The Wylde Hunt, Pt. 5

Travers made certain the bottles were packed carefully into the saddle bags as he secured them on Gipsum. He gave the horse's neck a gentle pat before he stepped back and looked to the elf that sat in the saddle. Shani tipped her hat in thanks and offered him a friendly grin. “Much 'bliged, Travers. The whiskey's 'ppreciated, an' thet wine's gonna be a taste o' home fer sure.”

“Le's 'ope the whiskey lasts longer 'n the wine,” Pania snickered as she steered her horse to stand beside Shani's. Shani looked over at the elven bard and smirked. “Thanks 'gain fer all the supplies. An' the time spent 'ere. Be 'ard ta ferget ye kindness.”

“It was a pleasure to have you ladies,” Travers said with a smile. A few of the townsfolk gathered around as the pair of elves prepared themselves for the next leg of their journey. A few of the poker players seemed to breath a sigh of relief knowing they wouldn't have to lose their money to Shani anymore, as the ladies from the tavern gave Pania pleading eyes to stay and join their performances. “Where's your next stop?”

Shani looked over to Pania for that answer. “'Eadin' ta Shreveport,” she replied. “Plan on cuttin' through Miss'ippi first. Coupla towns there I've 'eard 'ave some contacts with the railroad.” Pania didn't have to say the full name, as the townsfolk knew what she meant. Fortunately, these people seemed to sympathize with the plight of the slaves, and hoped the North would somehow come out victorious even if they abhorred the war.

“Be careful on the roads,” the deep voice of Marshal Derringer called out. He walked up to stand beside Pania's horse, and the elven bard smile gently as he ran his large hand through her horse's mane. “You will be missed around here. But you will also be remembered.” Pania nodded as she smiled to him. She looked back to Shani as the elven gunslinger tipped her hat to Derringer. It was like a signal to move. Both elves coaxed their mounts forward and the horses began a slow trot down the street and out of town.

No need to rush, they had all the time in the world.

*****

Eight horse and riders stopped as they neared the town. Captain Samuel Williams glared as he saw the group blocking him, twelve men, all on horse back. All wearing badges. He looked to the one wearing the familiar badge of a United States Marshal. “Marshal, might I ask why this meeting?”

“Captain Williams,” Marshal Martin Derringer called out, surprising the army captain. “Your reputation precedes you. Word has come down from Harrisburg that you are relentless in your chase of two fugitives.”

“Yes it is, Marshal,” he said with a sigh. “Am I to believe that this meeting is to assist us in such a capture?” As if in answer, the eleven men that flanked the Marshal drew pistols and rifles, aiming at the soldiers. Captain Williams shifted uneasily in the saddle as he scowled. He did not need this right now.

“No, Captain,” Derringer replied, his hand still resting in his lap as he leaned back in his saddle. “In fact we will not be assisting you in their capture. I have met them, and I am now convinced of what I suspected.”

“And just what is that?” Williams asked, his eyes locked onto the Marshal.

“More than likely three quarters of what has been printed on those wanted posters is fabricated,” Derringer replied quickly. “I've come to know the two you seek, and have seen them in a different light. You would be wise to return to Washington and tell the President that chasing them is not worth the trouble. Captain Williams remained in his saddle as he glared at Derringer. His men looked to him every once and a while, waiting for their orders.

“If that is the case, Marshal,” he finally replied in a slow, even tone. “I believe that our business here is done. We'll meet again, I am certain.” His men began to move as he did, looking to the trail that circled the town.

“No Captain,” Derringer muttered to himself. “No we most certainly won't.”

*****

Just outside Oxford, Mississippi, September 5, 1863

The two horses walked slowly along the trail as the sun rose. Shani and Pania had only broken camp half an hour earlier, and felt better about traveling during the early morning hours. It was cooler, and easier to see any opposition on the road. So far, they hadn't seen much, just a couple of ranchers herding cattle and a few Confederate soldiers passing by. No one really paid either one of them much mind save to wave hello. At least they received a bit of a welcome when Pania tended to the wounds of some of the soldiers.

They were only a few miles outside of Oxford, Mississippi when they first heard the gunfire. Pania sighed heavily as Shani tightened her grip on her reins. “When it rains, it pours, don't it?” she stated as she looked to Pania. The smaller elf nodded and coaxed her horse forward as Shani did the same. As they rode faster, they could see smoke start to billow over the crest of a hill.

They weren't going to have a leisurely ride to Shreveport.

Stay tuned... the adventure continues...

The Wylde Hunt, Pt. 4

Her eyes fluttered open as she turned her head to push back the bright light of the room. Pania raised her hands to rub the cobwebs from her eyes. Everything was still a blur in her mind. She was just starting to remember what had just happened. Finally it hit home. The dream walk she had just been on, the revelation of the man who had been so kind and friendly toward the two elves. And she realized that man was still in the room with her.

She looked up and saw the large man standing over her bed. Marshal Martin Derringer, Thadius Maximus. Whichever name, it didn't matter. Because she knew what he was. Pania slowly looked up, and her body started to shake. It took everything she had to push herself back, forcing herself into the corner and grabbing the pillow, as though that alone would protect her from the creature. “Jus'... jus' stay back!” she screamed in terror. He was a werewolf, they weren't known for their congeniality. Her free hand searched for her guns, but her eyes saw them, hanging in the holsters of the gun belt as it rested on the far table.

“I have no wish to hurt you, Miss Alow,” he said in a quiet voice. “You should realize now that you are important.” He removed his stetson as he watched her actions before continuing. “As for my ... condition. I have control over it.”

“Con... control?” Pania replied with a nervous laugh. “Nev'r in the 'ist'ry o' werewolves 'ave I 'eard tha' someone 'ad control o' it. Tha's impossible.”

Maximus leaned back in his chair as he began to explain to the pale elf a bit more of his history. “I was just sixteen, on a scouting mission near the Persian borders when we were attacked. I was the only survivor. I used my... newfound power to an advantage on the battlefield, and the generals saw this, and promoted me quickly.” He sighed as he thought back to these distant memories. “In a battle against the Prussians, that became the first time I realized that this curse was consuming me. When I rose to the rank of general, I always devised a plan of attack that would see the biggest push on the night of the full moon. Only this time was fatal to everyone save one man. After the battle, I realized I had killed over ten thousand men. On both sides. I ordered the lone survivor to return to Rome, tell them everyone was lost. Meanwhile, I escaped to Tibet, where I found myself in the hands of monks.” He leaned forward in his chair, hands held together as he continued. “They taught me not to just control the beast, but accept it, and to teach the beast to accept me as well.”

