Controlled chaos.
That was battle in a nutshell, as far as Errol could tell. Then again, it was hard to see the full picture while kneeling behind a stack of sandbags and firing Bolts downrange. The thunderous din from the unsilenced Strelky’s issued to the other boots left him dazed and out of sorts, while the glaring muzzle flashes and wispy white smoke rendered him blind in broad daylight as he unloaded his El-Minister at the oncoming horde. There was no telling if his Bolts hit, but he tried his best to focus on the fight instead of his dry mouth, sweaty hands, shaking knees, and struggling lungs as hundreds of Abby drew down upon him. Orcs and goblins were dropping like flies, yet still they ran headlong into the fray, trampling over their fallen brethren in a frenzied rush to get in close with the Rangers and boots.
These orcs were an ugly, angry bunch, even more so than the goblins he’d faced down some days ago. They bared giant fangs stained in ugly yellow while their deep, bellowing voices roared in wordless challenge, and Errol shook to hear it. They were so much bigger than the goblins, which he already knew from having seen them before from afar, but as the horde barreled down towards him, their size became so much more concerning. At a scrawny, four-foot zero, a regular goblin was about as strong as an average man, and while orcs were only about a foot or so taller, they were also three times wider and twice as thick, covered in hard, rippling muscles and primitive armour of leather and bone. Though still shorter than most men, their proportions reminded Errol of Captain Clay. He’d never seen anyone as well-built as the kind and soft-spoken giant, with biceps bigger than most men’s thighs and a chest better described as double barrel than single. Carried four boxes of ammo without breaking a sweat when most struggled with one, and stood out in a crowd no matter where he went, but every single orc charging towards Errol now was every bit as overblown and exaggerated in their physique, with some shoulders reaching as high as the bottom of their ears due to how densely overpacked their frames were.
And the bugbears were even bigger, meaner, and uglier than the orcs, a feat he didn’t think was possible.
More surprising was how different and distinct each orc was from the next. Goblins were all more or less cut from the same cloth, so Errol thought orcs would be the same, but there was with as much variation as you’d see in a normal crowd of people. Sure, these Abby were all green, but the specific shade of green ran the gamut from bright leaf green to hue so dark it was almost black as night. Their faces differed greatly too, with most bearing gnashing fangs, but a select few sporting horizontal tusks that jutted out horizontally from their mouths, which changed the shape and outline of their features greatly. Some had big round eyes, and others squinty ones overshadowed by prominent, protruding foreheads, or square, bulging jaws versus weak, recessed chins that opened into cavernous maws. The variation was so great, there didn’t seem to be a common thread amongst them other than a general lumpy, muscled, and battle-scarred savagery that tied them all together.
That was all before getting into their manner of dress, though there was a commonality to their fashion. Most went buck naked, making him glad for their lack of genitals, while a select few were clad in crude armour of bone or hide. A larger minority wore what most would call ‘tribal wear’, which was typically a crude, single shoulder leather wrap that covered you up from chest to thighs, like a tighter, tougher toga. Most settlers had worn such clothing for the first few years after the Advent because it was easy enough to make, though there’d been a recent spike in ‘fashionable’ tribal-wear as a throwback to simpler times. That’d end right quick soon as folks saw Abby dressed the same, and far as Errol could tell, these orcish garments were made from a variety of hides, with some outfits so suspiciously pale and pink they made him want to stop looking.
But as the horde bore down on him, Errol confirmed his earlier suspicions by way of spotting a face in the crowd, one sewn in as a patch over the chest of an orc’s crude garments.
Underneath all his internalized screaming, he wondered why these orcs bothered wearing clothes in the first place. To protect themselves from the elements and attacks? Or did they see clothing as some kind of status symbol? Possibly the latter, because while there were many naked orcs, none went about unarmed, even if most carried crude weapons of bone or even wood. He could even pick out a few rifles in the crowd, which was a frightening sight to behold considering what Howie had told them about goblinoids using Aetherarms, but thankfully, the ones here were using their weapons like clubs instead of guns.
All this and more passed through his head as the horde drew closer and closer despite a steady stream of Bolts from the Rangers and boots thinning their ranks. Or steady until it wasn’t, as Errol’s El-Minister stopped kicking when he pulled the trigger and he realized the deafening din of gunfire had died down to a mere clamour. It took a precious second of gawking before he realized his magazine was empty, and he looked around to see other boots struggling to reload their guns too. Poor teary-eyed Nate was so out of sorts he hadn’t even noticed his gun had run dry, his arms still working to compensate for recoil that wasn’t there as he pulled the trigger again and again to the same lack of effect. He was having the worst of it as far as Errol could tell, but there were plenty of other boots floundering where they knelt, fumbling with the unfamiliar ten-round clips of ammo that fed into the SKS type 56’s top-loaded internal magazine.
Not as simple as popping a fresh, 30-round magazine into the El-Minister, and for the first time, Errol was glad Howie picked out a beginner’s weapon for him and made him stick with it. Still had to turn the magazine around three times before finally slamming it in right, so he didn’t judge the other boots who were still struggling to load their unfamiliar weapons in the heat of battle and driven near to panic by their failures.
