Destiny's Call: The tales of a foreigner in a familiar land

by Zenith Starwalker

Chapter 31: Corollaries and Collusions

We crested the top of the barren hill that overlooked the Flim and Flam brothers’ base of operations in the Arcanian south… within skipping distance of Miss Cherry Jubilee’s ranch. It was larger than I was expecting, which made that hollow in my gut feel just a tad deeper. North Wind vented a steady stream of air through his nostrils after I had him gallop for the better part of a day after we had disembarked from the train at the cozy hamlet of Weeping Rock, not that removed to the south of Dodge Junction. With a ceasefire struck between Governor Mansion and Chief Thunderfeet, the Buffalo Braves were no longer mounting attacks on the rail lines or caravans, and commerce was free to commence in the region once more.

Many of the Appleloosans were skeptical of the proclamation, especially after a regrettable and uncomfortably familiar mishap threatening their town compounded with hearing about the unfortunate Blood Gulch incident with Wild Bull’s war party from the wagon train’s embittered survivors themselves, whose husbands’ shed lifeblood now gave the misnomer of a landmark its grisly title. But by and large, the Appleloosans suffered nothing near as tragic, so peace not only seemed likely, but a possible formal alliance could be in the cards. At least, once both sides have been given time to heal from the psychological scars. After all, alliances sealed through marriage were a common tradition in most medieval or otherwise primitive societies, and Chief Thunderfeet seemed nothing if not a staunch traditionalist himself. Heck, I wouldn’t even have to twist his arm for it since his recent and blissfully married daughter was doing it for me (Although thanks to an unexpected development, I could have if I wanted to).

I never did see that shaman with the uncanny insight again, and Chief Thunderfeet only had this annoying grin on his face when I inquired about him after the wedding. His excuse was something along the lines of ‘He does as he does’, which was a repetition, not an answer. During a closing diplomatic visit to the main village (which actually went by the name of Tatankama I discovered), I sniffed about for him, but picked up no trace of the mysterious and elusive shaman, and the leery locals were of little help in the issue. As greatly as I yearned to know the full details about my shadowy adversary, I would have to learn more of it the old fashioned way.

Despite the magical seal on Dichotomy’s hilt allowing her to listen in whenever she wanted to, I sent a letter to the Princess using that special bottle o’ Dragonflame that she gave me to keep her updated on all that had transpired, including the bloodshed that I had witnessed just before we reached Appleloosa and what happened subsequently. So far, she had been… uncharacteristically silent on the matter, which was as equally worrying as it was ominous. Celestia loved her subjects as if they were her own children, so it went without saying that their tragic deaths at the hands of the Buffalo Braves would wound her deeply.

“We finally made it, huh?” Applejack spoke up as she eased a panting Dusk Breeze beside us. The Night Wind lookalike was as swift as his ancestor, but his long haul stamina could have done with some work.

“So it seems” I tentatively confirmed, scrutinizing the grounds for lookouts or sentries and seeing none, “I must’ve done an excellent job of ensuring that no one rode back to deliver the memo about the mine’s shutdown. The lights are on, but there’s barely anyone here to give us a warm welcome” Or so that seemed as well.

Applejack became a bit queasy at the callback to the past, “Promise me ya won’t do what ya did when we rode into Cragrock Canyon, please?”

I didn’t appreciate the gentle accusation, “I had to be the scout. There could have been an ambush waiting for us for crying out loud!” I frowned at her, “And if it wasn’t for my reflexes and impeccable aim, I doubt our pals would have been in such good shape right now… with one exception” The Magnum resting on my hip worked as advertised, putting a large number of men in the grave in the short time I’ve been pulling its trigger.

She winced, “Ah know, ah know. But please make an effort to resolve things peacefully. This ruthless bounty hunter image of yers you’ve been furtherin’ hasn’t done us any favors”

“It’s gotten us here, hasn’t it?” I reasoned to her in return.

“A lotta blood had to be spilled to get us here, Zenith” She reminded me bitterly, “Might don’t make right”

I scoffed, “If that was true in this case, then your cousin in law would still be in those mines… and sooner or later she would’ve been the next to be fed into the gr-”

“Don’t remind me!” She shouted, turning a shade of green, “Oh sweet Celestia, don’t remind me…” She had kept an admirable grip on her emotions after seeing so much death occur during the wagon train massacre (she told me that she cried on the inside), but what we saw in the mine was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

‘Where are they?’ I pondered, scanning the panoramic view of our surroundings, ‘Plan B depends on their presence’

My jaw set firmly, “Celestia isn’t here. I am” I wasn’t in the mood for her mewling about my methods, unsavory as they were, “Just keep your weapons ready to be drawn. Flim is likely going to be suspicious when he sees us back here, particularly myself” Applejack reluctantly looked to her space enchanted saddlebags, where the hilt of her sword and the stock of her blunderbuss were poking out.

I nudged my heels into North Wind’s barrel and urged him to canter the declining slope of the dry grass hill. All the while remembering why I was here, and why there was going to be hell to pay once I had a chat with Mister Flim about his business practices.

⁂

“That’s all of ‘em” Smoky Joe wheezed as he shoved the shovel spade down into the sunbaked earth. Behind him were the mounds of dirt where the bodies of his former comrades would rest for eternity, “Some of them Bastards were heavier than they looked” He remarked through his weariness.

The defeated outlaw was covered in sweat from the combined exertion of having to dig the graves, drag his deceased friends into them, and then cover the holes again. I had my revolver trained on him the entire duration, monitoring him like a hawk as I kept the unconscious Braeburn company. Even if he had the chutzpah to run, which was incredibly unlikely now as he was exhausted, he wouldn’t have made it too deep into the wastes before either my bullet or maddening, unquenchable thirst found him first. The sun was at its strongest, and Smoky Joe was already dehydrated by now, as evidenced by the rapidly drying beads of sweat on his ugly bulldog’s face. He was at my mercy, and he knew it.

“You don’t seem all that saddened by their untimely passing” I observed.

He snorted, cracking a yellow smile at me, “I hated half of ‘em and most of ‘em hated me for bein’ appointed as the big boss. If left to our own devices, we’d have shot each other up eventually over a payment dispute or some other nonsense. Guess you jus’ beat us to the punch with that fancy pistol o’ yers” He tried pointing at my gun with his dominant appendage, but the red ruins of the shoddily wrapped hand caused him to wince and cease the motion.

“Typical bandits” I muttered under my breath, “Not a shred of honor amongst them”

I brought a couple of fingers to my mouth and emitted a shrill wolf whistle. Our steeds heard the call and detached from the hitching posts easily due to the loosened knots we used. North Wind and Dusk Breeze trotted towards us before halting, the curt, rhythmic clip-clop of their steel shod hooves deadened and died away with the faint dust cloud they kicked up. They gave the foul smelling Smoky a wide berth, likely seeing that the beaten man still represented a threat.

“Some magnificent stallions ya got there” Smoky stated, eyeing the two of them almost lustily, “Had things went the other way, I reckon I’d claim that biggun right there for mah own”

“But they didn’t? Did they?” I retorted bitingly, before standing up and creeping behind the distracted Smoky, “Enjoy your nap”

He started to twist his head, “Wha- OORK!”

I roughly conked him on the back of his noggin with the butt of my pistol, coldcocking him. He fell to the dirt with a pained moan and keeled over like a sack of lard, his hat dislodging from its former position and spinning away from him. I picked it up and dusted it off before fitting it back onto the outlaw’s cranium. The man may have been trying to kill my companion and I not thirty minutes in the past, but he retained his hat wearing privileges regardless. I spent a minute searching his mind for the whereabouts of the kidnapped Buffalo Braves, but the only information I could extract from him were of a series of images depicting mine tunnels at the bottom of some dried out canyon.

Unwanted pictures searing their way into my skull were of the cruelty of the men directing the scared natives to dig… or die. Those whose will had not been broken were shredded to bloody tatters with dozens of lashes from the whip. I almost cried out as I saw the bruised bodies of mistreated children being dragged away from their sobbing mothers, their masters laughing at their misery. The images gradually shifted and the sorrow of the kidnapped natives became dulled and the tears stopped trailing down faces, as though these hapless natives had resigned themselves to their unjust fate. I had to retrieve them posthaste, before there was no one left to retrieve.

After seeing the final image of Strongheart being confined in darkness, I ejected myself from Smoky’s mind, having to count to ten to avoid taking my righteous anger out on him then and there. He was only responsible for some of the culling parties they had organized, but he was condemning these people to what essentially amounted to slave labor. And for what? To put bits in his pocket that he wind up blowing on cheap booze and other vices? Putting a bullet in him right then would have been far less than what he deserved. No, I had something else in mind for the likes of him.

I scavenged around for some rope before going about collecting all of the dropped firearms in the bullet riddled town. It would not do to leave them behind for anyone… less than trustworthy to find. Officially, I was confiscating the discarded firearms in the name of the Crown. Unofficially, I had a need to examine them to determine who manufactured them (the engraved initials V.D.G.I were present on the vast majority of these guns, though I would have to research this in greater depth later) and how well they were constructed. The rifles were crude, somewhere between an arquebus and a musket in design and function. Each weapon was handmade, and so the parts were not interchangeable and therefore not easily mass produced. This was a relief, as the proliferation of firearms in this world, or any world for that matter, was not to be taken lightly.

I had kept the pistol that I had appropriated in Tatankama, but it was too worn down by age and usage to make out any engravings (Other than the crude notches doubtlessly commemorating a kill that the original owner wielding it achieved), so these other guns were a blessing in more ways than one. There was a fair bit of ammo scattered about in prefabricated ammo containers by the foot of the windows, which consisted of paper cartridges housing both the gunpowder propellant and the spherical projectile. The paper would disintegrate when the flint striking the steel ignited the gunpowder, though it would require careful maintenance to prevent the barrel from fouling up after repeated use. From the piss poor state of these guns, the outlaws hadn’t learnt that lesson, which was a critical reason why they were so inaccurate during our showdown. Whatever I couldn’t carry in my arms, I used a telekinetic spell to lift the rest. I wouldn’t leave any evidence of what happened here other than what rested in the graves.

In particular I studied the puckle gun that the outlaws had hauled out to this town in order to ensure that this gunfight went in their favor. I’ll admit, if it weren’t for the chaotic feature of my Magnum allowing me to bounce a shot off of a dusty tin lamp covering, Braeburn and I would have been in deep trouble. The mechanism for the puckle gun was the nearest relative to the gun resting in my holster. It utilized a rotating twenty round drum cylinder that was turned using a hand crank. The flint striker would ignite the charge in the chamber before cycling with the next crank, and it was mounted on a folding tripod for easy portability. Next to the ancient predecessor of the modern machine gun was a pile of attachable multishot chambers, several of which had been expended attempting to put new breathing holes in my person. The individual round balls that were fired from its elongated barrel weren’t of an especially damaging caliber or hardened material, but would have stung like the dickens to be hit with none the less.

As the puckle gun rip-off was too clunky to take back with me, I torched it with an encapsulating incineration spell and watched as the metal components were melted into glowing slag. The wooden floor could have caught fire from the molten metal, so I had tossed it outside before destroying it. As it burned, I cast one last look to the ruins of the town around me, wondering what it must have been like in its heyday. Tumbledown Tree couldn’t have been a ghost town for terribly long, as the state of decay wasn’t to the point where the wallpaper was being stripped from the walls from sandy winds. I could only speculate as to why this town was deserted. The main settlement of Appleloosa wasn’t far removed from this desolate place, and that town had direct access to the rail lines, which was probably the answer itself. I knew first hand that wagon trains (no matter how dedicated their owners and teamsters were) moved at a snail’s pace when compared to the indefatigable iron horse.

With my cargo in tow, I trudged towards our horses silently. Dusk Breeze nickered at me, which I interpreted as ‘About time’ in horse speak. I shook my head and slid half the wrapped bundles of rifles and pistols between his saddlebags. The other half I burdened North Wind with, before putting the unconscious Smoky into the saddle slumped forward, with his hands bound behind his back.

“You remember the way to the main native village, don’t you pal?” I asked of him, rubbing his muzzle reassuringly. I was gradually establishing a relationship with him that I once shared with his ancestor, though it wasn’t quite there yet. Perhaps we needed to be put through half a dozen dangerous situations or so, not that I actively sought them out… most of the time.

He answered in the affirmative, bobbing his head twice. It never ceased to amaze me how responsive animals were to people in this world. It almost made me want to become a vegan… almost.

“Excellent. You’re going to deliver both the man and these guns to the natives at Tatankama. If you can, find the Chieftain and bring this stuff directly to him alone” I added, still wary of Wild Bull sympathizers.

I rifled through the contents of North Wind’s saddlebags and scrawled on a sheet of sticky notepaper explaining that these firearms were gifts of goodwill for the Braves to defend themselves with, though I could foresee only the Chief’s bodyguard receiving them. I affixed it to the insensate outlaw’s forehead as a last insult for endeavoring to aerate me earlier.

It wasn’t much, but I figured that it would be a start. Luckily, the Buffalo Braves shared a similar writing system, despite not having a common language, perchance because the people of this world were once one. It was sort of like how Spanish and French were mostly distinct in vocal sounds, but were both derived from Latin. Strongheart told me during the grueling journey to Appleloosa that her father was perfectly literate (otherwise communicating with the other villages would be tedious and rather inefficient), though he did not retain any books for her to read like the kind she browsed at Jubilee’s ranch. After instructing my massive steed to come straight back to Appleloosa once he was done with the task I assigned to him, I then gave North Wind a slap on his hindquarters to get him going, wishing the outlaw hell. The moment he was gone, I set all of the former outlaws’ horses free, save for one spirited mare that I would need to make the return trip to town with Applejack’s wounded cousin. I laid the unconscious Braeburn (who was mumbling about his beloved in his fitful sleep) onto Dusk Breeze’s back before mounting the mare and closely leading the Stallion back by the reins.

The Appleloosans stopped whatever they were doing to gawk at us as we galloped into the outskirts of town. The chances of our return must’ve been underestimated, because the expressions of disbelief were everywhere. Our first stop once we were back was the doctor’s clinic. I carried my companion bridal style through the door. The man refilling a syringe from a bottle nearly dropped it in surprise at the abruptness of our entry, but recovered fast when he saw that we were in need of his services. He showed me to a sterilized table for me to lay my disabled companion on. The doctor then washed his hands, put on his stethoscope, and went to work appraising the severity of his townsman’s injury.

“Folks ‘round town have been whispering about you two” The doctor (whose name was Needles, oddly enough) conversed with me as he analyzed the seriousness of Braeburn’s injury, “Many of them counted the two of you out once they heard how an infamous and ornery outlaw gang challenged you up front. I take it… you fared better than they expected”

“That gang won’t be bothering anybody anymore” I said with a faint air of satisfaction before gesturing to Braeburn, “How is he? I managed to excise the bullet that struck him, but the fragmentation of his ulna and the wooden shrapnel embedded into his flesh I could not rectify” Not without risking his wound becoming septic.

He adjusted the spectacles on his nose, “I’ll have to perform surgery immediately to correct that, but I suspect that he’ll live a long and happy life as a treasured member of this here community. I’ve had plenty of experience with gunshot wounds, what with all the hubbub from those gun toting outlaws lately” He stifled a chuckle, “Lucky for him he’s already under. I’ve run out of ether anesthetic after that wagon train brought us all of their wounded” He shook his head lugubriously, “A great tragedy that was. They were fortunate my colleagues and I were able to save a few of them. Though I do wonder how they were able to escape the savages’ clutches without further harassment”

“Let’s just say they had a guardian angel watching over them” I sarcastically opined, “How many survivors from the wagon train made it?”

He scratched his head as he reckoned the number, “All in all, I’d estimate a lil’ over forty people survived what folks are deemin’ the Blood Gulch Massacre. Most of the survivors are widows now. The rest we stitched up as we could for the funerals and buried them in the local cemetery with our prayers attached. No more than ten minutes had passed when the lot of ‘em went to petition the governor to retaliate on their behalf, hungry for vengeance. Who can blame ‘em? To lose loved ones in such a horrific bloodbath” His eyebrows hitched, “Hell, even I would be mad… and ah swore an oath to do no harm”

“The Braves who attacked us paid for that massacre in gallons of their own blood” I informed him, recalling the murky, adrenaline fueled frenzy of that night. I’d never admit this to anyone aloud, but it was the most invigorating fight I’ve partaken in since annihilating the garrison stationed in the Acolytes’ hidden fortress in the swamp. I was beginning to relish the opportunity to kill, and that bothered me.

His eyes widened, “You… you were there? My word. How is it that you survived that fracas?”

“It was a kill or be killed situation” I shrugged, “There was no rhyme or reason to it. You either fended for yourself, or found a Brave’s hatchet biting into your neck. I fought my way to the esteemed leader of their war party and subdued him in single combat. I threatened to renovate the content of his skull with a weapon they feared in order to get them to back off. They must’ve known that my retribution would have been swift and terrible, because they did not test my patience” I left out the part where their Chieftain’s daughter was among our number, as he did not need to know that.

“You sir have my respect then for standing against those mindless monsters and stopping them” He commended me, “I shudder to think what atrocities could have happened if they had reached the defenseless women”

“They would have killed them, or worse” I hypothesized for him, “And they aren’t monsters. Just… misunderstood by the settlers, and angry about what they perceive has been wrongfully done to them by us. They think us responsible for the recent string of kidnappings of their people, and were lashing out”

He scowled at my sympathetic point of view, “Easy for you to say. Doesn’t seem like you lost anyone you loved that night”

“That might be true, otherwise no one attacking us would have survived my fury” I conceded, “However, the path of peace is a just cause, and as an Agent of their Royal Majesties, I must do whatever I can to serve that noble purpose” I spun in place, scooping out some bits from my munny pouch and tossing them onto his desk, “For your services” I elucidated, leaving Braeburn in capable hands.

“Where are you going?” The nosy doctor pried into my personal affairs.

“To finish what those outlaws started” I replied over my back, heading towards the sheriff’s.

There were some younger people who tried prying into what precisely occurred at the town of Tumbledown along the way, and I relayed to them an anecdote about not crossing a man wearing a big iron on his hip. They each got that childlike sparkle in their eye that told me that there would be folk songs sung about the butchery of outlaws who were so stupid that they threatened a Royal Agent. I cared not for glory, but wouldn’t do anything to discourage their hero worship either. There were masses of Arcanian citizens who believed wholeheartedly in their Majesties’ government, and that admiration was likewise shown to extensions of that government. Folks needed heroes to inspire them, though they should be wary of placing them on a pedestal like Twilight habitually did with Celestia. I believed in Princess Celestia with all my heart… but I knew and made peace with the fact that she was no saint.

I entered the lawmen’s building to discover the fools playing poker of all things. Sheriff Silverstar was chomping on a cigar and looking mightily pleased with the pile of bits he was accumulating, while Clinky Keys and Lone Star were perfecting the art of the fail when it came to hiding their facial expression.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important” I deadpanned, less than pleased with these lazy lawmen sitting on their butts being anything other than useful.

“Agent…” Silverstar’s eyebrows rose, “Yer alive”

“No thanks to the selfless devotion of you and your courageous lawmen” I rejoined disparagingly, before lightening up a pinch, “I come bearing gifts, though if you accept them, you must abide by their stipulations”

“What gifts?” Lone Star asked, looking up from his cards in curiosity.

“These” With a magical flourish, I levitated a bundle consisting of two carbine length rifles (sans the rifling), a blunderbuss, and several pistols inside (Since they were single shot usage only, each of the outlaws typically had multiple sidearms on them in case of emergencies, not that it availed them when they challenged this gunslinger).

I deposited them on an empty table for their viewing pleasure. I wished I had a camera to immortalize the stunned expressions on their faces as they beheld this ballistic bounty, but I supposed that my memory would have to suffice. I did feel somewhat like an arms dealer for doing this, but these lawmen would have desperate need of these implements of long range death if they were going to help me.

“H-h-how?” The orange whiskered Clinky Keys stuttered in disbelief, “H-how did you prevail? Anyone who’s squared off against Smoky Joe and his band of brigands winds up six feet under!”

“Through sheer grit” I one-linered, “As well as this” I unholstered my favored Dee-Dee and casually twirled it once in front of me like a true gunfighter. The trigger pull pressure required was sufficient enough that I could spin it as much as I wanted without it going off on me.

“Are all Agents of the Crown so well equipped?” The stern faced Sheriff inquired, suddenly injecting some respect into his tone, “I’ve been sending in requests for more of these fancy firearms for a while now”

“To my knowledge, there is no facility in all of Arcania that manufactures anything remotely approaching firearms (‘Yet’), so there’s no way their Majesties’ Government can supply you with something they cannot produce in bulk. I had the fortune to be owed a favor from someone very powerful to get my hands on this” I holstered Dee-Dee, “So you’ll have to make do with these” I gestured to the antique firearms.

Lone Star was suspicious, “How much do ya want for ‘em?”

Cue the humble headshake, “No charge. Just the assurance that you’ll have my back when I go after those bastards and shut them down for good”

“An’ how do you plan on accomplishin’ that?” The Sheriff laid his cards on the table, and I saw the other two curse themselves for not calling his bluff, “These outlaws are like phantoms. They materialize out of nowhere at random, wreak general havoc, and then disappear into the wastes. I’ve written to the other towns’ Sheriffs, but they haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em either”

“I hedged my bets beforehand” I told him, leaning onto the wall next to a whole bunch of wanted posters, “I’ve learned from a reliable source that they operate out of a canyon. Its location I do not know for certain, but that’s where the second part of my plan comes into play. Tell me, are any of you familiar with a man going by the name of Crooked Cards?”

Clinky Keys raised his hand, as if he were a student vying for the teacher’s attention, “Oh. I am! I am!”

“By all means, continue” I motioned for him to demonstrate what he knew. The others directed their stares to him, interested by this.

He twiddled his thumbs, suddenly nervous at having the metaphorical spotlight shined on him, “Well I-… y’all know that I occasionally make spare bits by pumpin’ out tunes at the local establishments when their usual man is out or otherwise indisposed. I know this man from the Salt Lick Saloon. He called me over to play a few games of cards with him a week or so back”

Clinky frowned, “He was constantly winnin’… even when I was sure I had the superior hand. Lost a few dozen bits in the course of half an hour”

“That’s because the man is a bonafide cheat” I enlightened him, “I lost a hundred bits worth of coin to him myself last night” I had revisited the establishment, wanting to get a read on this informant with so much blood indirectly on his hands. The man had this funny gleam in his eye when we talked, like he was speaking to a dead man walking. I guess he didn’t know that people who shared his views had a bad track record of meeting with a terrible fate.

“I analyzed his strategy thoroughly, imbibing in a few drinks to complete my deception of being a tad tipsy while we betted” I rubbed at my wrists emphatically, “He expertly steals cards from the deck when it’s his turn to do the dealing, storing it in his sleeves for when he needs an edge. It doesn’t always guarantee him a win, but somehow he psyches his opponents with the stronger hands into folding… and then mops up with the remnants. It’s a slow way to win a lot of bits, but it’s been working wonderfully for him” Until now… that is.

“Dastardly. Sounds like you’re just another of his victims” Silverstar chuckled, an aspiring card shark himself, “But what does all of this have to do with findin’ the base of those infernal scumbags?”

“Because his winnings from my purse were… tampered with” I grinned shrewdly, “I didn’t bring up this guy’s name to complain about his shady gambling methods. This man who has been operating under your collective noses is the reason why your town is in contention with the Buffalo Braves at this juncture”

Sheriff Silverstar looked to deputy Lone Star, “Get your brother. I have a feelin’ he’s gonna want to hear about this”

“On it, Sheriff!” The deputy chirped as he hopped out of his seat, eager to please his mentor. The Sheriff rolled three of his fingers at me in a ‘go on’ fashion.

“I should elucidate that my source is derived from an elite Buffalo Brave warrior who is looked up to in his society, and is thought to be Chief Thunderfeet’s successor for leadership of the tribe” I scoffed derisively, “The brute of a man was the picture of impatience though, wanting it sooner rather than later. I am not sure how these regular meetings with Crooked Cards came about, but the Brave, named Wild Bull, began disclosing sensitive information about the movement patterns of the myriad subsections of the Buffalo Brave tribe roaming about the plains with their namesake herds of buffalo”

I was austere as I delved into his duplicity, “He left nothing to imagination. He told this man the relative manpower guarding each individual village, when their sentries were most alert, and therefore when the women and children would be most vulnerable to abduction”

“He sold out his own people?” Silverstar was confused, “Why in tarnation would he do that?”

“Simple” I replied, “It was an orchestrated power grab. Crooked Cards would relay this information to the gangs, who would conduct their kidnapping missions and spirit away as many women and children as they could…”

‘To have them toil themselves down to the bone, and then keep working them past that limit until they drop?’ I mentally growled. I was not okay with slavery, especially when it was so brutally done to women and children.

“By doing this, mistrust and strife would be sown between the settlers and the natives” I resumed speaking, “The Braves would be up in arms, and Wild Bull would have a chance to prove his worth in combat by collecting settler scalps, thus further solidifying his position as future Chieftain” The outlaws must’ve reneged on their end of the bargain though, because they assailed the main village, and they were killing every able bodied man who came to its defense. More fool him for dealing with the devil.

“Despicable” Clinky Keys commented, averse to the man’s double dealing.

“He’s the bigger threat, if’n ya ask me” The sheriff input his opinion, “He’s been the one organizin’ these raids on our towns. We’ve had to waste valuable water puttin’ out the fires he’s been ignitin’ our orchards with. Not to mention he all but slaughtered an entire wagon column!”

“Wild Bull is no longer a threat to anyone” I assured him in a calm voice, “I made sure of that”

Would killing the arrogant man like I initially vowed I would have been a mercy compared to a magically induced sleep from which there would be no waking up? Not for the last time, I questioned what kind of person I was becoming by the day. But regardless of that internal dilemma, my hands were not stained with his lifeblood.

The Sheriff looked like he wanted to protest, but something in my gaze unnerved him, and he was silent. It was then that the black and gray haired Lone Star returned to us with his brother trailing behind him. He was a slim youth, only a year or so younger than I was by my estimates. He had two toned teal and platinum blonde hair, hairless facial features, striking purple irises, and a pistol holstered on his hip, which marked him as Shooting Star. With how similar their names were, the fact that Silverstar had a pair of siblings under his thumb to uphold the law wasn’t that surprising in hindsight. I couldn’t get a complete gander at it from here, but it was a design unlike the primitive flintlocks that Clinky was inspecting with tangible interest. I had loaded none of them as a prudent precaution, in case anyone in this building was that one moron who stares down the barrel with their finger on the trigger.

“What’s the idear?” Shooting Star demanded to know, “I was jus’ about to win a game of horseshoes with Mister Far Lane”

“Yer gonna want to listen in on this one, lil’ brother” Lone Star advised his sibling, “We might be close to catchin’ those highwaymen who’ve been stirrin’ up extra trouble fer us” He looked to me to fill him in on the situation. I did so with a sigh, almost praying that the Sheriff didn’t have any other men he forgot to deputize.

“So we got sum’ real firepower now, huh?” Shooting Star said with a ‘Not bad’ expression, “Shucks! It’s about dang time! Ah was worried I would be the only man in town who could do anythin’ about the recent onset of our outlaw problem”

“How did you come by that?” I gestured to the iron at his side.

“Oh this?” He unholstered it and glanced as it with pride, “I made it”

The design of his pistol had some sort of flip cocking action, with a ring for the middle finger below the trigger. It reminded me heavily of a Volcanic Repeating Arms pistol. The only difference being that the handle was metallic, instead of wooden, and it wasn’t quite as elegant. Underneath the barrel was another chamber that conceivably contained the ammunition.

“You made it?” I parroted, moderately astonished.

“Unh huh!” He nodded enthusiastically, “I once attended an expo in Steelhatten about a few years ago. The Gryphondrian purveyors showcased these ranged weapons for target shootin’ and huntin’. I thought they were so neat! They practically made crossbows obsolete, if it weren’t for all the mechanical issues an’ limitations dragging them down. So I used mah skills as a part time machinist to attempt to replicate what they created. The propellant powder was harder to come by, but I got mah hands on some eventually. It only took me three and a dozen mistrials to get the prototype right! Made losin’ my eyebrows worth it!”

“Then I realized sumthin’ that shoulda been obvious to begin with” He monologued, “What if there was a way to increase the firearm’s viability by reducin’ the frequency that you’d have to reload before the next shot? That line of thought had me developin’ a new system for the gun, overhaulin’ the old one while tossing out a few flaws. By puttin’ a separate chamber under the barrel and loadin’ self contained bullets and their accompanyin’ charges, I could triple and even quadruple the number of shots I could take! This lever right here,” He demonstrated by wiggling it, “cycles in the next bullet capsule. There’s a spring in the bottom chamber that pushes the one behind that one forward so it doesn’t require manual adjustments”

“Color me impressed” I dabbed a finger at him, “You’re brighter than the average light bulb, aren’t you?”

Lone Star chuckled proudly, “That’s mah kid brother. Ever the inventive one”

‘This kid has some potential in him. Mayhaps I should keep an eye on him for future reference’ I remarked, bookmarking this lad’s name in my head. He could come in handy in Concordia with the Crown’s top secret development projects. Assuming he was willing to lend his talents, of course.

“The question stands” The Sheriff gesticulated to me, “How do ya plan on makin’ this Crooked Cards talk?”

Nailed behind me on the wall I was leaning on were the sketched faces of the majority of Smoky’s gang, each of whom glared back at us in a manner that would have been menacing had they not already been dead. Still, there were plenty of men posted on there that I had not bagged yet. Each of the sketches was in black and white, and crudely drawn, though the overall likeness was captured.

“I don’t intend to have him say anything. I plan on having him run for his life” I scratched at my chin, getting an idea to speed things along, “Do you have a blank wanted poster I can see for a moment?”

Clinky Keys obliged me, pulling out a drawer from a nearby desk and extracting a fresh sheet of yellowish wanted poster. He handed that to me together with a feather quill dipped in ink. I frowned at how late these settlers were to modernize their writing implements, but it would have to do for now. With a minor spell guiding my hand, I drew in Crooked Card’s face purely from memory. Unlike the other sketches, this one was accurate to the point where all it lacked was coloring. I imprinted a bold and italicized ‘Dead or Alive’ below his portrait along with a generous five hundred bit bounty. His crimes were simple, aiding and abetting outlaw activities, cheating at cards, and other unlawful acts that he may or may not have committed.

Watching me put a bounty on this man’s head reminded the Sheriff of something, “If you took down Smoky Joe’s gang, I reckon you’ll want to collect on their bounties”

“Keep the coins” I told him, “I have no need of supplemental bits and I don’t exactly have physical evidence of their deaths other than their graves at Tumbledown Tree”

“That is mighty munificent of ya! Thank yah, Agent” The Sheriff extolled me, though it was misplaced in my opinion. My emulation of Rarity’s notable quality was perfunctory at best. It’s easy to be generous when you’re already rolling in the figurative dough.

“You can thank me when we either put the rest of these outlaws behind bars, or deep six them” I picked up a blunderbuss and tossed it to the Sheriff, “You’ll want a crash course of these before we head on out. Shooting Star” He stood to attention at my cueing, “Think you can educate your fellow lawmen in the usage of Gryphondrian firearms?”

He grinned, as if it were trivial, “These are the older powder and shot models… they’re real simple to get the hang of. We’ll have to train at my mothers’ place at the edge of town though. The gunfire might spook the townspeople otherwise”

“Hold up” The Sheriff interrupted, “What about Crooked Cards? How do you plan on trackin’ him?”

I reached into my duster and produced a compass that I had purchased at one of the general stores in town, “I’ve enchanted this compass to point me towards the object I’ve keyed it with, which happens to be the coin I lost at the gambling table. Knowing how greedy Crooked Cards is, he’ll have my tampered money on his person when he leaves town”

He was supposed to have been gone by this morning. But circumstances must have changed, because the compass notified me that he was lingering here. The outlaws’ challenge must have enticed him to stay and exchange words with them after they had dealt with us. He ought to piss himself once he sees me again, alive and not pumped full of lead.

The Sheriff snorted, “I’ll never understand you magic casters, but if that enchanted compass of yers leads us to where we need ta go, then I will trust yer judgment. But,” He held up a finger in a sign of condition, “these men are under my command. I don’ want mah authority subverted in front of ‘em. They test mah patience as it is”

This was acceptable, “That’s fine. I’m looking forward to seeing how well you lead them once the lead starts flying left and right. Once you and your men are ready, meet me by the clock tower building by the outskirts of town, but don’t take too long, or I’ll hog all the glory to myself”

The Sheriff looked unsure of himself for a scant few seconds before Shooting Star piped up, “C’mon y’all! Lemme show ya how to bullseye skeets!”

I let the ink dry on the newly minted wanted poster before rolling it up and stowing it away in the manifold pockets of my duster. Sheriff Silverstar and his men collected their weapons, filed out of the office slash town jail, and mounted their steeds to relocate out of town to where Shooting Star would give them a crash course on firearms. I saddled up on Dusk Breeze and made for the Salt Lick to enact the first phase of my plan for freeing Strongheart and her people from the bonds of slavery. What I wasn’t counting on was a furious looking Applejack intercepting me halfway there.

“Zenith!” She shouted at me from the back of a palfrey mare with a palomino coat, “Where is mah cousin!?”

“Recovering in Doctor Needle’s clinic” I answered her, not stopping our trotting pace.

She stuttered out a barely coherent response before violently clearing her head with a shake, “How bad is he hurt?”

“He’ll live, I promise you” I averred, “Though his left arm will probably be out of commission for a while” He wouldn’t be tending his tiny apple orchard anytime soon. Strongheart’s orchard on the other hand…

Her anger lessened, but did not wholly subside, “So ya won out against those outlaws then?”

“Our adversaries underestimated us” Though they had mostly done so with me, “Braeburn fought valiantly for his lady love, but that did not shield him from Smoky Joe’s pistol-shot. He was fortunate that his crossbow ate most of the round’s kinetic energy, or his injury could have been gorier than it was” His thick Agrarian skin served him in lessening the damage, though I wouldn’t go so far as to qualify Agrarians as being bullet resistant, as Dee-Dee verified for me in Tumbledown.

