The Ships of Air (The Fall of Ile-Rein)

by Martha Wells

  “He said that one had the keys, and that he wanted a distraction.” Ilias’s nose was bleeding and he gingerly wiped it on Giliead’s shirt. “At least, I hope that’s what he said. I didn’t get all the words.”

  “He, the one who speaks—” Giliead hesitated, swallowing hard, avoiding the word “Rienish” since the Gardier would recognize it. “What for?”

  “I don’t—”

  Adram walked toward the wireless room, the Command junior at his side. He stopped at the doorway to the windowless wooden shack. He could hear the hum of the wireless inside, warming up. They hadn’t had a chance to send a transmission yet. Perfect. He opened the door, motioning the other officer in ahead of him. The man hesitated, but Adram ignored him, slipping the dispatch bag off his shoulder and opening the flap to dig through it. Annoyed at this inefficiency, the man stepped through the door.

  Adram heard a sharp question from Disar, but he already had the incendiary in his hand. He pushed the detonator into place, held down the strike lever, then tossed it through the door. Adram bolted, one arm up to shield his head.

  He made it ten paces before the blast knocked him down.

  Know.” The explosion rocked Ilias back and he fell against Giliead, wincing away from the sudden flare of light. He heard debris pelting the ground not far away, the frightened shouts of the Gardier. Heart pounding, he stared at the flying whale, expecting the dark expanse of the body above them to mottle with molten orange and ponderously tip over. But the whale wasn’t on fire, it was the little wooden hut against the wall. The one the crystal wizard went into. Oh, here we go. He struggled to sit up, savagely glad the man was dead.

  Jagged sections of the wooden walls still stood but the inside was aflame and the floor around it was littered with burning fragments. Smoke boiled into the air. He exchanged a frantic look with Giliead. This is our chance.

  Some of the Gardier had thrown themselves to the ground, others had been hit by burning wood fragments and rolled or beat at the flames. Out of the smoke the Rienish Gardier ran, shouting at the others. He spun around, pointing frantically toward the flying whale, now mostly obscured by smoke, and shouted again, desperate urgency underlying every word and gesture. The other guards bolted away, some stopping to drag the wounded to their feet. They ran past their prisoners, banging open the outer doors somewhere behind the truck.

  “What’s happening?” Cimarus demanded, watching the growing fire worriedly. “Are we—Is it—”

  “We’re getting out of here,” Giliead told him hurriedly. “Just stay quiet, don’t draw their attention.”

  None of the Gardier seemed inclined to help their bound prisoners. Then one man stopped beside the unconscious guard, leaning down to grab his jacket, obviously meaning to haul him out. Ilias froze in horror. If we can’t get to those keys—Beside him Giliead whispered, “Just leave him, come on, leave him….”

  The Rienish Gardier reached the man, pulling him away from the motionless guard and shoving him on, taking him by the arm and hauling him along when he hesitated.

  “Go, go, go!” Ilias urged, but Giliead was already rolling to his knees, managing to hop-shuffle-crawl toward the unconscious man. Reaching him, he twisted around to use his bound hands and fumbled for the pouches at the Gardier’s belt. “Hurry, dammit,” Ilias urged him, looking from the burning hut to the silent flying whale.

  “No, really?” Giliead growled, head craned over his shoulder to see. The dense smoke thickened the air and Cletia started to cough. “Got it,” Giliead said suddenly, elated and relieved. More twisting around, then he was pulling the manacles off his wrists.

  Cimarus shouted in relief, but Ilias was still trying to watch the flying whale through the growing haze of smoke. He couldn’t see how close the flames were to it, or if the fire was spreading, but he could smell it and feel the wash of reflected heat. It caught him by surprise when Giliead leapt on him and flipped him over to wrestle with the locks on his leg shackles. His legs came free, then his hands, and Ilias scrambled to his feet with a yell of triumph.

  In moments they had Cletia and Cimarus free. Ilias saw one of the outside doors behind the wagon stood partly open to the night. That seemed to be their only escape route. “The Gardier will still be out there,” he told Giliead, jerking his head toward the doors.

