“Your men did this! They started this fight!”
Caine looked at Gerdie, trying to focus his eyes. “Wait. What? We let the mercs be. What were they doing here in the first place?”
Gerdie nodded. “Malsham is half right, sir. They came sometime after you left, said they wanted to talk to the baron. They were … very surprised to find us here.”
Caine grimaced.
“There was something of a standoff. Then, Private Lehr happened. His weapon misfired, killing one of theirs. They did not handle it well. In fact, things were out of hand from that point ….” Gerdie coughed, unable to look at Caine. For his part, Caine could only groan.
“They destroyed my home!” the baron screamed. Caine stepped behind Sergeant Holly, and waved him clear. Without missing a beat, Caine grabbed the wild-eyed Baron by the collar of his stained shirt, pulling him in close. Their eyes were only inches apart.
“We both know why they were here, now don’t we? I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Caine’s voice was a low growl, filled with menace.
The baron blinked, his face flushed. Gone was the indignant rage, and his mouth clamped shut. He grew sullen, eyes darting left and right. Caine could practically see the gears turning in the noble’s head.
“That’s right Baron, what now?” Caine shoved him away in disgust.
The baron stumbled to the muddy ground, but quickly regained his feet with a sneer.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about and you don’t have any evidence either, you low born piece of shit,” he spat. He looked around appraisingly at his audience, before focusing on Caine.
“What we do have here is a failure of command!” He raised his voice, making a scene of the exchange. Sure enough, his oratory was drawing a crowd.
“Where were you last night, Captain?” he taunted, circling with an accusatory finger. “You certainly weren’t here. ‘Charged with my protection, were you?’ Last night a company of mercenaries stormed this place and burned my house to the ground, while you were out wandering the woods! Your men were outmatched, thanks to your desertion!”
Caine glared at the baron, his temper raising.
“That is the word for it, am I wrong? Is it not dereliction of du ...”
The baron fell on his ass, clutching a broken nose.
With a muffled cry of pain, blood flowed freely from between his fingers. Caine shook his hand, bare knuckles raw from the punch. Around him, the crowd of soldiers and the baron’s servants seemed frozen by the sudden turn.
Caine loomed over the baron, ready to strike again. The baron withered beneath him, shaking, but it was the faces of his men and the baroness watching, that stayed his hand. With a breath, he stepped back, waving off the baron with a grunt of disgust, before stamping off toward the stables.
Caine took a long drag on the bottle, then pulled it away as whiskey burned down his throat. Somehow one drink and a moment to gather his wits had become seven and his wits unraveling altogether. There was nothing for this pain, was the thing. Fifteen bloody men. Dead. It was all on him. Had their deaths even meant anything? He’d barely made the wall at Merywyn, let alone the mission within. He took another swig. Maybe this one would make him forget. It was worth a try.
As the whiskey burned his throat, he felt a sharp pain jab at the back of his jaw. It still ached where the merc had hit him, and he jammed a finger in to probe his teeth. Spittle and whiskey dripped from his chin as he plucked a loose molar and tossed it into the far corner of the straw laden stall. Trying to stand, he was only able to lean against the wall, legs bowed beneath him. The world was spinning and he cursed out loud. The bottle was nearly spent.
“So is this what you were doing last night? Is this why fifteen good men died?” Gerdie stood at the end of the stall, disgust plain on his face.
Caine looked up, bleary eyed.
“I thought there was more to you. I really did.”
“Yeh’ve no idea what yer talkin’ about.”
“Then correct me, sir! I see nothing but a common drunk.” Even through the haze of the alcohol, Caine felt the sting of his adjutant’s assessment. He forced himself to stand, without the wall for assistance. It was a struggle, but he kept balance.
“What do you want, Gerdie?”
“I came to tell you Sergeant Reevan and his men have followed the mercs to the Black River. They sent word back the mercs are making ready to leave by boat. If we leave now, perhaps we might just catch some of them. That is, assuming you’d like a shot at some evidence of the Barons’ treachery. If not, please, don’t let me bother you.”
