by F J Blair
At her feet, she saw what looked like a small box buried under the dirt. Attached to the top of the box was a rubber disc, which Temperance had partially crushed under her foot. She had no idea what the thing was, but knowing Martin she doubted it was designed to release party streamers and dispense chocolate cake.
Heart surging in her chest, Temperance acted on pure instinct. Her hand slapped at the pattern on her coat, faster than her thoughts could even process the idea. The leather shot towards the ground, sending her airborne.
Beneath her, the box exploded, spraying flaming embers in every direction. The grass, dried out in the summer heat, caught fire immediately. As Temperance sailed through the air, she saw tendrils of flame shoot across the field like glowing orange fingers. Several more boxes hidden among the grass ignited–and then exploded–as well, leaving her ears pounding from the pressure.
She landed in an undignified pile in a nearby tree, branches scratching at her face and taking whatever skin remained that the river rocks hadn’t already claimed. She let out a hiss of pain as the tree limbs broke beneath her weight, dropping her to the ground.
Damn that paranoid old man! She climbed to her feet, wiping blood out of her eyes. Tears started to build up at the edges as well. After all the indignities she had suffered, this was simply too much. She wanted to curl into a ball and tear the forest to pieces with her fingers, both in equal measure. A rogue flame crept along a bush near her. She smothered it beneath her boot. What is Martin trying to keep away, the whole Federation army?
Wiping her face clean with her still-damp shirt, she set off into the forest again, watching for any more tricks and traps. She managed to skirt around a deadfall trap waiting near a small stream, but almost missed a pit hidden beneath a screen of branches and leaves. Only her small frame saved her from falling through completely.
With each passing minute, Temperance’s blood grew hotter. By the time she spotted the field where Martin had trained her the last few months, her blood was at a near boil. She was mildly surprised her clothes weren’t steaming themselves dry as she walked.
The sun began to rise just as Temperance reached the farmhouse’s back door. She reached a hand out to push it open, then paused. Despite the anger pulsing beneath her skin, she still wasn’t certain what to actually say to her teacher. Should she give him a chance to explain himself, or just start yelling when she opened the door? Or perhaps she should ignore the man entirely, gather her gear, and head back to town.
No, better yet, make Martin take her to town. He could disable his own bloody traps.
Before that, though, I want some answers. Like why he left me to die there in that cabin. A sudden thought occurred to her, one that chilled her anger so fast it almost left her reeling. What if this had something to do with Cold Valley? Martin has all but ignored what happened to Grandpa, hasn’t even asked once. Maybe he had something to do with it? Was all of this just him trying to get rid of me as well?
If that was the case, she might be wise to get her revolvers back before confronting the old gunslinger. Martin was far more skilled than her—Temperance wasn’t so arrogant as to deny that small fact—but if she got her guns out first, she might have enough of an advantage to take out the man before he could retaliate.
I’ll sneak upstairs first, collect what I can. Then when Martin comes down for breakfast, I’ll be waiting for him. She put a hand on the door and pushed it open as quietly as she could.
Martin was seated at the kitchen table—reading what Temperance now recognized as a magazine—and Daniel was hovering over the cast-iron stove, something sizzling away in a pan in front of him. The boy glanced up and grinned at Temperance as she stood gawking in the doorway, but Martin did little more than grunt and continue reading his paper.
“About time you showed up. Was expecting you to climb your way free over a week ago.” He turned a page, the paper making a soft rustling sound. “What happened, decided you enjoyed the peace and quiet a little too much?”
Daniel shook his head and waved a utensil at the old gunslinger threateningly. “Oh, just ignore him, he’s had us both keeping watch for you night and day. I saw you coming across the eastern field a little earlier and rolled him out of bed. Wasn’t sure we’d get down here before you arrived.”
“Eastern field?” Martin frowned and set down his newspaper to look at Temperance at last. “What in the frozen Hells were you doing coming from that direction? You’re lucky you didn’t wander into one of my traps out there, or we’d have been picking pieces of you out of the trees for weeks.”
