"Are you not afraid?” Campbell asked. “These things beyond the stars are terrible beyond belief.”

"I already knew magic was powerful, so what if it's more powerful? Dead is dead, by fire or oblivion.” Preston shrugged. He’d seen plenty of death in his time, and oblivion would be one of the nicer ways to go. “You do magic, you should know this.”

“What I do is not magic.” Preston had not expected offense in the Knight’s voice. “I use the nature of things and the interactions to accomplish a desired outcome.”

“Sure sounds like magic to me.”

“It may seem so to someone like you.”

“Like me?” Preston let a threatening tone fill his voice. It wasn’t difficult, he’d needed to use it plenty throughout his life. And it wasn’t as if he was really threatening the Knight, but the man also needed to be pulled from his lofty perch.

“Not like that,” Campbell waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “I meant those who are not well versed in the deeper mysteries of life. Nine out of ten, the mundane will not be involved with magic more than seeing the village wizard cast a Warding or a visit from an angelic projection. To them, a wizard conjuring a fireball and me releasing a stored ember are the same. To the one in ten, the difference is vast, though academic. If the result is the same, and the components the same, what does the method matter…”

The Knight cleared his throat and shook his head. “You are not interested in theory. But you do not fear these Others? Great unknowable cosmic entities, capable of rendering Earth into a puddle with a concentrated thought?”

Preston shrugged. “Who is to say the next man I meet doesn’t pull a gun and put a bullet through my eye? Nothing to be done, so there nothing to worry over. Least I can try and dodge the bullet.”

“An interesting philosophy,” Campbell said, eyeing Preston sideways. “I envy you. These Others scare the everliving daylights out of me.”

“Why? You have enough firepower there to put an end to most.” Preston gestured at the pistol holstered at the other man’s hip. The weapon was large enough to approach comical, if Preston didn’t have first hand experience with how deadly the weapon could be.

He’d faced plenty in the war and fired several in curiosity. They kicked like a mule and blew a hole the size of a dinner plate in a man. Tompkins had gone such a way.

“I cannot shoot all my problems,” Campbell said.

“Nah,” Preston said as the corner of his mouth tugged up despite his best efforts to the contrary, “But sure seems like you’re compensating for something.”

Campbell barked out a laugh, startling a pair of birds from the tree closest to the road. He patted the Big Iron and wagged an eyebrow at Preston. “I have never had any complaints.”

Granny Esmer snorted from her formerly silent position behind the two men on their journey to her old cabin. Chances were good the vampire Lady had someone watching the place, but chances were also good she was gathering her forces to defend the manor. One man, two at most, would be watching the place, few enough for Campbell and Preston to handle before they could cause problems.

“If the pair o' ye keep goin' at it, the whole town’ll know when we’ve come three miles from the place. Quit yer jabber. Ye’re soldiers, no farmhands.”

“Lynch here was a farmhand for most of his life, when he was not blowing enemy combatants to bits with a mortar.”

“And you were a massive pain in the ass, when you weren’t being a massive pain in the… oh, guess you still are.”

“There there boys, ye’re both pretty.”

“What?” the pair in unison.

“Squabblin' like teenaged girls at Sun Day Hog Show with 'bout the fanciest ribbons in yer hair. Whatever this is between ye, it can wait 'til after the demon is dead?”

From the look in Campbell’s eyes, he was ready to throw down here and now. Didn’t fit with the whole Knights-stand-apart-from-the-mortals act he usually tried to put on. Preston would have brought this up, if he hadn’t appreciated the wisdom in Granny Esmer’s words.

“It can wait til the bitch’s dead.”

“Hey, careful now,” Campbell said. “That is her sister you are talking about.”

“Vague impression of memories and form, is what you said she was,” Preston said. “I wouldn’t-”

“He’s pullin’ yer leg,” Granny Esmer growled in her shockingly deep voice. “A wonder he managed it, with how large an' hairy it is.”

“Madam, you wound me!” Preston put his hand on his chest in mock outrage. “How could you?”

