Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy)

by Pagliassotti Dru

  “What did the uniforms look like?” Kammel asked.

  “Red pants, dark blue jacket top,” Taya replied, uncertainly. “Most of the soldiers were wearing dark blue overcoats with the Alzanan gryphon on the breast.”

  “Piping? Buttons? Frogging? Epaulets? Braid?” Seeing her blank look, a lictor pushed a pen and paper in front of her. “Can you draw the uniform for us?”

  She tried, identifying the colors as well as she could under their questioning.

  “Sounds like the Abandanza Family,” someone guessed. “Now they’re an old military family. Lots of investments in armaments.”

  “And closely tied to the king,” someone confirmed. “What’s their relationship with the Mazzolettis?”

  “Doesn’t the whole army belong to the king?” Taya asked, confused.

  “Each Family governs its own territory and maintains its own military force,” General Kammel explained tersely. “The king’s army is composed of the combined private militias of every Family. It isn’t logical, it isn’t well-unified, and it isn’t efficient.”

  “The Families often operate autonomously, too,” a lictor added. “Or at least, that’s what Agosti is going to tell us.”

  “‘Graph this information to the Council,” General Kammel ordered. She turned back to Taya. “How many—”

  A train whistle pierced the air. Everyone in the room glanced at the case clock standing in a corner.

  “Three hours to Kovolo,” someone murmured.

  “Lady speed them,” someone else said. A murmured response filled the room.

  “Lictors?” Taya asked, and received a nod in response.

  “The 6th Regiment. They’ll find that outpost, and if the exalted is still there, they’ll get him out,” Kammel assured her.

  “Thank you.” Taya didn’t know whether she should hope Cristof had been left behind, too badly injured to be moved, or taken aloft, where he might be killed if Ondinium began to fire at the Alzanan ships. Both possibilities made her ill.

  The interrogation went on another fifteen minutes before Kammel was satisfied.

  “Thank you, Icarus,” she said at last. “I think that’s all we need. Captain, return her armature and show her to the mess. Icarus, you look like you could use some rest. Get something to eat and find a place to nap, but don’t go too far. We may need to consult you again.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  The captain gave her directions and returned to the meeting. Feeling oddly alone despite the noise and bustle around her, Taya walked toward the long stone building. Her stomach had settled down from the nightmarish ride, at least enough for her gnawing hunger to override any lingering sense of disequilibrium.

  She’d never been to Glasgar before. It was one of the old, sprawling fortified cities that dotted the high mountains throughout the nation. Like the fortress she’d just left, it was an imperial-era feat of solid stone architecture.

  Ondinium’s capital was older than Glasgar, but it had been in a state of constant development since its near-destruction in the Last War. Its skyline was full of wireferry cables and factory chimneys and its shops boasted contemporary facades, cheerful glass windows, and brightly painted metal signs. Even in conservative Primus, the exalteds’ estates reflected a variety of post-war architectural innovations.

  Glasgar, on the other hand, was pure empire, full of blocky, weathered stone. The military base didn’t boast any wireferries or factories, although some of the taller buildings had poles on their roofs that flew large, geometrically patterned signal flags.

  A military icarus landed a few yards away and, seeing her silver wings, gave her a short nod as he locked up his own. For a moment Taya was tempted to ask if there was anything she could do to help, but then her stomach growled and she changed her mind. She would be in no shape to do any long-term flying until she’d eaten.

  The harried staff in the mess hall didn’t bother asking for her papers when she joined the queue. A mixed group of men and women sat at the long tables eating together— some wore uniforms and some didn’t, and a variety of castemarks were in evidence, although the lictor’s stripe was most prevalent. A group of flight-suited but wingless icarii had gathered around one table. She considered joining them, but they wore military corps insignia and seemed deeply engrossed in their conversation.

  Instead, she chose a single seat by herself and began to eat. The buzz around her was all about the invasion. She detected a combination of shock and outrage in the discussion, as well as a certain level of anticipation. Speculation ran rampant— how fast could the dirigibles move? How well were they armed? How many more were on the way? Why were the Alzanans invading in the middle of winter? How many more lictors were being mobilized? How did you fight a flying vessel? Several dedicate military engineers were saying with obvious delight that the attack would force the Council to increase the budget for heavy artillery, while others were wondering if the ships could be defeated with something as simple as incendiary arrows shot down from the peaks through which they passed.

  Nobody said anything about Exalted Forlore. Taya wondered if the information about his capture had been withheld or if nobody in the room cared.

  She was halfway through her second bowl of stew when the door to the mess hall slammed.

  “They sighted the ships!”

  A roar of excitement met the declaration. The dedicate carrying the news jumped on a table, raising his voice to talk over it.

  “Five dirigibles in Dayaduar Pass. Recon says the wind’s giving them trouble.”

  Cheers rose. Taya nodded to herself. Whatever intelligence the Alzanans had gathered from Exalted Neuillan, it hadn’t included the kind of flight data that only an icarus could provide. She moved her soup bowl aside and unfolded Cristof’s map, locating Glasgar and searching for Dayaduar Pass. The dedicate on the table was saying something about the size of the ships, but she ignored him, scrutinizing the tiny print on the map for some indication of the Alzanans’ location.

