Mina shook her head. “It looks like a volcano, but it isn’t.”
“Nope,” Zukaldi said.
“Is this a dwarf thing?”
The last leg of our journey wasn’t too hard. A ramp wound around it, making our climb more of an uphill hike. That didn’t stop Mina and Zukaldi from complaining all the way.
“Look at this road!” she said. “It’s easy to walk on. It’s not too steep or gentle. It’s the same width all the way. There’s even a wall along the edge.”
“I don’t see why you’re so angry,” I said. We camped for the night, but the next day they were still at it. I asked why.
“Don’t you see how impossible this is? A real mountain trail follows the terrain, it doesn’t look like it was designed before the mountain was.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Maybe they thought the island was too flat,” Zukaldi said.
Someone watched from a high place. She reached for another handful of snow. Her teeth hurt and her tongue was numb, but still she breathed through her mouth. Drooling ice water didn’t look good, but it kept her breath from fogging. She shifted a little and steadied her aim.
There was a sign on the road. Flags hung from it and fluttered in the wind. Blue and red, orange and green. The sign said:
PRIVATE PROPERTY
Trespassers will be prostituted
“That’s not very friendly,” Mina said.
“This is new,” I said. “Ignore it.”
A little further on was another sign:
STAY OUT
Stay Alive
“I don’t remember the nuns being this reclusive,” Conrad said. “Did they change their doctrine or something?”
“I’m not going to be stopped by a sign,” I said. We came upon a third:
LAST WARNING
You’re in range, motherfucker
“The nuns have never turned away visitors,” I said. “Some practical joker’s been putting these up.”
“Be funny if this was the big emergency,” Mina said. “There’s a prankster on the mountain! Help us, Meerwen, you’re our only hope! And the prankster’s like, And I would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling mercenaries!”
Meltwater ran down her chin but her gaze was steady and her breathing slow. She imagined herself a stone and did not move. She took her time. She let them come closer, then closer. Gently, gently, the pad of her finger began to press the trigger. She did not tremble. She knew no fear. She squeezed the trigger and fired the shot.
On the rifle the hammer hit the strike plate and completed a circuit. Crystal capacitors discharged, powering transmutation spells built into the breech. The bullet had started as a dowel of ironwood. One end had been sharpened. A copper nail was driven into the other. As energy poured into it the bullet changed. The wood at the core swirled and turned into propellant. The copper nail seemed to melt but it was pressure, not heat, that moulded it into shapes. It formed a nozzle, combustion chamber, and shaped-charge liner.
The primer blasted it out of the gun. The burning propellant pushed it to greater speed.
There was a sound. Something went fweet over our heads. “We’re under fire!” Zukaldi said.
We scattered off the road. “Yang!” Conrad said. “Do you see him?”
The half-elf pointed. “There!”
Ironwood bullets left a smoke trail. I was right behind Yang in spotting it. “I see him too. Three hundred yards!”
Conrad shed his coat and began cocking his pistols. There were four of them in a left-handed chest holster. “Yang, cover us.” Yang planted his shepherd’s axe in the snow and loosened the sling around his waist. He dropped a bullet into the cradle and swung it overhead. An acorn of lead arced toward the sniper.
“It might have been a warning shot,” I said.
“You want to be proven wrong?” Conrad drew his sword. “Chaaarge!”
Screaming, the five of us ran up the slope.
She was on her feet. She needed to reload. She tore open a paper cartridge with her teeth. She stuffed the bullet down the barrel, then the wrapper. She pulled out the ramrod and pushed the bullet all the way. Replacing the ramrod, she shouldered the rifle and cocked it. The capacitors hummed. She fired.
The shot passed between me and Conrad. We powered on. Conrad drew a pistol and fired. At this range he couldn’t hope to hit anything.
She flinched. The enemy bullet burst in a nearby snowbank. The slinger was shooting, too and his shots were coming uncomfortably close. She needed to reload. The Northlander had to be the leader. He was the most dangerous.
CHAPTER 19: MEERWEN
“Borlog’s hit!” Zukaldi said. The human held his chest.
“Save him!” Conrad drew a pistol, fired, and dropped it in the snow. He drew another and renewed his charge.
The sniper was a shaggy white thing—it wore a shaggy white thing, rather, to camouflage it against the snow. He had reloaded his weapon, but Conrad was upon him. “For Borlog!” He brought down his messer-sword. It caught the rifle and slapped it down. The shot exploded at their feet. He brought up his pistol but the sniper swung his gun and knocked it aside. The pistol fired uselessly.
“Raaugh!” Conrad hacked in a frenzy. His opponent parried and blocked, answering sword cuts with swinging stock.
“Should we join in?” Mina asked. “Conrad’s good, but so’s he.”
“She is,” I said. “Our shooter is a woman.”
