Errant, Volume Three: Errant, #3

By L. K. Fleet, K. R. Collins, Felicia Davin and Valentine Wheeler

Forced into exile by Aspen's past, Aspen and Charm have grown closer, but they can't count on a future together until Aspen confronts the Hanging Scale. Her enemies will never leave her in peace.

 

To survive, Aspen and Charm will need both fighting prowess and trickery, and still it might not be enough. Vanquishing the Scale will require them to rely on the friends they've made in their travels, and most of all, to trust each other.

 

If they can take down an organization of violent mercenaries, then they'll face their most difficult challenge yet—figuring out how to make a life together.

 

Errant, Volume Three is a single sapphic fantasy novella of approximately 27,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Etymon Press
• Release date: Apr 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201341398

Book preview

1

The late spring rains weren’t enough to wash away the smell of piss in Ainbridge, and honestly if they had been, Charm would have hiked up her skirts and peed on the cobblestones herself. It was only right that this miserable city smell exactly as awful as it was.

Technically, Aspen had been breaking the law by wearing trousers since they’d crossed the border into Rispland, but until today, they’d been traveling through the woods. Here in the capital, people pointed or glared or averted their eyes, but the sword on her back kept anyone from trying to enforce the law where she was concerned.

Naturally, the sword was also illegal.

Holding Aspen’s hand would be illegal, too, and Charm was tempted to try it. It was only half contrariness—touching Aspen was what she wanted all the time, even now that she was permitted. Every night of their journey, they’d combined their bedrolls and slept tucked close to each other, and Charm still hadn’t had her fill.

Charm could admit to a contrary streak, though. She preferred dresses, and had changed into one as soon as they’d dismounted near Ainbridge’s southwestern gate, but knowing Rispland forbade women to wear trousers in public made her want to haul on a pair and parade through the streets.

Trousers would make it easier to keep up with Aspen’s pace. Charm grabbed handfuls of fabric to keep the hem of her skirt from dragging on the ground and picked her way through the crammed, uneven streets. She couldn’t blame Aspen for wanting to rush through. Charm hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place.

They were going to meet Aspen’s friend and former sister-in-arms Strength Dyer Lark. Aspen seemed to know where she was going—she’d mentioned working a few odd jobs in Rispland in years past, so the dark grey stone buildings and clogged street drains must be familiar—so Charm focused on not losing track of her among the hurried, oddly silent residents.

Not that it would have been possible. Aspen stood out, fierce and defiant. She didn’t even mean to make a statement. But even if she’d changed into a dull blue dress, as Charm had, and put away her sword and the myriad other weapons she carried, there was no disguising the power and threat in her stride.

Stooped, thin, elderly folks sweeping the steps paused to gape. Children wrestling in the streets stopped to whisper. Beggars shaking their dishes of coins went silent. There were a few louder comments, scoldings and insults, but the words were like badly aimed arrows. Aspen walked through them untouched.

As they passed into a different district, storehouses and alleys near the river docks, the remarks tapered off. The staring became less open and more furtive.

Charm couldn’t see the water of the Ain, only smell it, an earthier stink than the more crowded thoroughfares of Ainbridge. If they were on the roof of one of the city’s imposing stone structures, Charm would be able to see clear across to the wooded hills of Falland on the far side. Instead they were in this maze of looming, windowless buildings. There were no more cobblestones. The wet ground sucked at Charm’s slippers.

She gripped Ruby’s reins tighter and stuck close to Aspen. Charm was no stranger to thieves, being one herself, but she prided herself on the subtlety of picking pockets. Her victims never feared her because they never knew. Cornering someone in the shadows and taking their possessions at knifepoint was so vulgar.

They’d arrived in the afternoon and now evening was stretching the shadows longer. Among all these storehouses, there were quite a lot of dark little nooks to get attacked in. The few people that lingered here didn’t seem like they’d lend a hand.

Aspen wasn’t hurrying through this neighborhood. She’d relaxed.

Here, she said, pressing Mouse’s reins into Charm’s grip.

Both horses could hold their own in a fight, but being flanked by Mouse and Ruby set Charm further on edge. If Aspen wanted her hands free, she expected trouble.

Tempting the gods, Aspen turned them down an even more obscure path. Like all suspect alleyways, this one was damp and poorly lit, with empty crates and discarded produce scattered along the tall stone and timber walls. Some of the crates had been out here long enough for the wood to soften and rot through.

Charm wrinkled her nose and stepped over some shards of broken glass. You take me to the nicest places, she muttered.

Aspen laughed, light and easy, as if they weren’t in an unfriendly city in an unfriendly country, and in a dark alley to boot. I didn’t choose the meeting spot.

Charm tried to imagine what Strength might be like, based on her chosen dank alley.

Then a figure jumped out of the darkness and landed on Aspen’s back.

Charm didn’t understand until after it happened, so her scream came a beat too late to be useful. Aspen had already shaken off her attacker and drawn her sword. Charm backed against the stack of crates, heart in her throat, keeping the horses away from the fight. She hoped no one else was crouching up there ready to jump down.

Metal clanged as Aspen’s blade met the attacker’s. Charm could only see their back, but their build wasn’t too different from Aspen’s. Same height, a little thinner, wearing all black with a scarf wrapped around their head.

Unfortunately for Aspen, they seemed equally skilled with a sword.

Charm only knew theatrical swordplay, meant to make the audience gasp or cheer. This was faster and closer and involved a lot more stabbing motions. No dull, safe tips on the weapons, either.

It was hard to tell if anyone was winning.

Charm was reasonably certain Aspen hadn’t been stabbed yet. She would have made a noise, probably.

Last time Charm had found Aspen fighting someone in an alley and tried to help by throwing a rock, Aspen had been frustrated with her. Still, it was never a bad idea to have a rock in hand. From the smell of it, this alley was more likely to contain slimy old cabbage than anything that could crack a skull, but Charm examined the ground by her feet.

The scrape of metal on metal rang out. Aspen and her attacker were intertwined, the guards on their swords colliding.

The attacker tossed their sword to the ground.

Before Charm could blink, Aspen had done the same. Her precious sword, right down in the mud.

The attacker launched a kick at Aspen. Aspen dodged and returned an attack of her own, feet and fists flying. Her opponent whirled out of the way, then came back for more.

Aspen laughed.

Holy Esmuste. They weren’t really fighting. The attacker was Strength.

Or rather, they were really fighting, they just weren’t trying to hurt each other. The hand-to-hand combat went on for quite some time. With some study, Charm could see it: they didn’t pull their punches, but they never went for anything particularly painful or lethal, either. The Traveling Harstead Players didn’t choreograph fights this long. This one wasn’t telling any story except "these two very annoying women love to hit each other."

You could have told me it was for fun, Charm called.

Neither of them answered her.

Can you believe this? Charm asked Mouse and Ruby. The horses kept their own counsel.

Aspen knocked Strength to the ground and pulled the scarf from her face, which renewed Charm’s interest in the fight. Were all Aspen’s former Hanging Scale compatriots unfairly fucking gorgeous?

No, all the bad ones had been normal-looking. Aspen just had really good taste in friends.

Strength’s complexion wasn’t quite as pale as Aspen’s, but it was lighter and more golden than Charm’s brown skin. Her straight black hair was cut short, angled toward her chin. If her mouth looked that good twisted in a snarl, she was probably knee-weakening when she smiled.

She was tall, too, and strong enough to hold her own against Aspen in a fight.

Charm hoped Strength was just a friend. Aspen’s friend Ayzeh had turned out