50 – Messy
The orchard farm’s roadside stand sold, as Marshal Aldiss had suggested, cider, apple tarts, pies, and, of course, apples. A teenage boy in a tattered straw hat ran the stand and occupied Aldiss while Ward and Haley watered their horses at a nearby trough. Another group of travelers was on the other side of the road; they’d pulled their wagon into a clearing and were sitting around under an awning they’d deployed from the side. Ward saw three men and two women, and they were laughing, drinking from pale green bottles of cider and passing around a pie tin, taking turns scooping large bites out. “They’re having fun.” He nodded toward the group, leaning against Nutmeg’s side while the big horse drank.
Haley smiled when she looked over. “Aye. Almost makes me jealous. Are you going to have some pie?”
“You kidding me?” Ward laughed and shook his head. “Soon as Aldiss finishes there, I’m buying us a couple. Let’s split one and save another for the road.”
Haley nodded at that. She stared at the stand for a minute, then looked at Ward with a much more serious expression. “I doubt those mercenaries will stand still while you try to force the truth out of them with your magic.”
“How many were there?”
“I’m not exactly sure. More than two, certainly, but I’m not sure I can tell the difference between the sound of three horses and five. I never got a clear look at the whole group, but I sure heard them galloping up the road.”
“If there are three, they’d be idiots to try violence with the Marshal here. If there are more than that, they might be stupid enough to mess with us.” Ward shrugged, pulled his revolver out, flipped open the cylinder, and ensured his last Earth-made bullet would be the first one he fired. “If they get violent, I’ll even the odds pretty quickly.”
“Are you certain you can rely on those bullets you bought from the artificer?”
“No. Not at all.” Ward laughed and shook his head. “The test round I fired wasn’t very encouraging. Still, I’ve got six shots, so hopefully, I can do enough damage to cut down their numbers. Then I’ve got this.” Ward pointed to the spear he had lashed to his saddle beside his pack.
“Did you cast that spell on it? Like the one on your knife?”
Ward frowned. “That’s a damn good point. I was going to, then things kind of got moving faster than I’d planned.” He glanced at the stand and then back to Haley. “Hey, how about you go get us some pies and cider? I’ll sit here and enchant my spear.”
“That’s a fair proposal! I promised to foot the bill for a while, didn’t I?” She handed him Wind Queen’s reins. “Take them over to that patch of green grass, and we’ll meet you there.” Ward followed her gesture with his eyes and saw a long strip of lush grass beside the near edge of the orchard. He nodded and gently tugged the two horses’ reins, guiding them away from the trough. As soon as he’d put a little distance between himself and the road, Grace appeared again.
“I should have reminded you about the spear.”
Ward snorted. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
“You still have the words in your head? For both spells?”
“Yep. All prepped. I mean, I never lost the uh ‘strike true’ words.” When he reached the grass, he let go of the horses' reins, trusting their desire to nibble to keep them close by. He looked at Grace. “I don’t need to tie them up, do I?”
“Not these two. Some horses might bolt, but you can see these are well-trained.” Grace flopped onto the ground, lounging in the thick grassy bed. It was soft and probably comfortable, but Ward figured she liked that it was tall enough to obscure her from distant observers, namely the marshal. Catching himself thinking about Grace wanting to be comfortable, he laughed softly at himself. He didn’t think she could even feel it unless he did. “Something funny?”
“Just my own inability to remember you’re a figment of my imagination.” Grace scowled and opened her mouth, but he held up a hand, waving her words off. “I don’t mean that literally. I just mean, you could probably lounge on a bed of lava, right? You don’t care that the grass is soft.” Her frown faded, and she shrugged, lying back, plucking a blade of grass and sticking it between her teeth. Ward turned to his horse and unstrapped his spear, lifting it down. It was a sturdy, well-made weapon meant for fighting, not for throwing, but he wondered if his spell would change that, at least for one throw.
As he sat, he asked, “Why are you hiding from the marshal? You were fine with him seeing you in the bathhouse last night.”
“I didn’t realize he was a marshal when I first appeared, and though he never seemed to notice me, I don’t know what kinds of tricks he might have up his sleeve. Better to play it safe than sorry.”
