Mal sat back on the bench and let the gentle, swaying motion of the wagon rock him into a waking doze. It was cool in the gorge; a welcome relief from the baking sun out on the flats. The trail ran straight and smooth between orange, sandstone cliffs. Overhead, an eagle circled: a black speck against the painfully blue sky.
Beside Mal sat Jayne, cradling a rifle. He looked calm but, beneath the brim of his sunhat, his eyes were scanning the trail ahead for the telltale signs of a waiting ambush party. Zoe was perched in the back, behind the cargo, her carbine resting on her lap.
Mal did not understand why the mayor of Bodie had insisted on hiring three guards for one wagon. The badlands of Tiger's Eye had a reputation for banditry but Mal had been taking jobs on and off there for years and he had yet to encounter any. Although, he thought, on a barren world like Tiger's Eye, the water pump they were carrying was probably worth more than a wagon full of jewel encrusted tiaras. It would be a tempting target for any gang.
Mal would have preferred to fly the pump into Bodie aboard Serenity but, with the new mining settlement nestled among sheer cliffs, it was much easier to approach on foot. Serenity's 'mule' was too small to carry the pump, so Mal had hired a two-horse wagon back in Calico; Tiger Eye's sole spaceport. The rest of the crew were remaining aboard ship while Mal, Zoe and Jayne drove the pump over to Bodie. It would be a two day journey: a day to there and a day back.
It was not the most lucrative job they had ever worked but it had one saving grace: it allowed Inara to engage an affluent client. Serenity had been working far into the black over the past months and Inara had complained bitterly of the damage this was having on her trade. Mal had accepted the Bodie job to keep the peace, though he always felt uneasy when Inara was away on a 'business trip'.
The phrase made Mal pause. Inara was never euphemistic about her work, so why was he being so evasive? He had known her for well over a year now; why could he still not accept that she was a prostitute? An expensive, high class prostitute, granted, with all the grace and skill that Companion training could endow, but she still slept with people for money.
Stop it; Mal told himself, there is no sense in thinking like this. He had been down this train of thought times without count and it always left him feeling bitter. He knew that there could be nothing between them, ever. So why did he feel so jealous of her?
Mal's attention snapped back to the present at the sound of a rifle being cocked beside him. He turned to look at Jayne, who nodded ahead. Loose stones and thorn bushes had been heaped up on the left of the trail, against the cliff, where one wall of rock folded in to another. It was sloppy work; the heap of debris intended to camouflage the narrow pass would fool only the most inexperienced of guards. To Jayne's expert eyes, it was like a sign reading 'Ambush party waiting here'. Mal turned in his seat.
"Zoe you'd better – "
Rifle fire crackled behind him. Wood snapped and splintered as bullets struck the wagon. Mal caught a glimpse of three gun barrels glinting from under trapdoors concealed beneath the trail. He twisted round and whipped the horses into a canter.
Zoe's carbine barked but Mal knew that the marksmen would have already slid back into the safety of their 'spider holes'. Beside him on the driver's bench, Jayne was turning back and forth as he scanned the gorge for the next attack.
Jayne's rifle flashed in the sunlight as he twisted it up and fired, all in the space of second. Mal heard a cry, looked up, and saw a man tumbling from the cliff top. Jayne turned to his left, aiming at the man's partner on the opposite cliff, but his shot went wide. The man returned fire. The bullet whizzed past Mal and struck the opposite cliff face in a shower of orange dust.
He heard voices whooping ahead. What Mal had taken for dummy camouflage, intended to draw attention away from the marksmen, was now revealed as a double feint. The thorn bushes had been torn aside to allow a party of mounted men though onto the trail. They were typical frontiersmen, dressed in tarnished riding gear and wide-brimmed hats. They came towards the wagon in an untidy knot, firing their pistols into the air and bellowing like apes.
Mal whipped the horses to a gallop. Shifting the reins to one hand, he drew his pistol with the other. Jayne was already firing at the riders but the wagon was swaying wildly now and accurate shooting was difficult. Mal did not even attempt to aim. He simply emptied his magazine towards the oncoming riders and trusted to luck.
