“You sure you’re up for this?” John asked. “You could have asked one of your deputies to take on this responsibility instead.”

Blackwood grunted. “I’ll be fine. Are you sure you’re up for a second round?” Wyatt nodded towards John’s arm.

“It should be healed by the time we leave.”

“Fair enough,” the man relented. “Tell me again why you think we should ride out to one of these farms instead of waiting in Ember Creek?”

“If Hensley’s people do what I think they’ll do, they should bypass the farms and head straight for the town. We wait for them to pass, then hit them in the rear.”

“That’s assuming it is this Hensley fellow and that he is here to remove the people. What if he doesn’t come? Or what if that airship is carrying Fareen army personnel? Hell, he could simply torch the farms as he went. Have you thought about that?”

“If he doesn’t come, we are only out some time. Unless you think the town can’t survive without three people for a night?”

Wyatt bristled at that. “The people here know what is at stake, the town will be fine for a night or two, especially with the Harc’otti attacks slowing down.”

John nodded. “Fair enough. As for the army, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never seen or heard of the Fareen army using airships. The damn things are expensive and dangerous.”

“Fine,” the Sheriff grumbled reluctantly. “Say you’re right. What about the last issue?”

John looked toward the east. “I don’t think they will burn the farms. If Vernon’s plan is to take over this area, they will need food to make that happen. And while Vernon Hensley is a cold ruthless bastard, I don’t think he’s a fool. It would be much easier to control the spread of information if he controlled the farms. We might see some groups come and try to search the buildings. If that happens we have the ostriches to get away in a hurry if we need to and the pneuma rifles to deal with them quietly.”

Blackwood sighed. “I still don’t know what makes our little valley such a hotly contested area.”

“I believe it’s the soul stone,” John said.

“Soul stone?” Wyatt asked in confusion.

“It's what the glowing crystals are called. They were popular back in the Empire before the war.”

“They were? What changed?”

“The fancy folk that used them as jewelry found out they made them sick. They kind of fell out of favor after that. I haven’t seen or heard of any other place in the world where the crystals could be dug up outside the Empire. But it seems this valley has an abundance of crystals if the sack Pappy gave us is any indication. And it seems they figured out a new use for them, other than looking pretty.” John looked at the three ostriches getting prepped by Seline and Travis off to the side.

“With everything you are saying, it sounds like Vernon Hensley wants to create an army.”

John nodded at the Sheriff’s statement. “That’s exactly what I think is happening. Otherwise, none of this makes sense. The man could have simply started his own town not that far away if his goal was to take advantage of the soul stone as a simple resource. But he got Jacob and that group to courier Harc’otti over the mountains to use as disposable fodder until he dealt with Daniel. There seems to have been some sort of falling out between Vernon and Jacob since then though. Hopefully, we can take advantage of that. I just wish I knew what stakes Jacob had in all this. He’s the wildcard here, and I don’t like that one bit.”

“I would like to arrest both of them and find out,” Blackwood frowned. “But you don’t question why a dog is mad, you simply put it down for the safety of everyone. Let's go see if Travis made those changes. I don’t fancy getting thrown from one of these things. I’m not nearly as quick to heal as you are.”

The pair walked over to Seline and Travis.

“How’s the modifications coming along?” John asked.

“It's like asking a father to disfigure their child!” Travis shouted in disgust.

“Ignore him,” Seline sighed. “He’s been on this tangent all morning.”

“You would be too if this was your baby.”

“Are you saying I didn’t have a hand in creating the ostriches, Uncle?” the crazy-haired older man grumbled at the pointed question but didn’t reply.

Seeing that she got her point across, she turned back to him. “We’re almost done making the adjustments. It’s not going to be perfect, mind you, so don’t try to stop on a dime. If you do have to stop in a hurry, pull back hard on the reins. Your weight should help keep the front from diving into the dirt.”

“What about the saddles?”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Ernest from the general store and his wife are adding the rear bolster you asked for. After riding these things for an entire night, I agree wholeheartedly with your suggestion. Speaking of suggestions.” She pulled two pairs of goggles off her belt. “You each get one. It’ll keep dust out of your eyes. We did reduce the output speed slightly on the ostriches and made the transition a little smoother, but they are still faster than a horse. My guess is they could outrun a walker. Which we very well might have to do.”

John hated to ask considering how much they had modified so far, but he needed to know. “And the cannons?”

Seline shook her head. “There simply isn’t enough time to remove and redesign them. I did add a saddle pack that holds twelve of the one-pound cannon balls as well as small canvas sacks filled with lead shot. Once we run out of those, we are going to have to rely on our pistols and rifles.”

“Thanks for doing all this, you two,” Blackwood replied. “Can you give us a rundown on how well the cannon works considering you’re the only one who’s used it?”

“It works okay,” she said, earning a splutter of indignation from her uncle.

“Okay? It is a marvel of engineering!”

