Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles

by Larry Correia

  The Grimnoir oath he’d taken was serious business to a man who always kept his word. There were still folks in need of defending, now more than ever before, so he intended to go and do what God had put him on this Earth to do, and that was to kill a whole mess of people.

  Jake Sullivan may have been on the side of the angels, but they were some damned bloody angels.

  He woke up lying on his stomach. At first he wasn’t sure where he was. There was a strange noise vibrating through the floor, and then he remembered that was the sound of turbojet engines, and then he remembered that he was on the Traveler, and then he remembered that it was mostly empty since most of its passengers had been murdered in Shanghai. It wasn’t until he tried to move that he felt the pain and recalled why he was lying on his stomach. His back had been the only spot big enough to carve the new spell.

  The Healing spells he’d carved on his chest were burning hot, repairing the damage to his tissues. Already the cuts and burns that had been infflicted on him had knotted over into rough scar tissue. He’d thought the others had hurt, but they’d been nothing compared to this. It was fading now, but he didn’t think he’d ever forget that magical fire.

  Madi had held the record. He’d taken thirteen Imperium kanji and lived, and as a result he’d been damned near unkillable. Sullivan now had five, though this new one from Sivaram had to be equivalent to several Imperium kanji designs. Sullivan felt for the Power built up in his chest, but then immediately recoiled. It was different than before.

  What would happen when he actually used it? Zangara had gone from making firecrackers to artillery shells. Crow had gone from Summoning demons to wearing them like a suit. What would that do to a man who was already a master of gravity? Even as curious as Sullivan was, frankly, he was afraid to experiment with such forces, especially while on board a fragile airship.

  He took stock. He was barefoot, wearing pants but no shirt, and he still didn’t know where he was. Last he remembered he’d been in sick bay. He lifted his head from the pillow. There was a small mattress on the steel floor. He pretty much covered the whole thing and then some. He’d never been in this room before, and he’d been nearly everywhere he could fit aboard the Traveler. She simply wasn’t that big of a dirigible.

  He realized it wasn’t actually a room at all, more of a space between rooms. The ceiling moved. And then he realized there was no roof at all. It was rust-colored fabric. It was the bottom of one of the hull cells holding thousands of cubic feet of hydrogen. Light was trickling through the gas bag, and it gave the room a sort of pink tint. Always analytical, Sullivan sat up, wondering how he’d gotten to this forgotten corner of the ship and how long he’d been out.

  Other than the mattress, there wasn’t much here. A short table had been welded to the floor next to the hatch. There were cushions around it, since it was too small to use a chair. There was a vase bolted to the table, and the vase was filled with flowers. His neck popped as he turned his head. There were lots of little paintings and pictures on the wall, not hung, but screwed, because they would simply fall off the first time the ship banked hard. Then he tensed as he realized there were actually lit candles in the room.

  He got yelled at for smoking, but somebody had put candles directly under one of the hydrogen bags? Sullivan crawled toward the candles to put them out, but then stopped when he realized it was a shrine of some kind. There were two photographs placed between fresh flowers, and several intricately folded paper animals, and then Sullivan knew exactly where he was.

  The first picture was of a young Japanese man, stocky, muscular, with a big square face and a wide grin. He was wearing a Western suit and proudly holding some sort of academic award or diploma in his big hands. Sullivan would’ve bet money that he, too, was a Gravity Spiker. He just had that solid look about him.

  The next picture was of a little baby.

  Sullivan pulled away from the candles. He realized that though they were emitting heat, they weren’t moving at all. It was like the flames had simply frozen in place. Even the light coming off them wasn’t flickering. The wicks weren’t being consumed and the wax wasn’t even soft. Of course, Lady Origami was a Torch, so fire would do whatever she told it to do, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to endanger her memorial or her ship.

  The hatch opened. Sullivan lurched to his feet on wobbly legs as Lady Origami entered her quarters. She was carrying a pitcher in one hand and a steaming bowl in the other.

  “Hey,” Sullivan said awkwardly.

  She placed the food down on the table, then closed the hatch behind her. “I am surprised you are awake. Do you feel all right? It looked painful.”

  “I’m okay. Why am I here?”

  “Sick bay is very full, with the four knights pulled from river. This is a private place, so I offered. It took three big men to carry you here. Your words were upsetting the others.”

  “Words?”

  “All about killing. Over and over.”

  Sullivan looked down at his hands. “Uh, yeah . . .”

  “You scared them.” She came over, touched him on the chin and lifted his head. He was surprised by the physical contact. Her fingers were callused and surprisingly strong. Her eyes were piercing, and he could see the fire inside. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  “Oh, Sullivan . . .” She smiled and shook her head. She stepped away lightly, untying the dark red silk that decorated her coveralls. She placed it on the pillows. “Do not apologize. You are what you are supposed to be. You are strong, and proud, and smart, and very sad inside. You say very few words, but the words you say are always true. Men such as you are rare in the world.”

  The jet engines gained in intensity. They were lifting off. “I should be going.”

  She stepped in front of the hatch, blocking it. “Do not go.”

  It had been a long time, but he recognized the look. He knew what she wanted, though he could not understand why she would possibly want him. “Lady Origami, I can’t—”

  “Lady Origami is my marauder name. What they called me when I did not wish to speak after they rescued me from the prison ship. My real name is Akane Yoshizawa.”

  “Akane.” It was a pretty name for a pretty girl. “I—”

  “You must think terrible things of me because of the first time we met. You must have thought I was a pirate whore.”

  “No!” Sullivan shook his head vigorously in the negative. “Never. You just surprised me is all.”

  “I surprised myself that night too. That was not like me. Many of the marauders have wished to, but they have respect for me when I tell them to go away, and I did not have to burn any of them.”

  “Hard to get fresh with a Torch.”

  “True.” She smiled. “You were the first man I’d tried to be with since . . . It was just . . . When you told the Marauders your story, you reminded me of someone. A man I once knew.” Her eyes flicked unconsciously toward the shrine, and then back to him. “You still do. You are complete, but empty. Never afraid, never false. I can see this in you and I have only ever seen it once before.”

  He turned away. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “We all lose, Sullivan. We lose our homes, we lose our love, our families, and sometimes we lose ourselves because losing is all we know how to do.” She came over slowly, put one hand on his scarred back. It lingered there, her fingers tracing the complex lines of Power, then she gently steered him around to face her. “I see your sadness when others do not, because I share it. You don’t want to lose any more. You don’t think you have any more to give.”

  “If you’re tired of losing, then you sure as hell don’t want to end up with the likes of me.”

  She ran one hand down the muscles of his chest. This time he didn’t try to pull away.

  “Then we will not think about it until tomorrow, Heavy Jake Sullivan. Today, we will just be alive.” She reached up to her neck and unzipped her coveralls clear to her navel, and she was
n’t wearing a damned thing beneath.

  “Well . . .” Sullivan took a deep breath. Akane. It really was a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. “All right, then.”

  Chapter 19

  I have long felt However, I did not expect them to be literally invisible.

  —Buckminster Fuller,

  personal correspondence, 1933

  Drew Town, New Jersey

  The call had been urgent. The elders were contacting every single Grimnoir knight in the world. It didn’t matter where they were, who they were, if they were old or feeble, on their own or in a group, it was all hands on deck. Not all knights were fighters, but for those that weren’t, they needed to go and make sure the local authorities were alert and ready, and they were to do so by any means necessary. If that meant throwing rocks at the Kremlin, do it. Wake up the milita. Load your guns. If you didn’t have guns, it was time for torches and pitchforks.

  Francis had never gotten a message from the society quite like that before.

  The message had been fairly straightforward, mostly because the elders didn’t have many details to share. They suspected something very bad was about to happen, especially in places where Actives lived. Any place with a lot of magic collected in one spot was a potential target. Of what, they couldn’t particularly say. The threats were of an unknown nature. They didn’t say who had set them off, but a knight had brought them a warning that all magicals were in potential danger.

  Francis had a sneaking suspicion that this was somehow related to Faye . . .

  John Browning was overseeing all Grimnoir operations in the United States, and he was busily shuffling knights about to cover potential hot spots. Word had been put out discreetly to all of their friends and allies in the military and among the police. Discreet being the key word, since they really didn’t want the OCI to think that they were fomenting some sort of Active uprising. They’d already been through that once this year.

  As soon as Francis had received the message, he’d known right where to go. If he was some sort of unknown threat looking to target Actives, he’d head right toward the town built for them and advertised as paradise.

  Dan Garrett parked their car in the woods on the way into Drew Town. Jane opened the trunk and started removing guns. When you didn’t know what kind of trouble to expect, it was best to bring guns and friends with guns. Francis took the P17 Enfield and threw a leather bandolier of shells over his shoulder. They were dressed like they were going hunting, and he supposed, in a way, that’s exactly what they were doing.

  “We play it quiet. We’re just taking a little walk through the forest, picking a spot, and watching the town.” Dan removed a backpack from the trunk. “I got the sandwiches.”

  “You’re so clever to bring food,” Jane said as she took out a guitar case. “I only brought this Thompson submachine gun.”

  “Heh . . . That’s my girl.”

  There were headlights on the road behind them, but instead of passing by and continuing on toward the town, they slowed and pulled off behind them. “You expecting anybody else?” Francis asked.

  Dan shook his head. “Everybody else is scoping out other places.”

  “If it’s the cops, we’ll just say that we’re going coyote hunting.”

  Dan looked down at the gigantic Browning automatic rifle he was removing from the trunk. “Apparently, they grow some tough coyotes out here . . . Don’t worry. I’ll talk our way out of this.”

  A car door closed. A moment later they saw that somebody was coming through the trees, making their way quietly with no flashlight, but not trying to hide their presence. “Francis? Is that you?”

  It was a woman’s voice. “Hammer? What are you doing here?”

  “Following you!” she called back.

  “Oh, good,” Dan said. “The one person I’m entirely incapable of charming.”

