Marshal Law

By Adam D. Jones

An epic tale of three renegades trapped in a hopeless war, and an ancient secret that will change the world!

When an unjust war arrives on his doorstep, a retired gunslinger named Marshal decides it's time to fight again. Marshal vows to stop the Republic's war and joins up with a ragtag resistance group known as the Corsairs, but the rebellion is powerless against the Republic and their unstoppable sandships.

Marshal finds help from an unlikely pair: a woman named Dawn, a turncoat scientist willing to expose the Republic's secrets, and boy named Raine, a frontier youth who holds the secret to unlocking a powerful, ancient mystery.

But their efforts attract the attention of the Republic's fanatical leader, a shrouded figure known only as The Sovereign. As war looms over the frontier, Marshal, Dawn, and Raine make a desperate stand against the Sovereign and his wicked machines.

Fans of Stephen King's THE DARK TOWER series and Brandon Sanderson's ALLOY OF LAW will enjoy getting lost in this steampunk fantasy adventure.

"Fast-paced and extraordinary...an enthralling story with unforgettable characters." -Eric Warren, author of the Infinity's End series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam D. Jones
• Release date: Sep 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005557898

Adam D. Jones

Adam D. Jones is a fantasy author and published academic whose writing includes novels and anthologies, magazine articles, board games, and research on medieval studies. He lives in Texas where he spends time drinking coffee, listening to vinyl, and wrestling his cat.

Book preview

Marshal_Law_Cover.jpg

Marshal Law

Book 1

by Adam D. Jones

Copyright

Marshal Law (The Marshal Law series, Book One)

Copyright © 2024 by Adam D. Jones

Reproducing any part of this work without permission is not allowed.

www.AuthorAdamJones.com

Published by Archgate Press, Dallas, TX

Edited by Renea McKenzie

Artwork by Bethany Vaughan

Design by Ryan Swindoll

This is a work of fiction. Obviously. The characters portrayed are also fictional and are certainly being used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life events represents an impressive coincidence that should be reported at once.

Acknowledgments

I was lucky to have a family that encouraged me to write. In my childhood a household had one computer, and locking it down so I could practice writing was a lot to ask. No one ever complained.

I owe more than I can repay to the writers group on Archgate street, the first crew to see my fiction, and the reason this book even exists. I don’t deserve them.

Nick Laning might be the best photographer in the world, and I’m lucky he provided my wonderful author pictures. Ryan Swindoll put together the lovely edition of this book with his fine eye for design. And Renea McKenzie impresses me every time she takes out her red pen and whips my words into better shape.

Then there’s a group of people I met at DFWcon. You know who you are. I couldn’t do this without you.

More than anyone, I am indebted to my beloved, Christine, who makes everything possible.

Finally, I owe a debt to you, the reader, for taking this journey with me. I hope you enjoy Marshal Law.

Dedication

For Mom, Dad, and Ryan,

the best family I could have.

Prologue

Marshal trudged across the pier toward the looming ship and tried not to think about his orders. He uncrumpled the paper and scanned the neat handwriting again, praying he had misread something, but the words were as hopeless as before.

He stepped on the gangplank, hanging his head, when something along the boardwalk caught his eye. Marshal froze, one foot still planted behind him on the dock.

A woman made her way along the pale, wooden beams, looking out to the ocean with a smile warmer than either of the setting suns. She turned his way for a moment, glancing at Marshal with her coffee-colored eyes, before returning her gaze to the endless waves.

His thoughts returned to his orders, which promised to take him a long way from here. He wouldn’t be traveling on one of the Republic sandships, the steel behemoths that crossed the desert with their strange alchemical engines, but on a normal sea ship, the kind bursting with sails, rope, and rigging. The waiting ship bobbed up and down in the water, moving the gangplank in a beckoning pattern under the toe of Marshal’s boot while the woman on the boardwalk set down her travel bag and leaned against a post.

Sometimes, you have to take risks, came his father’s gruff voice.

