by F J Blair
“The Lord of the Dark, god-king of the upyr, wanted more than just a few ships of prisoners for his subjects. No one knows what happened, exactly, but the Lord swept his unholy power across this land. Wherever his presence touched, people died. It is said that thousands perished on that first night, and more followed in the days after as food and water became scarce. The survivors had only two choices; fight over the few remaining resources, or surrender to the upyr so that they might at least have a chance of a future.”
Temperance said nothing, just glanced up and studied the crumbling structure around her. Like most people in Korvana, she had always wondered what happened to the people that built these ancient structures. She had asked Martin’s assistant Daniel about them once. He had given her a rather unspecific answer about the way civilizations rise and fall, and something to do with the scarcity of resources. Which was his usual way of saying he didn’t know.
William dug some food out of his bag, handing several strips of dried meat to Temperance. She tore into a piece and found it rather tasty, with a pungent spice she didn’t recognize. After swallowing several mouthfuls, she motioned for the boy to continue.
“As the upyr army landed on Korvana’s shores, the Dawnbringer appeared, clothed in the light of the sun itself. Many lesser upyr were destroyed, but the Lord of the Dark himself was untouched. Only he was powerful enough to walk in the daylight without fearing its power, and the Dawnbringer’s armor did little to weaken him.
“For five days and nights they battled, the land turning to ash around them. Finally, the Dawnbringer used what power remained to him for a last, desperate attack. He could not kill the Lord of the Dark, so instead he placed him into a deep slumber, never to awaken again.”
“The surviving upyr gathered around the Dawnbringer, and he offered them a bargain: the life of their Lord in exchange for peace. They would return home with their slumbering god-king and keep all those already enthralled. Never again would an upyr set foot in Paradise, and never would the Dawnbringer or his holy pantheon cross the ocean to Isterial. So they agreed, and so each side has upheld the oath to this day, always to remain separate from each other.”
William paused, glancing at the tower’s doorway. “At least, none broke the agreement until Lucius followed me here. I would never have believed that his desire to possess me would outweigh his fear of the Dawnbringer’s wrath.”
“Wait a moment.” Temperance held up a hand. It felt as if someone had lit a lantern inside her skull. “You mean to tell me this legend about the Dawnbringer is the reason we don’t have upyr crawling all over Korvana?”
She stood up and started pacing back and forth. William’s eyes followed, a furrow creasing his forehead. At last Temperance turned to him. “You realize what this means, right? We have bigger problems than Lucius wanting to turn you. If he goes back to Isterial, everyone there knows that Korvana is safe again. This nation will turn into a bloodbath!”
What little color there was drained from William’s face. He leapt to his own feet. “I had not considered that! Oh . . . what have I done?”
“Hold on now, let’s not panic. Far as we know, Lucius is either dead or still on our trail. We expected to finish him off sometime or other, now we’ve just got a little more reason to do so, is all.”
“But, do you truly believe it can be done?” William bit his lip and dropped back to the stone.
“I don’t know for certain, but once we’re in Messanai, I can see about restocking on a few things. Maybe even hexbullets, if we can sell a few of those trinkets of yours. Once I’ve got the right firepower, I’d be surprised if taking down an upyr is much different from fighting any other monstrosity. Just a matter of knowing the right thing to put through them.”
The boy nodded and settled back down. “Thank you, Temperance. You have done so much for me, I do not know if I can ever repay you.”
“You can start by thinking of ways to make some kos once we’re in Messanai.” Temperance paused, then rubbed the back of her neck. “Also, I may, uh, have broken my coat. Again. Reckon you might take a look at it?”
William laughed, the sound echoing through the hollow tower. After the tension of the last few days, the sound was music to Temperance’s ears. For a moment, she thought everything might just turn out right after all.
The night passed slowly. Temperance managed a few hours of sleep before William awoke her for a turn at the watch, and she spent the rest of the evening staring at the tower’s doorway, daring any of the horrors chasing them to cross the threshold. Fortunately, for both their survival and the sake of her ego, none did.
Dawn’s first light was just creeping through the marsh when they emerged, still wrapped in blankets to keep the chill at bay. After saddling the horses, Temperance placed an object in William’s hands.
“What is this?” he asked, glancing down with a curious expression.
“Something I worked on last night while you were snoring away. Go ahead, put it on.”
William held up a necklace, the cord cut from a roll of twine Missus Dunpeal had added to their supplies. At the bottom hung one of the pieces of multicolored stone from the tower.
“I’ve got my own, too.” Temperance held up another rock before slipping it back into her shirt. “Figured if this stone hides our presence from monsters, couldn’t hurt to keep a bit on us. Might protect us from at least one problem.”
“Thank you, again, Temperance.” The boy slipped it over his head, then did a small twirl. “How do I look?”
“It’s not the most flattering accessory, but I’ve seen worse. Let’s just hope it’s more than dead weight.”
