by J. S. Morin
The intruder dipped his head and lowered his sword briefly. “Captain Denrik Zayne, formerly of the Fair Trader.” He tilted his head at his companion. “And my son, Jadon.”
“What are you doing in my house?” Madlin asked.
“I find myself wondering the very same thing,” Zayne replied. “I followed you through that gate your father’s machine created. It seemed a sensible gamble, since my other lane of escape was tenuous.”
Madlin glanced at the boy, who stared at her, not making eye contact. “You’re welcome. I guess.”
“Jadon, take her gun.”
The boy stepped around his father and reached into Madlin’s holster. He took the revolver between thumb and forefinger and slipped it out as if it were contagious. There was a delicacy to his touch; he drew it cleanly, neither touching Madlin nor jostling the holster. She only noticed its absence by the lack of the comforting weight on her thigh. Zayne took the weapon with his free hand as Jadon retreated behind him and wiped his fingers on his trousers.
“So what now?” Madlin asked. Something was odd about the boy, more than just a case of shyness. “If you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me already. So obviously—” Jadon kept staring in her direction, but not quite at her. It dawned on her. “Does he ever blink?”
The corner of Zayne’s mouth twitched. “Not often, that I’ve noticed. As for my aim here, we may have a common cause.”
A single, involuntary guffaw escaped Madlin before she could think better of it. “Sorry, but my father’s been at your throat for years. Don’t seem likely we’ve got much in common.”
“That boy warlock.”
“Dan?”
Zayne’s face darkened and twisted into a snarl. “How many Kadrin warlocks have you got stashed around here?” There was an effeminate chuckle from behind Zayne, but when Madlin checked, Jadon had already composed himself again.
“Dan’s Veydran, as far as he’s told—”
“Khesh. Kadrin is the other world’s version of southern Khesh. I don’t care to bore you with politics, but suffice it to say that his people have made life miserable for mine over much of the past two centuries, on and off. We are currently in between conflicts, and if I could be rid of that one, it would aid my old heart greatly.”
“He’s a troubled kid. Not quite bolted together right between the ears. Not sure I’m too eager to try putting a bullet in him. He seems a bit twitchy about burning things that don’t meet his approval.”
Zayne lowered his sword, and to Madlin’s great surprise, sheathed it. “I said I’d not bore you with politics, but I’m afraid I must inflict some historical context upon you. He’s told you he’s a warlock, but you don’t seem to grasp what that means. It’s not just a sorcerer, that’s what I was, before I was killed. It’s what Jadon is, both here and in the other world. A warlock is someone whose blood doesn’t race, whose mind is as rigid as ice, and as numb to feeling. A common sorcerer struggles to do battle. Intricate thoughts are dangerous when the mind is harried by fear, made jittery by excitement. Warlocks used to be so rare that generations would forget the horrors they brought. Then another would pop up—an aberration of heredity—and some king or emperor would go on a spree of wars. One such war cost my people their freedom. We were ground under boot by a warlock named Rashan Solaran. He is the great uncle of that thirteen year old madman you have running loose, destroying things.”
“So two warlocks a couple generations apart?” Madlin asked, trying to follow along as best she could.
“Two warlocks of the same generation,” said Zayne. “His cousin was even more powerful, and only through great fortune did he and Rashan Solaran destroy one another in a struggle for power.”
“Yeah, the more I hear about your world, the more it sounds like a worse piss pot than mine.”
Zayne smiled in earnest. “This is why I think we may have better cause to ally than find us at one another’s throats. The profession your father so loathes really dates back to an old grudge I carry with Acardia. It matters less to me than my son’s world, and the fate of the people I died trying to protect.”
Madlin shook her head, not in denial, but in disappointment. “I know Acardia warred with Takalia, but that was before I was born. Humans warring with humans ... it just seems ... unbrotherly.”
“Ambition. That’s the root of most of it. Humans are not the only people of Veydrus, but we dominate it. We’d contest with the goblins if they forced our hands. If the ogres wished to leave their forests and threaten our cities, we’d beat them back. But instead, we scrap amongst ourselves, mostly because the privileged few always want more than they have.”