Temperance stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. Her anger started to boil beneath her skin again, so fast and hot she thought it might start leaking out beneath her fingernails. Her whole body shook with rage.
“Well, girl?” Martin asked. “What are you just standing there for? Come in already and take a seat.”
“You . . . you . . . you lousy, no good, stinking piece of orak scrum!” The words burst from Temperance’s lips, their rawness shocking and liberating at the same time. It was the sort of talk that would have gotten her a week of extra chores if her mother had heard her utter even half of it. Temperance was beyond caring, though. “Where do you get off talking to me like that? First you leave me alone—again—to die of bloody fever, and then what do I find waiting for me once I survive that but a hungry lurker and no way to fight it? If you wanted me on the wrong side of the dirt so bad, you could have at least had the decency to pull the trigger yourself!”
“Hold on, now, what was that? Did you say a lurker?” The old gunslinger frowned.
“That’s right, a dang lurker! I went to get some water, and the thing burrowed out from under my feet. If I hadn’t managed to hide, I’d have been swallowed whole. Then I only survived by following the stream under the mountain. Was that what you meant, by figuring out how to escape? Because I almost drowned twice over before it came to surface again.”
“You—the stream? You swam your way out?” Martin was on his feet now. At the stove, Daniel stood watching them, breakfast smoking in the pan, forgotten. “And what do you mean, a lurker? You’re telling me one of those filthy rocktails is poking around my cabin right now?”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about your precious cabin.” Temperance practically spat the words out. “The lurker knocked it to pieces trying to get at me. I doubt there are more than two sticks left standing by now, if it hasn’t just made a new nest from the wreckage!”
Martin stared at her, mouth flapping open and closed, but no words coming out. Nearby, Daniel took a step forward, a scared look in his eyes. “It’s my fault. Martin set me to check the cabin before he sent you up there, make sure it was well stocked and such. I must have missed the signs that a lurker had made its way into the valley since the last time we were up there. Not sure how it got down the cliffs, though. Maybe—”
“It didn’t get down the cliffs,” Martin interrupted. He looked at Temperance. “You say it burrowed out of the ground at your feet? Was it deep, would you say?”
“Deep enough. I imagine there is a nice little pond there now where it used to be.”
Martin nodded at this. “Lurkers are known to hibernate on occasion, sometimes for years. Might be this one was buried and waiting decades before you came along.”
That made a certain amount of sense to Temperance. Explained why she hadn’t seen any scat, that was for true. She shook her head. “Where it came from doesn’t matter. You’re saying you didn’t know when you abandoned me up there?”
“I swear by the Three themselves, I didn’t know, Temperance. And I didn’t abandon you up there, that was for your own good—”
“You abandoned me!” Temperance screamed, and the old gunslinger snapped his mouth shut. Daniel took a step back, looking like he would rather be anywhere else right now. “It doesn’t matter if you were trying to kill me or cure me or whatever fancy idea you want to put to it. You left me there, alone, after knowing full well what I went
through!”
Now that the words were out of her mouth, Temperance couldn’t stop them from flowing. They cascaded out, while tears poured in equal measure down her face. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! I’ve lost my grandpa, my da, ma, everyone I’ve ever known! I had to scrape and dig every one of their graves by myself until my fingers were bloody and I couldn’t bear to go on. Then I scrounged through the ashes and bones just to find enough scraps to survive the winter! You have no idea what survival cost me, what I had to sacrifice. What I had to do. Instead you sent me up on that mountain, for what? Because I chose to try to wash away the ache inside of me rather than let it tear me to pieces? Is that really so wrong?”
Martin looked like he wanted to speak, but Temperance just bowled over him. “You say you didn’t want to teach me like my Grandpa did, and then you go and do exactly as he would have. At least with him, I always felt like he knew what he was doing. With you I feel like I’m shooting blind, with no idea if I’m pointed toward enemy or friend. If lessons like this one are what I have to look forward to as one of your apprentices, then I don’t think I want to be one any longer.”
