To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 29

Templer sat in perfect stillness. His black eyes watched until Chrysta's even breathing pattern told him she was deeply asleep. He then slipped quietly out the window and up to the roof. The priest spent the rest of the long night slowly rebuilding the walls around his heart that the woman had managed to tear down in the five short days he had known her.

“Templer...”

Azra tried to intrude, and the Talon patently ignored him.

The man watched the bright silver form of El Diablo prowling his fence line restlessly and added another layer to the wall. Chrysta had her hands full dealing with one monster. She did not need another around to distract her. The almost fatal events of that night had driven that particular point home.

Constantine silently chastised himself for ever letting his guard down enough to care. He was a mortal danger to ANY that got close to him. He could not even blame the Order for this. It rested squarely on his own shoulders. HE had been the one who had chosen to serve, blindly following orders because of a misguided faith. This servant had begun to scratch at the truth, he was blind no longer. The Order might have changed its name, but Templer instinctively knew it and the... Church... he served in the distant past were one and the same.

He had been a willing killer and a fool before the Cataclysm. The five centuries between then and now had only served to twist him into something much darker. Nuva's beautiful chain of jewels was an illusion. He DESERVED that tarnished gold and black, empty chain stretching into eternity.

“Constantine...” His outrider spoke in a low, sad growl.

"Shut up, Azra."

Was the only response he received and to Templer's grateful surprise, the demon silently retreated to the back of his mind.

The sun slowly broke the horizon in a dazzling display of reds, pinks, and gold. The Talon took no pleasure in the sight. It was just another dawn, in a string of empty days that would march on forever. The silent man used this thought to add another layer of nothingness around his aching heart. He knew that once that wall was thick enough, although the pain would still be there, he wouldn't be able to feel it.

The priest shifted position as his acute hearing picked up the sound of Grant knocking at the door of the room. He could smell the inevitable coffee followed by Chrysta's usual grumble.

“Holy... I HATE festival week.”

The gunman felt his lips quirk at Grant's ready response.

“So retire, then I wouldn't have to hear you whine.”

Templer ruthlessly schooled his features back to the cold visage that the people he knew, would have recognized.

He listened as Grant left the room and heard Chrysta come to the window.

“Constantine, are you up there?”

The words were softly spoken. He did not answer. The priest stayed silent, watching the courtyard without really seeing it. He heard Chrysta's soft sigh as she turned to get ready for the day.

The smell of dreamleaf wafted up, and the man was amazed at how familiar a smell could become in such a short time. He waited, allowing the morning to flow around him without touching him. This was a trick Templer had used many times to stay disassociated from people and events. He tried to convince himself that this would become easy again... in time.

The gunman watched as Andrew brought Nuva out. The mare was groomed and tacked up for a ride. He was proud of himself when Chrysta came out the door and he was able to observe that odd, flowing limp as she joined the pair in the courtyard, without feeling attachment. He had a harder time squelching the flare of jealousy that rose in his breast as she mounted then gave the young man a hand up to ride behind her. Templer's body reminded him of how pleasant riding that way had been. He ruthlessly crushed those feelings. One could not be jealous if one... did... NOT... care!

Ebony eyes caught the flash of green as Chrysta looked up towards him and lifted her hand in a half wave. He made no move to return it. The woman dropped the hand and slowly gathered her reins. Templer saw a fleeting smile cross her lips, then she turned Nuva and, they headed out of the courtyard.

The priest remained on the roof, wrapped up in his own dark thoughts. When the sun was hot overhead and the noon crowds were wandering in the street, he rose. Templer stretched the kinks out of his lanky frame and returned to the room. It took little time to pack his belongings. He strapped the Trinity on his hip and settled the heavy black cloak over his shoulders. He was threading the last buckle when Azra stirred.

“SO... we are leaving?”

This was a soft whisper in the dark recesses of his mind.

“Hnnn...” was the only answer the outrider received as tucking his chin behind the tall collar of a Talon's signature cloak, Templer strode out the door.

Grant looked up from wiping the bar when the priest came down the stairs. His expressive eyes narrowed as he saw the gunman's bag. They scanned the slender man's pale face and skipped away from whatever they saw in those flat ebony eyes. Templer nodded in the man's direction as he continued through the common room. Grant opened his mouth to say something but the soft chirp of his Cricket interrupted him. The sound of a panicked voice erupted out of it when the barman answered.

Grant spoke in a quiet voice.

“Calm down Andrew, I can't understand you.”

Templer's hearing easily picked up the voice on the other end of the phone as the stable hand was practically screaming.

“Grant, ya gotta clear the street...”

There was a loud thump followed by what sounded like the pained grunt of a destria.

