by Mark Eller
Harris couldn't see. He raised his sword, shouting, but knew his voice couldn't be heard over the sound of his troops' rifles firing into the thick smoke. He cursed his Chins, cursed the impatience that made them fire blindly, wasting ammunition, and he cursed the courage which allowed them to act when they knew they would soon die.
A breeze blew from the direction of the ambushers. When the gunpowder smoke thinned, he saw the ranked figures of several thousand warriors. Harris spat contempt, but his hand shook as he raised his sword in defiance, knowing only one way he could inflict damage on these savages who had somehow changed the handicap of smoke belching weapons into a virtue.
"Charge!" he screeched.
"Fire!" a distant voice cried, and thunder rolled again.
Harris saw the enemy's first rank drop to the ground before black powder smoke obscured them from view. His people cried out. They screamed, died, and ran directly toward the enemy.
"Fire!"
"Ooomph."
Staggering, Harris dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He leaned forward to lift it again, choking on thick acidic smoke that burned his lungs. For some reason, he could not draw a breath. He coughed, coughed again, and his chest felt tight, hurting. He spat on the ground. A whimsical breeze whispered by, clearing the air, showing Harris his spittle was red.
Looking up, he saw his Chins dying, but by the gods, they charged forward like the heroes he knew them to be. Some entered the enemy's front ranks.
"Fire!"
Bleeding and swaying, Mac Harris lay down. His was not the first death nor was it the last, but it was the only one he owned.
* * *
War spoils littered the battlefield. Two thousand bodies decorated the ground. Hundreds of women and men writhed in pain. Others merely gritted their teeth as their lives bled free.
This is the legacy my father has given me, Han Chuk thought. The training of the father made war leaders of the sons. At one time this sight would have been an impossible thing. There had been wars before. There had always been wars, but those wars wounded more than they killed. At worst, the dead numbered no more than thirty or forty.
Helmet Klein gave us the beginnings of civilization. He gave us many things to go with the initial gift. One of those things had been high body counts after every battle.
Looking at his dead countrymen, Han wondered if he had made a mistake by following Clack. Turner had been an unknown then, a stranger forced on them by a sick man.
No, this battle proved he had been right. Turner was weak, too weak to lead a nation. A Chin Empire under his direction was fated to fail.
Clunk Clunk
Hands wielding clubs fell, cracking the skulls of enemies who still lived, another aspect of this new type of war. The wounded had to be murdered because they were too many. Far too many. Less than fifty of Turner's followers escaped, running too quickly for Clack's unrifled barrels to reach them with accuracy. Of the rest, most had fallen. A few won through their charge, showing Han Chuk the mistake of relying too heavily on only one weapon. After entering his ranks, they caused havoc. More than three hundred of his own died. Over two hundred were wounded.
Han Chuk walked among the bodies, pausing only when he saw his scout tying the hands of the person she felled.
"Lioth." he said sadly, shaking his head. "They are all to be killed."
"I made a promise," she explained, ignoring his unspoken order as she finished tightening the knots. Eyes haunted, she laid a hand on the bound man's shoulder. "I promised he would live to see morning. I promised he'd learn to trust me. My honor rests on this."
Nodding, Han Chuk took his eyes off her and looked around. His warriors were busy killing the last of the enemy survivors. In past battles, they would have been shouting and laughing. They would have been bragging and looting. Not here. Not now. Killing clubs fell on the heads of those his people once marched beside. Han saw not one satisfied expression.
"Fine," he said to Lioth. "Somebody should remember their honor. Bind him in chains and place him in the keeping of somebody who can watch him for the next several days. When you are finished, come see me. I have a task for you."
Chapter 16
"If you ask me," Sedan Chair said, "you've waited far too long to begin this campaign. You've had years to prepare, but you didn't use those years. Supply depots could have been established. Troops could have received better training, and detailed maps could have been created." Sighing, she gave Aaron a look that made him feel like a child set before the school principle instead of the man who hired these six councilors to lead his war. "Frankly, Mister Turner, you had no business getting involved in this. You've no talent for it."