“Easily. Now quiet, home’s 'round the bend. Those idjits better have no damaged my chair.”

True to her word, a house appeared as they came around the bend in the road. House was a generous term, as was road. The road was a narrow twisted track, a cart wide, steep embankments on both sides giving the impression of walking in the bottom of a river. The house was dug into the side of a hill, a thick iron banded door set deep into the earth, small round windows piercing the hill at odd intervals.

Roots curled around the openings, coming from the ancient tree trunk above the roof. The wood was weathered, rougher than the side of a bluff, and older than the dirt it had grown from. The trunk ended a dozen feet above the house it guarded, the tip jagged and splintered. Smoke came from the center, curling into the sky.

“You said this was a cabin,” Campbell said, a hint of awe in his voice. Preston didn’t see what was so awe-inspiring about the house, aside from the various structure problems building a house in a hill underneath a very large tree would bring.

“Kinda dumb to make a tree trunk a chimney,” Preston said. “Lucky your house hasn’t burnt down.”

“This is a locus, unless I am greatly mistaken,” Campbell said. Preston flicked his eyes to the man. There was a tone of reverence in his voice, something uncommon in the Knight. Granny Esmer nodded but cleared her throat.

“Let’s talk about this later,” she said. “Ye’ve all seen the smoke.”

“Right. Stupid of them to wait in the house. Should be in the trees around the house, not cooking supper inside. Better view of any approaching visitors, and a clear shot on anyone on the trail here.”

Preston noticed but ignored Campbell shifting on his feet and focusing harder on the trees along the side of the road.

“Who says they ain’t also outside?” Granny Esmer asked. Preston shrugged and pointed.

“Horses tied out front. Two, like we thought. Anyone stupid enough to leave horses out front of a place they’re supposed to be scouting is stupid enough to wait inside with a fire going.”

Campbell’s steps gained a too-casual motion to them, as he tried to conceal his earlier nervousness.

“So what is the play?” the Knight asked. “We could use the horses if they have been kind enough to provide them.”

“Kick in the door, shoot ‘em while they don’t know what’s happening.”

“True no. Ye’ll no be firin’ damned weapons in my home.”

“It’s a tactically sound decision.” Surprise attack while the target was comfortable, relaxed, and unaware of the danger was about as ideal a situation as he could have asked for. He would have liked a hole in the roof to fire on the thugs without having to tear open the door and give them warning, however brief, but nothing ever went perfect in combat.

“No when ye’ve got twenty pounds o' explosive material an' two hundred rare reagents collected over five lifetimes it ain’t.”

“But-” Preston began to protest.

“Boy, ye ain’t good enough a shot to get away with what ye’re 'bout to try an' suggest.” Granny Esmer stepped towards Preston until he was forced to take a step back. For all she only came up to his shoulder, she loomed ominously. “Take this into consideration if ye’d still like to try an' force entry. Akis has killed twelve men we know 'bout, commands dark magic from another reality, an' can turn yer mind to mush if she thinks hard enough. She’s the younger sister.”

“What’s the best way, then?” Preston asked, keeping his tone flat. Campbell’s face was twitching behind Granny Esmer, the corners of his mouth flicking up and down.

“Bait,” the man said, before falling into a silent fit of laughter. At least he kept his fist pushed against his teeth in an attempt to keep noise from escaping.

“Fine,” Preston snapped. “You two ready?”

Preston didn’t wait for an acknowledgment before he shouldered his borrowed long rifle and stepped into line of sight from the buried tree house. Bait was one of the various strategies they’d thought up after it was decided they needed to reclaim the Granny’s cabin, and the others knew what to do.

“Ahoy the house!” he called out, giving enough sound cover to the pair behind him to tuck themselves into the foliage. He didn’t doubt the Granny Woman knew her way around the woods, but there wasn’t a chance the Knight could mask his movements enough.

A shadow flickered across one of the round windows and remained there as the door cracked open. The barrel of a long rifle poked out, shining bayonet attached, followed by the bearded, dirty face of a demon swayed thug. His eyes had the wild dancing glaze of those too far gone to be helped from the clutches of the demon.

