Up and Coming: Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Judgment

Originally published in The Dragon Chronicles by Windrift Books.

It was near closing time and McKay’s Saloon was full of chasers and herdsmen talking, laughing, and caterwauling when Peregrine Long staggered past and stumbled up the wooden stairs to the Sheriff’s office.

At Peregrine’s insistent banging, Sheriff Wolfberg unlocked and opened the door.

“You better have a darn good reason for waking me at this hour,” the sheriff muttered. Yellow light spilled from the doorway and, mid-yawn, he spied Peregrine’s bloodied face and sooty clothes. “Long? What in Sam Hill happened to you?”

Peregrine rasped, “Get me a stiff drink, and I’ll tell you.” He scuffed across the wood floor, dragged a chair back from the deputy’s table, and groaned as he sat.

Wolfberg poured a double shot of Dragonfire whiskey and clunked the bottle down beside Peregrine’s hand. “You need a doctor. Your story can wait.”

Peregrine grabbed the man’s brown vest and pulled him forward until their faces almost touched. “No, sir, it can’t. We’ve got less than one day.”

“Or what?”

Peregrine released him and tossed down the whiskey. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, leaving a grimy smear. “Or the Judge will be here looking for payment.”

Sheriff Wolfberg planted his palms on the scarred, wooden table and leaned over Peregrine. “You’d better explain that, son. You better explain very clearly what you’ve done to bring that hellish beast down on Bonesteel.”

The leather saddle creaked as Peregrine swung down from his blue roan’s back. With a practiced hand he hitched his new pony beside Deputy Isabeau Hightower’s buckskin gelding as he squinted at the blue March sky with his good eye. It was midmorning. He sucked in the cool mountain air.

It was a fine day to be alive.

Peregrine patted his horse, Tohcta, then swung around and headed for McKay’s Saloon. Like a swamp reed, his lanky frame had an unmistakable bend when he moved. Spurs jangling and boot heels thudding he crossed the wooden walkway and pushed through the saloon’s doors into a dim room.

The air was warm and thick with the stench of ale and sweat. Cigarette smoke hovered around the lights, twisting into ghostly patterns as Peregrine passed through it.

“So I says, ‘Why’d you go and kick a big ole snapping turtle like that for?’” Bobby Mack, a mouthy troll chaser from Shao San’s Circle S Ranch, was repeating his favorite story to everyone within earshot. Bobby loved big stories, especially when he was telling them.

“Whatcha doing in here, Long?” Jack McKay asked from behind the scarred, mahogany bar as Peregrine bellied up.

“Buying a drink.” He surveyed the one-room saloon for Isabeau but spied her sister, Simone, beside Bobby. She musta been riding the deputy’s horse. Peregrine fought a snarl. His like for Isabeau was countered by his dislike of Simone. She was dirty, in more ways than one.

None of the riders acknowledged him. Bonesteel was a company town, controlled by Pico Connelly. People lived and died working Pico’s Double L sheep herds. The man had built Bonesteel from nothing to wealthy. And Peregrine was a one-eyed outsider.

McKay swiped a beer-stained rag across the bar. “You don’t drink.”

Bobby sneered at Peregrine, and then continued his tale. “So he says, ’I thought it was a rock.’ Can you believe that? A rock!” He hooted and swigged his beer. “Dumb as a duck, that boy.”

Simone glowered at Peregrine as he leaned on the bar and answered McKay.

“Today I do. Dragonfire.”

The red-haired bartender shrugged and poured a shot of amber whiskey. He jerked his chin toward the saloon’s wavy glass windows. “That a new pony for Pico’s string?”

The shot burned all the way down and put fire in Peregrine’s gut. He cleared his throat. “She’s mine.”

McKay’s ruddy brows rose.

Bobby and Simone squinted through the window. “Where’d you get the money for a fine pony like that?” Bobby asked.

Peregrine clunked his glass down. “Saved it.”

For eight years Peregrine had worked the Double L’s pony lines. But his odd eyes—one brown, the other gray—made men uncomfortable. The color of steel, the left one didn’t focus and made the world blurry. He was born that way and often wore a black patch over the eye. But it didn’t keep Peregrine from being a fine and fast shot with a revolver or from doing his job well.

Which had turned out to be a problem, because every year he’d pushed to be promoted to troll chaser. But Pico’d always passed him over, saying good linemen were too hard to find. Peregrine figured it was because of his eye. So he’d scrimped and saved, and he’d just bought Tohcta, his own troll pony. Granted, her muzzle was more gray than blue, but she suited Peregrine; he was going gray at the temples, too.

Simone Hightower tapped her shot glass on the bar and McKay refilled it. “Isn’t that one of Darla Sanchez’s prize roans?” she said.

Peregrine tossed a copper coin on the bar and stepped back. “Was.” He tugged his black, wide-brimmed hat down and faced Simone. “Mine now.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Judgment be damned, Peregrine thought as he headed for the door.

Outside, he pulled Tohcta’s reins from the hitching post and climbed onto her saddle. The pony’s ears twitched as Peregrine turned her away from Bonesteel. She’d grown too old for mountain troll work. But there’d been problems down on the plains, incursions from the Shadowns. He’d make a good living in Cyanide chasing prairie trolls away from the buffalo herds. With a nudge of Peregrine’s heels, the blue roan strode out and they soon passed under Bonesteel’s gray stone arches.

Peregrine sank into the creaking old saddle, tugged down his hat, and took in the view below.

Bonesteel Butte stood over a vast, golden plain, its sloped base covered with thick evergreens up to a clear line where its sides became sheer cliffs. The butte’s pancake top—home to the small town of Bonesteel—covered six square miles and ended in the Judge’s Spire, a great stone pillar as tall as the butte was wide.

