Two more shots pushed him back farther, and when his heels touched the nullstoned ground, he understood why. The power in his shield started to drain away, the shimmering globe of air flickering, shattering. He quickly stepped forward again, the line of nullstone etched in his senses now. The shield firmed, the particles of air locking into place once more. He had a matter of feet.
No more than fifteen yards away, Schmidt stopped to load another cartridge into his gun. He seemed to be in no hurry, his emotionless eyes fixing Caleb where he stood as his hands reloaded by feel. He brought the buffalo gun up to his shoulder again, sighting down the barrel. His finger squeezed the trigger.
Caleb gritted his teeth, leaning into the force of the double shot, and just managed to keep his position. He couldn’t let Schmidt force him onto that nulled ground. The sharpshooter came forward again, as if out for a Sunday stroll.
The ground under Caleb’s feet was getting sticky. His own blood was making mud of the soil, clumping on his boots. There was still no pain in his shoulder, but he knew it would come the moment he lost concentration. He had to end this.
He felt the power flare yards away, saw the blue spark fizzing on the gun in Schmidt’s hands. The next shots would be augmented, faster, harder, more accurate, and they would explode on impact. There would be no resisting these.
In the war, Caleb had captured cannonballs out of the air, turning their momentum and energy back on their senders. How much different, then, could a bullet really be?
The sharpshooter stood aiming for what seemed an eternity. Caleb drew every bit of power he could, mindful of what trickled away into the soil behind him. His hand was wreathed in a crackling blue nimbus as he brought it up, and he let the shield fall.
The gun cracked twice so fast it seemed one sound, and overhead, lightning split the sky, casting everything in negative for a fraction of a heartbeat. The glowing blue bullets streaked through the air at Caleb, leaving a solid light trail through his vision. And he reached for it, found the energy in it, absorbed it into his own.
A bullet was no different than a cannonball. Inertia was inertia, and propellant magic was all the same. He caught both bullets, one after the other, spoke to their power, used their own momentum against them. His mind went through the forms faster than thought, faster than control words. Catch, convert, counter. He spun in place, one bullet following his glowing hand, and when he came out of the turn, it went rocketing back at its sender.
The thunder boomed loud enough to rattle everything where it stood and masked the sharp crack of the speeding projectile. Schmidt’s dead eyes showed faint surprise, the first human emotion Caleb had ever seen in him, in the split second before the returned bullet shattered the barrel of the rifle, exploding it into stars of white-hot shrapnel. Schmidt fell, ever silent.
The second bullet glowed faintly in Caleb’s palm, most of its energy fed into its sacrificed partner. Caleb pocketed it.
Another bolt of lightning struck as Caleb crossed the open ground between them, shaking his focus rod from his sleeve to slide into his palm. Perfect in a face mangled and bloody, Schmidt’s pale blue eyes stared up at the dark sky above them. One eyelid twitched as Caleb watched, but the man’s chest was still. The dead eyes went filmy, true death claiming the body as it had already claimed the soul.
Peacemakers didn’t kill. They weren’t executioners; they were law men. Caleb had sworn an oath. It was something to mull over later. Much later. Caleb watched a moment longer, then tucked his focus rod away again. The unused revolver on Schmidt’s belt would fit well enough in Caleb’s empty holster. There was nothing else to be done for the dead man now.
With the distractions gone for the moment, Caleb’s shoulder hurt, throbbing in time with the stumbling steps he took toward the schoolhouse. The moment he stepped onto the nulled ground, he felt his power sucked down and away, leaving him cold and shivering. The door slammed open as he staggered into it, and he collapsed to his knees in the doorway, silhouetted against the distant light behind him. The perfect target, if someone were so inclined.
The schoolhouse, dark and silent, was empty. The desks and primers sat serene and undisturbed, waiting for the next day’s lesson. But there were no children. Caleb’s shoulders sagged, sending a lance of pain that took his breath away. Where the hell were they?
