“Ah shucks!”

  Kriti gave Laural her most sympathetic, “Gee whiz.”

  They flew into their saddles. Western off-worlders always imparted a certain flavor of dust and gunpowder to the morning, which everyone found easy to rise in, and a lot of quick city arrivals, which since they’d gone nowhere, the day before was great. The sprawl from town to town away from those big Adville city folks, could have been closer. Except great beasts off the plains attracted to the high-fallutin’ types, pulverized those little guys into nothing. Like a great stampeded of the buffalo.

  Nettle, against his own will, inspected the mountain range that their horses could traverse without twisting a hoof or tiring and shouted back to the group, “If only we were strangers, at high noon.”

  Obligingly, the setting, which apparently this off-world hit harder than most, sped them along to do just that. The higher leveled or more powerful a character, the more they warped the world. At a certain point, only distance kept you safe. Characters in their first arc made better companions, until they jumped five levels. Then, it ruined everything. Even thoughts and speech might get grabbed.

  Today, they had a real powerhouse. It rushed them along the mountain route, desperate to find a western town, that should have taken four days to travel to. Nothing could save them from wearing increasingly clearer cowboy hats, spurs, and jeans, no matter how anachronistic. Yessireee, this off-worlder likes Texas more than Texans do.

  As they sped along at the clip of robbing a train, the mountains ranges allowed a single cut through of the road. While these mountains would be ashamed when compared to either the older Appalachian Mountains or the proud young Rockies, they managed to cling to their distinct rocks enough that only a few main paths could be chopped into their steep grades. The valleys with their creature repelling towers often becoming wards or natural methods were never to be touched by a stray traveler being far too dangerous when Titans bulls, hydrophobic dragons, or any number of strange creatures plowed in. A key reason for the establishment of the big city Adville in the first place had been these protected steeper pathways combined with the extra towers below.

  However, this section of “mountains” could be passed in only half a day, meaning that the cut off the other side of the city, in fact, considered it a separate place, even though it too lived off the great city behind them. Traveling this upper reaching path for half a day, or none when plot demanded it. And plot did demand.

  The immediate region after this area of mountains stretched out in a desert that has no resemblance to Lancaster, California and in fact has no relation to the city of Lost Angles which of course none of us know about because this is a fantasy book dammit. This fantasy mountain range was San Gabriel’s weaker bitchier runty piglet’s range. Shit mountains.

  As they get out of the mountains and back into the flat lowering their elevation, the western nature of the town ahead of them helpfully clarified itself. Wooden buildings, false fronted, shoveled together in a mockery of townships. Right through it, runs the single powerful arty of the main road. The east side has the prison and industrial plants that work on building the King’s various enchanted weaponry.

  But even though they can see out to that part, once they get down onto the level, all they can see within the sand was the enchanted wooden buildings, reinforced and reenforced due to various magical artifacts in production. There was an immediate uptick in traffic, and they tried to see more as the road swept downhill, increasing their speed, as the off-worlder pulled them in like flies to manure.

  Many of the buildings had hitching posts out front and areas to pull off large traveling caravans. A few had benches being used by travelers in various states of exhaustion, bleeding from outside town monster attacks. There were cannabis dispensaries. Every species specialty shops cluttered the way. Even the odd Fae establishment, with its strange pickup-stick design, due to the huge population within the crossroads

  Nettle, though, pointedly passed by those establishments. As they went beyond the largest Fae building, in front of it a smooth whitened bench they saw the man sitting on this bench. He’d been sitting outside on the porch. Such a sight in a lone young man would be uncommon. Through sheer unknown force, he wore no cowboy hat. Which is a cardinal sin punishable by being noticed if the Western lead found them. It made him stand out. As did the confusing complexion and features. Dark hair that didn’t quite rest as human hair, a humanoid body that moved with the stiffness of the undead, pallor only vampire skin could achieve, but also strangely tanned. Undeniably a handsome man wearing a beaten duster. But all his features jumbled. Slap some shades on him and it might have been a less humanoid Neo, if Neo’s hair got stringier. And Neo had like at least twelve different species markers. Elf ears, flat nose of an orc, wide large pupiled eyes of a Mer, lengthened fingers of a pixy, and just everything else too.

  But then, not every dusty town could account for its occupants. Perhaps the man had been drinking too much good whisky. Perhaps his one had a hidden disability left over from the Great War and their family cared for them by setting them outside the house. Who could say, but nonetheless, Kriti noticed him.

