Free The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial by Adam Dreece Page A

backs of others. The bar sways back and forth and finally comes down in a fiery crash.  
    Despite my desperate wishes, my limbs refuse to do my bidding. What’s going on? With each blink, my eyes are taking more and more energy to force open, and stay open for less time. My breathing’s getting heavier. Come on, got to get up. I start to move, surprised to see my hand locked in a death-grip around my pistol. Maybe I need to rest just a minute.

    “Hey, weslek, you’ve been staring at that pistol for a while. Is that what you want or is there something else?”  
    I turn to look at the steely-faced woman leaning against a white, stone counter. Her arms are folded and she seems at home. She’s wearing a red jerkin with green sleeves, and black pants. Her long, red hair is done up in a bun, with a strand dangling down over one shoulder. She has an intricately designed, empty leather holster under one arm and another like it on her hip.
    “You’re the… the smith.”
    She squints at me. “What’s going on? Are you feeling okay?” She comes right up to, inspecting my face. “You seem a little off. You didn’t look like this when you walked in here a minute ago.”
    Taking a step backwards, I wave a hand. “Sorry, I’m just having a bad day. Things have been intense lately. I guess it’s starting to catch up with me.”  
    Glancing about, I take in the room. The walls are dark wood, with sections decorated with beautiful firearms, from small pistols to rifles. There are several bright, gas-powered lanterns hanging from the exposed ceiling, leaving few shadows. There are a few swords of various types, here and there, for additional decor.  
    She returns to leaning against the counter. I follow her gaze and find I’m cradling a pistol in my hands. It’s silver with an etched floral design. There's a deep, rich, blue line that runs from the hilt to the tip. “Huh.”
    “Is huh good?” she asks.  
    I bring it up for a closer inspection but shake my head. “I can’t place it, but it looks familiar.”
    She scoffs. “No one comes into my workshop without me being here, I remember faces, and I’ve not seen yours. I’ve designed every one of these myself, and I’m sure you haven’t seen that before. Do you know how hard it was to get the quality of crushed sapphires I needed to create the mana channel? Never mind the level of expertise it took to make it work? That pistol is my greatest work of art.”
    “It’s beautiful,” I offer, glancing up with a half-hearted smile. Holding it in one hand, I point it at the wall and try to imagine myself using it. Part of the hilt digs into one of my knuckles. “The weight feels right, but the grip’s awkward.”
    “You sound disappointed, but the grip wasn’t designed for you. It’s easy enough to change if that’s what you want. I’ll need a cast of your hand and about three days to do it. Your buddy already gave me enough coin to cover whatever you want, so make it count.” She pushed a sleeve back and glanced at an ebony rectangle affixed to her forearm. “Better make it quick, apparently there’s a Scourge being released in this district.” Looking me over quickly, she bites her lip, stopping herself from asking the obvious.
    “What is that?” I ask, curious.
    “None of your business,” she says, covering it back up.
    My knees suddenly go weak, but I catch myself. I lean against the wall, shaking my head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
    “Don’t you dare be sick in here,” she snaps. I notice a sleek piece of black steel peeking out from the edge of her pants. She’s keeping it tucked almost out of sight, wanting me to see it but wanting me to know that she doesn’t consider me an outright threat just yet. I’ve used that technique many times. I’m curious what it is, but don’t dare ask.
    “Just a bit light-headed,” I tell her. “That’s all. I like this one. Can you modify it to have a longer barrel? I like more control. Also, no