The cow’s cries grew more desperate, the fiends' attack relentless and brutal. In the pale moonlight, Slinger could see the shapes of the creatures, twisted and monstrous. The smaller fiends darted around the cow, their forms a grotesque blend of wolf and reptile, while the larger one, standing on two legs, loomed over the fray, directing the carnage.

Slinger’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the big one. He had to be quick, decisive. He squeezed the trigger, the pistol roaring to life with a deafening crack. The bullet, imbued with Order, tore through the night, striking the fiend with a burst of light. The creature howled in pain, a guttural, inhuman sound that sent shivers down his spine.

Smaller was a relative term; the lesser two were still as big as a man. They came loping at him on all fours, eyes glowing with a sinister light. Slinger kept his awareness on the big one in the distance, watching it shake off its wound and sink to all fours. As the smaller two closed in on him, hails of arrows came from the village, all directed at the big one, the archers not risking a shot that might hit Slinger. The beast screamed, more in rage than pain, as the arrows stuck to it.

The smaller two fiends split, smart like hunting wolves, moving to either side of him. Slinger fired again at the one to his right, hitting it squarely. He heard it stumble and roll in the grass, but he doubted he'd finished it. He thumbed his sword to life, its blue glow blinding in the darkness. The face of the beast on his left was lit by the glow—an awful visage of eyes and teeth, a nightmare come to life. As it leapt at him, hand-like claws raking the air, he stepped aside and lashed with his sword, catching it mid-air. The creature tumbled to the grass, acrid, stinking black blood spraying the air.

There was no time to follow up. The other lesser fiend came charging at him. He tried to keep his awareness on the big one, which was circling as well, arrows chasing it, making it look like a porcupine with arrows protruding all over its back. The charging lesser fiend presented itself well this time, charging head down. Slinger leveled the pistol, taking his time, and squeezed a shot right into the top of its head. The creature collapsed violently, its momentum sending it rolling limply into him, knocking him down.

He scrambled to rise, but the other lesser fiend was on him. He got the elbow of his sword arm to its chest, keeping its gnashing jaws from his face, but grunted as its claws raked his side, finding flesh in the gaps of his armor. The thundering steps of the bigger one drew closer; he had only moments. With all his might, he held the frenzied monster from his throat. His gun hand came up, and he pressed the barrel under the creature's chin.

For a moment, he thought the monster paused, as if it understood its mistake. As he pulled the trigger, the creature's eyes seemed to understand. The gun belched, and the top of the creature's head exploded, filling the air with stinking blood and splattered black brain. For all the times he'd fought such things, the urge to vomit never got any less when their stench filled the air.

No time to gather himself, he pushed the heavy corpse away from him and rolled, just in time. The space where he had been exploded as huge claws impacted the earth. The big one loomed over him, enraged and unrelenting. Slinger, on his back, saw the beast’s glowing eyes, its scales glistening in the moonlight, and its jaws dripping with saliva.

He rolled again, narrowly avoiding another swipe of the beast’s massive claws. Springing to his feet, he leveled his pistol at the fiend's head and fired. The bullet struck true, and the beast recoiled, howling in pain but not stopping. Slinger’s sword was ready in his other hand, the blue glow cutting through the darkness like a beacon of hope.

The fiend charged again, its movement a blur of fury and muscle. Slinger stood his ground, timing his move perfectly. As the beast closed in, he sidestepped and swung his sword with all his might.

Two rounds left in his pistol. Slinger gave them both to the monster, two to the head. He heard one whine away, ricocheting off the beast’s thick skull, but the other lay planted somewhere in its flesh. An arrow whistled past his ear, too close for comfort, but it found its mark in the creature’s neck, causing it to stagger back another step.

Slinger dropped his pistol and swept in, both hands gripping his sword. This thing was tough, and the only way to stop it might be to take its head. Even then, he had seen fiends fight headless at times. The beast slashed wildly, clawing at its face where the bullet hole spurted black blood. Slinger slowed, trying to get close, sensing that it was done with the fight but not wanting to let it loose into the wild.

The animal screamed at him, a sound so human, so beastly, and so utterly other that it filled his veins with cold dread. Then it was gone, head down, charging faster than a horse back to the treeline. Slinger thought about whistling for Earp to go after it, but it would make the treeline before him, and he didn’t want to fight that crazed thing in the confines of the forest, especially not at night.

It stopped at the treeline, its glowing red eyes turning back to him. There was something almost intelligent in its gaze, as if it were trying to communicate. A guttural growl rumbled from its throat, and then it disappeared into the darkness.

He gathered his precious pistol from the grass, its glowing gem calling to him in the darkness. As he limped back toward the village, he carefully loaded new cartridges into the gun. The thing wouldn’t be back tonight, but a life in the wilds had taught him to never walk with an unloaded gun.

