Colton Cyness and the Gunslingers (Children of the Empire Book 1)

by R. L. Wolf

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE Into the Night

  CHAPTER TWO Four Corners

  CHAPTER THREE Brothers

  CHAPTER FOUR First Merit

  CHAPTER FIVE The Long Walk

  CHAPTER SIX Oath Rock

  CHAPTER SEVEN A Letter Home

  CHAPTER EIGHT The Game

  CHAPTER NINE War

  CHAPTER TEN Ella

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Festival Day

  CHAPTER TWELVE Lost and Found

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Fatal

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Trust

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Tunnel

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN Sins of the Father

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Sins of the Brother

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Sins of the Hero

  CHAPTER NINETEEN Night Sheriff

  CHAPTER TWENTY Falling Stars

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Sanon Town

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Ravens

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Mail Run

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Adrift

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Dustin Lance Blackjack

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Hospital Visits

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Prison Break

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Deception

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Above Water

  CHAPTER THIRTY Below Water

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Broken Dam

  COLTON CYNESS AND THE GUNSLINGERS

  Robert Wolf

  Copyright © 2016 Robert Wolf. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For Ann and Tara

  CHAPTER ONE

  Into the Night

  The boy's long slender fingers grasped futilely at the wavering shapes of model spaceships hung from the ceiling. The shadows danced playfully in the moonlight and eluded his grasp. He swiped at the dark shapes one last time and gave up. The old game wasn't as much fun as it had once been, catching shadows was for little boys. He sat up and tried to slip quietly into his boots, but the old floorboards creaked and gave him away.

  "Little Colt, is that you?"

  "Yes, Ma."

  His name was really Colton, and he was far from little. Most folk already called him Colt, though nobody but Ma called him Little Colt, not anymore. He was fourteen, taller than most full-grown men, and had a reputation for a quick temper.

  "Are you going for the summit again?"

  "Yes, Ma," said Colt, tapping at one of the spaceships to make it spin on its string.

  "I don't like you being out alone."

  The bed in his parent's room creaked heavily. Colt cringed and held his breath. He had woke Pa.

  "Let the boy go, he won't settle until he has conquered that mountain."

  Colt let his breath out and silently thanked Pa for being on his side.

  "You take your rifle, you hear, boy," added Pa. "I saw some cougar tracks a few days ago."

  "Yes, Pa," replied Colt. He thought about asking Pa if he could take the revolver hidden in the chest at the foot of Pa's bed. Colt spent many hours practicing with the ancient Cetti revolver when nobody was around. Pa didn't want anyone outside the family to know they were descendants of the Cettise.

  Colt grabbed the rifle from the rack above his bureau, and hurried down the stairs, his boots thundering loudly through the dark farmhouse. He would need some provisions for the journey, and tromped through the living room to the kitchen and pushed the door open. A slab of smoked bacon and some biscuits would serve nicely for the trip. He could have a cold breakfast when he got to the top of the mountain. Colt retrieved the bacon from the pantry and shoved it into a knapsack with some biscuits he found warming in the oven. Next he fished around the 'catch-all' drawer, as Ma called it, and found some wooden matches and a box of ammunition. He looked around the kitchen to make sure he was properly provisioned for the trip, slung the rifle and knapsack over his shoulder—bumping the rifle against the wall in his excitement. He cringed, waiting for Ma to scold him for being careless and marking the wall, but the scolding didn't come, and he tiptoed to the table in the center of the room. He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite. A light from upstairs came on. He was making too much noise. He hurried to the back door, any moment now Ma was going to come down the stairs and might change her mind about letting him go.

  A simple latch held the kitchen door shut. Locks weren't needed on Corvus. Anyone foolish enough to enter someone's house uninvited would likely be greeted with a hail of gunfire. Colt lifted the latch and slipped out into the night. His breath fogged in the cool night air, the days were hot, but nights were always cold. He wished he thought to bring some gloves, but didn't want to go back inside to search for them.

  The porch creaked as he stepped off the old wooden steps, and onto the damp grass. The shape of the mountain loomed in the distance. It wasn't the tallest mountain on Corvus, and could be argued it wasn't a mountain at all, but it was his to conquer.

  Pa was always telling him stories about his ancestors, and the old days, as Pa called it, when House Cettise had conquered the one hundred twenty-seven habitable worlds of the galaxy. The stories had sparked Colt's imagination. He wanted to explore as his ancestors had done, and the mountain was the first step on his quest.

  The Cyness Plantation stretched for hundreds of miles. Colt's great-grandfather had staked the plantation out during the Great Land Run after the colonization ship landed. It had taken more than a few land-wars to hold, and still did, but their plantation was now the largest on Corvus.

  He walked across the yard. An old wagon he hadn't played with for years lay rusting in the grass. Ma kept telling him to get rid of the old thing, but he had never gotten around to it. Now she planted flowers in it every spring to hide what she called, ‘that old eyesore’.

  The yard gave way to a cornfield. The entire crop this year was corn. He could take the road, but that would add several hours, and he wanted as much of the night to climb the mountain as possible.