Applejack’s face became a shade of nauseous green for a second as I elaborated on her cousin’s wounding, “I shoulda been there with you two. Maybe mah cousin wouldn’t have gotten hurt”

“What could you have done? Browbeat the enemy into surrendering to us? Braeburn charged headlong into the enemy with no thoughts for its tactical worth, or his own health” I gave her a reproachful stare, “You would have tried to stop him and presented yourself as another target for them to pick off. If you had been killed, the Elements would have been rendered inert, and Arcania would lose its greatest shield and asset” Their survival was paramount to the survival of this country… mayhaps the whole world.

“Don’t give me that spiel!” Applejack retorted angrily, “An’ don’t pretend like ah’m some helpless damsel. I can pull mah own weight in a fight!”

“And yet you don’t at the same time” I riposted, “How many Braves did you slay that night as they ambushed us?” And how many died because you didn’t? I wanted to grill her, but refrained from doing so. Applejack wasn’t a stone cold killer… not like I was, and I had to remind myself of that oh so frequently.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anythin’” She deflected with a frown, oblivious to the mercury settling in the murky depths of my heart.

“No excuses” I chided her, repressing my broody sentiments, “Tell me”

“I clobbered a dozen or so with the flat of mah blade” She answered after some hesitation, “But I couldn’t kill ‘em. It jus’ wouldn’t have been right”

“They were slaughtering anyone they could get their hands on in that wagon train” I narrowed my eyes, “Just how much of that could be considered right? If I hadn’t subdued their leader and threatened his life, there wouldn’t be as many survivors as there were” I didn’t operate by whatever thickheaded logic Applejack went by, but my methods prevented further bloodshed on both sides.

She couldn’t meet my eyes, “I can’t go against mah morals, Zenith” Her voice was weak, struggling with her principles in the face of straining scrutiny.

I lifted an eyebrow, “Can’t? Or won’t?”

Her jaw set staunchly as her emerald eyes bore into mine, “Both”

I exhaled in exasperation before flicking the reins and clicking my tongue to urge Dusk Breeze to go faster, “That attitude is going to make you a liability if you choose to follow me”

She mirrored our briskness, indignant at my implication, “So ah’m a liability to ya now, hmm?”

“Applejack. How far are you willing to go in order to save those in distress?” I replied with a question in turn, “Even if you personally did not foster favorable impressions of them?”

“Ah’d do whatever it took. Mah personal misgivin’s be damned” She declared resolutely.

I was yet to be convinced, “We’ll see about that”

She adjusted her hat to block out the afternoon sun, “What are ya plannin’ to do anyhow?”

I made sure that no one was within eavesdropping distance before speaking, “I’m going to rescue Braeburn’s beloved, and set her kidnapped people free in the process if I can manage it”

“How? We don’t even know where those durned outlaws spirited her away to!” She expressed her doubts.

“We will soon” I allowed a tiny smirk to form on my face as we came upon the Salt Lick Saloon.

Nothing about the building had changed since last I saw of it. Afternoon business was high, and there was hardly any space at the hitching posts for us to tie up our horses. Lively piano music emanated from the interior from the usual upright style instrument, along with singing that fitted the dulcet tones of a southern belle with talent undiscovered by the world at large. I motioned for Applejack to fall in line behind me as we made our entrance. Our ingress went mostly ignored by the usual customers of the joint, though the barkeep took notice of me quickly and nodded his acknowledgement. On stage was a woman in nineteenth century dress with a group of male and female admirers crowded around her listening to her velvet voice in various states of awe. I returned the barkeep’s friendly gesture absently as I checked my enchanted compass. It pointed me upstairs where the guestrooms were rented out to inconspicuous men like Crooked Cards were hole’d up. We climbed those stairs and emerged into a hallway lined with doorways. The thin floorboards didn’t do a good job of blocking out the clamor from below, and I could just about make out the lyrics of the old timey song that was being played. I removed the noisy spurs on my boots to be safe anyhow.

“What are we doin’ here?” Applejack whispered to me, though I shushed her with a finger and a hiss or air through my teeth.

I ambled down the hallway until the red needle of the compass made a sharp reorientation towards one of the doors. I leaned against it while placing my ear to the wood. My hearing could discern splashing, along with the girlish giggling of two women that was succeeded by the lecherous laughter of a man who had to be Crooked Cards. I wordlessly commanded Applejack to step back a few paces while I pulled out the wanted poster and flattened it. I knocked twice on the door before slipping the wanted poster under the slit so the room’s most important occupant could read it. Afterwards I stepped adjacent to the doorway so I was beside it and next to Applejack before I unholstered my pistol. The giggles ceased and I could hear the sloshing of water as someone got up to change into some clothes and inspect the source of the disturbance. It wasn’t a protracted wait before we heard a muffled curse and some scrambling noises before a hole was promptly blasted in the doorway where I had been standing not five seconds ago. Applejack yelped and backpedaled subconsciously, stumbling clumsily over herself onto the floor. I had to suppress my gentlemanly urges to help her up as I focused on my current objective.

I used magic to force the lock apart before kicking the door down. There were two women (who were alarmingly underdressed for the amount of makeup they were sporting) bathing inside a sizable round tub who shrieked as a barely clad and wet Crooked Cards hastily snatched at his things and smashed through the window of his room in his mad effort to escape me. I ran up to the window to observe the soaked, self defenestrated informant tumbling down the shingles of the slanted roof, landing ungraciously on the ground with an ‘Oomph!’. He had on nothing but a blue shirt and his undergarments, and was about to flee on one of the horses. I idly envisioned what I would do if I wanted to capture him now as he clambered up one of the surprised equines. If I had them, I would have utilized a bigger version of the bolas throwing implement to trip his horse and send him falling into the dusty ground onto his face, though I did not. To further the deception, I made a show of aiming my gun at him (Which somehow scared the crap out of him, as he let out a humorously womanish squeal as he shrank into his seat). He had a pair of saddlebags in one hand and his gun in the other as he kicked his heels into his stallion and galloped like the wind.

I checked my compass and noted with satisfaction that Crooked Cards had unwittingly taken with him the instrument of his own downfall. I had tagged him with a modified variation of True Sight to keep him in my extrasensory field of awareness for a distance of ten miles, but the tag would wear off in an hour or so. This was how much time I would give the lawmen to learn the basics of their guns before I reverted to my lone wolf nature. I could always stealthily engage my opponents if their numbers were impolitic to take head on.

To the naked women (and possible working girls) in the tub scrabbling to cover their bare breasts with their hands, I tipped my hat and prudishly averted my eyes, “Ladies, I humbly suggest finding an alternate method of making an honest living” Leaving them with food for thought, I exited the room where a stunned Applejack was waiting for me.

“H-how’d ya know he’d shoot through the door?” She asked, glancing between me and the still smoking hole in the door with stupefaction.

“I saw it in a movie once” I answered airily, “C’mon. We’ve got a rat to track back to his nest”

“We’re doin’ this alone!?” Applejack’s fire from earlier had all but guttered out by now.

“Well… no. We’ll form a posse with the Sheriff and his deputies first, as soon as they learn the ropes with their new guns” I amended my statement, hoping that the lawmen wouldn’t lose their nerve once we got to the nitty gritty. Being shot at can be daunting to anyone who isn’t used to living with the threat of danger overhead.

It was an uncomfortable wait for me. Crooked Cards only slowed at the two mile mark when he was sure that no one was right on his tail, but he’d be out of my spell’s range soon if he maintained his brisk pace. I still had the compass if he did disappear from my magical senses, but the compass was less refined as a tracking device than True Sight, though few things could match a three dimensional awareness that registered on your brain’s radar. I shuffled apprehensively on Dusk Breeze’s saddle as I awaited the Sheriff and his deputies to quit wasting time and aid me in doing their jobs.

The interval between scaring and then chasing after Crooked Cards did serve one purpose however. North Wind had completed the task I assigned to him and had made his way back to town. His cargo of weapons was missing, so I assumed that the natives received the gift I had meant for them. I wasn’t sure how the Buffalo Braves would respond to a lone animal wandering into their village and seeking out their Chieftain with guns strapped to his rear… but reason must’ve won out, for he returned to us unscathed and ready for more action from his oddly vocal neighs. Applejack smiled, commenting on how the Draft horse in him was eager to be put to work. I switched steeds, as North Wind was developing a better feel for my equestrian techniques than his smaller sibling. Applejack did the same, ditching the palfrey mare for the endurance worthy Dusk Breeze.

An agonizing hour later, Sheriff Silverstar rode up to us with his band of deputized shooters. They did not appear the same as they did when they left to train with their weapons, and all of them bore soot on their faces from the repeated exposure to the black powder smoke emitted from discharging their guns. Dirty as they were, they finally looked the part of the hardened posse hell-bent on bringing justice to the frontier lands. They had pouches of lead shot and powder that their youthful instructor had provided from his ample stores back at his place, which was more than what the worst situation we could run into would require, which pleased me sufficiently. They had brought spare firearms that I didn’t remember supplying them with. Shooting Star explained that those were his prototypes, which while they were inefficient; they would suit as backups if circumstances went sour.

Shooting Star and Lone Star were fond of the pistols, having three each holstered to their chests and sides, while the Sheriff and Clinky Keys were hefting muskets to augment their long range capabilities. Shooting Star had vocally asserted that they were certified beginners in the art of skeet shooting, though they could realistically nail a static target up to a distance of forty five yards only, it meant that they were competent enough to bring this outlaw menace of the desert to an end. After a short protest on the men’s part on the topic of Applejack accompanying us, I invoked my Royal authority and deemed her a valuable companion that was coming with us whether they liked it or not (Which made her cheeks rosy, though she hid her reaction well).

The Sheriff tossed her a blunderbuss, along with an improvised mason jar filled with gunpowder, cotton wadding, and lead pellets. She tentatively accepted the weapon, though she regarded the instrument of death as if it were crawling with creepy crawlies. As she was listening to me when I expounded on the danger of firearms to her on the train ride to Dodge Junction, I could not hold this adverse reaction of hers against her. I hoped that she would not have cause to use it, but if the men enslaving the natives were anything like the trigger happy comrades who raided villages and killed any who resisted them, then it was a hopeless wish. She had sheathed her claymore in the space enchanted saddlebag resting on Dusk Breeze’s flanks, but I saw her make no motion of strapping it to her back, lending credence to the thought that she would defend herself with the high caliber proto-shotgun. After reassuring the Sheriff that my tracking device was functional and working as advertised, I clicked my tongue and had North Wind turn in the direction where we would be shadowing Crooked Cards. Sheriff Silverstar spewed some preparatory pep speech before giving the motion for the group to form up and head on out.

⁂

The man in blue fled fiendishly across the sunbaked sands, unbeknownst to him that we were in hot pursuit (Though that could have just been the merciless rays of the sun). If I hadn’t put my means of tracking him on his person or tagged him with True Sight, the dust cloud he left in his haste to escape us would have been adequately indicative of his relative location. To keep our own dust signature down, I enchanted the horseshoes on each of our steeds to disturb as little dirt as possible, dramatically reducing the debris we left in our wake. It was a day long chase, and along the way the others traded their bantering comments on how many outlaws they could bag with their newfound arsenal. I kept my mouth shut for most of our journey crosswise the scorching earth, save for educating Applejack in the use of the blunderbuss while sidestepping her predictable nosy questioning on how I knew how to use it (Uttering ‘History Channel showed me’ as an answer only served to obfuscate her). Crooked Cards followed a zigzagging path that doubled back and made sudden swerves that made it difficult to ascertain his itinerary. This was a sign to me that he had the nous to shake off his pursuers, whether they were behind him or not.

While Crooked Cards made it a challenge to foresee where his dastardly buddies were hiding out, the regular compass that I had with me denoted that it generally lay to the southeast, which was beyond the furthest extent of the Arcanian settlements and entirely devoid of natives (With the possible exception of the ones we were trying to rescue from captivity). The Sheriff had limited experience with the topography of the land here, which were mostly uplands with craggy rocks and odd rock formations that resembled boulders balancing themselves atop upward jutting stones that thinned to a needle point. We frequently had ourselves swigs from the water canteens that Clinky Keys had the foresight to bring in bulk, as the dry air would rapidly parch your throat if you weren’t too careful.

The gold orange bars peering over the edge of the background had us stopping for the night to set up camp and water our exhausted horses, not to mention ourselves. We stood witness as the last ruddy rays of the sunset blazed momentarily before yielding to twilight, with the sky taking on a pinkish-purple hue reminiscent of the woman who was named after it. The setting of the sun under the horizon was the deliverance that we were waiting for. Each of us had been drenched in sweat that evaporated almost as quickly as it appeared, as the scheduled season of winter in Arcania meant nothing to the torrid temperatures in its metaphorical nether regions. I scouted out our fleeing friend’s bivouac (He fled without packing his essentials, the flighty fool) and reported that he wouldn’t be on the move until dawn’s first light. We pulled back to a manageable site and kept a safe distance from Crooked Card’s campfire in the bosom of the rocky hills as we dug our own Dakota fire pits in the ground to bury the light using folding spades that the Sheriff prudently packed. The smoke was the only thing that was a challenge to hide, though the design of the fire pits made it so that less overall smoke was produced. I could only hope that Crooked Cards wasn’t so paranoid that he’d somehow see it in the periphery.

Our horses were well trained, so they didn’t wander off while we relaxed, not that they could go anywhere in this darkness without a rider urging them with their heels. The primary pit was for the Sheriff and his men, and they ate a dinner of beef jerky and other dehydrated vittles as they circled around the fire to chat amicably amongst themselves. Lone Star had actually taken his dreadnought style acoustic guitar with him and was plunking at it in practice before launching into a heartfelt tune that I could’ve swore I had heard somewhere in the past. The notes drifted through the air harmlessly, since we were out of hearing range of Crooked Card’s position, though I did advise him not to get too zealous with his playing. A second pit was dug from my own purposes of isolation, as I wanted to maintain my sense of privacy. I contemplated the shaman’s words to me as I gazed into the crackling flames. So deep was my musing that my senses were effectively deadened to the world about me.

This of course did nothing to deter my cowgirl companion from inviting herself over to my comfy slice of Arcanian soil.

“It’s a nice evenin’, ain’t it Zenith?” She commented as she parked her keister diametrically opposite to me on my unfurled bedroll.

“Sure” I absently replied, attentively watching the dancing shadows of the fire as it sputtered and flickered to absorb more oxygen to fuel its combustion. I didn’t bother with scooping a secondary air hole for my fire, as it was too miniscule to be worth expending the mana to cast a scaled down tunneling spell.

I could spy with my peripherals the frown that she sported over my terse response, which was unsatisfactory to her, “Can you and I talk for a sec?”

“We’re talking now” I sarcastically retorted without skipping a beat.

She ignored the sally, huffing through her nostrils, “I wanted to talk about the cantankerous way ya’ve been dealin’ with these outlaws” The skin on her brow furled, “As an Agent of the Princesses, yer sumthin’ of a representative of theirs, aren’t ya?”

I nodded affirmatively, “That is correct… up to a point”

“No, not up to a point” She gainsaid me, “Yer their representative, and that means that yer decorum should match yer station”

“Decorum? You’re beginning to sound like Rarity” I verbally jabbed at her, “I enforce their Majesties’ Will where and when it needs to be enforced, but other than that, I can practice my own mode of agency”

“Does practicin’ that agency include butcherin’ bandits without remorse?” Applejack snidely challenged, “Cause that ain’t the type of behavior ah’d expect from the man mah lil’ sis looks up to”

I stared at her over the muffled light of the fire with flinty eyes, “Does that frighten you?” Do I frighten you? I left implied.

“No!” She blurted out, before shrinking a little, “Well… kinda” She admitted, “I’ve been talkin’ to the others about what happened after you and mah cuz were challenged to a duel. They told me that you didn’t spare a single one, or even collect on their bounties! I mean… seein’ you hunt these outlaws down so implacably is…” She failed to summarize how she felt about that.

“I have committed some highly questionable acts during my time in this world, Applejack” I confessed her in a solemn voice, “Things I had never even dreamed I was capable of. And yet I have… and without the barest hints of hesitation, or remorse after the deed”

“Why?” Applejack asked in a trembling voice.

“So honest folks like you don’t have to” I rolled over and pulled the material of my sleeping bag so it girded my chest. I faced away from her, “Get some sleep, AJ. I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it tomorrow”

But that was not the end of this conversation, not for her.

“No… no, I won’t have you shuttin’ me out again like you do so damn often!” She raised her voice, attracting the attention of the others, who were murmuring by the warmth of the campfire.

“Volume control, Applejack” I primly chided her in place of Rarity, “What is it?” I twisted on the floor to respectfully reestablish eye contact. The cowgirl warranted my patience, even if her headstrong tendencies grated on my sleep deprived mood.

I expected her to be angry, or to at least foster a heavy scowl, but her countenance was rather soft, tender even.

“Look, Zenith” She was unsure of herself, “Ah’m not sure I can understand how a good man like you can be like… this, though I know you have yer reasons. I’ll never agree with you that honesty isn’t the standard we should hold ourselves accountable to, but I also realize that there are people out there who exploit honest folk and somehow justify it to themselves” She grit her teeth, “Like those city slickin’ glorified nibblers that tried to seize mah family’s orchard to feed that fancy mechanical doohickey of theirs” She spoke sourly as she referenced the rather disreputable Flim Flam brothers.

“But in mah heart of hearts… I think yer an honest feller,” She stated, this curveball of hers throwing me for a loop, “Don’t mistake me, Zenith. It irks me to no end when I hear you bendin’ the truth or avoidin’ utterin’ it altogether, but that ain’t what I mean” She groaned in frustration, finding it difficult to appropriately express herself on this, much like Rainbow did at times, “Despite mah dislike for yer underhandedness… ah’m startin’ to get that it’s jus’ you bein’ you. I never see ya tryin’ to be sumthin’ you ain’t, never seen ya attempt to alter who ya are to suit someone else’s needs”

“Seems like I’m being more selfish than genuine” I observed.

“Let me finish mah thought, will ya?” She rebuked me, “What ah’m havin’ a heckuva time sayin’ is just… you’re true to yerself. I’ve noticed that ya never put on an act that’s unlike you. You’re reliable too, and when ya dedicate yerself to sumthin’, nothin’ll stop ya from seein’ it through. Ya got one face to show the world, and nothin’ about ya to hide” Her expression fell, “Which is why this aggression of yers is so unsettlin’ ta me, cause I know it’s real”

I sat up from my sleeping bag to give her the consideration she deserved, “I’m a mission oriented individual, Applejack” I told her, “And one that fiercely guards his personal morals. That’s a recipe for a relentless Agent who will kill if it comes to it. Those outlaws were stupid enough to challenge your cousin and I to a duel to the death. Maybe the fact that they were the only men in the southwest that had firearms gave them a false sense of invincibility, because they rode into town like they owned the place without a single hint of fear”

I reached over to snatch a chunk of firewood to toss into the fire pit, “I’ve seen these men at work firsthand, AJ, and what they do is a bloody business. If I thought they could be redeemed, I would’ve given them that chance. That chance went up in smoke the millisecond they drew their pistols on me in that ghost town”

“What happened there?” She inquired, her eyes gleaming with an amalgam of dulled dread and energized excitement.

I scoffed, “You’re itchin’ for a heroic bedtime story, eh? Well too bad. Maybe I’ll relate it to you later”

“C’mon, Zenith!” She threw her hands up in aggravation, “I know yer jus’ dyin’ to increase that local legend of yours that’s cultivatin’ around town, and probably the nation by now too”

“What legend?” I had no idea what she was referring to.

“Don’t tell me ya didn’t know!?” Applejack grinned like a hyena, “Think about it. Folks ‘round Magiville hardly know a durn thing about you, except that you’re from outta town, come from the Capital, and keep to yerself. The last visitor we received from the Capital that stayed spiced up life in Magiville to a degree that I doubt anybody could’ve possibly imagined, and you’re no different”

This person she was referencing was Twilight Sparkle, of course.

I got what she was insinuating, “Just what kind of legends have been spun about me?”

“Are ya sure you want to know?” She cheekily glanced sidelong at me.

“Yes” I confirmed, “Because when we get home, I’m going to personally call a town meeting to shoot down any disingenuous assertions made about me” I had that authority now, I checked.

“Oh, come off it!” She wagged a hand in the air, “They’re not bad… if anythin’, a lot are quite flatterin’ to you. Let’s see” She held up her right palm with her fingers extended and counted, “Some people think you’re some kinda hunter lookin’ for big game in the Neverfree forest, as your house is closer to it than Fluttershy’s is”

I hummed in thought, not replying to that. This notion was amusing, but totally untrue… at least for now. For imagination’s sake, I idly envisioned wearing a pith helmet like Daring and dragging home my supper after pumping it full of lead with an oversized elephant gun. The manly image was so humorous that I very nearly chuckled.

Applejack wiggled her second finger, “This one is odd, and I’m not sure if it’s a generally accepted one, but the rumor is that you’re not actually from the capital at all…” She then intentionally vacillated, keeping me in suspense.

Could someone have discovered the secret that only a handful of people knew and circulated it around town? Best I wait for her to finish this one before I needlessly interrupt her.

“…but that yer a wanderin’ incubus lookin’ to prey on vulnerable, emotionally dependent women and drain them of all their love!” She wiggled her fingertips at me and made an adorable ‘OoOoh!’ ghostly trill.

That one did manage to get a chuckle out of me, “That’s pretty out there, even for a rumor, AJ”

“I dunno” She said, turning her face away, “I have some doubts of mah own there”

“It’s ridiculous, bar none” I stood by my opinion, “Only changelings prey on the energies emitted by positive emotions, and I have been informed that they don’t discriminate based on gender, so dudes would have to be fair game to lend validation to that ludicrous idea” Plus they physically altered their appearance, whereas I could manipulate the way that people could perceive me with magic.

“So yer not interested in drainin’ Rarity and Fluttershy of their love?” She grinningly laid out a verbal trap for me.

“They both have too much to give for me to accomplish that” I answered genuinely, “Rarity is Generous with her affections and Fluttershy practically radiates a rejuvenating aura of Kindness that I yearn to bask in even now”

Though with Rarity… I was beginning to suspect that she saw me as a proverbial damaged tapestry in desperate need of her repairs. I did admit to her in Concordia that there was an emptiness in me in greater detail than with anyone else, with the probable exceptions of Twilight and Lyra, who either knew and were too courteous to broach the subject, or their minds were too overloaded with information to effectively process it. The seamstress is still as melodramatic as ever as a rule of conduct, but there is an underlying tenderness towards me in our private moments, which gives me pause whenever I am dubious as to whether she really harbors legitimate love for me, or my status as a potential prince of her dreams. She was sincerely repentant about using a love potion to influence my opinions of her, and I’ve found that hinting towards that mistake of hers is a good way to get her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I miss ‘em too” Applejack deflated a tad, “All this hubbub goin’ on here in the south has me thinkin’ what our friends would do in this situation”

“Like with the wagon train?” I inquired, to which she nodded, “Well… I certainly would’ve appreciated the extra magic that Twilight could have contributed to the clash. Rainbow’s agility and nimbleness would have made her a valuable person to have watching my back too” The others… I would prefer to have as far from bloodshed as possible. Not that they were incapable of handling themselves (barring Fluttershy) when everyone’s blood was up, but they were not front-liners.

AJ raised an apoplectic eyebrow, “So ah was useless in that fight then?” Her teeth clamped shut indignantly. One of the few things that Applejack absolutely despised was the implication that she counterproductive.

I resisted an agitated groan.

I didn’t want to discuss this touchy subject with her any further, “You did fine, Applejack, but do not expect the mercy you show to others to always be mirrored” I warned her.

She crossed her arms together, “Jus’ what are you sayin’?”

“It’s quite simple, Applejack” I used my patronizing tone, “When you’re going toe to toe with men who are after your life, it’s best to deny them that chance… permanently”

“I already told ya before, Zenith! I won’t kill, not if I don’t hafta!” She maintained her stubborn refusal to take that small step… into a cold, clinical manner of assessing and dispatching foes.

“Just offering some tried and true advice, AJ” I made it out as if it was no big deal to me.

“Keep it to yerself” She snorted in disdain, “I don’t wanna end up bein’ some merciless Agent who’s lackin’ a heart”

That was not cool, “I showed mercy when I spared Wild Bull’s miserable life” I half snarled in reply, “If I hadn’t, then I’m sure some other bloodthirsty tribal warrior with more muscles than brain would rally his supporters to wage war on the settlers, and all of that senseless death would have been for naught!” But with the comatose Wild Bull effectively neutralized, I had bought the time required to free the native’s kidnapped brethren and restore peace to the frontier.

Applejack flinched at my hostility, “Gosh… I-I didn’t mean ta-”

“Didn’t mean to what?” I cut her off rudely, “Judge me with the guidance of that unimpeachable moral compass of yours?” My face reddened as I fought to control my volume, “Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t know all the facts? That you cannot deem all matters as black or white? You have not lived my life, Applejack… You have not had to make the hard choices that I had to, not only in order to survive, but to ensure that others do as well”

I wanted to keep ranting, but it was getting late, and the energy to do so was leaving me. I heaved a sigh that was saturated from all the bottled up stress that I’ve had to deal with, “Do you know about the first time I killed someone?”

She was silent, unable to respond to that.

“It wasn’t long after I had arrived in this world” I began, “Hell, it was even before I met Celestia and Luna. I was getting my bearings in the Krystal Kingdom when I was summoned to the throne room. Princess Cadence had a break-in that resulted in some of her palace guards being hospitalized. She tasked myself and another special individual with discovering the culprits of this act while reclaiming a priceless historical artifact with ominous abilities to grant powers untold to whosoever drank the aqua vitae from it. The Princess opened the figurative door for us and sent us on our way. After some initial… obstacles, the details of which I won’t bore you with, we managed to discern the culprits’ intentions and where they were headed”

I did not fail to notice that the other guys had quieted their conversations to eavesdrop on us, and they were particularly drawn in by my story, “We boarded a train that they had hijacked at the last second and do-si-doe’d with some goons that the main perpetrator had hired as his paid muscle. I was inexperienced at this time and therefore was unable to risk a direct engagement with my dance partner, though he had no issues swinging his clawed weapons at me… which he had set on fire, by the way” I added as an afterthought, “The train’s cargo consisted of crates of dynamite that were bound for some northern mining outpost, so imagine our mutual shock when the blundering goon I was tussling with accidentally ignites one of those crates”

The guys listening in on us collectively winced. Applejack on the other hand, was enraptured by my tale.

“I escaped the blast since I recognized the danger right away and bolted, though the force of the explosion sent me careening into a passenger car as the train derailed on a cliffside” I shivered, recalling the splitting headache I came to with, “When I awoke, the train car I was in was dangling precariously over the side of the cliff, with my companion’s grip on a handhold weakening with each moment” That was the abridged version of the events, anyway.

Applejack held a finger to her lip in contemplation, “I think I know this one…”

With how vocal Rainbow Dash was with her favorite series of adventure slash autobiographical books, I did not doubt that.

“Don’t interrupt” I chided her, “My companion was Skyborn and under normal circumstances could have easily saved herself. However, owing to an injury she has sustained on a prior trip, she was incapable of summoning her wings, and at the mercy of gravity should she fall. She called out to me for aid, making me aware of her unfavorable circumstances”

“I did some rock climbing activities back home” I shared a miniscule detail about myself, “So it wasn’t hard for me to hop earthwards while grabbing onto whatever handholds presented themselves as I made my way to her” This was where I withheld the truth again, since the others were listening in, “I saved her from plunging to her death, though only just. The passenger car ultimately detached and impacted the frozen earth below, and it would have been our tomb had I not retained my keen reflexes”

“Now where have ah heard this before?” Applejack muttered, which I disregarded.

“We rose up the side of the cliff and marveled at our continued survival, though we didn’t tarry for a great time. After we scrounged around the wreck train site for useful supplies, we set off in search of our mutual quarry, all of whom had left traceable tracks in the snow” I scooted closer to the fire, “The frozen wastes of the North are an unforgiving place, and the temperature was steadily dropping with each passing hour. The tracks led us to an outcropping in the side of one of the mountains that was hiding a cave entrance, where we took shelter for the night” And kept each other warm, though Applejack didn’t need to know about my then blossoming relationship with Daring Do.

“What about yer adversaries?” Shooting Star inquired from across our campsite. The others groaned as their eavesdropping jig was up.

“They had to bed down for the night, same as us” I told him, “In the morning we broke up our makeshift camp to resume our chase for the stolen chalice. We plumbed the fathoms of the stone tunnel network, walking deeper into the depths of the cave” I shook my head, “You would not believe what we found in the heart of the mountain”

“A forest?” Applejack spoiled for everybody. I flashed her a glare, warning her not to ruin any more of my narrative.

“Yes” I acknowledged, gritting my teeth slightly, “Though it was more like a jungle than anything else. The air was warm, humid even. The soil beneath our feet wasn’t rocky, but soft and loamy. The forest was lush and verdant green, with fissures in the ceiling allowing sunlight to penetrate from above”

“That can’t be right” Silverstar muttered, “The interior of a mountain ain’t no place for an honest to Princess jungle to be growin’!”

“And yet it was there, in complete defiance of all expectations” I noted with an ironic inflection, “But there was a special reason for this forest’s existence, and it had to do with its irrigation. Once the sense of wonder wore off and duty replaced it, we traversed this alien greenery” I remembered how eerily silent it was, as if we were trespassing on sacred ground. Even Daring was made uneasy by an obscure sense that we were being watched.

“That was when we walked straight into a trap!” I held out an open hand before clasping it together to illustrate the closing net that swallowed us up, “Our opponents knew we were right on their tails, and so they lay in wait to ambush us. I won’t lie… they caught us in a rather compromising position” I awkwardly recollected. The guys chuckled as their overactive imaginations filled in the gaps.

Did I have any contrition for not taking advantage of it? Especially now that I haven’t seen her in what seems like forever? Of course not. I was better than that. Always will be.

“My companion’s arch nemesis was smug as he emerged from the undergrowth to gloat about our capture, and to point out the scandalous physical contact we were inadvertently engaged in” I rolled my eyes at Ow-who-something-something’s overblown bravado, as if we weren’t already aware of our predicament, “My companion had a history with this odious fellow, and her recalcitrant quips visibly got under his skin. He recovered fast though, claiming that we would bear witness to his ascension to Godhood before he killed us”

“Godhood?” Clinky chimed in.

“The chalice he had stolen from the Krystal Kingdom belonged to none other than the infamous King Sombra” The men fell quiet at that. Even in this time and as far removed from the North as we were, his caliginous name still carried weight.

“This crystalline cup had the ability to bestow immortality and incredible powers on those who drank the aqua vitae as I might have mentioned earlier” I said, “But what I didn’t tell you was that it was drinking from that chalice that had Sombra spiral into a bottomless pit of madness and cruelty. He was unhinged before, but there was no coming back for him after fatefully sipping from that cup. This was why stopping our mutual nemesis was so important” I reiterated, “The Krystal Kingdom really didn’t need a second Sombra inflicted upon them, not after everything they suffered”

Images of a melancholic Crystal Clear stroking the case containing her deceased husband’s ring or dusting her dead son’s room came to mind, and I knew then I would never feel regret for ending that bastard’s life. The Krystal people had suffered enough at the hands of one power hungry, staircase obsessed tyrant.

“This is where I disclose who our nemesis really was” I announced, since all pretenses of this being a private tale for Applejack had evaporated, “I don’t know what nationality he came from, or what his people called themselves, but this man was named Ahuizotl”

“Ow-who-what-l?” Lone Star expressed in confusion.

“Exactly” I winked at him in amusement, “He was foreign, very much so I might add. He and Daring had been at each other’s necks for a while, from what I could glean from their attitudes towards each other. The running gag, though I’d never say it to Daring’s face, was that she’d usually get herself captured and thrust into an elaborate deathtrap of his design. She would foil this trap and somehow snatch the forbidden artifact from his grubby, unwashed hands using her wit and dexterity to upset his plans for whatever it was he so desperately wanted… world domination maybe?” He did come off as a rather one dimensional madman.

I realized I was on a tangent and altered course, “His desires are irrelevant though. What mattered was that with as tied up as we were then, we were utterly at his mercy” Perchance I could have used my Tantō to cut our way out of that net, but his goons would have discharged their crossbows at us the moment they spied any movement. And this was shortly before I learned I was capable of casting magic, so the chances of defying death weren’t exactly in our favor.

Some of the men had vacated their spots next to the first campfire and gathered around mine. Their eyes sparkled with interest, though Applejack knew of this tale from Rainbow. It must have been secondhand information though, as she was still alert and listening with suppressed eagerness. I was flattered by how riveted they were, as I did not view myself as much of a storyteller. But their interest in me was as subjective as my own opinion of myself, so there was that.

“Owie, as I’m going to abbreviate him as, disclosed his maniacal plans of acquiring power to us before drugging us with some kind of knockout powder” I held out my cupped hand and blew, “The chemicals in it were potent, and Daring was incapacitated in moments”

Even I had to struggle in order to remain conscious, and I had a Trifect’s resilience to back me up, “I was conscious, and only vaguely aware of what was going on as Owie’s goons hauled his captive prizes through the alien rainforest. I memorized some of the landmarks along the path, before it diverged into another cave tunnel, where the din of rushing water sounded with a distinctive roar. Owie’s goons deposited us on the cold stone floor and began to bind us together by the wrists” I idly pondered whether Jomar had purposely allowed as much leeway with our bindings as he did.

There had been a couple of occasions where I wondered if that heartbeat I perceived in that cavern was real or a product of my wild imagination. I was under the influence of knockout drugs to be sure, but the hallucinations were primarily visual. My auditory senses were intact as far as I was aware. Distorted mind you, but intact.

