I always get nervous on the day before game time.

  During the fight? I’m rock steady, because I done worked out all my jitters in the 24 hours prior. Not by design, as it just sorta happens. Can’t help it really, so I tend to put that nervous energy into something productive. With eighteen hours to spare before my meeting with the French Foreign Legion, that means I got eighteen hours to prepare. You can do a whole lot in eighteen hours, though I am sorely limited by a lack of information. Go no idea where they done stashed the package, why they need me to come along in the dead of night to grab it, or why they need to play bait and lay a false trail while I get myself away. This does tell you a fair few things though, so long as you read between the lines, things that could well mean the difference between life and death if you take the proper precautions.

  That’s what today is all about. Preparations and precautions, so I set out from the French outpost bright and early with Gunnar, Cowie, and Frowny at my side. Fact is, I opt to have breakfast on the go instead of wasting time in camp, though I do allow myself a few minutes to have a little dance with Frowny to keep his mood up. He’s still got the furrowed brow and narrowed eyes that gives him his name, but he’s looking much cheerier than he did in those first few days since we parted ways with Elodie. Now that he’s fixated on me, he ain’t a sad sack no more, though he do insist on perching up on my shoulder instead of hitching a ride on Cowie like he used to. I’m a huge fan of it, especially since he likes to snuggle in close and keep his cheek pressed against mine all the livelong day, but it do prevent me from using the full range of motion in my right arm, to say nothing of how his feathery bulk blocks just a bit of my peripheral vision.

  It ain’t huge, but you never know when it might count for something. That’s why I spend the first few hours trekking through the swamp while forcing myself to forget Frowny is there. I move my arms like normal and keep my head on a wider swivel to make up for the lost vision, and the bird don’t seem to mind it one bit as he holds fast to my duster with effortless ease and even has himself a snooze for a little bit.

  That ain’t all I’m doing, just what I do while doing what I set out to do. Namely scout out the meeting area, leave a couple Arcane Bugs I crafted up before coming to the Deadlands in several strategic places, then find me a fallback point close to the meeting area, one the French Foreign Legion won’t stumble across on their way over. The why should be evident enough, as meeting heavily armed, military trained, self-professed criminals in the dead of night is never a good idea, so I want a fortified position I can withdraw to in case things go south. Not to say I expect to be double crossed. If the Serbians wanted me dead, I don’t see no reason why they would go to all this trouble, what with setting up an elaborate ruse to get me to meet a bunch of seasoned killers in the Deadlands. Still, better safe than sorry, especially considering how the Soulless be more active at night. To the point where even Edward don’t venture out once it’s dark, or at least he refuses to bring me out for a midnight hunt.

  Luckily for me, I find myself the perfect little staging ground to make ready for battle about fifteen minutes from the meeting area, which itself is about a five-hour trek from the waystation where we parted ways with the Legionnaires. It don’t look like much, just a muddy little isle in the middle of a big old puddle with a fair few changes in elevation that could trip someone up. More to the point, if you coming from the meeting point, the isle is slightly raised in elevation, giving me the high ground should it come to a firefight. Best of all, aside from the one avenue of uphill approach, most the little isle in surrounded by trees and brush. Means that not only will I be mostly out of view from anyone attempting to flank me, most travellers won’t bother moving through the undergrowth and stumble across my setup by accident. That’s real important, because the last thing I need is for a military patrol to stumble across my soon-to-be fortification and get to wondering what’s going on.

  First things first. The natural terrain makes for a great funnel already, with thick vegetation on three sides and more or less nothing on the approach, but I add a few subtle adjustments to encourage folks to charge headlong into the fray. One thing people are pretty good at is instinctively figuring out the easiest path forward, like knowing that stepping around a pair of trees is faster than going through them and the tripwire I got set up in between them. Course, the optimal route changes if there’s thick brush on either side though, and at a quick glance, a bunch of leafy twigs stuck in the mud looks pretty close to brush. Won’t hold up under inspection, but how many people are inspecting every bit of brush to see if they real or artificial?

  Fallen logs leaning against neighbouring trees. Puddles with broken pieces of thick twigs just barely sticking out to make them look deeper than they are. Randomly marked trees to make it look like I done something, when in fact, I ain’t done shit. All this and more ought to make anyone with half a brain think twice about straying from the beaten track, which is perfect because that’s where I want them to go. Can’t be throwing up traps willy nilly and hope my pursuers stumble across them. No, better to encourage said pursuers to stick to the path of least resistance, which in turn will became the path of most resistance once I set down all my traps.