She darted around the table and ran up the stairs, leaving the two men standing in the kitchen, Daniel’s breakfast smoking and catching fire. Temperance could barely see her way down the hallway with so many tears obscuring her vision, but she kept moving regardless. She had just opened up more in a single moment of weakness than she had given to anyone in her entire life. In many ways, that was worse than the indignities that had led to it.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. I’m done with this place, and Martin too. Once I get my gear, I’m leaving here and never looking back.
For some reason, that thought hurt the most.
Chapter Thirty
Temperance raised her revolver, knowing it was already too late, barely even forming the words on her lips. With a blur of motion, Lucius snatched the gun away. His other hand locked on Temperance’s throat, pinning her to the window frame.
She watched, frozen, as his fingers closed over the weapon, squeezing tight. With a groan of grating metal, it broke in two.
Dammit, not now! Not after all of this! Temperance tried to draw in a rasping breath, but it was like breathing through a reed straw. Lucius grinned at her and licked his lips. This close, his skin was pale as ice on a winter night, almost translucent in the cabin’s orange glow.
There was a curse from the other side of the room. Richard Whittaker hauled William to his feet, propping him against the wall. The boy’s head lolled to one side, a gash running along his brow.
Lucius turned to look at him, and the former bandit leader winced like a kicked dog. “Sorry, Luc—er, Master. Wasn’t sure exactly how the roof was going to cave in. We were lucky it didn’t just bury us both.”
The upyr pressed down harder on Temperance’s throat and held up the broken pieces of the revolver. Stars flashed in her vision, and between them she watched as the metal scraps tumbled to the floor. Richard’s eyes followed them. When he looked back up, his eyes were filled with fear.
“Master, I swear I didn’t know! Jimmy saw her throw a knife, so I figured she was out of shots by now.” His voice grew more high-pitched. “It was an honest mistake! They’ve been shooting for hours, nobody has that many hexbullets!”
Lucius’s eyes drifted to the floor, taking in the spent casings and spilled bullets both. He curled his fingertips and spoke a command.
“Please! I didn’t know, I swear!” Despite his words, Richard moved forward as if attached to an invisible string, the upper half of his body tugging in resistance to a force only it could feel.
He came to a stop next to Temperance. Sweat poured off the man, the taste of it sour even from here. Lucius curled his lips into a snarl.
“Ufhausjan mil.”
His fingers shot forward, and Richard cried out in pain. Blood coursed down the former bandit leader’s face, and he clutched at a ragged hole where his left eye had been only moments before.
The upyr sniffed dismissively, then turned his attention back to Temperance. Richard scurried back across the room, hand pressed to his face. He stopped next to William, and when he looked at them again, his remaining eye flashed with impotent rage.
“Thank you for your mercy . . . Master.”
Staring into Temperance’s eyes, Lucius spoke a string of unfamiliar words. Richard’s voice quickly followed. “Our Master wants to know how many more like you there are in Korvana. Best answer him quick, now.”
Temperance tried to speak, but all that came out was a rasping hiss. A moment later the pressure on her neck released, and she sucked in the cool night air. “Like . . . me?” she managed. “You mean . . . Pistol Warlocks?”
The upyr spoke more. Richard translated. “He already knows about regular Pistol Warlocks. Are there more like you, with your spells and magick coat? Are you a guardian of the Dawnbringer?”
“Yes.” Temperance said, forcing her voice not to rasp, trying to breathe life into the lie. “Hundreds of us. You best just return to Isterial before my sisters finish what I started.”
Lucius grinned again, and Temperance knew he had smelled the deceit. His fingers curled around her throat again. He drew her in close.
“You didn’t accomplish anything tonight, you know. Lucius—Master is just going to build a whole new army of thralls. He’ll take the cities along the coast first, then head inland. There’s . . . nothing anyone can do to stop it.” The bandit gritted his teeth as he spoke, the words hissing between them.
