South of St. Paul, Minnesota, January 17, 1864
The lawmen said their good byes to Ezekiel and Dieter and began the long ride, trying to follow the trail that they had found. Sometimes it would sneak off and disappear, but they had a tendency to pick it up again quickly. Ming’s keen eye saw to that. His determination, when he was focused on the task at hand, was unmatched. The trail they followed lead them south, and the ride was a few days, but they found what they were looking for. They were just surprised that it would be inside a very elaborate looking mansion.
Derringer and Walker had both heard whispers of the name Mandrake before. Associated with politicians in both the north and the south. For Derringer, that name was even heard of across the pond in the nations of Europe. Walker shifted in his saddle as he prodded the horse forward through the open gates of the estate, his trained eyes watchful of his surroundings. “How we gonna play this?” he ask with a sigh. “I am a helluva long way outta my jurisdiction.”
“I’m not,” Derringer replied as he too pushed his horse forward. “As a United States Marshal, I can claim jurisdiction within another region.”
Walker looked over to the older gun hand and snorted. “Bullshit. You can’t do a damn thing without informin’ local authorities.”
“I would believe that Mandrake does not know that,” Derringer replied with a sly smirk on his face. The trio did not argue the point any longer, as they brought their horses to a stop in front of the lonely mansion. No servants came to great them, no calls of welcome from the tenants inside. Even the grounds looked less than inviting as vegetation crept up the walls of the buildings, covering them in some macabre display. The three riders dismounted and walked toward the front entrance. Derringer knocked loudly and waited. When no response came, he looked back to Walker.
The old grisly gunslinger drew his pistols and shoved the door open with a strong push. “If we’re gonna do this, may as well go all the way,” he remarked as his brow furrowed. Derringer snorted a chuckle as he drew his own. Ming had taken out a rifle, opting for the ranged weapon instead of his skill with his fists. If the creature they hoped to face were anything like Derringer explained, then he’d need to have something that would take it down faster than even his own hands could move.
Inside the mansion was like a tomb. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floors, no lamps were lit to give the rooms any welcoming glow. No sounds of people busily scurrying about. Walker looked to the floor for a moment, stooping to inspect something. He picked up what appeared to be some dirt mixed with blood and small chunks of wood. His hand holding a small specimen, he rose to his feet to show Derringer.
“It would appear as though our two elves managed to damage their pursuer,” he said with a small smirk. He looked to the floor and saw the trail, now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness that was the mansion. There it was, a trail of blood and dirt, leading them directly where they wanted to go.
“Like the critter ain’t even scared,” Walker stated as began following the trail.
“And it’s our job to make it feel fear, Sheriff Walker,” Derringer replied as he pushed forward. His two companions followed wordlessly, knowing full well that bullets were about to fly.
*****
Just outside Thief River Falls, Minnesota, January 7, 1864
Pania clung to Shani as they searched the root cellar for some kind of shelter. They didn’t need to search for long. The little light they had showed them the tunnel entrance. Shani desperately looked around the small room, looking for some way to stall the creature that chased them, so they could reach safety and work on Pania’s wounds. In the dark light Shani saw it.
She gently placed Pania down on the ground as the elven bard began checking her pistols with her good hand as the lithe elven gunslinger began moving barrels toward the small ladder that lead down into the cellar. By the smell alone, Shani could tell they were filled with gun powder. How old it was, she didn’t know, but now was not the time to throw out plans. She built a small barricade and poured a small trail of powder away from the barrels toward the small tunnel. Once she was done, she helped Pania back to her feet and began moving down the tunnel. Once they were a good distance back, Shani drew her pistol and took aim on the end of the trail of powder.
Pania raised her weakened arm just slightly as Shani took aim. The elven bard muttered a few words, timing her spell with the elven gunslinger’s motions. As Shani pulled the trigger, the bullet exploded with an added bonus. A small cantrip, magical fire that sped along with the bullet. As the firey projectile hit the ground, sparks and flame set the powder burning. There was no argument if the powder was old or not. It was now burning. Shani holstered her Colt and helped Pania as the pair moved down the length of the tunnel.
As the powder burned along the trail, the creature was madly trying to force it’s way into the cellar. Like a rabid dog, it was pulling at planks and floor boards, desperately trying to get in. It had only one thing in mind, ripping the life force from both elves and destroying them completely. As the door to the cellar was finally opened with violent purpose, the creature stopped. It saw the barrels lined up against the ladder, packed together it a ramshackle fashion. And then it saw the small glowing ball that lead closer and closer to the barrels.
By then it was too late.
Outside, Williams sensed something was wrong. He could smell the familiar scent of gunpowder, burning as though it were about to explode. One look to Johnson, and he gave the order. “Find cover, men! Now!” His men reacted quickly, finding a place to hunker down just in time. As the last man found cover, the building exploded, fire spewed forth, and an ungodly howl erupted from the small shack. The creature clawed its way out, screaming in pain as it did so. Williams and his men could only watch as the creature ran past them, it’s robes burning as it spewed blackish blood onto the ground. They were transfixed as it sped off into the forest. No one said a word until it had completely disappeared, it’s screams of pain finally ending.
“Is it dead, Sir?” Johnson asked as he came out of his hiding spot.
