Page 50 of Tusks & Saddles

Chapter Twenty-Three

Welborn

H e was certain his rib was bruised, though it felt like it was broken.

Welborn’s father had a broken rib once when he had been very small.

He remembered how his mother would fuss, scolding her husband for pushing himself when he was trying to recover.

Even the slightest breath would cause the man to stiffen.

But unlike Welborn, his father had injured his rib saving a group of travelers from some bandits. His father had survived the encounter.

Unlike him.

Or so the thought barely formed in his mind as he pushed himself off the ground. His hand resting on the dirt as three hungry monsters approached him.

Welborn wanted to call out. Send his voice across the winds to say goodbye to his father.

To apologize to Boone for failing to do something as basic as keeping himself alive.

Not that he had any assurance that it would work.

After all, he had called out to his brother just that morning and now he was facing death head on.

At least I’ll get to see my mother again …

The thought was somehow comforting above the ringing in his ears.

Welborn wasn’t sure if the sound was from the Sand Slithers or perhaps the goddess of death herself.

Ancient lore said that the Bellringer got her name from the ringing of bells heard just before death.

For all he knew, that was true, as the Bellringer was one of the oldest deities to ever exist. At least, to the knowledge of all of Ordia.

Welborn liked to think she would extend her skeletal hand toward him and gently lead him toward where his mother was.

Heart racing, Welborn braced himself for the hard exterior of the monster that would tear through him with one hit…

only to suddenly find himself landing on his injured rib.

The second fall left him stunned, and for a moment, Welborn thought he might have been in shock.

He hadn’t felt the bite yet, hadn’t felt the blood spill beneath his armor—

“Get up!” a voice exclaimed near his ear.

Welborn’s eyes shot open, shocked as the form of Miss Eaves began to hoist him up.

She wasn’t the strongest, but Welborn wasn’t the hardiest of men either.

Together, they managed to get him onto his feet, but he had no time to adjust. Miss Eaves had firmly wrapped her hand around his wrist and was pulling him behind her.

The first few steps quickly became a full sprint as the ground beneath their feet began to shake violently.

The symbol of the All Seer bounced against his sternum, wind harshly cutting against his cheek.

His rib ached, his breath felt shallow, but Welborn was alive which was a gift he had no intention of turning his nose up at. But—

“Why did you jump?!” Welborn exclaimed as he twisted his wrist just enough to free his wrist and properly grasp her hand .

Why had Miss Eaves done it? Welborn had been ready—as much as anyone about to be pulverized by an infant giant sand worm could be. Ready to lay his life down if it meant Miss Eaves would be safe. Granted, it had been more for the mysterious construct than Miss Eaves, but—

“Because we’re in this together!” Miss Eaves barked. “There’s no me without you, for fuck’s sake, Welborn!”

“You would have been fine!” Welborn retorted, lifting his knees high to jump over a large tumbleweed. He wasn’t one to get angry, but a shot of frustration flew through his frame. “You’re the professional survivalist!”

“Maybe I don’t want to survive!” she shouted. “Maybe I’m sick of just surviving!”

The answer surprised him, drawing his eye from the horizon toward her profile, “Miss Eaves—”

“Oh, would you shut up and run, Welborn! We can discuss this if we live!”

Sweat had begun to cling to Welborn’s brow, sliding along his skin from his exertion. The optimist in him was desperate for them to make it. If they just kept running, if the Sand Slithers got tired, if—

Too many ifs, too many ifs! We need to figure out right now! Welborn thought. Think!

The water tower was still too far away, though from their vantage it was a lot closer than it had been when they’d been stuck on the boulder.

No, no, there was no way they could reach it before the Sand Slithers reached them!

The vibration in the earth was louder than the hooves of cattle, louder than the engine of a train.

If Welborn didn’t know better he would almost think—

The ground cracked, breaking his grip on Miss Eaves and sending Welborn to the side.

Dust and rock flew into the air as a massive Sand Slither burst from the ground.

The unnatural heat of the creature was so intense, Welborn immediately broke out into a heavy sweat as he tumbled into the base of a small bit of bramble.

From behind his broken glasses, Welborn could only gawk at the massive monster.

This wasn’t the same as the other Sand Slithers.

“Move!” Miss Eaves voice rang out from a distance. “It’s the mother!”

Welborn scrambled to his feet, even as thoughts—his irrational, useless thoughts, began frantically comparing the monster to the manticore that had changed his life.

The mother was much larger than the manticore, or at least, he thought as much as he stole a glance at it over his shoulder.

It let out a shriek so loud that it reverberated through Welborn’s bones, forcing him to cover his ears as they rang.

The pain was so intense that for a panicked moment, Welborn thought his eardrums had burst. But there was no sticky blood dripping from his ears.

Only the overwhelming tremors beneath his boots and the inhuman cry of a beast that saw him as prey.

Fear had long since taken root in Welborn’s soul, but he refused to give up so easily.

The unexpected appearance of the giant worm had the cleric veering hard to the right.

Not exactly in the direction of the water tower, but it didn’t matter which direction he went as long as it wasn’t toward Miss Eaves.

Not even her fancy weapon could tackle something this big.