  “About here,” said a familiar voice. A black-gloved finger landed on Dayaduar Pass.

  “Lieutenant!” Taya leaped to her feet. The Demican lictor stepped backward with an air of alarm as she threw her arms around his neck. “How did you get here?”

  “Icarus. Your armature is gouging me,” he said, his voice strained.

  Taya dropped back to her heels, still clutching his uniform sleeves. She could tell from the stiff way he was standing that she was making him uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. She felt like the earth had suddenly steadied beneath her feet.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just so good to see you.”

  “I was told you would be here.” He looked down at her hands. “We can talk while you eat.”

  Taya reluctantly released him and sat down, ignoring her stew.

  “How did you get here?” she repeated.

  “I was on the train to Kovolo when it was diverted to pick up the 6th Regiment. When I heard that an icarus had reported the dirigibles’ presence, I thought it might be you. Where is the exalted?”

  Taya’s fear and dismay returned like a surge of nausea.

  “The Alzanans have him. Exalted Neuillan shot Cris. He was alive, but…” Taya reached out, grasping Amcathra’s arm again. “It was the same side that was hurt in the train crash. I don’t know how bad it was. There was nothing I could do for him, so I turned and ran.”

  “That was the appropriate choice.”

  “But I don’t know if he’s all right,” she said, agonized.

  “Was he shot with an Alzanan pistol?”

  “No. His own needle gun.”

  “Needle guns are seldom fatal.”

  “I know, but….”

  “You made the correct choice to leave your husband and alert your country.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be any comfort if— if
he dies.”

  “The Alzanans will treat his wounds. He is more useful to them alive than dead. Is he on one of the dirigibles?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Why?”

  Amcathra hesitated. Taya’s hand tightened on his arm.

  “They’re going to burn them, aren’t they? The ships.”

  “It is the most efficient form of counterattack, assuming the ships are using the Alzanans’ usual inflammable gas for buoyancy.”

  “But they’ll kill Cris, too.”

  “The Council considers Exalted Forlore to be expendable.”

  “No!” Taya stood, furious. After all Cristof had done for Ondinium? She would go straight to the general and—

  “I do not consider him expendable, Icarus.”

  She froze and forced herself to sink back down into her seat, fixing her eyes on him. Of course not. Cristof was his friend. And so, she assumed, was she.

  He had killed his nephew to save her, after all.

  “How do we rescue him?”

  The lieutenant glanced down at the map.

  “I cannot counter a command to destroy the ships,” he said, his voice so low that he might have been talking to himself. “If the exalted is aboard one of them, he must be extracted before we attack.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You must. There is a pump on the side of this building. Wash. Requisition a new flight suit. Wait for me.”

  “Wash….” She looked down at her leather suit, registering how filthy it had become in the last few days. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “We will both appreciate it.” He stood. “I will meet you here in an hour. Try to rest. You must be able to think clearly.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She reached out to grasp his arm again, knowing he didn’t like it but needing to emphasize her words. “Really.”

  He nodded and left, avoiding the crowd around the table where the dedicate was still answering questions. Taya bolted down the rest of her stew, folded her map, and went outside to find the supply depot.

  * * *

  Between the noise in the mess hall and her worries about Cristof, she hadn’t expected to fall asleep after she’d washed and changed. But she must have, because she woke to somebody shaking her armature and calling her name.

  “Taya? Taya Icarus?”

  “Huh? What?” She batted the stranger’s hand away and sat up, groggy. Her entire upper body ached. When she’d stripped off her flight suit to wash, she’d found long, dark bruises criss-crossing her chest and arms, souvenirs of her rough ride to Glasgar. Now she felt every aching inch of them.

  “Lieutenant Amcathra told me to fetch you,” the young lictor said, self-importantly.

  “Then let’s go,” she said, running her hands through her short hair. “Where are the Alzanans?”

  “About forty minutes away, at their current rate of progress,” the lictor said, leading her outside and through the streets. He sounded enthusiastic. “We have a relay line set up to report their progress. Some lictors from one of the outlook stations tried firing at them, but their rifles didn’t have enough range.”

  “What about cannon?”

  “Dayaduar Pass is so sheer, nobody thought it needed to be defended from invaders.” The lictor shook his head, turning down another of Glasgar’s narrow stone streets. “Can you believe those bastards? Challenging us in the air!”

  “What else are we doing?”

  “The army’s being rallied and the signal stations are on high alert in case this is a distraction. Every train has been diverted to military use and I hear the most probable targets are being evacuated. Including all nonessential personnel here.” He waved a hand, and Taya saw that within the last hour, the number of people in Glasgar’s streets had noticeably diminished.

  “What about the capital?”

  “They’ll never get that far.” He led her up a long, narrow set of stairs cut into Glasgar’s defensive wall, which zig-zagged up the mountain slope. At the top, he pointed higher.

