Before the fury of battle had torn it to ruins, Death’s Door had been a pastoral scene worthy of a landscape painting. As the years passed after the battle, nature began to reclaim the land for its own. Tall grass concealed trenches and craters from mortar rounds. Trees splintered by the fighting had sprouted small, leafy branches, and vines covered the twisted trunks. After dusk, the battleground became a hushed, haunted place, though the restless dead who still wandered this night went ignored by the restless undead who gathered at a clearing a hundred yards from a narrow dirt road.

Brilliant moonlight in a cloudless sky illuminated a clearing of exactly thirty feet, marked by a pine sapling on one side and a scarred elm tree on the other. A dozen figures stood in a loose circle around the dueling ground. In the middle of the clearing, the Captain stood before Sunset and Cazzius. Though not intending to participate, Sunset wore her full dueling gear, a matte black greatcoat over a high-necked, armored vest shielded by arcane accumulators at her belt. Preternatural vision revealed several rings of arcane wards encircling her to discourage potential duelists from challenging her tonight. Cazzius appeared as he had in previous weeks, the well-dressed gentleman, unarmored. Not that armor would help him in this duel.

The elf regarded the Captain with a frown. “Ye look a fright, Cap’n. Bradig do that?”

di Glaeys inclined his head toward the hole in his right shoulder. Part of the right side of his face was missing as well, showing a gaping hole where a round had shattered teeth and jaw. “Bradig’s mark—a former Widowmaker with runecast ammunition. I’ll mend, if slowly.” He held up the soul cage. “Your opponent, delivered.”

Cazzius stared at the device, eyebrows raised. “How on Caen did you manage to get hold of that?”

“It was a gift.”

“I’ll take that.” Sunset reached for the soul cage. “Got sommin’ t’ get ready first in case Lach gets jumpy.” She assessed the position of the moons. “It’ll take just a tick.”

From her belt pouch, she produced what looked like a spool of flat red wire. A closer look revealed runes etched on the wire as she unrolled and arranged it in a circle on the ground, leaving the loose ends open. Finished, she placed the soul cage in the center of the circle and looked up at the others. Seeing that her audience was watching her carefully, she offered a wink and then twisted the valve open. With one nimble step back, she moved outside the circle of wire. A plume of angry greenish smoke emerged from the top of the soul cage and billowed up ten feet in height. With one boot, Sunset toed the circle closed and stood back to watch.

“di Glaeys!” Bradig roared. “That kill was MINE!”

“It’s a little late now, innit, Lach?” Sunset said, staring coolly up at the roiling ghostly form. “Bein’ that the duel’s done an’ all.”

Bradig whirled. Glowing eyes focused on her, and the wraith seemed to settle into a more recognizable form. The skeletal face leered. “Hello again, Lani. Still put out about my shooting your new toy? Or do you enjoy the drama of pining over love lost?”

Sunset returned a wide smile. “Actually, I got a friend here who’s dead keen on pickin’ up where th’ two o’ ye left off.” The pun elicited alternate winces and nods of appreciation from the gathered undead.

Her sweeping gesture indicated a tall, white-haired figure standing amongst the watching wraiths. Clothed in a pale semblance of human flesh, he seemed more threatening than the ragged skeletons around him.

When Bradig saw Cazzius, he actually flinched. “You again? You’re like a bad smell, d’ Epinay. How many times do I have to kill you?”

“Just once,” Cazzius replied calmly. “In a proper duel. But you haven’t done it yet, have you, Bradig?”

Bradig tried to vanish and found himself locked in place. Looking down, he noticed the circle that bound him. One hand went toward his pistol. The battleground rang with the sounds of metal slipping leather and pins drawing back as two dozen wraithlocks pointed in his direction.

“This is hardly a proper fight. It’s entrapment.”

“No it ain’t,” Sunset replied. “Just a way fer us t’ make sure things go fair an’ square.”