  Ain’t nothing fancy, just snares and tripwires to slow anyone chasing after me, as I don’t want to be setting anything lethal. Takes a lot more work, and ain’t always effective, whereas a snare or tripwire just takes a bit of wire and tension for the most part. Besides, I don’t know the regular routes folks stick to around these parts, or if I’ll have enough leeway to take my traps apart after the fact. Would hate to head home and read in the papers some months later about how some soldier stepped into a stake patch I hid in a bush somewhere and lose the foot to infection. While things could still go disastrously wrong with a snare or tripwire, chances are the most damage they’ll take is a hit to their dignity.

  Next step is to set up some cover for myself to fight from, which means a whole lot of digging and hauling, work Gunnar is more than able to help with. Three feet is the height I aim for when it comes to cover, as that puts it chest high while kneeling and perfect for plinking shots while mostly protected. Don’t want to lie down when you in the thick of it, because mobility is every bit as important as accuracy. Maybe even more so when it comes to fighting in the dark, as you want to shoot and scoot and keep your enemies guessing at where you might be. Darkvision ain’t the be all end all of things, as it ain’t all that easy to track a moving target through the swamp with all the trees and brush and whatnot.

  I don’t just put a wall of mud up front either. I grab fallen logs, twigs, and even dig a bit of a trench into the muddy floor to speed things along, and cover three sides as best I can in case they start shooting blindly into the brush. Then I set up a retreat for myself, a hidden path through the brush that’ll take me out and back in case I gotta reposition. To keep me from having to use it, I move on to stripping away any and all cover my enemies might have while leaving sub-optimal cover in places that’ll keep them visible, bunched up, and most importantly, stuck in one place. Rather than three feet, I give them positions with about two feet of cover, or even less so they gotta lie down and can’t shoot back all that effectively. Or I set up a hidey hole that looks good to shelter in, but gives me a clear line of sight I can take advantage of once I move to a different angle.

  Preparation ain’t just for Spellslingers after all. Give me a week and I can turn almost any half-decent position into a fortified bastion, but with less than a full day to work with, I gotta cut some corners. If them Legionnaires start slinging Fireballs, Flaming Clouds, or even Elemental Orbs, they’ll put me in a pinch, as there ain’t a whole lot of room to maneuver about in here. With more time, I could build a mud bunker to take shelter in, one with a door of twigs and baked clay to cover up the entrance even. Deadly as Fireball might be, it don’t penetrate all that well, so even burying yourself in an inch of mud is usually enough to keep you safe and sound. Nor does the heat travel all that well around corners, as the Spell only takes effect on area that the caster can see. That’s pretty standard for most Spells though, as you ain’t creating real heat. It’s magic masquerading as heat, magic that’s guided by your mind, so even though you know there’s room for the heat to spread, you can’t exactly tell the Spell how it should spread in any realistic fashion, which is why most times, it just doesn’t.

  Hence why I was feeling pretty safe about dropping a Fireball point blank on Ronald Jackson and his two thugs the first time I met him. Had us a solid wood bar between me and them, so long as I dropped the Spell right at Ron’s feet, then I was pretty sure the bar would keep the Spell and the resulting heat from spilling over and around the other side to hit me while taking cover. I probably could’ve run the 5 and a half meters to safety too, but I still think ducking down would’ve been my best bet at survival, while all three of them on the other side would’ve been cooked in half a second flat.

  Looking back on it now, had I done gone all in at the bar, then it would’ve saved me a whole heap of pain. The Marshal would’ve been none too happy to hear about it, especially since my justification for opening up on them was paper thin. Could’ve gotten me in some legal trouble if someone from Vanguard National wanted to push the issue, but they was nothing without Ron. With their head honcho dead, and Franky and Jacob too, while the rest of the leadership would’ve likely died to the incoming Proggie attack that I’m guessing none of them knew about. I would’ve had no reason to go back after all, so not only would I still have both of my hands, Marcus would also be alive and well.

  Wouldn’t be all nice and neat like how it ended in reality, and a lot more innocent people would’ve died, to say nothing of the stockpiles of chemical explosives that baby Proggie might well have acquired. I’d happily trade all those lives and the possibility of grenadier Goblins in the future to see Marcus again though, to say nothing of how Josie might well still be alive if that’s how things went down. The Puglianos wouldn’t have had no reason to look my way after all, as there’d still be plenty of Vanguard National types to talk to instead, with the only real fly in the ointment as far as I’m concerned is that Noora might well have died there too.

