4 CHAPTER 4

A pitch whistle woke the Lawman. Eyes shooting open, still red. Head still in a fog. The sunset blinding first chance. Catching sight of the time. An hour before the stagecoach would come to retrieve him. Forcing his numb body to move. Strapping himself to the teeth, for leave.

No breakfast or he'd have to stop every mile to piss. Taking only a biscuit to snack on. Hard as a rock it would make due. Sleipnir trotting up and down the road. A few Krakadann slugging shipments off god knows where. A patrolling Ronin squad, watching with keen eyes.

"A ticket to Blackwood" slamming a hand down a few crumpled bills. The ticket master swiped away the payment, pulling a ticket off.

"Go over and wait you're carriage should be here soon"

Taking a place upon a metal bench. Discomforting his back horribly. Taking a hit of the rock-like biscuit. Cutting his gums harsher every bite. The quick trot of Sleipnir awoke him a bit more. A sizable carriage coming before him. It must've been red, or orange. Unsure because it began to fade. A rotund man with a snow white bear handling the reigns. Not a care about who Deadhorse was. Could've been a Baron or President wouldn't give a wink.

"Carriage to Blackwood" he spoke in a tired voice. Carriage openening showing cramped space. Enough maybe for four others. Taking a spot close to the other side.

"Oh what a coincidence" the familiar sound of McCready's voice. Sitting across from the Lawman. Expressionless to the annoyance of his company. "I didn't know you were going to Blackwood, gambling I suppose" making a guess of Deadhorse's intentions.

A Towering figure entered sinking the carriage inches. A Treeman, who's hair had been neatly combed. "Apologies" his voice quiet and humble.

"Well ain't this a surprise" McCready shocked seeing the large figure shrink into the carriage. Door slamming shut, a click of the tongue and they were off. Slow then to a full gallop, kicking a storm of dust. Nothing, but rocky plains. Road bumpy, making the conditions unbearable.

"What does Tree folk like you doing in Janus? Ain't it.....problematic?" McCready hushing his words lightly. The Treeman thinking on it. Face morphing into his very thought.

"I suppose, but been I've hired by the records office to examine their files for resorting" his form moving uncomfortably. Trying to find a less stressful position. "I do hope we stop soon, this ride is most heinous on my back"

Deadhorse chuckled quietly, at his well spoken manner. Nevermind the thought he could crush you with a boulder. The sun had reached it's peak. Noon, the highest, and most heated time of day. Air between the trio had became muggy.

"Terrible this heat"

"Yes, quite" McCready waving a hand to cool. Deadhorse squinting, spotted a few dark figure in the distance. Distance closing the more they ride.

"Yee haw!!" A gun fire echoed. McCready saw the coachman fall off. Thuds being heard, they were boarding. McCready became frantic, The Treeman clutching anything he could grip. Deadhorse yanked out a bowie knife. A symbol embedded in the face. Kicking open the stagecoaches door, dangling off the hinges. "Hey we got visitors!!"

Firing a shot, Deadhorse ducking back inside. The bandit edge toward the door. Hearing him, climb closer. As if by instinct, stabbing the roof. A howl of pain heard, yanking the blade out. The bandit fell shacking the stagecoach. stabbing the roof again. Blood leaking through the hole. Their gun stumbled off the edge. Deadhorse catching before it could fall to earth. Two more bandits flanked their left.

"Take cover!" shots fired, narrowly dodging the fire. Falling back onto the floor of the stagecoach. Getting back on his feet. Aiming the acquired gun, nothing. Clicking only came from the barrel. It had been jammed, cylinder rusting. "Shit!" Shouting anger. A few more narrowed gunshots fired. Putting holes in the door, dangling. Tossing the useless weapon. "Never depend on bandit iron" Pulling out his own revolver.

Mystic writings gleaming in the sunset. Swinging atop the Stagecoach. Footing unstable, and shakey. Perfect conditions, standing tall, aiming his steel. Bullets flew pass, tranquil even in the face of danger.

Five pounds.

That's all it takes, pulling the trigger back. Sparks leaving the cylinder, a bullet departing from the barrel. Blood bursting out the man's head. Falling of his steed, another fired taking out his friend. Most of his chest now a exposed muscle and bone. A shake from the side as one boarded. Knife in hand.

"You dead now savage!" thrusting his blade. Deadhorse catching his arm tightly. Pistol whipping the bandits elbow. Breaking it completely. Jabbing his throat with the barrel of his gun. Air unable to move in or out. A quick leg sweep, sending him crashing into earth. More were coming. About five at least, preparing for a fight. A tiny orb flew out. Intercepting the posse, not before exploding into flames.

"I thought you could use assistance!!" Turning to to see McCready for dear life. Holding down his hat. An excitable smile covering his face. Deadhorse hopped into the Coachman's seat. Retaking the reigns, Blackwood not even a mile away. "Good, we should be there by nightfall" Taking a seat next to the Lawman.

"What the hell was that?" Deadhorse questioned. McCready fumbled over his words.

"Working with what I had, I could only transmutate ingredients for TNT" explaining plainly. The Treeman finally forcing himself out. Stagecoach rising just a few more inches. Fixing the suite that had been wrinkled to chaos.

"TNT?"

