Bloodrush (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 1) by Ben Galley Page B

had to offer, there was always something new, something different. He felt as though he had seen several kingdoms, not just the one.
    In New York, he had seen towering spires the like of which even London could not boast, overlooking a bay of mud and old warships. In Pittsburgh, he had seen wild forests, darker than the woods of home. So dark they appeared, he couldn’t fathom how far they must have stretched. In Chicago, he had heard an ocean called a lake, and seen a city so sprawling and stubborn, he wondered whether it would ever end. On the way to Cheyenne, he had rumbled across prairies and grasslands, fenced only by the distant shadows of rolling mountains and the first fingers of desert. Yet still, he hadn’t seen it all.
    At first, Wyoming didn’t seem all that bad. Chugging through the dawn-lit hills outside Cheyenne, Merion had been pleasantly surprised by the amount of green. Sure, there were no forests or trees, nor very many rivers, for that matter, but there were shrubs on the ground, and that’s all that mattered. He had heard no more talk of danger or of keeping his skin on above the thundering of the wheels. He even went as far as to enjoy the hot morning sun coming through the dusty window, far hotter than anything he had ever experienced at home. His skin prickled under its rays.
    It was then it all started to change—the moment he reached Cheyenne.
    It was a small city, compared to Chicago and New York. In fact, it was actually more of a town. But Merion kept that to himself, in case he accidentally offended anyone. He alone stayed on the platform as the locomotive was pulled away to make room for the next. For a while, he wondered if he would have the carriage to himself, but as he stood there sweating in the hot sun, his fellow passengers began to arrive, one by one.
    The first didn’t give Merion any real cause for concern. Neither did the second. However, by the third, Merion was starting to notice a pattern, and it was a pattern that began to make him rather nervous indeed.
    No women. He noticed that first. The passengers lining up alongside him were all men. And, to Merion’s delight, they were the sort of men that looked very fond of dark doorways and sharp implements. That much was evident from the things attached or hanging from their bullet-studded belts. Guns and knives and other such tools built for bodily harm.
    Their hats were dark and low, and their clothes dusty and ragged. Some wore dungarees, others riding gear. All of them wore heavy, thudding boots. It made Merion cast a self-conscious eye over his own choice of footwear. Comfortable leather shoes with their laces tied in almost-perfect bows. They even had a velvet lining. Merion wiggled his feet to remind himself.
    I am either going to be the height of fashion, or the court jester, Merion told himself. Only time would tell which.
    Merion kept his eyes low and his mouth shut. Instead he bathed in the rough grumblings of the men around him. He could not hear much, but what he heard both confused and swiftly demolished that slight shred of hope he and Rhin had savoured before Cheyenne. In truth, their words terrified him.
    ‘Sullyvan’s got all the men sleeping together at night …’
    ‘Well, what in Maker’s name is that gonna do, huh?’
    ‘Just makes us a bigger target, is all.’
    ‘Makes us a buffet.’
    ‘Digger’s right. Ain’t nothing to be done, ‘cept build us somethin’ solid. Quarters. Barracks. Anything.’
    ‘Pah! Only guards get quarters. They’re the ones watching over our hides all the live-long day.’
    ‘And we’re the ones bending our backs all day, putting iron in the ground.’
    ‘Heard Yule got bit last week?’
    ‘ Bit? Man got ripped in half!’
    ‘Down the middle.’
    ‘Wife only knew him ‘cause of a mole he had on his right cheek.’
    And so their hushed conversations went. Some of them must have noticed him, after a spell, but it did not make them speak any quieter.
    ‘No good