Cazzius approached the circle until he and Bradig stood face to face. He called one of his wraithlocks to his hand and saluted. His expression was still calm, but his eyes shifted from their usual cool blue to an eerie pale green as he invoked the geas that bound them both. “I challenge you to duel tonight, Lach Bradig. Here, on this site, at ten minutes to midnight. Will you accept?”

Bradig snarled, but he drew his own weapon and returned the salute. “I will.” The night air crackled with power as the geas was set.

“Pick your side.”

“There.” He pointed to the elm tree on the far end.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, wuz it?” Sunset offered him a sweet smile. “But to be sure, we’ll keep ye right here in th’ naughty spot til it’s time t’ commence t’ fightin’.”

Cazzius turned and walked away to his own spot on the field, followed by Sunset. She was silently relieved to be away from the bulk of the group. Even with the wards she’d set as deterrents, her presence before these undead duelists was like waving a steak before a pack of starving dogs. But judging from Bradig’s murderous glare, if Cazzius lost this duel, the other wraiths would be the least of her troubles.

Cazzius kept his back turned to the group as he checked his weapons. Sunset looked from him to Bradig and back. Though still corporeal, Cazzius had dropped his “civilized” garb and now wore the same style of ragged garments as the others. His eyes still glowed an eerie arcane green, and a chill emanated from him that made her shiver. She wondered if, in the course of the duel, he would allow his full and darkest wraith-form to emerge. She could count all the times he had done that on the fingers of one hand, but tonight would certainly call for it.

He pulled a third pistol from its holster behind his back and loaded two silk-wrapped rounds into the twin chambers. He then produced an accumulator from a pocket and plugged it into the socket embedded in the grip.

“Still plannin’ on usin’ that?” Sunset whispered.

“If I can’t, you may have to,” he replied just as quietly.

“Yer takin’ this a lot better’n last time,” she commented, remembering how angry he had been during the last challenge.

Looking up from the pistol, Cazzius gave her a wink. “No matter what happens,” he whispered back, “I think it will turn out all right.” He reholstered the gun and bent down, and kissed her gently.

“Time!” the Captain called. Sunset turned and walked back to Bradig to turn him loose.

“I’ll make you regret this, Lani,” Bradig snarled as she drew near. “Very, very slowly, and I’ll enjoy it.”

“Feh.” She waved a hand at him. “Ye jumped th’ gun at th’ other stuff y’ did. Who’s t’ say ye won’t fire off early again?” She toed open the circle of wire and walked away, back to where Cazzius stood.

Bradig’s right hand went for his holster. The Captain leveled his pistol at Bradig’s skull.

Bradig converted the movement into a casual brush at his ragged sleeve. Turning away from Sunset, Bradig left the circle of binding and drifted toward the dueling ground. “And you’ll follow her, di Glaeys. I’ll make your past hurts look like a walk in the park.”

The Captain just motioned toward the elm tree with his pistol.

The rest of the wraiths gathered as the duelists took their places. The Captain backed away from Bradig, who whipped out one hand as if to draw, then laughed, even though the Captain did not react. On the far end of the field, Sunset also stepped away from Cazzius, double-checking the power supply to her arcane armor to make sure it was still working.

The two duelists stood stock still, eyeing each other, waiting for the one moment that would elicit the draw. Cazzius cleared his mind and settled into a trancelike state, every sense open. An errant breeze brushed his face and tugged at his hair and clothing, bringing with it the smells of fresh earth and pine needles. His hands hovered over the grips of his wraithlocks, anticipating the feel of the bone-inlaid handles. He heard the wind rustling the dry summer grass and the branches of the sapling behind him. His vision took in every spectrum, from darksight to what was reflected by the moons. He watched the unblinking glows in Bradig’s eye sockets. Watched the position of his skeletal fingers over his pistol grips. Waited.

Bradig, meanwhile, had settled to the business of the duel. He took in his opponent’s confident stance, both boots planted firmly on the grassy ground. Cazzius’s pale features, shadowed from the moon, stood out clearly in Bradig’s own darksight, and his eyes glowed green with a discomfiting steadiness. Calling his decades of experience into play, Bradig waited for the shift, that subtle movement in his opponent that would signal the beginning of the duel.

