All the roads into the Badlands started here, in Port Karess, where the dunes met the sea. Salty wind tangled with desert grit, stinging Kalen Volran's eyes as he and his partner rode down the last stretch of sandstone ridge. Two hundred feet below, the port sprawled along the shoreline, caught between ocean and sand.
Behind them, the Badlands shimmered like broken glass. The pillars of stone balanced on narrow necks, the last bones of a world the gods had long forgotten. Ahead lay Karess, a sprawl of timber and salt-stained stone crouched against the waves.
John Issacson sucked his tooth, then spat dust from between them. "Never thought I'd see water again. Thought the Badlands had drunk it all."
Kalen's gaze followed the gulls circling over the harbor cranes. "It's not the water you'll remember," he said. "It's the smell."
The air reeked of fish oil, ship tar, and the sweat of a hundred nations. Karess was where caravans met the sea, where desert gold was traded for iron, silk, and sin. It was also where the law came to die… unless men like Kalen Volran and John Issacson dragged it kicking back to its feet.
Atop the cliff, a fortress crouched with its parapets aimed toward the ocean. The road down had been carved straight from the stone; a rugged ten-foot-wide descent lined with homes and shops chiseled into the cliff face. As they reached the bottom, they passed under a warped archway, half collapsed, the name PORT KARESS rusted across it in iron.
The gate guards barely looked up; nobody expected a badge out here. The two lawmen rode through the muddied market square where children played between wagons and the shouts of hawkers drowned the gulls.
John nudged his black, dust-covered hat back and pulled out his water pouch. Their horses were flagging after the long ride. "Need to drop the horses off at the corral," he rasped.
Kalen tugged down his bandana and tipped his hat back. "Yeah."
They turned toward the stables. An old man slept in a chair, hands folded over his lap, hat drooped low. Kalen cleared his throat.
The man jolted awake, blinking beneath the brim. "Howdy, sirs. What can I do for ya?"
"Two horses. Food and water," Kalen said flatly as they dismounted grabbing there saddle bags.
The man called out, and two boys appeared to lead the animals inside. John pulled four silvers from his coat and pressed them into the old man's palm.
Business done, the partners stepped back into the street, the smell of salt and tar thick around them. "Provost office?" John asked.
Kalen's eyes narrowed toward the heart of the port. "Yeah," he said. "Let's see if the law's still breathing."
Kalen scanned the street as they walked toward the office."Looks like the law's still around," he muttered.
John glanced over, following Kalen's nod toward the tavern wall where a row of faded wanted posters clung to the boards. Most faces were crossed out in red ink. One wasn't.
The parchment fluttered in the sea breeze, carrying the sharp tang of brine.
Red-Eye Raven, also known as Johnny Dumbass. A dead-eyed man with a scar carved down his jaw. His bounty was high enough to tempt every blade in Algoldena.
Kalen scoffed under his breath. Johnny had given himself that ridiculous name, Red-Eye Raven. The tattoo of a raven on his forearm had earned him part of it, but the "red eye" came from a brawl years ago aboard a prison ship. Another inmate had nearly gouged the eye out, leaving a scar that healed into a red ring. Now the fool had a nickname to match his stupidity.
The men turned the corner, and the Provost's Office came into view at the end of the street.
"Looks like it's still standing," John said, his voice rough from dust and travel.
Kalen nodded, eyes narrowing as he took in the weathered structure. The building looked sturdy enough, its porch sagging a little under years of salt air. They knocked the mud from their boots before stepping up onto the boards.
Kalen rapped on the door and tried the handle. It opened into a wide, open room with a wood-burning stove off to the left beside a small makeshift kitchen. Two souls sat in the cast-iron cells at the back of the office. Two tables filled the center space—one buried under stacks of papers, the other neatly kept and occupied by a young woman.
"Ma'am," John said, tipping his hat. Kalen followed suit.
The woman looked up and smiled, surprise lighting her face. She pushed back her chair, jumped to her feet, and ran straight to Kalen, throwing her arms around him.
"Junnie," he breathed, returning the hug.
John chuckled. "Well, I'll be damned."
Junnie turned and grinned. "John, get over here!"
He laughed and accepted her embrace, the room filling with a warmth that had been missing from the road for far too long.
Junnie waved them toward the table. "Sit, sit!"
They did, dropping their saddlebags by the coat hooks. She fetched a dented coffee pot and three cups. "Hungry?" she asked, already turning toward the stove before either man could answer.
A moment later, she returned with two steaming bowls of stew and a rough hunk of bread for each.
