by F J Blair
BULLETPROOF WITCH
Episode Four: Death Rides at Sunset
By Francis James Blair
Copyright © 2020 Lily & Rose Publishing LLC
All rights reserved
For more information about the series, visit http://www.fjblair.com
Cover and interior art by Jin A Lee (https://www.artstation.com/jinalee)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Other Books by F.J. Blair
Bulletproof Witch:
The Delivery of Flesh (Episode 1)
Curse of the Daemon Beast (Episode 2)
Arkton at High Noon (Episode 3)
Also featuring stories by F.J. Blair
Roll of the Dice III Anthology
Dedicated to all fans of fantasy.
May you walk forever in worlds
of the imagination
and find those sacred places
where you can be who you truly are.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Conclusion
Appendix
Deleted Scenes
Acknowledgements
About the Writer
Chapter One
It was Temperance’s eighteenth birthday. For some, that meant a party with friends and relatives. Cloth streamers and paper hats. Games and presents and maybe a cake decorated with white frosting.
For her, it meant five minutes of peace–and a cold drink.
She brought the glass to her lips and took a long, slow pull. The beer inside was bitter, with a slight aftertaste of farro, the staple grain of the southern territories. Not her first choice, but Astor would never let her hear the end of it if she so much as looked at the whiskey bottles.
A few tables over, several men laughed and slapped at their knees. Otherwise the saloon was empty. Temperance hadn’t bothered to learn the place’s name, nor the town in which it was located. Just one more in a long line of backwater waystops through the Ozaka territory, connecting the Silversky Mountains to the southern coast. Beyond that, it didn’t matter.
Technically, her birthday wasn’t for another two days, but by the time it arrived she and Astor would be thick in the wilderness again. Better to catch a drink while the opportunity presented itself.
At least, that’s what she’d told her horse. As for her other reasons . . . .
Well, she kept her own counsel on the matter.
She took another sip and swished the amber liquid around in her mouth, savoring it as best she could. Willing it to chase away the thoughts that tumbled about inside her skull.
Eighteen. Such an unimportant number. Nothing special to it, really. Not like seventeen, with all the exciting milestones of adulthood. When you can legally drink, or join the military, or come into your inheritance—such that it is.
Her seventeenth year had been interesting, to say the least. It marked the start of her quest to find Varconis, the daemon that killed her family, including her grandfather: the legendary James “Brimstone” Whiteoak. A chance to start repairing the damage their deaths had caused in her life.
What a mess that turned out to be. She’d spent most of the year chasing her tail, or sticking her nose in other people’s problems and getting burnt for her troubles.
The last job had been particularly bothersome, dragging her through all the mud there was up in the capital city of Arkton. Temperance ended that adventure on a train heading back to her teacher Martin with little to show for her efforts beyond a few broken bones and a possible new lead.
Once her bones knit, she set off into the wilderness again, chasing down the old outposts that her grandfather had used in his youth. So far she had found one of them a burned-out shell, and another gone from this world entirely. Neither had brought her any closer to finding Varconis.
I’m starting to wonder if uncle Stephen didn’t just send me on a wild orak chase. Might be this was nothing more than his way of keeping me out of trouble for a while.
Immediately Temperance felt guilty for the thought. Stephen hadn’t been to some of these cabins in forty years. Of course they wouldn’t be in the condition he remembered. If anything, it was her own fault for putting faith in the idea.
She took another sip and shook her head.
A shadow fell across the bar. Temperance looked over and saw a fellow from the rowdy table had sauntered his way up next to her. Might be that he was just ordering more drinks, but seeing as hers was the only other occupied seat in the whole saloon, she didn’t like those odds.
The boy leaned against the bar, then turned towards her in a slow, deliberate manner that was likely meant to appear confident. He had the look of a farmer about him, denim overalls and straw hat hiding a mess of unkempt brown hair. For all his height and muscles he was likely her age, maybe even a year younger.
“Buy you a drink, Miss?” When Temperance didn’t answer, it seemed to encourage the boy further. “Hate to see a pretty thing like yourself without company. My pa always says, ‘a man who drinks alone chases after his horse alone’.”
Temperance opened her mouth, realized she had no response to that, and closed it again. Instead, she said. “I’m only allowed the one. Gotta get back on the road soon, anyway.”
“Shoot, you don’t want to be going out in the heat of the day like this. Set a spell and have one more drink. I promise whatever you’re heading towards can wait that long, at least.”
Temperance pushed her chair back. “You’re wasting your time. Best scurry back to your friends now.”
“Hey, no need to be like that.” The boy leapt up, blocking her escape. “Just trying to be friendly, is all. Least you could do is return the favor a little.”
