The landing was immediate and terrifying. The bike went down, landing sideways on the rusted rail beneath her. A spray of sparks went up and the sound of shrieking metal filled her ears. For a moment, she stood perfectly balanced on the bike as it went gliding down the track. It hit a rivet and jumped slightly. River steadied herself. A heartbeat later, the front tire struck an old piece of wood on the left side. It was all that remained of the bridge’s original framework.
The bike jolted, swinging her around one hundred and eighty degrees. River suddenly found herself facing backwards. She twisted, glancing back and forth for an escape. The canopy of trees stretched out over the chasm, well out of reach. The opposing rail, several yards to her right, was also out of reach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something else that made her blood freeze: the rail she was riding was about to end.
River turned, bending her knees slightly, lowering her center of gravity. In her right hand, she uncoiled the whip she had brought. With a quick snap! the serpentine weapon shot out and latched onto a limb overhead. Simultaneously, the boneshaker slid out from underneath her. It shot over the end of the rail and went tumbling into the abyss.
River’s momentum drove her forward, swinging away from the broken rail and towards the far side of the ravine. At the apex of her swing, River released her grip on the whip handle. She somersaulted through the air, landing at the very edge of the embankment with her legs hanging over the precipice. The soft earth gave way beneath her, rocks and soil tumbling down into the crevice.
River clawed at the ground, digging her nails into the damp soil. She couldn’t find enough of a handhold to support her weight. Inch by inch, she went sliding back over the edge. Her fingers closed around a thick vine that had been invisible in the undergrowth. She grasped it tight with both hands as she went over the edge of the cliff.
The vine went tight, and River found herself dangling four hundred feet in the air. Below her, the boneshaker bounced off the cliff wall and hit the river with a barely audible splash. She winced as it sank beneath the frothing whitecaps. A spray of mist hit her in the face, bringing tears to her eyes, and the echoing roar of the waves filled her ears.
Chapter 4
Kale’s battle with the knights went on for some time. It involved the use of numerous small and improvised weapons, including the previously mentioned dagger, as well as pieces of the broken card table, a steel gauntlet, and a sizeable length of lumber. Kale had no idea where the latter item originated, but he knew exactly what it felt like breaking across his back.
When all was said and done, there were three broken noses, one broken jaw, a handful of broken ribs, and a couple handfuls of missing teeth. Somehow, Kale managed to come out of the ordeal with only minor injuries, not the least of which was a cracked rib that gave him a sharp pain every time he took a deep breath. His knuckles were raw and bleeding, his left eye was swollen and discolored, and he had more cuts and bruises than he could count.
Despite all that, the commander managed to make it down to the gates with three men in tow. The young knight Flynn -who had started the fight- was there, along with Hector and Bathus. Flynn had a few bruises and a slight limp, but his only major injury was to his pride. Kale felt confident the youth wouldn’t question his authority a second time. Hector hadn’t been present for the fight (he had been at the forge at the time) and Bathus had only taken a few blows before deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble. The middle-aged knight’s bruises would heal soon enough.
Kale looked his crew over as they inspected their mounts for the journey. Sir Hector’s mechanical charger was a deep midnight blue with a black mane and intricate engravings of his family crest and other decorative patterns on the armor. He wore a suit of polished silver plate, enhanced with spring-powered joints and bucklers with automatically extending spinning blades that were equally capable of breaking a sword blade or severing an opponent’s limbs. The enhanced joints gave Hector greater strength and physical abilities than a normal man. Unfortunately, the extra weight of these enhancements would slow him down once the springs ran out. As far as Kale was concerned, such things were better suited to the arena than the real world, where they might fail without warning and lead to all sorts of calamities.
Sir Bathus was a full head taller than Hector, being nearly equal to Kale in size and stature, and wore armor painted a glossy black. His mount was black as well (like Kale’s, but not as large), and when he sat astride the charger, it was almost impossible to tell where the knight ended and the horse began. He carried a kite shield that bore his family crest but no other decoration.
Gavin, who had been waiting for them at the gate, wore a mix of plate and leather armor similar to Kale’s. This combination was specifically designed for lightness and articulation, and while being less protective than plate armor, it gave the knights the ability to move quickly during battle, and to fight longer with less fatigue. Gavin’s charger was copper colored, and the gaps in the plate armor exposed large bronze gears and brass fittings inside.
The youngest of the group was Sir Flynn. Flynn was smaller than the other men, and his choices reflected that fact. He wore leather armor and fought primarily with a short, one-handed sword, wielding a dagger in his off hand. This was a light combination that was deadly and fast, but at the sacrifice of better protection offered by heavier armor and shields. Likewise, his deep green charger was smaller than the others, but more agile, faster, and more functional in close quarters such as a forest or in the thick of combat.
As Kale mounted up next to Gavin, the older knight looked him up and down with a wry grin. “How’d it go?” he said, staring at Kale’s swollen eye.
“Great,” Kale said with a sullen glare.
