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Chapter 2
A Foreign Life

They had travelled too far.

Harsk knew this before he saw the border town. The old Rider was going too far south, past the plains into the brush land. But he had thought that they could catch up before this.

Harsk lowered his hat, keeping the sun out of his eyes. This had to be one of the worst places for a town. The scrag was choked with dust, stifled under a blazing sun. The Riders passed the nearest river a few leagues back. No trade routes to speak of, and no legends about this place. It was an ordinary piece of nothingness.

And yet the town had a three-foot thick wall of granite extending beyond sight in both directions. The walls extended fifteen feet tall, sturdy and imposing to the horses and Riders. A gate wrought of solid iron, more of the cold metal than any Rider had seen on the Long plains.

There were other defenses, Harsk knew. Hidden from sight and any other sense. But there were those watching behind the walls, keeping a careful eye on the foreigners. They were armed with strange magics, spells not seen outside their lands. Magic designed only to kill the enemy, whoever it may be.

Harsk snorted, and rode forward towards the gates. The eight men and two females followed suit, catching up to their leader. Where Harsk led, they followed. It was the way of the Ride.

Harsk cut an imposing figure on horseback. He sat easy, his slim figure just putting on an older weight. He wore a long coat, his sword tucked in the folds for easy access even on horseback. But his hair was gray, hidden underneath that bent old hat, but the beard was leaning towards white. Weathered lines cut across his face, and his eyes crinkled in the sun.

Yet to look in those eyes, one never saw weakness. He was Harsk, blessed in fire. The leader of the legendary Riders, the greatest demon hunters on the Plains. Harder than anything the Pit could throw at them or their battle mounts. The Ride was just, good, and ruthless.

They had followed their quarry here. And Harsk was not about to allow anything to stop them from chasing down the kill.

Not even Texas.

For all his status, Harsk never seemed to venture too close to the Lone Star. One rumor was he was a rogue Texan. Cast out of the state for being too ruthless, or perhaps too merciful. It was never quite clear with a man like Harsk, or a place like Texas. No one knew why, not even his Riders, those he had sworn in blood to protect.

If anyone had asked Harsk, he wouldn’t answer. Harsk didn’t answer questions. Gave too much information away.

He strode up to the gate, and rapped against the iron. It burned at his hand, heated by the noonday sun. Harsk still rapped it until someone peered out over the wall.

“Y’all Texan?” She asked. She asked looking down the barrel of a staff, pointed straight at Harsk’s chest. If she even got worried, standard orders were to start shooting off as many spells as she could. The five that were hidden behind the crest of the wall would start taking as many as they could.

Harsk glared up at her. “I’m Harsk. I have business here. You will open the gate.” He turned the horse back towards the rest of the Ride and joined them to wait.

The woman at the top of the wall considered the words for a moment. Redshot was a border town, and had its fair share of foreigners trying to cross the wall. Texas foreign policy was to shoot at anyone dumb enough to be seen or not fast enough to get out of the way. If you crossed the line, you were worthy of being called Texan. To let someone in who wasn’t a merchant or a possible contractor just screamed against everything she stood for.

But even Texas had heard of Harsk. Decisions, decisions. She needed the sheriff.

The lone woman among the group of Riders rode up to Harsk. A slight young thing, barely into her twenties. She rode astride a monster. A mottled, squat horse that only had one facial expression, a challenging glare. A gob-horse, bred in the deep tunnels for meanness and brutality. Harsk loved the horse, and cared deeply for the woman atop her.

“I need to talk with her,” Harsk said.

Behind the woman a bundle moved. Wrapped in a white cloth blanket that covered her from head to toe, it was a young girl, hidden from the world. “Is that Harsk?”

“It is, Kait.” Harsk laid a hand on the bundle. “We’re about to go into a town now.”

The blanket shivered. “I thought you said towns were bad.”

“They can be,” Harsk agreed. “But it’s necessary.”

“What’s necessary?”

“Means I have to go in,” Harsk said. “And so do the Riders and everyone else, including you. Do you remember the rules?”

“Don’t make a sound, don’t make a move.” The blanket recited from memory. “Try to be nothing.”

Harsk nodded. Maybe she’ll get out of this alive.

Carson rode up. A young one, already hardened by a few years Riding with Harsk. The closest to a right-hand man for the leader. Where Harsk was inspiring in his grit, Carson could speak. He had an honest face, one that could be kinder to those that the Ride were about to hurt.

