by K. M. Tolan
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Blade Dancer
by K M Tolan
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Science Fiction/Fantasy
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Champagne Books
www.champagnebooks.com
Copyright ©2007 by K M Tolan
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Champagne Books Presents
Blade Dancer
By
K. M. Tolan
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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Champagne Books www.champagnebooks.com
Copyright © 2007 by Kerry Tolan
ISBN 978-1-897445-06-8
February 2008
Cover Art © Christopher Butts
Produced in Canada
Champagne Books
#35069-4604 37 ST SW
Calgary, AB T3E 7C7
Canada
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CONTENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
About Kerry
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One
“Stand ready!” Cort Havada bellowed. The Datha Qurl slid his shoulders sideways among the camouflaged ranks crowding the troop cabin. Narrow black eyes darted from soldier to soldier as the officer tugged at packs and rifles. Mikial pulled back her auburn combat braids, running them through the back slot in her dun-colored helmet. Sensing Cort pause behind her, Mikial firmly planted her feet on the less-than-steady deck. There was a brittle crunch as her Line Officer found another of his bitter corul roots to chew on. He jostled the cannon strapped to her back, then gave her braids a good-natured yank.
“Secured!” Mikial said, her contralto reply cutting through the deeper voices around her. Her claws, unwilling to retract themselves, scraped against the brass support rails hanging from the ceiling.
The dirigible turned. Mikial watched as her shadow shifted in the first rays of an early sun. The only other light was from the Curtain, the violet star mist swirling across the sky. The hum of propellers sounded through the black canvas skin of the troop compartment as the airship was aligned over a canyon.
“Brace!"
Mikial gripped the rails as the aft jump door swung up and open. Icy air washed across the smooth caramel of her high-set cheeks, chilling any bare skin not covered by her armor and battle dress. An anticipatory surge from her wrist glands sent sparks of energy across her palms. Her thin lips pulled back into a scowl beneath the flare of a slender nose, revealing sharp canines. Tradition or not, she hated being first in line.
Havada leaned over her shoulder, contrasting with Mikial's relatively smaller height of ten hands. “Now let's not embarrass me with a broken neck, little Dathia. We have too few females in this sect as is.” He gave her shoulder guard a slap before he turned to the rest with a roar. “JUMP!"
Teeth bared in a feral grin, Mikial hurled herself across the deck until her legs flailed on emptiness. Harsh winds slashed her face as she tumbled from the airship. She spread her legs and arms for stability during the exhilarating fall. She counted three breaths then tugged at the cord, enduring the endless moment before a silky gray plume expanded above her with a sharp crack. Leather straps seized her, exacting a grunt as she seemingly was wrenched skyward again.
Their drop zone was obvious, a wide trail that swayed far beneath her dangling legs. Dark shadows of bordering trees beckoned like spears. The wind was faint and from the west, requiring little correction from her fingers on the guidelines. Beyond the bulge of her chute, Mikial saw the second airship approach. On board, the medical teams of the primarily female Shandi sect were preparing for their own drop. When she looked groundward again, the windings of a deep gorge were coming up fast. Bramble Ravine.
Mikial adjusted for a slight drift, the stony crests of the canyon rising around her. Legs poised, she aimed for a fairly even patch of ground. Trees murmured their welcome in the wind. Releasing the harness as she hit, Mikial pitched forward beneath the awkward weight of her cannon. She gave an indignant hiss, wiped dirt from her angular face, and quickly gathered her parachute. No doubt Cort would have much to say about her drop, and none of it good. Mikial checked that the pistols holstered to her waist had survived the sloppy landing. She chose cover behind a root-entwined outcrop, discarded her chute, and unlimbered her cannon. Flipping the bipod down, she aimed the long black barrel in the direction of Bramble Ravine. She watched as her Strike landed, both Lines melting into the brush. High overhead, her airship turned toward home.
Mikial's hunting eyes, internal receptor organs couched near her temples, reached out into the shadows to seek the natural energy fields emanating from the Datha hidden around her. The glow of their body patterns took shape from behind the lighter radiation of covering foliage. Soon she would be able to identify individuals by their auras alone, as they would come to similarly recognize her. It was one Datha trait she enjoyed. It kept her from blundering through the night with lamps like members of the other three Qurl sects.
Parva Conn appeared on the trail, his famous white braid hidden beneath a Strike Leader's helmet. He was lean for a Datha of over thirteen hands in height, his muscles more moderately proportioned beneath the arm and leg guards he wore. Parva moved with the grace of a seasoned hunter, his pale gray eyes constantly alert over deep brown cheeks and a sharp nose.
Parva motioned the Lines to form up. Soldiers moved quietly from their concealment, dart rifles ready. Hoisting her cannon, Mikial scrambled behind Cort before he could grump at her for being slow as well as clumsy. Meanwhile, the parachutes of the Shandi Immediate Teams were descending further down the trail. She hoped no one would require their services.