“Listen, it’s been a long day already, and I haven’t got the patience to deal with some country bumpkin like yourself right now. Why don’t you do us both a favor and get out of my way?”
The farmer boy’s expression darkened. “Now hold on there. I only came over to try to be civil, what with you being all by yourself. Ain’t exactly proper for a lady to be alone in a place like this, now is it? Wouldn’t kill you to smile a bit and stay to talk by way of thanks. I promise, we’re all decent folk around here.”
“If you’re representative of the rest of this flea-bitten town, I think I’ll pass on conversations, and doubly on the smiles.” Temperance tried to move around him.
As she passed by the boy snatched her arm, his face curling into a snarl. “Wait just a damn minute, you lousy—”
He froze as Temperance’s revolver pressed against his ribs. Behind them the conversation among his friends died down She doubted they could see her weapon, but still better to get th
is over with before there was trouble.
She leaned in close to whisper in the farm boy’s ear. A trickle of sweat worked its way down his brow. “Normally that kind of talk would earn you a bullet to somewhere that wouldn’t grow back. Lucky for you, my last saloon fight landed me in a Black Rose prison. Since I’d rather not go back, this time I will forget our little conversation ever happened. I suggest you do the same.”
The boy sucked in his breath, although whether that was from the gun or the mention of wardens, Temperance didn’t know.
She didn’t much care, either.
Outside, Astor waited by the hitching post. Done already? I thought you’d be another hour at least.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t particular care for the company in there. Let’s get going, plenty of daylight left to burn.” She climbed into the saddle, and they set off down the main road. Temperance refused to look back at the saloon and instead ground her teeth as she fought to keep her anger in check.
Hmph, the nerve of some folk. Smile indeed!
* * *
As the town slipped away behind them, the lingering taste of beer went with it. Temperance tried to distract herself with the scenery. This part of Korvana was beautiful in the spring. The skies were a crystal blue, wildflowers coated the ground, and the air was thick with the sound of buzzing insects. The wind carried just a hint of warmth, kissed with salt spray from the ocean, the last slice of which was just visible against the horizon.
It should have been the perfect day to be out riding. She barely saw any of it. The landscape crept by in a haze while her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Why had she jumped at that boy back there? Not that she cared about him in particular—stunning tribute to the male half of the species that he had been. No, what bothered her the most was the fact that she lost her temper at all.
She had set off from Martin’s house this time with such optimism. At last, a clue to point her towards Varconis. It was the closest she had been since Cold Valley was destroyed.
Several weeks in, and most of that optimism was gone, replaced by a sense of overwhelming frustration. I would have been better off working my way back to Arkton to follow that other daemon’s trail. Assuming Astor could find it by now.
Thinking about that unnamed shadow daemon just made Temperance angrier than she already was. The more she went over the rooftop battle, the more she suspected that she had played right into their hands. Even surprising the creature as she and Lilac had, somehow they had turned the situation to the daemon’s advantage.
She must have been grinding her teeth louder than usual. Astor swung his head back to regard her. Something wrong? You’re being awful sour, even by your standards.
“I’ve just been thinking—what if this cabin is another dead end? It’s the last one on uncle Stephen’s list.”
Hmm. I suppose we find another town and search their wanted posters for anything promising. Gotta be another daemon out there who can tell us something.
A fork appeared in the trail. Temperance turned them to the north, the meadows cutting away as the surrounding land grew rocky. “Simple as that, eh? It doesn’t bother you we might have spent these last few weeks running around for nothing? Or the last year, for that matter?”
Oh, that. The horse swung his head about, giving Temperance the impression he was trying to shrug. Truth told, I didn’t figure we’d find much at these cabins. Never trusted that Lorde fellow. Even in his younger days he was a bumbling fool.
“Now that’s no way to talk about—” Temperance paused. “Exactly how long have you known him?”
A while? I can remember him when he was still a shaky-legged foal with a revolver swinging on his hip, but trying to think back that far is . . . difficult.
While Temperance doubted Astor was old enough to remember Stephen when he was as young as all that, her curiosity was piqued. “So you knew my grandpa too, then? Why haven’t you ever mentioned any of this?”
I . . . Astor stopped. She sensed hesitation through their bond. And something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. Sorry, as I said, everything before we met, before I became your familiar, it’s like I was half-asleep. I get a few flashes now and then. Otherwise it’s all just a hazy blur.
From what Temperance knew of the bonding process, this made sense. There were a multitude of benefits to becoming a familiar, such as a longer lifespan and protection from daemon possession. Most also gained a measure of additional intelligence for their loyalty, a sort of sharing of resources between beast and sorcerer. Astor was more clever than most, but he still would have been nothing but an ordinary horse prior to becoming her familiar.