"Just have a stick" answering honestly. Shrugging off the question.

"Well gents, I must be on my way, farewell" The large Treeman left the two, as did McCready not a second later.

The Iron Wall greeted Deadhorse with a intense gaze. Ebony iron that seemed to go for miles. Sundown some how making it even larger than it was. Adjusting his gambler's hat, entering the Janus Republic.

Abbott territory.

Janus was made of thirteen city states. Each ruled by a family. Abbotts held Blackwood, a small, but influential state. One of the founding families of the Republic. The town was bright with luminescent lights blinding anyone. Drunks, wobbled out the hundreds of bars. Ladies of night prowling tempting anyone with sin. Deadhorse almost could taste the odors coming off each one.

Seeing an isolated shop just near the entrance. A simple supply depot. Shop windows decorated with guns and flour. Simple supplies or dangerous protection. Ducking inside, finally capable of escaping the foul smell. The bell ringing as it closed. A short boney old man, with a hair or two atop his head poked out. Hidden behind a shelf, a pair of broken glasses scarcely able to keep his eyes straight. "What we got here? A vagrant?" his voice raspy and aged.

"uh, No sir"

"Sir, definitely not a vagrant" wobbling over to his guest. "Vagrants don't speak so politely"

"Just arrived"

"Oh, so a bounty man, well if you're looking for work" pointing a boney finger down the road. "There be a bar you can't miss, might get you a flier"

Glancing down the street. Nodding in appreciation. The old man waved him off.

"Wait hold on, you got any bullets?" The old man raised an eyebrow at the question. Gazing around holding his hands above his head.

"Well this ain't no goddamn candy store" he spoke insulted by his inquiry. Deadhorse pulled out his pistols. The shop keeper rotated them. Eyeing them suspiciously, the writings causing an uneasiness. "Yeah, I got the bullets ya need" crouching down, sliding a set on the counter.

"How much?"

"I suggest trading something, Ally money ain't good around here" The old man suggest. Deadhorse pulled out a lighter, canteen, and a few cigars. The boney hands swiping them away into a box. Handing over the casings. "Careful, Abbott jobs are risky, but worth the pay" slinking away to the back.

Staring at the man carefully. Is he the contact? No, he stayed at the front not a spy type.

A beast of a building stood center. Bulky, with sturdy bricking holding it up. The words, "The Lineage" standing out. Either out of the color it gave off or the size they held. Entering, there was just as much drinking going on. Men fell over, Women laughing loudly,

Then something made his stomach churn. A Djinn, holding a plate filled with drinks. She wore a metallic collar, chain keeping her there. As a Lawman he wouldn't hesitate to pull is iron out to release her. The idea hit with reality, he wasn't a Lawman, not for now anyway. In enemy territory to boot, no support.

"Hey sand rat, get over here!!" a toothy girl shouted. Djinn not hesitating ran quickly. His vision became clearer, it wasn't just Djinn, Minatour and humans were all chained. He'd have to sink that lawful duty. Patting his trench coat down moving to the bar. Beer had been spilt, and peanut shells thrown around. "Get you something?"

Her smile gross and crooked, hair a tangled mess. Shaking his head, sliding out a cigar only one he didn't trade. Never really smoked, but when he was stressed it was a campfire. Using a nearby candle, to light it. Smoke slithering out of his mouth into a cloud. It gave some ease just not much.

A heavy hand landing on his shoulder. The huge figure blocking the light. a mohawk making himself stand out. Yellow teeth being bared like a mangey dog.

"A savage? here? That's a good joke" Laughing in a harsh, deep tone. Laughing as his lackey's joined. "Might wanna leave"

"Hey!" the crooked smiled girl shouted. Like he had offended her presence. Pointing out a broken paper fan at the lug. "You know the rules, any brawling and you forfeit your bounties!"

Growling at her interference. Shoving the Lawman back a bit. Stomping that seemed to shake the building. She returning to cleaning a glass.

"What rule?" Deadhorse asked. A blank expression on his face. Making a chuckle run out her mouth. "Any fighting before the call, and you forfeit any bounty you may have to turn in"

"Why?"

"Joshua don't like wasting a good hand, money matter if the job is half-assed" she explained as a matter of fact. Raising an eyebrow, he accepted it. No matter how unorthodox the method was. Beer flew, more bodies hit the floor. Barely walking without hitting a drunk. Must've been half an hour passing.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Ringing of a struck bell called attention. Any and everyone, gazed up. Seeing a man in a fur coat and top hat. Hiding the stick that kept the sickly head above his shoulders.

"Welcome, all vagabonds and ruff necks!!" he shouted in a dry voice. Hands out presenting himself to the people. A circus master performing a show. "Today, the Hunt begins!"

"Yeah!!!" they all cheered, except the Lawmen.

"A special contract, written by Joshua Abbott himself no less!!" Holding a clean piece of paper. Waving it around, if given by god himself. Unrolling it gently, all held breath in wait. "Two miles west sit the Black Caverns, a place no man dare go" a certain mysticism glazing every word. "A contract, for the head of the elder Ahool!! Any who bring the head maybe given an audience with the man himself!!"

A roar of cheering filling the bar. So loud it shook Deadhorse's body to the core. The man sat eyes widen.

"What you waiting for!? Go get it!!"