Slowly, stepping together, they began to walk into the clearing.
Caine saw the refuse heap ahead, only another dozen yards away. His skin crawled, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Though they had threaded the needle thus far, there were still dozens of men moving around him. They had wound a precarious path through the gaps in the light, pausing several times as soldiers passed around them. He cringed each time, but the umbrella had held. Another few yards gained.
Until.
A lone corpsman stepped into sight, walking behind a trash laden laborjack. As the lumbering metal beast unloaded its refuse, Caine saw the man reach for something in his service jacket. The laborjack turned about with a series of clockwork lurches, and stepped back the way it had come. The corpsman did not. Out came a silver flask, and with a sheepish look the way he had come, the man took a long pull.
Caine waited for the corpsman to leave, but he didn’t, his eyes roving about until they fixed directly on the space distorted by Ace’s umbrella. With another pull from his flask, his face twisted into a mask of bewilderment.
Caine internalized a curse. What now? Pull the man into the umbrella and cut his throat? What other choice did he have? Caine willed Ace forward, ready to strike. For his part, the corpsman stepped a pace closer, mouth agape. Caine drew his service knife and tensed.
The man suddenly looked with horror at his flask and tossed it to the ground. He whirled about and ran back to his crew with a whimper. Caine followed Ace, stepping past the slowly draining flask.
At last, the refuse heap was theirs. Eyeing the culvert, he ushered his warjack within. Ace easily pushed aside rusted bars, and in a moment its bulk was hidden from sight.
“Wait here until I get back. This shouldn’t take long.”
Caine began to climb.
Caine shimmied from the drainpipe to a toothing stone, and from there reached across to grasp the slit of a murder hole. Safe from the light of the torches below, he was nevertheless not out of danger yet. Another story above, sentries marched along the ramparts. He could hear their chatter and smell the smoke of their pipes. He concentrated, looking to the next murder hole. It was too far to reach, at least by climbing alone. Bending space around him, he pictured his hand gripping it. An instant later, so it was. He braced himself in his new position and looked for the next handhold. An adjacent loop hole was in reach, and he slid slowly across, then grabbed another drainpipe. Shimmying a few more feet up, he saw the roof of a parapet just over the heads of the sentries. Yards above, perhaps, but close enough for him. He caught his breath a moment, and gathered his focus before risking another flash forward.
There.
In an instant, he found himself upon the eaves of the parapet. He paused to catch his breath, watching the sentries below like a spider from its web. Sure that they had not seen his passing, he crawled the rest of the way to the summit of the parapet. The view of the city from this height was spectacular. He peered over the rooftops below, recalling his directions from Rebald. There was a little pub down the south side, not far from here. He marked a path, and started slinking forward.
“Do y’see that!” a sentry shouted, somewhere below him. Caine spun around, clutching at a weather vane. He looked at the guardsman, expecting their eyes would meet. Instead, it was to the south woods the man pointed. Other sentries were gathering to his call. Caine followed their gaze out over the dark of the wilds. He saw the rolling hills, woods, even the swamps of Cygnar to the south. He did not, however, see what the fuss was over.
He was about to turn back to the city when a flash of pyrotechnics lit the night sky in the distant south. Then another, and another. There was no mistaking cannon fire, even from this distance. It was a battle. Squinting to spot where they were coming from, a sick feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach.
“Bollocks. I’ve got to go back,” he whispered.
With a groan, he let go the weather vane, and flashed down. The sentries heard only a faint whoosh at his passing. As he appeared on a drainpipe above the trash heap, he let himself fall, aiming for some discarded canvas wrappings. He grunted on impact, and came up sputtering. Ace poked his head from within the culvert, curious. Caine was already on his feet, and pumping his legs as fast as they would go across the belt. He could feel its thoughts probing his own as he ran.
Umbrella? it asked.
“There’s no time! RUN!” He thought back, running past some bewildered corpsmen.