“They removed my torpor and Daring’s unconsciousness by splashing us with ice cold water from their flasks. It was then that Owie committed one of the greatest sins of a megalomaniacal antagonist hell-bent on acquiring power… he monologue’d about his inevitable ascension to godhood, and how it was made more delicious by having us bear witness to it before he killed us in some horrible fashion”

The men inhaled sharply and murmured to themselves, and even Applejack frowned heavily at this, in spite of knowing this story and presumably its outcome.

“Anyhow… his talking gave us the time I needed to adequately free up my hands to grasp at the scabbard of my Tantō” I demonstrated by pulling out the aforementioned blade, which the others eyed with interest, “Twirling it in my fingertips, I began sawing away at our bindings as his men were distracted by their boss’s inane ramblings” It helped that the rope they used on us wasn’t heavy duty and that the cutting edge of my Tantō was terrifyingly sharp.

“Once I had stealthily freed us from our bonds, I informed Daring of my plan, which involved the usage of two devices I had on me that would shift the balance of control towards us” I paused to look up at the cloudy night sky. How would I describe such modern implements to people who hadn’t a clue what they were?

“I’ll keep the tools I had with me simple. Both of which were canisters that had unique functions” And that Celestia had managed to reproduce similar versions of for wide scale use, “The first was a canister that when primed and thrown, would unleash an incredible explosion of light and noise, which would stun our captors. The second was a refined version of a smoke bomb, which would shroud our escape and make putting a crossbolt in our backs significantly harder. I gave Daring Do the smoke canister, while I kept the flash bang for myself to use when the time was right”

“Owie was so absorbed by his premature gloating and his obsession with the concept that attaching a weight to us and dumping us in the aqua vitae equaled an eternity of drowning without the relief of death that he was unaware of his own imminent downfall” At that the others went pale, finding the idea of forever drowning to be uncannily disturbing.

“All villains eventually stop talking and get on with it however,” I probably wouldn’t be here if Ahuizotl was practical about killing us and getting it over with, “He produced the Crystal Chalice from under his robes. It was a deceptively pretty thing. You’d never know what it was capable of just by having a gander at it. Owie recited some forbidden incantation and despite his physical inability to channel magic, the cup began to levitate on its own towards the pool of aqua vitae beneath us” I pretended to be holding a cup as I dunked it in an invisible water source.

My audience was under my spell, metaphorically speaking, “It dipped itself in the waters of everlasting life and brought a generous dose of it to its master, who asked us what our final words were before he sent us ‘down the rrriver so to speak’” I emulated the god awful way he rolled his R’s, smirking when my audience grimaced, “That was go time for me to roll the flash bang in between Owie and his hired muscle and shield my senses as best I could”

I expelled air through my lips, “I’ll tell you, even with my eyes and ears covered, those flash bangs are some serious stuff. With Owie and company incapacitated and clutching at their heads like they were trying to pull off a rabid animal scratching at it, I charged forwards towards the man responsible for this mess. Incredibly, he was still holding the chalice in one hand while pawing at his face with the other. He never saw the knife I had hidden on me until it was jutting out the back of his throat, with his bid for immortality and power slipping away from him like the vital fluid flowing past his fingers as he fruitlessly attempted to stem the blood loss” Applejack went green around the gills, while the guys sympathetically rubbed at their adam’s apples.

“Land sakes” Applejack breathed slowly, her face going pallid, “Didja have to kill him?”

I sat back and mock contemplated this, “Hmm… I suppose I could have let him condemn us to an eternity of suffering without release, and seize all of that arcane power for himself. It’s not like he would have done something evil with it or anything” My tone was practically saturated with snark.

“No. Not what I meant. Couldn’t you have jus’ knocked him out or sumthin’?” The cowgirl inquired once she had gotten over her nausea.

“I was unversed in the ways of combat at this time, remember?” I retorted casually, “All I knew then was that going for the vital region of the throat was the safest option… though, kicking him into the pool of aqua vitae may not have been the wisest of ideas on my part. But as you can see, he left me little choice but to kill him” It was for the best, cliché as it was then and now, “Somehow his cadaver reacted negatively with the cavern’s waters of life and caused the cave chamber we were in to rumble and shake like we were at the epicenter of some earthquake”

“Earthquake? What are those?” Clinky knitted his brow.

“You people are unbelievably blessed that this planet’s landmasses are so seismologically stable” Or at least they were in Arcania, “Earthquakes are ground tremors that can range from being barely noticeable to so extreme that substantial swathes of land are split in two. Generally they’re bad news if in the latter category” The law keeping men were unnerved by this info.

Back to the story that I myself was so caught up in, “The tremors tore a fissure in the earth, and the chalice that was our mission to retrieve rolled in without a care in the world. Daring refused to acknowledge a failure of our mission, and dove in after it without heed to her wing-point injury. Being the fool I was, I did the same, only it was her that I was snatching at”

“An’ what happened then?” Shooting Star wanted to know. There was childlike glee in his eyes. He must’ve loved story time as a kid.

“Daring and I had to put up with a lot of bullcrap in order to get our hands on that chalice, so I couldn’t blame her for her act of desperation. Unfortunately, her desperation could not elongate her arms, so the chalice resting on a shelf sat mockingly beyond her reach” Daring was almost heartbroken when I begged her to let it go, “The collapsing cave wouldn’t wait for us, so I gave her a choice. She could gamble with her life for some overrated cup that did more harm than good, or she could come with me and we could get the hell outta there. Reason prevailed in the end, and we left that miserable, damp cave to swallow itself whole. The smoke screen provided by the cylinder I gave Daring proved an effective deterrent against Owie’s hired help, and they lost sight of us thanks to the thick shrubbery of the forest”

I glazed over the fact that my magic had chosen that prior moment to awaken and levitate the chalice over to my possession as if it were nothing. Applejack’s expressionless face made it impossible to discern whether or not this lie of omission was detected. Her patented Lie-dar wasn’t foolproof, not around me at any rate, but that was because I knew the secret of mixing in just enough truth to obscure the lies. That she heard of the book from Rainbow and still did not call me out on this meant that she likely tuned the athletic Valkyrian girl out as she blathered on about her favorite book series.

“So the chalice was lost forever then?” Sheriff Silverstar gave his input, almost as if he was subconsciously putting me to the test.

“The Crystal Chalice of Sombra is situated in the deepest darkness until further notice” I answered ambiguously. Knowing how many wards were placed on it this time around, that could’ve been an understatement.

“Daring and I regrouped in the alien rainforest, but we were not given a moment to recoup our breath. Owie’s thugs did not take kindly to having their employment contract voided before the payoff, and were out for our blood… or one of them was, anyway. The roles were reversed, as we were the ones to be chased on this go. We retreated through the jungle with all haste the motivation of dodging an arrow to the back could grant us. I recalled the landmark of a fallen tree trunk acting as a bridge and urged Daring to follow me as we lured our pursuers across it. They took the bait, and their reward was a lit stick of dynamite that Daring had shrewdly dropped into a hollowed out branch”

Everyone who wasn’t Applejack or myself winced, all of them familiar with the explosive effects of TNT, “The first goon over the bridge was consumed in the blast and the second one was flung into the river below” Was Jomar everlasting because of his exposure to the aqua vitae? I doubted it. Ahuizotl himself stated that one had to be immersed or drink from the chalice to obtain an extended expiration date, “With no immediate dangers threatening us, we set a relaxed pace back to the cave entrance we used to enter that strange, evocative pit in the mountain’s belly. You’d think that’d be the last of it, but there was one loose end that needed tending”

I waited several seconds for them to guess what it was before I did it for them.

“That feller who was hurled into the waters” Applejack started, “He wouldn’t have been the same feller I saw escortin’ you around durin’ the games, was he?”

“How astute of you, Applejack” I complimented her, “That is indeed the very person I was hinting at. His name is Jomar, but I wasn’t able to learn it until he loudly announced his intentions behind us by cocking his crossbow”

“Did ya bull rush him too? Did ya, did ya?” Clinky chattered excitedly.

“Notice how he said his name is Jomar, Clinky. Folks like our Royal Agent friend here are particular with their words… heed ‘em carefully” The Sheriff corrected his deputy for me. The leader of the posse had some sense in his head, which was quite comforting given the task ahead.

Clinky made an ‘O’ shape with his mouth as he finally processed this, “Jomar is a right funny name, ain’t it?” He commented.

“Variety is the spice of life” I shrugged noncommittally, “Anywho, it was not his name that was demanding my attention the most… no, that was the crossbow in his arms primed and ready to fire. Daring could dodge it for sure. I however was vastly inexperienced, even if I had taken my first kill”

“But this was not your typical standoff, no” I wiggled a finger in the air, “Whereas all of Owie’s prior lackeys had no problems putting villages to the torch if their boss so ordered it (which Daring disclosed to me that he did on a previous quest), I noticed that there was a profound difference in this man. He was reluctant to embrace the brutish violence of his cohorts. He was gentle when carrying me to the cavern of everlasting life, and I suspected that he purposely missed his shots when he and his comrade pursued us through the forest” The kitten pelt he wore should have been indicative enough as to his mannerisms.

“And yet he had a weapon in his hands, and was pointin’ it at you. So what did that all matter?” Sheriff Silverstar huffed gruffly.

“It mattered to me” I replied tersely, “I sensed something in this man that I could not find in his colleagues: benevolence. Besides, if he were bent on killing us, he wouldn’t have betrayed his presence to us so overtly. Only Owie had that insensible flair for the dramatic. I interpreted it as a masked cry for help, and so I chanced a crossbolt in the chest to say my piece”

“An’ what did ya tell him?” Applejack asked, looking unsure about how she saw me with this information.

“I told him the truth. I pointed out that his master was dead, his plans for world domination dashed,” I grinned wryly at the inside joke of a pun, while AJ eye rolled, “and that he would share that fate if he did not surrender himself to us”

“So he accepted then?” Lone Star surmised.

“My read on him was accurate” I confirmed, “His weapon clattered to the ground as it fell from his fingers and he submitted to our authority without resistance. Daring wasn’t too pleased with this and expected treachery from him at any moment, but she respected my decision to give him an opportunity to prove his willingness to turn over a new leaf. Today, Jomar is under house arrest in the Krystal Kingdom and directly serving Princess Cadence”

He cleaned up nicely too, much better than that horrid cat skin pelt draped over his shoulders. I should feel prideful at his rehabilitation, but I only gave him an alternate path to follow. Cadence did the rest.

“Wow-ie, Mister. Ya’ve sure seen a lot” Shooting Star remarked, youthful admiration in his tone.

“Yes, I have” I exhaled tiredly, “Anyhow, I figure that’ll serve as your bedtime tale for tonight. Get some sleep everybody, we head out before dawn’s first light”

The men obeyed, removing themselves from my campfire space and unrolling their bedrolls to get some necessary shuteye.

“Hey, Zenith?” Applejack whispered to me, “Maybe I misjudged you. I had the pleasure of speakin’ with that Jomar fella after the games, durin’ the interval when you went missin’ on that grand adventure you provided only the scantest details of. He told me that he owed you a life debt that he could never fully repay, an’ now ah know why” Her tone was tender, “Any decent man who knows when to spare a life, also knows when to take one”

“Oh?” I shifted in my roll to meet her eyes, eager to learn her thoughts.

“I trust ya, Zenith” She averred gingerly, “Jus’ wanted ya to know that. Whatever comes of this nasty business with these kidnappin’ outlaws, you won’t lead us astray. Ah’m sure of it”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence” I sincerely expressed my gratitude, “Now please, get to sleep”

She did so, sighing comfortably as she snuggled into her makeshift bed. I did the same, studying the twinkling stars until my mind grew weary. It wasn’t long before the occasional crackling of the fire lured me into a state of dreamless repose.

⁂

The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon when my eyes reopened. I discerned that I awoke before any of the others (including Applejack, which was an impressive feat in its own), getting up to stretch languidly before digging into my duster for the compass. I frowned when I saw that the red needle had changed its northwest bearing for a nor-easterly one. Crooked Cards was on the move again, and we had best do the same if we wanted to make up for lost time. I walked over to Applejack and crouched to my knees to nudge her awake.

“Mornin’ sleepin’ beauty” I greeted her with a totally fake country accent, “How was your rest?”

Her cheeks tinged a tad before she rubbed at her eyes to distract me from noting this, “I slept fine, Zenith. Why are we up so early?”

“Never pegged you as one for sleeping in, AJ” I jibed, much to her chagrin, “Crooked Cards has broken camp. It is time for us to do likewise”

She did so without complaining, though the others were as grumpy as I was waking up without a full night’s recuperation. They got over it mildly fast once I revealed that our prey was mobile though. Sheriff Silverstar silenced the grunts and groans and commanded that the camp be dismantled quickly lest our quarry elude us. We bunched up our bedrolls, saddled our horses, and ate our breakfast on the go as our robust steeds’ hooves pounded into the coarse terrain.

Crooked Cards made no effort of slaloming every five miles or backtracking today, which hinted to me that we might be getting close to our goal. The chase lasted an hour or so and he switched south before anything eventful came up. We galloped on earth sparse with vegetation and abundant with dust before meeting a dirt path that ran along a gorge with a dry riverbed, whose course was winding and jagged, as if someone had scratched and gouged a single letter initial into the earth with a giant knife. The man we were following came within visual distance (for me anyway. My Agrarian pals were virtually nearsighted in comparison) as we crested a small rise in the road. His cocksure, upright posture as he bounced in the saddle was in stark contrast to his cowardice when I surprised him yesterday. Of course, it is easy to feel emboldened when one believes that one has put potential danger in their rearview. I kept my eyes trained on him until he searched the craggy landscape for a shadow casted from a needle like spire, and then directed his horse down a natural steep decline in the cliff-face of the gorge where the shadow was pointing.

‘Now isn’t that intriguing?’ I opined to myself, swearing that I’d seen a trick like that before.

I signaled for my companions to halt with a balled fist raised with my left hand, and while Silverstar was technically in charge of his men, they heeded my gesture. Perhaps they obeyed out of respect for my Royal position or fear that I would harshly punish them for disobedience. With how large a figure North Wind and I cut when combined, it wasn’t challenging to imagine why they might be hesitant to cross me.

“What is it?” Silverstar demanded impatiently, “Are we close to ‘em yet?”

“I suspect so” I answered him, dismounting from North Wind, “Crooked and his buddies are somewhere at the bottom of that chasm, I’m positive about this. I’m going to reconnoiter the canyon, in case this is a trap for us” I was reasonably certain in our retaining the element of surprise, but I liked to err on the safe side.

“Yer goin’ in alone!?” Applejack exclaimed, concern in her voice, “What if they see ya comin’?”

I smirked at her, “They won’t, I promise you. I’ll scout ahead and see if it’s safe to move the group forward. Wait here for ten minutes, then proceed as you will regardless of whether I give you a signal or not”

“What should we look for if’n ya do?” Shooting Star questioned, a grim seriousness in his voice that replaced everything boyish about him. Good, I’d hate to have a wimp with us that was afraid of getting his hands dirty.

“I’ll leave an imprint of three glowing stars on the canyon wall where it’ll be apparent. Assuming no one is there to watch me do it, that is” I frowned as I finished sifting through my adventure pack for precautionary essentials to bring with me, “Along that vein of thought, if you hear the sounds of gunfire, definitely charge on in” The men murmured in concurrence and gripped their newfound firearms tightly, while Applejack begrudgingly palmed hers.

With the group in agreement with the preliminary plan, I cast a spell of concealment on myself that was a refined version of the active camouflage spell I used in the past. I achieved it through some arcane tweaking that I couldn’t really describe in words (much like the taste of water or the smell of unscented air). It was a hybridization of the perception filter and active camo spell, and it not only combined the best qualities of both, but it saved on mana (which I had ample reserves of) and made me incredibly difficult to detect even if there were mages searching for me. My comrades gasped as I effectively made myself invisible, and I heard Silverstar mutter a potentially racist (or would that be Clanist?) remark of “confounded, showoff magicians” under his breath as I departed from their company.

With the spurs of my boot heels removed, the only discernable noise I made as I traversed the downward slope was the muted crunch of gravel. I cut off the invisibility magic when I realized that Crooked was too stupid to check over his shoulders and there was nobody else in sight at the moment besides him. The descent into the canyon went along a natural switchback that zigzagged outwards to accommodate traffic that was wide enough to allow two horse drawn carts to pass each other abreast if need be, as the sunken tracks in the ‘road’ suggested. My eyes swept the area for any signs of life other than Crooked Cards, who I had retagged with True Sight. The man had reached the nadir of the canyon and was trotting upstream. His floating silhouette was all that was visible to me once he rounded the bend. I stuck to the plan and engraved trios of stars on flat surfaces wherever I thought they would be most evident to the posse.

Once the rugged switchback terminated at the bottom, I kept on Crooked’s trail, which I could have followed based on the hoof prints and clip clopping alone. I could tell that there was once a mighty river that flowed through here in ages past that carved this natural mega-structure, based on the desiccated remains of an after-stream of silt and sediments lining the groundwork. There was a negligible trickle of water that was ongoing, but it was only sufficient to cover the flat part of a measuring tape. Interestingly, there were occasional flecks of golden shimmer that captured my eye as I stalked my prey. My curiosity was piqued, but I paid it no mind, focusing all my mental faculties on the task at hand. This was the canyon that was present in Smoky’s memories. I was convinced.

At the five minute mark, I started to worry, as my ability to graffiti the canyon walls with magical stars without being spotted was decreasing; interspersing the frequency of the crude arrow signs. The canyon wasn’t one entity replicating the shape of a slithering snake. It branched off into separate sections at different points, which could easily mislead anyone who didn’t know precisely where they were going. If my companions got lost, that could be a serious problem with neutralizing the outlaws and freeing their native hostages. I did what I could about this problem, and pressed on. At one point the canyon clearance above us was so narrow that you could have vaulted over it with a horse. Eventually, Crooked Cards cantered into a special section of the canyon that explained why the outlaws had made a home here (Aside from its remoteness).

There was gold… A profusion of it! Veins of eye-popping height (ten to fifteen yards!) and width (this was impossible to measure, as it was one continuous vein on each side) lined the canyon walls like an affluent rash. At first it was only a smattering of tiny veins here and there, but as I went deeper into this subsection, it increased exponentially. Soon there was more gold hogging my visual senses than the faded orange of the canyon wall. It reminded me of an old western flick whose name had been lost to me eons ago. The amount of bits here that could be fashioned from this supply were likely to cause extreme hyperinflation if introduced all at once.

I did not research the economic system of Arcania too well (the local markets were absolutely free to determine their own prices, while corporate sized businesses that were typically owned by wealthy and influential families or members of the Concordian nobility were only partially regulated by the government), but I had a feeling that this was a secret I could only share with a select few. Otherwise we might have an Arcanian gold rush on our hands, which I had ambivalent opinions about starting. The mining guilds alone would gravitate to this place like flies to dead flesh. I had to wonder about how the outlaws of all people discovered this natural treasure trove, and with additional rumination, decided that either they happened upon it by beatific chance (unlikely) or someone else knew about this place and relayed it to them. I’d have to investigate this somehow to unearth a connection.

My keen hearing picked up on sounds distinct from the clopping of Crooked’s horse, like the semi distant echoing of people toiling on a rock farm (Which was just an alternate form of the term quarry, since ever quirky Pinkie had a dictionary of her own that she referred to). The sound didn’t have that open aired quality to it though, closer to being underground. I drew my Tantō and stealthily flapped my wings to get a vantage point over his head. I could not allow Crooked Cards to warn his colleagues about what happened in Appleloosa, or about the fates of Smoky Joe’s gang, or this rescue mission would become a lot trickier. The informant had done his part, and now it was time for him to exit stage death. I dropped from the sky in a controlled fall behind his saddle as I quietly plunged the knife through his neck and into his spinal column, killing him instantly. His horse whinnied in surprise and reared up, but I seized the reins from the man’s grasp and brought him to heel before he could cause a racket.

Crooked Cards let out a strangled death rattle before his unsupported weight tilted to one side. I assisted him by pushing the windward side of his head and forcefully ejecting him from the saddle, where he landed with a thump.

“Woah, woah!” I repeated, leaning into the seat to stroke at the equine’s neck. The petting calmed it sufficiently that its nervous side shuffling and rotating was minimized.

After I ensured that his steed had settled down, I dismounted and unbuckled both saddlebags. I rummaged through those bags for anything useful and found nothing beyond a fat bag of ill gotten bits. Feeling poetically vindictive, I singled out the enchanted coin that led to the greedy Crooked’s demise and gave a glance at his rapidly cooling corpse (Or about as cool as it would get in the desert during daylight hours).

“Here…” I flicked it onto his body with a ‘chring!’, “…I won’t have it said I left you with nothing” I echoed his words to the other gamblers in the Salt Lick Saloon.

I collected his pistol (which was of higher quality than the kind that Smoky and his gang carried. It reminded me of a dueling pistol) and stowed it in the manifold pockets of my duster as additional evidence and totally not as a token of a clean kill. I entertained thoughts of stripping him of his clothes and impersonating him to gain access into what was most certainly a mining operation in this canyon, but didn’t know the man to the point where I could reliably pass myself off as him. From what I saw, he spent the majority of his time in Appleloosa learning what he could from a disguised Wild Bull about the secret means and ways of the Buffalo Braves. Being an informant would mean that he wouldn’t be around his outlaw buddies long enough to become anything approaching memorable to them. The safest recourse for me right now was to resume invisibility and infiltrate the mine, and if possible find Strongheart before the company she was in did something unforgivable.

I left his horse to stand idly in the canyon and continued ‘upstream’ to where I first made out the noises of pickaxes and the like hewing away at rock. The narrow passageway of the canyon subsection I was in widened until I could make out a sort of declining semi valley that was hidden from everything that didn’t have a bird’s eye view of the earth below. Several wooden buildings the size of small storehouses were the first objects I saw, and past those were the unmistakable forms of chained up natives chipping at the gold veins with their masters watching over their shoulders, whips and primitive firearms in hand.

When one of the masters perceived that a native wasn’t working to their liking, the whips were cracked and backs were bled. Elsewhere were natives that were sluggishly panning gold dust out of sediment filled bowls using a woody contraption with a sluice gate that unleashed water from a tub like reservoir to flow onto metallic riffles purposed for sifting out the gold dust. With how parched the canyon was, that water likely had to be shipped here. Stretching halfway up the canyon walls and hugging them was rudimentary scaffolding made of lumber and metal beams, with each level accessible via rickety looking planking acting as a stairway ramp. Buckets were weighted with hunks of the bright yellow ores and lowered with a pulley system, where groundside natives would cart it to the largest, smoke emitting building in the rear of the valley for smelting into hefty gold ingots or bullion. Horse drawn flatbeds were present all throughout the valley, as if today was bound to be an exporting day. Fate had a strange sense of humor if it picked today of all days to lure me here.

Not so obvious were tunnel entrances that burrowed to a greater extent into the canyon walls, where supplementary mining was presumably happening. The outlaws had not only set up their hideout here, they had opened up shop too! I would have been hard pressed to remove their infestation by myself. I couldn’t be sure of their personnel numbers yet, but to oversee and maintain an operation of this size with this many natives conducting the labor had to require at least forty or so men, which was more than the number of bullets I had on me. Luckily my companions weren’t far behind, assuming they heeded the signs I left.

The closest of these outlaw buildings to me had to be a security outpost of sorts (shaped like a log blockhouse with glass windows on both floors), as there were multiple horses stabled here off to one side and I could espy moderately drunk outlaws coming and going as they took slave driving shifts. I snuck into this building as the door swung open for a man to make a beeline for the outhouse to hit the head and stayed close to the shoddily made walls. The interior of the blockhouse was similar to the Saloons back in Appleloosa in function on the primary floor, save for the absence of a barkeeper dispensing spirits and a second floor for rooms. The second floor undoubtedly had a commanding view of the canyon entrance and the valley behind it. A repurposed wagon wheel chandelier of cracked spokes and dripping candles provided most of the illumination that the sun could not.

I frowned as I inhaled the unpleasant odor of cigar smoke, drifting from a trio of tables where a dozen or so outlaws were either engaged in conversation or playing cards, with chunks of unrefined gold as the chips. The manifestations of entertainment here in the south were admittedly sparse, but to see these men gamble and puff acrid fumes like chimneys while they enslaved their fellow men outside and beat them for slacking just plain pissed me off. I repressed this anger, saving it for later when it would best advise my aim. Hoping to learn what I could about this dreadful place, I kept hidden and eavesdropped. The dialogues occurring were mundane and otiose to me until a cleanly dressed outlaw with a scar on his lip and a patch of groomed fur on his chin came through the door.

“Any of you louts know when Crooked was supposed to return?” ‘Scarlip’ demanded in a gruff voice, “Or Smoky and his boys for that matter? They were due in yesterday!”

“Dunno” One of the men answered, “Maybe they ran in’ta trouble with the local authorities? Or maybe with the savages? Our raid on their main village didn’t go as planned, no thanks to that one Skyborn prick with the fancy quick shootin’ gun. I know Smoky and his crew wanted to put him in the ground sumthin’ fierce” He muttered, and I recognized this man as one of the figures who got away that night. He would not be so fortunate today.

He then grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth, “On the upside, we did catch their Chieftain’s daughter though. Pretty lookin’ thing… ain’t she?” He pruriently remarked, and I knew that Braeburn would have throttled him for that if he were here.

“Not a man who wishes to keep his genitals attached to his body touches the squaw without mah say” He growled, “The Boss wants to learn all he can from her about the villages that brash fool Wild Bull held out from us, before sendin’ her to the mines along with the rest of her barbaric kin. She’s spirited, that one” His tone held a modicum of respect, “But she’ll break… they all do eventually. Especially after ingestin’ that gnarly gruel the Boss tol’ us to feed ‘em”

Was that supposed to be a joke? Or was there more to it? I bided my time to listen in yet again.

“If she’s resistin’ even then, ya can tell the Boss that ah’d be more than happy to loosen her lips” The weasely man offered, “Among other things…”

“Quiet you!” Scarlip shushed him, before directing his attention to another man, “Hey, New blood! It’s yer turn to supervise group seven”

“Already?” The younger man complained querulously, flicking his hand of semi decent cards onto the table, “Mah break couldn’t have been an hour!”

“Would ya prefer goin’ back to the lousy pay ya got back at that dimwitted fool Tagalong’s Ranch?” Scarlip posited rhetorically.

The man removed his heels from the table and stood up, “Heck naw! Ten bits an hour to shovel shit for all of that stinkin’ cattle? Gimme doped up natives and golden nuggets any day of the week!”

‘Mister Thorpe wouldn’t take kindly to his former employees working for these people’ I mentally murmured, ‘Should I show him mercy? Or has he thrown in his lot with these scumbags unrepentantly?’

“That’s more like it” Scarlip scoffed with self satisfaction, “Get to it. Ah’m gonna notify the Boss that Crooked and Smoky are both late, and see what we oughta do about it. The rest of you gentlemen enjoy yerselves” He exited the building, unaware of his second shadow stalking his footsteps. I masked my footfalls with magic, but with all of the hubbub occurring in this pit, I think it was wasted mana.

Scarlip walked with a slight swagger to one of the mine entrances in the middle of the valley. His subordinates respectfully tipped their hats to him if they crossed paths with the burly man. This indicated to me that he seemed to be the foreman of the operations around here, and he was likely my ticket to finding Strongheart. He kept me in suspense as he made his rounds though, and it had me worried that my companions would swoop in and ruin my element of surprise. I proactively tagged every outlaw I could see with True Sight, knowing ahead of time that the only way we were going to liberate these enslaved Buffalo Braves from the clutches of these vile men was with force. Scarlip stopped a few times to micromanage things, such as berating a newer outlaw for ‘bein’ too soft on the livestock’ or admonishing the sadistic seasoned ones about ‘damaging the merchandise before the next culling brings in new meat’. His callous way of referring to the Buffalo Braves as cattle was queerly ironic in a way, at least from my perspective.

What I didn’t understand was why the natives weren’t rebelling against their captors. I acknowledged that the grown men were few and far between, the native’s members being mainly composed of women, children, and teenagers of both genders, but they had the raw numbers to triumph over the moderately few outlaws and liberate themselves. When I scrutinized these people they simply looked… empty, their eyes glazed over and any lively spark within suppressed. They were not broken per se, but there was something very wrong occurring with these people that prevented them from exuding anything other than a zombie-ish aura. I wished I could have kicked Wild Bull’s ass a second time. Did he even know what his own people were being subjected to because of his lust for power? Perhaps putting him in a permanent magically induced coma was too lenient on my part.

I had to restrain myself from grinding my teeth as I bore silent witness to a man backhanding a child native who was no older than eight and wearing a necklace of painted buffalo bones for letting a wheelbarrow brimming with gold dust tip over before he could dump it into a sack to be loaded onto a wagon, all the while screaming about how each speck of that dust was worth ten of him. This scene did my blood pressure no favors. All of this cruelty for the sake of gold? My trigger finger itched sporadically as it rested on the trigger guard of my revolver, and I wasn’t sure how much time I had before I automatically indulged it.

Scarlip appeared to hadn’t completely lost his humanity however, and after he saw that the man beating the poor boy drew blood, the foreman roared up a storm at his subordinate and decked him in the face with his meaty fist when the offender impertinently backtalked him. It only took a single hit and the man was prone, one of his front teeth knocked out and lying on the dirt beside him. Scarlip flicked his punching hand once (reminding me of the time I slammed my fist into a Skyborn wearing a lightning forged steel helmet, so I could detachedly sympathize) before he called out for a couple of his underlings to patch the scrawny native boy up, send him down to reorientation (whatever the hell that meant) forthwith, and clean the spilled gold dust from the floor.

Once he was done promoting synergy between slave and overseer (not that the former had a choice in the matter), Scarlip shuffled into the maw of one of the crudely dug tunnels. Inside was a macrocosmic latticework of timbered beams keeping the heavy rock above from collapsing inwards and caving in the tunnels. Lanterns were hung from hooks every three beams or so to light the way, but many were burning dimly from the lack of oil in their gas tanks. Simple directional black arrow signs assisted in maneuvering the network of interconnected tunnels, fully fledged mineshafts, and passageways. The sound of pickaxes chipping at stone was present here too; only the echoing was intensified due to the enclosed acoustics of the narrow spaces. Scarlip passed by a crude directory sketched onto a trio of planks attached together with nails, allowing me to get an idea of where everything was relative to the entrances.

The layout of this gold mine was the real deal. There were hollowed out sections of the canyon’s bowels where the gold concentration was highest, square set timbering dividing tons of individual floors through stepladders, and even separate tracks of mine cart rails to expedite the outflow of gold to the surface. This operation was too complex to have been cooked up by these outlaws. They had to have been given support from somebody with ties to organizations that could supply all of this material while sequestering it under the nose of the Crown. There was also the question of where all of this wealth was going. I could not believe for one moment that these unwashed, dimwitted thugs had any aspirations other than gambling or drinking their shares away. No, I think the real answer lay with their Boss, and dear old Scarlip here was to be my escort.

We were on the third underground level, passing by dozens of listless slaves absently pushing mine carts or carrying heaps of ore in wicker baskets on their backs. The dusty air was hot and thick with the stench of sweat and other undesirable odors. The people down here appeared to be the most ‘indoctrinated’ of any natives I had seen yet. Their eyes were wholly clouded over and their movements were robotic as they shuffled about conducting their assigned tasks. How they were able to function at all was a mystery, and I began to suspect that this ‘gruel’ Scarlip had mentioned had mental reconditioning properties to it. Again, knowledge concerning the myriad ingredients required to craft such a horrific foodstuff was additional evidence contrary to the idea of the outlaws’ operating as an independent faction.

He stopped at some kind of room where the Boss of this twisted enterprise resided and knocked on the door twice to announce his arrival before entering. I had to cut it a tad close to get inside the room with him before he shut the door, but I managed. The inside of the room was rather luxurious when compared to what I had seen prior. The furniture was plush, well oiled leather and gave off a fragrant scent that hinted at its newness. There was a desk of rich cherry wood by the door that was lined with yellowed papers and documents that I hoped detailed everything I needed to know about this illicit mining complex and the goings-on within.

Unexpected amenities such as electric lighting made sure that everything was lit, save for a back section of the room where the light was purposefully shut off. In this dark side of the room was the silhouette of a man with a boater leaning over the unmistakable silhouette of Strongheart, who was strapped to a chair using corded ropes. On a table tray to the side and overlaid on a white sheet was a variety of fiendish equipment with less than friendly purposes like hooks, scalpels, drills, and other insidious devices meant for prying information out of somebody the medieval fashion (Including a native’s tomahawk, which must’ve been a sentimental trophy). To my relief, they were clean of blood, but I wasn’t going to give anyone a chance to change that.

The two of them must have been in the middle of a heated discussion, based on the interrogator’s pose of the first silhouette over the second.

“-rying my patience” The man was saying in a semi familiar carnie voice as we walked into the furnished room. He was so absorbed that he hadn’t heard our ingress.

“You think yourself a man by tormenting me?” Strongheart spat in his face, “May you and your cohort languish in the deepest pits of hell for what you’ve done to my people” She hissed defiantly.

The man growled in irritation before raising a hefty stick over her head with violent intention. It was clear that he intended to beat the information out of her, though I doubted that the stubborn native woman would ever yield to scum like him.

Scarlip respectfully rumbled his throat before his boss coshed her with the club (Thus increasing my respect for him, not that it would shelter him from me). The man in the boater hat grumbled in frustration before lowering the club, tossing it on the torture tray with a clatter, and giving his other guest his undivided attention as he stepped out of the shadows. The differences between Flam and his brother were negligible, save for his sweat stained striped clothes, his curled mustache, and disparate frontal hair features.

“Chief Prospector Pyrite” He greeted him with false cheer, “Whatever are you interrupting us for? Can’t you see we’re bonding here?”

“Just thought it prudent to inform ya that Smoky and his boys haven’t come in yet… and nor has Crooked Cards for that issue, Mister Flam” He added as an afterthought.

