Ranger

by William Stacey

  The young leaders scribbled notes.

  "Some tactical considerations—if we get into a firefight and your people use grenades, watch where they land. Tree limbs will block the shrapnel, making them useless. Hills and other high ground are no longer key terrain. With the thick vegetation, there will be no elevated observation or firebases, so little point to tiring your troops out climbing and seizing them. In fact, key terrain is now the initiative. Whoever shoots first gains fire superiority and a decisive advantage. Don't light up each other, but don't hesitate to put rounds downrange, either. Got it?"

  He waited while they nodded in understanding.

  "Don't let your troops develop 'jungle eye.' That's when you concentrate too hard on the pattern of bushes ahead of you. Whenever you can, focus through the jungle farther out. You need to train yourselves to do this, and it sure as hell doesn't come naturally at first, but it's crucial.

  "We will move north, more or less, but we will not follow animal trails or ridgelines. We're breaking trail, moving in one direction but not a straight line. It's gonna be a tough slog but it'll also cut down on the chances of ambush. Stay alert, slide between the undergrowth if you can, and spread it aside with a stick if you can't. Don't use your hands to do it. There are spiders, snakes, and all manner of ugly big bugs—and they're probably poisonous. In fact, always wear your contact gloves. Better to be hot and sweaty than bitten or covered in rashes, burrs, and stings. We'll call out Rally Points as we go. If someone is unlucky enough to stomp through a wasp nest or something else unpleasant, we'll break back to the Rally Point. Don't panic.

  "Those times when we do need to climb hills, don't grasp at vines or branches to pull yourself up the slope. The vines have sharp thorns, and the saplings will shake overhead and alert anyone within a kilometer that you're there. When your people get tired—and it'll happen faster than you think—they'll make stupid mistakes, but you can't let them. You're gonna need to be assholes to keep them alive. If you need to cut through the vegetation, stroke up with your machetes, not down. Down makes more noise, and the entire point to jungle warfare is to be unseen and unheard. Remember, key terrain is initiative. Shoot first and live. Right?"

  They acknowledged with a chorus of "Yes, sir."

  "Okay, good. A final word on field craft—if you thought the mosquitoes are bad now, wait until nightfall in the jungle. You'll hate it."

  They chuckled, smiling amongst themselves.

  "Did I mention there will be big bugs? Centipedes and scorpions prefer dark places, so shake out your blankets before going to sleep—and after as well. If we need to go through a swamp, check each other after for leeches. Don't assume your fancy MR suits will keep them out. Leech bites can become infected quickly. Shit, everything gets infected way faster than you'd think possible. Ask for medical help if you're not sure. In Task Force Devil, we found penicillin works wonders, even on this world.

  "Speaking of medical." He paused and met Dr. Ireland's eye. "Other than man-eating beasts, dragons, and evil dark elves, heatstroke is the greatest threat in the jungle. The only prevention is water, often and lots. If you're sluggish, then it's dehydration—so drink. If you're dizzy, with nausea, headaches, rapid or weak pulse, then it's heat exhaustion—so drink. If you have muscle cramps—or anyone stops sweating or has hot, dry skin—then it's heatstroke, and that's a medical emergency, possibly lethal. So…" He scanned their faces, waiting.

  "Drink," they called out together.

  He nodded. "Anything else to add, Ylra?"

  She shook her head. "Wish I could. We dwarves avoid the jungle. Redcaps lived here, good people, kin to dwarves, but not us. I'm from east of the Windshorn Mountains, anyhow, weeks' travel from here."

  Alex looked over at Huck. "Whenever you're ready, Sunray."

  They took under two hours to cross the city's ruins and reach the edge of the jungle. As Alex had feared, this close to the river, it was secondary jungle—thick vines, tangled brush, and tall grass. He stood in place at the head of the Strike Force columns, preparing himself. Leela moved closer. Behind her, in a wedge formation, waited the section of eight soldiers assigned as their cover guard.

  "You okay?"

  He nodded, gifting her with a tepid smile, and sighed. "Won't get any easier the longer we wait." He adjusted his new rifle's strap then keyed his radio. "Sunray, this is Ranger. Danger close. Over."