For once, his luck held. One of the foremost riders slumped forward across his horse's neck, toppled from the saddle and under the beast's hooves. Horse and rider went down into a thrashing, screaming mass. The other riders scattered; afraid that they too would be brought down by the fallen horse.
Mal stowed his pistol, seized the reins and hauled the wagon to the right, past the dying horse. The riders, faced with several tonnes of galloping horse and wagon, darted out of their path. Their confusion was short lived however. As soon as the wagon had passed, they regrouped and gave chase, pistols snapping and barking all the while.
Jayne vaulted over the backrest and into the wagon proper. Taking cover behind the pump, he and Zoe poured fire into their pursuers. The noise in the gorge was deafening: the drumming hooves; rumbling wheels; the whip crack sound of the guns; the whistling bullets.
Zoe gave a cry. Mal turned. Zoe was on her back, blood pumping from a wound in her thigh. Jayne dropped his rifle to drag her behind the pump. The riders spurred their horses forward, coming alongside the wagon itself. Zoe, one hand clutching her bleeding leg, raised her carbine with her free hand and shot one clean through the shoulder.
Jayne made a grab for his rifle. One of the riders threw a lasso around his shoulders. Jayne seized the rope with both hands and wrenched the man from his saddle with a cry. Another rider flung a lasso over him. Jayne turned to try and grab the rope, missing his footing and tumbled over the side of the wagon.
Even as Jayne disappeared into the dust, Mal was lashing the reins to a peg on the backrest. He rose and turned to see that one of the riders had jumped from his horse onto the back of the wagon. Mal seized Jayne's rifle and swung for the man's jaw. The man threw his arms up and toppled from the wagon with a cry.
Mal raised the rifle to his shoulder, turned left and right, but found no targets. The riders had dropped back behind the wagon again, still keeping pace, but making no effort to come alongside. Mal was about to fire at the centremost when the knot of horsemen parted and a bizarre figure galloped through. Mal knew he should fire but he was too shocked to do anything but stand and stare.
The man rode a magnificent white stallion; a beast from song and fairy tale. He was dressed in red, from his shining red boots to the red plume in his wide-brimmed red hat. A red cape streamed out behind him like a banner. His face was hidden beneath a red mask. He rode up alongside the wagon and, still at a full gallop, leapt from his horse onto the wagon as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
It was only then that Mal roused himself from his stupor. He raised the rifle again, aiming to put a bullet in the man's chest. The red man threw his cape back and, to Mal's further astonishment, drew a sword from his side.
"Oh come on! Who uses a sword?!" Mal cried.
The man's speed was incredible. He stepped forward, pushed the rifle aside with his free hand, and smashed the pommel of his sword into Mal's temple. Mal fell like a pole axed ox, over the wagon's side and into the dirt.
Take my love, take my land
Take me where I cannot stand
I don't care, I'm still free
You can't take the sky from me
Take me out to the black
Tell them I ain't comin' back
Burn the land and boil the sea
You can't take the sky from me
There's no place I can be
Since I found Serenity
But you can't take the sky from me...
The Scarlet Blade
Chapter 1
The red rider watched as his men carried the unconscious forms from the wagon and laid them out beside the trail.
He turned in the saddle and addressed his deputy:
"You remember where you're to leave the wagon?"
"Yes, sir."
The red rider nodded. He had paid the men well. They would do the job properly.
Satisfied, he turned his horse about and set off along the gorge at a brisk trot. Behind him, his men were already busy turning the wagon around.
He passed out of the gorge and onto the desolate flatlands, suitable for neither grazing nor farming. The narrow dirt track ran straight towards the horizon. The red rider smiled beneath his mask and spurred his horse to a canter. She was a superb beast, capable of maintaining that pace for hours. The red rider almost flew across the plain. His red cape billowed out behind him, snapping and twirling in the dust. The sun sank in a blaze of orange, drawing night after her, and still he rode on.
He rode through farming country, the fields bare after the harvest. The lanes were empty and the rider flew on, a dark shape speeding beneath the stars.
