Sefiros Eishi: Chased By War (The Smoke and Mirrors Saga Book 2)

by Michael Wolff

  The old woman. Mykel rushed to the innkeep’s quarter and saw the old woman, fans of blood across her blouse, crimson threads dripping from a still-twitching cheek. Shayna. Again, he failed to defend her. No, he admonished himself. Just find her.

  Within a span of minutes, he reached the looming, dark mouth of the mine and descended into its bowels. The darkness did not have full dominance. Fish-shaped lanterns lined the mine’s walls, giving soft luminance to the jagged rock tunnels. Shovels and abandoned carts littered the ground, making a sort of path through the tunnels. There was light enough to run, but he feared tripping over an unseen shovel-handle. Little good he would be to Shayna with a broken leg. If she was still alive.

  SHUT UP.

  The librarian quickly made his way to the mine’s end, perplexed and content in the same breath. The mine was of a simple layout, bearing few twists and turns compared to the labyrinths told of in fantasy books. Each bend Mykel took twice, but Shayna was nowhere to be found. It was as if she vanished into thin air. No. There must be a logical reason to this madness.

  Something flared in the librarian’s mind. Not a thought, but a feeling, a certainty. Almost of its own volition the dead arm raised. Unbidden, Ifirit rippled into existence and locked the dead arm straight as an arrow. A wall of jagged rock towered over him, but it was not rock. Mykel edged towards the wall-that-was-not-a-wall and thrust Ifirit into it.

  The wall rippled like a stone-cast pond, then faded into thin air. A black door replaced it, which Ifirit took care in two strokes. The door wobbled slightly, then fell crashing to the ground. Mykel winced. So much for stealth. He stepped through the door and gawked.

  The chamber was mammoth, almost a cathedral in size. Clean of stain-glass windows, of polished pews and black-white habits, this place held a much more ancient air. There was a palpable stab of fear, the kind that one finds himself matched against dogs that would gladly tear through the chest for the ripe heart beneath.

  Mykel grunted. The walls were not of rock but of steel, but it was unlike any steel he had seen or read about. Sheets of it, bolted together by lines of knob-like protrusions. Blinking chains of light flashed across the dull gray metal, chirping softly as a bird. And there! In the distance Mykel could see a line of metal move without crank or human hand to guide it. Scraps of metal disappeared in the dark mouth of a machine – it too alive without human guidance – and when it emerged from the other side, they were transformed into something else: a cold iron skeleton of a man, shining with the spit of high polish.

  Mykel knew then, as terrible and final as the truth was, the technology he saw was not of Amden design. Instead it resembled the futuristic civilization that had produced the lantern-less lights in the dark chambers beneath Lazarus’ library. But why would such place be hidden here, in the midst of a mining town? Answers were not given to him standing still. I must keep moving.

  Mykel followed the piping running along the walls. There were hundreds of them, twisting and turning tighter than a spider’s web. Darkness was not the problem. For each step made a cone of light blazed downward, coming from the inky shadows above...there. Some whirring sound, slight but definite. Mykel squeezed into a faint shadow and struggled not to control his breathing.

  Two men emerged from opposite ends of the corridor. They looked like men, yet clearly, they were not. Men had a hue of life in their image; these things did not. Their bones were made of that glittering iron Mykel had seen with the belt-machine, and their eyes glowed with a myriad of colors. The two creatures did not give a glance of welcome towards one another. Perfect time for an ambush.

  It was short, sweet and to the point. Both John and Lazarus would approve. None of that. Not here. There were other matters to attend to. Such as the iron-men’s corpses. The metal skulls sprouted a mop of sizzling gold sparks upon the deathblow. Mykel paled at the sight. He had read enough books to venture an estimate on embalming, and those books had kept him awake in fright for three days straight. They can be destroyed. That was what mattered. They can die. Now all Mykel had to do was to kill each sentry.

  Except for the fact that hardly a step could be taken with the mechanical creek of their toes dragging upon the bolted steel floor. Mykel hid everywhere one could hide, daring not to breathe. Shayna, you better be alive when I get to you. She would be alive. She had to be. The librarian quickened his pace.

