by David Walton
Torres needed to mine this island's riches, and to do that, he first needed to find the English colonists. Most of them could be killed outright. They were apostate, so that didn't bother Torres's conscience. But he would need to capture enough of them alive to learn everything he needed to know about the island's magic. Then, once he understood what was important to bring back with him, they would die, as he had been ordered.
The manticores were a means to an end. He didn't care if they lived or died, or whether Rinchirith was the king of the island or some other beast. Eventually, the Spanish would send enough power to enslave or kill them all. He just had to keep them happy in the meantime.
"We need more guns to train," Rinchirith said, having come up on the deck of La Magdalena yet again to complain. He was flanked, as usual, by two smaller manticores, one white and one a dirty yellow, neither of whom ever spoke. For that matter, he could be accompanied by dozens more, invisibly swarming the deck, and Torres would have no way to know.
Torres glared at him and tried to seem implacable, not that this creature could probably pick up on his facial expressions. "Not a single one more. In fact, your people won't fire a single shot more until you fulfill your end of the bargain. I want those colonists."
"They may have help from other manticores. Unless my brothers are armed and trained, we cannot be certain of victory."
"You said they were on the run. Fleeing, living in caves. If we wait, they may gather allies, become more entrenched. I say the time to fight is now."
Rinchirith snapped his pincers together with a sharp clap, and Torres had to steel himself not to jump. "If you insist."
"Good," Torres said. "Now, what can these colonists do, and what can the manticores do who might be defending them? I don't want to charge into battle without a good idea of the enemy's power."
Rinchirith arranged his tails in an expression that meant nothing to Torres, but from the tone of his voice Torres imagined a self-satisfied smile. "They can do many things, but they will die quickly."
Rinchirith opened a pouch made of some kind of plant material. Inside were a dozen balls made of what looked like a dark wood. Torres plucked one out and turned it in his fingers. It was very hard, but definitely not made of metal. It appeared to have been made of two halves glued together with an adhesive, making him wonder if there was something hidden inside.
"What is this?" Torres said.
Rinchirith made the same twining movement with his tails, and Torres was pretty certain this time that it was the equivalent of a smile. "Victory," Rinchirith said.
CHAPTER 24
MATTHEW was ready to strangle someone. Elizabeth's council, as she called it, was a disaster. Everyone had different priorities, different grievances, and each saw this change of leadership as a chance to get their way. There was no reasoned debate, with argument matched with rebuttal. Instead, each new speaker changed the subject to bring the conversation around to his own pet complaint.
It disgusted him. This was Princess Elizabeth, the rightful queen of England. They should be asking her for advice, not squabbling for attention. It wasn't that Matthew was so impressed by royalty. But here was a clear chain of command, someone who could command with authority and make irrelevant any arguments about who should be governor. So why were they still bickering and getting nowhere?
Ramos sidled over to stand next to Matthew. It was disconcerting to have a member of the Tavera family here, despite his apparent good will. Only a year ago, Ramos's brother had tortured Matthew for the secrets he knew, and had shot Catherine in the head. Ramos had a different build than his brother, but the resemblance was still there.
"Don't worry about all this," Ramos said, indicating the noisy and increasingly belligerent council. "I've seen monarchs do it before."
"What are you talking about?"
"This isn't really a decision-making discussion. She called it a council, but she has no intention of taking any of this advice."
"So why is she doing it?" Matthew said.
Ramos watched her while he answered. "She's taking everyone's measure. She doesn't know these people. This way, she learns their names, learns their dispositions, discovers who is wise or foolish, rude or gracious, devious or forthright. I've been serving kings and queens for most of my adult life. Trust me, she knows what she's doing."
Matthew shook his head. "It drives me crazy."
Elizabeth looked up sharply. She raised a hand, and the room fell silent. Matthew followed her gaze to see Stephen Parris, on his feet, his face ashen.
"What is it?" Elizabeth said.
"Catherine is alive." Parris's eyes didn't focus properly, as if he were in some other place, watching a different scene unfold. "She is safe, and . . . Maasha Kaatra . . ."
Matthew stared at him in consternation. He knew Parris was bonded to Tanalabrinu, that what the manticore saw and heard, Parris could too. The claim that Catherine was alive made Matthew's heart pound, but Maasha Kaatra? He'd been dead for more than a year. Was this a true vision, or some kind of reverie?
Parris's eyes snapped back to the present. "Rinchirith is coming. The Spanish conquistadors, hundreds strong, and thousands of manticores, are on their way here, right now, with plans to kill us all."
The room erupted into noise. Ferguson jumped to his feet. "We'll fight them," he said. "Fear not, your Grace. We will defy them to the last man." Others jumped up as well, shouting once more.
"Silence," Elizabeth said. Her voice cut like clear crystal over the din. "They are too many. We must flee." She tilted back her chin and caught Matthew's eyes over the crowd. "Matthew Marcheford, where are we to go?"
Matthew gaped. She was asking him? Of course, Elizabeth had no knowledge of the geography of this place, so she would have to ask someone. Ramos shot him a subtle, told-you-so smile, while everyone waited for him to speak.
