Knight's Justice

by P. J. Cherubino

  Liesel handed the amphorald to Wilfred. “Since the weapon was made from your donated metal, would you do the honors?”

  The lieutenant snatched the rifle from the worker’s hands and pushed her away. “Where do I put this?” he demanded impatiently.

  Liesel forced a smile and stepped closer. She directed his eyes to a small lever on the right side of the weapon, just after the stock.

  “This is the receiver,” Liesel said, indicating the rectangular section that joined barrel and stock. “You press down on this lever with your thumb.” Click…a door opened and Liesel turned the weapon over. “Then drop the amphorald inside.” As soon as the gem dropped into the chamber, the little door closed and the weapon gave a faint high-pitched whistle.

  Liesel turned the weapon right-side-up and pushed the barrel toward the ground. “It’s ready to fire, so keep it pointed down unless you want to put holes in things.”

  “That is yet to be seen.” Wilfred sniffed. “I find it hard to believe that something thrown together in minutes can be any good.”

  Liesel gave a tight smile at his ignorance. “We’ve taken the liberty of setting up a firing range to answer that question.”

  Just then, a mechanical clatter shook the ground beneath their feet. Excited voices invaded the shop even above the whirring machines.

  “Ah, our other surprise is here,” Yarik declared, rubbing his hands together.

  “What the hell is that?” Hagan exclaimed.

  “Come see,” Liesel said and marched toward the tall double doors at the opposite end of the shop. She pointed sharply at two workers, who ran ahead to push the doors open.

  The clatter grew louder as they jostled into the keep’s courtyard.

  “It’s moving by itself!” Wilfred exclaimed as the sight of the ancient battle wagon smacked him in the face like a cup of ice water.

  A metal hatch opened in the driver’s area. The simple bench once used by a driver to guide horses was now completely enclosed in steel. Gerolf’s head and shoulders popped out, and he shouted to them.

  “Liesel, you better take this damn thing away from me before I load it up with fighters and take it to Lungu Fortress!”

  “Let’s ride out to the firing range for practice,” Liesel said to the crowd who had watched the rifle’s assembly with a satisfied grin. To Gerolf she called, “You can drive us there. You need the practice.” Anxiety crossed his face as he ducked back into the cabin.

  They piled into the wagon and sat on the rough benches. They didn’t bother to close the rear hatch.

  “How is this possible?” Wilfred asked.

  A screech and loud clang made the wagon lurch before it started moving.

  “Press the clutch all the way down,” Liesel shouted into the driver cabin. “And don’t be so rough with the drive-gear lever!”

  Gerolf responded with something half-heard, but it sounded frustrated and angry. “To answer your question,” she replied. “Magitech makes many things possible.”

  “Can you make more?”

  “Of course we can,” Yarik replied.

  “What would it take to make more wagons like this?” Hagan asked, focusing her cold eyes on Liesel.

  It was Yarik who answered. “It’s not a matter of when, but how. We will need a lot more metal, and that means pulling it from the ground. Luckily, I know of a place that has all the resources we need.”

  “The caves where those scum live.” Wilfred sneered.

  “Yes,” Liesel replied. “If we clear out that nest, we get all the eggs.”

  “It’s nothing but a hive of cripples, decrepit old criminals, and mental defectives,” Morgon said. “Erasing them will be a service to the protectorate.”

  The battlewagon jostled them as it rolled across the icy field where Liesel had set up bales of hay with human-shaped wooden targets propped against them. They stopped about three hundred feet from the targets.

  Wilfred hopped down from the wagon, never letting go of the rifle.

  Seeing how eager he was to shoot something, Liesel gave him instructions quickly. “You fire it much like a crossbow.”

  Wilfred brought the weapon to his shoulder and aimed it. “Place your cheek against the stock,” she explained “ Focus on the target. You should see a little black dot on the end of the rifle.”

  “I do,” Wilfred agreed. “It’s in the way.”