William started to climb onto his horse, but paused as Temperance tugged at a sleeve. “One more thing: I need to know if there’s anything more you haven’t told me yet, about Lucius, the upyr, or this Lord of the Dark. Things have gotten too complicated for there to be any more secrets between us.”
“I . . . .” The boy hesitated, and seemed to chew something over. Then he shook his head. “There is nothing else left to tell, you know what I do, now.”
“You’re certain?”
“There is nothing else. I swear on my ancestors and the Dawnbringer.”
Temperance nodded, the tension going out of her shoulders. “Fair enough, but I had to be certain. Let’s get moving so we can put this business to rest.”
They set out riding west, the sun rising behind them, the great river Ozaka beckoning them in the distance. Temperance glanced back once, before the tower slipped from view. In the daylight, its broken peak did appear to result from some unnatural disaster. Or perhaps that was her own mind giving significance to nothing.
The power to destroy all of Korvana in a single night, eh? For a moment, Temperance again remembered her vision of black ships descending on an unprepared coast. She shook her head. Give me a good, honest gunfight any day.
With that, she turned her horse, galloping to catch up with William as he disappeared over a rise.
Chapter Seventeen
Five Years Earlier
Light flared across Temperance’s vision as the shutters sprang open. She growled something incomprehensible and threw a hand over her face, the light cutting through her eyelids like a rattler biting through a ten-penny boot. Her hand did little to protect her.
“Well, aren’t you a sight.” Martin’s voice floated to her ears. He sounded even more curmudgeonly than usual. “Looks like you had a good time up here last night. Again.”
Temperance risked cracking open one of her eyes, peering through the gaps between her fingers. The old gunslinger stood over her, one hand planted on his hip, the other swinging an empty whiskey bottle over her. He studied the bottle a moment, then cast it behind him. The sound of breaking glass chased away any chances of returning to sleep.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself every night, Temperance.” The old gunslinger gave a slow shake of his head. Now she realized it wasn’t ire she had heard in his tone; it
was disappointment. “You’ve been here, what now, almost two months? How do you even still have anything left to drink?”
Temperance tried to speak, but found her throat still full of cotton, a parting gift from last night’s dosing. At least, she assumed it was from the whiskey. She couldn’t quite remember many details following supper.
At last she croaked out a few words. “I’m good at managing my resources.”
“Managing, eh?” Martin glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Not sure I’d call any of this ‘managing’, not by a plowed mile.”
Before Temperance could respond, he spun about and made for the door. “Get dressed, your training started an hour ago.”
Then he was gone.
Temperance ambled about, gathering her clothes and rummaging about for her revolvers. At last she made it downstairs and out into the bright sunlight.
Spring had surrendered to summer at last, the air outside warm and thick as old stew. Prickles of heat spread along her arms as she stepped from the shadow of the porch. She found Martin waiting for her at the edge of their usual training ground behind the smokehouse. Hay bales were set at random intervals, several of which sported practice dummies behind them, wooden models that the old gunslinger dragged out when he wanted to impart some lesson that required vaguely human targets.
Martin stood before her, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Today we start training with elemental strikers. I trust you are familiar with the three basic forms?”
“I am. Mister Blackfire, about what happened this morning—”
The old man held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear excuses. What you do on your own time is none of my damn business. But,” he added, and fixed her with a steely gaze, “if you continue to let it affect your training, I’ll have no choice but to turn you out of my home. I won’t teach a student that doesn’t commit to training with their full heart. You understand?”
Temperance nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. This appeared to satisfy Martin, and he turned back to the training field.
“Critics of the hexbullet are always quick to point out its many flaws: principally, that it is much slower to fire than a mundane bullet, that they are not always as deadly as conventional weapons, and that a Pistol Warlock may find themselves armed with ammunition unsuited to a given situation.”
He walked over and stood in the center of the field. Temperance hurried over next to him. From this position all the wooden dummies were hidden from view behind the hay bales. She frowned, trying to remember where they were. Martin continued his lesson.
“These are all valid concerns, but they do not diminish the worth of a hexbullet, only necessitate that a Warlock approach every battle differently than they would if armed with traditional ammunition. Do you follow?”
Temperance nodded. Her grandfather had given her a similar speech several years back, although he added quite a colorful rant about these so-called critics.
“Alright.” The old gunslinger drew his own gun, an Auroch Four-Ten. From a distance the weapon appeared to be a standard revolver, but no one would mistake it for such this close. The weapon fired a small-bore shotgun shell, making it devastating at close range, but useless for long distance–provided one was using mundane ammunition, of course.
Martin took aim at one of the hay bales, letting out a crack of thunder that left Temperance’s head throbbing—although that could have just been a parting gift of last night’s whiskey. Three more cracks followed in quick succession, the air filling with the tang of gunpowder. With a quick flick of his wrist, he re-holstered his weapon.
“Now, tell me what you see.”
Turning in a full circle, Temperance studied the field. Martin’s shots had knocked some hay loose from a few bales, and one of them had slid enough that it teetered close to the edge of the one below it, but beyond that they appeared to have had little effect. She said as much to her teacher.