  Before I fell head over heels in love with her though, saving me from all this heartbreak.

  Ain’t no cure for regret. That’s what my daddy used to always say, and he’s right. Can’t ever make things right, not with him, Marcus, Josie, or anyone else’s death I’ve caused, so I shouldn’t be wishing death on no one else. Truth be told, this is how it ought to be. Losing people should be hard, especially when it’s because I done screwed up. I ought pay a price for my sins, one that should be difficult to bear, more difficult than just guilt.

  The worst part is? There are things I done I should feel guilty about, but honestly? I couldn’t care less. Like Deputy Corey Macintyre. I killed a good man, and I’ve long since gotten over it, which feels wrong even to me.

  Ain’t looking to add to that list of guilt though, so I’m doing everything I can to keep Gunnar safe as can be, which includes a full-on interrogation while we work. Ain’t polite conversation to be asking about what Spells he’s got prepared and how ready he is to rabbit, but it’s gotta be done. No Spellslinger likes revealing all their cards, Gunnar included, but knowing what he can do will help with prepping his role for the fight. He trusts me enough to share a good bit, and I can guess a whole lot of the rest, but once I’ve got a clear picture of what he can do, I have myself a chuckle at my past self for worrying so much about him. Given his Spell loadout and experience, Gunnar might well have a better chance of surviving the Deadlands than I do, as he’s got more ways out than a bunny in a burrow. Expeditious Retreat, Longstrider, Jump, Levitate, Enhance Aspect, Spider Climb, and the crème de la crème, frigging Gaseous Form. He’s also got Water Breathing ready in case he’s gotta go for a swim, Meld Into Stone if he wants to move through solid bedrock, and Water Walking if he wants to hoof it right out of the swamp.

  Only thing missing from the list is Fly, though I’d say for the sake of making an escape, Gaseous Form is the superior Spell. Lasts a full hour as opposed to ten minutes, and while you can’t move through liquids or solids, you can travel through cracks so long as they’re there. Gaseous Form also makes you invulnerable to any physical attacks or Force Spells, though a Fireball will still really ruin your day. So will any other type of Magical damage, especially since you don’t move all that fast in your Gaseous Form, about half a meter per second. You can hitch a ride on something though, like how I rode a cart down into the depths of Mount Rimepeak to drop a Potion of Fumigation to shut down the mines.

  Best of all? Unless your foes got someone with Detect Magic or an Innate who can perceive you, they gotta more or less guess at where you gonna be, leaving you free to slowly float away to safety on a breeze.

  Granted, there are downsides to the Spell, some of which I already covered, and Fly is better if you just want to get from point a to point b. Either way, Gunnar’s got all sorts of Spells to keep his hide intact, which I suppose is how he survived all them years while wheeling and dealing outside of town. As such, I build him a perch where he can sit tight if things should go south, or if he’s feeling up to it, shoot at any Legionnaires advancing on my position. He’s also capable of casting more than four Third Order Spells, so he’s got a lot more leeway with his Big Spells than I do. Or Spells in general even, which is why I’ve been sticking to mundane methods so far. Didn’t even throw on a Mage Armour or keep us concealed with Settle in Shadows, as I want to save every last Grain of Aether for tonight.

  That ain’t to say I don’t use any magic at all, though I do stick to Rituals the whole way through. Aside from the usual suspects of Detect Magic, Detect Abby, and Floating Disc, it’s mostly Alarm Wards out the wazoo, but not laid out in the typical fashion. Rather than setting long tracks of wire in a large perimeter to alert me if anyone crosses it, I set up a plethora of small-scale Alarm Wards in specific areas, like that cover I so conveniently provided for my enemies. That way, I won’t have to look to know if someone’s taking shelter there. The ping of the Alarm Ward will tell me all I need to know, as every time one ‘sounds off’, I’ll know exactly where that Ward is and what direction the person be moving in. Each Alarm Ward lasts 16 hours with help from Extend Metamagic, and since it’s close to late afternoon by the time I get around to them, I know they’ll last well into the night and stay relevant for any fight. If I’m still around by the time they run out, then something done gone wrong, as I’m planning to bee-line straight for Fairhaven as soon as I got the first package in hand to go and grab me the second.

