by Logan Jacobs
Luckily, Sorcha had managed to grab the original pump action Mossberg, which she handed to Darwin, and the original Winchester, which she handed to me. I handed her the snub nose at the same time, and I saw her turn around and hand it to Freya as the rabbit woman tried to lead the horses away from the line of fire.
“Kill the sorcerers! Kill the demons!” one of Michael’s supporters called out as several men with pitchforks arrived and started to distribute the farm implements among the Amish men who were still there.
“Be gone, you worthless morons!” a woman mage with a spectacular display of silver hair piled on top of her head yelled at the Amish. Judging by her hand motions, she was also the one handling the shield, and that made her my first target.
But first I had to face the Amish, who had split themselves into two armies, one to attack the mages, and one to attack us. I only had a moment to wonder why someone thought an attack with pitchforks would be successful against Magesterium trained mages on one hand and people armed with guns on the other, but then the Amish charged, and all I could do was find my target and open fire.
The kick of the rifle smacked against my shoulder as the familiar clap of the Winchester left me momentarily deafened. But I kept my eyes on the target, a brutish looking man with wide shoulders, greasy hair, and a flat face, and saw his head vanish in a mist of blood and brains. The rest of his corpse seemed to deflate, though strangely his hands still gripped the pitchfork.
I didn’t have time to notice anything more as I scanned quickly for my next target. I looked for the silver haired mage I suspected was in charge of the shield, but instead found another Amish man, this one racing toward our bay horses. He was clever enough to use the pair as cover so that Freya couldn’t get a clear shot, and neither Sorcha nor Darwin seemed to have noticed. Freya tried to move the horses and ended up on the receiving end of the man’s attack instead.
The rabbit woman was having a hard time controlling the horses and pointing the gun, and the man with the pitchfork was almost upon her. With only a moment to spare, I sent the next bullet in the rifle straight into the man’s back. He faltered a step, then fell face forward into the snow. His hat tumbled away and I saw Freya leap back from the spreading blood. She looked around quickly, then gave me a nod of appreciation.
And then the situation became even more bizarre. I heard the sound of barking and spotted a large pack of Weimaraners as they barreled down the road and toward the battle. I had no idea who had freed the dogs, and I couldn’t see Simon anywhere, so there was no telling who the dogs would attack. The Amish, on the other hand, cheered the arrival of the silver canines and started to yell commands in their odd language.
Some of the dogs seemed to respond to the Amish commands and lunged toward the mages, but others plowed into the group of bearded men and started to attack. The Amish found themselves trying to fend off the canines while still attacking the mages, who themselves were struggling with the fierce dogs. It was an odd sight, and for a moment, I couldn’t decide who to even target.
But then I spotted the silver-haired mage. Darwin had spotted her as well, and I saw him raise the shotgun and point it in her direction. The mages, however, seemed to be using the same scheme the Amish had used, and the shield mage remained locked behind a wall of her fellow mages even as she worked to protect them. The boom of Darwin’s Mossberg shotgun crackled in the cold air, but the shotgun didn’t have the range of the rifle, and while a few of the mages jumped at the sound, they remained safe behind their shield.
I kept my eyes on my target and ignored everything else around me, including the exploding fireballs, the bursts of gale force winds, and the angry Amish who seemed to swarm over everything while the silver colored dogs followed them. I had no idea how much time really passed, but my three companions seemed to understand my goal, and I found myself in a protected bubble of sorts while Darwin and Sorcha took up most of the shooting.
And then, for a split second, I had it. One of the mages turned to the side to launch an attack at one of the Amish. The silver haired mage didn’t realize her protector had moved out of position, and so she stayed in her spot and continued to weave her magic. The sharp crack of the rifle was nearly simultaneous with the hard thump against my shoulder, and the silver haired mage had just enough time to glance toward the sound and realize she was an open target. In the scope, I saw her mouth start to open into an ‘O’, and then the bullet found its mark.
The shield mage’s head exploded and sent out a geyser of blood in a halo around the body. Even as the body sank to the ground, the other mages looked momentarily startled as they realized that the shield was gone. But before they could react, I heard the Glock fire two quick shots, followed by a blast from the snub nose. Two more mages fell, and then everything fell into disarray.
The mages attempted to retreat along the road they had used when they had first arrived. I knew the red robes had to have a portal mage nearby, but they had chosen to leave that mage and probably a fire mage or two somewhere behind them, just in case things went bad. The mages started to walk backwards toward the town, but Michael’s followers were still lusting for blood and now they could physically reach the mages.
With the Weimaraners fully locked into the hunt, the Amish chased after the mages while they yelled commands at the dogs. Most of the sleek silver bodies were happy to throw themselves at the surviving mages, but one dog lingered among the bodies on the road, then started to trot toward us with his head lowered and his teeth bared.
“I hate to shoot a good dog,” I heard Darwin mutter as he raised the rifle.
“Barnaby,” I called gently.
The dog hesitated a moment, then sniffed the air. Whatever bloodlust had been feeding him seemed to disappear as the Weimaraner caught our familiar scents. His head came up, and his tail started to wag as he closed the distance. He stopped for a quick sniff of my hand, just to confirm I was who he thought I was, then offered his chin for a scratch.