Pania could only listen to this tale that seemed so filled with fancy. Her mind wandered back to the dream for a moment. There were many people that she had seen, but she drifted back to one in particular. Morgan le Fay. “Ye... ye b'lieve tha' the fey folk is the key?” she asked in a timid voice. “B'lieve tha' I'm the key?” Maximus looked up with a gentle smile and nodded his reply. “I cannu tap inta magic 'ere. It's dead.”

“You have to believe that there is, Miss Alow,” Maximus said in an encouraging voice. “You have to realize, you can tap into this world's magic.” Pania shook her head slowly, pushing Maximus to prove his point. “Look at what you've seen in the past week. The vampire, the Huntsman, this town. It's all around, Miss Alow. You just have to believe.”

Pania thought on his words, just as she thought on all the things she'd seen in the past week. It had all been so different since she first arrived. She'd always believed that this world was dead of magic. That it had given in so fully to it's technology, that no one would dare think of doing anything more than mere illusions, card tricks and hand magic. But this last week had changed some of that. She looked directly at Thadius as she spoke with greater confidence. “So. Wha' do we 'aveta do ta ge' Shani back.” Thadius Maximus smiled a broad smile for the first time since the pale elf laid eyes upon him. It was time to take the fight back to the Huntsman.

*****

Shani looked around the dimly lit area as best she could. The Huntsman was there, but he had treated her more as a piece of furniture than someone to talk to. She stopped struggling against the invisible bonds that held her down long ago, knowing that it was fruitless to try and escape. But there was other things she could do to make her captivity worthwhile. “What're ya doin'?” she called out to the Huntsman. He didn't turn to acknowledge her, and Shani only rolled her eyes with a huff. “Figger I know why ya got me all trussed up like this.” Her eyes watched the Huntsman's reactions carefully. She took note of his attitude and found that he had many similar qualities to that of many of the humans on this world she had met. Maybe he once was human. “Ya scared.”

This one comment quickly got the Huntsman's attention. He whirled quickly, standing over Shani as his eyes glared down at her from the shadows of his hood. She saw the soft glow of green that seemed to escape from his tattered robes every so often. And she grinned up at him. “What did you say?” he hissed at her.

“I said, ya keep me all tied up b'cause ya yella,” she repeated, her grin broadening. “Figger yer too scared ta take up a fair fight, so ya gotta do this. Give ya some kinda power, holdin' a person hostage.”

The Huntsman laughed at the suggestion that came from the elf. “Brave words, for one who will soon cease to exist. Once I have your little friend, it will all be over. The hunt will be complete.”

“Oh, when y'all try ta git Panny, ya mean,” she said with a snicker. “I figger ya gonna be in a s'prise there. See, yer kinda slow, an' Panny's got a purty good gun hand. She ain't near 'sfast as me, but I reckon she could take ya down a peg 'r two.” She chuckled with her new found confidence. “An' thet don't even include the magic she kin wield.” She put on her best poker face, having had years of practice already, she hoped that this apparition would not figure it out.

“You are a fool, elf,” he spat at her in a voice filled with venom. “If you think for a moment that you and that whelp of a friend of yours are any better than I am.” His voice echoed as he laughed a low, gurgling laugh. One that would have left most men quivering in their boots.

But Shani had nothing to lose. “Y'all still need me 'live, I wager,” she continued as her grin stayed in place. “Need me fer bait. Try an' tempt Panny thet way. Smart, 'cause if ya did cut me lose right now, with the intent on fightin' me...” she seemed to sneer as she lowered her voice all the while looking straight up into the apparition's hood. “I'd kick yer sorry yella ass.”

The Huntsman seemed to move close to Shani, his cloak billowed around her. He was perplexed why this mere elf would feel no fear from him. In the shadows of his hood, his eyes narrowed. She was right, he did need her alive after all. But her time would come. Eventually.

*****

The horses moved into a clearing, just west of Franklin, as the storm rumbled in the distance. Pania took a deep breath as she dismounted the horse and looked to Thadius Maximus. She'd grown used to this new name, being allowed to look in on the secret of this man's past. Maximus dismounted the Clydesdale with ease, then turned his attention to Pania.

“Can you feel it?” he ask as he guided her further into the clearing. Pania took a deep breath and stepped forward, gazing at her surroundings. There was definitely something here. She looked to Maximus and nodded slowly, a slightly surprised look on her face. “Unfortunately, we have to use you as bait,” Maximus said with some regret.

“I know,” she replied softly. “It's the only way 'e's gonna come ta us. Only way we 'ave ta free Shani.” As if on cue, the sky rumbled with the mention of the lithe elf's name. The clouds seemed to swirl overhead, as though a tornado were about to touch down. But they both knew what was coming. Neither one was very surprised when the Huntsman made his dramatic appearance.

He laughed aloud as he looked to Pania first and then Maximus. “This is too easy,” he said with a voice filled with twisted glee. “It's almost like you're just giving her to me, Maximus.” His laugh trailed off as if like thunder rumbling in the distance as he looked to Pania again. “And you. The elf tells me you're pretty fast. Care to prove it?”

“I'm no' as good a gunslinger as she,” Pania admitted in a small voice. “Bu' I'll no' back down either.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, muttering softly to herself.

“Really,” the Huntsman replied as he began to move closer to the elven bard. Maximus had already begun to circle around the Huntsman, getting himself into position if he needed to. “Shani told me that,” the Huntsman stated, the first time he used the elven gunslinger's name. He watched for a moment, as Pania continued to whisper soundlessly. “Just what is it you are doing, little elf?”

Pania opened her eyes, knowing the Huntsman was so close to her. Her eyes glowed a brilliant white and the wind began to grow, tossing the leaves from nearby trees off their branches. “Gotcha,” she said with a small sneer. Her hands had been clenched tightly as she chanted the incantation, but now, she opened them fully, having completed it. Power of the arcane surged from her fingertips, as white tendrils reached first into the ground, then began to flow up, surrounding the Huntsman as they grappled him back down to earth. He struggled, having realized now he'd been tricked. There was no escape for him, this elf he had underestimated. She had power.

“Let 'er go!” Pania demanded as another surge of magical energy flowed from her being. The Huntsman struggled as he growled at Pania, reaching out to strike her down, but the pale elf was quick, blocking the blow easily with a shield made from the arcane. Again and again he would try, but each time her found his attacks blocked or pushed aside. Pania muttered again and let loose with another spell, this one forcing the Huntsman to feel pain. She took the chance, not knowing if Shani would feel what he felt or not. “I said, let! Her! Go!”

The Huntsman yielded to her demand, thinking if he released the elf, then he could counter attack and destroy them both. His cloak billowed outward, the rags of his robes becoming streams of nothing as the heart of this hunter was releaved. Before Pania could react, Shani was thrown to the side like so much discarded garbage. Maximus was quick to her side to make sure she was fine. She was groggy, but well enough.