  Which is where I run into a bit of a conundrum, one I got no way to fix. All day I been asking myself why them Legionnaires would risk the Deadlands after dark, why they need me to come along to grab it, and why they feel it might be necessary to play bait after the fact, and I’ve arrived at one unideal conclusion. Wherever they done stashed the package, they’re worried it’s being watched, meaning it won’t be safe to retrieve. So they’re worried they’re walking into a trap, but desperate enough to go in anyways and even hold the line while I get gone. Don’t much care for that, especially since I still have things to do after the fact, so I gotta make sure I’m not seen, or at the very least, not recognized by anyone who does.

  Especially if the Order is smart and puts up a camera or Clairvoyance Spell on the package instead of a full-on ambush. While it might cost them the package, assuming it’s even real and not a dummy, it would also identify who’s picking it up, and give them the upper hand when it comes to strike back. Them Legionnaires will be walking in with guns at the ready, so even if the Order sets up the perfect ambush, there’s still a chance things will go awry. If they take some time to gather intel on who they up against, then they can pick and choose when, where, and how to strike, whether it be with a full on ambush while them Legionnaires out on patrol, poison in their camp stew while they holed up for the night, or even political pressure put on the individuals in question to get them to turn on the Serbians, the Order would have all the cards in their hands, while their opponents wouldn’t even know they’re still in the game.

  That being said, I ain’t counting on these backwater KKK wannabes to be all that smart. After grilling Gunnar about his Spells, we spent most of the day talking about the Order of the Cleansing Light, which is about as vanilla as you can get when it comes to cult names. And make no mistake, they do be a cult, even if they profess to be God fearing Christians who don’t deal with Devilkin. Ain’t nothing in the Bible about white power, especially considering Jesus was born in Bethlehem which makes him Middle Eastern and in all likelihood brown. Thems the facts, but that don’t stop folks like Geoffry Aultman from using the good book to peddle his heinous brand of hatred.

  Wouldn’t be the first to twist religion to his use, and I doubt he’ll be the last, but I for one feel like intolerance cannot be tolerated. We put up with racists, bigots, and crazed fundies with their idiotic beliefs, which is fine when they ain’t causing no harm, but don’t no one come out and tell them their beliefs be dumb as a bag of bricks because that would be disrespectful. Me, I’d say that’s calling a spade a spade, because the Order of the Cleansing Light is nothing if not dumb. They got their Patriarch sitting at the top, their literal daddy figure with a God complex, one Geoffry Aultman. Then he got his twelve Apostles under him, his board of directors as it were. Below that, you got your Sanctifiers, your Deacons, and your Redeemers, all silly titles that are vaguely and not so vaguely reminiscent of Christianity to show they got the same roots, only this here be a tree that grown in all the wrong ways.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  They don’t make no secret of their disdain for folks who ain’t white, and ain’t none too shy about hating on Innates either. Which they can do because the Order got deep pockets thanks to having so many backwater peckerwoods who done drank the cool aide and gone all in on their beliefs. I mean, I get it. Life is tough on the Frontier, so we all need something to believe in. That’s why I kinda miss going to church, because at least when I was there, I felt like I belonged, even if most folks there didn’t see it that way. Wanting to fit in with the people around you is just human nature. We’re a tribal, territorial bunch, and Geoffry Aultman done used that to convince a bunch of whites that every other colour is out to get them.

  And in doing so, he gave his people good reason to fear, to hate, to fight and to die for his Order and his company, because everyone else is the enemy, and only him and others like him were on his side.

  Thing is, that hatred do cut like a double-edged knife. Me, I don’t know much about the Order or folks working for Aultman and Sons, but I already don’t care much for them. Got no qualms about any of their people dying if they come after me either, because there ain’t no reluctant racists in the Order, folks just paying lip service to get by. Sure, you can get a job without doing much of anything besides being white and Christian, and even the latter is optional. Get’s you in on the ground floor as an Acolyte, and ain’t nothing expected of you except to do your job. If you want to move up though? Well you gotta be a Redeemer at the very least, and in order to become one, you gotta demonstrate your faith to the cause.

  Gunnar don’t say what it is they do, because he don’t know, as cults do like to keep all their rites and ceremonies and such on the down low. Ain’t no fruit like the forbidden, and ain’t nothing more intriguing than a mystery. Hell, most people don’t even know about the Order’s titles, as they don’t use them out in public. Gunnar only knows because he’s done his research and knows people in high and low places willing to talk. Me, I’d say he ought to make it all public knowledge, talk some journalist into reporting it all like they done did with the KKK to demystify them and show just how silly their whites-only club was.