“Hey! You can’t …” one of them shouted. In the next instant, the man was nearly trampled as Ace bounded past, the earth shaking with its heavy footfalls. Around the camp, the alarm went up. Llaelese regulars came running, weapons at the ready. Too late. The odd couple of Caine and Ace had dashed, flashed and leapt their way clear of the belt before a single shot could be fired, or anyone could figure what had happened.
Caine leapt over brush and puddle alike, running faster than he’d ever been pushed at the academy. Sweat poured down his face, and here and there, he flashed forward where the marsh would have stuck him in. He vanished mid-stride, appearing yards ahead on a tilted tree trunk. He ran up the ramp it created, higher and higher. At the end, some twenty feet in the air, he leapt clear of a wide pond below. He struck the soft ground on his feet and kept running without breaking stride. Ace was born for this. It easily kept pace alongside, through puddle or brush.
They were nearly there.
He could hear the strange mortar fire of the enemy, and see it just over the trees. He had to keep going. It may have already been too late, but he had to try.
When Caine at last broke into the clearing, he found the blank faces of a half dozen weapon crews manning both mortar and field gun batteries. He had crashed into the back end of a mercenary line, and his surprise was mirrored on the faces of the hardened men before him. For a moment, they were speechless, their eyes looking up at the shadowy hulk in his wake. One by one, they began to fumble for their sidearms, shouting as they did.
Caine looked at Ace with a feral grin. He ran forward, his Spellstorms drawn and spitting fire. To the left and right of his approach, men fell, their weapons unfired.
Ace advanced, firing as it went. The overpowered Longarm pulped a mercenary as he tried to duck behind his mortar. The man crumpled without a sound, oozing blood into the wet ground.
Only a single shot resisted their charge. A trooper aimed and fired at Caine, a second too late. Caine had already vanished in smoke, to reappear behind the stunned man. Caine executed him from behind with a single blast to the base of his skull.
Looking around, he heard battle raging beyond the thicket, into the baron’s estate. He looked at Ace, shaking his head.
“Just what do you suppose this is all about?” Ace offered no reply, watching his master in silence.
“That makes two of us, then.” Caine shook his head and reloaded his Spellstorms, while compelling Ace to scuttle the abandoned guns. The agile warjack obliged, bringing his broad axe down in three fluid strokes. As he did, Caine saw company coming.
“Why have you men stopped firing? We are on the verge of assaulting their position!” The shout of a woman sounded through the woods. It was her voice. With it came red eyes in the tree line, and the smell of smoke in the air. Trees cracked and snapped as they came, and Caine compelled Ace back to cover. Like a shadow, his ‘jack disappeared.
“What have you done? What have you done?” A woman’s voice shouted from the other side of the thicket. Lily Von Baum regarded the carnage with shock, brandishing a cruel looking grenade launcher. Her wide eyes narrowed as she spotted him. The claws of her platemail snapped down, digging into the earth. So braced, and leveled her grenade launcher his way. Caine groaned.
Thump thump thump!
Shells whistled in the sky, and burst spectacularly overhead. Reflexively, Caine flashed away, narrowly avoiding the barrage. Her claws unfolding back up, she limped toward him, bathed in a halo of light. Her launcher cracked open, and she slid more shells hom
e, before snapping the weapon shut again.
“What a waste of blood! We came to talk to the baron, only to find your men waiting in ambush!” she shouted, scanning the woods around her.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Caine shouted from cover.
“Liar!”
Caine dashed across the thicket, from one tree to another. As he did, he lined Lily up with both Spellstorms and snapped off a pair of shots. Deadeye shots each, he focused his magic to make them count. The muzzle flash of his Spellstorms gleamed with rune-halo, and their shots spit forth to strike her square in the face.
She didn’t flinch.
The nimbus of light around her dimmed, but deflected the shots away. Her eyes flashed as though charged by the attack and she gestured to Caine’s tree with her weapon. Like a locomotive, her towering Mule warjack, Argiv, began to speed forward. A churning, earthshaking charge, Caine leapt out from his tree and ran headlong to meet it. The two raced toward one another. At the last second, Caine leapt up, his foot catching the head of the beast like a stepping stone. Into the air he vaulted, a wide arc. His guns trained, they spat once more at Lily.
