Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

  Baz nodded and kept going. "Dardanos was white as a fish belly the whole time because now it's found out he and Helmer had been the ones lying, see? About what happened in that first duel between you and Helmer. Because Griff went and confessed he was never there and then Helmer confessed it was all Dardanos' idea and the two of them turned on each other so fast, the queen's head was spinning!"

  Nadir gave Baz a slightly disapproving look at that, but said nothing, so Baz continued. "Right so, Dardanos gets stripped of his knighthood, but he gets to keep the title he was born with, which is completely meaningless because the queen's gone and taken his land away too." Baz grinned widely. "So he's now considered a public disgrace and is ruined. He's already left for the countryside. We're probably never hearing from him again." Baz slapped his knee joyfully at the thought.

  Nadir finally chimed in, his report much less excitable than Baz's had been. If fact, it was almost clinical in comparison. "His disgrace affected Helmer. Helmer is now knightless."

  Cal only vaguely knew what that meant. A disgrace like this hadn't happened during the queen's reign, and he wasn't much of a history buff like Nadir. Cal's brows knitted slightly. "So what does that mean for Helmer?"

  Nadir's lips twisted into a shadow of a smile. "Well, he's now seen as tainted by a dishonorable education. He is to remain a knightless squire until someone else claims him. It would then be up to that knight to determine when Helmer is ready to stand for knighthood, regardless of his age. Which means Helmer could remain a squire for another seven years if his new knight so chose. But first, someone has to claim him. Until then, he's little more than a glorified page."

  Cal was beaming by the end of it. "That's got to be the second best news I've ever heard."

  Nadir narrowed his eyes. "What's first then?"

  Cal shook his head. "Only something I've been waiting six years to hear."

  Nadir didn't press, though he did level a curious look at Cal. After letting Baz chatter on for another full fifteen minutes, Nadir finally dragged him away to let Cal rest.

  Nahiya also came to visit and even Lady Elleni came by. When Cal finally confronted her about Lady Elleni, Nahiya went a deep red and looked away. "Yes, I've felt like that about her for... for, as long as you've been gone over Taren, I'd say."

  Cal grinned. "Is it mutual?" Nahiya didn't respond, just blushed harder and nodded. "Good," Cal exclaimed, kissing her on the cheek. "I'm glad for you both. More good news."

  But it was still what Taren had confessed that had Cal doing his best to recuperate quickly. He wanted to get back into their sparring routine. He needed his endurance back for that and other matters he was bound and determined to finally attend to.

  *~*~*

  Taren was right. Cal strove to complicate matters as much as possible. Their sparring sessions had always left Cal hot and bothered; now he went out of his way to make sure they had the same effect on Taren. He wondered how long Taren could keep acting like the proper one.

  He didn't have to wait long. Taren lasted only until Cal could get through a full session of training without having to take a moment's rest because of his injury. The very same day, Taren locked up the practice room, and without a word, took Cal back to his own.

  Cal didn't notice the spacious room, the simple and tasteful decor, or the seats that looked so comfortable he could sleep in them. All he noticed was the large, four post bed with heavy drapes, the bed Taren laid him in and then joined him in. The bed was full of soft sheets and pillows that cushioned Cal's body while Taren's hands roamed over him.

  He arched up into Taren's touch, hardly believing it was really, finally happening. He didn't hold back the soft cries when Taren took him in hand and touched him the same way Cal touched himself. He didn't hold back when Taren shifted a little so Cal could run hands all over Taren's broad shoulders and back.

  Then it was soft cries and twisted sheets, Taren's hands twined in Cal's, Taren's large body covering Cal's. It was teeth against skin and sweat-damp bodies arching together and Cal crying out his release into Taren's shoulder as he shook and arched beneath him.

  After his heart stopped racing, Cal opened his eyes, staring up into Taren's face. It didn't matter how drained he was, how he'd just spent hours in armor with a sword. It didn't matter that his arm was starting to twinge a little and he would really feel this all tomorrow. A quick grin teased his lips as he thought about what Taren always said when Cal starting getting tired during practice. He arched up and pressed his lips against Taren's ear.