Parva moved them out in an extended line along the trail. Mikial guessed that the Minnerans were still well ahead of them in the ravine, off her left shoulder. The Curtain had faded with the rising sun by the time they halted at a rocky wash.
A Datha ranger ran up to Parva, conferring with the Strike Leader for several minutes. Parva looked down into the ravine, puzzled. He finally turned to his waiting troops.
“We'll block and flank. Cort, take your thirty into the brush. I'll move my Line forward to the next narrows and drive them into you.” He looked back down across the field. “The Minnerans aren't using their standard infantry formations. They're too widely spaced for the usual volley fire. Something odd about their weapons, too. Assume their guns will have the range and accuracy of Kiorannan long rifles. Anticipate contact with
in the chime. Take positions."
Mikial studied the intended battlefield while they still had a vantage point above it. The ravine bowled out into a short meadow extending east to west, confined within banded layers of rock that were cut eons ago by swift waters. Thick brush capped the western edge below the Strike. A short field extended eastward from the brush roughly one hundred spans. She guessed it only wide enough to accommodate one Line—a perfect killing zone thirty spans in length. Thick mist marked out a small creek that skirted the southern side of the field. The stream disappeared within a deep gully angling into the trees.
Mikial's Line Officer motioned his detachment down the wash while Parva moved forward with his force along the high trail. Mikial wished she could shake the feeling that this was just another exercise. Her cannon slung beneath one shoulder, she approached Cort for instructions as they reached the streambed along the bottom of the defile. His quick hand signal ordered her to the right flank, not the traditional place for gunners.
“Parva wants to try this out,” Cort whispered at her hesitation. Since Feren Cloa is familiar with how you handle a cannon, I'll assign him as your escort."
“Acknowledged.” Mikial gave Feren a friendly nudge as her mentor wordlessly took position at her side. The middle-aged veteran winked a brown eye at her from beneath a dark-skinned brow bordered with tightly knotted battle braids. He spent the previous week getting her used to how the Strike fought. He took as much care with her instruction as her own father did. Feren had even taken her father out fishing yesterday. No doubt in part to discuss her.
Feren's hand reached to hold her arm in a momentary vise, his voice a growl of caution. “Class is over, Mikial. Being First Student counts for nothing if you get yourself killed graduating."
She nodded, needing that brief pinch of reality.
A small knoll crowned by a splintered stump became her home as the rising sun burned off morning fog. Resting her cannon barrel over a lichen-spattered log, she surveyed the field through closely spaced amber eyes. Beside her, Feren's fingers tapped rhythmically against his gunstock. He looked almost bored.
Her thoughts drifted to the people she would be fighting soon. Of all the Servant races, the Minnerans seemed the least able to forgive the Qurl descendants of the race that once had enslaved them. Never mind that four centuries had gone by since civil war had devastated the lands of Min Saja and brought their Taqurl masters down. Min Saja. That old name was all that was left of a quarter of the world—turned to desert by the Taqurls and their now-forbidden weapons of destruction. Today, Qurls still had to contend with the bitter legacy of their forefathers, such as idiots like these Minnerans.
At first she thought that Feren had committed the unpardonable sin of revealing their position with a cough. Then the muted sound repeated, and Mikial realized that it was originating somewhere beyond the clearing before canyon echoes played their tricks. Puzzled, she gazed in vain at the line of trees across the field.
Movement caught her eyes at the far end of the meadow where the valley narrowed. Smoke curled from the right hillside bordering the tree line ahead of her. As she watched, a sudden puff sprouted like magic from the ridge. The first distinct CRUMP reached her tufted ears, followed in quick succession by more plumes and concussions. Mikial realized that she was witnessing some kind of cannon bombardment right where Parva was supposed to be; his flanking maneuver to get behind the enemy must have been detected.
The odd coughing thud increased in tempo. She was sure it came from among the trees, but a noise like the quick rush of birds made her look up. A geyser of dirt flashed skyward near the creek just to her right, scattering stones and debris through the brush. Before Mikial could make sense of what had happened, another crash of sound and light erupted in front of the Line's position.
Cort Havada gave a series of signals that sent her scrambling to her feet. Assault by flanks. Mikial bolted as more “birds” flew in, chewing ground around the Datha blocking force.
Feren was right behind her as she dashed along the creek along the hillside. Glancing back, she saw Cort lead a skirmish line across the field as enemy cannon shells continued to rend the bushes they had left behind. Then came the next ugly surprise. It sounded like the sharp blast of a Qurl cannon, except that one report followed another in impossibly fast succession. Something raked across the rushing Datha like a deadly wind, many of them crumpling in bloody sprays.