Marshal stepped off of the gangplank, stealing a glance at the pair of officers waiting for him on deck. They still hadn’t noticed him, so Marshal made his way along the pier, then straightened his shirt as he headed toward the civilian side of the docks. He shoved the crumpled paper into a pocket and clasped his hands behind his back.

She turned toward him when he came near, tilting her head to take in his tall, stocky frame. Women did that sometimes. Marshal felt his stomach clench tighter with every step.

My name’s Marshal, he said, smiling just enough to look confident. It was a mystery to him how other men managed to talk to women so easily, but starting with his name seemed like a safe opening move.

She extended her hand and Marshal stared at it. During that long moment of hesitation, he felt his confidence abandon him, and he nearly turned back. Everyone always wants to shake hands.

Ah… He fiddled with both hands, still hidden behind his back.

I’ve already seen your hand, Mr. Marshal. She kept her hand out. I noticed it when you were nearly on that boat.

Ship, he corrected, regretting how arrogant it sounded. He reluctantly extended his right hand.

It didn’t hurt, not since he was a child, but he still hated to see the deep scars running from his fingers up to his elbow, because they always reminded him of the look on his mother’s face when he’d fallen in front of that wagon wheel. The bones had healed, thanks to the doc’s bucket of healing salve, but the deep cuts had hardened into scars. Marshal knew enough to be thankful he was in one piece, but just once he wanted to meet someone new without having to wave his ugly hand at them.

I’m Erianthe. She squeezed his hand in a greeting. You know, no one’s perfect, Mr. Marshal.

He already liked how she said his name.

What brings you to the sea? Marshal had heard of people starting conversations this way. He was prepared to bring up the weather if this failed. I may have a bad hand, but I’m gonna play every one of my cards.

Never been. She gestured toward the water. I’m from up north, where it’s all trees and grass. For five years, I worked, scrimped and hid away my coins, just so I could see this for myself.

They turned their attention to the ocean while Marshal frantically searched for something else to say. And what’s next? he finally asked.

I’m out of coins. Tomorrow I go back home. Maybe I’ll work and save some more. She sighed. Then see something new in another five years. Erianthe glanced at his right hand, and he realized he’d been trying to push it out of sight. Don’t be ashamed…not of that, anyway. Her eyes rested on the military insignia stitched onto his vest. Marshal…is that what people call you, or is it your rank?

He smiled. It’s both.

And you don’t mind? Isn’t it a little strange to be known as a military rank?

Why shouldn’t I be proud? No one from my village ever got to be an officer before. And I lead thirty men.

Her eyes grew sad. Do you work against the Lodi? Is it true you send them to camps and force them to work in the capital?

No! He blurted it out before he could think. Not me. I’m a man of— Marshal shut his mouth so quickly his teeth hurt. He set his jaw and turned away from her, tightly gripping the boardwalk rail.

You’re a stupid, stupid man, Marshal. And you’ve got a really big mouth. Only moments ago, Marshal had been desperate for something to say, and now he’d gone and said too much.

The woman inched closer, speaking low. I’ve heard whispers…that some soldiers secretly help the Lodi? Show them how to escape? Her eyebrows rose, waiting for his response.

Marshal huffed. If people in the northern cities knew that a few Republic officers were secretly helping the Lodi, then Marshal could assume everyone on the continent had heard. Just a matter of time before the Sovereign himself is knocking down my door to put me in chains.

I suppose someone might do that. Not anyone I know.

Of course not.

A smile danced in Erianthe’s eyes, telling Marshal his secret was safe. They stood next to one another and watched the waves, and Marshal felt the muscles in his shoulders relax while he listened to the sea. Only after spilling his secret to this woman did Marshal realize how much he’d been wanting to talk about it.

Erianthe, eyes closed, stood against the wooden rail and leaned into a growing gust of wind that spread her hair out in every direction. She glanced at Marshal through scattered locks and laughed at herself, and Marshal realized he was laughing along with her. Apparently, all I needed to do was stop talking.

Nearby, a captain leaned overboard and rang a bell to get everyone’s attention. North coast! North coast! Last call!

Isn’t that where you’re going? Marshal asked. You should’ve boarded already!

