Jonathan covered his mouth with his sleeve before he entered the tunnel to block out the foul smells of sulfur, steam, and the raging fires of scattered coal and debris that he expected to find. When no one else complained or started coughing though, he tentatively lowered the cloth and drew an unfiltered breath. Something definitely wasn’t right. The air was fine, and except for the smells of rock dust and dwarven powder it was practically fresh from the recent passage of the train. Once he’d figured that out, other details stopped making sense as well. The white fog that filled the tunnel wasn’t the humid mass of superheated steam that should have been there when that much water was vaporized - it was just a few clouds of slowly dissipating smoke.
It was all wrong. Jonathan could feel it, and the closer he got to the train, the slower he walked. Every impulse in his body told him that he should run, and though he knew his brother would never allow that, he slowly drifted back from the main mass of Marcus’ men. He hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near this train before, but now he was certain it was a trap that Boriv had set just to catch the thieves in the act and get rid of a long time nuisance. Slowing his pace worked well enough, Jonathan thought as he slipped to the back of the pack unnoticed. No one was paying him any attention until suddenly his brother grabbed him by the arm and held him there just in front of him. “No cold feet for you. You’re staying with me until all this is done,” he growled at Jonathan, pressing him forward towards the assembled group of thugs as they closed in on their goal: the last car where their aetherite was supposedly held.
“Any trick to opening these things?” The miller’s boy asked him, trying to study the latch in the dim light of the lanterns.
“I-I don’t know,” Jonathan lied, not wanting to do a thing to help these awful people.
“You don’t know?” Marcus hissed, throttling him. “What bloody good are you if you don’t even know how to open the door on the goddamned train.”
“I just help Boriv with the inventory,” Jonathan whined, twisting in his brother’s painful grip. Earthbloods could be almost as strong as dwarves when they were channeling, and his gift was much stronger than Jonathan’s pitiful talents with fire would ever be. “I just—”
“I got it, I got it,” the Miller’s son muttered finally, swinging the hasp open and sliding the door back with a long series of squeaks and creaks as the thick wooden door slid back in its track. Jonathan looked worriedly up the train to see if any of the surviving dwarves had heard the racket. As he did so he saw that most of his brother’s thugs had the same thought and swiveled their heads as well. Only Marcus pushed forward telling someone, “Give me a boost up. Let’s take care of this quick and—”
Jonathan didn’t see the first shot. No one did, probably. One moment the tunnel was dark and quiet, save for the milling of the band of thieves, and the next everything was illuminated. The roar of a brand being used at close range drowned everything else out. After that everyone turned back to the car where the shot had come from. A few even started raising their weapons to fight the unseen foe, but it was all in slow motion. It was like some elvish spell from a fairy story had slowed time down to a crawl, to make them helpless. That was when a second shot went off, followed by a third in quick succession. In the darkness between shots it was impossible to see if anyone had been hit, but the screams that quickly faded to gurgles quickly filled Jonathan’s imagination with bloody corpses. Dwarves rarely missed what they were aiming at with their strange weapons - especially at close range. Anyone caught on the wrong end of a brand ended up with a thumb sized hole straight through their body.
After that no one was trying to find someone to attack. The fight was over. Now everyone left standing was turning to save their own hides before a dwarven bullet ripped them open and splashed their blood all over the rail bed. Dwarven weapons were more terrifying than magic as a rule, and certainly more dangerous than any long bow or sword a man might wield against them. That’s why men traded with their shorter cousins and only warred with themselves. An arrow might strike someone dead, but it wouldn’t blow a hole right through them. It was one thing to know that intellectually though, and another thing to see it happen right in front of you. The chaotic and violent sight etched itself into Jonathan’s mind one shot at time as he stood there unwilling to fight and unable to flee. The noise of the weapons deafened him, and the flare of their power lit the tunnel up only long enough to see someone crumple before it left him blind again. In the light of the fourth shot he saw someone strike his brother hard in the head with something. He was one of the only men that had even gotten far, but the blow was enough to send him tumbling from the freight car.
After that, there was just darkness, and the only sounds that Jonathan could hear above the sound of his pounding heart were the dwarves ramming the powder back down in their weapons, Marcus groaning in pain somewhere nearby, and the sound of the few survivors boots crunching on gravel as they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Moments later there was shouting in dwarven and the dwarves jumped out of the freight car. They only ran far enough to get into new firing positions to shoot the men that were trying to run away. He turned his head to look at the silhouettes the mouth of the tunnel in time to see two more men fall before they could reach freedom, but then Jonathan was knocked down by a dwarf running past him. He sat there on his ass waiting for one last bang, but the kill shot he was expecting to follow that moment never came. There were still shots happening certainly, and he flinched each time he heard another brand fire, but none of their bullets ever struck him. Eventually the sound of shooting stopped, and he was left in the ringing silence of the dark. That meant the dwarves had run out of targets he realized. Would he know it if he were dead, Jonathan wondered. What if a dwarf had shot him in the head or the heart and it was all over before he could feel the pain?
