Brimstone and Lily (Legacy Stone Adventures)

by Terry Kroenung

  Breathing. Stealthy breathing. Just fifty feet away. Muffled, somehow.

  Frowning, I crept east on tiptoe, holding my own breath to better listen for the other breaths. The sound got louder and louder as I approached a big old oak tree. I stopped at its base and cocked my head.

  Somebody lay underground. Several somebodies.

  Morphageus flamed into life in my hand. I’d seen a lot of death in the last hour or so. Heard too many agonized screams. Smelled too much gunpowder. People who’d only wanted to help me had been stabbed and shot. Now I had a chance to avenge them by dispatching these fiends lying in ambush. It may not have been something Ma would’ve approved of, but it would make me feel better. Even if it didn’t, it would at least make me feel safer.

  I raised the sword in both hands, point-down, and tensed every tired, terrified muscle to plunge it into the earth and slay these monsters. There was no doubt in my mind that Morphageus would go through the ground without the slightest trouble. As my arms sent the sword down I got confused. It wasn’t getting any closer to the ground. Going away, in fact. So was I. What the---?

  “Ah, ah, ah,” an elderly voice said from above me. “Can’t let you do that.”

  Struggling got me nowhere, so I let the Stone calm me and gazed all around. A branch of the tree had pinched the back of my overalls and lifted me six feet up. My feet kicked at the air. Turning my eyes right, I saw a well-worn knothole. The voice came out of it.

  “Pitts said to protect you and yours, and that’s what I aim to do.”

  I gasped, and not just from being dangled in the air by a talking tree. “Pitts? You talked to Pitts?”

  “I did, little lady. He said to be on the lookout for a red-haired pain in the bark who likes to wave a sword around. And here you are.”

  Sha’ira’s husky voice spoke up from just below my boots. “Here she is. Thinking of stabbing her friends. Or perhaps not thinking at all?”

  She stood beneath me, hands on hips, staring up with one dark eyebrow raised. Beside her Romulus climbed out of a hole hidden by the base of the tree. Judging by the mud on his hands and arms, he’d dug a hasty hiding place like he’d done when we’d first crossed the Potomac a week ago. But where were Ernie and the rest of the Marines?

  “Hey, y’all,” I said with a tiny wave. “No hard feelins’ about almost skewerin’ you, I hope.”

  Ernie’s fat face appeared upside-down in front of me. He hung from the oak twig he’d climbed down. “Not at all. And we expect you not to have any lastin’ resentments about this.” With that he tweaked my nose. Hard.

  “Ow!” I yelped, catching myself before it got too loud and drew enemies down on us.

  “Hee, hee, hee!” little rat voices tittered from higher up the tree. “Vewy humuwous.”

  “I’m glad I’m such good entertainment,” I grumped. “You’re all welcome.”

  The tree lowered me as easy as you’d set down an egg. When my feet touched earth Jasper snickered, “Well, let’s be honest. You are pretty funny sometimes.”

  I sent him an image of me using Morphageus to scrub privies. That shut him up. Then I looked at the oak again. “Who might I have the honor of meetin’ here?”

  A big limb saluted me as Ernie and his rodent associates climbed down the trunk to surround us. “Name’s Langhorne. Glad to be of service.”

  “Pleased to meetcha, Langhorne.” I turned to Sha’ira. “He said that he talked to Pitts. Does that mean your dreams are workin’?”

  She nodded, notching an arrow into her bow and casting her eyes in all directions. “This one, at least.”

  Ernie chewed on an acorn, not noticing that Langhorne seemed less than happy about it. “What dream?”

  “I had her send dream messages out to anybody who might be able to help us. Pitts said that there’s a root network that trees use to talk to one another. I asked Sha’ira to give him a dream that we were in trouble and needed help. Looks like it paid off.”

  “Sure did. He passed the message along in code from root to root for over a hundred miles. Every good tree along the coast has been huntin’ for you. There’s a dozen of us in this patch of forest alone, pines and shrubs mostly. We’re to take the Stone-Warden’s orders without question.”

  The rats all saluted the oak. “All hail Mywon! Pwince of twees!”

  Romulus finished brushing the dirt off himself. “Glad that plan worked. Just hope some o’ the other dreams made it through, too.”