The Huntsman growled and focused his attention on Pania fully now. He had more energy now that he had released the elf. He would destroy this spell caster first, and then the gunslinger. He pushed himself forward, struggling against the tendrils that seemed to hold him back, but he did inch forward. His mind was so focused on Pania, that he had now forgotten completely about Shani.

Pain coursed through his body. He glared at Pania again, but then he realized that she was not responsible. He heard the report of the pistol again, and now knew that he was not hearing thunder. He turned and looked to Shani as she fired again, the bullet grazing the emerald crystal that seemed to give him life.

“I knew thet were yer secret,” she shouted as she fired again, this time the bullet hit the shard dead center and shattered it. The Huntsman screamed in agony, a deafening cry as the three tried to ignore the slight pain that invaded their ears. Pania concentrated more as the Huntsman rushed toward her. She muttered again and let the power flow through her. This time, the very earth opened up underneath the Huntsman, as black tendrils reached up and ensnared the apparition. He screamed in protest, knowing now that he had been tricked, knowing now that he had underestimated both elves.

His screams continued, but slowly faded as he disappeared into the abyss and the earth closed itself once again.

Pania seemed to let go of a breath she'd been holding since she cast her second spell. With all the energy she had used, she could not help but fall over onto the ground, exhausted. Shani limped over to Pania and fell to her knees beside the bard. Both elves had been spent, they'd both need a good long rest. Shani wrapped her arms around the elven bard in a warm hug, and Pania laughed lightly. “This mean a change o' 'eart?”

“Hell no,” Shani replied with a weak smirk. “But at least it puts ya square in my books.” She slowly sat up again and smiled to Pania as she lay on the ground. “I owe ya big time, girly girl.” Pania laughed again as Shani slumped to the ground. The elven gunslinger was more than just a little stiff.

The clouds above them seemed to slowly push back, as the sky began to fill with stars. Thadius Maximus stood next to the elves as they rested for the moment. He would watch over them both until they were ready to move. But at least now, the one thing he had hoped for, had prayed for, had happened.

The madness finally came to an end.

The Wylde Hunt, Pt. 3

Shani grew worried. It had been a while since her last conversation with the Huntsman. He hadn't made himself as accessible as she would have liked. There was one thing she found in this creature that seemed to be a very human quality, one shared by many elves as well. A raging ego. He already had one elf, but he wanted the other as well. So, he was using her as bait.

There was something else about this huntsman, something that didn't sit well with Shani at all. He seemed to protect his chest when he made himself seen. His chest which seemed to glow a ghastly green. Perhaps that was the key to his destruction. Maybe, like a lich in some ways, he carried his own brand of magic to keep him alive for so many years.

Shani could test the theory, if only her hand could move to reach her long barrel. For now, she would wait, perhaps in time she could find the will to move. And finally end this.

*****

Wisps of smoke filled the air as Pania walked along. She knew there was ground below her feet, but she couldn't see it. The blackness was everywhere. And she felt so alone. Just as her body began to shiver, a reassuring hand clasped her shoulder. Pania turned quickly, somewhat comforted to see the massive frame of Martin Derringer. She watched his eyes as they turned from her to gaze out into the black.

Pania turned to see if he had seen something beyond the blackness. Slowly, a scene began to form. A massive wall that stretched out for miles. Peasants traveled the road that ran along it, and men in gold armour with red cloaks and shields of bronze patrolled the wall. She looked back to Derringer for a moment, speaking in a near whisper, only made more ghostly by the vision they watched. Where are we?

Hadrian's Wall, he simply said. The year is 66 A.D. Legio II Augusta had completed the wall that pushed the Scotts north. He motioned with an open hand toward the scene as several riders approached in the same regal armour as the guards that lined the wall. Keep watching.

Pania looked back to take in the scene fully, and her eyes widened as she saw one soldier dismount a massive war horse. His hair was jet black, his olive skin only made his armour gleam that much more. He was a handsome man, well built and strong in body and from his eyes, strong in faith.

And that was when Pania noticed it.

You, she only managed to stammer.

Keep watching, Derringer replied in a calm tone. Pania obeyed the request, and her eyes turned back to the scene again. Three soldiers were approaching the large man. Pania assumed that he was their general.

“Hail Caesar,” the three called out in unison as they saluted.

“Hail Caesar,” the large man replied. His armour wore the crest of the ranking general of the legion stationed at Glevum. They were the remaining soldiers of the Legio II Augusta after the defeat at the hands of Queen Boudica. The general himself swore to remain and protect those citizens of the Britannia Tribes that became loyal to Rome. “What news do you bring?”

“Sir,” one of the soldiers spoke in a serious tone as he approached. “We have received word that a woman wishes to speak with you. She calls herself a soothsayer, and can grant great insight into the coming days.”

The general furrowed his brow slightly as he rested his hand on his gladius. A finger tapped the hilt of the sword as he looked to his soldiers. “What is her name?”

“Morgan le Fay, Sir,” the soldier stated quickly. The general's look became even more tepid. The soldiers knew nothing of this name, but he was obviously all too familiar with it. “She has come to our main camp, and awaits you, Sir.” The general moved quickly past his soldiers with great determination. Two of the men took up flanking positions immediately. They sensed some distress in the general's mood, and their own emotions began to mirror it. They'd known the general long enough to know when he was suspicious.

The camp was well tended, soldiers rested in shifts as they continued their patrols. Evening was falling, and most of the men had gathered in the main tent. The general moved past it, toward his private tent, where the soldiers directed him. He stood outside the entrance for a moment before looking to his men. “You two remain out here. I will call you if I need you.” They nodded quickly taking their places on either side of the entrance as the general slowly moved inside.

She stood with her back to the doorway, but he knew all too well that she was aware of him. He heard the small chuckle as he drew closer to her. “Why don't you dispense with the facade, le Fay,” he suggested to her. By his conversation, the tone in his voice, it was more than clear that they knew of each other.

“Just as you have dispensed with your own facade,” she replied in a hoarse whisper. “Or do your men know of the legend that is Gaius Thadius Maximus, General of the Legio II Augusta?” She turned, holding a small smirk as she looked into his eyes. “The general who controls the beast.”

“I don't control it, le Fay,” he scowled as he spoke. “We co-exist.”

She tittered as she spoke, smiling at the comment made by Maximus. “You will soon learn that you cannot always escape the beast that haunts us all, Maximus.”

“What do you want, le Fay?” he said with a huff, displaying his displeasure with her need to taunt and tease.

