Peter let out a low whistle. “That’s an impressive catch. Even our daemonic division hasn’t brought in anythin’ that high ranked in a while. I guess you’re even more like your grandfather than I thought.”
Color crept into her cheeks at that comment, but it evaporated away as the marshal continued talking. “So, what brings you all the way out to the middle of nowhere chasin’ after critters that are the stuff of children’s nightmares? Tryin’ to keep your family legacy alive?”
A lump formed in her throat, and it took a minute to swallow it back down. It didn’t help matters that Peter stared at her the entire time, waiting for an answer that he thought she wanted to provide. Oddly enough, she did want to. It had been too long since she spoke with anyone other than Martin about this, and he had been of little help in that regard.
“You ever heard the name Varconis before?” she asked.
Peter shook his head. “Should I have?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. You can probably count the number of people who have on one hand, and not even need all the fingers to boot.”
“Who is he?”
“Not a who, and not a he either. It’s the name of a daemon.” Temperance paused a moment, swallowed, then forced herself to go on. “The one who destroyed Cold Valley.”
Even under the blue-green light, she could see Peter go pale. After several long breaths, he stammered, “I thought bandits raided your village. That’s what they reported in the papers.”
“You think ordinary bandits could have beaten my grandpa, after everything you’ve seen that I’m able to do? There were eight of his apprentices with him, between them they could have taken a hundred times their own number.”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sure that’s true enough, but still . . . a single daemon? How is that possible?”
“Well, it wasn’t alone, there were at least five others, but you’re right. Everything my grandpa taught me, and everything I’ve learned, says daemons are stronger and faster than us, and possess some sorcerous powers of their own. Nothing like this, though.”
She paused, and looked off into the dark for a moment. “It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, or since. My grandpa and his apprentices used some of the most powerful hexbullets I know of, and they bounced off of these creatures like paper off a rampaging bull. Those monsters tore half the valley apart before anyone even reloaded. It wasn’t a battle. It was a slaughter.”
When she looked back at Peter, he stared in her direction, wide eyes reflecting the moonslight. “You were there. In Cold Valley.”
“It was my home.” Temperance didn’t know what else to say.
“I . . . .” Peter paused, then started again. “What are you goin’ to do against this Varconis? How do you even fight somethin’ like that?”
Temperance shrugged. “One thing at a time, Marshal. I have to find him first, I’ll figure out the rest later.”
They sat in silence another moment, then Temperance rose and made for her blankets. As she lay down, she glanced in Peter’s direction. The marshal was looking back at her, but glanced away and returned to watching the trail.
Temperance pulled her blanket around her. As she drifted off to sleep, she realized that all the stress that had been bearing down on her the last few days felt as if it had lifted. Their situation was no less dire, their likelihood of success still low, but despite all this she drifted off with the trace of a smile upon her face.
Chapter Ten
It took three days to reach the far side of the canyon, and they were lucky to have made it at all. Lalaish never had another chance at true mischief, but he continued to hamper their progress, everything from refusing food at mealtimes to demanding breaks with increasing frequency. By the time Peter or Temperance caught on to one trick the sorcerer had already moved on to several others.
They walked out onto the rolling prairie exhausted and sore. Temperance offered a silent prayer, asking to never again find herself back in that hellish place. Better to fight a thousand daemons instead.
Mounting up on Astor, she surveyed their surroundings. There were a few knobby fir trees, but it was mostly brown grass interspersed with large rocks growing a dry-looking lichen over their surface. Few places to hide, but also little chance of being taken unawares. When Lalaish’s men caught up to them, they would have plenty of warning, at least.
She commented as much to Peter. “There’s still three full days of hard riding between us and Benson, by my reckoning. I suppose there’s not much chance they won’t find us before then, is there?”
The marshal shook his head. “We just have to make the best of it. There’s always a chance we’ll encounter a patrol that can shelter us the rest of the way. Our success is in the hands of the Three now.”
Temperance trusted her guns far more than the fickle whims of the Divines, but kept the thought to herself. They set out, riding through blazing sun and waving grasses, the world slowly turning around them. Somewhere in the distance, still hidden by the haze, lay Benson City. The frontier outpost clung around the mountain of the same name and provided a tiny pool of order and civility to the otherwise untamed wilds around it.
In the afternoon they came across a small herd of antelope grazing near a waterhole. Peter unslung his shotgun, but at a look from Temperance returned it to his back. She dug into her bags, uncovering a box containing several bullets unadorned by any markings. Sliding from her saddle, she slithered along the ground towards the animals.
When she was as close as she dared approach, Temperance took aim and fired into the midst of the herd. The antelope took flight at the noise, leaving one of their number behind by the bank, a single hole piercing it through the heart. Peter whistled and gave her an impressed look.
Temperance stood and shrugged, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “Easy enough to hit a stationary target. Just be glad the beasts out here aren’t that used to humans yet, or they would have spooked before we even saw them.”
They dined well that evening, and even Lalaish seemed more amenable for having the meal inside him. In that moment she could almost have forgotten the many times he had tried to kill her and Peter during the last few days. Then, over the wavering firelight, the sorcerer glanced in her direction, and the hatred glowing in his eyes was enough to stop Temperance cold.
