Ghosts of the Tristan Basin: A Powder Mage Novella

by Brian McClellan

  “You never answered my question,” Taniel said.

  “Your new friend Styke thought he was quietly asking around for some extra support in your planned mutiny. He’s not as subtle as he thinks. In fact, I don’t think Ben Styke has done anything subtle his entire life.” Lindet shook her head, a disgusted sneer on her lips.

  “I wouldn’t call it a mutiny,” Taniel said. He focused on his breathing, on keeping calm. What had his father said about dealing with angry superior officers? Smile, nod, and apologize. Well, Taniel damn well wasn’t going to apologize. “I simply plan on stretching my orders a bit. Sticking around a little longer than planned to allow more of the Planth citizens to escape.”

  “Stretching orders,” Lindet repeated sarcastically. “You’re walking a thin line, Two-shot, but you’re right. If you planned outright sedition you’d be in a noose right now.”

  And I wonder how you’d explain my death to my father, Taniel wondered idly. You would not like how he reacts to the death of a family member, even if he doesn’t seem to think much of me. Out loud he said, “You didn’t have a problem with my disobedience when the Ghost Irregulars risked our necks to delay the Kez advance.”

  “Because,” Lindet replied, her tone gaining an edge of impatience, “the Tristan Ghost Irregulars have been following the same orders for twelve months; to harass and hinder the enemy. I chose to believe you’d never received my latest orders and were simply continuing as you always had.”

  It was a piss-thin excuse and they both knew it. But Lindet was making it clear she would justify anything she wanted. “And now?” Taniel asked.

  Lindet regarded him thoughtfully, looking over his shoulder at the Blackhats standing behind him. Taniel’s fingers twitched toward his knife, and he felt himself tense. “My order stands,” she finally said. “The Ghost Irregulars are to remain in Planth for the next two days until the Kez arrive, at which time you will provide a delaying action for their advance through the city and up the highway for the next twenty miles. From there you will split off and return to your post in the Basin.

  “You can’t win,” she continued. “The Kez have too many men. Extending your delaying action is very likely to get you and the rest of the Ghost Irregulars killed. You’ve been a valuable asset in this part of the country, and I will be annoyed at the loss. But I already have one Ben Styke and I don’t need another one, so if you decide to disobey my orders I’ll see it as a personal favor if you die heroically.”

  Taniel pursed his lips. Lindet’s imperiousness reminded him of an Adran noble, from the way she lifted her chin to the expectation of immediate obedience. But there was a dangerous competence behind her stiff demeanor that reminded him also of his father—something pragmatic and very un–noble-like. “Is that all?” he asked.

  Lindet took a step closer to him. Taniel was running a strong powder trance. He could kill her before any of her Blackhats could react, and maybe even get away in the chaos but he still felt like he was the one who should be cautious.

  “If you do manage to survive,” Lindet said quietly, “And to save a few thousand Planth citizens, I will pin a medal on your chest when I win this war. But know this: I will remember this insubordination forever. Accidents happen, Two-shot. Even to powder mages.”

  Taniel noted the way she said when she won the war, not if. She truly believed she couldn’t lose, and Taniel found himself believing as well.

  “I’ll remember too,” he replied. “I’ll remember that you’re the type of person to abandon ten thousand people to die in order to play it safe.”

  Lindet pulled herself onto her horse, tugging the reins expertly to wheel around Taniel several times, looking down on him. “I should warn you. My spies tell me that the Privileged have several Wardens with them. Good luck, Two-shot. And be wary. Don’t think you can trust Styke. He is a mad dog without a leash. If you don’t get yourself killed, he’ll do it for you.”

  Taniel felt the butt of his rifle kick back into his shoulder. He immediately burned the extra powder in his jacket pocket, willing the bullet he’d just fired along its path for far longer than any projectile should have stayed in the air. It traveled a hundred yards, then five, then a thousand, until he let it drop suddenly to slam into a Kez Privileged riding her horse along the highway.

  Taniel’s aim was slightly off at the end and the bullet took the Privileged in the forehead instead of the left eye. The body jerked back in the saddle, slumping to one side, and her bodyguards erupted into chaos.

