I readied myself to act and readied myself for death, no matter how unsavory of a thought that was. I was only a few days into my journey, and I was so far from finding my brother and getting some answers from him, but these were the Badlands. You always had to be on your toes, always knew that death was potentially right around the corner.

  In this case, there was no corner. Death was staring me square in the face, and it was a stare I couldn’t meet eye to eye. But I would prepare for it, and I would face it, and I would fight.

  “Okay, you big ugly bastard, let’s tango,” I said and took a step forward, prepared to do the craziest thing I’d ever done.

  But before I could do anything, the drunk man suddenly walked between the two of us, silent and steady. I wanted to pull him back, to warn him, but the words failed me. They didn’t leave my throat. They failed Nell too. We were just too flabbergasted to even move.

  All we could do was watch as he approached the Fosvellin with his axe still dragging along the ground, carving a shallow trough into the dirt. It made a grating noise as it met bits of rock and gravel that were buried in the soil, but the man didn’t care. The monster did. The sounds made it easy for the beast to pinpoint him, and those terrible eyes snapped to the approaching man.

  It gave a horrible growl that made my skin crawl. And then it spoke.

  I knew some monsters had the capacity for speech. Goblins, certain troll variants, and a few others, but I’d never heard one speak. Now, granted, whatever the heck the beast said was not in any tongue spoken in the Badlands or beyond. It sounded vaguely like the magical language that Master Elloy and other cardsmiths used in their creation process, but it was hard to tell. The Fosvellin’s voice was so guttural and wet, it was near impossible to make out any distinct sounds. But whatever the words and their meaning, it sounded awful. It sounded much worse than if it had just been a mindless beast that growled.

  None of this seemed to bother the man, either because he was too drunk to care or notice or because he was simply too brave. Me? I felt like a coward. I was rooted in place, my legs frozen and unwilling to move, when only a moment ago, I’d been filled with insane courage intending to keep Nell and this man safe. Now that it was out of my hands, my fear of the behemoth rushed back.

  Sputtering loud gibberish, the Fosvellin glared at the man as he approached. The man didn’t waiver, his stride slow but determined, and he was undeniably insane. I could only watch as the creature got angrier and angrier until the man was so close, just about in striking range of the beast’s monstrous fists.

  That was when the Fosvellin roared, an ear-splitting sound that sent phlegm and chunks of rotten meat from its mouth. And then it raised both of its bulky arms over its head, hands joined together to form a deadly club.

  Only then did my legs work, and my voice returned to me. “Look out!” I cried. And I took one speed-enhanced step forward.

  The man flicked his arm up. His axe lashed out with a movement I could hardly register with my two perfectly good eyeballs. My breath and warning cry got caught in my throat, stopped in shock.

  The axe crackled with lightning, and when he struck, it was like a clap of thunder. My bones trembled in my skin, and I felt the ground quake beneath me. But it was the charge of magic in the air that made me feel a sense of fear and excitement that I hadn’t known in years.

  The gigantic monster was split in two with one swipe.

  That was an Elemental attack! Elemental magic!

  I knew that meant it had to be an [Epic] card at the least, maybe even a [Legendary] one! Of course, the man remained covered up, not revealing his tattoos.

  But the power was undeniable. Though I’d never seen anyone with such an incredible card, everyone from the farthest corners of the Badlands to the cozy easties in their cities and everyone in between and everyone beyond knew about [Epic] and [Legendary] cards. Cards with such skill and power that you could meet the threat of any monster. If you had a couple of [Legendary] cards, you could likely take on a whole Fissure’s worth of monsters and survive, or at the very least, put up a glorious one-man stand.

  They were cards of immense magic, of flame and lightning and ice and earth, of the arcane and the perverse. Cards so profound and powerful that I hardly had the vocabulary to articulate. Cards that tickled the imagination and delighted with their wonder and destruction.

  And here I was, not three whole days removed from Parroia, and seeing one in action close up.

  “Holy crap,” Nell whispered in awe. Her scythe fell to the ground, and only the handle still clung loosely in her fingers, though she seemed poised to drop it fully in shock.

  I couldn’t say my reaction was any different. My bludgel suddenly felt too heavy and clumsy, so useless in my grip, as if there wasn’t a single thing worth doing next to what I’d just seen. The logical part of my mind knew that was nonsense, but my heart was in control at the moment.

  With strength and ease, the man lifted the axe over his head and onto his shoulders. His drunken movements had vanished so quickly that I wondered if he had been drunk at all.

