by J. S. Morin
K’k’rt kept up with her pace. For a creature with such short legs, she had expected him to be slower. Then again, dogs have short legs, and she couldn’t think of outrunning those, at least not without upgrading her tinker’s legs. Rebels swarmed in every direction throughout the ship, some advancing toward the battle, others away from it. Many who lacked a clear plan just ran without direction, keeping their heads down. Rynn shouted orders in passing, but in the chaos, she was barely heard and rarely obeyed. Ambushes weren’t the time for rallying the troops; they were times for an army’s training to kick into gear. Soldiers should be reacting, not panicking, and certainly not conceding the battlefield to their foes. There were non-combatants, and no soldier ought to place his life above those. Rynn managed to think of this as she herself fled the battle, heading for her quarters.
Along the way, they encountered a group of four human invaders, dressed alike in chain with loose red shirts thrown over. Rynn had worried that they would get within spear’s reach before she could put shots into each of them, but K’k’rt muttered something and the four froze in place. Even after a coil gun shot through the chest, none of them toppled to the ground before she and K’k’rt left the area.
When they reached Rynn’s quarters and the door slammed shut behind her, Rynn found that K’k’rt had ended up on her side of it. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“Keeping as close to you as I can,” K’k’rt replied. “My life might not be worth much here if you die.”
“Well … turn around or something at least,” Rynn said. She didn’t have time to argue, already pulling off her shirt and squirming into the under-padding for the runed armor she had made for herself.
“Those were Kadrin uniforms, you know,” K’k’rt observed. Rynn spared a glance and saw that he was watching the door, not her change of clothing.
“So does that mean Dan is behind this?”
“Could be,” K’k’rt replied. “Could also be that your father’s daruu friend made some allies.”
Rynn slipped the armor plates over her front and back, quickly buckling them into place. She had researched history books on armor making before designing them, and had been appalled that knights couldn’t get into the stuff on their own. She had left no such glaring deficiency in her design. Buckling on the straps for the arm plates was tougher, mainly because one arm couldn’t help, but she managed that in short order. The helm snugged into place with a single chin strap, and she was ready for battle.
“You look ridiculous,” K’k’rt observed, gawking up at her.
Rynn pulled out her coil gun. “It’s not a formal dinner down there; it’s a war. You coming?”
K’k’rt chuckled. It sounded odd without the gravelly rasp to it that had been a product of his age. “I wouldn’t mind waiting things out up here.”
“Up to you. If this isn’t your fight, we can send you home when this is over.”
K’k’rt’s eyes widened. Home was the last place he wished to be, and she knew it. “But—”
“If you want this to be home, you’re gonna have to fight for it.”
K’k’rt glared at her, but after a seething breath, he relented. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Jamile rushed down the hall of the lunar headquarters in her nightclothes, with her shoes tucked under one arm. The lunar stone was rough and cold as her bare soles slapped against the floor. Cadmus had been gone when she awoke, but he snuck away often enough that it was not cause for alarm. She already had alarm to spare, to donate, or to sell at a loss. She just needed to get to the world-rippers.
“Cadmus!” she shouted as she approached the main chamber. “There’s been an attack!”
She stopped short when she saw that it was Greuder at the controls of the world-ripper, not the Mad Tinker. “Where’s—” but she stopped herself short. There in the viewframe, Cadmus was walking down a stone tunnel lit by a soft blue glow, pointing a coil gun at a daruu a few paces ahead of him.
Greuder spared a glance over his shoulder. “What’s this about an attack?”
Jamile spread her arms wide, inadvertently letting her shoes tumble to the floor. “It’s an attack. We’re under attack!”
Greuder turned his attention back to Cadmus on the other side of the viewframe. “Gut me. What’re we going to do now?”
Jamile pointed to Cadmus. “Bring him back. We need to help them! Help us. How did Vaulk not notice the Jennai shaking like a runaway trolley?”