Around them, the audience waited, glowing eyes riveted on the pair as each searched for the slightest sign of vulnerability. Sunset’s arctic blue gaze analyzed one gunfighter, then the other. She waited.

Still no one moved. Even the crickets had gone silent.

Slowly, the right side of Cazzius’s mouth curled into a grin.

BLAM!

Both duelists drew and fired. Two rounds met solid targets. Bradig staggered back as his shot tore through Cazzius’s left side. Cazzius crumpled toward the wound, dropping his weapon, but he did not fall.

BLAM!

Bradig’s second shot fired. Cazzius managed to turn aside fast enough that the wraithshot caught him in the left upper arm, which now dangled at his side, useless. He called his other wraithlock to his right hand and pulled the trigger; the shot went wild, the bullet buried in the elm behind Bradig.

Bradig looked down at the hole in his belly from Cazzius’s wraithshot, and as it closed, he began to laugh. In that laugh, Sunset heard the undertones of relief.

“Your bullets are useless, d’ Epinay. Too bad. You almost had me concerned. Don’t worry, I won’t let this hurt. Much.”

Now assured that he faced no threat, Bradig took his time reloading. As he did, Cazzius reached behind him with his right hand and drew a heavy, double-barreled pistol the length of his forearm.

Bradig didn’t see the Execrator until the blessed hand-cannon was leveled at him. Morrow’s holy symbol glowed like a tiny, blinding star on the pistol’s silver plating, sending the other pistol wraiths fleeing from the dueling ground. The originator of the wraith curse found himself staring into the twin barrels just as Cazzius pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

Twin gouts of fire from the barrels of the Execrator bathed the dueling ground in daylight as two large-bore runecast bullets burst through Bradig’s midsection. The original pistol wraith let out a shriek as an explosion of rag and bone burst from his now-solid form, and he fell backward to the ground. Cazzius also dropped to his knees and fell, then struggled to pull himself up with his good arm.

“Cazz!” Sunset ran for him.

“No, stay back!” he shouted. “It’s not over!” She ignored him and kept running.

The other wraiths returned to the clearing and drew closer to see what was happening. The Captain stayed his distance, his battered face impassive.

Bradig’s features began to sharpen, flesh reforming over bone, clothing mending from rags to reveal the haggard form and pinched, narrow face of an older man, his long, black hair thinning and stringy. His dark eyes were wide in horror as he stared at the shattered mess of his chest, at the flesh that was now crumbling into dust. He raised his reloaded pistols, intent on getting one last shot at Cazzius, when a shadow fell across him from directly above.

Sunset skidded to a halt, extending an arm and snapping her spring-loaded pistol to her hand as a deeper blackness blotted out the sky and settled around the dueling ground.

Lach Bradig gazed up at the creature who now bent over him. She appeared to be an impossibly slender woman, hairless, clad only in tattoos and long ribbons of parchment covered in unreadable symbols. Where her eyes should have been were only soft indentations in her face. A spiked dagger hung at her belt next to a small scroll.  

He aimed his pistols at her face and fired. The bullets bounced off an unseen shield and disappeared.

“Don’t bother, Lach,” she said, and her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “You either, Maximilien.” She glanced over one shoulder at Cazzius, who, at the sight of the Infernal Curator, had renewed his struggle to reload any of his weapons with only one hand. “The contract is concluded. I am only here to claim what is due.”

“You broke contract!” Bradig ground out. “You guaranteed I would be the best duelist on Caen!”

“Oh, you were,” the Curator replied. “But your challenger walks between realms, so you lost to a duelist from outside Caen.”

“But we are the same!”

The Curator drew the scroll from her belt and unrolled it. One finger traced the lines at the top. “You specifically requested to be the best duelist on Caen, Section One, Item Three, and that promise was delivered. Your being undead and no longer of Caen has nothing to do with our agreement. To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed in you. With your failure, you deprive the Nonokrion Order of a steady and reliable supply of souls. But I think we shall find yours useful.”