This was a civil matter. It was NONE of his business. The Talon continued toward the door. The blood curdling, guttural scream of an enraged battle stallion that came from the bio-construct, had him stopping and reversing his course in one motion. Grant caught his eye and turned the agitated Bug so that the gunman could better hear what was going on. It was upset so the connection was faulty. What they heard was fragmented at best. Templer heard Chrysta breathlessly cursing. Then faintly...

“INFERNO... No, No, No... SHIT!”

Again there came a loud thump. This time it was accompanied by a squeal from Nuva. Andrew came back on and what came through sounded completely panicked.

“Ya gotta clear the street! ... Can’t stop him … CRAZY!”

There was another chilling scream.

Andrew sounded like he was in tears.

“We got about two minutes before... hit town... IF... can stay on him! She... can't stop... have to SHOOT...!"
Grant was over the bar and heading for the door as he shouted into the device.

“WHAT?!”

There was another heavy thump.

“...CLEAR THE STREET... Inferno... insane...!”

Templer was a step ahead of the big man as they flew out the door. His nimble fingers changed the rounds in the Trinity to armor piercing bullets as he ran. He felt Azra grimly adjusting the load. The outrider hardened the lead while stoking the chambers with static demonic fire. Charged this way... the ammo was safe until it hit a target. Backed by the outrider's power, they could punch through thick dragon-steel.

Most of the people on the main street were concentrated beyond the Ironwood. Templer knew that if they were going to stop the stallion, it would have to be there. No one in the street paid any attention to Grant's shouting. People scattered like sand crabs when an ebony cloaked shadow strode out to the center of the street and raised its hand. Fire and thunder shattered the air as the Talon released a controlled blast of elemental power straight up.

There was a rumble like an approaching storm and the crimson destria appeared at the end of the street. The Talon waited silently, feet carefully braced, the big gun pointed down in what looked like a relaxed stance. Inferno was covered in sweat. Bloody foam flew from his mouth as he ran. The beast was ducking and dodging as he tried to escape Chrysta's iron control. Nuva, with Andrew aboard, ran shoulder to shoulder with him. She was using her big body like a battering ram, trying to slow the raging male down.

As the astonished gunman watched, Inferno skittered sideways trying to reach a child pressed against the front of a building. Chrysta jerked his massive head around but couldn't stop their sideways drift. Nuva fell back and came up on that side, blocking his run. The stallion screamed as they thudded together and his fangs slashed long, bloody furrows along the straining mare's side. She gave a grunting cough of pain but held her ground. The red male twisted violently, almost unseating his rider and reached for Andrew with his deadly mouth gaped wide. Chrysta recovered her seat and her fist drove down hard on the animal's sensitive muzzle forcing it away from the young man. They were covering ground at an alarming rate.

“CONSTANTINE...” Azra prompted the Talon.

Templer set the gun for a single shot but continued to hold his fire. The priest did not want to kill the beautiful crimson beast. He was giving Chrysta every opportunity to get him back under control. When the pounding destria were close enough that Templer could see Inferno's blazing red eyes, the Trinity snapped up. He still did not fire as Nuva remained tight against the stallion's side. The male's heavily armored head was dropped like a shield over his vulnerable front.

With a strangled shout, Andrew peeled the cream off to the left. Chrysta braced one hand on the stallion's neck. Reaching forwards, she wrapped her other hand in the rein up close to Inferno’s armored head. Burying her feet in the stirrups, the rider used all the muscles in her body to drag that head up and twist it to the side. For a split second, the gunman had a clear shot at Inferno's broad chest. The Trinity SPOKE once. The bullet caught the destria dead center at the base of his heavy neck. It took out his windpipe along with the big arteries that ran on either side. Then the eldritch power with-in... exploded. This shattered the stallion's shoulders and spine.

All control lost, the doomed animal's front end dropped. Inferno's ravaged chest plowed into the street, and Templer watched in horror as sheer momentum caused two thousand pounds of fast moving muscle and bone to somersault. Chrysta was locked in the saddle and she had no choice but to ride him down. At the last second she tucked herself tight against the foaming neck, trying to avoid being crushed. The hurtling body slid a good twenty feet before coming to a ground shaking stop at the Talon's feet.

Templer didn't holster his gun as he came around to the side, desperately looking for the woman. He jerked back as Inferno's head came up like a snake, still snapping at whatever he could see with dull red eyes. The Trinity swung up to target him but somehow the rider appeared on the stallions off side.

