by JMD Reid
I’ll always love you, Lena, he promised her.
Chaylene melted, stepping towards him. My heart is yours, Vel. It always has been. Ary held it tight, but you gave me the courage to break free. She rained kisses hot and sweet upon him. He imagined stretching her out on the soft grass beneath the chestnut tree, her thighs parting for him . . .
Desire filled him again. He needed another release. He sat up from the tree, staring at the sun. Do I have time to visit the whores again before sunset?
He did. Vel played out his fantasy with the help of a friendly maid.
He almost floated as he trooped back to camp, his excitement buoying his feet. He clutched the daisies in one hand, only wilted slightly by the day’s heat. The sun set, night’s cover approaching. The walk down the hard-packed dirt road to the camp took almost an hour. Even on Riasruo’s holy day, boar-drawn wagons trundled towards Shon, empty of the supplies they’d ferried to the training camp.
This is going to work. Girls always love flowers. Several maids and even a goodwife had surrendered their delights to Vel back home thanks to a few flowers and whispered lies. And I won’t have to lie to Chaylene.
The horizon bled from orange to purple to black. Cicadas and songfish filled dusk with their humming chirps. The stars twinkled above, and Twiuasra rose as a blue crescent. In about an hour, his slower brother would rise waning towards half-full.
Vel had scouted his way through camp, memorizing the layout. The three identical sub-camps, one for each ship, surrounded the administration building. The Spirituous lay to the north, closest to Shon, and the Dauntless to the south.
He slipped through a gap in the fence between his sub-camp and the Adventurous’s. He stayed in the shadows, rushing through the grass as he followed the perimeter. Lights blazed from the Adventurous’s whitewashed barracks and mess hall. Music drifted through the air as the recruits relaxed and enjoyed their evening.
Vel climbed over the fence separating the Adventurous and Dauntless’s sub-camps. The rough, weathered boards offered great purchase. He scrambled over the splintery fence with nimble ease and dropped to the ground. His heart beat faster as he made his way through the camp, skirting wide to avoid the barracks and approach the cottages from the back. Nine small houses, spaced evenly, ran in a line. Chaylene lived in the northern, a rectangular box with wood siding, whitewashed to prevent rot. No light shone through the two small windows.
Vel smiled. Ary was a heavy sleeper. A few raps on the window should draw Chaylene’s attention without disturbing the brute. He crept forward between two warehouses. His heart thudded. An exposed strip of grass, lit by the moons, lay between Vel and the shadows behind Chaylene’s cottage.
With a deep breath, he dashed across the moonlit lawn.
He slid to a crouch beneath the small window at the back of the house. On the other side of the cottage, lights blazed from the barrack’s oil lamps, creating a pool of darkness to hide him. Vel rose to rap on the window.
Shock froze his hand while his heart seized.
Chaylene and Ary weren’t asleep.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he crept through the night. The sliver of blue light from the crescent moon gave him enough illumination. He didn’t mean to stare and watch, but he stood transfixed like he had in the Xorlar’s hold.
But now he could see her.
She straddled her husband. Vel drank in the outline of her naked curves heaving. Her moans and Ary’s grunts, punctuated by wood creaking, whispered through the cracked-open window. A tightness grew in Vel’s britches.
Her exposed beauty transfixed him even as disgust rose from witnessing Ary’s hands roaming her flesh.
She is just performing her wifely duties, he reminded the pain swelling inside him. This doesn’t mean anything. She still wants me. She’s probably pretending the brute is me. That’s why she is enjoying it so much.
His breath fogged the window as he watched, drinking in the delights of her curves, all her womanly charms unveiled before him. His free hand clenched at the tightness in his britches, tingles racing through his body.
Soon, Ary would be exhausted and fall asleep, then Vel could attract her attention. He gripped the windowsill, letting the flowers rest on the small ledge, his other hand pawing at his britches, groaning in pleasure.
“Is someone peeking through Ary’s window?” a man asked from Vel’s left, voice distant.
Fear spiked through Vel.