Caine growled, and shook himself until his vision was straight.
“Oh, bollocks. Let’s go.”
“They should be just ahead!” Gerdie shouted over the tumult of hooves. Moss and tree alike were a blur as they rushed down the muddy road. As the whiskey subsided, his head pounded in time with the hooves of his horse. The day around him was no less miserable. It was going to rain, that much was certain. Cold and grey, the trail took them along the north edge of the Brillig marsh.
Ahead, the trees opened wide to the Black River. Under grey morning skies, more than a dozen narrow dories and barges crossed the waterway. On the west bank, some few had already landed, and the mercenaries had disembarked to continue along the highway. Caine’s mare whinnied with the pace, and he turned from her to the shore with a lurch. In their haste, the mercenaries had left behind several dories. Reevan and his scouts were picking through them, carbines at the ready. As Caine and Gerdie dismounted, he noted dourly Reevan had taken no captives.
He looked back to the water, and saw one of the last boats to leave contained the elder mercenary, Hector, who was looking right at him. Cradled in his arms, the grizzled man held his wounded daughter. A more baleful glare, Caine could not imagine. The old man’s eyes never once left him as their boat neared the west bank.
Caine shook his head with disgust. He well knew what awaited him back at the estate. His mission was coming apart, cracking at the seams. How could it be saved now?
His thoughts jumbled and his gaze drifted over the boats left ashore.
“The ferryman isn’t running today, but there might still be time to requisition boats from Perry’s Landing to track them?” Gerdie’s tone was less hostile now, but remained guarded. His scarred face was weary. He seemed to have aged a decade this morning over the last.
“No, I don’t ...” Caine muttered, turning back to the river.
“So are you ready to talk about last night?” Gerdie interrupted.
Caine turned to his stern-faced adjutant. He opened his mouth to reply, but Gerdie cut him off. “Let’s be clear about something. You obviously have another agenda here, for which you’ve been making excursions since we’ve arrived. If it’s over my pay grade, that’s fine, but between you and me, I’d prefer if you didn’t think of me as stupid.” Gerdie stared at him unflinching. “We lost men last night, sir, and I’d like to believe it was for a good reason.”
Caine couldn’t help but respect Gerdie for having the stones to speak his mind. He met Gerdie’s glare evenly.
“This thing ... aye, it’s over yer pay grade.”
Gerdie nodded, unperturbed. “Is it done?”
“I’m afraid not. I made a mess of things, last night, when I saw ... well, what was afoot here. Yer right. I shouldn’t have left you. I had no idea … those bastards ... would ... do as they did.” Caine waved to the procession of mercenaries out on the water. “Just the same, this is only the start of it if I can’t see this thing done.”
Gerdie nodded, the hostility gone from his face now. “How can I help?”
Caine pulled his chin. “Well for starters, I need yeh to go back. Keep an eye on our friend the baron. Keep him there. No matter what he threatens ...”
“Keeping a nobleman under arrest without any real evidence? He’ll have you court martialed for certain!”
Caine nodded. “There’s nothing for it. Doesn’t ma
tter now, anyways.” Caine said absently, his thoughts racing ahead to Merywyn. He recalled the camp around the city, and the spectacle he’d made of himself. He kicked the wooden long boat at his feet appraisingly. “Ech, I doubt I can go back the way I came, but maybe I can come at this from another angle.”
Gerdie squinted at the boat. “Anything else you need?”
Caine nodded, reaching into a pocket.
“A cigar. My warjack fixed, fast as can be.” His hands came up empty, and he frowned.
“But mostly, that cigar.”
The rain had fallen throughout the day, and the damp began to wear at Caine’s soul. As he returned to the shore of the Black River at late afternoon, it appeared the rain had finally run its course. The Brillig Marsh to the south of the highway came alive with the song of its inhabitants. Frogs croaked happily in such volume as to nearly drown out all thought.
