part0013

The sun reached the far horizon, turning the sky a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors, but they rode on. Shadows stretched and swallowed the landscape, and further still they traveled. The canyon was now close at hand, and soon they would need to camp or risk a deadly fall in the dark.

From time to time Scrimshaw looked back at her, but remained silent. Temperance, for her own part, kept any counsel to herself. The landscape remained empty behind them, but the hills could have hid Lalaish’s men from her sight until the next time they reached a rise.

She kicked up Astor’s pace and canted alongside the marshal. “Can’t go much further tonight, no matter how much I’d rather push on.”

The marshal nodded, and looked at the landscape ahead. They rode in quiet as the sunlight slipped away.

When he spoke at last, Scrimshaw’s voice sounded tired beyond measure. “Were you bein’ sincere back there? Callin’ me a fake and all that?”

“What did you mean by it, though? I wouldn’t say I’m any different from the other Pistol Warlocks I’ve met.”

“You aren’t, and that’s the true problem.” She let out a soft sigh. “If anyone isn’t like other Pistol Warlocks, it’s me. My grandpa started teaching me about hexbullets before I could walk. After he and my parents . . . well, since then, it’s all I think about. I always assumed that’s how all warlocks would be, but most people I’ve met don’t care a whit about how their bullets work, so long as they do. They don’t worry about knowing the art that goes into them.”

Reaching to her bandolier, she removed a bullet and handed it to the marshal. “What does this smell like to you?”

“It’s elderflowers and volcanic ash,” she said, reclaiming her shot. “With the right word of power, it can snare a man’s legs and leave him trapped in place. With a different incantation it can knock him out cold for a day and a half.”

She handed him another. “This one is willow bark and mantis wings. It can create lightning, or flames, or a combination of the two depending on the order of your words. Crafting a shot like this takes a smith close to two days to get the runes placed correctly. Some more powerful ones in my belt can take weeks. They aren’t things that you should fire without a second thought.”

“I never realized.” Scrimshaw’s voice had gone breathy, a touch of awe to it. “How many different hexbullets are there?”

“No one knows,” Temperance said with a shrug. “My grandpa found hundreds of combinations during his life, but he claimed he had just scratched the surface. During ancient times there were entire libraries filled with sorcery spells. We’ve only begun to relearn everything that our ancestors lost or left behind back in Galinor.”

The marshal nodded. “Thank you for telling me all of this, Miss Whiteoak. You are an inspiration to Pistol Warlocks everywhere.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Color crept into Temperance’s cheeks. She continued on, hoping Scrimshaw wouldn’t notice. “I’m surprised you haven’t picked up more of this during your time in the wilds. Hunting down sorcerers and all that.”

Scrimshaw was silent for a moment. “To be truthful, Lalaish is my first real experience with any sorcery. I finished cadet trainin’ only a few months before encounterin’ him. It was only blind luck I knew his face from a poster, and I’ve been over my head from the minute I grabbed him. That’s why I wrote to the sheriff in Rosea, hopin’ that someone more experienced might see me through to the end. I can’t fail now, when I’ve only just started my career.”

She glanced over at the marshal, and for the first time since they met she looked at him, truly looked at him. He was much younger than she had first thought, perhaps a year or two older than herself. Without the stern expression of authority he typically wore, he looked little more than a scared boy on his father’s horse.

The last of the anger that had been smoldering in her belly snuffed itself out. She reached out a hand and patted Scrimshaw’s shoulder. He looked up in surprise. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “We will make it, one way or another. ”

Looking over, she noticed the sorcerer was not watching them, but instead staring off at the low hills. She followed his gaze, then cursed.

“Time to ride, Marshal!” she yelled, whipping Astor’s flank. “Lalaish’s men are coming in fast!”

A group of riders broke over the top of the hill, the twilight sun casting their long shadows against the sand. They shouted as Temperance and the others came into view, a few loosing wild shots in their direction. She looked back and saw the marshal had placed himself between the sorcerer and his men, so she dropped back as well. It wouldn’t be right to leave them behind now, even if she could feel Astor fighting against her to do just that.

They galloped across the plain, Lalaish’s men hot behind them. At first Temperance feared that the mule might not be able to keep pace with the horses, but the animal proved far more nimble over the uneven terrain than she would have believed. The beast had a wild look to its eyes, and she took a moment to murmur a prayer of thanks that she had Astor instead of the sorcerer’s daemonic ride.

With every glance back she could tell the bandits were gaining, and from the increased hoots and hollers they knew it as well. A shot bounced off the shoulder of her jacket, too close to her bare neck for comfort. She returned fire, knocking one man from his horse in a sudden burst of green vines and leaves.

Up ahead, the marshal leaned in so close to his horse it looked as if he might melt into its flesh. “Can’t you take them out already?” he shouted over his shoulder .

“I haven’t got the shots left, unless you want me to kill them,” she yelled back. “Why aren’t you shooting?”

Scrimshaw risked a glance back in her direction. “We aren’t all as bulletproof as you!” Despite this comment, he swung his shotgun around and fired into the mass of riders. A sudden scream told Temperance that the marshal had hit something at least, but the group of riders hardly looked diminished.

Walls of solid stone rose to either side as they reached the entrance of the canyon. Rocks sprang at them from the shadows, and soon they would have to slow the horses or risk breaking their necks.

The bandits drew even closer. In the slices of red light cutting through the cliffs Temperance clearly saw the sneers on their faces, the color of their belts, and how many buttons were missing from the dirt-smeared clothing they wore.

Not many good options left at this point. We might have to make a stand, but there’s only one way that ends for us. Dead running or dead standing, we’re caught between hot iron and a lodestone here.

Stones. An idea shivered its way through her brain. It was risky, but she was out of better options.

She let herself drop back, until Astor’s nose was in line with the mule’s tail. She hadn’t wanted to resort to something like this, but it was better than death, that much was certain. Her horse sensed what she was about to do and let out a warning whinny between labored breaths. She ignored him, clearing her mind of distractions .

Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew a leather bag tied closed with twine. Runes were burned into the bag’s exterior like the brand on Lalaish’s flesh. These ones, however, served a rather different purpose.

The timing would have to be perfect or she risked killing everyone, herself included. Temperance watched as the stone walls drew closer, the path trimming down to a tunnel only a dozen feet across. She let go of the bag.

“Rendeso Qui Palovar Un ,” she said as loud as she dared. Behind her, dark smoke flooded from the ground, forming a black wall between the sides of the tunnel. A fraction of a heartbeat later the smoke coalesced into a jumble of stones, each one the size of her head. They hovered in the air a moment before dropping to the ground, filling the space between her and Lalaish’s men.

The effect was beyond her wildest hopes. She heard screams and curses as the men crashed into the rock pile. There was a loud wail that drowned out the other noises, and a hand fluttered at the top of the rocks before sliding back out of sight.

The cry caught the marshal’s attention, and he reined in his horse to look back. “What happened?”

“Didn’t you hear me firing?” she asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. “I must have triggered a landslide. That should cut off their pursuit for a while.”

Lalaish frowned at this, but Scrimshaw merely looked relieved. “That’s a miracle if I ever saw one, thank the Three. If we’re lucky, we can get through the canyons before they have time to circle around. ”

“Won’t accomplish that standing around here. Let’s get as far as we can with what little light is left. I don’t relish any more surprises.”

The marshal nodded his agreement, and they set off at a much slower pace, the twin moons rising in the distance to light their way.