Firstborn of the Frontier

My Rattlesnake sings its deadly lullaby with a mean, keen hiss, one that cuts deep and fades away quick.

The muzzle flashes as the Bolts fly out, leaving a white, wispy haze of smoke and the sweet, tangy scent of cooked Aether behind. A right heady rush it is, unloading all six chambers into a target at near point-blank range, with three shots hitting centre mass and three more slamming into the fanged frog’s engorged gullet, which is hard at work swallowing Juan’s upper half. Six solid hits, albeit with Bolt Cantrip Cores, but modified with the full suite of hard-hitting Metamagicks tacked on to hit with as much force as a Bolt Cantrip possibly can. The cherry on top? Toppling to send whatever it hits falling back onto its ass. The Rattlesnake does all this with more accuracy and with less recoil than most sidearms too, with clean sights and Bolts that fly true from the barrel with minimal deviation. It’s my fault and mine alone that all six shots don’t hit target square in the jaw, rather than any fault of the gun itself. Fact is, were it any other Bolt Cantrip Aetherarm in my hand, like the snub-nosed, pocket-sized hand cannon of a Model 10 I grew so enamoured with in Pleasant Dunes, I would’ve counted myself lucky to squeeze off six shots so quickly and land them all centre mass. What’s more, the Rattlesnake is mechanically incapable of jamming, what with it being a revolver, and so long as you don’t spin the cylinder in the frame like a fool, the timings will stay tight and reliable as always.

Yes sir, the Rattlesnake is a whole lot of gun that does it all, the perfect all-rounder every day carry for life out here on the wild Frontier. It’s served me well these last few years, and served my daddy for even longer still, a damn near relic that’s almost as old as I am and has yet to fail either of us so far.

Which is why it comes as something of a surprise when the ranakin shrugs off all six shots and only stumbles back a few steps. Got a couple new craters in its flesh while it teeters at the edge, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Wasn’t exactly expected, as I figured it for dead, but like always, I planned for the worst and was already dancing away before it even started to swing. A right nasty pair of hooks it has, and I mean that in more than one way as it throws two big, scything haymakers one after the other with its muscular arms ending in a jagged, curved talon. Like a big, winged bicep with a sharp, boney crook at the end of it, that’s what its arm is like, a natural weapon these froggies use to tear ships and sealife apart with frightening ease.

Swish swoosh goes them hooks, a quick right left combination that sends a breeze blowing at my face as I dodge death by the skin of my teeth. One’s bared in a big smile despite the dire circumstances. Or maybe because of, since I’m feeling more alive than I have in weeks, though that might not last long seeing how I got no bullets left in my Rattlesnake and a big, beefy ranakin no smaller than Marcus to deal with. Stands seven feet tall if it’s an inch, and thrice as wide as my scrawny frame, its slimy, dark-green musculature makes for a right intimidating sight as it opens its fanged, froggy mouth in a big old croaking warcry, a sound that is fury and frustration made manifest at how it fumbled such an easy play.

“Yea, I know the feeling,” I drawl, backpedalling while taking notice of how quickly it swallowed half a man’s torso without chewing. To make matters worse, it’s taking longer than I’d like to switch over to a Doorknocker. Time was, I’d hand off the pistol with my right hand while drawing the Blastgun with my left. Mostly because the Mage Hands are too slow in a real pinch, so it’s better to set them to reloads than try any fancy hand-offs. Got no choice now, but having to complete the handover before even beginning to draw is really slowing me down, enough so that I not only have time to mouth off in the middle of a firefight, I’m also out of range by the time I got the Doorknocker good and ready. If I still had both hands, I’d have shot the froggie twice in the head then once with the Forzare before moving on. Tsst-Tsst Boom, and this would be a done deal, but now I’m stuck in the thick of it with an empty revolver, a double barrel Blastgun that don’t shoot an inch over five metres, and about three-hundred plus pounds of pissed off Abby.

Honestly, even if I were still in range for the Doorknocker, I’d much rather have more space between us, and I’ve no desire to close the gap once again. Not with how fast and tough it is, and me with no grasp on where it’s limits lie or how many of its friends are still lurking in the shallows which ain’t so shallow after all. Explains why Carter’s people opted for a floating dock rather than fixed one, so a heads up would’ve been nice. My fault for not checking the depth anytime these last few days despite knowing I’d be working right down there by them. Made an assumption and almost paid the ultimate price, but looks like Lady Luck is watching over me these days, after heaping a whole steaming pile on me in Pleasant Dunes. A fickle gal she is, but I ain’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Uninterested in having an open dialogue, the ranakin quits its croaking to hunker down in place, and I get to diving aside right quick. Even with my jimmies and the second-hand stories to warn me in advance, the ranakin’s leaping pounce brings its hooked hands within a hair’s breadth of snagging my jeans. Would’ve really ruined my week, as it ain’t just the hooks on the end you gotta watch out for, but also the sharp, spiny protrusions dotted all along its limbs. Those’ll snag clothes or flesh and slow you down long enough for the ranakin to close in and finish the job. My lacking familiarity doesn’t help either, because I dove short in hopes that I’d still be in range for a shot once all was said and done, only I vastly underestimated its speed and reach. Again, my life flashes before my eyes as I come up from the roll to find myself face to face with the furious froggie, its hooked hands raised high to plunge down into my tender flesh.

