by K. M. Tolan
Her battle dress had been cleaned and left near her cot. Mikial slipped on the camouflaged pants and shirt, enduring each stab of pain it brought her. She chose only her boots from the sack that contained her armor. They would see her dressed out soon enough. Now it was more important to play the diplomat and see what mischief Ryan had been arranging.
Mikial eased herself down the short ladder onto rounded pebbles of varying shades. A crisp breeze was a welcome distraction to the agony each movement brought her. The canyon floor was dotted with campfires and wagons. She could not help but notice how her wagon had been separated from the rest. Groups of yhas clustered against the chill. Granite spires surrounded the site like somber giants, children's voices echoing off their sheer cliffs. How many of those young ones had been sired by her people?
The beauty of the surrounding mountains was lost on the solitary figure that huddled over a meager fire near her wagon. Her hunting eyes knew Ryan's body signature well enough to tell that it was not him. Possibly it was the wagon owner. Or a skittish guard. Mikial heralded her approach with a few kicked pebbles.
The Minneran gave a start. He cast off a blanket to reveal a dark vest and pants more suited to minding a store than guard duty. Mikial heard the click of a hammer as he raised his pistol. “Stay where you be!” he rasped.
“Your quilt's burning,” Mikial observed dryly.
Cursing, he stamped at the corner that had swept into the flames.
“And try not to shoot yourself,” she added, easing herself upon the stool he vacated.
Leaving the blanket where it lay, the refugee turned and dashed toward the larger campfire across the trail. Mikial gave a chuckle and slowly reached over and retrieved his quilt. Rubbing out the last smolder, she wrapped herself in its warmth. Her eyes settled on a bubbling pot propped upon a stone slab beside the fire. A simple ceramic mug lay nearby where he dropped it. Her nostrils drew in the welcome richness of murr. How thoughtful of him.
Mikial sipped at the warm beverage. Its calming effect eased her protesting back. Her eyes picked out a shape that detached from the silhouettes against the campfire across the track. The person's feet crunched across the rock as he ran toward her. Ah, now that body pattern she knew. “Good evening, Ryan,” she said as he came up. “There's murr here if you brought a cup."
“You know you almost got shot again?” he returned with a glare, squatting beside her. Ryan folded his arms across his knees. “What are you doing out of bed?"
“You remind me of an Ipper."
“What's that?"
She took another drink of murr. “Someone who gets into more mischief than he can handle. We are in the middle of the Masar Range, and heading west, I presume."
He nodded. “Headed right for your Holding, just like you wanted."
“And then?"
“Then, Mikial, I need you to convince your friends not to use these poor folks for target practice. More than that, you and I are going to sell the idea that these Blue Belts are allies to be helped. From what I understand, they've already forged a tolerant relationship with your kind already."
She practically choked on her murr. “Tolerant? It's an ugly truce at best, Ryan. They set up Passion camps, and we use them."
“Then it's time to improve things.” Ryan reached over and borrowed her cup. He took a long sip. “You saw what the Eastern Union will be shooting back with, Mikial. Wouldn't it be nice to have Manwal Kinn kept off-balance by a nasty little civil war?” He swept his hand across the camp. “You have about eight hundred folks here more than happy to do the job. They just need the right training and weapons."
She shook her head at the thought of her sect ducking fire from rifles they'd just handed over. “You don't understand."
Ryan handed the cup back to her. “These people kept you alive. I understand that much."
“Fine, so I owe them my assistance. Why not? Might as well help one more enemy since I can be executed only once.” Mikial pointed to the other campfire. “I assume those are the most influential ones here."
Ryan nodded. “The big guy in the blue robe with the green necklace is their leader. Fellow by the name of Yorth Shoke. He was constable or something. You want to go over?"
“I'd rather you brought him over here,” Mikial said, not wanting to put her back through any more pain then necessary.