“I have warning for you, Maximus,” she stated as she studied the large man. “And if you do not heed it, then you shall be forced to fight this for the next millennium.” She let her words sink into Maximus' ears before she continued. “The autumn winds begin to blow, and no matter how loyal the Britains are to you, they still hold faith in the old ways. And they will fear the Wild Hunt.”

“I have heard of this wild hunt,” Maximus replied with a scoff. “Lead by a phantom huntsman, who can steel your soul just for looking at him. I know the story. A myth, nothing more.”

Morgan laughed aloud with Maximus' last words. “A man who is a beast, saying that the Huntsman is a myth.” She chuckled at the irony before continuing. “Heed my words Maximus. If you refuse to listen, then the fey folk cannot help you. Your destiny will be to chase the Huntsman wherever he roams, until you find a fey worthy enough to slay him.”

Pania's eyes grew wide and she looked back to Derringer. She suddenly knew why he thought she was the key. He believed that she was the fey that could kill the Huntsman. Derringer motioned with an open hand again, and the scene changed. Soldiers lined the wall now, villagers huddled together as the sky grew dark. Thunder rumbled as lightning streaked the sky.

“General Maximus,” one of the soldiers called out. “There is rumours of bandits south of Glevum. They attack during the storms.”

Maximus furrowed his brow as the information was presented to him. Perhaps this was what the myth was, just bandits that used the storms as a cover. “Find me two of the fastest riders,” he said in an authoritative voice. “They will join me. We'll hunt down these bandits and end this myth once and for all.” The soldier saluted and shouted out quickly as he carried out Maximus' orders. The general strode quickly to his horse, noting that his man servant had already made arrangements to prepare the mount for the journey. Maximus smiled as he approached. “Always one step ahead of me, Sipico.” He shared a laugh with the man before mounting the massive war horse. “It's time Pegasus. Let the winds carry you fast and hard as your namesake.” As if in reply, the war horse reared back, letting out a call heard throughout the stables. With a confidence not seen by any horse, Pegasus moved as quickly as his large frame would allow, the ground seeming to tremor with each hoof strike, obediently going where his master would guide him.

Soon, the war horse was joined by two smaller Arabians. Maximus saluted the riders and they fell into rank, flanking him as they rode. This hunt might be for not, but at least they would try to end this madness. Maximus donned his helm, and held his shield firm as he encouraged his horse into a gallop. The massive hooves seemed to thunder as they hit the ground. The Arabians increased speed to match, their riders knowing they could easily outrun any huntsman. Their steeds were the fastest in the legion.

They rode for miles, keen eyes watching closely for any movement through the trees that dotted the path. They reached a clearing, and something in Maximus knew they would catch these bandits. “Sir!” one of the riders called out. “Straight ahead! Lone rider!” Sure enough, Maximus saw the rider, sprinting along. He sneered as he spurred his horse forward, hearing the pounding of the hooves from the Arabians as they matched the speed of the war horse.

Closer and closer they neared. The bandits mount was merely a nag, Maximus assumed. Not a trained military horse with the endurance of the gods themselves. As they neared the lone rider, Maximus drew his gladius, raising it high in the air, and calling out in a commanding voice. “ROMA VICTOR!” His soldiers matched his battle cry as they too drew blades and urged their horses faster.

And then the air filled with laughter.

The lone rider seemed to tilt and reel as it turned back on the three. He carried a scythe, and used it with expert ability. His first attack came at the left flanking soldier, cutting him in half as a hot blade would cut through butter. The rider seemed to fly with the winds themselves. Maximus knew now his folly. He should have listened to le Fay. The second soldier remained brave even in the face of most certain death. He had no doubt that even in death, he did what he needed to do. Death is what he received.

The scythe slashed through the air with ease, cutting through both horse and rider. They fell lifelessly to the ground. The Huntsman merely stopped and turned to face Maximus. “You should have listened to le Fay, General.” He laughed as he charged Maximus. His scythe had already cleaved two men, what would be a third.

But General Maximus had been a Roman Legionnaire for over 300 years. He could almost tell when an attacker was too brazen in his motions, too egotistical. The Huntsman was no different. Maximus grabbed the scythe with his shield hand, feeling the tip bury into his belly, but forcing himself to ignore any pain. The force of the blow carried him off his mount, and he fell to the ground. The Huntsman slowly walked over to him. It seemed to be a hollow victory.

“Just like all the others,” the Huntsman sneered as he raised up the scythe to finish Maximus off. The farmer's blade arched down toward the General, as the Huntsman laughed with sickening glee. His glee was cut short, as his scythe suddenly came to a stop.

Maximus had caught the handle near the blade and held firm, pushing himself to his feet as the Huntsman tried in vain to force the weapon from his hands. “What is this?” the Huntsman shouted. Maximus laughed in reply. He knew when he had been double crossed, he knew that le Fay had spoken to this Huntsman.

“It would seem that le Fay did not tell you everything.” With a twist of his wrist, he snapped the blade off the handle, leaving the Huntsman only to scowl in rage. With an angry scream, the Huntsman drew back the handle and attacked. He laughed as the now useless scythe had become a most effective speak, and the Huntsman's strength made sure it pushed through the gleaming armour of the General.

Maximus cried out in pain as he felt the weapon go right through him. He backpedaled, seemingly weakened by the blow. The Huntsman merely gloated as he assumed that victory was his. Maximus raised his head in defiance, sneering at the Huntsman as he spoke. “No, le Fay told you nothing of me.” One hand grabbed the wooden handle that jutted from his chest, the other grasped the point that came out his back. With a roar he snapped the handle and pulled it out. Blood poured from the wound, but even the Huntsman could tell that something was most certainly wrong.

The General removed his helm and let it fall to the ground like a child's discarded toy. His massive hands reached up to unclasp the cloak he wore about his shoulders. The breastplate fell to the ground as he rose to his feet. And the Huntsman could tell, Maximus' wound was healing. Much more rapidly than any human wound ever should.

Maximus breathed heavily, hunching low to the ground, and then the Huntsman understood. The general's hair grew longer, his muscles became more taunt and sinewy, and his face, his face contorted as it seemed to transform before the Huntsman. Pania's eyes grew wide as she could only watch, realizing that while she may have been walking in a dream, her body was alone, lying helplessly in that room.

With a werewolf.

General Maximus had completely transformed, only the skirting of his uniform the only mark that he was a member of the Roman Legion. He snarled toward the Huntsman, teeth bared as he crouched low, readying himself for a strike. The Huntsman laughed again, believing that the beast had taken over completely. This would still be a worthy kill. He drifted closer to the werewolf, a smile in his eyes.

That smile turned to a scowl as he realized his own folly as he saw Maximus' eyes. They weren't the eyes of a beast in rage. They contained an intelligence. He realized just a little too late, that the wolf had his wits about him.