With a six-fingered, taloned hand, the Curator reached for her claim. Across the clearing, Cazzius shuddered as Bradig began to scream.

“Ah,” said the pistol wraith named Keirnan to the Captain. “Now that’s music to my ears.”


When the last echoes of his screams had faded, all that remained of Lach Bradig was dust on the grass and a tattered soul rolled into the scroll now reattached to the Curator’s belt. The Infernal straightened, and once again, her eyeless gaze fell on Cazzius. Her mouth twisted. “I find it incredibly gratifying to learn you’ve befallen this particular fate—cursed to wretched undeath by my very own contract. I can’t wait to inform the rest of the Order.” Her smile widened like a black, toothless gash in her face. “It pleases me even more to inform you that your gods were wrong. Killing Bradig concludes his contract with us, but does not release the wraith curse.”

“You said it cut off your supply of souls,” the Captain said.

“Oh, it does, regrettably. And it does break the curse of those who were killed by Bradig. But those who were cursed by Bradig’s spawn—like yourself, Sebastion—still bear the wraith’s curse. For you to release your geas, you would have to die.” She pointed at Cazzius. “Or kill him.”

“I’m in no hurry,” the Captain replied.

“Much as I would love to stay and gloat more, there’s paperwork to see to. See you again.” And just as swiftly as she arrived, the Curator vanished, taking the darkness with her. The glow of moonlight once again shone on the dueling ground.

The dozen wraiths who acted as both witnesses and enforcers regarded each other in silence. The corpselight eyes glowing in the night looked like fireflies risen over the grassy terrain. Sunset reached Cazzius and knelt at his side. He let out a long sigh and dropped back to the ground.

Sunset reached down and brushed the pale hair from Cazzius's face. He was still solid. His garments had changed, from tattered greatcoat to tailored suit, though of an older fashion than was popular. A cluster of holy symbols and talismans as well as the mark of the Order of Illumination hung from chains around his neck, and a single military-style pistol of an old design was holstered at his right hip. A dark blue substance leaked from his left arm and chest at a faster pace than Sunset liked.

“Gloating… is never a… good idea,” he said, and grimaced. “Ow.”

“Hang on, got summin’ fer that,” she said, pulling a vial of purple liquid out of her coat pocket. “Yeah, this nasty stuff, but it worked before.” She gently lifted his head and held the vial to his lips.

He tried to swallow, but he couldn't seem to be able to take in any of the healing potion.  Some of the liquid poured out onto the ground.

“Where's yer shaker o' bullet dust?” Sunset asked.

He looked down at his jacket. “It’s gone. Along with the bullets and the wraithlocks. I don't think that trick works anymore.”

“Well, we can't leave ye to leak all yer insides out.” Her eyes showed a deeper distress as she pulled open the layers of his clothing to reveal the bullet wound in his side. She glanced up at the other shades, who now gathered curiously above them. “Ye better stand back, fellers. I don't know what I could do t' ye with this.” She pulled off her gloves and rubbed her hands together briskly.

“No, wait.” Cazzius raised his good hand. “I think I can fix….” Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and his body faded to translucent and incorporeal. Blades of grass that he had crushed with his solid weight began to recover, straightening and sticking up through him. Sunset would have chuckled at the sight if she hadn't been focused on his distress.

“Don’t you dare disappear on me again!”

His fingers traced circles in the air and his lips moved silently, either in spell or in prayer, but as she watched, his bleeding subsided and the bullet wounds began to close.

At last he opened his eyes and sat up, but didn’t shift to solid. Now upright, Cazzius drifted to his feet and appeared to brush himself off. He grinned at Sunset. “I’m remembering all my old healing spells,” he said. “I think I'll be fully recovered in a little while, though I wish I’d remembered a couple of other spells while she was still here.”

“I thought she wuz enjoyin’ that a bit much.”

The other wraiths returned to surround them. Of the twelve, eight had begun to change, features either filling out to resemble those they had been in life, or fading to soft, vague shapes. The one who had called himself Damien now wore the face and uniform of a grizzled Cygnaran long gunner. “What happens from here?” he asked.