So I give it the first barrel with a smile and watch as its big, froggie eyes go wide and wild when the Forzare shreds its torso in a hail of Penetrating kinetic shards. Then it sends its hulking frame flying back to splash into the water courtesy of the Toppling Metamagic Mr. Kalthoff so kindly tacked on to keep it’s Aether consumption in line with the standard twelve-gauge forty-grain shell.

Ain’t much time to take in my work though, as more froggies come shooting out of the shallows, diving up and out at speeds I can barely track much less avoid. Thankfully I backed up far enough so they couldn’t see me while they was coming in, and not a one of those dives are coming headlong towards me. Three still land too close for comfort, but slow is smooth and smooth is fast, a mantra I keep in mind as I cock the hammer on the second barrel and take a moment to line up my shot and hit two landing froggies with the Blast. Gotta aim lower than I’d like for fear of missing the shot should they land in a crouch, which sort of works out in my favour as I catch the closer one full on with the spread, while the one behind it gets off easy with a pair of shredded frog legs.

Undeterred by the plight of its companions, the third ranakin closes in for the kill, and again, I’m reminded of how much I’m handicapped by the loss of my right hand. Can’t draw my second Forzare without a second hand to hold it, or shoot and sling Spells simultaneously since I only got the one hand. Not unless the Spell got neither a somatic or material component to it, a Spell you can activate with words alone which are few and far between. The material component is there to let the Aether do more with less, as it’s working with what’s here in reality instead of having to produce everything out of nothing instead. As for the somatic component, all that finger waggling is there to offer the caster more control, largely so they don’t go accidentally slinging Fireballs every time they mutter the wrong set of words out loud. Add in how I’m hamstringed by a set of laws designed by folks living in a world far safer than the Frontier and not allowed to prepare the best and choicest Spells, I’m left with precious few options to defend myself against the massive mass of Aberrant flesh hurtling headlong towards me.

So I got no choice but to utter, “Recumbere”, burning a Second Order Spell to Misty Step my way out of trouble, which ain’t ideal for several reasons. For starters, the Spell drags me a measly ten meters away from the lakeshore. Too far for a Blastgun shot if I had one ready, and too short to buy me enough time to switch my guns out, since the loaded Doorknocker is tucked away behind me for a right-hand draw. That’s on me for setting my holsters up in criss-cross applesauce out of habit without thinking, but now ain’t the time to ruminate over regrets. To make matters worse, my Misty Step puts me front and centre of the crowd, rather than off to the side, so now it ain’t just one ranakin bearing down on me, but all four remaining froggies.

Bad news all around, and might well have been my end if not for my lessons with Uncle Teddy. Helped me go over my legally available Spells and pick out a loadout to help make up for the loss of my hand, though I plum forgot about the unfamiliar additions in the heat of the moment. Leaves me scrambling to channel Aether through my Metamagic bead bracelet while four froggies pounce towards me from too many angles, and I pray my Quickened Spell materializes before one of them hooked talons finds its way past my skin.

“Ad Ventum!”

The words come out not a moment too soon as my Warding Wind Spell takes form to cover me in a howling cyclone of buffeting winds. The gale emerges in an instant and reaches out three metres in all directions, which don’t seem like much and ain’t if I’m being honest. If you’ve ever stepped out of doorway and into a gust of wind though, then you know how it can catch you off guard. Does the same to every froggie hopping headlong towards me, throwing them aside along with a slew of dirt and branches to hold Abby back as they struggle to hop through the gale and get at me. Given the reach of the hooked talons, I’m only a few inches away from death as they swing at me from all sides, but it don’t matter if they miss by an inch or a mile, a miss is still a miss. Backpedalling away, I scramble to stay ahead of the determined ranakin as they fly into a rage over being denied so long, but the buffeting winds and scattering debris let me keep one step ahead of them at all times.

Sweating something fierce for reasons besides exertion, I finally stop clinging to my empty Forzare like a fool and toss it aside. Quit reloading the Rattlesnake too, as I seen the lacklustre results once already and would rather not set myself up to be disappointed a second time. Instead, I direct the right Mage Hand over to draw my second Forzare, only to realize too late that I should’ve abandoned the Rattlesnake and set the left Mage Hand to reloading the first Forzare I done already thrown away. Would still take time, but would be better than having a half-loaded Rattlesnake floating about beside me as I backpedal away. Then again, I’d be stuck holding the Forzare with no fingers to waggle, and all the best Spells require one free hand to sling.

