far. He didn't know what would happen then, but he imagined that finding his way back would be next to impossible.
Not that I would care.
Death had no secrets for him anymore.
* * *
The Mademoiselle did not stay in the Cantina. Instead, she kept a small house within walking distance. Tiny, quaint, and unremarkable, it had struck De la Roca as silly, until she stepped inside and felt the power pulsing through the walls. Older and wiser now, she wondered if this was actually the location of the fabled waypoint to Hell. If so, she didn't want to be crossing the threshold—which, of course, she was.
The Mademoiselle was whistling to herself, completely unaware of (or perhaps merely uncaring of) De la Roca's unease. She whisked through a beaded curtain, a tacky thing that made the mercenary think of a gypsy's trinket shop, and lit a stick of incense.
Really? Wasn't that a bit, well, overly theatrical? De la Roca longed to call Alsvior and gallop away, but she doubted she'd ever find the Phoenix Well without the Mademoiselle's help.
Worse, her hand kept creeping toward her stomach, toward the place the kevra stone inhabited. Already, she knew it had burrowed into her flesh and become a part of her. Nonchalantly, she moved her hand away, before she could attract the attention of the Mademoiselle.
The mademoiselle pursed her lips. "As you may remember from last time, I'm going to be … inaccessible for a while."
Her thoughts guarded, De la Roca nodded once.
"I didn't want to worry you in the Cantina, but strange forces have been afoot lately in these parts. I would feel better with you watching over me. As you may already know, I am particularly vulnerable when searching through the Archives and would not be able to appropriately defend myself."
De la Roca held back any expression of surprise, but her once-human heart quickened. I don't remember her asking for that the first time. And what was this talk of "strange forces?" She pulled her pistol and Bluot out of their holsters.
"You have my guns—both of them."
"Is that Bluot ?" The Mademoiselle's eyes suddenly blazed with interest.
De la Roca did not have to answer. Recognizing its own name, the gun started to hum in her hand. "Quiet now." She holstered the pistol and stroked the revolver with the other hand. "Do not awaken, there is nothing for you now. Later, there will be blood." Momentarily appeased, the gun stopped humming, and she placed it back in its holster.
"Would it really have awoken?"
"Perhaps. If so, it may have shot one of us. I would advise against calling its name, for you know as well as I that once the gun is fully … aware , it must take a life.
The Mademoiselle nodded solemnly, but her eyes sparkled with fascination, and her voice was wistful. "Were I but a gunslinger." She shook her head. "Enough talk, though. It is time."
She folded her legs under her and sat on the floor. The air shimmered and hummed with power, and the stone in her flesh responded to it, vibrating with excitement. It sent her tiny images, sensations, and she could feel the Mademoiselle's descent as clearly as she could feel the temperature of the room and the pressure of the chair beneath her.
And then the air seemed to shudder once, and the Mademoiselle went completely still. She had opened the Archives.
De la Roca's skin crawled at the Mademoiselle's lack of life. It was if her soul had departed in haste, leaving behind a cocoon of skin and bones.
She heard a noise—the crunch of a foot on gravel. Whistling for Alsvior, she drew both guns and ran for the door. Already, she could hear his hoofbeats, and the tiny dwelling shook with the force of each heavy blow to the dirt.
As she exited, she cast a glance back, toward the Mademoiselle. Completely unaware of the mayhem, the woman was locked in her trance, her dead face somehow peaceful.
De la
Not that I would care.
Death had no secrets for him anymore.
* * *
The Mademoiselle did not stay in the Cantina. Instead, she kept a small house within walking distance. Tiny, quaint, and unremarkable, it had struck De la Roca as silly, until she stepped inside and felt the power pulsing through the walls. Older and wiser now, she wondered if this was actually the location of the fabled waypoint to Hell. If so, she didn't want to be crossing the threshold—which, of course, she was.
The Mademoiselle was whistling to herself, completely unaware of (or perhaps merely uncaring of) De la Roca's unease. She whisked through a beaded curtain, a tacky thing that made the mercenary think of a gypsy's trinket shop, and lit a stick of incense.
Really? Wasn't that a bit, well, overly theatrical? De la Roca longed to call Alsvior and gallop away, but she doubted she'd ever find the Phoenix Well without the Mademoiselle's help.
Worse, her hand kept creeping toward her stomach, toward the place the kevra stone inhabited. Already, she knew it had burrowed into her flesh and become a part of her. Nonchalantly, she moved her hand away, before she could attract the attention of the Mademoiselle.
The mademoiselle pursed her lips. "As you may remember from last time, I'm going to be … inaccessible for a while."
Her thoughts guarded, De la Roca nodded once.
"I didn't want to worry you in the Cantina, but strange forces have been afoot lately in these parts. I would feel better with you watching over me. As you may already know, I am particularly vulnerable when searching through the Archives and would not be able to appropriately defend myself."
De la Roca held back any expression of surprise, but her once-human heart quickened. I don't remember her asking for that the first time. And what was this talk of "strange forces?" She pulled her pistol and Bluot out of their holsters.
"You have my guns—both of them."
"Is that Bluot ?" The Mademoiselle's eyes suddenly blazed with interest.
De la Roca did not have to answer. Recognizing its own name, the gun started to hum in her hand. "Quiet now." She holstered the pistol and stroked the revolver with the other hand. "Do not awaken, there is nothing for you now. Later, there will be blood." Momentarily appeased, the gun stopped humming, and she placed it back in its holster.
"Would it really have awoken?"
"Perhaps. If so, it may have shot one of us. I would advise against calling its name, for you know as well as I that once the gun is fully … aware , it must take a life.
The Mademoiselle nodded solemnly, but her eyes sparkled with fascination, and her voice was wistful. "Were I but a gunslinger." She shook her head. "Enough talk, though. It is time."
She folded her legs under her and sat on the floor. The air shimmered and hummed with power, and the stone in her flesh responded to it, vibrating with excitement. It sent her tiny images, sensations, and she could feel the Mademoiselle's descent as clearly as she could feel the temperature of the room and the pressure of the chair beneath her.
And then the air seemed to shudder once, and the Mademoiselle went completely still. She had opened the Archives.
De la Roca's skin crawled at the Mademoiselle's lack of life. It was if her soul had departed in haste, leaving behind a cocoon of skin and bones.
She heard a noise—the crunch of a foot on gravel. Whistling for Alsvior, she drew both guns and ran for the door. Already, she could hear his hoofbeats, and the tiny dwelling shook with the force of each heavy blow to the dirt.
As she exited, she cast a glance back, toward the Mademoiselle. Completely unaware of the mayhem, the woman was locked in her trance, her dead face somehow peaceful.
De la
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