  Behind us, Tyrell and Al landed. The captain bounded off his horse before the wings stopped flapping. “Almost got plugged. Those Yankees can shoot. Had to take the long way around. Hello there, Langhorne.”

  “Cap’n,” the tree relied with a wave of his crown. Does everybody here know everybody else but me? I feel like I came to the theatre two acts late.

  “Strangest thing,” Tyrell went on. “I had to go real low to make it past those Yankees to the south. The new ones. Got a good look at their flags. They aren’t sham Bluebellies like the others. They’re the real McCoy. Not only that, it’s Phelps’s Brigade. He’s about to attack the Old Guard. What do you think of that?”

  As if on cue the sound of high-volume musketry started up in the distance. As always, it resembled heavy canvas ripping. A moment later the boom of field artillery came in counterpoint to it. Right on its heels came the ship’s guns. We waited for those shrapnel and case rounds to land near us, but that didn’t happen. They were firing on the real Yankees. If McClellan could see that he’d faint dead away.

  “Well, that’s two,” I said to Sha’ira.

  “Two what?” the captain wanted to know.

  “Dreams. Sha’ira sent your General Phelps a vision that his base would be attacked by way of the beach. We hoped he’d choose to meet it head-on. Looks like we were right.”

  Tyrell patted Al and whispered to him. The golden horse’s pale wings melted away. Soon all the other Norn animals followed suit. “Bill Phelps never saw a fight he wanted to meet any other way. Dreams, eh? I suppose that’s how Langhorne comes to be here, too?” He rubbed my head. Why do adults all think that’s so cute? “Good thinking, you.”

  I was put at the head of the line of horses that had formed. The sergeant-major led the troopers single-file towards the north. He told me we were going to try to sneak through the woods in a big hook and make it to the beach. Now that it was full-dark he’d need my Stone-vision to find the right path and help us avoid ambushes. We had to get far enough north so as to not come out in the middle of the beach battle. Ernie and the rats went ahead and to the flanks, using their natural animal senses to look, listen, and smell for trouble. Langhorne said he’d meet us there by taking a straight route and gathering his forces on the way.

  The going seemed awful easy. Every branch seemed to move out of our way, making a post road through the woods. Thanks, Langhorne. As we picked our way through the trees Romulus explained that Sha’ira had burned her last dream-letter just as the Old Guard had attacked the second time. She’d slunk away with her protectors just moments before the flankers had torn down her thicket. Preferring stealth to battle, they’d moved from tree to tree, trusting that all eyes would be on the elephants. That got them safe past the Gaulles, but a few of the Merchantry Federals spotted them and gave chase. As they’d run from them a pocket of Iberions came at them from the west. Langhorne had snatched them up into his foliage without warning. The moment that patch of woods had cleared Romulus had dug the hidey-hole and they’d hidden until I’d shown up all crazy-vengeful.

  The din of battle never lessened during our long trip through the forest. For almost an hour we couldn’t hear ourselves think. Smoke drifted to us on that steady east wind. Phelps must really hate the Merchantry. Or maybe he just hates Gaulles. It’s dark and they’re still fightin’ over there. We had a lot of moonlight, but nevertheless, war was a light-of-day affair. Too easy to make mistakes, get lost, shoot at your friends. Too hard to control troops. I shuddered to think what trouble we might b
e in for if my night vision wasn’t so good. Oh, well. If it keeps the Merchantry off our backs, more power to you, General. And if the rest of our dream messages hit their targets, we might get out of this in one piece.

  For once things went our way. Nobody jumped us, sniped at us, or even hurled taunts. Though I expected the air to glow purple with Pluto’s Bane, no black assassins showed up, either. Nothing. A real good thing, as Tyrell said his men were down to about three cartridges apiece. Jasper kept chattering in my head that I’d get rusty if I went too long without fighting imminent doom, but I begged to differ. This felt good as a nap to me. Before long I felt sand under my feet. We’d made it to the beach, a good half-mile north of the battle. Stray spent Minie balls landed around us every now and then, but otherwise this was as safe as we’d been all day. It felt good to not be in the middle of a fight. To our right I could see orange streaks fly across the water as the Merchantry gunboat poured fire into Phelps’s brigade. The Union commander’s own artillery shot back. Muskets by the thousands shredded the salt air, filling it with noise and stinging smoke. Whenever a regiment fired a volley you could see the flash of hundreds of muzzles.