Problem is, after one cast followed by a Quickened Spell, I can’t start slinging another Spell for a full two-and-a-half seconds, and the Spell won’t take effect until two-and-a-half seconds after that. Five full seconds start to finish, which might not seem like a long time all things considered, but feels infinitely close to an eternity as I dance away from the hooked hands of my ardent pursuers. Got no hopes for help coming from behind, not with all the screaming and scrambling I heard going on before my Warding Wind went up. Can’t hear them now, not with the buffeting winds howling like they are, but I’d much rather be deafened than dead.

Fed up with the futile struggle to push through the wind, one froggie straightens up to its full height and puffs his throat out in a bubbly sac of skin. Knowing what’s coming and helpless to do anything about it, I lift my Shield and wince as the ranakin vomits out a spray of Acid towards me. Dragon’s Breath, same spell as what Cowie uses, except the Froggie didn’t think things through before belching a mouthful of liquid into a veritable wall of wind powerful enough to push it back, much less a bunch of droplets.

Acidic droplets, which get caught up in my Warding Wind and sent hurtling round and round to splash against the froggie who done cast it as well as its friends beside it. A right fun combination that is, and I cackle with glee to see it, even as a voice in the back of my head gets to heaping thanks on the Lord above for bringing me an idiot fanged froggie who belches Acid instead of Flame, Ice, or Electric. Warding Wind might’ve protected me from the fire itself, but it wouldn’t have done much to the heat, or anything at all to the latter two, which is just more luck than even I feel I deserve. It’s one thing to say ‘better lucky than good’, and another altogether to count on it, so rather than hope my luck holds true, I seize fate in my own hand as the excess Aether from my Quickened Spell drains out of me and I start slinging another.

Not Quickened, because the Metamagic bead can’t be used in quick succession without risking burnout or worse. Not a Big Spell either, because Fireball was the only one I had in my wheelhouse and any other Third Order Spell that could’ve rid me of my current woes would’ve likely been illegal to prep same as Fireball. Ain’t just Third Order Spells that require licenses either, though most lower Order Spells are at least attainable for a civilian like me, instead of outright banned like Fireball. Ain’t acquired them licenses yet though, so no Lance, Shatter, Arc Lightning, Flaming Cloud, not even an Elemental Bomb, the bigger, more explosive cousin to Elemental Orb which ain’t of any use besides starting fires from afar.

It's a real kick in the gut when you realize life has got you down hard, and the government sees fit to make things even harder, because I could’ve ended this whole encounter with a single Spell. Well, maybe two, since these slimy fanged frogs look like they can take a licking and keep on ticking, but I doubt they’d need a third Fireball. Which would put me out on my ass for the day even if I started fresh, and I’m not sure I could swing a third Big Spell after all the practice I’ve done today. Hell, I’m feeling the pinch after the two Second Order Spells I’ve used already, which is only slightly more costly than a single Big Spell, meaning I’ve wasted more Spells practicing than I noticed.

Another mistake from me, at a time in my life when I can’t afford to make a single one, because even a minor setback could see me dead now that I only got one hand. Seen enough of it already, a rude awakening indeed, because it’s one thing to know the deck is stacked against you, and another altogether to see exactly how bad it really is.

A bitter pill to swallow, one made all the worse by the mixed feelings I got as I cast Spiritual Weapon and watch it take form. With so many restricted Spells limiting what I could prep, and Warding Wind eating up my Concentration to maintain, my options were sorely limited on what to add in, and Spiritual Weapon made its way onto the list. The potential damage it can do ain’t nothing to sneeze at, and it’s part of the natural progression of Conjuration Spells starting from Mage Hand and moving all the way up to the Fifth Order Ethereal Palm. Conjure Weapon, Conjure Armour, Spiritual Weapon, Spiritual Guardians, and Telekinesis, those are the Spells I need to study in order to bridge the gap in my understanding of Mage Hand so that I might stand a chance of improving it. Other than Telekinesis, which is a Fourth Order Spell, I got the Spell Formulas for all the rest, but only Conjure Weapon and Spiritual Weapon have made the list so far. Armour I can study later, because I still think specializing in melee is silly when you got Aetherarms to lean on, and even sillier still when you only got the one hand. As for Spiritual Guardians, I figured Warding Wind would be more useful and didn’t bother prepping both since they both require Concentration.

