Fourth Point of Contact (Legends of Lobe den Herren Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  FOURTH POINT OF CONTACT

  The Warden and the General Book One

  A Legends of Lobe Den Herren Novel

  PRINTING HISTORY

  October 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by AJ Sherwood

  Cover by Katie Griffin

  Image "Kiss. Love and romance. Two beautiful men." by VladOrlov/Shutterstock

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Purchase only authorized editions.

  www.ajsherwood.com

  Books by AJ Sherwood

  Legends of Lobe Den Herren

  The Warden and the General

  Fourth Point of Contact

  Jon’s Mysteries

  Jon’s Downright Ridiculous Shooting Case*

  A Sorcerer’s Grimoire

  A Non-Comprehensive Guide to Sea Serpents*

  *Coming soon

  The nightlife in Hashilin City didn’t match up with Ren’s memories anymore. It used to be lively with a throng of people coming and going, foreigners mixed into the crowd; geishas strolling slowly along advertising for their brothels; rich and spicy scents pouring out of doorways, luring hungry customers into the restaurants.

  Now the streets seemed dead in comparison. Hardly anyone walked down them, and while he still saw foreigners, they were all in military uniform of some sort. Perhaps the rapidly cooling weather could be blamed for it, as fall threatened to turn into winter, but Ren didn’t think it that cold. He felt perfectly warm in his coat. They passed a few geishas, but Ren had no interest in them, his nose hunting for the elusive scent of food. Someone had scrounged up enough paper lanterns to illuminate the main street, so there was light to navigate by, but half the stores still bore war-ravaged destruction. Ren felt a little bad about it—of the opinion they somehow should have fully protected at least this city—but in truth, they’d pulled off miracles just preserving half of it. This section near the docks had been hit the hardest, the buildings bearing testimony with their scorched walls, boarded up windows, and half-collapsed frames.

  A shoulder bumped into his and he glanced up at his companion with a smile that strained at the seams. “I know, I know, we won the war. I should be happy. And I am happy it’s over, but it basically destroyed my country, and I can’t be happy about that.”

  Brahms listened to him patiently, as he always did, not condemning Ren for his somber mood. The man was an exceptionally good listener. Well, to put it more frankly, he was a terrible communicator. General Arman Brahms didn’t care to use more than twenty words at any given time, no matter how important or vital the reason, and Ren was convinced that if Brahms said more than five hundred words in a day, the man would collapse on the spot.

  Thinking back to their first meeting, Ren felt his smile go more natural. “You know, when the war first started and you and I were assigned to the northern front together, I really didn’t know what to do with you. Don’t give me that look, you know very well what I’m talking about. I thought at first you didn’t really talk because you didn’t understand the language, which is why I went through all the time and effort to learn your language—which turned out to be completely unnecessary. You still wouldn’t say more than two words to me.”

  Amused, Brahms gave him a slight shrug. “Didn’t need to talk.”

  “No, you really did, you just didn’t want to. And yes, I learned how to read those facial twitches that you deem expressions, but I had to learn how to read you or we would have lost the damn war,” Ren informed him in exasperation. “Seriously, even when you were explaining some tactic or strategy to me, I had to guess half of what you meant!”

  Brahms patted his shoulder in a consoling way, the glint in his eyes making it clear he was mocking him. “You did fine.”

  “I have no idea why we are friends,” Ren retorted to the open air, as clearly he wasn’t going to get any sympathy from the other general. “Aside from fighting, we have absolutely nothing in common. I like men, you like women. I like spicy food, you can’t tolerate it at all. Oh no, you can’t feign otherwise, I’m onto you. The last time we ate together, that meal gave you serious indigestion. You went even more expressionless than usual trying to hide it—which scared me, by the way, I thought I had lost my ability to read you overnight. Speaking of which, will you please tell me what you want to eat? Our options, as always, are limited to noodles, dons, or soups.”

  With a shrug, Brahms gestured toward him with a small wave of the hand.

  “No. No, I am not picking where to eat tonight, I have picked the last three times. It is your turn. I’m tired, I don’t want to make any decisions, and this is quite possibly our last meal together.” That last sentence hurt a little, as Ren honestly wasn’t looking forward to their parting. As much as this man sometimes aggravated him, he could honestly say he’d never had a truer friend. It would feel like losing a part of himself when Brahms left.

  A stubborn look morphed over Brahms’ face, a set to the jaw that he knew well. “Not the last.”

  Ren’s attention sharpened on him. They were in-between lanterns at the moment, the light soft and dim, which naturally made his hard-to-read friend even more enigmatic. Ren resisted the urge to pull him into stronger lighting. “What do you mean? You ship out in three days, you shouldn’t even be taking two hours away from your troops right now to eat with me; you can’t possibly think you can pull this off again.”

  Frustrated, Brahms grabbed Ren by the arm and towed him into the nearest restaurant, which turned out to be a noodle shop half-crammed with customers. Absolutely no stools remained empty near the bar, but fortunately Brahms ignored that half of the room and went to the tables on the right, sitting them both on the waiting flat cushions.