Well, most of the boots Errol could see, though there were a handful of stand-out exceptions. Like cold, calculating Michael, who held his rifle up against his shoulder in a textbook stance and emptied his clip with mechanical speed and accuracy before reloading without even looking. Tina too, beaming bright and bobbing her head from side to side while shooting and reloading like she was listening to tunes while sport shooting at the range, or Kacey who wasn’t even using her gun. Instead, she had her bow in hand, a short recurve that was maybe a meter long when strung, which was so very different from the giant longbows the Pathfinders favoured. He’d seen them at practice, and they’d have to put all their strength into drawing the bow to loose each arrow, but Kacey used her shorter weapon with effortless ease while kneeling. Was no less deadly for it either, her arrows bursting into clouds of piercing projectiles which hammered home into the horde, dropping three orcs in a small group and peppering several more around them. Not all of her arrows were Spell like that, as her next shot was of the mundane variety, but it dropped an orc all the same.
Then there was Howie, who stood there as calm and collected as can be after zooming down the hill on his invisible board, Levitation Spell or what have you. Didn’t bother taking cover behind the sandbags, just stood next to Tina feeding ammo into his rifle one bullet at a time with a blue-light shield on his wrist, a grin on his face, and a gleam in his eye. If Michael’s posture was textbook, Howie’s was anything but as he started shooting, firing his repeater off at the hip while working the lever with both hands, and it was a sight to see. Had to wait a half-beat between each shot for the Metamagic Etchings to reach full purple glow before pulling the trigger again, but he never let that slow him down. It was almost hypnotic watching the Etchings light up and go dark, a perpetual violet wave that started at the base of the cylinder and coursed down to the tip of the barrel in less than a second before going dark with a clang, only for the process to repeat itself again over the course of a single second.
The sustained gunfire started up once more and brought pain to Errol’s ears as he added the dull thump of his El-Minster to the din. The brief lull only lasted a handful of seconds at most as the boots finished reloading their weapons, but to his horror, the damage had been done. The orc horde covered more ground than he thought possible in so short a time, racing towards the firing line without any care for safety or survival. They’d gone from distant, but visible to looming targets that were all but impossible to miss, which was a good thing because Errol emptied half his magazine panic firing into the mass. Then he looked beside him at Howie and saw the Firstborn still shooting in a calm and orderly fashion, and thought back to his training. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. That’s what Errol stuck to, hoping to make every shot count before the tide of Abby crashed into their ranks. To his horror however, he watched as his target orc shrugged off a Bolt to the chest, then another, then a third, before finally succumbing to a lucky headshot Errol made thanks to the recoil from the previous shot.
Yea, their armour was most certainly for show, because they didn’t really need it. Supposedly, there were actual armoured orcs and bugbears waiting for them in Pleasant Dunes, covered in bio-mineral chitin or whatever. How tough would they be to kill with this pea-shooter of an El-Minister?
For that reason alone, when his rifle clicked empty for the second time, he didn’t bother reaching for another magazine. Instead, he let go of the weapon and let it hang loosely from its shoulder strap while he grabbed the Whumper beside him, leaning neatly against the sandbags thanks to a rare moment of foresight. Making a last-minute decision to widen the spread, he cranked the dial until the arrow was somewhere around the midpoint before levelling the weapon towards Abby.
Only to stop and duck down behind cover as he saw a wave of Bolts sailing towards them.
The impact was somewhat anti-climatic as the orcish volley thudded into the sandbags in front of him, but he almost couldn’t bring himself to look up again. If they were in range to loose Bolts, that meant they’d been less than forty meters away, and by the time he stood up, they’d be on him like flies on honey. Beside him, Nate was doing the same, falling face down in the sand and shaking something fierce. Errol took solace in this shared cowardice, until he noticed the growing red stain on Nate’s off-white collar. Flipping the other boot onto his back, Errol saw a mess of red where the Bolt had clipped Nate in the collarbone, and he cursed himself a fool for ever thinking a manually cast Bolt was worthless compared to a proper Aetherarm. The other man’s shockingly blue eyes gazed up at him, so full of fear it struck a chord in Errol, wondering if Nate could see the same fear mirrored in his own brown eyes.
For days after the encounter with Caleb and his bandit friends, Errol thought himself a spineless coward. How could he be so unmanned over the death of a stranger, especially one who meant him harm? Sure, he’d fought Abby without thinking twice, but both times, he’d been under the effect of the Heroism Spell, and he didn’t have time to throw it on after Howie appeared front and centre. Magical courage was the same as medicinal though, fake and fleeting, meaning down at the core of it all, Errol wasn’t made for this life. Or so he thought at first, until Captain Clay’s words finally sank in, something he said on the first day they’d met but didn’t make sense until he’d had time to think it through.
Taking a life shouldn’t be easy. Death should weigh heavily on a man’s conscience, because life was precious, which made Errol’s next decision as straightforward as could be.