Sir Gavin couldn’t contain his laughter. He threw his head back and roared until his eyes began to water. Kale didn’t see the humor in the situation, and he said as much. Gavin replied:
“You got rocks for brains, boy. Didn’t I tell you fighting them wouldn’t get you anywhere?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Parts of you are,” Gavin said, glancing over the four of them. “Ain’t a single one of you in one piece, except for Hector. You should be in the infirmary, not on horseback.”
“We’ll be fine,” Kale assured him. “Let’s get moving.”
Kale took the lead, guiding his charger down the road towards Stormwatch with the others following closely behind. They skirted the palace on their way through town and headed west, across the ancient lava flows. A cold wind blew down from the north, stirring up dust that stung their eyes and drove into their skin like tiny needles. Hector and Bathus lowered the faceplates on their helms, and Flynn produced a riding hat with built-in goggles. Kale put his head down and focused his attention on the path ahead.
Their charger’s hooves made dull ringing sounds against the ground that the wind swept away before they had barely reached the riders’ ears. The mounts’ internal springs and gears were continuously clicking and making other small noises that Kale and the others had long since learned to ignore. Mostly, the knights heard the wind whistling through their armor and the occasional nerve-wracking screeches of a family of vultures that had taken interest in the group.
The trek across the barren lava fields took more than two hours. The group finally made it to the shelter of the forest just after noon. The trails here were narrow, winding up and down through the foothills, dropping into steep ravines and crossing fast-moving but shallow streams, forcing the group to ride single-file.
The wind continued to blow, shaking the treetops and periodically rattling loose dead limbs that came crashing to the ground around them. This, along with the eerie moaning sounds made by the trees in the wind, kept the men on edge. An unnatural silence seemed to pervade the woods, and it seemed to amplify every sound they made: the rattle of their armor was like breaking glass, the cracking branches under the charger’s hooves were like gunshots. Silent as they tried to be, there was no escapi
ng a certain amount of noise, not the least of which were the constant clicking noises of the mechanisms inside their spring-powered mounts, which although subtle and normally unnoticed, seemed now to take on a malevolence that gnawed at their nerves.
Not long after entering the woods, Kale felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He paused a moment to look around. He glanced at Gavin. The elder knight was turning his head warily from side to side, his eyes scanning the dark woods around them. His right hand rested on his lap, never more than a few inches from the hilt of his sword.
“Somebody’s watching us,” Gavin said under his breath.
Kale nodded. They searched the woods for a few more seconds, but saw nothing. “Stay sharp,” Kale said to the others, and then heeled his mount forward.
Eventually, when Flynn grew bored of the monotony, he made a few attempts at humor. His jests were met with dry sarcasm and dark glares that quickly silenced him. Kale was glad to see the young man recovering from their fight so rapidly. It reminded him of what it was like to be that age, when every injury seemed insignificant and every danger a challenge.
By way of comparison, every time his horse stumbled, Kale felt like he’d been kicked in the ribs, and the swelling around his left eye throbbed with every footfall. He continuously found himself daydreaming about a hot steaming bath back in Dragonwall, only to be snapped back to reality by a sudden jolt or a loud noise. His companions weren’t faring much better. Only Gavin and Hector seemed reasonably alert. Kale attributed that less to the knights’ age and experience and more to the fact that they hadn’t been brawling with the others.
At one point, they came over a rise and saw distant smoke churning up into the sky. “We’re too late,” Gavin said with a dark frown.
“What are you talking about?” said Kale.
“That is Ravenwood.”
The group picked up speed, but only briefly. Soon, the woods closed back in around them, and the awkward terrain made anything faster than a trot impossible. Not long after that, the scent of burning lumber and tar filled the air, and the smoke in the woods thickened into an acrid black fog. They pressed on, the sense of unease growing with every passing step.
The group reached Ravenwood just after sunset. The five knights sat motionless astride their mounts at the top of a hill, looking down at the burning ruins of the village. A handful of structures remained intact, though it was difficult to get a clear view through the black smoke churning up around them. It rose like a column into the sky, blocking out what little starlight there was before being swept away by the wind.
Kale sat astride his great black mechanical warhorse, one hand gripping the reins, the other unconsciously sliding toward the handle of the great sword bound to his saddle. Kale rarely used the weapon -it had come with the charger, and he preferred the two swords he always wore on his back- but he liked having it within easy reach. One could never have too many weapons at hand. Kale glanced at Sir Gavin a few feet off to his left, and at then the other knights.
“This can’t be the place,” he said. “The messenger said they had been attacked, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”
“This is Ravenood,” Gavin said, his voice gravelly and low. “Or, it was Ravenwood.”
Hector spoke up: “It would have taken a full day, more likely a day and a half to make the journey to Stormwatch on foot. This must have happened right after the messenger left.”
Kale pressed his heels to the kick-plates, driving his charger forward. They made a quick descent to the main road, and guided their mounts into town. The horses’ steel hooves rang against the cobblestones, the sound accompanying the crackling of the fires around them. Smoke hung thick in the air, the scent of burning buildings mingling with that of burning flesh. Bodies lay strewn across the cobblestone streets, some dismembered, most had even been beheaded.