  The BI agent got close enough that they could see her clearly in the moonlight. “Hoover ordered me to have you tailed. He said the Grimnoir are up to something.” She looked over the open trunk and the growing pile of weapons. “Guess he was right. Look, I know where we are, and considering the timing, I know what you’re doing, and I could order my boys to come in and arrest you right now, but I really do like you, so I’m going to try and talk you out of it instead.”

  “Talk us out of what?”

  “Oh, you just happen to show up in Drew Town, a place which stands for everything you’re against, right when the architect of the whole scheme is there taking a tour? I don’t like that Cog bastard either. He strikes me as a sleaze and an opportunist, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard the man utter a completely true sentence, but messing with him won’t accomplish a thing but make you more enemies.”

  Francis sighed. “Hammer, tune up that lie detector and try this on for size. I don’t give a damn about Roosevelt’s buddy. We’re only here because we got a message saying that places with lots of Actives congregated might be in danger. Don’t know what, but from the message I’ve got a gut feeling it could be really bad.” As soon as he said that, he began to develop a splitting headache. “Ow, damn it. Now get out of there. See?”

  “You’re telling the truth.” Hammer breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I was worried there y’all were about to do something incredibly stupid. It didn’t feel right.”

  Thankfully the headache let up when her Power did. “Great. Now scram back to your boss and tell him we’re the good guys. We’re going to keep an eye out for . . . something.”

  “Uh huh . . . Something.” Hammer went over to the trunk and pointed at a short-barreled Winchester Model 12. “You using that?” she asked Jane.

  “My hands are already full.”

  “Mind if I borrow that?” Hammer picked up the shotgun, checked it, and pumped a round into the chamber. Then she picked up a box of buckshot and started shoving shells into her coat pockets. “I’ve seen what you Grimnoir’s idea of something is. Your last something stomped on half of Washington.” Agent Pemberly Hammer of the Bureau of Investigation set out into the woods. “Come on. I took the tour with Director Hoover last week. I know a good spot on a rise where we can see most of the town.”

  The three knights watched her go. Dan hoisted up the backpack and BAR. “I should’ve packed more sandwiches.”

  Free City of Shanghai

  Toru had not seen this memory before.

  Okubo was sitting on the mat in his study. The doors had been slid open, providing him with a better view of the manicured garden. He had been watching flower petals float down the stream and inspired, had called for his servants to bring his writing desk. He had put quill to scroll and was attempting to capture the moment in a poem.

  Hattori waited patiently for his Lord to finish writing. It was not good to interrupt the greatest wizard in the world when he was trying to write poetry. Okubo scowled and marked out a line. Sometimes even the best amongst them could be frustrated when he simply could not find the words.

  “Small moments of beauty . . . They may seem a trifling thing for warriors to contemplate, especially when compared to the mighty events surrounding us, yet it is still important to take the time to appreciate such things,” Okubo explained as he went back to writing. There was no need for someone of his status to make apologies, so he was merely speaking because he felt like it. “A warrior must understand what he fights for in order to strike with a pure heart.”

  “Of course, my Lord,” Hattori said, his voice sounding far too deep.

  “What do you fight for?”

  The question caught him off guard.

  “What brings you here, my son?”

  Hattori was gone. Toru was not watching a memory at all. He was sitting across from his father. He froze. His blood turned to ice. His stomach filled with pained knots. Realizing that he was not even bowing, the quickly placed his forehead to the floor. “Forgive me, Chairman!”

  “Rise, Toru. Such deference is not necessary. I no longer hold the office of Chairman
because I am dead. I am merely a restless ghost, unable to move on.”

  Toru lifted his head. Tears filled his eyes. “I have failed you.”

  “No. It was I who failed. In looking to the future, I tried to shape the world in my image. I was so focused on my great goals that I failed to see the small darkness hidden among my closest followers. I have often warned that the Enemy was not to be underestimated, yet I was guilty of this myself. I prepared to counter its fearsome strength, and did not realize it was capable of subtle trickery.”

  “Is the world lost, then?”

  “No. Though you are close, you are not dead yet, and as long as a warrior’s heart beats he may still strike at his foe. There is more to be done.” Okubo Tokugawa stood, walked over to Toru, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are my son. I can no longer fight in this battle, but you will serve in my stead. I did not choose a successor before I was taken. That was an error caused by my hubris. Fate placed you in the path of these events, and you have valued truth above glory. Honor over tradition. You have proven yourself worthy to be my heir. The survival of the Imperium is your responsibility now. The future of the world will be decided by your actions. The future of our family is in your hands.”

  Toru was so choked with emotion that he could barely respond. “I will not fail.”

  “I am humbled by your devotion. I have many regrets from my life. One of them is that I did not realize the greatness inherent in some of my descendants. I am pleased with you, Toru . . . When you call upon me in your greatest time of need, I will grant you strength.”

  “I will not fail!” Toru bellowed again.

  “Awake.”

  “Awake!”

  A hand slapped him in the face. Toru groaned and cracked his eyes open.