From out of the thicket, Ace answered Argiv’s missed charge. A single shot blasted from his Longarm, and the mighty Mule’s head and the hull behind it erupted in scything metal shards. The beast stumbled, but did not fall. For her part, Lily reacted to the loss of her beast’s cortex with a shrill cry.
“If you’re so innocent, lay down your weapons! We can end this now!” Caine said from the cover of a new tree.
Whump Whump Whump!
Three shots whistled down. Caine was a heart beat too late this time. The shells detonated overheard in a spectacular airburst, and he reeled with the concussive force and overpressure. His armor’s power-field dimmed, and he staggered back, firing blind as he went. Crouching by a stump, he tried to shake off the fireworks still bursting in his eyes. She saw her opening. Claws retracted, she stepped forward while reloading with practiced movements. She marched on him now, fearless. She was soon mere yards away.
“I think we’re well past that, Captain.” Her voice trembled with building rage. “My family has never had cause to trust your flag, and you’ve reminded me of that today. More to the point, I’ve lost assets and time! I’m not leaving until that welching baron pays us what he owes, adjusted for this fiasco! Are you satisfied to know he is our client? At what cost do you have your answer?
Headless Argiv stumbled on still, before tripping into the swamp. His fire doused, he stirred no more. Hedo, however, was far from done. The second Mule stamped in after the reclusive Ace. Ace fired again as Hedo came on, blasting the Mule’s mace into shards a second before it was brought down over his head. Yet Hedo was undeterred. He dropped the shattered weapon, and lunged at Ace in a lopsided melee. With contempt, Hedo reached forward with a great iron fist, and picked Ace up by the Longarm. Ace flailed at the larger warjack with its axe, but Hedo shrugged the blows off and began to drag the lighter ‘jack from the thicket. The Longarm was soon bent in half in the futile tug of war. With a great heave, Hedo tossed the smaller machine out into the clearing. Ace landed badly, rolling head over heels. Mighty Hedo strode after its fallen foe, its own cannon blasting Ace’s mangled Longarm to bits. He trampled over Ace, without breaking stride. The Mule’s attention shifted to Caine.
Wincing at the loss of Ace’s ordnance, Caine staggered to his feet. His head was clearing from Lily’s barrage, and she stared after her beast as it came to flank him. She’s focused her all on that Mule, he thought. Ducking back from his stump, he made for a deadfall and leveled a fusillade of shots in her direction. Her shield seemed less formidable this time and dimmed with the attack, but didn’t break.
“By Morrow, she’s a hard nut to crack!” Caine growled, still moving, and headed for his next point of cover. The Mule Hedo had not lost him.
Hedo came after him in a rush, and was gaining fast. At the last second, Caine spun in place, to meet the beast, and drew every ounce of his focus into a single surge. A thunder-strike of incandescent force erupted from him, and lashed into the charging beast. Hedo was slammed straight back, its momentum completely blunted. Bowled over, Hedo slid along the ground, while blue mist dissipated from his armor.
Caine knew the attack would cost him. He’d taken his eye off her, for only an instant, perhaps, but it was enough. He knew she was still close. He lamely turned back to face her, raising a Spellstorm in her direction, only to find she had closed within arm’s reach. He never even saw the butt of her weapon as it came round in a wide swing.
It connected with his jaw, sending him to the ground like a sack of bricks.
Caine’s world was a blur as his power-field ruptured. Gasping, he looked up at a hazy figure silhouetted in moonlight. With her free hand, she drew her pistol and leveled it at his face.
Wiping blood from his lip, he looked up dazed, and managed a weak smile. Even as he did, he reached across the clearing for Ace. Could it get to him in time? Though his own eyes were failing him, in Ace the world remained clear. He watched Lily standing over his body. Her big warjack was in the way, moving to regain its feet. With a heave, battered Ace was up and moving. She did not seem to notice it had gained two strides toward her, so complete was her focus on him.
“This was your doing. I want you know that,” she said, her own breathing labored.
“Can’t win them all, darlin’,” he replied with a cough.