  Taniel watched just long enough to be sure he’d made a kill before handing his rifle to Ka-poel, who swung it over her back and began to descend through the branches of the cypress. They found their canoe hidden in some nearby reeds and set off through the myriad of river channels, heading south. Ka-poel turned back to him and held up two fingers.

  “One down,” Taniel agreed. “Two to go.”

  The swift cracking of a barrage of musket fire echoed through the distant trees, and Taniel turned his head to try and pinpoint the location. It took him a few moments before he decided that no, those weren’t muskets. They were rifles. Hrusch rifles. Somewhere north of him the Ghost Irregulars had engaged the Kez.

  He and Ka-poel paddled their canoe downriver for almost a mile, hiding in inlets from the occasional Kez patrol, before they stashed it again and headed across the highway. They managed to remain unseen by the few bedraggled, lagging rear wagons of the Kez train and then headed north for a ways before they found a good tree to climb.

  Their newest vantage gave them a fantastic view of the Kez army, snaking its way along the Basin Highway as it approached Planth.

  By Taniel’s estimate, the Kez vanguard was less than six miles from Planth. They’d slowed considerably as they approached, likely expecting that fierce resistance that Lindet had planned for them before she decided to flee. So as not to disappoint them, Bertreau and the Ghost Irregulars had split into two parties and were harassing the vanguard’s flanks. On the road, Styke’s lancers had discarded their lances and armor in favor of mobility and were keeping the Kez from mounting a proper reconnaissance of the city.

  It was a simple ruse, and Taniel hoped that it would gain the people leaving Planth an extra half-day. The real problems would begin once the Kez finally reached the city and discovered how few troops remained to defend it.

  Taniel remained in the treetop for almost three hours, watching the Kez army creep forward, both he and Ka-poel keeping a steady eye out for the remaining Privileged. Mid-afternoon came and went and they changed positions, and then after a light supper of jerky and dry corn cakes Ka-poel went to move their canoe up the river.

  She returned just as the sun was beginning to touch the treetops to the west, settling in on the branch beside him and shooting him a quizzical look.

  “Nothing,” he responded. “Even the ranking officers are keeping their heads bloody-well down.”

  It wasn’t difficult to find a Privileged. Taniel could open his Third Eye, looking from this world into a parallel one in which a sorcerous aura surrounded anyone with magical abilities. There were ways, however, that a Privileged could mask their aura and remain undetected for periods of time. Taniel didn’t understand it entirely, but knew it wasn’t easy. It was a testament to his reputation that these Privileged thought it worth their effort. They weren’t taking any chances with the lone powder mage lurking in the swamp.

  Such a thought should have cheered him up—Privileged, dealers of death and sorcery, afraid of him—but it only annoyed him.

  “Just poke your head up so you can die,” he whispered, sighting along his rifle and doing another sweep of the camp. Even the Privileged’s guards were disguising themselves as ordinary soldiers to stay hidden.

  All he could do was hope that one of them made a mistake before the sun set.

  “I guess,” he said, referring to the Privileged, “that staying hidden means they’re not engaging either Styke or the Ghost Irregulars. So that’s good?”
r />   Ka-poel pulled a sour face.

  “Yeah. They can just wait and kill us all tomorrow when we’re defending the city.” Taniel swore to himself. His body ached from crouching in the treetops all day. It was a deep ache and was even leaking through the powder trance he kept up so he could watch the enemy movements with the greatest precision. “You haven’t seen any Wardens, have you?” he asked.

  Ka-poel shook her head.

  “Lindet said they had a few.” A shiver went down his spine. “I really don’t want to run into a Warden.” He said a quick prayer that Lindet’s spies were wrong, but he wasn’t going to waste too much hope on the thought. Wardens were sorcery-twisted humans, spawned by the horrid magics of the Kez cabal, and most Kez Privileged kept them nearby. They were fast, incredibly strong, and merciless. Like rabid dogs they knew no fear, and could move so swiftly through the ranks, killing as they went, that they were worth thirty or forty ordinary soldiers on a battlefield.

