Page 44 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Seventeen

Welborn

T here was a woman in his lap.

There was a woman he had known for only three days straddling his lap in what was probably one of the most terrifying moments of Welborn’s short life.

While he had never entertained the idea of holding a woman, his body apparently couldn’t tell that it was not the appropriate moment for any of these… reactions .

Every time Miss Eaves pressed against his chest, gun arm raised over his shoulder, Welborn did his best not to flinch.

Not just from the crack of shots echoing behind his ears, but from the press of her curves.

Somehow, even in the face of such dire circumstances, his body was more than eager to remind him that he was very attracted to Miss Eaves.

I doubt she’d appreciate me telling her to stop wiggling, he thought.

What an awful time to get… excited .

Welborn winced at the thought.

“Can you see the water tower?!” Miss Eaves shouted near his ear .

Welborn snapped out of his anxious musings—whatever they were—eyes set on the horizon.

They had covered a lot of ground very quickly, but even an inexperienced rider like Welborn knew that Sandy was losing steam.

Before them was more desert and plants with a few more boulders to the left of the flat topped mountain. The water tower was—

It was a speck on the horizon, something Welborn had only been able to spot because of his keen eyes recognizing shapes he wasn’t familiar with. A habit he picked up the night after his mother had died.

“I can see it but it’s way off! We need more time!” Welborn exclaimed.

“We don’t have more time! I have four shots left and I can only afford to miss one! We need to lose them or we’re done! Unless you have any other magic tricks, we’re shit out of luck, Welborn!”

Miss Eaves was right—she was always right.

Welborn had spent a lot of the divine magic casting a spell he had never done before.

New spells—they were tricky. Required more energy, more magic, more focus.

One out of three wasn’t bad, but not ideal.

There was a chance if he cast something, it wouldn’t go off, but what else could they do?

The water tower was so far away and the rumbling beneath Sandy’s pounding hooves was starting to grow.

Welborn had to make a decision and his mind offered up only one option. It wasn’t guaranteed, but it was the only thing he could think of.

“Okay, okay! I think I have an idea!”

“You think— ”

“Just trust me, Miss Eaves!”

He expected her to reprimand him, but she didn’t. Her spine straightened, and suddenly she was pressing closer to his chest. Close enough that Welborn could feel the press of her armor against his, felt her breasts—

Breasts!

Another loud crack went off, causing his ears to ring badly. Welborn could worry about hearing loss and Miss Eaves breasts later! What he needed to do was focus his attention on the path ahead. He tightened his hand around the leather rein, and raised his free hand to the symbol of the All Seer.

I need to time this right. Too soon and I’ll send us flying into the ground. Too late and we’ll be eaten by Giant Slithers. C’mon, Welborn, don’t mess this up!

A tickle along the scarred hole in his hand brought his awareness back to the task at hand. He kept his eye on the residual boulder up ahead, counting the second under his breath as Sandy neared.

“Welborn,” Beatrix said.

“Three… two…”

“Welborn!”

“One!”

A spark of arcane light flew from Welborn’s hand toward the boulder, causing a loud rumble to echo throughout the plateau.

Within seconds, the boulder swelled in size.

It tore from the ground and cut across their path.

That’s when Welborn realized he had made a grave error.

The magic had extended the boulders stretch across their path, but in doing so they had melded in such a way that only Sandy’s head would be able to clear the small archway.

“We have to jump!”

“What?!”

“Grab what you can!”

“ You —”

Welborn prayed that Miss Eaves listened to him as he let go of the reins and wrapped his arms around her middle. The moment Sandy’s hooves aligned with the boulder, Welborn used all his strength to throw them from her saddle and onto the small ledge of the rock formation.

They hit the surface hard, Welborn taking the brunt of it. He heard the clatter of Miss Eave’s suitcase before he saw it, too busy wincing at his bruised ribs. Miss Eaves pushed off of him, snagging his wrist and hauling him up.

“Move, move!” she urged.

Welborn didn’t need to be told twice. He followed the narrow side of the rock, climbing higher until they were at the very top.

From his vantage point, he spotted Sandy past the archway.

He was relieved that she had made it, but concerned as she was running aimlessly.

Welborn only hoped that the rock had gone deep enough to prevent the giant slithers from going through it.

If they went around, it would at least give Sandy enough time to—

“Welborn!”

Holding onto her suitcase in one hand and her firearm in the other, Miss Eaves was covered in dust. There was a large tear in her dress—the same one that had been pierced by the plant creatures poisonous barb. An apology was about to bubble from his throat when Miss Eaves dropped the suitcase.

“What did you do?!” Miss Eaves shouted.

“I—you said to lose them and this seemed like the best way?”

“Really? Losing our horse was the best way?” she shot back. “Stranding us on top of a giant boulder was the best way? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble we’re in?!”

Welborn glanced around. Ideally, being on top of a large rock with the sun beating down on you and no shelter in sight—yeah, he could think of the kind of trouble they were in. Fretfully, he eyed the skyline for any large flying beasts.

“Welborn!”

Yellow eyes snapped back to Miss Eaves. She was tense, shoulders rigid in a way that he had never really seen before. In fact if he didn’t know better, he would say—

“There are Sand Slithers in the Searing Wastelands. A pack of them. Do you have any idea what this means?” she asked.