“I do believe you are correct,” another man answered. Vel spotted two marines in red coats standing at the end of the row of cottages. One, almost a giant, strode towards him.
He fled, his heart screaming.
“Stop!” the big man bellowed. “Come on, Estan.”
Vel threw a glance over his shoulder. The big man pounded after him, moving as swift as he ran. Maybe even faster. Disbelief washed through Vel. How can someone that huge move so swiftly?
But dark cloaked the camp, and Vel had memorized its layout. He made a left, ducking between a smokehouse and a warehouse. Then he darted to his left again, circling back to Chaylene’s cottage instead of racing for the fences.
I need to be smart. Think. Do the unexpected. He struggled to think over his heart screaming in his chest.
“Do you see him, Estan?”
“I’m afraid not, Guts.”
“He’s got to be around here somewhere. Storming pervert! I’m going to thrash him.”
Terror clutched Vel’s innards. This Guts dwarfed Ary, a living boulder.
Quaking, he waited for Guts and Estan to pass as they headed towards the fences. Footsteps dwindling, Vel crept towards the armory. The hunters searched south, so he went east. Tension stretched his skin. His heart thudded hard. Sweat stung his eyes. He reached the armory and crouched in its shadow. His breath came in ragged gasps, his ears straining.
He gazed at the outer fence. He could be up and over it in a few heartbeats, disappearing into the grassy plain surrounding the camp. Vel examined the fence. How am I climbing you? It rose twice as tall as the fences separating the sub-camps. But horizontal planks made it a ladder he could climb.
“Where did he go?” Heavy footsteps pounded through the night.
“He must have doubled back on us, Guts.”
The voices grew closer. Vel swallowed fear and acted.
He dashed to the fence. He’d use his speed to plant his boot on the slat, pushing upward to grab higher. He jumped. His boot slammed into wood as his fingers reached for the cross-support. Wood splintered; the slat was rotten. His boot punched through the fence.
The world spun. He fell on his back. The air was clobbered from his lungs. He coughed, struggling to rise. Stars swam above him. The back of his head ached. His britches were caught on the jagged board, his foot shoved through the fence.
“Did you hear that?” Estan asked. “Was that by the armory?”
“Theisseg’s scrawny feathers!” Vel jerked his leg. Cloth tore. He pulled his denim trousers clear, leg throbbing, cut and bleeding.
“There he is! Go around the armory, Estan, and cut him off.”
Guts loomed. Vel raced away down the armory.
A marine burst around the corner before Vel, and his coal-black face widened in surprise. Vel set his shoulder and barreled through the slim man, knocking him to the ground. Vel kept running. Fear gave his legs speed.
He searched his mind for what lay in this direction, needing a place to hide. He gained his bearings and darted left towards the barracks. He wove through outbuildings and passed the pegasi stables. Guts and Estan’s shouts dwindled behind him.
Vel had one idea where he could hide—the pottery.
He took a left, racing back towards the fence.
Except for the workers, no one went near the pottery. Naval regulations forbade marines from going within a twenty ropes. Inside, workers assembled the ballista shots. Black powder filled the building. A spark from a marine’s Lightning could set off the charge, detonating the entire structure. To protect
from fires and accidental ignitions, the pottery was built far from the other buildings, near the edge of camp.
He spotted the building, standing alone, lit by the rising red moon. Vel charged into exposed opening.
“There he is!” a distant voice bellowed.
Vel cursed. He ran behind it, his sides aching. He looked at the looming fence. I’m too winded to climb that now.
He had only one choice.
Vel opened the side door of the pottery, hidden from his pursuers’ view by the building. He closed the door slowly, tense. Its ceramic hinges didn’t betray him with any grinding squeaks.
An earthy smell assaulted his nose followed by the sour rot of sulfur and the acrid bite of saltpeter. Hay-packed crates holding the clay shots filled the building, each packed with black powder and gravel for shrapnel. The glass vials for the fuses set on a shelf next to crates of clay bowls, barrels of shrapnel, and powder kegs.
