“Templer...”
One deep rumbling voice worried at him.
“Constantine... Come on... You have to wake up!”
Grant's lighter baritone also intruded along with sharp stabbing pain. They both took turns annoying him. The voices came from inside and out, forcing him towards reluctant awareness. Realization flooded back, and the priest jerked himself awake, blinking in the bright sun. Azra had deposited him on the roof of the Ironwood. Grant was crouched next to him. The Innkeeper was using painful pressure points to force him awake. The big man helped him to sit up.
Constantine could not suppress the groan as his abused body protested violently.
“Damn it... Azra what did you do this time?”
“I am sorry... Constantine. We ran into some... difficulties not to mention... a couple of bullets.”
The outrider sounded infinitely weary.
The gunman frowned and levered himself to his feet. Grant was searching the distance outside of town with a long range scanner. Smiling nervously, Andrew handed the Talon a small Spy-Bug.
“She should be back into range any minute now.”
Templer listened but heard nothing but static. He joined the two in intently scanning the race course.
“There they are!”
Grant handed the viewer to the gunman. He could just make out a group of three riders at its maximum range. They were still too far out to decipher any detail when the transmitter crackled to life.
“Is anybody out there?”
The signal was faint, but Chrysta's exhaustion carried through. What had Templer's dark eyes narrowing was the soft bubbling cough that followed.
“We can hear and see you.”
The Talon kept physically calm on the outside but inside was another story.
“WHAT in the seven hells happened out there Azra?”
The outrider answered, giving his host a terse, abbreviated description of the long day's events. He finished with...
“I took the liberty of having Grant call a couple of your friends. I believe we are going to need them.”
The three racing destria were now close enough that the priest could see that Diego's gold was in the lead. The scruffy gray winner of last year's race struggled gamely in second and El Diablo was a little further back. Each huge stride was closing the distance on the other two. Chrysta could hardly be seen. She was buried in her mount's flying white mane. Even as they watched, El Diablo pulled up alongside the gray. The storm colored animal lengthened his stride and for a minute they ran side by side, nose to nose. The gray had won the previous year for a reason! He was not one to easily give up.
Templer heard a solid thump through the transmitter. Chrysta cursed harshly as the two stallions slammed together... hard. Both riders struggled to keep their seats. El Diablo peeled foaming lips back from long black fangs. Twisting his massive head, he pinned the gray with one ice green feral eye. The Talon did not know what the other beast saw in there. But it was enough that he slowed and veered violently sideways, visibly fighting his rider's control. The big silver pulled ahead into second place.
Constantine listened silently to the rider's quick uneven gasps. Her words of encouragement as she egged the tired stallion on... were frighteningly breathless.
The woman cleared her throat with another wet, bubbling, cough. This seemed to help. When she spoke again, her voice sounded a little stronger.
“Tell Andrew that El Diablo is dangerously overheated. He needs to have Joshua and Jeremy ready the minute we get there.”
Templer relayed the message and Andrew went scrambling off the roof. After a couple of minutes, the boy hollered up at them.
“Come on, we have to meet her at the paddocks.”
The gunman looked over the edge. The stable hand was mounted on one drafter, with Zephyr, Nuva and the other big boy in tow. Grant jumped down behind Andrew, and Zephyr lined himself up so that the Talon could drop down on him. No sooner was he settled and Andrew had them moving down the street to the destria compound where the race would end. They could see the full length of the two-mile main street from the large enclosure that had been designated for Chrysta's mount. The sound of the crowd swelled as the tired racers came into sight.
Don Diego's gold was ahead. Chrysta flattened down a little more and Templer could see her hands moving in time to El Diablo's huge stride. They were finally working as a team and the battle stallion was flying low. The pair pulled alongside the leader. Rafe struck out, catching the silver across the face with his whip. El Diablo ducked away.
