Free The Blasted Lands by James A. Moore Page A

still there.
    “Your family has friends in Tyrne? Didn’t you say as you’re from up north near Trecharch?”
    “Stonehaven. A bit east of Trecharch.”
    “Yeah I heard of that one.” The way he said it let Nolan know his friend was lying. He didn’t take offense. Darus had a need to sound knowledgeable about everything he encountered. Several people had called him on his claims in the past and Nolan ignored them as easily as he ignored the false claims. Darus was a friend. It was precisely that simple for him.
    “My father.” He paused a moment to swallow the lump trying to form in his throat. “The man he was riding with is in Tyrne. He’s asked to see me. He wants to present my father’s ashes.”
    Darus made a noise and nodded his head. That was all there was to say on the matter. Darus had left home when he joined the army and had no intention of looking back. What his parents might have done to inspire the cold distance within the otherwise friendly man he did not know. He merely understood that Darus had no desire to speak of it.
    Nolan thought back to his one meeting with Merros Dulver. He’d seen the man ride up on horseback and smile and thought him a striking figure. He was tall and rugged and solid. He carried himself with confidence and he’d shaken Nolan’s hand and spoken highly of his father’s prowess in combat. He’d liked the man just fine right up until the time his father decided to go off with him.
    There was nothing fair about that, of course. He knew Dulver was a good man. His father had said so on several occasions.
    Still, his father was dead. And the man who’d taken him away was one of the men in charge of the entire army.
    “What you should do is find out what this fella says about how your father died.”
    Nolan nodded his head and looked around. They were following the same road they’d been on for longer than he cared to think about. Up ahead the sound of horns came back their way and the foot soldiers dutifully stepped to the sides of the road and waited, most of them grateful for the chance to rest their legs for a moment. The last time they’d been called off the road had been to let the escorts past with the body of Emperor Pathra Krous. That had been a somber moment. An escort of mounted Imperial Guards had dominated the road, and a great black wagon moved between them, the windows covered and the Imperial crest gleaming on the sides. Nolan, along with every other soldier, had held his sword out above his head as the wagon rumbled slowly past and several of the soldiers had done their best to hide tears.
    Tears for a man none of them had met. What a mad world they lived in.
    Somewhere up ahead a loud noise came their way, as if to prove the point. It was a warbling cry, a trumpet call that he was not familiar with.
    The response was immediate by a good number of the foot soldiers. They grabbed their shields and their weapons and prepared. The men sported swords or axes. Those that did not brandished spears. The road almost immediately bristled with pointed, sharpened steel.
    “What the hell is happening up there?” Darus was squinting against the glare of the sun’s attempt to burn away the mists, trying to see what was causing the disturbance, but with no luck.
    Someone called out, “Spears to the front!” and immediately the foot soldiers with spears came forward, sliding past the swordsmen and preparing themselves. A lanky man with graying hair moved into position in front of Nolan and dropped into a crouch, holding his spear with the point aimed high and easily lowered should it be necessary.
    No one questioned whether or not this was a drill. The sounds of conflict came from further up the road. The view was obstructed by spearmen and by the curve of the road itself.
    “What the hell?” That was Darus again as a deep roar cut the air and was immediately followed by the sounds of several men screaming.
    “Spears, ready! Here they come!”
    “They” were