Ward shrugged, only half listening to her as he held the spear in his lap and looked into his head, studying the words hovering there, waiting to be released. He glanced toward the road and saw that Haley and the Marshal were chatting with the farm kid and that the other travelers were still engrossed in their raucous roadside lunch break.
He placed his hands on the spear, stared at it, and released his subtle hold on the words, speaking them softly. They fled his mind like things alive, dancing off his tongue, “Ghruvon truvik prakhun.” Despite his soft inflection, they seemed to hit the spear with a physical presence, stabbing into the wooden shaft like nails, etching themselves into it with percussive pops. The spear vibrated in his hands, shivering with eagerness, and Ward could almost feel its desire to be unleashed, sent flying into something.
“I love watching you do that!” Grace’s words came out in a breathy rush, and Ward smiled at her as she sat up and peered closely at the faintly shivering weapon.
“Well, I love doing it. I mean, when the spell doesn’t hurt, it’s pretty damn awesome to work actual magic.” He frowned, rubbed his chin, and shrugged. “To be honest, it’s pretty damn cool, even if the spell does hurt.” He looked back toward the stand and saw the marshal and Haley approaching, him leading his stout pony, her carrying a well-laden basket in her arms. “Looks like it’s lunchtime.” It seemed his words were only for the horses because Grace had fled into his head at the sight of Aldiss. He wondered if she was being overly cautious, but he doubted it—the guy had tools to tell if someone was lying; it was hard to imagine what else he might have on his person or what skills he might be hiding.
Ward watched the two approach, and when Haley drew near, she set the basket onto the grass near him, then plopped herself down with a satisfied sigh and a wide smile. “Don’t they smell amazing?”
Ward leaned forward, sniffed, and nodded. “Oh yeah. Like mom’s kitchen.” His choice of words surprised him; he hadn’t thought about his mom or dad in a long, long time, and the distant memory of his mom baking had really snuck up on him. Still, it was real, and it brought a warm, comfortable feeling into his chest as he watched Haley lift one of the smaller tarts out of the basket.
Aldiss let his pony loose near Nutmeg and Wind Queen, and then he, too, sat down in the grass. “Lovely spot for a picnic.”
“Eat something, Ward!” Haley gestured to the basket. Ward nodded and lifted out another tart—there had to be half a dozen in the basket, so either Haley had gone overboard, or the marshal’s purchases were also in there.
Ward lifted out one of the three green bottles stoppered with corks in the basket. “What about the cider? Anyone else want one?”
“Naturally!” Aldiss grabbed a foil-wrapped tart and a bottle. “There are pies at the bottom—two of ‘em. Your young friend here said she’d save those for later, though. Let’s stuff ourselves on tarts while we wait for your company.”
“Mm!” Haley groaned, licking some apple filling off her lower lip and chewing a mouthful that stretched her cheeks with each chomp. “Gods, it’s so good!” Ward laughed and unwrapped his tart. He couldn’t deny that his mouth was filling with saliva in anticipation.
Fifteen minutes later, buzzing on hard cider and feeling drowsy from a sugar rush, the three travelers were all sprawled out on their backs, watching the clouds and calling out shapes. “That one looks like an apple!” Haley pointed off toward the east. Ward followed her finger and laughed when he saw what she meant. It was more like an oblong cotton ball.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“You’ve just got apples on the brain.”
“I do; that’s for certain!” Haley laughed. “I’m so close to dozing off. A nap in this warm sunshine would be so nice…”
“Go ahead,” Aldiss grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll keep a lookout.” He looked down at Ward. “You too, if you’d like, Ward.”
“I’ll just relax here. Doubt I’ll fall asleep.” Ward folded his arms under his head and added, “Should we take the tack off the horses?”
The warden shook his shaggy head, reaching up to pull some of his thick hair away from his bright purple eyes. “Nah. We might need to ride in a hurry, one way or t’other.” He walked over to his pony and dug around in his capacious saddlebags, lifting out a short-barreled firearm that made Ward think of a cross between a blunderbuss and a sawed-off shotgun. It was made of dark gray metal with a fancifully engraved wooden stock. “This is Velvet. I named her that ‘cause she’s so smooth and gentle. A squeeze of the trigger and she’ll let loose a cloud of fire that’ll seem a damned sight too big for her dainty barrel.”