Conrad lunged but she met his slash with the length of her rifle. She twisted it and smashed the rifle butt into his chest. He cut low but she stepped away and shifted her grip. Swung the gun like a club. It was all he could do to keep her away.
“Gun’s heavy,” Mina said. “She can’t last.”
The woman kicked Conrad in the belt buckle. He stumbled but their weapons were tangled. She hooked the rifle and cast his sword into the snow. He tossed his empty pistol into the air, caught it in his other hand, and hit her in the cheek. He rapped her on the wrist and knuckles and she dropped the gun. He kicked it away. With his left hand he drew his last pistol.
They faced each other. Her face was hooded and unreadable. He held his pistol close, pointed in her general direction. “Do you surrender?”
She spat blood. “Never!”
He threw the gun into a snowbank and put up his fists. “Shall we continue, then?”
She laughed. She fell into a fighting stance. My fighting stance.
“I didn’t recognize her, but she’s definitely from the temple.”
They moved. The snow didn’t allow for fast footwork but they leaned left and right, ducking under blows and coming in from underneath. Conrad had a loose, looping style—he was more used to fighting with weapons. She threw short, sharp blows that spoke of more experience. It would’ve been unfair if he didn’t outweigh her.
“What do you call that move?” Mina asked. “That series of moves?”
“We call it the punch. And… a lot of punches? The Fighting Nuns don’t name their techniques.”
She jabbed him in the eye and tagged him on the nose. He tried to grab her but she chopped at his arms and butted him in the chest. He slapped her but there wasn’t much force to it. She backhanded him. He tried to tackle her but she spun out of the way and landed a blow on his ear.
“Ouch, goddamn! You hit me in the ear! Why there, man?”
“It’s hard to miss them when they stick out so much.”
“Oh, and your ears are perfect.”
“See for yourself!” She threw back her hood. I saw a pretty blonde halfling. She had a bloody lip and wore snow goggles, the kind that were just slits in a piece of ivory. She took them off. Mina and Conrad stared. “Sandy?” he asked.
“So that’s the girl Conrad left behind?” I asked. “And she’s from another world?” I looked at Sandy, who was walking beside Conrad. “Hard to believe they were children sixteen years ago.”
Mina looked thoughtful. “T
hey grew up in a hurry. One lost his family. The other lost her entire world.”
We walked downhill toward the rest of our group. Zukaldi and Yang knelt beside Borlog. The human shivered in the snow.
“Why hasn’t anyone gotten him a blanket?” I asked.
Conrad shook his head. “Hardly. How is he, Zukaldi?”
The dwarf was washing his hands with snow. “His heart was destroyed. I’ve gotten most of the fragments out. The body should expel the rest in time.”
Yang glanced at Sandy and scowled. “Did she do this to him?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The temple’s been on high alert these past few days. Or didn’t you see the signs?”
“Not everyone can read. If he dies, you and I are having words.”
“Don’t c-c-count me out yet,” Borlog said. “I’ve had worse!”
I crouched. His chest had been cut open in a hurry and his mangled heart was visible. He was shaking badly. “Won’t someone keep him warm?”
“What for?” Zukaldi asked. “It’s not the cold tha’s making him shiver, girl. It’s his skeletal muscles circulating his blood.” He picked up his hammer and gave Borlog a tap on his head. A bit more than a tap.
“Ow,” Borlog said.
“Kick-starts the healing process, so it does.”
The Northlander’s wound began to close. The heart reformed like a hand making a fist. Flesh closed over it. Skin knitted together two pools of wax, and then the wound was gone.
“Never used to need the hammer for that,” Conrad said. “You’re getting old.”
The human got up. For a moment he towered over us, and then he sighed. “It’s true. I’m slowing you down.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Conrad said. “But you gotta be more careful. You haven’t taught me all you know.”
I looked at Yang and Sandy. Mina stood between them, looking nervous.
“This is a hell of a welcome, sister,” Conrad said. “Weren’t you told to expect a relief force? Or did you think we were climbing for our health?”
“I’m not a sister, I’m a lay nun. I was told to expect elven troops, not a ragged band with a Northlander at its head.”
“I’m the leader of this motley crew, actually. Were you really expecting a Northlander attack?”
Sandy spent an ampoule calling for a replacement, who proved to be a woman with a bow and a pair of wolfdogs. She didn’t look like a nun, but then it had been a while. We went further up the mountain. Occasionally Borlog would spit out bits of copper.
“When they come out, does it hurt?” I asked.
“Every time.” He shouldered his great club and walked ahead.
Conrad walked over. “He’s a bit sensitive about that. It’s like if he was an elf and couldn’t use magic. He should wear armour, but you know. Old habits.” I nodded. He continued: “Why would they be expecting an attack from Borlog’s kind? This is the northernmost part of Brandish but I’ve heard nothing from the human chiefdoms. Is there something about the temple?”