“We’re sound sleepers, Vaulk and I,” Greuder replied. “And I can’t just bring Cadmus back. He’s found his old owner and he’s about to get payback for Erefan’s death. I’m not sure that he’d come willingly, even with the Jennai at stake.”
A sleepy voice called from the side corridors. “What’s going on?”
“Kaia!” Jamile shouted. “Get over here. Cadmus is gone on some vendetta, and it’s down to us to save the Jennai.”
“Huh?”
“They’re under attack!” At least with Kaia it was forgivable, not being twinborn. “Go wake up Kupe and Anzik.”
Kaia fought back a yawn. “I sent Anzik to the Jennai last night.”
“Well … just get Kupe!”
“What are you thinking?” Greuder asked.
Jamile rushed to the controls of one of the river’s world-rippers. “First I’m going to bring Sosha here; then, we’re going to start evacuating the wounded.” Beneath her breath she muttered. “Blast it, Madlin. Where are you?”
Madlin sat with her hands in her lap, staring at the small array of world-rippers she had constructed. She had wanted to create a weapon smaller and more versatile than the World Ender Cannon, but so far she had failed. Connecting one end to a volcano was nice, but the heat was hardly an effective long-range weapon; she would be better off just opening a world-hole and firing a coil gun through. If only she had a coil gun with her. In the isolation of her hidden lair, it had seemed redundant to bring one.
The one thing she had yet to try with the device was the one thing she most feared. Connecting one end to the heart of the sun ought to devastate anything on the far side. But Madlin, in reading up on stellar theory, had found reason to be cautious. Some scientists theorized that a star was the entry point for energy into the universe. More practical ones had calculated the temperature required to warm Korr from so far away, and the numbers had a frightening number of zeroes in them. Yet others claimed that traditional physics broke down, and that stars exhibited behaviors that defied current understanding. In light of those claims, the little tinkered arrangement of steel, copper, and dragonhide seemed a paltry defense. She would test it with a timer, and make sure that no one was in the hideaway when it went off. If it worked as she hoped, there would be ample evidence in the aftermath, even without witnessing the event as it occurred.
But there was no time. The Jennai was under attack now. And without access to a world-ripper that she could fit her shoulders through, Madlin was stuck. Her own paranoia had left her stranded while Rynn fought for her life.
With proper armor on, Rynn felt invincible. The feeling lasted until she saw the first pack of Kadrin soldiers advancing on her. With K’k’rt clinging to her shadow, she was rounding the corner heading toward the front-portside world-ripper, hoping to secure it, when four spear-wielding Veydrans caught sight of her.
They shouted something in their own language. Two of them crouched low, spears presented against a charge. The other two used the soldiers in front as cover and hurled their spears. Rynn stumbled over her tinker’s legs trying to back out of the way and get behind the corner for cover. One spear thumped harmlessly against her chest plate, the other glanced off the side of her helmet.
As she hit the ground on her back, Rynn spared a thought for K’k’rt, hoping she hadn’t crushed him in her fall. But the old tinker wasn’t acting so old anymore; he was already around the corner Rynn had been retreating toward. The Kadrin soldiers did not waste their advantage, rushing forward to finish off t
heir downed adversary. The two who had disarmed themselves drew stubby swords from their belts, pushing past the spear wielders as the latter worked to stand while being jostled.
Rynn tried to scramble to her feet, but as accustomed as she was to the tinker’s legs, they weren’t built for such contortions. As the four Veydrans barreled toward her, she pictured them falling upon her, overpowering her, and sliding one of those ugly little swords through a gap in her armor. Propping herself up on an elbow, she took hasty aim and fired. And fired. And fired.
“They’re good and dead,” K’k’rt said, poking his head around the corner.
Rynn nodded, her breath coming too quick to easily form words. She climbed to her feet and stepped around the gore and the growing pool of blood. One Kadrin moaned, not yet dead from his wounds. He muttered something in his own language. Rynn took aim at his head and looked away. When she pulled the trigger, there was a click, but no shot. She had emptied the coil gun.
As she dug in a pouch for more ball bearings, K’k’rt retrieved one of the Kadrins’ swords. The weapon was ludicrous in his hands; it could have been a sharpened shovel for the goblin. Taking the hilt in both hands, he spoke something to the Kadrin and slit his throat. Rynn was caught by surprise and didn’t manage to look away before watching the light go from the Kadrin soldier’s eyes.
“What did you say to him?” Rynn asked.
K’k’rt chuckled, dropping the sword to the deck plates with a clatter. “I told him he’d be seeing the rest of his friends soon.”
Davlin crouched by the viewframe of the rear-starboard world-ripper, with his coil gun aimed for the door to the rest of the ship. Through the other door, the one that led to the protected control console, a technician’s hands flew over the dials, rounding up a raid team that had been sent to hold off local authorities that had been party to a dispute in Khesh. Keeping order amid border and cattle ownership disputes was an acceptable use for soldiers—in peacetime. Now was the time for a soldier’s true duty: the defense of his people.
Already, two Veydrans lay dead at the door. Davlin had only two soldiers with him when he had arrived, and now had six more who had been retrieved from Tellurak. Davlin had killed both Veydrans himself, before help had arrived.
“Forgive me, Eziel, for I have turned my weapon upon my brothers. I killed with neither vengeance nor anger, but only forgiveness. In your light may they find peace and camaraderie in the next life. In your wisdom, send me the enemies of my people, and not the wayward souls whose hearts have been led down the path of fratricide. Give us the strength of one people, to stand against the foes who come against us. So we implore.”
“So we implore,” the soldiers around him muttered.
There was quiet following the prayer. The soldiers fidgeted, and breath came heavy. The reek from the two fresh corpses by the door turned Davlin’s stomach. There had been nothing in the old texts about the smell, but he remembered it well from his days working for the militia. Korrish or Veydran, a dead human smelled the same.
Sounds of battle seemed muted and distant. It might have been Davlin’s imagination, but the ship seemed to be tilting. If he didn’t worry that he would need every last one before this was all ended, he would have taken one of his spare ball bearings and set it on the floor to see which way it rolled.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. They weren’t the trampling stampede of a charge, nor the tentative steps of someone whose skulking had failed to go unnoticed. It was a brisk stroll. The footfalls were neither hard nor heavy; someone slight of build in soft-soled boots approached. Davlin hoped that it was Sosha. He worried for the safety of the only doctor aboard.
The footsteps stopped short of the door. “I see you in there, waiting for me.”
Davlin’s blood went cold. It was Dan’s voice. “Eziel, forgive us and grant us the mercy of your intervention …”
“I bet you have those guns of yours all pointed and ready for me,” said Dan. “Well, let’s give this a go.”
As soon as a figure appeared in the doorway, Davlin and his men opened fire. Shot after shot thudded into flesh, but the human in the doorway didn’t fall. It was one of their own men, a corpse hung in the air by foul magic. A crunch and shriek of steel drew Davlin’s eyes to the wall. Stuck through was a foot of blade, piercing the bulkhead like an awl through leather. As soon as it disappeared back through the wall, Davlin fired, counting on the coil guns to puncture the steel and still be lethal on the other side. But it was too late. The hole where the sword had been belched fire. The last thing Davlin heard was a spiteful laugh at his expense.
“He’s going to be here any time now,” said Tanner. He crouched behind the control console of the rear-portside world-ripper, alone with the Jennai’s best hope of stopping Danilaesis.
“Of course,” Anzik replied. “He knows he cannot control the ship so long as the world-rippers are in Korrish hands.” He sat cross-legged on the floor beside Tanner, his demeanor no different than ever.
Tanner shook his head. “I don’t get it. How can you be calm? Dan’s gonna be here any minute, and you’ve got the same old trap laid out for him. Ain’t you worried he won’t fall for it twice?”
