A Guardsman's Game, Chapter 84

I walked alone through the desert, boots pressing into shifting sand that stretched in every direction. The compass in my pocket gave a faint hum as I checked it from time to time, the needle pointing northeast. The last settlement I'd left behind was only a memory now, though I carried its voices in the back of my mind. Kharsons waited elsewhere, beyond the horizon, but for this journey, I moved unaccompanied. I wanted no misunderstandings at the gates.

By noon on the third day, I saw outlines on the horizon. At first, it was a smudge of shapes wavering in the desert heat, barely distinct from the dunes. Another hour’s walk sharpened the view: tall walls rearing up around a sprawl of half-buried structures. Barbed wire glinted under the sun, strings of it coiled around stone battlements. Turrets rose at intervals, each looming like a silent sentinel. The wind carried distant voices, faint and rough.

I slowed. The gates towered ahead, flanked by thick slabs of concrete and steel plating. Rust coated spots where the desert air had worn the metal. Atop the ramparts were silhouettes leaning on rifles, scanning the sands. I saw spikes driven into the walls in a rough line. Bones hung from some, half-bleached by the sun. The place gave an impression of vigilance and caution, no easy welcome here. I lifted my hands, palms out, and kept walking.

A shout came from the gate tower. More silhouettes moved, rifles aimed. I stopped just shy of the heavy doors, letting the dust swirl around my boots. A guard looked down and motioned for me to stay put. There was clanking, a chain rattling. The gates groaned inward, revealing a narrow opening. Several armed figures stepped forward, each clad in ramshackle armor. Their faces were streaked with dust and grime, eyes narrowed against the glare. One of them, a tall woman with a bandanna across her mouth, lifted her weapon to direct me inside.

I raised my voice. 

“I’m just a weary traveler,” I said. “Looking for shelter.”

Another guard, bearded and broad-shouldered, approached with a stubby rifle at the ready. 

“Your name?” he asked.

“Perry,” I said.

He looked me up and down. “Weapons?”

“None.”

He nodded to the tall woman, who slung her rifle over her shoulder and walked toward me. She pressed gloved hands against my arms, across my sides, probing for hidden blades or guns. She hesitated at my waist, patting the empty pouches. I carried no canteen, no visible supplies. She glanced at the bearded guard. “How’s he still standing?”

He grunted. “All by himself in the Great Desert with no water? That’s no small feat.”

I shrugged. “I’m lucky.”

They exchanged a look, then stepped back. The gate behind them yawned wider. 

“We’ll let you in,” the bearded man said. “But don’t cause trouble.” 

He led me forward. The tall woman held her rifle loose, but her posture hinted at readiness.

Inside the walls, the desert heat weighed on rows of vehicles turned into buildings. I saw tank hulls repurposed with metal sheets welded on top, doors cut into the sides. Rusted trucks, their beds sealed against the elements, served as shops or makeshift homes. Stone ruins connected these vehicles, forming a network of alleyways. The road beneath my feet was compacted dirt. People moved about in small groups, some carrying supplies or pushing carts. Others leaned against walls, arms folded, eyes narrowed at every passerby.

The guard with the bandanna escorted me down a main thoroughfare. We passed a checkpoint where two more men loitered behind sandbags, rifles on their laps. She motioned me onward until we reached a broader area, something like a town square. A few stalls made of corrugated metal had been set up, each displaying goods or produce. Cables hung overhead, forming a loose canopy that offered some shade.

She stopped there, lowering her rifle to rest against her hip. “Got a place in mind?”

I shook my head. “I’m just looking for a place to rest. Maybe buy a map. Then I’ll be on my way.”

She jerked her chin toward a cluster of stalls. 

“You’ll find wandering merchants that way. There’s an old fellow with more charts and maps than he knows what to do with.” She paused. “We got water rations for sale if you got trade. Don’t know how you made it this far without any.”

“I’ll manage,” I said.

She watched me a moment longer, then slung her rifle over her shoulder and walked away, boots scraping the dirt. The bearded guard peeled off as well, heading back toward the gate. People in the square took little notice of me, absorbed in their own bartering and tasks.