“Man down!” he shouted, barely able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears, but he shut that out alongside the rest of the world to tend to Nate’s injuries. Didn’t look at the horde to see how close they were, didn’t care what might happen to him if they arrived. The others would cover him, or Abby would get them both, but either way, Errol wasn’t gonna let Nate bleed out beside him. Remembering his lessons on first aid with Father Nicolas, he uncapped his waterskin and poured some of his precious water over his hands to wash away the grit. Wasn’t even close to clean or sterile, but it was the best he could do for now, so he set to unbuttoning Nate’s shirt and pulled it aside for a better look at the wound. The white of bone peeked out from underneath a surge of red and pink, blood pumping and muscles spasming as Nate’s body tried to reconcile the wound where part of his shoulder used to be, a hole the size of a bottlecap and too deep to gauge with a glance.
Far as Errol could tell, the Bolt hadn’t nicked any arteries running through the general region, because if it had, the blood would be coming out in spurts rather than flowing out in pulses. Good news, but Nate could still bleed out if the wound was left untreated, so Errol grabbed a wad of clean, disinfected gauze from the first aid kit he kept on his belt, one provided to him by the gruff Dr. Harding back in New Hope. Slapping the gauze over the wound, he kept pressure on Nate’s shoulder despite the other man’s agonized groan. “Bear with it man,” Errol said as he pressed down hard with both hands, speaking only because he remembered Father Nicolas would always do the same for his patients. “Pain means you’re alive, so be glad for it.” That got a weak smile from scared Nate, one that filled Errol with confidence. “Heavenly Father, we come before you in faith to seek your healing touch,” he intoned, bowing his head in prayer as the Spell Structure lit up in his mind’s eye. “We believe in your power to restore health and well-being. Please lay your hands upon Nate and mend his wounds, granting him the strength and vitality needed so that he might continue to serve you and others.”
There was more to the prayer, but the words slipped out without thinking as he focused on the Spell’s effects. It was nothing like Howie’s simple, Latin phrases designed for brevity and impact, but it worked for Errol. It was as if the cadence of his prayer was a perfect match for the flow of Aether in the Spell, one that started in his mind, coursed through his body, and flowed out his hands into Nate’s wound. It was a First Order Spell from the school of Abjuration simply named Staunch Wounds, and one he’d practiced on plenty of injured ranchers and animals before. The details escaped him, but as Father Nicolas explained it, the Spell would stem bleeding wherever it found it using ectoplasmic barriers, giving the ruptured blood vessels time to clot and mend before the Spell faded away an hour later. It took a modicum of control from the caster to keep the Spell from penetrating too deep and stopping the flow of blood inside healthy vessels, but Errol had never treated a wound this deep or wide before, and wasn’t entirely sure where to stop. The edges of the cavity, he decided, because so long as Nate didn’t bleed out, then Errol would count that as a win and leave the rest to the experts. No sense making things worse by going too far, so he did what he could, then wiped his sweat before moving on. “The one who endures to the end will be saved,” he said, reciting Mathew 24:13. Thankfully, Nate was too out of it to question why Errol was quoting scripture, because that was the only way he knew how to cast the Power Word: Endure Cantrip.
Seemed silly to have to say so much for a Cantrip literally named for the fact that it was usually cast with a single word, but that’s how Father Nicolas had taught him, and there was no changing it now.
“Need a hand,” he shouted, speaking to no one in particular, and he was gratified to see someone appear on Nate’s other side. “Grab his hips and match my pace. Gotta get him to the medics, but can’t risk bumping his shoulder and tearing the wound again.”
“Got it,” Ike said, and Errol had to do a double take. Ike had been the most vocal and eager of Richard’s crewcut thugs, one who seemed to wholly buy into all that hateful rhetoric, so Errol was surprised to see the man come to his aid. Seeing the disbelief in his eyes, Ike grimaced and looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
Realizing now wasn’t the time to confront the other man for past misdeeds, Errol collected himself and said, “On three. One. Two. Three.” Together, they half-carried, half-dragged Nate back through the sands and away from the fighting. A quick glimpse showed him that all his fears were for naught, that the orc horde had stalled a good twenty, thirty metres from the Ranger’s defensive line. The vast majority were caught in patches of Entangling growths, struggling to push through the thick masses of vines and easy targets for the boots. Others avoided the grasping white spirals of grass only to get tagged by one of three Flaming Clouds, orange-red clouds of billowing flames measuring a metre and a half in diametre. They floated at chest height above the sand, moving back and forth to connect with as many targets as possible, but they didn’t physically stop any orcs or goblins from passing through, under, and around them. Most died at touch, though some were tough enough to push past with merely an arm charred to a crisp, only to topple over dead after a few more steps. Others burst into flames as they drew close, and died screaming in guttural agony as their bodies were consumed by fire. The small trickle of Abby lucky enough to avoid the Flaming Orbs, Entangling Growths, and massed Aetherarm Bolts were greeted by fiery, fist-sized orbs hurtled by Captain Jung, who stood front and centre amongst the boots dealing death with little more than a flick of her fingers, or some other deadly Spell launched by a Drill Sergeant or veteran Ranger.