"Possibly," Aaron said, then honesty and guilt forced him to admit, "Probably. I had reasons for delaying. Hindsight says they were not good reasons."
"Perteet," Zisst agreed from where it lay curled up in the corner of the room. Glancing in its direction, Aaron saw its eyes fastened on him. Looking into their depths, he shuddered. These were not the eyes of an animal, not at this moment and not during several moments in the past. Sometimes, when he had hard decisions to make, he knew the One God watched though Zisst's eyes. This was one of those times.
Missy frowned unhappily when she caught the exchange. This Zisst had once been hers. After Aaron absorbed his Zisst, Missy's abandoned her. Two months had passed since the event, but Aaron knew she still hurt.
"Your reasons, or lack of them, don't matter," Salmae Rumsfeld said. Glancing at Zelda, she received silent permission from her sister to do the talking. "Despite our expectations, we are at a disadvantage in numbers because their troops are gathered into cohesive groupings while ours are scattered about on the plains. We're also at a disadvantage with weapons. I'm not surprised by their superior preparedness, but I am surprised by their arsenal. If I recall correctly, you promised we'd have the upper hand in that department."
"I promised," Aaron admitted. "I was blind. I looked for the best solution instead of the easiest. I never thought of manufacturing inferior powder for inferior guns." He frowned as waves of guilt washed through him. The fiasco at Broken Foot Springs would remain with him forever. His fault because it never occurred to him Clack would have the resources to manufacture firearms. After all, Clack's Chins were just as broke as Aaron's. They owned nothing but cattle and land.
Suddenly growing cold, the totality of his blindness finally struck. Clack was a product of Helmet Klein. Klein carried Clack over to this world, just like other people and other things. Unlike Aaron, Klein had not been limited by a bastardized Talent allowing him to carry only small loads.
Aaron's fortune started with a tad over one hundred pounds of silver. Nothing said Klein had not transported over a thousand pounds or more. A thousand pounds of silver could by a lot of weapon research. Political collusion could buy even more.
"Mister Harris died because of your incompetence," Zelda Rumsfeld pointed out. "Two thousand Chin tribes people are dead because you failed to think matters through. Furthermore, you can't lay your head down in the same bed two nights running because you're the target of assassins."
Pushing back her chair, she rose. Her sister Selmae, Linsey Talpass, and Selena Denge followed suit. "Mister Turner, we've talked this matter over. We see no recourse but for you to admit defeat. Our advice is to send a representative to Emperor Clack, ask for his forgiveness, and arrange for him to absorb what's left of your empire. If you are lucky, he may let you live."
As a group, they headed for the conference room door.
"Cowards!"
Her face suffused red, Missy's voice rose shrill and high. Anger burned in her eyes.
"Cowards and liars!" she spat. "You accuse Mister Turner of failing to plan. You say he's been blind and refused to act."
"We accuse him of what he has done," Selena Denge said calmly. "We hired on with the belief Mister Turner would allow us to run a proper war. He failed to inform us the forces were so unbalanced."
&nb
sp; "He hired you," Missy said bitterly, "to tell him how to run this war. He hired you because you are the experts. You made him promises." Placing both hands on the tabletop, she leaned forward. "I've watched you for better than a year. I thought you knew what you were doing because I know almost nothing about war."
"That has been obvious," Salmae said.
"Missy," Aaron tried. "Please."
"Missy nothing," she shot out. "Missy is tired of sitting back and being quiet. Missy has seen these people make plans. She has heard them talk, but she has not seen them do anything useful. None of their plans have come to fruition."
She turned her eyes to Aaron. "They claim blindness led to this. I say it's their incompetence. They had all the information you possessed. It was their job to dissect it, not yours. These people are incompetents and frauds and--and…"
"We will leave now," Talpass said. "Good day."
"…and because they are not as smart as they think, they are broke," Missy finished.
The room was suddenly, completely, still. A cold chill radiated from near the doorway.
"Would you care to explain yourself?" Talpass demanded.
Aaron could only agree. He wanted to know exactly where Missy was going.
"You didn't do your research," Missy said in a much quieter voice. "Aaron is a majority owner in every bank within a hundred miles. I set it up that way so we wouldn't have to face the same difficulties in the future as we did in the past. I investigated your accounts. Far more money went into them than your wages could account for. Just on general principle, I ordered your accounts emptied two days ago. You are broke."
"Your actions are illegal and unethical," Zelda Rumsfeld sputtered. "We will have the law on you."
Missy's smile turned predatory. "Prove I did it. I guarantee you'll have a much harder time proving my culpability than I'll have proving yours. Taking money from two employers on different sides of a war might not be illegal, but it's certainly unethical, especially when your actions led to unnecessary deaths." She looked directly at Talpass and Denge. "I always wondered why you were gone so frequently."
"You will rue your actions," Talpass began.
Sedan Chair pushed her seat back and took a moment to brush the wrinkles out of her dress.
"Forget the theatrics," she ordered Talpass. "Caught is caught. Now is the time to bargain." She looked directly at Aaron. "I want my money back. I'll tell you who paid us for a full refund."
Aaron swallowed. His throat burned with bitter bile, and his hands shook. Anger, not fear. His people had died. Innocents were dead because he allowed himself to be deceived. He was furious, and past experience told him he often responded without thought when reaching this level of mad. Only he did not respond. The shaking in his hands slowed until they lay still on the table. He studied his betrayers with calm reason.
"I can guess who paid you," he said in a toneless voice. "I won't bribe you to give me the name of Bill Clack."
"Sedan," Salmae warned. She held a knife in her hand. "Don't beg."
When Zelda pulled out a weapon, Aaron reached for the pistol he did not wear. Cursing, he prepared to transfer, but Missy sat too far from him, and Martha Hines had not spoken, which didn't mean she wasn't part of this conspiracy, but she could be innocent.
"Guards!" Missy shouted. "Help! Weapons!"
A crashing sounded at the door.
"I locked it," Zelda explained as she walked around the table. "It's time to negotiate." She plunged her knife into Sedan's back. "Goodbye traitor. Now then, we want to make a deal. You've trapped us in this room." She nodded toward the conference room door where guards pounded from the other side.
"Mister Turner! Are you okay? Mister Turner!"
"And we have your girlfriend," she finished just as Missy emitted a small yelp of surprise.
Aaron jerked his head toward Missy. Talpass had moved in on her while every eye focused on Salmae. She stood behind Missy, a hand over her mouth, a knife held against her side.
Martha Heins spoke for the first time. Her voice seemed almost conversational. "I want you people to realize just how ironic this is."
Salmae suddenly gasped and sagged, the handle of a thrown knife pressed tight against her belly with its blade buried deep.
With a crash and a crack, Zelda screeched, her face twisted by sudden grief and deep set hate. Knife held high, she rushed Heins, stopping in her tracks when the feathered end of a dart appeared in her left eye. Knife dropping from a slack hand, her body shook. Her knees collapsed. Moments later, Salmae joined her sister on the floor.
Glancing briefly toward Missy, Martha smiled. Missy had Linsey Talpass helpless at her feet. Both of Talpass's forearms dangled limply at the elbow. Martha nodded approval when Missy tested her knife's edge by shaving away a section of Talpass' hair.
"I thought you could handle her," Martha said.
Ignoring their byplay, Aaron crawled over the tabletop to reach Sedan. Her eyes were open and aware, though the first signs of glazing had begun. An unhappy smile started to form on her lips. It faded, changing into knowing resignation.
"Look to Iruptk," she whispered before slowly closing her eyes. "All I wanted was a little money."
Aaron looked up, fastened his gaze on Denge. She held her knife with trepidation. Her stance was defiant, but frightened.
