Winds of Wrath

by Taylor Anderson

  Standing in the forward open-air gondola, eyes watering against wind, he peered intently at the forest below. There were gaps in the trees, even the occasional cart path, but nothing moved. That itself is significant, he supposed. The forest harbors many large creatures. Only the passage of something they fear—like an army—could leave it so apparently empty. He squinted and tried to discern ground disturbance in the openings. He thought he did, but it could’ve been made by herds of beasts. With Ign’s army spread out, there’d be no distinctive scars on the land made by columns of troops.

  The wind gusted harder and Jash blinked, wiping his eyes with an absorbent white cloth—booty from Zanzibar given to him by General Alden. Slitted shutters could be lowered over the glassless openings for long-distance travel, but they hindered observation. The aft gondola, designed to carry bombs, was empty and buttoned up. The vast, rigid envelope above, enclosing cells of lifting hydrogen and supporting engines and gondolas, was painted black. That identified the airship as one reserved for the nighttime transport of General Esshk or his messengers. The fact it was day and nobody shot it down as it crossed over country Ign would know was infested by the enemy might raise suspicion, especially since Saansa Field was now operational, despite the daily rains. Allied fighter planes like P-1C Mosquito Hawks and Repub Cantets increasingly prowled these skies. Suspicious or not, however, Ign wouldn’t shoot. Esshk didn’t care about the lives of aircrews, but airships were getting scarce. He wouldn’t risk one without a reason and Ign would want to know what it was.

  Jash looked at “his” aircrew, all Grik, despite the fact a few Lemurian Shee-ree had volunteered. Shee-ree had been the first to operate a captured Grik zep and tended to recruit their own when it came to training others to fly them. But this wasn’t like the prearranged meeting with Halik and there was every chance Ign would kill them, especially if they showed up with enemies. Interestingly, though, all six aviators chose to accompany Jash and he sensed a . . . difference in the way they behaved toward him. Strangers who looked to him like his own Slashers did. He guessed that came with the favor of the Celestial Mother, or perhaps his reputation as a warrior, and wasn’t sure if that gave him satisfaction or discomfort. He watched the aircrew perform their duties awhile longer, enduring their occasional respectful glances, before peering back over the rough-hewn rail with a hissing sigh.

  “A smoke!” cried an observer on the starboard side of the gondola, and Jash paced quickly across to see. A large white gush of gunpowder smoke, torched in a cauldron, was rapidly dissipating downwind from the center of a medium-sized clearing where a number of figures had appeared. It was a brief, unmistakable attention signal like Jash had seen numerous times. It wasn’t very useful on a battlefield, obscured by cannon and musket fire, but like this . . . The smoke was discreet, yet quite visible to someone looking for it, and it quickly vanished. At night, the flash of the powder had the same effect. Jash turned his head to the side to gaze through an Imperial telescope he’d been given. The clearing was half a mile away, but the figures—clearly Gharrichk’k warriors, with a pair of signal pennants—leaped into focus and appeared very close. He watched the pennants a moment, then collapsed the telescope, briefly marveling at it once again.

  “Come around downwind of the clearing and approach with care. Do not tear the envelope on the trees,” he cautioned. If things went poorly, he doubted they’d escape, but if the meeting went well, he didn’t want to walk out through the trigger-happy lines of Fifth Corps to make his report.

  “Of course, Lord First Ker-noll!” the dirigible’s captain cried loudly. Leaning on the large steering tiller before him, he shouted at others to adjust the throttles on the five engines and aimed the ungainly craft down at their destination. “Release the mooring lines!” he called.

  They couldn’t spill much hydrogen if they wanted to rise again, so they’d literally fly down to the ground; a dangerous maneuver under the best of circumstances. Here, it was potentially catastrophic, with tall trees on the other side of the clearing waiting to crash them to shreds. They’d only survive one approach. Furthermore, there was no mooring mast and Jash had no idea how they’d hold the airship stationary. This mystery was solved when a hundred warriors burst from the trees pulling six heavy cannon. They were arranged in a rough circle, their crews grabbing the dangling lines as the dirigible’s captain flared out and ordered his crew to throttle the engines back. Jash felt the gondola deck jerk and dip as the lines were made fast to the guns. The captain looked at him, snout lowered in regret. “We cannot accompany you, Lord. Even tethered thus, we must fly the ship against the wind and it will take us all.”

