The Way of the Sword and Gun

by Stuart Jaffe

  They entered a stairwell drenched in blood, and Owl had to rethink his image of Malja. Two gutted bodies had been draped over the railing, their gore dripped down several floors.

  "Krig and Banrog," Malja said.

  "Kryssta," Owl said, trying to picture the sheer animal nature in Malja.

  As she led them down another hall, she said, "I warn you. It wasn't easy getting in here. The entrance has a lot more blood."

  Owl took a few steps down the hall but stopped. His skin prickled. He knew without turning around that Brother X stood in the hall not too far behind.

  "Fawbry, Malja," he said, his voice a steady rock. As they turned to face him, as he saw their reaction, he knew his senses had told him the truth. This time, however, he would not be afraid. He looked straight into Malja and said, "You and Fawbry must stop Salia. I will stay here and stop this man."

  Malja walked up to him, and to his relief, she did not protest. Instead, she gave him an unusual looking handgun. "I brought you a little present from my trip."

  Owl inspected the gun. He didn't understand a lot of what he saw, but he understood enough. "Thank you."

  "Just be careful. It's a lot stronger than you think."

  "So am I."

  Fawbry closed in, keeping his eyes on Brother X. His lips quivered. "You don't have to do this."

  "Salia has to be stopped, and you two can't do that with him in the way."

  "But after all you've said—"

  Owl tapped the side of Fawbry's head. "You were the one convincing me to not let failure destroy me."

  "I didn't tell you to go crazy, though."

  "You're wasting time. Go after Salia." Owl looked over his shoulder at Brother X who stood with his arms folded and his legs unwavering. "Live or die, I have to do this."

  "Listen to me, please."

  Malja took Fawbry's arm and spoke fast and quiet in his ear. Owl, though, still heard her. "If you want him to have a chance at living, stop weighing him down with your doubts." In a louder voice, she said, "We have to go."

  As Malja and Fawbry rushed down the hall, Owl turned to face Brother X.

  "You won't make it through alive this time," Brother X said with a smirk.

  Owl bent his knees for balance. He raised his sword in his right hand and aimed his new gun with his left. He stared at Brother X with stoic eyes. He said nothing as he watched Brother X's cocky smirk falter.

  Malja

  The mass of grounders, flyers, and horses had gone. Not too far though — Malja still heard the rumbling convoy in the distance. The churned up ground made a distinct path that could be followed as did the sharp odor of the magic used to fuel the vehicles.

  Two horses, saddled and ready to go, stood by a long hitching post. Probably belonged to Krig and Banrog, Malja thought. They wouldn't be returning.

  "Looks like we're riding," Malja said as she picked the dappled gray. She unwound the reins and mounted up. Fawbry, however, hadn't moved. "What's wrong?"

  Fawbry looked up at her, his face drained. "What am I going to do? I'm no fighter."

  "You've been with me for over a year. After all we've done, you think you can't fight?"

  "You fight. Tommy fights. I usher people out of the way. I sneak around back and get our enemies when they aren't looking. If I get on that horse and ride out with you, there's no place for what I do. All that'll happen is I'll get killed."

  "We don't have time for this. Get on the horse."

  "Go without me. I'm a liability."

  "Get on the horse."

  "Why do you care? You don't need me. Just go."

  Malja dodged the idea of telling Fawbry about the things she had discussed with Tommy. Instead, she said, "At the least, you'll be my decoy. Especially in that robe."

  "Very funny."

  "Maybe this'll help," she said, offering the other gun she had brought back through the portal.

  When he took the weapon, its weight surprised him, lurching forward. But when he regained his footing, he looked like a child getting a special reward. His eyes roamed the weapon.

  "How does it work?" he asked.

  "Don't know for sure. But like all guns, you pull the trigger and something goes boom. Just make sure the end with the hole is facing your enemy."

  Ducking his head under the strap, Fawbry said, "Thanks."

  Malja didn't respond. That she might have done this as some gesture more than needing another fighting body disturbed her. Besides, there were more important things to deal with at the moment. "Get on a horse and let's go."