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
That twisted fugue state where he tried to understand why he was still alive, if he was still alive, only lasted until someone finally put their hand on his shoulder. Jonathan flinched away from it at first, but quickly recognized Boriv’s silhouette once he turned his vacant eyes to see who had come to finish him and relaxed. It was finally over, at least that’s what Jonathan thought until Boriv said “Come with me lad. There’s one more thing we need to do.”
After that Jonathan walked like a man condemned over to the rear of the train where the two signal lanterns had been opened up enough to illuminate the area. Jonathan tried to keep his eyes on Boriv and ignore the blood spatter and bodies of the dead, but that was asking too much once he saw Marcus propped up against the back stairs and bleeding from the head.
“You killed him!” Jonathan cried out, tearing up instantly. “You…” but as soon as the corpse of his older brother heard his voice it stirred slightly, moaning in pain.
“No lad, that’s yer job.” Boriv said, Suddenly pressing his brand into his hands.
“What? I couldn’t. I would never.” Jonathan said, closing his grip around the handle of the already warm gun.
“Ye want to show me ye really had nothin to do with this act of lawlessness and robbery?” Boriv asked, “This is how ye do that.” Jonathan’s heart broke at the idea of doing such a thing. Even if his brother deserved death, and he really didn’t think he did, someone else would have to be the one to pull the trigger. Now Marcus was looking at him though, and it made everything worse.
“Wait,” his older brother demanded, shakily rising to his feet. “You told them? You told that flinty hearted bastard what we were planning?”
“I was only trying to keep anyone from getting hurt,” Jonathan whined. “I’m sorry. It was the right thing to do.”
“Well look around,” Marcus said, gesturing to the dead that were scattered around their feet. “Do you feel like you did the right thing? Do you?” Jonathan stood there numbly, looking at a spot of spattered blood near the tip of his shoe doubting anything would ever feel right again.
“Well,” Marcus demanded, pulling out a knife. “Answer me. Apologize for destroying everything our family worked so hard for before I gut you like the traitor you are!”
Jonathan finally pointed the brand at his brother, but only to make him keep his distance. He’d held them before when they were unloaded, and Boriv had explained how they worked a little bit, though any details beyond the ones that anyone could see - especially the dwarven secret of how they made their magic dwarven powder were a closely guarded secret. This was the first time he’d ever pointed one at another living thing. The motion was enough to make Marcus flinch and stop moving toward his younger brother, while the four dwarves that had killed the rest of Marcus’ men milled around enjoying the show.
“You won’t kill me,” he said, subtly switching the grip on his blade from a fighting to a throwing grip. “You’ve got the spine of a snail Jon. We both know that the only people you’ll ever murder are the ones you kill on accident.”
“Don’t make me do this,” Jonathan said desperately, realizing what his brother was trying to do. “I don’t want to kill you.” It was in that moment, when Jonathan was distracted by pleading with his brother that Marcus struck, throwing his blade with all the channeled might he could muster at his brother. That was when the brand in Jonathan’s hand just went off. He didn’t remember pulling the trigger, but he would forever remember the way the recoil made his hand fly up and out of the way. Suddenly there was just the noise of the weapon detonating in his hands, and a sudden pain in his chest. He looked down expecting to see the knife embedded there, but there was nothing. No blood - not even a hole in his shirt. That was when he remembered he’d shot his brother. Jonathan’s head bolted up and he found Marcus doing much the same as he just had as he looked for a wound that wasn’t there. They were probably even wearing similar expressions of disbelief he realized, as the gratitude that they were both okay washed over him. Other than the clotting wound on Marcus’ head, neither of them were harmed. It was a strange sort of miracle, but Jonathan would take it.
“Alright - let’s wrap this up. We’ve all got real work to do now that this foolishness is done,” Boriv barked suddenly, ending the moment. “Gervam - put the manacles on the older one. If he gives you any trouble, break his knees. Gronag - you go tell the conductor we’ll close up this car and he can take off to get back on schedule. Jonathan and Kem - you two are with me. We need to grab those mules so we can bring these bodies back into town for trial and burial.”