“If that’s true, why are we still talking? End it already, Lucius, or are you still scared that I’ve got some last trick up my sleeve?” She glanced around, and saw that the sky above had started to show a hint of gray. Had they truly been fighting all night? It hardly seemed possible.
“If you think you’re going to win yourself a quick death, think again. Master plans to make it slow. He’ll drain you a little every day, until you’re too weak to stand, until you beg him to make an end of you. I warned you that your death wasn’t going to be pretty, Girlie.”
“Your master is a coward.” Temperance spat back. The upyr snarled, but she kept going, feeling the fire ignite in her blood. “He knows that I could put him down like a rabid wolf with any one of those bullets there, so he spent the night hiding behind his enthralled, too scared to face me until he was sure it was safe. You’ll never conquer all of Korvana. Best you can hope for is to hold a tiny corner of it before the rest of your kind show up and take everything away again. You were a loser in Isterial, and you’ll be a loser here, that’s as plain obvious as spots on a—”
Her words cut off as Lucius clamped down on her throat. Behind him, Temperance saw Richard flick his bloodied gaze to the bullets at his feet. He glanced up, and their eyes met. The rage from before still burned hot and untempered, a feeling she was as familiar with as the lines and contours of the revolver that rode on Richard’s hip. Richard started to slowly lean down towards the floor.
For a brief moment, the grip on Temperance’s throat loosened. She quickly spat out another insult. “How does it feel to know that no one ever loved you, Lucius? Not your grandmother, not your family, certainly not William.”
“Willibeatha!” The upyr opened his mouth and snarled. Sharp teeth flashed in the light. Overhead, the sky grew brighter.
“Call him whatever you want, but he’s never going to be yours. Even if you turn him, no way he would stay with a pathetic weakling such as yourself!” Temperance’s guts churned under the upyr’s gaze, but she refused to look away.
Across the room, Richard opened his revolver and loaded a round. Then another. And another. Temperance spoke quicker, trying to mask any noise. “No wonder you had to flee your home. Anyone as worthless as you should have been run out long before now, anyway. Enjoy your freedom now, because sooner or later another hunter is going to hunt you down like the dog that you are!”
Lucius grabbed Temperance by the
hair and pulled her head upward. Then he leaned in and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. Pain coursed through her, unimaginable pain, worse than a hundred gunshots. She could feel her life draining away down the upyr’s throat in time to the beat of her heart, a beat that was growing fainter with each passing moment. The upyr sucked at her neck, his teeth rending her flesh even further, until she thought he meant to chew his way to the bone. Her arms quivered as sensation fled.
“Here!” Richard raised his revolver and tossed it into the air. It arced across the room, the movement jagged and uneven, difficult for Temperance to follow as her mind began to slow from blood loss. Lucius lifted his head, a drunken expression on his lips as he looked about.
Temperance barely caught the revolver as it reached her. Only years of familiarity with the weapon, years of practice each day to learn every inch of its surface, saved her from dropping it. Instead, her finger pulled back the hammer on pure instinct as she lifted the weapon, pressing against the upyr’s chest, right where his heart should be. She opened her mouth, her voice little more than a dry croak.
“Estalia Vos!”
For a terrifying, heart-stopping moment, Temperance thought she had used the wrong word of power, that Richard had picked up some other scattered bullets. The room appeared to freeze in place, everything distorting around her, the upyr’s face an enraged snarl that stretched from one window of the cabin to another.
Time snapped back into place. A silver lance poured from the gun, skewering the upyr and stretching out behind him. He staggered back as the quicksilver tipped over, dragging its victim to the floor with it.
“Agh!” Temperance looked up to see Richard Whittaker lurching towards her, his body clearly trying to fight against the upyr’s influence. He raised his arms, seeking to grab her by the throat.
“Estalia Vos!” Temperance put another lance of silver through the man’s thigh. He went down with a scream, clutching at the burning silver in a vain attempt to pull it free.