  "Right behind you," Fawbry said, and to her surprise, Malja found his words energizing.

  Together, they galloped off toward the convoy.

  Owl

  Owl and Brother X stood still, their weapons poised and ready, their eyes locked on each other. Facing off in a corridor had its problems. The narrowness of the space meant Owl and Brother X couldn't circle each other. Nor could they come in straight and significantly alter direction at the last instant for a surprise flanking attack. Broad sweeping strikes were useless, too.

  Owl had his feet set in a classic 'L' stance taught to him by Master Kee long ago — his feet balanced so that he could launch into an attack as easily as leap out of the way. He saw that Brother X chose a more aggressive posture — one that afforded him greater power when attacking but lacked the ability for a fast defense.

  He pictured the fight. Brother X would leap forward, but Owl would jump to the side — and hit the wall and have a blade slice through his back. Owl shifted his feet and lowered his body. This position slowed his offense (he'd have to raise his body a bit before he could move forward effectively) but it meant he could withstand Brother X's frontal assault without evasion or falling to the ground.

  In reaction, Brother X changed his stance. He took on a straighter pose, almost standing, designed for a fast overhead strike. Owl altered slightly to accommodate.

  In this way, the two battled without striking. Each shifted to a new stance only to be countered by the other. As they stared at each other, as they planned out the battle before it occurred, any one mistake would leave a deadly opening.

  Owl controlled his breathing. He had to stay calm. Once, he had the privilege of watching two Masters spar like this. It lasted two hours — only one strike. The losing Master fell to the ground and was rushed to the infirmary.

  As Owl mentally prepared for a long fight, both he and Brother X stepped into the same beginner's stance. They both recognized it at the same time. Both dashed ahead.

  The clash of blades rang throughout the corridor as they passed each other. Two distinct hits — one high, one low — both blocked. They whirled around. Owl set in a defensive posture in case Brother X hurried into another attack. Brother X, however, would not be so foolish. He took on a simple fighting stance, and their face off began again.

  This time was different. Owl's arms shook from the jolt of Brother X's attack. Twice before Owl had faced this man, but this time, the strikes came in faster and harder. Brother X had been toying with him earlier.

  As they shifted into new positions, Owl watched his enemy's gun hand. In the Way, a fighter fired his weapon only either when facing multiple enemies or when the sword failed. With only two shots, each bullet had to be considered precious. Owl glanced at the gun Malja had provided. How many bullets did it hold?

  His eyes had only checked his gun for less than a second, but that was too long. When he looked up, Brother X was upon him. Owl raised his sword, deflecting the incoming blade but not with any control. Brother X's blade slid across Owl's, jumped the hilt, and took off Owl's index finger. Brother X leaped by and rolled forward. As Owl turned around, Brother X finished his roll, spun back, and aimed with his gun.

  Owl's finger screamed, but he made no sound. He regained his focus. He saw Brother X's trigger finger move. As the bullet ripped into the air, Owl let his body drop backward, and he watched the bullet sail above him — where his head had just been.

>   Popping back to his feet, Owl whipped his new handgun forward and shot. The enormous bang deafened him. The sheer force of the weapon shoved Owl's arm to the side, destroying any aiming he had attempted.

  On the wall, a hole the size of a fist opened next to Brother X's shoulder. Brother X looked at the smoking hole and then at the weapon. For the first time, Owl thought he saw a flash of uncertainty. He shot again.

  This time, Owl was prepared for the powerful recoil. His aim, for Brother X's chest, did not waver. Brother X raised his sword to take the bullet — something a common swordsman could never accomplish — but a true Master of the Way was no common swordsman. The bullet struck the sword, sending sparks off to the sides, and pushing Brother X back.

  "That's two," Brother X said.

  Owl pulled the trigger again. A third bullet shot out and Brother X's shocked eyes gave Owl great satisfaction. Brother X deflected this bullet too, but he fell to one knee in order to absorb the powerful shock.