The kind of kindness that could get a man killed. But he listened to Harsk’s orders, and obeyed.

“How do you want to play this?” Carson asked.

Harsk thought about it. Any regular border town that pulled weapons on the Ride was either ignored or taught better. They couldn’t let such an insult slide. But Texas was different. The state was completely unified, and took vengeance seriously. Even if Harsk and the Riders managed to pull off the mission, they’d spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulder for hotshot Cowboys with scores to settle.

“We stay calm, collected.” Harsk said. “Your style. Hopefully we can get out of this without a shot.”

Carson nodded. It was unusual. He normally had to plead with Harsk to listen to reason, or to talk before going to violence. Even with humans.

The gates creaked open. Twenty men and women stood at the entrance to Redshot, Spell Shots pointed straight at the Riders. The woman from the wall squinted at Harsk and the rest.

“You Harsk?” She asked.

He grunted. She lifted her staff, and the rest did the same. “Sheriff wants to speak with you.”

Harsk’s eyes flicked to each of the Riders in turn. They nodded, and revealed their weapons openly. Knives, hand crossbows, swords and axes were displayed on their mounts as they rode into town. Neither Harsk nor the Riders wanted to fight the people of Redshot. They weren’t sure if they could win.

The concern was validated as they rode into town. There were no shanties, no piddling little shops and storefronts with the latest fashions. Many shops were nestled right behind the wall, supporting both the major defense and their own livelihood. These advertised the latest in battle staffs and armor. A single newspaper ran just off the main gate, the only way to get any news before it filtered into the saloons.

Off the wall, the buildings gave the barest nod to relaxation. A dirt road, with cobble-stone sidewalks. Clothing stores, haberdashery, a saloon and the bank. All made of stone, and probably strengthened with more than a few spells.

And the people. Men and women, all glaring down at the Riders. Mostly human, though a few that weren’t. Texas no longer cared about purity. Only loyalty, and the drive to remain living.

Each and every citizen was armed. Torre “spell shots” hung by belts, or held in umbrellas. Swords tucked away in canes, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. They got creative, but remained deadly.

It was to be expected. Texas’ main – and only – export was mercenary work. Each and every citizen was trained to kill.

So was Harsk’s Ride.

“If anyone sees Clarence Pulhaven,” He said. His voice carried to everyone watching the eleven riding into town. “Keep an eye on him for me.”

Harsk hated relying on civilians. They were usually jumpy, untrained. Moronic. But Texans didn’t exactly fit that description. The worst that could happen to Pulhaven would be someone shooting him.

That would be unfortunate. Harsk wanted to do it himself.

At the end of the street was the sheriff’s office. A simple affair, in fact the only purely wooden building in sight. It had just received a fresh coat of paint, the white sign declaring its business glistening in the sun. Harsk couldn’t see any bars. Apparently they didn’t believe in locking up their criminals.

What he did see was a covered porch. And a rocking chair, with the sheriff sitting there with a glass of iced tea. She looked short, even sitting in the chair. And had a big, goofy grin plastered all over her face. Harsk wasn’t sure if that iced tea was just tea.

She stood up as the Ride dismounted, and threw her arms out. “As I live and breathe, this has to be the Harsk of legend.” She rushed up and clasped his hand in both of hers. A strong grip, and she smiled.

“Sheriff Tweety, Martha Tweety, and I must say that this is an honor. Really, truly. We’ve all heard the stories, those tales…well!” She laughed, and slapped him on the back. “We’re all surprised you ain’t ever said you’re Texan!”

Harsk shrugged. He didn’t wince, though that slap was a tough one. Maybe a check to see if he’s genuine? Curious.

Carson slicked his hair back, and extended a hand. “Carson, spokesman for the Ride. Sorry to barge in on you and this magnificent town, Sheriff. We didn’t mean to intrude, but things have happened and, well, here we are.”

Tweety looked at Harsk, almost waiting for him to confirm. Harsk spoke when he meant to, and wasn’t about to start now. The town might respect the name, but Carson could make them respect the Ride before it became necessary to show them why. Best to keep his mouth shut until Carson started to screw it up.

​

The sheriff nodded to Carson, and took the offered hand. “Carson. Good man, strong grip. Yes, it was a surprise. And someone tells me you’re looking for…Pulhaven? Did I hear that right?”

