by V. S. Holmes
“Can we go any faster?” She eyed the glass windows. “Metal will hold, but I doubt those will.”
“Right. Yes. One minute. I do this too fast and we’ll blow cloud-high.” They rounded the easy curve in the tracks that led to the city and he grinned. “All right, hold on.” He slammed the lever all the way forward. The fire roared and the engine churned before they catapulted forward. The pulse of the wheels on the rails was closer to a rattle and the air screamed over the hard lines of the engine. Mel’iend glanced at her. His eyes were wide with terrified glee. “This is the best day I’ve had in a while.”
She snorted. “My hand is a mess, my ankle is sprained and my nose is broken. Forgive me if I don’t share your excitement.” Her stomach was beginning to relax, but with the relief came waves of pain she had suppressed during their escape. “They’ll probably follow us.”
His delight dimmed. “I suppose. It’ll take them a bit though. And they’ll need at least a cart to carry enough men. We’ve only got the engine, so we’re a bit faster.”
“I’ll deal with them when they catch up.” She sank to the ground, leaning on the hard iron of the cabin walls. “Where are we going? Kaliim?”
Mel’iend made a face. “Yes, let’s escape from one Nenev city only to drive right into their garrison. Not your brightest idea.”
“I thought we didn’t have a choice. The rails only go so many places, I assume.” The rumble of the engine buzzed through her skull.
“Well yes, but we could stop before hand. We’d have to travel on foot.”
“At least it’s warmer there.” She heaved a sigh. “How did the Ageless survive in this cold before you developed all these contraptions?”
“You realize Ageless is a slur?” He waved her sheepish apology away. “Doesn’t matter. We developed these things precisely because we had to face the cold. Originally we came to the southern border, near Athrolan and Berr, before they were much beyond city-states. We began our work there, gradually moving north when we knew we could. Many think we just thrive in the cold. We do better than most, but the city is heated with generators and radiant heat. We’re not tough as all that.” He shot her a smile.
“I’m tired of cold, to be honest. I would have liked it more, perhaps, had I not experienced it in a jail cell.”
“You grew up in the desert, didn’t you?”
She turned to look at him. “How long have you known?”
“I told you, I knew you weren’t a captain. I know about General Aneral from An’thor. There is only one other woman who I imagine has that much power and anger in her eyes.”
She looked away, a frown growing on her features. “Do you think they knew, too?”
“I doubt it. It pays to be nobody. I’ve learned to observe much better, since no one takes the time to talk to me mostly.”
“Why did they disregard you so much?”
“I spent a lot of time with my uncle when I was younger, and some of his philosophies influenced me too much. Up until a few years ago we corresponded regularly. He and my father don’t exactly see on level.”
“Have they always been that way?” An’thor seemed a kind, if wounded man. It was no small leap to assume Edrodene might have been the reason. “Why did he trust him at all?”
“Hope, I think. My father was the younger of the two, and the general of the army before the former Warlord died. An’thor was an ambassador in Claimiirn with his wife. Edrodene wanted to invade, and An’thor tried to prevent it.” Mel’iend’s expression was tight and his eyes narrowed.
Alea winced. “I’ve heard the aftermath of that story. Never the cause. His son died in that battle, didn’t he?”
Mel’iend nodded. “I think that’s why An’thor took such an interest in me. His son and I were born around the same time, though I was too young to remember him properly. His name was Elostrii.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“It’s the word for Mother’s Breath—the great blue clouds we see at night.” He glanced out the window. “If you’d like, I can manage this for a while. You probably need to sleep. Who know what’ll await us further down the rails.”
She nodded, hearing that the topic was clearly over. “Wake me if you need to.” She curled into the corner. The iron was hard, but warm, and it felt like days since she last slept. Counting back, she realized her last true night’s sleep had been over a week ago while traveling to Claimiirn. She shoved her pack into a more comfortable shape and settled in. “Mel’iend?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for helping me.”
His soft laugh was almost silent against the churning engines. “No, ma’am, thank you.”
Φ
Screaming metal jolted Alea awake. She braced herself against the side of the engine. “Fates, that is one way to wake a woman up.”
Mel’iend’s expression did not lighten. “Ma’am we’re almost at Garrison Kaliim. How are we going to make it out of there?”
She winced. “Honestly, I didn’t think that far ahead.” She hauled herself up to peer through the fogged windows. The fort crouched darkly against the grey backdrop of the southern tundra. “There must be a hundred warriors there.”
“Maybe closer to 50. My father is calling everyone home for war.”
“Still too many for just us.” She closed her eyes. “Too much heat will cause an explosion?”
“Yeah, why?” He caught sight of the power rising in her hands and blanched. “Ma’am, they won’t survive a steam engine exploding, but neither will we.”
“Only if we’re in it.” Her lip curled and she grabbed his hand. “We’ll open the door. When I tell you to, jump.”
“Ma’am—”
“I didn’t bring us this far to burn to death.” Alea flung the rear door open. The wheels screamed on the rails and she braced herself on the side. “Maximum speed, Mel’iend.”
“Right.” He unlocked the thin bar that prevented the engine from exceeding safe speeds and slid the lever all the way up. “Full steam ahead.”