Even baby Cowie was lending a hand by unleashing massive, conical gouts of flame from his puffed cheeks and bellowing the whole while, giving Errol yet another reason to be terrified of the size-changing, horn growing, fang extending, and now fire-breathing bull. It helped that Cowie was stood next to Howie, who in turn was standing directly in front of the sandbags Errol had just left behind. Man was calm and collected could be as he stood there with a stubby double barrel Blastgun in each hand, taking his time to line up his shot despite standing in arm’s length of his targets. The boom of the Blastguns echoed out even in the clamour of battle, four boneshaking claps sounding out one after the other to launch orc and bugbears away in comical fashion as the Firstborn danced alongside Tina fighting next to him. And in front of him, as well as behind and on his other side too, with a grand total of five Tina’s standing clustered together unleashing a storm of Bolts with their dual 1911’s. Those were some beautiful pistols, shiny, expensive semi-automatics rather than boring revolvers, and Errol marvelled at how each illusion of Tina moved and fired independently from the others, taking their own stances as they bobbed and weaved around Howie.
Now there was a deadly duo if Errol had ever seen one, two Spellslingers standing at the forefront of their generation.
As soon as the medic took Nate off his hands, Errol stopped to heave a sigh of relief and wonder why the Rangers had let the orcs get so close to begin with. Then the pieces fell into place and he wasn’t sure if he should be angry or scared. Today’s fight was yet another test, or perhaps the first true test the boots had gone through, a trial by fire to see how they would hold up under battlefield conditions. A necessary test, but one that could have gone much worse all things considered. Had that Bolt hit Nate a half-inch to the right, it could have severed his artery and caused him to bleed out in a matter of seconds. A full inch and it might’ve killed him outright, or pierced through his lung, or any number of ugly endings that would’ve seen him headed home in a coffin, but Errol saw now that this was exactly what the boots had signed on for. Maybe they didn’t know it at the time, and some were only just learning it now, but being a Ranger was about more than riding around with a five-pointed star pinned to your chest.
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The boots were here to fight Abby, and the Rangers let them do just that, allowing them to come under fire for no real reason than to see how they’d fare. Cold logic let Errol understand why it was necessary, while his anger, fear, and resentment made him wonder who decided this was how things ought to be. The kind and congenial Captain Marcus, who just a few days ago sat with Errol in a show of emotional support? Or the aloof, yet concerned Captain Jung who dropped by several times after he was washed out and offered to help him get back on his feet?
With those thoughts rattling around his head, Errol made his way back to the front lines while reloading his El-Minister on the way. Only then did he think to look for Ike, who was plodding along beside him with his gaze fixed on the fight. There were plenty of things Errol wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time, so he simply gave the other man a nod in thanks before they took their positions and started shooting once more. Turning around at the sound of their guns, Howie flashed him a cheeky grin before leading baby Cowie and Tina out of their lane of fire, bringing Errol’s Whumper with him which he’d picked up sometime during the fray. The rest of the fight was little more than a formality, minutes spent shooting trapped and fleeing Abby until none were left, only for a heavy silence to fall over them and engulf them in still calm.
One that lasted for all of three seconds before Howie broke it. “How’s Nate?” he asked, lacking his customary smile as his voice came in all muted and distant, his Mage Hands reloading the revolver Blastgun with enviable ease while he scanned the horizon in search of more targets to hit.
“Dunno,” Errol replied, looking back at the tents and seeing more boots being carried over for treatment, though none seemed too injured or dead. “I think I stopped the bleeding, but even if I didn’t, Ike and I got him to the medics quick as we could.”
“Good.” Clapping Errol on the shoulder, Howie nodded and said, “Now go get your horse and collect Jay from up that dune over there before meeting me back here.” Pointing at the area in question, he added, “I know you could use a moment to decompress, but you’ll have to do it in the saddle. Left a lot of dead Abby behind me, a real bounty that’ll put those goblins we hunted to shame, but we gotta collect it before we can cash in.” Flashing a smile, Howie leaned in and whispered, “Ain’t easy, earning that 10%, but this one will be worth it, I guarantee you that.”
Or he said something to that effect, because truth was, Errol was having a real hard time hearing him over the ringing in his ears. Was really starting to regret all those nights spent fooling around with Sarah Jay instead of studying the Hearing Protection Cantrip, because a few more fights like today might well leave him deaf for life. Still numb from the abrupt end of battle, he almost broke down crying when he saw his girl’s bright, brilliant smile, happy tears to know she’d been far above and away from all the chaos and terror on the front lines where he’d been. Her smile grew even wider when she heard why he was there, though it dimmed as they rode back to link up with Howie and found him in the middle of a heated discussion with Captain Jung.