  XXX

  Mathias Tolrep stewed with the restlessness of boredom. Stupid old man. Making me stay here. I could be fighting on the front line, doing something! Anything but sitting here, dammit!

  “Uh, Cap, it’s your turn.”

  Tolrep jerked back to reality. “What?” Muffled laughter hummed across the table.

  “It’s your turn, Cap.”

  “Oh.” The surroundings came back piece by piece. The cards. The hill of metal discs at the center of a green-carpeted table. The smaller piles of multicolored discs marking the men circling the table. Poker. They were playing poker; rather the men were playing poker. All Tolrep was doing was losing. A lot.

  Not anymore. The privateer huddled over his cards as though analyzing the numbers. In truth, the façade allowed Tolrep to observe his opponents without them knowing. Tsukasa he knew, but time and business had left little time for the other two. The blue-skinned man didn’t really have blue skin; it was merely a mixture of dyes and mud. The mask had no lips, so the man’s nostrils were constantly hissing and wheezing for air. No lips meant no conversation, so the men just called him Blueface. The other was an elderly man with a lazy left eye, named Elf for his skill with the bow and arrow.

  “Make your move already,” said Tsukasa. Do they know my hand? No. That’s impossible even for them. Smiling Tolrep slapped his cards on the table. Five aces; two hearts and three diamonds. His smile withered as the others revealed their cards. One royal flush, three kings, a joker and the queen, and finally a full house.

  “I never thought there was anyone that bad at poker than you, Cap.”

  “Thank you ever so much, Elf. I wasn’t aware of that little fact.” Tolrep scrubbed his face as their greedy hands towed his money away. “Double or nothing, guys. What do you say?”

  “Take a peek outside.” Tsukasa countered. “Tis nightfall, and we need our sleep.”

  “All right then. Same time tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Good night.”

  Tolrep sighed. The night wasn’t a total loss. Bear was almost literate to the privateer’s ear. Another few days and they might even have a real conversation. I can’t afford another few days. Useless on the field, useless off the field. Face it Tolrep. You’re a has-been.

  Tolrep decided some fresh air might quiet the depression. He meandered his way through the knots of sailors enjoying the night with their families. More than one waved an invitation, but Tolrep shook his head no. This was their night; he would only interfere.

  Eventually the privateer reached the small fort built on the tip of the tributary leading into the Cerulean. Three men stood watch, rattling dice in cups and flipping the cup to see who guessed right. They leapt to their feet at Tolrep’s approach, stiffer than a piece of wood. The privateer suppressed a smile. “It’s late. Go get some sleep.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but we can’t do that. We’ve got another three hours on our shift.”

  “Not anymore. I’m relieving you. Go to bed.” A moment of confusion. “Don’t make me order you.” The guards exchanged glances and shrugs, murmured thanks to their captain and hurried to their families. Tolrep smiled, took his place at the post and did his best to analyze the dark. That proved to be a boring failure on the privateer’s fault, and instead let his mind wander. It was odd, he thought, that a manor had stakes in both port and mine. The two things any wealthy family would give
their eye-teeth for, and here there was a family that had both. That would bring an imbalance of power, and from the scant minutes that Tolrep spent in Kalam’s presence, the imbalance would prove fatal for the other Houses. None of my business, Tolrep reminded himself...though he wondered if Lazarus would continue to string him up whenever he liked. That was an ill thought, souring the privateer’s stomach. He’s got you, “privateer.”

  With the dark proving to be little company, the privateer returned to the one task that soothed his mind: dissecting and cleaning his guns. His hands roved the weapons with an intimacy bordering on a lover. A sharp snap and muzzle was disengaged from the handle. First Tolrep took a brush not unlike those that noble fops preferred to dust their locust drugs, and brushed the dirt from the chamber. Then carefully Tolrep took a long rod of cotton, rotated it several times to clean the residue in the muzzle, and then did the same with the chamber with an even smaller rod. Even the bullets were cleaned.

