by K. M. Tolan
If they can fire it, so can I, she thought, glancing at a belt of huge cartridges feeding the weapon from an adjacent green box. Squeezing triggers located on the handles, Mikial was rewarded with several bursts of fire. Spent ammunition casings joined a pile on the floor. Satisfied, Mikial opened fire on the other towers, peppering each with small explosions until they fell silent.
Looking down into the courtyard, she saw a handful of Kiorannans exchanging fire with enemy crews around four cannons of the type she and Ryan had seen near Cantel. The main party of attackers, including Alad, had already stormed the two-story brick garrison. The staccato report of gunfire raged inside. Wishing she could get a look at this Manwal Kinn as he died, Mikial searched behind the fort for another target.
It took her less than a moment to find one. Union reinforcements clambered off two barges at piers along the Asul. Mikial centered her barrel and fired. Hideous red spray marked her sweep across the docks. The soldiers’ screams carried the hammer of the repeater as it fired.
Satisfied that any counterattack would be delayed, Mikial took aim at Union infantry exposed on the far bank of the river. Her opening burst was harshly interrupted by a hot blast that threw her to the floor.
* * * *
Mikial woke with dust in her mouth. A brown cloud of debris rolled overhead, making her realize that the tower roof was gone. Spitting, she inspected her debris-coated body for wounds. Other than a constant hiss in her ears, she found herself unscathed. Mikial staggered to her feet. Half of the tower wall facing the courtyard had collapsed. A vortex of flame and black smoke rolled up from where the cannons had been. Wiping blood from her nose, she saw that the entire front of the garrison building had collapsed. The wooden roof sagged dangerously above it and was catching fire. Alad!
Sliding down a pile of stone and brick, Mikial shielded her face against heat from flames around the ruined cannons. She ran for the garrison. Stepping over fallen timbers and walls, Mikial searched through pungent fog for any sign of the Steward or his men. Her hunting eyes proved the only reliable sense she had left. Drawn to a vague blob of patterns, she found Alad beneath the slab of a large ironwood table.
He regarded her with dazed amber eyes. Blood dribbled down his dust-coated chin. A wrenching cough brought up more.
Chest wound, Mikial realized with dread, feeling wetness across the front of his mauled overcoat. “I've got to get you to an Immediate Team,” she spoke, hardly hearing her own words through the noise in her ears. “Can you walk at all?"
“The rest of my men?"
Mikial looked around at the other dead. “They protected you with their bodies.” She lifted him to his feet. Alad sagged against her.
A measure of strength hardened his blackened face as one of the other Kiorannan's groaned. “I will not leave them!"
“You don't have that choice,” Mikial said, scooping him up in her arms. Fortunately, her uncle was as light as he looked. He gasped with pain as she ran with him through the gate toward the granite outcrop, leaving the thick smoke behind. She immediately drew fire from across the river. Qurl cannons answered from the foothills eighty spans away.
“I believe we've been recognized,” Mikial shouted, taking shelter among the rocks. Bullets thudded and cracked around them as she eased Alad beneath a protective shelf of granite. Mikial grabbed a rifle and ammunition pouch from one of the dead Kiorannans. She jammed a rifle ball into the breach, hoping the Minnerans did not try crossing the Asul to get at Alad. Mikial regarded the long shadows. With night would come a chance to get back to the Qurl lines.
Mikial scrunched up in a protective huddle next to Alad as darkness fell, listening with dread to his ragged breaths. Gently pulling his coat aside, she used her knife to rip away the soaked shirt. It revealed a trio of deep injuries where shrapnel had caught him. Powder from her medicine pouch stopped further bleeding, and hopefully eased the pain. It was all she could do until a Shandi saw him.
“Why?” The question came softly. “You know I am dying."
“You've not seen what a Shandi surgeon can do,” she assured, wiping grime from his narrow face. “My mother could have you up and singing by morning."
He gave a half grin. “Your mother?"
“Qurl mother, Uncle,” Mikial added. “I've given you medicine she made herself. It will keep you."
