Republic

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Wait,” Mahliki blurted, lunging over to catch Sespian’s arm before he touched match to fuse. “Those aren’t priests.”

  “Then who?” Dare he hope the actual military was driving that military vehicle?

  “That’s Dak and...” Mahliki jumped to her feet. “Mother! What is she doing down here? She has her bow.”

  Sespian extinguished the match and pushed aside the flap. “I hope they have a bunch of soldiers too.”

  An explosion sounded, and for a crazy instant, Sespian thought he had somehow managed to light his blasting stick. He snorted at himself. “It was a little farther away than that.”

  He poked his head outside and risked leaning around the corner of the vehicle, figuring that the priests would be too busy looking at the explosion to be worrying about the people in the back of their new lorry. But in the already fading light, he couldn’t see beyond the front two vehicles. The soldiers must be attacking the lorries, boxing in the warehouse from the opposite end of the street. Maybe they had figured out a way to extend the reach of their blasting sticks.

  Another boom came from that direction. Glass shattered and crashed to the ground somewhere, and shouts came from the priests in the nearby lorries, though Sespian couldn’t make out the words. He hoped they were orders to retreat.

  “Looks like Dak and Mother are thinking about firing in this direction,” Mahliki said. “I’m hopping down to join them. You coming?”

  “If they don’t know we’re here and they’re planning to fire at us? Absolutely.” Sespian had probably already risked his neck by sticking it out there. It was dark enough that Tikaya and Dak wouldn’t be able to tell who he was by the back of his head. “Not being that smart tonight, Sespian,” he told himself and climbed outside.

  Mahliki had already climbed down. After a quick check to make sure she wasn’t in anyone’s line of fire, she ran toward the approaching vehicle, waving as she went. Sespian trotted after her, making sure to keep the rifle pointed downward until he was sure he was close enough to be recognized. Tikaya pushed open the door to the cab, grabbed her daughter before she had finished swinging up, and engulfed her in a hug. Sespian climbed in behind the driver, a corporal who didn’t look any older than he, and almost tripped over Maldynado on his way to report to Colonel Starcrest.

  “Ouch,” Maldynado moaned when Sespian caught a toe underfoot. Why was the man barefoot? And sitting on the floor?

  “Sorry,” Sespian said.

  “No, no, that was great. I felt that.” Maldynado beamed up at him.

  Before Sespian could attempt to decipher that, Dak gripped his shoulder. “Good to see you two. Rias still in the warehouse?”

  “Yes. We came out to... There were practitioners, that is, and we thought it would be a good idea to keep them busy.”

  “It was my idea,” Mahliki said, pulling away from her mother’s embrace. “Sespian was good enough to come along and keep me from getting myself killed.”

  Another explosion rocked the street. Sespian wished he could see around the lorries in front of them to the warehouse and the vehicles beyond. Were the president’s men throwing randomly, or had someone with an exceedingly good arm come out who could reach the lorries with the sticks?

  “Your father approved of that?” Tikaya frowned.

  “Father... was busy in the submarine.”

  Tikaya turned the frown onto Sespian, as if he could have stopped Mahliki from risking her life. He raised his hands, pleading... if not innocence, then an inability to sway her.

  “We have no allies we have to worry about in those three lorries?” Dak pointed at the vehicle Sespian had left and the two in front of it.

  The robed figures must have all ducked into the cabs at this fresh barrage of blasting sticks, for no one occupied the street around them. Except for those who had fallen to Sespian’s and Mahliki’s hands. He eyed the unmoving practitioner and the man he had burned. “No,” he said grimly. “No allies.”

  “Cannons,” Dak told the driver. “Clear the way.”

  The corporal reached for the switches on the weapons control panel, but hesitated, chewing on his lip. “Are you sure, sir? Those are our vehicles.”

  “Quite sure.” Dak’s smile seemed a touch vindictive. “I’ll hand Rias the bill.” He seemed to anticipate Tikaya arching her eyebrows in his direction, for he told her, “As punishment for being late on his hourly report to me.”