“Marcus said I get to keep what I bring back,” Howie was saying, half of which Errol had to read from his lips, “So that’s what I’m fixing to do, with help from my prospects. Can’t bring it all back on my lonesome, now can I? Not like I’m bringing Cowie either, so won’t be any problems if you gotta up and move while we gone.”
“You have been commissioned to this unit as a Scout,” Captain Jung replied, her tone frosty and image made all the more frightening by the six fiery orbs still circling her head, all red-hot and ready to fly off with a thought. “So you will do exactly that. Since you saw fit to leave us no choice but to take this fight in this valley here, you will ensure that we remain safe from any opportunistic Aberrations or bandits while we clean up the battlefield.”
“That ain’t a job for a Scout,” Howie countered, utterly unafraid to stand up to the intimidating Goreyeon Captain. “Anyone with eyes can keep watch, and it’s not like I had much of a choice on where we was gonna take this fight. I ran them in circles for as long as I could to buy time for Kacey to pass the word, else we’d have both ridden in with them hot on our tails. Leaving all y’all without any time to prep mind you, so you’re welcome for that.”
“A decision you made for the sake of greed, not selflessness.” Poking Howie hard in the chest, Captain Jung gave him her best glare and got Howie’s best in return. “You could have ridden back with Kacey and passed along better information while a Strike Team distracted the horde. Instead, you left her to make her own way back under the effects of a Fear Spell because you prioritized fattening your own pockets over the safety and development of this group.”
“Kacey was fine,” Howie countered, showing once again how he didn’t know everything like he thought he did. “Shook off the Fear like water off a duck. Besides, didn’t she tell you? I got marked with a Mind Spike. They’d’ve known you was here before charging in if I showed up right quick. Had to split up to keep them unawares until the Spell effect faded, else they might’ve rallied for a harder fight or slipped away and disappeared.”
Straightening up, Captain Jung turned to Kacey for confirmation, who nodded without hesitation before bowing her head in shame. “Yes. A detail I failed to mention in my haste. I have no excuse for this failure, and will accept any punishment you deem appropriate.”
Eyes narrowed and temple throbbing, Captain Jung stood in silence for long seconds before waving the other girl off and focusing on Howie once more. “You mean to say,” the Captain began, speaking between gritted teeth as she loomed under the Firstborn, “That you are incapable of masking or removing the effects of a Mind Spike?”
“Course not,” Howie replied, after only the briefest of pauses. “I could’ve wiped it clean, but you gotta understand, I lucked out spottin’ this ambush hidden behind an illusion like it was. I’m good, but ain’t no guarantee I’d see through it a second time, or that your other outriders would do the same, so why take the risk? They scented blood, so I figured we better off facing them down here and now instead of giving ‘em another chance to catch us unawares.”
“I think that’s enough, Captain Jung.” Arriving with little fanfare and without notice, Captain Clay put a gentle hand on the other Ranger’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “No sense second guessing decisions that have already been made, and I for one am just glad we made out as good as we did. Three out of commission, eight walking wounded, and zero dead after tackling a horde of that size is cause for celebration, especially for their first fight.” This from a man who allowed them to come under fire as a test. Left Errol with a bad taste in his mouth, even if he understood the need, so he kept quiet and watched as Captain Clay looked over at all the boots and said, “Today, each and every one of you proved you’ve got the stones to become an American Ranger. That’s a good start. Your instructors and Drill Sergeants won’t say it, but let me tell you, you’re the best damn bunch of boots I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s cuz they Frontier born,” Howie said, with so much pride infused into his words that almost every boot straightened up to hear it, Errol included. “All y’all old worlders love to talk about how you come outta Philly, Memphis, Chicago, or whatever hotspots y’all had, but ain’t none of that compared to life out here. Frontier living makes for a tough bunch, and this here is the toughest of the lot.”
“True enough,” Captain Clay replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Damn fine crop of Frontier Rangers we got here, and I look forward to seeing the harvest.” From there, he gave a few orders to the boots and sent them on their way before engaging in a quiet but heated discussion with Howie and Captain Jung.
The talk didn’t last long, and Howie came away smiling. “Kacey,” he called, who looked up from her work hauling Abby corpses. “Where’s my horse? I’mma need him back, but don’t you worry. Saw your fox circling around to the northeast with your filly. Looked like they was avoiding the horde and making their way back here, so should show up soon enough.”
The other girl responded with a glare before pointing in a general direction towards where all the horses were staked out. Was difficult to coordinate a fight on horseback, especially with so many boots around, so Captain Clay hadn’t even tried and ordered them to dig in. Seemingly unconcerned by Kacey’s cold response, Howie smiled and thanked her before heading off to collect Ivory. Sarah Jay was positive Howie was sweet on the girl, but Errol didn’t see it. The Firstborn treated Kacey no different from any of the other boots. Was all business as usual and didn’t ever seek her out at the campfire for conversation, preferring to spend his time on lessons with Errol and Sarah Jay, chatting with Tina, or just studying by his lonesome. The only time he allowed himself to have fun was that one night he ran off to play cards with Conner, Reggie, and a few others, though they got caught by Captain Clay and had to call the game off halfway through.
