by Eyal Kless
Mannes
“The cavalry is coming, only one click away,” Bria, his longest surviving Captain, announced over the Comm.
Mannes did not bother to answer. He adjusted the fur cowl of his coat and tried not to think about the cold. After decades of crisscrossing Russia and Siberia he swore he would never stand knee-deep in snow again, but there he was, doing exactly that. Yet another broken oath from a very long list he had accumulated throughout a lifetime of betrayal.
I’ll place this last pawn on the board, and then we can start the final game, he said to himself. This pawn was crucial, though.
Mannes glanced behind him. Six armed guards and the two captives stood halfway between himself and the open barn. He turned his head back. At his side stood a folding table, two stools, a sealed bottle, and two delicate glass cups.
The Oil Baron’s forces appeared over the hill and Mannes had to suppress a laugh. Captain Bria was not kidding when she used the word cavalry. There were several dozen snow cars and a few heavier armed vehicles, but the majority of the force was on horseback.
“I detect an auxiliary force on foot, trying to outflank us,” Captain Bria announced.
The little fucker is trying to trap me.
They were all the same; the warlords, the self-proclaimed kings and queens or the thugs and organized bandit forces he faced. They used the same primitive tactics and cheap tricks. Mannes was almost disappointed. Still, his forces were outnumbered ten to one.
“Make adjustments,” he said over the Comm, “but do not engage unless you absolutely have to.”
Two dozen riders and several snow cars began advancing towards Mannes. The bulk of the army stayed behind.
“Master, they are coming with more guards than we agreed upon.” Captain Bria’s voice was not happy.
“Easy, Captain. He’s just waving his dick around.”
“I only have eight snipers in position. If they start shooting—”
“Captain. I appreciate your prudence, but I have been doing this literally since before you were even born. He is not going to shoot me before he hears what I have to offer.”
Saying it was one thing. Watching a charging force galloping at you was another thing entirely. The horse riders circled Mannes and his guards, holding their weapons ready. The snow cars and the heavier armour stopped a little ahead. A slender figure climbed out of it, together with two enormous canines.
Youths are the most dangerous of foes. They are unpredictable and prone to hasty, illogical, and often ruinous decisions. Yet Mannes was banking on an emotional response to get what he wanted.
The young man approached with his bodyguards and dogs in tow. The soldiers were wearing leather armour under the layers of fur, and their high boots were studded with nails to deal better with the icy ground.
The man wore his blond hair long and in a braid. His clothes were plain, devoid of jewellery or excessive metal. His face was clean-shaven and youthful looking but for the ugly claw marks on each cheek.
A rite of passage, most likely, or a way for him to prove his leadership and manhood to the troops who had been loyal to his father.
Mannes counted three handguns on his belt alone, a covered sniper rifle hanging on his back, and a hunting knife on each thigh.
When the man was several paces away, he stopped and waited, his eyes taking everything in.
Perhaps this one is not so stupid after all.
Mannes gave ground by speaking first. “Thank you for coming, your highness.”
The man stared coolly into Mannes’s sunken eyes. “I am called the Oil Baron, old man, I’m not a bleeding king.”
Mannes tilted his head. “For all intents and purposes, you are king of this land, are you not?”
“Kings are weak,” the younger man spat. “Surrounded by fucking ass kissers and bootlickers. A baron is always reminded where he is on the food chain. Strong enough in his own land but watched closely from all sides.”
Mannes spread his hands. “‘Oil Baron’ it is, then, my lord.”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Mannes, just Mannes. I have no need for titles.”
“Well, Mannes . . . are those my men, over there?” The Oil Baron nodded towards the men standing behind Mannes.
“Yes.” Mannes motioned with his hand and two guards brought the captives forward.
“As promised, your kin were not mistreated, and were kept well fed and warm,” Mannes said as his guards cut loose the captives’ bindings.
As soon as they were freed, the captives fell onto their knees in front of the Oil Baron, who bent down, took them by their hands, and helped them up.