  So end of the day? If some folks come a looking for the package and run afoul of them Legionnaires? Well, I’d say nothing of value was lost.

  With most of my prep finished by late afternoon, I hammer in the Sanctuary Stakes around the perch I built for Gunnar to hide in. Built it big enough for the both of us and Cowie for just this reason, so we could sit in relative comfort under some sort of shelter for the night, even if it’s just a bunch of twigs held together with twine and mud. With the sun still up, I settle in for a spot of reading, since I won’t be able to do so once the sun goes down. Even inside a waystation cabin with blackout curtains drawn shut, Edward was leery about using too much light, so I ain’t about to risk it out here in the open.

  Granted, Edward was only worried because he didn’t know if he could keep the rest of us safe, while I’m worried about my own hide, to say nothing of Gunnar’s.

  Hence why I’m so keen on studying. I’m this close to figuring out how to prep the Big Spell I been trying to learn for the past few weeks, and it pains me to admit that my speed ain’t due to how I’ve improved as a Spellslinger since puzzling Fireball out all by my lonesome. Credit where credit is due, my mama’s brother deserves the lion’s share of the merit for my frankly hypersonic pace. Even with Uncle Teddy’s guidance, it took me almost two weeks of near dedicated study to work out all the kinks. Now granted, I only got two hours of his time a week as he was busy dealing with the Mindspire back then, but still. I spent almost every day practicing for at least four hours, sometimes as much as eight, and it still took that long to figure it out, and here I am almost ready to Prep a Spell I only spent a few hours here and there on over the course of a few weeks.

  All thanks to the notes my mama’s brother wrote down in an Arcane Grimoire that might well be some sort of Mythical Artifact out of legend. Most Spellslingers try to describe the flows in terms of spirals, weaves, lattice, and folds, focusing on the physical shape of the Structure itself. Which ain’t wrong, as the shape is what you’re after, but how do you accurately copy something you can’t see or measure? You can’t. How steep are them spirals? How much space between the weaves? You can’t give a number, like three inches or three miles, because it all happens in the theatre of mind where perspective plays such a huge role in things.

  My mama’s brother though? He doesn’t describe the shape of the flows. He describes the journey he experiences while perceiving them. The twists, the turns, the ups and downs, the rippling dynamics as the flows intermingle and interweave, the convergence of power in and around them. He doesn’t do it poetically either, but plain jane as it gets, with a focus on what to look for when trying to put together those flows yourself and how to tell when you’re doing things wrong.

  It's one thing to know how to Prepare a Spell Structure, and another thing all together to explain how its done. I ain’t ever been all that great at teaching, as I’m someone who likes to throw someone into the thick of things, then correct them on all the mistakes they make. Mostly because that’s how my daddy taught me, and while it worked well enough for me, not everyone can learn like that. Especially seeing how I don’t got my daddy’s temperament, as he never went off on me for making a mistake. Not like I done to Errol, who might well be a fool, but still didn’t deserve what I did.

  And much like what I done has been living rent free in my head, the fact that my mama’s brother is such an effective teacher sours the mood as I finish putting together the last of the swooping, soaring, spiralling flows, only for them scintillating trails of shifting patterns to come together in my mind’s eye and solidify into a bonafide Spell Structure. That was what? Fifty, sixty hours of studying, maybe? Couple hours here, couple hours there, with no need to ever ask for any guidance because any questions I might’ve had were answered in the margins somewhere. Say what you will about my mama’s brother, but he knows his stuff when it comes to Spells, which makes it all the more tempting to go see what he has to say.

  I ain’t gonna though. No way, no how, not after he said all those things about my daddy. Still don’t believe my mama’s brother had nothing to do with his death either, even if it was just to look the other way. As for the Arcane Grimoire, I’m still leery of Attuning to it, but damn tempted to do so as soon as I get home and get it out of Aunty Ray’s safe deposit box at the bank. I shouldn’t, because I don’t know enough about the Spells Imbued into it, ones that could well be Enchantments meant to bring me back into the Republic fold, or maybe even turn me against the Federation or something.

  Thing is, for a few more Big Spells explained like this one? I’ll turn on them in a heartbeat. Can’t expect no loyalty when you don’t give none out. Before my daddy passed, I’d have done anything for America the great, but then they said he wasn’t no Ranger and broke my heart in every which way. I still think it’s pretty good in terms of nations, but I got no qualms about crossing borders to work for another one, like the Métis, the British, or even the French.