The branches overhead stirred as some creature scurried through the canopy. Kale snapped to attention, his hand unconsciously reaching for the handle of his sword as his eyes focused on a squirrel zooming along the limbs. He drew his gaze back to the street.
The smithy remained mostly intact, but only because it was made of stone. A few similar buildings in the area still stood, their scorched walls and burned roofs a silent testament to the horrors that had taken place only hours before. Kale stopped his charger and dismounted next to one of the decapitated bodies.
“Middle-aged man,” he said in a quiet voice. “This is strange.”
“Of course it is,” said Flynn. “Somebody cut his head off!”
“Not that,” said Kale. “Look, the neck wound is smooth, clean. There’s no blood. The chest wound killed him. His shirt is soaked with blood…”
“You mean somebody cut his head off after he died?” said Bathus.
Kale’s only response was a grim frown.
“Devils,” Flynn said under his breath. “What happened here?”
“Look at his hands,” Gavin said.
Kale twisted so that he could see the cadaver’s hands. He narrowed his eyebrows, studying the bizarre injury, and then lifted the arm so the others could see.
“Something chewed his fingers off,” said Sir Bathus. “One of those squirrels, maybe.”
“I don’t think so,” Kale said. “Look closer. The fingers are worn smooth, right to the bone. There aren’t any teeth marks.”
“I’ll be-” said Gavin, leaning forward in his saddle. “Couldn’t have filed ‘em any flatter than that.”
“What are you saying?” said Flynn. “That he was clawing at the cobblestones with his fingers until they wore down to nothing?”
Kale stepped around the body and began examining the paving stones. “He was pulling himself. See these marks? This trail goes all the way across the village.”
“Why would he do that?” said Hector.
Kale turned, studying the smoldering ruins and corpses surrounding them. “I have a better question. What happened to his head?”
They turned in their saddles, surveying the area. “Whoever killed him must have taken it,” said Gavin. “I bet it’s the same with the others.”
“Why?” said Kale. “Why take a man’s head?”
The other knights stared at him. No one had an answer. Kale climbed onto his charger.
“Split up and search for survivors. Call out if you find anything.” He heeled his mount to a slow walk and rode around the smithy, where he found several more decapitated bodies. As Gavin had predicted, the heads were all missing. Kale rode around them and continued on, peering through the broken windows and charred remains of the burned buildings.
At the end of the street, he found a school -or, at least he assumed it was a school from the childlike drawings posted in the windows. In all likelihood, it performed as a town hall on Fridays and a temple on Sundays. From what he’d learned of Danaise, this was how things seemed to work in most of the kingdom. Resources were scarce, as was manpower, and most government buildings served multiple purposes.
The two-story brick building remained mostly intact. Kale saw a few broken windows, and some charring on one wall near the next building, but otherwise it seemed relatively unscathed. He dismounted and climbed the front steps, peering into the darkened windows.
Kale paused at the doors. He glanced up the street behind him, and his gaze lingered on one of the headless corpses. What if he found the same thing inside the school? What if the children had all been murdered? The thought sent bile churning up in his stomach.
Kale had seen the brutalities of war; had lived with them for the better part of his life. He’d seen the Vangar overlords beat and slaughter innocent men and women. He’d seen good people tortured and enslaved. Kale had sworn to kill every Vangar who ever crossed his path, and he’d done a pretty good job of it. If he had one goal in life, it was to make sure the Vangars could never do that again. But this was different. It was one thing to stare down at the corpse of a fallen enemy, another thing entirely to see the body of an
innocent child.
No fear had ever stayed Kale’s hand before -not even the bloodcurdling horror of facing down a thirty-foot dragon- but the thought of what might lie behind those doors froze him in his tracks. The warrior stood there a full minute battling this inner turmoil. At last, he took a deep breath, twisted the handle, and shoved the door open.
The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of moonlight through the hazy windows. The scent of candle fat was strong in the air, the faint odor of hardwood and the lingering smoke of incense clinging to the curtains and the walls. The silence was oppressive, almost like a distant buzzing noise in his ears. He took a few steps, and the sound of his boot heels shattered the still.
Pews lined the floor. A doorway to his right opened into a small classroom filled with desks. An altar stood at the far end of the room with a tall cross looming behind. The serpentine form of a dragon stood on the beam of the cross, with its long tail spiraling down around the post. The creature’s face leered down at him with a frightening realism. The golden eyes glistened in the darkness, the slavering tongue crimson red against ivory teeth. Kale felt a chill crawl down his spine.
“I see you,” said a child’s voice behind him.
Kale spun. He saw a young boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, halfway across the room. The child was dressed in proper clothes: a dark blue jacket with silver clasps and matching breeches, tall black boots and a bright white shirt with ruffles at the neck and sleeves. He stood in a shadowy spot between the pews, and seemed to shimmer with an unearthly aura of light.
“Who are you?” Kale said. “What happened here?”
“Have you seen my mommy?” said the child.
Kale took a step closer. The boy instantly vanished. The commander’s blood froze. He approached the spot where the boy had been standing, and bent down, looking under the pews. He found nothing there but dust and shadows.
Clockwork Legion (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 4) Page 4