58 – A Duel in the Desert
Scowling, his mood soured, Andy stuffed the grisly find back into the saddlebag and threw it over his shoulder, continuing on his way. He started jogging again, sliding the bag high on his back so it didn’t flop around with each step. When he stepped off the road into the desert, he tried to look for evidence of his previous passage, focusing on using his tracking skill. He didn’t think it would improve on its own, but he wanted to try anyway.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t have the same ability as Lucy. Her tracking ability was definitely a spell; she channeled mana to activate it, and it made tracks glow in her vision. Andy’s ability wasn’t like that. He kind of knew how to look for tracks, but it wasn’t a sure thing. Perhaps that would change when he improved it, but for now, it hardly felt like anything more than his naturally high perception allowing him to notice things he usually wouldn’t—smushed clumps of dried grass, scuffed dirt and sand, bent cacti spines, and that sort of thing.
It wasn’t that he needed the trail to follow; he had a general idea of where he’d run into the ambush party, but it didn’t matter; the trail was obvious. Rhodes and his crew had not been subtle, especially his horse. As he grew near to the site where he’d stabbed the other horseman, he tried to move quietly, creeping from cacti to tree to brush stand. The reason for his caution was twofold; he didn’t know if maybe someone from the other group had stayed behind, and he also heard something.
When he reached the clearing and peered through the branches of a greasewood, he saw what it was—the other horse. It was milling around, eating the faintly green hearts of the dried-out grass patches. Andy scanned the ground and didn’t see any sign of the guy he’d killed. Frowning, he expanded his visual search, looking toward the edges of the little clearing. After a few moments, he thought he saw signs of something being dragged through the hard, sandy dirt on the far side.
He wasn’t sure if the crew he’d escaped had taken the body or if something had come in the night to have an impromptu dinner. If something could consume a horse that quickly, a human body shouldn’t be too much trouble. Tentatively, Andy worked his way around the greasewood, trying not to spook the horse. The animal looked up at him, swished its tail, then returned to the grass.
Andy was no horse expert. In fact, he hadn’t the first clue about how to ride, but he’d seen plenty of movies where riders spoke soothingly to their animals, so he tried that. “Easy, buddy. I’m not gonna try to hurt you.” Maybe the animal was already relaxed, or maybe his voice helped, but the horse flicked its tail again and stepped a little closer, snuffling around another clump of grass.
Andy smiled, then, from his new position, scanned the ground, hoping to find the spear he’d seen fall the night before. The clue that finally guided him to his prize was a dark splash of what had to be blood on a clump of grass a bit further on. Andy walked toward it, and there it was—a long, smooth, wooden handle. When he reached down to pick up the spear, he noticed something else: more streaks of dried blood and clear scrape marks. He could see where the body had been dragged away into the brush.
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Eyeing the edge of the clearing nervously, Andy lifted the spear and stood it beside his current one. It was just a little longer—maybe eight feet—but it had a much more robust metal blade, clearly made by someone with the right tools and materials. It looked like it had been hammered into shape from salvaged steel—long, narrow, and double-edged. It wasn’t crude, either. The edges had been filed clean, and the whole thing was fitted into a deep metal socket. A pair of thick bolts locked it in place, and the join was wrapped in leather and cord to keep it steady.
The weapon didn’t look like something slapped together in a hurry. Whoever had made the spear was definitely more skilled than James, at least as far as making spears went. It made Andy wonder what other kinds of skilled trade crafts the people at Construction City were practicing.
He was just debating how he’d carry his prize home—he wasn’t ready to throw away his old spear—when a rough voice spoke from behind him. “I’ll be taking that. Your bag, too.”
Andy whirled, dropping the new spear and letting the saddlebag slide off his shoulder to the ground. He hefted his old spear, glaring toward the source of the voice. When he didn’t see who’d spoken immediately, he scowled, scanning the brush and thorny bushes along the edge of the clearing. He stepped to the side, not wanting to stand still while someone was watching him, and that was when he saw a tiny flash of movement. He zeroed in on the spot and slowly began to recognize a humanoid figure crouching amid the dried brush. It was cloaked in a rag-covered garment, and the rags were all perfectly matched to the desert landscape.
When the lurking stranger realized Andy had spotted him, he stood, his movements fluid and silent. He held a short spear in his hands—almost like a javelin—and he pointed it at Andy as he stepped closer, circling. “Good eyes,” he rasped.
Andy couldn’t make out the stranger’s face. He wore a scarf that matched his weird, rag-covered cloak, and above that, he had on dark-tinted motorcycle goggles. “Look, I’m not trying to kill everyone I meet, but I’m not giving you my stuff.”
“Your intent doesn’t matter.” The man glided closer. “I’ll make a meal of you.” That was when Andy noticed the mottled, scaly flesh on the back of the man’s hands. Suddenly, his raspy voice sounded different in Andy’s mind—less like a man with a hoarse throat and more like a creature using vocal cords for speaking that were better suited for another noise.