Mikial dove instinctively as projectiles far worse than the expected simple rifle balls smashed rocks and tore the soil around her. A stinging rain of debris made it seem like an entire cavalry brigade had chosen her for volley fire.
“In the trees!” Feren shouted, slapping at her helmet. “Just ahead ... see the flashes?"
“Targeted!” She snapped open the bipod attached to the cannon barrel and raised the weapon into position. Whatever the thing was, it had gone back to hammering Cort's group in the field, forcing Datha to crawl across the meadow.
Mikial reached over to the square battery packs on her cannon and clicked open the discharge switch before sighting her target. She guessed it to be around ninety spans away. Her cannon was effective up to four times that distance. She drew hard within herself until the fine hairs rose along her arms and special conductive sweat drenched her palms. The Minnerans’ hidden cannons slammed more shells into the field, the concussions making it all but impossible for her to hold her weapon steady.
Fire spat once more from her target amid the trees. Mikial replied, discharging her stored energy in one great shudder. Her cannon's blast added its thunder to the barrage, sending a brilliant streak of lightning across the field. The enemy position blossomed into a spray of smoke trails with glowing tips twisting skyward like angry serpents.
Mikial barely had time to gather her strength, let alone her cannon, as Feren's strong arms scooped her up into a staggering run. She started to ask him what he thought he was doing when a smashing fury from behind hurled them into a furrow between the roots of two trees.
“I've got to find those cannons,” she shouted, as sections of pulverized hillside fell around them.
“They certainly found you,” her mentor said as the barrage lifted. “We're more than halfway to the trees. Just follow the stream. Let's go!"
She scrambled with him through a pungent haze. It was simple enough to understand the lull as the fluttering sound shifted once more toward the field beside them.
Mikial held her cannon high as she leapt with Feren down the sloping sides of the gully the stream spilled into. In the same instant, three Minnerans burst from cover, heading in the opposite direction. They were far smaller in stature then any Datha, their khaki uniforms making her think more of field workers than soldiers. The five of them met at the bottom of the gully in a confused rush.
Mikial used her forward momentum to smash the butt of her cannon against the head of the nearest wide-eyed Minneran soldier. Spinning, she caught the other with a kick to his groin before crushing his larynx with a chop of her free hand. Mikial did not see what had happened to the third Minneran, but Feren's dripping claws were indication enough as she joined him in a run up the other side of the gully.
Feren waved her forward to a hollow where the creek dug into the ground beneath a granite wedge. Rifle fire crackled close by, punctuated by a sudden shriek as a Qurl dart found its mark. The air was tinged with a dun-colored haze from repeated shell impacts in the field to her left. The Line won't last long under this kind of punishment, Mikial realized. She traded looks with Feren. Giving a grunt, he became a blur across the stream, vanishing into the surrounding foliage.
Fingers tight around her weapon, Mikial threw herself after him. Each splash seemed sure to alert the world to her presence. But the rifle fire she expected did not come. Across the stream at last, she crouched low in the brush. Feren had taken cover to her right. His eyes locked on the same sight as hers.
Situated on stone terraces only a few spans upstream was the Minneran batte
ry; at least that was the best explanation she could provide. A dozen soldiers busied themselves around what appeared to be six black stovepipes. There was no mistaking them as the source of destruction slamming into the Strike. Three of the tubes were tilted toward the southeast corner of the valley where Parva's Line was held down. The other trio of tubes was aimed toward the field. Minnerans dropped small, finned shells into the smoking maws of the weapons, turning away as the pipes coughed them back out in a belch of flame. Bewildered, Mikial looked over at Feren.
He reached for her cannon, slapped the discharge switch closed, and gripped the handles. Mikial felt the transfer of energy from his body. Hope you left enough for your rifle, she thought. She eased the cannon barrel through a gap in the tree roots. He took covering aim, giving her an encouraging wink.
Resetting the batteries to discharge, Mikial sought a target. The tubes were widely spaced and she doubted the enemy would wait until she recovered for a second shot. Mikial drew hard until her palms glistened with the need to release. That pile of green boxes the Minnerans were getting those odd-looking shells from would do fine. She could not destroy all the tubes, but scattering their ammunition might suffice. Mikial centered her sights and fired.
The crack of her cannon was immediately devoured by a shock wave blasting her into the dirt. Stunned, Mikial pulled back her weapon, but could make out nothing ahead but a cataclysmic white fog. Her ears hissed from the concussion. More explosions sent shrapnel ripping through the woods as Feren tugged hard at her shoulder. Together they sped back down the gully, urged on by scattered detonations from ammunition like nothing she had ever seen. Insane as it seemed, they had to be using explosives as propellant. Qurl rifles and pistols used a pulse of energy to fire darts down their barrels—employing batteries that did not blow up in one's face. Mikial doubted that anyone would be coming out of that haze to pursue them.