Lord of Order by Brett Riley (the reading list book TXT) 📕

The first two shots sent Ford’s shirt flying into the yard. He yanked his pistol back before a bullet could destroy it. Clemens kept firing anyway, full of panic or rage or both. Then half a dozen dry fires. A moment later Clemens laughed and whispered something. Ford could not make out the words, but they mattered little.

He stepped in front of the screen door. In the dimness, Clemens huddled against the back wall, trying to reload with one hand.

Ford shot him three times.

Clemens jerked and groaned.

Ford opened the mangled screen door and stepped inside.

Oh, no, Clemens said, high-pitched, panicked. Oh, no.

One bullet had struck the deputy envoy in the groin, another just above the belt. The third seemed to have shattered his hip. Ford could have hung his hat on the bone poking out of Clemens’s arm. The Crusader threw up a mouthful of stringy bile. He looked as if he had been stampeded, his face ghostly pale.

When he saw Ford watching him, though, he clenched his teeth and slowed his breathing. His eyes were still defiant. This doesn’t matter, he rasped. Our men will blow the levees anyway. You’ll drown.

Ford bent and inspected the ragged hole in Clemens’s groin. Looks like your manhood’s shot off.

At least it wasn’t my soul, Clemens said. You’ve damned yours today.

His breath came quicker now, blood bubbling from his mouth and nose. He smiled, as if he could see through the years and all the dimensions God ever made, as if Ford’s spirit already bathed in fire and screamed for mercy.

Ford pulled his hunting knife from its scabbard. Its sharp edge glinted, even in the dim light. He spat blood on Clemens’s boot. You don’t serve the same God I know, Ford said. Yours knows nothin of mercy or charity or forgiveness. Only wrath and vengeance. If it was me layin there, you’d let me die slow. But I ain’t that cruel. May the Father forgive us both.

Clemens grinned with reddened teeth. Get on with it. Troubler.

Ford cut his throat.

Clemens gurgled, his working hand hooked into a claw that scrabbled at the open wound. Ford sat and put pressure on his own injury, watching him die. When it was over, Clemens lay with his eyes open.

Ford watched him a moment more. The pain in the hunter’s side waxed and waned with his breathing. His limbs weighed a hundred pounds each. Still, moaning, he forced himself to his knees and inched over and pulled Clemens’s shirt aside. Then he cut the crucifix brand from the deputy envoy’s chest. When he was done, he flung the meat away and knelt next to the body, his head spinning.

As soon as he could gather his strength, Ford shuffled outside. Rachel waited in the street. He picked up his shirt and lurched to her and dragged himself into the saddle. When he clucked his tongue, Rachel trotted toward the lake. She smelled the water and tossed her head. Ford held the reins in one hand and his tattered shirt against his wound in the other. Fishhooks yanked at his lungs, his guts. His immediate future held more galloping horses, deep breathing, smoke, gunpowder. Father God, please don’t let me sneeze or cough. He hoped he could stay conscious long enough to finish this. If not, the troops and prisoners and horses would probably trample him where he fell. Or somebody from one side or the other will shoot me, and I’ll wake up in heaven. I hope.

Now the great lake stretched to the horizon like a ruffled coverlet. Rachel had not drunk since they left the house that morning, and as they got closer, she trotted faster.

Sorry, girl. Ain’t no way to get to the water around here. Storm wall’s unbroken for miles and way too high to jump.

The day seemed overly bright, and sweat stung his eyes, so he nearly missed Willa McClure sitting on a black horse in a nearby house’s shadow. Bandit stretched out on the grass.

The girl met Ford in the street and looked over his blood-drenched clothes. Shit fire and save the matches, Santonio. What happened?

Rachel shifted beneath him. Ford groaned. I killed Benn and Clemens, but they didn’t like it much.

McClure whistled. Can you ride?

I hope so. A few inches to the side and I’d be singin hosannas and strummin a harp. What are you up to in these parts?

She gestured toward the water. Keepin an eye on things in case none of y’all showed up. I wish you would have made your move on them deputies here. Maybe I could have helped.

Wasn’t much choice.

Well, that’s two less sons of bitches we gotta kill now.

We’re still in it deep. Royster ordered his folks at the levees to blow their charges if the fightin gets too close.

McClure grinned. They’re gonna find that harder than they think. She reached into a saddlebag with both hands and pulled out a snarl of fuses.

Ford grinned despite the pain. Good job.

McClure stuffed the fuses back. It’s just a few feet from near the caches. They run all the way into the lakefront buildings. A bunch of Crusaders holed up there, but they’re mostly lookin cityward, so I managed this much.

Smart, Ford said. It’ll look like the fuses are still there. We’ll have a while before anybody realizes they ain’t gonna work.

The fighting sounded closer.

We need to tend that wound, McClure said.

When we can. So, these Crusaders. They’re just sittin in them old houses.

Yep.

We’ll need to go around.

I see you got your huntin knife. Good deal. But I brung you this just in case. McClure reached into her other saddlebag and pulled out two pistols fitted with suppressors. She handed one to Ford and gave him some extra clips. These should help keep them boys from realizin they’re flanked, she said. For a little while anyway.

Another explosion rocked the pavement. The horses shifted and nickered. Bandit scratched his hindquarters as if nothing were amiss.

We better get to gettin, Ford said.

They spurred their horses toward