Ryan gave out a long breath. “Mikial, it would be much better if you joined them. This Yorth isn't one to take orders easily. Especially from a Qurl.” He raised a hand. “No offense."
Her amber eyes cut into him. “Then they need to adjust to it.” It was time to measure her own authority against their need to use her.
“I don't know who's going to kill us first,” Ryan said with a disgruntled look as he stood up. “I suggest a more respectful approach if you want to see your Holding with an attached head."
Ryan brought them. Four males and a female, all looking weary and displaced. She could smell their fear as they sat across from her. Their leader, Yorth, was a large Minneran about Dahin Chadrak's size, who looked at her with jaundiced ebony eyes beneath a thinning sweep of gray hair over a low forehead. More murr was brought. Yorth's plan, no doubt fashioned with Ryan's help, was as simple as it was desperate. They would return her to the Holding. In turn, they hoped to earn themselves a measure of gratitude and protection while they set up a refugee camp.
What choice do they really have? Mikial thought, recalling the bodies heaped in that village creek. Right now Qurls must seem as the lesser monster in their eyes. These were just people trying to protect themselves and their families. Would her Holding do no less for its own? Mikial displayed her willingness to cooperate by instructing Yorth on the best way to survive initial contact with her sect. She also made it clear what their fate would be if they tried even one forced Passion exchange. Ryan was all smiles when he helped her back into the cot, an indication that the night had gone well for them all.
It took two more days of weaving through narrow ravines before their descent brought warmer climates. The canvas top of the wagon was removed at her request, allowing her to survey their progress from her cot. It was in the early morning of the sixth day that Mikial saw the mist-shrouded basin where the Minneran Gap began. This would be the mouth of Foggy Pass. Beyond were the rolling outlines of her home. Mikial put on her armor, a delicate process since her back had not improved as much as her tolerance for the pain it gave her.
Granite walls gave way to foothills by early afternoon as the refugee column made its way down from the Masar Range. “Ryan,” she said, motioning to him as he walked beside her wagon. “See how the land slopes into the basin like a staircase ahead? Tell them to set up camp there."
Ryan craned his neck doubtfully. “A bit early for that, isn't it?"
“Not one bit.” She handed him her field glasses.
Squinting, he followed where her finger pointed. “That doesn't look promising."
Mikial watched as tiny specks burst from eight distant airships like seeds, parachutes blossoming above the hills that bordered the basin's western edge. “You're seeing two High Strikes being deployed.” She indicated the trees that peppered the valley floor. “That's where the Datha will be by nightfall. We won't normally engage noncombatants. Therefore, it's best if you get some children up toward the front of the camp so they can be seen before dark. Otherwise, we might face a night assault."
“I think your people are going to see them sooner,” he said, gesturing toward the southern sky.
Eyes wide, Mikial took back her field glasses. “Dalen's airship,” she whispered, catching the glint of propellers. “Looks like the Shandi finally let him fly it.” It would be on them within minutes. Mikial turned to the line of refugees behind her. “No guns! Put your weapons away. Now!"
“I'll take care of it,” Ryan said, running back. His shouts echoed up the canyon.
“So will I,” Mikial said, fishing her clicker from a pocket. She had not used the thing since telling t
he Ipper she had decided to go with Dahin Chadrak. There should be someone out there who would pick it up.
The airship drew near. Mikial could hear the thrum of propellers as it banked toward them. The sun shone off its white fuselage. It was too high for her to see who flew the craft. She clicked at her signal device, sending her message. There were cries of panic from the Minnerans as the airship flew overhead well out of rifle shot. Fortunately, no one tried to fire.
Ryan ran up to her, shielding the sun from his eyes as he watched the craft circle lazily above them. “Reminds me of the one I chased back to your hills. You've got some good pilots in those things."
Mikial glanced at him in amusement, her suspicions confirmed. “Thanks for not ramming me."