  Tolrep sighed as he snapped the guns back into place. Usually cleaning the guns relaxed the privateer enough to find a solution to whatever problem ailed him. Usually.

  “How many hours have you been awake, Cap?” Gabriel Mynok was a man of mythical parameters, a blend of foreign races so deeply intertwined even he was unsure of his exact bloodline. Hard to imagine he was Funny Jack’s brother.

  “I really don’t know. I stopped counting after four.”

  “Regardless of what you’re thinking, those Coicro bastards will not retreat from the mere force of your staring.”

  That’s yet to be proven. “I suppose you have a better idea.”

  “I hear Quinn has readied another batch of his stew. I was just on my way now. Join me. The ships will still be there when we return.”

  Perhaps. Tolrep spare a final glance at the horizon. Eighty yards of river separated the two armies. A great distance to the untrained eye. From here the hulls showed nothing of the cannon fire that punched through them like kindling. And there was the night to consider. No man would dare travel on a moonless night. No sane man, anyway.

  Then the world went mad and everything was loud and smoke and blurred...Tolrep pulled himself out of the wreckage. A gaping hole in the farthest wall greeted him. Bastards. The Coicro had dared the lake without moonlight. Would that Tolrep was on that deck right now, so he could choke the life of its captain.

  No. Not now. He ignored the tables strewn across the room, ignored the parts ripped so violently they impaled an unlucky few. A few moans grasped feebly for his attention, overcome with the thunder outside. Even if Tolrep had all the time in the world he couldn’t save them all.

  The attack did its job. Out of the ten cannons at the northern wall, six had been melted into slag. The remaining three were top-sized. Tolrep muttered a curse and changed it halfway. From the hellish smoke, a wiry form emerged. Tolrep caught the man’s sleeve and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Mason. “Mason! Where are the others?” Common sense dawned on him. The boy had come from the east. The sleeping quarters. Most like Mason’s crew was dead. Tolrep hoped they died sleeping.

  “Mason!” The boy’s eyes were glassy and his face long with shock. “Mason! I need you to man the cannons!”

  “Cannons?” A tremor rained sand into skin and eye. The last was inches away. Tolrep didn’t care enough to flinch. Damn it! “Listen to me! If I’m dying here I’m going to take some of them with me! Man the damn cannons!” Mason nodded, and the next step he was a whirlwind in human form, grabbing slow matches by the handful. Tolrep had to shout over the cannon fire. “How many cannons are loaded? Three? Good! Fire!” Through the spyglass Tolrep fumed. One cannonball arced into the ocean before even coming close to a ship. Another glanced off the hull, and the final punched a hole into the starboard bow.

  Then a screech cut through the giddiness. Everyone turned to the one man not carrying a satchel. Tolrep knew well the fury of being gripped by fear so utterly, as well as letting others see it. The man tried to hide it with a stiff posture and eyes ready to flay. “Bring me to your commanding officer.” No one moved. “Well? Do you damn peasants speak English? I said—”

  “I heard you. You one of Kalam’s men?”

  “His best. Commodore Scott Kadi the Third.” The officer paused as though expecting praise. When no one flattered him, Kadi dissected the privateer over a cold demeanor. “Where is Mathias Tolrep? I was told to meet him here.”

  “I’m Mathias Tolrep.”

  “The Polyglot Crusader. I’ve heard of you.” The flicker in his eyes indicated the disgust that he was speaking to such a lowborn legend. “Be at ease, Captain. I’ve been in thirty battles and won all of them by a considerable margin. Those traitors won’t know what hit them.”

  A peacock. Tolrep glowered. The worst kind of noble. Tolrep had no choice but to follow the man sniffing a pomander to avoid the odors of sweat and smoke. The men at the cannons might as well have not existed. “It’s a good thing I’m here, Tollop.”

  The privateer put on his best imitation of a smile. “Why is that, sir?”

  “These scallywags are inefficient without a leader, Tollop. Why, if I had this command earlier we’d be sitting at home smoking tobacco. But don’t be hurt Tollop. I’m sure you’ve done your best.”

