matt would know otherwise if he weren’t without
having to check for a pulse.
“I want you so much right now.” Simone’s words are almost a growl in his ear. “We
could do it right here and right now.”
“I think they’ve had enough of a show for one night.” With those words they go
upstairs.