Between Us

A Small and Scary SHIELDBREAKER Story

Published as part of Top in Fiction’s Small and Scary / Big and Beastly Disruption.

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Ganruz ul-Burak was standing inside the Avla Oproz, the ancestral hall of the chieftains of the tribe of Hodrir, facing the new iron-cast bolt that reinforced the front door, with direct orders from Alakuz-Ohta to kill anyone or anything that tried to get inside.

No exceptions, his new commander had said. That door does not open for anyone while you stand guard.

Alakuz-Ohta did not have to tell him what would happen if he failed. Everyone still remembered what happened to the two bodyguards who’d let the Prince into the hall that night about a year ago...

That being said, it didn’t feel like a particularly difficult posting.

Ganruz was tall and broad-shouldered, the largest of all the new men who’d undergone their trials this past summer and been initiated as Hodrir warriors. In training one day he’d overheard no lesser a personage than Georz-Ohta himself refer to him as “a big fucking obstacle” to a couple of the other captains. He was thrilled: it meant he was almost certainly destined for the center of some company’s shield wall—a task he relished. He would be the anchor that held everyone else in position when the company braced. He would be the stone that the enemy’s charge shattered upon.

All of that to say, he wasn’t particularly worried about anyone trying to get through him—and he was sure it would never come to that. The hall was secure. That door wasn’t moving for anyone, that was for fucking sure. And all the windows—even in the back, where the Kogon’s chamber overlooked the Sisters’ courtyard—had a new, cleverly-done set of iron bars that some specialist from Makan Alabar had figured out a way to melt right into the stone of the walls!

It was a little troubling, if Ganruz was being completely honest with himself, that the Kogon and those around him felt that he needed this much protection from his own people.

Maybe not troubling. The precautions made sense, being taken by a man who’d just had to put his own son to the sword for trying to murder him.

What it was was sad, when it came right down to it.

The whole damned fortress was under a pall. And this proud building was at the center of it. Even the starlight streaming in through the barred windows seemed not to be able to penetrate the dark.

That was what Ganruz was thinking about when he first heard the scraping sound coming from somewhere within the hall—not that the lack of light was obstructing his vision, but simply that it seemed to be amplifying the gloom around the place.

—

It started faintly.

He wasn’t even completely sure he heard anything at all for the first few moments, and after that he still wasn’t convinced it was even coming from within the hall. There was a rhythm to the scraping, sssrack sssrack sssrack, that made it feel like it was happening almost incidentally, an unthinking byproduct of some small creature dragging its next meal back to its lair.

An unwelcome thought presented itself: Was there a scorpion in the hall?

That would be extremely inconvenient. He’d have to wake the Kogon and the young Prince Kareva, ring the bell outside to call in a few extra guards…

He wouldn’t soon hear the end of it if he had to do that. Raising the alarm for a creature that small? ‘Big fucking obstacle’ indeed.

No. Absolutely not. That would not be the first thing the gods heard about him.

He’d find the damned thing himself.

He had his own torch mounted by the door, after all, and part of his watch was to patrol ‘as needed,’ whatever the fuck the Ohta had meant by that—

sssssSSSSSRACK.

He froze.

That was no fucking scorpion.

—

The night before he undertook the trials, a few months ago, Ganruz had gone for a piss outside his family’s small stone cottage near the Sand Gate, and on his way back, he practically tripped over his father, sitting on the floor, arms crossed, rocking back and forth, gritting his teeth, shivering, even whimpering from time to time, and holding onto his dagger for dear life—and dead asleep.

Burak ul-Kalan was a warrior of the Kamar, an old and trusted friend of Edren ul-Edren, and, up until about a year ago, the rare cheerful veteran—a ready and willing raconteur, and a popular fellow at every tavern in the fortress.

Burak wasn’t speaking much to anyone these days. Ever since he got back to their cottage the morning after the rebellion, he’d been a sullen, bloodsick wreck.