“Oh?” Ward cocked an eyebrow.
“Aye. I tell you that so you don’t get in front of me if things get ugly. She’s only got the one charge, though, so after you see her let loose, feel free to move about.”
Ward yawned and nodded. “Fair enough.” He heard the marshal move off, stomping through the grass, and figured he was off to do a little patrolling while they waited for the mercenaries.
“I’m not going to sleep,” Haley murmured.
“No?” Ward turned his head toward her and saw she was looking his way.
“Not when the men chasing us are coming because of me. I’ll stay alert. In fact, I’ll probably do my Gopah forms. I should be primed, just in case.”
Ward grunted and sat up. He supposed she was right—they should stay alert. “Yeah, I just hope those guys are really coming. Hate to waste a day sitting around here if they aren’t on our heels.”
“They are. Believe me; ever since they started chasing me out near my parents’ country home, I’ve felt them here.” She sat up, too, and pressed her palm against her stomach. “I don’t know if it’s the Gopah or what, but I can sense them coming. I think they’re close.”
“Sounds like nerves, but I’ve seen too much strange stuff in this world to doubt that feeling.” Ward hopped to his feet and lifted his spear, holding it in his left hand like a walking stick, with the point in the air. He was still determined to use his pistol first; he’d shot thousands of rounds in his life and had almost no experience with a spear—nothing but a few hours here and there in the Corps when he’d had to learn some ceremonial movements. He stood there, with a view of the road, and watched Haley go through her forms.
She’d removed her coat when the sun started to climb toward noon, and her leather vest and loose, cottony pants allowed her to move with feline grace as she snapped her fists from one position to another. The forms were more than just punching—she lifted her knees and stepped in complicated patterns that shifted her direction as she fought off imaginary attackers from every direction. Soon, a thin sheen of sweat covered her shoulders and arms, taut with wiry muscles, and it wasn’t long before her fists began to radiate heat of their own, causing the air to shimmer around them.
Ward couldn’t help feeling inspired when he saw her moving that way. She was graceful and strong and vibrant, and it made him feel like a slug standing around leaning on his spear. In that moment, he determined to take Haley up on her offer. He’d study the sword with her, and maybe, if they had time between lessons, he’d let her teach him some of that Gopah business. She’d said the skills would transfer to swordwork, after all, right? His musing was cut short when the marshal reappeared, jogging toward them from the ditch near the roadway where he’d, apparently, been watching the approaching lane.
“They come! Many riders!”
“Shit,” Ward sighed, yanking his pistol out of its holster. He looked at Haley, and she made eye contact with him, nodding, but kept working on her forms. Her fists were practically glowing with heat now. Ward walked past her, waiting for the marshal as he jogged their way. “What’s the deal?” he asked as the stocky man arrived, puffing for breath.
“Saw seven horses coming quickly. They’ll be here in seconds.”
“Do we run?”
“Why? Law’s on your side, isn’t it?” The marshal gave Ward a measuring look, raising an eyebrow.
“If you’re asking if I was lying about that business, then no, I wasn’t. Haley didn’t do anything wrong, and her bastard cousin is trying to screw her over.” Ward felt a growl enter his voice, the words coming from deep in his chest. He knew he felt protective of Haley, but at that moment, it dawned on him that he was getting ready to fight and possibly kill for her. Again.
“Fair enough, Ward. We’ll see how this plays out.” Aldiss stood beside him, about five feet away, facing the road. They couldn’t see very far due to the orchard trees encroaching the roadway, but it didn’t take long for Ward to hear the thunder of hooves. The approaching horses weren’t walking. Dust rose over the trees, and then the first of the riders came into view, thundering toward the roadside stand. The rider was tall, wore a dark coat and hat, and scanned left to right as he went. When he laid eyes on the other travelers on the far side of the road and then on Ward and the marshal with Haley behind them, he jerked on his reins, pulling his frothing stallion to a halt. In seconds, half a dozen other riders had pulled up with him.
They were a good fifty yards away, but Ward could see them pointing and gesturing and knew they were coming over before they started across the ditch and onto the grass. They came at a walk, their mounts heaving and snorting for wind. Each of the riders readied a weapon—from a crossbow to a club to a musket-like rifle. When they were a mere ten yards distant, the man in the lead hopped off his horse and gestured for the others to wait while he strolled forward, his hand resting on the basket hilt of a long rapier-type sword.
