Silver

The McHarne Chronicles

The ghrel-spawn shuffled across the roof of the abandoned watchtower, clutching a sturdy wooden box close to its pale, slimy chest. It stopped near the crenellated edge of the tower and carefully set the box down. The creature's huge round eyes flicked this way and that, then up to the ash-gray sky. Satisfied that it was alone, the ghrel-spawn grasped the box's iron padlock with long, mottled fingers and yanked hard. The lock broke away, and the creature eagerly threw back the lid. It hissed with glee as it gazed upon the mound of silver coins that filled the box.

"Ah . . . nice, shiny!" murmured the ghrel-spawn, picking up a handful of coins and bringing them close to its oblong face. "Nasty man tried to steal the shiny. Showed him, heh. Showed him!"

A coin slipped from the ghrel-spawn's grasp, landed on the rough stone of the watchtower, and began rolling away. The creature quickly leaned to the side and scrabbled for the errant piece of silver. Its fingers stretched out, seeking the coin --

The box exploded.

McHarne threw back the trap door that led onto the watchtower's roof and swung his shotgun left and right as coins and bits of wood rained down.

"Damn," he muttered, pulling down the woolen scarf that covered his mouth and nose. Something landed on the brim of his hat; it was one of the coins. He tucked it away into an outer pocket of his long leather coat.

The ghrel-spawn had jerked aside just as McHarne, silently watching from the slightly-opened trap door, had fired. Now the filthy rutter was nowhere in sight, and the money was scattered about.

The bounty hunter advanced cautiously and swept his gaze over the rooftop, seeing nothing but small stones and scattered coins. Did he wound the thing, at least? Or did it fall over the side and, hopefully, die?

McHarne came to the side of the tower where the creature had sat, ruefully eyeing the remains of the box. There was no blood on the stones.

A feeling of unease gripped McHarne's gut. He slowly backed away, keeping the shotgun at the ready. The thing was still around, somewhere.

He stopped next to the opening in the rooftop and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out the coin, flipped it into the air, and let it fall to the ground. In a loud voice he said, "Yep, I guess it's all mine now. Mine to keep."

From off to his right he heard a low hiss, then a dark shape came flying up over the battlements. The bounty hunter swung his shotgun around, but was a fraction of a second too late. The ghrel-spawn plowed into his chest, knocking the weapon aside. The impact sent McHarne backwards, and he felt himself tipping over and falling through the opening. He cried out as he crashed down the stone steps and came to a jarring halt at the bottom.

The ghrel-spawn was still on him, gibbering obscenities and lashing out at his face. McHarne fended off the blows and managed to slam a knee into the creature's genital area. The ghrel-spawn howled, but the sound abruptly ceased as McHarne drove a fist into the thing's skinny throat. The ghrel-spawn fell back and flailed, allowing McHarne to scramble away to the far corner of the room, where he had hidden his rifle under a pile of rags.

The bounty hunter had no sooner laid a hand on the weapon when he felt a hard tug on his long-coat. He looked over his shoulder and saw the ghrel-spawn on its knees, clutching the bottom of the coat. Blood leaked from the thing's mouth as it yanked harder, and this time McHarne lost his grip on the rifle as he slid toward the creature. He lunged forward, but the ghrel-spawn sprang up and landed on McHarne's back.

"Get off, damn beastie!" growled McHarne, reaching desperately for the rifle. The creature hooted with rage, slamming its fists against McHarne's shoulders.

"You steal the shinies! Nasty man steal the shinies!" screamed the ghrel-spawn. With an ear-splitting cry, it wrapped its hands around McHarne's throat.

A bolt of panic struck the bounty hunter as his air was cut off. He kicked and bucked violently, trying to dislodge the creature. The rifle was out of reach, but if he could get to his knife --

The ghrel-spawn gave another cry, and suddenly the pressure on his back and neck was gone. McHarne gasped, sucked in a huge gulp of air. After a few moments of grateful breathing, he rolled onto his back and rubbed his throat.

Standing over him was a tall, graceful woman with a braid of long black hair hanging over one shoulder, and a pair of immense gray wings folded against her back. She was dressed in a shimmering silver tunic with wide sleeves, a long skirt, and high black boots. With both hands she held a wooden spear, thrust outward into the space where the ghrel-spawn had been.

"Greetings, McHarne," said the winged woman. She relaxed her stance and extended a hand down to him.

McHarne glared at her, breathing heavily. Finally, he rose to his feet, ignoring her hand.

"Damn it, Shonfreya," he said in a low voice. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Is that any way to give thanks?" The woman shook her head. She leaned on the spear, watching him with a bemused expression as he dusted himself off and picked up his hat, which had fallen off during the fight.