The massive wolf reached out and grabbed at the Huntsman, shouting as he did. “Do not think I am a mere beast that can be trained to heel, Huntsman! For I will be your hunter. I will never stop chasing you!” The Huntsman could only reel back, try to escape. A werewolf with intelligence as this was unheard of. He lifted into the air as he sprinted away from the wolf.

As he flew higher and higher, he began to laugh as he called out. “And so it shall be, Maximus. The Hunter will become the Hunted. For all time!” He disappeared into the clouds, just as the storm began to break. The light of the moon streamed down, and Maximus looked about him. The carnage. He fell to his knees by the bodies of one of his men, and tilted up his head as he gave a mournful howl.

The scene grew darker and darker, and the wisps of air could be seen. Pania's eyes grew blurry as she tried to hold onto the vision. But she knew all too well, that she was beginning to waken.

Back in the win column

It wasn't pretty, but a whirlwind week for the Saskatchewan Roughriders capped off with a victory over the Winnipeg Blue Bombers on the Labour Day Classic.

Still licking their wounds from the loss the previous week to the Edmonton Eskimos, the Riders were looking for something to help bolster them. That came in the form of a trade with the Toronto Argos for quarterback Michael Bishop. Bishop was part of the quarterbacking controversy in Toronto, as the Argos had two starting quarterbacks in Bishop and former Rider quarterback Kerry Joseph. Bishop only had a few days to prepare for the game against the Bombers, because many believed he would start.

Add to that, another inevitable occurred. The Riders released long time quarterback Marcus Crandell. Crandell started the last two games for the Riders, both losses against Calgary and Edmonton.

Sunday comes along. The Winnipeg Blue Bombers are in Regina for the annual Labour Day tilt.

As I said earlier, it wasn't pretty. But a win is a win.

The Rider offense only capitalized once, by punching it into the endzone for a TD. All the other points came from the toe of kicker Luca Congi. In the end, the Rider defense became it's old, stingy self and held the Bombers to just 6 points.

Final score: Riders 19, Blue Bombers 6.

The rematch happens next week in the now annual Banjo Bowl.

Until next time...

...keep 'em flyin'.

Dime Novels, Penny Dreadfuls

So, I've had a couple of people comment on the style of story I'm writing with the entire Adventures of Black Mask and Pale Rider. First, why I'm doing this. That answer is easy enough. Because I can. Because it's fun, it's entertaining, and it's something a lot of people have said they enjoy.

Second, the question has come up, what kind of story is this? What genre does it fit into? Well, it is a western, with magic undertones. Currently, the stories have touched heavily on the myths that we've all come to hear about, vampire, ghostly apparitions and so on. I'm not gonna give more away, because that'll ruin the Wylde Hunt. But what these emulate the most are Dime Novels.

It's generally agreed the first true dime novel was Beadle's Dime Novel, release on June 9, 1860. Many of these dime novels were reprints of serial series from what was known as story papers. Many story papers were tabloid size right up to full broadsheet newspaper size, eight pages in length, they contained stories and articles. The Dime Novels often collected these serial stories together in one one hundred page book. And they were numbered for the purpose of the series.

A lot of these dime novels have continued publication right up into the 1940's where they became known as pulp fiction. Both dime novels and pulp fiction novels were printed on pulp paper, the latter receiving it's name from that paper process. Dime novels often always had wood cut pictures on the front. The first few released did not have any pictures, but popularity of the style prompted many different competitors to begin this process. Beadle's New Dime Novels broke from trend and produced the first dime novels with colour.

Dime novels were popular in the United States in the late 1800's, and proved to be much like modern day comic books or television. They were cheap to purchase, easy to read and caught on quite quickly, especially with their handy pocket size. A common size for a dime novel was 4 inches wide by 6 and a half inches tall.

Often, the prices of dime novels were not always ten cents. Sometimes they were five cents and even 15 cents. The term became common place with many novels of this type, due to the fact that most were quickly written, and published a week at a time.

In Britain and all of her possessions during the early 1800's and into the 1900's, similar books of similar style were called Penny Dreadfuls or Shilling Shockers. Often times stories written in England were reprinted in the United States as dime novels, and vise versa. At the time there were no royalty issues to deal with, so reprinting stories was not an illegal process. Penny Dreadfuls and Shilling Shockers were often directed to an adolescent male audience, most often those young men who were part of working class families.

The first Penny Dreadfuls appears in the 1830's, originally thought of for the entire working class family, but by the 1850's this changed to the more teenage market. By the mid-1890's Alfred Harmsworth decided to do something that was widely perceived as the corruption of the Penny Dreadfuls. The Half-penny Dreadful was released, producing the same lurid, quickly written fiction, all for the price of half a penny. In the beginning of the Half-Penny Dreadful's life, they published moral, high-minded tales, but eventually gave into the more popular genre of fanciful fiction. These knockoffs, as it were, started the decline of the Penny Dreadful. A.A. Milne once said, “Harmsworth killed the penny dreadful by the simple process of producing the ha’penny dreadfuller.”

There are several characters from both the Penny Dreadfuls and the Dime Novels that survived well into the late 1900's. Nick Carter, Dixon Hawke, Jack Harkaway and Sexton Blake all had successful runs as recurring characters, even receiving their own series at the time. In Britain, many Penny Dreadfuls became British comic magazines.

Until every book becomes digital...

...keep 'em flyin'!

The Wylde Hunt, Pt. 2

The two elves studied the grave solemnly. The bartender had brought them out to the cemetery to see the final resting place of the elf who had come to this place and called it home so many years ago. They knew the name all too well. A scourge on their home world, an elf who sought nothing but power, and strove to find eternal life. Perhaps this is what he meant.

“People back home think he's jist some lich up in a tower,” Shani whispered. Pania merely nodded in reply. “Guess this paints a whole new picture on the bastard. Alla things he done, alla people he tortured. Weird thet he come here, an' made things right.” Both elves had removed their hats as though in a respectful prayer when they first approached the gravesite. “When we git back, should we say anythin'?”

“No,” Pania stated in a somber tone. “B'cause no one'll b'lieve us.” The two elves slowly placed the hats back on their heads and began to turn back to the wagon owned by the bartender. “An' no tellin' these people wha' 'e were like on our world. Leave 'em with their own misconceptions.” Shani nodded slowly as the two began to trudge back to the wagon.

The clouds covered the stars in the night sky. Lightning flashes light up the area every so often, as thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind had picked up just a bit, making it slightly uncomfortable. Shani stopped a moment and looked back toward the grave. It seemed as though she had heard laughter coming from that direction. “Ladies,” the bartender called out. “We had best get ourselves back to town. Storm's coming in, we don't want to get caught in the middle of it.”