"North, into the mountains," he said. "As far from the bay as possible. We should find higher ground, with a defensible position."
"North it is," Elizabeth said. Her tone was imperious, and although she had walked out of the forest with no explanation, they all moved to obey her, gathering their supplies for another exodus. Matthew marveled at her poise and strength of authority. She had been here an hour at most, and already she commanded more complete obedience than any governor had ever managed.
TORRES'S men were well-disciplined and marched in a formation designed for forest terrain. Torres himself rode at the front with the cavalry, following the manticores. The creatures, however, did not travel in straight lines. They seemed to roam randomly, following some pattern of the terrain that Torres couldn't see, sometimes on the ground and sometimes through the trees. If they were following a path, it was not one suitable for humans. The manticores led them down into ravines and back up again, through thick brambles, into marshy areas that squelched underfoot. Occasionally, they had to leave their guides and strike out on their own to take some easier path, trusting that the manticores would find them again and lead them on.
It occurred to Torres that this could be intentional on the part of the manticores, and that they were laughing at the humans from up in the trees. If so, there wasn't much he could do about it. As long as they eventually led him to what remained of the colonists, he could handle a little delay.
The real problem was that he wasn't commanding any respect from these savages, nor had he managed to intimidate them with his technology. This was not a good start in a relationship where he had intended to dominate and exploit them. The only leverage he had over them was his guns. He had given them a few dozen as a gesture of good faith, but he would have to start trading them for more concrete goods.
First things first. He had to find the original colonists, force them to tell everything they knew, and then kill them. That done, he would have a better idea of what he needed. Shekinah flatworms, to be sure, and quintessence pearls, probably some living animals and plants. More of those eels Barrosa had showed him that could turn things in
to gold. That alone would make his trip a great success. He didn't have to worry about subjugating the natives, not on this trip anyway. Eventually, they would need a proper colony here, with a fort and a regular garrison guarding the bay. There would be plenty of time to teach the manticores proper respect, and to set them to some useful task.
They reached the foothills of the mountains, and the march grew more difficult, though somewhat straighter. The slope was steep, and the ground was made of loose, rocky soil with treacherous footing. Finally, they crested a rise and found a clearing. The mountain rose up again on the other side of the clearing, but there were fissures in the rock face that looked like they might be the openings to deep caves. In the clearing itself was evidence of construction: wooden beams and stone blocks partially assembled or stacked in piles. They checked the caves, and found the remains of cookfires, but no people.
"Where are they?" Torres demanded.
"They were warned of our coming." Rinchirith said.
"Who warned them? Did one of yours betray us?"
Rinchirith ignored the question. "They have no stealth, no skill. They leave a trail as bright and stinking as a—" He made a clicking, coughing noise that was no language Torres had ever heard, and gestured with two of its tails.
"What does that mean?" Torres said.
"It means we can track them."
WHEN Matthew and the others had migrated to these caves in the first place, their line had been scatted, stretched thin as those who couldn't travel as fast trailed behind. This time, Elizabeth insisted on a formation, keeping everyone close, with ranging scouts both ahead and behind. Elizabeth herself had difficulty with the pace; she was new to the strength and agility quintessence gave her body, and so was unused to using it. Ramos adjusted more readily, and he carried his daughter Antonia along as easily as if she were made of straw. Before they left, he had circulated among the colonists, distributing the supply of salt he had brought with him from England. Combined with what they had been able to scrape hastily from the deposits in the cave, they were all well-supplied.
They climbed steeply uphill through forest, and the speed at which they traveled made it imperative to watch for roots and branches underfoot. Matthew remembered the vulnerable, straggling line from their first migration, and felt foolish. It hadn't even occurred to him to keep everyone together as a group for safety. Though, why should it have? He was young, not even married, not a leader. He wasn't responsible for their protection. In fact, he was such a terrible leader he had destroyed their entire settlement. So why did people always look to him when there were decisions to be made?
A sharp whistle came from behind them, and one of the scouts ran up past him and addressed Elizabeth. "Conquistadors on our trail," he reported. "They left the caves and are marching this way, though their speed is much slower than ours."
"How did they know which way to go?" Matthew's father asked.
The scout shook his head. "We must have left signs. Footprints, maybe."
It seemed unlikely to Matthew—the ground near the caves was rocky and packed hard—but perhaps the Spanish were better trackers than he expected. "Where are the manticores that were supposed to be with them?"
"Could be a hundred, and I wouldn't know it," the scout said. "No skink tears."
"We press on," Elizabeth said. "If you see any sign of the manticore force, report immediately."
The scout nodded and bowed, but it was the last thing he did. A crack sounded from somewhere to their left, and when the scout straightened, a bright red stain bloomed on his chest. His eyes wide and glassy, he coughed once, spraying blood onto Elizabeth, and collapsed to the ground.
AS CATHERINE and Maasha Kaatra traveled with Tanalabrinu, more and more manticores joined them. First it was just a dozen, serving as a kind of honor guard, but they kept appearing out of nowhere, and every time Catherine turned around, there was a larger group. She gradually became aware that there must be a vast company of manticores moving through the trees behind and around them. An army.