  Jash jerked a diagonal nod. “I always meant to go alone.” He paused. “How long can you . . . stand above this place?”

  “Four handspans. Perhaps longer—or as soon as the rains come hard. They should release us if that occurs and we’ll return as soon as we can.” Unspoken, of course, was that the scratch ground crew might release them—if they weren’t ordered to kill them.

  Jash moved to the trapdoor in the deck at the front of the gondola. A long, rough rope was coiled beside a winch standing over the opening. Raising the trap, he tossed the rope out, watching it unroll about 150 feet to the ground. “If conditions warrant and they don’t release you, slip the mooring lines yourselves. Likewise, if they try to haul you down or behave in any way hostile, or you hear nothing from me in . . .” He paused, considering. There was no guarantee Ign was even near. “Give me as long as you can,” he said, “but don’t linger if you sense aggression.”

  “As you command, Lord First Ker-noll.”

  Jash grasped the rope and started down, footclaws catching in the fibers from time to time to slow his descent. He was halfway to the ground, spinning enough to make him queasy, before realizing the airship captain called him “Lord,” as if he was a general! He shrugged it away. Technically, he commanded more than enough troops to be called “General,” and even Ign once said he’d have raised him to that status if he could. Yet as of now, Halik was the only Gharrichk’k general serving the Celestial Mother and Jash suspected that was for the best, for now. He knew as well as anyone how much needed to change, and the hierarchical bickering of generals jostling for dominance would only slow the process. He’d even caught a taste of it in the air between General Alden and General Kim. It lasted only a moment, and Alden quickly tamped it down, but it was clear he hadn’t entirely approved of Kim’s dispositions. Particularly how he’d practically ignored Jash and Shelg, and relegated their Slashers to a rear-area role. The Celestial Mother wanted her race in the fight for this new Way. How else would they have a voice in it? General Alden seemed to agree with that—or at least believed letting Gharrichk’k fight Gharrichk’k would preserve his own warriors. Either was a position Jash could respect, and both led to what the Giver of Life desired.

  An even greater loyalty toward First General Alden surged in him as he touched the ground, not even because he wholly trusted him, but he did trust his focus on doing whatever he must to win. Crushing Esshk was part of that, but so was supporting the Celestial Mother, because the Gharrichk’k and the various races Alden protected could only live in peace someday through her. And through me, at present, he suddenly realized as dozens of scrawny, bedraggled warriors—once his warriors—gathered around.

  There was surprised hissing and a lane opened for a skinny, rough-looking officer. Weather-faded devices painted on once-gray iron and leather armor, now soiled and rusted to a mottled reddish brown, were those of a Ker-noll, and Jash recognized Naxa, once his second in the Slashers.

  “First Ker-noll Jash?” Naxa demanded, tone betraying wonder. “How can you . . . In Supreme Regent Esshk’s own airship? We thought you destroyed with the rest of the Slashers at Old Sofesshk. How did you escape?”

  “You haven’t heard?” Jash asked, equally surprised to see his former subordinate, especially looking so haggard. “I thought ev
eryone would know by now,” he murmured thoughtfully, then raised his voice. “Clearly, General Ign keeps much from you.” He paused, considering. “Or Esshk’s Dorrighsti ‘Night Hunters’ do. Are there many of them among you?”

  Naxa angrily clacked his teeth and others gurgled disapproval. “Some were with us from the start, as you know—such arrogant creatures!—and now that the Celestial Mother is lost, they assume liberties beyond their rank. More come down from Supreme Regent Esshk’s stronghold with every airship bearing dispatches, urging us to ‘greater efforts’ to join our Lord—as if we weren’t already marching on our anklebones!” he added resentfully. “Three tens of them now guard Lord General Ign.” This statement carried a note of injured betrayal. “I doubt they considered your survival consequential enough to inform him of it.”