The boats remained where they had been left, and Caine approached on foot. Ace went ahead, the dun colored warjack setting down its axe to overturn the nearest boat, and then drag it to the water’s edge. Caine followed slowly after the lithe warjack. Ewan had replaced the Longarm and patched Ace where he could. The mechanik seemed to have no end of spare parts, no matter how rare. To Caine’s eye, Ewan’s repairs looked first rate. Ewan had nevertheless grumbled he needed more time to properly restore the wounded beast, arguing Ace wasn’t ready, but Caine had only waved him off.
Time was running out.
Ace sensed Caine’s thoughts and looked back, steadying the boat in the water. Caine looked into the fire of its eyes.
“Ech. It’s now or never.”
Ace sighed softly, the creak of groaning iron.
The dory drifted slowly down river leaving the afternoon behind. Caine kept the boat near the river banks, guiding it with a long wooden pole, while Ace burned a low steam and kept mostly covered with an old tarpaulin. He passed some ships along the way, but none that found him particularly remarkable. After all, cloaked and hooded as he was, he appeared no more than the common folk that made their living along the river each day.
As he approached the border, a station could be seen along the east riverbank. He could scarcely believe his luck. Compared to the difficulties of the evening prior, this tiny bunker and docks had but a small garrison. Engaging Ace’s umbrella once more, he and his metal companion became no more than a smudge on the water. Above, the overcast skies gradually grew darker and darker.
Caine carefully drove his pole into the murky water, working quietly against the gentle current. Their passing was as silent as it was invisible. Caine could hear the Llael border guards on the docks laughing at some crude joke as they passed around a bottle of spirits and smoked cigars. So still was the air as he drifted by, he could smell the Hooaga leaf they smoked.
Something else too, perhaps. Caine wrinkled his nose, picking up the scent of something acrid in the air, and getting stronger by the second.
Even so, there was nothing for it and the station was soon distant behind them. No longer needed, Ace released the umbrella and they were on their way. Merywyn was not far ahead now, perhaps only another bend or two from sight. Finally, he would get to business. He looked out over the water, seeing no traffic ahead.
“Too easy! I reckon I might have left you back tonight, for all the trouble this has been.”
Ace turned back, his smoldering eyes somehow less optimistic. Caine felt the warjack’s thought’s reach out to him.
Caution.
Indeed, the lights of Merywyn would not be so easily skirted as the border station. They could be seen reflecting from the clouded sky well in advance of the city itself. When their small boat rounded the last bend, bringing the capital into sight, it was no less imposing than on previous visits. Caine was amazed at how bright a place it was. There on the southern perimeter, the camp he had run afoul of had been completed. He gave it but a passing glance, instead focusing on what lay ahead.
Giant throatcutter chains were directly ahead, only a few feet above the water and each link the size of a barrel.
Merchants doing business along the Black River were subjected here to tolls paid directly to the king’s coffers. The chains had been strung across the south end of the river, and then again in the north. Their design ensured no merchant ship could pass without ripping through the hull first. They were suspended at numerous foundations built on the water and some had watch stations to monitor traffic. Caine’s dory was just low enough in profile to slip underneath. As they passed near a watch station, Caine engaged Ace’s cloak once again.
Merywyn’s harbor beckoned.
The usually busy harbor was still and quiet for the night, and they made straight for it. The harbor was cut into the great city walls and within it many dark ships were moored. Pulling out his spyglass, Caine took stock of the place. As they passed within the high walls on either side, Caine could see just what a fortress Merywyn was from the river. The high walls that loomed down on him were solid enough, and complete with manned ramparts and gun batteries easily capable of stopping any ship. Yet just beyond the fearsome walls, the intricate peaks and spires he had glimpsed only the night before peeked.
They only needed to clear the harbor, and they were in. A large, sheltered dock drew closer, crowded with barrels and supplies. It was there Caine needed to go. He spotted a nook where their boat could easily hide, adjacent to that, some storage sheds large enough for a warjack.
Yes, that should do it.