  “It’s supposed to be. You use it to aim. With your crossbow, your sight is the tip of the bolt. With this rifle, you line up the front and back sights and place them over the target.”

  She explained how to focus on the target while keeping the sights in line.

  “I see,” Wilfred said. He placed his finger on the trigger and squeezed.

  The air split with a loud crack and a bolt of blue fire erupted from the brass cylinder at the end of the rifle. The third of one of the targets exploded into splinters.

  “You got his arm!” Hagan exclaimed.

  “I was aiming for the chest,” Wilfred replied. “But this weapon is impressive, to say the least. You have made me a believer.”

  “These rifles are lethal within a hundred yards, which is more than double the range of a crossbow,” Yarik explained. “They can wound an enemy well out to two hundred yards.”

  “How many can you make with the materials we have at hand?” Hagan asked.

  Liesel shot Gerolf a knowing look. “We can continue to recycle metal from your reserve arsenals.”

  Hagan grew impatient and snapped, “How many swords equal how many rifles?”

  “Again, the quality of the metal—” Yarik began.

  “You keep saying that,” Hagan interrupted. “But you promised results. We need to get moving against that Astrid bitch before they move on us.”

  Just when Liesel was about to respond with her own heated words, Gerolf stepped in with perfect timing. “I believe I can help here. Some of my business associates deal in metal. I’m sure we can draw up contracts to supply enough metal to get us control of the caves.”

  “You are a businessman, not a soldier,” Morgon grumbled. “We have a lot of ground to take between here and those mountains. We need a lot of weapons and bodies to get there. We’ll also need supplies.”

  “Armies are hungry animals,” Wilfred agreed.

  “I will leave that in your capable hands,” Yarik said. “You get us the metal and we’ll give you the tools you need.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Best Laid Plans, One Month Later

  It took a bit longer for Pleth to get back to Argan than Astrid had thought. There was just too much work. Even with the roads clear, it took too much time away from Pleth’s crushing responsibilities for him to take the hours off.

  They had tried. Pleth had gone for a visit to his family twice in the past six weeks. But with the lag in communication the work piled up, causing his stress levels to climb.

  Astrid felt like she had broken a promise, and that bothered her immensely. But today, she thought that might change. It seemed like they were finally getting ahead of all the work. Things looked like they were smoothing out just in time for spring.

  When Astrid came through the doors to the administrative offices, most of the desks that crammed the space were empty. Lungu’s larger desk was still there, along with what must have been thirty workstations set up in rows with aisles between them.

  Pleth stood at the large desk like a conductor, waving his hands at the clerks. He scribbled notes, scrawled signatures, and occasionally huddled with Brol, who also had the look of a conductor.

  Astrid was surprised to find Tomas there. He had been working in the war room upstairs. Weeks ago, Gormer had discovered the boy had a talent for maps that in turn revealed a talent for calculations. Tomas sat at his own desk using a fountain pen to scratch out long columns of numbers.

  Brol sidled up to Astrid when she stopped with her head cocked to the side.

  “He’s a damn smart young man,” the treasurer declared.
“Picked up bookkeeping in a couple days.”

  “He told me he was good with numbers, but…”

  “He’s too modest,” Brol said. “His talents were wasted mopping floors. I wish I’d have seen that before. I wonder how many others are like that?”

  Astrid rounded on him. “Find out.”

  Brol looked suddenly bashful. “We, ah…already pulled people from the servant staff. Turns out cleaning and food services are essential.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if we pull anyone else from the fortress’s staff you and I will starve. There is not enough time in the day.”

  Astrid thought for a moment. “Then why don’t you hire new people? Pull from the Wards.”

  “That’s a damn good idea,” Brol declared. “There are plenty of unemployed out there. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Hmm,” Astrid teased. “I don’t know… Overworked, maybe?”

  Brol laughed and Astrid proceeded toward Pleth, who didn’t see her coming. He jumped a bit when she said his name.