“Your people...” Madlin swallowed. “Did they suffer? What was it like being conquered?”
“They killed our king and replaced him with a series of governors, little puffed up tyrants with all the power and none of the breeding to teach them how to rule. Much as I hate monarchs, they at least knew that much. We were ruled with iron laws, punished whether evidence showed us innocent or guilty. They took our women as their own, even young girls—”
Madlin put up a hand. “Enough. I’ve got the point.” She could picture Korr, with other humans ruling in place of the kuduks. A shiver worked its way up her spine. “These are Dan’s people?”
“He’s a shining example. Their best and brightest. Once he’s matured and fully in command of his powers, I don’t know that they’ll be able to help but send him off to war. There are certain breeds of dogs that are fit for little else but hunting and killing; it’s in their blood. Danilaesis Solaran is most certainly that breed of mongrel.”
“And you said warlocks are becoming more common?” Madlin asked. She was doing her best to get a picture of these Kadrins, slanted though it probably was by Zayne’s grudge.
A mirthless smile slid onto Zayne’s face. “I didn’t tell you the best part. They breed their sorcerers like livestock. It’s all very formal and proper, but it all comes down to getting the best blood from each generation to rut, and picking the best of that lot to try again with the next.”
Madlin felt a bit sick to her stomach. It was possible that she could picture humans treated like livestock only too clearly. It was more likely that she’d eaten too much on a painfully empty stomach. Zayne saw her discomfort, and appeared to assume the former.
“Danilaesis is too powerful to simply assault. At his best, Jadon can keep safe and hide from him. We need to arrange an accident for our warlock.”
Madlin hugged her arms close around her. “I still don’t know. Dan did save us more than once.”
With a shake of his head, Zayne dismissed her objection. “You can mourn a rabid dog. You mustn’t try to keep it.”
“I need time to think,” said Madlin. “Take rooms in the city, down by the sailing ship docks. No one here would recognize you except Dan—and Tanner once we get him back.” Madlin mentioned the last as an aside to herself.
“Mr. Tanner can be dealt with,” Zayne replied. “Very well. I will speak to you again when you are safely alone.”
Jadon looked expectantly at his father, who nodded once. The two of them disappeared. A few seconds later, the door unbolted itself, opened, then closed once more. Madlin hustled across the room and bolted it again.
One more complication to my life. Maybe they’ll kill each other off and leave me in peace.
Not knowing what else to do with herself, Madlin went back to drawing.
Chapter 18
“Not every puzzle has a solution. Life isn’t as tidy as that.” -Cadmus Errol
The wind high above the Sea of Kerum whistled among the steel struts and beams of the Jennai, adding its own sound even as it stole away the words of conversations that passed among the rebels who milled around the plaza. Rynn imagined that if she closed her eyes she could convince herself that she was alone, standing atop a mountain peak. A crosswind blew, and a metallic groan protested the change. Runes now held the airship immobile, engines idle, and no simple
wind would dislodge them. When she learned those runes, she had never pictured them locking something the size of the Jennai in place; a coil gun had been the height of her ambition at the time.
It seemed like half the crew was standing around waiting, just as she was. Of course, standing around for Rynn involved sitting herself down on an upturned steel rain-barrel next to the gondola, but her intent was the same as that of the anxious crowd.
“What are we going to do first?” Sosha asked. She had been quiet so long that Rynn had let her fade into the background. Sosha had her arms hugged tight to her chest and her shoulders bunched.
“You should go grab a blanket. It’s not worth freezing over.”
Sosha shook her head, jittery with shivers. “No, I want to see it for myself. I wasn’t watching for it on the island. I just ... I just assumed it would be warmer.”