“Well whataya know; some of our boys are unpunctual. You came here to tell me the obvious?” Flim’s brother said with annoyance, “Smoky and his merry band of hooligans are probably out drinking in one of the towns they haven’t accosted yet. But you are right to notify me about Crooked’s absence. He was supposed to learn about the fate of that Dodge Junction wagon train my brother advised us about” He snorted, “Didn’t take much suggestion for Wild Bull to dirty his hands for us, didn’t it?”

“It’s possible he’s jus’ shirkin’ his duties to us” Pyrite propounded, “Crooked never could pass up relievin’ any sucker dumb enough to try their hand at cards with him. That’s half the reason you made him our informant, ain’t it?” He chuckled, though the shadowy Flam did not share his mirth.

“Whatever the cause may be, his pay will be docked for his negligence” Flam groused, before switching topics, “Well since you’re here, are there any savages who’ve reached the end of their usefulness? We’re two crates of fertilizer short of being able to disguise our next shipment and I wanted it delivered yesterday”

My mind comprehended the meaning behind what he was implying, ‘OH… dear lord that’s disturbing!’ I had to put a stop to this. Now.

Before the Chief Prospector could answer him or I could pump these bastards full of lead, there came a frenzied series of knocks at the door.

“This had better be important, or it’s yer ass!” Pyrite called out, sharing his boss’s distaste for interruptions.

Taking the admonishing as their cue to report, whoever it was spoke through the door, “We’ve been made, sir. The perimeter sentries are under fire!”

Flam was clearly unsettled by this news, though the Chief Prospector took charge relatively fast, throwing the door open to reveal Thorpe’s runaway ranch hand, “They have firearms!? Who are they and how many are attacking?” He demanded from him.

The man shrunk back from the suddenness of Pyrite’s actions, “W-we dunno yet, sir!” He yelped frantically, “They were pickin’ us off from above! And when I left to report to ya, I heard shootin’ groundside too!”

Pyrite was incensed, “Well don’ jus’ stand there! Mobilize the rest of the boys and deal with ‘em! Use the savages as meat shields if ya have to!” He turned to his boss, “Sorry, Boss Flam, but it seems the cat’s outta the bag”

“Compromised eh?” Flam turned to glare darkly at Strongheart, “Defend our assets, Pyrite. I’ll make sure there will never be peace between settler and savage again”

And with that, Chief Prospector Pyrite left to take command of the mine’s defense, though I tagged him with True Sight as a precaution. Above us were specters of gray scrambling about the camp. This news was either highly convenient for me, or highly inconvenient, as my companions were assaulting the lode mine without me to support them. I had faith in the Sheriff and his now armed deputies, but Applejack’s safety still weighed on my mind. There was a real chance that she could perish in the ongoing firefight, and a lot more than her life would expire with her. But I knew that the girl had a good head on her shoulders, and wouldn’t charge recklessly into danger like her foolhardy cousin.

Strongheart was emboldened by the arrival of her saviors, “As you can see, Mister Flam, justice catches up with you no matter what hole you crawl into”

Flam backhanded her by way of response, “Shut your mouth, you native tramp! You’ve got another thing coming if you think you’re getting out of this alive”

“They’ll find no trace of you once I’ve fed you to the grinder” He leered as he picked up a scalpel from the torture sheet and calmly made to slit her throat. Strongheart fearfully tried to withdraw from the blade, but being tied to a chair made that endeavor nigh impossible.

I chose that moment to de-cloak and stealthily creep up on Flam, quietly unsheathing my Tantō in the usual reverse grip. Strongheart somehow noticed me in her periphery and her diverted stare enticed Flam to follow her gaze, only to come face to chest with a very displeased me. His reaction time was swifter than I would have credited the conman for, but was as slow as molasses to a seasoned Trifect like myself. I seized his scalpel wielding arm and broke it by pushing his elbow well past its normal degree of articulation with a strike from the pommel of my Tantō. I simultaneously kicked in his left knee to immobilize him. Flam shrieked in pain and dropped his surgical tool, clutching helplessly at his injured arm as he sank to the floor.

“W-who the hell are you!? How’d you g-get in here?” He whimpered in question, all of his previous bravado from beating on tied up women thoroughly evaporated.

“Magic” I sneered at him, before tending to Strongheart, using my Tantō to sever the ropes keeping her in bondage.

To my faint shock, she hugged me tightly, “Zenith! It gladdens my heart that you’ve come for me” She detached from me and gandered about the room, as if she was searching for someone else, “Where is my love? Did not Braeburn accompany you?”

The native girl wasn’t in pristine shape. She had ugly welts and weals all over her skin, and one of her eyes was bruised from Flam’s not so tender ministrations, angering me. These injuries did not deter her spirit in any way though, which was heartening to see. Braeburn found himself a tough lover in this one.

“Umm…” I eloquently vocalized, “He’s indisposed, I’m afraid. Some of the outlaws from this mine rode into town and challenged us to a showdown, making a point of insulting your honor to goad Braeburn and I into accepting. He uh… took a round during the fighting,” Quite stupidly I’d add, but I would leave that out, “though we won handily”

Strongheart was distraught by this, like any caring lover, “He is hurt? I have to see him now! We are pledged to another!”

I laid a hand on her shoulder, “Peace, Strongheart” I calmed her, “I left him in the capable hands of one of Appleloosa’s Docs. He’ll be right as rain before you know it”

I didn’t fail to observe that Flam was attempting to crawl towards the door during our exchange. I walked over to him and pressed down on his spine with my boot, eliciting a disappointed wheeze.

“And just where do you think you’re going, Flam?” I inquired rhetorically as I flipped him over, “We have unfinished business to settle”

“What do you want from me?” He squawked as my knee crushed his chest like a lead weight, “I’m innocent, I swear! Those filthy outlaws put me up to it!”

I scoffed, “Right. They held you at gunpoint and forced you to become the Boss of one of the most lucrative gold mines I have ever seen. You’re plainly a victim of circumstance in all of this” Even Twilight would cringe from the amount of sarcasm saturating my words now.

“Alright, alright!” He changed his tune, “Maybe I’m not so innocent. But please don’t kill me! I can tell you things, things that would be of great interest to you!”

He was in no position to ransom his life for information, but that wouldn’t stop me from letting him think that, “And what would that be?”

“You like making a tidy profit don’t you? Call off your pals outside and I can get you all shares of this place! You’d never be short of coin for the rest of your lives!” He appealed to my sense of greed.

I had no interest in money, “You are not making a convincing case for yourself, Flam” I warned him in a chilling tone, my Tantō now hovering over one of his jugular veins.

“AAH!” My icy inflection caused him to wet himself, and the stink of urine tainted the air of the enclosed space, “Oh… OH, my brother Flim! He’s in contact with the people who employed us! He can set up a meeting with their representatives for you. I haven’t met them personally, but they’re really powerful. Got their hands in a lot of cookie jars, if you catch my meaning. They’re people that go getters like youself could benefit from. That’s all I’ve got!”

This was sufficient for me. I eased up on him and allowed him to suck in deep breaths as the conman struggled to get some oxygen into his compacted lungs. Strongheart glowered at this man from over my shoulder. But she respected my authority, and made no moves on him as I stood and retrieved the tomahawk from the torture tray. I could now see in the light that the native woman had bruising on her cheeks and brow from repeated blows from a blunt object, courtesy of Flam. There was an opportunity here for me to tie up loose ends while also concurrently testing somebody’s character while they were under emotional stress.

“I sense a potent enmity between you and Mister Flam here” I remarked, adroitly flipping the weapon in the air insouciantly before handing it to her, “I think you should bury the hatchet… in his skull” I amended in deadpan.

Her eyes widened as she processed what I had imparted to her. She looked blankly at the weapon in her hands, one that had likely been pried from the dead fingers of one of her kin as they fought to defend their village against the men who had kidnapped her people and held them in mindless slavery, and the perpetrator of it was within killing range. I couldn’t blame her for giving this serious thought as she gripped the handle with an audible creaking sound.

“W-what!?” Flam exclaimed, “But I told you everything I know! You can’t kill me!” He protested weakly, utterly at my (or rather Strongheart’s) mercy.

Based on his unconscious facial muscle twitches and other telltale signs, I could see that he was not being truthful, especially about the grinder he threatened to feed Strongheart to minutes ago. I ordinarily would have seized the information from his mind, but I generally did not initiate such an invasive procedure like that with trusting witnesses present.

“Strongheart here represents the primarily wronged party of the Buffalo Braves that you subjugated for slave labor, and so her sentencing of you is quite frankly… out of my hands” I clinically informed him in my best heartless lawyer’s tone.

Strongheart loomed over him, “I want to end his life for what he did to us… but is this the way I should conduct myself? Exacting bloody vengeance on those who would wrong my people and I? Does that not beget further bloodshed?” She was conflicted on the inside, and she wore that turmoil openly.

“You said it yourself, Strongheart. Your people respect leaders who have wet their hands with blood, and this money grubbing scumbag couldn’t care one whit about you and yours, and he still doesn’t I bet. Is mercy what this man really deserves from you?” I posited to her.

“To take a life leaves an indelible mark upon one’s soul that only the divine can remove” Strongheart pensively waxed her philosophy, “If I do this… it will haunt me for the rest of my life. I could not face my beloved Braeburn knowing that I murdered a defenseless man, regardless of how black his sins were” She slammed the tomahawk into the wood beside Flam’s head, eliciting another high pitched shriek out of him and making him curl instinctively into a fetal position.

“I will await you outside” She uttered, her conscious clean, “My people must be freed. Do as you will with him”

Outwardly my face was stony, but secretly I was pleased that Strongheart was of superior moral character than a vindictive killer like myself. She’ll make a good wife for Applejack’s cousin, and a wonderful mother for his children as well. I’d have to ensure that she makes it back to him in one piece.

Her honorable character still left me with a loose end, however.

“Flam Skam” I began, surprising the man with my knowledge of his full name, “You stand accused of the heinous crimes of slavery, assault of the Chieftain’s daughter, and conspiracy to levy warfare between Arcanian settlers and Buffalo Brave natives; which is an act of treason as you are an Arcanian citizen yourself. As an Agent of their Majesties’ Government and witness to all three crimes, I am vested with the authority of judge, jury, and executioner… and I find you guilty of these acts. The penalty is death. The sentence will be carried out shortly.” My voice was without emotion as I recited this, “Any last words?”

A variety of emotions flashed across the rapacious man’s face, ranging from shock that a Royal Agent had exposed him right under his nose, the intense terror succeeding that realization, and a desperate fury that he was about to die for his crimes against humanity.

“You don’t know who you’re crossing!” Flam spat rabidly, “By killing me and ruining this bountiful arrangement, you’ll incur my employers’ wrath!”

“I look forward to meeting these mysterious and enigmatic employers’ of yours” I encapsulated his throat with my magic and with an abrupt twist of my hand, engendered a cervical fracture, thus snapping his neck and terminating him. The deceased man’s head thunked against the floorboards and he was still, lifeless. I departed the room soon afterwards. My job here was not done.

I met Strongheart in the hallway outside Flam’s underground office. She was unarmed, so I would have to be her guardian as I escorted her through the hollowed out caverns of the mining complex.

“What was Flam’s fate?” The woman inquired as I exited.

“You should forget about him” I dismissed her, “He is of no issue anymore”

“I see then” She bowed her head, murmuring something in her native tongue that sounded almost like a prayer (though for whom remained unsolved), “I did not see this facility extensively when they brought me here, but I overheard plenty, and I know that my brethren who are not active are kept penned on the lower levels”

“How many are down there, you reckon?” I asked her, aware that some of the country lingo was rubbing off on me.

“Hundreds of my people were taken from their homes” She replied, “And each of them were condemned to this place to labor and sweat until they were no longer of use, then they were tossed aside”

Worse than that, I believed, “Flam mentioned a grinder. What do you know of that?”

She shook her head, “Nothing. But its ominous label fills me with unease. What else have these wretched men done to my kin?” She muttered the last part to herself.

Strongheart refocused on the mission, “We must find my people, but I do not know how we are to safely navigate this place, or free them”

I was then struck with inspiration, “Let me take care of the first problem, then we concern ourselves with the second”

I concentrated as I cast a new spell that sent out an arcane ‘ping’ that echoed throughout the entirety of the mine, the information returning to my mind’s eye as three dimensional images of reddish light that were transparent, like a holographic map. It was like a bat’s sonar like screech in a way; only what I was employing did not utilize pulses of ultrasonic sound waves to echolocate. I rotated and ostensibly glanced at my feet, while what I was really seeing was a gaggle of sitting natives huddled together in three adjacent chambers that must’ve been reconverted when the gold extraction there went dry. My arcane sonar spell also notified me of where there were outlaws posted to defend the mine’s guts from attackers. I visualized a route we could take that would take that would bypass the majority of them, but there were still a trio of outlaws standing sentry by the slave pens. I’d have to dispatch them with Dee-Dee if I couldn’t talk them into submission, and that would have the other outlaws on us immediately.

“I know where to go” I apprised Strongheart, who seemed in awe of my abilities.

“Then lead, my friend,” She dropped the dreaded F-bomb, “and I shall follow”

I did so, walking to and descending the stairs of the square timber corridors while frequently sending out additional pings when the extrasensory effect wore off. With the aid of my innovative spell, we avoided or hid from patrols of outlaws as they roamed the halls, taking shelter in unlit storage rooms (one of which had a box of dynamite sticks, which I borrowed a few from) and even in an unladen mine cart in one case. The going was sluggish, and while I was gladdened that the tagged outlaws above us were in moderate disarray from my brave companions’ raid, they were beginning to get their act in order from Chief Prospector Pyrite’s directions.

Soon we were on the lowest levels and that trio of guards I spotted earlier was ahead. I motioned for the oddly stealthy Strongheart to stay put while I conversed with them. Given my clothing, they would probably assume that I was another new blood sick and tired of measly pay on someone else’s ranch or farm and hungry for the gold that was so abundant in this canyon. They raised their weapons as I approached and for a second I was worried that I would have to roll to the side to dodge before they hesitated and lowered their guns a tad.

“Who the heck are you? And why are ya down here?” The rightmost of them interrogated me.

‘Time to see if my speech skill is up to snuff’ I wordlessly opined.

“Chief Prospector Pyrite sent me!” I pretended to be frantic, like Thorpe’s turncoat ranch hand was when he reported the attack, “Our guys are gettin’ picked off like flies out there! He needs every gun he can get!” I subverted my rule about imitating accents there weren’t mine for the sake of detail.

“I don’t recognize ya” The middlemost one scrutinized me, his finger still on the trigger of his aged flintlock, “And I was present for the latest batch of raw recruits a week ago”

“I started today” I ‘admitted’ shyly, “Ah’m supposed to be a replacement for one of the guys that was lost in the raid on the savages’ main village?”

For a moment it looked like the middle man (heh) wasn’t buying my story, but then the one outlaw who hadn’t spoken came to my aid, “The tall feller is tellin’ it true, Knuckle Dragger. The Boss was lookin’ to replenish our culling crews after the disaster with the main village”

Knuckle Dragger frowned, but holstered his gun.

“Well, what are ya waitin’ for? Hearth’s Warming Day? Get up there!” I motioned with a thumb to my rear, “I’ll re-secure the livestock like Mister Pyrite instructed me ta. Those bastards won’t deprive me of no money makin’ creatures, no siree!”

My minor gambit paid off. The men were convinced that they were needed elsewhere and brushed past me. As they did so, I inconspicuously unsheathed the throwing knives I had transferred from my robes to one of the many pockets of my duster. I zeroed in on critical points on the outlaw’s vulnerable necks and magically guided my knives into them. The trio of outlaws let our strangled screams as their spinal cords were severed at vital junctions. They would slowly suffocate from those wounds, since their breathing functions were now impaired and their blood pressure would suffer a profound drop from the spinal shock. The three men slumped to the ground as they fruitlessly fought to get to their feet. Their movements became strained before ceasing altogether as they gave up the ghost.

Strongheart emerged from hiding when I gave an ‘all clear’ whistle, “I cannot say I approve of your ghastly methods, Zenith. But I would rather witness their deaths over my own, as they would have surely seen me had you let them go”

I magically recalled my throwing knives and wiped them clean, “I apologize. I don’t often make for G-rated company. Not with what’s expected of me” I relieved the dead men of their guns and offered one of them to Strongheart, who to my frustration rejected it.

“Brandishing a weapon that has been used against my people to such a horrific degree would not sit well with me” She excused.

“Suit yourself” I shrugged, stowing the pistols in my duster, “You and Applejack have a lot in common over that subject it seems” She was pensive after that statement, thinking about her beau’s cousin.

I ambled over to the metal gate and examined the deadbolt lock keeping the sturdy door from being opened. I could have pried it apart with my magic (or failing that, blow the door off its hinges with sheer force), but that would create unnecessary noise from the snap of steel being sheared and that would have attracted the guards, who were only a floor above us. No, I would go for a more refined method of undoing this lock. I did not posses the key, but I needed only to analyze the locking mechanism and alter it from there. I scanned the lock with magic and determined that it was a basic pins and tumbler breed of lock. I used two physical manifestations of magic to insert into the lock (a tension wrench and a pick respectively) in place of a key and aligned the gaps between the pins until the shear line was formed and I could retract the deadbolt inwards.

What was unveiled to me when the door swung wide would’ve been haunting for me had I not been so damn jaded. The light from the lanterns where we were standing flooded into the pitch black room to reveal a chamber brimming with milky eyed slaves (they were like lifeless versions of the Shaman’s eyes, now that I reflected on it) who reacted to our presence like a dog whose master had come home, only without the tail wagging and slobber. Before we showed up, the Buffalo Braves were all sitting clustered together with their arms over their knees, as though they were deactivated robots awaiting their next task. Whatever this gruel was that the outlaws were feeding them, it deprived a person of their humanity after too long spent ingesting it. It wasn’t nutritious either, since most of these people were emaciated and the stench of sickness was heavy in the humid air. I could only pray that after we liberated these people, they could regain their former selves.

Strongheart cursed in her native tongue and rushed forward to the nearest native, a woman about her age. She spoke to her in that same language and held her tightly, as though she were her own sister. The native woman remained unresponsive though, save for uttering a phrase that had Strongheart alarmed.

“What did she say?” I asked her.

“She is wondering why I am not serving the masters” She replied, “Come, come with us. Your toils are at an end!” She urged her fellow native, who did not listen, but stayed focused on me.

‘She thinks I’m one of the masters’ I noted. This could come in handy.

“Listen up you greasy savages!” I spoke loud enough to be heard by the entire congregation, but wouldn’t be heard by the guards.

“What are you doing!?” Strongheart whisper-yelled at me, anger in her eyes for my hurtful labeling.

“Trust me on this one” I reassured her.

She frowned, but obeyed, allowing me to resume.

“You see this woman here?” I motioned to Strongheart, “She’s gonna be mah assistant for today. You will pay heed to her directions as if they came straight from mah mouth” To solidify her position to the brainwashed natives, I placed my hat (of authoritah) on her head, “If any of y’all disobey her. I’ll whip ya so hard it’ll be as if I flayed ya alive!”

Like magic, the room’s focus turned to Strongheart, who looked vaguely uncomfortable to have so many soulless gazes fixed on her. While she was distracted with the leadership role I had foisted upon her, I slipped away to pick the locks of the other two gated chambers, repeating my instructions to the people held inside. Soon we had dozens upon dozens of native women, teens, and children filing out into the corridor. I was concerned that they would make too much noise, but their footsteps were as muted as their demeanor. There were no worried mumblings, nor cries of frightened children. Their ridiculously brainwashed states could actually prove stealthy if nothing else.

The emptied chambers that they left behind them still had big, covered clay urns in the center. I lifted the lid on one and automatically recoiled at the overpowering odor emanating from the contents within. Based on the dirtied plates and spoons scattered nearby the urn, I could deduce that the outlaws let the natives feed themselves the gruel. Inside the urn was a greyish goo that was closer to watery sludge than edible gruel. I did require a sample of the foul concoction to figure out what made it so soul sucking to consume, but lacked a Ziploc baggie to seal it in. I improvised with a roll of wax paper that was used to keep the dynamite sticks dry, taking a spoonful of the gruel and dabbing it onto the wax paper, which I then rolled up and pocketed for later.

I saw a crowded Strongheart waving me over and obliged her, “My people are free, but how do we get them past the guards?” She inquired once I was close.

“Again, you let me handle that. I’ll sweep each floor and notify you when it’s safe to bring everybody topside” I spared her the details of the blood I’d have to spill in order to accomplish that.

She nodded, but then she stared at me strangely, “Zenith… where is your Focal Gem?”

‘I should have remembered to put on my fake rhinestone bindi’ I chastised myself.

I raised an eyebrow, “You know about those?”

She sent me an exasperated mien, “I met Applejack’s friends. Rarity and Twilight are their names if I recall correctly? I pestered them about the gemstones adorning their foreheads and they explained what they were, as well as their purpose. I’m so used to Agrarian Arcanians that I often forget that there are two other clan types they share this land with” Her eyes narrowed, “So how is it that you can cast magic without one?”

“The truth is Strongheart…” I willed my irises to flash crimson for her, “…there’s more to me than meets the eye” I then inspected the silent congregation, “Look alive, folks” I jested, not really expecting this command to be met.

I departed from the flustered native woman and climbed the ladder going up a level. I ‘pinged’ it and discerned the whereabouts of the guards standing in the way of Strongheart’s people and freedom. The corridors of these square set timbered hallways were tricky sometimes, usually terminating in odd ways or having walls where they were superfluous, so I’d have to hunt my prey very carefully. Though between my stealth capabilities and penchant for dispatching my human foes, this would be as procedural as baking a cake… a bloody cake anyhow. I tested the hidden blades I had chosen to keep on me by flicking my wrists forwards, feeling gutsy when they sprang forth as always.

I grinned to myself, ‘Oh yes, this is part of what I do best’

I cast my stealth spells and went about my bloody business, prowling the dim corridors like a vengeful poltergeist, slaughtering unsuspecting outlaws while their backs were turned. I had no qualms with literally backstabbing them, as they had sold their figurative brothers into slavery and even aided in spreading wanton conflict because of it. This made them traitors to almost everything that Arcania stood for, and there was a steep price to pay for betraying one’s nation. Even if I didn’t kill them, their crime’s severity ensured that they would only see the outside world through a series of enchanted metal bars. I wouldn’t abide the small chance that they could be granted parole only to revert back to their old habits and do something like this on a second occasion. As a general rule, I valued the sacredness of life. But I also had no qualms with taking it from those who squandered theirs and invited suffering upon others with their poor choices.

Disregarding my personal sentiments on the matter, I retained a professional methodology for emptying the mine of outlaw riff-raff. I would slay all the guards on one level, give the all clear signal to Strongheart, and then get to work on the next floor while she herded her impassive people like a shepherd. A tiny portion of my mind reminded me how this was similar to a video game in that fashion, although the rest of me was rather preoccupied with puncturing hearts, perforating lungs, and cracking skulls. I was proud that I was able to defeat my foes without them discharging their weapons and alerting their friends that they were being hunted, albeit my anatomical precision may have been responsible for that. It’s hard for the mental command to squeeze the trigger to be sent when your spinal cord was sundered.

While I was having success in the mines, my companions were not so fortunate. The specters of outlaws moving between buildings for cover as they fired upwards at unseen targets was not lost on me. A few of their numbers were occasionally hit by a lucky shot and they were forced to withdraw from the furious action, but there were plenty other outlaws to take their place. My outnumbered companions needed me to turn the tide of combat, but that would dictate that Strongheart and her people remained behind in the mines that had served as the former’s prison and the latter’s unpaid workplace for God knows how long. Strongheart possessed the capacity for reason and would understand this rationally from my viewpoint, but emotionally she would want her people out of here in spite of whom they might come across when they did.

Speaking of which, there she was.

“Zenith?” She began, “Are our obstructions… removed?” She euphemistically put.

“They are” I confirmed after a quick ping of the mines, “But I must request that you and your people linger here until I can guarantee their safety on the surface”

She seemed like she was about to protest, but then she realized an important detail, “There are a surplus of outlaws outside, aren’t there?”

I hummed, “Indeed, and though my companions are battling them right now, they are far fewer in number and are at risk of being overwhelmed”

“You came all this way and didn’t bring the manpower to sufficiently liberate us?” She shook her head, “I apologize if I sound like I am denouncing you, but it is a legitimate concern of mine”

“What did you assume? That I was going to find volunteers in Appleloosa to rescue Buffalo Braves? The same ones that they perceived were attacking them?” I retorted dryly, “It was tiring enough to convince the Sheriff and his Deputies to accompany us, and that’s because these outlaws have caused trouble for the law around here too. Rescuing your people is simply a bonus for me and an excuse for them to shoot guns like trigger crazy morons”

“Point taken” She conceded, “But how can you alone hope to prevail?”

“I’m not alone” I unholstered my gun, “I have this, and I have them, remember?”

“I can see that my people and I have little choice in this,” She groused, “very well then. But do try to stay alive, Zenith, for our lives depend on your continued survival”

“No need to remind me” I said in a tone thicker with solemnity than I meant to project, fully aware of how vital my survival was to the world at large.

She hugged me again, “You have the heart of a warrior, Zenith, and the compassion of a Chieftain. You have not led us astray thus far. I have the utmost of faith in your competency” She affirmed bookishly, all of that literature she read while at Jubilee’s having permanently ingrained itself into her vocabulary.

Her kind words inspired me with courage, “I’ll try not to disappoint” I wisecracked, sarcasm being my trusty sword and shield as a Snark Knight, “Wait here until I return… and I will return, got that?”

After agreeing to hang around until they were outright emancipated, Strongheart retreated back into the darkness to tend to the spiritless gaggles of her kin, who were basically immobile without firm instructions from those they perceived as their masters. I went in the opposite direction, towards the light. The intermittent crack of musket and pistol shot tinged the ambience as I drew near one of the mine entrances, and I heard men shouting at each other to do various things like provide covering fire or wait until their comrades could move up. My eyes readjusted to the brightness of the outside after spending ten minutes or so down in the mines, and when the glare faded I witnessed a scene that was like it was out of a cowboy film (But in very slow motion as far as gunplay went).

The outlaws were condensed in the middle, where their storehouses were concentrated. The men at the forefront of the fighting were trading shots at each other before ducking behind shelter. That blockhouse building I had infiltrated before was where my companions were currently duking it out with their enemies. Given how Shooting Star and Lone Star preferred pistols, it made sense that they would be the ones confronting the outlaws at ground level. I couldn’t see the Sheriff and Clinky at first, but based on the reports coming from up high, they were somewhere above us, sniping with their muskets at outlaws below from either side of the canyon. The Sheriff was on the left side while Clinky expertly camouflaged himself on the right. I was impressed, as this gave them a form of crisscrossing lines of sight over the canyon. The Sheriff and his deputy had unwittingly pioneered the force protection tactic of Overwatch in this world.

Opportunistically, the Sheriff and Clinky Keys cleansed the scaffolding of outlaws, as the last one still present on the suspended planks fell to his death after a bullet found a home in his lungs. The suppressive effect of having two snipers taking potshots at them had a serious scare factor effect on the outlaws, who had never faced opponents that could reciprocate fire at them before. Somehow my outnumbered law-keeping companions were holding their own against the men they came to bring to justice. I wasn’t positive that diplomatic solutions were tried, but I tended to favor aggressive negotiations myself. Such favorable circumstances could not last forever though, as I could hear Pyrite angrily coordinating his men to get their rears in gear and repulse the lawmen.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the enslaved natives in the canyon were no more responsive to gunfire stimuli than they were to physical contact, as the majority of them kept working, as if this was a normal everyday occurrence. True to his word, Pyrite had many of his men using the Buffalo Braves as body blocks to the snipers’ bullets, and my companions did not lack for humaneness, and therefore did not risk those shots. Gradually, the scar-lipped Chief Prospector’s stern and rather questionable (to the extent that his tactics went) leadership was rousing the outlaws to operate in sync. They shot at the figurative rooftop snipers so they would have to keep their heads down while their comrades advanced un-harried on the blockhouse building where the nearest threats to them were. There were about a dozen or so of these outlaws presently within spitting range of that structure, which was already showing signs of damage from all the gunplay. The windows were shattered and I could see my companions shoot and scoot between them on the ground floor while their adversaries were reloading.

Shooting Star’s semi rapid firing pistol and impeccable aim fell two out of three men advancing on the doorway of the blockhouse building. The third tried to breach the door by kicking it in, only to receive a face full of lead from Lone Star as he did so, who I assumed was prudently watching it. I wasn’t certain how the two of them had fought their way into the fortified building, but they were mounting an effective defense from there. I wondered where my gun-shy friend Applejack was in all of this, but had no time to contemplate the possibilities before I was sucked into the gun battle myself.

“Hey, idiot!” A passing outlaw that I recognized as the prurient one who was playing cards called out to me, “Don’t jus’ stand there! Help us kill th-” He paused as he recognized me in turn.

Dee-Dee was out and cocked before the man so much as twitched with his gun hand. I fired from the hip and a high velocity .44 round (the whole slug, that is) slammed into the man’s shoulder, imbued with enough kinetic energy that it tore his arm clean off (‘Oh, Discord. This gift of his just keeps on gibbing’). He clutched at his bloody stump as he wordlessly fell backwards onto the dirt. It didn’t kill him instantly, but the blood loss from a grievous wound like that would in minutes. Unfortunately, the roar of my Magnum had attracted attention, and I holstered it before sprinting towards the blockhouse where I knew my allies were. My leaping over wooden crates, sliding under wagons, and other evasive maneuvers did not spare me from being a bullet magnet as I felt several tugs at my duster, as if someone were violently pinching at it before suddenly letting go. One round whizzed right past my ear and I could feel the pressure waves accompany it.

Open ranged gunfights were one of the few things that could make me anxious. It wasn’t as procedural as melee combat, where one could measure their opponent and anticipate their moves and counteract them in a morbidly beautiful dance of death. No, guns weren’t quite as elegant as my blade (‘Now, I’m thinking like Obi-Wan’). Each bullet that went flying my way was a randomized chance that one bastard might be accurate or otherwise luck out on hitting me, and the simulated, searing pain I felt in Discord’s ‘week length’ dream training was fresh in my memories for me. Still, my ‘luck’ must’ve held out, because I reached the demolished door of the outpost building relatively unscathed. I would apologize to Big Mac over the damaged state of his duster later… or I would have Rarity repair the garment and pretend it never happened. I never did like fessing up to my mistakes.

“Whoa, whoa!” I immediately exclaimed as Lone Star jammed a pistol in my face from the door side, “Guys, it’s me” I held my hands up as a symbol of peacefulness.

“Zenith!?” The man let out a relieved sigh and lowered his weapon, “Where’d yer hat go?” He asked, concerned over the state of my headwear, “Don’ tell me those outlaws shot it off! That is an unforgivable act right there!”

“My hat is fine. I gave it to someone I trust” I brushed the longer strands of my sweat matted hair over my forehead so that they wouldn’t notice the same lack of Focal Gem that Strongheart did, “I see you got my directions?”

“We took a while searchin’ for ‘em, since ya made ‘em challengin’ to spot. But overall it wasn’t too exhaustin’ findin’ this horrid place” Lone Star shuddered, “What I don’t understand is why the slaves aren’t usin’ this opportunity to revolt! We’re their saviors for cryin’ out loud!”

“Don’t blame the slaves” I chided him, “These outlaws have been feeding them some kind of gruel that somehow decreases their independent functioning and increases their reliance on a perceived master figure, namely the outlaws” I idly pondered if Zecora’s knowledge of herbology and insight into some of the crazier plant ingredients in the Neverfree could do this.

“That’s dastardly!” Lone Star railed, “And on top of it they’re resistin’ arrest!” He added indignantly, as if that sign of defiance was all that mattered. I forgot how strange some people’s priorities were in this world.

I used the lull (a relative term, since guns were being shot periodically at our comrades up top) to take in my surroundings, which was occasionally broken by some blockhead shooting though the back windows aspiring to hit one of us. All that was missing to make this a true Western shootout scene were the obscene ricochet sound effects. The embattled building wasn’t as organized as it was when I had left it with the Prospector. Everywhere there were tables that were overturned, playing cards scattered onto the floorboards, and alcohol bottles smashed into a million fragments. There were a few bodies too, and their positions oriented towards the door gave me the idea that they were facing somebody down before they bit the dust. Bullet holes adorned the walls, displaying hardwood fibers frayed from the points of impact. I glanced over at Shooting Star, and saw that he was favoring his right arm (which was the one he equipped his Volcanic pistol with), while his left was held folded towards his chest. Other than the injury to that arm, he seemed to be in acceptable shape, same as his brother. There was something missing though… or should I say someone?

“Where is Applejack?” I deadpanned.

Lone Star head pivoted around him and his eyes widened, “Erm… I could’ave sworn she was with us jus’ a moment ago”

“And how long ago was just a moment?” I grilled him, not pleased with this development.

“Well… erh… ya see…” Lone Star pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes to hide his embarrassment, “We kinda lost track of time. What with all of the outlaws we’ve been trading bullets with. I recall that she was with us when we came in here an’ demanded that these lawbreakers surrender… then they got out of their chairs an’ started shootin’. Some of ‘em ran to get the others. Then all hell broke loose and… she simply slipped away from us?”

I pinched at my nose to halt an oncoming headache. It was a hackneyed excuse if ever I heard one, but I couldn’t be too mad with them. Applejack had a tendency of doing things her own way when left to her own devices, and the chaos of flintlocks discharging their rounds along with massive puffs of foul smelling smoke would make it effortless for her to vanish unseen. She was out there in the valley, immersing herself in the fight where she could function optimally. How she would do this nonlethally without being killed was beyond my meager scope of comprehension. I’d leave that idealistic philosophic approach to Batman. I didn’t have the manpower to scour the valley and bring her into the fold, but I’d be damned if I’d let that stop me.

Speaking of which, “Whose idea was it to split the group?” At his blank look I reiterated, “You know. The Sheriff and Clinky firing on the outlaws from the high ground?”

