Cyrus: Prologue
Prologue
The door slammed open, and for an instant a shadow stood, haloed by the setting sun. The pianist stopped playing as the tavern craned its neck to get a good look at the stranger. The man took a few steps in: he was only a dirty man in a dirty dustmask with an immaculate iron at his hip. He took a few looks around, and headed towards the bar as the tavern ratcheted slowly back to life.
“What can I get you, stranger?” the bartender asked, eyes flicking to a hatchet he kept under the bar. The stranger said nothing, but pulled out bundle of rough parchment tied in smooth, black leather --a duty tab. He slid one sheet out for a Marc Rieger and laid it on the bar. The bartender saw the Bounty Hunters’ signature double rosary on the man’s right wrist. The stranger tapped the picture twice and jerked his head towards a table of 4 men playing Senn, poorly and loudly. The bartender realized that he was asking for both confirmation and permission. He nodded.
The bounty hunter bowed, and slipped a small gold coin with a black gem in the center onto the bar. He could present this at any guild office and get 10% of the bounty as a reward for helping a bounty hunter. For a black bounty, that might be worth well over what the tavern was. After his thumb left the coin, the bartender quickly swept it under the bar. He did not need anyone to see it.
The bounty hunter made his way to the table. A fat man in a red shirt guffawed over his friend’s loss. The bounty hunter kicked at the man’s chair. “Watch your step,” the man said, not paying attention to the bounty hunter.
“Marc Rieger, you are wanted and sentenced to die for crimes involving theft, murder, and sorcery.” The hunter’s voice spilled thick behind the gas mask.
Marc stood up and spat on the floor. “A hunter is as like to shoot you in the back as they are to run. You got balls.” His cronies strained in their seats, reaching for knives or pistols. Marc held his right hand to his side, poised to snatch his revolver. “So we gonna do this, hunter?”
The bounty hunter’s smokin barrel was the only replies. Marc’s stunned, then dead body, slumped back into its chair. The other 3 men at the table shrank back as a spray of blood ruined the Senn set, and a woman shrieked.
The piano didn’t stop this time. If anything, it picked up speed, frenetic in an effort to keep up with the energy.
“Now if you three…” The bounty hunter’s masked face scanned the men at the table, and he continued with disgust “gentlemen don’t want to die, put down your weapons and leave.”
One of the men shook his head and said “You kilt him. You kilt our boss.”
“Yes. I did.”
“There’s still 3 of us.” The man held up a shoddy revolver loosely in one cracked hand. “And we have guns. Y-” He never finished. The bounty hunter fired another bullet, different this time. The man immolated, barely having the time to scream before hellfire destroyed his throat and lungs.
This time, the piano did stop. Another woman shrieked, a man yelled, and the crowd ran onto the now darkening dusty streets. This was no longer just some shooting. The man was Touched. The stranger is a User.
All that remained in the bar were the bounty hunter, the two remaining cronies, one kid, who sat riveted, and the bartender. The two men held their revolvers, shaking.
“I see he taught you three math. There are still two of you, and I’m down to my last bullet.” He gestured between the two of them. “So, which one?” without wasting a word, they both scrambled out of the bar.
The bounty hunter reached down and cut the right index finger off Marc. He slipped it into a purple silk bag, put it deep back under his duster, and went to leave the tavern.
The bartender started, then decided it was just best not to say anything. The burned man had already gone out. He may have burnt out before hitting the ground. That had to be the strongest Ognis round the bartender had seen --and he had seen a few. He knew better than to ask the man in the black duster to stay the night.