I moved deeper into the settlement. The streets twisted around half-buried structures. Some walls showed the marks of old battles—bullet holes, scorching from explosives. Barbed wire and mesh fences lined certain passages. At corners, I glimpsed more turrets perched on the walls above, their barrels aimed outward at the desert beyond. This town stood on constant guard.

Despite the rough outlook, I saw signs of life. Children in tattered clothes darted between the alleyways, eyes bright. They shouted to each other, passing small sticks like pretend rifles. An older man in a ragged cap sat on a crate, carving something from a chunk of wood. A group of women tended a makeshift garden behind a stone barrier, coaxing pale, wilted plants to grow. Buckets of water, precious as gold, were carried from building to building. The air smelled of sweat and metal and old fumes.

I drifted among them, letting my gaze wander. My steps slowed whenever I passed someone who seemed ill or weary. Here, the people looked healthier than many I'd met, but not by much. Radiation sickness showed in their sallow skin, in the quiet coughs that seized them from time to time. Some had lumps beneath their flesh that hinted at tumors. Others walked with limps or twisted spines. Many looked as if they had learned to endure it, carrying on with the burdens they'd been dealt.

I held up a hand, focusing on a cluster of men who sat by a stall, their faces drawn. One of them rubbed his abdomen as if in constant pain, expression tense. My [Flesh Shaping] stirred at a thought, extending an invisible reach that required no direct contact. A faint sense of tissue responded, shifting at my command. I purged malignant cells from his body, eased the pressure in his organs, and reinforced his immune system. The man exhaled, blinking as if a weight had vanished. He looked at his companion, confusion flickering in his eyes.

I moved on before they noticed me. Along a narrow side street, I saw a woman leaning against a wall, panting. She pressed a hand to her chest, wincing with each breath. I channeled [Flesh Shaping] again, letting the power flow outward. Her heart steadied, her lungs cleared, an infection banished. She straightened slowly, lifting her head. Her gaze swept the empty air as if expecting to see someone. I slipped past a row of crates, leaving her behind.

In every alley, in each doorway, I found people in quiet suffering. I could sense lumps of cancer in their bodies, expansions of flesh that threatened to choke out vital organs. The desert’s radiation had seeped into their bones, twisting them from within. I walked with measured steps, healing them one by one, never pausing to announce it. Some blinked or gasped when the pain lifted. Others stood up straighter, looking at their hands as though they belonged to strangers. A child coughed until I passed by, then fell silent, taking in slow, steady breaths. No one saw me raise a hand or lay a finger. I left no sign beyond relief.

I spent hours weaving through the settlement. The sun arced overhead, casting short shadows on the dusty ground. My path took me to an open yard near the eastern wall. A cluster of rusted vehicles had been stacked into a crude barricade. On top, I saw men in mismatched armor scanning the desert with binoculars. I sensed their ailments too—scarred lungs, tumors, worn ligaments—but I kept my distance, mindful that spooking guards with rifles was a bad idea. My power stretched upward, subtle and precise, mending and reinforcing. Their breathing improved, their pains receded. Some patted their chests in wonder, but no alarm was raised.

At dusk, I emerged into the bazaar the guard had mentioned. Corrugated metal stalls lined a broad passage, each hung with lanterns that flickered in the gathering gloom. Merchants hawked wares: old bullets, scavenged machine parts, dried strips of meat. One stall displayed an assortment of battered weaponry. Another held baskets of withered fruit. Their chatter overlapped in a steady hum, haggling and cursing. I stepped among them, scanning for anyone dealing in maps.

A lean man in a patched coat waved me over. His stall boasted rolled parchment, some of it torn. He had a few data-slates too, though they looked half-dead. He opened his mouth to speak, but I sensed no major illness in him. I gave him a slight nod. 

“I’m looking for a local map,” I said.

He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Which region?”

“All of them,” I said.

He raised a brow. “I got scraps. Some show the old roads near Ursh, some show the deserts leading south. Don’t have anything too recent. Got to piece it together if you want a bigger picture.”

I considered it. Before I could answer, a voice spoke behind me. “He won’t find what he’s looking for in scraps.”