  “Be a right lovely sight if you didn’t know folks were dyin’ over there,” I muttered.

  “But they are,” said Sha’ira, on high alert as always. “Better them than us.”

  “What now?” I asked to everybody in general. Still no sign of our rescue ship, ravens blocked the bay, and thousands of troops prevented us from going anywhere that might do us any good. “Head back north and try to cross the bay further up?”

  “Merchantry will have thought of that,” sighed Tyrell. “Have ships and sharpshooters all up and down that peninsula, just hoping we’ll try it. They’re bound and determined to catch themselves a Stone-Warden.”

  “Find ourselves a boat, go ‘cross on the water,” Romulus suggested.

  Ernie climbed up me to sit in my palm. “The Flyin’ Squadron could try to chase off the ravens, clear us a path. Even if they has sharpshooters, they’d need a warnin’ to spot us in this dark. If we fly low we’d be past ‘em before they could get off a clear shot.”

  “Brave as your pelicans are, they can’t fight ravens. Not agile enough, I’m afraid,” Tyrell replied, scanning the eastern sky.

  “Mabel’s crew, then,” the mouse went on. “Gulls are quick and tough.”

  Sha’ira broke in. “I suggest we decide soon, please.” Her sword sang as it slid out of its scabbard and jabbed into the sand, ready for sudden use. She raised her bow and crouched low. “Make yourselves ready. My sisters are here.”

  35/ Attack of the Shades

  I raised a giant magick metal hand about three feet across. Before she could get her bearings and resume the attack on me, I reared back and slapped her silly.

  “Wings!” Tyrell ordered, vaulting atop Alcibiades. In a flash the Redeemers were airborne, scattering so as not to make easy targets, but staying low to be able to shoot at the Shades. Having seen them dodge bullets at Boatswain’s Swamp, I didn’t have a lot of faith in guns at the moment. Still, if the troopers concentrated their fire on one of them, surely she couldn’t avoid a whole volley. But that also meant they’d be out of bullets darn quick. If all or most of the green-clad assassins remained standing after that, things might turn very ugly for us. I had no illusions about my being able to fight just one of these terrible women, let alone two or three. Even with the Stone and Jasper to aid me it’d be a short exchange.

  They strolled out of the woodline, one dead ahead and the others north and south, pinning us against the sea. I hadn’t seen or heard them until that moment, despite my Stone-senses. Are they that good at trackin’ or is there another ostium nearby? No wonder the Guild is so feared, if they seem to materialize on top of you. All of them moved like hunting cats, sleek, smooth, not a wasted motion. Like their joints were well-oiled. They ignored the Redeemers, or seemed to. It was a safe bet, though, that if any of the flying horses made a move toward the Shades she’d make a swift and deadly response.

  Thank goodness none of ‘em has a Bane staff. Lucky for us the Redeemers had dealt with that threat last night. Instead they carried their swords, of metal as dark as their outfits, which I now saw were layered robes and soft boots, similar to what Sha’ira wore. The one on the left had a long straight weapon, center had two shorter swords, and the right Shade’s blade had a gentle curve. Their eyes were all that showed, silky scarves covering the rest of their faces. Although they’d seemed a matched set the two other times I’d seen them, now I could make out differences. A bit shorter and stockier than the others, Long Sword walked with the slightest of limps. Looks to be the one winged by the Reb artillery.I’m sure she hits hard with that big cleaver. Curved Blade stood a head taller than her and looked reed-thin, her step so light that it left no mark on the sand. I imagined she’d fight like a dancer, in graceful curves. But the middle one, Two Swords, scared me the most. Taller than the northern assassin, with shoulders broad as a longshoreman’s, this Shade gave out an awesome energy bred of confidence and pride. I’ll wager she’s never even lost a practice fight. And don’t expect to lose this one, neither.

  “Stand down, Shade,” Tyrell commanded her. Must be their leader. “We are sworn to defend the Stone-Warden.”

  She laughed, still strolling toward me. “As we be sworn to slay her. Go ye ways, Redeemer. Despite ye constant interference, our quarrel is no’ wi’ you. ‘Tis these two we want.”

  Sha’ira, arrow aimed at the speaker, purred, “What you want and what you’ll get are two different things, Morrigan. Haven’t I taught you that lesson before?”