Spiritual Weapon though? Ain’t a Spell I much like, mostly because keeping it prepared instead of Lance, Mind Spike, or any other more useful Spell is what got Marcus killed, and ain’t no one can tell me different. Even if it wasn’t for that glaring detail, Spiritual Weapon ain’t much of a Spell, not when you got so many better options around. For the cost of a Second Order Spell, I get a big glowy lumber axe like what I used to split firewood with when I had both hands. Don’t need Concentration to maintain it, but the Spell only lasts one minute at base duration, so it might as well require it from the get go. Shines bright white instead of blue like my Mage Hands, but otherwise is just as spectral and ethereal. Even moves with the same ponderous lack of haste, not accelerating as it floats along at a fixed pace until it comes within range to take a swing. Which it does with a big wind up and a bigger miss, what with how it gets blown off course by my Warding Wind. Focusing on the fool weapon, I direct it to swing with the wind rather than against it, and to target the ranakin that done cast Dragon’s Breath and is ready for a second try. The Warding Wind protected me well enough the first time around, but even a single droplet getting though wouldn’t be any fun to take, and doubly so since the clever froggie looks like he’s aiming high and hoping it’ll splash down on me from on high.

Canny Abby, these ranakin are, a cut above them dumb, lumbering bugbears running all over the Coral Sands. The other three have already backed away and started circling around to cut me off even though not a single croak has been exchanged. Not that they could hear it amidst the torrent of buffeting wind, but their coordination and teamwork is startling to behold as I watch the Spellslinging froggie’s throat puff up all big and stretchy. With all the speed and grace of a rock, my Spiritual Lumber Axe bobs over towards the big throated Abby with what feels like indifferent lethargy, but just as I think it’s too late, it lashes out with all the speed and grace of a striking serpent.

Ain’t like any swing I’ve ever made, not once in all my seventeen years. I could chop a log as good as anyone, and better than a fair few, but that plus a couple boxing lessons and a few dozen scuffles is about the full extent of my martial prowess. Don’t keep me from recognizing real skill when I sees it though, and the Spiritual Weapon has got it, lashing out with slice so smooth it almost looks like it misses at first glance, only for the ranakin’s ballooned throat sac to split open and send a cascade of Conjured Acid spilling down its front side. Whatever screams it makes is drowned out by the Warding Winds, sparing me and its fellow Abby from having to hear what it sounds like to be melted alive. While we’re all staring at the unfortunate Spellslinger, the Spiritual Lumber Axe follows through with an impressive flourish and a decisive chop, one that lands clean on the next closest froggy’s head and spits it wide open down the centre. Seeing it’s bugged out eyes go bulging on impact would be comical to behold if not for the spray of greenish yellow blood and greyish gore, the creature’s brain matter erupting out from the pressure of a single, masterful strike.

That’s a head hard enough to eat three full-powered Bolts from my Rattlesnake mind you, which once again makes me wonder if I’m wrong to look down on melee. Sure, range is king and all, but I ain’t gonna lie and say these results ain’t impressive.

Less impressive when Abby knows what’s what and start tussling with the glowy white axe instead of treating it like the light source it looks like. The next strike from the axe gets swatted aside, and though the attack itself is lightning quick, the recovery is anything but. Raises questions about how the Spell actually works, and buys me time enough to grab my loaded Doorknocker. The hand off is gonna need some work, and I should really put the half-loaded Rattlesnake down now, but there are more pressing matters to attend to as I point my sawn-off Blastgun at the closer froggie and grin when its slitted pupils shrink in palpable fear. Letting out a whoop, I pull the trigger –

And cut myself short as the Warding Wind catches the hail of kinetic shards and blows them astray, leaving the ranakin untouched despite standing less than five meters away.

Ain’t ever gonna live that one down, getting jammed up by my own Spell, so I quickly cock the second hammer and aim to the right of the ranakin, then further right still after thinking it through for a sec. Barely over its relief of avoiding near certain death, the froggie opens it fanged maw wide in a bellow I can’t hear to reveal a cavernous pit inside, one that snaps shut as I pull the trigger and laugh as the Blast shards are carried away by the Warding Wind to slam home into its side. Only staggers the Feral rather than kill it, which ain’t ideal by any means, but with the highspeed winds keeping me out of arm’s reach and my Mage Hand carrying a fistful of shells for a reload, I reckon I can clean up these last two stragglers before the Spell’s ten-minute duration is even halfway done.

Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance to find out as the last two ranakin trade looks, then turn and bolt back towards the docks, only slowly ever so slightly to impale the corpses of their dead friends killed by the Spiritual Axe and drag them back into the dark, murky depths of Last Chance Lake. Standing there in a circle of howling wind and a Blastgun split open for loading, I blink and stare at the empty shore in confusion for a good long second, then another as I register the facts before me. The other three Abby I done shot are gone too, along with the bottom half of Deputy Juan’s corpse, all of which was likely dragged away by the one I done legged but didn’t kill, leaving the whole dockside empty save for a bit of blood and debris and me without my prize.

“Well I’ll be,” I say, to no one in particular. “Don’t seem fair, now does it...”