“No idea, Private,” Williams replied quietly. He looked to the shack and watched as the fire fed hungrily on the old wood. “Let the fire die down, men. Then we’ll search the ruins.”
“You think they…” Johnson began to ask. He did not receive a reply. Each men knew in their minds that no one could have survived such an explosion. Even Johnson realized this. In a way, even though they had chased these two outlaws for more than a year, they had some respect for them. They knew in their hearts that everything written on the wanted posters was a bold faced lie.
But now, it didn’t matter.
*****
South of St. Paul, Minnesota, January 17, 1864
Derringer stood outside the small doorway. They followed the trail down into the cellar, past the empty wine racks and into the back storage rooms. The basement of this mansion was a maze. Any man could have gotten lost if he didn’t have some guide. The blood trail of an unknown creature was more than enough. The large man stood by the door, listening intently for a moment, then looked to Walker and Ming. With only a nod, the two men knew what the plan was. They had to move fast, let their instincts guide their hands if they in fact had to fire.
Walker stood on one side of the door while Derringer took up position on the other. Ming was the fastest of the three, he would enter first. And this time, he would not use the cold, iron weapons that Walker had trained him to use. The small Chinese man closed his eyes, found his center, and pushed himself forward. Like a dancer, he crashed through the door, opening his eyes only to find the target and rush forward.
Inside, Mandrake scowled as he tried to administer an alchemical medication to the creature. These men could not interfere with that. Mandrake began to speak aloud, trying to conjure, but found his voice gone as Ming knocked the wind from his chest. The old alchemist fell heavily to the floor as the creature, now stripped of it’s robes, roared in pain and anger. Walker and Derringer had entered the room, firing upon the abomination as Ming forced Mandrake to the ground.
Walker noticed it first and scowled as he looked to Derringer. “Bullets ain’t doin’ a damn thing,” he said with a hiss as he holstered his pistols. “It may be hurtin’ it, but it ain’t doin’ nuthin’ more.”
“That would be due to its unworldly origin,” the Marshal replied, holstering his own weapons. He moved quickly toward Mandrake, fury evident in his eyes. Ming held the man tightly against the wall as the old werewolf questioned him. “I doubt that I’ll be able to convince you to send whatever that is back to whichever abyss you pulled it from. So I’ll have to do it myself.”
“It would take a man decades to learn such a spell,” Mandrake sputtered in defiance. “I doubt mere gunslingers could learn it so quickly.”
Derringer leaned in close to Mandrake and sneered as he spoke. “That is the comment I expect to hear from someone as ignorant as you.” Derringer got the reaction he wanted; Mandrake suddenly knew there was more to these gunslingers than met the eye. The Marshal turned to an alter that stood before the creature and chuckled. “Obviously while you are trying to heal it, you’d need it to be in it’s summoning circle. So you could control it.” He reached out with gloved hands and carefully began to turn the pages of an old tome that lay on the altar. “And no doubt, everything you need, from summoning to banishing, is right here.” Derringer looked back to Mandrake for a moment and snorted a laugh. “Not only ignorant, but arrogant as well.”
“Listen to me!” Mandrake cried out as he struggled against Ming’s grip. “I will pay you anything! Money, gold, power beyond your imagination.”
“Ya ain’t too swift, are ya,” Walker called out as he watched the proceedings. “This ain’t ’bout money ‘r power. Ain’t even ’bout justice. It’s ’bout somethin’ higher ‘n all o’ us. Divine right, as it were.”
“No truer words were spoken, Sheriff Walker,” Derringer said with a loud voice as he turned to look at the creature. He focused his attention on it while he spoke the words from the book out loud. The creature howled in protest as the runes in the floor began to glow. An ethereal prison erected itself around the creature as it writhed in pain on the floor. It’s eyes looked to Derringer, as though begging for mercy. As the old werewolf continued to recite the words, the creature became violent, thrashing wildly as it tried with vain desperation to save itself.
All for not.
The resounding cacophony of sound caused Walker and Ming to flinch, this gave Mandrake an out. But he rushed the circle, hoping to break the boundry and free the creature so it would destroy these men. Arrogance and ignorance. Mandrake paid with his life, as the magic from the runes only destroyed him, as it sent the creature back into the abyss. The sounds in the room grew and grew, a chorus of screams that forced Walker and Ming to find cover, as both expected an explosion to destroy the room. But as full as the sound became, it suddenly stopped.
Slowly, Sheriff Walker climbed up from his hiding spot and looked to Derringer. The Marshal breathed heavily as his hands gripped the sides of the altar. Ming was beside Walker in an instant, making sure the old Sheriff was alright. Walker only nodded, patting the Chinese man on the shoulder, and informing him to ready the horses. They were done.
As Ming left the room, Walker looked to Derringer through narrowed eyes. “You an’ I are gonna have a talk,” he said with words that seemed skeptical, yet in awe of what just transpired. “Alla this gets explained.”
“Walker,” Derringer said as he pushed himself off the altar and took a deep breath. “Go back to Oxford. Go back to your wife and child. Be a good man.” The old werewolf straightened the stetson on his head and allowed a small smile to form on his lips. “Leave all of this behind you. And leave the business of immortals to me.”
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