Page 37 of Tusks & Saddles
Yet the traitorous, insecure voice inside Welborn’s mind was quick to point out his faults. Welborn didn’t have the same tusks that his father and brother had. His were smaller, the tips barely brushing against his upper lip. He could easily hide them by shifting his jaw.
“Well, if you are ever a visitor to Dreadflats, you’re more than welcome to stay with my family.” The woman raised a hand, stalling Welborn’s protest. “It’s the least I can do after my error in social graces.”
Reluctantly, Welborn caved, agreeing to the woman’s offer with an awkward smile. He appreciated her kindness, but it didn’t sit right with Welborn to impose on a woman he just met.
“I’m Welborn. Welborn Larokson.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I am Cavila and this is my daughter, Suri,” the woman said, placing a gentle hand upon the child’s head. Suri’s hair flickered, as if the flame recognized the touch. “We’re traveling home. Suri and I were visiting your Uncle Kur’el, weren’t we, Suri?”
Suri was young, perhaps seven or eight if Welborn had to guess by human or orc standards. Every person’s ancestry was a little different. Elves lived the longest, goblins the shortest; it stood to good reason that helfen were no different. There was a youthfulness to Suri that indicated that she still needed her mother to attend to her. The little girl nodded, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak.
“What brings you this way?” Cavila asked.
Welborn glanced at his outfit again. He suppose the all black getup didn’t really scream cleric—or perhaps it screamed the kind of cleric that worshiped an entirely different god. The emblem of the All Seer was attached to his collar, the cool stone rested at the base of his throat. A triangular shaped piece of sea glass strung together with a simple leather cord. It was a beautiful shade of sapphire, the same blue that was used in the All Seer banner back in Port Vurbali. At the center of the precious stone was a gaping hole. It wasn’t ostentatious like some of the other gods symbols, but the All Seer wasn’t about the ornate.
“I’ve been sent on assignment. I’ll be assisting the High Cleric of the All Seer in Irongarde. We’ll be establishing a new temple,” Welborn explained. “I’m very much looking forward to it.”
“The All Seer… that’s one of the newer gods, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The All Seer was officially recognized twenty-years ago on several continents, but they’ve been around for much longer than that. The All Seer is the god of curiosity, knowledge, teaching, and truths.” Welborn lifted the emblem, holding it delicately in his gloved hand so Suri could see the sea glass.
“Isn’t that pretty, Suri?” the mother asked.
The little girl nodded, reaching but her mother gently pushed her hands away.
“Not yet, little spark,” Cavila said. “She’s learned a lot, but when she’s excited, she can’t control the flame. We’ve had a few melting accidents over the past few years.”
A bit of smoke escaped Suri’s mouth in a huff before it settled into a disappointed pout. Cavila apologetically hugged her daughter and as she murmured words of comfort, Welborn’s pointed ears picked up a strange sound. He slowly turned his head, peeringdown the long stretch of the cabin past the heads of the other passengers.
What was that? I could have sworn it sounded like—
A loud bang rang out over the sound of the train.
Oh, no.
Chapter Two
Beatrix
There was no avoiding it, Beatrix Eaves was absolutely going to shoot someone.
To be more precise, she was going to shoot Gimdor Hammerhead. Specifically in the face at point blank range. Whether or not the dwarven man survived was entirely up to him. Irongarde was full of healers—and by healers, she meant people who knew how to stop a wound from becoming infected. With the growing district of worship, all it took was a bit of coin, some precious materials, and Gimdor would be good as new. However, Beatrix was petty enough that she would make the bastard pay for his own mending, too.
Beatrix was ordinarily quite reasonable. As a child, her father would frequently compliment her calm demeanor and levelheaded thinking. It wasn’t an easy feat given how strict her father’s schedule was and how busy her home had been. Not to mention the complexity of her upbringing and growing family dynamic.
Rationality, however, could quickly be thrown out the window under exactly two circumstances. One, any manner of creature hellbent on eating either Beatrix, her client, or any other denizenin the world of Ordia. And two, any denizen who failed to provide Beatrix with dire, need-to-know information about any job she took. Both cases usually found either a beast or an individual facing the barrel of her firearm.
And both ended one way,she thought.
Beatrix sighed. Beneath the black veil of her wide brimmed hat, she was starting to get warm. Black wasn’t ideal for the blistering heat, but the material could hide the dirt and bloodstains. Her dress was made of fine material, dark but breathable with short, frilly sleeves. Fitted black leather gloves covered most of her exposed arms, stopping barely an inch from her dress sleeves. The skirts were heavy, but layered in way that didn’t inhibit her movement. Sturdy, fitted boots lay beneath the hemline of her dress.
The only part of her outfit Beatrix could have gone without was the damn corset. Some habits were hard to break, but she had at least done the sensible thing with it. Finding a blacksmith that specialized in armor corsetry—well, that had been a challenge. Luckily, Beatrix had coin to spare, and the custom armor had been made with little fuss. The belt around her waist was a thick leather that matched her gloves, custom made to carry Bad Company at her hip.
Explaining the shape for the custom leather holster had been a little challenging. Firearms were still a fairly new invention. The technology—no one could trace it back to the original creator. Rumors around the weapon linked to many famous tinkerers, but none claimed the invention as their own. Like many weapons, it had been the product of a war on the continent of Kerth. Brilliant tinkerers had come together to aide the Tharverus Empire in their war with the now dissolved Kingdom of Bezlaun.
A handful of firearms had crossed many seas, arriving on new continents. Tinkerers from around the world had quickly gotten their hands on them. A few lost their lives to dismantling the weapons, but a select few had learned to reverse engineer them. The cost of materials alone meant that most firearms were display models. Pretty trinkets hidden behind thick glass in the homes of nobility.
Then there were people like Beatrix. Those who had purchased firearms with the sole purpose of using them. And gods knew, Beatrix used hers well. Over the last ten years she had sharpened her shooting skills to the point that she could take someone out of a fight before they could unsheathe their sword. Her ability to quickly draw and fire had saved many denizens—including herself—more times than she could count.
