James Axler – Way of the Wolf

“What about you, One-Eye?” Liberty demanded. “You got a name?”

“Is it important?” Ryan asked. “Man you’re going to be dealing with is standing there in front of you.”

Several of the gang turned to look at their leader. Liberty kept the rifle draped across his thighs. His thin smile remained in place. “Like to know who I’m dealing with.”

“This is Doc Tanner,” Ryan said, nodding at Doc. “He’s the man you’re dealing with.”

Liberty turned his attention to Doc. “Who’s your friend, Doc?”

“My boon companion,” he replied easily. “A man I’d travel the river with, no matter where it took me or how treacherous it became.”

“He got a name?”

“Indeed he does. There are some who call him Noman.”

“Noman?” someone repeated. “What the fuck kinda name is that?”

“A proud one, sir, with a long lineage. In histories past, even long before skydark set in and swept the old world away with nuclear winter and cataclysmic contortions of the earth, Noman was renowned as a giant-killer.”

“A giant-killer?” a gang member asked. “Seen some bastard big muties, but none I’d rightly call a giant.”

“In those days,” Doc said in a voice measured for drama, “giants roamed the earth.”

“He’s talking about The Odyssey,” the dwarf said. He craned his head and looked back over his shoulder at Liberty. “It’s from an old book that was ancient like he said. Man in there was named Odysseus. Had a big war, then he was trying to get home, only he kept having these adventures that kept getting in the way. Odysseus used the name Noman to kill a giant without the other giants knowing he was there.”

“Ah,” Doc said in obvious delight, gazing at the little man. “Someone who knows literature.”

“I was a teacher,” the dwarf stated with a trace of pride.

“You’ve fallen on hard times, my friend,” Doc said sympathetically.

“He’s alive,” Liberty replied in a harsh voice, “and he’s got a job. A lot of men can’t say that. Ain’t that right, Albert?”

The dwarf gave a short nod, clearly not happy about his present situation.

Ryan’s attention centered on Philox. At the end of the band, a third man fell in beside him. Ryan reached up and touched the corner of his eye patch, as if he were scratching a small itch. The prearranged signal would alert Jak Lauren and send the albino teen into motion. Evidently Liberty had done some thinking about his overconfidence in riding up to face the two lone men in the forest.

“Now, let’s talk about what you got,” Liberty said, “and what you want for it.”

Doc grabbed the lapels of his frock coat, the sword stick casually tucked up under his left arm. He put on a smile and an appearance of merriment. Ryan had long ago decided Doc was a born huckster. With the love of words and all the tangled histories that threaded through Doc’s mind, J.B. was certain the man could talk a cannibalistic stickie nine days from its last lunch out of its next meal. Sometimes mat-trans jumps left the old man’s brain addled for days, but the effects of the previous day’s jump had already left his system.

The line of men moved around, coming naturally into a half moon in front of the woolen blanket. The move also developed a scrimmage line of sorts.

Ryan noted with satisfaction that the men lined up much in the positions that he’d planned for. He maintained his ground.

Albert, the dwarf, shook out his traces and clucked the horses to pull the wag in closer to inspect Doc’s wares. The wooden wheels rolled smoothly over the ground. Liberty maintained his seat in the back of the convertible, the long blaster resting easily across his knees. He pinned Ryan with his gaze. “What about you, One-Eye? You gonna take a look, too?”

“I’ve already seen it,” Ryan replied.

“I guess it must have took you twice as long as most people.”

Ryan remained silent.

“I get the feeling you don’t exactly trust me,” the man said.

“Like a good hunting knife, trust cuts both ways,” Ryan replied. It was a saying the Trader had often used. He looked past the sec chief, but he could no longer see Philox or the men who rode with him.