  “The lieutenant is up there, on that watchtower. Can you fly there?”

  “If I’m cleared.”

  “You’re fine. Fly safely.”

  She raised a hand and climbed up on the wall, wincing as Nayan’s armature dug into the bruises left by the railway harness. The new flight suit helped. It had been designed for military use, so it had more fleece padding than her old courier’s suit, and boiled leather plates had been added wherever they wouldn’t restrict her movement. She’d transferred all of her personal belongings to the suit’s pockets, even the cheese and sausage she’d taken from Nayan’s house. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but she’d learned her lesson: never fly without food.

  Lieutenant Amcathra was overseeing a small group of lictors and dedicates who were hard at work preparing the fort’s artillery. One group was setting up two heavy guns that faced out into the air. Long ribbons of very large brass cartridges were piled up next to them. Nearby, another lictor was setting up a mortar. The dedicates were arranging signal flags and monitoring the other watchtowers through field glasses.

  Amcathra, too, had a set of field glasses around his neck and a large rifle slung across his back. To Taya’s surprise, he held out a hand to steady her as she landed on the crenellated parapet.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, hopping down off the wall.

  “I have spoken to General Kammel.” He walked away, and she followed. “She is sympathetic but refuses to release any of her icarii for a rescue attempt. She says she cannot divert valuable human resources to search for an exalted who may or may not be aboard any of the ships.”

  “What about me?” Taya asked, anxiously.

  “She was significantly silent regarding your deployment during the battle.” Amcathra stopped next to a pile of equipment. “If you succeed in rescuing your husband, I do not expect the Council will be so ungrateful as to reprimand you. If you fail, it is likely you will die and it will not need to issue a reprimand.”

  “So, you’re advising me not to fail and survive,” Taya said, grimly.

  “It would not be the most salutary course of action.” He picked up a narrow canvas pack dangling with straps. “This is an ondium rescue harness. Have you ever used one?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of them.” Taya took it, startled to find it all but weightless.

  “The carrying case is lined with lead to counterweight the harness. The case rips apart here and here, with these red straps. Let the case fall; it is unimportant. The harness is vest-shaped with hook-and-eye closures, and it can be attached to an armature with the vest facing forward or backward. It is sized for an adult and zeroes at approximately 170 pounds.”

  “That’s about how much Cristof weighs.”

  “The exalted does not weigh enough for his height.”

  “That’s what he says, too.”

  Amcathra strapped the case to her armature, centered and low on her keel. “Are you certain he is being held hostage?”

  “I’m pretty sure that was the plan.”

  “Then he is likely to be with the commanding officer.”

  She nodded. “I’ll bet the general, Neuillan, and Cristof are all on the same ship. Neuillan’s supposed to be an advisor, and the general wanted Cristof’s knowledge, too.”

  “How many people can a ship carry?”

  “I’m not sure. The one I saw being loaded carried twelve soldiers and a lot of cargo.”

  “They will be armed and alert.” Amcathra jerked on the last strap, tightening it, and stepped back. “You are unlikely to succeed.”

  Taya looked askance at him. “It wouldn’t hurt to be reassuring, Lieutenant.”

  He grunted, reaching down to pick up a holster.

  “This contains a signal gun with an extra flare cartridge. We have established a line of reco
n icarii; when you land with the exalted, fire it and someone will find you. Remember that the gas inside the envelopes is inflammable.”

  She took it. Amcathra held out a second holster.

  “This is a needle pistol. I hope you will not need to use it, Icarus, but it is better to kill than to be killed.”

  Taya’s mouth was dry as she eyed the weapon. “I’m not even supposed to touch that.”

  He slid the weapon out and showed it to her.

  “This is the safety. If it is here, the gun will not fire. If it is here, it will. I will leave the safety on.” He clicked it. “Remember to take the safety off when you enter the vessel. This is the magazine that holds the ammunition. It can be removed and replaced like this. And this is the canister for compressed air. I will give you a spare magazine and compressed-air canister.”

  “The Council could take my wings for this.”

  “We will address that problem if you survive.”

  “I’d really rather not carry a gun.”

  A flash of irritation crossed the lieutenant’s face.

  “Then give it to Exalted Forlore,” he barked. “He is not afraid to kill.”

  Taya snatched the gun from his hands, startled. He’s worried about Cristof, too, she realized.

  “Where do I put it?” she asked, meekly. Amcathra helped her loop the two holsters onto her belt and secure the ends to her legs. He snapped straps over the top to keep the guns from sliding out. She bounced on her toes. The rescue harness weighed nothing, but the guns were heavy.

  “Well?” Amcathra asked, watching her. His face was expressionless again.

  “I’m fine. Is there anything else?”

  He looked down at the pile and selected a long, thick tube.

  “This is an observation ladder. I do not know if you will need it, but it could be useful.”

  She nodded. Another ondium tool in a counterweighted case. It would add to her drag, but it wouldn’t add to her weight. He slid it into a long pocket down one leg of her suit. She twisted to look at the matching pocket on her other leg.

  “What’s that one for?” she asked.