To Race the Wylde Wynd Ch. 32

Templer spent the rest of the long night watching Chrysta slip restlessly in and out of sleep. He helped where he could when the pain drove her awake. This consisted of him getting ice packs from the bar and slipping them around her body where he knew the bruising was particularly bad. He had just returned from downstairs when a noise out in the courtyard had him drifting silently over to the window. The barest hint of predawn light revealed Andrew setting up supplies in the courtyard. The stable hand was preparing El Diablo's tack for the day. As the gunman watched, Grant came out and had a short conversation with the young man. He must NOT have liked what he heard because he shot back into the bar.

Constantine was already moving. By the time the bartender made it up the stairs, the priest was standing in front of the door blocking his entry.

“Move!”

The big man made the mistake of giving the Talon what sounded like an order.

Anger slammed through the usually stoic priest. He uncoiled like a serpent. Templer had the bartender off of his feet and pinned to the opposite wall before the other man could twitch. His hand blurred and the Trinity came up in it. The sound of multiple triggers being cocked was loud as the big gun settled at the stunned man's temple. Grant stared into the Talon's hard, pale face and those hot gold eyes and wisely froze. He knew he was outmatched and looking at his death. Templer also froze, caught in a savage fight with his own temper.

Azra rose in his mind, but oddly the outrider had his own rage in check.

“Constantine... she will hate you if you kill him!”

Templer blinked but his grip didn't slacken and his gun hand remained deathly still.

“This is YOUR fault... Grant! Give me a reason NOT to blow your fool head off.”

Brown eyes closed for a moment and when they opened they held the Talon's unearthly gaze without flinching.

“I missed my shot six years ago. Because of ME that S.O.B is still alive.” Grant's face twisted, “I thought the slight chance of losing the Inn was worth the risk, if she gained that piece of property for El Diablo. I didn't realize the risk would become so great.”

The Innkeeper looked totally miserable. “You might as well go ahead and shoot me. If he kills her today, I will do it myself.”

Azra kept his words calm and quiet. The outrider was all for blood and violence but he didn't want his host to do something THEY would later regret.

“He is deadly serious Constantine. You cannot punish him anymore than he is punishing himself!”

“Hnnn...”

This came out as a slow growl. Templer let the man drop. He backed off of his anger enough to ease the hammers on the Trinity down and get the big gun re-holstered. The Talon's tall, shadow cloaked frame continued to block the door.

“Chrysta just got back to sleep. I do NOT want her woken up.”

Grant straightened his clothes and cleared his throat. He eyed the closed door.

“Is she okay?”

The hopeful look that accompanied this question, quelled whatever anger was left in the priest. He dashed that hope when he answered truthfully.

“No, she most definitely is not... okay.”

The big man flinched and ducked his head for a moment.

“Well... then... is there anything I can do to make this easier?”

Constantine managed a slight smile and pushed the bigger man lightly towards the stairs.

“I would imagine that Chrysta will be looking forward to some of your excellent coffee when she wakes up.”

Slipping back into the room, Templer checked on the still sleeping woman then went back to watching Andrew polish and check every inch of that harness. El Diablo had ghosted over to the gate and he also watched the young man with avid interest. A short time had passed when Talon's vigil was interrupted by a soft scratch at the door. Opening it, Templer observed Grant. The man had returned with a tray balanced in one hand, and a long black duffel in the other. Constantine stepped back. With a finger admonishing silence raised to his lips, he allowed the man in. The bartender set the tray on the table and Chrysta stirred a little then settled as the smell of coffee permeated the room.

Grant glanced her way and his expressive face stilled as he took in the tight wrapping on Chrysta's upper torso. He gestured at the duffel bag.

“She will want to go over this before the race.” He kept the words pitched low as he headed back out the door. “I am going down to boil some water. She is going to want more than just coffee.”

He stopped as a soft voice murmured from the duvet.

“Maximum dose, Grant.” ... Was all Chrysta said. The big man's shoulders hunched a little, but he said nothing as he nodded and left the room.

Curious, Templer opened the big leather bag. On top he found a box. The Talon looked towards Chrysta who made a motion with one finger indicating he should open it.

“I would appreciate it if you would make sure those are in perfect working condition.”