That strange emotion was still tickling at her senses through their bond. She gave Astor a comforting pat. “Don’t you let it eat at you, none, I was just curious. Wouldn’t matter, anyway. Unless maybe you’re hiding the secret to defeating Varconis in that head of yours?”
The horse let out a chuckle and resumed plodding down the trail. Somehow I doubt that.
“Anyway, it’s not uncle Stephen’s fault if this place is a bust. He only told us what he knew, not like there was ever a promise of success that came with it. Tell you what, though: if we get there and it’s the same as the other two, we’ll head on down to Messanai next. They still got plenty of daemon trouble in that place, from what I hear.”
After the capital of Arkton, Messanai was the most populated city in all of Korvana. It sat along the southern coast right next to the Divide, a mountain range that was all but impassible. The city was a major shipping port for timber, but equally popular as being far removed from the rest of the world. Messanai was the safest place one could get from the Empire without leaving the continent entirely.
“I hope Uncle Stephen and everyone else are doing alright,” she said, to Astor as much as herself. “If Apterix had declared war against us, we would have heard about it by now, wouldn’t we?”
You’re asking me? Not like I know how to read a newspaper. The only thing I ever hear from the other horses is “more hay”, or “sun hot”. Real wealth of conversation to be found around the watering trough, let me tell you.
Temperance smiled and gave the horse another pat. As she pulled her hand back, it rubbed against the side of her jacket. A low grumble emitted from the leather, and a jolt of energy arced up her spine. She snapped her mouth shut so fast her teeth bit into her tongue.
“Hell and hellfire!” she snapped, spitting blood to the side.
Astor shivered. I felt that too, like somebody laid into me with spurs. It’s getting worse, isn’t it?
“Near as I can tell. I should have left the damn thing with Martin. He can’t fix it, but at least he could have kept it safe until . . . .” Temperance didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Until what? Not like she had ever met anybody out there who had seen something like her grandfather’s jacket.
She didn’t dare put her worst fears into words: that there might be nothing to do. That her bulletproof coat might just be at the end of its life. What would she do, if that was the case? It was one of the few advantages she had over regular Pistol Warlocks.
Without the coat, was there even anything special about her?
Temperance pushed the thought from her head, putting it away with all the other troublesome ones. She would deal with it at a later time.
They reached the top of a rise, and ahead the trail sloped and twisted along the edge of a cliff. A river coursed and crashed at the cliff’s base, slowly eating into the ancient stone. Somewhere above them, a hawk let out a piercing shriek before diving towards the water.
In the distance lay the Silversky mountains. While nowhere near the size of the Divide, they were big in their own way, and stretched almost from one side of the continent to the other, splitting the Federation in half.
The remains of Cold Valley nestled somewhere north and east of here. Temperance’s destination lay clear on the other side, where the foothills stretched out and bowed before the
vast open plains of the Karne territory.
“One more time,” Temperance said to herself. Three was a lucky number, wasn’t it? Divine, to be certain. She had a good feeling about this last outpost. It was the closest to her old home, after all. That had to mean something.
Around a bend in the cliff a rope bridge came into view. Beyond it, the land sloped back the way she had come, fields broken by jagged ravines. A quick glance down showed nothing but hard cutbanks and river stones waiting below. Which meant that going around was out. Pity.
Temperance considered the bridge. It wasn’t particularly daunting, nowhere near as bad as some, like the one that had almost killed her outside of Benson City. Still, the thought of crossing it churned her guts something fierce.
Astor must have sensed her hesitation and swung around to nuzzle her leg. We could always cut back south. Shouldn’t cost us more than an extra day.
“No, it’s alright. Best we get this over and done with.” She slid from the saddle and took Astor’s reins. Not that he needed leading, but it was nice to pretend. Helped her think about something other than how long this bridge had been out here, alone and untended.
Despite her misgivings, the bridge felt solid enough under her feet. They made their way one step at a time, Astor letting out a worried nicker every time a board creaked. Somehow, the horse’s own nervousness made Temperance feel better.
She was so focused on watching her footing that they had almost made the center of the bridge before she noticed the stranger. He leaned against one of the far support posts, a cigarillo hanging loose between his lips. Suspenders held up a pair of gray lindsey-rak pants that had seen better days, and his shirt was a dull olive color.
The man tossed his cigarillo aside and grinned. Temperance came to a halt. “Afternoon, Girlie. What brings you ‘round these parts?”
Temperance didn’t answer, and the silence stretched between them. At last the stranger gave an embarrassed cough.