Borderlands- Act 1

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the book – Act 1

  My teeth are beginning to ache

  How exactly

  Exhaustion and sweat

  I am sitting

  Thumping.

  It will not make it happen

  Reviewing the facts

  Any hope

  About the Series – Borderlands

  About the Author – Charles Gull

  Copyright © 2019 by Charles Gull

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Charles Gull asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Charles Gull has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  Dedication

  To all the people that spend their whole life with a fantastic idea in their head but never get around to expressing it. Dreams only come true once you start working towards them. If you don’t get out there and do it the world will never know!

  Acknowledgments

  It is due to my parents, that I can write this at all. Thanks for giving birth to me, finding me and dragging me back when I ran away from home at age 8, for not strangling me when I crashed the car or wrecked the boat, for instilling in me a passion and hunger for the written word.

  Indeed, kudos to all my ancestors. Maybe you had no idea what you were setting in motion, but without you paving the way, I would never have understood how individually fascinating and inspiring every single person can be.

  About the book – Act 1

  In the eternal battle against the Realm of Chaos, Captain Doneir’s discipline, ambition and trophy head count have brought him to the brink of legendary status.

  Even at home, there is no respite. Isolated from family and his first great sweetheart, the Captain’s days overflow with gruelling training and his nights with the demons of his childhood. As the pressure intensifies, cracks spread behind his stoic facade.

  However, before fulfilling his goal to annihilate the Realm and become the Queen’s suitor, he must confront his arch-nemesis, the great House whose name he carries. Can he end a brutal life-long family feud and become the hero of heroes, or will dark forces turn this Champion of Order into the most powerful Instrument of Chaos ever known?

  Book two of this Grimmdark Bronzepunk crossover series keeps up the crushing winning punches in a world of unrelenting struggle and threat.

  Not read ‘Prelude’ the previous book in the ‘Borderlands’ series yet?

  Get your copy at ‘https://smile.amazon.com/Charles-Gull/e/B07QC58F4D’ and support a charity of your choosing.

  My teeth are beginning to ache. The column is long ready to move out, but instead, we wait. Our mounts, equipment stowed, stand in line, their bowed heads reminiscent of the trophy heads dangling from looped lanyards at their withers. One horse snorts. It doesn’t understand why we haven’t left yet. My men, standing to attention beside their steeds, are doing a better job of suppressing their impatience. Underneath, I know they are seething like me.

  In the wake of a brief late season squall, blackened blood drips from the trophies as our uniform leathers steam. Sweat beads under my uniform collar. Spring is on the charge again. I force my jaw to relax.

  I glance at the sky. Though leaden, we can be grateful for the little colour it offers. It is a clear sign that we are beyond the kraulikt, the dulling half shadow cast across the Borderlands by the Realm of Chaos. Nevertheless, even though the night is hardly darker than the day this close to the edge, the grubby blue is clearly deepening. We really should have left long ago.

  It had better be soon.

  But first, we must wait for the patrol to be properly finished. At last I hear stamping feet. I turn to watch the approach. Shirt unbuttoned and hair falling in his eyes, he marches heavily, boots splattering the grey slush. He hopes to find some grip in the gravel and stones below, to not land on his arse in front of us, to avoid making an embarrassment of himself.

  It is already far too late for that.

  He already is an embarrassment, to the Aether Guard, to our blessed Homelands and to every other nation of the Rationalle. Likely, even the Temporalis shudders at the thought of him. Not applying procedure during a patrol hand over and commanding no discipline over his rabble is contemptable. Not following uniform regulation is an indictment. Above all else, arriving late is beyond excusable. His commission should be stripped at the very least. The image of that ceremony brings a brief smile to my lips before his blithe approach brings me back to the present.

  Am I supposed to trust this pitiful specimen to hold back the encroachment of whatever Spawn the Realm of Chaos spits out into the Borderlands? Is this what is going to keep the Homelands safe? How did he achieve a commission in the first place, let alone get to lead men into the killing zone of the Borderlands? Family connections, no doubt. It is a struggle not to spit my rising bile.

  Grinning broadly, he stamps to a halt in front of me and beats a fist against his bare chest. “Shield of the Homelands!” He waits for my return salute before continuing. “I must say, I didn’t expect you boys to stick around quite so long after we turned up. Thought you’d be keen to trot off rather than wait for us to settle in. It’s jolly decent of you, I must say.”

  The urge to spit has disappeared. Instead, I imagine loosening a section of his grin. It is a pleasant image, but I keep my balled fists firmly banished to the small of my back. “It is not ‘jolly decent’. It is procedure. We have all been looking forward to going home ever since relieving the previous patrol. Every guard does. Patrolling is not a fun day out. It is our sworn duty. Nevertheless, as we are not by nature deserters, we never leave our assigned posting until we have been officially relieved.”