The distinctive sound of a gun cocking brought his head up. In the corner, a tall shadow moved, resolving into Mary Catherine, holding a shotgun leveled at his head. Her raven hair was unbound around her shoulders, and the flickering lightning outside revealed the grim determination in her dark eyes. They watched each other for a long moment.
Caleb finally broke the silence. “Are you going to shoot me now?”
“Are you going to give me cause to?” Her English had improved drastically, it seemed.
He shook his head. “No. I just wanted to find the kids.”
“I can show you where they are. But you must do something for me.” Thunder grumbled, and her eyes darted toward the windows once before returning to him.
For a split second, Caleb thought about rushing her, wrestling the gun away while she was distracted. He did not. “What do you want?”
“Warner has my son in a room inside the smithy. He keeps him there to insure my obedience. You have to get him.” Slowly, she lowered the barrel of the shotgun to point at the floor. “The shaman’s daughter walked in my dreams. She said you would come. I removed one of the guards so you could enter.”
Caleb, deciding he wasn’t about to be shot again, struggled to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on a desk. He shrugged his left arm out of his coat and inspected the dark, wet mess that was his shirt. “Did you send the coyote, too?”
“Coyote is here? No. Crying Elk is near, then. He calls the storm. This will be a night of cleansing.” She propped the shotgun against the lectern and came to examine Caleb’s shoulder. “I am not a healer, but we must bind this before you lose more blood.”
“I appear to be fresh out of bandages.”
Without hesitation, the woman grasped her own blouse in both hands and ripped, buttons popping off in all directions. Caleb quickly averted his eyes. “This will do for now. I disliked the garment anyway.”
She bound his shoulder in calico cloth, as tightly as possible without cutting off the circulation to his hand. He did his best not to notice her bare arms as she worked in only her chemise. “I . . . ow . . . I assume you are coming with us when we leave tonight?”
“If you can free my son, I will depart. If you cannot, I will die to retrieve him.” She helped him back into his coat, and the vials on the inside clinked softly.
“Where are the children?”
“The smokehouse. And the teaching woman is upstairs in the main house. He has not been kind to her, but he treats her better than he does me.” She smiled darkly. “Warner has no honor. He will die weeping.”
“I’m not here to kill anyone. We have to see the children and Miss Sinclair to safety first.”
The woman moved to the doorway, which still hung open, and peered cautiously into the night. “They have not come to investigate the death of Dead Eyes. Something has distracted them.”
“Then it’s as good a time as any to move.” He took two glowing vials from his coat and handed them to her. “Find somewhere to bury these. Shallow. Many yards apart. Keep them away from the nullstone.”
She took them, raising a brow. “What are they for?”
“Removing extra factors from the equation.” He moved to stand near her, getting his own view of the compound.
“I do not understand what you mean, but I will do as you ask. Crying Elk sent word that you are a good man.”
“Get the kids; get them outside the fence line. Maybe take them back into the pasture among the cattle. It’ll be harder to see them there. I’ll get your son and Miss Sinclair.”
She nodded. “I will do that once these are buried.” She lifted her skirt right in front of him and retrieved a knife she had strapped to her thigh. “It is a good day to die, Good Man.” With an almost feral grin, she slipped into the lightning dazzled night.
Caleb took her place pressed to the doorjamb. His shoulder throbbed, but he had no time to think about it. There were dark shapes moving around in the lighted windows at the main house, and it was only a matter of time before someone missed Schmidt. No doubt, Ellen Sinclair would pay the price for Warner’s displeasure once Schmidt was discovered.
“Ernst, I hope you’re with her.” Caleb darted from the doorway, running low and fast across the nulled ground to take shelter against the kennels once more. The hounds, if they were still present, had grown wary of the strange things creeping through the night and made no sound. He took shelter in the spilled straw bedding, smelling strongly of dog and dust. His power surged back into him, and something tight in his chest loosened as it took its place in his veins again.
“All right, Warner. Here I come.”