"Why are so many coming with us?" she said.
"They would follow the star-bird," Tanalabrinu said.
"What are you not telling me?"
At first, Tanalabrinu did not answer, and Catherine wondered if he would refuse. Then he said, "Rinchirith's army has already reached your human colonists. They are surrounded and overwhelmed. I fear we may be too late to make any difference."
A knot of dread fell into Catherine's stomach. "How far away are they?"
As if in answer, they came to a rocky outcropping devoid of trees, allowing them a view of the ground below. The view was tremendous, vast stretches of forests and plains carpeting the landscape. They were much closer to the sea than Catherine had realized, close to the eastern cliffs where the water pounded against the rocks, impassable for any ship. On a slope far below them, she could see a horde of manticores pouring into a stretch of forest while even more held back, keeping their quarry surrounded. It was a hundred times as many manticores as there were humans on the island. She couldn't see them well enough to pick out any individuals, but the roar of their attack filtered up to her ears faintly on the wind.
"We have to save them!" Catherine said.
"The path goes to the right," Tanalabrinu said. "It follows the curve of the mountain and comes out at the base of those trees, there."
"Too slow. Look at them all! My family and friends will be massacred."
"It’s the only way. My warriors are swift. We will soon engage the enemy."
Catherine looked down at the manticore army far below. The drop was not sheer, exactly, but it was very steep and strewn with loose boulders. "Not swift enough. You go that way if you want."
"What do you intend?"
"To rescue them."
With a shout to give herself courage, Catherine ran forward and careened over the edge. She flew faster than she ever had before, half running and half falling, trying to avoid scree that could trip her up. One mistake and she might simply fall the rest of the way and crack her head open on a rock.
A ululating war cry behind her told her that Tanalabrinu, at least, had followed her over the edge, and soon a roar like an avalanche came from behind her. She dared not look back, needing to keep her eyes on her footing. Either it was an avalanche, disturbed by her feet and rushing down to crush her, or else Tanalabrinu's army was plunging down the slope after her. Either way, she had no choice but to keep running and keep her feet.
Finally, the slope smoothed out toward the horizontal, and she found herself careening straight into the rearguard of Rinchirith's manticore army. She kept running, turning her skin to iron and blazing out with quintessence fire. They fell back as she and the hundreds of manticores behind her smashed deeply into their midst.
The two manticore armies collided with a noise like the ocean thundering over the edge of the world. They fought in two planes, able to pass through solid objects, but still able to strike each other in that insubstantial second world. The battle was only partly about the humans now. It was a battle for dominance over Horizon.
THE WHINE of bullets filled the air. Matthew whirled, trying to see where their attackers were. The forest seemed to be full of invisible enemies. Colonists threw themselves on the ground or took cover behind trees, though it was hard to tell which direction the shots were coming from. For all they knew, they were surrounded. With skink tears, they would have at least been able to see them, but their stores of the blue liquid had all been lost when the settlement burned.
Something was very wrong. The dead scout now bleeding out onto the ground had quintessence in his veins, just like the rest of them. Matthew had seen men heal from bullet wounds, from burns, even from accidental amputation. But this man hadn't healed.
Blanca screamed and went down with a bullet in her shoulder. Matthew knelt and pressed his hand against the wound. It kept bleeding, showing no sign of the miraculous quintessence healing they were all so used to expecting. The bullet had
punched a hole right through her shoulder and out the other side, and Matthew saw what looked like a tiny half-circle of wood on the ground behind her. He picked it up. The wood was cracked. On the inside, there was a reservoir with a small amount of metallic liquid that Matthew recognized immediately. Mercury.
The manticores were firing mercury bullets. Mercury counteracted the effects of quintessence, dousing its power just as salt inflamed it. With mercury in the wound, the quintessence couldn't heal it as it usually would.
Blanca clutched his arm and gritted her teeth against the pain. "I'm okay," she said. "You should fight!"
By this time, the colonists were rallying. Even without skink tears, even surrounded and caught by surprise, they were far from helpless, thanks to Ramos's salt. Skin transformed into iron, and bullets ricocheted harmlessly away. The colonists formed a rough circle around the wounded. As quintessence light blazed from their skin, trees caught fire, and some of the attacking manticores became visible as their fur ignited.
Somebody pressed something into Matthew's hand. It was Stephen Parris. Matthew looked down to see a small glass vial with a tiny amount of blue liquid in the bottom. Skink tears.
"It's all I have," Parris said. "You'd better take a look."
Matthew poured out the last dribble from the vial and spread it into his eyes. He shut his eyes firmly through the brief moment of burning pain, and when he opened them again, he could see.
Thousands of manticores. They were everywhere, all around them, as far as he could see, both on the ground and in the trees. Dozens of manticores were dead or on fire, but there were always more to take their place. A burning manticore made it through the fire and threw itself onto a colonist, driving a pincer edge through his unprotected eye. The man dropped, and more manticores ran for the gap.