Yea, if Howie was sweet on Kacey, then he had a peculiar way of showing it by interacting with her only when absolutely necessary and only with regards to work. That being said, if Sarah Jay was right, then Errol would be shocked, because he knew what it was like to get all tongue-tied and muddle headed around a pretty face, and had seen plenty of the other boots make fools of themselves in front of the women. Lord knows how he ever caught Sarah Jay’s eye, what with how he used to stare and stutter around her. The first time she took his hand, he must’ve lost a full gallon of sweat to that one palm alone. Didn’t see any of that from Howie though, as he didn’t pay Kacey, Tina, or Sarah Jay’s looks any mind, no more than he did Errol’s, always ready with a smile while remaining at a polite distance, both physically and emotionally. Wasn’t anything better than a hug from Sarah Jay, as she was all soft curves and exquisite scents, but Howie dodged those like he was dodging punches, and only barely tolerated Tina’s hugs, something most other boots in camp would fight and die for.
Wasn’t like that with Chrissy though, and Errol could see Howie loved the strange, silver-haired girl with all his heart. A little odd, but maybe Sarah Jay was right and it was a brotherly kind of love, without any lecherous intent as she put it. Errol hoped as much, but he wouldn’t put money on it, not even a single cent, because as far as he was concerned, he might as well burn the money if he was gonna be giving it away like that.
Money he was eager to collect as Howie led them out into the desert at a canter, a pace the horses wouldn’t be able to keep up for long in the heat. Sensing Errol’s unease, or maybe just reading it off his expression, Howie flashed a smile and said, “Don’t worry. They just need to get us there and back, maybe an hour tops. Won’t need to do no hauling, and they’ll all have the rest of the day to recover, as we won’t be going nowhere until them Abby corpses are cooked and sorted. The Rangers use pressure cookers, which’ll cost a pretty penny in Aether to run. Still worth it for the time saved, but I ain’t got no pressure cooker on account of how it’s restricted tech. Can apparently be turned into bombs, which to me sounds like an added bonus, but it is what it is.”
Was less than five minutes before they came across their first pile of Abby corpses, all torn and cut up like someone took a sword to them and sliced them dead. Giving a low whistle as he slowed, Errol said, “Can’t say I can see why you’d want a pressure cooker bomb, not when you can do something like this.”
“Because I can only do it a limited number of times a day,” Howie replied, gesturing for them to keep riding and explaining as they went. “Used a Second Order Spike Growth Spell, which is a step up from Entangle. Don’t bind Abby in place, but slows them instead, on top of piercing and cutting them as they pass through. Is good because orcs are strong enough to break free of Entangle about half the time. With Spike Growth, it costs them big to make it through, and those who do tend to bleed out soon after, making it a mighty fine Spell indeed. The Rangers don’t use it much, because like you saw, Entangle and Aetherarms are a more effective and efficient combination, but we won’t be riding with fifty, sixty other gunners, now will we? Takes a lot of effort to setup though, and truth be told, there are more effective Second Order Spells to use, but I figured it’d be an easy Spell for Jay to pick up and wanted to show it off, which is why I’ve kept it prepped these last few days.”
“So why ain’t we collecting them then?” Sarah Jay asked, glancing back at the pile of Abbertin and seeing fat stacks of cash. “That was a big group of orcs, least thirty dead, if not more.”
“We’ll get ‘em on the way back,” Howie replied. “Best we take a look-see at our earliest catch first, so we won’t be weighed down if we come across something unexpected.” Winking with forced cheer, he added, “Don’t let what Ava said back there fool you. I’m greedy, sure, but I will always prioritize safety and survival above earning. Ain’t no reward without risk in our line of work, but you can’t spend if you dead.”
Took Errol a moment to realize who Howie meant by ‘Ava’, and he shuddered to think of ever calling the formidable woman by her first name. “Captain Jung was just worried about us is all,” he said, because he could tell Howie was burning mad at being called out like that. “She acts all gruff and unconcerned, but she was the only Ranger who checked in on us after I washed out. She didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Yea, I’m sure you right.” Sounding anything but convinced, Howie rode on in silence, and they soon passed a second pile of corpses bearing similar injuries to the first. Still they kept on riding, and though Errol spotted an Abby corpse or two every now and then, they didn’t come across anymore big piles of corpses. Was almost twenty minutes before Howie pulled up and set the horses to walking, his eyes fixed on something in the distance with an intensity you couldn’t miss. “When we get back,” he said, without turning his head, “You don’t say word one about our haul, got it? We’ll let them look at the pile, but if they ask for details, you just shake your head and tell them nothing. You don’t know how many, how much they worth, what Spell Cores we got, nothing. Understood?”
“So the truth?” Errol asked with a smile, but Howie wasn’t having none of it.
“Won’t be the truth for much longer,” he said, eyes still staring off at the horizon. “But we’ll try to keep it that way. Don’t ask too many questions, and I’ll try not to answer any. Don’t worry about me skimming nothing though. I’ll keep you with me when we do the rendering and give you a full account of the finances after it’s all weighed and measured.”