“Ya told the Sheriff to proceed as he willed didn’t ya? It was his idea to use the rifles to provide us with coverin’ fire while we swept through the canyon” Lone Star explained, “Didn’t expect there to be so many of ‘em though” He expressed ruefully.

Lone Star peered over our bullet riddled cover, “There’s gotta be three dozen of ‘em at the least to support such a fancy operation in this here canyon, and you can bet that they’re waitin’ fer us somewhere in that mess of buildin’s and obstacles. The second they bunch up in mass, they’ll come down on us hard”

That was ill news. After Tumbledown and my first firearm kill in this canyon, I had less than thirty cartridges of ammunition. Not only would have to make every shot count, I’d have to rely on my allies to fell the rest. I prepared a slew of self augmenting spells designed to guarantee the former condition. I chewed myself out for not remembering to replenish my ammo before going to sleep the previous night; all of that storytelling had a toll on my mental checklist. The spells were mostly identical to the ones I used in my first showdown, like giving my eyesight a crosshair aligned with the barrel of my revolver. The new modifications incorporated muscle memory that would enable me to score headshots on tagged enemies if they were in my light of sight. It was an analog to the Deadeye ability from my favorite Western video game, I suppose. If I combined this with my sonar scanning spell, I’d be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield to be positive. In other words… I would be OP as hell… although that would only be the case as long as I kept my gun fed with bullets.

I shrugged, “We’ll just have to shoot harder than them” I declared nonchalantly, dispensing with the witty repartee. This task wouldn’t be as insurmountable as I feared it might be after all.

“Ya certainly don’ lack for confidence, do ya Mister Zenith?” He chuckled.

“Face down the odds that I have, and guys like these are a metaphorical walk in the park” I expressed airily, “You ready for some action?” I was all but oozing self assurance as I spun Dee-Dee in my grasp.

He held up his gun by his face before smirking cheekily, “Always. You have a plan?”

“Sure do. We’re outnumbered, to be sure, but we also have the Sheriff and Clink providing covering fire from up high. However, they can’t be used to their full effectiveness while the outlaws are able to button them in with returning fire, so we have to disrupt their ability to do that” I elucidated.

“We seize the initiative?” Shooting Star approved of this plan, “Y’all need me ta keep a rein on them while ya do it?” The young deputy offered, loading bullet capsules into his weapon and flip cocking it.

“Eeyup!” I pushed the cylinder of my gun until I had access to the chamber, manually grabbing a bullet from my belt and inserting it into the hole where its brother once slept. My ears discerned Shooting Star berating himself under his breath, “A revolvin’ chamber? Why didn’t ah think of that?”

I crouch scrambled over to a window, “Now on three, we vault over and take the fight to them” I began counting, “One. Two. Three!”

‘Let’s get this party started’ I thought, my blood running in adrenaline fueled torrents through my veins as I leapt out the window.

Shooting Star snapped off a trio of rounds that kept the outlaws poking their heads over their cover pinned while his brother and I rushed them. The outlaws taking positions behind crates of smelted gold and the carts to wheel those crates away were blindsided by our unexpected charge, but recovered accordingly as they took aim. Dee-Dee was leveled at them and barked five times. Each round hit home and those men had departed from this mortal coil before their bodies touched the ground. There was another outlaw in the middle of climbing the scaffolding to get a superior vantage point over the outpost building. The last round in the chamber showed him why that was a bad idea as he plummeted to the earth with a howl, a fist sized hole blown in his stomach. I offhandedly observed that the extreme velocity of my bullets translated into small entry wounds, and incredibly gory exit wounds.

That same velocity meant that I also didn’t have to give any lead on my shots as I fixated on a quartet of men running parallel to us as I reloaded my gun. I engaged my Deadeye spell, pulled the trigger once, and fanned the hammer three times. My steady hand and the compensator on the barrel managed the recoil as my muscles automatically adjusted for the follow up shots. They plowed into the sandy ground as my bullets hit center mass and I heard a general cry of retreat from the remnants of the advanced guard. Lone Star dropped another one who was running and crouched behind a crate to begin the tedious process of reloading a flintlock pistol with gunpowder, cotton wad, ball, and ramrod. I didn’t want the outlaws to regroup merely because I waited for my ally to get in the fight again, but I wasn’t about to abandon him either.

I grabbed him by the arm and hefted him to his feet, “C’mon! We should strike while the iron is still hot!”

“What about mah brother?” He gasped, “We should wait up fer him”

I glanced behind us to see his brother limping out of the blockhouse door and towards us. Apparently he had been nailed in the thigh as well as his arm. I growled in frustration but kept my cool. These men wanted to bring the outlaws to justice as much as I did. Depriving them of the chance to do that would reflect poorly on me as an Agent of this Kingdom and as the unspoken leader of this illegal mining and slave labor ‘crackdown’.

“You know we’ve only bought ourselves a minute or so of respite, right?” I informed the man in my grip, “The next time we make a ballsy move like that, they’re going to be ready for us”

“With that weapon of yers!?” He motioned to Dee-Dee, “I’d say they’re livin’ on borrowed time!”

“I only have so many bullets on me” I exhaled, “And I don’t have an exact estimate of their numbers, so I’ll be counting on your aim to be impeccable”

“Mah brother would often let me practice with his gun” Lone Star let me in on a smidge of his family history, “Got an aim almost half as good as him”

I was about to reply to his boast when an opportunistic outlaw with a musket did it for me. A wooden lantern post next to us was chunked as the leaden ball slammed into it, pulping the material and showering us with splinters. I was facing my back to it, so the durable fabric of my duster absorbed the majority of the shrapnel, but I did hear Lone Star curse in surprise. I hefted him by his collar out of the line of fire and into cover. I utilized the sonar spell (which is not as effectual in open aired environments as it is in enclosed spaces, but workable) and discovered the culprit camping on the roof of one of the storage buildings like the sneaky little bastard that he was. I leaned to the side to take a gander at him, only to jerk it away when another round missed me by centimeters. He had multiple rifles with him, and with his pals behind him suppressing our Overwatch, I’d have to deal with this one personally.

“I saw everythin’!” Shooting Star wheezed as he ducked in beside us, “How can we get past him without eatin’ one of his shots?”

“There is no ‘we’ for this one” I informed him as I reloaded, “I’ve got this”

He seemed doubtful, “Ya sure?”

I flicked the cylinder shut, “I am. Just be ready to move on up once he’s dealt with. We still have to deal with the reserve forces in the rear along with their Scarlipped leader”

They nodded their compliance and waited patiently while I crept around to sneak up on our sniper. I supposed I could have stealthed myself for it, but with all the excitement going on the thought never occurred to me. I crouched low and duck walked to my target, employing sluice gated tubs and boxes stuffed with mining equipment to mask my approach. The natives had vacated this tip of the mining premises, which was fortunate, as they could have easily gotten caught in the crossfire and perished. I finally arrived at the building where the sniper was currently taking guess shots at the spot where Lone Star and his brother were hunkered down. I noiselessly climbed onto the roof and tapped the man on the shoulder. He spun around and his eyes became the size of dinner plates as I sunk a hidden blade into his throat. Blood welled up from the wound and he began to choke on it as he struggled to breathe. I belatedly recognized his face as that of the ranch hand that Tagalong Thorpe had lost to this place.

Some part of me that retained a sense of humanity felt pity for this man, as his death would not be mercifully brief, but my vindictive side reminded it that these men were slavers, and slavers would get no mercy from me. These opinions and beliefs warred inside me as my gaze bored into his. The young man’s eyes were alight with fear, and even regret that it was all over for him. That ‘after colliding with the deer in the headlights’ look got to me and I ended his suffering by caving his face in with my fist, his skull collapsing with a meaty crunch.

It was a decidedly messy way to show leniency, but it was better than nothing. I wiped the crimson gore of my hand on his clothes and appropriated a musket from his stock that he had piled abreast of him. The model was almost an exact replica of the Charleville Musket (which I also learned of from watching military documentaries), having a lengthy barrel, an ornate metal flint striker, and a dark ligneous polish. Its practical range was about fifty or so yards, but the accuracy (or notorious lack of accuracy rather) of unrifled guns like muskets meant that it deviated severely even within those ranges, not mention exceeding those ranges.

Still, a rifle was a rifle. I hopped down from the roof of the glorified storage shed and returned to my allies, who were staring at me warily.

“Ya move like a ghost, Agent” Shooting Star complimented me; though the unsettled tone in his voice implied something other than flattery.

“That’s kind of the point,” I lectured them, “to move unseen through the shadows… otherwise he might have shot me, and I’m deathly allergic to bullets” I tossed the musket to Lone Star, who intercepted it deftly, “Here, you’ll need this”

“Do I hafta?” He whined, “These longer guns are unwieldy as heck, never mind how they aren’t as portable as pistols”

“Sure” I acknowledged, “But pistols don’t have the same stopping power that rifles do, and their range is lacking as well”

“He’s got a point, big brother” Shooting Star pitched in, “It’s why the Sheriff favored his gun. He can reach out and touch criminal scum like these men from a distance, like he’s doin’ now. Besides, you should leave the rapid firin’ pistols to me and Zenith… especially Zenith” He reiterated, eyeing my Magnum with faint jealousy. Who could blame him?

At the reference of his mentor’s preferences, Lone Star appraised his rifle with a newfound appreciation, “All right, I’ll use the damn thing”

“Form up” I commanded, “Standard triangle formation. Lone Star, you take the left, about seven feet back. Shooting Star has the right. Our enemies are somewhere ahead. We’ll finish off these outlaws once and for all”

They obeyed without hesitation, moving into an incomplete diamond pattern like a well oiled machine. I felt proud of their adherence to squad based discipline, though their time with Sheriff Silverus might have been responsible for that. Speaking of the Sheriff, I could still make out a one sided gun fight duked out between the outlaws and the two lawmen nested at the summit of the canyon. They’d need our backup if we were to get anywhere. With a standard ‘move out’ gesture, we advanced in a slight jog as we went ahead with steely resolution to enforce the law.

We encountered minor resistance as we went, mostly from outlaws who were too cowardly to associate with Pyrite’s defense group and sheltered themselves in the various buildings purposed for mining use. I didn’t waste bullets on these miserable excuses for hostiles; electing to breach the doorways, dodge to the side the instant I saw their flint strikers hammer down, and then return the favor my hammering them in the face with the butt of my pistol. I wasn’t intent on killing every outlaw I saw, but these select few men would spend the rest of their lives behind bars once they woke.

The laggardly progress we were making was slow, but sure. In five minutes of shed to shed fighting, we controlled a significant portion of the sunken canyon valley. In ten minutes we were at seventy five percent territorial control. It was quite the feat for only a trio of men and a woman that was missing in action. The worrying decrease of bullets on my belt offset this news. Without my gun, I only had my magic to deal with ranged opponents, and that couldn’t be used as effectively as a firearm. The Sheriff and Clinky moved up alongside us as they saw our gains, though they were still under heavy fire by musketeer outlaws led personally by the Chief Prospector.

I doubted that they would have maintained their stubborn resistance if they had known about their deep mining operation being as thoroughly demolished as it was thanks to me. The equipment was left intact, as I had no intention on destroying such a valuable asset to the Kingdom, but finding tight lipped labor to keep it functional would be difficult. Eh, I’ll leave that to Discord. As the Chaotic Lord of the Bureaucracy, part of his duty was enlisting government workers, screening them for Loyalty, and putting them where they could be useful. Or he could just whip up an army of those broomstick assistants of his, enchant them with the knowledge to mine gold, and send them here. That would be an amusing sight to see, though I shudder to imagine if Disney Corporation jumped the dimensional borders to file a copyright lawsuit; the law’s nonexistence here be damned.

Before deliberations about the mine’s future could take place though, its present infestation of outlaws would have to be taken care of first. This was made inconvenient when a lone counter sniper’s bullet hit Clinky Keys mid-center. His cry of pain was so loud that would have been audible to a deaf person even at the bottom of the canyon, so we knew that it was a truly damaging hit. The man lost his footing and careened into the depths below, tumbling along the approximately vertical drop to land roughly upon a crate stacked cart with a crash. He was deathly still, his discarded carbine laying uselessly a few meters from him. If the bullet didn’t puncture vital organs and killed him, that deadly descent would have.

“CLINKY!” Lone Star screamed in a mix of heartbroken rage and despair, disregarding squad discipline and breaking from the formation to sprint towards his deceased friend. He ran a gauntlet of enemy fire amazingly without a scratch, though not for their lack of trying to put holes in him. They were positioned within the last few, fortified buildings in the valley that we hadn’t secured yet. It was a fifty foot stretch of mostly un-obstacled ground that was dangerous to downright suicidal to traverse without being peppered.

“Dammit, Lone Star, do not be a fool!” I shouted after him, though I might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the good it did.

His brother was no less inconsolable, “We have to go after him, Zenith! He’ll get himself killed too!” At least Lone Star’s brother was smart enough to realize that Clinky had passed on.

“How do you propose we do that?” I questioned incredulously, “There has to be eight or so men standing between us and your brother right now. We won’t be half as lucky as him if we risk running across that minefield of lead!”

“Ya need to think of sumthin!” He screamed red-faced at me, “Yer a Royal Agent fer Celestia’s sake!”

I forgave his using my Sunshine’s name in vain, but he was ultimately right. I had fostered this grand image of a capable agent sent by the Princesses themselves in front of the men, and now it was time to live up to it in front of them too. I scanned the expanse that separated us from a despondent Lone Star at the opposite end. He was bent over the unmoving form of Clinky, hopelessly shaking him and speaking to him, as if bidding him to get up. I didn’t like it when my allies met with their mortality, but couldn’t let that get in the way of my mission. I was like Batman in that regard, putting the mission first, and I think I may have sacrificed the same portion of my humanity to accomplish that mindset into the bargain.

But doing so also signified that I had no emotional baggage to weigh down my decision making critical thinking processes. And it was through those processes that I had spotted a means of protecting myself and my meanwhile companion, whilst also escorting us to our erstwhile squad mate. There was a metal track that emerged from one of the deep mine entrances and curved its way laterally to the general spot where Lone Star was embroiled in grieving. At the opening of this entrance was a mine cart laden with gold ore destined for smelting. The track would take us awfully close to the entrenched outlaws however. But that risk represented nothing to either Shooting Star or myself. I notified him of this and he readily agreed to the idea, not having devised anything that could trump it on the fly. I used my magic to roll the cart over to us before we hunched behind it, using it as cover as we rolled it towards our comrade.

Bullets bounced and sparked off the metal casing of the cart as the outlaws sought to roll the dice with us, and one sent shreds of spalling biting into my hand, causing me to hiss in pain. It was not a debilitating wound as far as most wounds went, and my physiology was actually complex to the point where the metal fragments embedded into my skin would be absorbed and converted into their base elements in time. The best part of the Trifect physiology deal was that I’d never scar, no matter what damage I would stupidly visit on myself. Regardless, it was incredibly annoying to be constrained to a space no wider than four feet, and it felt worse to have to share that space with someone else on top of it. I released some of my pent up anger on the outlaws by tagging them with True Sight with a harmless peek, blind-firing (though my crosshairs painted the targets in my mind’s eye. Magic like this really was just cheating, I admit), and reducing the number of outlaws spitting at us by over a quarter.

“How the hell did ya do that?” Shooting Star inquired, yelping when a bullet smashed into a hunk of golden ore and scattering the particles all over us.

“Magic” Was my reliable go-to response.

His petulant silence told me that he wasn’t a fan of that ambiguous answer, but the reduced volume of fire concentrated on us meant that he had no other reason to complain. The mine cart’s wheels ground to a halt once we were safely obscured by an unloaded horse drawn cart, which was recently unhitched if the fresh hoof marks were any clue. That could be a problem. If the outlaws knew that they were being soundly beaten, then what remnants of them were left might flee and disperse over the south, and they wouldn’t be as traceable as Crooked Cards was. We had to hurry.

Shooting Star ran to console his brother with a hug, before lambasting him, “Darn it, Lone Star, don’t you run off into the line of fire like that! Ya nearly gave me a heart attack!”

His words went ignored, “He ain’t gone, he ain’t gone, he ain’t gone” Lone Star sobbed repetitively, “Wake up, Clinky… please. Don’t do this to us”

“I didn’t know him that well,” I offered my condolences in a solemn voice, “but he seemed like a decent man. He will be sorely missed” If only the outlaws had ‘missed’ him too.

“He was more than decent!” Lone Star bitingly retorted at my word choice, “He was mah friend. We were Silverstar’s first deputies for over a year until he recruited mah brother to the cause of preservin’ justice. We became thick as thieves durin’ that tenure: breakin’ up rowdy drunkards havin’ a spat over sumthin’ trivial, playin’ cards for hours on end, and gettin’ drunk as skunks ourselves when we were off duty” He emotionally swallowed the lump in his throat, “I never thought ah’d lose him this way”

“If you wish to honor his memory, then you won’t let the men who murdered him get away” I appealed to his ever present sense of duty, “There aren’t many outlaws left at this point, but the remaining ones surely realize that this is a losing fight for them; impossible as it seems. They’re contemplating cutting their losses and retreating… and if we let so much as a single one escape… then we’ve failed him in our commitments” I gestured to his dearly departed friend, and the gritted teeth I saw take place in his cheeks told me that it worked.

“The Agent’s right. C’mon big brother, we got a job to finish” Shooting Star said softly to his sniffling sibling. Teardrops wet the sand where he squatted, soaking it up like a sponge.

Lone Star wordlessly shut Clinky’s eyelids with his fingers and took off his gold starred hat (which had miraculously stayed attached to his head during his fall) before laying it over his face as a substitute death shroud. He went erect and rotated in place, planting the butt of his rifle into terra firma, a stark grimness in his countenance that I knew all too well from my own personal experience.

“No prisoners” He monotoned, “They had their chance… and now they’ve killed a lawman. It’s the rope fer all of ‘em” He sounded as if he was reciting a legal code, but I could spy the morbid anticipation behind his words. He wanted vengeance, and that it just so happened that it coincided with justice was a plus.

“Let’s get to it then” I loaded the last of my bullets into Dee-Dee, giving the cylinder a spin for luck despite not believing in the concept.

We resumed formation and flanked the dug in outlaws, drawing their fire with decoy thrusts while one of us, usually me, attacked them from their exposed rear. Like a wounded animal backed into a corner, they fought ferociously. The Sheriff picked off men as he could from where he was, but the increasing intervals between his shots portended that his stock of ammunition was depleting rapidly. Soon it was exhausted and we had no further fire support from the Sheriff, but he had achieved his purpose by then. The Chief Prospector had vociferously recalled about half a dozen of his leftover men and they barred themselves into a sturdier building of brick and mortar by the smelting facility. It was without windows and the vault sized doors were formidable upon close inspection. The outlaws had essentially trapped themselves, but aspired to postpone their inevitable doom by hiding behind a solid oaken shield.

“Bastards shut themselves in tight” Shooting Star observed, tapping at the door with his free hand. It made a dense thunking noise that would require a hell of a lot of force to displace. I could have used magic to rip the gate down, I suppose, but a display of raw power like that would raise questions of the annoying variety, so I thought of the other options I had available to me. It was things like this that made me glad I had saved some sticks of dynamite as I sifted through the pockets of my duster and fished out the explosive rods.

My companions had bug eyes as they witnessed me sticking the rods to the gate with an adhesive spell, “Where’d you get those, Agent?” Lone Star spoke up for the first instance since swearing vengeance on the outlaws over the death of his friend.

“A respectable Agent always comes prepared” I fibbed, sacrificing some honesty for the chance to sound badass. I lit the fuses simultaneously using my thumb as a lighter (a little trick that I emulated from when I first encountered Azure Phoenix in the Neverfree) and motioned for my companions to take cover somewhere safe outside of the blast radius. Dynamite was not the optimal explosive when it came to breaching charges due to its undirected nature, but a door like this ought to mitigate most of the force. If it didn’t, well the world could do with fewer outlaws anyhow.

Each stick had about a five second fuse time, so I availed myself of that delay to dole out a one liner, “Excuse me sirs, but do you have a moment to speak about Freedom?” Then I ran like someone had lit a fire under my ass, diving behind a smattering of makeshift breastworks (hastily constructed from obsolete mine cart plating and wooden planks) along with my temporary squad mates. The dynamite detonated just as my belly kissed the dirt.

The explosive power of TNT in this world never failed to deliver, perhaps being a third more potent than examples that I had seen. The enormous blast of light flared orange and yellow and the earth shook as the frontal portion of the building was blown sky high. Lone Star and his brother whooped and hollered as the dust settled, and I actually smiled along with them. After all, what kind of red blooded male didn’t love explosions, especially when they were used to punish the bad guys?

I popped the cylinder of my revolver and frowned when I counted a single shot staring back at me in the chamber. I’d have to save it for someone who’d truly earned it. I gestured for my comrades to approach the entrance of the building carefully, as the outlaws could still be waiting to give us an unfriendly welcome. As it was, the explosion wasn’t something they were expecting, so the men we encountered as we walked into the smoke and dust smothered room were either obliterated (as in, not enough left of them to bury in a soup can), or writhing in agony on the floor, their limbs missing or their bodies covered in burns from fires that were barely put out. Even as we were entering, some of them gave up the ghost.

It wasn’t the prone outlaws that attracted my attention though, but the massive machine in the center of the building. The chrome plated device was large and complicated, with convoluted light bulbs, pressure gauges, countless gears of all sizes, and whistles all interconnected through pipes. A transparent series of canisters at the apex of the machine dispensed what appeared to be soil, if their half depleted state was any indicator. A rubber conveyer belt was at one end where an unwelcoming aperture gaped at me with inky blackness, while a yawning receptacle bin below devices meant for dispensing was at the other. The mechanical monstrosity gave off a malevolent aura that put me ill at ease.

“Make certain these cretins are subdued” I issued an order to my companions as I made an informal investigation into the explicit purpose of this machine before me.

Lining the walls all around the building were stacks of crates labeled as fertilizer, with the usual Flim and Flam brothers’ red and yellow logo plastered on the sides. It seemed to be the truth, as I propped open the lid on one with the leverage from my Tantō, bags of stinking ruddy fertilizer greeted my sight. This mundane picture of innocence was an insidious façade, and even though the aftereffects of the explosion had contaminated it somewhat, the air in here smelled… wrong, like a whiff of gunpowder mixed with rotting decay. After being around it so many times, I had learned to memorize the scent of death, freshly killed or otherwise. I reexamined the receptacle bin and dipped my finger into its mushy contents. The soil felt unnaturally warm and moist, and when I retracted my ungloved digit, I found that my flesh was stained crimson, and tasted alarmingly coppery. It didn’t take a genius to surmise that perverse things went on in this building that I had sinking suspicions about.

I rounded a corner of the monumental device as I circled it, only to find a gun pointed in my face. Before I could react the flint striker went ‘Klatch!’, only for nothing to happen as it failed to ignite the primer. I briefly thanked God that my ticket hadn’t been punched before I snatched the hand holding the pistol, yanked it towards me, and punched the man in the belly with my unoccupied fist. I didn’t hold much of my strength back in my anger, so the man (whom I recognized as the Chief Prospector) hunched over with a pained wheeze. He lashed out with a feral haymaker with his left that I ducked under. As he pivoted with his bungling blow, I clapped a hand on the back of his unprotected head and made him head-butt the machine, a contest that he lost. I seized him by the throat before he could recover from his concussed daze and slammed him against the metallic surface of the machine, crushing a few of those delicate light bulbs and bruising his spine on the gears. I confiscated any of the other arms he had on his person and tossed them aside, in case he had any funny ideas about injecting me with lead.

I glared at him, “What is this place? What’s the function of this machine?” He would give me what I wanted, be it an excuse to inflict pain or beneficial information. Either one worked for me.

“Go to hell!” He resisted me, before spitting in my face.

I wiped his spittle off my cheek before I wrenched one of his hands that was clutching at his compressed windpipe. He cried out pitifully as I twisted his left index finger way beyond its capacity to flex, eliciting an unhealthy sounding pop that morphed into a crunch as I utilized my steel clamp like grip. I didn’t care that I was being too rough on the suspect. And after what he and his henchmen put them through, neither did my companions. He owed me some answers. Now.

“TALK!” I demanded, “Or I’ll break another one!”

“Y-yer bl-bluffin’!” He eeked out. He may have been pigheaded initially, but I could be most persuasive when I was in one of my interrogative moods.

My reply was to follow through with my promise, forever destroying his ability to use his middle finger. He should have counted himself blessed that I was abusing his non dominant hand.

“Boy, you are dumber than a sack of rocks” Lone Star smugly commented from somewhere behind me, enjoying my excessive demonstration of brutality, “An incensed Agent of the Crown is not someone ya’d want to deny if ya plan on livin’ awhile” They were all dead men anyhow, but he didn’t need to know that.

“AUR-huerk!” He yowled, before giving in after the third finger, “All right, all right! I’ll talk! I’ll talk! Just stop, please stop!” He whimpered pathetically. I unmanned him too easily for my tastes, but some men just didn’t have a high threshold for excruciating pain.

“What is this place?” I repeated, false sweetness in my tone.

“Eerh, sonavabitch” He muttered lowly, “It’s- it’s our packagin’ center” Pyrite explained after the pain became manageable, “We disguise each of the shipments of gold that we smelt into bars by coverin’ it over with a layer of enchanted fertilizer bags to fool the inspectors. Misters Flim and Flam have special units of the stuff exported somewhere overseas as part of their legal dealin’s. The rest of it is legitimate goods, I swear!”

“And the fertilizer that they use to cover it over with?” Was my subsequent question, “How do they make it? I heard there was some sort of secret ingredient that really puts the fertile into it”

He leered at me, “I think ya know… Agent” He somehow made the title sound like an insult.

I felt that pit in my stomach become shallower as I recalled something, “Where is the boy that you sent to ‘reorientation’?”

He grinned fiendishly, not minding the ramifications of me knowing this, “Check the bin. Really dig in there”

I obliged, but not before colliding my elbow into his head to disorient him as I let go of his neck. I folded up the sleeve of my duster before plunging my arm into the receptacle bin and combing through it. I felt a jagged piece of what felt like bone poke into my palm and I latched onto it, withdrawing it from the newly made fertilizer. I inhibited my bile from issuing forth as I comprehended the familiar colored buffalo bone necklace that the boy had been wearing when Pyrite supposedly saved him from a beating at the hands of his underlings. It was chipped and there were pieces that were snapped off, but it was unmistakably that same necklace the boy was wearing when he was taken away. He didn’t survive.

“He was only a child. Couldn’t have seen his tenth year on this Earth” I stated in a voice nearly as dead as he was.

“So w-” Pyrite coughed and rubbed at his head, “So were the last dozen before him. All of ‘em useless workers that are worth more mulched an’ stuffed in a box than alive and takin’ up precious resources needed to sustain our actual workers. One of the reasons Mister Flam made me the foreman of this goldmine was because I was efficient” He was pleased with himself, even when the long arm of the law had caught up to him.

The heartless bastard had no regret in his voice whatsoever, “He was a boy!” I screamed at him, my eyes lighting up like two red hot fire pokers, “He should have been with his people, growing up to be a man of the Buffalo Braves, not fodder for your greedy schemes and subversive aims for the realm!”

“Savages… the lot of ‘em” He hocked a wad of saliva onto the dirt floor, “The fact the Princess never eradicated them makes me sick to mah stomach. Doxy whore”

I did not indulge him with a coherent response to that, as my normal control over my emotions faltered. My vision had taken on a ruby tinting as I stormed over to him, delivered an unprotected kick to his face, shattering his jaw in the process, before unholstering my Magnum. Dee-Dee barked once (expending that final bullet I saved for an occasion like this), and Pyrite’s gray matter was splattered against the metal surface of the infernal machine as the bullet firmly wedged itself into the metallic frame. The blood pattern it made was almost artistic to me in my vindictive frame of mind. Any man with the chutzpah to murder children and insult my Sunshine’s honor forfeited his life to me. I heard our captives curse aloud and try to shrink away from me, only to find themselves entangled in my companions’ fleshy restraints. They were afraid now? I’d make them wet themselves with terror before I was finished.

“Give the Devil my regards” I uttered disdainfully as I holstered my weapon and dragged his corpse to the conveyer end of the machine. I dumped his sooty remains head first onto the conveyer belt and flipped the switch that clearly read ‘Initiate mulching process’ in fine print beneath it.

Even though it was partially damaged from the explosion and my hands-on interrogation of Pyrite, the machine rumbled to life with the gnashing of gears and the blinking of light bulbs. The conveyer belt began its slow revolutions as it rolled Pyrite’s body into the machine’s hungry maw. Once his boots disappeared into the blackness of the machine, there was an unholy cacophony of crushing, grinding, and mashing as Pyrite was pulverized and converted into a slurry that was blended with the soil that was input from the canisters. In rudimentary terms, this machine acted like a refined version of a wood chipper, only it liquefied what was put into it instead of leaving solid matter. The concept that this was a viable way to improve the soil’s fertility was disturbing, as was the unspoken question of how this marketable product was discovered by the Flim-Flam brothers… unless it wasn’t them. Flam did mention working for others higher up a shadowy hierarchy that I had yet to officially unravel the existence of.

The Pyrite Purée was squeezed through a setup of nozzles into a receptacle bin that I switched out with the original, which was reaching its brimming point anyhow. I lidded it with the crate cover that I pried off and made a mental note to have it delivered to the glade beneath my Cloud home later. I was thinking of starting a garden and cultivating some of the unique and exotic plants that called the Neverfree home, and the mush that was once Pyrite was going to help me with that. Since it loosely fell under the category of contraband, I had the right as an Agent to appropriate it as I saw fit.

“I get that the man was despicable, Zenith” Shooting Star spoke up, sidling up to me, “But was that gratuitous display really necessary?” He waved a hand at our prisoners, where a watchful Lone Star had rounded them into a corner, “Our captives are gonna have nightmares fer days afterwards!”

“It got a very important message across” I replied coolly, “They won’t try to pull the wool over my eyes if they value their miserable lives”

I walked over to them, resisting the urge to grin like a shark when they recoiled in fear, “I’m in a poor mood for bullshit today, so I am going to ask you some questions, and if you don’t want to end up like your boss over there…” I gesticulated with a thumb to the bin, “…you will answer them with the utmost of candor and to the best of your knowledge. Got that?”

All three of them nodded fervently, even the man who had a pair of charred, bleeding stumps for a right arm and leg as a result of being too near the explosion. Agrarians were a tough breed, so the man would endure until he bled out if I deemed it imperative. But I was not that cruel, even if I hated them for what they had done.

“Which of you knows the most about this place? Its background history and how this malignancy of a business operation went on underneath the Crown’s nose undetected?” I grilled them.

The three of them looked at each other in a noiseless conference before an older fellow with a bent nose, a grey, worn out Elkhorn Stetson with the brim curved on one side on his head, and maroon whiskers raised his hand, “Very well then. You tend to this one’s wounds however you can” I commanded the only other uninjured man, who set about the burden I placed on him with an unsure expression.

I refocused on bent-nose, “What is your name?”

“Sandy Slate, Mister Zenith. I was one of the recruiters fer this undertakin’” He croaked, his voice hoarse with particulate matter from the unfiltered air.

“That’s Agent Zenith to you” I corrected him coldly, “Let me get one thing straight with you, Sandy Slate. I am neither your friend nor your ally. If you cooperate willingly and offer substantial information that will bring those responsible for this to justice, your sentence might be reduced. Impede me in any way, and I will feed you to that machine… alive” It was not a threat, but a vow.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, “I understand! Ah’ll answer whatever you have to ask!”

Question one, “Who discovered this canyon, and the wealth waiting to be extracted within?”

“That I don’t know, sir… ah mean Agent!” He panicked with the appropriate appellation, which was wholesome proof that he respected my authority, “Ah was among those tasked by Misters Flim and Flam with acquirin’ the men to oversee the construction of the mine in the richest part of these canyons”

“Natives?” I touched on the subject, making sure to use their polite designation.

Sandy shook his head, “No, no. At first it was men from all over the southern towns with desirable skillsets to facilitate the mine’s development. Carpenters, miners and prospectors like the Chief, even a smalltime banker or two to foot the bill for the expenses of haulin’ all that equipment down here without arousin’ undue suspicion. A’course, that ain’t hard when the closest settlement is a day’s ride away and some palms are greased to keep the local authorities lookin’ the other way”

This was definitely going in the report I would send to Celestia once this was concluded. Corruption in the bureaucracy was like a cancer that would spoil the whole system if left unchecked. The Princess would see to it in short order; one of the few benefits I would concede that a Monarchical Oligarchy like Arcania had over the inefficiencies of a fully fledged Democracy.

I frowned. Government corruption consistently left a bad taste in my mouth, “Pyrite alluded that some of these disguised units of gold were shipped overseas. Would you happen to know a specific destination?”

He bobbed his head, “Nothin’ specific mind you. But ah did overhear Mister Flam mumblin’ about how the tariffs in the Gryphondrian seaport of Westcliff were bothersome once when he dragged himself out of his office to come drink with the guys. He had a odd grudge that was contrary to imbibin’ the hard cider we had several stores of” He commented offhand, which I would have chuckled at in amusement had I not been so royally pissed.

This nugget of information was worth more than all the golden nuggets in the canyon valley, “Gryphondrian port of Westcliff, eh? That is interesting” I murmured to myself, “When did slave labor enter this otherwise pristine picture?”

At this the man was uncomfortable, “Please try ta understand, Agent. Ah was always against what Mister Flam suggested when he came to personally manage the mine’s operation, but there was so much gold in this canyon, and we were jus’ too few to harvest a sufficient amount of gold to meet our employers’ ample quotas by ourselves. An’ when he brought in those guns to subdue the villages with and tol’ us he had a method for findin’ those villages and keepin’ the Buffalo Braves complacent and obeisant while they did the literal heavy liftin’. There weren’t many practical reasons fer us to object to it, and that sealed it”

“Either you’re lying or you failed to produce a very convincing counterargument to mass brainwashing and slavery” I derided him, “You were abetting an illegal activity regardless of what it was”

“Ah ain’t lyin ‘bout that!” He expressed indignantly, “I was only a minor recruiter in the grand scheme, so mah opinions were tossed aside without a lick of consideration. If there wasn’t a fortune to be made here, I would have done sumthin’ about it beyond protestin’”

“That excuse would have been valid had you gone to some trustworthy authorities like those of the Sheriff in Appleloosa and spilled this story to them, instead of having it wrested out of you by me” I blew his picture of relative innocence out of the water.