"I didn't need your help." He placed the hat back on his head.

"What of your partner? Why did you leave him down there?"

"My assistant," he said, "isn't quite ready for this."

"Humph," Shonfreya said. "What's the use of an assistant who isn't around to assist you when it truly matters?"

"Shonfreya --"

"If you would accept what the Shentavim have to offer, you need not rely on anyone but yourself. Isn't that what you want?"

"No. I'm saying no to you, as always." McHarne kicked the rags aside and picked up his rifle.

"The Shentavim do not make this offer casually. You are one of the few that they believe are worthy."

"So you've said." He looked around for the shotgun, then remembered it was still on the roof.

The winged woman stepped forward and thrust her face close to his. "You refuse the power of the Shentavim, yet you constantly risk your life hunting the Ghreldoks and their kind. Why?"

McHarne stared at her, unblinking. "Would you rather I hunted your kind, instead? I'm just as good, either way."

Shonfreya drew a sharp breath. She brushed her soft lips against his cheek, then pulled back. The scent of burned cinnamon hung in the air between them.

"Your day will come, McHarne," she said quietly. The winged woman turned and strode swiftly up the stairs to the roof. McHarne followed, emerging just in time to see her soaring away into the gray afternoon sky. He sighed as she vanished into the leaden clouds. Shonfreya was a beautiful woman, no doubts there. Had she been a normal human, well . . . he'd still be wary of her.

McHarne heaved another sigh. He now had to gather up all the coins from the box that he had unfortunately blown to pieces, but they were --

They were in a neat pile at his feet. McHarne chuckled, then whispered "thanks" to the empty sky.

Down at the base of the watchtower, McHarne's assistant Jedwyn broke into a grin as the bounty hunter flung open the tower door and walked out, guns over his shoulders.

"I heard the shots," Jedwyn said. "The ghrel-spawn?"

"Dead."

"And the money?"

"Got it all back." McHarne handed the guns to the youth, then patted the pockets of his coat.

"It rained silver," Jedwyn said, "but it seems to have gone now."

"Well, isn't that a mystery."

"Heh. Did you, ah, see anyone you knew up there?"

McHarne's eyes narrowed. "No."

Jedwyn smiled. "And did she make the offer?"

"No."

"Did you refuse?"

"Yes. All right? Yes, I turned it down. Shall we go now?"

"One of these days, she's going to stop offering."

"That's what I'm hoping." McHarne turned and strode away to the horses that were tied to a dead tree. Jedwyn rolled his eyes and followed.

The next morning, McHarne and Jedwyn stood in the plush office of Newton Aycox, a well-known merchant in the city-state of Varroneq. His accountant, Clineshaw, was counting the money that McHarne had recovered from the ghrel-spawn.

"It's all there, Mr. Aycox," Clineshaw said, dropping the last coin into a leather bag. "Nothing missing."

"Splendid!" Aycox exclaimed. "That'll be all, Clineshaw." The accountant bowed and left the office, taking the bag of money with him.

"Well, fine work, McHarne! And you too, son," Aycox said, glancing at Jedwyn. "Your payment, as agreed." The merchant opened a drawer in his large oaken desk and pulled out a small pouch, which he tossed onto the desktop. McHarne motioned to Jedwyn, who picked up the pouch and silently counted the coins inside.

"It's all there, Mr. McHarne," Jedwyn said, imitating the voice of the accountant.

"Good." To Aycox he said, "We'll be on our way, then. But next time, you might want to tell your couriers not to ride so close to the ruins. Those ghrel-spawn do love their shinies."

"Ah, but it's the quickest way!" replied Aycox, leaning forward. "My shipments always arrive a day ahead of everyone else's. There's no great reward without great risk!" He thumped the desk on the last word.

"So I've heard," McHarne said dryly.

"Indeed. Ah, wait! One last thing before you go." Aycox fished a piece of paper from his vest pocket and shoved it across the desk. "One of my colleagues has a . . . task that you might be well suited for."

"Sorry, but we'll be busy for the next few weeks." He tipped his hat and turned to leave.

Jedwyn said, "Actually, we don't have any --" He broke off as McHarne elbowed him in the ribs.

"You don't even know what it is!" called Aycox, but McHarne was already out the door.

Jedwyn gave an embarrassed chuckle. "You'll have to pardon him, he's . . . a little tired. I'll just take that, in case -- um, well, heh . . ." Jedwyn snatched the paper and darted out of the room.

Clineshaw re-entered the office several moments later. "McHarne accepted the assignment?" he asked.

"Not exactly," said Aycox, "but I'm sure he'll reconsider." ◊