Abby ain’t supposed to run, not when their blood is all hot like it was, and they most certain ain’t supposed to abscond with my bounty. Them ranakin looked thick with Aberrtin, both in armoured plate and empowered physiques, what with the big muscles and dense bones I assume they gotta have to shake off Bolts like they did. That one with the Dragon’s Breath probably had a Core too, which is still money in the bank even if it ain’t a particularly valuable one. Too finicky to get working right with tech, though it’s a popular one for aspiring Innates, since Transmutation is a powerful school of magic, but not so powerful that it’ll get you put on a list like most Evocation and Enchantment Innates tend to be.

Which ain’t neither here nor there. The important thing is, I got nothing to show for all my hard work besides the sweat dripping down my neck and the bill for the ammo I wasted. Still do my due diligence though, keeping the Warding Wind up and away from the shoreline until I’m certain the coast is clear, and only then do I glance back to see what everyone else has been up to. Not much it would appear, as most them convicts are long gone along with Deputy Walt, while Otis, Carter, and his boys stand ready with shovels and rocks in hand like they was thinking about backing me up, but never really got around to doing it. Still, the thought counts, which is more than I can say about the rest, so I give the men who are still standing close by a nod of thanks before heading back down to pick up my discarded Doorknocker. Thankfully, them Abby didn’t steal it on their way out, else I’d really be out of pocket for this fight, so I make a note to be careful with discards while loading and putting the weapon away. Reload the Rattlesnake to, and just as I slide it back in my holster, Cowie comes a charging down the lane all full of fury and brimstone. Makes for a right frightful sight it does, two tonnes of horned bull bellowing out a battle cry as he surges headlong into the fray. A day late and a dollar short as it were, and I can’t help but laugh when he pulls up with a fuming snort and waves his big head around in search of the fight.

“Too late, partner,” I say, knowing better than to move in for a hug when he got the horns out and breath going. “Ain’t nothin’ here to kill, so you can stand down.” Pawing at the ground, Cowie lets out another puff of smoke and a muted bellow in protest before letting his horns fade away, melting into thin air before my eyes as the Ecto returns to Aether. Leaves him looking right sheepish as he trundles forward for a gentle headbutt, like he trying to say he’s sorry for showing up so late. “All good Cowie, all good. I cleaned it up on my lonesome I did. Would say we eatin’ good tonight, but we ain’t, since they done stolen my bounty. Can you believe that? Thievin’ Abby. Guess their Proggie got ‘em on a budget or somethin’.”

Cowie don’t entirely understand what I’m saying, as he more going by my tone as I rub his cheek and scratch his head. Don’t stop me from talking to him like a person though, even if he ain’t ever gonna answer back. “Does raise the question though,” I say, moving my hand down to his chin so he looks up at me while I ask, “Where was you at that took you so long to get here? You find somethin’ good to eat out here? Hope it wasn’t them crops, because those don’t belong to you.”

“He’s been good,” Carter says, which is a surprise given how little the man has said to me these last few days. Less than a hundred words total outside of the first day, so to waste three reassuring me of Cowie’s good behaviour shows the character of the man. Say’s he cares about animals, even if he don’t know how to take care of his horses all that well, though I suppose that could be more ignorance than anything else. Maybe he borrowed the horses for the ride here, and will have to borrow them again for the ride back, which I assume is gonna happen tonight. Say as much too, as we trundle on back to the encampment in a circuitous route, just to give him a heads up. Man simply nods, but doesn’t add anything else, so I don’t press him and just signal him and his boys to hang back once we get close to the bunkhouse.

Cowie too, so I make the approach alone, with hands at my sides and plenty of noise. “Deputy Walt?” I shout, well before I come into view of the window he’s posted up against, one with a clear view of where them Abby would’ve been coming from if I hadn’t seen them off myself. “It’s Howie. Them Abby done cleared out, so we all good now. I’m coming up with Carter and the rest.” And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot none of us, is the part I leave out, because folks tend to get real twitchy when you ask them not to kill you. Especially when they scared and stressed, as I gotta assume Deputy Walt is, and the last thing I need is to stress him out even more and get myself shot by accident.

Or not so much of an accident, as Walt repositions inside the bunkhouse and pokes the barrel of a pistol out in my general direction. Got no glass in them windows, which is how I can see the gun, though he would do well to pull back about half a foot so I don’t know exactly where he aiming. “You stay back boy,” he yells, which is not what I was expecting, all ready with my reassurances that them Abby were really gone. “I saw what happened, and you ain’t gonna silence me too.”

“…Um. What?” I ask, which is all I can really come up with, because I got no earthly idea what he going on about.

“I saw it with my own eyes I did,” Walt says, peeking one wild eye out from the corner of the window, and even though he got his pistol pointed in my general direction, I got a tree between us I can duck behind if need be. “You baited Juan out there, tricked him into standing right where he could get got. You knew they was there, lurking beneath the surface, and you brought him out there to die!”

