Bab 81: A Worthy Opponent
A whoosh caught the air; Krix expected it. He crouched down, avoiding the arrow that decapitated his rounded hat. In one stunning twist and with accurate aim, he returned fire and his arrow disappeared into the eastern shadows thumping on target.
There came a scream from the hollowed blackness that sent Kyina and the children scampering running like ants.
Krix slung the bow over his shoulder than walked down the eastern street, his eyes focusing on the silhouette down, fighting his bow to get off an accurate shot. He fired and the arrow strayed.
Krix kept his right eye shut, looking between the sights as he approached. The Bald headed and milk-white eyes of Sliver was all that he saw, until his sight no longer deceived him. Krix lowered his weapon, mouth hung.
There on the ground was not a fierce man with look of savagery on his face, but a boy no older than sixteen. His satin hair even longer than the beggar girls Kyina, draping down to the ground, and coiled like a wounded serpent. The boy looked up at Krix, wincing, holding the wooden rod that cleanly penetrated through the front and back of his thigh.
"You used those children," Zoar winced. "You knew I wouldn't take aim while you were surrounded … then you used your purse to gain their distance and draw my fire." There was almost a proudness to his voice.
Krix looked to the boy sorely. "Why did you fire upon Mitch?"
Zoar winced, and spoke as if he knew death was amongst him. "because he's aligned with the Howl Chief … Providing them with weapons that will destroy my people … I should've murdered him long ago when I had the chance." He shook his head. "I should've listened to my father…"
Krix's throat grew tight. I should've listened to my father … The words that had haunted for too long. A father's warning was never to look down upon, he knew.
A stampede of armed hunters appeared in the street crossing, heads on a swivel, holding cocked rifles, loaded revolvers, and readied bowguns of their own. They peered over at the eastern shadows and began to march.
"Run!" Krix said, crouched down to his level. "Live to fight another day."
Zoar laughed, surprised. "I am wounded, and slow, the blood will leave a trail and they'll catch me before I've turned the corner." He shook his head. "No, Bounty Hunter … I will no longer run from the fate that awaits me..."
The men were not gentle with the boy as they brought him back to the saloon. Mason had ordered them to drive their boots into him every time he fell from his wound or cried out. And though strong, the boy fell often and cried at their pain.
Krix could kept his mouth shut. There was no reasoning with these men. "I won't kill a kid," though he felt responsible for whatever nasty fate was to fall upon him.
Butch kicked Zoar so hard he flew over the Saloon steps, smashing through the doors, and tumbled inside. Lifting his head and crying out. Blood splattered on the floor.
"Well lookie what we have here," Mitch said, holding the broken, stained wooden shaft in his hand, no longer through his shoulder. The arrowhead on the bar counter. He twirled the shaft between his fingers and the blue goose-feather fletching twirled. "You were never a good shot."
Zoar spat, wincing on his knees. Weary from the liquid pouring from his thigh.
Mitch crouched down, pulling on the boys hair. He cried out. From his belt, the man drew a long, silver blade with black handle. He brought the tip to his face.
Krix stood next to Brugar who was trembling like a wet dog. The Dhuragian fought back his tongue that wanted to speak reason into the angry man. Instead he stayed quiet.
"You think I'm going to kill ya, do ya?" Mitch said, his voice raspy. He heckled, "No … that would be too easy." He brought the blade to his scar, running the blunt end down his face. "I'm going to make things even … do to you as you did to me … and then, after a few years you come find me and we'll finish this thing." He stood to his feet. "For now, get him out of my sight…"
Butch grabbed the boy, and with one tug, lifted him to his feet, and yanked him out of the door. Zoar cry out, only glared until he was gone.
Mitch turned towards Krix, lifting his hands in approval. "My friend," he smirked. "Oh, how fortunate am I to have you … I'd like to offer you a proposition."
Brugar shook his head, no.
Krix corked his head, "I'm listening … what's your proposition."
The hairy man walked over and threw an arm over Krix shoulder, wincing. The blood from his wound adding another stain on his jacket. At this point, Krix no longer cared. Mitch walked him over to the bar where the two hooded men were sitting, watching.
"We've built an alliance for the Iron Alchemist Tournament, and we'd like you to join us."
They stopped a few feet in front of the cloaked men and they stood from their seats. One tall as a Brugar, the other short as himself. Not even the white in their eyes casting from within the hood.
Mitch pointed "The tall one there…" The man removed his cloak hood; his sharp features, dark, tangled hair, and red painted face were unmistakable, he was a Yurk. On his neck was a black, scabby chunk of flesh where he looked to have been shot. "That one is Varko."
The Yurk nodded.
Mitch then waved his hand, "and the shorter one there, he'd like to remain nameless and faceless … but I can assure you, he's one hell of a gunslinger. What says you? Would you like to join us?"
Krix eyes shifted from the tall man then to the one hidden inside his cloak. Something about him made his decision easier. "We'll do it," Krix said, to Brugar's dismay.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone