by J. S. Morin
“Well, I still have something to talk to you about, so let me give you a hand.”
The woman followed Rynn into her cabin, failing to take a hint that Rynn had gone to some lengths to leave blunted.
“Listen, you did good today,” Rynn said. “But I need some rest. If you have something to report, talk to Sergeant Hemock and he’ll pass it along if I need to know it. Dismissed.”
The woman snickered and shut the door. “You act like I’m actually one of your toy soldiers.”
Overheated or not, Rynn’s blood ran cold. “Who are you?” she demanded, reaching for her coil gun.
“My name’s Juliana Hinterdale. You won’t be needing that.” She nodded toward Rynn’s weapon.
Rynn backed up a step, but kept a hand on her gun. She was still wearing armor that turned aside bullets, and Juliana didn’t even have a hand near her own coil gun, but Rynn couldn’t shake a feeling of being cornered. “Who sent you? What do you want?”
“I’m here on my own initiative, and I’m here to return something that was taken from you.” The woman who was not one of Rynn’s soldiers held her hands forward, palms up, and a stack of books appeared in them.
“What are those?” Rynn asked. She could have asked where they came from, but the involvement of bald-faced magic seemed to render that question moot.
Juliana grinned. “Books.”
Rynn swallowed. “Fine. You said you had something you needed to talk to me about. Talk.”
“These are yours. They were found lying around on Tinker’s Island after it was abandoned but before you went back to salvage your belongings.”
“Are those what I think they are?”
“If you’re not stupid, then yes. If you are, then probably not.”
Rynn scowled, unaccustomed to having her intelligence called into question. “What were you doing with them?”
“My husband’s doing, actually,” Juliana replied. “But he’s not here right now, is he? And I think he made a mistake. He preaches neutrality, but he took a valuable resource from your side. Your whole rebellion has been born out of this book.”
“That’s where my father learned how to make world-rippers,” Rynn said.
Juliana snickered and scrunched her nose. “I love your name for them. The book calls it a transport gate, in case you were curious.”
Rynn perked up. “You can read them?”
“Of course,” Juliana replied. “I learned to read that language as a little girl. All Kadrin sorceresses do.”
Rynn stared, her tongue too heavy to move. This is it. She’s here to finish me off. Dan found a way to build a world-ripper and sent a sorceress through.
“Oh sweetie, you look like you think I’m going to kill you,” Juliana replied. “I’ve killed a lot of people in my time, and let me tell you, I’m not in the habit of delivering books to them first.” She set the stack down on Madlin’s bedside table.
Rynn let out a breath. “All right, then … if you can read them, what do they say?”
Juliana rubbed at the back of her neck. “There’s a problem, see? Like I said, my husband preaches neutrality, doesn’t want us interfering with your war. There’s no helping the other side, either, and I agree that everyone’s better off without us kneading your dough with our dirty hands.”
“Who are you?” None of this was making sense. Or at least, it was carefully circling around the edges of making sense, dangling sense overhead where Rynn couldn’t reach it.
“I can’t say,” Juliana replied. “And in keeping with the spirit of neutrality, I can’t tell you that every sorcerer in Veydrus can read these books, or that there’s a one-worlded twin of one named Harwick running half of Acardia. I’d be in violation of the spirit of the rule if I hinted that oppressed humans are a bit of a cause of his, and that he might be willing to help if he knew what you were doing. I’d also be dodging some uncomfortable questions if I told you that he could also teach you magic if you asked nicely. Now, if I were to have taken that thunderail of yours and heaved it clear off the tracks for you, well I might actually be standing in a serious pile of shit. But as for all that other stuff I told you, well, the other demons can just piss off for all I care.” With a wink, Juliana vanished.
Rynn stood staring at the stack of books, sweating like a crashballer in her tinker’s armor, wondering what had just happened.
I guess it’s time to find a man named Harwick.
Chapter 4
“Crackle doesn’t separate the men from the boys; it separates the men from their money.”