  The corporal paled, perhaps thanking his ancestors that he had never been late with a report.

  “You didn’t receive a message?” Mahliki asked. “We thought one of the men might have gotten away to deliver one. How did you know we were in trouble?”

  “By the lack of a report.” Dak tapped the back of the corporal’s chair. “Those cannons, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir.” This time, the soldier didn’t hesitate to pull a lever and punch a button labeled “Ignite.”

  The truck reverberated with a soft thud, and before Sespian fully realized the weapon had launched, the back of the lorry in front of them exploded in a blaze of brilliant yellow and orange so bright he had to shield his eyes.

  “What was in the back of that lorry?” Maldynado asked. He had managed to find a standing position, though he was leaning heavily on a pole.

  “A cannon,” Mahliki said.

  “And several kegs of powder,” Sespian added.

  Mahliki raised her eyebrows at him. “You didn’t mention that.”

  “They were in the front of the bed.” Sespian would have had to lead her across another inert body and had decided she didn’t need that experience.

  “Glad I won’t be the one handing the president that bill,” Maldynado said as the flames died down, revealing the utter obliteration of the vehicle.

  “It was his idea to employ me here.” Dak pointed. “The next lorry, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This time, the target didn’t blow up. The ball plunged straight through, crunching metal, and disappearing into the cab. Sespian was relieved there wasn’t a big explosion, because he was certain there were people in the front of the vehicle. They ought to have a chance to surrender.

  “Watch the plant.” Tikaya waved toward the shoreline, where the green swaying stalks rose so high that they blotted out the sky in that direction. “I’m sure it’s my imagination, but it almost seems like it’s being drawn to us.”

  “It’s not your imagination, Mother. A huge vine smashed in the window of the warehouse and grabbed Father after he charred a lesser one with his electricity generator. The plant has been extremely feisty tonight.”

  “Tell me about it,” Maldynado said, flexing his toes.

  “Oh, that reminds me. I’ll be right back.” Mahliki squirmed past Maldynado and Sespian and darted into the alley where she had left the generator.

  “Fire, Corporal,” Dak said, though he was watching Mahliki, leaning in that direction as if he meant to retrieve her himself if she didn’t return promptly.

  Only a few seconds passed before she reappeared at the mouth of the alley. She glanced both ways before running back to the lorry and climbing into the cab. “Can’t lose Father’s prototype. He didn’t exactly approve my taking it.”

  “He didn’t approve or he wasn’t aware of?” Dak asked as another cannonball shot away.

  “It was one of those two scenarios, yes.”

  Dak gave her a look that could have withered a mighty warrior.

  Mahliki smiled.

  Sespian bit back a smile of his own. She wasn’t daunted by much, not even the surly colonel.

  “Are there any other reinforcements coming, sir?” Sespian asked.

  “The rest of my men are busy putting out the fire at the hotel,” Dak said.

  “The what?”

  “The hotel exploded like a big fiery ball of naphtha,” Maldynado said.

  Sespian swallowed. “Were... a lot of people in it?”

  “Some,” Dak said, “but we warned everybody to ge
t out before the bomb went off. Most did.”

  “Bomb?”

  “That’s my surmise. The fire brigade and the rest of my men will investigate when the flames are out.”

  During the discussion, the corporal continued to fire. A few robed men jumped out of the cabs, but more seemed to be hunkering down, enduring the barrage. Or they were until a cry of “Look out!” came from two-dozen meters ahead.

  The sky lit up in a white flash at the same time as another explosion roared, this one closer than the others. Sespian squinted and looked away. Debris rattled against the glass front of their lorry and clanked and thudded to the street all around them. Something smashed into the top of their cab and bounced off. Sespian gaped up at the dent in the roof, then, still gaping, watched as a tire thunked down beside them.

  “That... wasn’t our cannonball, sir,” the corporal said.

  The entire lorry on the right had disappeared, leaving nothing except a few pieces of twisted, smoldering metal in its wake. Sespian had no idea where the rest of the tires had gone.

  “It was Father,” Mahliki cried, pointing to the warehouse, which, with the lorry gone, was now visible.

