Harris grasped Yustichisqua’s shoulder, pushing up and toward the rudder.
“What am I missing here?” he protested. “I found bones in the red dunes. They could have been anyone’s bones, but they wore the sigil of Scepta Charminus, and when I drew it onto my cloak, it fused with my brooch forming a double Columbincus.”
“It would do that, Lord Belmundus,” Cosawta said, tentatively. “The gems were mined from the same vein. They are the same. They would congeal, but . . . but the question is whether it is a fateful sign or a happy juxtaposition.”
“I say, it is a sign,” Yustichisqua said, his opinion put off by Littafulchee.
“I say, we must seek others to say.” She leaned into Harris, her eyes steady, spooking him. “Lord Hierarchus did not care for anyone except Lord Hierarchus. He was not favored among the consorts and he tricked his Trone to bring him into the Kalugu. The Treaty was broken with no benefit. His Trone was thrown in the Porias and condemned to burning. Hierarchus’ infraction was ignored, for fear the broken treaty would cause a distasteful incident between the Yuganawu and the Ayelli. ”
“Hierarchus was as mercenary as . . . well, as mercenary as me,” Cosawta said, brashly. “But I was born to it and mean to end the tyranny of the Kalugu. Hierarchus was looking for an exit portal and thought he found it when he learned about the Dodingdaten.”
“Is there an exit in the Dodingdaten?” Harris asked.
“Why should there be?” Cosawta replied.
“Garan has told me the Fumarca have come from the outlands against their will. Most men forced to such change usually buck against it.”
“Like you, Lord Belmundus?”
“I buck,” he said, and then looked to Littafulchee. “I buck, but in my quest to find a portal home, I wouldn’t trample friends.”
“Ah,” Cosawta said. “Hierarchus had no friends. He pissed off Tarhippus and was hunted by the regulati.”
“That’s not a difficult accomplishment,” Harris replied.
“Except Lord Tappiolus aided Hierarchus to flee across the Forling, where . . . where he was never heard from again.”
“Until now,” Harris said, reaching for the sword. Cosawta reluctantly gave it up. Harris weighed it in his hand, but it wearied him. “What will I do with two brashun blades?”
“Three,” Yustichisqua said, unsheathing gasohisgi.
Cosawta laughed. Littafulchee raised her hand for silence. She listened, and then turned her head toward the west.
“They come,” she muttered. “You shall see what can be done with three brashun blades and perhaps the mystery of a double Columbincus will be revealed.” She grasped Harris’ shoulders. “I pray to the purest light that you have not been polluted by Lord Hierarchus’ soul. I pray your spark is still intact.”
Tomatly hopped to the Gananadana’s rim and pointed.
“They come, my lord. They come.”
Harris squinted. In the distance — from the west that would be east, an array of Cabriolin flashes hung fire above the dunes. They had come, indeed.
Chapter Four
The Pursuers
1
“They pursue you, oginali.”
“How can that be?” Harris mused. “Cosawta, how can that be? You said Cabriolins were sensitive to the kowlinka.”
“They are, Lord Belmundus. And I say true, or as you say, speak good poop.” Cosawta joined him at the rim. “These Cabriolins fly high above the perils. I give them credit, because they travel far and must be driven by weary men. But weary men are easily defeated.”
“Unless there are two to a Cabriolin.”
“You say true again,” Cosawta replied, nodding at the prospects.
Harris felt a sharp pain in his foot and staggered backwards into Yustichisqua’s arms.
“We must hide you, oginali.”
“They do not know you are here,” Littafulchee said. “The Gananadana is on a trading run. They will try to board us, but they cannot be sure you are here.”
“They will not board us,” Cosawta said. “They have no precedent to interfere with my run. Not one fucking regulati shall set a zulu aboard this bird, sister.”
“I won’t hide,” Harris said, regaining his footing. “I won’t allow them to attack my friends. I won’t go peaceably.”
“Nor should you,” Cosawta said, glaring at his sister, and then at Yustichisqua.
Little Bird drew gasohisgi and flourished it, ready to defend Lord Belmundus, but Harris eased Yustichisqua’s hand.
“I trust you and the brashun blade, old man, but I might just need you to prop me up while I try using this thing.” He clutched Tony. “I’m pretty new at it.”
“You shall do just fine,” Cosawta said. “May I have the use of the other one?”
“Hierarchus?” Harris nodded. “I can barely illuminate one sword, much less two. Be my guest, although I have a feeling you didn’t need to ask permission.”
“Just being polite,” Cosawta said, raising Hierarchus to his eye, and grinning. “Yes. This is the ticket. We shall ram the shit out of those bastards.” He then waved his arms toward the canopy. “The Gananadana is constructed well and can withstand the onslaught. Jupsim coats her hide and resists most any volley within reason. Of course, mass assault might poke a hole in her and . . . well, it just takes one hole and down we go. Porcorporian food.” He laughed. “Tomatly.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Take us down.”
“Yes, my lord. Down. Down.”