  A shadow flits briefly across his boyish features. “But we’re here now, and not all that late into the bargain. I don’t see what your problem is.”

  “Disregarding the fact that you are late at all, my problem is that we need to be relieved officially.” My teeth threaten to start grinding again. “You have to say it explicitly or else we cannot leave.”

  “Oh, I see. Oops!” He shrugs. “Okay. Well, consider yourselves relieved. I’ve taken command of Watch Post twelve now.”

  I turn to my waiting patrol. “Mount up!” I swing into my own saddle.

  Frowning slightly, he looks up at me. “Captain Doneir, may I ask you a question?”

  “Ask.”

  He glances at all the trophy heads, grotesque in rictus, swinging against our horses’ haunches. “Well, what with your reputation and all.” Reputation or no, our haul must be just about the best we hav
e ever had. It is sure to improve my team’s standing, get us first place at last. He chews his lip. “How much Spawn do you think you’ve actually left for us to claim?”

  I look up and down the length of the column. Sergeant Haddar nods from the vanguard. I point down the valley track and blow my whistle. “Move out!” The column begins to file onto the path. Before looking down at the pup captain, I glance around at the men who sauntered up the same way with him this afternoon. They are lounging at their posts. The sentries aren’t even looking out over the shield wall. “To claim? You really are the idiot you look! There is nothing to claim in the Borderlands. It is a battle just to stay alive over there. If it is not Spawn trying to tear your throat out, then it is the ground itself rising up to swallow you whole. Pray you see nothing and find nothing. Pray that the Borderlands don’t even notice your pathetic presence. From what I have seen of your command today, your patrol is probably going to get taken out by the very first phratt you come across.”

  He puffs up like a toad. “I appreciate that I’m new, and my patrol inexperienced, but that’s no reason to be rude. Even the best had to start from scratch.” He tries to look down his nose at me. “Even you, I’m sure.” It is difficult to look superior with your neck craned back like that, so he gives it up. “Aren’t we all in this together, fighting the Spawn side by side? I didn’t need to sign up, you know. Mother was quite against it, but I wanted to do my bit.”

  The end of my column is drawing past. I pat my horse’s neck. “Chalka, take me home.” She snorts and falls in at the rear of the line. Behind me the pup’s blustering begins to fade. Soon, I can only hear the echoing of our hooves amidst the bustle of spring in the canyon. With every clop we are one more step away from the Realm of Chaos and its accursed Borderlands. More importantly, we are one step deeper into the Homelands on our way home.

  It is the simple things I miss most on patrol. The things that most people, safe in their little lives far from the Borderlands, take for granted. Things like nightfall.

  Cool, black and luscious, dusk creeps up the valley to meet us. Sweet and viscous as molasses, it enfolds us. How long has it been since last I felt its welcome? Tensions ease, pain dulls, my eyelids grow heavy. Even better than the embrace of night is the knowledge that the kiss of a true dawn shall follow. My mind fills with long supressed memories. Light sparkling on water. Wheat rippling in a breeze. Bread fresh from the oven. Mead foaming in a flagon. Linen smoothed across a bed. Tender words whispered. Her smile.

  “HALT!”

  A shout from the head of the column jolts me awake. It must have rained recently. I revel in the rich loamy smell kicked up by the passing hooves.

  Chalka is not so thrilled. She snorts at the delay. I pat her neck as I let my dozy mind catch up. We must have halted for a reason. Obviously, not an attack and there are no forks on this path. I blink into the night, judging our surroundings. The column stands at a threshold. Behind us the narrow winding valley exits the hulking silhouette of the highlands, before us a meadow expands out toward the lowland plains.

  Of course!

  I told Haddar we would re-muster the column for the lowlands. In the confines of the gorge we must remain in single file with no chance to change station. This field is at the first widening going down valley.

  Hooves, muffled by the soft ground, approach from the head of the line. Moments later, Sgt. Haddar emerges from the darkness and draws up next to me. “Captain!” We exchange salutes. “I just wanted to confirm procedure before continuing, sir.”

  “I see two options, strike camp or force a night march.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I rather fancy pushing on. We need to make up distance after today’s farce of a hand over. The sooner we get back to Afreem the better in my book.”

  “Certainly has its merits, sir.”

  “How about the men? They up for it?”

  “Aye, the majority would even welcome it, I’m sure.”

  “Good, we shall ride on then. Buddy the men up to ride two abreast. One man dozes whilst the other keeps an eye open. We shall switch the watch back and forth regularly. Should get us through the night without anyone going astray.”

  “Good plan, sir.”

  “Very well. Let me know when the men are ready. I shall be waiting at the head of the line.”