  The stalks of corn parted as he plunged into the cornfield looking for an open row to run between. The corn was almost ready to harvest. Agricargships waited in orbit, and seasonal workers were housed in the cabins on the eastern border of the farm, waiting for his father's order to begin the harvest. He had to make the mountain this time. He wouldn't get another chance until next year. He would have to lead a group of workers during the harvest, and there would be the rotation crop to put in, and schoolwork. His time would be occupied until the snows fell, and then he wouldn't be able to try again until spring.

  He ran at a steady pace, the occasional errant leafy stock smacking against him. The firm ground in this row made running easy. He ran for an hour, the rifle and knapsack with the bacon and biscuits bouncing against his back. He hadn't bothered bringing water since plenty of streams fed the fields from the mountain. When he reached the far side of the cornfield, he could take his first drink from the creek bordering the field. He often went fishing at the creek. It was always a pleasant diversion from chores.

  The cool air made him sleepy, and he fell into the slumber of long-distance runners, not exactly sleeping, but also not paying attention. He still wasn't paying attention when the cornfield ended, and he tumbled down the bank into the creek. He woke instantly and danc
ed in the cold water.

  "Ahhh, cold cold."

  The water sloshed in his boots as he scrambled to rescue his hat floating down the creek before climbing the opposite bank. Colt sat on a rock, his teeth chattering, and pulled his boots off. He poured the water out of his boots and shoved them back on his feet. He looked up in time to see a pair of yellow eyes staring at him from the corn on the other side of the creek—a shiver of adrenaline ran down his spine. A cougar stepped silently from between the rows of corn. Colt knew the creek wouldn't slow the cougar once it decided to cross. If he hadn't tripped and fallen, he would be standing on the other side with the cougar behind him, the fall into the creek had saved his life. He lifted the rifle and cocked the lever to chamber a round, but his hands shook from the cold. The cougar sensed the danger and disappeared into the corn as Colt pulled the trigger.

  "Pa will have heard that. He’ll be waiting for the signal."

  Colt fired three rounds five seconds apart into the air. That would tell Pa everything was okay, but there was a predator in the area. Pa would guess he'd run into the cougar. If Colt fired three rapid shots in the air, Pa would be on his way in the old rusted Dart ship they picked up at auction a few years back.

  Colt waited, his rifle pointed at the corn, scanning for the cougar. The cougar didn't return. He lowered the rifle, his eyes searching the darkness a moment longer, then continued toward the mountain. The ground would start sloping up in another half-mile, but until then it was open fields.

  The Moon was on its way down. He would have to make up lost time. A logging road wrapped around the mountain he usually followed to the halfway point, but he needed a more direct approach. He decided to cross the road and go up the side of the mountain. The brush wasn't thick this low and he might make-up the time. Colt felt the change in the ground and knew he was at the base of the mountain. He realized he had forgotten to take a drink of water at the creek, and the next creek wouldn't be for another mile.

  He was nearing the trees when a twig snapped somewhere in the dark behind him. He spun and lifted the rifle, scanning the darkness for the danger. He knew the cougar was following him, and it had made the second mistake of the night. Most likely the cougar had been preying on cattle for too long, and its tracking skills were rusty—or the cougar was playing with him.

  "The night is always darkest before morning," so Pa always said, and the moon was nearly gone.

  Sunrise was still hours away, but the rest of the night would be dark. He already couldn't see anything past a dozen or so feet away.

  "Dang cougar going to mess up my chance to make it this time."

  He was in the dark, alone, and help was a long way off, but it wasn't fear he felt, just a sense to find a place to fight. He slowly backed toward the trees and turned to run the moment he passed the first tree. The darkness was complete, he had made a mistake, he couldn't see at all now. He ran, trying to distance himself from the cougar. The branches slapped against his face, and his heart pounded as he imagined the cougar behind him preparing to make that final leap to take down its fleeing prey. Colt ran for several minutes before stopping.

  "What am I doing? Running is a worse mistake."

  He knelt on the ground, his rifle held steady, and his cheek resting against the stock. He steadied his breathing, listened, and kept his rifle aimed into the darkness as he reached down and felt around on the ground for something to burn. His hand rested on a twig and pulled it close. He heard the rustle of leaves again, the cougar was almost on him, he didn't have much time. He retrieved the box of matches from his pocket and struck one against the side of the box. The match flared, sputtered, and went out. He lit another, the flame caught, and he set it against the twig. He searched out with his hands and pulled more deadfall in to feed the fire. The light from the fire pushed the darkness away. He kept feeding the fire until he had a roaring campfire.

  "How do you like that, Cougar?” asked Colt, taunting the creature hiding in the dark.

  He was safe now but kept his rifle pointed out into the night. The hours passed slowly, and his eyes grew heavy. A few times he nodded off, and each time he woke with a start and fed the fire more wood. He waited, and eventually the trees took form and the darkness receded as the sun slowly rose and stabbed through the canopy of leaves. It was morning, and time to go home.

