An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Ivy gave him a sidelong look while she extended her hand with two bolts in her grip. “I thought you might miss this entire stage of the project.”

  Everson’s gaze dropped to the floor as she set the bolts in his palm. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I wanted to miss it.” I have let her down. The thought left a lump in Everson’s throat. “Henrick has been working so hard,” he explained, but the words seemed hollow. “He just needed a little help to pull the last bit together.”

  Her hand touched his arm, rubbing it gently.

  “Don’t worry, Ev.” Her voice had quieted so only he could hear her. He looked up and found her brown eyes looking into his. “I was only giving you a hard time. I’m proud that you would set aside your own project to help Henrick…despite the rivalry he has with you.”

  Everson frowned. “Rivalry? I have no rivalry with him.”

  Ivy smiled. “Oh, I know you feel that way. The rivalry only exists in Henrick’s own head.” She leaned close and kissed him on the cheek before whispering, “You are too good a person, too selfless to consider Henrick or anyone else a rival. Perhaps your assistance will help Henrick change his perspective as well.”

  He found himself nodding. “Yes. A bit of his own success might be just what he needs.”

  Ivy smiled and squeezed his arm. “Enough talk of Henrick. Let’s get this catapult installed.”

  Nodding, he shifted to one side of the machine and found the eyelets at the base slightly misaligned from the mounting brackets. He pushed on the catapult, straining to move it. The suspended machine moved just enough that he was able to slide a bolt through the hole. With one bolt in place, the others fit easily. Ivy produced four huge nuts from her satchel, and they each took turns tightening them with a big wrench. When the machine was completely mounted, the couple stood upon the scaffold to admire their work. The two-arm catapult was specially crafted, including the gears installed beneath each launch arm. Teeth from those small gears locked into the teeth of two larger gears poking out of the machine.

  “I’ve decided to use the name you suggested,” Everson announced.

  She eyed him, her gaze carrying a warning. “You decided?”

  He knew the look and hastily backpedaled. “I mean, I agree with your idea. I think Colossus is a wonderful name for our creation. It’s much better than Battle Carriage.”

  A smile crossed her face, bringing Everson relief. He had dodged an arrow. “Battle Carriage is not horrible, but Colossus sounds more impressive, regardless of whose idea it was.”

  “True.”

  Her grin widened. “Just don’t forget, it was my idea.”

  He laughed and wrapped an arm about her, pulling her against him. “I’m glad you came up with it. You’ve had as much to do with the construction of this metal monster as I have. In addition, just about every one of your ideas has been amazing.”

  “Just about?”

  Everson hunched his shoulders. “Well, I still don’t see how adding a privy to it is feasible.”

  She laughed, hitting playfully on the chest. “That was a joke.”

  “So you say…”

  She nudged him in the stomach and spun from his grip. “It’s time to climb down and wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

  Following her, he carefully backed down the steep stairs to the shop floor. Julian, Frieda, and Willard were already heading toward the exit. Ivy grabbed Everson’s hand and pulled him toward the door, following the others. Before they reached it, Benny Hedgewick appeared in the doorway and stared toward the machine at the core of the room.

  “Hello, Benny,” Everson said in greeting.

  Hedgewick’s attention remained directed toward Colossus. “Your construction appears to be coming along nicely.”

  “Thank you, Master Hedgewick,” Everson glanced toward his latest creation – an imposing mass of metal and magic. “We have a few more modifications to add, and it will be ready to test again.”

  “I will be interested to see the results,” Hedgewick said as he turned toward Everson. “However, that is not why I stopped by.”

  “Go on.”

  “The mining expedition just returned from Selbin. They were able to gather some flash powder after all. In fact, half a wagon full is now waiting in the stables.

  A grin spread across Everson’s face. “That’s wonderful news. In anticipation of a new supply of flash powder, I have been working on some drawings for a new flash bomb design.”

  Hedgewick’s eyebrows shot up, cocking his spectacles askew. “Where are these drawings?”