  “We’ll have to chance it.” Giliead started for the other wagon. “Come on, they put our weapons in here.”

  “Why isn’t the flying whale burning?” Cimarus wanted to know, peering uncertainly through the smoke as Giliead shoved back the flaps and stepped up into the covered wagon bed. “The one we had went up quick enough.”

  Ilias looked back and almost got beaned in the head when Giliead tossed his sword out. He slung the baldric over his shoulder, his injured ribs stabbing him as he lifted his arms, and Giliead handed out his belt knife and the other weapons. “Maybe it’s got one of those crystals in it. Didn’t Tremaine say they could keep it from catching fire?”

  “We can’t trust that.” Cletia slung her sword belt over her shoulder. “We need to get out of here.”

  “We know that.” Ilias snapped. “Why don’t you—” He stopped as Giliead reappeared, ducking under the canvas. He had Tremaine’s bag and their packs over his shoulder and was carrying the crystal’s metal box. “Why do you want that thing?” he demanded as Giliead jumped down. “It betrayed us.” It sounded like a stupid thing to say about a lump of rock and glass, but it was what had happened.

  “I don’t think it did,” Giliead said firmly, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “Come on.”

  Tremaine brought the truck to a halt well away from the airship hangar. It had lights but she hadn’t used them, wanting to draw as little attention as possible. If the road hadn’t been free of ditches and other obstructions, she would never have made it.

  In the darkness of the cab she drew her pistol, checking how many rounds were left, for once glad she had been taught to do it blindfolded. Five. Can I do this with five? She had left the rest of her ammunition back with their supplies. “Calit, you need to leave.” She couldn’t see the boy’s face, but he sat next to her on the bench and she could feel his eyes on her.

  “I can drive the truck,” he said, a world of stubbornness in those few words.

  “Will you just run away?” Tremaine snapped.

  “And go where?” he demanded, gesturing to the night and the empty plain rolling away. “Everybody I know gets killed,” he added, his voice trembling.

  Tremaine looked away, took a deep breath. “That makes two of us.” She fumbled for the latch and the door creaked as it swung open. “Don’t come after me.”

  Running across the uneven ground toward the wire fence, she wondered how she was going to get over it. But as she drew closer she saw the gate under the electric pole was open and Gardier were running out. She halted, watching them head toward a lighted building some distance away. Some of them were carrying or helping wounded along. The hell…

  Tucking her gun behind her back, she started forward more slowly. There were only three Gardier left near the hangar, though it was hard to tell in the shadows left by the stark pool of electric light. One man in an officer’s uniform was arguing with two others, pointing back toward the hangar. Tremaine realized she could smell smoke on the damp cool air.

  She flinched as a shot went off, but it wasn’t aimed at her. One of the Gardier at the gate was on the ground and the other two were fighting, struggling over a pistol. That’s got to be one of us, she thought, incredulous. Unable to see whom to shoot at this distance, she ran toward them.

  I’m too old for this, Adram thought grimly, losing his grip on the pistol as the Gardier pulled a forearm more tightly across his throat. And anyway he had always hired people to do the physical part.

  The Gardier froze suddenly but Adram felt the pistol jammed into his temple. His breath caught in his throat but the man didn’t fire. In another moment Adram saw why.

  There was a woman in Gardier
clothing pointing a gun at them. The light from the guardpost fell across her face, but he didn’t recognize her until she said, “Stop right—oh holy shit.”

  I was right. Pushing the last vestiges of his Adram persona aside, Nicholas said in Rienish, “For God’s sake, Tremaine, take the shot.”

  Hearing a language he couldn’t understand, the guard tightened his grip, saying, “Drop your weapon or I’ll—”

  The report was so loud Nicholas thought the guard had fired into his head. He staggered as the man’s grip fell away, his hand going to his cheek. He felt the warm wetness of blood, but it wasn’t his. He looked for the Gardier and saw him sprawled on the ground, one neat bullet hole in his forehead. He straightened up, reaching for a handkerchief until he remembered the damn uniform jacket had no pockets. Wiping the blood away with his hand, he said under his breath, “I knew emphasizing firearms training over deportment lessons would benefit in the long run.”