  "Again."

  ROUND TWELVE

  CHASING COYOTE

  AUGUST AIMES

  The only warning he got was a sudden lightness at his hip.

  Then an ominous click as cold metal kissed the back of his neck. "Hands against the wall." The voice was deep, smooth as butter, and far too amused for Jove's liking, but he did as he was told.

  Now, he'd been in his fair share of embarrassing situations to be sure—the time he'd been caught riding a judge's son like he was a derby stallion certainly came to mind. However, Jove was fairly certain that staring down the barrel of a shotgun naked as the day he was born ranked pretty low compared to being held at gunpoint with his own damn gun. His own fault, he supposed. One too many bottom-shelf whiskeys while he was supposed to be working. And now, once again, he was literally caught with his pants down.

  There was probably a lesson in there somewhere. Maybe if he survived this encounter Jove would take a minute to figure it out.

  The alley behind the saloon opened out onto the main street. A shout might bring help, but chances were slim at this time of night, and definitely not before he got a bullet in his head for his trouble. Jove was prepared for an ignoble death sometime in the hopefully distant future, but he drew the line at getting his brains blown out in some back alley with his cock waving in the breeze. Well. Maybe someday, but not just yet.

  "If it's money you're lookin' for, m'afraid I just watered the wall with the last of it." His words were a little more slurred than Jove would have liked, but he figured he got his point across. Hopefully the would-be thief would count his losses and slink off the way he'd come. And then Jove would track him down and steal his gun back. It was a matter of pride.

  "I'm not interested in your money, Jove Whittaker." The use of his name didn't make him feel any better about the situation, and he did a quick mental tally of all the people he'd pissed off lately. It only took a moment to realize the number was too great to narrow down to even a handful of likely candidates.

  "Now, I'm in no position to be makin' requests," Jove said carefully, "but it's hardly fair you knowin' my name and I don't know yours. Seems the least y'could afford me if you're gonna kill me."

  His assailant chuckled, the sound making the fine hairs at the back of Jove's neck stand at attention. "I'm not going to kill you, Mr. Whittaker—"

  "Jove, please. Mr. Whittaker was a deadbeat drunk who was too soaked t'pull outta my momma when he came."

  "—Jove, then, since we're gettin' all nice and familiar with each other. Me, I got a few names to go around, but you can call me Coyote."

  Jove was grateful he was facing the wall because he couldn't have stopped his eyes from rolling if he tried. "Coyote, would y'mind greatly if I ask another favor?"

  There was a brief pause while Coyote considered this. "Why not? I'm feeling generous."

  "I'm a bit uncomfortable with a fella holdin' a gun on me with my cock hangin' out without there bein' a certain understandin' between all parties involved. So if you'd just allow me t'make myself presentable, I'd be much obliged."

  Again there was a pause, this one long enough to make Jove nervous, and it was times like these that he really wished his brain-to-mouth filter wasn't rendered completely useless by the liberal application of alcohol.

  "Go ahead," Coyote said finally, and Jove wondered if that was disappointment he heard before the nudge of his pistol reminded him he had more important things to worry about.
He made quick work of tucking himself away and doing his trousers up before returning his hands to the wall. "Now what's this all 'bout if you're not here to kill me?"

  "I make it a habit of getting to know everyone who comes after me, size them up if you will. Figured it was high time I said hello."

  It took a moment for the whiskey-logged gears in Jove's head to get turning, but once they did, everything slowly clicked into place. He knew who the man behind him was. His likeness was printed on almost every wanted poster from the capital city of Canton to the tiniest, one-horse settlements in the Outer Territories. Jove had become increasingly familiar with the brown, sharp-angled face and the intelligent dark eyes set over a wide grin during the past year. He'd been chasing the man who now called himself Coyote across the back end of nowhere in the hopes of earning the frankly ridiculous bounty on the man's head.

  Shame to say this was the closest he'd ever gotten.

  "I'm flattered," Jove admitted because despite being disgusted with himself, he kind of was. It wasn't every day that the continent's most wanted talisman thief came looking for you instead of the other way around. "How'd I measure up?"