Andy lowered his center of gravity, wishing he had his Umbral Reaper class active. The thought was fleeting, though; it was broad daylight. Most of his Reaper abilities depended on shadow. He held his spear—much longer than his foe’s—before him and watched him move, waiting to see how he’d attack.
Something happened then that Andy hadn’t experienced before. He felt a familiar tingle in the air, a kind of goosebump-raising energy. For a second, he couldn’t put his finger on the sensation, but the connection clicked: it was mana. It was how he felt when he channeled magic—only, he wasn’t channeling magic. Suddenly, the strange spearman thrust his spear into the air that separated them, and it hissed, spraying forth a shower of green droplets.
Andy was quick, and he recognized something was up even before the spear started spraying, but even so, his backward leap wasn’t fast enough to keep some of those droplets from showering his arms, knuckles, thighs, and knees. Adrenaline was flooding him, and he ignored the spray at first, holding his spear ready, watching his foe to see if he’d do a follow-up attack. Then, the pain hit him.
The green droplets sizzled through his jeans; they boiled into his flesh with demonic intensity, and Andy gasped as he desperately tried to shake first one arm and then the other, hoping to dislodge the burning stuff. All the while, he focused on his foe, ready to respond if he came in hard. The strange spearman didn’t, though; he circled Andy, watching, waiting, like he knew Andy was already done for, but hadn’t quite realized it yet.
Maybe he would have been, too, but for the fact that Andy had reached his natural maximum for vitality. The green acid burned into his flesh, but only so far. It petered out before it got too deep, hardly touching his muscles, and certainly not his bones. The worst burns were on his hands, where there wasn’t much meat to protect the tendons and bones, but even then, the acid didn’t get far. With a concerted effort of will, Andy tried to ignore the pain and advanced on his foe. It was time to stop playing defense.
“Impressive,” the man hissed, and then Andy felt the mana gathering again. This time, he didn’t wait to see what it was. He lunged, putting every ounce of his considerable speed into the move, driving forward with his much longer spear. To his relief, he interrupted the spearman’s spell, but he failed to hit him. The guy dove to his left, rolling over his shoulder, and putting distance between himself and Andy.
Andy took a minute to rub his burning arm against his pant leg, but it only caused him a little more pain. He had an idea, but he knew he didn’t have the mana for it. Even as he made the thought, the report danced across his vision:
Mana: 15/160
His mana was mostly tied up in the traps back at the settlement, and he needed fifty if he was going to put this guy down. Without a second thought, he reached into his mana space, whatever it was called, and severed the connection to one of the traps. Then, he lunged at the spearman again; he needed to keep him busy until his mana regenerated.
The spearman dodged back, performing a flawless backflip, and when he landed, his scarf fell, exposing a reptilian lower face. He spread his thin, mottled, green-and-brown lips into a smile and chuckled. “Now you see what you’re messing with.”
Andy moved close, but just a bit out of range. He wanted to keep the guy busy, but he didn’t want to wear himself out. His acid burns were bleeding and throbbing, and he felt like he was breathing a lot harder than he should be. They feinted at each other, circling, and every time Andy felt mana gathering in the air, he drove a vicious attack, interrupting whatever the spearman was trying to cast.
Andy wondered about that. Was he noticing the mana because of his high perception? Would the reptilian fighter be able to feel the buildup when he cast his spell? Thinking of his spell, he wondered about his mana, and the report drifted across his field of view:
Mana: 29/160
His mana was coming, but he was getting tired. Was that green spray more than just acid? Was it poison? He could feel the sweat pouring off his brow, threatening to drip into his eyes. Still, thanks to his longer weapon, he easily kept the upper hand in their little skirmishes, forcing the spearman to back off time after time. After another half dozen engagements and more circling, Andy looked at his report and finally saw what he needed:
Mana: 51/160
Without hesitation, he drove an attack, forcing the spearman to flip backward again. Andy didn’t push the attack; he let go of his spear with his left hand and scrawled a burning glyph in the air, casting Kindled Bonds. Even as the spearman hit the ground, already backpedaling to keep away from Andy, a rope of fire erupted from the hard-packed dirt and wound itself around the spearman’s legs.
The spell caught the retreating spearman off-guard, and he stumbled backward, screaming hoarsely as the fiery snare flared with additional heat. Andy drove forward, and, before the spearman even had a chance to lift his shorter spear for a parry, he stabbed the tip of his spear into his stomach. The Kindlebrand rune Andy had scrawled onto the spearhead flared with brilliant white flames, and the reptilian spearman only managed a strangled cry as his flesh ignited, sizzling and smoking as he writhed.
Andy pulled his spear out and took a step back, watching as his foe burned. The guy was already dead; the fire or his spear must have ruptured some vital organ. Andy knew so because, as he leaned on his spear, groaning from the pain of his wounds, the System hit him with several messages.