  These men could win this war on their worst day, you ignorant jackass. It was an effort not to let his fingers ball up. He wasn’t the only one, either. If death came from the mere force of staring the commodore would be dead a hundred times over. “What would you do, sir?”

  “I’d charge them on the field of battle and slay anyone who dares cross me.” Right out of a fantasy romance. Suddenly Tolrep wondered if the sword at the idiot’s hip had seen combat.

  “Cap! Cap!” Strong Boy ran through the fort as though hell itself was on his heels. His fist was white over a length of parchment tied of with a piece of blue twine. “Cap, its bad...this scroll...”

  “It’s okay Boy. Just give me the scroll and you –”

  “You are not in charge here, Tollop. Give the message to me.” His face darkened at the messenger’s hesitation. “Did you hear what I said? Give it to me!”

  “Do as he say, Boy.” Tolrep said, missing Kadi’s resentment of obtaining the message from the privateer’s assurance rather than direct command. Instead he called for water and smiled as Boy upended the entire bucket. “Go easy now. You don’t want to choke on it, do you?” Glancing at the commodore Tolrep gestured Boy out of earshot of the officers. “Now what’s so important?”

  “Two Coicro ships have rounded to the isle’s rear.”

  Tolrep felt his heart jump into his throat. “What about Mallenway? He should be able to run rings around them –”

  “Mallenway’s dead, Cap. The ship took on the navy’s colors to catch us unawares. They looked like reinforcements.”

  “So Mallenway opened the fort with open arms and they got slaughtered.” Tolrep smacked one fist to the other. The man deserved better. Not to mention the hundreds more of his crew in the manor. The Coicro were not ones to grant mercy. “What are the Coicro doing now?”

  “They have the rear of the fort and are advancing. Five hundred strong.”

  Tolrep grunted an oath. Instantly he understood the enemy’s lethargy. Why fight directly when victory was simply waiting for treachery to run its course? Between the men on the boats and the men advancing from the rear the fight was all for naught.

  “Keep firing, you bastards! I want that ship to sink! Now, do you hear me? Now, blast your hides!”

  What the hell? “Commodore, what you thinking? The enemy has outflanked us!”

  “I’m not going to trust the note of an idiot slave! It’s a trick! Keep firing, damn you!”

  Angril
y Tolrep pushed the commodore aside. “Stop firing! We’re being overrun!” Suddenly the rasp of steel from sheath deafened the cannon-fire. “How dare you!” Kadi’s blade was at the privateer’s throat, but it trembled with its master’s fear. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Scott Kadi! I’ve never been defeated! Never!”

  Good for you, sunshine. One punch in the stomach floored Kadi. Damn that felt good. “Well, what are you waiting for? Fall back! Fall back!” Hoisting Kadi over his shoulder Tolrep followed the men all the way to the docks where the lifeboats waited. They were numerous but small, only two men per ship. Tolrep caught the wrist of a familiar face and told the man to take care of the commodore.

  “What do I do if he wakes up?” the pirate called.

  “Break his nose!” Tolrep answered as he broke into a run. This is stupid. But there were at least one hundred wives and sons and daughters unaware of the sheer carnage descending on their heads. “How am I going to look them in the eye when I tell them I was too busy to save their lives?”

  “You wouldn’t,” Tsukasa said. “I’d eat your eyeballs first.”

  Tolrep blinked. “Tsukasa?” And Blueface, and Elf, and Bear. “Is that – Funny Jack?” Huffing and puffing and red as a tomato, along with a dozen of the crew. “What are you doing here?”

  “Helping you, Cap!”

  “And the children.”

  “Yes. The children.”

  No one was as surprised as Tolrep when they came upon the manor. A thousand-people crisscrossed the courtyard under the careful eye of a stylish brunette shouting orders and hefting a dark sheet of slate stone the length of her forearm. “Claudia!” Bear charged through the shifting labyrinth of servants, caught the woman by the waist and swung her in a circle before crushing his lips to hers. “What are you doing?”