Chrysta grabbed the long muzzle. Strong hands forced that deadly mouth closed. She then trapped Inferno's head under her arm and held it tight against her leather chest guard. The woman locked her other hand around the offside horn and pressed her face against that bloody, foam streaked head. The woman was speaking softly. As the Talon watched, Inferno s eyes faded from that terrible shade of red to the deep yellow that burned at the heart of a star. There was confusion in those fading eyes as the male tried to chortle at the woman who held him. She gently rocked the massive head when the soft sound turned to a cough. The stallion was drowning in his own blood. Chrysta scratched at the stallion's bloodied ridges giving him what comfort she could.

Templer knelt by Inferno's neck. He slowly stroked the silky mane with his talon-ed hand and felt amazement when the dying beast softly crooned. It started low... strengthened... then slowly faded as the fire that burned at the heart of a star dimmed, turned cold and went... out.

The Talon's hand paused as the sensitive pads ran over something that didn't feel quite right. Elongating the sharp tips, Templer followed the odd signal down. In the space of a few seconds he plucked out three crystalline hollow needles. Chrysta settled the great head on the ground with a couple of final pats on the soft muzzle. Before she could rise, the priest silently opened his hand, allowing her to see what he held.

Her chestnut brows furrowed in a frown.

“What in the hell are those?”

The woman reached to take them but Templer hastily grabbed her hand... preventing it.

“They are an assassin's weapons. Hypodermic darts that will dissolve in the victim's body within a half hour. They leave no trace.”

Templer's ebony eyes silently followed the tear that traced down her pale face. Then flashed up to see the terrible anger that flared in those odd eyes as she realized what he had said.

Before she could speak, Andrew's panicked voice broke in.

“CHRYSTA!”

Both of their heads snapped around to see Nuva staggering. The mare was covered in red foam from front to back and her usually bright eyes were glazed. The stallion had slashed her to bloody ribbons down both sides.

Chrysta levered herself off of the ground with a groan, freezing for a moment when she saw Templer's crimson lined cloak. Then she turned on her heel and ran to the mare. As the woman reached the cream she snapped orders at the young stable hand.

“Andrew, CAREFULLY... take those...” she nodded at the slowly dissolving needles in Templer's hand. “Find the race council. I want to know what was in them. Then find Don Ricardo, he is going to want to know why his prize stallion...” Her voice broke here, “... is dead.”

She glanced at Temper.

“Damn it... I haven't had the chance to replace my Hexes. I know you were leaving, but I could use your stitching skills.”

The gunman flinched away from the hurt in her eyes, but nodded. He would stay and help. Andrew took off running. Between Chrysta, Templer, and Grant... they coaxed and cajoled the old mare to the barn... one slow trembling step at a time.

With Chrysta working on one side and Templer working on the other it took nearly three hours to get the long, deep slashes stitched up. The Talon did not reprimand his outrider when Azra dipped in to their limited reserves to support the mare while they worked. He could not provide enough energy for a full healing. The beautiful cream would have some terrible scars. When they had finished, Chrysta took the time to slowly clean all the foam and blood off of the mare's soft hide. Nuva stood through it all. Her proud head stayed down. Her body continued to shake while her breath came in long soft moans.

Azra stayed silent as they stitched, not wanting to distract them from the delicate work they were doing. Templer finished his side and then stepped back to clean up the mounds of bloody cloths and gauze. The outrider's deep voice rumbled out.

“I have done what I can for her body but her mind is terribly distressed.”

Chrysta looked up from where she was cleaning blood off of one slender white leg. She stood and ran her hands over the mare's soft muzzle.

“Yes, I imagine she will be... distressed... for a long while. Inferno was her only son.”

The barn door banged open startling them all. One of the girls that worked for Grant ran in... Wringing her hands.
Chrysta looked at her in surprise. This girl in particular NEVER came to the barn. It did not help that she was crying.

“Chrysta, you have to come now... it's Grant.”

The woman laid her head against Nuva's sleek neck for a minute. The priest barely heard her whisper.

“Mother of Demons... can this day GET any better!”

They followed the little waitress to the common room. Andrew had just made it in and a heavy set man with silver hair was pouring a couple of drinks at the bar. Chrysta nodded at him as she entered. Grant was seated at a table staring blurry eyed at a sheet of paper in front of him. On the table was an empty bottle of Anesthetic and another that was almost empty. The man was quite drunk. He reached for the second bottle to drink the rest only to have Chrysta's quick hand plucked it away. Her face was worried.

“What gives Grant?”

The man blinked owlishly as silver hair slipped a cup of coffee in front of him. Grant stabbed a blunt finger on the paper and looked at Templer.

“Please don't let her kill me.” The words were slurred but very understandable. “Or maybe you should... you know, just LET her kill me.”

The Talon looked at Chrysta in astonishment. She glanced down at the paper and froze.

“OH HOLY... Grant... what have you done!?”

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link to next chapter

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