"Was everybody a fraud?" His voice sounded quiet, controlled, but the cold feeling he expected earlier was now on him. Denge looked at him, dropped her knife, and fell to her knees, crying.
"Gods," she choked out. "What will you do to me?"
"From the looks of him," Martha Heins said conversationally, "I guess it will be horrible."
Crashing sounded at the door.
"Sir! Mister Turner! We're breaking in!"
"Shut the hell up!" Aaron screeched. A moment later, he forced himself to loosen. "Wait a bit!" he shouted. "A minute or two more! Everything is under control!" He cast his eyes once more toward Denge. "Was everybody a fraud?" Aaron asked again.
"N-not Harris," she finally managed. "I guess not Heins either."
"It was more than money for you," Aaron said in his most reasonable voice. "Most of you belonged to the same group. Why?"
"My queen," she whispered. "We followed the orders of our queen."
"Which queen?" Martha asked.
"Of Iruptk," Aaron answered her. "Sarena."
"Mister Turner!"
"Stand up and unlock the door," Aaron ordered. "I'll decide what to do with you later."
"What about me?" Martha asked. "I'm a fraud too."
Aaron looked at her, too tired, worn, frustrated, and angry to continue this game.
"I was hired to kill you," Heins confessed. "I waited for a time when you were alone because your people are very efficient. There was a slight possibility they might hurt me."
Aaron did not respond. He only waited.
"I'm an assassin," she added, "or I was. I'm ready to be rehabilitated."
* * *
"Sybil left, but I won't," Edna Balandice said firmly as she worked a scraper over the deer hide. Her belly was not yet large enough to show, but an observant person could guess she carried a child.
"It isn't safe," Aaron pointed out, wishing they held this conversation inside a tent instead of out in the encampment's common area. For one thing, the wind was showing its capricious nature. It shifted every time he changed his position by the fire. Each shift blew wood smoke into his face. "Look what happened to Laura."
"Laura's parents happened to Laura," Edna declared.
"What?"
Once again Edna stopped working. The face she turned toward Aaron appeared bitter.
"We are the same, she and I," Edna said finally. "Don't ask me to leave again. I won't go. My children will be raised here. I am raising them in a place where they can be loved."
She wet her lower lip, obviously fighting back tears. "Mister Turner, Aaron, don't mourn her. We've already mourned, Laura, Sybil, and I. I won't have you
mourning or praying for her because then you'll be doing the same for me."
* * *
"Father in Heaven," Aaron prayed when his knees struck the ground. The sour smell of the common trench assaulted his nostrils. The recent heat had not been good for the immediate environment. If not for the deaths, Aaron had been told, the trench would have been filled days ago and a new one dug.
A part of Aaron wondered if this was the proper place to prey for a friend's soul. He suspected it wasn't, but he didn't know where else to go. Samuel Aybarra had been found on this spot.
"A man has entered into Your kingdom. I pray his soul be taken into Your hands and…"
He paused, caught by the deeply false sing-song tone of his voice. After drawing in a shaky breath, he began again.
"Okay. I'll admit I don't really know how to pray. I've never been a praying sort of person other than a few times when I faked it. There were a couple times when I prayed for real, but I never really figured out how to do this thing right. So here it is. I'm asking you to take care of Samuel Aybarra. He might not have been a good man, but he was a good friend, and he tried to do the right thing instead of whatever was expedient."
Aaron paused, thinking his words over for a moment, deciding this was not the time to play loose with the truth.
"Usually did the right thing," he corrected. "He got better at it as he got older. The thing is, some of us loved him as a friend, and some of us loved him as a husband. I'm told he might finally be a father." He laughed bitterly. "Now isn't that a kick. Samuel always wanted a kid, only he had to die first."
A tingling began in his hands.
"Here's what's worrying me," he said, as a warm feeling worked its way into his body. "Samuel wasn't born in this universe or this world or however You want to designate where I'm standing now. You're not the God he worshiped and followed. I'm kind of hoping You'll gather in his soul and sort of, well, pass it on to the right God, the one he knew."