  Huck's voice came back. "Ranger, this is Sunray. Acknowledge. All call signs, danger close."

  Alex led the Strike Force into the alien jungle.

  Part IV

  The Water Dragon

  25

  The prisoner groaned in agony.

  Queen Tuatha de Talinor ignored the dwarf in the other cell, focusing instead on the magnificent suit of manling armor with its articulated limbs and strange claws attached to its back like a ghast-scorpion's stinger. Other gear had been taken with the dwarf and the manlings—a strange metallic device with lights and handles, and a rucksack filled with what resembled tinker's tools, but the suit consumed Tuatha's attention. Most interesting were the meticulous gears and machinery connecting the limbs to the torso. The suit was both armor and construct, something a dwarf might make but never had.

  It was armor fit for a queen.

  Rizleoghin rustled behind her, his fangs salivating in anticipation. Often, screams meant food, fresh meat-sacks to cocoon and drain. She felt his hunger spike through their mind-tether. Not this one, my pet. We'll find you a nice fat redcap or boggart later.

  The dwarf cried out once more, and she glanced in annoyance at his cell. He lay on his belly, nude. His filthy dwarven body with its hair and muscles sickened her. He convulsed in place, grinding his teeth as the grimworm buried its horned head deeper into his spine. Fresh blood ran down his back where the foot-long centipede dug its pincers into his skin. She sighed in irritation, returning her attention to the marvelous suit. The dwarf was strong, as all dwarves were, and had so far resisted the grimworm's attempts to create a symbiotic link with him. But eventually, the dwarf would break, and when he did, Tuatha could cast a simple spell, establishing a magical mind-tether with the grimworm, thus controlling both. He would do anything she desired.

  Dwarves were notoriously stubborn and this one particularly so. It might take a day or more, but he'd break and reveal all his secrets—for example, why he had been traveling with manlings and why the manlings had returned after so long. The answer was simple. To kill me. To take revenge for the Culling. She shivered. Haven't they done enough harm already, bringing about the Sundering?

  With the abrupt destruction of the Culling Machine on the Old World, the magical backlash from the sudden release of the stolen life forces had not only robbed Tuatha of the magic needed to prolong her life but also destroyed her capital city. Had she been in Eladior Haven, she might have lost her life during the Sundering.

  Damn the manlings to the Red Ether!

  Her enemies had lost little time turning on her. Even her own daughters had betrayed her. The worst betrayal had come from the twins, Grellissa and Gretlandia. Not only had they seized her fortress of Arach Warren and the Bane Throne, but they had also murdered most of their sisters, tricking them to her old fortress and slaughtering them in one bloody night—although if she were being honest with herself, that had been clever. She hadn't known they had such deceit in them—a mistake she'd never make again. She should have smothered the albino freaks when they were babes. This is what comes from a mother's love for her children. When she thought of the cruelties she'd unleash upon her traitorous daughters, she simmered with white-hot fury, her rage unbecoming of a queen's dignity. She closed her eyes, centering herself. All things in time.

  Six cycles ago, she had lost everything: her prolonged life, her capital city, her armies—even her empire. But fate turned in her favor once more, proving the Spider Mother loved her over all others.

  The rifts, surely a gift of the Spider Mother, had saved her.

  The destruction of
the Culling Machine had reverberated across the cosmos, ripping and stretching the fabric of the Red Ether. Naturally occurring rifts had ripped open on their own where the skin between the worlds was thinnest—the mystical ley lines. Like an earthquake, the aftershocks continued, with rifts appearing and

  shutting on their own, permitting the return of a handful of her armies, enough to tip the balance in the civil war.

  From farther away in the dungeon, she heard the clang of a metal door swinging open, followed by the pounding of steel-shod boots upon the passageway leading to this chamber. Two of her Storm Guards moved to block the entrance into the chamber, but when Tuatha heard the distinctive tap of a walking cane, she motioned to the guards to let them enter. Her spymaster Cal Endralia came first, leaning on her Ettin-bone cane. Behind the elderly spymaster, two other guards carried a prisoner between them. When Tuatha saw who the guards held, joy surged unexpectedly.