Chapter 16
Something had definitely gone wrong for Warner’s men. Crouched at the corner of the kennels, Caleb watched them run back and forth across the compound, shouting to each other with panic in their voices and fear hanging heavily in the air. Under the constant rumble of thunder, he could make out no words, but the chaos had to work in his favor.
He spied Warner once, as the rancher came out onto his porch to shout orders to his men, but he quickly vanished back inside. There were at least three other men within, and probably more that Caleb could not count. Getting in there was going to be messy.
If Mary Catherine’s son was locked inside the smithy, he was most likely safe. It was Ellen who was in the most danger. Caleb found his link to Ernst and tugged, calling silently.
Instantly, the jackalope popped into view at his boot. “She’s upstairs, and they haven’t harmed her yet. But he’s put a nullstone necklace around her neck, like the one he put on you. Did you get the children?”
“No, Mary Catherine’s going after them.”
“Mary Catherine?”
“It’s complicated. Does Ellen know we’re here?”
Ernst shook his head. “I couldn’t get her alone to show myself. But they think the Dog Soldiers are coming. They think the storm is the old shaman calling down the thunder.”
“They’re right about that much.” Caleb continued to watch the men pass weapons among one another, forming a tighter perimeter around the main house. This was going to be both good and bad. “You ready to see how many we can take out?”
The familiar cocked his head, one floppy ear perked curiously. “I can feel . . . six charges? Not quite a full circle, but it should do for most of them.”
“Think it’ll get Warner?”
“No. He’s stronger than that, Caleb, and you know it. At least the nullstone should protect Miss Sinclair. What about the barrens?”
“I’m willing to bet they’ll flee the moment the guards start dropping.” If not, Caleb would have to deal with them, too, power or no power.
The arcane-powered guards had ringed the house. He couldn’t be sure to get them all, but it was worth a shot. Kneeling, he put both palms against the hard-packed soil, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder at the movement. “Ready, Ernst?”
“Ready, Caleb.”
There was one other advantage to having a bond with a familiar. They were a font of stored power, and they could share it if necessary.
Ernst hopped over and placed one tiny paw on the back of Caleb’s right hand, purring softly. The man closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nearly gasped it right back out again as pure energy flooded his senses. With Ernst added to his own reservoir of power, Caleb was almost his old self, very nearly the man he had once been. But this was not his power to keep. He was borrowing it for a very specific purpose.
He sent it out through the ground, seeking, finding. He knew where the dirt gave way to pastureland, could feel the roots of the grass desperately craving water. The cows stirred restlessly, spooked by the storm overhead and the electricity beneath their hooves. The hounds, beaten and unnerved, retreated out of his range even as he sensed them. Each man who stood on the ground left an impression, a faint echo of the power he held, beating in time with his heart. Even the barren men were there, but only as a sense of pressure against the soil where they stood.
More distant were the frantic steps of ten young children, their power muted but visible, and the blankness that must be Mary Catherine. Caleb “watched” them until they neared the schoolhouse. The nullstone there stood out as a dark place in his vision, and he lost all sense of the escaping children.
Lastly, scattered through the compound were six dots, glowing brilliantly in his mind’s eye. His own power, locked into tiny vials, and sealed with corks.
One pulse, that was all it took. One strong shove, one tremor barely felt at the surface but churning through the soil mere inches down. Simultaneously, those vials cracked.
The power escaped with six explosive booms, putting the thunder and lightning to shame. It drowned out all sound for several heartbeats, and destroyed any sort of night vision with the searing blue brightness. Even prepared for it, Caleb saw ghostly images before his eyes, and his head swam in the stunning aftermath. Ernst peered up into his face, his nose almost touching, and Caleb could see the creature only in shades of black and brilliant white. The tips of Ernst’s antlers sparked and fizzed, then died out.
“You all right, Ernst?”
“Never better. You?”
“I’ll let you know in a moment.” When Caleb could see again, he raised his head to scout the courtyard.