I shrugged. “Like Sandy, I was a lay nun. I don’t know all the sisterhood’s secrets. I’ve never even been to the top of the mountain.”
We crossed several bridges. Mina pointed out that the spans were artificial—they corresponded exactly with the points of the compass. The bridges themselves were sturdy but mostly made of rope. “These aren’t natural features,” she said. “They’re defensive features.”
She was right. The mountain was too steep and smooth to be easily climbed. The road offered the only sure footing and without the bridges the nuns could outwait any siege.
“I never thought much of it,” I said. “The temple was never known for its treasure. The Fighting Nuns are a charitable order.”
The spiral path grew tighter the higher we went. We started passing buildings. They were shacks at first, then whitewashed dormitories. We came to a platform built into the side of the mountain. Several nuns were training there, punching and kicking in their white pants and purple jackets.
“How can they fight at this altitude?” Mina asked. “I can barely walk!”
I smirked. “Some of us work out to stay in shape.”
“Hmph. I thought they’d be in formation, moving together and going ki-ya!”
“The Sisters don’t like complex drills,” I said. “To them, choreographed patterns are like written instructions. If the context is lost, the meaning is lost. And if you don’t understand the subject, you shouldn’t be teaching it.”
“Besides, most of the techniques are only four moves apiece,” Sandy said. “Hard to entertain tourists when your form is just punch-punch-punch-throw.”
The nuns trained in pairs. One nun wore focus mitts and called out combinations. Her partner jabbed and kicked as requested. Another nun held out a kicking shield for a nun with long legs. Other nuns shuffled and grappled. It was what you’d see in any training hall, except most of the nuns fought empty-handed. The few weapons were used to teach unarmed counters.
A nun lunged with a wooden sword. Her partner sidestepped, barely, and the blade passed under her arm. She chopped the sword-hand and sent the other nun flying. The nun with the sword rolled to her feet. This was an actual fight, not a demo, and she came in swinging. Her opponent had to duck, then leap, her legs kicking sideways as the sword passed underneath.
“As an unintended consequence, some of the nuns become quite good with weapons,” I said.
Conrad frowned. “I never had a chance of getting in, did I? All I see here are women. They told me I had too much anger in my heart. Maybe they meant I had too much hair on my chest.”
Sandy laughed. “As if you had any then, Mister Late Bloomer.”
Higher we went, higher again, until we had passed the main abbey and the road narrowed to a single lane. Mina shivered. It was cold. I gave her my cape, then activated a warming spell for myself. At the end of a path was a gate, and this gate was guarded by a woman with a shield. No sword, just a shield painted with a lion’s face. “Halt!” she said. “None may pass.”
“I am Meerwen Elanesse. She’s expecting me.”
The human woman sneered. “We have no need of elvish whores.”
I wanted to beat the blonde out of her. I took a step.
“Meerwen!” Sandy said. “She’s new. She used to be a shield maiden.”
“Used to be?” I said. “Since when do novices wear chain mail? Since when do they carry shields? This one reeks of the battlefield!”
The Northlander raised her shield. “I will not be disrespected by an unarmed wench.”
I was about to take the shield and give the woman a steel suppository when a voice rang down the mountain. “Enough!” The abbess looked from the battlements. “You calm yourself, Meerwen. You too, Elsa. I will have peace and civility in my house if I have to break your heads.”
Elsa let us in, then slammed the gate behind us. We were joined by two identical human women. The twins were very muscular and wore thick heavy boots.
Mina tried to be friendly. “They sure grow them big in the Northlands. I’m Mina. What’s your name?”
“Breeda,” said the one with the shaved head. “Brooda,” said the one with the mohawk.
“I… see.” She leaned closer to Borlog. “Are these traditional human names?” she whispered.
“Some men don’t even name their daughters,” he said. “My own sisters were given numbers instead. Number Five was my favourite.”
The ground was dusted in snow. Our breath fogged around us and the chill reached into our bones. But we walked in beauty.
“These are the first natural rocks I’ve seen since we went up the mountain,” Zukaldi said. “But again, these formations are not natural.”
“This is a garden,” Yang said. “A garden of ice and stone.”
He was right. Although the half-elf sensed no plants under the snow it still looked like a garden in winter. It reminded me of my mother’s work at Findecano House.
“We will leave
you here,” Elsa said. “Find the abbess yourselves.”
After the human women had gone, I asked what their problem was.
“They’re some of the last people to make it through the portal,” Sandy said. “They were furious at having to leave their weapons behind.”
I wandered off. There was a good-sized pond in the middle of the garden. The water was still liquid, despite the cold.
“Is a garden still a garden without a single growing thing?”
Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2) Page 13