  Long before my eyes see the first light of daybreak, I know it is coming. Dawn’s chorus fills my ears as the land we pass through awakens. Creatures stir and the trees creak in anticipation. Only once the world is ready does the curtain of night ease back to reveal the day.

  Tangled grey forms loom from the dawn mist, their twisted tentacles reaching out to grasp me. I grab for my sword in sudden horror. Has the Shadow pursued us? How have these monstrosities managed to cross over from the Borderlands? Have we unwittingly stumbled back into the dim featureless grey of the kraulikt?

  Then, as quickly as my dread flares, the swelling light of day extinguishes my fear. Writhing limbs are nothing more than the rustling branches of fruit trees in blossom, blackened heath turns into rolling fields of vibrant spring green, the billowing grey shadows are but mist that fades away with the passing of dawn.

  Somewhere, a heifer lows and a cowbell clanks in response to a farmer calling his herd to the milking shed. An involuntary yap of joy escapes me, startling the soldier riding at my side. “Everything alright, sir?”

  I lean across and slap him on the shoulder. “Guardsman Nevom, we are back in the homelands, we have a massive collection of trophies and first place in the rankings is surely now ours. Everything is just fine. Just fine.” I call a halt to enjoy breakfast in the golden kiss of the morning light. Afterwards, we continue at the canter and by late afternoon are entering the gates of the Afreem Guardhouse.

  How exactly can such a dirty clerk’s office be compatible with the discipline and order of the Aether Guard?

  Before me, quill wiggling in his right hand, the chief clerk scratches away on a roll of paper. The fingers of his left hand do a little dance in the air as he totals up the numbers. I think it is best not to disturb him. Until he finishes, I try and distract myself with the contents of his office. They don’t offer much in the way of distraction. Documents are crammed into the pigeonholes that cover one wall. Though a few of the scrolls glow, indicating unread updates, all are tattered from long use. Piles of parchment, remarkable only for their precarious height, are stacked against the wall on the other side. His small desk is a shambles of notes, blotters and paper weights. And then there is the dust. Other than the small patch of desk kept clear by his hectic scribbling, it appears to cover everything in a thin matte grey layer. I suppress the desire to scratch my itching nose.

  “Aha!” He sits up and scratches his chin. “Hmmm, very interesting. Let’s run through that again, shall we? Better safe than sorry, I always say. Don’t want to get it wrong, do we?” He tugs a piece of mostly unmarked parchment from near the bottom of a pile tottering on the edge of his desk and prepares to make a third start on his calculations.

  I cannot contain myself any longer. “For the love of the Ancients! Is that really necessary?”

  The clerk almost knocks over his inkpot as he looks up at me, eyes wide. “You still here? I thought you’d gone.”

  It is a struggle to unclench my hands. “I was waiting for you to finish your calculations.”

  He looks over his spectacles at me. “I did say it was going to take a while.”

  “I had hoped that it would not take quite such a long while. Can you not just tell me already?”

  “As I’m sure you just heard, I think it is only prudent to check my workings out first.”

  “Did your first two calculations agree?”

  He nods in satisfaction. “Oh yes, quite exactly, I very rarely make a mistake, but it is important to be sure in such things.” He finishes with the hint of a frown.

  “I would be happy to take the risk and hear what the result is
so far.”

  He cocks his head. “Result?”

  I point at the papers before him. “The result of your calculations. Where does my patrol now stand in the rankings? Have we got first place?”

  With raised eyebrows he shakes his head. “Oh no, there’s more to it than this. My calculations only verify the point value of the trophies you have registered. After this, I must fill out a report form and get it counter signed before finally sending it off to HQ. There it has to be, ratified, approved, released, entered into the official registers, correlated, consolidated, scheduled for publication, printed, distributed and finally posted.”

  I hold out my hands imploringly. “Can you not just tell me?”

  “Due process must be observed. Anything else would contravene the fundamental purpose of the Aether Guard.”

  I rub my forehead. “What has an interminable chain of bureaucratic nonsense got to do with killing Spawn?”

  He leans back in his chair and crosses his spindly arms. “Captain Doneir, I find your sense of humour a little misplaced in this discussion.” His head bobbles in disapproval.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  A deep furrow has developed between his eyebrows. “I am sure such crude jocularity makes for good morale whilst on patrol, however, here in the guardhouse we generally expect our officers to demonstrate a little more decorum.”

  I stare at him blankly. “Decorum?”

  He waggles the feather at me. “As well you know, the Guard is founded on procedure. Procedure is our greatest weapon. It is thanks to procedure that one day we shall finally defeat the enemy and repel The Realm of Chaos for good.”

  I cross my arms. “And there was me thinking that a strong arm and a sharp sword were the most effective way to kill Spawn.”