Bodies lay scattered, some of them moaning and stirring slightly, most of them absolutely quiet. They would be alive, barring some unforeseen medical condition, so long as they hadn’t been standing directly on top of a charge. But even those still awake, unprepared for such a powerful release of power, would be stunned for hours.
Two of the downed bodies stirred, starting to rise, and Caleb knew those would be barrens. The arcane explosion wouldn’t affect them the same, but it had apparently served the purpose of scaring them away, because the two men staggered off in different directions, leaving their rifles behind. Hopefully, the others would do the same. Caleb really didn’t want to raise his power against barren men.
Shadows still moved in the lighted windows of Warner’s house. At the dead center of the charged circle, where the concussions were the weakest, the occupants would have escaped the worst of the effects. Those men he would have to deal with on his own.
“Come on, Ernst.” He emerged from his concealment and walked across the compound. There was no more reason for hiding. He stepped over the downed men in his way, making certain as he passed that each of them was still breathing. Ernst paused a bit longer by each, assessing their power to see that their threat had been neutralized. Since the familiar never called out, Caleb just kept walking.
His boots thudded as he stepped up on the porch, and he actually stopped to rap his knuckles politely against the door. There was movement inside, but no one opened it. “Mr. Warner, it’s over. Release Miss Sinclair and come out.”
Behind the door, Warner’s response was slightly muffled. “You will understand why I am reluctant to do so, Agent. She seems to be my best bargaining chip at the moment.”
“There is also the little matter of you shooting my transport out from under me and leaving me for dead that must be addressed.”
“If you’d be so kind as to depart, I would be willing to chalk this up to a gentlemanly misunderstanding and forget it.”
“Caleb . . .” Ernst whispered. “On the roof.”
Caleb was well aware of the stealthy footsteps overhead. Two men had stepped from the second-floor windows and even now were creeping over the
shingles to get above his position. He gripped the slender shaft of wood tied to his wrist and lit the runes. In the softer wood, the blue runes burned to red embers at the edges. It would not be able to hold his power for long. “Duck.”
He dropped to one knee even as he pointed the shaft upward, mouthing the word kracht as he released his energy. The resulting explosion opened a hole the size of a water barrel in the roof and sent both men plummeting to the ground with startled cries that quickly turned to groans of pain as bones snapped upon landing.
“Make them sleep, Ernst.” Pointing the wand at the locked door, he channeled only a trickle of power, drawn down to a pinpoint. Instantly the doorknob grew hot, glowing a cheery red. On the other side, someone yelped in pain.
Caleb slipped another vial out of his coat, stepped back about a foot, and kicked the door in. Before anyone inside could react, he gave the glass vial a toss and dropped to the ground, arms over his head for protection.
The windows exploded, raining glass for yards, and the already damaged roof above the porch took on a dangerous tilt. Out of the dust and debris, Ernst appeared, annoyance clear on his face. “You could warn me before you do things like that, you know.”
“No sense of adventure.” Caleb got to his feet, cautiously peering into the interior of the house. The force of the charge had blown out the lamps, but he could make out two bodies sprawled on the floor. One was bald, the other blond. Neither was Warner. “Find him, Ernst.”
The familiar blinked out, presumably to scout the upper floor, and Caleb advanced slowly, the smoldering rod clutched in his left hand. The runes had almost charred themselves black. He had minutes at most before the whole thing went up in flames.
The floorboards creaked ominously under his feet, and mortar sifted from the chimney stones as the house groaned and settled. The explosion had done more damage than he’d bargained for.
He crossed the sitting room quickly, pausing at the first open door to listen for anyone lurking within. Save the settling of the house, all was still, but in the hallway, he found a section of floor that had noticeably less dust on it and no debris at all. In fact, the clean area had a clearly defined boundary in a perfect circle. A shield. Footprints, both male and female, marked a path toward the kitchen in the back. Judging by the scuff marks, Ellen wasn’t making it easy for Warner.
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