The engine growled, the fire roaring behind the thick metal of the furnace door. I may not have fire, but I have water. She drew the ice, the cold, from the fire. The acrid smell of creosote and fire filled the tiny compartment. The fort jolted closer in the tiny window. Tiny figures waved a welcome, then a more frantic gesture to slow, to stop. “Almost.” The massive double doors reared before them. “Now!” Alea launched herself at Mel’iend, her arms locking behind his back as she propelled them through the steam engine’s door. They hit the frozen ground, ribs cracking. Alea’s shoulder ground into its socket, but her left arm still gripped the boy.
Air rushed past them, sucked into the fort by the fire’s hunger. Blackness erupted in Alea’s mind and she surrounded them with her power. She could barely focus through the pain. Instead of cool air, icy water enveloped them. She blinked against the sting of salt to find Mel’iend had been stunned by the fall. Her broken hand fumbled over his face and she pinched his nose shut, covering his mouth with her palm. She held her power in place, barely, as the explosion spread over them. The water began to boil at the edges as a second explosion rocked them. Her lungs burnt for air. Finally, the fire retreated to what was left of the fort.
She pulled her power back and the water splashed to the ground. What had been frozen earth was now charred, churned mud. Her skin stung from salt and the heat roiling from the burning fort. She dropped Mel’iend and began slapping his face. “Wake up, you silly boy.” Her voice croaked over her aching throat.
It was another moment before he opened his eyes, gasping. “What happened?”
“We jumped, you fainted.” She stumbled to her feet and started towards the hills behind the flaming fort. “We need to get out of here.” When the Nenev boy did not follow her, she turned back.
He stared at the fort. The flames etched the contours of his face in yellow and black, adding lines he had not earned yet. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Come
with us. An’thor will surely help you.”
He shrugged. “He’s a solitary man. And what if he does? I’m no good at the sword. Or farming. Or mathematics.”
“You’re young. But you won’t survive by standing in the mud waiting for your father’s men to arrive.”
“Right.” He shrugged deeper into his cloak, though he seemed not to need the warmth, and fell into step behind her.
Alea noticed the rider after two silent, cold hours of walking. After another hour they were within shouting distance of one another.
Mel’iend glanced up from glaring at his boots. “He’ll be on us in another minute. This is why I wanted us to take the tunnel.”
“Along with anyone who might have survived the explosion? I think not. Besides, whoever they are, they come from Athrolan.”
“Or Claimiirn.”
Her lips thinned. She wanted to avoid that possibility, though it was far more likely than the option she voiced. “One rider does not worry me, Mel’iend.”
Her words were cut off as An’thor’s grey charger crested the hill before them at a lope. The warrior drew the horse up and raised a hand. “I wondered if I’d make it in time. Seems I worried for nothing.”
Alea jogged the last few paces between them. Her laugh was weak. “Not for nothing. There were a few harrowing minutes.”
An’thor dismounted, glancing between her and Mel’iend. “And were you successful?”
“I was.” She nodded at Mel’iend. “I have your nephew to thank for that.”
An’thor’s expression hardened. “About that.” He drew the revolver at his hip with a flick. “You’re not coming back with us.”
“An’thor, don’t be ridiculous, he helped me.”
Mel’iend raised his shaking hands. “Please. I’m with you.” His uncle’s only response was to pull the hammer back. “I’m not going back to them, An’thor.”
“Pick a direction, I don’t care which as long as it’s not ours—and start walking. Don’t stop until nothing looks familiar.”
He backed up several paces then turned and began to walk. When he finally disappeared into the whipping wind, his hands were still raised.
“An’thor, he said he wasn’t going back.”
“He might have if Neneviir was closer.” An’thor returned his gun to his belt and turned to adjust his saddle.
“He could freeze to death!”
“He could return to Edrodene and be ripped to pieces. Worse, he could return and become something I no longer recognize. Given my druthers I’d rather he die in the snow.”
“That’s not really your choice to make, An’thor.”
“Today it was.” He whirled. “This world, here in this fucking nightmare of snow and gunpowder, isn’t yours. It might be mine, and it’s certainly his, but it’s not yours and you have no place telling me what choices to make.” His voice was an angry rumble and his black eyes narrowed. “And like you have a right to judge me. In a few weeks you’ll be deciding the future of every person on this damned world!”
“You think they want me to let them die? Fall to chaos?” Her thoughts jumbled under the black wave in her mind. Her body hurt and her nausea returned. Whatever nerve she hit was unexpected and clearly affecting his level head. This was not an argument she had expected, and not one she was willing to have with An’thor.
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it! You think Arman’s happy with you playing martyr while he becomes a monster?” An’thor’s face was twisted, in fear or anger or hatred, she was not sure.
She crossed the distance between them in two strides and gripped him by the collar. “Do you know what happens to a person’s mind when they break a law of nature? It doesn’t snap, that’d be too easy to fix.” Lightning chattered over her shoulders and through her hair. “Something crawls in and makes its home in their thoughts. You looked in my eyes months ago and said you knew what I was afraid of. You can’t tell a monster just by looking, An’thor, and the only thing that frightens me is the one I’ve become!”
