This Firstborn really was something else.
Over the years, Clayton had heard plenty of stories and rumours about the Firstborn and his Yellow Devil of a daddy. Even read the newspaper articles written up about him, which called him a hotshot, up-and-coming gunfighter and Spellslinger who set a high bar for the first generation of Frontiersman. Read like a puff piece commissioned by someone looking to brown-nose the Marshal, and if it was anyone else, Clayton might’ve even said the Marshal commissioned it himself. Theodore Ellis wasn’t like that though, as he wasn’t one to care about the opinion of the masses. Was here to do a job and did it damn well, though he did it better in the early years when he didn’t have all that government bloat weighing him down.
Feds. Wouldn’t cross the street to piss on one if they were on fire, but the Marshal was no Fed. Nah, he was a soldier through and through, and that, Clayton could respect.
Saw some of that in the Firstborn too, that drive to complete the mission. Wasn’t obvious, as he gave off the impression of some sort of con-man during their first meeting. Big smiles, unwavering eye contact, always calling you by name and making excuses to shake your hand while standing ready to pop you with his Blastguns if you so much as looked at him sideways. Wanted you to trust him without trusting you first, and what is that if not a con? Soon as he made the suggestion for them to pack up and move to New Hope, Clayton’s first instinct was to shut that shit down, expecting the kid to show his true colours and twist their arms to go along with his Federal agenda.
Only for the kid to shrug and say whatever. Was clear he didn’t want to be there, and he confirmed it by admitting he was only doing it for the hours. Still, he warned them about the young’uns being vulnerable to Illusions and Enchantments, a warning Clayton didn’t take seriously enough. He figured a well-timed Countercharm would be enough to protect his people, a Third Order Spell he learned long ago and taught Creasy and anyone else who wanted to learn so they could keep them shady government agents from working their mind magics on him and his. The Mindspire was a whole different beast though, because even though he cast it as soon as he saw his people being led away like cattle, the women and kids barely even flinched.
None except Creasy of course, who glanced his way, then continued moving forward with her arms wrapped around their spellbound kids. She wasn’t under the Spell’s influence; no, she just went along with it to keep their children safe, because that’s the sort of woman Clayton married. A damn fine one he was gonna bring home safe or die trying.
The Firstborn had that same determination, there was no denying that. Kid heard the gunfire and rode headlong towards it, then came along like it’s what he was paid to do. Had too much faith in the Feds for a proper southern-born boy, but otherwise, Howie was American as apple pie. Wasn’t one to stand by when there was fighting to be done, and though Clayton still had some doubts as to how good the kid could be with only one hand left to him, it was clear he was well-trained and highly experienced. Showed in how he directed the other men and didn’t no one bat an eye, because he picked out the best spots and then some to rain hell down on his chosen killing grounds without getting got. Couple up in the trees, others lying down on a ridge, and few more off to the north to catch Abby in a crossfire once they got out into the relative open. Was thick forest up in these parts, and the setting sun wasn’t doing them no favours, but Howie had that handled, getting each of them to cast the Light Cantrip on a rock which he then squirreled away into one of his many belt pouches for later use.
That was only the start of the kid’s preparation though. When it finally came time to leave, he didn’t ride out, but walked instead, stopping to dig trip holes on either side of their retreat path to keep them from getting flanked. Didn’t bother with no spikes or fancy camo, just a leafy twig over a small hole less than half a foot deep, but it was enough to make a merhound stumble or even break its ankle if it was running fast enough. Took him all of a second to dig one out with Mould Earth, so he dug a fair few of them on their way in. Then he pulled out a spool of steel wire too and laid a tripwire between two trees, whose trunks he marked with X’s and O’s to make sure they knew which way to guide their horses to avoid getting caught up. Last but not least, he found a long natural ditch along the path which he intended to use as a burn pit, lining it with molotovs to light on fire and funnel Abby into the tripwires and trip holes he set up on either side.
Was a whole lot smarter about it than Smitty and Cletus, who started that forest fire a few years back when they was drunk and tried to use Aether and pine tar to make fireworks, but neither one of them were the brightest bubs around, even when they was sober.
“If we had more time, I’d rig up a swinging log or three,” Howie said, rummaging through his pouches for more tricks to pull out. “Or a deadfall trap, if there was a tree that looked ready to topple. Might be I should start carryin’ weighted nets and snares too, because those would be handy.”
The kid grinned at his pun, but Clayton could only shake his head. “You’re a tricksy one,” he said, eyeing the traps with a wary gaze. “Never was one for trapping. Ain’t sporting, and it leaves your catch strung up and scared for too long. Spoils the meat.”
“Yeah, I ain’t a fan neither,” the kid replied, shrugging before he remembered he had a man Wildshaped into a marten sitting on his shoulder. “With Abby though, it ain’t about sport. It’s about killin’ them before they kill you, and I’ll kill ‘em anyway I can.” Digging out a couple more trip holes, he said, “No more traps from here on out. Abby ain’t dumb, so if they spot us prepping, they’ll know somethin’s up.” Pulling a red plaid shirt out of his saddlebags, Howie tied it around a tree towards the middle of his path and said, “When we run, aim for this tree, got it? Then follow me and I’ll bring you to the killing ground where your boys will do their work.”
Shaking his head, Clayton said, “I’m gonna need you to guide my horse. I gotta see my target to Sling and maintain Challenging Shout, and they gotta be able to see me.”
Howie winced. “Damn. Okay.” Took a moment to think, then said, “Here, you ride my horse then. He’ll know to follow me, and won’t have no issue with you sittin’ the wrong way around. Send your horse back to your boys. I’ll ride Cowie on the way out instead.”