Peregrine squinted at the top of the spire where a wisp of black smoke curled from an angry gash that led into that deadly trap. When the winds blew west the town gained a fine coat of greasy soot and the stench of charred carcasses made the residents gag. No trees clung to the sheer stone. And no one passed through the Judge’s Hollow at the pillar’s base. Not voluntarily anyway.

Peregrine looked away. He’d be glad to put some distance between himself and judgment, even if it meant leaving Isabeau.

The trail from Bonesteel was worn and sloped sharply downward, cutting in switchbacks along the butte’s rocky sides. It afforded travelers an expansive view of the Shadowns’ barren canyons, the green plains with roaming buffalo herds stretching forever, and the distant tree-covered Black Hills.

The trip down the butte took a good two hours, plus another hour to pass through the shadowy forest that ringed the butte’s base, so it was after midday when Peregrine and Tohcta emerged from the trees. Peregrine straightened in the saddle. He retrieved a cigarillo from his brown duster’s inner pocket and lit a match off his boot heel. A long drag warmed his lungs.

When he reached Cyanide, he’d head for Stetson Zmiejko’s Black Bar Ranch. Stetson’d promised him a place on his crew as a troll chaser if Peregrine got a pony, and Stetson was a man of his word.

Peregrine glanced over his right shoulder at the thudding of hooves. Six riders were coming up fast. He moved Tohcta off the path to let them pass. But the group reined in their mounts and surrounded him.

Simone Hightower was among them. “We want a word with you, Long.”

“What about?” Peregrine took in her companions: tow-headed Bobby Mack and his stocky brother Beauregard, Matikai with her intense, dark gray stare, Mitchell Fishman whose dark fists were hard and fast, and his former boss, Pico Connolly. All but Pico were troll chasers from the Circle S or Darla Sanchez’s rancho.

Pico spurred his blood bay gelding forward. “You got a bill of sale for that little roan?”

Peregrine’s eyebrows rose. “’Course I do.” He reached into his duster. Six pairs of eyes watched his movements; six hands edged toward holstered guns. “What’s the trouble, Pico?” he asked as he proffered the folded paper.

Pico took the certificate, studied it, and frowned. He passed the paper to Matikai, who was Darla Sanchez’s foreman. She glanced at the bill of sale then crumpled it and threw it at Peregrine. “That ain’t a legitimate bill of sale, Pico.”

“Damn.” Pico shoved up his hat brim and looked at Peregrine from beneath his shaggy, gray brows, a slow, steady gaze that brooked no argument. “The trouble, Peregrine, is that you didn’t buy that pony from Darla.” As he said it, he slid his revolver from its holster, cocked it, and pointed the gun at Peregrine. The other riders mirrored him. “This pony’s stolen and Darla’s dead.”

Peregrine took another long drag on his cigarillo and squinted at the man. “You calling me a thief and a murderer?”

Beauregard hawked and spat then said, “We sure are. You can’t afford a Sanchez roan, and everyone knows how much you’ve been wanting a pony.”

Peregrine ignored the halfwit. “Eight years I worked your lines, Pico. You ever known me to steal, cheat, or hurt anyone who didn’t deserve what I gave ‘em and more?”

Pico shook his head. “The evidence is clear. You’ve got the pony, the forged bill of sale, and the motive.”

“Then I was set up. I bought this pony from Dom Hightower.”

Simone leveled her gun at Peregrine’s chest, and her voice and hand shook as she said, “You saying my brother killed his boss and framed you, Long? You saying he murdered the woman who took my kin and me in when we had nowhere else and no one else?”

Pico held up his hand. “Calm down, Simone.”

Peregrine wouldn’t put it past her to shoot him. “I’m saying I bought this pony from one of Darla’s representatives.”

“Well, Dom ain’t here to defend hisself,” Mitchell lisped.

Peregrine replied, “Then let’s go back to the butte and Simone can get him. He’ll prove that I bought the pony from him.”

“Impossible,” Pico said.

“Why?”

Simone bared her teeth. “Because he’s dead, too, and you know it!”

Matikai grabbed Simone’s shaking hand. “Let the Judge decide if Long’s lying. Let her punish him.”

“The Judge?” Simone looked at Matikai. “Sure.” Her snarl twisted into a vicious grin. “That’d be more than fair.”

Pico bowed his head then nodded, his silver hair flashing in the early spring sun. “All right.” He gestured at Peregrine’s revolver. “Don’t do anything foolish, like reaching for your gun. You just put your hands up.”

Beauregard and Bobby cocked their revolvers as Bobby said, “You may be one of the best shots in Bonesteel, but there’s six of us, Long.”

Beauregard added, “And Simone would welcome an excuse to kill you.”

“You’re punishing an innocent man, Pico,” Peregrine growled. “There’s nothing fair about the Judge, and you know it.” He itched to draw his gun, but Bobby was right—six against one was no winnable fight. He’d have to stay calm, keep his wits. Maybe he could talk some sense into Pico. “You know me better than this.”

Pico took Peregrine’s Colt from its holster and met his gaze with a steady eye. “I know you’ve been grousing for years about not getting a fair chance. And I know you don’t earn enough to buy one of Darla’s ponies.”

“I’m an honest man. You know I’ve been saving my money.”

“I don’t know anything about how you spend your money, Peregrine. I only know what I pay you.”

As Mitchell tied Peregrine’s hands to the saddle horn and Matikai took Tohcta’s reins, Beauregard said, “Ain’t nobody ever trusted you, Long. Nobody.”

They pulled Tohcta around and headed southeast toward Judge’s Hollow at a fast lope.