  His daughter moved toward him, lowering the pistol, staring. “It’s you.”

  He eyed her. God, she had changed. “Tremaine, what have you done to your hair?”

  Chapter 21

  My what?” Tremaine repeated blankly. She heard Ilias call her name and spun around.

  Through a haze of smoke, the Syprians burst out of the open hangar doors. Sword drawn, Ilias skidded to a halt, looking from Tremaine to Nicholas. In the wash of electric light she could see he had a bloody nose and a new collection of bruises. Giliead, Cimarus and Cletia were right behind him, none of them in much better shape. Giliead, amazingly enough, still had the crystal’s case. Everybody eyed Nicholas with varying degrees of suspicion. “He helped us get free,” Ilias told Tremaine, watching him warily. “He sounds Rienish.”

  Nicholas moved casually to join Tremaine, brushing the dirt off his Gardier uniform. “I assume they’re with you,” he said with aplomb, nodding toward the Syprians. Tremaine just stared at him incredulously. He’s acting as if we ran into each other during the interval at the Opera. At least she knew it wasn’t an imposter using a sorcerous illusion; no Gardier could pull off an impersonation like this.

  Ilias looked at her worriedly and Giliead eyed Nicholas with distrust. “Who is he?” Cletia demanded, obviously speaking for everyone.

  Ah, a question I used to ask myself frequently, Tremaine thought irreverently, still dazed from his appearance. “I—He’s—” A distant shout interrupted her confused attempt at a reply. She saw truck lights and the bobbing glows of hand torches coming toward them across the dark field. “Later. This way!”

  She led them toward the truck at a run, Nicholas pausing to recover the dead guard’s gun and shoot out the light above the gate. In the dark the truck was impossible to see but fortunately Tremaine was too overwhelmed to second-guess herself and blundered right back into it. She clambered into the cab, shoving Calit over, and Nicholas climbed in the other side. The others ran around to the covered bed.

  This truck had a large panel opening between the makeshift cab and the back, and Tremaine looked through to see the dim shapes of Ilias and the others scrambling in. As she fumbled for the starter, Calit was dragged into the opening and Ilias climbed through it into the cab to replace him. Giliead leaned through, right over Tremaine’s shoulder. The engine rumbled to life and gears ground as she got the vehicle turned and pointed away from the hangar; she wasn’t worried about direction, just speed and concealment. Her eyes were used to the dark again and she could make out vague shapes now.

  “Just how were you planning on getting out of here?” Nicholas asked calmly, still in that “casual encounter at the café” tone, as if he hadn’t been given up for dead for years.

  Tremaine gritted her teeth. “We were going to steal a boat.” That moment under the gate’s bright spotlight had shown her that he had shaved his mustache and beard and that his dark hair was shorter than she remembered, with more gray. He had always been adept at changing his appearance; she was a little startled at how instantly she had recognized him.

  “You thought you could just stroll into the city and steal a ship from a military dock?” He sounded faintly incredulous.

  “I stole a truck,” she snapped defensively. As someone who had apparently been masquerading as a Gardier, he was no one to point fingers.

  “Trucks,” Nicholas said with scorn, “are easy. I have a better idea.” He leaned to point across the field into the dark, toward the city. “Head that way. You should come to a road.”

  “We have to pick up the others first.” Tremaine was gritting her teeth so hard her jaw was beginning to ache. Basimi, Dubos and Molin would be waiting for them at the meeting point. She hoped.

  Facing Nicholas, one arm braced on the wooden dash, Ilias asked quietly in Syrnaic, “Tremaine, who is he? A Rienish spy?”

  Tremaine took a sharp breath. “No. Yes. He’s my father.”

  Ilias said nothing for a moment, but she could practically hear startled consternation. Giliead, braced against the bumpy ride in the opening, shifted uncertainly. Ilias shook his head slightly. “You said he was dead.”

  “I thought he was.” God, the Queen was right. He faked his death. Again! Tremaine felt herself proceeding rapidly from shocked senseless to seething.

  “Her father’s a Gardier?” Cimarus demanded from somewhere in back, baffled.