“I—”

“It means, that most likely they have a mother,” Miss Eaves continued through gritted teeth.

Welborn blinked.

Giant Slithers were apparently known as Sand Slithers in Vyrthsalis .

They had once roamed the continent many centuries ago, but supposedly they had gone extinct.

They were sightless, using the vibrations of the ground to listen for prey.

The giant spikes on their hides were used to push themselves through the dirt and the ones that jumped at them could only do so because they were apparently babies.

Eight to nine foot long, sharp fanged, poisonous babies who could launch themselves through the air like an arrow.

Or so, that’s what Miss Eaves had said.

That had been three days ago.

Welborn had known Miss Eaves for a very short period of time, but she had already been one of many firsts.

The first woman who had let him touch her thigh, the first woman who let him touch her waist. The first to have ever sat in his lap and now the first woman who had ever given him the silent treatment.

It had made the last three days on the boulder rather… uncomfortable. Between the unbearable heat, frigid nights, and all the dust—Welborn was beginning to question his capability to find the High Cleric.

The Sand Slithers weren’t helping, either.

Miss Eaves had discovered that one of them had died upon impacting the rock—which Welborn would have celebrated, if the others weren’t circling the boulder like a group of hungry sharks.

At first, they had disappeared for a long time, but Miss Eaves didn’t trust it.

She had dropped a ball bearing—courtesy of Kay—and the moment it had hit the dirt below, they had swarmed.

Last Welborn checked, there had been three.

The one Miss Eaves had shot first had survived.

Now, Welborn was seated near the center of the boulder, trying his best to light a fire with the magic in his empty palm. Miss Eaves was spread out near the edge of the boulder, arms wrapped around a large metal contraption—the likes of which Welborn had never seen before.

Gambler’s Luck was what Miss Eaves called it. Similar to the long barrel of Bad Company , Miss Eaves explained that it was a long range weapon that could pierce armor from far away.

“Among other things,” she had murmured before ignoring him.

The past few days Miss Eaves had kept her eyes on the horizon.

It took a lot of effort to get the woman to put her weapon aside just to eat the meager food his magic had been able to craft.

A perk of most clerics, being able to feed those in need was always a gift.

Granted, the humble bit of bread and cheese wasn’t a full meal. It was better than nothing.

As the light began to crest below the horizon, Welborn contemplated on how to bridge the gap between them.

He understood—after the verbal lashing Miss Eaves had given him—while inspired, his idea had little foresight.

While the magic had been impressive, Welborn still didn’t understand how he had done it.

More worrisome, was the fact that the massive miracle had apparently drained Welborn of his ability to use his hand to find the hidden things around them.

A setback, but not uncommon in clerics who utilized powerful divine magic.

Magic always had a price, despite what those who wished to control it may have thought.

That didn’t mean Welborn hadn’t tried to ask for guidance.

Despite his prayers to the All Seer, Welborn knew there was no way around it.

They were stuck on the boulder until someone came to save them, or the Sand Slithers got bored.

Either way, it wasn’t the first time that his enthusiasm had gotten him into a bit of trouble .

Or a lot of trouble, Welborn thought as he used his last spell of the day to craft more cheese and bread.

The magic only needed a crumb—a morsel—to create more of it. And while Welborn wouldn’t say he was opposed to trying new foods, he had felt his stomach turn the first morning Miss Eaves had produced breakfast. Snake and a handful of scorpions hadn’t set well in his stomach, either.

Gather your courage, Welborn.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Welborn pushed himself to his feet.

His heart was in his ears as he crossed the short distance between them.

For a moment, he stood awkwardly near her boot.

Doubt and worry made his one good palm sweaty.

The other—well, it felt nervous, even if there wasn’t any sweat pooling in the center.

I really need to talk to Boone—

“What is it, Welborn?”

He didn’t jump, but Welborn couldn’t conceal the sheepish expression that crossed his face. Clearing his throat, he cautiously shifted on his boot and extended the meager meal toward her prone form.

“Dinner. Sorry, it’s the same bread and cheese.”

“Half a loaf is still better than none,” Miss Eaves said before hauling herself onto her knees.

Welborn averted his gaze when she did so and he dared not think why. He was grateful when she took the food, sitting on her heels with Gambler’s Luck partially in her lap. She didn’t lift her veil so much as push the food beneath it.

“Miss Eaves, I—”

“Save it.”

Welborn’s eyebrows furrowed.

“But I—”

“Welborn, I said save it.”

He couldn’t tell what exactly caused the shot of annoyance to go through his shoulders.

Honestly, in the moment, the reason didn’t matter at all.

Only that she had the ability to make him feel that at all.

No, Welborn could grapple with the complexity of being so intimately close yet so far away from her at another time.

Emotions—of his own making or ones she inspired in him—those could be dealt with later.

“No.”

Miss Eaves paused, drawing the half eaten bread from beneath her veil. There was an opposing thought on the tip of her tongue, he was sure of it.

“I said no,” Welborn said, more firmly. “I can’t… save it , Miss Eaves. I need to get this off my chest otherwise I feel like I’m going to burst from the inside out.”

Whatever grace Miss Eaves could offer to him was given with her expectant silence. The weight of it wasn’t lost to Welborn as he exhaled, pulling his wits about him as best he could.

“My mother died because of me.”