Peregrine clutched the horn and tried to work his hands free. Facing the Judge was certain death; he’d rather be shot in the back trying to escape than meet her head-on. But though he worked at it, Mitchell’d been a lineman once and knew his knots. By the time they topped the Hollow’s blackened rim, Peregrine’s wrists were raw and bleeding but still firmly tied.

“Simone.” Peregrine looked at the sister of the woman he desired. They looked so alike—small-boned, dark-haired, and hardened by a hard childhood. “Did you ask Isabeau if she thinks I’d do a thing like this?”

Simone turned cold brown eyes on him. “Isabeau’s mourning our brother. I ain’t gonna tell her Dom died at her friend’s hands. She’s gonna believe that you left her to chase trolls and a fat wallet, Peregrine. She’s better off without you sniffing around her skirts.”

Beneath him, Tohcta shifted and pawed the ashy trail, and the other horses snorted and pranced. Facing a troll was one thing, but a hungry purple dragon was quite another.

Mitchell loosened Peregrine from the horn and yanked him from the saddle. He hit the ground and curled into a ball as the chasers kicked and pummeled him while Pico held the horses and watched.

Finally Pico called, “Enough. String him up and let’s get out of here before the Judge takes notice.”

Bloodied and squinting through a swollen eye, Peregrine was shoved down the trail to the shadowy, bone-riddled bottom of Judge’s Hollow. The stench of soot, burned tallow, and decaying flesh made him gag. He doubled and vomited while his assailants laughed, their faces covered by bandanas to cut the smell.

Peregrine struggled as they dragged him toward the stand, a charred stump set beneath an equally charred oak tree. He dug his heels in and strained to escape their hold, but Mitchell and Bobby kept a tight grip on his arms. A rope was tossed over a thick branch and a noose tied around his neck as he was made to stand upon the stump. The noose was pulled up until Peregrine stood upon his toes to keep from choking.

“Should we kick the stump, Pico?” Simone’s voice was low and thick. Peregrine squinted at her. Did she have regrets?

“Couse we should,” Beauregard said and the stump rocked beneath Peregrine. “Thieves are presented swinging.”

Peregrine gagged and snuffled, desperate to keep his perch, desperate for air. The stump held. His good eye watered. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t.

“Murderers ain’t.” Pico replied. “Darla and Dom were shot in the back. Let Peregrine see death coming. Leave the stump and summon the Judge, Matikai.”

There was a metal chuck wagon triangle hanging from the oak, someone’s idea of humor. Its sharp, metallic clanging pulsed in Peregrine’s ears.

One knell.

Two knells.

Three knells.

The snort of the ponies. The clatter of hooves.

Soon only the wind groaned through the hollow to join the sounds of Peregrine’s wheezing lungs and the creak of the rope.

And then, from beneath his cramping feet, came a thud. It traveled up his spine and through his bones.

And then another. And Peregrine’s stomach twisted. He gasped a bubbling breath.

The thuds came faster. Harder. Shaking the ground. A heartbeat beneath the butte. A heartbeat that expanded and contracted the mountain itself.

The triangle jangled. The oak creaked.

Thud.

Dust and ash rose.

Thud.

Rocks skittered down the sides of the hollow.

And then there was nothing but the wind and small rockslides clattering, Peregrine’s wheezing.

Now there was scraping, like granite being dragged over ice.

The Hollow’s cool air turned balmy.

Sweat beaded Peregrine’s forehead and lip. It trickled down his back and stung his eyes. He tried to kick the stump away. He closed his good eye and lifted his feet, but the pain, the stretching, the burning made him put his toes back down.

“Damnation.” Peregrine cursed fate and himself. He wanted to live. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t a murderer.

“Welcome.”

Peregrine opened his eye to see two great silver eyes in a deep purple, horned face and a mouth full of jagged teeth, each as long as his arm.

The Judge hadn’t uttered the word aloud; rather it pulsed inside Peregrine’s head.

He stared and swallowed.

“You’re strung up like a murderer, Peregrine Long. Are you one?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t get a breath past the tightening noose.

With a curved, black claw long enough to run him through, the Judge slashed the rope, and Peregrine hit the ground.

He lay in a pile of bones and soot, sucking in air and coughing out blood.

“Well?”

He sat up. How did she know his name? How did she get inside his head? Why hadn’t she eaten him? He slowly, gingerly shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he rasped. “I ain’t a murderer or a thief. I’ve been accused of a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Really?” The Judge straightened into a sitting position, her long neck curving high above the oak tree. She cocked her massive skull. “I’ve heard that from every murderer and thief I’ve ever judged. What makes your story different?”

“Story?” Peregrine started working on the knots binding his wrists. “I ain’t telling you a story, ma’am. That’s the truth.”

“Hmmm. Peregrine Long, I have only three things that interest me: Solitude, my stomach, and the occasional interesting story. Since you’ve broken my solitude, you’d better tell me a good story, or I’ll put you in my stomach.”

“What happened to judgment?” Peregrine looked over the enormous beast. In the eight years he’d been in Bonesteel, he’d seen the Judge only once as she’d taken flight, circled high overhead, and then set the hills south of the Bonesteel Butte afire.

But close up, she was far larger than he’d perceived; her head alone, encompassed the length of three ponies standing end to end. Her iridescent scales were a purple so deep they looked almost black but showed every hue as she moved, much like the wings of butterflies. She bore three black horns from nose to forehead, and a jagged ruff encircled her neck rising and lowering as her moods changed. She was magnificent and terrifying. But Peregrine never expected to find intelligence within the silvery depths of the Judge’s eyes.