“Clarence Pulhaven, yes.” Carson said. “A bigger man, maybe six foot four and change. Built like an ox with a temper to match…”

“You just described Tuesday’s crowd,” Tweety said.

“He’d also have blue hair.” Carson said.

Her eyes squinted, and she stopped. Blue hair? She must have misheard that.

“You said Clarence Pulhaven?” She asked. “You sure you don’t mean Salvador?”

“He said Pulhaven up in the plains towns,” Carson said. “Blue hair, big, and always armed with two…”

“Axes.” Clarence Salvador. A regular mercenary, a good one at that. Was always good about paying his dues and giving Redshot its cut of the bounties. They couldn’t be talking about Salvador.

She’d had lunch with him and the rest of the returning crew yesterday. Fifteen men and women, spread across the plains and river towns with the latest skirmishes. They might still be in the saloon, toasting victories.

Tweety whistled. Several citizens came to attention. “Find out why Clarence hasn’t shown up yet,” she said. “I want him here five minutes ago.”

Harsk looking for Clarence. What was going on?

Blink a few times. Clear the cobwebs from her mind. Sheriff Tweety smiled, and opened her arms out again.

“Can I interest any of y’all in a glass of some of the finest iced tea in Texas?”

Carson smiled. A nice, warm, friendly smile. “A glass would be excellent, ma’am.”

“You can have one, pretty boy.” The way she said it made Carson pause. “But I’d really appreciate it if Harsk took me up on the offer. And that little girl trying to hide behind that beast that calls itself a horse.”

Hands were on swords before Harsk could blink. The Redshot citizens started shouting, weapons raised just as the Riders were pointing swords out. They crowded around Nettie, blocking her from view.

Harsk looked at Sheriff Tweety, and shook his head. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Try me.”

Clari-Ann took the moment to become involved. The gob-horse bucked, screaming her whinnies. She kicked out at the Texans, her hooves slamming into the dirt. The men and women backed away, confused. Who to point the staffs at, the Riders or this animal?

“Control her.” Tweety said.

“Why?” Harsk said.

A fire spell slammed in front of Clari-Ann. The gob-horse screamed again. She froze in place as spells exploded around her. Small spells, miniscule efforts. The blasts must have felt like bee stings to the horse. But enough could cripple her. She slowed, and stilled.

“I just want to talk for a moment,” Sheriff Tweety said. “It’s going to take a while to rouse Clarence, if he’s even at the saloon. It’s a hot day, I’ve got shade, a couple chairs, and some fine drinks.”

She leaned around Harsk to the woman. “You like iced tea, miss?”

The girl looked at Harsk before nodding. Tweety smiled. “Fantastic! If a couple boys could snag the chairs from inside, I’d sure appreciate it.”

Harsk led Nettie up, careful to make the bundle of cloth as unseen as possible. Tweety set up the chairs, and poured herself a cup of tea before offering anyone. She took a long draught, and smacked her lips.

“Just a little common courtesy,” She said, and handed a new glass to the young woman. “There you go. Little skinny thing.”

“Thank you.” Nettie took a long drink. It had been a difficult ride.

“What is something like you running around with these mean boys?”

The young woman smiled, and shrugged. “I like Harsk.”

The sheriff tilted her head back to laugh. “Who doesn’t?” she finally got around to handing the last glass to Harsk. “The legend, demon hunter Harsk and his infamous Ride. Man, the stories they’ve told of you have been the talk of the state for decades.”

Harsk allowed himself a drink, and a brief smile. The Ride had been doing well, lately. No one had died recently. At least, no one Harsk looked after.

Tweety took another drink, and spat. “These are the days to be alive. True Texan beauty, with that kick that makes the blood just flow. Spend an afternoon drinking tea on your favorite day. Then meet with a living legend like Harsk. And after that…”

Citizens approached the porch. Clarence was thrown to the ground before them. Tweety set down her glass. “I get to end with having some questions answered truthfully.”

To call Clarence big was to name the sun hot. He towered over all of Harsk’s Riders. His hair, dyed blue for effect and because he thought it interesting, was plastered over his tanned face. He stood up, reaching for axes that had been taken away. Hs eyes were wild, and grew all the more frantic at the sight of Harsk.

“You!” He stammered out. He rushed towards the porch. Three of the sheriff’s men tackled Clarence back to the ground. “I thought I lost you back in Six, a week ago.”

