Page 60 of Tusks & Saddles
“Maybe,” Beatrix said. “Which way is the wind blowing, Welborn?”
Welborn glanced around, observing his surroundings for visual signs of the wind. Soon, he frowned, confusion making his form tense.
“There…there isn’t any wind,” he admitted with surprise.
“Exactly,” Beatrix replied. “Get that holy symbol ready, kid.”
Welborn frowned, “I’m not a—”
“Welborn,” she warned. “Get ready.”
The cleric didn’t argue further, fingers yanking the glove off and revealing the unusual hand. Beatrix had already pulledBad Companyfrom her hip, aimed at the tumbleweed as it continued rolling down the path. It could have been a simple tumbleweed, but Beatrix’s gut told her different. An illusion—that was far more likely, but that meant one thing.
Arcanists,Beatrix thought.
The scholars of the arcane were always tricky. Learned magic was some of the most deadly there was, and given Beatrix’s past encounters with the arcane, she preferred to err on the side of caution than not.
The hole in Welborn’s palm was glowing with a divine light—the same light Beatrix had seen on the train. He raised his hand, cupping his palm to his eye, fingers resting along his hairline. There was a strange sheen within Welborn’s palm, not too different to the lightly disturbed surface of a pool of water. If Beatrix wasn’t so focused on the tumbleweed, she may have inquired the nature of it.
Outside of the divine nature of it.
Welborn gasped.
“What is it?” Beatrix asked, finger a second from pressing the trigger of her firearm.
“It’s not a normal tumbleweed! It’s a creature!”
Welborn had leaned back onto his heels, quickly scanning the immediate area. Beatrix had already gotten onto her feet, gun still trained on the tumbleweed. It was closing in, perhaps thirty feet away from them now and it looked much bigger than it had when it was farther away. If she had to guess, she’d say it was as tall as Gimdor was. If the weed—creature—got within twenty feet of them, Beatrix would take the shot.
“There’s more!”
“What?!”
“What are the chances these things are carnivorous?” Welborn asked, helplessly.
Beatrix drew her eye away from the single tumbleweed and her eyes widened behind her veil. Truth to the cleric’s words, there were more. Similar in size to the first, unbeknownst to either of them, the creatures had enclosed around them. Beatrix counted at least five in total and the dried weeds were looking a lot more sharper than they had moments ago. With their back to the boulders, there was only one real escape route.
“Considering most things out here are? Pretty high,’” Beatrix said. “Sorry, kid, it’s gonna get loud.”
The loud shot ofBad Companyechoed across the plains as the bullet found its target. The impact tore a chunk of the tumbleweed’s core away, revealing a bright, white interior that oozed a sickly viscous yellow substance. If the injury wasn’t proof enough that Welborn was right—these were creatures and not simply dead plants—the sound of a shrill screech was. It lashed out, thick roots closing in the distance and whipping against Beatrix’s torso before she could react.
“Miss Eaves!” Welborn shouted.
The wind had been knocked out of her, ribs already aching from the blow. Beatrix could hear the horses’ whinnies as the animals could sense the danger that was enclosing on them. If they lost the horses, Beatrix couldn’t promise either of them would survive, and the last thing she needed was Gimdor finding her body in the middle of the Searing Wastelands.
“I’m fine, protect the horses!” Beatrix barked.
“Ah—right!”
Welborn tightened his hold on his talisman, lifting it from his chest. A spark of radiance ignited within the hole in his hand before a fire burst forward. The brilliant flame flared in an arc, hitting the wounded plant monster. The exterior of its body caught on fire and it emitted another high shriek in pain. More of that yellow substance erupted from the pulp-like center.
The move gave Beatrix enough time to get back onto her knees when one of the horses let out a loud cry. One of the creatures had closed the distance to the horses, its roots attaching to her horse’s hoof and pulling.
Strong fucker,Beatrix gritted her teeth.
She took a quick shot, the bullet grazing the layer of roots and thistles that were pulling the horse in. It was enough to break her horse free, but not enough to cause serious damage to the weed. Beatrix’s best guess was that thistles acted like a type of armor and its vulnerable spots were the white core beneath. If they were going to survive the unfortunate encounter, Beatrix needed to lower their numbers andfast.
Four shots left before reload.
