She reached down, picked up a Winchester from the pile of weapons the women had gathered, shoved it hard into his chest, their hands met on the cold metal. "If you turn this on us,"Kessa hissed, eyes locked on his, "I will kill you before you can pull the trigger." "I know, but there was more than a threat living in her eyes."underneath it something desperate. Something that sounded to a man who'd spent three years learning the shape of grief in his own reflection, exactly like a plea.
Protect us. Protect me. Make up for what you did. They stood there one more heartbeat. The two people bound together now by blood and history and a debt neither of them would ever fully collect.
Silas nodded. Let's go. He turned toward the canyon entrance, already checking the rifle's action. And behind him, Kessa ran to gather her arrows. And the trial that had almost ended his life dissolved into something far more dangerous.
The war had begun. They worked through the final hours of light like people who had done this before, because some of them had in other canyons. Other lifetimes ago, when the men who should have been standing here were still alive to hold the line themselves. Silas stood at the narrow neck of the canyon, walls pinched to barely 20 ft wide and pointed up at the overhangs looming 50 feet above. Stack the heavy stones there.
His voice urgent. And there, don't drop them when the first rider comes through. Wait until the columns fully engaged. You want to trap the tail, not just crush the head, Tamson translated. The older women moved with a strength that belied their thin frames, leveraging boulders into place with cedar poles, ready to be tipped with a single shove.
High above, mothers carried children into crevices, scarred into the upper cliff face, small bodies tucked into cracks in red stone, covered with brush and blankets. Ren was there, a finger pressed to her son's lips, eyes wet, hands steady, because a mother's hands learn to be steady even when everything inside her is screaming. If you hear shooting, she whispered, "Do not move. Even if I call for you, do not move until the moon comes up."Silas watched them disappear into the rock.
felt sickness curled low in his gut. He knew the tactics of a cavalry column better than anyone in this canyon. If they broke through, they would scour every wall, every crack, every hiding place a desperate mother had ever found. He turned to Kessa. She was sharpening arrows, movements jerky, violent.
She hadn't looked at him once since cutting his bonds. The anger still radiated off her mixed now with a terror sharpened to a point. Kessa. She didn't look up. Save your breath, Merrick.
Save it for the shooting. He grabbed her wrist. She froze, the knife hovering over the arrow shaft. Listen to me, his voice low. Urgent.
The killbox will hold them a while. But if they've got mountain howitzers, they'll blast through the rockfall. We have no cannons. She yanked her arm free. We have rocks and hate.
If they flank, he kept going, ignoring her hostility because there wasn't time left for pride. They'll come up the goat trail on the south ridge. Steep, but a determined man can climb it. If they get up there, they'll be above the children. Kessa's eyes widened.
She looked up at the jagged spine of rock, seemingly impassible, offering a blind spot to every defense they'd built. I'll watch the ridge, she said. No. Silas held her gaze. You're the best shot with the bow.
Tamson needs you at the choke point. I'll watch the ridge. You a brittle laugh. You want to guard our back door? The man who led them to Drywash Creek.
He flinched, didn't back down. I'm the only one with a rifle who can hit a target at 300 yd. His voice steady even as his stomach churned with everything unsaid between them. You can trust me, or you can let them take the high ground. Choose, Kessa.
She stared at him. The history between them, the betrayal, the almost kiss, the shared labor, the fever dreams whispered in a dark hut, hung in the air heavier than the storm clouds gathering somewhere far south. She reached into a pouch at her waist, pulled out a handful of cartridges, slammed them into his chest. "Don't miss,"she said. The army arrived an hour before sunset.
They did not come quietly. They came with the arrogance of a force, expecting to sweep up refugees, not fight a battle. A dust cloud, thick and brown, heralded their approach long before brass buttons and carbine barrels ever caught the light. Captain Voss rode at the head of the column, and Silas, watching from his perch high on the south ridge, felt his blood run suddenly, sickeningly cold, because he knew that face, knew that ramrod posture, knew the particular way Voss sat a horse like he owned every inch of ground beneath its hooves. Voss had trained him years ago, had personally recruited a hungry, grieving young man off a dying ranch, and turned him into the best tracker the column had ever ridden with.
Which meant this wasn't just a campaign anymore, which meant somewhere in the twisted logic of a man like Voss, this had become personal because the best tracker he'd ever trained had gone missing 3 weeks ago. And now here he was, apparently fighting for the enemy. Keep your eyes open, Voss called to his lieutenant voice, carrying easy across the dust. But don't expect much of a fight. They'll scatter like quail.
The column moved into the shadow of the canyon entrance. Horses hooves clattering against stone. The soldiers glancing uneasily up at the towering walls, adjusting grips on rifles that suddenly felt smaller than they had an hour ago. High above, hidden behind a screen of sage brush, Tamson watched. She raised her hand.