FIRE AND IRON

            Razer hefted the weapon.  “This is the latest model?”

            Desmond, the old Bretonnian quartermaster, nodded.  “No more carrying matches.  The flint in the hammer strikes the steel bill and lights the powder in the pan.”

            Eris sighted down the barrel of hers.  “That should make it safer and a little more reliable, anyways.  Can’t they make it lighter?”

            Razer set his musket aside.  “I prefer my crossbow.  It loads faster.”

            “You need to take them,” Desmond said.  “The Hallmaster has ordered all Hunters use them in their assignments.”

            Eris picked up the cartridge box.  “No doubt that comes from even higher up.”

            Desmond shrugged.  “I just know they sent us one-hundred of those along with the orders.  But I will put in a request for pistols, if you prefer, Eris.”

            She nodded.

            Razer picked his up and examined it more closely.  “These are from the Crown’s own armories, then?”

            Desmond nodded.  “I saw that as well.  But I surmise you’ll need them.”

            “Why?” Eris said, adding the sheathed bayonet and cartridge box to her belt.

            “It involves a knight.  Those will help get through his armor.  But you won’t have to go far.  In fact, the request is from the town’s Don.  The knight is attacking travelers and merchants on the roads.  Based on his heraldry, he’s from a neighboring Castillo.”

            Razer looked at the packet of orders.  “I’ve heard of this man.  Sir Carlos of the Rivers.  He fought in the King’s Army in the succession war.”

            “Then why turn to robbery?” Eris said.

            “That’s for you to find out,” Desmond said.  “I have horses for you in the stables.”

            A man in full plate armor rode into the road.  He positioned his horse to block the full width of the road, his round shield faced toward Eris.  He held up his other hand, palm up.  “Halt!”

            Eris reined in her horse.  “Yes, sir knight?”

            “There is a toll to pass through my family’s land.”

            Eris frowned and examined his shield.  “Oh?  I didn’t know.  But based on your heraldry, we’re about ten kilometers away from your family’s land.”

            The man snarled and reached for his sword.  “Impudent bitch!  No commoner speaks to me that way.”

            Before he could draw his sword Razer rode out of the woods, flanking.  “She is no commoner.  We’re Witch Hunters, Knights of the Crown, just as you are.”

            The knight faced Razer then Eris.  “So the King’s will and Nerroth’s will are so intertwined you enforce the Crown’s laws?”

            “That and you’re causing trouble for the town hosting our Hall,” Razer said.  “We make it a point keep our homes safe and prosperous.”

            “You were a hero in the war,” Eris said.  “Why rob from travelers and merchants?”

            “The rebels occupied my lands for two years during the war.  They ate our crops and left the fields fallow.  They looted manors and castles to fund their armies.”  The knight raised his visors, revealing eyes burning with rage.  “And the Crown has made no effort at remunerations.”

            “You won’t get that money back robbing the people around here,” Razer said.  “Come peacefully, Sir Carlos.  We’re well funded.  We can get some funding from the Church to get your lands running again.”

            The knight lowered his visor.  “Sorry, Sir and Lady Hunters.  But this isn’t about the money.”  He put his hand on his sword.  “Now it’s about revenge.”

            The blade leapt from the sheath.  The knight tried to invoke the runes he had etched on the blade, but the presence of the two nulls drowned out the magic.  But Sir Carlos was still a skilled fighter, and the tip of his sword passed within centimeters of Eris’s face.

            She backed her horse away, and raised her musket.  But the horse kept bucking in the commotion, forcing her to calm it rather than aim.

            Razer drew his own thin-bladed sword as Sir Carlos turned his attention.  Razer’s weapon was meant for speed, not piercing power.  While he could evade Sir Carlos’s attacks, he could not counter through his armor.

            “What would you gain by killing us?” Razer said, ducking a high swing.

            “Satisfaction.  That I had bested not one, but two of the Witch Hunters.”  Sir Carlos lowered his sword and grabbed the reins.  “And who said I was trying to kill you?”

            Razer glanced down and saw that Carlos had maneuvered the horses to gain an opening in the road.  He spurred his mount, and they raced down the road.

            Eris managed to aim her musket and fired.  The shot hit a tree, and the noise spooked the horses.  Razer regained control of his mount and pursued Sir Carlos while Eris reloaded.

            Razer drew even with the knight.  “You’re horse is tired.”

            “So is yours.”

            “But mine isn’t carrying quite as much extra weight in metal.”  Razer flicked the tip of his blade along the horse’s flank, drawing a thin red line.  “And now yours is injured, too.”

            Sir Carlos snarled.  His horse screamed, slowed, and stopped, huffing and favoring its injured leg.  Carlos whipped his head around while Razer dismounted.  He raised his own musket.

            “I’d rather not it ended this way,” he said.  “Come peacefully.”

            Sir Carlos sighed.  “Sorry, Sir Hunter.  There is more than this at stake.”  He raised his sword and shield.

            Razer pulled the trigger.  The weapon backfired, and he fell to the ground screaming.

            Sir Carlos shook his head.  “The Crown’s shoddy workmanship.  Sorry it ended that way.”  He dismounted and approached Razer.

            Another shot rang out.  Sir Carlos looked down.  A hole had been punched through the breastplate of his armor, and blood poured out.  He gasped and fell.

            Eris dropped her musket and ran to Razer.  “Are you okay?”

            Razer grinned up at her.  Though burned and bloodied, his face still had two eyes, two ears, and a nose.  He held up his equally burned and bloodied hands, wiggling ten fingers.

            “Thank Nerroth,” Eris said.

            “But curse whoever cast that barrel,” Razer said, sitting up.

            Eris looked over at Sir Carlos.  “Such a waste.”

            “Get used to it, girl,” Razer said, standing up.  “It’s the life of a Witch Hunter.”

            Back the hall, a medic cleaned Razer’s wounds.  Eris came in and sat down.  “I told Desmond about what happened.”

            “And?”

            “He’s examining the remainder of the muskets in our store and sending a report to the foundries.”

            Razer winced as the medic dabbed his wounds.  “Good.  You can keep yours.  I’ll stick with my crossbow.”

            Eris shrugged.  “Too heavy.  But Desmond already has some pistols coming in.”

            Another man entered the infirmary.  “Hunter Razer?  Apprentice Eris?”

            “Yes?” they said.

            “I was helping prepare the corpse for burial.  I found this tattooed on his right forearm in blue ink.”  He held out a piece of paper.  It contained a picture of strange, twisting design.

            “We’ve seen this before,” Eris said.

            Razer nodded.  “The pilgrim.”

            For a time, the only sound was the medic rinsing his cloth and Razer wincing as his wounds were cleaned.

            The man who had brought the paper looked at it.  “But what does that mean?”