  A fourth bullet blasted out. Owl's arm shook to the bone and his wounded side burned, but he held firm despite the pain. Brother X blocked again, the shower of sparks flickering against the sweat damping his face.

  Owl shot a fifth bullet. Brother X missed a clean block. He changed the bullet's trajectory away from his heart, but it still cut through his gun arm, spraying the corridor with blood.

  Owl raised the gun to aim at Brother X's forehead. He focused all his energy on holding that gun still. "This is for Chief Master," he said and pulled the trigger.

  Beeeeeeeeeep

  The long tone coming from the gun was matched with a red light. Both Owl and Brother X stared at the gun, unsure of what the sound meant. Before Owl could realize that it didn't matter, what mattered was that the gun no longer fired, Brother X lunged from his crouched position, his sword leading the way.

  Owl batted the blade away. Brother X's face was as red as his clothes. Sweat and spit flew off him as he barraged Owl with one sword strike after another. He grunted and shouted. Owl stepped back with each attack, doing his best to defend, never getting a chance to counter the attacks.

  "You're pathetic," Brother X said and sent his blade after Owl's neck. Even as Owl blocked it, Brother X tried to redirect his attack lower to the shoulder. "You can't even kill me with five bullets."

  Their swords clashed and the sheer force behind Brother X's blows pressed Owl against the wall. Brother X spun his gun sideways and held it by the back end. He thrust the weapon at Owl's neck, the move intended to damage Owl's throat while pinning him against the wall.

  Owl knew the move well. He lowered his head, taking the painful strike on his chin. Brother X pulled the gun back and flipped it around, using it like a metal glove over his fist. He punched Owl in the chest. Then again, lower to the wounded side.

  Owl cried out, his voice blending with the incessant beep of his weapon. His torso convulsed and his legs buckled. The sudden loss of control saved his life. Brother X instinctively jumped back, assuming Owl's movements had been planned. That mistake gave Owl the time to re-grip his sword and strike at Brother X.

  The swords clashed, the guns blocked. Controlled rage fueled the men. But Brother X always managed the better strike, the better defense. No matter what Owl tried to do, Brother X countered.

  Owl parried the next attack and spun around, but Brother X knew these moves too well. He caught Owl's sword on the barrel of his gun and kicked Owl in the thigh, knocking him back several feet. Owl tumbled to the floor.

  "You'll never beat me," Brother X said, not even bothering to settle in a stance. "You're too slow, too weak, too predictable."

  The throbbing pain in Owl's thigh deadened the leg. He tried to stand but couldn't get his leg to co-operate. He rifled through his mind trying to remember how the Masters had taught him to handle this kind of situation.

  "It's over," Brother X said. "Now you die."

  As Brother X launched into his attack, time slowed for Owl. He watched his enemy leave the ground, his red cloak fluttering like a flag behind him. The bloody sword turned downward for a skewering thrust. Brother X's face turned into a twisted mix of lust and hate.

  The sword moved just a hair to the side. Brother X's eyes looked off that way, too. And in the sliver of a second, so much that Owl had been trained to do collided with what the Masters taught that he had not understood.

  Owl's body had leaned to the side. It was doing as he had been trained — a simple roll to evade the attack. But Brother X was already looking at the spot Owl would roll to. He knew. Because he had been trained the same.

  The Masters taught that the greatest fighters never had to fight. It made sense now. Owl decided that he would not do as he had been trained. Instead, he would sit still with his sword pointing upward in a traditionally meditative state — just as Chief Master always asked of him.

  The last thing Owl saw before time returned to normal for him was something he knew he would never forget — Brother X's eyes as he realized his mistake. Stuck in the air, he couldn't change direction. Brother X came down, impaled on Owl's sword. Blood streamed along the blade and over Owl's hand.

  The long beep of the gun ceased and the light changed from red to blue. Owl pressed the muzzle against Brother X's temple.

  "P-Please," Brother X said, his voice weak and wet. "Please, let me die honorably."

  "No," Owl said and pulled the trigger.