She turned her head toward the ship. The final passengers hurried to board while sailors untied the gangplank from the deck, preparing to take it up. I’ll have to find another job when I get home. And there’s no one waiting on me. But I don’t think I have a choice.

I know how you feel. Marshal thought about the military ship and its long shadow. So far, his missions against the Lodi had been simple, transferring prisoners or finding their hidden settlements, and with a little creative paperwork he’d always managed to help the Lodi get away.

But Marshal wouldn’t be in command this time. His job was delivering orders to a group of superior officers who would watch his every move while they led the crew. And, if the rumors were true, the crew was preparing to wipe a Lodi settlement off the map. All they needed was the coordinates.

Coordinates written on a scrap of paper in Marshal’s pocket.

Marshal clenched his fist, felt the scarred fingers pressing into each other while rage built up inside of him, and he promised himself his orders would never reach the ship, no matter what he had to do.

Not to mention, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life just daydreaming about this woman.

The cynical side of him wondered if Erianthe could be a spy, sent to root out a Lodi sympathizer, but he couldn’t make himself believe it. And the confident leaders of the Republic had never bothered with subtlety and espionage.

Marshal fished the note from his pocket and uncrumpled the paper, looking over it one last time. Erianthe, I don’t want to get on my boat either…and I’ve got enough coins to get us both somewhere else. Maybe somewhere neither of us have been. Her forehead gathered lines, and Marshal realized he’d been too forward. Nothing crazy. Just one trip. Somewhere close.

Just one trip… Her eyes wandered.

While she considered the idea, Marshal unshouldered his pack, set it down, and glanced behind him. No one on the Republic ship was looking his way. He unbuttoned his military vest and held it over the railing, and Erianthe’s eyes widened when he dropped it into the water. They both peered over in time to see an incoming wave grip the vest and drag it out to sea. Feeling a bit lighter, he wadded up the paper that held his orders and tossed it out to the next wave.

Marshal lifted his pack and slung it over his shoulder. Help you with your luggage?

Erianthe’s mouth had fallen open, but she regained her composure and picked up her travel bag by the wooden handle. With her free hand, she pointed a finger at Marshal. Just one trip, Mr. Marshal.

He shrugged. Just the one.

Turning their backs to the Republic ship, they strolled toward the civilian piers, where captains stood atop their high-rising decks to bellow out final destinations and boarding calls. Beyond them, the twin suns blended into the dawn, their pink outlines barely visible as they neared the horizon.

Won’t someone come looking for you?

Let ‘em look. Sometimes you have to take a risk.

My name is Marshal, he mused, and I am a man of peace.

1

Eight years later.

A dull light pushed through Marshal’s closed eyelids. He stirred and drifted back, knowing his peaceful desert town would still be waiting for him, even if he got a little more rest. Darkness returned, but with it came the memories that had fled to the edges of his mind; memories of Marshal, the commander of men; Marshal, the quick draw; and one more he didn’t like to think about.

Marshal, the deserter.

Marshal sat up and blinked away the old images, realizing he could hear someone walking on his porch.

They knocked, quiet but insistent, like they were afraid to wake anyone up. Marshal sat the edge of the bed and yawned, certain his girls would come and get him rather than answer the door themselves. He had raised smart girls.

A soft hand brushed the small of his back. Looks like someone in Whitesand is in trouble, Mr. Marshal. Erianthe’s smile was barely visible in the dim room.

How long have you been awake?

I was watching you sleep. She drew up the covers and yawned. It’s tiring work.

A hasty knock at the bedroom door was followed by the voice of their youngest, Cora. Daddy!

I know. I know. He reached for a pair of pants. Can you tell who it is?

Cora peeped through the window, but I told her not to, came the voice of Agna, the older sister.

But I knew Daddy would want to know. Besides, it’s just Keld.

Go to your rooms, girls. Marshal bent to give his wife a kiss on the forehead. He felt a twinge of jealously watching her settle into sleep.

But we’re supposed to meet with the other girls at—

You heard Daddy!

Rooms, Marshal repeated, and he heard them scamper down the hallway.