The calf snorted and rumbled, only it was a full-sized sort of sound that looked out of sorts coming from a tiny thing like that. The stories talked about the bull too, who was part and parcel of the Firstborn’s mythos, a magical bull riding Qink cowboy who spoke with a thick southern drawl. Sounded ridiculous on paper, except the kid made it work because he wasn’t playing a part. Everything about him was genuine enough once you got past the fake smile, from his smug, cocky attitude to the way he lit up when he saw a new gun.
So Clayton went along with the Firstborn’s plan, because even a bonafide Spirit Caller like Carter followed the boy’s lead, so there was no reason not to. The kid’s horse was something else too, a sure-footed piebald who responded to even the slightest bit of pressure from Clayton’s heels. He practiced the turn around twice to let the horse know what’s what, and the second time around, the beast even shifted to help him as he turned. “Damn fine horse,” Clayton said, patting the beast’s neck as they headed out to take on Abby.
“Best there is and best there’ll ever be,” Howie said, beaming to hear it as he jogged alongside, with the little calf scrambling to keep up. “Now loosen up that death grip and act natural. Abby can sense when you nervous, and we gotta look calm and ignorant.” Clayton did his best to relax, but it wasn’t every day you rode into a wolf’s den to save your wife and children, so he was having trouble following through. “Tell me about your kids,” Howie continued, eyes scanning the trees and everywhere else except up at Clayton. “How many you got?”
“Three. Two boys and a girl,” Clayton replied, tightening his grip around his Ogre’s Bane before blowing out a long breath and forcing himself to let go. “Oldest is Elton, after Creasy’s grandpa who raised her.” He smiled. “A rabble rouser is what he is, always getting into the cider and sharing with the other kids so he ain’t the only one to get shit for it. Boy can shoot though. Only fourteen, but bagged him a wolf last spring, a cagey old son of a bitch who done come sniffing around at our horses. Tried to run my boy off, but he stood his ground and shot it clean through the eye with his 22-10 peashooter.”
“Ain’t about the size of your calibre, but how you use it,” Howie quipped, and Clayton chuckled along. “Sounds like a fine young man.”
Which sounded odd coming from a kid only a few years older, but Howie was aged beyond his years. That much was clear from the look in his eyes when he showed off his stump, something he tried to make look natural and casual but caused him plenty of pain all the same. More than just the lost hand too, which made Clayton think some of those stories must have been true. Not the newspaper ones, which were more fluff than fact, but the tales he heard from buyers coming in from all over the Frontier. Some had to be fake, like how the Firstborn hung a man out the window and stood on the street to watch him die, then shot the man’s legs out when he took his sweet time doing it. That was just ridiculous on so many levels, but there were plenty of others that painted him as a cold and ruthless killer. Heard tell of an encounter on the Highway where the Firstborn rode up to a broken-down wagon and gunned down the two men trying to fix it without so much as uttering a word. Killed two more hiding in the trees waiting in ambush, but they was ready to wave him through because didn’t no one want to fuck with a kid driving an armoured tank of a wagon with a big turret up top.
There were lots of other similar stories, but they all had the same theme. The Firstborn was quick on the trigger and took no prisoners, not even when going up against the Pugliano Family. Was a damn miracle the kid was still walking around after killing Ronald Jackson, but then he had to go pick a fight with the Sicilian Mafia too. The papers were full of articles on the shootout in the Sherrif’s Office where he gunned down four thugs and stopped a jailbreak, but word on the streets was that Howie also took out three more mafiosos earlier that same week, including that sadistic fuck Joey Cold Cuts Morelli.
And good riddance too. That blue-spiked bastard had a rep for exploding Ice Knives at people’s feet and laughing as they crawled away, legs lacerated to shit while moving all slow and shivering from the Spell’s effect. Fact is, half the reason Clayton’s Alarm Wards were set up to alert them of human presence was because of that fucker right there and his boss Mikey Snow Show. Used to be another community living just north of them, good, like-minded folk who kept their heads down and worked hard to be self-sufficient. They refused to pay Mikey’s protection fees, so the Snow Show walked through a hail of Bolts before setting Cold Cuts to work alongside his buddy Fingers, a Transmuter whose talons grew into six-inch long knives that dripped with Acid when he wanted them to.
The community wasn’t there anymore, as the survivors all packed up and moved north. Not to Irongate, but beyond, somewhere along the Emerald Plains the last Clayton heard. As for him, he paid his fees in moonshine which he sold for cheap, but it was all money in his pocket that he wouldn’t otherwise have since finding buyers wasn’t easy. All it takes is grain or potates and time to brew your own shine, so Clayton didn’t understand why anyone would want to buy it when they could pretty much make it for free. The cider though, that’s where the real money was, because making cider actually took skill and know how, especially when your clientele don’t get shit-faced after the first glass. Or ever, since most of what he made these days was for the kids, since Elton kept getting into his stash.
Which Clayton told Howie all about, as well as how his eldest looked after his little brother and sister. “Baylor, he’s the diligent one, never one to complain about work or school, and knows his way around tools better than most. Just a few months back, our plow broke and he fixed it with a horseshoe and some wire before any of us even knew it was cacked. Then there’s little Erza, who takes after her mama. She’s only nine, but smart as whip and knows more about plants than I do. Makes a poultice for my knee come winter that makes the cold aches go away, and helped nurse her mama back to health when she took ill last autumn.”
“Sound like they a good bunch,” Howie said, nodding along all calm and casual like. “Let’s go get ‘em back. Hold your fire.”
And just like that, the Firstborn raised his all-black Model 10 and fired off a booming shot.