"Thank you, Junnie," John said, wasting no time before digging in. He was truly hungry.
Kalen took a slower sip of coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Junnie… why are you here at the Provost's Office?"
She curled one side of her mouth into a wicked grin. "I've gone into the family business."
John's spoon clattered against the bowl. Both men stared at her, mouths hanging open.
Junnie laughed. "Y'all'll catch flies like that. Go on, eat. Provost Oldham'll be back shortly."
She poured them each another cup of coffee and leaned back in her chair. "I caught those two lowlifes over there," she said, nodding toward the men in the cells. "They were trying to rob a ship."
One of the prisoners lifted his head. "Nuh-uh, she tricked us! Told us she was a—uh—lady of the evening. Said if we wanted a good time, we had to come with her. We didn't know we was goin' back to the damn jail!"
Junnie flashed a wicked smile at John. "Well," she said sweetly, "if it worked, it worked."
The door banged open behind them, letting in a burst of salt air and the noise of the market.
A man stepped through—broad-shouldered, gray around the temples, his long coat dark with sea spray. His badge caught the lamplight, dull brass with its edges worn smooth.
"Didn't figure I'd ever see you two again," he said, his voice gravelled by age and smoke. "Kalen Volran and John Issacson, the Badlands' own Marshals. Had enough of the dust yet?"
John grinned through a mouthful of stew. "Provost Oldham. Still too mean to retire, I see."
Oldham chuckled, hanging his hat on the peg by the door. "Mean enough to keep this place from turning pirate." His gaze slid toward the cells. "Junnie? You bag them yourself?"
"Yes, sir." She straightened with a proud smile. "They tried to rob a ship in the harbor. They thought wrong."
Oldham nodded approvingly before turning to the men. "So what brings you in from the dust?"
Kalen set his cup down. "We're turning in a few bounties." He reached for his saddlebag.
John smirked at Junnie. "Kev, why'd you let her work here?"
Provost Marshal Kev Oldham leaned back in his chair with a tired smile. "I made a promise to her father that I'd look after her. Figured the best way I could do that was to keep her close."
Indeed, Junnie and Kalen's father had been Oldham's partner back in the day. When he fell in a shootout in Targona six winters ago, promises were made—and now, promises kept. Still, Kalen doubted this was what his father had in mind.
Oldham's expression hardened. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Junnie could've... probably should've... chosen another path. But this is the one she wants, and I won't stop her."
Kalen met his eyes. "Just don't let her chase Red-Eye Raven."
Oldham's jaw tightened. "I was hoping you'd go after that one anyway." He looked toward the window, where the sea flashed gold and ruby under the setting sun. "Raven's not just running contraband. He's moving something else."
He rubbed his chin in thought. "I need you two to find out what it is."
The room fell silent. Even the prisoners quit whispering.
John's hand drifted toward his badge, his gaze meeting Kalen's. "Where was he last seen?"
Oldham took a slow sip of coffee. "Riding off into the Badlands. I was hoping you were bringing him back."
Junnie's eyes moved between the three men, worry softening her expression.
Kalen rose from his chair. "We'll stay the night," he said quietly. "Head out at first light."
John nodded. "Dust before dawn, then."
Sleep wouldn't come.
Kalen left the room and wandered down to the docks, the night air heavy with salt and the slow rhythm of the tide. Four piers reached out into the dark water like fingers grasping at the moonlight. He walked to the end of one, watching the silver ripples dance across the sea.
Behind him, the boards creaked under light footsteps. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Not going to stop by, Kal?"
The voice was soft, familiar.
He turned anyway. "Didn't think you'd want to see me, Sandra."
She stood in the pale glow, wind tugging at her hair. "Bastard," she said quietly. "You're still my husband."
Kalen sucked his teeth and smirked. "You must want money. Go ask the woman you've been keeping company with."
Her face went pale, her mouth falling open. "You… you know?"
He stepped closer, boots thudding on the wet planks. "Of course I know. I'm a man who rides the Badlands—you really think word doesn't reach me?"
She took a step back.
"I'm just surprised," he went on, voice low. "Didn't expect it to be another woman instead of a man."
Sandra's voice trembled. "I still love you, Kalen."
He looked at her for a long moment, eyes like cold iron. "That's not my problem anymore."
He brushed past her, the smell of sea and whiskey clinging to the air between them. "You smell like lies," he said.
"Go to hell," she spat.
Kalen gave her a wicked grin and a half wink. "The Badlands are hell," he said, walking away. "And I leave for them at dawn."