  The blast shot Brother X down the corridor with Owl's sword still stuck through him. Brother X's head, however, went straight against the wall, leaving a smear of blood and a pile of shattered bone fragments.

  A few minutes passed before Owl dared to move. He didn't think, either. He just sat there, letting the immediacy of the moment wash over him. When he finally attempted to stand, he found that the pain in his thigh had left. His finger and his side would take time to heal, but he could still move.

  As he retrieved his sword from Brother X's corpse, he noticed a paper sticking from a pocket in the cloak. Owl snatched it out. As he read it, he knew he wasn't done yet.

  Malja was in serious trouble.

  Malja

  For Malja, galloping on a horse was both exhilarating and terrifying. She had great respect for the animal and loved the feeling of all that power thundering her across the land. She thrilled at the wind whipping her braided hair like the horse's tail. But knowing that the only control she truly had over the animal was the control it allowed to be given made her tense.

  They were closing in on the convoy when her horse veered to the right. Malja used her heels to guide the horse back, but it was frightened by something. A glance over her shoulder showed that Fawbry's horse had a similar reaction.

  Pressing harder and tugging on the reins, she forced the horse toward the left, but when it reached the target direction, it continued on to the left. Fawbry pulled up next to her, pointing out the three magicians on the back of an open bed grounder. Damn magicians. She didn't know what magic they were using, but clearly the horses had a distaste for the spell.

  The grounders rolled on wide, patched wheels, and the body's edges were covered in broken glass and sharp metal bits. Whether that was meant to protect the magicians or to keep them under control, Malja couldn't say.

  "Split and flank," Malja said. If it took three magicians to cast this spell, then they probably didn't have enough power to follow two targets.

  "See you there," Fawbry said and took his horse off to the right. Malja kicked her horse on, speeding along the left.

  As they closed in, she heard panicked shouting and the harsh whine of a flyer making a tight turn. Malja pulled Viper loose and kept her eyes straight ahead. The closer they came, the more noise she heard. Between the pounding of the horse she rode and the non-stop rumble of the convoy, Malja found it difficult to hear much else.

  The flyer, a snub-nosed craft with two wings out like a bird of prey and two wings perpendicular to the ground, sputtered off to Malja's left. A sole magician powered and operated th
e craft. It came in low and fast, stirring up dust in spiraling plumes.

  Malja ducked, pressing her body flat against the horse. The flyer soared right overhead. The heat it generated pressed down, causing the horse to stumble. It took two halting steps before it regained its rhythm.

  Malja made it a point never to learn a horse's name — they never lasted long enough around her. But after that feat, one that would have lamed most horses and sent her rolling in the dirt, she thought she might learn this one's name. As the flyer curved around for another pass, she reminded herself that she had to live through this first.

  The craft came in low again. This time, however, Malja was ready. She flicked Viper's sharp tip skyward. As the flyer passed over, Viper squealed as it cut through the metal underbelly. Malja felt several tugs as Viper sliced wiring and cables.

  Black smoke belched out of the back end of the flyer. The magician strained to get control of the ship, but it was too late. It arced off to the side and smashed into the ground.

  Malja would have loved to inspect the wreckage but that would have to wait for another day. She set her horse racing onward. In short time, she saw the back of the convoy with the flatbed carrying the three magicians that were causing her horse a lot of trouble.

  She rushed ahead, unsure of how to stop them, when she saw Fawbry approaching from the right-hand side. His multi-colored robe whipped behind him. He let out a meager war cry as he raised his arm toward the magicians. Malja's eyes widened — the gun.

  Malja had heard many different handguns and rifles before. Never had she heard anything like this. The weapon let loose a rage of bullets, spraying them like a fountain. She heard the steady tat-tat-tat-tat, delivering death at speeds she never imagined, and watched the three magicians arch backward. Blood spurted into the air and they slumped over each other. Fawbry's war cry morphed into a scream as the gun's recoil knocked him from his horse.

  Without anyone to control it, the flatbed wobbled and then curved off toward a large rock. When it hit, the bodies soared several feet beyond.