  “Perhaps not that, specifically,” Jash agreed enigmatically, “but a great deal else, I’m sure. Where is Ign? I must . . . confer with him at once!”

  Naxa waved behind, then glanced at the hovering airship, obviously concerned it would mark the area for air attack. But the clouds were darkening and soon nothing would be flying. “Not far. He maintains a minimal headquarters. The prey keeps us moving and we can’t mass.” Naxa’s short, grungy crest lifted slightly. “If our last report reached the Supreme Regent, you know we lost more than half our force evading General Al-den. We disengaged at last, but were set upon by another force, of the Other Hunters from the south! It’s been . . . an unpleasant time.” He stopped, taking a breath, then finally managed to look like he was glad to see Jash. “But tell me, how did you break free, with the enemy rampant all around Old Sofesshk? And since you live . . . Esshk must’ve found you blameless for the violation and death of the Celestial Mother?”

  Jash regarded Naxa with wide eyes. He truly didn’t know. “Take me to General Ign at once,” he repeated. “But I’ll tell you this; the Giver of Life is safe and sound . . . because I never left Old Sofesshk.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Naxa scratched at the stained leather doorflap of a ragged marquee, erected under the broad-topped trees, and Second General Ign almost immediately stepped out. He’d no doubt heard the commotion as Jash was recognized and startled troops began to gather. Jash wondered why Ign didn’t just have him swept quickly inside, out of sight, and just as quickly dispatched. If Naxa knew nothing of Esshk’s treachery and the Celestial Mother’s oft-repeated plea for allegiance and offer of amnesty, neither could anyone else—other than Ign and the Dorrighsti. Why allow a spectacle, or Jash a chance to speak? Then Jash got his first look at Ign. He wore no armor, just a filthy tunic that ordinarily padded it and covered his midriff. He’d also drawn the now faded and tattered red cape of his office around him. Just as worn down as the rest of his troops, he also looked positively ancient. Not because he was frail; he’d lost all the flab he’d accumulated over his muscles through the years, and was probably a match for the powerful warrior he’d been when he was younger, but the feathery fur down the sides of his snout, around his eyes, and halfway down his neck had gone pure white. The impression of age stopped at his eyes. They looked tired, almost melancholy, but also keenly interested to see Jash. Wary too, betraying complete understanding that he and Jash, master and apprentice, were now on opposite sides.

  “There’s water. I have no other refreshment to offer,” Ign said gruffly.

  Jash bowed. “With my deepest respect, Lord General, I require nothing of that sort from you.”

  Ign’s eyes narrowed and his crest rose in defiance. “So. Straight to your purpose, then. Do tell us all precisely what you do ‘require.’ Let me guess; that I and my army throw down our weapons and become the laboring Uul of the conquering prey?” He turned to those around them and pointed at Jash. “That’s what he’s become, he and the warriors he betrayed into submission to those we still defy!”

  A steaming hiss of horror and outrage jetted through the teeth of every warrior and they started to surge forward as one.

  “Untrue!” Jash roared, hand moving to rest on the pommel of his long, back-curved sword. The furious mob paused in astonishment. Jash was known to most of them and his voice carried the same tone of confident command they’d heard on the battlefield. His reputation and, frankly, the shock of such a brazen denunciation gave him the seconds he needed to say the words that would guarantee they heard him out. “The Celestial Mother still lives and rules all the Gharrichk’k despite Esshk’s attempts to murder her!” he yelled. Now there was a sound like breaking surf as gasps of dismay and confusion swept around, expanding outward. “The Slashers and I fiercely fought the enemy—until we discovered we had the same goal: to save the Giver of Life from Esshk’s Dorrighsti assassins who’d already slaughtered most of the Ancient Hij of Old Sofesshk! It’s true!” he roared louder into the growing howls of disbelief. “Only with the assistance of the enemy we provoked did we save the one we revere. The ‘enemy’ no longer comes to destroy us, but would save us from Esshk, who elevated himself to Supreme Regent through foul endeavors and profane massacre. They work with the Giver of Life to preserve and unite our race.