Tomatly buzzed about on his zulus, flitting to the waddly wazzoos, lowering their temperament. The Gananadana began to descend.
“We’re landing?” Harris asked.
“Not if I can help it,” Cosawta said.
“The lower we are,” Littafulchee explained, “the lower they must come and . . .”
“The more fatal the kowlinka,” Harris said, understanding her drift.
“Just so,” Cosawta said. “Besides, it is easier to shoot them in the ass than in the head. They will try to prevent it, no doubt, but the only way they can is to fly lower than us. Tomatly is a master big fucking balloonist. Is that not correct, Tomatly?”
“The Gananadana is my friend,” he squeaked.
Harris smiled, despite the pain. Amusement replaced fear. However, he could see Yustichisqua was far from amused. Little Bird fretted, still clutching gasohisgi in a defensive stance. Harris eased to the matting. No sense of pushing his luck.
“Now,” he announced, “if I could only get off a few practice shots.”
“Not up, my lord,” Tomatly called, as he adjusted the power sources. “You must take care of the canopy. The outside is coated, but the inside is not.”
“Our Achilles heel,” Cosawta said. “But the regulati do not know of it.”
“They are brave, but stupid,” Harris muttered.
“Still, brother,” Litttafulchee added. “Even the stupid are lucky sometimes.”
“You say true, sister.” He looked to the green sky. “You say very true.”
2
The squadron approached — a dozen Yunockers at first glance. Harris couldn’t tell for sure. They spread into a solid formation as they approached the big fucking balloon. They arrogantly meant to overwhelm it by a frontal assault and a quick flanking movement. The strategy was as broadcast as hash. They slowed, taking their positions.
“You should hide, oginali,” Yustichisqua whispered. “There is a trap door to the cargo bay. If they should wound the Gananadana and we land, they will search for you. I will secure the hatch so no one finds it.”
“Listen to me, old man,” Harris said, annoyance in his voice. “Would you respect me if you let me hide?”
“I would. You are injured. You are ill. You must survive.”
“You’re hysterical, Yustichisqua. On this jaunt across the desert, I’ve almost died three times and I’m still here.” He pointed to the sky. “Besides, it’s Yichiyusti. It’s gloomy enough when Kuriakis stirs. I don�
��t need your negative vibes.”
“I am sorry, oginali.”
“Be sorry, but be brave. You’re brave. I’ve seen it at every turn. I owe my life to your bravery and devotion. But trust me in this. If this thing crashes to the dunes, my nine lives run out. I won’t regret it. I’d regret more living if the rest of you died.” He clenched through the pain, but then wiped a tear from Little Bird’s eye. “Now, you’re so much older than me, old man. I mean to be the immortal my spark promises, and you have a few thousand years more to go. I say true.”
Little Bird sighed, and then grasped gasohisgi.
“Let them come, then,” he said.
“You say true.”
Harris watched the array spread. He counted again. He thought there were thirteen Cabriolins and, as he expected, there were two men in each, allowing one to sleep while the other drove across the dangerous expanse — day and night — night and day. What they ate and drank was a matter for speculation, but these must be General Tarhippus’ elite regulati — very brave and, Harris hoped, very stupid.
“Here they come,” Cosawta said, aiming Hierarchus at the lead vehicle.
Tomatly lowered the Gananadana more, within a yard of the Forling. This sudden shift caught the lead Cabriolin by surprise, and he broke off the attack. But the left flank vehicle continued, giving Cosawta a clear shot at its power box. He fired Hierarchus.
The bolt drove through the Cabriolin’s chassis, spinning it out of control. Both occupants leaped out, plummeting to the dunes. The vehicle burst into flames.
“Good shot, my lord,” Tomatly shouted.
“Brother,” Littafulchee said, preparing her own weapon, the crystal which dangled from her headband. “There is no question now of our intent. Was that wise?”
“What does wisdom have to do with warfare, sister?”
“We are of a different nature.”
“We are, but must rise to the occasion and meet the enemy on our terms.”
Littafulchee sighed. She clearly had different notions, but would not change course now.
“We are the aggressors, Lord Belmundus,” she said. “Now we must play the part.”
“I’m used to playing parts, my lady,” Harris said, raising Tony.
Harris focused on the brashun blade, but Tony, as pretty as it was, flickering and winking, didn’t illuminate. He shook it and waved it, but nothing stirred. He glanced to Cosawta for help, because the squad had recovered from their surprise and were descending like dive bombers. Cosawta grinned, and nodded toward the Columbincus,
“Right,” Harris said, and touched the brooch.
Still, nothing. He looked up. He could see the features of the regulati now. Too close for trial and error, and yet too far to use Tony as a baloney slicer. He saw Yustichisqua raise gasohisgi, the little blade flickering, and then ablaze.
“How did you do that?” Harris stammered, just as his foot shot the worse pain blitz yet. The agony went through his chest and up his elbow. Then, one massive strike on his Columbincus and Tony came alive with terrible wrath. “Bingo.”