“Not very,” Anzik replied. “The variation is minor, but the juxtaposition of weaponry will be unexpected.” Anzik twisted the coil gun in his hand, looking it all over. “He won’t expect the same trap, simply because he expects that I would know better. Thus, the appearance of the same trap will distract him momentarily, and a moment is all I will require.”
“And we’re hidden back here? Completely?”
“Danilaesis will be blinded by the obvious.” The false Anzik paced the room, muttering to himself and flexing his fingers to limber them for spell-casting. Tanner spared the decoy a glance, and had to admit that it was convincing.
Tanner drew his blade, the soft scraping against the leather of his scabbard quieter than their voices. “Don’t mind if I keep this out, do you? Just in case?”
Anzik twitched a smile. “It is unnecessary, but I welcome the sentiment. Should anything go wrong, I don’t expect you will stand much chance against him.” He perked up, turning his head in the direction of a blank wall. “He’s coming.”
Tanner had never been gifted with aether-vision. Just being able to scrape a shielding spell together had pushed him to his limits. Anzik had shown time and again that he was ever alert to the aether. Danilaesis had a brilliant Source by all accounts, and Anzik could see him coming through the bulkheads.
It was minutes before Danilaesis arrived, minutes spent with a quickening heart and a sweating brow. When the warlock entered the room, Tanner could hear the strut in his walk. He looked down and checked the time on his stolen pocketclock.
“I can’t believe this,” Danilaesis said. “You’re going to fight me yourself? Just like that? I would have thought you’d—” something must have occurred to the warlock just then. A blast of lightning in the room made the hair of Tanner’s arms stand on end. “Gut me! Where are you, you rotten, lying illusionist?”
Anzik didn’t answer with words, but sent a shot from his coil gun in reply. Danilaesis was thrown against the wall by the force of the shot, but his shielding spell prevented the ball bearing from piercing his flesh. The blow dazed him, however, and the blade-tooth sword fell from his limp grasp. Before the warlock recovered his wits, Anzik emerged from hiding and took careful aim.
“This ends your war,” Anzik said. But before he could pull the trigger, he stiffened. Whirling, he turned toward Tanner, mouth agape and a look of complete bewilderment on his face.
Tanner was already moving, he batted the coil gun out of Anzik’s grasp and ran him through. There was a brief flare of resistance from the Megrenn sorcerer’s shielding spell, but the runed blade Tanner wielded pushed through it. As Anzik collapsed to his knees, Tanner slid his blade free and cut off the sorcerer’s head. Though the chest wound would have been fatal in short order, there was no killing too quick for a sorcerer. E
ven as he swung his blade, Tanner noticed smoke rising from Anzik’s body as he tried to fight back, but failed to concentrate to control his aether.
“Tanner, what the bloody blazes are you doing here?” Danilaesis asked, rubbing the back of his head as he retrieved his sword. “And you just stole my revenge.”
“Kick him or something, but get moving,” Tanner replied. “I can’t be seen talking to you. As far as anyone knows, this is Kadrin blood.” He held up his reddened blade to make his point.
“I don’t understand.”
“Your father had a plan,” Tanner said. “It involved a free airship, an imperial pardon, and paying back that inhuman sorcerer for murdering you.”
“Madlin played a part in that,” Danilaesis said. “I’ve still got to—”
“She’s not aboard right now, and I don’t know where Rynn is. But she’s not important. We finish up, and we get out of here alive.”
“Let no enemy live once he has offered violence,” Danilaesis quoted. “Or in this case, she.”
“And look where that got Rashan in the end. Go on, move.”
Another Tanner, in another world, leaned with his back against the wall of the hold of the Mirror’s Trick. The weight of the blade in his hand was familiar, as was the blood that dripped from it. Jadon lay dead in his bunk.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs from the deck. “I heard the commotion,” Stalyart said. “Is it done?”
“Almost blew my shot,” Tanner said. “Got to him a few seconds early, put Anzik on his guard. If he’d been a proper warlock, I’d be dead over there. But I saw the smoke; he tried to burn me and got himself instead.”