Carson shook his head. “Sorry, Clarence. We picked up your trail a couple days later. Just couldn’t catch up before you reached this little hidey-hole.”

Clarence raised his hands up. “Please, sheriff,” he pleaded. “They’ve been trying to kill me for the last month. Every night, every time I turn away from this cursed Rider I pray it’s not the last time I see daylight.”

“It will be.” Harsk said. He reached for his sword, pulling it out of his coat with ease. “Someone hold him down.”

“Sit down, Harsk.” Tweety said. Harsk ignored her and walked towards Clarence.

A piece of wood jabbed him in the small of his back. Harsk stiffened, and remained still.

“Now I might not be tall enough to put this anywhere near your heart,” Sheriff Tweety said. “But this here is a Torre Spell Shot, top of the line and my favorite spell slinging stick. At this range, I can take the legs right out from under you, as well as anything else I feel like.”

She tapped the empty chair with her leg. “So sit down.”

Harsk settled into the chair. Sheriff Tweety looked around, and considered this. This wasn’t just some two-bit hunter throwing his weight around. This was Harsk. They named Clarence, described him down to a T. Why would they risk taking on the entire town for this man.

“You,” the sheriff snapped her fingers at Carson. “Chatty one. What’s the beef here?”

“No beef,” Carson said. “Harsk just kills demons. That’s all.”

“Calm!” Tweety shouted it before any of her men had a chance to move. Demon, damn it all! None of these men were trained exorcists, or demon hunters. There was barely any reason to, demons knew better. And no one had a clue beyond the basics for fighting anything from the Pit, damn it again!

“Sheriff, he lies,” Clarence said. “I ain’t no demon. He’s lying!”

Carson reached for his belt, slowly. “If I may?” he opened up a flask. “I’m a little parched myself.” He took a swig, and offered it to the sheriff.

“Care for a sip of holy water?” Carson asked.

Tweety took the bottle, and sniffed it. Seemed harmless enough. She sipped, and nodded. Water. Though whether it was blessed or not was up for debate.

She offered the bottle to Clarence. “What do you say?”

Clarence spat on the ground. It smelt of fire and brimstone. His eyes blackened.

“Fine, I’m a demon.” He pointed at the young woman on the porch. “But so is she.”

One of the riders moved in front of Nettie, blade raised. The youngest of the Riders, he didn’t speak. He just glared ahead at Clarence, daring the demon to try anything.

Two demons? Tweety looked at the girl, and frowned. Then realized the girl hadn’t leaned back at all, and still wore her bundle.

“May I see your child, miss?”

“No you may not,” Harsk said. “That will cost someone their life.”

He pointed at Clarence. “Just like that piece of the Pit.”

The men stirred, suddenly unsure. Tweety thought about moving towards the girl, and thought better of it. These Riders seemed ready to die for whatever was underneath that cloth.

Still, what was going on? “Clarence, you’re…” she couldn’t find the right words.

Clarence nodded. “Yes, I’m a demon. But I’ve been giving my all for Texas. For years.”

“Years?” Tweety stood, astounded. “How long?”

“Nine years.” He said.

Nine years! He had fought in four wars in that time. Clarence had even fought in defense of Redshot in that time. Repelled a band of elves trying to raid through the city. That was a demon?

“Clarence is a good man!”

One of the townsfolk had a staff trained at Harsk. “I don’t care who this piece of shit thinks he is. They aren’t hurting Clarence!”

The demon smiled. The Texans were thinking about all he had done. His left arm was even free. He could slip out of the grip of the other easy enough.

“Nobody move!” Tweety shouted. There was a crowd gathering, and it was angry. Spell Shots were waved openly.

“Texans protect Texans!” Someone shouted. The cry was taken up, a favorite of the state. Only Texans ever decided what happened to Texans. No one else had the right to interfere. Not even Harsk.

Tweety sighed, and nodded. “That’s law, Harsk.”

Harsk frowned. “Do you know what he is? Do you understand?”

“He’s a good man,” Tweety began.

“By our count, Clarence slaughtered three homesteads before we caught him in the act of raping a fourth.” Carson said. “Out in the plains, on his mercenary work, he takes his own payment in blood and flesh. Wriggling, if possible.”

Her blood ran cold. Clarence made no attempt to deny it. His eyes glinted, almost like he was proud of it.

“He’s a terror,” Harsk said.