“I did no such thing,” I say, getting all heated up and indignant. “If I had known them Abby were there, you can bet your bottom dollar I wouldn’t have been standing so close to the water’s edge. I went out there for a stretch and a gander, and Juan came looking for trouble himself, with no invitation from me whatsoever.”

“You can’t fool me, boy.” Can hear the panic in his voice and see it in the way the barrel of his pistol shakes about, which makes me feel better about staying right where I am so as not to spook him further. “You a killer through and through, and I know you got them tricksy ways from that Enchantress who raised you.” Spits the word out like a slur, which really gets my hackles up. Don’t mind the fear making him point a gun at me like a fool, but any harsh language directed towards Aunty Ray is fightin’ words, no two ways about it. “Probably lured him over with a Spell, and them Abby too, set it up all clean and simple to look like an accident, but I see right through you.”

Don’t even know where to begin untwisting his facts, so I stand and blink for a bit as I ponder it over. Funny thing is, was Juan that was baiting me, trying to get me to draw so he’d have legal justification to shoot me down, and now it sounds like Walt knew as much and is projecting it back onto me. Now ain’t that a crock of shit, though ain’t nothing I can do about it, which is why I can’t think of nothing to say in the heat of the moment.

“That’s ridiculous,” Carter says, coming to the rescue while approaching the bunkhouse on my left. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but Deputy Juan has been on Howie’s case all week, and didn’t need any Spell or prompting to go over and harass him.” Or launch his racist tirade about how I’m the result of some centuries long attack dog breeding program, which don’t make much sense at all. If all Qin were as good as me and my daddy, then they’d have conquered the Frontier in ten years flat, but they ain’t doing much better than the rest of us down in the Knife’s Edge Mountains. Faring far worse by all accounts, though I ain’t seen it for myself, nor do I care about their mostly self-inflicted plight.

All for the Fatherland, that’s their motto, so if they gonna starve for their stupidity instead of thinking for themselves, then best they get to dying right quick and save the rest of us the hassle of having to put them out of their misery.

“You’re only sayin’ that because you don’t know the boy,” Deputy Walt shouts, never taking his one wild eye off of me. “You even know why he’s here? Set a building on fire and killed dozens of people inside. Outlaws yea, but women and children too, and he laughed to watch it happen, like how he laughed when Juan died.”

In my defense, that was more out of shock than glee, though I ain’t gonna deny that it was hilarious too. Man didn’t deserve to die, but better him than me, and it would’ve been me if that Abby was a half-second slower. I got faith in my Shield to stop one Bolt, but the 1911 can shoot eight in three seconds. Even with my Mage Armour and duster to protect me, I don’t like those odds, and Juan moved like a man who knows what he was doing. I don’t say as much of course, just stand there with my arms out and to the sides to show I don’t mean no threat while trying to think of some Spell to sling or place to move to deescalate the situation.

Carter doesn’t give up though, continues walking right up to the bunkhouse and says, “I don’t know why he’s here, but I know he works harder than any three of you during the day and spends his free time working even harder. Didn’t cause my people any trouble, and that’s all that matters to me. As for the Aberration attack, it was an unfortunate event, but I warned your Sherriff that it could happen. Told him in writing that all the noise and activity might attract their attention, which is why he sent you and the other Deputy along.” Can hear the contempt loud and clear as Carter opens up the front door, risking himself getting shot by Walt in a panic. The worst don’t come to pass though, as Carter’s muted voice comes out through the window as he says, “So how about you stop pointing your gun at the young man who saved us all a hard fight, and we move on from this? If you’re so concerned, take a sample of his blood for the Sherrif to test and see if he has any Spells that could do what you’re accusing him of. I take it you need to return to town and report this either way?”

Grabbing onto the lifeline like a drowning man, Walt wavers a bit longer while making sure I’m agreeable to the test, which I am. Makes me start bleeding right then and there too, just to be extra sure I don’t wipe the Spell Structures from my mind in the short time it takes him to come outside with his kit. Don’t bother arguing how it takes longer than that to remove a prepared Spell, as you don’t just whisk it away with a thought, so I stand there bleeding from my palm for a good two minutes because Walt’s eyes ain’t what they used to be and needs a good stream of blood going before he can see it. Ridiculous to come out of a fight unscathed and have to cut myself to prove my innocence, and it annoys me to even have to do any of this. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? These days, feels like I’m presumed guilty of some crime until I prove otherwise, which ain’t how it’s supposed to be. Damned criminals are treated with more respect than me, but don’t suppose there’s anything I can do besides swallow my grievances and move on.

