Page 31 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Four

Beatrix

I t wasn’t wise to underestimate an opponent.

Beatrix wasn’t sure what to make of the six foot orc man that was trailing behind her to the sheriff’s office.

But she could give him credit where credit was due.

He had handled the bandit well, all things considered.

Most folk were unprepared to act when faced with danger.

In fact a lot of them had a tendency to tense up.

Yet, the man in Beatrix’s peripheral vision had seen a threat and had taken initiative. That spoke of promise.

I can work with a self starter, but he’s far too young.

Age was really just a number given there were elves, furliaths, and more who had ancestry that surpassed centuries.

Goblins reached maturity by six or seven, but dwarves weren’t considered mature until age fifty.

Beatrix was fairly certain that orcs had similar lifespans as halflings or humans, but social graces dictated that it would be rude to ask how old he was.

At least not until formal introductions were made and they had shared a drink or a meal together .

Old enough to travel alone, old enough to be a holy person, but definitely not experienced enough to be following me without knowing my reputation. Following me is already working against his favor.

Beatrix paused on the porch of the sheriff station, sparing the cleric a glance.

“Stay out here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He nodded and it reaffirmed her suspicions about the man.

Agreeable could be dangerous in a city like Irongarde.

For every lawbreaker Beatrix brought in, there would be another one to take their place before she could finish collecting her coin.

The boon of iron the city produced had created a wealth of opportunities, which meant that there were many newcomers prepared to take advantage of working people.

It would only take the wrong sob story to get someone as gentle as him into a lot of trouble.

Beatrix hated how much her thoughts reminded her of her father and that ire was quickly directed to the cleric outside.

“Ms. Eaves!”

A human man with weathered, tan skin, a bushy brown mustache, and a tired expression greeted her.

He was dressed in typical Dust Warden attire.

Wide brimmed hat, tall boots with spurs, and matching cotton shirt and trousers.

The familiar long, gray vest was an indicator of his position with local law, along with the shiny metal signet at his waist.

What was his name again? Grisel? Gwurdon? Gu—

“Don’t tell me it’s another one,” the Dust Warden huffed, eyeing the woozy man in Beatrix’s guard .

“Better. Send some of the boys to the train station, you can pick up the other two. The working ladies on the train are probably trussing them up as we speak.”

The man— Gus , that’s what it was—looked pained, eyes shutting for a moment.

Beatrix didn’t know why Gus didn’t just retire if he hated his job so much.

Given how much gold they handed her for completing the odd jobs the Dust Warden’s couldn't keep up with, one would think they were paid fairly enough.

“Ms. Eaves, under what circumstances are you bringing a barely coherent man to the Dust Wardens today?” he asked. “Our cells don’t have room for public disturbances related to drunks.”

“Drunks? Dust Warden, isn’t it obvious?” Beatrix dropped a hand onto her hip. “It was attempted robbery of those in the luxury cabin. You know, the type of crime that King Oryin’vel Vyrthsalis absolutely abhors .”

Not a lie, as the king had suffered several personal robberies from trusted allies.

One of which had resulted in not only stolen heirlooms, but the kidnapping and subsequent ransom of his beloved sister.

It had soured King Oryin’vel’s heart and made him more severe when it came to theft under his reign.

Beatrix had never been above manipulation.

It was a skill she had perfected by age nine and how she had managed to infiltrate her father’s private study quarters.

The important thing about manipulation was to only utilize it as needed or risk the manipulated catching on.

In the moment, Beatrix was less concerned with coming across as misleading and more about collecting her coin so she could invest in the local bathhouse.

Rather predictably, he folded immediately .

“Derek,” Gus rubbed his face tiredly. “Derek, please escort this man to a holding cell. I have coin to distribute to Ms. Eaves.”

“Thank you, Dust Warden, I appreciate your cooperation.” Beatrix said.

The exchange lasted all but fifteen minutes.

The captured man was ushered away by a young air helfen, Gus left to retrieve her earnings.

Barely any words were exchanged other than what was necessary, and by the time it was over, Beatrix was five gold richer.

As she stood up to leave, Beatrix paused near the wooden door, eyeing the exhausted man.

Gus had taken off his hat, running his hand through his hair.

“I’d suggest keeping more Dust Warden’s at the train station,” she said. “Irongarde is growing everyday, and I can’t remember the last time I rode it without some kind of trouble coming to fruition.”

“Are you—”

“Just a suggestion,” Beatrix said, before pushing her way out of the sheriff’s station.

The cleric was exactly where she had left him, pressed against one of the porch beams, her suitcase held tightly in his arms. As his head lifted to meet her gaze, Beatrix flicked a gold at him.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t catch it. Not the most dexterous thing, that was for sure.

His eye trailed the coin as it spun to a rest near his boot.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“Mostly for carrying my suitcase. Maybe a little bit for helping me with that bandit. Least I could do.”

“Oh, um, thank you—”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way—” Beatrix snatched her suitcase from him. “I’ll be taking this and going on my way. Do yourself a favor, kid, stick to the safety of your temples. Irongarde’s not safe for soft folk like you.”

Beatrix descended the steps, the end of her skirt dragging through the dusty, dirt path.