  Ren folded his legs comfortably up underneath him, used to the low tables and cushions, although Brahms had to put his back to the wall and stretch his legs out. He was too tall to possibly fit, even if he could cross his legs comfortably. Ren thought himself to be a tall man, but Brahms topped him by another hand’s span, which made maneuvering about in Shiirei challenging for someone of his height. When settled, he faced Ren square on, that strong jaw of his still set in a stubborn jut. Uncharacteristically, he spoke in Ren’s native tongue, as if he wished to make sure Ren properly understood him. The words sounded a little strange and stilted in his mouth, a catch in his deep voice betraying his emotions. “I want you to come with me.”

  “You want me to come with you,” Ren repeated, trying to make sense of those w
ords. Granted, he’d been discharged from the Shiirei Royal Army last week, so he was certainly free to do whatever he wished. Brahms knew this, just as he knew that Ren had lingered here in the city because he didn’t know what to do. His hometown had burnt to cinders during the war, and his pay wouldn’t last him long enough to afford a career change, as they hadn’t been given full pay. And what was a discharged general supposed to do for work? Ren knew precious little except fighting and strategy.

  He could understand Brahms’ unease in leaving Ren here. Ren felt it himself. But still…. “You want me to come with you as what? A male war bride? Don’t give me that ‘you’re being obtuse look,’ you are in fact being more cryptic than normal. Use your words.”

  A little agitated, Brahms ran a hand roughshod through his wavy hair, eyes tight at the corners. He opened the top button of his green coat, releasing the high collar enough that he could comfortably breathe and finally opened his mouth. “Ren, you can’t stay here. There’s no place for you. Come home with me, become a citizen of my country.”

  Beyond touched, Ren lost his irritation, feeling his heart warm. “You’d sponsor me?”

  He got that ‘you’re being obtuse’ look again.

  Ren had called this man a brother-in-arms before, and meant it, but he’d never quite known what Brahms had thought of him in return until this moment. He saw concern and determination in those clear blue eyes mixed with a healthy dose of affection. He resisted the urge to hug the stuffing out of him. There were enough rumors about them already; Brahms didn’t need Ren to further muddy the waters. “I’m beyond touched, really, that you want to keep me with you. But I refuse to be dependent on you forever, you know that, right? Good, glad you do. So I assume that you have some thought of what I can do in your country. Let’s hear it.”

  “My country wasn’t impacted directly by the war,” Brahms pointed out, “except in loss of manpower.”

  “You think if you sponsor me I can join the Aart Royal Army?” Certainly the idea held considerable appeal. Aart was one of the wealthier countries, and also one of the few whose location was far enough removed from the battles that it had suffered no direct damage. If its economy didn’t hinge on the spice trade, it wouldn’t have gotten involved in the war at all. “Aren’t you taking that a little on faith? I know you lost a lot of men over here, but Aart’s a big country; it can draw more troops out of the rising generation. They’re not necessarily going to need a former Shiirein general.”

  “Backup plan: I hire you. Remember where my home sits.”

  Ah yes. He’d never seen it with his own eyes, of course, but he’d been told about it one rainy afternoon as they whiled away the time. Brahms descended from a long line of soldiers out of necessity. His land sat on the very eastern border against an antsy neighbor. Brahms Fortress was the first line of defense, and those defenses were tested regularly—whenever their Zaytsevian neighbors got bored or desperate enough to give invasion another try. Considering his location, and the potential for trouble, his friend could certainly justify hiring a castle warden.

  Ren leaned both elbows on the table, propping his chin on folded hands, and considered the matter carefully. He saw no downsides to this—well no, there was one. Aart’s culture didn’t have same-sex relationships. Not that it was forbidden, or illegal, it was just unheard of. When Ren and Brahms had first met, he’d had to explain the concept, and even now Brahms didn’t really get it. He didn’t treat Ren any differently for his sexual orientation, but that was probably because he didn’t understand it and chose to just accept it. If Ren went home with him, it would probably mean being celibate for the rest of his life, or at least for as long as he lived in Aart. That was not at all enticing. Ren was a people person, always had been, and the idea of not having any chance of companionship did not make his libido happy.

  Then again, if he stayed, the situation would be much grimmer. He tugged absently on his ponytail, pondering the main problem. Shiirei had little in the way of crops, as they’d been fighting all year, and what crops had been planted were destroyed in the war. Some of their allied countries were shipping food in, but that would take months to arrive and likely inadequate to feed a whole country. Food was scarce, money scarcer, and work nearly impossible to find. If he stayed, he’d likely end up living on his brother’s charity, and Takahiro didn’t have enough money to feed his own family at the moment. The question really boiled down to this: which was more important to him, sex or food?

  It didn’t take much of a debate.