  "Can't exactly say you're doin' a bang-up job, all things considered. Sometimes I reckon your brain cavity wouldn't make a drinkin' cup for a canary." The criticism was pretty spot on if Jove was honest, so he couldn't take any real offense. "But you make up for it with decent instincts and tenacity, I'll give you that. And you're no real chore to look at. So I'd say you break about even."

  Jove was flattered again, and he really was going to need to have a long, hard talk with himself once he sobered up. Assuming Coyote wasn't just toying with him and planned to kill him anyway.

  "Thank you for your candor," Jove said with all the sincerity he could muster. "I'll aim to improve professionally from here on out. I don't s'pose you could help me along some an' give Ada back?"

  Laughter was not the response Jove had been hoping for. "Ada, is it? Well, much as I like you, Jove, I'm afraid I can't do that. It'd be too easy, and then how would you learn?" The humor in Coyote's voice was mocking but warm, as if they were old friends. "No, best I keep her for now. You'll have to earn her back."

  "Have to earn—" The audacity made Jove start to turn around, but the firm pressure of skin-warmed metal against his nape stopped him cold.

  "Now, Jove, don't go gettin' riled." For the first time, there was an edge of warning in Coyote's voice. "I bet this pretty girl's got a powerful sensitive trigger. I'd hate to blow that fine face of yours all over the wall."

  Jove swallowed hard. "Would be a damn shame. I'm a bit attached to it myself." A pistol wasn't the most dangerous weapon in a talisman thief's arsenal, but it was still damn effective.

  The pressure at Jove's nape eased some. "'Atta boy. Now, much as I'd like to get to know you a bit better, Jove Whittaker, I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. But don't worry." Coyote moved suddenly, coming close enough for Jove to feel the heat of Coyote's body against his back. Jove went very still when warm breath and the light brush of lips joined the muzzle of his gun at his neck. "I'm sure we'll be meeting again soon enough."

  And then Coyote moved again, silently as he'd come and with a swiftness that had cold air rushing in to fill the void left in his wake. It raised goose bumps up and down Jove's arms, left his body buzzing. He spun around, instinct overriding self-preservation.

  Jove wasn't in any danger of getting his head blown off this time, though. Coyote was gone and he'd taken Ada with him.

  *~*~*

  Hat pulled low over his eyes to shield them from the inconsiderate sun and mouth dryer than a teetotaler's flask, Jove wondered if he should rethink his strategy. Of course, it would probably help if he'd come up with one in the first place.

  Three weeks of aimlessly crisscrossing rough country from town to town had gotten him a cheap replacement pistol and an even cheaper horse but little else. It wasn't really surprising, given the kind of man Coyote was. Not only was he a thief of talismans but a known worker as well. A damned good one, too. There was a reason why he was still running loose and his bounty was so high, and him being as wily as his namesake was the least of it.

  Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—Jove remembered the tingle lingering on his skin after Coyote had left him in that alley. At first he'd thought it was the relief that came from putting off meeting Mr. Grim for another day, but he knew better now. It was the first time he'd felt magic first-hand, and Jove wasn't going to soon forget it.

  Of course, knowing didn't bring Jove any closer to tracking down Coyote or getting Ada back. It was starting to grate on him.

  Jove had never claimed to be the best bounty hunter in the Nine Territories—handsomest, certainly—but he'd corralled his fair share of outlaws. He'd been trailing Coyote for a long while and this was the closest he'd ever gotten. Going on little more than a new, inexplicable tug in his gut and an itch under his skin, Jove was finding every town Coyote had stopped in, missing him by a day, sometimes only hours. He wasn't some green tenderfoot who couldn't tell his ass from his elbow. Jove did have better than average instincts when it came to hunting down bounties, but truth be told, he'd never been this hot on a trail with so few breadcrumbs before. Jove might've been a bit curious about that if his stomach hadn't been rolling gently with the horse's lazy gait. Then again, he was just as likely to be busy stroking his own ego.

  But Coyote's criticisms still bounced around in his head like a tumbleweed caught in a tornado, which wasn't helping his headache any. Jove could admit that he'd been sloppy. Talisman worker or not, Coyote never should have gotten the drop on him like that. And did he really have to take Ada?