  Tomorrow was not going to be a good day.

  “Wait,” Taniel said, half to himself. He paused in his long examination of the Kez army and adjusted his aim slightly, looking down the barrel of his rifle. An extra pinch of powder sharpened his eyesight, and he noticed four Kez infantrymen walking in a very tight formation around a fifth. All five men’s shoulders were touching and none of them were carrying muskets.

  Privileged hated being too close to gunpowder.

  Taniel focused on the infantryman in the middle. A man of medium height, his shako was slightly off-kilter and his uniform seemed quite a bit too big on him. Taniel watched the group march for several minutes, noting the way they lagged behind, how the man in the middle walked slightly bow-legged, like someone who was used to riding horses or in carriages.

  Taniel pulled the trigger, burning powder as the crack of the rifle echoed in his ear. He guided the bullet along its path, adjusting for wind, drop, and troop movement, fueling its trajectory with miniscule flares of powder until it blew through the middle soldier’s throat, splashing crimson across the tan coats of his companions.

  As he fell, Taniel felt the smallest surge of sorcery dispel as the disguise dropped, and he was able to see and sense the Privileged in the Else. Taniel forewent his normal examination of the following chaos and nodded to Ka-poel as he prepared to switch spots.

  “Just one to go.”

  Taniel didn’t find the last Privileged until well after midnight. The Kez had made camp less than two miles from the outskirts of Planth and gunshots had stopped hours ago, telling him that the Ghost Irregulars and Mad Lancers had pulled back to get some sleep for the night.

  Small scouting parties scoured the swamps around the camp, no doubt looking for Taniel but none of them traveling far enough away from the camp to find any sign of him and Ka-poel. Taniel could easily clear a two-mile shot with the proper line of sight and the Kez had left the trees and were now camping in open farmland.

  Ka-poel signaled him by gently tapping him on the back of the hand. He took a sniff of powder and made her repeat her flurry of hand-signals twice before he got the gist of her message and began scanning the very center of the army camp for one particular tent among hundreds of others. He found it quickly, his Third Eye revealing a pastel glow, like the flickering of a candle flame, leaking through the Else.

  He smiled to himself, the tension leaving his body immediately as he lined up the shot. This was what the entire plan hinged upon—the death of the last Privileged—and he was going to manage it with enough time to slip back to Planth for a few hours of sleep before morning. He examined the target, watching the light flicker in the Else. The Privileged must have fallen asleep and let his disguise slip.

  He would die for that mistake.

  Taniel slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger. He burned powder, counting quietly under his breath. “. . . eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve…” Through his sorcery, he felt the bullet hit its target. He ignored the discharge of the rifle still echoing in his ears and waited for the flicker of the Else to fade as the Privileged’s brains dripped down the side of his tent.

  The light didn’t fade. Rather, if flared to life and suddenly moved, as if the Privileged had leapt to his feet. A cold sweat broke out on the back of Taniel’s neck. The shot had missed. Missed, or…

  Taniel knew what had happened almost immediately. The Privileged had let his disguise lag on purpose, surrounding himself with a shield of sorcery. Taniel’s bullet had pinged off the shield harmlessly and allowed the Privileged to pinpoint exactly where Taniel was.

  “It didn’t kill him,” Taniel whispered desperately. “We have to move. Now.”

  He handed Ka-poel his rifle and searched for a handhold, almost losing his balance. Taniel forced himself to pause, take a deep breath, and descend calmly.

  That’s when he heard the noise.

  It was a snuffling sound, not unlike those he’d heard from pigs searching through countryside streets for leftover morsels. This sound was much louder, however, almost directly below their position. Taniel expected to hear infantry crashing through the underbrush or feel approaching sorcery as the Privileged moved within range to retaliate, but this sound was more terrifying than either of those things.

  He exchanged a glance with Ka-poel. Her eyes were wide, attentive, and she seemed to be sniffing the wind like a fox.

  “Warden,” he whispered.

  Ka-poel worked her way onto the end of the branch and leaned out, looking down. She nodded back at him. The snuffling stopped, and the branches trembled as something very heavy ascended the trunk of the cypress.

