The Delivery of Flesh

by Francis James Blair

  Lalaish nodded. “Quite so. Cieste, to be specific. My parents fled when I was five and sailed across the wide sea to settle here.”

  “Oh, don’t that just beat all,” Scrimshaw cut in. “He’s a foreigner to boot. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.”

  The sorcerer let out a low hiss. Scrimshaw smirked and glanced to Temperance, only to find her expression even more stony than the sorcerer’s.

  “Pray tell, Mister Scrimshaw,” she asked, “How many generations has it been since your own family sailed from Galinor’s shores? Five? Six? All of us are the descendants of immigrants, no matter what we might like to tell ourselves otherwise.”

  The marshal opened his mouth, but before anyone said something they might regret, Temperance interjected, “It’s getting late. You get some sleep, Mister Scrimshaw, I’ll take first watch.”

  * * *

  The next morning dawned dull and gray. Conversation between her and the marshal was terse, which suited Temperance just fine. There was a job to do, after all.

  They wound their way through the last of the low hills, yesterday’s razor slice on the horizon now a wall of impenetrable stone before them. She drew to a halt as the marshal turned his horse towards Gregor’s Pass. “Mister Scrimshaw, might I suggest another route?”

  The marshal turned and regarded her. “I wasn’t aware there was one.”

  “If we follow the cut-bank beneath the cliff, there is a cave that will take us to the other side. We should save several hours at least, and it won’t tire the horses so much as that climb will.”

  “You’re talkin’ about the painted tunnels, aren’t you?” Scrimshaw shivered, “I’ve heard that place is home to daemons, or worse.”

  Temperance suppressed a laugh. “The caves are no such thing, I promise you. Legends say the ancient natives once used them for rituals and worship, but now they are nothing more than cold stone. I traveled through them on my way to Rosea, and can assure you they are quite safe.”

  “I’m still not sure. Like the old sayin’ goes, ‘Better the daemon you know’.” The marshal rubbed his chin.

  “What do you think?” Temperance asked Lalaish, ignoring Scrimshaw’s squawk of indignation. “Which is better, caves or cliffs?”

  The sorcerer shrugged. “I know neither, these lands are foreign to me.”

  “Either choose, or it’s a coin toss.”

  The flicker in Lalaish’s eye was almost imperceptible, but Temperance still caught it. “I dislike the dark, let us take the cliffs instead.”

  “There you go,” Temperance said, turning back to Scrimshaw. “We take the caves.”

  “What?” She couldn’t tell which of the men looked more surprised.

  “You said his men have been chasing you, Marshal. My gut tells me they are fixing to take us at the pass.”

  Scrimshaw mulled this over a moment. “Reason enough for me. Lead on, then.”

  The day grew cold as they moved into the shadow of the cliffs. Temperance led them along old game trails that hadn’t seen use since last year’s rainy season. The scrub brush slowly gave way as a fissure in the cliff’s surface appeared, dark and foreboding.

  They dismounted. After some discussion the marshal agreed to lead the way, Temperance guiding the animals in the rear while the sorcerer remained between. Lanterns lit, they stepped through the cave mouth, its cold air stealing away the heat from their bodies within seconds.

  Scrimshaw jumped at every shadow or sound, but Temperance felt herself relax the further inside they traveled. This had been a sacred place once, and though she knew nothing of the people that had worshipped here, she could still feel something comforting in the cool air.

  “Why do they called these ‘painted’ caves?” Lalaish asked as they walked along, his rough accent bouncing off the walls and making the words difficult to understand. “I see no drawings here.”

  Temperance frowned. She had never given the name much thought herself.

  Scrimshaw filled the silence. “It has to do with the different colors in the rock.” He held his lantern above his head, and they could see stripes on the ceiling in various shades of reds and browns. “Almost like they were painted. I guess someone thought they were being clever.”

  They continued on, with only the echoing drip of water to mark the passage of time. Lost in her own thoughts, Temperance almost ran into Lalaish as the man came to a sudden halt. They were in a large cavern with several tunnels leading in various directions. The chamber here was large enough to fit a small house, and featured several stalagmites as tall as the horses.