  “Cimarus, shut up,” Giliead said tightly.

  “That explains how he recognized your ring,” Ilias continued, ignoring the interruption.

  The ring she had given Ilias, the one he wore around his neck. “I’m surprised he recognized me,” Tremaine snarled, realizing the Syrnaic conversation allowed her parenthetical comments.

  Nicholas listened to the unintelligible conversation with his usual annoying self-possession. “I assume the big man there is your sorcerer. The Command officer who captured them was able to locate him through the avatar crystal. Was he attempting to learn how to open a world-gate with it?”

  “No, he’s not a sorcerer.” Tremaine forced herself to explain. “Syprians don’t like magic. He’s a Chosen Vessel. He can see etheric traces.”

  There was a moment of tense silence. “You didn’t bring a sorcerer?”

  “Well, therein lies the problem,” she snapped. “We didn’t know we were coming. We took that crystal off the airship that crashed after we set it on fire. Giliead might be able to make it take us back.” Had the plan always sounded that mad, or was it just the circumstance?

  “If he can’t,” Nicholas said dryly, “things are going to be a touch awkward.”

  His voice urgent, Giliead asked, “Tremaine, how did he come here?”

  Tremaine obligingly translated, “Everyone wants to know what the hell you’re doing here.”

  “I was picked up by the Gardier off the island base, the one they were using in the staging world to attack Chaire.” Nicholas glanced at her. “I’m assuming you’re with the Rienish group that attacked it, then the outpost at the barrier mountain port?”

  “That would be us,” Tremaine replied tightly.

  “And the Syprians are the mainland natives who objected so strenuously to the Gardier presence on the island. I see. Well, I adopted a persona called Damien Adram, and managed to convince the Gardier that I was a civilian Defense Department bureaucrat fleeing Ile-Rien due to illicit activities, and that I wished to join them.” He hesitated. “Arisilde didn’t tell you this?”

  Tremaine couldn’t answer for a moment. Nicholas pressed, “I sent him back almost six years ago. He didn’t arrive?”

  “Something happened,” Tremaine managed. “He didn’t—We didn’t find out what happened to him until a few days ago. It’s a long story.”

  “I see.” After a moment Nicholas continued imperturbably, “The Gardier were anxious to know how I had managed the etheric world-gate spell; fortunately, I was able to convince them I had stolen the spell and an avatar from one of their spies in Adera, and that I had killed the sorcerer who had made it work for me, to keep from havi
ng to pay him. Part of that was true. I did steal the spell, but Arisilde accidentally destroyed the avatar when he was trying to ascertain what it was; his sphere, however, worked just as well if not better.

  “I was lucky enough to fall in with the Scientist class, who are slower to jump to conclusions than Command and also have a certain liberty denied to most of the military. But it still took me most of this time to prove Adram’s sincerity, though unfortunately he didn’t know much that could help them. But I was able to get myself assigned to a chief Scientist named Benin. When he learned that a Rienish party had managed to gate to the staging world and how, he became determined to obtain one of the spheres. Yesterday he was able to get me assigned to the group searching for the Rienish infiltrators. I intended to find some way to avoid capturing them or effecting a release if Command got to them before I did. Then I saw the ring.”

  He shifted on the bench to look toward her, saying calmly, “He could have taken it off your body, I suppose. Except that at the time I left, you didn’t wear it. Which seemed to imply you had given it to him. The ring isn’t valuable enough—or gaudy enough—for a bribe, so it must have been a gift.”

  Ilias and Giliead had been tensely quiet throughout the explanation; Tremaine didn’t think they knew enough Rienish to catch more than half of it. She translated a brief synopsis.

  Ilias turned to look at her sideways, though she couldn’t see his expression in the dark. “He pretended to be someone else?” he said softly. “All that time?”

  Giliead shook his head, drawing in a sharp breath. Tremaine said wearily, “He’s not crazy. He did this kind of thing when I was a child too.”

  “Oh.” Giliead didn’t sound reassured.

  “So he’s not crazy,” Ilias repeated dubiously.

  But can we trust him? was what he didn’t add. If we can’t, Tremaine thought, God help us.