Nestled on the soft cloth inside was a beautiful handgun. Azra rumbled softly in appreciation. He could tell it had been made specifically for Chrysta by a gunsmith with an eye for detail. Its bore peeked evilly out from between the black fangs and long, lean muzzle of a stylized destria's head. An ebony horned ridge flared to form a protective shield over the hand when it was held. The horns on this were sharp, it could be used as a slashing weapon if need be. The grip was shaped into an elegant arched neck which was a little small for his hand, but he guessed would be a perfect fit for hers. The whole piece gleamed a shadowed black and fiery crimson. A soft tooled leather holster accompanied it. The gunman took a moment to flip open the six round chamber and verify that it was very clean and well oiled. The gun's mechanism operated as smoothly as the Trinity's ever had.

Templer glanced over at the resting woman but she had leaned her head back and her eyes were closed. Chrysta looked like she was concentrating on just breathing... slowly and carefully.

The next item in the bag was the reason it was so long. Resting in a black and red enameled sheath was a long, slender ebony sword. Holding it up to the dawn's soft light the priest could see the ripples of color where the metal had been folded, beaten and folded again. This was light, strong, dragon-steel. It seemed too long to be wielded by Chrysta comfortably but the Talon realized it was the perfect length for use when mounted on a destria.

Underneath these unique, beautiful weapons laid a chest and back guard. This was not made of hard leather. It looked like nothing more than a reptile's scales made out of glinting black and crimson metal. The scales were linked together in such a way that the whole thing flowed as supple as a serpent' skin but hard as dragon scales. There were pieces designed to protect the arms and legs with it. Templer's brow furrowed, he felt he was missing something here. This did not look like protective riding gear. It looked like...

“Battle armor!” The outrider softly finished the thought.

There was a quiet snort from the bed. Templer looked up to meet shadowed green eyes.

“It's called the... GAUNTLET... for a very good reason!”

Seeing his confused look the woman clarified.

“There are probably six real contenders in the race. The other twenty give or take, are ringers. These are entered by the big money owners in order to interfere and stack the... odds... in their rider's favor. Violence and death are part of the game.”

Azra's vicious snarl matched the gunman's.

“There will BE no Gauntlet if WE go in and clear the field.”

The subdued thunder in their angry tone made it very clear... Azra WASN'T joking and his Talon was backing him!

Chrysta flinched as she had a sudden, vivid mental vision of the blood bath that could ensue. The woman stifled a groan as she shifted. It was evident that she was carefully testing to see just how painful moving would be.

“NO! Any help ON the course by someone who is not entered in the race is grounds for immediate disqualification. You CANNOT interfere in any way.”

They just growled in response.

A soft knock interrupted and Grant came in carrying a steaming mug. The sharp smell of dreamleaf preceded him.

Chrysta went to sit up and froze. What little color was she had... slowly drained out of her face.

Templer felt too badly for her to be smug... but he still let her know how he felt about the whole thing.

“I TOLD you that you wouldn't feel like walking.”

Grant slashed a hard look his way and started towards the bed. The Talon met him there. Between the two of them they got the woman sitting up. Grant supported her while the gunman steadied her hands so she could drink the bitter brew.
Chrysta shuddered when she finished,

"HOLY... That is... NASTY!"

She hissed softly as they helped her lean back against the pillows. Her eyes were closed.

"Mother of Demons, I do... HATE... festival week!"

Grant's face twisted, and he looked away. Templer elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The barman grunted with the impact,

“Then you should retire... so we don't have to listen to you whine.”

The Talon nodded a little in satisfaction when Chrysta's lips twitched up in a smile. After a short while the woman coughed carefully and sat up. Her movements were a little slower and stiffer than usual but the dreamleaf had worked its magic. She suggested that Grant go down and scrounge up some breakfast. As soon as he left, she made her way over to one of the chairs and slanted a meaningful look at the Talon.

“I hate to ask it of you, but some of these...” Chrysta passed her hands over the wrap. “...need to be re-tied. I have to have some support all the way to my hips.”

Templer steeled himself, lifted the edge of her shirt and could not hide his wince as he saw that the bruising had extended down to her right flank. What followed was a miserable fifteen minutes for the both of them. Still, when Azra was done, the woman was wrapped tightly enough for support but not so tight as to interfere with her mobility. Chrysta managed her pants and shirt alone but needed help to lace up the tall riding boots. Running her hands over the dragon mail she shuddered.

