Showdown at Drivver

Sunlight beat down on the dusty town of Drivver, barely slowed by the clouds of displaced sand kicked up amidst the bandit raid. Boots thudded over wood as the half-dozen armed outlaws slung supplies over the backs of their horses, everything from gold to grain, from booze to bread; nothing they could carry was left behind for the townsfolk of the single-street community.

Desperation permeated the air as the denizens of Drivver watched the scene helplessly. The town’s sheriff lay flat on his back in the street, ragged breaths growing shallow as he lost more blood.

“Y’can’t do this! Please, it’s all we got!” A wizened old man took a few brazen steps forward, leathery hands balled into fists as one of the bandits turned and placed the barrel of an old revolver sharply against his belly. The bandit was head and shoulders shorter than the old man, their skin a pale green with a number of prickling spines visible beneath their duster coat. Their beady eyes narrowed as they shoved the pistol in a harsh jab, knocking the breath from the old fellow and forcing him to stumble back.

“No, it’s all y’had.” The masked figure replied, their voice oddly modulated as they spoke human words through an inhuman mouth. “Now all y’got is your life; I’d hold on to that if I were you.”

Yellowed teeth gritted through the pain as the old man glared in undisguised, fearful hate at the bandit.

“Y’won’t get away with this; someone will-”

“Do what? Go runnin’ off to Astrodelta? The Cavaliers don’t come out here, they don’t give a toss about outback shitholes. Best you’re gonna get is some scribe showin’ up to take a statement and a promise to look into it.”

With a grunt of effort, one of the bandits hoisted a large sack onto the back of a steed and gave a short growl by way of signal. The cactoid bandit exhaled sharply, shooting a contemptuous glare at the defiant villagers before he turned to the others.

“Ready to go?”

“Just about, dozen more bags and we’re good.”

“Good; if I have to spend one more second in this hole I’ll-”

The cactoid’s sentence was drowned out by a sudden commotion from the crowd of locals, their attention drawn to something at the far end of Drivver. Fingers pointed and hopeful exclamations whispered through the air as the bandits turned to examine the source of the disturbance.

A man had ridden into town atop a sturdy horse, a man whose outfit was the polar opposite of ‘subtle’. The rich purple fabric and the flamboyant embroidery effortlessly drew the eye, the wide-brimmed hat atop his head bearing a number of feathers that wafted in the arid breeze. At first glance it looked like the man was horribly sunburned – until further examination revealed that his skin was simply a deep, dry shade of red, an almost devilish aspect to his features in spite of the groomed facial hair and glittering smile on his lips. Demonic blood, almost certainly.

However, the thing that each and every bandit focused on most was the crest adorning his breastplate; the crest of the Cavaliers.

“You gotta be shitting me.” One of the bandits growled, gloved hand gripping his revolver a little harder.

“Relax,” the cactoid murmured, “it’s one cavalier; we can take him if we have to.”

“They’ll hunt us down if we do.”

“If they find out you mean.” The bandit’s gaze flickered over the watching citizens for an instant before he looked back at the new arrival.

From further down the road, the voice of the Cavalier rang out. It bore a curious lilt, an accent that was decidedly foreign to the country.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, I hope the day finds you well?” The cavalier dismounted his horse and led it over to the row outside the saloon, leaving it by the trough of water as he ambled amiably towards the bandits. His spurs clinked audibly with each step. The sun drifted ever closer to the horizon behind him, casting the cavalier’s shadow down the length of the street towards the crew.

Several of the bandits exchanged glances as the cactoid took a few steps out into the road.

“Well enough. What brings you to town, officer?”

“Oh you know, just passing through the area; I couldn’t help but notice that there was a bit of commotion out here in the road.” His eyes drifted briefly over the wounded sheriff flat on their back in the street. “Quite the surplus of resources you’ve got there; I assume you are in the process of delivering them to these fine townsfolk?” His pearly smile was visible even through the glare of the setting sun, but the underlying threat was not lost on the gang.

“You assume wrong, pretty-boy.” One of the heavier bandits growled, cracking the knuckles of his meaty fists. “Reckon you oughta scram.”

“Oh? Is that so? Surely you would not be stealing from these poor people? That would be a crime, my good man. I would strongly encourage you to reconsider your course of action.” His hand came to rest on the hilt of the weapon at his hip; not a revolver, but a long, slender blade.

The cactoid blinked and let out a laugh of disbelief.

“You’ve been out in the sun too long, Cavalier; you’re a little out of reach for sword fightin’.”

“Oh I wouldn’t be so sure, my friend. I am a master with this weapon you see, I can split a bullet from the air without thinking, or flick it right back at whichever poor sod decided to fling it my way in the first place.” His easy grin broadened. “Perhaps you would like to see it first hand? Or would you rather spare yourself the embarrassment and return your stolen goods, hm?”

The cactoid’s eyes narrowed, squinting suspiciously at the lone figure standing before them. It was just about the most absurd bluff he’d ever seen, and there was no way the man could possibly be serious. Still, a pang of nervous paranoia flickered under his prickly skin as he licked dry lips.

“You’re either boasting or joking, pretty-boy.” The heavy-set bandit snorted, stepping out past the cactoid and into the road. He let his hand come to rest beside the chunky pistol on his hip; a crude, brutal hunk of metal that had no business functioning as a fire-arm, but could nevertheless blow holes in the thickest hide. “Either way, last chance to buzz off before I put you down.”

In response, the cavalier’s fingers slid easily around the hilt of his sword and held on firmly. His eyes settled on the bandit, smile never faltering.