“Judgment comes after your story,” her voice whispered in his mind. “A true story, Peregrine. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I ain’t a storyteller, Judge. I’m a lineman who just lost his hard-earned chance to become a troll chaser. I bought that pony, fair and legal—had the papers to prove it. And I didn’t murder anyone. I’ve got one friend in the world, but she’ll hear the lie that I’m the monster who killed her older brother, and I’ll have lost her, too.” Peregrine considered the dragon as she lowered her head to take him in. “Honestly, you oughta just end my existence, Judge. No one’s gonna care if I’m dead now.”

The dragon shook her head, kicking up a whorl that raised ash and dust all around Peregrine. “You were doing so well until that last sentence. That one was a lie.”

He finally slipped the ropes free and flexed his bleeding wrists. “I ain’t a liar. I told you the truth.”

“No. You’d care if you died.”

The Judge had emerged from a jagged opening at the base of the stone pillar, though half of her remained within her lair. Peregrine stiffened as the dragon now pulled her entire body free of the cavern. She was as long and powerful as a locomotive pulling four passenger cars.

“You could’ve kicked that stump and snapped your neck, but you didn’t.”

Bones and gravel crunched as she encircled the hollow, and him, her wings furled tight against her body and her movements sleek, powerful, and serpentine.

“You wanted to live. And you still do.”

The Judge stopped and raised her furled wings high above her back. “You’re not much of a storyteller, that’s true. But, though short, your story was truthful. I will strike a bargain with you, Peregrine Long.”

“A deal with the devil?”

She filled his head with amusement, and Peregrine almost smiled.

“Perhaps. You are, as you claim, an innocent man. But I have an agreement with Bonesteel. My solitude is disturbed only to pass judgment, and then I am due payment. If I’m to be denied my supper now, you must bring me a replacement.”

“I need to bring someone for you to judge?”

“Yes. That’s how it’s done in Bonesteel. Judgment is swift and payment swifter. Bring me the real murderer, and I will judge him.” Quick as a wink, her head snapped around, and she pinned him with her silver eyes. “If you don’t honor this bargain, I’ll fulfill it myself.” She cocked her head to the side and added, “Maybe with that woman you covet.” Her muzzle came forward until she was so close, Peregrine could have touched her glistening scales. “And then I’ll come for you.”

His fists clenched. “How’m I supposed to find a murderer? I’m not a lawman.”

The Judge’s enormous muzzle filled Peregrine’s view.

“Simple. They’re all guilty until they prove their innocence.” She exhaled a putrid, steamy breath then turned away. She snapped her wings down to her side. Then the Judge slithered back into her cavern and out of Peregrine’s mind.

But she left him with a parting message: “You have one day, Peregrine Long.”

Peregrine downed another shot of whisky as Sheriff Wolfberg poured himself a drink. The sheriff opened his mouth to respond to Peregrine’s tale, but was interrupted by Isabeau’s appearance at the door.

“Peregrine?” she said. “What happened? You look like you fell off the butte and landed on your face.”

Peregrine smiled and tried to open his gray eye, but it was too painful. It wasn’t like it was useful anyway.

Isabeau crossed the room and shoved the Sheriff aside. “Where’re you hurt?”

“Bruises mostly, broke a tooth.” He gestured toward his face. “This eye’s doing better already.” It was a lie. The bad eye was worse than ever.

“He shouldn’t be sitting here, Wolf.” She pulled back Peregrine’s duster before he could stop her hands. Her eyes widened as she spied the rope burns around his neck. “What the hell?”

“What the goddamned hell is right.”

Peregrine didn’t need turn to know who’d spoken. Simone’s husky voice was a match for Isabeau’s.

“That man is a murderer and a thief.” The office door banged shut behind her as Simone entered the room. She jabbed her finger at Peregrine. “I don’t know how you escaped the Judge, Long, but you shouldn’t’ve come back to Bonesteel. Sheriff, you need to arrest him and take him back to Judge’s Hollow.”

Sheriff Wolfberg straightened, pulled off his hat, and gestured with it. “Now hold on, Simone. I’m not going to condemn a man on your word alone. There’s something called due process. And there’s more to this story than what you’re saying.”

Isabeau was staring at her sister. “What are you saying, Simone?”

“I’m saying he killed Dom. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to hear about it. I thought I could keep it quiet. But he’s got some nerve coming back here.” She kicked a chair and it careened across the floor and into a table. “I knew I shoulda shot you when I had the chance, Long. You son of a bitch!”

Isabeau stared at her sister then put her hands on her hips and said, “Damn your hot head, Simone. Peregrine had nothing to do with Dom’s death.”

Sheriff Wolfberg said, “Can you prove that, Isabeau?” He looked at Simone and added, “And can you prove that he did?”

“I can.” Simone stuck her hand in her jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of crumpled paper, and handed it to the Sheriff. “This is the bill of sale that Peregrine presented as proof that he bought a little blue roan from Darla Sanchez yesterday.”

The Sheriff nodded. “I can read. This looks legitimate.”

“Matikai says that ain’t Darla’s mark. The certificate is a fake.”

Peregrine shook his head. “I told you and your vigilantes down on the trail, I didn’t buy the pony from Darla. Dom sold her to me. That’s your brother’s mark as Darla’s representative.”

Sheriff Wolfberg scratched his beard. “Well, until I can pull Darla’s records and compare this mark to others that Dom may have made, I can’t say with certainty that you’re not a suspect in Darla’s and Dom’s murders, Peregrine.” He looked at Isabeau again and added, “Unless you have some evidence to support his claim?”

She shook her head. “I just know he wouldn’t do that, Wolf.”

Peregrine downed another shot of Dragonfire. His aches were easing with each small glass. “What about the Judge? She exonerated me. That dragon crawled into my mind, read my thoughts, and let me go as an innocent man.”

