Chapter 4 – Across the Scorched Border
The southern gate of Korrath wasn't much of a gate. More like the broken jaw of a dead beast — stone teeth crumbling, iron portcullis half-rotted, guards leaning on spears more for balance than vigilance. Beyond stretched the Border Wastes, where even the sun looked tired, baking the land into cracked scars of dust and bone.
Kael tugged his cloak tighter. "Nothing but heat, dust, and corpses," he muttered. "Gods know why anyone fights wars over this."
Nyra ignored him, walking ahead, hood drawn low. She hadn't spoken since dawn, and Kael was starting to think she'd sworn some silent vow just to spite him.
They were nearly through the gate when a voice called out — sharp, measured, too sober for this hour.
"Thorne. Thunderhand."
The two froze.
A cluster of riders blocked the road just beyond the arch. Six of them, cloaked in grey, their armor marked by a silver coin sigil etched into the breastplate. Serik's men.
Kael swore under his breath.
The lead rider dismounted with easy grace, peeling back his hood to reveal a scarred face and pale eyes like polished bone. He looked Nyra and Kael over with the faint amusement of a man sizing up weapons in a merchant's stall.
"Orders from the Broker," he said smoothly. "We're to see you off."
Nyra's jaw tightened. "We don't need an escort."
The man smirked. "Not an escort. An assurance." He flicked his gaze to Kael. "The Broker buys loyalty with coin. But he keeps it with eyes."
Kael rolled his shoulders, wincing as his ribs flared. "If Serik wanted to keep us on a leash, he should've picked hounds. We bite."
That earned a laugh from one of the other riders. The leader, though, didn't flinch. He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until Kael could smell the oiled leather of his gloves.
"Bite if you like," he said softly. "Just remember — even wolves starve without the hand that feeds them."
Nyra's fingers twitched at her side, faint sparks threatening to dance, but Kael cut her a quick glance. Not here. Not now.
The leader seemed satisfied. He nodded once, mounted again, and pulled his hood low. "Safe travels. The Wastes are unforgiving. But the Broker's coin expects you alive."
With that, they rode off into the heat shimmer, silent as vultures.
Kael spat into the dust. "Gods damn Serik. Always watching, always listening."
Nyra finally spoke, her voice flat. "That's what men like him do. They watch. They wait. And when you're too tired to notice, they take."
For once, Kael didn't have a quip ready.
They walked on in silence, leaving the gate — and the Broker's shadows — behind.
By midday, the Wastes stretched endless, burned fields and ruins scattered like bones. The sun beat down without mercy. Kael's ribs ached, but he kept pace. Survival meant never letting your partner see you falter.
They reached a toppled watchtower by dusk and made camp in its shade. Nyra scanned the horizon with hawk-like focus, blade never far from hand. Kael sprawled against the stone, flask in hand.
"You're wound tighter than a bowstring," he said. "Relax. Only vultures out here."
Her eyes flicked over him, cold and sharp. "You talk too much about death for a man still clinging to life."
Before Kael could reply, she froze, gaze narrowing. Figures on the horizon. Dust kicking up. Too many.
Raiders.
Kael sighed, dragging himself up. "Of course. Border Wastes without raiders would be like taverns without beer."
They came shrieking — lean men in painted ash, blades gleaming.
Kael met the first with steel, gutting him clean, blood spraying across the dust. Another rushed, blade high, but Kael caught him on the turn, steel biting deep into bone.
Nyra was the storm — her blade sang, her hand lit with crackling blue fire. She cut one raider's throat, then loosed lightning that blasted another into a smoking husk.
The survivors broke, fear overcoming frenzy, and scattered back into the Wastes.
Kael leaned on his sword, chest heaving. Nyra stood over the dead, stormlight fading, hand trembling when she sheathed her blade.
Kael noticed. He said nothing.
Instead, he cleaned his sword on a corpse's cloak and whistled. "Efficient. You make a fine partner."
Nyra's glare was sharp enough to wound. "We're not partners. We're survivors. That's all."
Kael smirked, sliding his sword home. "Same thing, in my book."
Above them, thunder rolled faintly, as if the gods themselves laughed at the fragile bond forming below.