Of Kings and Killers (Elder Empire Sea #3) - WIll Wight Page 0,90

person to give in to anyone’s forceful demands, but this torture had hollowed them all. “You have him, you don’t need us. At least…at least the children…”

His two sons were gagged, but they looked at Wells, silently begging him to release their children. Still, none of them looked Foster in the eye.

Wells gave no sign that he’d heard. He idly pointed the gun in a random direction, too close to Terisia for Foster’s comfort, and thumbed the hammer back. She flinched as he pulled the trigger, but there was only the click of the hammer slamming into place on an empty chamber.

“It suits my hand,” Wells said, satisfied. He held out a hand to one of his men. “Shot.”

Foster stood up and cleared his throat. “It takes custom rounds. Got a half-dozen in my shop.”

Wells waited, frozen with the gun in one hand, for a moment that stretched on too long. Finally, in the tone he would use to berate an idiot, he said “Well…go get them.”

Foster did.

The bullets weren’t simple balls of lead, but shaped bullets that held their charge inside. There had been experiments from alchemists and gunsmiths that suggested this was the next step in the development of firearms.

They were most likely right, though Foster had cheated with Awakening. The rounds were ordinary.

Foster handed Wells the bag, trying not to show his rage or disgust. Or his newborn, trembling hope. “Push out on the side. Slide the bullets in…yeah, there you go.” Wells pushed out the chamber, which now looked like it had been made out of metal and bone fused together. It resembled nothing so much as a rib cage protruding from the side of a serpent.

“No powder?” Wells asked when he’d finished loading.

“It’s in the rounds already.”

Wells’ grin stretched the bounds of his face. “Well well, look at you, going above and beyond. You see what you can do when you’re properly motivated?”

“Never been so motivated,” Foster said. He kept his tone and his face blank.

Wells thumbed the hammer back and pointed the gun at one of his men. The bandit flinched back but didn’t dare to move.

Wells slowly moved from him to another man, who once again froze, hoping his boss would choose to kill someone else. There were four lackeys in the room, two holding on to Foster’s family and two lounging near the exits. The swamp-witch and Wells made six.

Foster saw the brigands with new eyes. They were prisoners of their leader just like he and his family.

And that didn’t change their crimes a bit.

When Wells spun to Terisia, Foster’s throat tightened. He passed on to their sons, and Foster had to look away.

Finally, Wells ended up pointing at an empty couch. There was the ghost of a smile on his face, as though he’d enjoyed the reactions of everyone in the room.

“Test run,” he announced, finger tightening on the trigger.

But before he squeezed, he glanced out the corner of his eye to Foster.

“Does it have a name?”

“Oath to Eternity,” Foster said.

Wells made a thoughtful sound. “Old-fashioned. I like it.”

Then he squeezed the trigger.

From the beginning, Foster had known that he wouldn’t be allowed to leave after making the bandit leader a gun. If he failed, he would be killed. If he succeeded, he would be kept as a slave or killed anyway.

But he had kept an extensive collection of old firearms and pieces that might one day be useful in Reading. He had the brigands bring him some of the more mundane substances he needed for his craftsmanship, but he had raided his own stores for the particular Intent he required.

This gun was a seeker of vengeance. It existed to destroy those who had unjustly wronged others.

No…it existed to destroy those who had hurt Foster’s family. He had sworn to have his vengeance.

His oath to eternity on it.

The gun dragged Wells’ hand up, pressing itself against his temple, and fired.

The sound deafened the room as smoke flew up from one side of Wells’ head and blood sprayed out the other. He collapsed to the floor, Oath to Eternity falling from his hand and sliding on polished wooden floors.

Foster felt no relief. His head was still pounding from Reader burn, but if this worked as he expected…

He knelt on the ground. The gun, defying momentum, slid on the wood between two carpets and rushed straight into Foster’s hand.

Even through his burned-out Reader’s senses, he could feel Oath to Eternity’s glee. If he were Soulbound to it, he might hear its voice, as