  “Mother always said I were slow of study,” Morrigan shrugged. I noticed she had a Caledonian Highland brogue, but with an otherworldly tone beneath it.

  “And too quick to make pacts with the wrong side.” Sha’ira’s bow twanged, but not at Morrigan. With a snap left she loosed her arrow at Long Sword, who’d begun a rush while my protector spoke. It took a lightning-quick pivot for the short Shade to avoid being hit in the eye.

  Before that arrow had passed its target the dreamwriter’s bow held two more. “And tell Nephthys the next time she tries that we’ll see if she can dodge a pair of shafts.”

  None of the women moved. I got the feeling that they feared this one fallen member of their order more than all the rest of us put together. If they’d tracked her for months with nothing to show for it, maybe their anxiety was justified.

  “What ye call the wrong side I call the winning side,” Morrigan said, twirling one of her blades. “Ye idealism will be crushed by the reality of power.”

  “What marks had you in history, sister? The annals tell us that every tyranny that ever rose has fallen. All of them.”

  “No other tyranny, to grant ye the term, has had such magick at its command. The Honourable Merchantry allied wi’ the Obverse? Who could bring that down? Better to be towed by the juggernaut than to stand in its path.”

  “Such a flair with words,” Sha’ira said, still crouched. Now her bow had returned to pointing at Morrigan.

  “Ah, ‘tis nothing compared to ye talent. I understand ye be a dreamwriter now? Isn’t that too romantic for a Shade, embracing a dead art? Or is it poetic, since ye’ll soon be dead, poor lost Manat.”

  Standing up, Sha’ira placed herself in front of me. For once I welcomed a grown-up getting all protective. “Careful with your soothsaying. Dreamwriting is not all I’ve been studying.” As she spoke I saw a brief flare of the moonfire in her eyes.

  Morrigan seemed not to notice that. Her first mistake, maybe. “So many words, so little fighting. Hand the brat over and submit to ye just execution. I swear we will bury ye bones with rosemary and send ye to ye god with honor.”

  “You mistake the brat, as you call her. She isn’t mine to hand over. The Stone-Warden makes her own decisions, as foretold. And you’ll find her harder to take than you think.” She smiled. “As for my bones, I like them where they are. If
you covet them so much, come and get them.”

  That cued the Marines. Though Sha’ira shouted for them to stop, the rats rushed the Shades with no warning. With a unified cry of “Wong wive the Wegion!” they scurried across the beach. At the same time the troopers began firing. If they’d all shot together at a single target they might’ve brought one of the Shades down. But their uncoordinated bullets hit only sand and trees as the nimble assassins cartwheeled, leaped, and snaked out of the way. I heard every hammer snap on bare steel. Their ammunition had been spent for nothing. At that instant the Marines pounced at their foes. But unlike in their encounter with the infantry and the elephants, this was no victory. Efficient rattlesnake-quick blade flicks sliced several of my brave defenders in half while they were still in mid-air. The rest skidded to a halt at that and surrounded the Shades, staying just out of range. Whoa! How can they manage all of this? They must have magick in their trainin’. No mortal’s that fast. Not even Stone-aided.

  “Yes, dear sister,” Morrigan purred, “we’ve been studying, too. Time for ye lesson.”

  All three shades shrugged off their sleeveless outer robes. Sha’ira did the same. I held it for her, keeping the cup in my right hand. If it came to it I planned to spring Morphageus as a last-minute surprise and take one of them with me. But that might not happen. In the woods behind the assassins I spied some hope, though it’d take some maneuvering to make it work.

  “You see what I see?” Jasper whispered.

  “Yep, “ I thought to him. Here’s the plan, if we need it. I outlined what I wanted to do, keeping my eyes on the scene around me. The Redeemers still circled the Shades, but higher this time, maybe twenty feet up, sabers drawn. Our Marines were dragging their casualties, wounded and dead, out of the way toward the trees. Romulus, Ernie on his shoulder, stood to our right about ten paces. All they had was a Bowie knife and a knitting needle. Brave as they were, I hoped they had the sense to stay out of the way. I hope I do, too. Far to the south the battle between the Yankees and their Merchantry-bred enemies continued, but sounded like it might be slackening. The gunboat kept firing at the shore like it had an unending supply of shells.