Crafty conspirators, every one of them. The Horde of the histories. He had to move among them without raising an alarm until he was ready. Practice, Black had said.

He couldn’t very well just start slaying them with the gun, could he? They would likely pour out of the buildings armed with swords. Or, worse, armed with guns. Did they also have these magical weapons?

Billos had fought off the Horde in full combat, killing them with a skill he’d developed over many years, growing to be a man of seventeen. The enemies sitting on the bench and the one sweeping the porch didn’t appear hostile, but Billos might prefer to face a dozen armed Scabs at the moment. At least the Horde didn’t wield suhupow.

One of the men on the porch beneath the Smither’s Barbeque sign faced him and tilted his hat back. Billos mistook the gesture as an aggressive move and very nearly pulled out his gun. But instead he shoved his anxiety down, lowered his head, and strode on as if at complete ease. He saw that he still wore his brown boots from the forest; they looked out of place under the black slacks. But he wasn’t here to impress them with his sense of good fashion.

“Howdy, partner. Can I help you?”

Billos drilled him with a stare, walking on. “Can you? That depends.”

The other man looked at him cautiously, as if measuring him for a casket, then relaxed. He considered something then dismissed it. Or was being sly.

“Well, if it’s a drink you want, I’m just opening.”

The two men rose, eyeing him curiously. No weapons that Billos could see. They followed the man who’d been sweeping inside, leaving Billos on the street.

He glanced around and saw that he was alone. But he wasn’t so easily fooled. The enemy was undoubtedly peering at him by the dozens, lying in ambush.

Suddenly unnerved, Billos sprinted to the alley between Smither’s Barbeque and the establishment next to it, All Right Convenience. Both were names that meant nothing to him.

He pulled up under the eaves, backed against the wall, and immediately chided himself for running. Such an obvious reaction was sure to put them on guard. He withdrew the gun and stared at it.

He sniffed the tube. Looked down the hole. It was a fantastic weapon that he would take with him back to the forest. They would immediately promote him to general with such a gun.

“Hello?”

Billos spun to his left, gun leveled. A young boy with blond hair stood behind the building, staring at him with round, green eyes.

“You don’t need that,” the boy said.

Billos lowered the barrel; no need to be too obvious. “You startled me.”

“He’s lying, you know.”

“Who is?”

“The Dark One. Black.”