A bolt, bigger, but less controlled than Hierarchus’, slammed into the lead Cabriolin, knocking it off course, but not out of commission. However, the attack broke off again, the squad regrouping.
Harris felt like cheering — cartwheels, perhaps and a human pyramid. But before he could shout adadooski, his foot conspired again, this time knocking him off his feet. He crashed to the mat.
“Oginali,” Yustichisqua shouted. “Are you hit?”
“No, old man. Not by a Stick, but by my fucking bunny bite.”
Yustichisqua quickly examined the foot.
“You must lie down,” he said.
“I’m already down, old man.”
Littafulchee was there, dragging Harris reluctantly under the cloaking.
“Do not resist me, Lord Belmundus,” she said.
And he could not. If he were destined to die today in this battle under the green sky, at least he’d have a pleasant last view of this woman.
“Did you see the shot, my lady?” he murmured. “It stopped the attack.”
“It was a wonderful effort,” she said, examining the foot, and then hoisting the cloak over him.
“You say true?”
“I say true. But you must remain here and let us defend the ship. You have done your part.”
“Great fucking shot, Lord Belmundus,” Cosawta shouted. “Tomatly, raise her.” The balloon shifted skyward. “Let them climb for us now,” Cosawta said, “now that their engines are fucked by the kowlinka.”
Harris tried to sit up, but Littafulchee slammed him down, and not with loving grace. She meant business. Yustichisqua nodded, and then scurried to his defensive position. Harris didn’t try to rise again. He listened to Cosawta’s colorful ranting as he described the squad’s difficulties. Cosawta shot two more Cabriolins down and, when the porcorporians emerged for their feast, he cheered them as if at a Roman circus. The Gananadana raised and lowered, and then raised again, until it act became strategy. Tomatly buzzed like a firefly, enjoying every moment of the ride. Harris was miserable.
Then the unexpected happened. One Cabriolin outflanked the balloon and bumped the gondola’s side. It flew level with the ship, the driver peering down at Harris.
“He is here,” he shouted back to the remaining squad.
Yustichisqua was on the spot, shooting gasohisgi, knocking one of the regulati into the gondola. At first stunned, the man recovered and drew his Stick, aiming it at Harris. Harris shuffled out from beneath the cloaking, grasping for Tony, but he was too off balanced to get off another one of his great fucking shots. He expected the Stick to blast him, but it didn’t. It only held him at bay.
The driver, still in the Cabriolin, aimed his Stick at Cosawta. They weren’t there to kill Lord Belmundus. They were there to capture him. Harris dropped Tony rather than risk Cosawta, but, as the regulati relaxed, Yustichisqua rushed him, plunging the brashun blade into his side.
“Shoot,” the driver shouted, but the regulati had stumbled, holding his side and dropping his Stick.
Harris scrabbled for Tony, but before he could, the driver took a shot at Cosawta — missing, but enough to stir Tomatly into action. The driver aimed his Stick at the balloon master — up into the canopy. Littafulchee shouted, her crystal ablaze. The driver was stunned, and then knocked out of his vehicle by a blast from outside the Gananadana.
Harris scrambled to the edge, peering at the squadron. They hovered haplessly, surrounded by another squadron — at least twenty Cabriolins. He recognized the drivers.
“Brothers,” he stammered, weeping.
He released his grip on the rim and fell back to the matting.
3
Harris awoke to two new faces — new, but old.
“Arquebus?” he muttered. “Agrimentikos?”
“Yes,” Agrimentikos blustered. “We are here. All are here, except Lord Tappiolus, the instigator for the pursuit squadron. He has been chastised.”
Agrimentikos swept his hand up toward the sky — blue again.
“Our lord no longer stirs,” Arquebus declared. “You are safe and he is content.”
Harris grasped Arquebus’ shoulders, weeping.
“Why have you done this, brother? I abandoned the Ayelli.”
“But the Ayelli have not abandoned you,” Agrimentikos boomed. “Although the next time you decide to give chase to General Tarhippus, I, for one, would appreciate a vacation at the Plageris. The Forling is good for a day’s outing, but a week here lies heavy on the chest.” He turned to Cosawta, who sat on the bale, nursing Hierarchus, polishing the blade. “And the next time you have us as company, Lord Cosawta, please have decent wine. This brantsgi is not worth the trip.”
“We had a fine wisgi procured by Garan the Gucheeda, but I am afraid it went to fucking waste on Lord Belmundus. In fact, he fed it to the Forling.”
While Cosawta laughed, Littafulchee stepped up to Agrimentikos
.
“We have been spared by the Ayelli,” she said. “This is true. But I do not mean to return to service.”
“You should have never been in service,” Arquebus said. “It is injudicious of me to say it, because I have followed the admonishments to the letter, but I see change coming.”
“Change does not come of its own doing, Lord Arquebus,” Littafulchee said. “Change in Farn is a forthright battle, displeasing to the Elector. Thus we cannot depend upon it.”
Belmundus (The Farn Trilogy Book 1) Page 53