  Scrimshaw turned around when he felt the sorcerer’s rope go tight. “No time for a break, Lalaish, I want to be out of this cave while we still have daylight.”

  “Apologies, Marshal, but it would be best if you set your weapon down on the floor. Slowly. You too, Miss Whiteoak.”

  Temperance tensed, but Scrimshaw just let out a laugh. “Why would I do somethin’ like that?”

  Lalaish’s mouth curled into a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Because my men have you surrounded.”

  Ahead, a shadow separated itself from the tunnel entrance and resolved into a shorter man with a serape draped over his shoulders. He held a rifle aimed straight for the marshal’s heart.

  Temperance risked a glance behind her. Another man bulged out from an alcove, a pistol in each hand held at the ready.

  Scrimshaw glanced about, but seemed unconcerned. “I only count two men. That’s not much of an ambush even by your standards, Lalaish.”

  “There are more waiting in the shadows. I suggest you cooperate before someone gets hurt.”

  Moving at a molasses pace so as not to draw attention to herself, Temperance slipped the revolver she always kept loaded from its holster. She glanced back at Astor. The horse locked eyes with her, then gave a slight shake of its head.

  “He’s lying, Marshal, there’s only the two.” She shifted her gaze to watch the man standing behind their mounts. The bandit wasn’t watching her, instead focusing his eyes and his aim on the marshal. That would cost him.

  “Afraid your plan failed, Lalaish. We called your bluff. Have your men stand down—”

  The marshal’s words cut off as Temperance opened fire. She dropped to a crouch and let loose a cry of “Habero!”

  The bullet that burst forth transformed into a spray of white hot sparks and caught the unfortunate bandit in the stomach. She heard a scream, but couldn’t see if the man had fallen due to the bullet’s aftereffects on her vision.

  Behind her, Scrimshaw let out a curse that would have made Temperance’s mother blush, followed by a thud as he hit the floor. A heartbeat later the other bandit let off a shot with his rifle, and she felt the rush of air as it passed only inches overhead.

  At last her sight returned in fits and starts. Her own lantern still burned where she had dropped it, but Scrimshaw’s had snuffed out during the fight. She glimpsed Lalaish on the floor, the marshal draped over him. A serape fluttered in the shadows as the remaining bandit ducked behind one of the giant stalagmites.

  Scrimshaw looked up at the same moment that Temperance raised her revolver. “Whiteoak, don’t!” he bellowed, but she was too angry to stop now.

  “Lis Mechura!” A gout of flame poured from the barrel, solidifying into something resembling a snake made of molten rock. It twined through the air, darting around the edge of the stalagmite. There was a scream, and the bandit tumbled out from behind, a hole burned through his chest large enough that Temperance could have fit her fist inside it.

  The only sounds she could hear now were the crackle of flames licking at the bandit’s serape, and the heavy intake of her own breathing. Scrimshaw remained where he was on the floor, the sorcerer still pinned beneath him. For the space of about three long breaths, everything seemed frozen in time.

  The next moment the spell broke. Scrimshaw jumped to his feet and ran to check on the man cooking in front of him. Temperance didn’t bother po
inting out he was already on the wrong side of the earth; if the marshal couldn’t tell that from the giant hole then no words from her would be of use.

  She glanced behind her. The bandit with the pistols lay unmoving on the floor, blood spreading in a small pool around him. Astor eyed the puddle as it approached, flicking his ears as he stepped out of the way.

  “They’re both dead.” The marshal looked as shocked as his voice sounded. He locked eyes with Temperance, and there was something in his expression that made her grip tighten on her revolver. “You murdered them.”

  “It was hardly murder, Marshal. They would have killed us without a moment’s thought, whether or not we handed over Mister Lalaish here.”

  Scrimshaw shook his head. “It don’t matter. Y’know darn well you’re subject to the same rules as I am.”

  Temperance cocked her head. “What rules?”