Vel hid beneath an assembly station, lying on the dirt floor, his body trembling. This isn’t going to work. They’re going to find me and thrash me. Fear churned his guts, the familiar tension of hiding from angry men.
And Ary’s not going to save me this time. Vel’s heart grew tight. Theisseg damn him for loving Chaylene. It’s his fault I despise him. He could’ve loved another girl!
Vel hated his weak heart.
“I suspect he went over the fence,” Estan said.
They stood right outside the pottery. Vel tensed. His eyes squeezed shut. Why are they so close? Just bless me this once, Riasruo!
“What if he’s in there?” Guts demanded.
A violent tremble ran through Vel.
“Only a fool would hide in the pottery,” Estan answered. “We are violating regulations being this close to the structure. Besides, he has had enough time to scale the fence. He is out on the plain where there is plenty of brush to conceal him.”
“Storming pervert!”
Vel let out a gasp of breath as the two marines left.
As he walked back to his section of camp through the plain, a dark thrill filled him. He remembered Chaylene’s naked beauty. He’d felt so alive watching her through the window. He could never give up that feeling.
I’m going to have to be more careful.
~ * * ~
Chaylene shivered as she clutched her pale-blue scout’s jacket about her naked body. Her skin crawled. She felt filthy. Before she could go back to sleep, she would have to scrub her body clean with a damp cloth.
Someone was watching us . . .
“We unfortunately did not apprehend him, Ary,” Estan explained. Her husband stood at the door, holding up his trousers with one hand, sweat gleaming crimson on his chest in the moonlight.
“He was watching us?” growled Ary again. Thunder rumbled across his face. Anger she approved of.
Sow’s lucky Ary didn’t catch him. I would have helped. She shivered again, staring at the window as she clutched herself. The pervert saw everything!
“I’m afraid so. This man had quite the predilection.”
“Storming pervert,” Guts growled. “Never wanted to hit a man so bad. Not even the Sergeant-Major’s that disgusting.”
Chaylene and her husband had ignored the earlier shouts, too caught up in their passion, sharing their intimacy. It was a wonderful conclusion to a day spent with her husband. And this pervert’s soiled it.
Her eyes drifted to the window again. Something rested on the sill, a small shadow. She cocked her head.
“I think we need to tell the Sergeant-Major,” Guts said.
Several flowers rested on the windowsill. Three red daisies.
Realization widened her eyes as she remembered seeing Vel in the market place this afternoon. He was standing before a stall selling flowers. She groaned his name, partly a curse and partly with fondness for the misguided gift.
“What’s the Sergeant-Major going to do?” Ary demanded. “He’d probably make us dig latrines for disturbing his rest. ‘What kinda marines are you? Jumping at shadows in the night like a bunch of guppies?’ I’m not dealing with him tonight.”
Chaylene stood up, thankful the jacket fell long enough to cover her backside. She walked to the window and lifted the pane, wood scraping against wood. The daisies’ petals glowed a vibrant red beneath Jwiaswo’s moonlight. She seized the flowers and inhaled.
She loved the light, sweet scent. Her favorite. Vel knew that.
A flush of heat went through her. Vel was watching. It should disgust her. And it would have, save for the flowers. They were . . . romantic. Foolish stories tumbled through her mind about lovers kept apart by a chance or the cruel actions of others. They would leave little signs for each other.
Pity swirled through her heart. You have to find a different port to dock at.
“Then tell Captain Dhar,” Estan said. “She’s our commanding officer. It would concern her.”
“No, that’s okay,” Chaylene blurted out, clutching the flowers. “We’ll put up some curtains. I can fashion some out of our sheets. We really don’t need more than one this time of year.”
“You sure?” Ary asked.
“Yes,” she answered, trembling, feeling her husband so close.
“We almost had him, Ary,” Guts groaned, drawing Ary’s attention.
She acted, balling up the flowers in her fist. Her hands grew wet and a bitter, grassy scent filled her nose. Chaylene didn’t want any more rumors spreading about her and Vel. Already people whispered about her “dalliance” with Vel aboard the Xorlar. She worried how Ary would react if he heard.