“Are you all right, my dear cousin?” he asked softly, his eyes full of concern.
“I am sorry, Baron.” The man who he had spoken to did not lift his stare from the ground. “They took us by surprise. There was nothing we could have done.”
“It is fine, Udinas.” The Oil Baron spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Your shame will be cleansed in ritual. Now take your little brother and walk the cold out of your bones.” He indicated the larger group of cavalries on top of the hill. “I even brought your favourite mare to carry you home. Your wife and children await you.”
Udinas’s eyes lit up with relief and he bowed and tried to kiss the Oil Baron’s hands, but the young man stopped him from doing so. “Go,” he commanded, and the two began walking away.
The Oil Baron watched the two make their way through the deep snow and turned back to Mannes.
“I guess a thank-you is in order for keeping my blood kin alive,” he said.
“I meant them no harm.” Mannes shrugged. “And I guess you received my gifts.”
“Yes, I did.” The Oil Baron lifted the power sniper over his head and unzipped the cover. “It is a thing of beauty,” he said as he powered the weapon and turned on the scope. “I’ve never owned a sophisticated weapon such as this before.”
“I am happy you are pleased,” Mannes said, “and just to warn you, Oil Baron, I have several snipers around the area who will shoot your head off your shoulder if you aim that rifle at me.”
“Oh, my dear old man, I would never dream of such a betrayal.” The Oil Baron shook his head. “But I do have a question regarding the kickback once you take a shot.” The Oil Baron spun around, hefted the weapon, and aimed it at the back of one of the walking captives. “Head shot,” he called, and pulled the trigger. There was a powerful whoosh and the head of the man walking next to Udinas exploded in a mess of blood and gore. The headless body slumped forward into the snow. Udinas stood frozen from shock and covered in blood, then began shouting and screaming.
The Oil Baron turned to Mannes. “You see? There’s a fierce kickback.”
“You need to power it down a little.” Mannes pointed. “It pretty much cancels the kickback and saves on the energy clip, too.”
“Show me.”
Mannes motioned to one of his guards and he took several steps towards the Oil Baron. The two canines immediately rose to their feet, snarling and showing fangs.
“Easy,” the Baron commanded, and their response was immediate.
He handed the weapon to Mannes’s bodyguard, who fiddled with the button and handed it back. “That’ll work,” he said.
By now, Udinas was running away, trying to reach the woods and gain shelter there.
The Oil Baron turned and aimed the sniper rifle.
“Left leg,” he said, and pulled the trigger. This time there was barely a sound and Udinas limped and hobbled. “That handles so much better.” The Oil Baron aimed again. “Right leg.”
Udinas dropped to the snow and lay there as the Oil Baron handed the rifle to one of his own men. “They surrendered,” he said to Mannes, who nodded slowly.
“I can relate to that.”
Behind the Oil Baron, Udinas began crawling slowly towards the tree line. Without turning back, the Oil Baron whistled softly and the two enormous dogs turned immediately around a
nd began sniffing their way towards the fallen man.
“Shall we sit down here?” Mannes gestured towards the table. “Or would you like to step into the barn? It is a little more protected from the elements.”
The Oil Baron sniffed. “We Northerners are used to the cold.”
He sat down and Mannes sat himself in front of him and picked up the bottle. “This is a rare kind of drink I brought from another land and another time. It is called vodka.” Mannes motioned to one of his guards, who stepped forward, broke the seal, and poured both of them a drink. “I used to have six bottles of this and that is the last one. I have been saving it for a special occasion.” Mannes took his glass and raised it. “To your health, Baron.” He drank it all in one go.
The Oil Baron took his filled glass, watched the liquid intently, then slowly and deliberately turned the glass and let the liquid spill over the icy ground. Behind him, Udinas began to scream as the two dogs attacked him. It did not take them long to silence the wounded man. The Oil Baron did not bother to turn his head and watch.