  "My queen," Cal Endralia said, lowering her head.

  Tuatha moved away from the armor and motioned the spymaster inside the dungeon cell that held the manling armor. "Cal, old friend, you have news, I assume."

  "And a prisoner, my queen." The spymaster entered, permitting the guards to throw their naked prisoner to the stones before Tuatha's slippers. The woman groaned, lifting a bruised face, one eye so swollen she couldn't open it. Tuatha's skin flushed with satisfaction at the sight of her daughter Grellissa, half of the self-proclaimed "Empress Twins."

  "A gift from Wolf, my queen."

  Tuatha laughed in pleasure and, despite her expensive satin gown, its long hem embroidered by more than a hundred redcap artisans, dropped onto a knee in the dirt and cupped her daughter's chin to peer into her good eye. "Hello, Grellissa," she said softly, not unkindly. "You look unwell. Are you not eating properly?"

  "Mo… Mother," the woman said through lips so swollen her words slurred. "Please, I beg for mercy. We had a compact. We are family."

  "A compact? We did. But it was for the other manling prisoners." Tuatha looked past her daughter, pretending to peer into the empty hallway. "I see no other manling prisoners. Why is that?"

  "They… we… " Her gaze darted to the suit of armor then the dwarven prisoner in the nearby cell. "The dwarf is more valuable than any manling."

  Tuatha rolled her eyes in amusement.

  Cal Endralia stepped closer. "My mage-scout Silent-Death reported a battle took place before Arach Warren, a very one-sided battle that saw the traitors destroyed. She dispatched a messenger bat to Wolf, and he felt it prudent to take a chance. He and a handful of his warriors flew to Arach Warren on wyvern to find it nearly undefended."

  "And the army?"

  "Remains with Crown Princess Kaladania besieging House Galthazin, which Wolf insists will fall in days. Wolf found this one cowering behind the Bane Throne."

  Tuatha ran her fingers through Grellissa's long green hair, untangling the matted strands. "We must make arrangements to transport the Bane Throne to Wildspike Island," she whispered, almost speaking to herself. "It is a symbol of power, you see." Then she directed her attention to her daughter. "When you were little, I spent hours combing your strange green hair—and your sister's. Where is she, by the way?"

  "Dead. Gretlandia is dead. Murdered by a manling warrior with a magical sword."

  Tuatha's fingers slid from her daughter's hair, and she rose to her feet. "Dead? Pity." She looked at her spymaster.

  Cal Endralia nodded. "Wolf found the body."

  "Ah," said Tuatha, nodding. "Which makes you, Grellissa, my oldest surviving child, older even than your sister Kaladania. But she remained loyal and is the new crown princess, while you and your sister sought to supplant me and sit upon my throne. Which of you befouled the Bane Throne, by the way? Or did you take turns sitting upon it?"

  "Please, Mother, mercy. It was Gretlandia's doing, not me. I wanted to make peace."

  Tuatha sighed and glanced at her spymaster. "What's this about a magical sword?"

  "I'm sorry, my queen," the spymaster said. "Reporting is sparse. A large manling force of over a hundred warriors defeated the traitors in Arach Warren, rescued the other manling prisoners—including the manling mage—and then moved north into the jungle. But worry not. Silent-Death follows the trail, and she has never failed me yet."

  "North?" Tuatha's eyes tightened. "Why north? There's nothing but jungle and... and I don't know. What else is there to the north?"

  "The northern savanna, my queen. And the bridge that leads through the old trade pass in the Spine of the Serpent."

  "The pass? The only thing on the other side of the spine is the Char Desert. That makes no sense." Tuatha looked at her spymaster then her daughter. "That makes no sense," she repeated. "Why go into the Char? There's nothing but sand and death." She shivered and pulled her griffin-fur-lined cloak tighter around her neck. "Nothing makes sense these days."

  "Indeed, my queen," the spymaster said. "But strange or no, the manlings move north."

  "Speak, Daughter," Tuatha commanded. "Tell me an interesting tale, and you shall survive this night. Where go the manlings?"

