“The skyships came from across the Soul Sea and launched a coordinated attack on Almira,” Shoshone said.
“Show me,” Cumberland said, spreading a map out on the floor of the workshop. Dozens of half-finished shoes were hanging from the ceiling.
“They hit Glenlock first, then moved along the northern rim of the Dainwood and through the Gorgon Valley,” Shoshone said, moving her gloved finger along Cumberland’s map of Almira. “Here. Mudwall. Vermonth. Greenspur.”
Jolan found himself unable to stop stealing glances at Shoshone’s weapons. She had left her meat cleaver unsheathed, and also had a longer dagger with an orca-bone hilt on her opposite hip.
“So, they hit the Dainwood and the Gorgon valley hard. What about Floodhaven and the Atlas Coast?” Cumberland asked.
Shoshone shook her head. “My intelligence says those areas were spared.”
“Balaria allied with Linkon Pommol?” Sten asked.
“Unlikely. His entire fleet was destroyed by these same ships three weeks ago.”
“I told you that was true!” Willem said, from his spot in the corner. He’d found a jug of rain ale and was taking large swigs. “Nobody believed me.”
“You admitted that you didn’t believe the merchant, either,” Sten said. “Remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Why pass over the capital and the coast, then?” Cumberland asked. “They’re closer to the sea.”
Shoshone shook her head. “Food was their priority. And the rich harvests of the Dainwood and Gorgon Valley are more bountiful.”
“There are a lot more wardens on the Atlas Coast, too,” Oromir said. “Floodhaven is still bursting at the seams with all the warriors that Ashlyn called behind the walls. But most of the Jaguar Army is spread out across the jungle—it was just luck we were nearby to see the attack. And the Gorgon Valley is practically empty after what happened to Cedar Wallace’s army at Floodhaven.”
“The boy makes a good point,” Shoshone said.
“I’m not a boy,” Oromir said, voice clipped. “I’ve earned my mask and my place.”
Shoshone considered him. Smiled joylessly. “I meant no offense, tree cat.”
“Jaguar.”
“Jaguar,” Shoshone repeated. “Right.”
There was a moment of tension, but it passed. Oromir relaxed his shoulders and turned back to the map.
“They only dropped a score of men onto the ground, too,” he said. “Enough to steal the harvest, but not nearly adequate if the townspeople had swarmed them. Might be they correctly assumed the flying ships would scatter everyone, but they couldn’t have known that for sure.” He looked at Cumberland. “I don’t think the Balarians have that many soldiers to spare.”
“Agreed,” Cumberland said. “We can use that to our advantage.”
“Advantage?” Jolan asked. “Am I the only one who saw what happened today? That was a flying ship, and it destroyed half the town in five minutes.” He lowered his voice. “Killed all those people.”
Shoshone turned to Jolan. He found her cold gaze extremely unsettling.
“This one is a boy though, correct?”
“Child, more like,” Sten said.
“Green as a fruit frog,” Willem agreed.
Oromir didn’t chime in. Instead, he gave Jolan an apologetic shrug.
“He is to become a warrior someday?” Shoshone asked, frowning. “If so, this cat has a very tall tree to climb.”
“We’re not tree cats,” Oromir said again. “We’re—”
“Jolan is our healer,” Cumberland interrupted. “And we are getting distracted. I got a lot of questions for you, widow. First, how is it that you know so much about these ships so soon after they left?”
“The Balarian ships fly fast,” came a man’s voice. “But so do Ashlyn Malgrave’s pigeons.”
Everyone turned. When Cumberland saw the face of the man standing in the doorway, he stood up.
“High-Warden Llayawin,” Cumberland said, bowing his head. “It’s good to see you.”
When the others heard his name, they straightened up a little, but overall the jaguars did not seem to take the presence of an officer with a huge amount of ceremony.
“Fuck off with my titles and my family name,” he said. “You called me Carlyle when you were pounding me to dust in the Deepdale training yard. Or shit heel, more often. No need to stand on ceremony just because I’m currently in command of this mess.”