One that caught Clayton by surprise, as it was only then that he noticed the marten Carter had already slipped away. Howie was on his game though, moving out in front of the horse to shoot a second time. “Two down,” he said, all calm and collected as he moved his horse and Clayton into cover while scanning the forest for movement. “Don’t look just yet, but two more swinging around to our left. I’ll take care of them in a sec, while you keep watch for the last two.” The words were barely out of his mouth when the Firstborn opened up again, taking one shot, sucking his teeth, then readjusting for a second and third that were followed by two heavy, wet thumps. “Guess the last two ain’t coming out to play,” he said after a pause, exchanging his revolver for a sawn-off Blastgun with a waiting pair of Mage Hands that got to reloading the weapon. Even left the unused bullet in the chamber, which meant the Firstborn was paying attention to the work, even if he only glanced at it for a moment while looking around for the last patrol. “Seems they think it’s best to lie low and hope we walk away, which tells me they don’t want a fight.”
“So what now then?” Clayton asked, holding his Ogre’s Bane at the ready while looking left and right. Couldn’t see shit, not even the merhounds Howie already killed, not in this light. Darkvision wouldn’t help either, as it was too bright for the grayscale the Spell gave you, but the Firstborn didn’t seem bothered by the poor visibility. It wasn’t because of no Spell either, just natural dynamic vision, and Clayton had never felt more outclassed than he did right here and now.
“We encourage them,” the Firstborn replied, uttering some mangled Latin chant that Clayton only barely recognized as Hunter’s Mark. “I see you doggie!” he shouted, even though Abby couldn’t understand him. “You got a shot?” Clayton didn’t see shit, and he said as much.
“Big tree at your 1 o’clock, about 75m away, huddled around the right side of the trunk in those bushes there.”
Clayton found the bush and didn’t see no Abby, but he raised his Ogre’s Bane and put a Bolt Salvo through it all the same. The Soviet gun had a whole lot of kick and no single shot setting like you get in proper Bolt Salvo guns, but it had a bark to match its bite as it sent out three Bolts with a booming crack-a-lack. The Penetrating shots took out a good chunk of tree bark and sent splinters flying before setting the unseen merhound behind it to gargling, making that waterlogged trill they do when angry or hurt. “Nice shots,” Howie exclaimed, and Clayton smiled to hear it, especially with the injured doggie still kicking up a fuss.
Then and only then did he finally see what he was fighting as the wounded Aberration dragged itself out of the bush towards them. All fangs, fins, and fury, this merhound was, with thick mottled green scales and a glassy fish eyed stare. Clayton’s shots had taken out its right shoulder and most of the chest with it, but that wasn’t enough to put this abomination down. Ambling over with its lopsided gait, it slavered at the jaws while emitting all sorts of ungodly noises, like the plumbing was all backed up and threatening to blow out the toilet. Clayton raised his rifle for another shot, but Howie waved him off and said, “Leave it to me. You save your shots for when it gets real hairy in a little bit.”
Firstborn kept a cool head, and Clayton could respect that, even if it looked all sorts of wrong coming from a boy his age. Stood there bobbing and weaving from side to side while checking his angles before retreating into cover, to keep unseen Abby from drawing a bead and Slinging any Spells at him. Had to have vision of your target to unleash a Spell, so even if it was readied before hand and loosed the instant he popped out, the boy was moving so often most projectiles would just sail on by while also giving him a head start on getting out of the way of any Area of Effect Spells. The kid did it so effortlessly he made it look like second nature, but Clayton knew these sorts of habits didn’t come easy.
Seventeen years young, and already a seasoned vet and hardened killer. What sort of life was that for a boy? The Marshal might be a good man and a great soldier, but him and the Yellow Devil both did Howie a disservice by training him up like they did. Showed in how he waited until the doggie was right up in his face before unloading a Blast in its face, and he didn’t even look at the corpse as it dropped at his feet. “Last one’s marked and knows it,” Howie said, letting his Mage Hand reload the spent shell while gesturing over to the left where Clayton didn’t see nothing besides brush and trees. “Moving around to drive us towards the den, but I’ll take care of it. Best you turn about now and be ready to run now.” Clicking his tongue, Howie said, “Follow,” with the tone of a command for his horse, and the piebald tapped his hoof in reply.
Clayton turned in the saddle without really thinking about it, and had to stop to make sure he wasn’t Enchanted. He wasn’t, the kid was just a born leader, giving suggestions that read like orders without sounding too harsh on the ear. That’s all the free time he had to think with though, before the forest came alive with movement and gargles as merhounds filed out of the den, bounding over terrain and each other because they scented blood on the wind. Abby blood, with more to come as Clayton drew a deep breath and channeled the flows of Aether through the Spell Structure in his mind.
Enchantment was a tricksy magic, mental manipulation the Feds and other big government used to keep the people down. That’s why Clayton came to the Frontier in the first place, because the old world was a lost cause with PSI and CAB running things back there. The Psychic Subjugation Initiative and the Cognitive Adjustment Bureau respectively, shadowy government agencies who weren’t on the books, because they were the real movers and shakers of the world. They had their fingers in everything, with agents in the Treasury Department binding subtle Suggestions to bills so you fork over your taxes without question, to Enthralled politicians to heed their every beck and call. Then there’s all the Hypnotic Patterns getting blasted over the radio waves and turning young adults into mindless simpletons who couldn’t see they were being robbed of their future and free-will in broad daylight. Add in all the other shit like ensorcelled voting booths, Charmed military recruits, and Bane potions in the food and water supply to make sure all their efforts bore fruit, and Clayton couldn’t get away from the old world quick enough.
While the first few months after the Advent were a little tough, he knew enough bushcraft to keep himself alive and well. Even found himself the best wife a man could ask for, and soon had a kid of his own with another on the way. By then, New Hope was on the map and work on the Highway and Blue Bulwark underway, with every indication that the Marshal was bringing the old world ways to the Frontier. Law and Order he called it, but there were still outlaws and mafiosos now weren’t there? No, it was just an excuse to tax the masses and fatten the pockets of their unelected overseers, ones sent to make sure the Frontier would serve the interests of their old world masters rather than those of the free people who settled it.