Marshal left his bedroom and walked through the kitchen, buttoning his shirt as he went. Only after the top button was done, and he’d tucked in his shirt, did Marshal open the front door. Keld’s waited long enough.

Marshal!

The middle-aged man took a big step inside, but Marshal halted him with a hand to his chest. Wife’s sleepin’, he whispered.

Keld looked down at Marshal’s big hand and then back up at Marshal with wide eyes. Sorry, he whispered back. Just in a hurry. Can I come in?

Come on. Marshal led him into the kitchen. Have a seat. Just keep quiet, that’s all.

Keld sat down at the kitchen table, holding his hat in both hands.

Marshal uncorked a tall bottle and poured water into a glass. Thirsty? He offered the glass and Keld reached out for it.

As always, Marshal found himself distracted by the man’s arms. The spots, almost like freckles, started at his wrists and ran up each arm.

Marshal had known Whitesand would mostly be a Lodi town when he and Erianthe had agreed to join these settlers, before the girls were even born. With the other families they built a new town near a blue spring, a place far from the Republic, where game was easy to hunt and wells were easy to dig. It sounded like the adventure they had waited for, and the presence of the Lodi made it even more exotic. But the other Republic families had moved on after seeing how difficult the frontier could be, leaving Marshal and his family the only non-Lodi people in Whitesand.

And after all these years, Marshal still couldn’t stop staring at the spots that appeared all over a Lodi’s arms and legs. His wife said she didn’t even notice anymore, and the girls were still too young to care about those sorts of things.

Well, everyone here still stares at my ugly hand, so I guess that makes us even.

Marshal poured himself a glass and sat down. What’s got you spooked this morning?

Keld drained his entire glass of water all at once, and then put down the glass and straightened his spectacles. Someone’s comin’.

Marshal took a sip and pondered. We get visitors from time to time. Trading caravan?

Keld shook his head. A man. Rion seen him last night. Just before it got dark, Rion pointed his telescope west and saw a man on the horizon walking this way. Just a dot in the distance, he was so far off. This morning, Rion says he looked again, and now that man’s nearly here! Must have walked all night to get so close.

Anyone gone out to meet him?

No, sir. We were hoping our law officer would do that.

Law officer. It always made Marshal smirk. He enforced whatever he thought seemed fair, and the kind folk in Whitesand always went along with it. Marshal had never even seen a law book before. You know no one could walk all night like that. It’s not possible to get here on foot anyway. Too far. Marshal leaned back to think and noticed two little pairs of brown eyes watching from the hallway. It’s alright girls. Come on out. You know Keld.

Keld smiled at Agna and Cora as they stepped into the kitchen. Sandi and the other girls are waiting on you two at the big town well.

Marshal gave his daughters a nod and they ran out the door. You don’t see that in the capital. He watched the door close behind them.

Girls don’t play games in the city?

Of course they do. Marshal’s face fell. "But in Gamon…they play with people on their street. People who look like them. I’m sorry. Probably not making sense."

I understand you perfectly. My little Sandi wouldn’t have any playmates who weren’t Lodi if your girls weren’t here. Course, our kids don’t even know how different they are for playing together.

Marshal raised his glass in approval and then drank the last drop. Can you get a hunting party together, like when we go after game?

You think we’re in that much trouble?

No. Just being careful. We’ll greet this new visitor together.

Keld rose and put on his hat. I’ll get some men together and bring ‘em back. As he left, he carefully closed the door behind him without letting it make a sound.

Much obliged. Marshal looked down at the table, wondering why anyone would walk all the way to Whitesand, exactly in the middle of nowhere.

That’s no ordinary man out there, Keld. Marshal hung his head. Almighty, prove me wrong, but I think the world is about to invade our little paradise.

Marshal realized his hands were shaking.

Marshal used a little bronze key to unlock the narrow closet at the end of the hallway. Inside he saw his work vest, which held his long knife, and next to it hung a leather belt with a holster. Even though he spent most of his workdays walking around town and smiling at folks, or keeping an eye on the rare visitor, wearing something akin to a uniform made him look the part of the town lawman.