The villagers swarmed to him, their faces a mix of excitement, relief, and victory, but also fear. Arlow voiced it, his tone apprehensive. "The big un got away."

Slinger was unconcerned. "You got nothing to fear from that one. I promise you, he won't be back. Not after what happened here. Those were smart fiends. He knows this place ain't worth the trouble now."

A woman came to his side, her hand slipping under his duster and coming back red with his blood. "You're hurt," she said, concern etched on her face.

"Just a bit," Slinger replied with a faint smile.

Another woman, old and gray, stepped forward and sternly ordered, "Come to the hall. We'll tend you."

Slinger didn't argue. He felt okay, but experience told him that sometimes you didn't know how bad a wound was until you could see it. Arlow clapped him on the back, saying, "You earned your ale!"

Slinger smiled. "But just a little of it. I need to ride early tomorrow."

Arlow looked incredulous. "You can't rest? After what you just did? Twenty men couldn't fight like that. I'll never forget it. Surely you can afford a rest. We've got lots of meat hanging. We could feast you tomorrow."

Slinger shook his head, limping after the old woman toward the hall. "That big un won't get far tonight. He'll find a hole somewhere to lick his wounds, but he's done with this place for sure. That means he'll move on and find another place to haunt. I need to get after him. Tonight can be for resting. Tomorrow is for hunting."

The villagers parted as he walked, their whispers a mix of awe and gratitude. Inside the hall, the warmth and light were a stark contrast to the cold dread of the night outside. Slinger allowed himself to be guided to a seat near the fire. The old woman began tending to his wounds, her hands deft and practiced.

As she worked, the tension in Slinger’s body slowly began to ease. He accepted a mug of ale from a young man, raising it in a silent toast before taking a long drink. The room filled with the comforting sounds of a village settling back into normalcy—murmured conversations, the clatter of dishes, and the crackling of the fire.

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Arlow took a seat beside him. "I still can't believe you're planning to leave so soon. You saved us tonight. Surely, you deserve a bit more rest."

Slinger leaned back, feeling the fire's warmth seep into his bones. "I've learned not to let these things fester. If I don't go after him, he'll just bring his terror to another village. Besides, it's easier to track them when they're wounded and on the move."

Arlow nodded slowly, respect shining in his eyes. "We'll never forget what you did for us. You're welcome here anytime."

Slinger smiled, tipping his hat. "Appreciate that. But for now, let's just get through tonight. Tomorrow's another day, another hunt."

Chapter 39

"Done!" Clive stepped back from the bench, tweezers in hand, staring at his work in disbelief. His eyes were wide, his breath shallow, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just accomplished. The pistol lay clamped on the bench, a patchwork of old and new technology, waiting to reveal its secrets.

Captain Hearthguard came to stand alongside him, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Clive’s work. He leaned in, studying the weapon with a puzzled expression. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice a gruff rumble. “You took that webbing off one gun and put it on another. What was the point, oddling?”

Clive’s fingers twitched, a sign of his mounting frustration. “The point is, this will prove if the filaments that provide Order to the gun work,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

Hearthguard’s brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t it have been better to take the filaments off something busted and put them on something good? That would’ve been useful.”

Clive’s frustration bubbled over. This was not the first version of this conversation they’d had. “No,” he said sharply. “What if the filaments on the old one were already damaged? Then I wouldn’t know if it would be transferable. This way, I can determine once and for all if it’s possible.”

Hearthguard shook his head slowly. “And this way, if you’re wrong, you’ve destroyed a priceless, irreplaceable relic, and Jarway will have your head removed from your shoulders.”

Clive’s eyes widened in fright. “Jarway wouldn’t do that...would he?”

Hearthguard returned a vacant expression and shrugged. “Well, oddling, no time like the present to see if it works. Can’t say I’m not rooting for you.”

Clive swallowed hard. “So you can get a cushy job on my new estate?”

Hearthguard slapped his shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie. “That, but also, and don’t take this too personally, I’d rather see your head and neck stay attached to each other.”

Clive was honestly touched by the sincerity in Hearthguard’s voice. He glanced at the gun, his heart pounding in his chest. “Is it safe to test it? Would firing it draw attention?”

Hearthguard waved a hand dismissively. “Naw, workers over yonder know we’re here with guns. One shot won’t bother nobody. They’ll probably think one of the boys took a shot at a rat or a bird.”

Clive was tense, his nerves a jangled mess. His entire future might hinge on the success of this project. His hands were clammy, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of hope and fear. As they stepped out of the dingy warehouse where his secret lab was arranged, the cool evening air hit his face, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside.