“Who goes there!” the thug demanded.

“The Lady’s Hunter!” Preston called back.

“Ye that new soldier boy what got joined up recent?”

Preston sighed. “Yes, I’m the one. Here to talk to you boys about the witch who lives here.”

“Whatchu want?”

“Why don’t you and your friend come out and tell me what you know?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. Not too far gone to completely belay suspicion. Unfortunate. Preston had prepared for such a reaction.

“I’m a good Yeshite man. I can’t be going into a witch’s house, not with the curses she’ll have put there. The things she’s done.”

“Curses?” the man yelped and dashed out the door before Preston could say more. The door crashed behind him and the second man followed close behind. “We ain’t want no curses.”

The two thugs skidded to a stop a dozen feet from the house, staring at it. The second man, a short man with a thin chin and shoulder length blond hair, pursed his lips. He looked at himself, over at the bearded thug, then back to the Granny Woman’s house, the door still wide open. “Hey, wait a second. If there’s was curses, why ain’t we-”

The man’s words were cut short by the twin booms of Granny Esmer’s messenger gun and the Knight’s pistol. Both thugs fell to the ground, kicked back a pace from where they stood by the force. The man shot by the Granny Woman coughed into the dirt as blood leaked from the holes scattered across his chest. The thug shot by the Knight lay still, the single bullet wound in his chest wide enough for Preston to fit two fingers in through to what was left of the heart. Of the two, Preston didn’t know which he’d least like to be shot with.

“Damn,” Granny Esmer said as she emerged from the treeline, “Guess ye won the round, Knight. Impressive shot.”

The Knight didn’t speak a word, only marched to the still breathing thug with hamburger for a torso. Preston watched as the Knight stared at the man gasping his last breaths, silent as the grave. When the dying man finally shuddered and lay still an eternity later, Campbell nodded and looked at the Granny Woman. “I will take a dram of this whiskey you have been extolling the virtues of for days.”

“If there’s any left. These idjits pro’ly drank everythin' they could see.” The Granny Woman kicked aside the long rifle near the hand of the clean shot thug as she walked by the bodies toward her front door. Preston would have done the same if she hadn’t. You could never be too careful with a fallen foe. Not until they were buried. But with the demon Akis, was even that not enough?

“We don’t have to worry about these ones getting back up like the Revenant, do we?” Preston asked. “They were late stage crazy. Does the difference affect anything?”

“Revenants require much more than what has happened to these unfortunate souls. Rituals, sacrifices, huge amounts of blood magic. It is not a pleasant process. And hard to repeat, thankfully. Else we would be swimming in Revenants.” Campbell rubbed the handle of his pistol, forehead wrinkled. “Although, it could not hurt… Granny Esmer, do you have an axe or large bladed instrument? A saw if there are no axes at hand.”

“What do you need an axe for?” Preston asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

“Were a wood axe 'round back, last I were here. Dunno if the idjits moved anythin'.” Granny Esmer paused at the threshold to her home and looked back at Preston and Campbell. “I’m goin' in here. Don’t follow til ye get the clear, 'less ye wanna get hurt.”

Campbell gave her a mock salute as he walked around the house, stepping over a thick root pushed through the soil around the house. Without clear direction, Preston stood in the center of the clearing and watched the treelines. He did take a moment to remove the bayonet from the thug’s rifle, and fixed it to his own rifle. The thug’s weapon was not something Preston wanted to carry into battle, but he wouldn’t turn down a bayonet to keep between himself and the enemy.

Nothing out in the forest he could see, and nothing he could hear. He kept his rifle ready to aim, prepared for hordes of braindead thugs to pour from the forest and surround the witch’s cottage.

No such thing happened, and Campbell returned from his trip around the hill. A single-bladed wood axe hung low in his hand, edge gleaming. Granny kept her tools in working order then. Preston would have been surprised to hear otherwise.