He strapped on the gun belt, then reached further in and found the cool wooden handle of his wheel-lock pistol. He could have left it in his closet every day, buried it, or tossed down his well, and it would have all been the same to him. But Erianthe felt better when he wore it to do his duty, and so did everyone else.

Marshal lifted his old weapon and took a moment to watch the light dance on the silver inlays that wove their way around the rosewood stock. It was as ornamental as anything else, a gift to the officers who served the Republic so their military leaders would look more impressive. Marshal had found it to be a reliable weapon, but it was less accurate than a crossbow and made enough noise to deafen an entire regiment.

With a grimace, he shoved the piece into its leather holster and went back into the bedroom to kiss his sleeping wife one more time.

When Marshal stepped outside he saw Keld bringing the other men over. Two men and a young boy, maybe fifteen. Pushing his way through them came a stout man with a medal pinned to his vest: Mayor Sloane.

Have you got your gun, Marshal? Sloane barked.

Marshal put a finger to his lips. My wife is still asleep.

Sloane replied with a scowl.

Dumb question, anyway. Marshal pointed at the wheel-lock pistol jutting out of his gun belt. It’s in plain sight.

I don’t plan to use it, Mayor.

You may have to, Sloane insisted. Something’s not right about this. How does someone walk that far?

Maybe there’s a sandship hidin’ nearby? offered the youth.

Sandship! Keld spouted. Could be a hundred men on a sandship!

They all began talking, louder and louder and at the same time, until Marshal raised his hands and cleared his throat.

I told you. He gave each of them a hard stare, one by one. My wife is asleep.

Keld spoke in a whisper nearly as loud as his regular voice. Do you think it’s a sandship?

No. I think it’s a man. Even though I haven’t seen him yet. And, for the record, a standard Republic sandship holds eight cots below deck, and they don’t put more than twenty-four people on board for long trips. That way there’s three shifts, gettin’ eight hours of sleep each. Now, where’s Rion?

On his way, said Keld. Got halfway here and realized he’d left the telescope behind.

Here he comes, said Sloane.

Tall and lanky, Rion, the town alchemist, ran toward them with his telescope in hand, nearly slipping on the sand. He waved his free hand and pointed behind him.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

I think, said Marshal, Rion believes he is being sneaky.

Rion made it to the others and fell forward, breathing heavy and leaning on Marshal. …moved…he moved…

Keld grabbed the telescope and pointed it westward. You showed him to me yesterday. Keld squinted and peered into the eye hole. He was…over…

Not anymore, gasped Rion, still leaning on Marshal. I think he saw us lookin’ at him. After you ran to get Marshal, he started walking a wide circle around the town, like he’s getting’ a good look at us from different sides.

Marshal leaned Rion up on his own two feet. Rion, where is he now?

That way. Rion pointed back from the way he had come, across town. And gettin’ closer.

"Fine. We’ll head over there. Calmly."

Marshal led them across Whitesand, past everyone’s wooden houses and through the circular courtyard where the town’s biggest well sat in the middle of the settlement. The stones lining the top bore the names of the settling families, each name etched in deep letters. Behind Keld’s house, Marshal saw his girls playing games with Keld’s daughter and a few other children.

When they had walked past the last house, Rion pointed over Marshal’s shoulder. There.

The men took turns with the telescope while Marshal stared at the lone figure striding toward them, walking evenly over the top of a sand dune. Rion handed over his telescope and Marshal pointed it at the interloper.

He wasn’t dressed like a soldier, but like any man walking around town on his day off. He strode easily, his face a neutral as any Marshal had seen. The sand had a way of hiding footprints, but if he had been walking all night, like Rion said, he wasn’t showing any sign of fatigue. His clothes, on the other hand, certainly did. The cuffs of his brown pants were fraying, and his dirt-stained sleeves ended in ragged tears.

Marshal fixed his eyes on the man’s face. A shadow of fear had grown in him since Keld first described this visitor, and now, after seeing this stranger’s face, that fear grew into something that converted Marshal into a praying man.

Please. Please—I