  The marshal paused, and when he looked at her again some of the anger had gone out of him. “Didn’t the sheriff explain all of this when he deputized you?”

  “The sheriff didn’t explain anything, and he sure didn’t deputize me.” She let out a little laugh. “He only asked about hiring me a few seconds before you and Lalaish walked through the door.”

  Scrimshaw let out another curse, this one coarse enough it almost made Temperance blush. “If I ever get back to that town I’ll run that cowardly snake out on a rail.” He let out a sigh and picked up Lalaish’s rope. “Marshals don’t kill, we only capture. As long as you’re assistin’ me, it’s non-lethal bullets only.”

  Realization snapped into Temperance’s brain. So many things made sense now. “That’s why you only pack ammo that can stun. Why you haven’t chased off Lalaish’s men already.”

  The marshal didn’t bother responding. “We should get goin’, we’ve wasted enough time as it is.” He started down the tunnel, then glanced back at her. “I’ll ignore what just occurred this time, but don’t let it happen again.”

  He stared at Temperance until she nodded, then set off into the dark, dragging Lalaish behind him. Gathering up the horses, she followed after.

  Chapter Four

  The cave mouth appeared around a bend in the tunnel. It was accompanied by wafts of fresh air, thick with the tang of pine and prairie grass. Scrimshaw almost threw himself on the ground as they stepped out, heaving a sigh of relief, but Temperance felt a twinge of regret leaving the dark recesses. She had much the same experience during her first journey under the cliffs. There was just a sense of familiarity to the place, like a half-forgotten memory from her childhood. Given enough time, she might just be able to remember.

  The sensation departed as the marshal called for them to mount up. He gave Lalaish a hard stare while helping him onto the mule. “Let’s not have any more incidents like back there in the cave. Whether you like it or not, you’re standing trial in Benson before the week is out.”

  “Oh, I promise to be a perfect gentleman, Marshal.” Lalaish gave Temperance a dark look, like one might give a wet dog in a crowded saloon. “Believe me, I learned my lesson.”

  Indeed, the sorcerer seemed to be taking the loss of his men to heart, and he spoke few words through the rest of the afternoon. Temperance remained a distance back from the other two, watching for anyone trying to get the drop on them from behind. None of Lalaish’s men put in an appearance, and soon they made camp in a dry gulley.

  They made no fire that night for fear of giving away their position. Instead Temperance sat on hard stone and ate what dry food was offered, though not with any particular relish. Scrimshaw had enough in the mule’s packs to see them through several weeks, but Temperance knew that if she had to eat nothing but jerky and hardtack for the entire duration of the trip, she might end up killing someone regardless of the marshal’s rules.

  As she pulled apart a strip of orak meat, rolling the pieces around on her tongue to wet them enough to swallow, she looked over at Scrimshaw. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

  “What for, killing those men? I told you, I won’t hold it against you—”

  “Not that,” Temperance said with a shake of her head. “Frankly, your Federation rules are idiotic and likely to get us killed. No, I meant about the ambush. I was certain I had Lalaish figured out. Guess I was wrong.” She glanced over, but the sorcerer continued to ignore them.

  Scrimshaw rubbed his chin, which had a day’s growth of dark stubble poking out already. “The way I see it, I don’t think you were. If Lalaish here had expected us to use the cave, there would have been more men. Those two were only there as backup, or maybe they saw us change directions and didn’t have time to alert the others.”

  Something about the marshal’s words didn’t wash in Temperance’s head, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Before she had more time to dwell on it, Scrimshaw continued on, “I must say, murder aside that was an impressive maneuver back there. I never even knew there were hexbullets like that.”

  An acidic comment bubbled up to Temperance’s lips, but she swallowed it back down. “Marshals only use the one type? Seems kind of restrictive.”

  Scrimshaw shrugged. “I suppose the Federation has to save money somehow. It’s not cheap training a small army of government sponsored Pistol Warlocks.” He paused and seemed to be turning something over in his mind. “It occurs to me, I’ve never met a warlock who was a woman before. What brings you out here to the edge of the Federation, anyway?”

