Westhaven by Rowan Erlking (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

“We don’t tolerate traitors,” Weston hissed.

“The last one was a magician,” Polan said. “We cut his tongue out and left him for dead.”

“You’d kill a magician?” someone in the room murmured. Gasps accompanied him.

All the Herra men nodded. The men in the room drew back from them.

“As he said, traitors are not tolerated in the Herra Hills,” Key said, giving a nod to Dalis also. He however, waved for his friends to lower their weapons, looking Dalis in the eye. “So, what do you say? Live as a heroic general of our army, or die as a traitor?”

Dalis burst into laughter, waving for them to lower their guns also. “I accept, you unscrupulous little rascal.”

The man then rubbed Key on the head before anyone could stop him, practically pushing him down.

“That general rubbed off on you,” Dalis said. But Dalis was still laughing.

The Herra men tucked their guns away. It was clear the gunman was only joking about going for the bounty. He really didn’t seem like the kind of man that would betray his own people anyway. Their threat was directed more to Lowman, making it clear they were serious adversaries.

“So, you’re heading north?” Lowman said to Dalis, maintaining his cool as he watched the gunman still rub Key’s patchy head as if Key were a little brother. Key tried to bat the hands from him, but the Herra men didn’t bother at all to help. All of them smirking now. It wasn’t until Key’s old Bekir friends, Loid and Telerd, came over to shove Dalis off his head and took him aside to ask him what was wrong with him. By then Dalis lifted up his hands and laughed again, relenting. Key winced, feeling eight years old again.

Giving Lowman a nod as he lowered his hands, Dalis grinned. He dusted off his vest as if both Bekir men had made it dirty. “So you get your wish. Now everyone’s happy.”

“Not quite,” Key said, yanking himself from Loid and batting Telerd’s hands off with a harried look. He turned his eyes straight to Lowman. “We are still seeking an alliance.”

Lifting his chin, Lowman said, “What do you have in mind?”

This was what he wanted to hear. Key cast a glance at the doorway as if to get a peek at the people outside. “We need volunteers for spies, for starters. Southerners are physically more like the brown-eyed Sky Children. We need people willing to undergo some physical change and much training so that we can infiltrate Sky Child factories and industries as brown-eye Sky Children. Us northerners can’t do it. We don’t look close enough to them.”

“And how many of these volunteers do you need?” Lowman asked turning grave as he listened to Key’s plan, though it was clear the complications of such a scheme went through his mind.

Taking a breath, Key nodded. “As many as you can spare. The more we send out, the more we can learn about how the Sky Children make their weapons and vehicles. Then we will make our own from they have learned.”

“That’s your plan?” Lowman stared with wider eyes at Key now.

With another nod, Key said, “It is.”

“And you think that this will topple their empire?” Lowman asked, turning his head slightly.

Key slowly shook his head, exhaling. He knew the arguments against his plan already. “No. But it is the beginning that will lead up to where we can topple the empire. The only reason they have an advantage over us is that they know how to make things that give them that advantage. But if we know what they know, their advantage is gone.”

“And what about their magic?” Lowman asked, taking another step back to lean against the wall.

“They have no magic,” Key said once more with an aggravated groan.

“Only technology,” the Herra men immediately finished together with a unified look of annoyance at him from using that tired phrase once more.

Key returned the glare.

They cast back a look of mockery as Dalis laughed, shaking his head.

*

“It’s quiet.” Gailert peered out the window of his office. The town had its usual bustle, but he hadn’t been talking about that. “Where have they gone? What are they up to?”

No one was there to answer. All the officers were on duty, and he was alone in his office.

The raids in the hills had been over for several months. The raiders had vanished once more, but Gailert knew they were not eradicated. They had only cleared out, waiting for another time to break forth and destroy yet another city or another military post. The fire in Wingsley had been the last of their attacks. The foothills and mountains had been searched, but no sign of them had been found since the discovery of that last camp. Of course, traveling through the mountains was almost impossible. If his soldiers couldn’t do it, there was no way those humans could. The raiders had gone somewhere else.

Poring over the map before him, Gailert, stuck pegs where he would hide people if he had been a raider. The mountains themselves were inhospitable and poor for growing crops. Shipping in crops would also be difficult. Unless they were living on tree bark and squirrels, it did not seem likely for them to stay long in that area. His eyes went north to Mistrim then to the west where there was much farmland and many small villages. They had to be in that area, though his eyes also fell to the east near Kolden, but that territory was known to be fully infested with demons, especially spider parasites. It really wasn’t likely for them to go there. Letting his eyes drop to the south, he peered at the Semple Forest where his armies had been unsuccessful in finding insurgents regardless of how much searching they did. The fact was, the land was so huge there were too many places for them to hide.

Someone knocked on door.

“Enter.” Gailert hardly looked up.

A corporal stepped into the room, lifting out a small card from his pocket right away, extending it to him. He cleared his throat.

Gailert lifted his eyes. They fixed on the card. With a sigh, he plucked card from the corporal’s hand. “A telegram?”

