Gunwitch

by David Michael

  Rose eyed the soldier. “Do you have any more, Corporal?”

  “Sir?”

  “Tobacco, Corporal Jickell. Do you have any more tobacco?”

  “I may have a pinch or two I can spare, sir.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, corporal. I’m going to need pistols, though. As many as you can find.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And all the shot and powder you can carry. All of you. Myself included. It will be a long night, I expect. Followed by a much longer morning.”

  * * *

  Just before dawn, Corporal Jickell followed a pace behind her right shoulder as she walked through the chaos of the fort’s preparations looking for Chal. Sergeant Tabart and the rest of her men were sitting in the dark. Most of them were probably asleep by now. She longed for some shut-eye herself.

  She found Chal, Ian, Margaret and Janett huddled near the northwest corner of the fort. Ian smiled when he saw her, then looked away, embarrassed by the smile and wink she gave him back. Chal looked satisfied, as if she were the village matchmaker, but said nothing.

  Janett and Margaret both wore raw cotton shirts and buckskin trousers. Margaret looked like one of the Mancino children, she thought, rumpled, with her brown hair scarcely contained. Janett, though, managed to look more like a lady on a fox hunt than a scout. Margaret was clutching a pistol in both hands, and Janett had a rifle slung over her shoulder.

  Rose had wanted Chal to lead Ian and the girls out of the fort in middle of the night, but there had been no way to properly cover them. A few soldiers had deserted the fort once darkness fell. Ducoed had sent their heads to the main gate as a reminder that the terms of the surrender did not take effect until dawn.

  Rose told Corporal Jickell to wait for her, then walked up to Ian and put her arms around him. She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Trying not to think that she might never see him again, she asked, “Have you ever been kissed by a major before, Mr. Haley?”

  “Not that I am at liberty to say, Miss Bainbridge,” Ian replied.

  Margaret was waiting for her and hugged her when she backed away from Ian. The pistol in Margaret’s right hand thumped Rose on the back. “I wish you were coming with us,” Margaret said. “You will take care of Da, won’t you, Miss Rose?”

  “I will try, Margaret.”

  Janett curtsied, then shook Rose’s hand. She noticed Rose looking at the rifle on her back, and Janett said, “Chal has been showing me how to load and fire.”

  “What did your father have to say about that?”

  “He only learned about it tonight.”

  Rose nodded. “Take care of Margaret,” she said.

  Janett nodded.

  Chal waited for her, smiling, standing with her arms crossed. Before either one could say anything, Colonel Laxton appeared out of the darkness, flanked by Major Eason and Captain Keele.

  Margaret ran to the colonel and hugged him, thumping him on the back with the pistol as well. Janett joined her.

  When the colonel had untangled himself from his daughters, leaving them in the hands of Ian, he came to Chal. “Thank you,” he said, with a quick bow. He gave Rose a nod, then walked away.

  Rose watched the officers walk away.

  “Dawn is almost here,” Chal said. “The waters prepare to sing to the sun.”

  “Our song is not over,” Rose said.

  Chal’s brown eyes shone in the dark. “I wish it were so, Rose Bainbridge. But the song of the waters is … less certain.”

  “I will find you. Just keep everyone alive and get to New Venezia. I will join you there.”

  “I will try, Rose Bainbridge. I will try to keep them safe for you. Margaret, Janett, and the pretty major.”

  “And yourself, Chal.”

  Chal’s mouth smiled, but her eyes were sad.

  * * *

  Colonel Laxton ordered the main gates opened when the first cold, yellow arc of the sun cleared the horizon. The colonel rode at the front of the ranks on one of the few remaining horses. Major Eason and Captain Keele also rode, just behind the colonel and the standard bearer. Rose walked, with Corporal Jickell a pace behind, surrounded in a tight square by Sergeant Tabart and the other men in her squad. She had her rune-engraved pistol in her hand and two others in her belt. Corporal Jickell carried three loaded pistols in addition to his musket. The rest of the squad all carried a spare pistol as well as their muskets.