  The wooden walls were singed and littered with holes, and beams had been knocked or burned down so the roof sagged in places, but the soldiers remained on top with their rifles. In addition, President Starcrest knelt in the back with some kind of hastily made apparatus for launching blasting sticks farther than a man could throw. The lorries that had been barricading the building from the other end of the street were also gone, with nothing except rubble where they had been.

  “Watch it.” Dak gripped the back of the corporal’s seat. “He’s turning around.”

  The remaining lorry on their side of the street was on the move—sort of. The tires wobbled—one was flat—and the whole vehicle looked like it could tip on its side at any moment. In addition to the flak from the explosion right next to it, it had been the recipient of more than one cannonball.

  “Shall I fire again, sir?” the corporal asked.

  Up on the rooftop, a soldier pointing at the lorry seemed to be asking the same question. President Starcrest lifted a staying hand and set down his apparatus.

  “We’ve had enough blood here. Let him go,” Tikaya said, “so long as they aren’t preparing any parting shots.”

  “How... would one know?” the corporal asked. “They’re wizards.”

  “Someone raising a hand with flames dancing on his fingers will be a clue,” Mahliki said.

  Sespian grimaced, their encounter with the fire-slinging practitioner fresh in his mind. Dak grabbed a rifle and raised it toward the driver’s seat—the vehicle had managed to turn around and clearly wanted to limp past them. He jumped out, and Sespian frowned at this countermanding of Tikaya’s and the president’s wishes.

  The driver, the only person visible in the cab, ducked and tried to charge past them. His wobbly vehicle lurched into a pothole made by the explosions, and when the man swerved in the opposite direction, it went up on the curb. Metal squealed as the lorry raked against a brick wall. With the vehicle limping along at three miles an hour—and hitting everything in its path—Dak had no trouble jumping into the cab. He pointed the rifle at the driver and barked an order. Sespian couldn’t make out the words over the bangs and clunks of the vehicle. A moment later, the man stepped out, his hands clasped behind his head. He twisted his ankle on the uneven pavement and nearly pitched into a pothole himself. When he recovered, he trudged down the street away from the warehouse, his hands still locked behind his head, his gait as lopsided as the vehicle’s.

  Dak searched the rest of the lorry, but nobody else remained. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and strode back to Sespian and the others. When he hopped into the cab, he met Tikaya’s inquiring frown without flinching.

  “Those are our vehicles,” Dak said.

  Maldynado looked at the lorry, which was currently parked half in the street and half on the curb, like Dak had just fought off the vultures for a particularly old piece of roadkill for the stewpot. “Would have been a shame to lose such a fine conveyance.”

  “Rias can fix it,” Dak said.

  “In his copious free time?” Sespian asked.

  “He’s only in office for five years.” Dak waved at the vehicle—it had started smoking alarmingly from numerous orifices. “He’ll need hobbies to keep him busy after he retires.”

  “Have I mentioned,” Tikaya asked, “that you’re not a very nice man, Colonel?”

  “Not since the day before yesterday.” Dak prodded the corporal. “Take us over to that warehouse. I hope that blasted submarine has fared better than the rest of the vehicles on this street.”

  “Me too,” Sespian murmured.

  Mahliki came over to stand next to him and eyed his chest. Since he was covered in soot, blood, and grease, he doubted she was admiring his fashion sense—or his physique—but he wouldn’t have minded a feminine compliment.

  “Do you still have the blasting sticks in your shirt?” she asked.

  Not a compliment so much as a reminder about his foolish storage system. Sespian had left the one he had been about to light in the lorry—in fact, it had probably lent itself to that first stupendous explosion—but one did indeed remain nestled against his breast. He fished it out.

  “Careful there, boy,” Maldynado said. “Sicarius put a lot of effort into keeping you alive against all those villains trying to oust you. He’d be disappointed if you blew yourself up of your own accord.”

  “Yes, I would feel foolish if that happened. Or rather my eternal spirit would.”