Oh yes, you will do.
“I have more weapons like the ones I gave you, and even better ones,” Mannes said, leaning forward. “I can give you machine guns, energy clips, shoulder cannons, and best of all: pre-Catastrophe war machines. In the past they were called Tanks. Each could blow up this sturdy-looking house over there”—Mannes pointed at an abandoned house half buried in the snow—“in one shot. I can show you how to use them and teach your men how to fight in them.”
“There are hot promises on your tongue”—the Oil Baron leaned back on his chair—“but words do not melt ice.”
“Oh, but I can give you more than just words, much more, Oil Baron.” Mannes brought the glass to his lips. “I can give you the two things you long for more than anything else.” He made sure he had the Oil Baron’s full attention, before saying, “Freedom and revenge.”
“We are free folk here, stranger.” The Oil Baron puffed his chest. “The oil keeps us warm during the long winters, and the south laps up our product. Should we wish, we could starve them.”
“With respect, Baron, you are a nation of brave warriors, but it is the south which is keeping you on a short leash and feeding you meagre droppings for your precious oil. Your father tried to change that, and your troops fought valiantly, but he overreached. Your forces ran out of food, then out of bullets, and you lost all your gains. Once the southern forces chased you back to the North, rather than fighting you like men, they simply let you starve until your father had no choice but to sign the shameful treaty. He died of shame, in his bed. And now the City of Towers is happy to let you freeze here in the North with your horses and your old pistols while you supply them with everything they need.”
The Oil Baron was on his feet, dangerous anger flashing in his eyes. “If you think that for a few trinkets you are given the right to insult me,” he spat, “you are about to find out you are mistaken.” He whistled once and the dogs, which were feasting on the body of Udinas, stopped mid-carnage and came running back. They stood next to their master panting, their snouts dripping with blood.
Mannes seemed to be unfazed. “You misunderstand me, Oil Baron. Your father was a brave man, but he lacked the resources and charged too deep into southern territory. You will not make the same mistake. I can supply you with the weapons and show you the tactics of how to bleed the City of Towers slowly and finally draw their forces out and slaughter them.”
The Oil Baron seemed to rein in his temper. “And in return, you want . . . ?”
“Men. Five for each one I leave behind with you, and eventually some oil, but most of all, I want you to keep the City of Tower’s attention on the North for at least three years. Gain some territory you can hold, play cat and mouse, hit them where it hurts. Starve them slowly, the way they starved your father.”
A calculated look passed the Oil Baron’s eyes. “And where did you get your hands on such weapons?”
“Tarakan used to have a military manufacturing plant and an army base in this area,” Mannes said. “When the northern alliance was formed against Tarakan the rulers of this land tried to take over the base. Tarakan threatened to destroy the entire area but eventually the standoff was resolved peacefully. The base was sealed as a compromise, together with all of its weaponry.”
“You are a fool.” The Oil Baron’s smile had no mirth in it. “And a soon-to-be-dead fool at that. We know about that place, but no one can get in or out of it. Believe me, my grandfather and my father both tried.”
“That’s because you need a special key to enter,” Mannes answered calmly, giving the preplanned sign. “It is called a Puzzler.”
There was a rumbling noise from within the barn behind them and a huge machine burst out of it. It had three cannons and several machine guns protruding from its top. The two canines whimpered and slunk backwards, and several nervous horses created a chaotic disarray within the surrounding guards.
“Luckily I got my hands on one of those keys,” Mannes continued calmly. He got up to his feet, poured another shot of vodka, and handed it to the Oil Baron, who was so mesmerized by the sight of the huge machine, he accepted the glass without looking.
The Tank’s cannons swivelled and shot once, and the house Mannes had pointed at before blew up to smithereens. The shock wave toppled the small table between Mannes and the Oil Baron and caused complete panic among the surrounding horses.
Mannes raised the glass to his lips as all around them men were desperately trying to calm down their beasts. “We drink to our victory.”