  Behind them came the men bearing stretchers with the wounded. Under the blankets of the wounded were loaded muskets. Finally, the last of colonel’s command marched in ranks four abreast, steps in sync with the drummers.

  The battlefield looked very different under the gray light of dawn. The trenches and embankments remained, as did the wreckage of grunzers and mortars. Of all the men who had fallen, though, only dark stains remained. And sometimes their shredded flesh.

  The column snaked its way back and forth across the battlefield, following the route picked by the colonel to get around and through the lines of trenches. Rose ignored the blood and entrails and looked at what they were up against.

  Ducoed’s force stood in an arc along the base of the hill, running from the northeast along the treeline to nearly the river. Only a small avenue remained open along the bank of the river, to the south. The arranged troops were a mixture of black and white and native, in no consistent mode of dress. Swedish and Italian uniforms were present, as were English army, and farmers and slaves in old cotton rags and men in buckskins. Behind those stood the squat grunzers that seemed to be all boiler. None of the grunzers had smoke stacks, she noticed, making them look very different from the grunzers she was used to. How could they work without fireboxes to heat the water?

  More importantly, Rose thought, where was Ducoed?

  A group of fully armored men hissed and clanked, leaking steam as they walked, broke away from the line of enemies and came toward the head of the English column. Except for the steam leaking from their joints, they could be old-style heavy cavalry, without the horses. Rose had never seen anything like them on the battlefields of her life. The men in armor moved like grunzers, but could not be grunzers. They were far too small, just over man-sized. Steam-powered armor, maybe? But steam-powered armor would be too hot– Too hot for a normal man, she thought. But who knew what was in those suits of armor?

  Colonel Laxton continued to lead the column forward until it was even with the oncoming group. Then he raised his hand and gestured for the halt.

  The armored troops spread to create a shallow vee. At the point of the vee, Ducoed, still in his Leftenant’s uniform, stood next to a big man wearing buckskins and a cloak of pelts. The big man had his arms crossed. Even from nearly a hundred feet, Rose could feel the power of the big man. A cold darkness emanated from him, giving Rose gooseflesh. Maybe Ducoed was not the threat here, after all. Again she wondered who or what Ducoed had allied himself with.

  “That is far enough, Colonel Laxton,” Ducoed shouted. “You may step aside and inspect your command as it leaves the field.”

  Rose risked a look back at the column. The tail end had fallen behind, stretching the column from the northeast to the southwest. As the front of the column halted, so did the rest. Few of the stragglers made any attempt to rejoin the main group. Rose nodded to herself. She looked at the fort, but saw no sign of anyone. The fort looked deserted with its unmanned towers and naked flagpoles. She turned to face the front.

  “I am surrendering command of Fort Russell,” Colonel Laxton shouted. “In accordance with the terms of our agreement.”

  Ducoed nodded. The big man next to him did not move.

  Colonel Laxton stepped his mount forward. When he was halfway between the head of the column and the waiting Ducoed, he reined his horse to a stop again, then turned to face the column. He drew his saber and held it up in a salute. All along the column, men saluted in response. Rose tensed, her pistol in her hand, held low along the line of her leg.

  It seem
ed to take an eternity for the first of the packed charges in the wall of the fort to explode. Then the ground shook as four more explosions in rapid succession destroyed the silence of the dawn. Rose had added what energies she could spare to the packed charges, amplifying them, directing their force outward from the center of the fort.

  The colonel pulled on the reins of his horse and spun the beast around. Saber still raised, he spurred his mount at Ducoed. “Attack!” he shouted. Up and down the line, the men of his command echoed the shout. “Attack!”

  Rose resisted the urge to look at the smoke billowing from the fort–either the walls were breached or they were not–and the even more personal, powerful urge to target Ducoed. She spun on her heels, raised her pistol to clear the heads of her men, and squeezed the trigger. Lightning and fire arced and exploded in the ranks of Ducoed’s forces near the northeast bank of the river. The bullet was consumed in the magic, adding to the destruction in a way that mere lead never could. She saw bodies broken, and blown apart by the blast.