Don’t escape my notice how Walt don’t say word one about Juan’s body, because the thought of bringing the man’s corpse back don’t even cross his mind. Sure, it’s probably tucked away in some Abby’s belly by now, but Walt don’t know that, which goes to show his character, or rather the lack thereof. These are the men we rely on to keep us safe from criminals, which is why I’m grateful the Founding Fathers saw fit to add in the Second Amendment which protects my rights to bear arms and sling Spells. Would be a goner if I had to rely on the likes of Juan and Walt to keep me safe out here, and I pity Otis and the others for having to come out here unarmed. Don’t none of them meet my eyes though, no one besides Otis who don’t seem to care about much either way as they all sit pretty in the back of the wagon and wait to be brought home.

Takes a bit of doing it does, because while we all packed light and are ready in mere moments, Carter has to head back inside the compound to see his people safe. Takes a good twenty minutes for him to come back out with four bareback horses trailing after him. Funny that, how the horses just follow him without stopping to graze or sniff the flowers as horses are wont to do, and they even line up in front of the wagon and wait patiently to be harnessed. That’s some training they got there, even the ugly one who stands out so much. As for me, I don’t got much to pack, and what little I do have is inside the stables, which I intend to steer clear of until Walt is done wrangling his and Juan’s horses. Makes a man wonder why Carter’s people built this nice, neat, and rarely used stable when they clearly keep their horses inside. Seems like a real waste of space is all, seeing how limited the real estate be within them walls, and better for Abby or outlaws to nick your horses without threatening the safety of you and your loved ones.

What do I know though? Maybe they just got sick of having their expensive, well-trained horsies stolen away. Should say something to Carter though, maybe let on that him and his are missing out big, because anyone that can train horses so well is at least on par with Aunty Ray, if not better. She never could get them horses lined up like they ready for a parade, not without a rider sitting up top at least, so I’m guessing they got themselves an Enchanter too, one who knows their business well enough to make their name on this here slice of the Frontier.

I point out as much as I help him harness the horses, but he simply nods and dismisses it without thinking. Calm and stoic, that’s Carter in a nutshell, doing everything with the same level of coolheaded rationality whether it be digging a ditch or readying to square up against Abby with only a shovel in hand. Which is more than what he’ll have on the way home, another point I bring up before he climbs up into the driver’s seat, because he went to bat for me and I respect that. “More than just Abby to be wary of out here,” I add, just in case he thinks he’s safe because lightning never strikes the same spot twice, which is just patently untrue no matter how you slice it. “I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir here,” I add, holding up a hand to show I mean no offense, “Living out here like you do. Can’t be easy, and you done a damn fine job up to now, but if today’s kerfuffle ain’t a call to arms, I don’t know what is.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Carter says, with a curt but dismissive nod. “We’ll take it under consideration.”

Had a lot more ready to share if he seemed interested, like how he don’t necessarily gotta buy the newest toys and biggest calibers. Something like a Penetrating rolling block rifle wouldn’t cost them more than forty to sixty dollars a piece and will last until their grandkids are having kids so long as its treated right. Single shot weapons sure, but they did the job well enough for the townies in Pleasant Dunes, and could double as hunting rifles to put some more meat into their sorely lacking pots. Seeing how he ain’t all that interested though, I zip my lip and throw on a Longstrider Spell so I can keep up with the wagon on foot. Mostly to work off all the excess energy and adrenaline I still got all pent up inside of me. Ain’t shaking as bad as Errol was after the showdown with the harpies, but there’s a tremble in my hand that kept me from even thinking of taking a shot at Deputy Walt because I had no confidence I could make the shot.

So where did it all go? My confidence that is. Back in Pleasant Dunes, I went on a tear and hit every shot I needed to with my left hand only, albeit with plenty of help from flashbangs and Cantrips to buy me time to line them up first. Between then and now, I’ve somehow lost all faith in my abilities, and it shows as I look back on how the fight went. Bad from the get go, but after that first Abby popped out, I should’ve backed off then and there and slung a Spell to hold it in place, along with any others that come out of the waters. Don’t got Web or Spike Growth prepped because I didn’t want too many Second Order Spells, but I got Entangle which would’ve slowed them ranakin down long enough for me to get my Blastgun shots off.

A clean and easy fight that would’ve been, simple is as simple does, with no survivors to run away with my bounty. What’d I do instead? I stood there like a fool and waited for the ranakin to close in so I could get a shot off. Passive play, that’s what that was, and I did it again when its friends showed up right after. Forced me to blow Misty Step to get away, then use a Quickened Warding Wind to defend myself because I was caught in a bad pinch. All because I played passive to start, which left me reacting to everything that came after. Was lucky the frog had an Acid Dragon’s Breath instead of any other Element, or a different offensive Spell that wouldn’t be affected by Warding Wind like Arc Lightning or Flaming Cloud.

All of which could’ve easily been avoided had I done the smart thing and thought about my next moves. That’s the strength of a Spellslinger, preparation, which don’t change just because you get caught unawares.