This time, the Oil Baron drank the vodka.
Chapter 58
Twinkle Eyes
Galinak broke the few remaining boards nailed to the entrance of the large barn, despite the fact that we could have simply ducked under them. Although he didn’t say anything about it, I guessed that being knocked out by Vincha still hurt his pride. The acidic smell that hit us made even me grimace and caused Vincha to hold her hand to her face. It wasn’t fresh, more like an old scent which lingered, and we got used to it as our eyes adjusted to the gloom.
“Well, the house seems deserted.” I looked at the ground, where the deep marks of cart wheels were clearly visible. “The Tanner and his family are not hiding here, either.”
“Rust fuckers!” Vincha spat.
“You think they took her with them?”
Vincha shook her head, and I saw a lock of her hair twitch as she tried to channel. “She was in the area when we approached but the signal here has always been erratic, something about the mountains, I guess.”
You planted the device under her skin to be able to follow her if she was taken, but just to be on the safe side, you left her in a place where it was hard to pinpoint her location, I thought, then I spotted something scratched into a wooden beam. It was a symbol, three crescent moons tied in a string and ending in a perfect triangle. We were in the right place.
Before I could say anything there was a sudden crick from the loft above us and Galinak and I reacted the same way, spinning and ducking in different directions. Vincha stayed where she stood and looked up with newfound hope in her eyes.
“Emilija?” she called out. “It’s me, Mom.”
I looked up and used my sight. There were two figures huddled together in the far upper corner, a young man and a woman.
I shoved the peacemaker back into its shoulder harness and walked out into the open. “Come out,” I called, and, looking meaningfully at Vincha, gestured with my palm for calmness while adding, “both of you.”
Vincha’s eyes widened as she looked at me and her jaw hardened. Despite what was at stake, I was suddenly hoping, for the young woman’s sake, that she was not the CommTroll’s daughter.
“We won’t harm you, we just . . .”
Vincha raised her power gun and fired three times.
“Come out, right now,” she yelled as bits of wood landed around us.
There was quick shuffling and the
ashen hair of a young man’s head appeared high above us, followed by the rest of him. He was wearing a farmer’s attire and holding a short club with both hands. He paled even further when he saw us looking at him, to the point I was afraid he was going to fall down.
“Pleasant you be,” he croaked in a frightened voice.
“Rust your pleasant, if that is my daughter behind you,” Vincha snapped, and called again, “Emilija, come out right now.” But the half-dressed, terrified girl who appeared behind him clutching a wicker basket to her semi-exposed bosom was obviously not Emilija. She was all freckles and pink flesh, with curly brown hair that had weeds tangled in it. They climbed down as the boy said, “If you are looking for the Kethans, they left, almost two moons ago.”
“Where to?” Vincha snapped, clearly disappointed and relieved at the same time.
He shrugged. “Dunno, a long way off.”
“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to take hold of the interrogation.
He turned his face to me; the redness in his cheeks was beginning to lose its intensity. “Nelsohn, Master, of the Fruiriks, and this is Ganula—”
“I don’t care what her name is or where the Kethans are right now,” Vincha said impatiently, but at least she was holstering back her weapons. “Emilija is still around here and I need to know where.”
This time it was the basket-clutching young woman who spoke. “You mean that strange, marked girl who spoke to no one? Why should we know? We never saw her anywhere, or even talked to her, and she was marked, you know, my paps says she should have been hanged and quarter—”
“What part of the words my daughter didn’t you understand?” I interrupted hastily as Vincha’s complexion greyed dangerously. I could see Galinak shaking his head and smiling to himself as he leaned back on a wooden beam just behind Vincha and began stuffing his pipe.
Before things deteriorated even further Nelsohn suddenly said, “I heard they took her up the mountain, to stay with the SkyMaster, pleasant he be.”
We all turned our attention to the boy. “Where did you hear that?” I asked.
