Page 39 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Twelve

Beatrix

B y the time the sun had started dipping into the horizon, Beatrix had already found a potential spot to bunk down for the night. She gestured for Welborn to follow her, eye trained on the series of decaying boulders up ahead.

There was always a chance that bandits were nearby, as it was an ideal hiding spot.

However, Beatrix hadn’t spotted any tracks in the area.

Either the spot was empty or the bandits were more intelligent than Beatrix initially thought.

Still, she was willing to risk a small skirmish given she had taken out three bandits the day before.

Besides, a soft thing like him needs the extra layer of protection tonight, Beatrix thought.

Together, they circled the area. Beatrix’s fingers were ready, hand close to Bad Company and ready to draw at the tiniest movement.

Welborn followed, yellow eyes searching the area with tense shoulders.

To Beatrix’s relief, there were no bandits and no sign of recent camping.

She’d have to check for snakes or scorpions, but as long as they stayed clear of sleeping near the edge of the boulders, they wouldn’t run into anything too hairy .

“We camp here,” Beatrix said before dismounting her horse. “Let’s get the horses fed first.”

The work that followed was filled with silence.

Beatrix wasn’t sure if it was simply the exhaustion of the long, hot day’s ride or if something was troubling Welborn.

There hadn’t been much talking during their riding—Beatrix preferred keeping her ears open for incoming danger versus polite conversation.

At least when it came to the Searing Wastelands.

Still, the cleric had seemed off as he set up his bedroll beneath the small canvas awning they had built.

His bright eyes were darker, his expression more pensive.

Beatrix supposed that wasn’t too different than his usual expression.

Welborn—despite his eagerness to jump into dangerous situations—appeared to be a bit of a thinker.

Yet, the spark in his expression was definitely missing.

It left when he mentioned the birds, Beatrix realized. That’s when he closed himself off.

Beatrix might have been a hardass—as Gimdor had so kindly told her over a round of Misfortune—but she wasn’t so inept when it came to people.

She had a family, had brothers, and if she could talk to the Dusk Wardens, there was no reason why she couldn’t inquire about what was on the young man’s mind.

Besides, I need him here, not where ever his head is off to.

A troubled mind made for a distracted mind.

A distraction took one’s attention away from potential danger.

If Welborn was too preoccupied with his personal problems, it meant his eyes weren’t paying attention.

It would leave half their party vulnerable to potential threats.

The last thing Beatrix needed was for him to be caught unaware—especially not during his watch that night .

Beatrix pushed back onto her heels where she knelt on her own bedroll. Her suitcase brushed her thigh in a familiar manner as she rested her hands on her hips.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she said.

Welborn jumped, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose as he scrambled to face her.

“I—sorry, hear what?”

“What’s on your mind,” she supplied, this time folding her arms beneath her chest. “You’re obviously distracted. Unless you’re hungry, I need you to tell me what’s going on with you. Or, you can get whatever is in your head out right now and we can continue with our evening.”

They still needed to get a fire going before it grew too dark. It may have been sweltering during the day, but late nights out in the Searing Wastelands were cold. Not to mention the fact that fires typically kept an assortment of dangerous things at bay.

Welborn’s hands tightened into fists around his knees as he sank into his cross-legged position. The tension in his body appeared to swell as he took a deep breath and for a moment, Beatrix thought he’d spill his guts out.

“I apologize for any trouble I might have been, Miss Eaves. I do have a lot on my mind, but I’m afraid that it’s a private matter,” Welborn said. “I promise not to let it interfere with the mission.”

So, you do have a spine, Beatrix thought with a small smile.

She knew the man could handle himself in a pinch. Welborn had demonstrated as much on the train the day before. But asserting personal boundaries? Beatrix hadn’t been sure he was capable of such a thing.

“Good,” Beatrix said. “I told you, I need you here with me.”

There was something odd about the words once they escaped her.

Beatrix knew she meant those words to be encouraging, they were a party of two and they needed to depend on each other to survive the wilderness.

Yet, something in Beatrix—perhaps the lonesome part that she dared not admit to—was surprised by the sentimental feeling in her chest.

That unusual feeling only grew as Welborn leaned forward, an earnest expression across his handsome face.

“I am!” Welborn exclaimed. “I’m here with you, Miss Eaves, I promise. I’m not going to be a problem, so please, don’t worry about me. I can handle this.”

Before Beatrix could say a word, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Her veil swished as Beatrix’s vision locked in on the unknown.

A tumbleweed was rolling across the dirt, approximately sixty feet from their encampment.

Ordinarily, a tumbleweed wouldn’t draw much attention on it’s own.

However, Beatrix noted there was something not quite right about the rolling brush.

“Is something wrong?”

“Maybe,” Beatrix said. “Which way is the wind blowing, Welborn?”

Welborn glanced around, observing his surroundings for visual signs of the wind. Soon, he frowned, confusion making his form tense.

“There…there isn’t any wind,” he admitted with surprise .

“Exactly,” Beatrix replied. “Get that holy symbol ready, kid.”

Welborn frowned, “I’m not a—”

“Welborn,” she warned. “Get ready.”

The cleric didn’t argue further, fingers yanking the glove off and revealing the unusual hand.