An’thor’s expression broke with her last word and he cautiously raised his hands. “You’re right.”
Her remaining thoughts howled in the space her words left. Her power drained from her body. “An’thor.”
He placed his palms on her shoulders. When she did not spring away he wrapped his arms around her. “I know.”
“I didn’t mean to yell.”
“Me neither.”
“That anger wasn’t at you.”
“Well I pray we live long enough for Arman to hear it all, and everything left you haven’t said.” He patted her hair. “My anger wasn’t at you either.”
“I know. I’m sorry about your son.”
His arms tightened, but he said nothing. She felt him swallow hard, and knew he probably did not trust his voice just yet. “Can we go home now, please?”
He pulled away, eyes more tired than ever. “I’ve got something to take care of first, someone I need to see. Take Theriim, I’ll find another mount. It’s more important that you make it back.”
She climbed wearily into Theriim’s saddle. “Stay safe.”
He tapped his fist against his brow, lips, and chest. “Luck and love go with you.”
The smile that flitted across her face was as haggard as the mountains. “I’ll see you for battle.”
THE SHAKING IN THE EARTH
Chapter NINETEEN
The 37th Day of Lumord, 1252
The Ruins of Claimiirn
AN’THOR FROZE WHEN THE KING’S eye found him. “Ah, hello milord king.”
Azirik’s brow quirked. “I thought you were the best in the world.”
“Depends on who you ask, I suppose. I thought you were all abed.”
Azirik’s snorted laughter was not soothing. “You should try sleeping with a vice around your head.”
An’thor eyes flicked to the Crown. He had heard the king was mad, heard his devotion had turned to insanity. An’thor knew better: Azirik was sane as any war-time king. Bloody times were not meant for sane men. The Crown glimmered from within the embrace of bruised and angry flesh. Now An’thor wondered if the rumors had been true.
“Would you sit?”
An’thor gaze narrowed. The king should be calling the guard. Azirik’s expression was not one of vindication, but of loneliness. The Ageless took the chair by the door. He did not want someone to enter behind him, but he needed an escape route. “Why haven’t you killed her yet? That should give you power, enough to attempt it.” He gestured to the king’s brow.
Azirik snorted again. “Why do you use your sword when you could end any fight with a squeeze of your finger?”
An’thor sat back at that. He had always assumed he knew the king far better than the king knew him. He had forgotten that over forty-five years he’d allowed a lot of little facts to penetrate their conversations. After all, lies were best taken with a dusting of truth. “What do you mean?”
“You have a revolver, a mighty weapon, and yet you have fired it how many times? Four?”
“Six.” An’thor rubbed his hand down his scimitar’s scabbard. “My blade is the best sword I could have found in Neneviir.”
“It’s pig iron folded over a dozen times to keep it from shattering. The best your people bothered to make, but still shite.”
“And I’d still prefer it. I detest what my people did. I detest what they stand for. The revolver exemplifies both.”
Azirik me his gaze. “And likewise, I prefer my own mind. It may be out-classed, it may be weak and twisted to prevent it breaking, but it is my own. This thing is my revolver.”
“You aren’t afraid they’ll strike you down for that admittance?”
“They would lose the power I have over my men, and the connection to my allies. Besides, for a great cause, you would use your revolver. For a great cause, I would use the Crown.”
An’thor stared at the man. Something in the king’s gaze seared with its intensity.
There was nothing he had left to lose, and that made him powerful. There were moves left on the gameboard, still, and An’thor was suddenly certain Azirik still had enough autonomy to sweep his enemy clear.
Φ
The 1st Day of Valemord, 1252
The City of Ceir Athrolan
Bren’s mug shattered on the flagging. “Toar, Alea, what happened to you?”
Alea grinned weakly. The benefit of sneaking out of the palace was she had no fanfare to contend with on her return. “The Nenev have an odd way of saying hello.”
He shook his head. “You should have brought guards.”
“So they could be interrogated? I think not. Could you call your maid in? I’d love a healer. And perhaps something to drink. And food that isn’t dried beyond all recognition.”
Bren laughed and raised the flask still in his hand. “I’ll have to call for new mugs, but you can have some of my wraith.” He handed it over, peering at her face. “Did they break your nose?”
“Yes, but Mel’iend said as long as I could still breath through it, it would heal straight. I could barely see out my left eye for half the journey back though.” She heaved a sigh. It was a relief to see his face after the ordeal of the last weeks. After a hard sip from the flask she glanced up. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I’m sorry, too. You were right not to. I might not be as bad as Arman, but I still wouldn’t have understood. Did An’thor come with you?”
“He had to take care of something first. He’ll be here before long though.” She absently picked at the scabs on her left knuckles. “What did he say?”
“The same as before. I told him it was useless lying to you about his visits.”
“What happened at Vielrona?”
“Azirik. Well, Azirik wielding the gods’ power. I think it was something like the storm on the Iron Sea.”
“His friends, his mother?”
“He said Kam was all right. Asked me to give he and his wife and child a home in Mirik. His mother’s dead, same with his friend Wes and a woman called Veredy.”