Ghosts of the Tristan Basin: A Powder Mage Novella

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Taniel Two-shot crept through the murky, chest-deep water of the Tristan Basin, eyes scanning the surface for the tell-tale ripple of boas and swamp dragons. He clung to the shadows of the big cypress trees, his rifle, kit, and powder horn held over his head. The sounds of the droning insects, bird calls, and the occasional splunk of an animal slipping into the water were drown out by the heavy thumping of his own heart, echoing in his ears like a kettle drum.

Despite his reservations about the local wildlife – it was not unheard of for the unwary to be pulled beneath the water, never to resurface – Taniel had more immediate concerns. There were eighty Kez soldiers nearby, if his Palo guides were to be believed, each of them armed with the very best muskets and accompanied by local guides of their own.

One of them stood on a dry hummock of land not twenty paces away from Taniel’s position, his back toward the water.

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