And he wouldn’t say a word about what went on that night. Not to anyone. Certainly not to his son. None of Ganruz’s friends’ fathers were talking, either. As far as he knew, not one man of the Hodrir had said a godsdamned word about the rebellion since it ended.

Even that night, after Ganruz shook him awake, Burak said nothing. And he never let go of his knife.

—

Ganruz lifted up his torch high above him to try to cast the light far enough into the room to give himself some sense of what he was dealing with, but there was no use. He’d have to go check it out up close.

He passed his torch to his left hand and drew his sword halfway. Just in case.

The scraping continued, quieter again, as he slowly made his way towards the back of the great room, towards the red stone chair where the Kogon sat on those increasingly rare occasions he held court.

Towards the carvings.

Gods, they were beautiful. Not just because of the intricacy of the stonework or the bewitching color of the stone—sand stained red with the blood of their divine patroness Vei—but because of the pride that emanated from every panel. The heroes of dozens of generations of Hodrir lived on this rock, would live etched upon it forever. As long as there were Etela, surely there would be warriors worthy of having their stories carved into the panels that held up the chieftain’s seat of power.

Ganruz would be carved onto this chair one day. Maybe not in the forefront of a panel, but certainly on the line, anchoring a company’s shield wall, half a head taller than anyone around him.

The gods would know it was him.

sssrack sssrack sssrack

But first he had to figure out what was making that fucking noise.

It—could it be? It sounded like it was coming from behind the chair.

He walked gingerly around the right side of the panel wall, drew a deep breath (deeper than he would admit to himself that he needed to take), and—-

sssssSSSSSSSRACK

He froze again, momentarily, then shook his head. Fuck it. He stepped around the end of the panel and thrust his torch out in front of him.

A huddled figure with long, dark hair was sitting with his back against the wall. In one hand was a whetstone. In the other was a knife with a long blade and a handle that glinted gold in the torchlight.

It was the Prince.

Ganruz exhaled. “Elakon, Kareva ul-Kogon.”

ssssrack ssssrack ssssrack

Ganruz tilted his head. Best try again. “Elakon, Matavuz.”

ssssrack ssssrack ssssrack

Ganruz shook his head as he moved closer.

“My Prince?”

He couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity. The kid had a lot on his shoulders these days—and not even of age yet! After what Ganruz had seen from his father, having to deal with the Prince sharpening a knife in his sleep wouldn’t be too—

The Prince’s head turned.

The rest of his face was slack, but his pale grey eyes were wide open, vacant and feral in the torch light.

Ganruz gasped and leapt away involuntarily—and his toe caught on the grout between the stones of the floor. The carvings on the back of the panel rushed forward to greet him.

—

“Is he going to make it?”

Alakuz looked down. “The Sisters don’t think so.”

“Shit.” Metan spat into the dust outside his hut on the Kuja Pehtur. “I think it’s time you moved in there. We can’t afford to lose any more new warriors on guard duty.”

“Ohta, how long do you plan to stay—”

“Until I’m dead, and stop fucking asking,” snapped Metan. He stepped in closer. “Tell me again. When you found them…”

“The boy was just sitting there, casually sharpening his knife, like he hadn’t moved in hours.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t like it.”

“I don’t care. Has to be done.”

“I thought you weren’t giving orders anymore.”

“You swore to me.”

Alakuz spat. “So I did.”

“He trusts you. And besides me and his father, you are the only one who knows all of what that boy has been through in the past year. You need to protect him until he can stand on his own two feet.”

“And then?”

“And then, you protect him while he learns how to lead.” Metan patted Alakuz’s shoulder. “You’re the only one I trust with this.”

“I know.”

“Alright. The Kogon ought to do something for the young man’s parents.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Good. And Alakuz?”

“I know,” Alakuz sighed. “Stays between us.”

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Check out the rest of the Small and Scary / Big and Beastly collection!

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“Between Us” is set approximately five years before the main action of The Shieldbreaker Saga. The first book of the series is available in paperback here!