The landscape of the Denver oilfield spread out before them, a desolate expanse dotted with rusted machinery and abandoned rigs. The sky was a tapestry of deep purples and oranges, the last rays of the setting sun casting long shadows across the ground. Insects buzzed around their heads, a persistent hum that added to Clive’s unease. A lone bird, its silhouette sharp against the twilight sky, let out a mournful cry as it flew overhead.

Clive looked around. He said, “Are the order fields down?”

“Sure are, workers have finished for the day and Denver doesn’t have Flows to waste keeping Order up here for no reason.”

Clive, his hands trembling uncontrollably, passed the gun to Hearthguard. "You do it," he stammered.

Hearthguard arched an eyebrow. "Don’t you want the honors, oddling?"

Clive shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "I’ve, um... I’ve never fired a gun before."

Hearthguard’s gaze turned withering. "What did people in your time do when you needed to defend yourselves? You told me the Order was everywhere then; you weren’t exactly walking around with swords."

Embarrassed, Clive admitted, "People in my time didn’t concern ourselves that much with self-defense. Most of us definitely didn’t go walking around with swords and guns."

Hearthguard shook his head scornfully. "Alright then, oddling, give her here."

Clive handed over the gun, feeling a strange mix of relief and trepidation. Hearthguard held the gun reverently, checking that the clip was loaded before working the slide and the safety a few times. He looked at Clive incredulously.

Clive, noticing the look, asked, "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong?"

The other man clicked the safety again, shaking his head in amazement. "You little fucking wonder, you’ve done it."

Clive’s eyes widened in surprise. "You can tell that by just clicking the safety catch?"

Hearthguard nodded. "Sure as I could be about anything. I don’t need to fire it. The Order is high in this weapon; she’ll fire as well as she would inside a Tower."

Clive hesitated, unsure if Hearthguard truly wasn't going to shoot it. "You might be able to tell that, but I have no such sensitivity... Could you... could you shoot it anyway?"

Hearthguard’s smile broadened. "With pleasure, oddling. Most normal folks like you and I never get to see a treasure like this, let alone hold one. By the Oracle, shooting it would be a once-in-a-lifetime miracle."

Hearthguard raised the pistol, aiming it at a broken oil drum. Clive couldn’t help but note the odd discord: the medieval soldier, clad in chainmail and leather, sword at his waist, holding the pistol with the precision and ease of a trained soldier from Clive’s time. Hearthguard aimed down the sight, taking a deep breath before gently squeezing the trigger.

The shot rang out with a deafening crack, echoing through the quiet oilfield. The slide of the pistol snapped back, a brief, sharp movement that expelled a spent cartridge with a metallic ping. The barrel smoked slightly, the scent of gunpowder filling the air.

The wildlife reacted instantly. Birds scattered from nearby perches with frantic flaps of their wings, their cries piercing the evening air. The broken oil drum, now sporting a fresh, clean hole in its side, rocked gently from the impact.

Clive’s heart raced, a mixture of elation and disbelief surging through him. Hearthguard lowered the gun, a satisfied grin on his face.

"You did it, oddling," he said, clapping Clive on the shoulder. "You really did it."

Hearthguard lowered the hammer, clicked the safety, and handed the gun back to Clive. Clive took it tentatively, reverently, feeling the weight of his success in his hands.

"So what's next, oddling?" Hearthguard asked. "Does this mean you can fix some of that broken shit?"

Clive's head was swimming with possibilities. "With some research, I'm sure I can. But it's even more exciting than that. This means, with some research and testing, maybe some practice, I can probably put webbing like this on other things..."

"Like bigger guns?" Hearthguard interjected, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

"Yes, Hearthguard, probably bigger guns, but other things too. We might be able to make cars, tractors, medical equipment, all sorts of things work outside of Order fields."

Hearthguard's excitement was palpable but quickly tempered with a hint of hesitation. "Can you make those filaments yourself?"

Clive sobered, the enormity of the task ahead settling on his shoulders. "Well, no, at least not yet. I haven't really figured out their nature, but I have an idea of the way the microcircuits exchange Order and Entropy now, and that's a start."

Hearthguard labored on the earlier issue. "So to get a tractor to work outside of an Order field, you'd need to take the webbing off who knows how many weapons."

Clive hesitated, considering the implications. "Well, if I use finesse about it, maybe not that many. The whole tractor doesn't need high Order, just the engine, some of the electronics."

Hearthguard looked at him with a mix of admiration and skepticism. "Listen, oddling, it's not lost on me how much potential there is in all of this. I look forward to living in a world where folks can plow their fields out in the wilds and doctors can cure sick babies in far-off villages. But you want some advice?"

Clive nodded, eager for guidance.

Hearthguard continued, "Get back in there and fix one or two of those old busted relics. Jarway will be fair excited to see you can move the webbing between weapons and such, but if you can bring him back more working relics than you left with, that's what will please him. That's what will get you and your little maid a nice estate somewhere. Jarway is a man who values results."