So why did he feel as though something was wrong? As they were in the center of the harbor, Caine smelled that peculiar burning scent from downriver again. He looked around with a growing sense of unease. It was not the boat, nor the tarpaulin Ace had discarded. It was not until the world flickered back to its normal hues that he realized where the smell had been coming from.
It was the umbrella itself.
An acrid white smoke was coming from the arcane device. The stink of it burned in his throat, and Caine’s eyes widened in alarm. Here, in the very center of the harbor, the umbrella had failed. There was no time to wonder at what had happened. The sudden appearance of his boat, and with it a rogue war machine, in plain sight of Llael sentries carried immediate consequences.
The alarms rang out, clanging bells on all sides. The creak of cannon and mortar, traversed in their carriages could be heard only moments later. Angry shouts echoed across the water, and sailors along the docks stopped what they were doing to regard the sudden spectacle.
No! Not this close!
Caine stove his pole down, again, and again to advance. There was a row of docked boats only a hundred yards ahead, and beyond the entrance to the sewers.
The first mortar was sent skyward with a flash of thunder that lit the harbor like fireworks. A moment later it came screaming down to strike the water just off Caine’s starboard side. As it exploded in the murky depths, water splashed over him, and the wake buffeted his small boat.
Still he pushed on, frantic.
The second mortar struck a moment later, screaming into the water just to his port side, closer by a yard. It was a losing race and he knew it. There were too many yards left and he was completely exposed. Something had to give. With desperation, he pushed into Ace’s head. He drew the warjacks attention up to the ramparts, and there found the nearest gun in the battery. It was a longshot. Well beyond even the Longarm’s considerable reach.
If only he could just help it on its way …
At Caine’s compulsion, Ace fired the Longarm with an echoing clap of thunder. An armor piercing round screamed up to the ramparts above. Just as he had all that time ago as a gun mage, Caine tried to exert his will on the shell as it sped forth. He strained to push it further, further, further, far enough to meet the gun now lining him up for a third shot. It arced toward the great iron gun zeroing in on his position …
… and fell short.
Even for Caine, it was well out of range. In answer, another mortar in the battery erupted, send
ing more whistling death his way. Then another. In the water, the shells were pelting closer, and the tiny ship was rocking in their wake.
Caine was resolved. He had to try again. He looked up with Ace’s eyes one more time, and raised the Longarm.
Caine was floating weightless in inky blackness.
He tumbled back, head over heels, tossed from Ace’s window on the world. It fell from sight, until he gained control and spun himself back to face it.
Just what was going on here?
Was he losing his bond with the warjack? He surged forward, to regain the window. There was no time for this! The specter that was the very being of Ace appeared swiftly before him. The shadow that had become like Caine’s very own would not let him pass. It blocked him, just as it had done before. This time, however, the shadow was not playing. Caine fought to push through, but it met him, will for will. Something back in reality was happening. He couldn’t keep this fight up, he had to ...
Caine was dumped from the rebellious warjack’s head, and found himself caught in an iron grip. Ace had him by the scruff of his collar, and he wheezed for breath. What was going on? Was Ace so badly damaged from the night before? With the merest flick of its wrist, Ace hurled Caine over the side. Caine had no chance to call out. The screaming artillery finally converged as a direct hit, drowning out his voice.
In a flash of fire, the dory and everything aboard it exploded like matchwood.
Caine rolled beneath the water, his senses overwhelmed. Above, the scene played out in warped dimensions and distorted sounds. The slagged hulk that had been Ace began to sink while shards of the boat no bigger than kindling burned on the water. As bubbles escaped his lips, Caine shook his head in shock.
Ace had not been out of control. It had only meant to save him from his own stubbornness.
Assuming of course, he did survive. The problem with warcaster armor was that it was not intended for water. It weighed upon him as though a bag of rocks had been tied to his ankle, and he sank into the muddy murk below. He struggled in vain to swim, while above the light of the burning ship faded.
The Way of Caine (The Warcaster Chronicles) Page 9