Which meant Clayton had to make sure his family was protected from the mind-influencing magics of the government elites. It started with a few books on the subject, most of which were written by the lady who raised the Firstborn in fact, one Rachel Walker-Bradshaw. Went into great detail on how to recognize magical influence and how to combat it, but the Bradshaws were a military family and deep in the pockets of big government, so Clayton had to look elsewhere to make sure everything was aboveboard. Lot of Enchantments were restricted though, because the Feds couldn’t have the masses learning their tricks, so he had to turn to less savoury sources to find literature on the real meat and potatoes of the School.
Charm Person. Command. Madness. Enthrall. Discord. He learned them all and worked hard to recognize the signs of each one when cast on others or even himself, and before he knew it, he was proper Magus Enchanter. Never put in the paperwork for his pins of course, since all that would do was get his name on a government watch list, and he didn’t want them knowing he was immune to their tricks until they overplayed their hand. Thing is, once the bottle was popped, he started looking into other Enchantments too, more useful ones like Bless, Heroism, Calm Emotions, and of course the all-important Countercharm. As for Challenging Shout? He learned that on a lark, because using Taunt to magically and verbally poke fun at his buddes was hiliarous to watch. Could get them right hopping mad with little more than a few words, turning ‘your mama’ jokes into a weapon almost. They made a game of it too, as Clayton would cast Taunt on someone and if they got mad, they had to drink, so they’d then get madder and laugh harder once all was said and done.
Wasn’t no magic in the words, the insult he chose, but Clayton worked hard on his lines all the same. “I see you there,” He called, as the merhounds spread out to check the lay of the land rather than getting their chase on. “I knew you were a bunch of green-gilled, lily-livered, bottom-feeding, fish-fucking mongrels, but I didn’t know you were ugly too.” That’s all it took to get a quarter of them after him, snarling and trilling as they broke out into a lazy run over. Thing is, even though Carter was a shifter and Spiritcaller who could likely hold his own in the den, Clayton needed to grab all the doggies he could get to ensure the safety of his people. Pouring Aether into his words as the Spell grew in scope and power both, Clayton continued, “If my dog had a face like yours, I’d shave its ass and teach it to walk backwards.” The comment set another third of the pack to racing towards him as he sat facing backwards on the Firstborn’s horse, but Clayton wanted more. Drawing on every iota of willpower and desperation he had to him, he poured that into the Aether of his flowing Spell Structure and yelled, “I’ve had shits that look better than you!”
And with that, every merhound in sight was now bearing down on him, so he heeled the horse and held onto the back of the saddle for dear life. Except the beast didn’t move, still waiting for its cue from the Firstborn, who was too busy cackling to notice the danger. No, that wasn’t it, he was just waiting for them to get closer so he could pop off a few shots, emptying all six chambers of his Model 10 in rapid succession with help from his stump to manually work the hammer while holding the trigger down flat. Quick as a blink the Firstborn fanned all six shots out into the pack, hitting six targets and setting them to squealing while laughing all the while.
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And then they were off, with the Firstborn dashing back through the forest with his horse at his five and bull at his seven. Both beasts were careful not to overtake him, and a good thing too as Howie had his Blastgun in hand again and used it to shoot down a merhound coming at them from the side. How it got around so quick, Clayton couldn’t say, but he held onto the saddle for dear life as they went bounding away. The kid was flat out sprinting across the dirt with his Mage Hands moving alongside him like they were magically tethered, reloading the Model 10 as he whooped and ran for dear life. The horse kept up easily, not quite at a full gallop, but a decent canter at least, which was fast enough to keep ahead of the doggies hounding them at their heels. Most were still caught in the throes of Clayton’s Commanding Shout, but it took constant focus to maintain the effect, and the best way he knew how to do that was to keep up with a constant barrage of insults.
“Your Proggie’s gene pool looks like it could use some more chlorine,” Clayton hollered, and again, the Firstborn laughed to hear it. “Or some lifeguards at least. They say gobbos get brains and Ferals got muscles, but if you as dumb as you look, then you must be weapons-grade stupid. Got two brain cells left and they’re fighting for third place.”
The Firstborn was laughing so hard Clayton was worried the boy would run out of breath, but he kept right on running and even picked up the pace. There were hounds on either side of them now, and the ones behind were almost nipping at their heels, so he raised his Ogre’s Bane and fired a burst into the pack. Then another, and another, letting the rhythmic bang-bang-bang of the weapon bring his mind into the groove as the horse thundered away at the forest ground beneath them. “Eat some makeup,” he hollered, firing another burst shot that clipped two merhounds whose corpses made three more stumble behind them. “At least then you’ll be pretty on the inside!”
Behind him, the Firstborn howled with laughter as he dropped back to slip and arm over his horse and bull’s necks, only for both beasts to really take off. Was moving at a good speed before, but they kicked it into high gear and left the doggies behind in the dust. Only to slow again after a brief surge of speed, as the Firstborn turned around and shouted something in Latin while throwing out a handful of rocks. All glowing with the white, incandescence of the Light Spell which illuminated the area, even as the Firstborn’s Spell took shape. A field of spiralling white grass burst out of the forest floor, trapping the doggies directly behind them, and while Clayton was ready to whoop with joy, he had to hang onto the saddle for dear life as the horse took a sharp left.
Now, Clayton told Howie the Stoat was a piece of shit, and he wasn’t lying. The compressed Blastgun was something of an abomination that only came into being because of asinine Soviet laws, and was only desirable because of asinine Federal laws. That said, the Soviets knew their work when it came to designing guns, and there was something so very satisfying about the sound of the Stoat, a thunderclap that echoed out through the forest as it sent a finger-thick projectile of pure kinetic Force hurtling through the air to make mincemeat of Abby. The terrible MoA on the gun meant you could only aim centre mass, but the power behind it evaporated the leading merhound into a mist of black goo and grey splatter as the Stoat punched through it and the two hounds behind it. Then the rest all got lit up too as distant snaps of the bolt-action Blastguns made short work of the Ferals caught in the white curling tendrils of Howie’s Spell.