“I don’t know much about that beast, and I’d sure like to keep it that way.” Wolfberg turned back to Peregrine. “I’m no fan of vigilante justice, but in this case, it seems to have given credit to your claims, since you faced the Judge and she let you go. Which is why I’m not locking you in a jail cell tonight. But I’m a lawman, and the law states that I need hard evidence to clear you, Peregrine. A dragon in your head isn’t evidence. But this is.” He folded the bill of sale and slipped it into his pocket. “Provided this mark matches Dom’s signature in Darla’s files, you’ll remain free.” He nodded at Isabeau. “You gonna help him with those injuries, Deputy?”

“I am, Sheriff.”

Simone began to protest, but Sheriff Wolfberg cut her off. “Drop it, Simone. You had your chance and you best look to your own affairs. You and your accomplices could face attempted murder charges if Peregrine’s claim of innocence stands.”

Simone cursed and stomped from the Sheriff’s office. Pausing at the door, she snarled, “I don’t know how you escaped the Judge, Long, but you won’t escape justice for good. I promise you that.” The door banged behind her.

The Sheriff stood and looked down at Peregrine. “Son, you best go heal and keep out of my way while I investigate this matter. I don’t want to hear about more folks being served up to a hungry dragon.” He pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from his pocket and a pencil. “Give me the names of your assailants.” He jotted something in the book and added, “I already got Simone down.”

Peregrine wanted to curse. The Judge wanted a body and she didn’t care whose. He wouldn’t be safe until he brought a villain to Judge’s Hollow. And he was a dead man walking in Bonesteel—there were half a dozen suspects who’d rather see him strung up for the Judge than end up in that Hollow themselves. And the townsfolk would look the other way if sacrificing Peregrine meant keeping their own hides from catching fire.

Peregrine downed another shot then said, “Matikai, Bobby and Beauregard Mack, Mitchell Fishman, and Pico Connelly.”

The Sheriff looked up, his eyes sharp. “Pico?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine.” The Sheriff settled his hat on his head. “You stay away from these six, you hear me?”

“I don’t want revenge, I want justice, Sheriff. Are you gonna give me that and spare Bonesteel?”

Sheriff Wolfberg straightened. “Is that some kind of threat?”

“No,” Peregrine rasped. “But the Judge will have her payment. She dismissed the case against me, but she wants the real murderer instead. If I don’t produce one, she’ll be back. And, in her eyes, we’re all guilty.”

Wolfberg rubbed the back of his neck and surveyed his shadowy office. “One day, you say?”

“That’s right. Probably less since it took me half the day to climb up here.”

The Sheriff sat and leaned close, lowering his voice. “All right. Since you say you want to serve justice and spare this community a dragon’s wrath, I’ll trust you. I’m already tied up with these murders; don’t have the time or the men to chase after your attackers. If you’re willing to take the oath, I’m willing to deputize you, Peregrine.” He held up the little notebook. “But your sole task is to find the men on this list and put them in my jail. I want them alive. You understand?”

Peregrine sat back in his chair. A lawman? He’d never considered the job. But this was a chance to bring a killer to justice. Among the group that accused him was a murderer or someone who knew one and was covering for him. Or her. He glanced at Isabeau. Her expression was unreadable, but then she met his gaze and gave the smallest nod.

“Agreed, Sheriff.”

“Good. Go see Doctor Ross then come back to my office and I’ll get you set up. No time to waste.”

The sky was rosy-gold with the rising sun when Peregrine and Isabeau emerged from the Sheriff’s office. He wore a scratched and dented tin star on his chest and a new patch over his left eye. He hadn’t lost his sight, yet, but his vision in that eye had tunneled and grown dark.

“Deputy Long. That don’t sound too bad,” Isabeau said as she struck a match off her chaps and lit a cigarillo. “You want one?” She offered her open mother-of-pearl case, but he shook his head and studied her.

She was all opposites and upside down. Not exactly refined with her blue jeans and dusty chaps. And not exactly pretty with a crooked nose and hazel eyes that stuck out a bit. She’d kept a firm hold on her grief over Dom’s death, hadn’t shown a lick of it, though they’d been very close. Isabeau would never let her emotions get in the way of her job.

She took a long drag, and then pinched a little tobacco off the tip of her tongue and spat. “What you staring at me for?”

Peregrine tucked a stray lock of her chestnut-colored hair behind her left ear. “Cause I’m thinking about making you a dishonest woman.”

Deputy Hightower exhaled smoke into his face and barked a laugh. “You’re gonna have to make me honest first.”

Peregrine smiled though it hurt his jaw. Then he sobered. “And stop a dragon.”

“Yep, that too.” She hooked her arm through his and swung him toward the little house she sometimes shared with Simone and Dom. “Listen, about Simone.”

“You don’t need to speak for her.”

“She’s scared of you.”

He snorted. “That makes no sense.”

“Sure it does. She can’t figure you out. You don’t react to her the way the other fellas do and, well, she’s afraid I’ll go off with you.”

Peregrine shrugged. “Then she doesn’t know you too well, huh?”

Isabeau shrugged, too, and said, “Maybe I’ve changed.”

Instead of answering, Peregrine stopped. Beauregard Mack had come out of the Horseshoe Inn across the dusty street and was gawking at him and Isabeau. The fair-haired dolt rubbed his eyes as if he’d seen a ghost, blinked, and then turned beet red.

“You best stay clear of this,” Peregrine said to Isabeau as he stepped off the wooden walkway and headed across the wide dirt lane.

“Don’t go thinking that I can’t handle an idiot like Beauregard,” she replied as she followed him.

Peregrine announced, “You’re under arrest, Beauregard Mack.”

“Why ain’t you dead?” the chaser asked.

As if in answer there was a thunderous rumble beneath the butte and puffs of red dust rose from the ground. Horses started, whinnied, and snorted. A large flock of speckled starlings took to the sky and dogs started barking.