“Did you know about this atrocity?” I referred to the machine I had fed his overseer’s corpse to.

“No, sir, Agent. I didn’t” He denied, “Ah don’t think many of us would have stayed on had we known that they were doin’… this” His face took on a shade of nauseated green, “A terrible thing, even for what we were doin’. Now ah know why the natives that expired were never buried, nor mentioned again”

I believed him, though that persistent tugging cynicism at the back of my mind urged me not to. That kind of disgusted reaction was not effortlessly faked, and I doubted that this man had trained himself to fabricate his emotions. It was a shame that these men got lured into this cesspit of iniquity, though the temptation of vast riches seemingly without end had led many in the past passed their moral event horizon and to their doom before. This regrettable fact held true no matter the world.

He slumped dejectedly in his sitting posture, “I was a week or two’s pay from quittin’ and livin’ like a king in one of the fancy coastal cities like Steelhatten or Las Valkyras” He bemoaned.

His whining raised an interesting point I had not ruminated on, “Has anyone ever quit before?”

“Well sure they have. There were the Billiard twins, who were two of the few others that were ill-disposed to enslavin’ the natives” He shrugged, before scratching at his chin, “Ya know, no one ever did hear from ‘em again… even Mister Cue, who knew ‘em on a personal level. He said their cozy lil’ place in Thackerton was empty when he came to visit durin’ a supply run, which is bizarre… since they constantly talked sweet about their hometown like it was a lover”

They didn’t disappear into the sunset with saddlebags fat with gold. They were disappeared, likely to assure their silence about the whereabouts and dirty details of the mine. These outlaws were just as confined to this mine as their charges, and they didn’t even know it. No loyalty amongst thieves it seemed, at least not when they were expendable liabilities.

Sandy apparently grasped the reality of the situation, “Nah… they wouldn’t! The Billiards were jus’ spinnin’ tales they didn’t even believe”

“They would” I averred, “You and everyone else in this mine were only ever a means to an end” But what was that end? That was the real mystery here.

“Are ya sayin’ that Flam jus’ offed ‘em?” He lifted an eyebrow, “Even if that were true, and ah ain’t sayin’ it is… I simply can’t see the city slicker pickin’ a fight with ‘em and winnin’. They weren’t no pushovers”

“Not Flam” I agreed, “But his enigmatic employers might have provided him the means to keep his own hands clean of blood” I snorted scornfully, “He died like a coward anyhow”

“He’s dead too?” Sandy sighed, “Ah can’t say I ever liked him a great deal, but I made more money workin’ for him than in any thankless job before this one”

“I understand that making an honest living isn’t always easy,” I condoled with him, “but you can’t sacrifice your scruples in get rich quick schemes… especially if those schemes involve violating a person’s free will; let alone hundreds of them”

“Spare me the lecture, Agent” He ignored my advice, “Ah never made no claims to perfection, but I don’t need a holier than thou government boy lordin’ his superior morals over me. Ah made a mistake bein’ here, I get it”

“Watch your tone” I warned him, miffed at his recalcitrant commentary, “I still haven’t decided your fate yet. I’ve reached my ultimate question, and this one had better be acknowledged with nothing but the truth”

“Ask it” He replied, “Then leave us alone or dispose of us. I’ve had enough of Royal Agents fer today”

I overlooked his continued prickly attitude, “Did anyone manage to escape before we apprehended you? I noticed that the wagons were unhitched of their horses. I’d hate to have to hunt them down”

He laughed, “So you didn’t intentionally attack this place on the one day we were about to move a massive shipment out that required every horse we could harness? Perhaps ah overestimated y’all. Ya jus’ had lucky timin’ with yer assault”

“Luck had nothing to do with it” I retorted, “And that’s not an answer”

“Not to mah knowledge, none did” He gestured to the destroyed door, “We were about ta saddle up and ride the opposite way through the canyon as a group to evade y’all. But you were swifter than we expected, an’ whoever ya had shootin’ at us from above delayed us further. Had to abandon the stables and make a stand here. We tried to outlast y’all in here, but as ya can clearly tell, that didn’t work out too well”

“Just goes to show you” I smirked, “Crime doesn’t pay”

“Gloat all ya want, Agent,” He stared darkly at me, “but sooner or later yer pride will get the best of you like it did us”

“I make it a point to simmer down with my hubris after a victory, so I doubt that anything will come of that prediction” I gainsaid him, before speaking professionally, “Sandy Slate. I deem that the information I gleaned from this conversation will save lives, so your sentence will be reduced upon official confirmation of the veracity of your claims” I left out that verified lies would be punished by instant termination.

“I can go free?” He questioned hopefully.

“You’re not fit for comedy” I disparagingly remarked, “For aiding a Royal Agent, you will not be hung for resisting arrest and contributing to the death of a lawman. In lieu of this punishment, you will instead be given a choice between a sentence of ten years in prison, with the possibility of parole for exceptionally good behavior, or ten years of community service with strict supervision. This will be lessened should you be telling me the truth”

“Awful generous of you, but what about them!?” He looked to the others, particularly the injured one (whose arm and leg stumps had been wrapped in torn cloth from the uninjured one’s outfit to form crude bandages), “Sandstone’s mah only cousin!”

“They will be hung by the neck until they are dead” Lone Star described the penalty for me, “Ah’ll tie the noose mahself”

“No, please!” He threw himself at my feet, prompting Lone Star to keep his weapon trained on him until I dissuaded him with a relenting hand gesture, “Let me hang in his place. Ah promised mah aunt that ah’d look after him after she died!” He beseeched of me, “Please, Agent… show him mercy”

I listened to him with a stoic expression on my face, “You would substitute your own life in place of his?”

He nodded furiously, practically dusting the floor with his hat where he knelt. His appeal to my mercy put me in another of those dilemmas. If I outright rejected his admittedly selfless offer of sacrifice, I chanced alienating Celestia, who I intrinsically knew was listening in on this very attentively. However, warping the law to accommodate his cousin, who had not aided me, would also be a debatable choice. The nice perk about being a Royal Agent personally connected to their Highnesses meant that I was their voice when it came to important decisions that they were not present to make. If the man wanted to die in place of his cousin out of a promise he swore to uphold, then I would not prevent him from being a man of his word.

“By all means then,” I slackly rolled my shoulders, “resign yourself to the hangman’s noose for his sake”

“Thank ya, thank ya, Agent!” He continued to prostrate himself before me, “May ah make one final request of you?” I grunted affirmatively, “Can mah cousin keep the wages he’s earned durin’ his time here? And if so, can he have mine to support him? He’s not what ya’d call… prudent with his finances” He whispered low and confidentially to me.

Sandstone overheard him anyway, “I resent that, cuz” His features softened, “But thanks for lookin’ out fer me. So how ‘bout it, Agent?”

“I cannot allow him to retain his wages from a job that wasn’t legally sanctioned by their Majesties’ Government” At both of their disheartened looks, I amended my statement, “However, any nuggets that Sandstone here happens upon while being escorted from this canyon is fair game” I glanced at Shooting Star, “Be sure to take the lustrous route with him to one of the wagons, though do not neglect to keep your gun on him. We’ll convert one of them to ferry these three to the jail cells”

“Agent” He looked at me funny, “Are ya sure ya should be so… nice to ‘em? They were tryin’ to kill us not ten minutes ago”

“I’m aware, but if you recall from last night’s campfire story, I believe in giving second chances to people who are willing to atone for their misdeeds, and I don’t spin tall tales” I glared at Sandstone, “Do not mistake this kindness I’ve extended for weakness. If you so much as think of reverting back to an outlaw, I will find you… and you will wish you’d never been born”

The fear was re-sparked in his eyes, and I knew that my warning was heeded, “We’re done here” I swiped my arm in an arbitrary motion, “Get these men out of my sight”

They complied. Lone Star rounded up Sandy and that one wounded fellow (who had to lean on Sandy for support) while Shooting Star took Sandstone outside for the most money grubbing walk of his life. I pulled Lone Star aside for a second and reminded him to collect the other surviving outlaws I had knocked out cold while we were fighting from building to building. Although the fighting had concluded, my business in the canyon was unresolved. I gave the machine one last look of abhorrence before ambling outside with the others. Strongheart must have disregarded my instructions, because we were surrounded by dozens upon dozens of hazy eyed natives that goggled blankly at us. Somebody was pushing their way through the crowd and they shuffled to the side to make space. Two figures emerged from the crowd in the forms of Applejack and the Chieftain’s daughter.

“Applejack!” I called out, meeting her halfway and scooping her up in a hug, “I was worried about you! When the deputies told me you disappeared when the shooting started, I feared the worst”

She was surprised at first, but returned the hug in moments, “Ah’m okay, Zenith. Ah couldn’t hack it when the bullets were goin’ every which way. Ah’m jus’ too used to closin’ with my opponents, not slingin’ metal pellets at ‘em” She sounded ashamed. Having fostered an image of being a dependable woman in the most tense of situations couldn’t have helped with that shame.

I brushed at her cheek with my thumb, “It’s alright, Applejack. I’d rather you not become blasé about killing” Though this was partly a lie, since I could have used the kick of her blunderbuss when we were house fighting, “I’m just glad you’re safe”

“Thank you for understandin’, Zenith” She smiled sadly, before perking up, “Wasn’t totally useless though! I used the distraction to sneak away and look fer you. Guess who ah found instead” She pointed to Strongheart, who watched us with a hint of bemusement.

“Zenith” The native beside us woman surveyed the damage of the scene, “You have defeated our captors?” I nodded in the affirmative to her, “Your abilities on the field of battle are unmatched, even by our greatest Chieftains” She complimented me.

I wasn’t one for praise, “Stop it. You’ll make me blush” I removed her hat and placed it on my noggin, “I’ll be wanting this back on its rightful cranium”

“I take it that all of your people are accounted for?” I said as I fussily readjusted the fit. I felt strangely naked without it. This was made worse by the sight of Applejack knowingly smirking at me in my peripherals.

She shook her now unadorned head, “There are several missing, I believe. But with my people unresponsive to all but the most basic of questions and commands, I cannot be entirely certain of this”

My chest twinged as I debated over revealing to Strongheart that the people she was referring to had been chopped, diced, and minced into smithereens that were added to soil to make fertilizer, that their blood had been converted into bits for Flim and Flam’s legitimate business, that the remains of those people were now in some farmer’s cornfield somewhere. How did one gently break news such as that to someone else exactly?

Applejack saw the internal conflict rage through the window of my eyes and called me out on it, “Is there sumthin’ you want to tell us?”

Without waiting for approval, I encapsulated the space around Applejack and myself with a magical field that kept outside noise from getting in and out. To an observer unversed in magic, it would have seemed like the air around us had faintly pulsed crimson for a millisecond.

“I know what happened to Strongheart’s missing people” I divulged to the Element of Honesty, who regarded me with shock.

“And why’d you hafta use magic to tell me that?” She questioned with narrowed eyes, “Ya should be tellin’ her!” She stared at me flatly when I raised an eyebrow, “I ain’t naïve, Zenith. I’ve been around Twilight enough times that I can discern the buzzy feelin’ of recently casted magic with the best of ‘em. Now tell her what you know” She commanded me in a voice that brooked no argument.

“I can’t!” I growled, “If I do, it might ruin any chance of there being peace in the South if the truth gets out. That night during the wagon train ambush? It might continue on a larger scale”

“What are ya talkin’ about? What happened to her missin’ kin?” She asked, suddenly wary.

“They’re dead” I disclosed, eliciting a gasp from her, “And there aren’t even any bodies to bury or bring back to their families” Not unless they wanted to buy out all of Flim and Flam’s supply of ‘magically enhanced’ fertilizer.

“W-wha? I-I” She stuttered, before forming an intelligible response, “But how?”

“Physical abuse, malnourishment, being ‘reoriented’ by the Chief Prospector” I scoffed, “Take your pick. Their bodies were recycled into mulch using a machine that might have been designed by men you know. Flim and Flam”

The mention of their names sparked a flame in her, “Are those no good sleaze balls responsible for their murders!? Show me where they are, now! They need to pay for this!”

“I hate to deprive you of your vengeance, but Flam is dead. I killed him myself” I cut into her hopes, “Flim, if you recall, is still residing in Dodge Junction. His hair lipped brother was managing the operation here down in those mines”

With no target in punching distance to vent her anger upon, depression set in and she sighed onerously, “Strongheart needs ta know, Zenith. Keepin’ the truth from her ain’t right, and you know it”

As it was, I would defer this momentous decision (and the responsibilities for the consequences therein) to Applejack, “Fine. I will let her see what has become of her people who did not make it. But bear this in mind, Applejack, if this open act of Honesty endangers the future between Settler and Native in any manner, it will be on your head” I crooked a finger at her in a severe manner.

She looked hurt by my venomous attitude, but set her jaw firmly, “Ah’ll take full responsibility for this, Agent” She used my title stiffly, the same way I starchily called Celestia or Luna Princess when they irked me in some way or if was feeling like being contrary.

I dropped the sound containment field and faced Strongheart, “Come with me. I have something you’re not going to like, but need to see anyway” Without waiting for her reply, I begrudgingly returned to the packaging center. Strongheart followed suit almost without delay.

To my dismay, Applejack also decided to tag along, either out of morbid curiosity or a resolve to bear the emotional trauma with Strongheart and commiserate if necessary. I noticed that they had been acting more cordial to each other lately. They were maybe not quite friends, but they had reached an accord at the very least.

“Ugh… the smell!” Applejack dry heaved, her stomach rebelling due to the stench, “Only parts of the Neverfree stunk worse!”

She had a point there. Some of the muck bowl bogs in that jungly swamp of a forest smelled like death, which was presumably the case. Doubly so when those Crockodiles (Cragadile wasn’t as catchy a term, so that’s what I prefer to call them) were lurking beneath the surface, patiently biding their time for the next sucker to blunder their way into their domain and become a tasty snack. The extremely territorial reptiles hadn’t died out from starvation yet, so their lazy predation tactics worked out for them. Their rock like hides sold for a small fortune in places like the Capital, which were then remade into a durable, if unevenly textured material that was all the rage amongst feminine fashion circles in Concordia (Another trivial tidbit of knowledge that I learned from my relationship with Rarity).

A crinkle nosed Strongheart examined the building much the same way I had, “I see multiple crates with the sickening likeness of my captors’ faces on them. Why did you bring me here?”

I ambled over to the receptacle where I had left the unnamed native boy’s necklace on the lip of the container. I reverently cradled it in my hands before handing it over to Strongheart. Her confusion quickly turned to realization as she connected the dots in her mind.

“This necklace is that of Wind Whistlers. I recognize the style of the carvings. This belonged to one who had not reached manhood” She looked around with self deceiving hope, “Where is he?”

“Murdered by the outlaws” I answered, “Children weren’t favored by the outlaws to perform labor here in the mines, and so the slightest mishap was punished gravely. The boy that necklace belonged to angered them when he spilled a wheelbarrow filled with gold dust. They sent him here, to be ‘reoriented’, which is a euphemism for being mulched by this machine. Whatever is left of that boy, is in that receptacle over there”

This time Applejack bent over and truly emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor. I patted her on the back to make sure she was okay and that she had gotten it all out while I monitored Strongheart for her reaction. The native woman was silent for a long time, her face as unreadable as an un-carved slate.

“May the Great Spirit grant them peace, and guide them on to verdant pastures beyond all the pain or sorrow so common in this flawed life” She recited, not choking up once. But I could only imagine what kind of grief she was suffering.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this sooner” I apologized to her, “Maybe if I had bee-”

She wouldn’t have any of it, “Do not apologize for circumstances beyond your ability to control, Zenith. Powerful as you are, even you cannot save everyone”

Her words stung deeper than I cared to admit. For all of my Arcane might, I still could not prevent a single one of the many tragedies that occurred here. However, what I could do was ensure that all of those responsible for this were put to the sword. This evil had to be destroyed before it could do something like this again. I made a vow to oppose those who misused their clout and got innocent people hurt, and I aimed to keep it.

I saw to my friend, “You okay, AJ?” She waved her hand in the air behind her to say that she was, though her bile had not yet ceased to flow.

Once she had controlled her sickness, I spoke to the native woman, “C’mon, Strongheart. We can’t do anything for the dead, but the living are a different matter” She wordlessly agreed, stoically leaving the building and all of its horror literally and figuratively behind her.

I aided my companions in rounding up the horses the outlaws were about to escape on and set about hitching them to the numerous carts scattered up and down the valley. The Sheriff eventually made it back to us after having some trouble relocating the natural switchback leading into the canyon. He was as aggrieved as Lone Star to learn that Clinky died in the line of duty, though he hid his pain behind a thin veneer of infallible authority, reining in his deputies anew and getting them to wrap his body in tarp and put it aboard one of the wagons before collecting all of the discarded firearms. I gathered everyone together and swore them to secrecy about the existence and location of the mine. The standing excuse they were to use if asked about it was that we discovered an outlaw camp where the natives were being held hostage, which was partially the truth (Albeit Applejack frowned at the ambiguous way I phrased it). As of today, it was an illegal facility under the jurisdiction of the Crown. Even if Strongheart did not technically consider herself an Arcanian, she concurred with my judgment to keep this place off the grid.

Strongheart gave orders aloud for her people to empty the carts of their cargo and free up room for us to use them as transport flatbeds. A ray of light in an otherwise gloomy aftermath was that some of Strongheart’s brainwashed kin were becoming more responsive by the minute, implying that a surplus of time in the sunlight would gradually restore their mental faculties to working condition. With the hundreds of people that the outlaws had kidnapped, it would take dozens of carts to get everyone out, and there were not enough coherent people to drive those carts between the six of us.

There was also the matter of supplies. The trip to Appleloosa (a topic that was a hard sell to Strongheart, who wanted her people home posthaste) would take the better half of the remainder of the day and well into the following morning at our estimated delayed pace with our native passengers in tow. This transitional postponement was also if we decided to make camp to wait for the morning light to guide our path, otherwise we would be able to ride there in a straight line in no time at all. The only reason we had was because Crooked Cards was following a predetermined mandatory serpentine route to throw off any pursuers. It did not deter us due to my enchanted coin, but he didn’t have the nous to suspect that, now did he?

To prepare for this challenging undertaking, we scoured every building in the valley from the smelter to the security slash tavern blockhouse that was shot to hell from the initial gunfight for provisions to take with us. We found plenty of alcohol (no surprise there, given the lackluster moral quality of the majority of the outlaws), maybe two dozen and a half barrels of purified drinking water (the rest of them were to supply the gold dust straining units) in a sequestered storeroom in the mines, but the only substantial reserves of food left were those vessels of gruel that had Strongheart’s kin in the predicament they were currently in.

The native woman’s own stubborn streak was undone when I relayed to her that those who were weakest, elderly, or children would not survive the harsh temperatures without their nourishment. Harmful as the gruel was, it was still considered a source of food. Convincing her that her people weren’t going to get additionally brainwashed from a last serving of gruel was tough, but Strongheart ultimately conceded the wisdom of it when confronted with the reality of her aforementioned people’s physical weakness. The former slaves were in bad shape, notably now that the sun illuminated them. I’m not sure for what period of time they were all kept here, but on average the wear and tear I was witnessing had to be anywhere from a few weeks to over a month. Ribs were exhibited poking above the skin in over half of their numbers, backs were scarred from the whip, and a few natives were even missing some of their fingers.

I was rather proud that Strongheart didn’t seek revenge on the surviving outlaws, who the Sheriff and Lone Star had slung over their shoulders in a fireman’s hold and dumped them on the prison cart with the rest, after binding their arms and legs with coils of rope that they had in their saddlebags of course. Even if they tried to run once they were conscious, the desert would do just as efficient a job of meting out punishment as the lawmen, give or take a few hours.

Eventually we developed a doable travel arrangement for the Buffalo Braves. Those that could still function without requiring aid would trail behind the rear passenger slash armory wagon due to all of the guns compiled on the passenger bench. Strongheart would drive this means of conveyance, while I would be in one of two heavily laden supply wagons after that (Applejack being the other teamster). The Sheriff would cart the captured outlaws in the middle while Lone Star and his brother would spearhead the column with those who were sick, injured, or otherwise too weak to make the journey by foot. I had North Wind and Dusk Breeze hitched to my cart, their combined muscle being the equivalent of six outlaw steeds, which were closer to ordinary Rounceys than Destriers. Our starting pace was slow as predicted until we got everyone out of the canyon. On the flattish ground the brainwashed natives marched in synchronized file that would have even modern militaries jealous. Despite this advantage, traversing the desert on foot would always be sluggish compared to traveling on horseback.

Strongheart requested beforehand that we stop every hour or so to check up on her people. Those who were beginning to lag behind would be swapped out with well rested ones, but the sick and the children stayed right where they were. We had a lunch break to feed Strongheart’s people and to water the horses and ourselves. Other than that though, the return journey to Appleloosa was blissfully uneventful.

It gave me plenty of time to reflect on what I had seen, heard, and done as I composed a longwinded letter to Celestia detailing the events that had transpired since I met with Braeburn and Strongheart at Cherry Jubilee’s Ranch. I left nothing out of my report, from the highlights, to the low points where hope seemed dim. I wrote about the bloodshed that ensued between settler and native, and how the losses might have been worse had I not rallied a haphazard defense and defeated their war leader in single combat. I included how Strongheart’s presence helped influence the second in command to back down and return their Chieftain’s daughter to the main village of Tatankama, where she was unfortunately kidnapped by a surprise raid by the very outlaws who had been raising hell in the region. The now comatose informant, Wild Bull, had been an utter fool to trust them. It was an assessment that I was sure she would agree with.

I even informed her about the Shaman and his warning to me concerning the Great Dissonance’s plans, and how I factored into its schemes. Now that I thought about it, I was positive that it was pulling the strings behind the establishment of the mine and the use of natives as slaves. Flim and Flam’s employers were likely an extension of its will, though whether or not it was directly influencing events had yet to be determined. With the information I learned from Strongheart, I sought after Wild Bull’s outlaw counterpart in Appleloosa, only to be challenged by a gang of outlaws that had a grudge against Braeburn and myself. We prevailed in the showdown, and I shipped the captive leader of the gang off to the natives for them to do with as they pleased. If Chief Thunderfeet was smart, and I had reason to believe he was, he would interrogate him about his activities and discover that the agency that had been stealing his people away from him operated in the shadows.

With the outlaw gang dispatched, I was able to appropriate their weapons and convince the local law enforcement in town to join me in bringing the rest of them to justice. I informed her about the underhanded trick I played on Crooked Cards to get him to lead us back to his comrades. I elucidated on the horrors I encountered within the mines, and how hard fought the liberation of the natives was, as well as adjuring that a team be sent to seize it in the name of the Crown. The rest as they say was history. I rolled up the paper like it was a scroll and utilized the special bottle of dragon fire to relay it to the Princess. The gout of flame that consumed the document without destroying it was a most vivid array of colors; the bright pink shifting to an unbelievable shade of purple that was as mesmerizing at it was dazzling.

The letter transformed into a string of smoke that zoomed off to the North. She would be receiving it within minutes, if that. If she were to conduct a response, I would soon know just how expeditious this two of a kind bottle o’ flame was. The precedent that Crystal Clear set (she wrote replies forthwith, bless her heart) was about two minutes, so I became steadily worried when minutes ticked into hours without a return letter from the Princess. Perhaps I had been too frank when I should have been earnest? I couldn’t have euphemized the deaths of her citizens, or withheld that from her, especially when she could have been keeping an ear on me through the magical seal on my Mage-blade’s hilt at any given moment. The sun was in the initial stages of setting when we were about forty five miles outside of Appleloosa, painting the sky a rich vermillion and dark red, though I overheard either Lone Star or his brother note that it was fifteen minutes later than usual for this time of year.

Even in the lessened light and without any self augmenting spells, my keen eyesight was capable of picking out the shaded silhouettes of riders in the distance atop a small hill, at about five hundred meters to our right. I saw one of them take out a lengthy cylindrical object that I assumed was a spyglass and observe our column thoroughly. He must’ve been the leader of the riders, because he barked an unintelligible order over his shoulder and the two men that were with him rode off, kicking up a tiny cloud of obscured dust in their wake. Further enforcing this concept, he fearlessly rode off by himself towards us. With the outlaws plaguing the south dead or presently our prisoners, I had to presume that this man did not have hostile motivations. Solitary as he might be however, he was an unknown that the others had to be apprised of.

“We’ve got incoming at three o’ clock!” I shouted ahead to the Sheriff, who glanced about in confusion.

“It’s later than that!” The Sheriff erroneously corrected me, “An’ ah can’t see him!” He shouted back, “Are ya sure?”

There was no mistaking it, “Positive! Stop the column! I’ll go see what he wants!” I instructed, yanking on the reins to dissuade my equine companions from trotting another step.

Silverstar called out to his deputies and had them halt. The whole column followed suit as I unhitched North Wind and climbed onto his saddle. I tenderly kicked my heels into him and I rode out to meet our visitor. We met up halfway as the last rays of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The man courteously pulled out a torch and lit it with a cigarette he was smoking, before flicking it aside. He was middle aged and had a magnificent walrus mustache. He was clad in the usual western gear of a jacket, vest, and jeans, though he had an epaulet custom sewn onto his shoulder, which I found intriguing. His otherwise ordinary looking Stetson matched the color of his facial hair at a pristine white. His expression was neutral, as though he was guarding his emotions at this development and was anticipating anything. This notion was reinforced by his hand never straying far from his sword sheath, which contained a cavalry sword.

“Howdy” He greeted me in a reserved tone, tipping his hat with his unoccupied hand.

“Pleased to meet you” I mirrored him, though with a friendlier inflection.

He glanced over my shoulder at the column, “Should ah feel the same way?”

“If you’re implying that our intentions might be belligerent, you’d be wrong” I contradicted him swiftly.

He crooked his head as he regarded me, “Ya sound like one of those city slickers from up North, who are you?”

‘Again with the ignorant mislabeling’ I mentally rolled my eyes. Just what was it about me that screamed city boy to those with a country twang?

“I am Agent Zenith, in the service of their Royal Majesties” I answered formally, flashing him my ‘badge’ and widening his eyes, “Who are you?”

“Captain Rockwall of the Frontier Rangers” He introduced himself with a hint of pride and a snappy salute, “Ah assume you’ve heard of us?”

I shook my head, “Nope. Never heard of you until now”

He snorted, “What kinda Agent in these parts doesn’t know about the Rangers? We’re a subdivision of the A.S.M.V armed forces. We keep the peace in the frontier territories as our name implies. We know the lay of the land, its people, and how best to defend ‘em if worse comes to worse” He summarized their role.

“I only started out recently,” I admitted, “though I do believe the Princesses themselves announced my appointment, so you haven’t been keeping up to date yourself” I riposted, “And while I find your background impressive, the question stands… what are you doing here, Captain?”

“The Princesses we both serve have summoned us to the major town of Appleloosa. We’ve been receivin’ disturbin’ reports of troop mobilization in the plains from our airborne scouts as of yesterday. An army of Buffalo Braves is convergin’ on the town as we speak, an’ I don’ think it’s jus’ to chat about the weather” He gesticulated to the column behind me, “My scouts and I thought that this was some sorta flankin’ force deployed to hit us from behind where we’re the weakest, but I doubt ya’d do that much damage to us with mostly women and children doin’ the fightin’” He chuckled, clearly relieved that we were not some hostile army.

“The Buffalo Braves are massing for an offensive? Damn,” I cursed, “I guess the Chief’s hand has been forced to act due to the kidnapping of his own daughter” He did not pledge to me or Braeburn that he would not take drastic measures to respond to that assault on his village. And with his people’s lost loved ones only dozens of miles out, his timing of this could not have been poorer.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” His brow furrowed, “And who exactly are these people, anyhow? They sure as hell ain’t settlers!” He jibed. The natives’ state of dress was distinct, even when silhouetted.

“These people you see before you are the main reason the Buffalo Braves are preparing to launch an assault on the town you’ve been assigned to defend” I explained, “I was sent here to uncover their whereabouts and return them to their families before they began getting ornery, which I’m late for as it is. We will be cutting it close, but I think if we rush to them now, we can persuade the Buffalo Braves to stand down. How many are they?”

“‘Bout four thousand, if the reports are accurate” He didn’t seem too concerned, “I have over a thousand men mahself settin’ up perimeter defenses, aided by whoever the Governor scrounged up to bear arms while he hides behind the thick walls of his mansion” He scoffed, not abiding cowardly politicians, “The savages will hafta go through us first afore they set fire to the town, and Frontier Rangers don’t fold easily”

“If you value preserving the peace, you will refer to them as Natives or Buffalo Braves from now on” I reprimanded him, “How long do you estimate we have until they attack?”

He frowned, “Maybe a few hours or so. It’s hard to verify. Their vanguard is already within spittin’ distance, jus’ waitin’ for their Chief to give the order an’ harass us, like they did when my men and I took the troop train here. The town of Appleloosa was almost sacked once before, an’ we weren’t there to do anythin’ ‘bout it. This time is different, as we’re here to prevent that from happenin’” He patted the curved sword at his side, “But if you say that this matter can be resolved without blood bein’ spilt, then ah’m all fer helpin’ y’all accomplish that”

“Excellent. Then I would appreciate it if you could escort us into town” I suggested to him, “I’d rather not have to have this conversation again with somebody else because you aren’t there”

“Us?” His horse pawed at the hardpan and snorted impatiently, “Who’ll be accompanyin’ you?”

“Only the single most important native in our little column” I vaguely enlightened him as I had North Wind spin on his hooves and gallop back to the cavalcade, to Strongheart’s wagon specifically.

“Zenith? To whom were you speaking to?” She piped up curiously as I settled alongside her cart.

“There is no time to really tell you in detail” I offered her my hand, “You must ride with me” I curled my fingers at the native girl twice, “Chop chop!”

She was stupefied, “You know I cannot leave my people unattended!”

“None of that will matter if you don’t come with me now” I wiggled my hand to emphasize the urgency, “Your people have assembled an army and are bound for Appleloosa, where your beloved is in the process of recovering, if I recall”

“What!? Oh no…” She looked to the blank eyed people resting in the cart’s rear, “But what of them? With no one to drive the cart-”

“Let Applejack take care of that” I interrupted her, “Our supply carts have reached the end of their usefulness anyways” I signaled with an illumination spell to the aforementioned country girl and pointed to Strongheart’s seat before making a flicking motion with both hands. She got the message and disembarked, jogging over to our position.

“Where are you two goin’?” Applejack asked, settling into her new seat as Strongheart sidled over to me.

“We’re going to town” I told her, “Appleloosa is in danger. Jus’ have the others move as fast as they can. Time is of the essence!” She was anxious now, but gallantly agreed to obey my instructions.

Strongheart reluctantly took hold of my hand and I effortlessly pulled her over until she was sitting behind me, “Hold on tight. I’m going to put North Wind through his paces” I rubbed at his neck, “You ready to do your thing, pal?”

He whinnied in agreement and showed us the meaning of haste. Captain Rockwall preemptively rotated his horse around and did the same, acting as our guide to town in the low light conditions (the typically brilliant moon was blocked by the clouds) of the evening. Strongheart did as she was told and held on tight, though she did not bury her face in the space between my shoulders as a headrest or anything personal. She was to be an officially married woman after all, once this blew over. Once we caught up to him, the Frontier Ranger scrutinized my plus one with his torch (which was remarkably still burning in the brisk draft) to see if he recognized her, but I couldn’t surmise if he did.

It was a tense couple of hours for the both of us. For Strongheart it was a rerun of history she was intimate with, though with greater consequences should her people storm the town. For me it was high stakes game of ‘get the girl to her influential father before a lot of people got injured or worse’. There was also the inexplicably sudden manifestation of the Frontier Rangers. The Captain (who I assumed was a local based off of his telltale accent) mentioned that they came into town via train, which was risky these days due to the Buffalo Braves preying on the rail lines.

But this outright show of force on their part (not including the rogue Wild Bull’s massacre of the wagon train) was a worrisome omen indeed. Celestia must have been hedging her bets in case I failed to guarantee a peaceful negotiation (sensible of her, but her lack of absolute faith in me twinged a tad, not that I would blame her), and now the kiddie gloves had been taken off. I had Smoky turned in to the Buffalo Braves, but he must’ve lied with his last, failing breath and assigned the blame on the Appleloosans. If I couldn’t deliver Strongheart to her father in time and get her to convince him that the settlers were truly innocent of all allegations of kidnapping, there would be hell to pay.

We arrived to a scene like a miniature version of the night preceding the taking of Osgiliath and the subsequent siege of Minas Tirith afterwards. The town was alight with lamps suspended on strings that intersected the entirety of the town’s layout. Men with torches could be seen going about the defenses (which were legitimate breastworks with sharpened spikes facing outwards, unlike the slipshod barriers that the outlaws slapdashedly erected to hamper us) and carrying arms to their comrades. I had to admit… the Frontier Rangers knew their stuff. With the stout, angular setup of the defenses, any charge on the town would be funneled into one of three killzones with crisscrossing lanes of fire, and the spikes impeded any cavalry from vaulting over those defenses without risking impalement. From the deficiency of torches indicating a lack of manpower, only the eastern end of town seemed to be vulnerable to exploitation. I could now understand why the Captain and his scouts were monitoring us, as this was the general direction from which we were descending on the settlement.

A glow opposite the town and surmounted on a western high ground pinpointed the location of the Buffalo Braves, though the darkness combined with the distance prevented me from precisely making them out. The concentrated brightness from their torches relative to the town indicated that they already outnumbered the defenders by a significant margin. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn’t help but admire their promptness. The Natives had mustered up a formidable armed fighting force from their neighboring sub-tribes fairly quickly, and I knew from personal experience that their warriors were no cravens, nor were they weak. If they could be gained as allies, they would make for powerful friends stationed inside of Arcania’s borders. I shook my head of that premature notion.