“It helps much.” His words deepened with regret. “We could use those like your Qurl mother. I killed so many of my men today."
“Minnerans killed them with weapons they should never have had,” she corrected.
“We were fighting with Protectorate Guards.” The Steward winced. “I shot Manwal myself—then everything fell."
“Somebody must have fired into the cannon ammunition outside. At least Manwal is dead, and hopefully this Union with him."
Alad's mouth moved silently for a moment before speaking. “She holds you in high esteem."
Mikial looked at him. “Who?"
“Your mother.” Mikial sensed his smile in the gloom. “We talked after you left. She said that she had met a daughter with mettle enough to shame even her."
“My life was far simpler before I met that lady."
If Alad answered, his weak reply was lost in the sudden eruption of gunfire across the battlefield. Stark images lit the darkness, running figures backlit by the flash of Qurl cannons. Mikial momentarily caught the outline of descending parachutes. “Air assault,” she said with a grin. “That's probably the reinforcements from Tessana Holding. You'll be in good hands shortly."
Her uncle's jaw hung slack as cannon fire flashed around them. His aura was a vague shadow to her hunting eyes. “No!” Mikial forced air into his lungs with her lips.
She whirled, sensing someone's approach. Snarling, Mikial raised the rifle. Her senses picked up a Datha's strong pattern.
“Twelfth Force out of Tessana. Hold your fire!"
“I need an Immediate Team!” she shouted as several Datha rushed up. “This is Kioranna's Steward."
“They'll have to find themselves another, then,” the soldier grunted. “This one hasn't so much as a spark left inside him."
“I'll let a Shandi tell me that!” Mikial pushed him aside and gathered Alad in her arms. She ran back toward Murcanna, her hunting eyes seeking Immediate Teams that scoured the field for wounded. Those she encountered took one glance at Alad and directed her toward tents pitched along Haken's Wall.
Within a chime, Mikial faced a Shandi surgeon who only shook her head. “He belongs to the Kiorannans now, Dathia,” the Counselor spoke softly, taking her hands away from Alad's body on the table.
Moaning, Mikial stepped outside the tent. Everywhere she looked, lamps glowed next to cots filled with Qurls and Kiorannans alike. The remnants of the Union army had fled up the Asul Valley, taking the end of the war with them. For the many Shandi around her, however, the battle was still being fought. How long before Maltenna repeats this scene? Or will the humans end everything in one great vengeful fireball? Mikial looked back as Alad's body was pulled off the table to make room for a living patient. This had to stop now, before Ryan's race found other Servants eager to repeat this cycle.
It was not hard to commandeer a yhas; many were stumbling around the debris without riders. Seizing a blond-haired animal by it reins, Mikial brought it over to the tent and draped the Steward's corpse across the saddle. “Time to go home, Uncle,” she sighed. Mikial grabbed a round lantern, not wanting herself shot in the confused mix of Servants and Qurls.
Questioning those she passed along the rubble-strewn streets behind Haken's Wall, Mikial found that the Kiorannans had withdrawn back across the Asul River bridge, leaving the bulk of Qurl forces between the river and the wall. She confirmed this herself at the bridge, where an entrenched High Strike aimed their weapons at the Asul's west bank. Borrowing a pair of field glasses, Mikial could see the Servants constructing new barricades on their side of the river. She turned to the shadows behind the remnants of a brick wall twen
ty paces to her left. “Strike Leader, please inform our Principal that I'm taking the Steward over to the Kiorannans."
Her eyes registered the Datha's nod. “We have eight gunners covering you, Dathia. We'll get you back if we have to."
Mikial stepped out upon the bridge with the yhas in tow, her boots crunching across scattered shards of masonry. Once she was well ahead of the Datha lines, Mikial held her lantern up high. Her world shrank down to that one pool of light, the rest enveloped by blackness and the smell of spent ammunition. She walked forward. Sixty spans ahead, she saw the Kiorannans gather at the other end of the bridge. A torch flickered to life among them.
One soldier left the group, the torch held high as he walked out to meet her. Mikial recognized the bearded face revealed below the wavering flame. “Dahin,” Mikial called out. “I'm bringing the Steward across."