  “They are in my room,” Everson shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because, Everson.” Hedgewick’s hand gripped Everson’s shoulder. “I wish to help you produce these new weapons. War is coming, and it’s time for ICON’s leaders to engage rather than allowing you wardens to have all the fun.”

  War is coming. The words repeated in Everson’s mind. While he appreciated Benny Hedgewick’s help, the statement left him cold. His mind turned to Quinn, and he found himself praying that he might see his sister again someday. Please, Quinn. Please be safe.

  31

  The Jolted Jackaroo

  Quinn stirred, groaning when she shifted. Her arm throbbed mightily. It was cold, but she was damp with sweat. She opened her eyes, blinking at the blur of light above. Lifting her head, she found herself lying atop Brandt, who was still asleep in the bottom of the boat. The upper half of her sleeve was thick with blood – wet and sticky. Quinn knew she needed to stop the bleeding or she would die. Wincing at the pain, she tried to get up. Spots appeared in her vision as the world tilted and twisted, her stomach twisting with it. She collapsed, her vision narrowing to blackness.

  A strike against the back of her head jolted Quinn awake. She squeezed her eyes to the pain, groaning. Her own voice sounded distant. She felt cold – so cold. Opening her eyes, she saw the blur of a face looking down at her.

  “Sorry,” Brandt said. “I tried to be gentle, but you were lying on top of me.”

  Quinn mumbled. “My arm…it hurts so much. I’m so cold.” Her eyes drifted closed. Keeping them open was difficult.

  His voice came from somewhere distant “You have lost a lot of blood. Your wound looks…nasty.”

  She felt him draw the knife from the sheath on her leg. He lifted her arm, and she gasped, her eyes bulging in pain. Her breath wheezed, each desperate gasp an effort.

  “Again, sorry. You have a metal slug in your arm. I have to cut it out.”

  Brandt pulled her sleeve away from her arm, the cloth sticking to her wound for a moment before it pulled free. Again, she gasped. The world was a blur of black and red, obscured by a curtain of agony. He cut the sleeve away and pulled it down her arm. Every movement sent a sharp ache up into her shoulder and drove tears from her eyes. The darkness pulled at her, attempting to drag her down with it. His voice was an anchor that she focused on as she tried to remain awake.

  “Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

  The knife bit into her flesh and Quinn cried out. Pain overwhelmed her. The knife dug deeper, twisting. It was as if he were cutting through her arm. Her breathing grew more ragged, her teeth clenched tightly as darkness closed in.

  A deep gasp caused Quinn’s back to arch, a shiver wracking her body. She blinked her eyes open and found Brandt looking down at her, his eyes filled with concern. The pain was gone, now replaced by a powerful hunger.

  Taking deep, labored breaths as if she had just run for miles, Quinn sat up, the motion rocking the small boat. She looked at her arm to find it bare from her shoulder to her wrist, still stained with blood around the now healed wound.

  “Thank Issal,” he said while gently caressing her cheek with his thumb. “It worked.” A tear tracked down his face.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I was so afraid. You had lost a fair amount of blood, and infection had already set in. Your body was trying to fight it, but there is no fighting a chunk of dirty
metal buried in your flesh.” He wiped his face dry with his knuckles and sat back on the seat, releasing a sigh of relief, the movement again rocking the boat. He turned and picked up a metal bucket, handing it to her. “Drink. You had a fever and must be dehydrated.”

  Suddenly aware of a powerful thirst, Quinn eagerly accepted the bucket. The water was cold – cold and amazing. It poured down her chin and spilled down the front of her coat, but she didn’t care. After downing what seemed like a gallon, she lowered the bucket and handed it back to him as she caught her breath.

  “Where did you get the bucket?” she asked between gasps.

  “It was in the boat, likely in case of the leak becoming worse.”