  No, he definitely had been. The air had reeked of booze when I helped him up. But maybe even drunk, he wasn’t an incompetent old man.

  Then why scream at the Cactimites? I might have been able to take them on alone, and I was a fresh babe to the Badlands by all accounts. Maybe he’d been faking it? Or maybe he had a phobia of cacti? If that was the case, then I guessed he’d had a rough go of the Badlands since there were cacti everywhere. But then again, maybe it was as simple as a drunk man’s drink-addled brain doing dumb things.

  In any case, this man was not in need of rescuing. Not any longer. I certainly didn’t feel the need to escort him back to wherever the hell he’d come from.

  Nell gasped beside me, and my mind slipped back into clarity. It was obvious what she was reacting to. Light glowed from the corpse of the monster. From the core of the Fosvellin rose an orange card fragment. An [Epic] grade fragment!

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  I’d never seen one before. Even with all the times I’d been around the cardsmithy and the Card Trader in Parroia, the highest-level card I’d ever seen was a Rare. It was possible—nay, probable—that they dealt in higher-level cards, but they weren’t working on or selling those cards around me.

  I was in awe.

  He casually leaned forward into the eviscerated mess of the Fosvellin and plucked the fragment from within. He gave it a cursory glance, as if it didn’t matter, as if that one fragment wasn’t worth damn near a thousand gold or more, and placed it in a pouch on his hip beneath his cloak. In that one moment, I caught a glimpse of fine leather boots studded with silver, dark trousers strapped with knives and potions, and two short swords on each hip that had been skillfully hidden beneath his ratty cloak.

  Just who the hell is this guy?

  No sooner had he pocketed the fragment than he did a swoon and collapsed. Then he laughed. Again, I was struck by how genuine and joyful that sound was. It made me think that this was a good man, and to be honest, there was no reason to think otherwise. Sure, he was drunk, but that didn’t necessarily make him a drunkard. Maybe it was a special occasion. Who the heck knew?

  Nell and I both sheathed our weapons. Fosvellins were highly territorial, from what I remembered reading in a bestiary, so I didn’t think there’d be another.

  The man picked himself up, abandoning his axe again, and stumbled over to a large clump of stalks and cacti. He fetched something off the ground so fast, I couldn’t make it out before he dropped again. The man slumped against the felled stalk, a drink in hand, the dirty green bottle half filled with sloshing liquid. He pulled his bandana down, brought the bottle to his lips, and downed more of it.

  Ah, more booze. Maybe he was a drunkard after all. But a legendary one, in more ways than one. I hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, but it was clear it was riddled with scars. I thought I saw more of a flash of teeth and bone than I ought to have, but I wasn’t sure. Before I could ask or look, he raised the bandana again to his nose.

  I stood before him, arms crossed. “You sure are something else, old man.”

  He raised the drink to me in salute.

  Nell joined me, now scowling. “We could at least get a thank you.”

  That got his attention. Even with a heavy shadow falling across his face from the cloak, his eyes blazed brightly as they stared right back at us. It was a challenging look, one meant to make us act nicer to him, but it wouldn’t work on Nell. Maybe me, but not her. She had no patience for drunkards.

  “Apologies,” he said. “Thank you for the assistance.”

  “I don’t think he owes us that, given what he just did,” I said. Nell glared at me.

  “No, fair is fair. You helped me, and I helped you.”

  His slurring voice was gone. His shifting between sober clarity and drunken incompetence was exhausting.

  I tipped my cap to him. “And thanks for killing that thing. We, uh, well, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. Aside from hauling tail outta here.”

  “No problem, kid,” he said, pulling his bandana down to take another long sip. Then he wiped his mouth and put the bandana up. He climbed to his feet, groaning as he did so, though I wondered if that was just the old bones and muscles protesting. Again, I didn’t think he was injured in any way.

  Nell remained indignant. She glared at him, arms crossed, looking like she wanted to do anything but thank him. And she didn’t. “Who are you, anyway?”

  The man belched, his bandana fluttering with the force of it. Thankfully, it stifled the smell. Most of it, anyway.

  “You can call me Cobb.”

  “You a hunter?” she asked.

  He stooped over and scooped up his axe. “You could say that, missy. I fly on the wind, going where it blows me and dealing with the trouble when I find it.”

  “And yet, you couldn’t handle the Cactimites.”