  She dropped the pistol into Corporal Rickell’s left hand and took the pistol he held in his right. She was aware of Rickell handing her spent pistol to Private Gartside for cleaning and reloading, but she focused on the line of the enemy. She fired again. She felt the magic tearing against the unreinforced barrel of the pistol as the exploding powder and hot shot were taken apart and added to the magic. The barrel held, though only just. Rose decided she would risk one more shot through the gun. She handed the pistol to Rickell again and took the next one he gave her. Shot after shot, she walked fire and lightning along the line of creatures that blocked the northeast treeline, trying to clear a path for the soldiers even now advancing and firing in that direction.

  After the fifth shot, she had her own pistol again. The enemy was recovering from the surprise of the explosions at the fort and the fury of her attacks and the line of creatures had begun to move forward. Where she had fired, the line had been thinned, but not cleared. She hoped she would have a chance to assist that part of the battle again, but now she needed to see to the other escape route.

  “Turnabout right,” she shouted. The cold of her magic had already begun to seep into her chest. Her breath misted despite the warm, humid air. “Two paces and set.”

  Sergeant Tabart echoed her order.

  “Now!”

  She turned to the south and took two steps, Rickell moving in orbit about her and the rest of her men staying in formation around her as they matched her step. As she turned, her eyes slid over the sight of Colonel Laxton and his officers, still mounted, fighting against the hissing and clanking armored men. She refused to take time to wonder why she had not heard nor seen any return magic from Ducoed. She saw that Ducoed’s creatures were already beginning to close the gap along the riverbank. She aimed and fired.

  The soldiers with litters of wounded streamed past her and Sergeant Tabart and Corporal Rickell and the rest. The wounded had their guns out now, but held their fire, trying only to hang on to the muskets against the bouncing and jostling–and to not fall off the litters. Rose fired over their heads like a human artillery piece, one shot after another, her lightning and fire keeping the path in front of them clear.

  “Advance five paces,” she ordered after another nine shots, “then turnabout.” She did not hand the pistol she had just fired to Rickell. She dropped it. Her breath misted in front of her as the red-hot barrel hissed where it touched morning dew on the churned earth. That was one pistol used up, and three others about to go. “Now!”

  Five paces forward hardly seemed to move them any closer to the south bend of the river which was their planned escape route as well, but she was the only artillery the fort had left. Facing back to the northeast, she again concentrated her fire toward the riverbank there. Only three shots, though, as the center of Ducoed’s arc had now advanced enough to need attention. The squat grunzers were moving out on to the field. They stomped and struck when targets were in reach, but they were all heading toward Rose.

  “Steady, lads,” Sergeant Tabart said, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle.

  Rose had never seen grunzers like these before, but they were still grunzers. She targeted the ground in front of the nearest grunzer, aiming to trip its jointed metal legs by exploding the dirt beneath its segmented feet. That grunzer fell forward after only two shots, so she shifted her attention to the next.

  When she next held her pistol, she aimed for the boiler of the tripped grunzer as it struggled to regain an even keel. A normal bullet had no chance of penetrating the plated iron of the boiler. A magically infused shot from a normal pistol had a chance, though not a chance worth betting on. With her own pistol– As the grunzer’s boiler burst and pulled apart its chassis with a screech of tortured metal, Rose wished she had a full rack of rune pistols. Though even that might not be enough–

  She pushed down thoughts of losing, and dying. They were none of them trying to win this battle. Only to survive.

  Besides, if she were wishing, a pole-mounted 3-pounder with a crew to load it for her, would be even more useful than a rack of rune pistols right now.

  She heard some of her men shouting in surprise and fear.

  “Steady!” she shouted.

  With her next shot, she built on the cloud of steam from the disabled grunzer, pulled in the fog now dripping off her and the smoke from her shots and the shots of a hundred men across a bloody field, and sent it out to create a wall of churning gray across the battlefield.

