Warsinger by James Baldwin (most important books of all time txt) 📕

poured to her hips like a curtain of ebony silk. Her skin was pale and pearly, marbled with subtle color. Her brilliant violet eyes were as elegant as the sweep of an ink brush on paper. She was dressed simply: a pair of loose cotton pants, a leather halter top, a loose scarf wound around her shoulders. As soon as her slim bare feet touched the sand, a darker and more menacing energy rose from the highwaymen.

“Nice spear,” one of the Bandits remarked.

“Nice woman.” The man next to him had very pale, very cold blue eyes set against a band of dark skin. He slowly looked Karalti up and down. Several other bandits chuckled.

“SIIIILENCE!” the leader snapped back at his men. He turned to us with a look that was almost as piercing as his voice. “The spear. Your gold. The reins to that beast. Hand them over.”

“We don’t have any gold.” I shrugged. “We left it at home. You know, in case of bandits.”

The [Bandit Leader] regarded us flatly.

“Seriously. No gold.” I dropped my pack to the ground. “Search it, if you want. You can have the spear and the hookwing, though. And hey – I don’t suppose you know if we’re on the right road for Al-Asad, do you? You know, the prison?”

The [Bandit Leader]’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up and hand over your goods.”

Worth a try. I pulled the Spear from its quick-release bandoleer, spun it over my fingers like a baton, and held it out. When the bandits finally got a good look at it, a couple of them gasped. The Spear of Nine Spheres was a bona-fide magical artifact. The finely engraved and sturdy bluesteel haft swept out into a curved glaive-like blade at the end. Two large gemstones were set into the base of the blade: a ruby that throbbed like a living heart, and a black stone as cold and empty as the freezing desert night.

“Here you go. Enjoy.” I handed this priceless weapon to the stunned [Bandit Leader] with a flourish.

The man hastily fumbled his pistol back into its sheath and snatched the Spear from me, clutching it in both hands. He looked down at it, scowled, then narrowed his eyes at us. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “You are armed and armored, riding through the desert with a weapon fit for the Sultir, and yet you stand down easily. Why? Are you a craven?”

There were nods, and a murmur of assent around the ring of bandits.

“Not usually. But there’s, what? Sixteen of you?” I remarked. “Not great odds.”

The man took the bait. He cocked his head and sniffed. “Twenty. You will never see the others.”

Right, twenty bandits. I did some quick math in my head, triangulated the tiny human noises I heard echoing around the canyon, then nodded to myself.

“I sure hope not.” I cheerfully slapped the drooling, growling hookwing on the shoulder. “Now, listen closely: this bad girl’s name is Cutthroat. She’s a destrier hookwing, champion bloodlines, bred to be the perfect killing machine for generations, blah blah blah. She’s probably worth about two thousand gold coins to the right buyer. You with me so far?”

“Uhh… of course!” The [Bandit Leader] numbly accepted the reins as his gang watched us nervously from the sidelines. He looked over at one of his comrades. The bandit shrugged, as if to say ‘I don’t even fucking know, dude’.

“She’s also unpredictable, vicious, and somehow both too smart and too stupid for her own good,” I continued. “So, off you go now, right?”

The Captain sniffed, jerked his shoulders, and puffed himself up like a peacock. Holding the Spear like a shield, he jerked his chin toward Karalti. “No. You, girl. You’re coming with us too.”

Karalti batted her eyelashes, pointed at her nose, and chirped curiously.

I clicked my tongue. “Come on, man, you don’t try and poach another dude’s girl like that. That’s a violation of the Bro Code, Section 1, Column A.”

“SIIIIILEEEENCE!” The man’s voice was up in the falsetto range now. He clumsily pointed my own Spear at me, jabbing it toward my gut. “Girl! Do you want me to kill this coward? Come here to me, or I’ll gut him like a fish!”

Exasperated, I rolled my eyes over to Karalti. “What do you have to say to that? Feel like joining them?”

Karalti beamed at the men, then unselfconsciously began to strip. “Sure! I can handle twenty guys!”

Face, meet palm. “Tidbit. Phrasing.”

Karalti pulled her top off with a flourish and flung her shirt and scarf aside. The captain’s eyes widened. A murmur went up among the bandits. The guys who had been half-hidden overhead leaned down to gawk. All of them gaped with the awestruck expressions of men who had glimpsed the Holy Grail.

Then Karalti unequipped her pants, and all hell broke loose.

Black scales swirled up in a storm of hot mana, coiling around the place where I and Cutthroat stood. Just like that, the canyon was plunged into darkness as Karalti’s huge, narrow wings spread out and stroked the air, driving a storm of sand into the faces of the bandits now collectively shitting themselves in terror. Most of them fled. Others went to their knees, screaming for mercy. The Captain was the only one brave enough – or stupid enough – to shrug off his fear and attack. He let out a high-pitched shriek, dropped Cutthroat’s reins, and rushed the dragon with my Spear.

“I warned you, man.” I held out a hand. The Spear vanished from his grip and appeared in mine. “Dudes wearing one color are bad news.”

He stumbled to a confused stop, staring at his empty hands, then looking up to see Karalti’s jaws gaping over him. “AIIIIIEEEE-”

She snapped him up by the torso with the wet crunch of teeth driving through bone. He managed one muffled scream before the dragon flung her head and threw him like a bowling ball into the fleeing men, took a step forward, and roared. Karalti’s voice shook the cliffs,