Merkabah Rider: Have Glyphs Will Travel Read Online Free PDF

violence, he had neglected all the peaceful moments of
his existence.
    What if in the end, he did kill
Adon? Would it even stop the doom of the Hour of Incursion? What could one man
really do to aide or defy the Great Old Ones?
    Outside, there was a commotion of
horses and the tinkling of harnesses and gear. They observed shadows moving
across the picket door.
    “That must be the patrol the colonel
ordered,” Kabede observed.
    “That fool,” said the Rider. “They
won’t come back.”
    “Why not?” Belden asked. “What’s
comin’ Joe? What’s this flapdoodle about you bein’ responsible for a massacre?”
    “I was there,” the Rider said. “But
I wasn’t responsible.”
    “I figured as much. Now, what about
those three who’re are after you?”
    Belden was no babe in the woods when
it came to the preternatural undercurrent of the world. He’d experienced it
firsthand alongside the Rider a few times during the war. The first time the
Rider had ever fought shedim they had
been Missouri bushwhackers, and Belden had been right there beside him. But
Belden didn’t know everything.
    “You know, I saw ‘em when they were
here,” Belden went on. “Three of ‘em. Odd bunch. One was a Dutchman, and he
spoke for the other two. Didn’t have a lick of hair between them. Not even
eyebrows.”
    The Rider wondered at that. Some
deliberate statement on their part, or a side-effect of whatever powers they
were calling on?
    “That is strange,” Kabede remarked. “What else do you remember about
them?”
    “Well, we took them for pilgrims or
something at first,” said Belden. “They were strung with more medallions and
doodads than a penitente come Easter.
Actually, they spent two days here.”
    “They did ?” said the Rider sharply.
    “Yeah. One of ‘em was sick. Doc
Milton tended to him. Manx hit it off with the Dutchman. He claims some German
on his mother’s side, I guess, and they talked about…well, whatever Germans talk
about.”
    “Do you mean…DeKorte, or Jacobi?”
asked Kabede.
    “When Americans say ‘Dutchman’ they
usually mean German,” the Rider explained. It was a colloquialism that had
taken him some getting used to in his youth.
    “Shvurt, or Shvert, was the name of
the one that Manx took a shine to,” Belden confirmed. “He gave Manx your wanted
poster. I didn’t know it was you at first. The beard and all. Milton said the
one he doctored was called…LeBook-lee-yay? A Frenchman. I never heard the
others’ name. They’re not just bounty hunters, are they?” he pressed.
    “No,” the Rider said. “It’s hard to
say what they are.”
    “Old friends?” Belden ventured. “Pardon
me for sayin,’ but you look to share the same flare for bijouterie . You always carried a couple lucky charms when I knew
you, but you’ve picked up a lot more since.”
    “I need more luck these days,” the
Rider said absently. “What was the matter with Le Bouclier, the one the surgeon
saw?”
    “Twisted ankle. His horse threw him,
they said. And that ain’t all. They had a corpse with ‘em.”
    “A corpse?”
    “Yep,” Belden affirmed. “Their
comrade in arms. They said they’d come across your camp and you’d killed him.”
    “I didn’t.”
    “Well, he sure smelled dead. They
buried him in the post cemetery.”
    “Why would they do that?” the Rider
wondered aloud.
    “They did it themselves too. Wouldn’t
let nobody else attend to it. They said it was agin their religion.”
    “I think we should probably dig up
that corpse,” said Kabede.
    “Yes,” said the Rider. “Where’s the
post cemetery?”
    “You passed it on the way up. It’s
easy to miss. There ain’t but six graves, including the stranger’s. You gonna
tell me what’s going on?” Belden asked. “I’ve seen some strange things in your
company, ‘member. I learned a long time ago not to discount your explanations.
But something tells me rock salt and demonpunching ain’t going to be enough for
this