The common folk of Irongarde were buzzing around her, set about their daily businesses beneath the high sun.

Carriages trotted by wealthy prospectors, while a few of the Dust Wardens wove in and out of the crowds.

Pickpockets quickly made their rounds and bar maids, seamstresses, and ranchers were rushing to their destinations.

Beatrix’s keen eyes were acutely aware of the masses.

That included the cleric she had dismissed.

The young man wasn’t exactly subtle and Beatrix did have the aid of her veil to hide her glances.

Bad intentions, good intentions, it didn’t matter.

He clearly hadn’t taken her words to heart which was an error Beatrix needed to correct quickly.

She ducked between Irongarde General and Tumbleweed Reads, walking down the narrower path until she cleared half the alleyway.

The crunch of newer boots pressing onto gravel made Beatrix pause.

“What did I tell you about sticking to the temples, cleric?” she asked.

Beatrix could practically see the entrance to The Iron Basin. The promise of a hot bath and wildflower soaps and oils were just a few feet away.

“I heard you, miss, I just—”

“—decided to follow a woman you’ve never met before into an alley?” Beatrix scoffed, a derisive laugh at the back of her throat. “ Sorry, kid, if you were expecting something other than the gold piece, you’re out of luck.”

“Ah, I didn’t mean—”

Beatrix refrained from rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. She felt ridiculous for holding the gesture back. It wasn’t like he could even see her eyes, anyway, and Beatrix was accustomed to upsetting people. Sooner or later, it was as guaranteed as the sun rising and falling every day.

“Did or didn’t, it’s a bit weird to follow a woman down an alley. It’s better you break that habit now, holy man,” Beatrix admonished. “Otherwise you could end up in all kinds of trouble. ”

Quicker than he could react, Beatrix had pulled Bad Company from the holster on her belt and aimed it at him. For a moment, the man appeared completely off guard by it. Yellow eyes widened as he stared at the barrel of her firearm with uncertainty.

However, even more curiously, the cleric’s face turned that dark shade of green again, obscuring the lighter part of his complexion.

He reached up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand.

Yet, a resolve appeared to have taken over him as Beatrix noticed the subtle shift in his stance.

“We took down a group of bandits on a train, displayed a great deal of violence, and the first words we exchanged were over an unconscious man that wanted to rob and potentially hurt us!” the cleric exclaimed, palms pressing against the sides of his thighs.

“That sort of experience—as upsetting as it is—is what my father would call a bonding. We’ve shared a traumatic life event, which means we should get to know each other! ”

“You want…to get to know me? ”

What in Ordia was this little guy thinking? Who thought the threat of death was a stepping stone for friendship? And more importantly, why was Beatrix intrigued by this bumbling man?

Is it because of that hole in his hand? Maybe it’s connected to his brain? Would make sense since he’s hellbent on following me.

Beatrix stared. The man—clearly uncomfortable with her gaze, despite not being able to see her eyes—twitched, boot scuffing the ground. A pebble scattered across the dirt and settled next to the wall of Irongarde General .

“I…” The cleric cleared his throat. “My name is Welborn Larokson…um, son of Larok, son of Lar—ah, cleric of the All Seer and newly appointed member of the All Seer Sanctum of Irongarde…ah, I’m twenty-five and I’m from the Chroma Coast!”

Welborn.

The name rolled in her mind with ease and the burden of wanting to utter it was heavy on Beatrix’s tongue. What a foolish thought that was… yet, the old lessons were still dictating how Beatrix was expected to respond.

“Beatrix…Beatrix Eaves,” she said, re-holstering Bad Company.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Eaves,” Welborn said with the faintest of smiles.

“Likewise,” Beatrix hummed.

A beat of silence went by, with a stray tumbleweed flying down the road behind Welborn.

“And that’s the end of that,” Beatrix said.

“Do yourself a favor, Mister Larokson, and follow the main road to the temples. Nothing but trouble will come knocking on your door if you continue to follow me. Whether that’s from me or something else, well, that’s a gamble I’m not sure you’re ready for. ”

“Miss Eaves, are you saying you would…hurt me if I were to insist on getting acquainted with you?” Welborn asked, a look of apprehension crossing his handsome features.

“Th—”

Handsome?!

Beatrix cleared her throat, cheeks heating just enough for her to notice.

“That is exactly what I’m saying. Don’t follow me, don’t go looking for me.

You’re better off doing whatever it is holy people do all day.

Irongarde isn’t like the Chroma Coast. It’s dangerous in ways you are not ready to handle and—” Beatrix sighed.

There was no point in falling into one of her tangents about safety and preparedness needed to survive the harsh landscape.

“Just stick to what you know, and you’ll be just fine.

Put your nose in people’s business and there’s a good chance you’ll end up six feet under, if you catch my meaning. ”

She had a strong suspicion that Welborn was as stubborn as a weed.

The kind with sharp needles that regularly got stuck in her boots.

Yet, the cleric surprised her again as he nodded.

Beatrix wasn’t sure if the gesture was acceptance, but if he so much as continued to follow her, she’d fire a warning shot.

Satisfied, she got three steps before pausing.

“Stay within the city limits. Anything beyond the border really isn’t safe.”

Beatrix walked away before Welborn could respond.