As for the Firstborn? He wasn’t even looking at his work, and instead was facing off against a group of flankers. Their dark forms were coming straight for them, but the kid didn’t bat an eye as he picked them off on the move. Shoot and scoot, he moved and fired, alternating between his Model 10 and his Blastgun while barely missing any shots, and any that slipped through the cracks were burned extra crispy by his bellowing, fire breathing bull. Which was something to be sure, but the Firstborn’s aim was the real show here. Even with Hunter’s Mark helping to guide his shots, Clayton had never seen anything like it as the kid fired from the hip and hit priority targets despite the rapid-fire pace he set. Another man shooting at those speeds would miss every other shot, or waste it at least putting a second round into the same target just to be sure it died in the first hit, but Howie was so confident and so fast that he didn’t need to double tap. Proved it then and there too, as the Firstborn put a Bolt into a lunging merhound, switched targets to one coming around the side, then went back to shoot his initial target a second time when it was clear the first Bolt didn’t take.
All while tossing out Light rocks to brighten up the battlefield, mind you. Wasn’t afraid to get right up in there with his Blastgun neither, which only had a 15-foot range. Measured out, it might seem like a lot of space, but given how a merhound could cross that distance in the blink of an eye, it left no room for error whatsoever. Didn’t stop the Firstborn from dancing right in the thick of things while letting his horse choose its own course, and Clayton picked his shots best he could while covering the kid’s six.
Not that he needed it. Every time it seemed like a doggie would get him, either the bull trampled or gored it dead or the kid moved to put distance between them. If that wasn’t possible, then he put something in between, whether it be a tree or another merhound. Had him a big smile on the whole time too, one that was softer and more natural than the big toothy grin he usually sported when he wanted to play nice. There in the forest gloom, illuminated only by the glow of the lights and the intermittent muzzle flash of his gun, the Firstborn didn’t look like no kid no more. Still had the same big hat and oversized duster on his twiggy frame, but he had somehow grown into the outfit without changing in size. It just fit him better, moving with him as he ran, jumped, and skipped about to lead Abby on a merry chase, cackling all the while like he was having the time of his life.
And what a chase it was, as he moved on foot through the maze of traps he’d set up before hand, and they both laughed to see merhounds trip over wires, stumble into holes, or get hit by incandescent Fire Bombs lobbed by Smitty and Cletus from their perch over a hundred metres away. Even if they missed, their Spells left a giant patch of flaming ground behind, which the merhounds ran into more often than not. Even those who managed to avoid them often hurt themselves in the process, or got pushed in all the same by the idiot Abby behind them. They were these big, lumbering beasties built for moving in water, not land, so when they went down, they went down hard, breaking limbs and cracking teeth as they faltered and stumbled. Still they came on though, with Clayton screaming insults and obscenities all the while and unloading his Ogre’s Bane into the crowd. On the third mag, he finally switched over to full auto and sent a spray of Bolts into the Ferals while his buddies kept up the cover fire from afar, though the thunderclaps were sounding off from much closer now.
And throughout it all, Howie was still moving about on foot, and barely even breathing hard despite everything that’d gone down. “Hang tight,” he said, just in time for Clayton to grab hold of the saddle again as the horse surged up from underneath him, hopping over a trench which ignited just after they passed by, catching the closest merhounds on their trail and setting them ablaze while forcing the others to scurry around. Seeing his chance, Clayton shouted something about fried fish and grits while slamming his fourth and final magazine into his Ogre’s Bane, and grinned to see a number of merhounds go leaping right into the flames just to get at him that much quicker, only to cook up quick and die a few steps later.
And as he unloaded his Ogre’s Bane into the crowd, watching the flashes of muzzle flare light up the forest around him to reveal still more merhounds coming in from all sides, Clayton resolved to craft and carry more mags as soon as he got home. The next point of call was to find a better way to hide his guns without having to bury them out in the forest. Damn Guju Sherrif didn’t have nothing better to do than cite them for illegal firearms the last time he was around, but how’s a man supposed to protect his family with nothing but six-shooters and bolt-actions? If it wasn’t for these illegal guns, he would’ve been at the mercy of this Aberration horde, one which the Firstborn made short work of in a mad dash of a fight.
And what a fight it was. Couldn’t have been more than five minutes, start to finish, and two of those had been spent killing the six hounds on patrol and waiting for the rest to come out. Kid set up a killing ground, then ran Abby through it like an obstacle course. Wasn’t done just yet though, because as soon as there were no more merhounds coming at them from all sides, he stood up straight and held his hand up palm facing out before turning about in a full circle. All while his Mage Hand reloaded his Model 10 for the umpteenth time mind you, and no matter how many times Clayton saw it, it was still mindboggling to behold. Them Mage Hands moved just like real ones, working together in synchronized effort to pop the chamber, eject the casings, the slide fresh cartridges in one at a time.
“We’re clear,” the Firstborn said, taking the revolver from his Mage Hand and shooting two downed merhounds before breaking out into a sprint. One the horse and bull both followed, leaving Clayton clinging for balance again. Didn’t hold it against the kid though, because they both wanted to get to the den right away. Spirit Caller, Shaper, and whatever else he might be, Carter was still only just one man, and Clayton had spotted a good number of froggies in this group here, froggies who never bothered coming out of the den. They got there in record time, with the Firstborn pausing only to tell his bull and horse to wait before heading in with Blastgun at the ready. Clayton scrambled to get out of the saddle and slide off the horse, before moving in on wobbly legs to back up the Firstborn and Spiritcaller both.