Dahin somberly took the reins from her hands. The Kiorannan's face was no less blackened and scored then her own. “I was in the foothills. We saw you taking him from the fort."
“The cannon shells exploded, bringing most of the fort down in the process. He was still alive when I found him, enough to tell me that he'd shot Minnera's leader dead. I thought there was still a chance to save him, not to mention our future."
Dahin put a weary hand on her left shoulder. “There still might be.” He glanced over his shoulder at the troops. “They saw a Taqurl risk her life to save Kioranna's Steward. Maltenna can't ignore that fact anymore than she can erase its memory."
“And don't forget who covered your retreat,” Mikial reminded. She shook her head in disgust at the Kiorannans crouching down behind their barricades with rifles ready. “So how many chimes do you think will pass before we start shooting each other?"
“You're holding many of our wounded,” Dahin pointed out.
“The Shandi are too busy to care who they're treating right now.” Mikial gave him an acidic smile. “Did it even occur to anyone to come over and arrange for their transfer?"
Dahin kicked at a loose flagstone. “That takes a bridge builder, Mikial.” His blue eyes gave her a penetrating look. “Someone with a foot on each shore. Corias suggested as much in her message."
“Corias is half the reason we ended up like this in the first place."
“Perhaps.” Dahin handed her back the reins. “You bring Alad over."
Mikial regarded the Steward's body. “I'll give Maltenna more than memories to fear.” She tugged the yhas into a slow walk. “Let me tell you about humans."
Dahin led her into the Kiorannan lines, listening intently while she explained the source behind the Minneran's weapons. As she talked, Mikial saw battered soldiers emerge from the darkness. Their exhaustion firmed into resolute expressions upon seeing their Steward. Shouldering rifles, they wordlessly formed up behind the yhas. Her walk soon became a procession through the ruins of Murcanna. Mikial wondered if she was pulling the entire army along with her, leaving the Datha to face emptied defenses. She looked up at the black cliffs as the marchers neared her Holding's escarpments. Hopefully her sect would have the sense not to interfere.
Dahin was impressed enough with her and Ryan's adventures to insist on riding ahead with the news. Only then did he tell her that Maltenna had arrived with seven Sets out of Ruth's garrison, and that she would enter Murcanna at daybreak.
Mikial continued to walk, not daring to look at the soldiers behind her. She had not expected to lead an entire Servant army back by herself. A pyre of wood and captured Minneran equipment stood on the beach where she had met Alad before the battle. It was at least twice her height. Ten spans away, lamp-lit tents stretched back along the coastline. Numerous pennants rustled in the sea-borne breeze. Beneath those flags stood soldiers whose numbers extended back among the tents.
Dahin stepped out from among the waiting Kiorannans and helped Mikial carry Alad's remains to the top of the pyre. On impulse, Mikial drew the knife Dalen had given her and laid the blade in the wood at Alad's feet. Her natural uncle considered her part of his family, even when she spat it back in his face. The knife she would replace this one with would serve as a reminder that Alad had come closer to granting Corias’ final wish than she ever could.
Stepping back from the pyre, Mikial looked at Dahin with regret. “I would've been proud to be his daughter.” She inclined her head toward the brightly lit tents. “Remind Maltenna of the tactical disadvantage afforded by these narrows when her enemy holds the high ground. She'd best not interfere with my sect's withdrawal. Besides, it's in her best interests to leave us be. If the humans come, it won't be Kiorannan rifles that speak first in your defense."
“You can tell her yourself, Mikial. She has asked to see you before we pay our respects to the Steward."
The bivouac area Dahin took Mikial to seemed part of a different world than the one she watched Alad die in. Maltenna's compound sat a short distance from the main camp, neatly arranged lamp poles that shone down on canvas spires as white as fresh linen. The lilt of a shrie within the cluster of five tents completed the illusion of an outing by the sea. Dahin left Mikial before a green-and-blue pavilion supported by a half dozen tall poles. Two flags bordered the extended entranceway, each wide pennant displaying the twin-skathe emblem of the Kior family.