  Quinn looked past him and saw an inch or two of water in the stern, beyond the seat. She then realized that she was sitting in a shallow pool, perhaps a half inch deep. With a concerted effort, she pulled her legs beneath her and pushed herself to a squat, causing the boat to rock until she turned and sat beside him on the bench.

  The river had widened, now over a hundred feet across. They were in a valley, surrounded by hills that drifted past. Turning to look backward, Quinn found the sun high above the peaks of the Sol Mai Mountains.

  “I’m sure you’re starving,” Brandt said. “It’s too bad we had to leave our packs behind.”

  Quinn snorted. “You have no idea. I’m so hungry, I would eat the packs themselves if I could chew them.”

  He put his arm around her. “You know, I have been trying to perform healing for years. Every attempt was a dismal failure…until now.”

  She leaned into him and gave him a kiss. “I’m thankful you were here with me…and that you were able to make it work.”

  His arm squeezed her, as if he were afraid of letting go. “Me, too. I…I couldn’t bear it if you died.”

  Quinn struggled with a response. Without knowing what to say, she simply rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. A long moment later, she lifted her head to look at him. His hair was a mess, his face stained with soot, dirt, and streaks of blood. Yet, he looked wonderful to her. When Brandt turned toward her, she gave him a smile.

  The boat rounded a bend, and the river grew even wider as the hills became fields. Scattered buildings appeared along the both banks, the fields partially plowed as farmers worked in them. In the distance, a city loomed over the north side of the river. A pale wall surrounded the city, and a dirt road ran along the river, heading toward it. Before the city was an ancient bridge spanning the river, supported by intermittent stone pillars built upon small islands.

  “That must be Yarth,” Brandt dug the oar from beneath the bench. “We need to get off the river before we reach the bridge. They are sure to post guards there, and we don’t need anyone connecting us with what happened back at Corvichi.” He stuck the oar in the water and began to paddle. “Besides, where there’s a city, there’s food.”

  A thought occurred to her – one that posed a problem. “How are we going to buy food? Our money is with our packs, left in the woods back there.”

  “True.” He continued to paddle, guiding the ship toward the north riverbank. “At least we have other things of value. One quick stop, and we’ll have more than enough coin to pay for food and shelter.”

  She frowned. “What do we have?”

  “Your two swords. We can sell one and earn enough coin to survive for a while.”

  Her hands darted to the two hilts. “My swords?” She frowned. “Why not something of yours?”

  “Like what?” He looked down at himself. “My handsome looks?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry, Quinn. We’ll just sell one of them. You can replace it in the future. You might be surprised at how much one of those swords is worth.” He arched a brow. “Unless you would rather rob somebody of their hard-earned coin.”

  “No. Thievery is not a path I’d choose, not with what’s at stake.” Quinn sighed, “We can sell a sword. However,” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I plan to be angry with you for a while.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  She glared at him. “You’re making me sell one of my babies.”

  He laughed while paddling, the boat now approaching the north shore. “Fine. You can be angry with me. I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.”

  A few minutes later, the boat nosed into a shallow bank and stopped with a lurch. Quinn jumped out and pulled it forward another stride before Brandt set the oar down and climbed out.

  They scaled the steeper portion of the riverbank, trampled through the reeds that grew there, and joined the quiet road that led to Yarth.

  For a while, it was quiet with just the distant sound of a farmer chopping at the ground with a hoe. That sound faded and other sounds arose from the city – familiar sounds that reminded Quinn of her childhood in Cinti Mor. While she had embraced her new life – a life of danger and excitement – part of her yearned for a quieter, more peaceful existence. She wondered if the world would ever again allow her to retreat and have such a life.

  It turned out that Brandt had been correct. Quinn’s short sword was worth far more than she had realized. When the couple left the weapons shop in search of an inn, Quinn found herself feeling self-conscious about carrying so much gold. She couldn’t recall holding a single gold piece in her entire life, and now she held five gold Imperials, gripping them so hard that her hand began to cramp.

  Brandt led her to an inn named The Jolted Jackaroo. The sign above the door made Quinn chuckle, depicting the image of a startled bird with an egg shooting out its backside.