Ryan looked at her and laughed. “That was you, eh? Well, as I said, you were good with those evasives. Simply hitting you wasn't my style.” Ryan regarded the airship again. “What's he up to? Looks like a figure eight. Wonder if he's trying to impress us."
Mikial let out a relieved breath. “No. He's doing what I asked him to. Apparently there's an Ipper on board.” She held up her clicker. “They now know I'm here, and that we're not hostile."
“What did they say?"
“This thing only works one way, Ryan. We'll get our answer tonight at the earliest."
“Or right now. Here he comes,” Ryan warned. “Looks like he's lining up for a pass. That thing's not armed, is it?"
“Wouldn't be surprised, after the last time you and I met."
The airship swooped over the basin and into a tight turn, altitude dropping as it came back at them. The right wing dipped sharply as it came over, allowing her to look directly into the cockpit. It was Dalen! She would recognize that high brow anywhere!
The female in the back seat waved back as they sped by. Mikial's heart leaped at seeing the sandy brunette hair and spray of white ear fans. “Paleen!” she cried out with joy.
“You know them?” Ryan asked as the aircraft rose up for another pass.
“We get ourselves in trouble together."
“I can believe that. He's coming around again."
The airship flashed overhead one final time. A bottle glinted in the sunlight as it tumbled down.
Mikial quickly unraveled the note when it was brought to her. “We're to hold here.” Smiling, she tucked the letter inside a pocket. Paleen and Dalen had both added a quick scribble welcoming her back. She drew in a long breath to steady herself. She wasn't home yet, and there would be plenty of unsmiling faces to greet her when she arrived.
They made camp at the mouth of Foggy Pass. Ryan convinced several mothers to let their children pick stripe berries along the terrace edge. Campfires greeted the darkening skies. Nervous faces peered out toward unseen watchers. Mikial and Ryan quickly squelched Yorth's idea of posting sentries, armed or otherwise.
Datha scouts were probably in place nearby, though her hunting eyes found no evidence that they had closed on the camp itself. She knew more than anyone else that their fate was already in the hands of her sect.
Mikial slept little that night, hounded by a dream she could not remember, but which left her wide-eyed with ragged gasps. Unable to get the image of Dalen and Paleen out of her mind, she endured the pain from her spine and dragged her blanket down to a fire beside the wagon.
“That back of yours at it again?” Ryan asked, looking up at her as he prodded embers with a stick.
She nodded. “Can't sleep either."
“Relax. You'll be welcomed back as a hero, no doubt."
Mikial gave an uncomfortable laugh, imagining the Tasuria's expression as she read the report. “I didn't exactly have permission when I left for Kioranna. This will only make matters worse."
He rubbed his hands over the flames. “No permission, eh? Still think your leaders will help me get our ship back?"
Mikial wrapped the blanket close about her. Like it or not, and she didn't, she owed him her life. Just the same, Ryan had much to answer for. Beginning with Bramble Ravine. “I can promise nothing, except that you won't be going there as my prisoner."
“An honest answer at least.” Ryan looked up at the Curtain. “Why don't you tell me about these Shandi who are supposed to sift me like flour."
“You'll find out yourself tomorrow."
“We're just not going to become friends, are we?"
Her mouth pulled down with scorn that did not come easily anymore. “You were flying me back as a prisoner, remember? Consider it enough that you've earned even a measure of my trust."
“I take what I can get,” he muttered.
Mikial softened her tone. “You know you're risking your life if you come with me.” She looked at him. “You could simply turn around, Ryan. I can't stop you from leaving in my present condition, not that I'd try."
His eyes met hers with no less sincerity. “I've got about three dozen people holed up in one of the less popular areas of a Minneran summer palace, Mikial. Maybe less if they executed a few for my escape. What else am I supposed to do?” Ryan kicked at an ember. “I could use your help."
“Maybe you'll have it,” she replied softly, thinking of her inevitable Judgment.