I spotted blood along his muzzle and near his jaw, but a quick examination revealed that the blood wasn’t his. I felt myself start to laugh at the whole bizarre battle, and Barnaby wagged his tail even harder.
“Are you okay?” Darwin asked as he lowered the rifle and patted the dog on the head.
“I am,” I assured him quickly. “But you have to admit, that was one weird fight.”
“I’ll give you that,” Darwin agreed, “but I think we should get out of here before the mages disappear and the Amish come looking for us again.”
“I think you’re right,” I sighed. “Though I’m sorry we have to leave like this. I wonder what will happen, now that Michael is dead.”
“Hex,” Sorcha whispered. “We have company.”
I looked back toward the city and saw that several of the Amish were walking toward the field of battle. Most were women armed with bandages and canteens of water, but one woman walked with a pair of young Weimaraners by her side. She looked anxiously around the fields, then spotted the four of us still standing among the snow and muck. She broke away from the other women and ran toward us as fast as she could with her long skirts.
“You’re all okay,” Beth said happily as she stumbled to a stop in front of us.
“We are,” I agreed. “How’s the town?”
“The fires are under control,” Beth replied as she glanced back toward a column of black smoke. “But it will take some time yet to put them out completely. When we saw the mages start to head back to the town, we knew we had to come check for the injured. And I came to look for any dogs that might have been hurt.”
“I wish we could stay and help,” Sorcha replied as she watched the smoke spiral up into the air, “but I suspect our presence wouldn’t be welcomed this time.”
“No,” Beth agreed sadly. “I’m afraid Michael had many supporters, and even if we agree that he wasn’t an angel, the fact that you killed him has left many people in the community shaken. At best, they’ll demand that you be taken t
o the edge of the valley and sent into the forest.”
“Do you know where this other path is?” I asked. “The one to Scranton-Barre?”
Beth nodded and then glanced at the other women. A few looked our way, but most studiously ignored us.
“I’ll take you,” Beth offered.
“You don’t need to do that,” Darwin assured her. “If you just tell us how to find it….”
“No, I can at least do that much for you,” Beth insisted. “And I don’t see any of the dogs out here, anyway.”
“Just Barnaby,” I said with a grin.
“Just Barnaby,” Beth agreed as she rubbed the Weimaraner’s ears.
“Are we leaving finally?” Freya asked as she brought the horses over.
“We are,” I replied. “And Beth is going to show us the trail to Scranton-Barre.”
Beth nodded, then started to walk quickly across the field instead of turning back toward the town. We skirted along the edge of the settlement, where the occasional fireball still lit up the sky, and headed toward the mountain range rather than the ridge line we had crossed on our way toward Pastor. Beth wisely struck a route across farmland and snow packed fields, and the few times we encountered a road, we waited for any passing Amish to hurry by before stepping across to the other side.
As we drew closer to the mountains, I could feel the cold wind that swept down from the peaks and burrowed beneath my layers of clothing. I shivered at the thought of having to cross those cold granite behemoths for any distance, but Beth turned away from the looming forms after we crossed a frozen creek and led us down a long, gentle slope toward another small waterway, though this one wasn’t completely frozen yet. Sections of an old post and rail fence stood nearby, but otherwise, there were no signs of humans to be seen.
We followed alongside the water until we reached a series of stepping stones. Beth led us across to the other side, then about halfway up the hillside toward a single tall pole. A silver canister was attached near the top, and a few black ropes hung down and were lost in the snow. We were also near the edge of the forest, and I could see the shadows that moved among the trees and smell the heavy scent of fir trees and loam. Nearly lost among the trees was one of the odd trail markers and a path that curved through the forest and down another slope.
“This will bring you to an overlook,” Beth explained. “You’ll be able to see the city from there. There will be another footpath that leads down from the overlook to the main road into Scranton-Barre.”
“Just what the doctor ordered,” Darwin said with a nod of approval.
“Are there mutants along here as well?” I asked.
“There are,” Beth replied, “though if you move quickly enough and stay on the path, you may be able to avoid them. Michael claimed that he protected the trails somehow, and only those who wandered away from the trails would be attacked. Now that he’s dead, I don’t know if that’s still true.”
“How far away is this lookout?” Freya asked as she sniffed the air.
“You can reach it by dusk,” Beth mused. “There’s a popular campsite on the downward slope that’s protected from the worst of the weather, and you’ll be close enough to the city that the mutants don’t usually attack.”
“Usually,” Sorcha sighed. “Though as you said, with Michael dead, if he did indeed have some sort of protection spell, it may no longer hold.”
“Can a fire mage do that?” I asked.
“More likely he had crystals he buried at various points,” Sorcha replied. “He would have to replace them periodically, though, or find a shield mage to recharge them.”
“Well, we’re wasting daylight,” Darwin interrupted. “We can figure this out on the road if you really want to know.”
“Thank you, Beth,” I said. “And thank your brother as well. And Hamrick and his wife.”
“And everyone who helped,” Sorcha laughed.
“There is one more thing I can do for you,” Beth murmured as she glanced at the three dogs who snuffled at the ground. “Barnaby, come.”