Beauregard’s eyes widened. “You cheated the Judge?”

“I was acquitted of all charges. Now Sheriff Wolfberg wants to see you about a murder and an attempted lynching.”

Beauregard’s gaze darted from Peregrine’s face, to the tin star, to his revolver. He licked his lips. “You should be dead. We had the evidence. I didn’t kill no one.”

“You tried to kill me.” Peregrine’s hand dropped toward his hip. “Don’t pull your gun, Beau. I need you alive.” Being one-eyed didn’t stop Peregrine from being a sharpshooter. He had to be; trolls loved the taste of pony and lineman.

But Beauregard’s hand dropped. He got the revolver out of its holster but not cocked before Peregrine’s bullets knocked him off his feet.

The dying man writhed and groaned on the ground, a red bloom spreading across his chest.

Isabeau tried to stop the man’s bleeding, but it was over in minutes. With one last shallow breath, Beauregard Mack’s life ended. She closed his dull, staring eyes as the Sheriff reached the scene.

Wolfberg muttered, “Damned fool. He knew he couldn’t beat you.”

Peregrine nodded. “Yep. Didn’t want to face the Judge.”

Isabeau straightened. “You think he was the murderer?”

“Don’t know. Never will.” Peregrine turned to the Sheriff. “I need to borrow a horse. Gonna ride out to the Circle S and pick up Bobby Mack.”

“All right. But be careful. Word may have spread about your return. You’ve got a target on your back, Deputy Long.”

Isabeau said, “I’ll go with him.”

“No, ma’am. I’ll go with Long to the Circle S, and then we’ll ride out to Pico’s. You get over to Darla’s, pick up any records that can prove Dom’s signature, and arrest Matikai. She’s at the top of my list of suspects; she’d’ve known Dom’s mark.”

“What about Mitchell Fishman?” Peregrine asked.

“We’ll pick him up at Pico’s.” The Sheriff turned to Isabeau. “I expect that your sister will turn herself in. But if she doesn’t, I’ll make the arrest. You don’t need to be involved in that.”

Isabeau nodded and looked away. “I appreciate it, Wolf.”

Peregrine squinted at the sun as it neared zenith. “Time’s getting short.”

Pico’s Double L Ranch sat at the base of the Judge’s Spire. He raised the finest silken wool mountain sheep west of the Sklaa River and was one of the few breeders to produce Silver Sheens season after season. Their wool commanded top prices on the open market and had made Pico the richest man in his industry. It was a wealth he’d shared with Bonesteel, offering loans to his competitors and funding town projects with generous repayment terms.

The approach to the Double L took riders through a long, shallow valley and offered an impressive view of the looming spire. A view that, as Peregrine and Sheriff Wolfberg approached, became all the more imposing as another thunderous rumble shook the ground beneath their horses. There was a tremendous whoosh and cracks in the spire glowed orange as a great flare of dragon fire erupted from the top. Both horses snorted and shied, trying to bolt.

Sheriff Wolfberg was cursing beneath his breath. They’d just come from the Circle S where they’d learned that Bobby had met up with Matikai and headed out that morning. “If they aren’t here with Pico, we’ll have a chase on our hands.”

“Yep.” Peregrine tightened his hold on the reins. “Whoa. Easy, girl.”

“Even after we have your lynch mob in custody, we need solid evidence or a confession from the murderer. I’m not keen on feeding an innocent man to that dragon, Long.”

“Agreed, Sheriff. If need be, I’ll negotiate with the Judge for more time.”

The Sheriff nodded toward the buildings as the rancho spread out before them. “Sure hate to see Pico caught up in all this.”

“You and me both.”

Gunfire split the air.

The Sheriff ducked in his saddle and grabbed his thigh.

With a curse, Peregrine leaned low over his horse’s neck, caught Wolfberg’s reins, and spurred the ponies off the trail as more shots were fired. Bullets ricocheted and hit the trees around him.

Burning pain flashed across Peregrine’s left shoulder as they reached a stand of pines. A bullet had grazed him. He pulled the Sheriff from the saddle as he slipped off his own horse. He released the ponies, and they galloped back toward the safety of town.

The Sheriff groaned. His right trouser leg was dark with blood. Peregrine pulled off his belt and fashioned a tourniquet.

Another tremor shook the ground and the trees. It kept shaking them and built to a roar. Peregrine rocked back on his heels and grabbed a tree trunk. He risked a glance at the spire.

The Judge erupted from the upper cavern in a blaze of smoke and fire. Embers trailed her as she took wing, soared over the butte, and then banked to come up the valley.

She roared, a screaming tornado that made Peregrine clap his hands over his ears and raised the hairs on his arms. And then she shot straight up the length of the Judge’s Spire and came to rest upon the top, her tail and body twining about the stone. She spouted a great gush of fire then glared down upon the Double L and Peregrine.

Was she looking at him?

As if reading his mind from afar, the Judge’s voice slithered into Peregrine’s head: “Tick-tock, Peregrine Long. I’m hungry.”

“I’m busy being shot at right now, Judge,” Peregrine muttered.

“Oh? If they hit their target, our agreement will be fulfilled.”

“Already grazed my shoulder. You want a taste?”

Her amusement lightened his mood, and he chuckled.

“Who’re you talking to?” The Sheriff was staring at Peregrine, his voice sharpened by pain as he worked the tourniquet around his shattered thigh.

Peregrine jerked his head toward the spire. “The Judge. She’s watching us.”

The Sheriff squinted. “Sam Hill take me, I forgot how big she is.”

Another shot and wood splintered off a tree beside Peregrine.

Wolfberg asked, “Who’s shooting?”