Beatrix had already pulled Bad Company from her hip, aimed at the tumbleweed as it continued rolling down the path.

It could have been a simple tumbleweed, but Beatrix’s gut told her different.

An illusion—that was far more likely, but that meant one thing.

Arcanists, Beatrix thought.

The scholars of the arcane were always tricky. Learned magic was some of the most deadly there was, and given Beatrix’s past encounters with the arcane, she preferred to err on the side of caution than not.

The hole in Welborn’s palm was glowing with a divine light—the same light Beatrix had seen on the train.

He raised his hand, cupping his palm to his eye, fingers resting along his hairline.

There was a strange sheen within Welborn’s palm, not too different to the lightly disturbed surface of a pool of water.

If Beatrix wasn’t so focused on the tumbleweed, she may have inquired the nature of it.

Outside of the divine nature of it.

Welborn gasped.

“What is it?” Beatrix asked, finger a second from pressing the trigger of her firearm.

“It’s not a normal tumbleweed! It’s a creature! ”

Welborn had leaned back onto his heels, quickly scanning the immediate area.

Beatrix had already gotten onto her feet, gun still trained on the tumbleweed.

It was closing in, perhaps thirty feet away from them now and it looked much bigger than it had when it was farther away.

If she had to guess, she’d say it was as tall as Gimdor was.

If the weed— creature —got within twenty feet of them, Beatrix would take the shot.

“There’s more!”

“ What?! ”

“What are the chances these things are carnivorous?” Welborn asked, helplessly.

Beatrix drew her eye away from the single tumbleweed and her eyes widened behind her veil.

Truth to the cleric’s words, there were more.

Similar in size to the first, unbeknownst to either of them, the creatures had enclosed around them.

Beatrix counted at least five in total and the dried weeds were looking a lot more sharper than they had moments ago.

With their back to the boulders, there was only one real escape route.

“Considering most things out here are? Pretty high,’” Beatrix said. “Sorry, kid, it’s gonna get loud.”

The loud shot of Bad Company echoed across the plains as the bullet found its target.

The impact tore a chunk of the tumbleweed’s core away, revealing a bright, white interior that oozed a sickly viscous yellow substance.

If the injury wasn’t proof enough that Welborn was right—these were creatures and not simply dead plants—the sound of a shrill screech was.

It lashed out, thick roots closing in the distance and whipping against Beatrix’s torso before she could react .

“Miss Eaves!” Welborn shouted.

The wind had been knocked out of her, ribs already aching from the blow.

Beatrix could hear the horses’ whinnies as the animals could sense the danger that was enclosing on them.

If they lost the horses, Beatrix couldn’t promise either of them would survive, and the last thing she needed was Gimdor finding her body in the middle of the Searing Wastelands.

“I’m fine, protect the horses!” Beatrix barked.

“Ah—right!”

Welborn tightened his hold on his talisman, lifting it from his chest. A spark of radiance ignited within the hole in his hand before a fire burst forward.

The brilliant flame flared in an arc, hitting the wounded plant monster.

The exterior of its body caught on fire and it emitted another high shriek in pain.

More of that yellow substance erupted from the pulp-like center.

The move gave Beatrix enough time to get back onto her knees when one of the horses let out a loud cry. One of the creatures had closed the distance to the horses, its roots attaching to her horse’s hoof and pulling.

Strong fucker, Beatrix gritted her teeth.

She took a quick shot, the bullet grazing the layer of roots and thistles that were pulling the horse in.

It was enough to break her horse free, but not enough to cause serious damage to the weed.

Beatrix’s best guess was that thistles acted like a type of armor and its vulnerable spots were the white core beneath.

If they were going to survive the unfortunate encounter, Beatrix needed to lower their numbers and fast.

Four shots left before reload .

Aiming again, Beatrix let off another shot, aiming toward the center of the plant’s center.

The shot hit its mark, causing another eruption of sick yellow goo.

However, unlike the first plant, this one shrunk in on itself.

At first, Beatrix thought it may have been trying to protect its delicate core.

She was caught off guard when the creature suddenly grew twice its size, expelling the sharp thistle barbs in a wide array.

Instinctively, Beatrix ducked, hitting the hard dirt beside her bedroll.

Something had pierced her thigh. She let out a grunt at the same time she heard one of the horses cry once again.

Beatrix knew that sound wasn’t good, confirmed but a second later when her thigh became incredibly hot.

The flood of something had entered her veins, and Beatrix felt her muscles growing weak where that heat traveled.

Poison. These things have poison, of course they do.

Ill prepared—Beatrix had been ill prepared for carnivorous weeds of all things.

Arcanists, bandits, snakes— fucking dragons— were all things Beatrix had anticipated.

That she had came prepared for, but fucking weeds— no, Gimdor hadn’t updated her on man-eating shrubbery!

The same shrubbery that was closing in around them.

Beatrix had seconds to evaluate what was the better choice based on how quickly she felt the poison moving in her body.

She could fire off the three shots left in Bad Company, or take the time it would have taken her to fire off two shots, and pull Gambler’s Luck out.

The later would only work if the tumbleweed monsters were rounded up together, but she would need time—

“Hold on, Miss Eaves!”

Welborn yanked the symbol of the All Seer from his neck and raised it into the sky.