Large…no giant…bigger than the manticore, surely .

In fact, Welborn was certain it was big enough that it would have eaten the manticore if the Giant Sand Slither had the ability to fly . But Welborn wasn’t a manticore, he was a man. A foolish orc man who couldn’t fly and the mother clearly had the advantage—

Move, Welborn!

A burst of adrenaline, a second wind rushed through his body as Welborn ran as fast as his legs could take him.

All the while his mind frantically went over all the divine blessings the All Seer had bestowed him.

Banishing the monster wouldn’t work—the mother was far too massive for a single cleric to move, even with an arcane blessings from the divine.

Fire, lightening, earth—the same problem persisted no matter how much his mind frantically searched for a solution.

Welborn cursed himself for not worshiping a god of storms or volcanoes as his lungs burned with every gasping inhale.

He was willing to take any deity that had power over any element strong enough to stop the massive worm behind him.

Blasphemy or not, Welborn needed all the divine guidance he could get!

The thought disappeared the moment Welborn heard Miss Eaves weapon fire.

It was foolish to freeze but he couldn’t ignore the dread in his gut.

The panic that she was facing down the infant Sand Slithers with only her weapon at her side.

Guilt for not standing at her side, for not being a stronger cleric, a stronger protector. If something happened to Miss Eaves—

Debris flew into his field of vision. The earth cracked, large spikes the size of an infant Sand Slither jutted from the ground. Welborn stumbled, nearly tripping on his own boots as he fought to keep his balance. Arms winding at his side like some kind of wooden wind up doll .

Helpless.

Running had been futile. The mother was large enough that she had simply surrounded him the moment he tore away from Miss Eaves. Welborn’s hand reached up for the symbol of the All Seer. Their name, a prayer on the tip of his tongue—Welborn desperately wanted to ask for guidance.

So many mistakes in such a short amount of time.

So many missed opportunities. Every regret Welborn had over the course of his short time in Ordia swelled as high as the mother did.

An overwhelming creature that saw him as nothing more than an ant beneath its mighty weight.

All sharp teeth and thick armored hide covered in deadly spikes.

It was over. This was how the High Cleric had perished and why he couldn’t be found. This was how Welborn would end. A short life that would become an even shorter story told around food and drink. All reduced to a single sentence.

Welborn Larokson had died saving the woman he loved.

He supposed there were worst ways to be remembered. Most people remembered his mother in a similar fashion. And just like his mother, the cleric could only hope Miss Eaves could save herself. That he could buy her enough time.

The mother reared her head back, its body casting a massive shadow across Welborn’s form. The brief reprieve from the harsh sun was the smallest of comforts before the end…but if things were going to end, Welborn had no intention of going quietly.

His hand encircled the symbol of the All Seer as a strange calm came over him.

Similar to the sensation had crept over him when he nearly died years ago.

The moment before he had lost consciousness while laying next to his dead mother.

His yellow eyes desperately trying to hold onto her face for fear he would forget her in the afterlife.

One last miracle, Welborn thought. Please, All Seer, grant me one last miracle so I can save her…

The familiar tingle of electricity ran through the stone and into his fingers.

A pulse of intention, of magic that Welborn had only ever known through the All Seer.

Magic in hand, the cleric’s hold on it was like the grip on the stone.

He just needed the right moment to let it loose. Timing was everything.

The tension in Welborn’s body grew as the mother’s jaw widened.

Rows of jagged teeth the size of Welborn’s own body drew closer and closer.

All he needed to do was release the spell before those jaws snapped shut around him.

If he could take out the mother, Miss Eaves would have a shot at making it out alive—

I will save her.

I will save her.

I WILL SAVE HER.

The pull at the base of his spine caught Welborn off guard.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt before, one that he only realized was happening when the scent of old parchment being read next to a warm fire hit his nose.

Whatever was happening, Welborn didn’t fight it.

As his vision began to blur, as everything suddenly shifted, the cleric felt his stomach lurch.

Then there was nothing.

For a very brief moment, Welborn thought he had died…but he hadn’t. A burst of wind and suddenly he was stumbling over a sm all rock. He landed on his butt, completely disoriented. He had somehow traveled away from the Sand Slithers.

“Welborn!”

Whipping his head around, Welborn was stunned to see Miss Eaves. She was perched on a small rock formation that was no taller than knee height. It wouldn’t do much good against preventing the Sand Slithers from attacking, but Welborn quickly realized that wasn’t Miss Eaves intent when she shouted—

“Duck!”

His eye locked onto the barrel of Gambler’s Luck and without thinking twice, Welborn threw himself to the ground.

Welborn had enough time to slam his hands over his ears as a loud explosion rang from Miss Eaves direction.

The smell of black powder filled his nose as something flew past. There was no time to process what had exactly happened when a bellow rang throughout the desert.

Lifting his head, Welborn could only stare at shock at the sight before him. The Sand Slithers had sensed his movement, had angled themselves to shoot straight for him. The distance had meant nothing to them, with the three infant Sand Slithers flying toward them with the mother close behind.

And all of them lined up perfectly when the bullet tore through them all.

Miss Eaves shot had struck true, and Welborn could only watch in shock as a burst of ice exploded before his eyes.