They all heard the large, clomping hooves of the Clydesdale, knowing right away it was Marshal Derringer. “Travers,” he called out as he brought the mighty horse to a stop. “Get Miss Wennemein and Miss Alow back to the inn. I'll handle what's coming.” Travers, the bartender, knew that sound in Derringer's voice. There was more to this storm than just thunder and lightning. “Ladies, step lively, if you please.”

Pania was already stepping up into the wagon, as Shani began to lazily run toward the vehicle. She was about twenty feet away when the air became acrid, and there seemed to be an electricity that surrounded them all. Then came the lightning bolt. The horses reared back as the loud boom echoed throughout the area. Shani was thrown back several feet toward the graveyard as Pania covered her ears. Travers worked to control the horses and Derringer steered his horse slightly, away from the scorch mark in the earth. He quickly dismounted and looked skyward.

“Huntsman,” he shouted to the heavens. “It's been a long time!”

The air filled with eerie laughter, the dirt picked up, swirling together and forming an image. An eerie green glow came from within it as the apparition of a man became known. The Huntsman. He laughed as he seemed to float toward Derringer. “It's been many, many century's, Maximus,” he said with a cold chuckle. “Or is it Derringer now. I can never remember, you change your name so many times.”

“What do you want?” Derringer hissed through his teeth as he scowled at the apparition.

“What I always want,” the Huntsman replied with a sickening grin. “I want my prey.” He looked toward Shani who was just now trying to orient herself after nearly being hit by lightning. Her ears were ringing and she found it difficult to stand. This only made it easy for the Huntsman. Ethereal tentacles reached out and surrounded her. Pania had come back to her senses after the blast, and saw what happened. She shouted out in horror as the Huntsman drew himself closer to Shani, enveloping his cloak around her. “The first of my prey,” he said as Shani disappeared into the blackness that was the Huntsman's form. “The first of many, and you can do nothing to stop me, Maximus,” he said with a twisted grin as he looked back to Derringer.

“You bastard!” Pania called out as she drew her Smith and Wesson, jumping down from the wagon as she moved toward the apparition, firing repeatedly on it. The Huntsman only laughed as he pulled himself into the air.

“Time enough for you to join me, little elf,” he called out with a sneer. “You're next after all.” He moved further and further away as Pania kept firing upon the apparition. When he was completely out of sight, a second bolt of lightning screamed out of the sky, slamming into the ground in front of Pania, sending her flying backwards. She hit the ground and slipped into unconsciousness.

“Marshal!” Travers called out in urgency. “What do we do?”

Derringer knelt down beside Pania's still form. She still breathed, so there was still hope. Gently, he picked her up with ease in his massive arms as he replied to Travers. “Go back to town and find the sheriff and his deputies. Explain what happened, everything. He'll know what to do.” Derringer cradled Pania carefully as he mounted his war horse.

“Marshal,” Travers said in a small voice. “It's true, isn't it. All those things you told us. It's all true.”

“Yes it is, Travers,” Derringer replied with a soft sigh. He looked to Travers and nodded in his direction. “Get going. Find the sheriff. I'll tend to Miss Alow. She is our only hope right now.”

*****

Her world was black, the wind whistled in her ears. When Shani opened her eyes, tiny dancing lights in a sea of black was all she saw. It didn't look like the night sky at all. It was different, as though she was racing through the world at unimaginable speeds. She tried to move her arms, but found herself paralyzed, not by fear, but by something else. She could still move her head, and still had control of her voice as she grunted trying to move.

And she could still hear well enough.

The laughter filled the area, sickening, demented laughter that could send chills down the spine of any mortal. “I see my little prize is awake,” the voice seemed to call out from everywhere. “So good of you to join me.”

“Who... who the hell are ya?” Shani shouted followed quickly by a rough coughing.

“Tut, tut,” the voice warned. “Too much shouting and you could injure yourself. And we wouldn't want that.” He chuckled lightly, as it seemed to echo throughout the area.

“Wha... whaddya want with me?” Shani seemed to plead, wanting answer to this confusing and confining situation.

“What do I want?” the voice repeated in a shout that filled Shani's ears, then he spoke again in much more softer tones. “What do I want? I am the Huntsman. I seek out my prey. And I take it. You and your little friend have interested me. Capturing you was easy. Capturing your friend will not take much at all. Especially with you for bait.

Shani narrowed her eyes and forced courage into her very being as she snarled. “Whyn't you jist go STRAIGHT TA HELL!!” The laughter filled the area again, and the specter who spoke finally showed himself. His face made of the mists, his hair, wisps of wind and clouds combined. His eyes were dark and hollow, and his voice sounded like thunder when he spoke.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” he spoke with a twisted smile. “I just need one more, and we can all go together.”

*****

Pania's eyes slowly opened, and the small elf raised a sore hand up as she touched her forehead. Her vision was blurry at first, and she had a difficult time focusing on objects in the room. It took her a great deal of energy to realize the large figure in the room with her was actually Marshal Derringer. “Me 'ead,” she finally said in a quiet tone as she squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to get up, but found it difficult and merely slumped back onto the bed again. “Wha' were tha' thin'?” she finally asked. “An' why it call ye Maximus?”

“He is called the Huntsman,” Derringer replied in a tired voice as he busied himself at a nearby stove. He poured hot water into a set of cups, and added several herbs to the mixture along with some tea, which he allowed to steep for a while as he spoke. “And I have hunted him for a long, long time.” He pulled up a chair and set it beside Pania's makeshift bed, sitting himself down rather heavily, and continued. “To answer your other question, I will need your complete confidence. Have you ever participated in a dream walk before?” Pania shook her head, allowing Derringer to continue. “A dream walk, is when one person can see the past of another. I have done it before, I learned it during my time in Tibet, and found that even the Natives here can participate in such things.” Pania furrowed her brow, confused by what the Marshal was describing.

“Bu', 'ow's tha' gonna get Shani back?”

“To know your enemy,” Derringer continued. “Is to be able to trap your enemy. I'm going to take you back with me, so you can see the first time I faced the Huntsman.” He rose to his feet and retrieved the tea cups, handing one to Pania. The pale elf took it carefully, taking in the aroma of the mixture.

“Bu' why me?” she asked in a voice that seemed to sound more tired than what it should have. Even with just a scent of the tea, the mixture was beginning to take effect. “Wha' 'ave I go' ta do with bein' able ta stop 'im.” She took a sip as she watched Derringer take a sip from his own cup.