“Yeah, well I'm not stupid either.” Ryan glanced upward again. “When we ran into trouble in your Curtain, we started dropping beacons. Eventually search teams will find them, and then find this place.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I'm betting your people are smarter than these Minnerans."
“And if we're not?” she asked.
The human pulled a stick from the fire and stirred the coals until a cloud of fiery sparks whirled skyward. “As I said, Mikial. I'm betting you are."
* * * *
The low hoots of field hawks greeted the rising sun as it shone through the basin mist like an orange ball. Refugees lined the terrace edge. Parents held tight to fidgeting children. Everyone stared into the shrouded woods below.
Mikial stood on the rain-washed path that led into the basin. She wore her armor save for her helmet, which she held in her hands. The Blue Belt leader, Yorth, waited with an anxious face at one side of her. He had put aside his cloak and jacket in accordance with her instructions, and was now dressed in a simple brown shirt and pants tied by a blue belt.
Ryan stood on her other side, wearing his freshly cleaned camouflage uniform. He gave an impatient look down the slope. Like her, Mikial suspected he wanted to get this over with, and learn his fate. His hair had grown out from when she first met him, helping to offset his misshapen ears. He wore his odd green beret with the same care and pride as any Datha would a battle pattern.
“Everyone ready?” Ryan inquired.
“Move slowly like I told you,” Mikial added, as they began to file down from the rocky shelf. It was a good suggestion. Her back felt even worse.
“I can't see any welcoming committee,” Ryan said, glancing around after they passed the first line of trees.
“They're here."
“How about if I carry you?” he suggested, seeing her wince as they walked. “We could both use the pity."
“I'm a bit heavier than you think,” Mikial answered, catching his quick grin. “You save your humor for the oddest times, Ryan Donald. Is this a human trait?"
His reply was more gibberish. “Irish."
They moved slowly among the trees. The line of refugees faded in the mists behind them. Mikial halted by a rocky outcrop. “There's no need in going further."
“Where are they?” Yorth asked.
“All around us. We just passed through a Line of Datha."
Ryan gestured to a small boulder obscured by thick moss. “Maybe you'd better sit."
Mikial shook her head. “Someone's coming.” Her eyes reached forward toward the three patterns she detected. They were all Datha. The middle one was unmistakable. Parva Conn. Mikial's initial twinge of joy faded under the weight of what she had done these past weeks.
“Big boys,” Ryan commented in a low voice as the trio emerged from surrounding fo
liage in full battle armor. “Didn't think anything could look even meaner than you. Please tell them not to kill us, would you?"
“Don't move,” Mikial replied as the outside Datha split off into flanking positions with rifles ready.
Parva Conn strode forward, unsnapping his helmet strap to reveal his white braid. “Glad to see you're still alive, Mikial,” he welcomed with a laugh. “Welcome back, Dathia."
Mikial gasped with pain as he hugged her. “I'm pleased to be home,” she managed with a drawn face. “Forgive me, Strike Leader. I've taken injury."
Parva glanced at Ryan, then turned. “Immediate Team forward!"
“Mikial, you'd better take it easy,” Ryan suggested, helping her sit on the rock. He looked up at Parva with apprehension. “You're her commander?"
“Who are you?” Parva rumbled back dangerously. “What happened to her?"
“She was thrown by an explosion when we blew an ammunition dump, among other things.” Ryan explained. “Her back took the worst of it. As for me, that's a story we can talk about after she's taken care of."
Parva stared at Ryan, as if trying to place what was wrong about him. “Mikial, is this Servant your prisoner?"
“No, he's my companion,” she said between slow breaths. “He'd saved my life."
“And the one behind you?"
She shook her head. “Yorth represents the refugee group I came with. They brought me here hoping for the Holding's help and protection. They're Blue Belts."
“What?” Parva regarded Yorth with raised eyebrows.
“It's a bit complicated,” Mikial said with a weak grin.