  That was a question that Temperance preferred not to answer. She scrambled a moment for a sufficient lie, but was saved the trouble when Lalaish spoke.

  “Witch,” he said, not bothering to look at either of them.

  Scrimshaw turned and squinted at the other man. “What was that?”

  “I said, ‘witch’. In the old times, before coming to this place, they called women who practiced arcane arts a witch. Should still be true, yes?”

  “Huh.” The marshal chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Pistol Witch. Has a nice ring to it.”

  He stood up and stretched. “Time to get some rest. We need to be on the main road by first light if we want to outpace Lalaish’s men. I’m sure they’ve realized by now their ambush was a failure.”

  Temperance stood as well. “I’ll take first watch again. I’m not feeling sleepy.”

  The men rolled themselves up in their blankets, Lalaish spending quite a while twisting to find a comfortable position with his chains. Eventually the two men grew still. Only the drone of crickets remained to keep Temperance company.

  When it drew close to time for the marshal’s watch, she woke the man with a hand over his mouth and a finger to her lips. She led him away from the camp until the drone of the insects would better cover their whispers. “You don’t intend to follow the road tomorrow, do you?”

  Scrimshaw nodded. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps any other way?” Temperance rolled her eyes, though she doubted the marshal could see her in the dark. “I’m not sure how, but Lalaish is relaying information to his men, otherwise there wouldn’t have been anyone in those caves at all, I’d stake my guns on that.”

  “What do you suggest, then?”

  Temperance thought for a moment before she spoke. “We cut north and go through the canyons.”

  “That’s crazy!” Scrimshaw’s voice rose above a whisper, until Temperance hissed him back to quiet. “If we do that, why don’t we go even further north and just circle around the canyons? Takes about as long and doesn’t include the likely outcome of us all falling to our death.”

  “Because, if Lalaish’s men catch up to us, we have a better chance of holding them off in a confined area. Besides, once we reach other side it’s a straight shot across the prairie to Benson. We can ride hard and make up for any time lost there.”

  Scrimshaw mulled this over for a moment. “Sounds solid enough, I suppose. We need to stay ahead of any pursuit, though, and there’s at least a day’s travel between us and the canyon.
Means a lot of hard riding over rough ground. You think that shaggy beast of yours is up to that?”

  Temperance couldn’t help smile. “Believe me, Marshal, my horse is the least of your worries.”

  She made her way back to the campsite, leaving Scrimshaw to his lonely vigil. Just before bedding down to catch what little sleep remained to the night, she heard Astor nicker.

  “What is it?” she asked, stepping over to give the horse a scratch behind the ears.

  Astor however, blew out his breath in a huff and gave her a flat look. You sure you know what you’re doing here?

  “Of course I do. This is a just another job.” There was a moment of silence. “We need the money.”

  Oh? I thought that’s what the nasty fellow you’re keeping in your pocket was for.

  Temperance shrugged. “Every bit helps. Grandpa’s bullets won’t last forever, and I can’t exactly make more myself.”

  The horse continued to stare at her with that unreadable expression of his. Even so, I don’t like this business with the sorcerer. Smacks of trouble we don’t need. Would be nice if you had consulted me before taking on this whole endeavor.

  “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission. I seem to recall you being the one who promised to follow me to the ends of Korvana if that’s what it took to get our revenge.”

  Of course I will. Astor nodded, then reached down to crop some grass. Just promise me you’ll be careful. That if it looks like we’re getting in over our heads, you’ll cut and run.

  Temperance’s guts twisted at the thought. She had faced down daemons without breaking a sweat, men shouldn’t prove any more difficult. No matter what restrictions the marshal insisted upon.

  “I’ll do my best to see it doesn’t come to that,” she said at last. It was the most she could offer, but Astor seemed satisfied. He returned to eating the scraggly weeds at their feet, and she left him to it.

  Afterwards Temperance tried to get some rest, but sleep was long in coming. When she did finally drift off, her dreams turned to ashes around her, filling the night with darkness and the cries of those long since lost.