“It works okay,” she reiterated, glaring at her uncle. “The problem isn’t the cannon.” That earned an ‘I told you so’ laugh from the man. She sighed. “The problem is aiming it,” she continued without acknowledging the old man. “The cannon is too small to hold a very large canister of grapeshot, so the spread is rather thin. It also rocks constantly while in motion so you have to estimate when to shoot or the shot will either go above the target or into the dirt. It’s even harder aiming with the cannonballs. With some practice, you get the hang of it though. You just have to realize there is a slight delay between hitting the lever to fire and it actually firing.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” John added.

“If that was all, it wouldn’t be. When you shoot, it also slows you down. The first time I fired, I nearly pitched forward off the thing. If that had happened, I would be dead. Either the Harc’otti would have gotten to me, or the ostrich would have run me over as it kept going.”

“So what you’re saying is that it is dangerous to shoot it while moving.”

“Yes. But it's even worse to stop and shoot. That just makes you and the automaton an easy target. It’s not built to survive gunfire. While it may deflect a few shots, anything that hits them could cause the internal mechanisms to lock up, rendering the entire thing useless. The only reason I was still on mine for the entire night was that I was there and gone before the Harc’otti could react with their bows and spears.”

John nodded at the woman’s assessment. It was much the same issues a horse had in battle, minus the whole cannon thing, so not much of what she said was very surprising. “We’re each going to have to test the cannon before we head out. I don’t want any surprises when the real fighting begins.”

The Sheriff and Deputy nodded at him. Soon it would be time to take the fight to the enemy instead of being on the defensive.

***

John walked over and picked Wyatt up off the ground. The man groaned. “Gods that sucked.”

“Anything broken?” John asked.

He waited for the man to slowly move his arms and legs. “No. Just sore.”

Seline’s warning about bracing against the shot was even more critical when firing the cannonballs. Luckily the Sheriff had been going slow when he fired. And he managed to roll off to the side as the ostrich started picking up speed again. Seline was chasing the rogue automaton down now.

“Getting too old for this shit,” Blackwood muttered.

John probably wasn’t supposed to hear the man’s words but he had. “We can always ask someone else. There’s no shame in letting someone take over.”

“Hell will freeze over before I let someone else do this insane task. Besides, you need the best shooters. My eyes may not be as good as they once were, but you know I can still shoot straight.”

“Fair enough,” John nodded.

If he was honest, he didn’t want anyone else to take over for the old man. Blackwood had proven he wasn’t just some washed-up drunk anymore. There might be some people back in Ember Creek who were better shots than the Sheriff, but John didn’t trust any of them half as much as he now trusted the old man.

It took half an hour for Seline to wrangle the ostrich back to them. They weren’t like horses where you could simply lead it with another. It was something to remember if they ever ran into this issue again.

After a bit of pained grunting and cursing, Blackwood managed to mount back up on the construct. “Load me up and I’ll try again.”

John pulled out one of the cannon balls and shoved it into the end of the barrel before ramming it home.

The Sheriff circled around, picking up a bit of speed before he turned toward the straw target they set up in a secluded valley to the east of town. It wasn’t a very deep or large depression in the terrain, but they were hidden from the trees to the north where the Harc’otti had been launching their attacks for the past two nights.

As the man rode toward the target, he leaned back in the saddle, pulling the cannon up slightly before fumbling for the firing lever. The cannon fired with a muted pop and the man pitched forward but caught himself this time.

The cannonball whizzed past the target, not even coming close to hitting it. He could see annoyance on the man’s face as he rode back toward them to reload once more.

It took five more attempts for Blackwood to hit the target. Even then, the man had to get within twenty feet to do so.

“Alright, I need a break,” the man stated as he rode up. “I don’t know how you did this for an entire night, Seline. It’s exhausting.”

“Firing the grapeshot isn’t nearly as taxing. I also didn’t fire back to back like you just did. It was usually only one shot every half an hour or so with plenty of time to rest in between.”

“Looks like it’s my turn,” John sighed.

“You sure you don’t want to wait until your arm heals more?” Wyatt asked.

He shook his head. “No, I just want to get a feel for how it rocks while firing and moving. One or two shots is probably all I’ll need.”

His cannon was already loaded so he mounted the ostrich and made a loop before riding twice as fast toward the target as the Sheriff had. When he was a hundred feet away, he pulled the firing lever and jerked back hard. The thing fired as he was mid-pull. He wasn’t pitched forward like the Sheriff had been. It seemed he had the timing right thanks to watching the man in his attempts. But he had missed the target to the left. He grunted in annoyance. It seemed he pulled too hard with his good arm.

John reloaded the cannon. He could have asked the others to do it for him, but he wanted to see how long it took to stop, dismount, and reload by himself. He estimated about a minute, depending on the cover available. He adjusted his grip as he made another loop. This time he had adjusted his aim to the right of the target before he fired. The cannonball impacted the hay, sending a spray of it flying. He could work with this.

“Show off!” Blackwood yelled.

John chuckled as he rode back toward the pair. Just wait until they saw what he could do when he wasn’t hurt. Hitting a target that small from five hundred feet wouldn’t be out of the question for him.