“Can’t tell.” Peregrine risked peering around the trunk. He was rewarded with a volley of gunfire and a glimpse of movement near a wall of straw bales between the barracks and the bright blue shearing shed. “Best I can tell it’s coming from the hay by the shed.”

Peregrine surveyed their spot. “I think there’s enough cover from the trees to get me from here to those boulders.” He jerked his chin toward a rocky outcropping that jutted up among trees closer to the main house. “From there I can draw a bead on the shooter.”

“I’ll do what I can to cover you, but you’d best move fast. Not sure how long I can stay upright.”

“I move fast when properly motivated, Sheriff.”

There was the clack of two guns being cocked. “How’s this for motivation, Long?”

Peregrine turned slowly, his hands up.

Pico had gotten the jump on them.

With one revolver pointing at Peregrine and the other trained on the Sheriff, Peregrine’s former boss said, “Shame that everyone’s gonna hear how you double-crossed the Wolf and tried to pin it on me, you one-eyed bastard.”

Wolfberg growled, “Pico, put your guns down. No one’s gonna believe that cock-and-bull story.”

“Sure they will when there’s no one around to dispute it.”

Peregrine watched Pico’s eyes and said, “Isabeau already has.”

Pico snorted. “And Simone’s disputed her. That leaves my word, and I’m the most upstanding citizen in Bonesteel.”

Sheriff Wolfberg pulled his gun.

Peregrine lunged to the side.

Pico fired.

The Sheriff pitched backward, a gaping hole in his chest.

Pico turned toward Peregrine, both guns aimed at him. His gaze strayed past Peregrine for a moment. “’Bout time you showed up.”

The snap of twigs announced another person coming up behind Peregrine. Then a shotgun barrel appeared over his bleeding shoulder, but it was trained on Pico.

The rancher froze.

“Hands up, Pico, and drop those guns.” Simone nudged Peregrine with her elbow, but her gaze was locked on the armed man. “Move your keister, Long.”

Simone stood behind Peregrine but was siding with him. It was the first time ever that Peregrine had been happy to see her.

Pico raised his hands and snarled, “What the devil are you doing, Simone? He murdered Dom!”

Peregrine took Pico’s revolvers, and Simone replied, “Like you just murdered Sheriff Wolfberg? That was cold-blooded and too easy for you, Pico. And now I’ve doubts about Peregrine’s guilt.”

“Time’s up,” the Judge whispered.

Peregrine looked up.

With another thunderous roar, the dragon launched from her spire. Simone jerked around and aimed her gun at the beast as the Judge folded her wings and plummeted down the length of the stone column. She flattened out her dive at the last moment and streaked up the valley with great sweeps of her iridescent wings.

The wind from her passage knocked them off their feet. Branches were sheared from the treetops and crashed down around them.

Peregrine tasted blood and dirt as he hit the ground. His eye patch was dislodged. He blinked and stared around him, squinting his left eye in the sudden sunlight. What the devil had happened to his vision? He shook his head, disoriented. He could see perfectly with the left eye. How was that possible?

Pico scrambled to his feet and charged toward the shearing shed. Peregrine and Simone gave chase. The rancher reached the door but was brought to a standstill as the Judge set his rambling house ablaze.

The dragon circled the ranch, spouting flames. The straw bales blazed. The chasers’ empty barracks went up in a blast of hellfire.

“Where’s my payment?”

Sheep stampeded across a field, bleating their terror, as the Judge landed in their midst and roared. “Shall I start with these?”

“Simone! Peregrine!”

They turned at the shout. Isabeau, fighting her half-crazed pony, rode to their sides. She dismounted and released the terrified animal to run for his life. Eyes rolling and tail streaking out behind him, the horse charged back the way he’d come.

The Judge’s head whipped around and she locked her gaze on the Hightower sisters. “Or will it be two for the price of one, Peregrine?”

“Run!” Peregrine shoved Isabeau and Simone toward the boulders.

The Judge lunged at him, but he stood his ground as the women reached cover. Black, choking smoke curled around him as the dragon stopped inches from his body. She opened her jaws and exhaled a gout of blistering, fetid heat. But she didn’t burn Peregrine though the acrid stench of his own singed hair stung his nose.

“Where’s the murderer you promised me?”

Peregrine shook his head. “I have suspects, but I need more time to prove guilt. I won’t condemn any man or woman for a crime they didn’t commit.”

Simone shouted, “Give her Pico! He murdered the Sheriff.”

Peregrine looked over his shoulder and his voice was strong as he said, “Not without a fair trial, Simone Hightower. I’m not gonna do to anyone what was done to me.”

“He’s behind the murders, Peregrine,” Isabeau shouted. “Mitchell confessed his part and turned state’s evidence against Pico, Bobby, and Matikai.”

The Judge hissed. “Bring this man to me. I will try him.”

Peregrine shook his head. “We need a complete investigation. Then you can have him.”

The Judge’s head pulled back and up as she reared high above him. “Bring me the man, now, or I’ll destroy Bonesteel and turn the woman you love into a pile of ash and bones.”

He really had made a deal with the devil. Peregrine’s shoulders hunched. He had little love for Bonesteel, but there were innocent people among its citizens. He couldn’t condemn them for a man he knew to be a cold-blooded killer. And he’d never let the beast have Isabeau.

“No.” Peregrine gazed steadily at death’s face. “I believe in the law. We had a bargain it’s true. But Pico Connelly is due a trial by his peers, not you, Judge. So take my life now, and our score will be settled. If you’re meant to have others, they’ll come to you by a court of law.”

The Judge stared at him, black smoke curling from her nostrils.

Peregrine held his breath.

A wooden door banged somewhere on the ranch.

Sheep bleated.