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  She didn’t notice only his handsomeness although by nearly any standards this man must be handsome. She noticed his clothing as an odd assortment. The jacket too long. Not enough Westernized. She immediately threw out the idea of him being in her line of business This level of being noticed like wearing all black in a place that does not, of which nearly everyone hear was shorter and wearing brown shades, things like not being of the native species or running a shop with herbalist remedies that could also be used as poison, all those things could easily mark you as an assassin in the trade and put you in danger. A good assassin was nameless, faceless, forgotten and never even put on the suspect list. Her crossbow had been mostly symbolic even if she’d practiced with it.

  Part of her affinity for poisoning deaths was the lack of pomp and show. Many people thought they were sick or that a heart seized up. Frequently, a whole burial could take place without any form of investigation if you did the job correctly. Who knew how many people died by the quiet assassin? Yet loud messy killers made the papers, got hung, and didn’t get repeat customers. They were flashy, dirty, and sending a message.

  She herself never sent a message like that. There were too many other simpler ways of extermination. If she did not enjoy the practice of removing her targets and the high levels of compensation given in return, she’d never have started.

  It paid to notice oddities for her. Guards or security or anyone at all that might impede her progress usually as a rule stood out in her inspection of any new locations. Truculent bystanders made for nasty wrinkles. Oddly though, even when not actively working her trade, she’d never been able to turn off the informational aspect of her job. She noticed and considered and wondered about the man that didn’t appear drunk, wore the wrong clothing, and generally fit in about as effectively as growing carrot tops in the center piece of a Fae celebration. Did he have anti-off-worlder powers? Could he be a dreaded Main Character?

  This she realized was not a person accustomed to hiding themselves in the unwashed. He shouldn’t be here. Or possibly they had such a requirement for being in this position it didn’t matter about those other things. Because it had a great observation point along the road. A man waiting for a road-tested riders would have few better places unless he expected them to be traveling in from the opposite side of the road to the south.

  She marveled at this simple location. Not sophisticated, but practical in its own way. If the man had left or been going to send a boy or another messenger she’d know they would be observing for others, but he watched alone and made no form of signal that she could have identified. And she knew many forms of signals.

  The old winking mirror glass one bothered her the most. Too easy to spot. Plumes of smoke usually went unnoticed although they weren’t as good as even less common options. She’s once used chasing off cats as a signal to her co-conspirator off in the city who had collected a few strays and pets alike by setting out food. It was impressive but hard to notice. Who checks to see if their cat has gone and considers it a signal of anything? She wouldn’t have tried the same trick with a dog.

  Lots of these extremely complex signals and cryptic spherical, sphincters and cyphers were fun, but ultimately completely wholly extra verily superlatively impractical for someone like herself. This kind of business required focused, correct measures and suppliers that didn’t know exactly what you did. Her suppliers and occasional rivals usually worked with animals because they could get their hands on the medications needed.

  She usually got small bits and bobs off guild thieves in Adville. They knew she’d paid extra for the oddities of medications and herbs they found. She had to test them all of course. She’s paid for a lot of useless drugs in her time. All of it she’d ended up getting rid of. It was one thing to kill a man or a woman, but a completely other thing to let them destroy themselves. She never tortured for the sake of torture, although some of her methods did hurt beforehand. The intent being those choices were putting people into the position to appear to be getting sick and die. Not just an abrupt end which might in itself become considered too aggressive or suspicious for her customers.

  She wondered if the man might be somehow related to the criminal underworld. Might be have been sent after her? He had those eyes. The type that had seen things. A hardness in his face that could mean useful to her. But still, far too blunt of that. A knowing face, but not old enough and not quite that level of watchful form a person that expected their back to be under fire. He’d not sat fully against the elements. She would have to consider this matter further when they weren’t hiding from whatever had been powerful enough to drag them four days in four hours. Hunkering down would be safest. She hoped that the person she noticed would be forgotten and unseen anyway. As they walked by, this stranger openly watched their party.

  It annoyed her that Bodi appeared not to notice. What kind of guard failed to notice threats? This whole party might need to be removed from the equation. In her haste, the selection of this caravan might not have been perfect. A Fae under enough pressure to roam away from his household. A guard that cannot guard. A hostler with too much control. All of them accepting a random woman of obvious danger into their group on the road. Her name was literally Tragedeigh. Didn’t they notice? If she couldn’t predict them enough, she could make them all predictably dead. The only thing slowing her dealing death, was that they’d probably take themselves out for her. Unlike those she deplored, those with criminal braggadocios, those impatient, those recognizable, and those apprehended. Unlike them, she killed only targets when it best benefited her or her customer. Her time to kill the Fae one could arrive. But it wouldn’t due getting caught up in the current world. It fit her ill to have everyone spluttering dying wishes and able to escape on horseback into the setting sun. For now, the off-worlder remained unidentified, but powerful in their pass through. Tomorrow they must wake up well before the crack of dawn and creep away under the cover of Westerns need sunshine.