The silver dog looked up from his exploration and cast a questioning glance at his trainer.
“He’s a good all-purpose dog,” Beth stated. “He can stand watch as well as hunt game.”
“Beth,” I started to protest.
“Please,” she said, “you’ll be doing him a favor. For all his popularity with the hunters, there are many who dislike him, and there’s been talk of having him put down. You have to understand that for many of my people, animals are just possessions, and if they don’t behave the way they’re supposed to, then you replace them. Barnaby is the perfect dog for a long journey.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Freya protested as she eyed the dog.
“He knows you’re friends,” Beth tried to reassure her. “He knows you’re part of the pack. He’ll protect you just as he will Hex, or Sorcha, or your grandfather.”
“It’s not just a long journey, it’s a hard one,” Sorcha said as she eyed the dog.
“He can make it easier,” Beth declared. “Please, save him.”
I held a hand out for the Weimaraner, and Barnaby approached for a quick chin rub. The silver dog cast a quick glance at Beth, but he seemed to understand what had been proposed. He gave a friendly bark, then walked to the head of the trail to wait for us.
“Looks like he’s willing to give it a go,” Darwin noted. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have a dog that can help keep watch.”
“If you change your mind, we can’t bring you back,” I warned the dog.
“I should get back,” Beth sighed. “I need to help with the injured.”
Before we could say anything else, the Amish woman started down the slope with the other two Weimaraners on either side. Barnaby watched her go and then cast a speculative eye over our group. After a moment, he started along the trail and stopped just long enough to make sure we were following.
“I guess we have a dog,” I laughed as I trotted after the Weimaraner.
“Great,” Freya huffed. “Just what I needed to make my day complete.”
“Admit it, you like him,” I teased, but she just huffed.
We started down the trail, which was easy to follow despite the dusting of snow that had made it through the canopy overhead. The path was wider and more worn, and clearly more popular than the one that had brought us to Pastor in the first place. As we moved deeper into the woods and further from the town, I could feel the gloom lift from our little group, and we even managed to convince Darwin to sing a few more songs for us.
It was Barnaby who first sensed trouble, and he stopped in the middle of the trail and let out a single bark as he glanced back to make sure we had heard him. Though we’d returned the larger guns to the packs on the horses during a brief stop, we each still carried a handgun which we now drew as our line came to a halt and fell silent.
For several moments, all I heard was the snort of the horses and the sounds of the forest. It all seemed so ordinary that I thought the Weimaraner must have been wrong. But the dog was on alert and focused on a point deep in the undergrowth, and I saw Freya’s nose twitch as she studied the same terrain.
“Anything?” I asked Sorcha quietly.
“No mutants,” she whispered back.
We all heard it then, the sound of something heavy crashing through the bushes. Or several somethings, it turned out.
“Sometimes I really hate this world,” Darwin grumped as the bushes split apart to reveal the source of the noise.
A herd of tusked deer poured across the path and down the other side. I’d only encountered such creatures once before, on a short cattle drive along a stretch of the Bos-Wash trail. For the most part, they ignored humans, though they could be dangerous if they decided to attack, so we watched quietly as the herd passed us by, then disappeared into the trees.
Of course, tusked deer were also territorial, and so what I should have stopped to consider was what had sent the notoriously foul-tempered deer acros
s our path in the first place.
And that’s when Barnaby started to bark in earnest.
Chapter 15
“I think we should take a tip from the deer and run,” I yelled as I took off down the path.
I could hear the horses’ hooves and the sound of boots right behind me, though Barnaby’s barks were still coming from the point where we had encountered the deer.
“Barnaby, come on!” I called over my shoulder.
The barking stopped, but I could hear the sounds of something else moving through the forest now. The rest of the creatures had gone silent, and only the sound of breaking limbs and crackling leaves followed us as we moved along the trail. The sounds grew louder, and I realized that whatever it was, it was gaining on us. Soon enough, I could hear something heavy running along beside us, and then a few moments later, we all stumbled to a stop as a limb toppled to the ground in front of us.
“I think we’re going to need the big guns,” Darwin shouted as he started to sort through the packs.
The horses were terrified, though, and they wouldn’t stand still long enough for Darwin to find what he wanted. Having the Weimaraner weaving around their feet didn’t help, either, but before I could call the dog, something large and shaggy rumbled onto the path.
There was something vaguely bison-like about its appearance, though it was larger than any I had ever seen. It towered over us on four legs that were as thick as tree trunks and stared at us from yellow eyes. It had four horns, one pair that looked like the typical bison horns, and another set higher on the head that were longer and twisted forward. Bits of moss and leaves clung to its shaggy coat and the points of the horns, and part of me wondered how the thing could even maneuver in the forest. Which led to the question, what was it even doing in a forest? The few bison I had seen had been imported from the plains in the pre-magic days, and were definitely creatures that preferred the vast, open spaces.
The animal snorted, or maybe it was more of a grunt, then took a step closer. Barnaby shot past us and started to bark again as he circled the creature. The beast took a few swipes at the dog whenever it moved in close, but the Weimaraner always managed to dodge back just in time.