  Well… maybe not the French. They take in too many criminals in the French Foreign Legion, and from the looks of things, they ain’t all that good at keeping them on the straight and narrow. Then again, that might well be the only place I fit in, given the reputation I’ve made for myself, one that had Uncle Rigsby leery of recommending me for the Knight’s Templar…

  With a new Big Spell prepped and ready to go, I hold off on testing it out. Mostly to save the Aether, but also because it do be rather obvious and not all that useful in combat, so I’ll have plenty of time to cast and try it out when I need it. Instead, I spend the rest of the evening cuddling Cowie and Frowny. Least I’ll finally have a use for all them loose feathers the birds leave everywhere they go, as they do be a Material Component in my new Big Spell, albeit one I won’t use nearly often enough to burn through my unending supply. Frowny do love being groomed though, as he raises his head and closes his eyes as I run my fingers through his feathers while Cowie heaves dramatic sighs as if to ask when’s it gonna be his turn for scritches.

  Yeah, a little pre-game cuddle session is just what I need to keep the nerves from setting in, because with sunset almost upon us, I done made all the preparations I conceivably can, and there ain’t nothing left to do besides settle in for a nap. With Gunnar keeping watch mind you, and I tell him to wake me in three hours so he can have a bit of rest too. Nothing of note happens while I’m catching my z’s, and when it comes time for me to stand watch, it’s about as uneventful as can be. By the time one a.m rolls around, I ain’t seen nothing from no one, and while the meeting ain’t for another hour, I ain’t about to sit here at my fallback point to wait it out.

  So I wake Gunnar up, then head on down to collect my Sanctuary Stakes and cast a Settle in Shadows before moving out into the swamp. Even with Darkvision to light the way, the Deadlands in the dead of night be a whole different beast. Quieter, as all them slitcrickets, bogmoths, throatgators, bogclimbers, and mudchucks done gone to sleep, alongside all the other snakes, birds, and other fauna which call these swamps home. Makes the sound of our boots squelching through the mud ring like cannonfire in my ears, and try as I might to walk soft through the night, it feels like I got a marching band on my six announcing my location for all to hear.

  Still gotta be done though, and I keep a tight beam of Detect Abby moving in circles around me to make sure we don’t get surprised by no Abby. Though there aren’t any Zombies, Ghouls, or Wights close by, I Detect enough of them to know they ain’t idle either, moving about the swamps on orders from up high doing Lord knows what out here. If only they were more effective and able to bring down the Order of the Cleansing Light, but according to Gunnar, they got themselves a fair few Radiant Spells that works wonders against the Soulless. Just goes to show that Faith ain’t the same as holy, divine, or moral and upright. Much like the song says, you gotta have Faith, but not necessarily Faith in the right things, only Faith enough for your mind to see it as truth.

  Honestly though, I don’t know how anyone can use Faith magic as an argument of Divine Will. Almost every religion got their version of Faith magic, and most even manifest in the same ways. Take Consecrated ground for example. The Catholic Church got themselves a Ritual they carry out every week during mass, but lasts ten whole days to provide their churches with something similar to Protection from Aberration while also keeping the dead buried in their graveyards from rising up out of their coffins after being puppetted by some Mimic. Thing is, most major religions got something similar going on, largely because what happens after death is a big selling point of Faith. People fear the unknown, and they want to believe that the people they lost are better off now that they’re dead, which is why so many religions focus on that aspect.

  Don’t matter if it’s Heaven, Nirvana, Valhalla, or Reincarnation. So long as folks are scared of death, they’ll turn to religion to help quell those fears, and I don’t blame them for it. Hell, I even do it myself, as I work hard to believe that there is a Heaven so my daddy can be disappointed after seeing how much of a mess I done made with my life. So long as I believe that, I can cling to the faint hope that I’ll see him again someday, my daddy, my mama, Josie, our baby, and everyone else I done lost along the way.

  Rather than fixate on them though, I focus on not adding to the list by keeping Gunnar and myself alive. That’s why I had us set out an hour before the meeting time even though we was only a fifteen-minute walk away. For two reasons really. One, I don’t want our tracks to lead right back to our fallback point, since I don’t know if them Legionnaires are on the up and up and won’t send no one to check where I was coming from. Two, I want to circle around and see the lay of the land, just in case this really is a hit job and they got an ambush waiting for me. Course, even with my Darkvision goggles, spotting ambushers lying in wait ain’t exactly easy, and them Legionnaires seemed hard-bitten enough to give me a run for my money.