The crowd screamed as the gold and the silver pounded together along the street. Their white manes and tails billowed and flowed, mingling together in the wind of their passing. Both stallions were close to their limits, their strides at full stretch. Steam rolled off of their super-heated bodies. Foam flew from both as El Diablo closed until they were neck to neck.
Constantine suddenly understood why Chrysta believed the beast's descended from dragons. Little flickers of flame had started to appear. These snorted out of flaring nostrils with each animal's straining breath. It also sparked on the hard pack underneath the pounding hooves. Rafe stuck at the face of the silver stallion again causing El Diablo to cough out an angry scream. The third time the man struck, Chrysta's sword whispered from its sheath and was there to block the blow.
The two animals slammed together, and the silver faltered. Templer's twist of fear joined Azra's as Chrysta lost her seat for a split second. The stallion gave a funny twist as he recovered his balance that put his rider back in the saddle. Rafe struck back at Chrysta causing her to twist painfully to block the whip. El Diablo fell back a fraction. His fanged mouth reached out, grabbing the red head by the thigh. The battle beast jerked. It forced the screaming Rafe to drop his whip. The man desperately grabbed on to his mount's mane. The silver couldn't hold on. That mouthful of leg was interfering with his breathing and he had to spit it out.
The silver pulled even, matching the gold stride for stride. They were one hundred yards from the finish line when the golden beast suddenly faltered... then recovered. Rafe was slashing him with sharp spurs, driving him on. Blood had started to stain the foam flying from the lovely destria's mouth. Templer saw Chrysta's green eyes slash sideways, and she did something that caused her mount to drift out a little. The gold nosed ahead for a moment. Then the beautiful dappled stallion gave an odd stumble as something inside of him gave under the pressure. Blood flooded from his nostrils. This time when he faltered, he didn't recover.
The racer pancaked, front legs stretched forward, back legs stuck behind. He slid along the street on his chest and belly. His weight and momentum dug a furrow in the dirt. As the golden body came to a stop his rider baled off with a curse. The heat from the animal seemed to concentrate... compress. With a muted whump, the dying beast spontaneously burst into flame. Chrysta had El Diablo past the burning corpse and over the finish line in the next few strides.
The crowd was yelling and applauding but they stayed well back. El Diablo slowed as he approached the paddock. His rider was sliding off even before he stopped. They had won, but the stallion had severely overextended himself. He staggered a couple of feet and dropped to his front knees. His nose was almost buried in the dirt as his sides heaved. Templer could feel the heat rolling off of the stressed animal. Chrysta was gasping almost as bad, but she didn't rest. She was stripping tack off as Andrew threw buckets of water over the steaming beast.
“Come on!!! GET up! Joshua... Jeremy... GET HIM UP!”
The woman sounded desperate. Templer had a sudden fear that Chrysta may have killed the beast in trying to save him!
The two drafters rolled forward, positioning themselves on either side of the stallion's trembling body. Dropping their massive heads, they hooked their blunted horns together under the stallion's foaming neck and chest like a basket. Using the incredible strength in their thick necks and muscled shoulders they heaved him up. Pinning the staggering stallion between their heavy bodies, the pair of drafters forced El Diablo to take one step...then two. Andrew was pouring water over all three, trying to bring that terrible heat under control.
Chrysta remained in front, coaxing and cajoling the silver as he took one shaky step at a time. Templer and Grant formed a united front keeping the crowd away from the paddock. Don Ricardo finally showed up and managed to get most of the crowd to disperse to the victory celebration. In a short time, the only sound was El Diablo's whistling breaths along with Chrysta's quietly murmured encouragements and her occasional soft cough. As the stallion became steadier, she signaled Andrew to stop the water and took the bridle off of El Diablo's head.
The exhausted woman backed away, letting Nuva and Zephyr come in to help the drafters keep the stallion walking. She bent forward at the waist coughing violently. When Chrysta turned towards Templer, her white skin combined with the blood around her mouth had both men running towards her. They didn't reach her before her strength gave out and she collapsed into the dirt.
The priest reached her first. Chrysta fought him as he tried to roll her on her back. He growled in surprise.