Peter was oblivious to their silent exchange, continuing to enjoy his cut of fresh meat. “Y’know, it don’t feel right eating an animal that only has two horns. Somethin’ not entirely natural about it.”
“I find it quite the opposite. It seems strange to me how popular the orak is in Korvana.” Lalaish spoke to the marshal, but his eyes never left Temperance. “From what I remember of Cieste, it was a novelty animal there, eaten during a few religious holidays but otherwise only tolerated for keeping weeds under control.”
“Their loss. Not much in the world better than fried orak steaks. Still, this animal is rather delicious too.” Peter looked over at Temperance as he pulled another piece from the spit. “Leg meat is the tastiest part, you want any of this?” He held out a sizzling chunk.
Temperance speared it with a stick and smiled sweetly at the marshal. “Why thank you, Mister Scrimshaw, don’t mind if I do.” Lalaish glanced between the two, and the scowl on his face was more satisfying than any cut of meat.
* * *
They had started into the remains of the antelope for breakfast when Temperance spotted the dust rising in the distance. She pointed it out to Peter.
“It might be anyone, a caravan or group of miners headed the same direction as us.” He spoke so cheerfully that for a moment Temperance almost thought he believed his own words. They grabbed what food they might eat in the saddle and set off.
All that morning, the dust cloud drew closer. At last Temperance couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “I’m going to drop back and make sure it’s Lalaish’s men.”
“How do you expect to catch up with us again?” Peter asked. �
��We’re already pushin’ the limit of what the mule can do.” Temperance just stared at him until he shrugged and nodded his agreement.
She led Astor behind a large rock that hid them both and slid from the saddle. Crawling up to the lip of her hiding place, she nestled between the scratchy lichen and lay waiting.
Below her, Astor nickered. Don’t suppose you’re planning to just kill them all once the marshal is out of view?
Temperance didn’t respond, and a moment later the horse sighed and set about nibbling the sparse patches of green weeds.
The dust cloud bloomed on the horizon, and before she would have thought it possible riders appeared, whipping their mounts through the dry grass. If any of them glanced in her direction Temperance couldn’t tell, but she was close enough to know they were Lalaish’s men. She waited until they were well past before sliding back down the rock.
“We’ll need to do some hard riding,” she told her horse.
About time, Astor whinnied, a grin spreading along his face. All of this dragging our heels for your man’s sake was just about driving me crazy. What say we run all the way to Benson and meet him there?
Temperance frowned as she mounted, though she doubted the horse could see it. “He’s not my man. Anyway, I doubt even you could run for that long.”
Fine, fine, believe whatever you want to believe. Temperance wasn’t sure which of her comments Astor was responding to. Before she had a chance to ask, the horse took off like he was chasing a rabbit. The landscape blurred around them, brown grass turning to dust in their wake.
Temperance twined her fingers through the horse’s mane in half-caress, half-death grip, and leaned in close to keep the wind from blowing her away. A boulder appeared, bulging out of the earth without warning. Before she could even suck in her breath, they were over and past it, the stone little more than a dot in the distance behind.
“Not too close to the bandits, keep your distance,” she shouted in the horse’s ear.
Astor let out a low chuckle, although how she heard it over the howling wind was anyone’s guess. Even if I ran right through their middle, they wouldn’t get but a glimpse of me. Despite his boasting, the horse turned and skirted around the cloud of riders ahead. Another moment and they were past, Peter and his prisoner still specks in the distance.
After a few minutes, she became accustomed to her horse’s hotfoot pace, to the jarring sensation of each rapid hoofbeat. While unpleasant, this was still nothing compared to the hours of riding she endured when they first set off after Belial. Still, only the few times that she ridden on a train had Temperance ever gone faster. Both horse and machine were endurable, but neither seemed a speed which mankind was meant to travel.
When the marshal appeared at the edge of Temperance’s vision, she happily pulled on her reins. Astor let out a dissatisfied grunt, but slowed his pace to something resembling normal, and a heartbeat later they drew up alongside the others.
Peter glanced over, but if her appearance surprised him he kept his thoughts to himself. “What did you see?”
“It’s them. At this pace, they’ll catch us in the next hour. Any chance you can push that mule to go faster?”
“I’ll try, but no promises.” Peter patted his horse’s neck and kicked his heels. They surged ahead, the ground flying by beneath, though not fast enough for Temperance’s liking.
Despite their efforts, Lalaish’s men caught up well before the hour had passed. From what she could tell, their numbers didn’t look diminished at all from the canyon landslide. In fact, there might even be more of them, if that was in any way possible.
The riders called out threats and jeers as they came into range. A few fired rounds, but they were far enough back that none of the shots hit anywhere close. Still, the marshal sped up even faster. Temperance knew they couldn’t keep this up for long. Astor was going strong, but the other animals showed signs of breaking any moment, their mouths so covered in lather they looked as if they had gone mad.