“That’s right. Imagine I were under fire from those dummies, hiding as they are behind the barricades. A direct attack against a fortified opponent usually is an act of desperation, and against several it’s worse than suicide. Conventional bullets won’t accomplish anything in this situation, even with the power that my Auroch can punch out. However, if you have a few elementals . . . what would you do in this situation?”
Temperance glanced about at the dry bales, then looked at Martin. She figured it wouldn’t be so obvious, but asked anyway. “Fire?”
The old gunslinger smiled. “Let’s pretend, for the sake of the challenge, that these aren’t hay bales. If your opponents were hiding behind stone or something equally protective, trying to burn them out is about as useless as mundane bullets. Besides, what’s to stop the other two from killing you while you focus on your first opponent?”
Instead of answering, Temperance studied the field again. Ice strikers would work, as they tended to spread out over a wide range, but the risk of freezing your gun was much too high. That only left . . . .
“Lightning?” She shook her head even while she spoke. “But how would that help? Lightning just goes everywhere it wants to.”
“You’ve fired lightning rounds before, I gather?”
Temperance remembered the Fisher Brother’s cabin going up in a funnel of flames. She let out a shudder. “Just once.”
“Then you’ve experienced just how temperamental they can be. However, that doesn’t always have to be the case.” Martin held a half-dozen bullets out to her. Each had a series of runes etched into their metal. “For some hexbullets, it’s not just about speaking the correct words, but how you say them. If done correctly, you can guide the lightning to the targets you want. Observe.”
Faster than her eye could follow, Martin drew his Auroch. “Huéno!”
Lightning arched from his barrel, splitting three ways to twist and curl through the air. The lines each curved around the side of a hay bale, and Temperance heard a trio of cracking noises as the energetik forces found their targets.
She scurried over to the first bale, and found the dummy now bore a scorched-black mark upon its chest, right where a man’s heart would have been. She reached out and ran a hand along the wood surface, leaving a smear of char on her fingers.
“As you can see, this technique is useful for even simple spellforms.” Martin stopped behind her, his weapon once again back in its holster. “For more complicated hexbullets such as simulacra summons, mastering this skill is a matter of life and death. The last thing you want is for your own steelfire horse to decide that you’re its target.”
Temperance dry swallowed at the thought, recalling her own failed first attempt at using such a powerful hexbullet. She turned to her teacher. “What do I need to do first?”
“Let’s go over proper enunciation. After that, I want you to show me what you’re capable of.”
* * *
For the next month, Temperance did her best to stay away from alcohol. Not that she stopped drinking entirely—that would have just been foolish—but she tried to keep it from interfering with her training, always stopping before she passed out in the evening, and only drinking heavily on the Sabbath when Martin traveled down to Oceanside for church services.
As the height of summer arrived, the temperature grew unbearable. The heat was unlike anything that Temperance had experienced before, leaving her clothes clinging to her in the most embarrassing of ways and her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth like glue no matter how much water she gagged down.
The day after Highsummer was particularly sweltering, hot enough that Temperance was certain she could have cooked an egg on Martin’s front porch. Whether it was a case of pity on her behalf or his own frustration over the temperature, Daniel broached the subject of traveling into town the next day.
“We haven’t been since last summer, and Temperance has never been at all!” the boy argued, while Martin chewed on a piece of gristle and grumbled to no one in particular. “Don’t
we deserve at least one occasion to enjoy ourselves? I think I might go mad if I’m forced to spend another day tending to the fields in this heat.”
“If you don’t like it here, you’re free to leave any time,” the old man groused.
“Yeah, I could, but you and I both know I’d die from one of your traps before I got halfway down this mountain. I’m only talking about one day! Surely we can spare the time.”
Temperance’s gaze flicked between the two of them while Martin seemed to chew the idea over. At last he nodded. “I suppose it’s time to pick up supplies, anyway. But—” He held out a hand to forestall Daniel’s celebration. “We leave here at first light, and set off for home after dinner. You won’t have but a scant few hours, and I still expect you to help with loading the wagon. Deal?”
“Deal!” Daniel bounced with delight, looking more like a boy only half his age. Then he grinned at Temperance, and despite herself, she grinned back.
“Tomorrow it is, then. Be certain you’re ready to go at sunrise, because I’ll be riding out of here, with or without you.”
* * *
Martin stepped out of the house just a few seconds after the first sliver of sunlight appeared over the distant ocean. He blinked at the sight of Temperance standing beside the wagon, Duchess waiting next to her and already saddled. The horse nickered as he approached, and Temperance turned to give him a wide smile.
“Surprised to see me?”
In response, the old man merely grunted and scratched at his chin. Daniel emerged from the barn with one of the Stervalkian cattle. “Temperance came and woke me before first light, wanted to make certain we weren’t late. Hope you don’t mind that I’ve got the animals warmed up already.”
Martin ignored the boy’s chatter and continued studying Temperance. There was something tense about his stance. “Wouldn’t have taken you for the eager one to go into town.”