  “You all right, Pleth?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, shuffling more papers. “I just need to get this done.

  Brol cleared his throat. Pleth continued his shuffling.

  “Pleth,” Brol said a little louder. “Enough.”

  Pleth froze. Astrid had to remove the parchment from his hands. “Your hard work has paid off,” Astrid said. “This is it. You can finally go back to Argan for a while. Don’t worry; the work will come to you.”

  “Is it that time?” Pleth asked, looking around.

  “Yes,” Astrid replied. “I am here to collect you. Pack up everything you need and—”

  Both chamber doors flew open and outside in the hallway, the usual scrum of administrators and bureaucrats was silent. Astrid turned sharply to the messenger, who shouted her name.

  Covered in mud, the woman yelled, “Attack on Keep 37!” She rushed to Astrid and slapped a rolled-up parchment into her hand.

  Astrid read quickly. She felt all eyes focus on her. She gritted her teeth. The message was short, written hastily as the keep was about to fall.

  “They hit quick,” Astrid announced. “The keep is lost.”

  “I’ll stay, then,” Pleth declared. “Let me just—”

  “No,” Astrid said firmly. “You go to Argan. We’ll stick to our plans.” She ordered the messenger, “Wait here for my reply.”

  She pulled over a stack of blank parchment and scratched out orders, notices, and messages for the other keeps. When she finished, she handed her missives to the messenger. “Hand these off to the relays. Get some rest, then report back here. We’re on high alert.”

  One of the orders was to Vinnie, who should have already been at Argan. She had ordered him to bring all his new troops to the fortress.

  “I’m going upstairs to get my armor,” Astrid announced.

  Mika and Hanif were already in the war room, and knew what had happened.

  “You were right,” Astrid said as she breezed past them to the bedchamber. She didn’t bother to close the doors as she stripped off her worn leather and slipped into her sacred-steel armor.

  Mika came over and helped Astrid lace up her suit. “Maybe,” Mika replied, “but negotiation might have worked, too. Like you said, there’s a lot of moving parts here. Best we can do is use what we know to act on what we have.”

  Astrid turned to Mika. Hanif stood in the doorway with a resolute expression on his face.

  Astrid paused. She studied their faces and found her confidence there. “I trusted the right people. That’s what I know.” They returned the compliment with warlike smiles and blazing eyes. “Let’s go teach your former colleagues the error of their ways.”

  Astrid pulled her rope weapon from a chest at the foot of her bed. She looped the silksteel around her waist and marched out with Mika and Hanif behind her.

  The Assembly

  The courtyard bristled with fully-armed troops ready for action. Too ready.

  Where is Vinnie? The question ran through Astrid’s mind every time she paused between the countless orders.

  “That makes two hundred thirty fighters,” Mika reported.

  The sound of hooves and wagon wheels announced the arrival of what passed for their troop transports. Saddled horses were brought in from the stables for the officers and cavalry troops.

  Messengers had been streaming in for hours. Two more keeps had fallen, so none of the messages came directly from the captured keeps. The reports came from forward patrols who had watched the structures burn.

  “It looks like they’re destroying the keeps, not holding them,” Astrid observed.

  “Could be good, could be bad,” Mika opined. “It might mean they don’t have the numbers to hold territory.”

  “It’s short-sighted on every count,” Hanif replied, folding his arms across his chest. “I can’t believe they would take this course. Even if they do take all the keeps between the Wilfred Estate and here, what do they expect to do when this is over if they have no keeps to secure the land?”

  Astrid gave voice to something fearful and likely. “They are relying on their new weapons.”

  “And new methods,” Mika added. “For some reason they don’t think they need the keeps anymore.”

  Astrid looked around. The troops shifted on their feet, and the tight formations began to feel and look more like a crowd than an assembly.

  “They’re getting restless,” Mika observed.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Astrid responded. “Let’s move them out. We can meet Vinnie at the south gate.”