“No need for that,” Sarah Jay said, beaming pretty as could be. “We trust you.”
“And I’m glad for it, so I want to show you I’m worthy of that trust.” There was a rare hint of hesitation in Howie’s tone, and he tore his eyes away from whatever he was looking at to meet their gazes. “My daddy used to say, ‘Trust, but verify’. Not because you expect someone trustworthy to scam you, but because doing so reinforces that trust, strengthens the foundations of it. That way, if there ever comes a time when you got nothing to go on besides trust, then it’ll be strong enough to endure beneath the weight of your doubts.”
“A wise man,” Errol said, because it made perfect sense, and Howie beamed to hear it before turning back to face forward.
“There,” he said, a moment later, pointing out a spot in the desert that didn’t look any different from the rest of it. “That’s where I dumped it. Come on.” Despite his eagerness to get there, Howie didn’t push the horses too hard and let them walk the rest of the way. Still jumped off and ran over when he was close enough, and Errol still wasn’t sure why. There were no corpses to be seen, no Abby to cart off, so why was Howie so eager to stop here of all places?
A question soon answered as Howie’s gooey little mud man popped out of the sand and started clearing it away. Howie joined in with all four hands, digging like a marty without any regard for pride or appearance, and reluctant as Errol was to do the same, he hopped off and joined in. So did Sarah Jay, arriving two steps ahead of him as she hadn’t hesitated one bit, and soon they was all scooping sand aside in a frantic flurry while grinning like kids at the beach.
“Here!” Sarah Jay said, reaching into the sand and pulling hard to reveal a small, crispy hand, one she let go of right quick with a little muted shriek.
Laughing up a storm and heedless of her glare, Howie chortled and dug around the hand. “Good eye,” he said, unearthing more of the corpse as he went. “Blobby little guy can’t carry much, but he sure can dig.” The good cheer didn’t last long as it revealed the head of the burnt corpse, a small, oblong skull that clearly belonged to a goblin.
“Why’d you bury a goblin?” Errol asked, only to belatedly wish he’d kept his mouth shut as Howie threw his hat into the sand.
“Because I thought it was the hob,” he hissed, stomping his boot down hard in a fit of pique. “That rotten, low-down, tricksy Illusionist! This is why no one likes ‘em!”
No doubt thinking about all the money lost, Sarah Jay heaved a sigh and leaned in against Errol. “Well, maybe next time.”
“If only it was that easy.” Snatching up his hat and brushing it off with care, Howie growled as he plopped it back on. “Meant what I said back there. Ain’t all that confident about spotting a second ambush, but hopefully we’ll make it to town before it gathers enough Abby for a second try. Hobgoblins are a dangerous bunch, moreso for their smarts than anything else. Remember what I said about goblins and why they ought to be feared?”
“Because they clever little craftsmen,” Errol supplied, remembering all the clothes, armour, and weapons the orcs had carried, as well as the sleds those goblins used to haul those hoggidilla corpses.
“Yep, and hobgoblins are the smartest and strongest of the bunch. Smart enough to drop its Mind Spike to make me think it was dead, else I’d have kept hunting it.” Hauling the corpse out of the sand pit, Howie tossed it onto the back of his horse, unwilling to give up even the few scraps of Aberrtin from a single goblin. “See, hobgoblins ain’t birthed by proggies, not directly. They start off as plain old regular goblins, and just live long enough to grow long and lanky. Ain’t just humans and wild predators they gotta avoid, they also gotta keep themselves from dying to other Abby, whether it be snacky allies or hostile competitors looking for a quick and easy catch. Proggies don’t go to war with one another, but they will compete for resources, and gobbos from one proggie will feed another just fine. Means any gobbo that lives long enough to grow into a hobgoblin is a crafty one, smarter than any Abby short of a Synapse, which ain’t exactly a fair comparison since those are just puppets directly controlled by the proggies. Either way, this particular hobgoblin is even smarter than most, one that’s been plaguing caravans in the Coral Desert for nigh on a year now.”
And all of a sudden, Howie’s vague warning made sense, and Errol felt silly for not catching on sooner. Judging from Sarah Jay’s knowing expression and subtle shake of her head, she’d figured it out before he did and had kept quiet, because Howie had warned them about saying too much. Not without reason either, because if he’d truly killed the infamous hobgoblin Illusionist, it’d be worth a pretty penny in bounty and Spell Core both. Still begged the question as to why he dragged the corpse away and had a Simple Servant bury it, or how he burnt this goblin up so good, as it was blacker than the corpses he’d set on fire using three bottles of alcohol and a Fire Orb while they were all held in place by Sarah Jay’s Entangle Spell. No questions though, so Errol zipped his lip and made ready to follow Howie further out into the desert.
“Alright then,” he said, looking sour as could be as he washed his hands with a Water Sphere, another Cantrip Errol wished he had. “Let’s head over to collect our catch.”