‘One step at a time, buddy boy. They have come to you as enemies first’ I mused.

“Sweet Celestia, would ya look at that” The Captain muttered from beside us, “There weren’t that many of ‘em when I left to conduct some reconnaissance with mah boys earlier. It’s gettin’ mighty dire out there”

“You didn’t seem worried when we conversed about it” I commented.

“It’s one thing to discuss sumthin’ while miles removed from it, and another doin’ so within’ sight of it” He pointed to the imposing defenses, “You see those? Each of those is manned by hundreds of mah boys. Ah’m responsible for each an’ every single one of ‘em. They’re valiant men who have fathers, mothers, wives, siblin’s, sons, and daughters waiting for ‘em at home. If this fragile peace is lost and the sav-… Buffalo Braves converge on the town? It will be war, and it is a safe bet that many of mah troops will perish in the ensuin’ conflict” He bleakly predicted their fates.

“You seem afraid” It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t question mah bravery, Agent” He brusquely replied, “Each an’ every one of us is ready to dearly give our lives in defense of our people, but ah’m not so willin’ to sell those lives at the drop of a hat”

“And if I can persuade my father to relent from indulging in his rage, you won’t have to” Strongheart interjected, “But why do we linger? Each moment lost brings us closer to warfare!”

“Lady has a pertinent point” Rockwall acknowledged, “C’mon. Let’s getcha into town so we can decide how we want to do this”

She disapproved of this, “Why not meet with my people now? So that we may settle this sooner?”

“Oh by all means, just ride up to their command tent like nothin’ is the matter” The Captain sarcastically retorted before scowling, “If we had men watchin’ all vectors of approach, why wouldn’t they? You get within a hundred yards of them from any direction that ain’t overt and they’ll fill ya with arrows” He shrugged, “It’s what ah’d do”

This was sobering news to Strongheart, “Perchance it would be wiser to address this issue with caution” I felt her squeeze her arms around me, “Though I believe Agent Zenith will devise a worthy solution” She expressed her faith in me, afflicting me with a minor case of the warm fuzzies.

“I may have something in mind” I averred, “Though I do like to keep my options open”

“A prudent policy” The Captain told me, “Wait here for a moment. I had some of mah men ride ahead to inform the town about yer wagon column. If they see us ride to ‘em in a group, they might think us a raidin’ party and sound the alarm. Mah archers could pick flies off a wall with their aim if’n they wanted to” Without waiting for permission, he galloped to his men, waving his torch above his head to signal to his men.

While he was notifying his troops about our presence, Strongheart spoke to me in a voice uneven with inner qualms, “If we do not succeed in getting my people to relent, what will you do, Zenith?”

Her real question was whether or not I would fight and kill her people in order to defend the Arcanian citizens in the town. And I would, if need be (Although I would have to perform at full Trifect output when dealing with so many foes, but that would be as a last resort). But that was why I was endeavoring to secure a ceasefire before the fires started raging.

“Whatever I must” I answered her solemnly.

“Forgive me for spouting uncertainty about our mutual conviction” She humbly requested, “I just-…”

I cut her off as gently as I could, “You have apprehension about the unpredictability of the future, I get that. You’re only human, Strongheart. But whereas my name has a degree of ambiguity… yours fits you to a tee. You have a big heart and an Agape love for everyone to match that heart. I can see why Braeburn adores you so much” Their kids might be a little on the darker side though.

“Our wedding!” She exclaimed, “In all of the chaos that’s been occurring I had all but forgotten about it!” She glanced over to her people’s encampment, “But how could I selfishly think about our uninitiated wedding when our people are at each other’s throats?”

“Prioritize, Strongheart” I advised her, “We have to ensure peace between our two peoples at this juncture, and then you can get hitched”

“Hitched?” She parroted, “As in to a cart?”

“Uh, not quite. It’s an informal term for getting married formally” I elucidated, raising an eyebrow at her lack of knowledge of said term.

“I have read through most of Miss Jubilee’s personal library, and I have never come across such a term before” From her tone I imagined that she was grimacing. Perhaps she hadn’t read enough books. Or perhaps Cherry wasn’t one of those women who were obsessed with steamy romance novels, despite her flirty first impressions.

The Captain had communicated favorably with his men and they dispatched a quartet of riders to retrieve us with him at the fore.

“Alright!” He shouted once he was close, “You’re clear to enter the town. Keep on our tails and don’t stray!”

We obeyed, maintaining formation with the four horsemen. His men rode abreast of us and to our rear, whether to function as a shield or to obviate us from deviating to a course not of their choosing was unknown. We galloped towards the outskirts and I could make out the activity taking place within the town with sharper clarity. Men were scurrying about in various states of alacrity and animated energy. If I didn’t know differently, I would say that these men were looking forward to a good scrap with the Buffalo Braves. A foolish idea, but I imagine that they didn’t get many opportunities to collectively flex their muscles like this.

Experienced as these men must have been to become Frontier Rangers, I suspected that the majority of them had not seen the blood and guts kind of affair that a no holds barred battle was. Only their Captain seemed to have a grimness on his face that appropriately matched the atmosphere, mayhaps he actually knew what I did. The windows on the buildings were in the middle of being nailed over with planks and the citizens who weren’t assisting in the defense locked themselves indoors, many of them grousing about ‘moving somewhere out of reach of the vicious locals’. Some had even barred their doors and moved furniture in front of them, which was a terrible idea if any of those ‘vicious locals’ made it inside the perimeter and felt like razing those buildings to their foundations. Thankfully the town was not in the grips of widespread panic, and I deduced that the presence of the Rangers had to do with that.

Their horses must’ve been temporarily expropriated from the local stables for official usage, because every three in ten men were mounted. The men on horseback weren’t even dedicated cavalry, but mounted coordinators seeing to the buildup of the breastworks. Unlike the westernized wear of their Captain, the Rangers under his command had bronze colored armor similar in style to the Royal Guard, though it protected less of their body. This sacrifice in protection granted them some extra mobility however, and these men moved with grace and purpose. Their armaments consisted of short javelin like spears, longer anti cavalry pikes, Xiphos swords, and a hearty amount of Spritewood bows (those must have been expensive to equip the unit with), crossbows, and innumerable arrows. Most of the defense seemed focused on ranged combat, which made sense when the breastworks were taken into account. If the Buffalo Braves got near enough to engage you in hand to hand combat, you’d done a poor job of fending them off.

“Strongheart, is that you?” Came the familiar voice of Braeburn as we progressed into town. His left arm was in a sling, and in defiance of his injury he was busy lugging along a man sized log for the nascent and unfinished eastern breastworks on his shoulder; likely against the Doctor’s orders. The stubbornness inherent in the Apple family was legendary.

“Braeburn!” Strongheart hopped off the saddle and immediately rushed to embrace him, startling him and nearly causing him to drop the log. The white whiskered Captain was annoyed by this interruption, but he hadn’t the heart to separate the young lovers on the eve of potential battle.

He looked pained that he was unable to return her loving affection with a bum arm and his other occupied at the moment, “Ah’m so relieved yer alright. What did those slobberin’ brigands do to ya!?” He demanded, seeing the marks of abuse on her body.

“I was subject to Mister Flam’s hospitality” She growled, “He and his brother are behind the kidnappings of my people!”

“Flam?” He echoed, his face contorting in recollection, “Ya mean the shady snake oil salesman mah cousin hates with a passion?”

“The very same” I answered for her, “How are you doing, partner? You took a bad hit back in Tumbledown”

“I’ve been better, ah’ll tell ya” He admitted, “Woke up to some searin’ pain in mah arm and the bothersome news that the natives were seen assemblin’ an army in almos’ the same exact spot as they did in the past. Then the Rangers came in and ordered the Governor to put the whole town into lockdown while they prepped the fortifications. They wanted every able bodied man to shore up the defenses, so ah felt it was mah duty to volunteer, Doc’s chicken-shit orders to rest be damned. The Doc told me that you dragged mah sorry butt to his clinic, and that ya also did a decent job pluckin’ the shrapnel from mah wound”

“I’m no combat medic,” I melodramatically laid a hand on my chest, “but I deemed it my duty to return you to health, and then return your beloved to you”

“An’ fer that I am forever in yer debt, pardner” He gratefully dipped his head to me, “Lemme jus’ drop this off where the Rangers can put it to use and we can hunker down at mah place to let them sort this all out”

His duty to his beloved superseded his duty to his townsfolk. Oh Braeburn, if only your cousin could educate you in the art of singular determination without compromising your standards.

“Hunker down?” I gawked at him in disbelief, “Braeburn, we didn’t come here to cower, we came to fight for what’s right”

“An’ what is right? What are ya fightin’ for?” He quizzed me.

‘Truth, Justice, and the American way’ I thought in my mind, but refused to share aloud.

“I tried fightin’ once, and look what it did fer me!” He inclined his neck in the direction of the native encampment, “We got a whole army of Buffalo Braves about to bear down on us… again! And yer idea is to drag the love of mah life into the flame!?”

Strongheart caressed his cheeks in her hands, “Do not fret, my love. History may repeat itself, but the outcome of this misunderstanding will not be what you fear” She bravely portrayed herself to bolster her beau’s confidence. That was one of Strongheart’s most redeeming features, being able to embolden others in spite of her own doubts.

“Ya can’t be thinkin’ of goin’ out there and confrontin’ them, are ya?” He was distressed, “You’re on the wrong side of the fence this time, Strongheart! There’s gotta be thousands of ‘em out there! If yer out in the open when they attack, you could die!”

She detached from him, resolution present in her demeanor, “If that is the risk I must take fighting in the name of peace, then so be it. Know that whatever happens, I’ll love you always” She kissed him with finality.

I observed this hammy exhibition of emotion with a hidden smirk. Did Strongheart forget about the magically empowered Agent looming over her? I had several disparate and clandestine ways I could sneak her into her people’s encampment without being noticed, some of which weren’t even rooted in magic! Still, it was amusing to see how dramatic these people could get when they believed everything they treasured was on the line. I had a abrupt epiphany that I was nothing like them. Sure it was problematic that these two forces were about to clash over a misconception, but it wasn’t a be all and end all element that could not be overcome through an application of effort on my part. Failure simply didn’t factor into it for me. But to ordinary mortals like Braeburn and Strongheart, their livelihoods were at stake. If it came to blows, then they could never be married to each other and be accepted by either group as a legitimate couple for as long as they lived.

It was a sobering concept for me… that I would still be around when these people were dust (Assuming this ominous Great Dissonance didn’t consume the world and all that was pure within it before that). Hell, if I was jaded now, then what would I be like a century from now? Or two centuries? Or even a millennium like their highnesses? It was no wonder why Celestia viewed her subjects like her children. In her aged eyes, they were relatively newborn one moment, and sagging and decrepit the next. The passage of time did not have the same meaning to one who did not age as opposed to one who did. I ceased thinking about it before I got broody for no reason.

Strongheart climbed into the saddle behind me during my musing, ignoring the weakened protests of her lover, “Let us go, Zenith” Then she spoke in a whisper, “It is… too painful for me to remain here”

I obliged, clicking my tongue and urging North Wind to follow the Captain’s steed as he chaperoned us into the western quarter of town. The man had watched the lovers’ exchange silently, but if he had any opinions about the ethnicities of each, he politely kept them to himself. We passed by a fair number of Appleloosans who regarded Strongheart with suspicious glances and some outright glares of distrust, which aggravated her self consciousness. The only obstacle obstructing them from assailing us were the Rangers, who warded them off with stern words of warning when they got menacingly close. When grilled by the untrusting populace they cited official diplomatic reasons for Strongheart’s presence in their soon to be besieged town. I approved of this shrewd thinking, and knew that the Captain and I had that sense of discretion in common. The free space at the western end of town had been converted into a field headquarters for the Captain and his men, who all saluted smartly whenever they saw him pass on by.

This was one of the few opportunities I had to behold the military discipline of Arcania’s armed forces, and so far I was not displeased. The men were orderly, obeisant and respectful of their superiors, and I somehow knew they would not break when put to the test. They were regimented too, with a Lieutenant on horseback intermittently reporting in to the Captain about the combat preparedness of the one hundred men they commanded. Women were oddly absent from the ranks, despite their gender forming five sixths of this country’s population. I wasn’t sure if this world conventionally employed men to wage wars or if there was a strict no gender mingling policy that countered having heterogeneous military units composed of males and females. I had yet to see a single woman in uniform (The time I first met Luna when she was in her officer’s uniform didn’t count), so the impression I was getting from that belonged to the former category.

Mana Marks for men were obscured on their clothed (and in this case, armored) shoulders, as was juxtaposed to the openness of their female counterparts, who had them proudly displayed on the backs of their hands, so I couldn’t gauge how suitable these men were for the job. As they were participating in the army, one could only assume that their talents were related to combat and the like. Arcania may not have had a large standing force (merely fifty thousand regulars dispersed throughout the nation, with another fifty thousand being slowly pulled from the population and discreetly trained. This was as per my readiness plans contrived in secret with Celestia and later shared with Luna, with the old war hawk concurring), but I could bet that there were few that could match their effectiveness in the field. However, natural talent was like a freshly forged blade still hot from the fires. Without the whetstone of experience to hone its edge, it was dull and not as effectual as it was required to be.

We hitched our horses and followed the man into his domain. Captain Rockwall’s headquarters was basically a Romanesque tent capable of fitting a war table with a map of the surrounding region and wooden sculptures representing allied and enemy troops. Lanterns hanging from posts flickeringly illuminated the space from all four corners of the tent. We stopped at the table and I reviewed what was depicted on its surface. Appleloosa had a lone marble carving of a royal guard erected over its name and topography (Illustrated with contouring sketch lines of varying shades denoting elevation or relief in the terrain). Right to the west were four crudely (and probably recently) fashioned models of Buffalos snarling angrily at the town and elevated on a set of timber blocks to demonstrate their disconcerting high ground advantage, which discouraged counterattacks. His aide-de-camps welcomed him warmly and offered us refreshments of sparkling water, which we amiably declined.

“So, Rockwall” I said as I pored over the war table, “Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? What is your game plan?”

“Sir?” One of the aide-de-camps uttered in befuddlement at my direct addressing of their Commander.

“It’s fine, Mineral Blitz, he’s a Royal Agent. You may both leave us” He excused them, and they made themselves scarce.

“Mah plan is purely defensive. As ya can clearly see,” He swept his hand over the table, “we jus’ don’ have the manpower to mount any sorties without sufferin’ unacceptable casualties, and that would be a provocative act of war anyhow. At least with the defenses in place, we can inflict enough damage on them that they’d think twice about pillagin’ this town”

He sighed, “There are already two thousand or so overlookin’ us as we speak. And that’s jus’ their vanguard. There’s another two thousand less than half a day from them. If they don’ attack us now, then you can rest assured that they will in the mornin’ once they’re at full force!”

‘Why haven’t they launched probing raids on the defenses yet? Is the Chieftain posturing? Or waiting for his total strength so he can overwhelm us with sheer numbers?’ I had no idea what sort of tactician he was.

“We’re outnumbered, that much is obvious” I tapped at the map, “But there are apple orchards between us and them that will bottleneck them if they attack from the west. Is Appleloosa the only town that’s being ganged up on?” It seemed like an unrelated question, but it was relevant for similar reasons.

“As of today, yes” He bobbed his head once, “But as for tomorrow, or next week? Circumstances might drastically change. And there’s a path through those groves that leads straight into the western bulwark” He traced back and forth at the spot with his finger, “How do ya plan on gettin’ the Chieftain’s daughter past his sentries without them featherin’ her with arrows?”

I turned to my current companion, “Do your people understand what a white flag means?”

The Captain immediately disagreed, “Surrender is not an option here! For all you know, they might use that as an excuse to invade the town!”

On that I agreed with him, “I’m not talking about surrendering, I’m talking about a temporary truce. They wouldn’t be as liable to let their arrows loose if they saw a minuscule delegation heading towards them. They’re not so intractable that they’d kill a non threatening diplomatic party without demonizing themselves”

“This is the truth. Those who nefariously shed innocent blood are held accountable by the Great Spirit in the hereafter. And our people do not recognize flags, Zenith, as we do not have a need for them” Strongheart informed me, “Though we are not completely ignorant to their meaning either, having observed your people using them for some time ourselves” She commented with a slight glare leveled at the Captain, who actually had the grace to shrink back in shame.

“There is no glory for warriors to strike down unarmed opponents if they present themselves to them in such small numbers. I believe we will be able to visit their camp with this method, but it can only be us” She specified, “No one else may accompany us without increasing the chance that my people will retaliate violently. I can speak for my people and you must speak for yours. You have also fought against my kin at one juncture, Zenith. There will be men there who will remember your deeds in the heat of battle, and those stories will disseminate amongst our tribe from the warriors who saw what you were capable of” She smiled somewhat maliciously, “You stood toe to toe with Wild Bull and humbled him. That did not go unnoticed, I assure you”

I snorted, “He relied on brute force to overpower his opponents. He thought with his muscles, not his brain. I defeated him handily”

She clutched a fist to her chest, “Our people value individual strength. Your voice, though belonging to those that they perceive as an enemy, will have weight”

“Ya’ve tussled with these people before, Agent? Color me impressed” The Captain remarked disparagingly, “I thought you city slickers fussed over havin’ a single hair out of place”

I ignored the offhand jab, “I also fought for them” I announced, surprising them both, “When Strongheart’s village was reft and she was plucked from her home, I put down as many outlaws as I could shoot until the Chief could rally his men and oust the rest”

“You did?” Strongheart self debasingly shook her head, “Of course you did. You’ve had such an impact on our tribe that it is quite likely that my father will meet with no other Arcanian, with perhaps the exception of my beloved, though he is too afraid to join us. He fears my father, and he must believe himself responsible for allowing my kidnapping. Oh Braeburn,” She murmured to herself, “you are not a warrior, and you don’t need to be, not in my eyes”

“Would it be possible for you to spare some men capable of driving wagons?” I politely requisitioned to the Captain in a tone that lorded my position over his own, “Even if we can convince the Buffalo Braves to lay idle on that hill, they will want their loved ones returned to them right away”

“I can’t do that, Agent” He resisted me, “I need every man at his post. Besides, any movement en masse out of the town could be disastrously misconstrued by the natives”

“Not in the direction we came in on. Listen to me, Captain” I leveled with him, “Twenty men and some horses won’t make the difference should negotiations fail. Sure you’ll make the natives pay for every inch of ground, but they have the motivation and the manpower to raze Appleloosa twice over before sunrise”

“I think ya overestimate their chances!” He huffed, taking insult at the implied assessment of his soldiers, “We’re dug in hard, and they’ll have a hell of a time diggin’ us out!”

“But you haven’t faced these men before, have you?” He scowled, but his silence confirmed that he didn’t know his enemy that well in this case, “They don’t fight in standard formations. Each man fights more or less for his own glory and the opportunity to collect scalps. And because their warrior tradition is so fixated on personal glory, they fight harder than you’d think. A seasoned warrior is easily the equal of three untrained Agrarian men, maybe four. Your defenses and structured units will only hold them off so long. Once they break, and they will after enduring the might of two thousand or more native warriors, your men will become disorganized and will retreat pell-mell. Buffalo Braves have no qualms with hurtling tomahawks into the spines of withdrawing opponents that they’ve engaged”

“Have ya seen their tactics?” The Captain questioned, “What can ya tell me about their strategies?”

“Only in a smaller scale. And they seemed to relent from the attack after I held their war leader hostage” The Braves may have fought for vengeance and glory, but they had a chain of command like us.

“So if ya were to clasp hands with their Chieftain…” The Captain began deviously.

“Don’t even suggest it” I eyed Strongheart warily, “It’s rather distasteful in our present company, don’t you think?” He shut up after that, conceding the point.

It flew over her head, thanks to her comparative inexperience with double meaning, “I do not understand. Why would shaking hands with my father be an unacceptable gesture?”

“I’ll shake hands with him after we restore his daughter to him and only if he offers” I placated her.

“So all our hopes are pinned on you talkin’ them out of violence?” The Captain was unhappy with that, “At least I ain’t the one chancin’ his health if things go south”

I smirked, “That’s right, Rockwall, focus on the positives. Us young folks gotta retain our ideals and dare to push the envelope when it comes to making progress”

He chuckled, “If you were one of mah boys, I’d tan yer hide until you minded that cheeky tongue of yers. Ah’ll see what I can do about expeditin’ the transport of her people, but it’ll take time that you hafta buy fer us” He saluted me, “May the Princesses smile upon your endeavors out there, Agent Zenith”

With that, he left us to give out the orders for twenty of his men to commandeer whatever wheeled vehicles they could find and to hitch their horses to them before sending them off to find our wagon column and expedite their transition across the desert flats. I improvised with a stained dining sheet stuffed into the Captain’s footlocker storage trunk and an unlit torch to create a white flag that we would use to signal our willingness to negotiate with the natives. It was a ratty dining cloth, so I presumed that the Captain wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it. Strongheart and I then shared a glass of the Captain’s whiskey (for additional courage, I explained to her) before we remounted North Wind to head off ourselves. We were about to search for the exit when two riders trotted over to us.

“You two are the Royal Agent and the Native woman, yes?” One of them asked in a professional, guarded voice.

“Might be” I replied tersely, “Who’s asking?”

“Your escort” The other of the two riders responded, “The Captain ordered us to take you halfway to the Buffalo Brave’s camp. It’s formal courtesy for a member of their Highnesses’ Agency to have an entourage when departing from an army encampment. You are an extension of their Majesties’ will, and it would be remiss of us not to protect you in sight of the men”

“It must only be us seen advancing on them, Zenith, or our mission will be endangered” Strongheart nudged at me, not approving of this courtesy.

“That is why we will be turning back at the designated halfway point” The first one reiterated, quick to pick up the slack, “The apple orchards between the two camps will aid us in being unseen before then”

I wasn’t about to turn down another helpful escort, “Very well” I then motioned for them to lead the way.

We cantered to a thin gap between the breastwork defenses that was wide enough for a man on horse to slip through without risking harm. Pike men vigilantly minded this weak spot however, so there was no danger of it being the chink in an otherwise sturdy armor encapsulating the town. The vaunted apple orchards that comprised the majority of Appleloosa’s exportable products were no different from Sweet Apple Acre’s groves; only these trees grew in sandier soil and were slightly stunted to compensate for the lack of scheduled hydration. Thinking about the Magiville based farm made me wonder which of these trees might be Applejack’s precious Bloomberg, and then the idyllic tangent took a turn for the worse when I envisioned this same orchard in flames from the Buffalo Brave’s assault. The price of failure would be steep indeed if Strongheart’s homecoming was not sufficient to stay the execution.

The woman in the saddle with me was quiet, likely debating what to say to her father and the other tribal leaders in order to persuade them that the Arcanian settlers were innocent without being seen as biased, as she was in love with one herself. Braeburn should have been with us too, but with how displeased Chief Thunderfeet was with him for losing his only daughter to the outlaws, mayhaps he needed time to cool off first. Our escorts kept their attention focused on our surroundings, scanning the orchard for any signs of skirmishing natives hiding in the woods. We traveled without a lamp or anything to light our path, but our escorts must’ve been familiar with the area, since we reached the halfway point sooner than I would have guessed.

“This is where we part ways, Agent” One of them declared, giving me a two fingered valedictory salute, “We’ll be eagerly awaiting your return”

“Hopefully with good news… and your head still attached to your shoulders” Lefty (as I decided to call him for his placement) whispered to himself, earning him a reproachful smack on the head from righty.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I chortled at his lighthearted comment, “I appreciate the vote of confidence. You boys take care!”

The two riders clandestinely disappeared into the night and Strongheart and I continued our trek up the hill towards the natives’ encampment by ourselves. I kept my eyes peeled, watching for any sentinels or lookouts that might spot us. I handed the rolled up white flag to Strongheart for her to hold. I would need both hands for the reins if I had to make North Wind dance around arrow showers. We must have been stealthier than I gave us credit for, because it wasn’t until we were within smelling range of a chunk of buffalo meat on a spit roast that we were detected by a warrior who was stringing his bow by the wayside. He shouted in his native tongue and soon we were swarmed by dozens of them pouring out of their tents. Each of them was angrily spitting at us in their harsh language. But they weren’t trying to aerate us with arrows, so there was that.

Strongheart sheepishly waved the white flag in a figure eight. She comprehended that her voice would not be heard over the din, so she didn’t even bother speaking until they bothered to listen. I meanwhile was visually scouring the natives’ camp for anything remotely resembling the command tent, though the Buffalo Braves did not distinguish their mobile shelters based on rank, so it was more irksome for me to do than it should have been. Most of the control I had over the situation was deprived from me when one of the men seized North Wind’s reins and began to forcibly lead him where he wanted. I could work with this. I surmised that the man was taking us to his leaders for them to make heads or tails of our little visit.

The natives’ encampment was larger than the Rangers’, but also simpler. Although the wigwams, teepees, and longhouses that were present in their main village were portable (as the natives had a nomadic culture), very primitive and easy to assemble structures had to be employed for massed excursions like this. For a rapid response by their army, they had to rely on buffalo and deer hide tents supported by sticks to shelter them from the natural elements. Circles of these tents would encompass one big bonfire that was used for cooking and lighting by fifty or so men. The men themselves were prepared for a fight. They were decked out in bone armor, had the strangest array of war paint designs for their faces, and looked mean as hell in general. Honor was the only thing stopping them from killing us then and there. If things got ugly, I would be hard pressed to fight my way out of this under normal circumstances.

The Brave conducting us into the interior of the native camp stopped before a tent (whose only distinguishing feature was that it was spacious compared to the others) and poked his head inside to speak to one of its inhabitants. An older man with a clipped ponytail and peculiar war paint pattern (half of his face white and the other black with his ocular pits being the opposite shades for extra contrast) emerged, staring us down with narrowed eyes brimming with hatred. Strongheart must have recognized this man, because I could feel her recoil and lean behind me instinctively for protection. The man walked until he was beside us and spoke to her in an unfriendly sounding tone. I cast a bidirectional translational spell and those grating chirps of foreign verbiage became intelligible words in my mind’s ear.

“You bring a hated milkskin into our midst?” He hissed, “You dishonor our people, Strongheart, consorting with the enemy like this. You father never listened to my warnings, but I see it in your eyes. You value them above your own kin!”

“I have done no such thing!” She objected, tearing up at the hurtful words, “Our people can coexist, we must look past our differences and live together in harmony! As they do!”

“You have even adopted their pitiful ideology” He sneered, “We live by strength and strength alone! Without your poisonous influence to cloud his mind, your hesitant father has finally seen wisdom and sought justice for himself. He has gathered the best of our warriors to wreak our vengeance upon them! Starting with Appleloosa” He jeered.

He pointed to me, “And as for you! I don’t know what foul sorcery allowed you to defeat my son in combat without that coward’s Thunder-Horror weapon… but it will not avail you against me!” He unsheathed a jagged dagger of what I believed was obsidian and grabbed it with his other hand, cutting into it down to the bone. He didn’t so much as cringe at the pain, so I knew that this man was no stranger to it.

‘An important figure, angered by my besting his son in combat? This must be the venerated Standing Bull’ I deduced. No other warrior’s pops had the clout that this man did. What were the chances we’d stumble into his allotment of the camp? This universe loved to test me, it seemed.

He then held out the hand and let the blood drip onto the ground, “You may not be one of our tribe or understand what I say, ignorant foreigner, but the Great Spirit knows my rage is potent, and will abide by this pledge. One of us will die this night”

“So be it” I replied in his own tongue, causing those around us to murmur with interest and faint shock that the ignorant foreigner was not so ignorant after all. I dismounted from North Wind and the congregation took a few steps back to give us some room. There wasn’t even a peep out of Strongheart. This death oath thing could not be overturned, so she could only bear witness.

I studied my opponent carefully as one of his underlings fetched him a duplicate of a Macuahuitl sword baton, which was essentially a wooden stick with over a dozen razor sharp prismatic obsidian blades embedded into its sides. He gave it some practice whirls to familiarize himself with the weight. A weapon like that had serious lacerating potential even if it glanced, so I had to be heedful during this duel. Standing Bull was roughly as muscular as his son was, but this man would not be as foolish in battle, and would study me for weaknesses too. I was out of bullets for Dee-Dee, so I couldn’t ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’ my way out of this one. If I had Dichotomy, I could dice this man into neat chunks regardless of how fearsome a warrior he was. That left me with two tactical options, my hidden blades, and my Tantō, both of which I was comfortable with using. One of the Buffalo Braves moved to give me a weapon to duel with, but he was stopped by Standing Bull, who imperiously waved him off.

“He is warrior enough to triumph over my son, is he not?” He posited, “Let us determine how well he fights with what he has”

We stared each other down for fifteen seconds afterwards before Standing Bull attacked first. He closed the gap between us and swung his Macuahuitl overhead, which I ducked underneath as I drew my Tantō and held it in my usual reverse grip. In spite of wielding a bladed, dense piece of wood four feet in length, Standing Bull could swing his weapon as effortlessly as if it was a baseball bat. I had to pull off some mad dives and combat rolls to avoid being carved in half as he swiped at me like a madman. I wasn’t able to counter him as often as I would have liked, since he knew his footwork intimately. He feinted expertly and jabbed the Macuahuitl at my face, slicing into my left cheek and getting first blood. The instant I felt the obsidian kiss me, my magic was temporarily disrupted, which I found as interesting as it was alarming. It ceased once he withdrew his weapon and prepared for another string of attacks. I palmed at the gushing wound and concluded that while it wasn’t superficial, it wouldn’t be debilitating either.

His small victory was emboldening him though, and that made his next moves recklessly sloppy. I counterattacked below the belt, where Standing Bull’s defense was lacking; scoring a punch to his pelvis that sapped the pride right out of him. He retaliated by rotating his baton sword like a windmill, forcing me to consider a new avenue of approach. I wedged by Tantō between the obsidian teeth of the Macuahuitl and punched him again with my left hand in the face. Since this was a true duel to the death, I held nothing back. Teeth went flying as he stumbled backwards, the front portion of his face caved in where his mouth was. He was swallowing a river of his own blood, but he was not deterred. He rushed me and tried to cleave me in twain with an overhead chop. I barely hopped back in time, and his blade clipped the floor, chipping off a few fragments of the fragile obsidian glass. I swiftly used my foot to flip the baton onto its flat end and pin it while snapping it into two with my other foot.

With a throaty growl, he tossed the broken Macuahuitl to the side and withdrew his obsidian dagger. Without his baton sword to ward me off though, countering him in close quarters was second nature to me. I slapped, parried, and blocked his dagger hand while smacking him with my unequipped palm to disorient him and score a few deep gashes in manifold regions that oozed lifeblood like open elongated sores. No matter how stubborn he was to kill me, his body began to slow from the loss of blood (whereas my healing factor had kicked in and was sealing up my cheek laceration) and it was gradually getting easier to outmaneuver and outfight him. I disarmed him with a heavy handed blow after he attempted to bury his dagger in my neck in a last ditch attempt to end the fight. I ringed my arm into his disarmed one and hugged the defenseless man close to me before commencing a stab party on his abdomen and chest, with the man screaming bloody murder the whole time. He vainly struggled to pull away from me as I laid into him, violently puncturing his bone armor like it was paper and rupturing his vital organs until he was terminated.

The dying tribal leader fell from my arms and slumped onto the earth, a red pool forming from his perforated midsection. I stabbed him so many times that some of his organs were showing through the holes or even sliding out of the wounds in some cases. Even as he breathed his last breath, Standing Bull glared up at me loathingly. Then the light disappeared from his eyes and he was an empty shell, dead to the world forevermore. No one made a sound for several moments, save for my partially elevated breathing rate. I glanced about me, only to find expecting gazes reflected at me, like I was forgetting something important. Eventually their stares were becoming unnerving and I looked to an appalled Strongheart for guidance.

“What are they all staring at me for?” I whispered (absently in the native tongue) as an aside to Strongheart. I won that duel fairly! Or about as fairly as a Trifect with enhanced stats like mine could.

“To complete the death oath, you must lap the blood of your adversary off the blade you used to kill him” She answered, relieved that I had lived and her abusive suitor’s father was no longer a threat to us.

“Oh…” I vacillated, before shrugging, “Okay then” I unabashedly gave the flat of my Tantō a lick from one end of the blade to the other like it was a strawberry popsicle.

‘Mmm… Blood! Ah Ah Ah!’ My inner vampire imitated in Count Von Count’s voice. In reality though, Standing Bull’s blood tasted as bitter as he was when he was alive.

Once the ceremonial gesture was complete, the men assembled here bowed their heads and chanted ‘Blood was owed, blood was spilled. The debt is paid, his life fulfilled’. I idly pondered whether it rhymed in their language too. After that, a quartet of men carried Standing Bull’s corpse into his tent to prepare for honorable burial, while the rest of those gathered around us regarded me stoically, neither cordial nor antagonistic. The unspoken signs of respect were in the air. I had earned my right to be heard by slaying one of their veteran warriors in single combat, like I almost did with his son, and I was going to use it.

“Now…” I started, sheathing my blade with a ‘clack!’, “Unless there is anyone else who desires to face me in the ring of honor, you will take me to see your Chieftain”

And as if the words were magic, a partition formed in the sea of painted faces as the men stepped in reverse to make way for us. I motioned for Strongheart to follow me and she pulled North Wind along by his reins as we progressed even farther into the encampment. Additional natives cropped up from their tents as news of a tribal leader’s death circulated about the war camp. A smattering of native’s recognized their Chieftain’s daughter and wondered why she was in my company, while the proactive ones ran to their Chief to inform him of her reappearance. I also overheard rumors as to what this meant for the sub-tribe’s future now that their leader was deceased and his son comatose (And no, I wasn’t going to revive him out of pity. The bastard tried to scalp me!). It wasn’t my problem, so I tuned all news of that subject out as I meandered towards the Chieftain we needed to speak to so desperately.