“Whatever you want,” Cazzius replied. “You can move on to Urcaen, or stay here if you wish. If you need help deciding, I can refer you to a good cleric up in Thornwood.”

Keirnan, now only a shadow, nodded and began to fade until he dissipated into thin air. Another of the spirits shifted shape and color to a pinpoint of brilliant blue, then circled Sunset and Cazzius once and shot high into the sky to vanish among the stars. The others watched the example and then followed suit.

At last, only three tattered skeletons and the Captain remained. Sunset eyed them warily, but they seemed calm, almost weary.

A nameless wraith inclined its head toward the others. “The spectacle alone was worth the effort,” it said, and also vanished. Silently, the other two saluted and disappeared.

“Hah,” Sunset growled. “Not even so much as a thankee.”

“There’s no need” Cazzius replied. “They're the ones who caught Bradig and forced him to fight fair.”

Though he was still cursed, the Captain had gone solid and now looked as he had the day Cazzius had first dueled with him: a gentleman in dark, expensive clothing that belied his weathered, craggy features and gunfighter’s glare. The holes in his face and shoulder had healed. His wraithlocks glowed dark green in their holsters.

“What was that hand-cannon you drew in the end?” he asked Cazzius.

The Execrator still lay on the ground, its silver plating gleaming in the moonlight. Sunset picked up the weapon and held it cradled in her hands and the three stared down at it.

“This weapon was hand-built for the Order of Illumination. It’s a little souvenir of the previous time I challenged Bradig,” Cazzius said. “I took a hint from something you’d mentioned, Captain, and it happened there were some runecast bullets in Julian Helstrom’s estate that were of the right caliber.” He smiled.

“You were in the Order of Illumination?” The Captain looked at Cazzius’s new clothing, at the talismans around his neck. “Somehow I can’t imagine you executing witches.”

“The decoratin’s changed again, y’ notice that?” Sunset said. She tilted the pistol, letting the light reflect off its ornate surfaces, revealing details in the engraving. The rings of skulls had disappeared from the grip, and the skeletal hands reaching for Morrow’s Radiance on the barrel were now clothed in flesh. Powerful runes glowed bright blue amidst the filigree.

“It’s bonded to you,” the Captain said. “Try picking it up.”

Cazzius reached for the gun. Even incorporeal, he found he could grasp and hold the weapon. And as he touched it, his own form darkened and solidified. With a pleased expression, he turned the gun over in his hands.

The Captain scratched the back of his head in a very human gesture. “I haven’t seen anything like that since my first days as a gun-mage,” he said. “You never cease to amaze me, Cazzius.”

“Well, whut about you, Cap’n?” Sunset asked. “What’s next on yer agenda?” Leaning closer, she looked him over with a speculative expression. “Yer not a bad lookin’ feller now that yer a bit more visible.”

Seeing where that line of thinking was going, the Captain only grinned and shook his head. “I’m flattered.” He tipped his hat. “I must admit this little adventure has given me the inspiration to finish… conducting my own business. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

With those words, he too faded into the night.

Sunset turned to Cazzius. “An’ whut about you?” she asked quietly. “I imagine yer off to Morrow’s realm, then?”

Cazzius shrugged. “Why hurry? There are still things to do and places to go.” He put the Execrator back into its holster. “And I intend to put this to good use.” A wide, mischievous grin spread over his face, and Sunset let out a yelp as, laughing, he picked her up and spun her in a circle before letting her back down. “Expand the troubleshooting business.” He began walking the length of the dueling ground, studying the grass. “Ah!” Catching the glint of metal, he reached down once, then twice and recovered a pair of battered runecast bullets. “I think the university might want these back.”

“Why’m I hearin’ the word ‘infernals’ in yer business plan?”

“Oh, you never know. Perhaps just a smirking Curator or two.”

Together, the two of them walked away from the dueling ground in Death’s Door, back to the narrow dirt road and Sunset’s waiting horse.