“Which ear is your favorite, left or right?” He asked conversationally. Unease gripped the bandits, unable to tell if the devilish fellow was utterly mad, or overburdened with confidence. The heavier bandit’s face contorted with impatient rage as cracked lips peeled back from wooden teeth.

A sulfuric curse began to dribble forth from the behemoth’s mouth as he snatched the revolver from its holster, shoving it through the air in the cavalier’s direction. For an instant, the air around the cavalier seemed to shimmer as though under intense heat, before the bark of the revolver shattered the stillness. The cavalier’s sword sprang free of its scabbard, carving a gleaming arc through the air that caught the light of the setting sun and sent a flash across the gathered bandits. The ricochet of a high velocity round striking metal rang in their ears as their vision was dazzled. An instant later a surprised grunt was followed by the ‘whump’ of a body hitting the dirty street.

When the light faded a second later, the cavalier stood calmly in the midst of the street, sword held lazily at his side. The heavy bandit lay flat on his back, spitting out a string of pained vitriol as his hands clutched at the side of his head, blood seeping through his gloved fingers.

“Would any of you other gentlemen like to test your luck? Perhaps the next one will fare better, hm?”

Two of the bandits, concealed behind the supply depot, took one look at their bruiser bleeding all over his own hands and decided to indulge in the better part of valor. They turned tail and fled, abandoning the loot as they went. The rest were less easily intimidated.

“So maybe you’re good in a fair fight.” The cactoid spat, menace in his tone as he glanced back and forth at the row of armed thugs beside him. “But let’s see how good you are against this!” He whipped his revolver up to punctuate the sentence, taking aim at the cavalier. His comrades did the same as the townsfolk bolted for cover.

All at once, the reports of a dozen pistols sounded in an ugly cacophony as the gang opened up without any semblance of unity or coherence; in the place of discipline, sheer volume would have to do. With the focus and practice of a professional dancer, the cavalier’s body twisted and turned beneath the barrage, sword carving a constant, steady trail through the air before him. Bullets seemed to miss him by inches even as the weapon continued to flash in the glare of the sun. Each time the sword struck an incoming round, another bandit tumbled back out of the firing line, grunting in pain or knocked out-cold by the deflected impact.

The cactoid’s heart pounded, panic gripping him as his revolver spat round after useless round, until… finally… it clicked empty. The cavalier still wasn’t down! Each passing second drew the man closer, while more and more of his companions vanished from his peripheral vision. It was impossible! It made no sense!

“SCRAM!” One of the wounded bandits screamed, hauling themselves onto their horse and kicking off. A bullet tore through the strap holding the supplies in place as they fell to the street in the fleeing bandit’s wake. The bewildered gang was in a total route, save for the cactoid who stubbornly tried to shove bullets back into his empty revolver. He heard boot-steps and the thunder of hooves all around as he backed up, colliding eventually with one of the verandah posts behind.

Through gritted teeth he raised the weapon for one final volley, but the cavalier surged forward in a fencer’s lunge. His blade tip flicked up, cutting across the cactoid’s fingers and sending the revolver spinning from his hand to the dirt below. The cactoid cursed in horror and turned to run – only to see a cast-iron spittoon being swung at his head by the old man.

CLANG!

The unconscious cactoid hit the floor as his comrades fled into the hills, a wad of spit striking his cheek a moment later as the elderly fellow gave a grunt of relief. His gaze turned to the infernal cavalier, expression wary.

“…Thanks fer yer assistance, officer. You really with the Cavaliers?”

An amiable smile crossed the cavalier’s lips as he sheathed his sword, extending a friendly hand to the old-timer.

“Most assuredly; order of the Dragon my good man. Call me Nisha; it is fortunate my companions and I were in the area!”

“Your… companions?” He inquired, eyebrows raised. As if on cue, a figure appeared from the arid landscape beyond the edge of Drivver, clad in a long, sandy coat. A rifle was clutched in the sniper’s hands, scope resting neatly atop its length and spirals of smoke rising from the barrel.

At the same instant, a shimmer of magic wafted through the air smelling like fresh ink as a young woman appeared from beneath a veil of invisibility. Her hair was as black as her flesh was white, looking for all the world as though she were made of literal paper. She sighed audibly, relaxing the concentration as the glimmering shield spell fell from around Nisha’s body.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Pursuit, finest bounty-hunter the region has to offer, and Miss Chalice, magnificently talented daughter of Ichor the Ink-Mage.” Nisha spread his hands cheerfully and looked about at the townsfolk gathering the fallen supplies.

“Would you like a hand getting everything back in order?” Chalice asked as she knelt over the wounded sheriff, applying a healing hand to his wound so he would stop bleeding out. Pursuit strode up as she did, the automaton’s humanoid façade not registering much in the way of emotion as he examined the aftermath with quiet, stoic satisfaction.

“We ought to be able to handle it from here.” One of the townsfolk replied gratefully, even as they wrapped rope around the wrists and ankles of the unconscious bandits. “Thank you so much!”

Nisha gave a small bow as he looked over his shoulder at Pursuit.

“Excellent work both of you; they never suspected a thing.”

“Of course they didn’t,” Pursuit replied in his typical monotone, “if you’d been chewing the scenery any harder we’d be picking splinters out of your gums.”

“Ah, you’re too kind.” Nisha replied as though the bounty hunter had said something lovely to him. “In any case, I do believe it’s time for a sit-down and a nice drink, wouldn’t you say?” Nisha clapped his companions on their shoulders as he led the pair towards the saloon, a jovial spring in his step as they went. The sun drifted low over the horizon, a faint shimmer of colours playing above the dunes beyond.

For just a moment, Nisha got the distinct impression he was being watched… and he put a little extra speed into his stride as he hurried the others indoors.