The thing about cards and ships was that cards didn’t fall over in rough seas. You could play a hand with the ship pitching like a bucking horse, which couldn’t be said of dice or chess. Tanner had never grown accustomed to the worst that the Katamic Sea offered to a ship the size of the False Profit, and he could only imagine how much worse it would have been in a smaller vessel. But with cards in his hands and rum in his belly, he was willing to overlook a great deal. The outside world faded away, leaving just a circle of lantern light over a table hazy with pipe smoke, surrounded by killers.
The killers didn’t worry Tanner; he’d been around their sort most of his life. Cutthroats, alley-stabbers, soldiers, and coinblades, those had been Tanner’s people. A pirate was a bit of an odd duck; most of them just sailed a ship, while some did little between boarding actions but drink and lose their share of the plunder at cards. It took a hard man to fleece a crew of murderers at Crackle, and Tanner was just that sort of man. He didn’t go in for alley work, but he’d been a soldier and a coinblade since he was old enough to hold a real sword. Any scum with a sharp blade could sneak up behind someone and slit a throat, but it took real skill to kill men who knew you were coming. Despite all that, Tanner lost more money than he made at Crackle. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but because Denrik Zayne seemed to attract the sort of sailor that knew his cards.
So there was a bright spot in Tanner’s heart as he looked at his cards and saw that he held two kings and a four. The four he would toss to some unlucky sap at the first pass, but he could hold a pair of kings all hand. The coins in the waning pile in front of him were about to gain new friends. “I raise,” he said. He lifted a bottle of eight year old Takalish rum to his lips lest he grin and ruin his chances of getting calls.
One scruffy, alcohol-soaked sailor after another tossed in his cards, until one held up the game thinking over his play. Tanner’s mind started working out how much coin he could squeeze out of the pirate, a man named Skapp.
“Ya in or ya out?” one of the other players griped.
Skapp looked up from his cards, firing a scowl at the offending player. “Gimme a minute.”
Take all the time you need. Tanner took another swig of his rum. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.
Boots pounded down the steps from above. An interloper was joining them from the deck, and it was someone in a rush. Tanner squeezed his eyes shut. Not now …
“Mr. Tanner, Cap’n wants you.”
“Just as soon as I’m done this—”
“Now, Mr. Tanner. Cap’n doesn’t like being kept waiting.”
I’ve known him years longer than you, Smickens. Tanner drained the last of his rum as he stood. “I know how much is there,” he said, pointing to the pile in the table. With a pat on his sword hilt, he let his eyes sweep over the players, letting them know he’d remember who he was gambling with.
The floor had a little extra wobble in it as Tanner followed First Mate Smickens up to the deck. “He say what he wants?”
“Does he ever?”
Tanner sighed, wishing he’d brought a bottle with him.
Captain Denrik Zayne was known as the Scourge of the Katamic, and had been for nearly thirty years. He had sunk more ships than most navies during that time, and killed more men than a fever plague. It was easy for Tanner to dismiss the man’s reputation as overblown, now that he knew him, but facts were facts. He was going to live as long as Denrik Zayne had a
use for him … and if it weren’t for the pirate’s sorcerer son, Tanner probably would have run the scoundrel through years ago.
First Mate Smickens hustled ahead and knocked on the captain’s door, knowing that Tanner would just barge in if he got there first. “He’s here, Cap’n.”
“Very good, send him—”
Tanner pushed through the door, stumbling as the ship rocked beneath his feet.
“… in.”
“How’s the weather?” Tanner asked. He hated bland greetings, but he could have used the reassurance that the present angry seas might subside before he needed solid food in his gut.
“I don’t have time for your usual nonsense, Mr. Tanner,” Denrik replied. He sat at his writing desk, a pair of spectacles, a visible concession to age catching up with him. “I need you to pass along a message.”
“Bloody eyes, can’t a man just drink his days away on a couple of boats, without getting himself shipped all over everywhere, carrying letters?”
Denrik Zayne forced a smile. “Well, you’ll be happy to note that this message is for your whoring compatriot.”
“You mean the one with the fun ship, not the one where I lose hands of Crackle because I get alley-clubbed and dragged in here whenever you get a notion?”