  Opening the door, Brandt held it for Quinn and followed her inside. The inn was quiet, dark, and smelled of roasted lamb. Quinn’s stomach rumbled angrily after the long, stressful night and the healing Brandt had performed. Only three among the inn’s two dozen tables were occupied. Brandt chose an empty table, pulled a chair out for Quinn, and sat across from her. She exhaled a sigh of relief as she settled into the chair.

  A middle-aged woman with brown hair in a bun bustled past them, carrying a plate of steaming food in each hand. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “That smells wonderful,” Quinn muttered.

  “Yes, it does. I’m starving after yesterday’s trail rations and nothing to break my fast this morning. If I’m this hungry, you must be famished.”

  Quinn nodded. “You have no idea. Don’t be shocked if I begin to hallucinate and bite the waitress, just from the aroma.”

  He chuckled. “That would be interesting.” His laughter subsided and he became serious. “We will need to check in with the Ward. They will want to hear of what happened and what we learned last night.”

  Quinn knew he was correct but didn’t wish to acknowledge it. The past few months had begun to catch up to her – the stressful situations, rulers scheming, people dying. It often seemed as if she were juggling flash bombs, any miscalculation resulting in death – her death or that of many others. It would be wonderful to pause a moment and just be.

  The waitress approached and stopped by the table, eying them doubtfully. “What will it be?”

  Noting waitress’s expression, Quinn appraised Brandt’s appearance, observing the soot on his cheek, his blood-stained hands, his torn sleeve. She looked down at herself, missing one sleeve, her skin covered in dried blood. Her breeches were torn, knees stained with mud. She reached for the tail of hair hanging over her shoulder. It was matted, snarled, and greasy. She must think we just crawled out of a dungeon.

  Brandt paid no apparent attention to the woman’s look or her tone. “We’ll take whatever you’re serving for lunch, along with two glasses of wine…if you have it.”

  “We…do.”

  “Great. We’ll need a room for the night as well.”

  The woman put her hands on her ample hips and arched a brow. “You have coin to pay for all this?”

  He looked at Quinn, who realized she still held the gold in her fist. With her thumb, she slid one coin out, picked it up, and held it
toward the waitress.

  “I’m sure this will cover it.”

  The waitress’s expression transformed, her eyes glistening as she reached for the coin, picked it from Quinn’s grip, and slid it through the loose laces of her neckline. “Yes. That will do just fine. I’ll be right back with your food.”

  The woman walked toward the kitchen, and Quinn reached out to grip Brandt’s hand. Her voice was quiet, almost timid as she leaned forward and whispered, “Let’s hold off a day before you contact your sister.”

  He looked down at his hand in hers. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I…we should take a day for ourselves…spend some time together…without worrying about kingdoms or empires or who lives and who dies.”

  His brow furrowed as he appeared to contemplate her request. “That sounds awfully irresponsible.” His lips drew up in a smirk. “Perhaps I can be swayed to wait a day…or two…maybe longer.”

  Quinn smiled and squeezed his hand. “Two days sounds wonderful.” Her eyes flicked toward the kitchen. “We paid her enough to stay for a week or more.”

  “If two days sounds wonderful, a week sounds amazing,” his smirk widened into a full smile. “We have more gold left. I could take you shopping for some new clothes as well.”

  “You don’t like my clothes?” She looked down at herself and grinned. “Thank Issal they are black. Even then, I look dreadful.”

  “Well, I would never say you look dreadful. Dirty, yes. Perhaps a bit disheveled, sure. Yet, you’re still beautiful to me.” He waved his hand before his face, pinching his nose. “The smell, however… Let’s just say we both could use a bath.”

  Quinn laughed. Somehow, despite everything happening around them, she found herself happy to be with Brandt. That bit of happiness was just what she needed – a light in the dark times to come. Despite what they had accomplished, war was coming to Issalia.

  That was a problem for another day.