  I don’t spot nothing that sets off alarms on my way over, but that don’t put me at ease. Done all that I can though, and made sure Gunnar knows what to do, so I find us a place close to the meeting area where we can settle in and wait. I don’t need to keep eyes on the area, as my Arcane Bugs will let me know when the Legionnaires show up, and while I’m a firm believer in arriving five minutes early at the very latest, that don’t apply when showing up leaves me a sitting duck. More to the point, I want to listen in on what them Legionnaires have to say when they don’t see me there, or better yet, know if they don’t show up because they don’t see me waiting out in the open.

  All my concerns are for naught however, as the Legionnaires show up more or less on time and wait in relative silence. There are a few whispers here and there, and I put my French through its paces deciphering that more than a few are wondering if I done lost my nerve and didn’t dare show up. It ain’t angry though, more dismissive, like they’re amused by my cowardice more than enraged. The leader says, “Whatever will be, will be,” which don’t take much effort to translate, followed by something along the lines of, “If the child does not show, then you will take the package, hide it, and personally deliver its location to the boss without telling another soul, or so help me God I’ll rip out your entrails and make you wish for death.”

  Beautiful language, French. Don’t know why that is, but even lowlives who ain’t French sound pretty fancy when they speak it. Me, I can’t enunciate worth a damn, so I’ll have to be content with just listening. Keep an ear out on their conversation as I make my approach as quiet and stealthy as I can, which ain’t much of the first despite being as close to invisible in the darkness as one can get without being fully Invisible. Say what you will about them Legionnaires, but they’re on high alert and hear me coming long before they see me, but the Leader don’t say nothing besides, “Hands off your weapons. Don’t want you scaring the boy. He’s quick to shoot, and we don’t want anyone knowing we’re out here until we’re ready to secure the package.”

  Hehe. Guess my reputation precedes me, though I dunno how much pride I can take in a rep for being trigger happy. Don’t know how I earned that rep either, as I’ve always been one to give fair warning before I shoot, unless my target happens to be an Outlaw with a bounty on their head. Then it’s open season, and I’m surprised more folks don’t get in on it, because as much as Americans love them their guns, I get the feeling most are pretty shy about using them on other folks. Never understood that, the aversion to killing, because while I ain’t hungry for it, I ain’t ever cried no crocodile tears for anyone I’ve killed. Not directly at least, not even for those who didn’t deserve it, like Deputy Corey Macintyre up in Brightpick. I’ll hold onto that regret until my dying day even if I gotta force myself to do it, but if I had to go back and do it all again without knowing who he really was, I’d make the same choices all over again. Don’t mean I don’t wish things could’ve been different, but I don’t see how they could’ve been, not when I was only doing what had to be done.

  That’s the attitude that keeping me and Uncle Teddy from making up, and truth is, I don’t see why I should shoulder all the blame. Wasn’t my fault the Puglianos were left unchecked for the better part of a decade until they had the balls to send a bunch of teenaged shooters into New Hope who murdered my Josie in the streets. Me, I was just repaying the Puglianos in kind, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and if some innocents got caught up in the mix, well… you can’t pull a rotten tooth without bleeding a little bit, so better to do it quick and clean instead of leaving that rot to fester and spread.

  Deputy Corey Macintyre was collateral damage, and much as I regret killing him, I ain’t about to let his death keep me from doing what needs to be done.

  Like here and now, with me marching on up to meet with a heavily armed squad of criminal soldiers from the French Foreign Legion so we can go collect a package stolen from the Order of the Cleansing Light, a package I will then deliver to the Serbians after picking up a second package from the same Order to deliver to the Manfredis.

  …When did my life get so complicated?

  I exchange a few greetings with the Legionnaires, and we all set out without any small talk. Seeing that they don’t got no Settle in Shadows, I extend mine to cover them as well, while moving in lockstep with their leader and pointing out groups of Abby as I scan them. They got someone with Detect Abby too, but his range ain’t as high as mine, though he do confirm a fair few groups before the leader starts taking me at my word. Doesn’t mean we make any detours though, as it seems like we on a tight schedule as he leads us forward into the swamps, never veering from our original course even if it means having to fight off one group of speedy Zombies in melee only. No gunshots, no Big Spells, just a smattering of Cantrips and First Order Spells that wouldn’t be much more than a blip on Detect Magic, assuming someone was watching close.