Only to stop short as he stepped into the dimly lit interior of the den, one full of mangled Abby corpses as Carter stood there in all his naked glory with a gore-spattered stick in hand and three glowing blue grizzly bears sat down around him. Well, two were sat, and the last was laid out flat on its back while the younger kids climbed all over it, laughing and smiling like happy kids do. Meeting Creasy’s eyes, Clayton let loose with a whoop of joy as he ran over and lifted her into his arms before twirling her about just the once. “Fool woman,” he said, his tone full of concern and admiration. “Don’t know what you were doing, walking out with the kids like that.”
“Wasn’t gonna let no Abby take them without me,” she said, lip curled in a sneer like what she did was a given.
“Well, good thing you did,” he said, putting her down and reaching up to touch the pendant around her neck. “Ran into the Firstborn chasing after Abby, and he tracked you down using this.”
“Did he now? I thought you had to have touched an object to locate it with magic.”
Which was true, or at least that’s what everyone said. Now though? Now it seemed like the government had ways to track you with nothing but a picture, which was alarming to say the least. They both turned to look at the kid, who was eying the summoned bears like he wanted to bounce on the beast’s belly too. “Oh, it was nothing,” he said, mistaking their looks for admiration rather than suspicion, “Simple is as simple does.”
Which was a whole lot of words to say nothing. Either way, they owed the kid bigtime, and Clayton knew Creasy could get answers out of anyone with just a bit of time. “You bring us on back home now,” she said, making it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “And lemme fix you up something as thanks.”
Giving Carter a look before he replied, the Firstborn shrugged, smiled, and said, “I could eat.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Something is wrong.”
The whispered assertion sent a cold chill down Tina’s spine, washing away her excitement and anxiety both. Even though this Op was serious as serious does, she’d been over the moon when she got the call to gear up and go. They were riding to Howie’s rescue after all, which was a nice change for once, since he spent so many years looking out for her which ended up costing him a hand up in Pleasant Dunes. Now it was her turn to play the part of hero, and while hostage rescue was no simple job, she was more than game to give it a try.
Was their first real action since Pleasant Dunes, even though Howie kept running into trouble week after week. Abby were too wary of Ranger patrols, especially when they rode out in groups of ten with a Ranger Strike Team running point and watching over 5 boots. Tina wouldn’t be a boot for much longer though, as come July, she’d be an official Ranger recruit, having been offered a spot on Sergeant Dixon’s squad that paid 2 grand a year. That’s two thirds of Ranger base pay, and she’d earn even more if she made Specialist, which was her goal within the next three years. Wouldn’t be no Scout, Marksman, or Guardian, but she’d make for a great Disruptor with her Illusions and Enchantments, turning Abby against Abby and exploiting their limited intelligence to run them into traps and ambushes. Communications and coordination was also right up her ally, which was Sergeant Dixon’s recommendation for her, though initially he wanted her to follow in his own footsteps as a Scout. Not as a Diviner like Howie, but a stealth operative using Invisibility and other cloaking Spells to conceal her presence, but she wasn’t one for stepping lightly.
No, Tina wanted to be like Daddy, standing in the thick of things and using Abby as his shield against other Abby. There was an old Video of him Mama kept hidden away, where Daddy was wrangling these big bugs like they was cattle and looking all slick and handsome with his bright eyes and big toothy grin as he danced in and amongst the pack of skittering Ferals. Made it look so smooth and effortless as he weaved in and around the insectoids and using Enchantments to keep them off their game. Command to stop them in place, Taunt to keep them coming, and Sleep to put them down hard and fast without so much as drawing his guns.
All while using Mantle of Inspiration to motivate his allies and keep them moving as they all fell back in orderly fashion, firing into the massive horde of Ferals Daddy was tying up to buy time for the civilians to get away.
The Video was taken in the early years, when New Hope’s walls were short enough to hop over and could only house so many people. That’s the sort of Ranger Tina wanted to be, even if she was better suited for Illusions as opposed to Enchantments. She could even do a lot of the same things with Illusion Spells, Blinding and Fearing Abby while Blurring herself from their vision to make her harder to hit. Mirror Image would be even better, but Howie was right about Concentration being a valuable resource, because she had much better Spells to use her Concentration on. Like the aforementioned Mantle of Inspiration, Silence to keep Abby from raising the alarm, Hypnotic Pattern to hold them in place, or even a plain old Bless or Heroism to help settle the nerves.
Yeah, Pleasant Dunes had done a lot to help Tina discover the kind of Ranger she wanted to be, and Howie losing his hand had motivated her to work harder than ever before. The Mindspire’s Dissonant Whistle made it hard to focus on her efforts, but even then she went out to the gun range almost every other day, and ran obstacle courses and extra P.T whenever possible. Because that’s what Howie did when he was at home, or at least it’s what he used to do until he lost his hand. That’s how he got his rep after all, because even though he had talent in spades, he worked even harder to be a cut above the rest.
Kacey worked hard too, and was talented too, which was why she was nipping at Tina’s heels when it came to the title of Top Boot. The exotic Nipponese beauty was also the one who noticed something was wrong, but rather than turn to stare at the other girl, Tina kept her eyes peeled and head on a swivel to try and see what’s what. “Not like that,” Kacey whispered. “I mean something is wrong with our current heading. We are moving directly towards the village from which this Clayton resides.” Glancing at Elodie riding on Tina’s right, Kacey added, “The girl said Howie was tracking the amulet of a woman who was taken, but if he is at the village, then it is possible that lead was a dead end.”
Tina frowned, because she immediately came up with another reason for Howie to be in Clayton’s village. Either he already found and rescued the hostages, or he tried and failed and was there licking his wounds. If she had to guess, she’d pick the first option and hope for the best, but hostage rescue was no simple job, and one even Howie couldn’t pull off by his lonesome. Or with a bunch of drunk, pyromaniac at his back, which might make things even worse, but the facts might not’ve been enough to keep him from trying. Tough as he liked to pretend he was, he had a soft spot for people in need, and spent more time and money than he probably should helping out. Uncle Ming was the same way, but not for the same reasons. He helped because he felt it was his duty to give aid to those in need, whereas Howie did it because it’s what his daddy did, and that was enough to put a smile on his face. Course he had other reasons for helping folks too, but that was the main one, which meant he was all too happy to take risks he'd otherwise avoid just to help someone in need.