  Ka-poel swung the rifle off her back, swiftly reloading. Taniel, his heart thumping, tossed a powder charge into his mouth whole, crunching the grit between his teeth, swallowing the bitter sulfur as strength coursed through him. With so much powder he could outrun a horse, punch out an ox, or outstrike a snake. But could he kill a Warden?

  “Rifle,” he said urgently. He caught sight of the creature below him, dark, beady eyes looking up from beneath an overhanging brow. What had once been a human man was now shaped by the sorceries of the Kez cabal into something else—a creature of strength and speed, meant to tear the cabal’s enemies limb from limb; a monster created to kill powder mages.

  He took the rifle from Ka-poel’s outstretched hands and flipped it around, sighting down the barrel, only to find the Warden gone.

  He listened desperately, eyes searching the dark tangle of branches below him. The silence seemed to laugh back at him, as if the Warden had disappeared into this air. The realization that he’d gone from hunter to hunted in a handful of heartbeats turned his blood cold.

  “Where is he?”

  Ka-poel had that fox-like look on her face again, head tilted to one side. She’d lost him, too, and that did not bode well. Taniel searched nearby branches and craned his head. Had the Warden fallen? There was nowhere else it could have gone, unless…

  Taniel spun just as the creature emerged from around the thick trunk of the cypress, moving between branches like an ape Taniel had once seen in the Adopest zoo. It was huge, hunched over, towering above him at six and a half feet and coming so quickly he could barely raise his rifle in time.

  The barrel of Taniel’s rifle flashed, stock bucking in his hands as the shot took the Warden just above the heart. The creature didn’t even slow, and Taniel had to fling his rifle to one side, hoping the shoulder strap caught on a nearby branch, before the Warden could grasp it in its big, muscled hands.

  The beast lashed out, catching Taniel’s shoulder with a glancing blow that threw him off his perch. He fell half a dozen feet before he hit a tree limb, a sharp pain going through his chest. He grabbed a handful of leaves, then a branch to keep him from tumbling further. Stars floated in front of his vision and he pulled himself up onto the branch, trying to focus through the pain.

  Above him, Ka-poel squared off against the big creature without an ounce of fear in her. She balanced on the end of the branch, nowhere else to run
, and thick, black cuts across the Warden’s face attested to her skill with the machete in her hand. The Warden snapped its jaws at her like a wolf, growling angrily, bracing itself for a charge.

  It would grab Ka-poel and send them both to their deaths forty feet below.

  Desperately, Taniel got to his feet, balancing on the tree limb, and leapt upwards. He grabbed the Warden by the ankle, pulling down with all his weight.

  The Warden lost its footing, letting out a yelp as it fell, chest and chin hitting the branch on the way down. Claw-like fingernails scrabbled for a hold and Taniel threw himself against the trunk of the cypress to avoid being grabbed as the creature fell.

  The Warden crashed through the lower branches until it hit the thick roots of the cypress far below, its body twisted in an unnatural shape. Taniel’s relief was immediately arrested as the creature began to move. It was still alive.

  It soon began to howl and thrash, trying to right itself, no doubt ready to ascend with all the fury of an animal in pain. Taniel found his rifle tangled in a nearby branch and checked the mechanisms quickly before reloading as fast as he dare.

  Grappling with a wounded Warden, even with all his strength and speed, would probably get him killed. He had one shot to finish this.

  He secured his foothold and aimed downward.

  A Warden, he could hear his father’s voice say in his head, is a creature twisted into madness. Its skin is like leather, bones like iron. Skeletal mutations surround its heart and sorcery will keep it alive long after any other beast would give up the ghost. The surest way to kill it is to penetrate the brain—and to do that takes considerable force.

  Taniel fired a shot, putting an extra charge worth of powder behind his sorcery. He forced the power of the charge inward, to keep the bullet from fragmenting when it hit the Warden’s thick skull, then pushed with his sorcery. The bullet entered the Wardens head and bounced around inside, turning its brain to porridge. It looked up at Taniel, eyes glazing over with a look of surprise, before slumping over.