Saying nothing, the corporal merely stood at attention. Gailert read it aloud.

For General Winstrong Stop. Reassignment Orders Stop. Return to Danslik Stop. Congratulations on job well done Stop.

Discuss retirement benefits Stop. Sky Lord Stop.

It felt wrong. Normally Gailert would not protest an order from the Sky Lord. It was suicide to do so, but he did not feel right leaving the central area without being sure they were rid of the insurgents, and he was far from sure of that. In fact, he felt quite the opposite. The insurgents were gathering. He could feel it in his gut.

“Orders, General?” The corporal waited, still at attention.

Sighing, Gailert frowned. “Call in the captain. I need to speak to him.”

“Yes, sir.” The corporal turned and marched away.

The captain was not available until the following day. He had been in Wingsley when the general had received the telegram, and the captain had to take the train back to Herra to meet with the general. By then the general’s boy had already packed Gailert’s bags and was sitting on the curb for their automobile to take them to the airport. The boy was quiet, staring at the ground with clear dread of leaving it.

The discussion was lengthy between the captain and the general. Mostly the general passed on all the information and suspicions he had to the captain, making it clear he did not want the captain to become lax in any way in searching for the raiders, emphasizing that they were not gone, but like spiders were waiting for their prey, making webs to catch them.

But the general had to leave, and Gailert sighed when he boarded the plane.

*

“Here he is,” his old friend Loid led Key through the camp. He and Telerd escorted him through the wooded area, passing several groups working on rudimentary weapons in a circle. A few were dying cloth into patchy the green and brown colors of the forest, the uniform of the southern rebellion. Tiler had come with them following after Key, though the others of the Herra group went with Rainold and one of Lowman’s men to set up a place for reading classes. They had set their packs together in a cluster of bent tree branches.

Through the trees and the vine-covered hovels where more southern insurgents lived and worked, Loid pointed to a man dressed in long flowing trousers and a loose tunic that hung to back of his thighs. It had the cut of northern lake attire, only it was dyed in that same patchy green and brown of the locals. His head was the only thing that really stood out, a crop of brown hair on top. He turned even before they arrived to greet him. His cool gray eyes with yellow flecks in them gazed solemnly through the trees. The rest of him was built like Loid and Telerd, taller than the southerners and fairly sunburned on his cheeks as if the southern sun was just too hot.

“Th-That’s a pleasant smell,” the man murmured. His eyed lifted towards Key. He gazed on Key and blinked. He took a step forward. “Who—who are you?”

Key walked over to him. The feeling in his chest swelled, recognizing this face too well. Soin only looked taller and more worn. The rest of him was entirely the same as when they were kids.

Soin blinked. “K-Kemdin?”

Still uncomfortable at being called by his true name, Key nodded, ducking his head.

Staggering forward, Soin then hopped over. He embraced Key. “K-Kemdin! You’re alive!”

Standing back together, Loid and Telerd smiled.

Tiler, who had come with them, rolled his eyes then sidled over to the duo from the lake. He whispered, “What is wrong with him?”

Loid shoved Tiler off, clenching his teeth. “Shut up. Nothing’s wrong with him.”

Both Bekir men stomped away from Tiler, joining Soin to embrace Key. As Soin laughed and cried, Key also found himself crying. He hadn’t done much of it the last year or so since a man of Herra would never be seen crying. Lake men were more emotional.

When Soin at last let go, wiping his eyes with an embarrassed blush, Key pulled from his friends and extended an arm to Tiler, pointing him out. “Soin this is my first friend from the Herra Hills. Tiler, come meet my first friend of Bekir Peninsula.”

Tiler straightened his face to look hospitable. He walked over then bowed to Soin. When he lifted his eyes to Soin’s face, he immediately felt awkward. Key watched the affect of Soin’s older-than-the-hills gaze that had always made others nervous.

Soin seemed to see Tiler’s discomfort and gave a commiserating smile. “Th-thank you for b-being a friend to K-Kemdin.”

Tiler cast Key a look, asking what he had tried to ask Loid with his eyes. However, he didn’t even get two words out. Soin had shared a look with Key who knew Tiler’s question without it being voiced.

Key shook his head at Tiler with a slight roll of his eyes. “Don’t let it bother you, Tiler. Soin’s mind just goes faster than his mouth. He’s smarter than anybody.”

“Smarter than you?” Tiler asked, angling his head with a look at Soin again.

Soin broke into a laugh, glancing at Key. “I-I t-told you so! Y-you never believed me!”

Key made a face.

Turning to Tiler, Soin said, “He’s r-really smart, isn’t he?”

Tiler gave a nod. “Yeah. A real good memory mostly.”

“The best swimmer,” Loid cut in, nodding with an urge to shove Tiler out. “But not the best fisher.”

Telerd snorted, taking a step around them to drag Key between them in case Loid tried to hit him. “Don’t start that again.”

Key made another face, ducking to get out from being between their old fight. “I don’t fish. You do.”

“How about a fight?” Loid laughed, dodging Telerd and following Key. “Are