He was a tall, lanky fellow with a long, dark mustache and a thin, wispy beard that clung to his jawline. He glanced at Ward with narrowed eyes, looked past him, undoubtedly taking in Haley, who’d only just stopped moving through her forms, and then settled his gaze on the marshal. His eyes were obscured by the shadow cast by his wide-brimmed hat, which matched his coat's supple, dark leather. He looked like someone who’d spent a lot of time on the road—ruddy, windblown, and not at all weary from their recent ride. “Is that a marshal, I see? How serendipitous!” His voice was deeper than Ward expected.
“Marshal Aldiss at your service. What can I do for you, gents?” Ward glanced over the other riders as the marshal spoke, wondering if they were all ‘gents,’ as Aldiss said. It looked like it—seven men, all hard-looking with mismatched armor here and there and quite a few weapons in addition to those clutched in their fists.
“We’ve come for that young lady. She’s wanted back in Tarnish.” He nodded toward Haley, who, at that moment, had stepped up beside Ward. He could feel the heat radiating off her.
“You’ve a warrant? What’s your name, sir?” Aldiss stepped forward, his weird blunderbuss held crossways over his chest, the barrel resting in the crook of his left arm.
“Oh, naturally. I’m Rask Leverne, and I’m here on behalf of Sonder Yates, whom this woman has recently robbed.” He reached into his vest and pulled out a folded sheaf of yellowed parchment. “May I approach?”
“Come on, then. Let me see ‘em.” The marshal stepped forward again, meeting Rask halfway. Aldiss had to lower his gun so he could take the documents in his left hand, and then, sighing in frustration, he tucked the short, stocky weapon under his arm so he could use his right hand, too, unfolding the papers. While Aldiss scanned the documents, Rask moved back a few steps and nodded to Haley. “Well, well, Miss Haley. Quite a chase. Seems you ran out of steam, though, yeah?”
Haley started to respond, but Ward nudged her with his elbow. She clamped her mouth shut with a grimace. Just a second later, Aldiss shook his head and looked up. “This isn’t a judicial warrant, sir. This is signed by someone named—gah!” With a twang, the man with the crossbow loosed a bolt that struck the marshal square in the chest. He gasped, groaned, burbled out some blood, and fell onto his butt.
While Ward’s eyes bugged out of his head, several things happened at once: Rask whipped his rapier from its scabbard, Haley lunged forward and swept his legs with a move that looked like something out of a breakdancing movie, and Marshal Aldiss, still gasping, sitting on his ass, fired Velvet, sending a belch of flame into the cluster of mounted men that looked like a plume of dragon’s breath.
Several horses caught fire, several men did, too, and chaos ensued as the animals panicked, throwing their riders, charging in every direction. Ward snapped out of his shock, that icy feeling of clarity washing over him that he always felt in a firefight. He pointed his pistol at Rask as he started to stand, gently squeezing the trigger. The satisfying click as the hammer snapped down, initiating the boom of gunpowder as it delivered hot lead to Rask’s forehead, brought a wicked grin to Ward’s face. Haley leaped at one of the men who’d been thrown, landing a punch to his chest that seemed to immolate him from the inside out. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and then tongues of flame licked out on his final breath as he fell and proceeded to burn.
Ward took aim at one of the other men and squeezed the trigger. This time, the click and the boom were different. At first, Ward wasn’t sure what the hell happened as a burst of black smoke engulfed him, and his hand went numb, but when he stumbled back and held the gun up, the puzzle resolved:—the damn thing had exploded. He still clutched the grip and a piece of blackened metal, but when he let go, dropping the remains of his beloved pistol to the grass, he saw his hand was black and red, and the meat between his thumb and forefinger looked like raw hamburger.
Groaning, furious, and worried about Haley, he looked up to see she’d downed another of the attackers. Still, another was charging at her with a raised axe, and three more were getting their horses under control not far away, already turning back toward the melee.
“Goddamn it!” Ward growled, his fury slowly supplanting his pain and worry, and hefted his spear, ignoring the screaming agony in his hand. “All right then, you dirty bastards! Let’s get messy!”