“Mr. Tanner, you are aware that we are at war.”
Tanner blew though loose lips, making a rude noise. “You and me ain’t. And me and Stalyart ain’t. It’s the boy’s war; let him fight it out.”
“You may enjoy this particular missive, since you may—inadvertently, I assure you—find some pleasure in it.”
The ship swayed, and Tanner stumbled against Denrik’s desk. He blinked as he stared into the face of the suddenly-too-close pirate. “Whazzat?”
“The message I need you to relay to Mr. Stalyart is that I need him. Anzik needs him. The Megrenn Alliance is short of airship captains, and I want to put him in command of one.”
Tanner whistled. “Nice and tidy, but you know old Stalyart likes to keep his head low and his sails up. Why would he put himself in front of the Kadrin air fleet now of all times?”
“Because at the end of the war I fully expect him to steal the ship.”
Tanner paused and stood straight. Denrik had a point. Stalyart might have been more of a smuggler than a cutthroat, and more of a cutthroat than a navy man, but the promise of owning an airship … well, that might just be enough to tip the boat.
Tanner nodded his agreement. “Fine. I’ll deliver the message tonight, once I get some sleep.”
Denrik reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a bottle. Tanner squinted to read the label. “Bekairon, Black Label,” Zayne said. “Might as well drink yourself stupid in style.” He lobbed the bottle across the cabin to Tanner. Despite the world tipping around him, Tanner still had the reflexes of a swordsman and snatched the bottle from the air. “Now, go deliver my message.”
The sky, blue as a baby’s eyes, spread off to infinity, cloudless and pure. The rush of wind blew through thinning hair—invigorating. Masts creaked as the Northern Squall banked in a turn, trying to outmaneuver the Kadrin vessel that was closing in on them. The airship ducked low, entering a mountain pass and approaching the bridge that connected the two halves of the Kadrin city of Reaver’s Crossing.
“They using the same wind as us?” the first mate griped as the Kadrin vessel matched their turn and continued gaining on them.
A second Megrenn airship, the Bluebottle, crossed over the bridge heading in the opposite direction, diving for the Kadrin vessel and firing its forward ballistae. The Northern Squall sped beneath her, crew cheering their apparent rescuers. The Bluebottle loosed grappling lines, the sharpened hooks meant to catch rigging and sails and shred them. Several of the lines caught, but the Megrenn had not counted on rune-strengthened spars; after the grapples sliced through rope and canvas, they caught hold on wood and could neither cut nor snap their way free. The Bluebottle pitched forward before the lines snapped and freed them from the Kadrins’ embrace. A sorcerer aboard the Kadrin ship let fly a volley of fire bolts, scorching the Bluebottle’s sails and leaving them helpless to turn as their momentum carried them into the mountainside.
The Kadrin vessel fared little better. The damage to their sails had cost the ship its wind, along with any hope of catching up to the Northern Squall.
The vision grew blurry at that point. Anzik removed his hand from Captain Aigrin’s forehead. “You’re blocking me.”
The captain of the Northern Squall looked abashed. It was just the two of them in the royal sitting room. They both knew the factual account of the airship’s escape already. “My apologies, Sorcerer Anzik. Just not proud of what we did, leaving them like that.”
“Your memory of the events bears out your report,” Anzik replied, “They bought you a chance to escape, and you took it. There is no shame in losing a battle.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, if we might continue?” Anzik raised an eyebrow.
Captain Aigrin squeezed his eyes shut and gave a tight nod. Anzik resumed his memory vision spell and placed a hand on the man’s sweat-slick forehead.
The Northern Squall lost sight of both of the other airships as they swung around the mountain. There was a crash of timber in the distance behind them, quiet in the vast open air but unmistakably the sound of one of the airship’s crashing. Though Aigrin could not be certain, he suspected that it was the Bluebottle.
“Ready the port catapults!” he shouted. Their target was in sight, the narrow, winding mountain road that ran up to the city, the main trade route with the rest of the Kadrin Empire. While the city was nigh impregnable except from the air, the inaccessible mountain pass made cutting the city off from aid all the easier. “Fire!”