  It was more than obvious that he could’ve. Nell knew this, of course, but she was still sulking. That said, maybe the Fosvellin had sobered the man—Cobb—up quickly. It wasn’t like Cactimites were without danger. Anyone could mess up, even someone with such advanced cards.

  He shrugged. “I thought they were large spiders. Sorry, the booze makes the mind see things sometimes.”

  “Well, I’ve never heard of you,” Nell retorted.

  “It’s not like I’m a criminal, Miss. Why would you have?”

  Nell had a point though. Plenty of bounty hunters, human or monster, were famous, especially those strong enough to have an Elemental card like Cobb had. Unless he bought it or stole it, but I didn’t think it was bought, given his state of dress, and I didn’t think he stole it. Though that guess came more from the vibe he gave me. A thief would have been better served selling it.

  Cobb laughed and shook his head. He pushed his hood back and allowed his face to bask in the sunlight, aside from his mouth. His eyes were dark brown, warm, inviting, and kind. His hair was also brown, but as the sunlight hit it, gave off a fiery glow. One ear poked out of the mess of brown curls, and a chunk was missing. Most of the lobe, in fact. There were smaller scars that made a tapestry of his face. One across his nose and two jagged divots above his left eye that ran into his hair, cleaving a small gouge into the hairline. He had bags under his eyes, some wrinkles, and some thick laugh lines, all signs of an age-worn face and a life well lived.

  And there was something so tremendously familiar about him. I was sure I didn’t know him. I would have remembered a man with burn scars on his mouth who had to cover them with a bandana. I’d never seen wanted posters of him, and I didn’t recognize his name. But those eyes, that voice, that laugh—it all tickled something inside me.

  But what?

  I was about to ask, but then Cobb waved at us. “Well, thanks for the help, kids. You be safe out here. It’s dangerous.”

  He started walking toward a gap in the stalks, but I couldn’t let him off that easy. “Wait!” I cried. That did the trick. Cobb paused and cast a look at me, raising an eyebrow. I cleared my throat and continued. “Do you know anything about a hunter named Gareth Gunnar? He looks like me but taller. His hair’s a bit darker.”

  “And do you know anything about Valentine Dupre? The Butcher of Azalea?” Nell asked, probably realizing, like me, that this man was well traveled and could go to dangerous places that we likely couldn’t as yet.

  Cobb scratched his head and looked between us. “Can’t say I know anything about the Butcher, young lady, though I’ve heard of him and that incident. Nasty business, that. As for Gunnar . . .” His eyebrows lifted in a way that could have meant a million things or nothing at all. “It does ring a bell, but not sure.”

  I deflated, but maybe it would bear fruit eventually. “He’s my brother. I’m heading to Mushyon Ridge to try and find a clue on how to follow his tracks. Maybe I can buy you a drink, and you might jog your memory?”

  The mention of my brother and of Mushyon gave him a small gleam in his eyes. Or maybe I was just hoping there was. He stroked his bandannaed chin. “Mushyon and I have a lot of history. As much as I’d love a drink, I’m afraid the wind blows me elsewhere, kid.”

  My shoulders sagged. Now I really felt defeated. “Okay, thanks anyway, Mr. Cobb.”

  “Yeah, thanks for nothing . . .” Nell muttered softly, but still loud enough that Cobb heard. He raised an eyebrow then laughed fully and loudly.

  “I like you two. Thanks again for your help. Tell ya what. If you’re ever in Claw Junction, look me up. I got a place there, and I pass through a bunch. You can get me that drink, and maybe I’ll have a proper reward for you.”

  I frowned. Me and Nell shared a glance. What the hell could he mean by reward? It could be that he did know about Gareth but didn’t think I was ready to know. Or that he didn’t think I was strong enough. But perhaps the reward was much more literal. A stronger card or fragment? It was possible. And either way, it was something to aim for if Mushyon Ridge turned out to be a dead end.

  So, I nodded. “Alright. I might take you up on that, old man.”

  “Glad to hear it. You two watch yourselves. And as a professional courtesy, if you see anyone with a brand or tattoo of downward-facing scissors, do not trust them.”

  Nell and I glanced at each other again. She shrugged, not knowing a thing about it.

  “Uh, thanks, Mr. Cobb.”

  He nodded. “See you around.”

  He disappeared into the corn, leaving carnage, awe, and questions in his wake. Too many questions but some hope of answers. Nell and I stood there for a while, neither of us speaking a word as the hot dry air blew through the corn.

  “What the hell?” Nell said at last.

  What the hell, indeed.