It was true, they were nearing the equatorial region of Korr, but that hadn’t meant warm skies. “Air’s thin up here, doesn’t much matter what it’s like down below. Maybe go stand out in the sun.” Rynn didn’t mind the shadow of the gondola. She had her coat on and her hands in her pockets. The crisp wind kept her face numb and her nose always threatening to drip, but an occasional wipe of her sleeve and it was no worse than home—Madlin’s home, anyway.
Sosha huddled close, pressing her shoulder to Rynn’s arm. With her perch on the barrel, Rynn was a full head higher. Her first instinct was to pull away, but she decided that she liked the touch of warmth better than she liked having a bit of space. She wished there was someone to lean in from the other side, so the sensation wasn’t lopsided.
“Hey,” said Sosha. She put a hand to Rynn’s barrel. “This thing is warm.”
“You try parking your arse on a metal barrel out in this chill. I aethered it up a bit.”
“I might have to make one for myself.” Sosha shivered, her whole body spasming for a moment.
Rynn disentangled her arm from both her pocket and Sosha’s leaning weight, and pulled her tight. “You could always try Dan’s trick, you know.”
Sosha’s teeth chattered as she answered. “Last defense against frostbite, maybe. Rather shiver than become a torch.”
“You’ve got a better feel for the stuff than I do. If Dan makes a sorceress of one of us, it’ll be you.”
Sosha shook her head. “He’s clinical. If he showed up at my patron’s office, they’d truss him up in a madman’s wrap, haul him off to a sanitarium.”
“Might want to keep that to yourself,” said Rynn. “He could catch you mid-sentence if the hole opens close by.”
“Oh? And then what? He tries to proposition me or leaves dullard’s hints about how easily he could kill me? How would that be any different from every time he opens his mouth.”
“Dunno,” said Rynn. “Seems that he’s a bit off. Most boys I’ve known that age fixate on getting your clothes off, but not so much the killing part. Might be he’s just trying to impress you. He gave up on me after I threw him in the Katamic.”
“Might have to try that,” Sosha muttered.
From the middle of the plaza, there was a stirring in the idle knot of rebels. A flickering of light split the air, spreading silently until it irised into the familiar circular shape of the world-ripper’s gates. People scattered to make room, many still unsure just what constituted a safe distance from the phenomenon. Rynn and Sosha didn’t have much of a view from their vantage, sitting nearly end-on to the plane of the hole.
Rynn released Sosha from her grasp and retrieved her crutches from the crevice between the barrel and the hull of the gondola. The metallic handles were wrapped for a more comfortable grip, but they still stole the heat from her hands. Images of pouring aether into the walking aids until they melted to slag danced in her imagination. They were constant companions, giving her freedom to get around the ship without anyone’s help. Without them, she was reduced to hopping around holding onto walls and railings, or relying on charity for transportation. She could not be rid of them soon enough.
By the time she reached the aperture, workers were already carrying parts and materials through. By prearrangement, rebel crewmen were guiding them to the cargo hold of the Cloudsmith, where the new world-ripper was to be assembled. Even growing up there as Madlin, Rynn couldn’t help but be impressed with the industrious efficiency of the workshops on Tinker’s Island. Even before the first successful test of the world-ripper, they had already plunged ahead with parts for a second. Now, those parts were on their way to give the Jennai the weapon they’d need to get the rebellion moving in earnest.
Rynn watched from a safe distance, well clear of the convoy of riggers with wheeled dollies and teams of burly workmen grouped by fours and sixes and eights as they hefted giant sections of machinery and shuffled across the poured-stone floor of Cadmus’s workshop, through the world hole, and over the metal deckplates of the Jennai. Madlin had studied the plans, so Rynn recognized most of the parts by sight, but their workings remained a mystery. Cadmus played coy when she asked him, but she suspected he understood it little better than did she.
After the machinery was through, there were a number of transfers left to be made in both directions.
“All right,” Rynn shouted to be heard over the wind. “There are twenty of you authorized for shore leave. I want to see five by four lined up and ready to call off.” She pointed at a space not far in front of the world hole, and a scattering of rebels separated themselves from the crowd and hastily arranged themselves. There was muttering and shoving as they jostled into four rows of five, but it wasn’t long before they all stood plumb straight and eyes forward. All of them were Errol Company. All of them were getting a chance to visit home for the first time since Erefan brought them to Korr.