I turned. A figure stood there, bald and mild-mannered, wearing a pleasant smile. He carried a small pack slung over one shoulder. His clothes were plain, free of dust. At a glance, he seemed to attract no attention from others. Yet the moment I saw him, I recognized Master Mirror. My [Flesh Shaping] gave no hint of a body to manipulate. It was as if he were absent from the physical plane.

He offered me a light bow. 

“We meet again, guardsman,” he said. 

I studied his face. He looked exactly as before, unassuming and calm. The merchant with the patched coat blinked, then stepped aside as if giving Master Mirror some room. There was a flicker in the man’s eyes that suggested confusion, like he wasn’t sure how this newcomer had appeared so suddenly. Master Mirror simply smiled.

I nodded. 

“It’s been a while,” I said.

Master Mirror opened his pack and drew out a rolled parchment. He held it between his fingers, tapping the edge. 

“I have a map,” he said, “of the region you’re now in. It covers this settlement, the desert to the west, and the territory beyond. All the way to the borders of Ursh.”

The merchant glanced from me to Master Mirror, uncertain. He sputtered a protest. “Hey, I’m the one sells maps here. If you’re—”

Master Mirror bowed his head again, still smiling. But there was something in his eyes–something powerful and dangerous.

“Your wares are fine, friend. But my map is a bit more thorough.” He turned to me. “You need to find a certain place, do you not?”

I watched him, trying to glean what he might know. He extended the roll of parchment. I took it with care, untying the string around its center. The paper felt thick, the edges crisp. I unrolled it partway, and lines spread across the surface in neat ink strokes. The local region sprawled there. I traced the outline of the desert I had crossed. I found a mark for this settlement. Beyond, the terrain shifted into rough mountains, steep ridges. Words inked in a tight script labeled it as Himalazia. The frontier of Ursh lay nearby, or at least so the legend suggested.

Master Mirror tapped the map. “Himalazia is where your path leads. Or so I suspect.”

I looked at him. His eyes shone with quiet amusement, as though he knew more than he let on. 

“Himalazia,” I repeated. “That’s near Ursh?”

“Close enough to smell their fires,” he said. “There’s something there you wish to find. Or someone.” 

He shrugged, smile never wavering.

I let my gaze drift back to the map. The lines were drawn with care, showing roads, ruins, and the hazards in between. The script included small notes about bandit tribes, radiation pockets, old bunkers. My finger paused on a ridge circled in red ink, labeled only as a site of caution. Another note mentioned a valley with defunct war machines. The journey would not be simple.

I glanced up. “How much do you want for this map?”

Master Mirror tilted his head. 

“Payment? Consider it a gift. You and I have crossed paths before, and we may cross them again.” He pressed his lips together as though stifling a laugh.

A creature like Master Mirror would never give away something for nothing. There was a greater game here. His presence always felt like a debt unpaid. I nodded. “Then I’ll accept.”

He patted the merchant’s shoulder, who stood there perplexed. Then he turned from the stall, beckoning me to follow. We moved a short distance into a quieter alley, where flickering lanterns cast shadows on the rough walls. He paused, meeting my gaze. 

“You’ve grown, haven’t you?” he said. “Your power flows beyond mere touch now.”

I said nothing, only waited for him to continue.

He pursed his lips. 

“These people will wake tomorrow feeling healthy, strong. Perhaps some will wonder why the lumps beneath their skin disappeared overnight. Some will suspect a miracle. Others will suspect foul play.” He folded his arms. “Be mindful,Perry. Good deeds shine bright. They draw attention.”

I flexed my fingers, recalling how I’d stretched out my healing to every corner of the settlement. 

“I won’t stay long,” I said.

He nodded, as though he expected that. 

“Ursh is close. They’re warlike, always shifting alliances. The God-King stands at their center, building power. You might encounter them on your way to Himalazia. I wonder,” he said, tapping a finger against his chin, “what you’ll do when you meet them?”

I glanced at the compass in my pocket, still pointing northeast, though I had not checked it in hours. 

“I’ll do what I must,” I replied. “But I have no interest in raising arms against fellow humans.”

Master Mirror gave a half-smile. 

“Always so certain. Well then.” He raised a hand in parting. “Until next time.”

He turned, and I blinked. The alley was empty. A faint trace of echo remained in the air, as though he’d never been there at all. Footsteps passed on the street beyond, but none belonged to him.