  Astrid shouted the order that the small army was all too eager to receive. They piled into wagons while Astrid mounted her horse and formed up with the cavalry.

  It took a full hour for them to get down the muddy switchbacks, but at least there was no ice and snow. Spring was finally here. When they reached the base of the peak, Astrid looked back at the fortress pointing at the sky like an obscene finger. Shaking her head, Astrid looked down again to find her horse’s legs caked with mud almost to the knees.

  “Sorry, girl.” She dismounted and began wiping off the mud with both hands. The spotted mare whinnied and danced. “Tickles, does it?” The horse seemed to nod her head in agreement.

  “Let’s hope the muddy roads slow them down as much as they do us,” Hanif said.

  A relay messenger galloped up, handed Astrid a rolled parchment, and galloped off again.

  Astrid read the note and stuffed the paper in her saddlebag with the others. It was getting crowded in there. It occurred to her that today’s documents would become tomorrow’s historical record. The sense that something of a great scale was happening pressed on her shoulders.

  “It’s Vinnie,” Astrid told Hanif and Mika. “His group is at the south gate.”

  “South gate?” Hanif asked, confused. “Didn’t he come from the northeast?”

  “Yup. He said we’d understand when we get there,” Astrid replied.

  A sour look crossed Mika’s face. “Gods damn. We’ll be fucked if we can’t keep to a basic plan. MOVE OUT!” she bellowed and the army complied, as armies do, with controlled chaos and limited speed.

  True to his word as always, Astrid understood why Vinnie had decided to change the plan. His group consisted of at least a dozen wagons and about a hundred soldiers on horseback. Several of the uncovered wagons were filled with non-fighters from the caves.

  There were as many non-combatants as there were fighters.

  “What the hell,” Mika hissed. “Where are all the fighters that fat man promised?”

  Astrid restrained herself. Everyone was tense, and it would not do any good for her to tell Mika off like she wanted to.

  “You haven’t met Vinnie yet,” Astrid managed to say. “Just give him a chance. He always has a good reason for what he does.”

  A skinny young man with a stubby fingerless arm hopped out of one of the wagons and turned to help a young
albino woman climb down. They were followed by a chubby freckled boy in misshapen black armor that clattered and clanged around his awkward limbs.

  “What is this, Astrid?” Hanif asked with a sneer as Vinnie walked up with the strange collection of young people. “We ask for soldiers and you bring us cripples?”

  All Astrid could do was take a deep breath to weather the storm of anger that made her heart audible in her ears.

  “Patience,” was all she managed to say.

  The young boy in the funny-looking armor set his jaw and lunged forward at the comment, but the skinny boy stepped in front of him and Vinnie placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  Based on their expressions, the kids weren’t all that happy to see Hanif and Mika either.

  That was when Astrid noticed that the few troops who did show up were clad in armor much like hers, and they carried pistols that looked very much like those Tarkon carried.

  Vinnie intervened before things could get out of hand. He gave his now-classic showman’s smile and bowed deeply to Mika and Hanif.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” Vinnie declared. “My name is Vincenzo Onorato Amatore Blasio. You may call me Vinnie, as all my friends do.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Mika complained. Her horse pranced as it picked up on her tension.

  “I humbly beg to differ,” Vinnie declared in anything but humble and begging tones. “You will find time with the newest member of the Dregs to be spent well.”

  “You,” the chubby freckled boy called, pointing at Hanif. “Give me your chest plate and I’ll show you who’s a cripple, assh—”

  “This,” Vinnie interrupted, bearing down hard on the boy’s shoulder, “is one of our associate armorers, Cole.”

  Cole glared at the deadly first lieutenant with wild eyes that gave even Astrid pause. His young friends seemed taxed to restrain him.

  “Hey, Cole,” the skinny boy said. “Look at me.” Cole broke his stare and turned to his friend. “Let’s show them, OK?”