Two soldiers, wearing green-and-turquoise plumed hats of the Family Guard, brought Mikial to an inner room within the tent. She took in the deep indigo rugs spread across an area as large as her living room back home. Had someone forgotten to tell Maltenna that a war is still being fought here? Silver water bowls and green towels were set into a nutwood stand that encircled a heavy center pole that also supported four gas lamps. Two cushioned chairs flanked the entrance flap behind her, facing a floral-patterned couch across the room. A wooden desk with an ash finish suggested that this was Maltenna's study.
Mikial sucked in a breath as her natural mother entered from a partition to the right. Maltenna wore a long-sleeved dress, its collar snug around her neck. A wide white band tied back her ebony hair. She wore only white, the color of mourning.
Maltenna's dark eyes regarded her with more warmth than Mikial expected, but her words were less of a surprise. “You look a mess. At least take off that helmet and pretend to be sociable."
Scowling, Mikial unbuckled her chinstrap and fixed the helmet to her belt.
“What happened to your hair?"
“War,” Mikial stated with a blunt look. “Don't try and block our forces when we leave. You might find more than your own hair getting mussed."
Maltenna gave a slight smile, then turned to dip a towel in one of the water bowls. “I expected to fight you for Murcanna. A seaport, and you don't even want it.” She shrugged, then stepped up to Mikial. “Hold still a moment."
Stiffening, Mikial forced her claws to keep their place as Maltenna reached up and began to wipe soot and blood from her angular cheeks. “Are you trying to test my tolerance?"
“Actually, I am doing my best to practice it."
“Like when you came up to those ruins with a loaded pistol?” Mikial stepped back with a frown. “You were going to kill me!"
“I did consider it.” Maltenna sighed. “You certainly have the heart of a Kior, Mikial. If judged by that alone, I would be proud to claim you as my daughter. But your blood is Taqurl. I can't look at you without having that rubbed in my face."
Mikial stared down at her, unsure how to reply to such a frank statement. There was no malice in Maltenna's face. “How could you hate us so much?"
“Try hiking up those trails into your hills with three other girls in Passion like yourself; all of you so scared that you can't even keep food down.” Maltenna threw the towel aside, her eyes flashing. “See how you like pulling up your dress in front of a complete stranger! Worse still, your enemy!"
“You had a Return Child,” Mikial said, not wanting to tell Maltenna how she had experienced some of that horror herself.
“No I didn't, because I ran!” Trembling, her mother shook h
er head in rage. “You should have heard them laughing at me as I practically fell down those slopes! They were laughing, Mikial! That's the kind of people that raised you.” Her lips curled. “That is what you are."
Mikial looked down. There were grins on those Minneran soldiers as well. “I'll be the first to admit that my people are in need of change.” She regarded her mother sharply. “You'll have to do some changing too. Dahin told you about the humans?"
“And about that flying carriage over Murcanna.” Bending down, Maltenna retrieved the towel. “My troops are already catching rumors of how viciously your kind fight. They don't need to hear worse.” Frowning, she finished cleaning Mikial's face. “If these creatures come down from the Curtain, do you really think you could stop them?"
“Not if we're busy fighting you."
“Then maybe it is time I meet these two rulers of yours.” Maltenna's voice took on an ominous tone. “We can start by discussing how Passion exchanges are conducted."
“You actually want them to meet with you?” Mikial asked incredulously.
A cutting smile replaced Maltenna's glowering expression. “Corias wanted you to bring our two peoples back together, remember?” She walked over to the desk and pulled a large brown envelope from its top drawer. “Well, now is your chance to see how difficult that is going to be."
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* * *
Seventeen
The firestone revealed itself like a flash of thought in a dying mind, catching a late sun as Mikial carefully brushed the ash away. More of the gemstones were exposed, cemented within a small pool of smudged silver that had long since cooled. Her soft cry replaced tears that tired eyes could no longer supply. Mikial lifted her melted dancer's necklace from its grave and pressed it against her breast. She rose off of cinder-blackened knees. The olive battle dress she wore was her only clothing now.