Learning Vel left flowers for her at night would not help.
He wasn’t spying on us, just being a downyheaded fool in love. She hoped avoiding Vel would let him sail on to welcoming skies. She stared at the ruined flowers, her heart fluttering at the waste of the gift. If she could, she’d put them in a vase and set them on her nightstand. Once, Ary had woven a crown of red daisies for her to wear and Vel had made a necklace. She’d run, laughing, through the fields, feeling like a princess out of stories, her two knights attending her.
She glanced over her shoulder, Ary’s back to her, talking to Guts standing in the doorway. She threw the crumpled flowers out the window and slammed it shut before he noticed.
“Chaylene?” Ary asked, concern in his voice. “Are you okay? We can speak to Captain Dhar if you want.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“Okay,” Guts said. “Good night, Chaylene.”
She gave a fake smile. “Thank you for running him off.” I’ll need to give him a stern talking to.
Chapter Twenty-One
Yruoujoa 27th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
Wriavia landed before the main gates of Camp Chubris, ruffling his brown wings and adjusting the rather plain green robe he wore. The sailor lounging at the gate, a crossbow clutched in one hand, gaped open-mouthed.
Has the featherless twit never seen a Luastria fly before? Wriavia ruffled his down in annoyance. “Riasruo’s blessings,” the assassin chirped. “I am Wriavia, a merchant desiring to meet with your superintendent. Admiral Dhamen, I believe.”
“Er, yes,” the sailor agreed, furrowing his heavy brow, making his naked face appear even more brutish.
“So, would you kindly tell your superintendent that I wish to speak with him?”
“Uh.” The sailor worked his mouth. “You see, the thing is, I’m not supposed to leave my post. I got to guard the gate.”
“From?” Wriavia asked.
“Uh, don’t know. Pirates, I suppose.”
“In the heart of the Autonomy? Are things that lawless here?”
“Well, no.” He bit his lip and glanced into camp. “I guess you can go on in. No one told me not to let merchants in. See that stone building?” The sailor pointed.
“The one at the center of camp?”
“Yep. Admiral Dhamen’s offices are there. I reckon it’s fine if you go on in. Right?” The sailor gave the ass
assin a beseeching look.
“Quite all right,” Wriavia agreed. How did your species come to dominate the skies after the Dawn Empire fell?
Wriavia walked the rest of the way through the orderly camp. Where one man had a crossbow, there would be others, and he didn’t desire dodging bolts shot by dumb Humans mistaking him for a threat. He drew looks. Sailors paused their mindless training to stare at him. Wriavia hated being so exposed. He preferred to move in the shadows. But stealth and skulking attracted more attention than normality. If he walked like he belonged, most would assume he did.
He’d arrived last night on the Sun’s Delight. Twelve days of travel across the sky from Cwiina. Despite her captain’s piety, it had taken a great deal of coin to convince the hen into changing her destinations and fly though the night to make such good time. This morning, he’d registered with Shon’s master of commerce, a runny-nosed man, as a merchant selling candied fruits and spices. Wriavia had used this cover many times.
His eyes scanned the camp, memorizing the faces of every Human. Many Luastria found it difficult telling one unfeathered face from another. They even struggled discerning Human genders. Part of Wriavia’s training covered recognizing the subtle differences.
Now if I only knew what Briaris Jayne looked like.
His target could march past him and he’d have no clue. First task: reconnoiter the camp. He needed to learn all he could about Camp Chubris. Study it. Understand it. There would be flaws in the routines, opportunities he could exploit, vulnerabilities in the habits of his target. He had a puzzle to solve.
The camp appeared divided into different sections. Before he reached the stone building, he passed through another fence. A different character of Humans worked on the other side. Many wore the rough clothes of labors instead of Naval uniforms, and many females in plain dresses strode about carrying baskets of laundry or sacks of grains or vegetables. Civilian laborers.
A pair of red-coated marines stood smart at the entrance of the administration building, their eyes clapped forward, backs as straight as an imperial road. Neither were armed, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. Any being with Lightning posed a threat.