“This is a two-day leave. In two days’ time, you’re to be ready to come back to the Jennai. You’re welcome to bring whatever personal effects you like, but bear in mind the size of your quarters. No pets, no livestock. Keep your head about liquor.” Rynn didn’t need to mention family members, since Cadmus had selected none but bachelors for his invasion force. It was foresight she might not have shown in his position.
A crewman with a list walked down the line, asking each soldier his name, crossing it off with a pencil, and nodding permission to depart. One by one the line of soldiers slipped across into Tellurak. Rynn wondered how many would return in two days, and how many would sneak off on the next non-Errol ship out of port.
Once shore leave was out of the way, more mundane supplies piled aboard: food, water, cookware, furniture, tools, clothing, raw metals, stacks of lumber, panes of glass, welding gasses, keg after keg of ale—good house labels, too, mostly Acardian. The last were an odd collection of personal effects, mainly for twinborn who’d made arrangements for their respective twins. One of them belonged to Rynn. It was packed in a crate that Errol Company used for shipping Errol Horizon Mk-II spyglass rifles six at a time to Takalia.
“Send that straight to my quarters,” said Rynn to the pair of workers carrying the crate. One of the Jennai crew took over from there and led the way. General Rynn didn’t have to deal with such minor details on her own ship.
“What’s in there?” Sosha asked. Madlin had kept the contents of the crate secret from all but a few trusted machinists. Even Cadmus didn’t know what it was.
Rynn pretended that she didn’t hear the question. With the rhythmic thumping of crutches that dogged her everywhere she went, she followed after the workers.
Rynn sat on the floor of her cabin with the curtains drawn, working by lamp light. For privacy’s sake, she could have left the curtains wide, and unless anyone cared to rappel down the outside of the ship, she would have worked in peace. But the window opened out on an impossibly large world, too big to feel cozy beneath. Bottled up in the cloying walls of the cabin, it reminded her of the comfortable steel walls of her workshop—not Madlin’s, but the little hidden room behind the boiler.
The lid of the crate lay wedged
between the bed and the bottom edge of the door, making sure no one could barge in, key or no key. There was straw everywhere from unpacking the crate’s contents. A pry bar lay discarded by her foot, useless after she had prised the crate open. There had been a handful of essential tools packed inside, but they were only for adjustments to the real contents.
Rynn felt a strange catch in her throat as she looked over the new leg. It looked like a museum piece from an armory, a discarded piece of a knight’s plate armor. Of course, it also looked like a tinker had gotten hold of it, decided that knights and armorers didn’t know their arse from their kneebone, and resolved to make a few improvements. The joint was bulky, weighed down by lever arms and reduction gears on the left side, so they wouldn’t knock against her good leg. Air pistons acted as cushions against sudden jerks on the joint. Below the knee, there was a cradle for the leftover stump of her leg, with leather straps to hold it in. Rods ran down from the levers above, actuating the ankle joint as the knee bent. The foot was articulated at the ankle, but was meant mainly to keep level with the ground as best as possible. It was fitted with stiff springs to keep it pressed against the ground when walked on. She expected to find a lot in need of adjustment on the lower end.
Above the knee, the mechanical leg was dedicated to keeping the mechanism in place. Two thick, padded leather straps, joined by a pair of flat steel bars rode up her leg nearly to the hip, giving her as much leverage as possible to work the knee joint without anything coming loose. A belt and harness would secure it around her waist, in case friction alone proved insufficient.
The machinists had done good work.
She held the leg close and caught the best light she could from the lamp. Inside the front protective plate, where she ought to have had a shin, there were a number of tiny runes carved into the surface. She inspected them to see how well they were formed. She’d activate as many as it took to keep the bulky collection of shiny steel from tying her down like an anchor, but not so many that she would float away. As she checked them, she smelled nothing but oil and new leather.