“You have a connection to magic,” he explained to her. “Something I do not have.” He watched her as she lay back down on the bed, her eyes beginning to close as though they had weights attached to them. “For now, just sleep. And walk with me. Everything shall be revealed that you need to know

The Wylde Hunt, Pt. 1

Franklin, West Virginia, August 29, 1863
They'd been traveling the roads for over a week. Keeping themselves under a low profile while riding from town to town. Shani reluctantly agreed no bank jobs. Especially when they had such a long way to ride to reach Shreveport and the Underground Railroad. The horses loped into the town slowly. Another stop, it seemed. The town was small enough, and looked friendly enough. People offered a smile and a cheerful greeting as they passed by. Obviously they weren't privy to the wanted posters with the likenesses of Black Mask and Pale Rider. Or maybe they didn't care. Maybe they didn't believe the ramblings of the dime store novels.

Pania saw the man first, sitting tall in the saddle. She couldn't help but not see him, his large frame that sat almost delicately on the back of his horse. Rather, his Clydesdale. The elven bard took note of the badge on the man's coat, recognizing the mark of a United States Marshal. She nudged Shani, who was busily taking note of the different businesses in the community. The lithe gunslinger looked to Pania, slightly annoyed, then saw where the bard was looking.

“Ev'nin', Marshal,” Pania spoke up as she tipped her hat. Shani followed suit as both elves brought their mounts to a halt in the middle of the street.

The large man prodded his war horse forward a bit, stopping beside Pania's and looked down to the pair of elves. Both of their eyes were like saucers that someone would actually want to ride an animal such as that. “Welcome to Franklin, ladies,” he said in a calm voice. There was no malice in his voice, and even his eyes seemed to smile, a slight contrast to the leathered face. He appeared to have seen a good number of years. “I believe your reputations precede you. Black Mask and Pale Rider.”

Shani gulped audibly. There was no way that she would be able to outrun or even outfox a man like this. “So... um...” Shani tried to say, but found there was no words that came to her mind as she stammered away.

“Wha' now, Marshal?” Pania simply resigned herself to say.

The large man chuckled lightly, and even then it still sounded like a rumble of an oncoming thunderstorm. “No need to worry, ladies. As long as your stay here is peaceful, then you are free to come and go as you please. Things are done a bit differently in Franklin.” There was just a hint of an accent that Pania could not put her finger on as the man spoke. “As you have so keenly observed, I am the Marshal for this region. Marshal Martin Derringer.

“Well, guess y'already know us, huh?” Shani said without difficulty this time. “I mean, seein' how ya mentioned our monickers right 'way.”

“Black Mask,” Derringer stated. “Given to you by the first sheriff you crossed paths with, just because he didn't know your name.” Derringer smiled as he repeated the tale. Shani just nodded, he was dead on the money, not like in the dime store novels. This alone made Derringer more dangerous than anyone else they had met before. “And Pale Rider,” Derringer continued. “So given to you by the Natives in Maine and New York where you first made your appearance.” He arched an eyebrow as he looked to Pania, and there seemed to be a twinkle in his eyes. “To many in the New England states, that alone was a black mark against you.”

“Aye,” Pania said slowly as she tried to smirk. “Never could understan' why, mind ye.”

Derringer tipped his hat to the two elves and smiled. “There is an inn and tavern just at the end of this street. They have lodgings available, and they always have entertainment.” He looked to Pania for a moment. “Perhaps that might interest someone like yourself.” He rolled his shoulders as Pania could only sit in her saddle slack jawed. Derringer didn't wait for a reply as he continued. “And they have legal poker games nightly, something you might be interested in, Miss Wennemein.” Shani just blinked for a moment, and never said a word. “For now, you ladies have a lovely evening.” He tipped his hat again, and urged the powerful mount forward. The Clydesdale lazily loped down the street as Marshal Derringer greeted townsfolk out for an early evening.

The two elves just watched him for a moment, then looked to each other.

“Y'all find thet jist a bit creepy,” Shani remarked.

Pania turned in her saddle and started her horse down the street. “Le's jus' ge' a good meal, a 'ot bath, an' ride on. I will say tha' the good Marshal is fulla surprises.” Shani nodded as she took a deep breath, urging her horse forward as she followed Pania.

*****

The wind whistled as evening began to approached. Clouds pulled themselves together, as if a beckoning hand demanded their attention. Thunder rolled in the distance. Lightning flashed. And an unearthly howl sounded out.

The hunt was on. And the Huntsman would begin to track his prey.

*****

Shani opened the double doors to the tavern slowly and took a quick look around inside. It looked to be a popular place. And the townsfolk seemed to be friendly. Perhaps even overly friendly. As Shani passed by one table, a portly man with a thick white beard smiled and invited her to sit and take part in a game of poker. Shani returned the smile and tipped her hat in thanks, stating she just might have to take in a couple of hands.

Pania found she was having the same reaction as Shani to the smiles and nods of greeting. One young woman asked if Pania would put on a performance later in the evening, to which Pania had to decline, saying she needed a bath and a hot meal in her first. But, she definitely would consider it.

They both saddled up to the bar and began to speak in low tones amongst themselves as they seemed to hang onto the immaculately polished brass railing that surrounded the bar. “This gittin' any weirder fer you?”

“Aye, weird 'nough,” Pania replied as she took another glance around the bar. It would have been so much like a tavern back home. Minus all the six shooter, 12 gage shotguns and other pistols. But just like home. She looked back across the bar, suddenly surprised at the appearance of the bartender. He offered a kind smile as he wiped off the bar in front of the two, placing a pair of clean glasses in front of each of them.

“What can I interest you ladies in tonight?” he asked, then quickly held up a hand as though he needn't hear any reply. “Actually, I think I have just the thing for you.” He reached under the bar and took out a rather ornate bottle, gently placing it on the bar before them. “From our private stock,” he said with a smile, his chubby cheeks making him seem like a kindly middle aged man, and his eyes holding a well of wisdom.

Pania reached slowly for the bottle and inspected it closely. She brushed back some of the dust on the bottle and looked up to the bartender with bewildered eyes. “This... this... this...” she stammered, completely taken aback by the inscription on the bottle.

“Elven wine, I know,” the bartender nodded with a chuckle. He saw the looks the held and felt compelled to explain. “You aren't the first of your kind to come drifting into this town. As a matter of fact, one of the first citizens here was an elf. We keep that information quiet around here, we don't need nosy tourists defiling his last resting place.”

“An.. elf?” Shani said with a great deal of force. It was hard to believe, but she supposed it was true. “An' he left... left... a bottle.”

“Actually, he left an entire reserve for us,” the bartender explained, his smile ever present. “About thirty years ago, he returned home, and brought this to us. A thank you, he said, for everything we had done, and for making him so welcome. I was just a small boy at the time, my father ran this place. About ten years later, he passed on. I remember hearing that he was very old, and just simply wanted a place to stay and live in peace.” The bartender shrugged a bit before continuing. “I suppose his life was filled with a great deal of troubles. We never bothered him about that, really.”