  Mahliki smiled and leaned against his arm. That was even better than a compliment about his physique. Something about their closeness made Maldynado smirk.

  Sespian cleared his throat. “Speaking of foolishness, why are you only wearing one shoe?”

  Maldynado wasn’t even wearing a sock on the unprotected foot—the textured metal floor of the cab had to be cold. Not to mention there were crazy people waving blasting sticks around. Footwear had to be considered wise.

  Maldynado lifted his bare toes. “It’s still waiting for the attention of a medic.”

  His foot did have a red and swollen aspect to it.

  “What happened?” Sespian asked.

  “I saved your building,” Maldynado said smugly.

  “You did?”

  “I thought you said Sicarius killed the assassin,” Dak said.

  “Yes, but I talked him into coming with us,” Maldynado said. “I set up the whole trap. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “You better tell him about the other thing first,” Dak muttered.

  “Oh. That should probably wait until... later. For Sicarius. Yes, this is definitely the sort of talk one should have with one’s father.”

  “Uh, all right...” Sespian frowned around the cab, wondering who besides Dak knew about... whatever this was. Tikaya wore a thoughtful expression. Sespian thought about pressing the matter, but the vehicle had stopped, and Dak was hopping out. Maldynado hustled after him. “In the meantime,” Sespian said to Tikaya, “how alarmed should I be?”

  “It will depend on what you do with the information,” she said. “Parenthood is a tremendous opportunity, but a life-changing choice as well.”

  “Parenthood?”

  When Sespian climbed out of the lorry, he wobbled and stumbled as much as the priest Dak had ushered down the road. Parenthood? He hadn’t even... Could they be talking about his cat? That was the only thing he could think of, that Trog had been... cavorting in the neighborhood.

  Chapter 25

  “Deret?”

  Amaranthe paddled around the icy cider-filled tank, groping in the darkness. He had been shot and hit his head falling in; she didn’t know if striking the liquid would have revived him—or not. She also didn’t know if those priests would open the hatch and start firing at them from above. If so, they would be easy targets. The darkness might cloak th
em somewhat, but it wasn’t if they could go anywhere. They could duck into the six feet of cider in the tank, but she doubted the liquid would stop a bullet. It would only be a matter of time before someone’s shot hit...

  “Here,” Deret said from one side of the tank. “I’m sorry. That was idiotic.”

  “Getting shot or falling in? Or hitting your head as you fell in?”

  “Dear ancestors. Don’t remind me. I used to be... maybe not an elite warrior, but I could hold my own on the battlefield. You’d think I would know how to compensate for the cursed leg by now.”

  Something thunked hollowly against the side of the tank. At first, Amaranthe thought it was the hatch being opened, but it had come from below. Deret bumping the wall with his elbow. Or maybe his head.

  “It takes a while to reteach muscles that have memorized moves a certain way,” Amaranthe said, wishing she could touch the bottom and didn’t have to tread water—cider. Just because she could do it—with a ten-pound brick over her head—didn’t mean she preferred to. “How often have you had to fight since you received the injury?”

  “Oddly it only happens when you show up.”

  “It’s clear you need more practice being shot at. I’ll have to come by more often.”

  “That would be nice. The coming by, that is. Not the being shot at.”

  “I understood,” Amaranthe said.

  “I suppose Sicarius would object to that.”

  “You being shot at? No, that wouldn’t bother him.”

  Deret grunted.

  “How injured are you? You sound a little pained, but your voice is more even than mine.”

  “I’m able to stand on the bottom. Barely. I was hit in the shoulder. It hurts, but it won’t kill me. A second shot wouldn’t feel good though. I keep waiting for them to open the hatch and finish us.”

  As if someone outside had been waiting for this statement, thumps sounded on the roof of the tank, then a squeaking.

  “I believe they’ve decided to lock us in instead,” Amaranthe said.

  More squeaks came, this time from the other side of the tank, somewhere behind Deret. Gurgles sounded from above. Amaranthe thought of the pipe from the vat to the tank. She wasn’t surprised when cider started gushing through, splashing her shoulders as it poured down.