Standing Bull’s comments about her father seeing wisdom were cause for some concern though, for if there was legitimate, then this will have been for nothing. But after meeting him, I could see where his brash son got his hot headedness from, so it was equally probable that he was expelling (if you’ll pardon the term) bullshit. The two of us were about to find out as we entered a minor clearing in an otherwise crowded war camp, where the Cheiftain’s teepee was puffing a steady stream of fumes. Strongheart could resist her impulsive urges no further and ran ahead of me, vanishing into the teepee flap to reunite with her father. No wanting to intrude, I waited patiently like the good, not tribal leader slaying guest that I was.

There were huts where slabs of buffalo meat hung by hooks, so it also functioned as the camp’s supply depot. A devious part of my mind calculated the devastation I could do to the native’s ability to sustain a war if their plentiful food stocks were to mysteriously go up in smoke (not much I estimated, as they could just go hunting buffalo to replenish what they had lost, but it would slow them down and buy valuable time for a full scale evacuation of the town), but stowed it as a measure of bitter resort. Efforts for peace had priority, but I would not be merciful if they were rejected to spite all that I had done to rectify the damage they believed they had suffered at the hands of the settlers.

There was a commotion and rumbling of multiple voices from inside the teepee, and then the Chief stormed out of his tent in his unbridled glory. His headdress must’ve been another ceremonial kind that the Grand Chief of the Buffalo Braves donned whenever he rode to war. Each feather was as white as the freshly driven snow and nearly seemed to shine, even in the relatively dim light of the bonfires. His armor incorporated both a bony chest plate and solid wooden strips fastened together in a way that reminded me of Tlingit body armor. Again, seeing him so prepared for battle was an uncomfortable reminder that it was unwise to anger this man. He was unarmed however, and didn’t appear to be spoiling for a fight, though his face remained stern.

He snapped his fingers and the immediate vicinity was vacated of people, “Are you the one responsible for my daughter’s return?” He asked in my basic language, his tone indecipherable.

It took a second for me to mentally switch back to English, “Yes, I am, though I had sources of help to accomplish that”

I had no time to react as he swept me up in a fierce hug. I may have yelped in befuddlement as he lifted me off the ground by a fair number of feet. The Chieftain was a big man, approximately my size but beefier, so being manhandled by him was extremely awkward for me.

The Chieftain laughed joyously, “My gratitude know no bounds, Zenith! Twice my daughter has been pried from me, and twice she has been restored to me by you!”

“That’s superb, Chief Thunderfeet. I’m glad to have done my part” I sincerely expressed as I gawkily patted him on the shoulder, “How much has your daughter told you about her ordeal?”

“Much and more” He frowned, “So we were being deceived for the duration our my people’s kidnappings. This is a troublesome occurrence, Zenith, but also a well timed one. My fellow war council advised me to exact retribution on the settlers after my daughter’s second disappearance, and to deny them was to invite restlessness into my tenure. None will cast doubt on my ability and willingness to convene a war group now, but I do not wish to wage a war on your people, Zenith. We would lose in the end…” He predicted astutely, “…badly. Your Princesses who can influence the Sun and Moon themselves would guarantee it”

“I see. So you got my note then?” I inquired.

“Indeed we did” He confirmed, “Along with two most intriguing gifts. The first gift was obstinate and I assume did not perform as you intended him to before he expired. The second gift went to my household guard, though their uses without a method for replenishing the metal balls and black powder are limited. The one who called himself Smoky Joe seemed dead set on laying blame on the Appleloosans. He was too eager and too vocal, according to my instincts, so I knew this was a falsehood” He was onto the outlaw’s game, “But my council took his words at face value and demanded that I stand by my oath to defend our people from all perceived threats… and so here we are, on the precipice of war, and you have arrived bearing assuaging tidings that may yet save us all. The Great Spirit favors you, young one, though you hardly realize it”

I had nothing to say to that.

He craned his neck at me, “Far be it for me to doubt my own ears and the words of my own flesh and blood, but is my daughter’s report that you bested Standing Bull in a duel of honor authentic?” When I nodded, he mirrored the gesture with subdued deference, “An impressive feat, to be sure. He was among our finest warriors, even at his age. His loss was regrettable, as was the fact that he bore you such ill will. He would have thought twice about challenging you had he known you were touched by the Great Spirit”

“He lived as a warrior, and died like a warrior” I spouted a twist on the biblical axiom ‘live by the sword, and you’ll die by the sword’.

“This is true” He rumbled low in his throat, before looking for somebody who wasn’t there, “Where is Braeburn? Why is he not with you?”

“Braeburn was injured fighting to secure your daughter’s freedom” I fibbed, “He was wounded in the struggle, and his left arm is temporarily out of commission. I left him in Appleloosa so one of the Doctors could tend to his wound while I tracked down the men who stole your daughter and hundreds of your people from you”

“My daughter was evasive about what she witnessed while in their clutches” He narrowed his eyes at me, “I trust that you will fill me in where she did not. Where were my people being held?”

I made sure no undue ears were eavesdropping on us before answering, “At the bottom of a canyon to the southeast of here, many miles off, is a secret goldmine. The outlaws were using them to extract gold from a specific section of that canyon, feeding them some foul concoction of gruel to sap them of their will to resist their captors” I hesitated, “I am unsure how long it will be until they recover themselves (‘If they recover themselves at all, that is’). Some of them… did not make it, I am sorry” I was saddened to inform him.

Thunderfeet’s fists clenched themselves into a white knuckled grip, “Why do you apologize for other men’s atrocities? You did not do this, nor was it done unto you. But as my daughter is alive and well, I surmise that they have been punished for this?”

“All but seven of them are dead” I revealed to him, “They’re in the same cart column we’re using to haul the liberated natives to you. It’s on its way to Appleloosa as we speak”

“They are here!?” He exclaimed, “I must give the order to cancel the assault. I will not have my Braves unwittingly slaughtering their own kin” He unintentionally hinted that even he knew how badly he outnumbered the stalwart defenders of the town.

He retreated into his tent and there was another commotion of hushed voices, accompanied by the booming voice of the Chieftain drowning out all others. Half a minute afterwards, a series of men materialized out of the teepee, ranging from war faced warriors, to wizened elders. Each of them had a distinct manner of dress and demeanor, and I deduced that these men were the Chieftain’s war council, undoubtedly comprised of tribal leaders from all across the plains region they designated as home. But if that was so, then why hadn’t Sitting Bull been in attendance at their meeting? Maybe he and Thunderfeet just didn’t see eye to eye. I did sense something of an underlying tension hidden between them when the now dead man mentioned how the Chief had seen wisdom and rallied his men to lay siege to Appleloosa.

Most of the older men ignored me, but the warriors flashed me dangerous glances that I met evenly as they passed on by. Once they had departed, the Chief invited me inside his tent to discuss the future of the relations between settler and tribal native.

“Father…” Strongheart began, “…does my marriage to Braeburn stand firm?”

“Has the man who has won your heart stood firm by you?” The Chieftain countered pointedly, his arms crossed over his chest.

I was about to remind the Chief that he did fight for her honor, but Strongheart fought her own battles, “He has! He has also shed blood in my name” She neglected to go over the part where he wanted to cower in his home rather than speak to the Braves about peaceful resolution, but no man was perfect, “I will be married to him alone, or remain forever untouched!” She petulantly gainsaid her father.

“Still yourself, my precious child” He held out a placating hand, “I do not annul your marriage to the Arcanian. Your union could be paramount in ensuring that our two peoples never come this close to clashing ever again” He turned to me, “There is a final honor I yearn to bestow upon you, Zenith. We presently have had one Arcanian adopted into our tribe through marriage, and blood relations are a given standard of membership” He plucked a feather from his headdress and cut a superficial slit into his palm with a knife. He soaked the feather in his blood, staining the barbs crimson, before handing it over to me.

“I deem you a Bloodfeather of the Buffalo Braves for your unparalleled service not just to myself, but to our Tribe as well. You came to us in our hour of need, and fought nobly for our brothers and sisters in bondage, though none of us asked you to risk yourself so. As of this night, you are one with us” He enveloped me with his arms a second time, with a bizarre tenderness on this go, “Welcome to the family”

I was pleasantly pleased by this turn of events, “I’m merely doing the right thing as ever, Chieftain, though I must proclaim that I am honored to be properly recognized to you. Will your people be as accepting of me, though?”

He hummed in the affirmative, “My decree is law. To challenge this decree is to challenge me” He stood tall, his bulky musculature emphasizing itself with the motion, “You will be accepted, or I shall teach any naysayers the meaning of tolerance” He cracked his knuckles loudly.

“Now you know how my father adopts others into our tribe” Strongheart squeezed me like a oversized teddy bear, “I embrace you as the brother I wish I had, Zenith” She whispered up into my ear.

I twitched and smiled wanly, ‘My only child instincts are in maximum overdrive’ I petted her on the back robotically, “Can’t say I’ve ever had a sister before” I twisted my neck to the Chief, “I’m still an Arcanian though, you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course!” He bellowed, “But you will always have a place here amongst us. Now we must contemplate as to how we can repair the strained relationship between our people and the Arcanians, and your role will be pivotal in this endeavor” He declared, already referring to me as a fellow tribesman. The man was nothing if not traditionally minded.

And so we conversed on how to initiate the process of healing the rift between settler and native, which was agitated by the previous happenings. I would be the go between for settler and native, delivering information and relaying messages. The government authority of the town was Governor Mansion, though unofficially it was Captain Rockwall in charge. But formalities had to be adhered to, and so once the matter of the ex slaves tangibly producing themselves for their kind was tentatively settled, the Chieftain and the Governor agreed to meet on neutral turf to discuss the possibility of a permanent suspension of hostilities, the establishment of a conventional trade system, and the minor issue of reparations made for the innocent Arcanians who died unjustly like those in the Blood Gulch Massacre. It would be an arduous road, but settlers and natives alike looked to be walking it in sync for the very first time.

Thunderfeet’s war council complied to postpone any plans of attack until it was verified that their kidnapped people were safe and sound. The warriors were wary though, many of them suspecting the news to be some kind of ruse to lure them into a false sense of security. With my newly acquired status of Bloodfeather however, they were less frank about their mistrust of me. Rockwall eventually came through for us on his end, and it was only an hour before a rickety train of wagons was spotted bumping and rolling into town with the ex slaves in tow. I spent ten minutes or so convincing Rockwall that the town wouldn’t be sacked the second he dismantled the barricades to allow for the natives to be sent back to their people.

Negotiations were a cinch once the Buffalo Braves had their wives, sons, and daughters back in their loving arms. There were some warriors in Thunderfeet’s army that broke from their ranks once they saw someone they knew in the gaggle of formerly enslaved natives that we had liberated for them. Tears were shed over those who were still in the trance like state that the gruel inflicted on them, but there were more than a couple of ex slaves that recognized their family members or spouses among the warriors, and they exhibited promising signs that they were recovering from their mental sickness. There were a few enraged holdouts whose children had perished, but the Chief mollified them when I promised that they could attend the executions of the guilty outlaws who were caught in the raid on the mine. Both sides subsequently stood down from any aggressive posturing, and Strongheart, the town, and I breathed a collective sigh of relief. Neither of the armies dispersed forthwith, but there was nothing to fear anymore.

Braeburn was especially overjoyed, ecstatic that the danger he perceived in his mind was an illusion (One that was perilously close to becoming reality, were it not for myself and Appleloosa’s law enforcement). He and Strongheart started making emergency plans for their wedding to be held the next evening, while Applejack and I enjoyed a bottle of cider together to congratulate ourselves on a honest job well done. I had met with an exhausted Shooting Star beforehand for a curtailed moment to let him know that the Crown was interested in him for his aptitude with firearms, which had his tired eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July. He mirrored the interest prodigiously, and assured me that if the Crown ‘ever came callin’, then ah’d come a’runnin’’ as he so eloquently put it.

After no deliberation whatsoever, the two lovers decided to host the celebratory venue for their wedding underneath the shadow of the butte where they had first fallen in love. Before they shacked up for the night, Braeburn nervously approached me to ask me something important. He invited me to attend his wedding as the best man, and wanted to know what I thought about it, as he was short on guy friends (A snarky part of me was howling like a hyena at his sheepish admission, though for reasons known only to me). I shrugged frivolously and told him ‘Why not?’ to spite my prior misgivings after Tumbledown. Weddings were happy affairs, and a strenuously achieved peace in the south matched that jubilation.

⁂

I absently rubbed at the crimson feather I had stuck to the band of my hat as I surveyed Flim and Flam’s seemingly innocent fertilizer shipping center from twenty meters out, masquerading itself as a place of legal business. But AJ and I knew better, and it was high time that Flim learned that we were in on the sordid secret. The grounds were organized into rows of brick buildings with garage doors at one end, presumably where the carts were loaded up with bunches of crates to be shipped by train to wherever it was that these crates were distributed to in the mainland. Effective as the morbidly created fertilizer was, human blood was not an acceptable ingredient in any recipe in the history of ever. This place had to be shut down, and its workforce thoroughly interrogated for evidence of guilt and imprisoned as was necessary.

“Looks like nobody is home” Applejack observed from beside me.

“Were it only so” I lamented softly, “Just to be safe, AJ. I want you hang back until I can confirm that the coast is clear. Alright?”

She frowned at my unwillingness to put her at the forefront, but relented to my unfaltering stare, “Okay, Zenith. But you gimme a holler if ya need mah help” She had Dusk Breeze rotate in place before galloping somewhere out of sight.

“I’ll certainly make a lot of noise” I half joked, dismounting from my steed and continuing on foot.

My Ackbar senses were tingling like crazy, but I suppressed the urge to go full Trifect and level the place and everything in it. There was bound to be useful evidence here that could shed some light on who was culpable of these crimes or where I could find them. At the terminus of the premises was a lodge style house not unlike Miss Jubilee’s. If my hunch was correct, that building was where I would find Flim, along with the info I sought. As I foresaw, the property wasn’t as deserted as its initial impressions gave off. Six figures bristling with guns surfaced from the local buildings as I passed them. I found myself surrounded by them, and one of their number spoke to me gruffly.

“You lost, stranger? We don’ hire rodeo clowns” His fellows chuckled, finding the situation humorous.

“With lame jokes and an ugly mug like yours, I figure I’d be outclassed by you anyway” I riposted, drawing a string of ‘Oohs’ at the crisp zinger. The man scowled, wrinkles forming in his brow.

“What do ya want?” He spat, no longer in an amicable mood. Fine by me, angry opponents are prone to making mistakes.

“To see your boss” I coolly replied, “He and I have business to conclude”

The man’s chartreuse eyes saw the bullet holes in my duster and drifted down to my waistline, to where my oil secreting pistol belt was slung on my hip specifically. From the sudden shift in the atmosphere, his buddies had noticed Dee-Dee too, and were on edge. They knew who I was, and Flim had wisely advised them to beware of me.

“Yer in luck! Mah boss has cleared his schedule jus’ fer you. No firearms are allowed in his presence though” He, outstretched his palm, “Ah’m gonna have to ask ya to relinquish that gun of yers over to me” His pals responded to the verbal cue and unholstered their weapons, pointing them at me. They were making it plain as day that I was at their mercy.

In the distance, a hawk screeched thrice, and I stifled the desire to smile.

‘Or so they would love to think’ I mentally scoffed. But I obliged them for now, sliding out my pistol nice and slow like, turning it backwards and proffering the handle of the gun to the speaking brigand. This baited them into a false sense of superiority, and that would cause their response time to wane.

“Ain’t never seen a fancy pistol like that before” He murmured, entranced by Dee-Dee’s ornate design, “Ah’m jealous”

I grinned viciously, “Then allow me to acquaint you intimately”

Before he could react, I flipped my proffered Magnum around in an old gunfighter’s trick known as the Road Agent’s Spin by inserting my index finger into the trigger guard and twisting it back into my hand in the blink of an eye. I shoved the barrel into his stomach and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in his gut. I held him with an arm around his neck before he could sag to the ground like a limp fish. His comrades were shocked by the brazen display of aggression, permitting me to kill two of their number without receiving return shots. The first man to get his carbine up got a shot off, which was absorbed by his buddy’s body (though it did still feel like being punched, though the shock was mitigated significantly) before a bullet burrowed its way into his heart. I repeated the meat shield technique with the remaining two, popping a round into both of their craniums with an explosion of gore.

I dropped the bullet riddled corpse and sprinted towards the lodge house as dozens of armed men poured out of the woodwork. They took potshots at me, but I was too swift for them to get accurate shots at. They had worries other than me to contend with. With a bugle horn sounding the charge, a contingent of Frontier Rangers galloped down the hill where we had been, guns blazing. After the settlers and natives were not poised to tear into each other, the Sheriff had kindly donated the guns we had appropriated in the mines to the Captain, and Shooting Star gave them the crash course in their operation. Before I had set out to hunt down Flim, I requested a favor (which was a creative interpretation for a Royal order) from the Captain to let me borrow some of his gun toting soldiers to conduct a raid on Flim’s place of business. Rockwall consented, with the small stipulation that he led them himself as Arcania’s first Dragoon commander.

Their shouts and enthusiastic clamor attracted the attention of the premise’s security detail. And they rushed to confront them, transforming the shipping area into a miniature warzone as Rangers on horses harried and divided the outlaws on Flim’s payroll. The Captain himself appeared to be having a blast blasting outlaws in the face with his dual flintlocks before dicing them to bits with his cavalry saber. The glorious scene would have brought a tear to my eye if there weren’t a task for me to complete. I made it to the porch of the lodge, where gunfire was erupting from the windows as Flim’s bodyguard justified their pay. I discerned a familiar neigh as Dusk Breeze galloped through the chaos and deposited Applejack (who was wielding her blunderbuss) into my metaphorical lap.

“Applejack!? What are you doing in the line of fire?” I didn’t want a stray bullet to strike her. She was a friend, darn it, and I looked out for those I cared about, even if it meant confining them to the side.

“Don’ give me that hogwash speil!” She snapped at me, pushing her hat down as a bullet flew into the wall above her, “Ah can hack this!”

I knew better than to argue with her in the middle of the firefight, “Alright. But you stick close to me, got it!?”

She smirked in an inexplicably enticing manner, “Not a problem fer me, sugarcube”

I rumbled my throat as I ignored the abrupt rush of heat to my face. Blaming it on the arid conditions of the desert, I inserted a fresh bunch of cartridges into Dee-Dee’s cylinder and flicked it shut before kicking in the door and ducking back into cover.

“Cease and desist in the name of the Crown!” I shouted through the doorway, getting a reply in the form of a hail of bullets.

“They want to play hardball, do they?” I groused to myself, producing a duo of flashbangs that the Captain resupplied me with in Appleloosa, “Well this ought to warn them that I play rough!”

I yanked at their activation rings and tossed them into the interior of the lodge’s entrance. Twin flashes accompanied by eardrum bursting noise erupted from within, and I pressed the glowing chaos button on my revolver before breaching. I shot at the first man I saw struggling to lift his pistol and fire at the blurry shape ahead of him. A phenomenon I could only describe as Arc Lightning sprang forth from Dee-Dee’s barrel, zapping a hole in the man’s face and jumping to his comrades one by one until the foyer was cleansed of all ten hostiles. I noted that the chaos button had lessened in luminosity from the action, so every trigger pull would drain it until it was non functional. I whistled appreciatively as I spun my Magnum in my hand and holstered it in the same motion like a true gunslinger.

I did not delay, “C’mon. If Flim is anything like his brother, he’ll be secluded in his office”

Applejack voiced her agreement as we jogged up the stairs and further into the lodge like building. The defenders in the foyer must have been the only men present, because we encountered no one else to obstruct our way in. Outside, the battle raged on as Rockwall’s mounted Dragoons blitzed the unprepared outlaws. Through a window we saw a storage building explode spectacularly, blowing its contents sky high (like in the mine, but larger) and sending shockwaves through the earth that we felt inside. Flim must have had a contingency plan in place that would erase everything if he and his brother’s illicit activities were ever uncovered. We followed the useful directory sign that directed us to the Co-owner Flim’s office. The door at the end of the hallway was not sealed and barred, but cracked slit width, as if someone had forgotten to close it before everything devolved into havoc.

“We gotta put a stop to this, quick! What if this place has been rigged ta blow?” Applejack agitatedly whispered to me.

“With Flim still inside?” I expelled a stream of dubious air through my nostrils, “Somehow I doubt he has the determination to atomize himself”

“What if it ain’t up to him?” Applejack posited, “Ya did say that he wasn’t the final rung in the ladder”

“I did,” I affirmed, “but he’s the local menace. Whoever he works for doesn’t operate conspicuously. That’s the ulterior motive for us to be here. After we shut him down, we see how deep the rabbit holes goes”

We sidled up to the doorway, and I unholstered my pistol and used the barrel to nudge the door cautiously aside. The hinges were well oiled, so there weren’t any pesky squeaks that gave us away. I heard the crackling of a fire that purred contentedly as something was fed to it intermittently. I got a peek of a sweating and hyperventilating Flim tossing papers into his fireplace from a fat stack in his arms. He was burning evidence before we could recover it! This was unacceptable.

I cocked the hammer audibly to announce our arrival as we crept into the room on our tiptoes, “Turn around… slowly”

Flim yelped, jumping half his height off the ground (accidentally dropping his paper trail, some of which smothered the flame but were consumed in the process) and pivoting on the spot.

Like the smooth conman he was, he recovered relatively fast, “H-hello there, M-mister Zenith. How was Appleloosa?”

“You may dispense with the pleasantries, Flim Skim” I said to him with a spiteful glower, “We both know this isn’t a social visit”

“I can see that. I must say, you duped me good, Agent” He growled, edging over to his desk, “It wasn’t until after you left that I thought to look into your background through my hidden sources. You’re a ghost. Even Princess Luna has more data on her, and she’s only been back a few years!”

“I take pride in maintaining a low profile” I replied with a hint of a grin. It was the truth, but not the whole truth.

“Well if it ain’t the snake that nearly stole mah family’s orchard from us, unfairly ah might add” Applejack made her presence known to him.

“Ah… Miss Applejack” Flim spat out her name, “You’re always there when life takes a dump on me”

“Perhaps that’s the world’s way of tellin’ you that ya need to enter an honest profession” She jibed.

“You nearly ruined our name permanently!” He hissed at her, “That loose lipped incestuous family of yours spread the news about us to every branch of your wretched family in Arcania! And they told their neighbors! It was difficult to set up a new business here, even with outside aid!”

“I’m here to inquire about that ‘outside aid’ as you put it. Is there a face to this organization? What are their aims?” I grilled him.

He shrugged, “Couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. They had me meet with a different face on every occasion, and each of those faces had the same dead personality attached. But they were affluently wealthy and had connections you wouldn’t sneeze at, whoever they were. If I agreed to do some things for them, they’d help my brother and I get back on our feet. The way I see it? There was only one real choice”

“That choice condemned multiple natives, many of them children, to a grisly death!” I snarled at him.

He was apathetic, even pouring himself a glass of bourbon, “The fewer natives there are to plague the settlers. I was doing the country a favor” He took a sip.

“Do not play the innocent card with me. Your brother made the same mistake. You put your own countrymen at odds with the natives, and while they were dying, you were making a profit. You’re coming with us” I declared.

At the implied death of his brother, he stiffened, “Oh, I think not Agent” He tossed the half emptied glass of bourbon at me and made me flinch from the liquid splashing in my face. He reached into a drawer in his desk and withdrew a pair of flintlocks as I was momentarily stunned. I felt a searing pain in the skin underneath my left armpit before a booming roar filled the room and all was silent. Flim lay lifelessly against the wooden wall with the pistols in his hands clattered on the floor next to him. His body was torn to shreds from the avalanche of lead that Applejack’s weapon discharged in defense of our lives.

“Bucky McGillicuddy says howdy” Applejack shamelessly one liner’ed as she held a smoking blunderbuss. It was in that one searing pain suffused moment that I found the blonde cowgirl incredibly attractive.

‘I have weirdest standards for what I love in a woman’ I thought to myself.

“You named your gun?” I asked incredulously, to which she was bashful, “I am so proud of you right now, AJ”

“Aw shucks, Zenith” She scratched at her scalp below her hat as she fought a blush, “Don’ go givin’ me a swelled head. That was self defense there”

“Only self defense?” I was skeptical.

“Well… ah didn’t like him a great deal, either” She admitted, “Are ya hurt?”

I examined the spot where Flim had scored a glancing hit on me. The duster was torn in that area and my flesh had a neat chunk taken out of it from where the bullet skipped off, but other than that it wasn’t too grievous.

“Yeah, I’m alright” I allayed her worries. I produced a combat dressing from a duster pocket and slapped it on the injury, the natural analgesics soaking into my skin and soothing the leftover pain with a cooling effect.

‘Shame we couldn’t take him in alive’ I mused with a glance to Flim’s corpse, ‘Though I was getting the impression he wouldn’t have helped that much anyhow’

Without any other distractions, I inspected the fireplace where Flim was masking his tracks before we surprised him. Outside the sounds of gunfights were dying down, so I assumed that Rockwall and his men had prevailed and secured the premises. No other buildings had violently exploded, so there was that too. I scavenged the documents that Flim fumbled with when we confronted him, partially burnt and unburnt, and stuffed them into an unoccupied fold in my duster without looking at them. I could review their contents later.

Under the sunlight again, Applejack and I regrouped with our mutual friends in the Arcanian army, who were rounding up the outlaws that prudently surrendered once they realized they were outmatched. I saw dead horses that absorbed bullets meant for their riders, but the Rangers suffered no casualties other than injuries, which was relieving. The Captain saw us emerge from the lodge and trotted over to us.

“Agent” He saluted me, which I returned, “I am pleased to report that we have taken and made safe this facility as per yer request. We’ll begin processin’ the prisoners shortly”

“Excellent, Captain. You are to be commended for your efforts” I made a mental note for the future to praise this man’s leadership.

“What are yer next orders?” He formally wanted to know.

“The show is yours” I relented command to him, before whistling shrilly to the wind, “My companion and I are going home. Isn’t that right, Applejack?”

She smiled as our horses responded to the call, “Darn tootin”

Author's Note:

Apologies for the massive delay getting this chapter out to you (And no, I did not deliberately wait to release it today of all days, it just worked out for me like that). I'm not sure what it was about this chapter, but it fought me every step of the way to completion. I think my muse and I are having a divorce, and are fighting for custody over the kids: inspiration and motivation. Don't fret though, this story is something that I will finish someday, once it realizes the vision I had for it not so long ago. There are some hidden references to old westies (and even a Call of Juarez video game) that I'd love to see if you recognize, but I don't require that you do. On an unrelated note. Did anyone think that the Slice of Life episode a while back was an absolute love letter to this reading and writing community in particular? The meta is strong with Hasbro.

As for my fellow Americans, enjoy the remainder of your Independence Day!

Celebratin' muh freedoms
~Zenith

Comments

[Qwaserz]

Another prodigious chapter... marvelous.

[Balewood]

Woot! Flim and Flam were far more dastardly than I gave them credit for before this chapter. Can't wait to see what happens next, some downtime maybe? We need some more Octavia seriously they hook up then almost never see each other at least Daring has a good excuse.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6169228 It's funny you mention her, because I intend to do just that! Along with a few others, getting some background into the next environment we'll soon see, and since its still December (in universe that is), we'll also enjoy some Hearth's Warming festivities. Expect a slice of life with some cinnamon spice on the side.

[SilentMech]

Woo! Blowing stuff up with one liners while promoting freedom and justice! Coincidental timing aside, there is only a few things more American. Football, and apple pie namely. I do not blame you for not managing to work those in to this chapter, because how would you, and what horrible connotations would it have in the mine?

[Zenith Starwalker]

6171869 A shame. It's not for everyone, and I was a pretty lackluster writer in the beginning.

[LostFaith]

You work fast!!!

[Zenith Starwalker]

6172540 I missed my personal monthly deadline, so to me it felt a little slower than usual.

[xluferx]

I was normally cheking and then saw that this had an update and say oh great an update so i scroll down and norice the chapter size

OMG over 50k words, even bigger than the longest chapter of fallout equestria

[Zenith Starwalker]

6174888 Just what my writing style has gotten down to, I suppose. I'm writing chapters lately that can encompass the first ten that I started out with. This is not for casual readers, I'm afraid to say.

[xluferx]

6175146 i barely noticed

[smarioman64]

6172585 Your chapters are always worth the wait, this is with out a doubt my favorite story! Keep up the good work.

[AficionadoAvacado]

I caught many references, but damn I don't want to go back and re read allllll that again, even as the excellent chapter it is. One reference did stick with me though. BAJUR!

[AficionadoAvacado]

6174888 he's had one at 75-80k before, I think. That was a helluva read

[Zenith Starwalker]

6209702 He gets the run of the mill upgrade progression that scales with the kinds of opponents he'll face. I like to keep him capable of dealing with most anything that comes his way.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6221711 Why thank you, it was by far my favorite to write... not so much to self edit.

[Toobert]

6221711 He did another with over eighty thousand.

[Toobert]

6222506 Which I will be doing a check over once properly equipped. It will take a while though, due to your extremely descriptive writing style, as well as the length of your chapters.

[Toobert]

6243258 A good idea if the main goal was to scare the FUCK out of everyone (which, fortunately for you, was the entire purpose of the costume) but I was approaching it from not of a mythological perspective. I don't really have anything scarier than that, although I was thinking of something that would put someone in absolute mortal peril, like a Kantus.

[LostFaith]

Damnit I read the whole story again for a second time. How close to next update?

[Zenith Starwalker]

6276056 Working on it. Going to be a hybrid slice of life chapter with some new expositions on old revelations and action sequences; along with a tangent that I've been wanting to do for some time. It will give the protagonist an opportunity to really embrace his second surname.

[LostFaith]

Welp. R.i.p.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6334767 It's coming along slowly. (If you'll pardon the pun) Don't lose faith.

[LostFaith]

6334802 That hurt.

I'm kidding.

But out of curiosity how many words ya at?

[Zenith Starwalker]

6334808 Just 24K. Written myself into a corner and its refusing to budge. I'll ask my Muse extra nicely for some leeway.

[LostFaith]

6334815 Oh no you got block

[Zenith Starwalker]

6334879 I always have block. The only shifting variable is powering my way through it. I have the overall scheme sort of mapped out in advance. It's the small, finite details in-between that are killer.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6366828 Not sure how you see it as anthro, since the characters are fully humanized. They'd be a bit... furrier if they were anthropomorphic.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6367285 Expect the unexpected! Though I must admit that 26 wasn't my strongest chapter.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6372713 I encourage you to try the latter. It's quite liberating honestly...

[AficionadoAvacado]

how's the new chapter coming along? ^~^ Still got that nasty filler block?

[Zenith Starwalker]

6374828 It's a stubborn one, that's for sure. I probably won't be able to make this month, but this tangent I'm smashing my head into the keyboard about allows for more character development while later tying into the main story line and allowing me to open a new frontier for my atrophied creative muscles.

[THoD]

How the heck did you go from writing fairly normal chapter sizes to the behemoths they usually are now?

Really looking forward to the next chapter, this is one of the few where I look for an update frequently.

[Zenith Starwalker]

6379747 I'm flattered! And to be honest with you... I haven't a clue. I started out tentatively dipping my neophyte's toe into the sea of digital ink, and found that I enjoyed it so much that the dips became full-on soaks. I write this story mostly because I love writing it, but sometimes it resists me, like with the current chapter. Don't worry though, I intend on getting it out sometime in September.

[AficionadoAvacado]

6375503 Good ^^ as long as we're getting somewhere with all this X3 and by this month, do you mean September or Augusto?

[Zenith Starwalker]

6382115 This month, if fortune smiles upon me.

[Right-to-Write]

To all my dear readers: I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish this story (on this site anyway. Fanfiction is where you want to be looking for the next update) Some of you may have noticed a severe drop in up-votes for this story and I must confess to you that it was all me. I didn’t do this out of some misplaced sense of a desire for recognition, but rather to compensate for the boatload of people who favorited without following it up with a lazy click so that others might see what I’ve spent hours banging my head against the keyboard and copy-pasting directly from Word for. Maybe it was taking liberties, but the sheer, abrupt rudeness of the way I was shut out without even being contacted erased any sense of contriteness whatsoever. Maybe I’m guilty of violating some rule I don’t recall seeing, but do you think the punishment matches the crime? Regardless of the reasons, I’ve been perma-banned, which sucks since I had a lot of bookmarked stories that I now have to look up again the old fashioned way. If you, like me, think that this was an over-reaction on the other side’s part, feel free to express that to the management of this site. Anyhow, I’ve finally seen how years of fealty to putting out content is rewarded on FimFiction, so I’m moving onto better things.
Signing off from beyond the pale.
~Zenith Starwalker

[Meeester]

The author, this guy 6412233 , upvoted himself and downvoted many others with 49 separate alternate accounts. 2nd most we've ever seen in the history of the site.

[AficionadoAvacado]

6412804 Never mind, I think I understand. He had a ton of separate accounts and liked this story with all of him so he could receive recognition, right? Just making sure.

[THoD]

I'm confused, what exactly happened and is the bottom line that this story is done?

Crap.

[Nightie]

6412804 Whoa, that sounds like a comment straight outta youtube. 49 accounts? Holy shit!

[Tundric Spirit]

6382136 sweet mother of harmony!!! some of these chapters are longer than som entire fics iv' read!

[moomoo]

6451280 Too bad it won't get updated on this sight anymore,Here's where you can find it again.

[ChuckHorsis2015]

An Alicorn oc that isn't a blight to the fandom! This amazing especially since he's

than most ponys

[LostFaith]

6466734 you saved me! Holy shit I was scared! Why did they get banned?

[moomoo]

6575275 He had 48 different accounts he used to upbeat his story

[LostFaith]

6575394 ...48?!

[moomoo]

6575399 Meester told us at some point somewhere on his account, can't remember where though...

[MorningStarTheMage]

This is such a good story, i would love to see more! When's the next chapter, my good man?