  Brahms probably hadn’t thought of that wrinkle, and Ren wasn’t about to bring it up, as his sex life (or lack thereof) was his own business. Celibacy wouldn’t kill him, and Brahms’ offer was more than generous—definitely the best he’d ever get. Ren would be a fool to pass it up; his pride just smarted a little from accepting this kind of help from a friend. He dropped his hands to the table, a sigh escaping him. Not that he didn’t need it at the moment, but still, that pride was strong, and kept him from readily agreeing.

  “Renjimantoro.”

  Ren’s head snapped up, as Brahms only used his full name when being completely serious.

  Those dark blue eyes met his levelly, penetratingly, as if he could see every thought going through Ren’s head. And he likely could. The man was exceptionally good at seeing through people. “Come with me.”

  Oh hell. He really had no defenses against that plea. Brahms rarely asked anything of him, and every time he had, it turned out to be for Ren’s own good. “You realize that if I go, your reputation is never going to recover. People assume I’ve seduced you over to my side as it is.”

  Brahms just stared at him.

  “Right, you don’t care. Of course you don’t, silly me, why am I worrying about it?” Relief filled him, making him a little giddy with it, and he had the strangest urge to giggle. Which wasn’t manly, he stamped that out immediately, but still a grin took over his face. “Alright, alright, I’ll go home with you.”

  For the first time in the year that they’d known each other, a true smile broke out over Brahms’ face, lighting up his entire expression and wiping five years away, making him look twenty again. Ren swallowed hard seeing it, amazed that it meant so much to him for Ren to go. He would never be Ren’s lover, but that didn’t mean there was no love there, just a different type. A strong bond forged in fire, conflict, and a true desire to understand each other.

  Really, he couldn’t ask for any more than this.

  The smile faded into a look of supreme contentment. Brahms gave him a satisfied nod. “Good. Pack up tomorrow. I’ll arrange ship’s passage.”

  “I will.” Realizing that they didn’t have the luxury of just sitting here waiting on a waitress, Ren lifted up onto his knees and signaled a very harried looking teenage girl, clearly one of his countrymen. Odds were she wouldn’t speak anything but her native tongue, and Brahms’ accent was thick enough to give people trouble, so Ren took on the job of ordering for both of them.

  She gave them a slight bow and asked, “What would you like?”

  “A bowl of noodles for my friend—”

  “Shirachi soup,” Brahms cut in firmly.

  Rolling his eyes, Ren asked in exasperation, “Seriously? We’re doing this? There is nothing wrong with being spice intolerant, everyone has different tastes; just because I like it—do not glare at me like that. I am trying to save you from indigestion. I hate it when you get stubborn like this; it’s always over the stupidest things. Fine, fine, be up all night with an upset stomach. It’s not my stomach, I don’t care. Waitress, two bowls of shirachi soup, please.”

  Hiding a smile, she ducked her head and scurried off toward the back, putting their order in.

  Ren shook his head, wondering again, how they were friends. They couldn’t be more different. Brahms fit the archetype of his people to a T—big as a mountain, bulky with muscle, and a chiseled bone structure that could be hewn from granite. Ren almost felt small next to him sometimes, as he s
tood a half-head shorter, was lean with compact muscle, and could be carried without any real effort on Brahms’ part. (He knew that for a fact because of the one time he’d been shot in the leg.) With Ren’s slanted, dark eyes, long jet-black hair pulled into a high pony tail, and fair skin, they were polar opposites in looks. Even their personalities lay on different ends of the spectrum, with Ren being a chatterbox and Brahms the strong, silent type.

  Everyone wondered how they got along, why they were so close, and assumed Ren had seduced Brahms. Because if they weren’t lovers, how could they read each other so well? Ren didn’t understand it either, but he’d come to realize that sometimes the best things in life defied explanation.

  Their shirachi soups arrived. Without a flicker of his expression changing, Brahms dipped a spoon in and took his first bite.

  “See?” Ren challenged, shaking his spoon at him. “It’s too spicy for you. Will you please let me order you something else?”

  Eyes locked on Ren’s, Brahms put another spoonful in his mouth.

  “Not everything is a competition, you know,” Ren growled, torn between exasperation and amusement. “Why are you so competitive? Does it have something to do with how you were raised?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe meaning not at all. I’m on to your tricks, Arman Brahms, don’t think I’m ignorant of what you mean when you say that. It might have taken me a full year, but I have learned how to translate you.”

  “See?” Brahms said smugly. “I don’t need to talk. I have you.”

  “That is not at all how this works,” Ren denied, amusement winning. “You lazy bastard, you’re only taking me home with you so I can do all of the talking for you, aren’t you?”

  Brahms’ lips curled ever so slightly at the edges, as smug as a feline with the canary in his paws.

  “Argh, I knew it! I should have known you had an ulterior motive. I am not talking for you for the rest of our lives, do you understand me? Hey. Listen to me. And seriously, stop eating the soup, your stomach lining is going to dissolve, you’re not used to this level of spice.”