“Damn it Chrysta... be STILL! I need to check the damage.”
She continued to struggle.
Azra snapped out.
“CONSTANTINE... She can't breathe laying like that!”
Templer shifted her body up so that she was half sitting against his bent leg. Her breathing eased a little. The priest hastily cut her armor off... Only to hesitate at the woman's slight snicker. Her eyes flicked open.
“Holy... Constantine. What is with you and CUTTING off my clothes?!”
The Talon managed a slight smile and brushed a knuckle along her cheek. Then... he reached to cut the dirtied, bloodied shirt and wrappings off.
Grant put out a hand to stop him.
“Don't... I think that might be the only thing holding her together right now.”
Constantine gave a terse nod and let Azra come forward as he gently checked over the damage. Some of her cracked ribs had that grinding feel that meant they had definitely splintered. There was a good chance this had caused some internal damage. The fact that Chrysta kept coughing up small amounts of blood verified this. There was also a bleeding hole on her lower left side where the sniper's round had penetrated her dragon-mail. Azra breathed a silent sigh of relief,
“There is nothing here that I can... see... that a good Healer can't deal with. You need to call your wind riding friend and find out how far out he is.”
The gunman pulled out his Cricket and coded in Sig. The pilot picked up on the first ring and Chrysta's eyes popped open in surprise at the language that poured out of the device. Templer winced and held the agitated Bug away from his ear.
“Damn it Spooky... where in the Fricken HELL have you been? Iniko has been up my Fucking ass because NOBODY has heard from your sorry, skinny BUTT for a freakin WEEK!”
The man hardly paused for breath.
“Then some JACK ASS calls, demanding I make a GODS BE DAMNED special delivery! DO I look like a flippin delivery BOY? AND... he has the mother Fucking set of brass balls to THREATEN me with that bat winged fucker from HELL that lurks inside you.”
Azra growled.
“I... DO... NOT... LURK!”
“Shut up Sig!”
Amazingly, there was silence on the other end. Something in the Talon's voice brought the tirade to an end. Templer continued, knowing he had the Captain's complete attention.
“Tell me how much longer until your arrival time?”
The Wind-master was silent a moment,
“Approximately one hour. We are fighting one HELL of a head wind and my gals are NOT happy infringing on a wylde Tengshe's territory!”
There was a slight hesitation. The voice on the other end was filled with concern.
“Yer DAMNED lucky we weren't completely outta range. The Saint packed my med bay with a shitload of high end equipment I can't possibly afford. Then he told me to kick this pig to her max, even if I have to fricken burn her up getting there. Temp... are you shitten okay?"
“I am fine, Sig, but someone I care about... is not.”
The priest spoke in almost a whisper.
He heard the rough pilot swear at someone, admonishing them that he didn't fucking care what concerns they had. Then he came back on.
“Give me Forty-five minutes TOPS... Constantine.”
As he hung up the phone Chrysta reached up and tapped his chest. She kept her eyes shut. Templer slipped her cold hand into his flesh one.
“It's okay Chrysta. We have help on the way. Everything is going to be fine.”
She coughed softly and tugged again on his shirt. He had to drop his head to hear her quiet words.
“Do you want to hear the good news first or the bad?”
Templer had a sudden feeling of dread.
“Hnnn... good news is always appreciated.”
The woman smiled at him and Templer's heart stopped at the sadness he saw reflected in her eyes.
“I started chewing dreamleaf at the beginning of the race. Right at this moment, I really don't hurt at all.”
Azra hissed.
“I KNEW you were moving to easily. This... is NOT good news!”
She flinched at the anger present in the deep rumbling voice,
“Well... it is better than the bad news.”
Templer looked into her green eyes. Their pupils had shrunk down to pin points.
“What is the bad news?”
She sighed.
“I swallowed a whole mouth full of it back there... along with half of the river.”
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
link to next Chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@fetherhd/to-race-the-wylde-wynd-ch-36
