O.K. Corral

Prodded like an animal. He moved with his hands reaching for the sky. Whatever force came from the staff behind him was so arcane, or alien, that it rushed his pace in double-time.

“Get on with it.”

The chief slaver didn’t need a hint to grasp what Dave meant. He reached into his jacket and unlocked the subterranean level of the tavern. There in subdued light, a short hall with three cells stood. The one nearest them was obviously empty. The middle served as storage full of nothing but crates, apart from some items huddled in a corner—!

“My stuff!”

Eleanor instantly re-animated from her post-spell state and ran toward her goods. A simple but big leather sack, some assorted chests of its contents, and the crown jewel.

“Oh, Veilantiu, you’re in my arms again.”

She stroked and soothed the magic staff like a babe.

“Never leave me, alright?”

The chief grimaced, but held his fury as the blade in his back reminded him who’s boss. Dave paraded him to the end of the room, and Watermann kept their escape route clear. Inside the third and farthest cell, a girl slept with troubled dreams. Nothing more on her body that the clothes in which she kept memories of home. The earmarks on her hare-ears and clothes advertised her, and her brilliant white hair darkened, sullied by dirt. It was enough to make Dave vomit in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drive the pole into the criminal’s back until it came out his belly. His morality settled for a flesh wound.

“So this is your business,” Dave muttered.

“Come translate for me.”

Eleanor composed herself and returned to the lieutenant’s side. She translated her host’s words.

“Where are her parents?”

His question caused the slaver to grimace.

“The father is unaccounted for,” the mage-girl explained. “Her mother is dead. Killed in the raid.”

The chief whispered something under his breath. Eleanor caught it but kept her mouth shut. Dave observed her brow drop and indignation twist her mouth.

“What’d he say?”

“He said… he said she was a magnificent specimen. A high-seller—the mother.”

This—!

“Bastard!”

Dave kicked the chief slaver to the ground. The head honcho crawled on the ground as he reeled, clamoring to the wall only to turn back and see the bayonet pointed at his neck. His eyes stared down into the darkness of the barrel.

“Just give me one reason. One.”

He scrambled into his pockets and yanked out the cell keys.

“Bully for you.”

Opening the door under duress, the man trembled under the watchful gaze of the rifle. Unflinching and unbearable. The lock clicked, and the iron bars groaned under his movements. Eleanor shoved him out of the way and inspected the child for any injuries. Dave kept his sights firmly trained.

“No bruising… no gashes… visible undernourishment…”

“It’ll take some time to recuperate, but she should be fine in the end.”

But distant shouts drew their attention. Watermann burst through the door with his rifle fending off the crowd of rowdy people.

“Company, sir!”

The little girl stirred, and Eleanor comforted her as the roar of people grew louder and louder.

“Shh… it’s me—it’s me. Remember our promise?”

Her half-asleep state made it hard, but she nodded.

“Then let’s go.”

“Lieutenant! I can’t hold ‘em off any longer!”

Dave sneered.

“You’re really lucky.”

He turned around. The slaver tried something stupid. Maybe he thought the stranger slow. Or the man too open, and easy picking for his hidden blade.

BANG—and it came back as a 9-mil. His rifle hung as the pistol smoked, and the slaver dropped to the floor and drooled blood over himself. The girl in Eleanor’s arms woke up, disoriented and gripping onto her tunic like a chimp.

“Damn… damn! Come on!”

The girls followed close behind. Watermann desperately held the corridor with his bayonet as enemy backup poured through the front door and waded through the crowd, holding swords and clubs.

“Is this a shooting war?”

“Yes! Fire at will—but let’s get out of here!”

Dave desperately scanned the room and found the back exit. He tried the handle.

Locked.

He shoved his pistol into the thin padlock latch and blew it apart. Another roar came from the crowd as they dropped their act and squeezed through the exit like startled cattle. But the criminal guards kept coming, splitting into little groups as they advanced.

“Come on! Let’s go!”

The lieutenant burst through the door. Watermann hesitated as he screamed for the thugs to retreat.

“Get back! Get back!”

But the bandits didn’t obey, and he had to provide covering fire!

He shot one center mass, and the mercenary collapsed over himself. The others dove for cover as they realized all too late the nature of the threat. Overturned dining tables and impromptu shields came up as they hid away and waited for an opportunity.

“Watermann! Move up!”

Dave called from outside as he cut the horses in the stables free. He peeked onto the main street only to see a cartel of rogues and guards breaking up the crowd.

The private backed away and fired as another bandit tried to weave and dodge the invisible bolts. Watermann dodged plates and glassware, keeping them at bay with only the sound of powder and his blade at the helm. Eleanor followed Dave’s lead and mounted his horse, struggling to carry her staff and the girl in each arm.

Watermann spun on his heels but hit the door with his field pack as he racked the bolt on his rifle. Noise came from behind. He squeezed the trigger one more time as the deafening CRACK zipped into another guard’s neck. The free evening air bit his face. His leg swung over the saddle, gripping the howling beast that panicked and neighed, thrashing everywhere.

“Whoa girl! Easy! Easy!”

Horseshoes dug into the soft earth of the pen before galloping freely, clacking on the stones. Watermann followed the lieutenant out of the alley and into the streets as they leaped over the panicked gang of squabbling bandits and guards. He took out his revolver and called out.

“Keep going! Don’t stop for a second! I’ve got your back!”

Two riders followed behind, keeping pace as stunned onlookers evacuated and made way. Huffing like mad dogs under their bandannas, riding like the savages with the grace of western bandits. Powder stained Watermann’s fingers as he turned around and steadied his aim. Seeing the enemy go within his iron sights, standing on the tip of his post, he fired and lodged a bullet into the man’s sternum. He lurched and fell limp and careened with his horse into a closed merchant stall. Panic spread through the streets. The Devil had come.

Dave could see the wide city gates just within reach. But the guards closed formation and kept their halberds pointed. Classic anti-cavalry. They would capture or skewer them within the minute.

“Eleanor!”

“Got it!”

She hugged herself tightly against Dave’s back and kept the girl from falling. Gathering the last motes of energy her will could muster, the struggling mage raised her staff and began the abridged incantation.

“I plead to thee, O great Mystic! I call upon your forces from the sign of the waters above: Nerod!”

“Cerulean Cliffs!”

Again, circles appeared and danced over themselves before assembling into a directed funnel. Water simmered from the ground and rose to the rooftops. The guard captain tried to keep discipline, but everyone broke rank like a scrambling gang of cats. Eleanor yanked back the staff as she brought the speeding wave to a mere wash. Dave and Watermann galloped out of the city, free with soaked legs and sweat pouring down their faces.