“What do you need that for?” Preston asked Campbell again. The Knight answered this time.

“They are not Revenants, they likely are not zombies, and not even a demon may perform True Resurrection,” Campbell said. He stopped next to the man he had shot and raised the axe overhead. “But there is nothing I will put past the Servant.”

The axe sank into the dirt with a soft thump. The thug’s head rolled away and came to rest with his face in the dirt. Small mercy. The second body met the same fate.

“Couldn’t you have tied them up or something?!”

“Easier to cut off their heads,” Campbell said with the tone of a man who’d done similar things enough for them to become commonplace. Preston shook his head. He’d done plenty of violence upon his fellow man, but he at least retained the sense to not be cavalier about desecrating their corpses.

“House is clear,” Granny Esmer said as she stepped back out. She spared a glance for the headless bodies now decorating her front lawn. Beyond a raised eyebrow, she didn’t comment. “Ye. Soldier. Did no Akis try to kill ye earlier? What fool thought gave ye the idea to draw 'em out with yerself as bait? They coulda shot ye on sight.”

“What?” Preston asked, surprised by the question. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Stupid stunt to pull,” she said. “I wanna know ye ain’t gonna do stupid shit when we’re in the thick of it at the manorhouse.”

“Communication isn’t a strong point in her brainwashed foot soldiers,” Preston said. “If they’d been sent out here to watch the place for your return, I doubted they’d been relieved of duty since the order went out, nor were they told about my defection.”

“A good deal of guesswork. What if you had gotten it wrong?” Campbell asked. The blood splatters on his coat caught Preston’s eyes. The blood clung to the axe blade, but it slid from the gray leather into a puddle under the Knight.

“Why did you kill them?” Preston asked.

“They were going to kill you,” Campbell said with a frown. He gestured at the rifles laying in the dirt with the axe. Blood flew from the edge, drawing a line from the Knight to the weapons. With a grunt, Campbell dropped the axe to the side.

“Oi, that’s one o’ my good ones,” the Granny Woman snapped. “Ye’ll grind out any scratches.”

“You could have hexed them, or lured them out and struck from behind, or…”

“There was no helping it. Their minds were gone. Nothing left but madness and devotion.”

“But you don’t kill people,” Preston said. He had, certainly, but in war. Knights were supposed to be above mortal affairs. “You help them.”

“I have killed before, Lynch. Alongside you, even.”

“But those weren’t… the Aztlans were demon worshippers, hellspawn.” Preston met the glazed eyes of the thin chinned man. He’d been no older than Preston’s son. “These were men who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Campbell sighed and rubbed his upper arms, shrugging. “Innocents sometimes make the worst monsters of all. Sometimes, sometimes there is only one way I can help them. It has made me into a monster, there is no mistake.”

“Campbell, I…” Preston trailed off, unsure what to say. What could he say?

“Bah,” the Granny Woman said, waving her hand as if to clear the air. “We all done things we ain’t proud o'. Let’s git a move on afore the demon Servant gets a hold o' more innocent people we’ll need to decapitate.”

A harsh woman, this Granny Woman. Alone in these dark mountains, the only barrier between the mystic monstrous supernatural and the peaceful inhabitants. Preston could see where her views came from.

“Very well,” Campbell said, shrugging off his earlier words, “where do we begin? What do you need to summon the nature spirit?”

“Privacy. Ye two scout the manor.”

“Nothing else we can be doing?” Preston asked. “Is it even productive to scout the manor? I was just there.”

“Ye’re a military man, soldier. When is more scouting ever bad?”

“When who you are scouting catches wind they are being watched.”

Preston motioned to Campbell in agreement. Granny Esmer snorted. “Ye’ll no get caught then. Both o' ye, get.”

There was something about this summoning Granny Esmer did not want the two of them to witness. Preston had seen enough magic for the rest of his life, so he was not going to argue. He might be curious, but not curious enough to see what he feared he might see.

“Let’s go,” he told Campbell. “I’ll need you for the magic shit, I don’t know what I’m looking for.”