Carlyle’s voice was clear and precise. Jolan could tell he was a man who’d spent time at Floodhaven court—it had a way of sharpening the edges of a backcountry man’s words.
“If you didn’t want to get put in charge, you should have thought twice before starting the rebellion,” said Cumberland.
“Just couldn’t stomach bowing to that asshole after what he did to Ashlyn, and what I know he’ll do to the Dainwood.” Carlyle sighed. “When it was just turtle wardens to fight, we had a chance. But now we’ve got these flying ships to deal with.”
“I know how to deal with them,” Willem said. “Pack up all our shit and head into the deep gloom of the Dainwood, where the canopy’ll keep us outta sight o’ those atrocities.”
“You gonna live your whole life in the gloom?” Sten asked.
“I was born in the gloom. Got no real problem going back and staying there.”
“Maybe you don’t,” Carlyle said. “But there are thousands of people living in the Dainwood’s cities and valleys and farms. It’s not feasible to hide everyone in the deep jungle forever. We need those ships gone from our skies, or our way of life will be gone, too.”
Willem thought on that. “Any chance you can shoot lightning outta your cock like Ashlyn Malgrave? ’Cause that’d go a long way toward resolving this predicament.”
Carlyle gave Willem a look. “First of all, seeing as Ashlyn doesn’t have a cock, that isn’t where her lightning came from.”
“Naw. For her, I figured she blasted the demoncraft out of her—”
“Second,” Carlyle interrupted. “Whatever demoncraft Ashlyn did or didn’t have, it died with her after that battle. We’ll need to destroy those ships another way.”
Everyone was quiet. Willem cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon and all that dragonshit, but that doesn’t seem possible.”
Carlyle gave Willem a measured look—somewhere between a frown and a suppressed smile.
“Here’s the situation: We have reports of six flying ships that came to Almira. Five stole the Clear Sky harvest, bombed the city, and disappeared over the Soul Sea. But the sixth ship stayed in Almira and took control of Black Rock.”
“Cedar Wallace’s old city? The fuck is it doing all the way out there?”
“Black Rock has the second-largest harbor in Almira, and the best place for Papyria ships to land an army. The Balarian ship alternates between hovering over the city at night, and patrolling the western coast during the day. We think that skyship is guarding the coast to prevent Okinu from coming to Almira’s aid.”
Cumberland turned to Shoshone. “Is Okinu planning on sending an army to Almira?”
“The Eternal Empress of Papyria likes to keep her options open,” the widow said.
“Uh-huh.” Cumberland didn’t sound impressed. “So, you want to destroy the lingering skyship?”
Carlyle smiled. Came all the way into the room finally, picked up a fallen chair, and sat down in it.
“Anyone here know the history of the Gorgon Valley Autumn War?”
Willem spat on the floor. “Naw, m’lord. See, while you were in some library reading about wars, we were in the fucking jungle fighting them.”
Carlyle gave that weird expression again. “I like the younger generation of jaguars,” he said. “They haven’t learned to conserve their energy yet.”
“Younger? There’s no way you’ve seen more than five summers I haven’t.”
“Five summers can bring an awful lot of experience, depending on how they’re passed.
” Carlyle paused. Pulled on a nail that was half-buried in the arm of his chair. When it refused to budge, he abandoned it. “Anyway, the reason I bring up the Autumn War is because that was the first time any Almiran brought one of those crossbows to battle.” He pointed at the weapon slung over Willem’s back. “They’re carried by plenty of wardens now, but they’re a Balarian invention.”
Willem shifted in his boots, clearly uncomfortable with the news that he was hauling a Balarian weapon around and hadn’t known it.