Catapults cranked and thunked, lobbing their payloads into the sky to smash into the mountainside. Each hit was accompanied by an explosion, as the mysterious black sand detonated on impact. The mountainside shattered, dumping tons of rock across the pass.
Anzik removed his hand once more. “Good enough. I don’t need to see the details of your return. You obviously suffered no ill fortune, else you would not be here. The pass appeared thoroughly impeded; it will take the Kadrins considerable time or magic to remedy, and at this point I’d rather they waste their sorcerers on menial labor than in counteracting our plans.”
Captain Aigrin nodded. “Begging your pardon, sorcerer, but this was my third encounter with Kadrin vessels, and the third time I was lucky to crawl off still breathing. They’ve just got us out-shipped. Those boats of theirs take a beating, and we hardly ever crash them, just ground them if we’re lucky. Any chance we might get some improvements to help keep us punching back?”
Anzik closed his eyes. “You may go.”
The captain muttered his acknowledgment and departed, leaving Anzik alone in the room. He waited a count of one hundred, using the time to think through the possible complications of his fledgling plan. There were always pitfalls in any endeavor, and enumerating them as thoroughly as possible beforehand always put his mind at ease. By the time he finished his silent count, he had come up with eight possible ways his request could result in misfortune, none of which promised catastrophe. The worst outcome he could imagine was if Cadmus became involved, and his interference unraveled the alliance between Megrenn and the Korrish rebels. Even that scenario seemed improbable.
Having reached the limit of the time he was willing to force Jamile to wait, Anzik raised a hand and made a beckoning gesture. Within seconds, a world-hole opened, showing him the central chamber of the Korrish moon hideaway.
“Things going well back home?” Jamile asked as Anzik crossed the threshold between worlds. She shut the machine down behind him and zeroed the controls.
“No,” he replied, taking her aback. Why do they ask if they expect a comforting answer instead of a truthful one? “Our airships are proving inadequate compared to their Kadrin counterparts. Please reactivate the machine and take me to
see Rynn.”
“Now wait just a tootin’ minute!” said Jamile. “I let you check on your people as a favor. I don’t take orders. Rynn’s a busy woman; you can’t just go barging in whenever you like.”
“I’ve been patient in regards to our share of the coil guns,” said Anzik. “Now I would like to speak with Rynn. I have other matters to discuss, and the fate of my people may swing on the timeliness of my actions.”
“Things are that bad?”
“No,” Anzik replied. “I don’t want them to get that bad before I act. I think that was one of my father’s failings. He waited until we had crested the peak of disaster before he dug in his heels. Only Kadrin in-fighting saved us in the last war. I won’t wait until our last airship falls from the skies before I seek to overcome our deficit in aerial naval power.”
“Oh.”
She doesn’t understand. She is a physician, not a strategist. “I need to take Korrish knowledge of airships and apply it to ours. Rynn would approve, as it will show that tinkering and magic can overcome magic alone. Please open a hole so that I might discuss terms.”
Jamile frowned. “I’ll make you a deal. Rynn’s had herself a bit of a day, and I’m not going to wake her. She wasn’t quite putting words together in a straight line, last I saw her, rambling on about Eziel-knows-what. You let her get a sleep in her, and I’ll have her come find you in the morning.”
A bargained position, better than I might otherwise get if I don’t enlist her aid. I might be able to rouse Kaia to use the machine for me, but this plan has a higher likelihood of success. Cadmus is out of the question. I don’t know whether Greuder can work the machine. Kupe cannot. I might be able to manage the controls on my own, but I would cost myself this alliance if I was discovered. “Very well. Tomorrow.”
“Please repeat,” said Stalyart. “He wants what?”
Tanner and Stalyart—who went by the same names in Tellurak and Veydrus—sat together on the pillars of a pier, overlooking Zethin Harbor in Safschan. The Wind’s Shadow was moored nearby, taking on crates of goods with contents Stalyart would steadfastly deny any knowledge of.