Been barely a hot minute since I been out of the game, and it looks like I’m already falling apart at the seams. Thought I only lost a hand, but it seems I’ve lost my confidence and wits too, which is a right rude awakening if there ever was one. Leaves me feeling about low as a snake’s belly as we make the long ride home, short ten hours of my expected fifty no less. Means I still got 440 hours of hard labour ahead of me, which is doubly bad since the number four is bad juju. Least that’s what my daddy believed, though only because it’s a homonym for ‘death’ in Qinese. Silly superstition that, but no sillier than the rest of them like throwing salt over your left shoulder every time you spill it or going to church every Sunday so your eternal soul don’t suffer from damnation. Seems mighty petty for an almighty being to consign you to suffering for not showing up for a lecture every week, even if said lecture has wine, bread, and songs to keep things lively, but what do I know?

By the time we make it back to New Hope, the sun is just beginning to set, but I ain’t free and clear to head home just yet. Gotta sit through an interview with the Sherrif, who clearly thinks this is nonsense since he don’t say a word and lets Walt take the lead. Man might be a deputy, but he’s not much of an interrogator, just levels baseless accusations which I argue until my patience is worn thin and I had over the recording crystal instead. Tried to play it nice and spare Juan the embarrassment of being outed as a petty racist after his death, but being treated like a criminal gets real old real fast. Sherrif Patel watches the recording once without saying a word, and Deputy Walt has the gall to act all offended that I would even think to record things, like somehow it makes his job harder if a Deputy has gotta be held accountable for his words and his deeds.

Gets me out of the interrogation room though, without so much as an apology, but I’m just glad to get gone. As I head out, I spot Carter still sitting outside in the waiting area like he got nowhere to be. “Need a guide, boss?” I ask, keeping it cordial, but not too friendly. “Travel lodge ain’t far, and I know a place that serves the best stew in town for cheap.” A bit of a jab, because all he done served us these last few days was stew, and a right thin one at that, plus flatbread without any clove butter no less. Would invite him over for a meal, except I got no food in my fridge, and don’t like him enough to impose on Aunty Ray.

Sure, the man was ready to stand and fight, but he didn’t come running in to help. Earns him a drink at most, which I’m happy to provide, and not a thing more.

“I’m not staying,” he says, which gets me to blinking, because travelling alone and unarmed during the night is a fool thing to do, and he don’t strike me as no fool. He knows it too, so he amends the statement and adds, “At the lodge.”

Doesn’t clarify further, so I shrug and say, “Well, if that falls through and the lodge is full up, you can ask the Sherrif to send you my way.” Can’t leave the man out on the streets, now can I? “Them horses can bunk up in Cowie’s barn, and I got a spare room.”

“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary. I’ll be out and settled soon as I sort out some paperwork.” Giving me a nod, he adds, “There’s still work that needs done. You got more hours?”

“Plenty,” I say, then wince to hear it, because it sounds like I’m bragging. “I mean, yea. If you need me, I can even make the trip out there myself with whoever else is willing. Smaller group might attract less attention, and I get the feeling it’ll be a while before the Sherrif can rustle up enough volunteers to work out at your place.” Ain’t his fault, as Abby be Abby, but folks get antsy about working at a jobsite where a Deputy got got.

“That’s what I was thinking too,” Carter replies. “Got permission to take you on alone. Will take longer to finish the job, but you’re a good worker and I trust you’ll stay that way even without supervision.”

And less mouths to feed and prying eyes on the home front is also a plus, but it’d be rude to point it out. Besides, it’s difficult to fault a man while he complimenting you to your face, so I smile and stick out my hand for a shake. The wrong one at first, but Carter don’t let that phase him, and his grip is firm without approaching overbearing. “Well, so long as the Sherrif is amenable,” I say with a shrug, “I’m happy to work as long as you need me.”

“Good man,” Carter says, still clasping my hand tight. “And thank you,” he adds. “Even though you had no choice but to fight, you were still protecting me and mine. We won’t forget it Howie, so if the Sherrif’s office gives you any pushback for this, you come to me and I’ll speak on your behalf.”

“Thanks boss, but here’s hoping it won’t come to that.”

Probably won’t, not legally at least, not with the recording I handed off. Still, the court of public opinion is already against me, and I doubt Deputy Walt or them other convicts will keep their lips buttoned up for long, meaning my rep is about to take another nosedive. Nothing to be done about that though, and honestly, I can’t say I care much to even if there was. So long as they leave me and mine alone, then they can have whatever opinions they like, because I couldn’t care less about what some townies think.

My lacking confidence though? That’s a real problem. Gotta get back what I lost and then some. I know I can do it. It’s only a matter of time now, and I’ll be out on the road hunting Abby and outlaws soon enough. A year, maybe two, and then I’ll pick back up where I left off, like I never stopped at all in fact.

I’m almost certain of it.