  The night was gone and with it his chance to climb the mountain at its greatest challenge. He could have easily walked to the top of the mountain now, but that wasn't the point of his quest. He wanted the challenge at its most difficult. Colt kicked the campfire out and started for home. He took six steps and stopped. Cougar tracks pressed into the soft dirt were only a dozen feet from where Colt’s campfire had been. He must have lit the match just in time to scare the cougar, a moment longer and it would have pounced. Colt grinned, he hadn't beaten the mountain, but he had beaten the cougar.

  He didn't feel like going back through the cornfields, so he found the logging road and walked the long way home. The walk was pleasant in the cool morning air, but the temperature quickly rose enough to make him wish he hadn't taken the road. A few hours later he arrived home. Pa was outside working on the tractor.

  "I didn't make it, Pa," said Colt, leaning on the tractor.

  "What did you learn?” asked Pa, looking up from under the engine hood.

  "I learned I can't climb a mountain in the dark with a cougar tracking me."

  Pa set his wrench down and wiped the engine grime from his hands with an old towel. "The cougar wasn't tracking you, boy, it was tracking that bacon in your pack."

  Colt's face turned red. What had he been thinking taking a sack of bacon even after Pa warned him of a predator in the area?

  "Son, sometimes we learn more from what we can't do than from what we can do. Even I learned something today," said Pa, slamming the engine cover on the tractor shut.

  "What's that, Pa?”

  "I learned I can't fix this blasted tractor," replied Pa, kicking the tractor's tire.

  Colt grinned and shuffled his feet in the dirt.

  "I get it," said Colt.

  Pa walked around to the front of the tractor and laid a hand on Colt's shoulder.

  "Why do you want to get on top of that mountain, boy?"

  Colt hesitated for a moment, then burst out. "Pa, I don't want to be a farmer, I want to see the stars."

  "I know, boy. I want you to give me three more years here on the farm. I still have a few things to teach you, but the day you turn seventeen, climb into that Dart ship and leave," said Pa, pointing up at the sky. "Go out there, chase your dreams, become your own man."

  "Pa, I can't leave you and Ma," said Colt, his dark eyes betraying his words.

  "I mean it boy, three years, and you leave and never come back."

  Colt threw his arms around Pa.

  "That's enough of that," said Pa, pushing Colt back and tousling his hair. "You are getting so tall. Well, I believe your Ma has a piece of hot apple pie waiting for us inside."

  "Race you, Pa."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Four Corners

  Clouds of dust hung in the air. Not the arid dust of empty fields that would come after the harvest, nor the dry dust of a fallow field left unseeded, but the pleasant heady dust of a corn-rich harvest. Combines with tires taller than most houses crawled across the north fields in a stately march, lifting, cutting, separating, and dropping the corn into grain trucks following the procession. The north field harvest was intended for planets no longer producing food. Colt nudged his horse into a trot and followed the dirt road that split the north and south fields.

  The fields to the south were being picked by seasonal workers for local markets, while the north fields were being harvested by machines. The people of Corvus fanatically shunned technology, and would never purchase the machine-harvested crops. The Cyness plantation sat in the center of the most fanatic region of the planet, delicately balancing the old world and the new. Colt glanced at the Caelum priests walki
ng behind the combines. They waved their arms like wounded ducks and chanted to purify the land from the passing mechanical monsters. The priests were a hypocritical nuisance.

  The horse sensed Colt's mood, pranced to the side and lifted its head above the bit to annoy its rider. Colt grinned and patted his mischievous friend on the neck, regained control, and continued along the old farming road. The harvest would yield twenty-three million bushels of corn. It was going to be a good year.

  A commotion in the road ahead drew Colt's attention. A grain wagon blocked the advance of a convoy of trucks ready to leave. The grain wagon leaned precariously to one side. One of its front wheels had come loose, and the entire wagon threatened to crush under the weight of the cargo. The teamster, one of the few Daemi workers Pa had hired, was pushing against the side in a vain effort to steady the wagon. The Daemi were incredibly strong, but this Daemi was a tailless half-breed, and smaller than a full-blooded Daemi. The reptilian strained against the weight of the wagon. Colt rode through a crowd of drivers standing to the side and jumped down from his horse.

  "Help it!" shouted Colt.

  "We can't," replied a Field Boss, pointing at a Caelum priest watching the disaster.

  Colt shook his head in disgust and ran to the leaning wagon, but the priest jumped in front of Colt and blocked him.

  "You are not permitted to help a filthy Daemi Sacu!" screamed the priest, spittle flying from his mouth in his fanaticism.

  Colt reached into his shirt and lifted a medallion he wore around his neck. The Caelum's eyes flicked to the medallion but he didn't move aside.

  "What would you have me do, lose a valuable wagon?” demanded Colt. “Will you authorize a human to collect harvest and drive for the Sacu village?"

  The Caelum hesitated, uncertain what to do. He wasn't used to being questioned. Colt pressed the advantage by pushing the medallion closer to the priest's face. "I hold the rank of Captain. Move aside," ordered Colt. "I can't let this Sacu do any further harm."