The Bandit

Do I blame him?

Not one bit. I don’t think I’d do the same thing as him if I were in his position—but that’s easy to say, with a full belly by a fire. I hope to never find out.

—

The cold is gnawing. It’s unrelenting. It’s all you can think about, and therefore you cannot think at all, because if you think about the cold it only sinks deeper. Your mind is frozen in a box, and the only thing you can do is wait for the rhythmic clattering of hooves to bring you back to town. Your eyes are fixed forward, your fingernails digging through your gloves at your palms as you white-knuckle grip the reigns.

You do manage one thought, to summon sympathy for the dead trees that are so… sad. Their branches reach so desperately for no sunlight at all, especially today—as even with a clear sky at noon, there is no sign of the Architect and the sky glows only a dim, sickly grey. You long for sunlight and plenty just as they do.

At least you have food. You will bring them food.

As soon as that glimmer of hope sparks off in your mind, a gunshot sparks off from the treeline. It lands wide, striking through the wood of your carriage and startling the horses such that one of them manages to rip free from its tethers and sprint into the forest, while the other stops, whinnying. It almost takes you a moment to shake off the ice and realize what’s happening, ducking down and hurriedly shuffling your wand-gun off your back.

Now armed, you lay low… drawing a spark of flame off the lantern that was resting beside you, and tossing it into the air. At the sight of the flame, another shot rings out, narrowly missing you this time; but now you know where the shots are coming from, even if you’re terrified for your life.

You breathe, in, out. You’re going to have to rely on your protective charm. You don’t have the element of surprise, but your assailant doesn’t seem to be a particularly good shot. You peek over the wall at the front of your carriage, and take aim at the silhouette you see in the forest.

“Stand down! Fire again and, I’ll have to fire back! If you come peacefully, neither of us has to get hurt! Please!”

The figure turns, lifting his rifle and firing! You come within a hair’s breadth of death, as the round richochets away, bouncing off of an invisible field that it shatters, before rolling off harmlessly into the snow. You have no time to think, or hesitate, and you know that full well. You pull the trigger.

PAK.

The wand-gun kicks like it never has before, a ray of searing white glare striking through the forest. You hear a horrifying shout as the shot makes contact, wincing back. You’d felt it fire before a hundred times; you’d heard it make contact just as many. Neither were quite the same, this time.

You leap out of the carriage, the man no longer on his feet, and hurry to check on him. You keep your wand gun at hand, nervous that he might try to shoot you again as you approach, but… it quickly becomes clear that won’t be possible.

He lies motionless among the staining snow, his right arm blown a yard or two afield which you can only tell by the spray of red across the white, and missing part of his jaw as well. As soon as you see what you’ve done, your stomach turns over, and you have to stop yourself from puking so that you can drop to your knees in the snow and check his pulse… but your fingers draw across a skeletal arm, and find no movement at all.

He was probably barely hanging on, even before you shot him.

You kneel there, for a while, silent. As if you hope he’ll start breathing again suddenly. You contemplate burying him, but… as you feel the chill start to dig its claws into your anxious mind again, you realize that you have no time. You raise to your feet, and begin trudging off, taking one last look at the treeline before you go to search for your horse…

You had no choice. Right?