To Ace, he gave it all. Everything left in him went into the wounded beast, and he flopped back in the muck. His warjack had turned a few strides into a run, and now the axe was raised high. With uncanny grace, the light warjack bounded up and over the recovering Hedo. Hedo swatted after him, too late. High into the air, the warjack leapt and came down upon Lily, its broad axe arcing down with brutal force. With an audible pop, her powerfield burst, and she fell back with a scream.
Overcome with the exertion, Caine blacked out.
A moment or perhaps an hour passed, Caine could not say. Yet there were now strong hands pulling him up, and he reckoned it had all been for nothing. He had lost, and the mercs would surely end him.
A blurry face leaned in, slapping him.
“Are you all right, sir?” Caine realized he was surrounded by Gerdie and a group of battle weary trenchers.
“Did we … win?” he coughed, sitting up.
Gerdie looked gravely serious, but nodded. “Well, they’ve been driven off, sir. I thought they had us dead to rights. We were badly pinned down by their artillery. They seemed ready to run over us back there, but then … the guns just stopped. They couldn’t advance without them. I see now we have you to thank for that.”
“How many dead, Gerdie?”
“We’ve taken our share, sir,” Gerdie took a sober breath. “Sergeant Holly is going squad to squad for a final count.”
Caine laid back down, sick to his stomach with such grim news. He sniffed the air. There was an awful lot of smoke, and it occurred to him there was a reddish glow coming through the woods.
“Is something burning?” he rasped, rubbing a temple.
“That’s the other thing, sir.”
Caine sat up immediately. Through the tree line of the clearing, a fire raged against the night sky. It was the Malsham mansion. Just within the iron gates, a figure could be seen wandering erratically. He was screaming at anyone who would listen. His silhouette before the fire was unmistakable. It was the baron himself and, even from here, they could hear him.
“Where is he!?” he screamed. “Where is your fool of a Captain?”
PART THREE
Yesterday
Spring, AR 596: Bloodsbane Province
As he walked arm in arm with a pair of trenchers, Caine felt as though he’d been trampled by a warhorse. He was streaked with blood and dirt, and his jaw tingled like seltzer water. Limping alongside his master, Ace appeared to have fared worse. The warjack was battered and dented, the place where his left arm had
been now a tangle of cable and bent rods. As they limped past the detritus and bodies on either side of the road, Caine shook his head, numbly. He swore under his breath as he was brought within the front gates of the Malsham estate.
The grounds were a disaster of collateral damage from the battle during the night. Across the yard, Caine could see the baron’s burning mansion was well past saving. Dawn broke from the east, revealing trenchers and riflemen alike scrambling to contain the inferno, or help those who had been evacuated.
As Caine approached, the baron caught sight of him and moved to intercept. Sergeant Holly intervened, putting his large frame between his beleaguered commander and the deranged Baron.
“Easy then!” the Trencher sergeant shouted, putting a calloused hand up. The baron was incensed, flailing to push past the brawny sergeant.
“You will answer for this! You will answer for this disaster you have caused!” the baron screamed, leaning around Holly. Caine met his gaze unflinching.
“Where is she?” Caine rasped.
“What are you talking about?” the baron snarled.
“The baroness, you idiot! Is she all right?”
“I don’t … do not ... Do not change the subject!” the baron stammered, still flailing to get past Sergeant Holly.
“Sir ... she’s here … We got everyone out safe!” Gerdie shouted from across the yard. He was conferring with the baron’s servants, who had gathered by the stables well back of the blazing mansion. Among them, Caine saw the baroness wrapped in a blanket. She looked tired and disheveled, but otherwise no worse for wear. Gerdie left the group, returning to Caine’s side.
As he approached Caine noticed his adjutant’s cheek had been badly torn and he whistled.
“Morrow sake, Gerdie, ... yeh got clipped.”
Gerdie nodded grimly, reaching up to touch the wound lightly.
“It’s not so bad, sir.”
“What happened here, man?” Caine gasped, entranced by the fire. The baron was still shouting an oath over the shoulders of Holly. He heard Caine’s question and waved a fist.
The Way of Caine (The Warcaster Chronicles) Page 8