“I am not putting this on until the last minute. I don't want to bear the weight until I have to.”

A little later they sat down in the common room. Constantine watched as Chrysta picked halfheartedly at the breakfast that Grant provided. She actually ate very little, being more interested in the coffee than anything else. After pushing her food around on her plate for a while the woman glanced at the sunlight outside and sighed.

“Well, I guess we had better go out and get HIM ready.”

Grant sat down.

“Hold on a moment, we need to know if you will be keeping to the planned route?”

Chrysta shook her head.

“No, El Diablo hasn't had the conditioning necessary for that kind of distance. I will take him through Splatter canyon. It is the shortest most direct path.”

Grant winced but nodded. The three of them then made their way out to the courtyard.

Chrysta checked over the tack that Andrew had been working on so diligently and nodded her satisfaction. She looked at the stallion standing in the center of his paddock. Those feral green eyes glared balefully back.

Glancing sideways at the ebony cloaked priest, the woman smiled slyly.

"Well... Nuva is too injured to help hold him for saddling. Anyone here got any bright ideas?”

“I could shoot him and we could saddle his corpse!”

Grant drawled this with no hint of humor.

Andrew snickered as Chrysta pinned the barman with a hard look.

“THAT is NOT an option, Grant!”

The big man just shrugged.

In the end they all four entered the paddock. Chrysta helpfully mentioned that with four targets to choose from at least ONE of them had a chance of getting a rope on the rogue.

Andrew flashed the woman a dirty look.

“That is NOT funny Chrysta!”

El Diablo just stood and watched the woman as Templer walked up and clipped the rope to the animal's heavy collar. If his stomach hadn't been roiling in nervous reaction, the gunman would have laughed at the stunned look on the woman's face. The Talon didn't feel like laughing a moment later when he was tightening the cinch on the saddle and the wicked head whipped around. The beast's nasty fanged mouth closed on the shoulder of his gun arm. Templer felt a slight tug on his hip and Chrysta had the Trinity drawn and the triple bores buried under the stallion's jaw. Constantine grunted as those massive jaws tightened painfully. The man flinched at the triple clicks as the woman pulled back the master lock that primed all three hammers on the big gun. Her hand was as steady as a rock. An ... I could do this if I wanted to... look passed through the feral green eye closest to him before El Diablo released his arm. Templer reached over and took the big gun out of Chrysta's hand. He carefully dropped the hammers back into the safe position and re-holstered it.

He glanced sideways at her.

“The recoil would have shattered your wrist if you had fired her from that position.”

His companion shrugged.

“I know that, and you know that...” She grinned. “HE... didn't know that.”

When they finished, El Diablo stood resplendent in black and crimson. Not only was the saddle and bridle these intense colors, but the stallion also had dragon mail that glittered over his shoulders, rump, high crested neck and wide chest. Andrew tied him to stand and wait. The stallion arched his neck checking himself over. He seemed very aware of the impression he made.

Chrysta snorted a short laugh.

“No modesty in his family I guess.”

They could hear the fanfare as preparation got under way for parade to post.

She turned toward the street.

“Well that's my cue to go get ready.”

The woman headed for the door.

“Give me a few minutes please then clear the entrance to the street.”

Grant watched her until she disappeared inside than turned and grabbed Templer's wrist. He had a small map in his other hand.

“How long does it take you to recover from one of your shifts?”

The Talon frowned but answered.

“Twenty minutes if someone is pushing me to wake. Why?”

The barman spread out the map.

“You will have to head back this way when they hit this mark. Chrysta will need you here when she makes the finish line.”

Grant saw Constantine's confusion.

“Listen I don't trust Diego! You can't help her out while she is ON the course... but... there is no rule saying you can't keep an eye on her from ABOVE the race.”

Azra surged forward as they both realized what he was suggesting. The Inn keeper handed him a small Spy-Bug.

“You will be able to communicate with her using this. DON'T distract her! DON'T interfere on the course!”

Templer scooped up the little construct and was already shifting as he moved. People screamed... scattering as Azra flowed down the alley sending a wave of elemental power ahead of him. Grant followed at his heels. They cleared the alley and held it open to the street as they waited for Chrysta to bring the Devil out.

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