Dawn was breaking as he approached the hill. A solitary rock, it rose sheer from the plains. The lights of a great house twinkled on its summit. A stately gate of wrought iron guarded the driveway up to its front doors but the rider chose to avoid it. He skirted the foot of the hill, hugging the dark cliffs. Ahead was an ornamental lake, fed by a waterfall. The rider dismounted here and led his weary horse along the shore until he passed under the waterfall. Here was a narrow path, cut into the rock, just wide enough for a man leading a horse to pass through. Torches in iron brackets lit the rider's way.
The path ended in a great cave, lit by more torches. The rider's first concern was for his horse. Her stable was in a smaller cave off the main one. Only when she was unsaddled, washed and fed did the rider finally attend to his own needs. His sword he hung on a rack of similar weapons. He undressed, folded and stored his clothes in a wardrobe and dresser, both made from red mahogany. After much deliberation, he dressed in a mauve dressing gown and matching slippers. He then crossed to a drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of wine.
Still carrying his glass, he climbed the spiral staircase at the rear of the cave. A doorway led him into a narrow corridor, lined with spy holes. A concealed door brought him out into a much wider corridor, tastefully furnished with dark wood panelling. His slippers made no sound as he crossed the thick carpet to the double doors opposite. Taking a key from his dressing gown pocket, he let himself in.
The room beyond was dark; the curtains were still closed. A woman was asleep in the double bed. The rider crossed softly to her side and placed his empty wineglass on the dresser. He paused to admire her sleeping form, drinking in her beauty. The bedsheets had slipped from her during the night, revealing the curve of her back and her smooth, olive skin.
The rider bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. She stirred.
"Andres…?"
"Shh," he said, placing a finger to her lips, "It's alright, sweet Inara."
Mal, Zoe and Jayne finally stumbled into Calico at evening the next day. A tinker on his way down from the mining settlements had offered them a lift to the town limits. Now they moved slowly along Calico's dusty streets, Mal and Jayne supporting the injured Zoe between them. Mal's crude first aid skills, learned in haste on the battlefield, had fashioned an effective tourniquet that had stemmed the bleeding. The main risk now was infection: there had been no way of keeping the wound clean on the long hike across the flatlands.
Mal knew that Zoe would be grateful to get away with a fever. He had been amazed to wake up beside the trail, disarmed and with no wagon in sight, and yet still alive. Either those bandits were squeamish or highly eccentric. Most would have just cut their throats.
Serenity was lying in the wide, shallow bowl on the edge of town, surrounded by a fence, that served as Calico's landing area. As they passed through the open gates, Mal could see that Inara's shuttle was still missing: she was still attending to her client. The ship's boarding ramp was lowered but there was no sign of any of the crew. Mal paused. He would have expected someone to come running out to them. Why was there no lookout watching for their return? As they drew closer to Serenity his sense of foreboding grew. His veteran's instinct was rumbling dangerously but everything appeared still and quiet.
"Hello? Anyone home?" he called up the ramp. The hold appeared deserted.
He heard the sound of running feet behind him.
"Hands up!" a man shouted, his order underscored by the sound of guns being cocked.
Mal, Jayne and Zoe turned, their hands raised. A line of men and women in the dull grey uniform of the Alliance militia were standing in front of the ship, rifles levelled at them. More militiamen were appearing from behind the other landed spaceships, heading towards Serenity.
"Captain Reynolds, you are hereby bound by law!" cried a voice behind them.
Mal turned once again. A tall, aristocratic man in an immaculate officer's uniform was striding across the hold towards them. A file of militiamen followed him, shepherding the rest of Serenity's crew between them.
"At last we meet face to face," the officer said to Mal. He had the dark, aquiline face and the arrogant bearing that told of a long lineage and 'good breeding'. He wore a sabre at his side, which was unusual: gentlemen rarely carried swords outside of a duel.
"Excuse me?" said Mal, bewildered.
"What, no quip? No bon mot?" sneered the officer, "Where is your dazzling repartee now? I would have expected better from the Scarlet Blade!"
Mal stared, open mouthed.
"From the -- what?!"