  His poor Ada! Jove hated to think of her being manhandled by some sticky-fingered ne'er-do-well who didn't know a thing about taking proper care of her, all that magic gumming up her works. Then to be told he had to earn her back? The very thought had his gut churning with indignation. Or maybe that was just his hangover.

  The horse let out a long breath as if sighing in sympathy. That or she was about to keel over. Jove preferred to imagine the former, if only to keep the hope alive that he'd actually reach the next town before the old roan gave up the ghost.

  He'd won the mare in a poker game the night before. No, 'won' was being generous. He'd been too drunk to notice at the time, but with every lurching step of the bony horse beneath him, he grew more and more certain the fellow he'd beaten had lost on purpose. Jove supposed beggars couldn't be choosers, though. He'd misplaced his last horse even before his run-in with Coyote, and after losing Ada, too... Well, the way things had been going, Jove could use all the luck he could get, questionable or otherwise.

  Fortunately for him, Providence had a way of looking after small children, drunkards, and fools. Being two-thirds qualified, he figured it wouldn't be too long before things started looking up.

  Jove was cursing Providence about an hour later when his horse threw a shoe and he ended up face down in the scrub at the side of the road.

  "Flawless," he muttered as he rolled out of the bushes and slowly got to his feet. He didn't bother dusting himself off. Every inch of him from head to toe was covered in the fine, rust-colored dust that was just about unavoidable this deep into the Outer Territories. Besides, he still had miles to go until the next town—five if the sign he'd passed not long ago was remotely accurate—and it looked like he was going to be walking the rest of the way.

  Jove gave the horse a reproachful look. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't just put you out of my misery here and now?" The mare just stared back, unrepentant. "I'd try to sell you first chance I got, but I'd probably have to pay some poor sap to take your sorry ass off my hands." Jove grabbed her reins and started walking. "You're lucky I like you."

  The horse whickered softly, almost a laugh, and it was Jove's turn to sigh. It was going to be a long walk.

  He was sweating waterfalls and choking on road grit when he made it into Bowden someti
me around midday. As he trudged down the main road, Jove was pleasantly surprised to find it was indeed the biggest town he'd yet to stumble across in the Outer Territories, just as the sign welcoming him had claimed. Compared to the seemingly endless succession of literally one-horse towns he'd endured the last few months, Bowden was a veritable metropolis. There was a bank, a post office, and a jail—all in separate buildings! Even the saloon and whorehouse didn't share a roof from what Jove could tell as he wandered down the main thoroughfare. He made a mental note to inspect both before he left town, but first he needed a bed and sustenance, and not necessarily in that order.

  The hotel was a tall, skinny mansion wedged in between the post office and the general store. The Widow Bowden converted it into lodgings after her prospector husband kicked off, explained the weathered old man Jove had made the mistake of asking about lodgings. It had long since seen better days, but four of its six rooms were vacant, and it was fancy enough to have its water pumped inside from a well out back. Jove tied his horse to a post out front before heading inside.

  He emerged the next day fed, rested, and clean. Finding his horse where he had left her and somehow still alive, Jove got her fed and figured he might as well ask the way to the local blacksmith.

  Z. Frye and Son had their establishment clear at the other end of town. Set a ways off from the surrounding buildings, the faded red barn seemed to spring up out of the dirt, more dust that had taken shape than a structure of timber and nails. Jove wasn't entirely sure the place wouldn't blow away with the next good breeze. He could hear the steady clang of a hammer before he even got within twenty paces of the open barn doors; when he stepped inside, the noise was nearly deafening.

  It was dim inside even with the doors flung wide, but the relief from the punishing sun didn't make the interior of the barn any cooler. It was like stepping out of a warm summer day and straight into a furnace. The red flickering light of a large fire threw writhing shadows across the walls, and the smell of hot metal burned his nostrils. For a brief moment, Jove wondered if he'd actually died out there on the road. If he did, he had to admit he was a little disappointed. If this was Hell, where was his welcoming committee?