“This was before the Balarian Invasion, when trade lines with the clock fuckers were still open. It was a Gorgon lord who bought a few hundred of the machines from across the Soul Sea. And when the next bunch of jaguars came charging onto his lands, they got turned into porcupines. The jaguars hadn’t taken a beating like that in decades. They were forced to retreat into the gloom with their tails between their legs.” Carlyle glanced at Willem, then went back to his work on the nail. “Turned out that in all the commotion of the retreat, one Dainwood man with a sharp mind had grabbed one of the weapons and run with it. Now, times being what they were, most of the jaguars took the hunk of metal and wood to be a demoncraft weapon. They’d never seen gears or levers or a bolt that could punch through steel armor like cheese. So they wanted to destroy it. Sacrifice it as an offering to the forest gods for good fortune in the next skirmish. But someone in that room with a little extra sense—or a little less superstition than most—had the idea to take the thing to an alchemist, instead, and copy the design. Find a way to make more of them.”
Willem cleared his throat. “Due respect, Carlyle, but why the fuck are we getting a history lesson about crossbows?”
“Anyone?” Carlyle asked.
“The skyships are the same thing as the crossbows,” Jolan said. “A new weapon. A new technology. Something that could be copied, if we saw how they worked.” He paused. “You don’t want to destroy the skyship … you want to steal it.”
“Sharp kid, that one,” Carlyle said. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“Boss,” Cumberland said. “I appreciate the historical context and the logic, but I’m a soldier. Got no mind or experience for plucking ships out of the sky.”
“Neither do I.” He turned to Shoshone. “But she does.”
“They train widows to steal flying ships nobody knew existed, do they?”
“They train us to hurt our enemies.”
“Thought you all were just a bunch of scary bodyguards.”
“No.”
Cumberland weighed that. “How many with you?”
“Just one. Iko. She’s outside.”
“Really?” Willem looked over his shoulder, as if he’d find a widow in the shadow behind him. “I didn’t hear anyone.”
“That is because your ears are clogged with mud,” Shoshone said. “Iko is my finest. But we do not know this country. We need a guide to Black Rock. From there, the two of us will steal the ship on our own.”
“So we’re just tour guides through the backcountry?” Cumberland asked Carlyle.
“Yes.”
“Feels wrong, us heading west on some ill-advised caper while there’s a war to fight in the east.”
“I have three thousand men in this forest. Four extra soldiers will not help me win this war. But a skyship of our own will. I want you for this job because you’re reliable.”
“Not sure reliable is the word I’d use for my crew,” Cumberland said. “Just managed to keep shells out of our mouths a little longer than most.”
“I won’t force it on you. The rest of us are marching north to deal with the remnants of Linkon Pommol’s turtles who crossed the Gorgon without permission. You can come with us if you want.”
“Saying we did that, who’d help the Papyrians?”
“Olrick’s crew.”
“They all took the long swim two weeks ago at White Crow’s Hill,” Sten said.
“Vullon’s, then.”
Cumberland winced. “That bastard could get lost walking to the shithouse in his own backyard.” He paused. “We’ll take you.”
Shoshone nodded. “Good.”
“Um, not to be an asshole, but have you widows given any thought to the fact that if you’re gonna steal a skyship, someone’s gotta fly it?” Oromir asked.
“We will compel the crew into cooperation,” Shoshone said.
“Two of you will manage that?”
Shoshone smiled. “We would accept help, if it’s on offer. But we are prepared to complete the task alone if necessary.”
Cumberland glanced at Carlyle, a question in his eyes.
“It’s your call,” Carlyle said. “An escort through the backcountry is one thing. Stealing a skyship made of bones is another. I won’t force that aspect of it over your shoulders.”
Cumberland chewed on that for a few moments.
“We’ll escort the Papyrians to Black Rock. Beyond that, we’ll just have to see.”
“That works,” Shoshone said. “How long will it take to get to Black Rock?”
“Three weeks, give or take.”
The fearsome widow nodded, satisfied.
“What will you do while we’re on our little hike?” Cumberland asked Carlyle.
Carlyle stared digging at the nail in the chair again. “Oh, once we boot Linkon’s men back across Grealor’s Bridge, I figure they’ll move on the eastern bridges again. I plan to let them cross in force so that they stretch their supply lines deep into the jungle. Then I’ll sever them. Spread the turtles out and pick them apart.”
“A good plan,” Cumberland said.