Including a frontal assault on an Abby position to save women and children from a horrendous fate. Even though Tim said Howie wasn’t one to bite off more than he could chew, he only had the one hand now, and while he tried to play it off like it was nothing, Tina knew better than most how small it made him feel. Confidence was everything when it came to a fight, and while Howie could still handle himself well enough, there was no denying he was shook, and might well end up taking on more weight than he could bear just to prove that he still had it in him.
And he didn’t. Took a few weeks of pestering to do it, but she’d finally got him to go out to the range with her, and while others thought he was doing great as a lefty, Tina knew just how far he’d fallen since. Sure, he was quick on the draw and accurate as can be, but it was the extra beat he took between each shot that told a different story. With his right hand, he could shoot from the hip without having to think, but he wasn’t that far along just yet with the left. Didn’t seem like much, but every fraction of a second counts in a fight, and the more effort he had to put into his shooting meant that much less effort he could put into anything else.
“It’s okay,” Tina said, despite her own feelings to the contrary. “Maybe Howie lost the trail and decided to bunker down and wait for help?”
Kacey didn’t snort, as she was far too prim and ladylike to make such uncouth sounds, but her silence spoke volumes to her doubt. Elodie on the other hand was all too happy to chime in. “Do not worry,” she said, leaning over from atop Winnie’s bare back to pat Tina’s far shoulder before righting herself again. “Howie is fine, for Papa is with him. If they are home already, then it means we can go home soon too. They will let us in, yes? Mama says that the gates close soon, and I want to sleep in the church where there is no buzz.”
Elodie was far too easy breezy and happy-go-lucky considering the harrowing tale she’d shared, first with the guards, then the Sheriff, then the Rangers, and finally Tina after the fact. Reason was she was so cheery that no one took her seriously until her stone-faced mama stepped in, which was only enough to get them to pass the buck at each stage. Must’ve cost them a good thirty minutes in response time at the lest, but neither Elodie nor her mama saw fit to hurry things along because they had the utmost confidence in Mr. Willis.
Then again, Howie did say they knew how to take care of themselves, so who knows? Was mighty cryptic about it all even though Tina knew Elodie could shapeshift into a baby Diamondclaw, so she assumed the girl’s parents could too. Problem was, she’d only ever seen pictures of the animals, mostly of Elodie in animal form and Minified to boot, so even though they had a rep for being mean and tough to kill, the images of that smiling, big eyed cutie patootie didn’t do much to inspire confidence. Made for a tense home stretch as Tina followed the Rangers up the trail, through the brush, and over the Wards laid out that she couldn't see or sense, but got called out by the Rangers all the same.
Course, the tension ratcheted down significantly when they got close enough to hear the music, with plenty of clapping and stomping as two banjos and a harmonica sounded out from the village. The scent of roast sweet meat wafted out to greet them, and once they were at the outskirts, Inari slipped out of her summoner’s arms and darted off in a streak of white fur. Much to Kacey’s chagrin, who glowered at the three-tailed fox as she circled Howie’s legs and popped up on her hind legs to beg for a treat, who promptly slipped her a handful of meat before turning around to greet them.
With a big old grin and red rosy cheeks no less. “Hey!” he called, taking a big slug of his drink while waving them over. “Well would ya look at that! The cavalry done come ridin’ in!”
“A day late and a dollar short,” a grizzled older man grumbled none too quietly from his seat at the head of the table, and the other men all laughed like it was the funniest thing they ever heard.
When the clamour died down, Howie made a placating gesture to the crowd as he moved to greet Tina and the Rangers with mug in hand. Stumbled on the first step too, which wasn’t something she’d seen, and she thought he might’ve been injured until he righted himself with a goofy smile. “Still here though,” he said, looking back while walking forward, “Riding heavy and ready to rumble, so you gotta give ‘em credit for trying.”
“Are you drunk?” Tina asked, her eyes wide in disbelief as she pieced it all together. He didn’t answer right quick, just blinked and tried to look innocent, but there was a glassiness to his eyes that convinced her she was right.
“I most certain am not,” Howie replied, faking outrage at the question before breaking out into a smile, that sly one he used when he thought he was being clever. “Ain’t drank a drop of nothing but cider, see?” He handed her his mug, and she had herself a taste just in case he was bluffing. Was cider sure enough, sweet and refreshing, but there was something off about him all the same.
“It’s my fault,” the grizzled old man said, clapping Howie hard on the shoulder with a smile. “We don’t label the casks all that well, and he might’ve gotten into one of the fermented ones. Couldn’t have had too much though, so he’ll be fine. Besides, after the fight we had today, the man deserves a stiff drink.”
“I will neither confirm nor deny the facts as you presented them,” Howie retorted, which was a whole lot of words to say nothing.
Sergeant Begaye was less than pleased of course, and the same with the Ranger Strike Team who’d gotten out of bed for this. “Boot,” the Sergeant began, in that same gruff and commanding tone he always used. “Report.”
Blinking a few times, Howie looked at Tina and said, “Well? You heard the Sergeant, boot. Report.”
Scowling something fierce because he was gonna get her in trouble, Tina brightened as she had an idea. “Sir, the Firstborn appears sauced,” she said, snapping to attention and firing off a salute. “Permission to clear his head?”
“Granted.”
Quietly Intoning the chant, Tina smiled and hit Howie with a Water Sphere, which had him sputtering something fierce. If he was in his right mind, he’d’ve seen it coming from a mile away, but instead he just stood there and watched to see what she’d do. When he was done coughing, Sergeant Begaye repeated his orders in the same tone as before, which really got Howie fuming. “First off,” he began, glaring daggers at Tina in promised retribution, “Rude. Second, I ain’t no boot, so I would appreciate it if you asked nicely. As for what happened, well, we tracked the group of Abby down, eliminated most, and brought everyone back home safe and sound.”