  Then again, I don’t rightly know how the Mimics perceive the world, as they can’t be using their senses if they got no body to inhabit. Might well be with Magic, so Spells could well register like a light in the darkness, with bigger Spells being brighter as it were. Whatever the reason, the Legionnaires make short work of a small horde of thirty odd Zombies that come across our path, so much so that I don’t even gotta lift a finger to help. Something do feel off about it though, not in how things went down, but in how quiet things get after the fact. Over the last week or so, I’ve been killing Zombies almost every day, and we’d always have to book it right quick after the fact, as every shambler within a klick would converge upon our position.

  And that was during the day, when they were slow and almost unresponsive until I opened up with whatever Cantrip I fancied. Here in the dead of night though? I scan with Detect Abby again and again, but there ain’t no groups moving in towards us. In fact, they’re moving away, and I say as much to the Legionnaire, who simply nods and says, “Disturbance along eastern border is still ongoing. We show we are strong, so the others have no time for us. Even the undead fear death it seems.”

  A couple Legionnaires chuckle to hear it, and still more follow suit when they translate for the rest. Me, I ain’t all that convinced, because even though they’re moving away, I can still catch a good few groups moving around at the periphery of my Detection range. One I keep pushing as far as I can without dropping Concentration on Settle in Shadows, which means I get a little further and further with each pass, and yet every time, them Abby still be at the very edge of my range and moving further away.

  But not far enough to escape Detection the next time around when I stretch just a little further. Almost feels like they’re lingering just out of range, and moving further away as soon as I Detect them, only to wait at the edges once more. Dunno why they’d do that, as it’s not like they can keep us penned in with so much distance between us. You’d probably need thousands of Zombies to surround us at that distance, and even then, it’d be a thin line we could easily punch through. Tens of thousands would be needed to trap us here, so I got no earthly idea why they’d want to hang back and wait, but the Legionnaires shrug off my concerns and proceed with their mission without so much as a care in the world.

  Which makes sense. Can’t let a gut feeling throw you off from completing your mission, but I can’t shake off the feeling that something ain’t right about all this. So much so that I don’t piece together the clues in front of my face, albeit ones that belong to a different puzzle from the one I got on the brain. After a few hours of trekking through the darkness, we arrive at our destination, which is an unremarkable stretch of swamp running alongside a corduroy road. Which makes sense as a place to hide a package, as whoever stole it couldn’t have possibly gone too far off the beaten track without anyone noticing their absence. I pay it no mind though, as I ain’t in the mood to go mucking through the mud in search of whatever it is, and leave all the dirty work to the Legionnaires. That’s why I don’t blink twice when they split off into four groups, with two crossing over to the other side of the road and taking great pains not to leave any tracks behind. Then we move north along the road for a little bit, not all that quick, but as quiet as can be, and it’s five, maybe ten minutes before it all clicks and I curse myself for a fool.

  We came out here to get the package, but it ain’t just sitting in a hole somewhere. No, these Legionnaires mean to get the package, as in take it off whoever’s currently holding it. That’s why they set out in the dead of night, and why they showed up with so many guns but refused to use them against Abby. The weapons are for the Order of the Cleansing Light, as these Legionnaires mean to gun down a caravan in order to secure said package before sending me off into the swamp while laying trails leading elsewhere to give me a head start.

  Well… shit. I didn’t sign on for no war between a bunch of gangsters and cultists. I should call it quits right here, walk away and tell the Serbians to shove it up their ass. On the other hand, it really couldn’t happen to a better group, and ten grand is ten grand, which sounds a whole lot better than going to war with the Serbians. Especially since it sounds like the Legionnaires are gonna open up on them cultists even if I leave. They said it didn’t they? If I didn’t show up, they was planning on going ahead all the same and sending one of their own to tell the Serbians where to pick up their goods. Whether I stay or leave, them cultists area gonna get ambushed, so I might as well do my part, get Harald, Astrid, and Elodie off the hook, and earn myself a big payday while avoiding a war with the Serbians over the lives of a bunch of racist, backwater hillbillies.

  …You know, Judge McKean might’ve been onto something with all that talk of Nietzsche and slippery slopes, but I’m in too deep to call it quits now. I’ll just have to ride this one out and hope these fellas know their stuff, else I might well have to blow a Potion of Gaseous Form to get out of dodge right quick and come out smelling like shit all the same.