Now would be a good time for some sorcery to turn the tide in our favor, she mused. Pity I wasted what I had before the marshal knew my secret.
Another cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. Had some of the bandits circled around to cut them off?
As Temperance tried to get the marshal’s attention they drew closer, and she saw something that sent her heart soaring. She didn’t allow herself to speak, barely allowed herself to breathe for fear it might just be her wishful imagination. A few moments later they were close enough to see details, and she knew for certain they were saved.
“Head for those wagons!” she shouted at the marshal.
However, they were close enough that Peter saw what lay ahead as well. He turned and stared at her as if she had gone mad. “If we go in there, we’ll be dead in minutes! Those people want nothin’ to do with our troubles. At best, they’ll just turn us right back over to Lalaish’s men!”
“Do you trust me?” Temperance had to yell the question.
“What?”
“Do you trust me, Peter?”
The marshal glanced ahead again, then back at her. “I do. Three help me, but I do.”
“Then ride, Peter, ride for all you’re worth.” They tore over the open plain, the men behind drawing closer by the moment. However, even the occasional shot had stopped. Lalaish’s men were at least smart enough not to draw more trouble on themselves.
There was a gap in the circle of wagons, each one of them painted in bright and fantastic colors. Temperance made for the opening, but a dozen men stepped out as they drew close, all of them armed to the teeth. They formed a line and trained weapons on her and the marshal.
“That’s close enough, strangers,” one of them called out. “You best ride back the way you came. We don’t want none of your trouble, now.”
Temperance jerked hard on Astor’s reins, and the horse hissed something impolite that she would have to chastise him for later. Still, he slid to a halt, Peter and the sorcerer drawing up beside. She leapt from the saddle, hands held above her head in a show of compliance.
“Are you the leader of this Ta-tet?” she asked the one who had spoken.
The man nodded. “I am, but I already told you—”
Temperance tossed something in his direction. The sound of crackling thunder rolled through the line as weapons readied to fire. Their leader snatched the item out of the air and lifted a hand to still his men.
Time seemed to stretch, the sounds of their pursuers drawing closer by the second. Temperance didn’t dare glance over her shoulder to see how much time remained, and held her breath, knowing full well she might be dead before she drew her next breath.
At long last the Ta-tet leader looked up, and while he wasn’t smiling, he didn’t appear hostile either. He reached out and returned the iron badge to Temperance. “It seems we are not showing our guests the hospitality they deserve. Algon, Rigel, see to their horses. The rest of you, with me.”
Temperance let out a sigh of relief as the men streamed past, forming a protective barrier between her and Lalaish’s men. She turned and drew one of her own revolvers, just in case.
The Ta-tet leader didn’t even bother parlaying with the incoming bandits. At some unseen signal, his men opened fire, their shots ripping through the incoming riders with ease. Amid a cacophony of screams and curses Lalaish’s men scattered, and a moment later most of them were almost out of sight behind an outcropping of rocks. Only a pair of dead and broken riders remained amid the brown grass.
The head of the Ta-tet turned back to Temperance, who found her mouth had gone dry. She didn’t dare glance over at Peter, but knew he would not be pleased about the show of force. At least he wouldn’t be stupid enough to arrest any of these men. She hoped not, anyway. Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she clasped the leader’s outstretched hand in her own.
“My name is Alaron. Welcome to our Ta-tet, Miss Whiteoak. Any relation of James is a friend of the Harmonists.”
C
hapter Eleven
There were more people inside the wagon ring than Temperance would have thought possible. Several hundred, at least, and almost every one of them armed, including the children. If Alaron revoked his offer of hospitality, things would turn violent, fast.
On this count she had a moment of panic when the Ta-tet leader saw who her companions were. Lalaish barely got more than a glance, but at the sight of the marshal’s white jacket Alaron raised his weapon, along with perhaps fifty other people around them.
“Wait!” Temperance stepped in between Peter and the others. “There’s no need for that, the marshal means you no ill will.”
“Speak for yourself, Miss Whiteoak.” Peter grumbled under his breath. “There’s no way I’m lettin’ these heathens send me to Hell on a shutter without a fight.”
Without looking at him Temperance slammed her fist into his leg. She heard the marshal grunt in pain, but he kept any further comments to himself.
Alaron lowered his rifle. “If you vouch for him, I’ll allow this Federation—” he spat the word “—soldier into our midst. However, if there is even a whiff of trouble he’ll find himself drawn and quartered by the roadside. Our allegiance to James does not extend to safeguarding our enemies.”
“Have no fear, Peter will behave himself, won’t you, Marshal.” After a moment Peter nodded, and the rest of the crowd lowered their weapons as well.
Alaron returned his attention to Temperance. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Whiteoak? It is Whiteoak, isn’t it? You don’t strike me as the sort to carry your husband’s name.”
“I have no husband, so Whiteoak will do just fine.” Temperance tried to keep from blushing, but could tell from the man’s smirk she wasn’t doing a particularly good job. “I am assisting the marshal here in safeguarding a prisoner, due for court in Benson City. The men you dissuaded from following us are the prisoner’s associates.”
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