“Fine.” The Judge reached out a clawed forefoot, her dagger talons poised to strike. But instead of tearing Peregrine to pieces, she ripped the roof from the shearing shed and threw it into the trees.

Peregrine stumbled toward the safety of the boulders as wood and debris clattered all around him.

Pico screamed and kicked open the sagging shed door. He tried to dodge her, but the Judge’s foot came down once more and pinned the man to the ground.

“No! Please! I’m innocent! It was Bobby and Matikai! I’m begging you!”

“What’s your story, Pico Connelly? Be truthful. I will know if you lie.”

Pico stiffened and stared at the dragon. Tears dampened his face. A stain spread across his trousers as he pissed himself. “I’m innocent,” he sobbed. “I’ve been set up. Matikai and Bobby Mack are the killers. And Peregrine stole that pony. That’s all I know. I swear it. I swear.” But there was another story snaking through Pico’s head, one of betrayal and greed, one that showed his hand manipulating the course.

Isabeau and Simone clung to each other and shrank back from the scene. “What’s happening, Peregrine?” Isabeau asked.

He blinked. They couldn’t hear the Judge. Was it strange that he could? “She’s asking to hear his story. She knows if you’re lying. She gets inside your head and reads your thoughts.”

“Merciful gods,” Simone muttered.

The Judge lifted her foot off Pico. “Rise to face my judgment.”

Pico blinked, a weak smile on his face. He stood on shaking legs. “You see? You see my innocence, Judge?”

The dragon’s snout came down until it was right in front of Pico. He coughed, and then reached out as if to touch her. But just before his fingers reached her shimmering scales she arched her head up and over him so that she was gazing straight down her snout at him.

“No. I find you guilty.”

Pico screamed as the Judge exhaled a plume of fire and set the man ablaze.

Peregrine’s guts twisted. “Don’t watch,” he said as the sisters shrieked.

Pico staggered forward, his arms flailing.

The Judge’s snout shot downward and she snapped her front teeth around his flaming skull. She jerked her head up and back, tossing his headless body in the air like a cat toying with a mouse. Then the Judge caught Pico’s corpse in her jaws and swallowed him.

A rumbling purr vibrated the ground, and the Judge said, “Very satisfying.” She eyed Peregrine and added, “Our agreement is complete. Justice has been served. But there are others, Peregrine Long. The woman named Matikai and the man called Bobby Mack. They took two lives.”

He nodded. “So I heard.”

The dragon cocked her head. “Did you?”

“Yep. Every word.”

She lowered her head to take him in. “How unusual. And did you see his thoughts? The truth behind his lies?”

Peregrine’s jaw dropped. He nodded again, slowly, and whispered, “I did, Judge.” He glanced at Isabeau and Simone then turned back to the great purple dragon. “What does that mean?”

“You are a dragonsage.”

“I am?”

“Yes. I have gone many decades without one.”

Simone touched Peregrine’s shoulder. Her hair had come loose of its braids and her face was tear-stained. “I want to face judgment, Peregrine.”

Isabeau grabbed her sister’s arm. “What? No!”

But Simone shook her off and stepped toward the Judge. “I done Peregrine wrong, Judge. I was one of the group who strung him up in your hollow.” She crossed one arm over her chest and added, “Truthfully, I was the most insistent on his guilt.”

Once again, the Judge’s snout came down until it nearly touched Simone’s body, and the woman stiffened and stared. “Indeed, you are guilty. But you speak honestly, Simone Hightower.”

Isabeau trembled as she clutched Peregrine’s arm. She opened her mouth, but remained silent when he shook his head.

“I’ll accept your punishment, Judge,” Simone said.

The dragon nodded. “Turn away.”

Simone faced away from death. She chewed her lower lip, but kept her head high, accepting her fate.

The Judge slashed two curving talons across Simone’s back, and the woman shrieked and fell to her knees. Her duster and shirt were bloody tatters. Great gashes revealed muscle and bone, diagonal wounds from shoulder to hip that would heal but leave terrible scars.

“You will wear your guilt upon your body until the day you die, Simone Hightower.” The Judge studied the fallen woman and Isabeau, who’d gone to her sister’s aid. “But you have been spared by your honesty.” The dragon crouched and considered Peregrine for a long moment. “Dragonsage, you will find the others who wronged you and committed these crimes. Bring them to me, so that they may be judged.”

“Why do you care about the feuds of my kind, Judge?”

“Because unchecked feuds become war, and war feeds the Shadowns’ beast. Five dragons exist—five powers—and only we hold back the monster that seethes and plots against your kind and mine.” She tipped her snout toward Simone and added, “You will take Simone Hightower when she is well enough to travel. She will assist you in your search.” Then the Judge coiled her muscles, unfurled her wings, and sprang into the air.

Isabeau and Peregrine covered Simone as dust and debris engulfed them with each powerful down-stroke of the Judge’s pinions. The dragon cleared the tree line and swooped over the terrorized herd of sheep. She seized one in each claw, and then winged up to her promontory, snapped her wings tight to her body, and plunged into the darkness of her lair.

“I’ll hitch a team,” Isabeau said and ran to the only standing building on the property, the carriage house.

Simone gasped as Peregrine lifted her into his arms.

“I think I still hate you, Long,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You’d better get over that, Hightower. The Judge has tasked you and me with bringing Matikai and Bobby to face judgment.”

Simone groaned. “Where’s a chair when I need to kick one?”

Peregrine took in the obliterated rancho. “Not even a stool for as far as my eyes can see.”

He returned Simone’s weak smile as Isabeau led a team of black draft horses from the stable, hitched to a cart.

Peregrine gazed up at the blue sky. The sun was well past zenith, and soon he’d be leaving Bonesteel. Again. He moved toward the approaching cart.

It was a fine day to be alive.