  "I… do not know, Mother," Grellissa said, her voice tight with fear.

  "Pity." Tuatha glanced at Rizleoghin, and the spider-demon scuttled closer.

  "Wait," Grellissa begged, grasping at the hem of Tuatha's gown. "I have information. I can barter for my life."

  "What information?" Tuatha asked. "You've already told me you don't know where the manlings go."

  "We put one to the question, Mother. He was weak and died under the knife, but he said one thing that was most interesting."

  Tuatha snorted and yanked the hem of her gown free. "Speak, then, quickly."

  "Please, Mother. Promise me my life first."

  Tuatha sighed. She glanced at her spymaster, who shrugged and examined her nails on a pale-blue hand covered with liver spots.

  "Very well, Daughter, in recognition of the love I once showed you, I will not kill you. You will serve me for the rest of your sad life."

  Relief surged through Grellissa's swollen, bruised features. "Thank you, Mother."

  "Yes, yes, now what do you know?"

  Grellissa bit her upper lip then cast a glance at the dwarf in the nearby cell suffering under the grimworm's assault. "That dwarf, Mother, is none other than Kargin Ice-Hand."

  Tuatha stared at her daughter in shock. She rushed over to grasp the bars of his cell and peer at him. "Turn him over! Turn him over!" she whispered, breathless with excitement.

  Two of the storm guards entered his cell and flipped the heavy dwarf onto his side, exposing his ugly dwarven features and long, forked red beard.

  Tuatha's gaze darted from the dwarf's face to her spymaster, who now joined her. "Is it true, do you think?"

  Cal Endralia stared at the dwarf's face. His eyes were closed, his beard matted with crusted blood and dirt, but after several moments, she nodded. "Yes, my queen. That is Kargin Ice-Hand, the technomancer and son of Kulm."

  Tuatha gasped. Kulm had created the Culling Machine, the source of Tuatha's long life, now destroyed. And here was his son, the equally famous dwarven technomancer. Tuatha felt the cold love of the Spider Mother bathe her.

  Can he rebuild it?

  Unexpected hope surged through her. This changed everything. She didn't need to grow old and die. But there remained too many unanswered questions. Why had the manlings come back? Why was Kargin among them? And where were the manlings headed?

  Wherever they were going, she couldn't allow them to get there. She reached out a trembling hand and rested it upon the bony shoulder of her spymaster. "Break the siege of House Galthazin. They don't matter. Send the army north. Stop the manlings before they enter the Char."

  "Yes, my queen, but…"

  "But what?"

  "The manlings' weapons are powerful. They destroyed the twins' soldiers, hundreds. We found no manling corpses."

  "It's true, Mother," squeaked Grellissa. "They cut our warriors ap
art with fire and thunder. Even the trolls fled."

  Tuatha glared down her nose at her daughter but pondered this. Before the invasion, her spies had reported of the remarkable manling weaponry, nearly magical in its lethality. She tapped a slipper against the stones. "Send Wolf," she decided. "He'll deal with them."

  "Can you… trust him with this task?" her spymaster asked.

  Tuatha smiled. "With any task. Fly him and his warriors north, ahead of the manlings. Then send word to the crown princess. Order her to break the siege of House Galthazin and move the army to join Wolf. We'll break the manlings between them."

  "Send me, Mother," her daughter begged, her small hands held out in supplication where she was kneeling. "Allow me to command, to destroy the manlings for you. I shall make you proud."

  Tuatha watched her, warmth spreading through her. "I have another task for you, daughter."

  "Yes, Mother, anything."

  "Rizleoghin must feed."

  Grellissa's good eye widened with terror. Cal Endralia grinned as the spider-demon scuttled forward, its three-foot-long legs skittering on the dungeon stones. The storm guards jumped out of the monster's way. Grellissa screamed and tried to flee, but the spider-demon was upon her in a moment, bearing her to the ground, and held her in place as it wove a cocoon of spider silk around her. The spider-demon moved with uncanny skill and speed, spinning the young fae-seelie woman into its web, so that only Grellissa's face remained exposed.

  "Mother, please, you promised! You said you wouldn't kill me, that I could serve you."