Again, Shani blinked, unable to say a word. Pania would have to do the talking for now. “Is there... any chance we can see the grave? Jus' ta pay respects. It's no' often we 'ear o' 'nother elf in these parts.”

“Certainly, I don't see why not,” the bartender replied. “But for now, enjoy yourselves. Three days ago word came in that you helped a small village in Pennsylvania against a den of vampires. You deserve a rest after that.” He gave each of them a pat on the shoulder and pushed the bottle toward them. “Consider this one on the house.” With that, he left to perform his duties as the tavern owner.

The two elves never said a word for quite some time, as they tried to let all this new information sink in. It was Pania who finally spoke. “We ain't dreamin', are we?”

“No,” Pania replied in a quiet, automatic tone. “I'd say no'.” She picked up the bottle again and a smile came to her face. She uncorked it, and poured some for each of them. “Fer now, le's jus' enjoy the moment, shall we.”

*****

The sound of poker chips clinking seemed calm. Shani studied her cards closely as she contemplated her bet. Finally, she took five chips and tossed them into the middle of the table, looking to each of the other participants. “I'll see yer bet, an' raise it twenny bucks,” she said casually.

“Elf's got a mean poker face,” a slender gentleman in a deep blue fancy suit said with a sigh.

“You're just jealous, Jack,” the portly man with rosy cheeks and a full white beard chuckled. “You always had the best poker face, but after a while you can tell when your dour demeanor means you have garbage in your hands." Jack just scowled and matched the bet.

“Glad this is a friendly game, Nick,” Jack replied as he watched Nick toss in his ante. “I guess that's why I always come to Franklin during the summer months.” One of the other players added his into the pot and looked to the last. The last player grumbled and tossed his cards down, muttering something about too rich for him. Jack looked over to Shani. “You called it, let's see 'em.”

Shani grinned as she placed her cards on the table. “Royal Flush, gentlemen,” she said as she watched the reaction from the others. One of them just shook his head as he grabbed his glass and walked to the bar. Nick could only laugh, and Jack, he sighed openly as he leaned back in his chair.

“That's five in a row, Elfy girl,” Jack merely stated. “Exactly how much of my money do you wanna take?”

Shani shrugged as she dragged the pot in with a grin. “Hell, luck's gotta run dry at some point. Let's jist say I'm havin' fun. Lot better 'n back in Madison, where a poker game ended in pistols.” She added her winnings to her pile as Nick picked up the cards and began to shuffle. The player who went to the bar returned with a fresh drink and a bottle of whiskey, which he began filling up the other's glasses.

“Fortunately,” Nick said as he began shuffling the cards like an old time professional poker player. “Around here it's an unspoken and unwritten rule. I've never heard of gun play at a poker game here.”

“Oh, there has been,” Jack informed them as he picked up his drink, saluting with the glass to the cowboy who'd brought the bottle. “But the usually have to deal with Marshal Derringer. I'll just say the last time weren't pretty.” He took a swig of his drink and set the glass down. Shani noted to herself that these four players seemed to have a never ending well of money available to them. Each time the girl that carried chips walked around they always bought more. Waitresses cruised the spacious tavern carrying cigars, drinks, chips and more for the many patrons who had come in to fill this quaint place. There was even a stage for entertainers.

Each evening there was entertainment, and tonight was no different. The poker game seemed to come to a halt as the stage became lit up with the floor lights and the manager of the tavern, the friendly bar tender, walked onto the stage.

“If I could have your attention, everyone,” he called out to the crowd in a boisterous voice. “Each night we have a new entertainer join us, and tonight is no different. Two of our wonderful girls have joined tonight with a very special and surprise guest. Miss Pania Alow, known to most as the scourge of the New England states, Pale Rider. Tonight, we are delighted to find a softer and gentler side to Miss Alow, as she and our usual house will be pleased to perform for you all.”

Shani groaned as she seemed to sink into the chair just a bit. The crowd clapped loudly as the three ladies came onto the stage, dressed in red and black dresses complete with all the finery expected to be seen on ladies who performed the interestng line dances seen in larger halls in larger centers. As the performers lined up on stage, a fiddle player and a banjo player took their seats beside the stage. And the three ladies began evening's entertainment, singing in perfect harmony, beginning slowly, and sultry.

You can't afford no ring
You can't afford no ring
I shouldn't be wearing white and you can't afford no ring

As the first few lines echoed throughout the tavern, the fiddle and banjo picked up the tempo immediately, and the three ladies began dancing in unison on the stage, hands clutching the dress as they would perform a high kick in time to the music, giving just a hint of another show to the audience.

You finally took my hand
You finally took my hand
It took a nip of gin
But you finally
took my hand
You can't afford no ring
You can't afford no ring
I shouldn't be wearing white and you can't afford no ring

A bass player joined in, strumming the strings in time to the beat as the ladies went back to their quick dance, bringing the crowd to clapping in time to the music. A few of the patrons let out a whistle every now and then. Shani peeked toward the stage and saw Pania give her wink as she performed another high kick. The elven gunslinger just muttered oh my lord and sighed slightly.

Mama don't approve
Mama don't approve
Daddy says he's the best in town
And mama don't approve
You can't afford no ring
You can't afford no ring
I shouldn't be wearing white and you can't afford no ring

The fiddle player brought the crowd to a boisterous clapping as the ladies danced on stage in time to the music. Each of them offered a broad smile to the crowd, knowing that their endeavor was paying off, just like magic. And just like magic, without little to no practice, they kept singing in perfect harmony at the appropriate intervals.

Baby's on its way
Baby's on its way
Say I do and kiss me quick
'Cause baby's on its way

The music became quick as the ladies danced on stage, the final part just around the corner as the crowd clapped in time to the music louder and louder, as though to entice the dancers to do more. The banjo picked up the pace as the ladies sang the final line, ending the song with a flare just for the crowd.

I shouldn't be wearing white and you can't afford no ring

As the banjo player struck the last chord the crowd rose to their feet in a standing ovation, very appreciative of the short, but entertaining number. Even Shani slowly rose to her feet and clapped for the performance. The three ladies bowed in appreciation of the applause and quickly left the stage, followed by the band members. Eventually, the crowd returned to their seats.

The poker players tossed in their chips as the game began to resume. “You seem less than enthused about the performance,” Nick said as he nudged Shani.

“Y'all don't ride with 'er,” she said with a huff as she tossed her opening bet into the pot. “So I'll fergive ya fer thet.” She took a look at her cards before the game began in earnest and sighed. “Well, look like my luck jist ran out.”

lyrics from White Trash Wedding as performed by the Dixie Chicks