  “Now, Sergeant!” As she shouted, she turned around to run with her men to the southwest. “Holy Mother of God,” she said, and pulled up short.

  A boiling black cloud stood like a pillar of night along their path. Standing atop the pillar as if it were a solid object was the big man with the mottled skin. He had his arms spread, and he was shouting words that Rose could not understand. The black clouds sprang from the palms his hands, dripping and roiling on their way to the ground.

  A soldier in a red uniform ran out of the black cloud, coughing and gagging. Rose saw the soldier trip and fall. One of the black, spider-like skeletons came out of the cloud behind the soldier, stabbed the soldier with its claws, then picked the screaming soldier up like a farmer might use a pitchfork to lift a bale of wheat.

  “ROSE!” Ducoed’s voice boomed across the battlefield louder than a cannon. “I AM SO GLAD YOU COULD JOIN US, ROSE.”

  Rose turned around, trying to look in all directions at once, trying to spot Ducoed. Then she saw him. He was mounted, sitting tall in the saddle, the red and gold of his uniform bright in the first direct sunlight of the day. And he was uphill of her. He had somehow ridden around the west flank of the battle up toward the still-smoking fort.

  Rose raised her pistol. As she did, a line of black clouds rolled across the battlefield between her and Ducoed, obscuring the sight of him as he pulled on the reins. She squeezed the trigger. The chill of her attack left a trail of fog in the air and caused the blackness to twist and spin.

  “SO COLD, ROSE. ALWAYS SO COLD.”

  She dropped the pistol and grabbed the next one from Corporal Rickell. She fired it after the first, the cold rushing out of her creating a dusting of snowflakes that melted into tiny drops of water.

  “I DO HOPE THAT MEANS THE LOVELY CHAL IS WITH THE GIRLS, ROSE. I HAVE BEEN SO WANTING TO GET TO KNOW HER.”

  “No!” she shouted. The bastard could not have anticipated her again. He had not even known she was in the fort. How?

  She grabbed the next pistol from Corporal Rickell, but before she could fire it again, black clouds swirled around her and engulfed her, blocking the light. But not blocking the sound of Ducoed laughing at her. Again.

  Chapter 17

  Margaret

  Fort Russell

  1742 A.D.

  Margaret huddled in the darkness at the back of the stall, sitting on the horse blanket that Janett had spread over the straw. She clutched the pistol Chal had given her, holdin
g it to her chest even though the claw of the striker dug into stomach and the cold metal of the barrel made her shiver. Not for the first time, she thought about dropping the pistol. It was heavy, and it was loaded. She did not even know whether she would be able to use it.

  She felt more than saw Janett shift positions. Janett had the long musket in front of her, butt resting against the ground. She had laughed when she first saw Janett with the rifle slung over her shoulder, looking for all the world like a cross between Miss Rose and Chal. Prettier than either of the women, of course, because Janett could not help but be pretty.

  She had thought that Da would have a fit when he saw his daughters with guns, especially her, his Little Puncher, but he had said nothing. He had only repeated the instructions Chal had given her. “Pull back on this until it locks. Aim low, Margaret, because it’s going to kick when you pull the trigger.”

  The cold metal of the gun touched her and she shivered again. She wondered why she was not more scared. Maybe because all of it was so unreal, like a dream. A nightmare. Especially here in the darkness where she could not see, it was easy to believe it was all a fever dream. She had not seen what she had seen. She had not heard Mr. Thomas say the things he had said. Da was not riding out to his death to save her and Janett. She would wake soon, and there would be Mum, comforting her, maybe with a cold, wet cloth on her forehead, telling her that everything was alright and what a fright she had given everyone.

  “Maybe I should go check the men.” Major Haley’s disembodied whisper made the dark seem even darker. “It’s been more than long enough.”

  “They are brave men,” said a man’s voice, one of the soldiers, also only a voice in the darkness. “Do not question them now.”

  “You are right, of course, Corporal,” the major said.