There was a lot more too it, but Howie wasn’t saying much else, and Clayton and his people were even less helpful. As for Mr. Willis, he didn’t say a single word to the Rangers as he greeted his wife and daughter in jean overalls that clearly weren’t his. Next to them, he didn’t seem like much, magically speaking, because Elodie and Miss Amelie were like the sun and the moon, while Mr. Willis was more of a faint star off in the distance. Still better than most, but nothing out of the ordinary, but if he helped Howie out of this pinch, then he was certainly someone worth paying attention to.
As for Sergeant Begaye, he had no patience for Howie’s shenanigans. After checking the cauldrons of Abby corpses getting cooked off to confirm their story, the Sergeant ordered Howie to head back to town with them to make an official report, so Tina followed after Howie to help him saddle up Old Tux. Even though he was in a chipper mood, she didn’t dare laugh or smile at any of his jokes, and even scowled something fierce when he started going off about how the Sergeant was awful surly for a man named ‘Flemming Begaye’.
“This ain’t a lark, Howie,” Tina snapped, knowing how sharp the Sergeant’s ears were from experience. “The Rangers rustled up a full Strike Team and ten Recruits at a moments notice because you put out a call for help, so you can understand how they might feel put off to find you drinking and feasting.”
“So what?” Howie asked, digging his heels in and doubling down when all he had to do was be less frivolous about all this. “I’m supposed to feel bad because I handled the job by myself? I’m grateful y’all showed up, but that’s the job Tina. I put out the call because people were taken, and I didn’t have no other information, so it ain’t my fault Abby didn’t put up more of a fight.”
“You grateful are you? Tina asked, scowling something fierce. “Sure don’t seem that way.”
“You want I should grovel then? Apologize for wasting their time? Didn’t know it would be. Just knew people been taken, and that the Rangers would want to know.” Rolling his eyes, Howie gave her a look, then turned his head sideways and narrowed his eyes in exaggerated focus. “Why you so sour about all this anyways? Gone and done spoiled my good mood after a job well done.”
“I got this stupid sorta-brother who keeps getting himself in trouble,” Tina retorted, crossing her arms in a huff. “And here I thought it was finally my turn to come riding in to save his bacon, but he done fixed the issue himself.”
Breaking out in a grin, Howie threw his arm over Tina’s shoulder and pulled her in close. “Sorry, sweet sorta-sister of mine. I’m gonna hafta hog the limelight a little longer, then it’s all yours. Promise. My days of wildin’ out are behind me now, so you’ll be the man of the house soon enough.” Patting her shoulder, he gave her a look, then added, “You already got the shoulders for it, so might as well.”
That earned him a soft elbow in the ribs, which he laughed off while she pouted. Didn’t even help him saddle Old Tux, and Howie didn’t bother either, tossing the tack over the piebald’s back before leading him out the stables where they were greeted by a waiting Clayton who had a cask of cider for Howie to bring back. “You ever need any help,” the man said, his voice all husky and raspy as he clapped Howie on the shoulder, “Then you come to me.” Grinning from ear to ear, the old man said, “I ain’t no Ranger or soldier, but I can get you guns, ammo, gear, almost anything a man like you could ever need. Could also put in a good word in with some folks I know, and maybe get others to back off. You get me?”
“I get you,” Howie said, nodding with that knowing smile while leaving Tina completely in the dark. “Thanks Clayton, but no need. I got it handled.”
“No, Howie.” Shaking his head, Clayton grabbed Howie’s hand and clasped it tight. “Thank you. You brought my family home, and the families of all my friends. Won’t none of us forget it anytime soon.” Though the words were pleasant enough, their tone was anything but, like they was discussing matters of grave importance instead of seeing each other off. Strange that, and Howie waved off her questions about it and headed off to greet the other boots, like Kacey, Sarah Jay, and even Errol who was all sulky for no reason at all.
Michael, Gabriella, Antoni, and more, Howie greeted the boots-turned-recruits with all his charms while cracking wise about stealing their valour and glory. Made nice with the Rangers too, and while she couldn’t read the others, she knew for a fact that even though Sergeant Begaye acted all huffy and stern, he was impressed all the same. They’d seen the guns the locals were using, a bunch of 22-10 hunting rifles meant for sport rather than battle, so Howie would’ve had to do most of the heavy lifting. Well, Mr. Willis too, but Tina wasn’t so sure about how strong the man was, and he clearly didn’t want anyone to know since not a single word was said about him. Clayton made Mr. Willis the same offer he made Howie though, declaring them both friends for as long as he should live, and with that, they all set off for New Hope once more, with yet another story of the Firstborn to share with the town.
Say what you will about Howie’s promise to be good, but even though he meant it, Tina most certainly didn’t believe him. Even with only one hand, he was still running circles around the rest of them, because didn’t none of them carry no steel wire around in their pouches, nor could they have set up such a perfect killing ground with so little time and planning. Howie might’ve fudged a few facts along the way, but most of what he said tracked well enough. Couldn’t have been as easy as he made it sound, and if he’d been a boot here with Tina, he would’ve earned top marks for sure. Then again, considering his issues with authority, chances were equally good that he’d earn so many demerits he’d still be marching them off a year after boot camp ended. Besides, it seemed like he was doing alright for himself out here, making friends and finding work and trouble both in spades.
Regardless of the facts though, it seemed like Howie was finally happy again, and still doing what he did best, so Tina was happy for him. All she could do now was hope for the best and stand ready to support him, no matter what may come.
So Happy Holidays to everyone, and a Happy New Years too. As always, thank you for reading, and I'll see you all next year!