“This war with Linkon is just the start of things. If the Dainwood is going to stay free, we need one of those ships.” Carlyle finally got the nail free. He stood up and—for reasons that were unclear—put it in his pocket. “I’m counting on you. All of you.”
Carlyle gave each man a long look. Even Jolan. Then departed.
“I will need that bird from you.” Shoshone motioned to the caged pigeon they’d taken from the mill, which Oromir had brought into the cobbler’s workshop with them. “The empress requires an update.”
“All yours.”
Shoshone picked up the cage. Calmed the bird with a surprisingly tender series of coos. But her face and voice were steeled when she turned back to Cumberland.
“Iko will arrange mounts and supplies. We’ll meet you in the apple grove outside the village at dawn tomorrow.”
“We’ll be there.”
Shoshone collected her weapons and disappeared into the night.
Cumberland rolled up his map. Surveyed his men.
“I saw a dining hall down the street that wasn’t entirely destroyed,” Cumberland said, eventually. “Sten, Oromir, Willem, see about some food and get a good night’s sleep.”
“What about Jolan?” Oromir asked.
“He and I need to talk.”
Oromir hesitated, but Sten and Willem guided him out of the workshop. Jolan listened to their footsteps—wet and thick from the mud—until they faded to nothing.
“The world is changing,” Cumberland said eventually. “For a long stretch, war was about training men to fight, keeping ’em healthy, and moving your crew faster than the enemy can move his. Now we’re chasing flying ships made from dragon bones.” He stared at his hands. “This is the problem with living too long.”
Jolan didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to come with us,” Cumberland said.
“I don’t?”
Cumberland grunted. Studied the shoes hanging from the ceiling. “I know I pressed on you pretty hard—all the business at the mill about tracking you through the jungle if you ran off. That was just pushing hot air, by the way. No way I’d have bothered chasing some kid through the gloom when there’s a war on.”
“Oh.”
“But I won’t pretend I can’t use you, either. Dunno what’s in store at Black Rock, but the odds of needing a healer along the way are pretty good. Damn
near certain, I’d say.” He turned back to Jolan. “But you’ve got your own life to lead. I’m not going to take that away from you. You want the door, there it is.”
He motioned toward the darkness.
Jolan thought about it for a long time. He thought about the plans he’d made when he left the warren, and how far he’d already strayed from them. He thought of the people he’d saved today, and then all the people that he hadn’t. The woman in that yellow dress on the outskirts of town. All the children in the middle of it.
And he thought of Oromir’s hand squeezing his own.
“I’ll go with you.”
Cumberland raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Why?”
“My master taught me that progress and technology was a good thing. For alchemists, it leads to better cures and tinctures and procedures. Better lives for people. But what we saw today … all those people hurt and killed.” Jolan trailed off. Chewed his lip for a second. “I am not sure that technological progress in warfare is a good thing for Terra. But it is inevitable. Change always is. But the effect of change must be balanced. If I can help the Dainwood stand against those ships—even if my part is small—I have to play it.”
Cumberland nodded. “A good reason, so far as they go. But I’m thinking there’s another one.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Cumberland clapped him on the shoulder. “’Course not, boy. ’Course not. I forget what it’s like to be your age. Nothing makes sense and nothing’s certain. Wait till you get older. The fog clears, but your fucking knees hurt all the time. So, it’s a trade. C’mon. I’ll walk you to the dining hall.”
When they reached the spot, Cumberland motioned to it with his meaty hand.
“Head on in and tell the others we’re rallying at dawn.”
“You’re not coming in?”
“Thing about leading a crew, boy, is that sometimes you gotta piss off to keep things level. Everyone needs a chance to unclench their asshole, you know?”
“I guess.”
“And tell Willem not to get too drunk. He won’t listen, but maybe he’ll skip the last few rain ales.”
* * *
Willem, Sten, and Oromir had taken a table in the back corner of the dining hall. The proprietor and all the guests seemed to have fled, so the wardens were helping themselves to a massive keg of ale, the top of which had been broken open by a falling support beam.
Sorcery of a Queen Page 10