The mood was heavy as they walked their horses up the side of a steep desert dune, which wasn’t easy as it looked. By the time they were nearing the peak, Errol was ready to swear off desert hikes for the rest of his life and let his horse walk around every dune they crossed, but Howie stopped them short and turned to pat Ivory on the nose before signalling them to stand and wait. Careful and quiet, the Firstborn slowly clambered up to the peak on all fours before sliding over the lip on his belly. Looked real silly doing it, but Errol didn’t laugh, because he could sense something off about Howie’s mood. After long seconds, he turned and waved them over with a grimace, gesturing for them to stay low and quiet. Copying the other man’s moves, they made their way up and Errol’s heart skipped a beat in his chest when he saw what was waiting for them down below.
A pile of burnt and dead Abby atop a circle of glassed sand, surrounded by a group of a half-dozen, heavily-armed strangers dressed in desert camo.
Strangers loading Abby corpses onto two wagons hitched to a pair of giant, long-necked birds, which explained why Howie was so sour. If looks could kill, then those men down there would be dead three times over, but he didn’t stick around for long. Instead, he waved them back down and brought them away as quiet as could be, walking until they were well out of ear shot before mounting up to ride around the dunes instead of over them. “Bunch of dirty, rotten, low-down scavs,” Howie growled, staring daggers back towards the thieves with so much hatred packed into the words it shook Errol to the core. “A long drop and a short stop, that’s all they deserve. Lives ain’t worth the Aether spent to put a Bolt through their heads.”
This wasn’t just a tantrum from the Firstborn. It was murderous rage, a thunderous storm of barely restrained wrath and fury just bubbling beneath the surface. Once again, Errol caught a glimpse of Howie’s dark nature, so eager to inflict death and violence at the drop of a hat. Couldn’t be easy, watching thieves walk away with his hard-earned spoils, but like Wayne had said, not all crimes were deserving of death.
Errol’s thoughts must’ve shown on his face, because Howie met his gaze without a hint of shame and said, “You think it’s a coincidence they out here ridin’ heavy with empty wagons? They ain’t no innocents who happened to be wanderin’ by, Errol. They’re vultures is what they are. Saw Abby gathering to lie in wait, with a Ranger convoy headed straight for them, so they figured us for an easy payday. Dollars to donuts, they was waitin’ fer us to march right into that ambush. Would’ve watched it happen without so much as a peep, let us fight it out a good bit, then opened fire on whoever’s winning. Keep us fightin’ until both sides weak enough for them to sweep in and clean up, all so they could claim the spoils for themselves.”
Licking his lips, Errol tried to point out the flaw in Howie’s logic. “If that’s the case, then wouldn’t there be more of them waiting nearby? Six men, even heavily armed ones, can’t take out a Ranger convoy.”
“Rest were likely in the area, watching for our approach,” Howie replied. “Or gathering up other corpses I left in my wake. Why you think I buried that gob to begin with? Ain’t nothing on the Frontier more dangerous or treacherous than other people, and that’s a fact. We just lucky we didn’t get here sooner, else they might’ve chanced gunning us down and running off with the catch before the Rangers respond.”
Lord help him, Errol didn’t get how Howie could look at someone and see only the worst. Maybe those men down there were truly as reprehensible as he said, but how could he be so sure with nothing more than a glance? Was this how he operated out here? Shoot first, ask questions later? Granted, Howie hadn’t killed anyone, but he sure looked ready to. What if there came a day when the stakes were too high for him to just walk away? It was one thing to kill in self-defence, but to kill for material gain… Even if they were thieves, that didn’t justify murder. A moral dilemma, because the right thing to do was challenge those thieves and give them a chance to leave. It’d also be stupid, seeing how Errol, Sarah Jay, and Howie were outmanned and outgunned. Those scavs had a lot of fancy looking weapons, and the look of men who knew how to use them, so Errol could easily imagine how they’d react if Howie demanded they walk away and leave those Abby corpses behind. Would probably step away, gather some friends, then come back guns blazing to fight for the catch.
So what were you supposed to do in a situation where you knew others meant you harm, but had yet to act on that intent? Wasn’t sure if the law was on Howie’s side, but that didn’t mean much out here in the Coral Desert, and the way he told it, it wasn’t like the Rangers were all strait-laced either. Howie might’ve walked away this time, but from they way he was acting, it was clear he wouldn’t always be so willing. Sarah Jay didn’t seem all that thrilled either, and while Caleb’s death had her shook, she was more bothered by her reaction to the fight, than the deaths themselves. Then there was the fact that she pretty much idolized the Firstborn, took his statements as fact, so if Howie said killing scavs was justified, she might well just go along with it, even if the law or the Good Book might say otherwise. Was it right though? Gunning down men without warning just because you knew they would shoot you if given the chance? Killing in… what? Pre-emptive self-defence?
Not for the first time, Errol wished he could find Father Nicolas and pick his brain on the matter, but for better or for worse, he’d have to make up his mind on his own.