  “To that end, the Celestial Mother has summoned you, all loyal Gharrichk’k, to join her in this effort. . . .” Slowly, he turned to face Ign. With deep regret, he pointed. “And he knew.”

  The tumult then was shocking, growing, as word spread of what Jash said. There were probably four hundred warriors around them now, and some started bashing bayonets against musket barrels like they would before a charge, but they didn’t have a target. Jash had made himself one of them and they trusted him, believed him—but Ign was one of them too. Look at him, he even bore the same miseries now . . . but had he also brought them those miseries? And Esshk! Could he actually have attempted what Jash so resolutely claimed? It was too horrible to contemplate.

  There’s no telling what would’ve happened next; about half wanted to slaughter Ign for leading them astray, the other half, even if they believed Jash, felt almost compelled to destroy him just for telling them, leaving them so suddenly rudderless in a sea of uncertainty. In an instant, however, the dynamic changed, crystallizing and focusing on Ign’s Dorrighsti guards, who surged into the wavering mass. Hindclaws raked and flashed, gouging legs to the bone and severing arteries. Teeth ripped throats and bellows of rage at this unexpected betrayal turned to blood-spewing gurgles. Blades hacked and flailed, cleaving heads, chopping arms and necks in a welter of more spraying blood that painted Grik troops yards away and gave them startled pause. Most of the Dorrighsti fought their way through to surround the general they’d been told to guard—and watch. Others, perhaps a quarter, tried to smash through to the visitor who’d exposed them and their master.

  Jash was as surprised as anyone and cursed himself for a fool even as he whipped his sword from its scabbard. He’d seen the black and red slashmarks painted on the armor of nearby troops and knew what Dorrighsti were capable of. Perhaps I just never expected to live long enough to concern myself with them, he confessed to himself, his sword clanging upward to meet a blow meant to split his head. Bodies already covered the ground and a lot of troops were pulling back in confusion, trying to arm themselves or just figure out who to fight. For the moment, that left Jash and maybe twenty regular, half-armed troops outnumbered by the unusually skilled and suicidally murderous Dorrighsti.

  Jash moved to spin inside and slash his attacker’s throat with his claws, but there was another Dorrighsti sword, lunging for his belly. He arched his back to draw away, but his attacker had the reach. He steeled himself for the punch to the gut that would begin his death. The sword dropped to the ground, the red-streaked arm on top of it, and Jash saw Naxa finish the attacker with a stroke from a second sword in his other hand. I never saw him fight with two, he realized. Then he had no time for thought. The Dorrighsti had received some sort of ancient sword training even New Army soldiers lacked. Moreover, they had even less regard for their liv
es than their master did and they fought with wild abandon, widening the circle around Ign and filling it with severed limbs and corpses.

  On the other hand, regardless of their skill, this was the first time they’d used it in earnest. The hard-earned experience of the veteran troops, warriors who’d survived the most grueling combat imaginable, quickly adapted to their unconventional, almost artistic technique, and began to turn the tide with brutally efficient blows and blocks. And when other troops returned with bayonet-bristling muskets, snatched from tripod stands, a different type of artistry went on display. Very quickly, a meager semicircle of seven gasping, bleeding Dorrighsti remained around Ign, who stood, crest high, snarling furiously.

  Then, without warning, he snatched a Dorrighsti blade from the blood-muddy ground and roared “Enough!” So accustomed to his voice of command, his soldiers drew themselves back, even Jash—and the Dorrighsti were on them, stabbing, hacking, biting and clawing. “Enough, I said, you miserable, slinking scum!” Ign bellowed, swinging his sword and completely decapitating a Dorrighsti in front of him. It spasmed and leaped in the air amid a spraying fountain of blood. Crashing down on the ringing troops, it knocked several, including Naxa, to the ground. “You’re Esshk’s reeking turds, hatched from his arse-slit!” Ign ranted. “You’ll kill no more of my army!” With that he struck again, hacking down with a blow that nearly cut one of his guards diagonally in half, but his sword lodged and he couldn’t pull it free.