“Not to Texas,” Clarence said. “I’ve never harmed a single Texan. I swear it on blood, bone and sulfur. On the great Lone State itself.”

Just hearing those words made her skin crawl. His voice was always so earthy before, so calming. Now it slid, slick and oily. Tweety wanted to retch at the sound of it.

“I can’t help who I am,” Clarence said. He turned to the crowd. “I am a demon. More than I ever was a man. I won’t sit here and lie anymore to y’all. But I’m a demon that loves Redshot, and Texas.”

They heard his words. The townsfolk could see Clarence. Not just what he could be, but what he was. The one who had helped shore up the wall in an attack. Who risked his life for the woman at his side. Who hummed along as he worked the fields, content to do his part to make Texas grow in any way he could.

He was a Texan.

“I’ve killed. Murdered, even. My sins are fresh, and I long for more. But I shall never harm anyone who claims Texas as their land and love. This I swear.”

There were a few nods and murmurs of assent. Clarence was free, and standing. He rubbed his wrists, relaxing the muscles. Everything would be okay in a minute or two.

Harsk was shaking. He would have killed the bastard already, if he thought he could leave the chair before being blown apart. They couldn’t be serious. This had to be a spell of some sort. A compulsion over an entire town of battle-hardened mercenaries.

No. there was a glint in everyone’s eye, a certain lucid stare. They knew what they were allowing, and reveled in it.

Texas above all.

Harsk could hear the catcalls coming. ‘Leave.’ ‘Get out of here.’ ‘Someone shoot him.’ Suddenly the legend was not enough to overcome national pride.

If he were alone, he’d kill them all. If the Riders had a chance to get him, he’d sacrifice everyone down to the last horse. But throwing away the lives in martyrdom, without getting the demon…no. He’d not risk the men’s lives.

He raised his hands, and stood up. “Let’s go.”

The Riders nodded. They understood. Hated it with fire, but understood.

Tweety watched the Riders walk past the demon. Hands raised in abject silence. A cheer rose up from the town. Nettie rushed past them all to the gob-horse. Clari-Ann snorted at the crowd, and relieved herself in the middle of the street.

The men clapped Clarence on the back. He walked over to Tweety, and grabbed a glass of tea.

“Sorry about that, sheriff.” He sipped the tea.

“Just got into a little trouble while being a tourist,” Tweety murmured.

Clarence shrugged. “Boys will be boys.”

The sheriff nodded. Clarence faced the crowd, turning his back to her. He probably didn’t even notice the sheriff move. In less than a blink she’d drawn her staff.

And burned him alive.

Tweety never seemed like the fastest draw. She always talked her way out of situations. If she drew the Torre it was always a warning shot. She hadn’t killed anyone, people thought. The townsfolk just didn’t understand. A sheriff in a town of killers couldn’t just be nice. She had to be the best.

The crowd stood, stunned. Tweety sipped her tea, keeping the fire going with her Torre. The screams from Clarence didn’t seem to bother her. The tears in her face could be sweat from the heat.

Soon enough it was over. There were only ashes on the ground, ice cubes in the glass. Tweety set the glass down. She rocked back and forth, deep in thought.

“Well, my day is ruined.” Tweety muttered. “How about you, Harsk?”

“Been better.” Harsk said.

She nodded. “You hate all of us, don’t you? When people call you Texan, you consider it an insult, don’t you?”

Harsk didn’t say anything. The sheriff spat on the porch, right into the glowing ashes.

“You sit astride that horse, a pinnacle of superior morals. With a secret you’d kill us all to keep. A self-righteous bastard, that’s what you are.

“Get out of my town.” for as long as it was hers, Tweety thought.

Harsk would never admit he left Redshot faster than anywhere else. The Ride didn’t run away, or retreat. It only raced onward to the next battle.

They finally passed through the gate. The cloth shifted, and turned towards Harsk. “Why do you hate Texas, Harsk?”

“Because it’s blind.” Harsk said. “That amount of love, of devotion, it’s a disease. Those people give their all for a piece of land, hoping that it responds in kind. For the land they will bleed, they will kill, they will die. The land responds by moving on.

“Tell me,” He said to the girl. She looked up, confused. “You had a chance to look around, didn’t you?”

The girl nodded.

“Saw the ground?”

“Yes.”

“Did it look any different than this?” Harsk asked.

The girl didn’t know. Neither did Harsk.