by J. S. Morin
She heard the sound of footsteps multiplying in the outlying tunnels. It sounded as if the guard she’d chased off was rounding up trouble for her. Chipmunk hurried through replacing the screws in the panel and ran in the direction of the tunnel she came by. Venturing into the maze of passages gave her an advantage: she knew where she was headed. By the time she reached the junction with the city maintenance tunnels, she had time to close the hatch behind her with no one seeing.
She trotted off home, her prize bouncing along over her shoulder. Now there was just the matter of how she could use it to steal back some dynamite.
Chapter 10
“Cats wander. Humans pick a destination and head there.” -Cadmus Errol
Madlin’s expedition carried many trappings of a wilderness venture. They camped in tents at night, posted guards, kept a fire going. However they were in the heartlands of northern Khesh, never more than a day’s travel from a city, and often no more than an hour from the next village. The caravan was too heavily armed for any city to let them enter. There was a subtle diplomacy to refusing entrance to a group that outgunned your own forces, but the local Kheshi lords were managing to brave those choppy waters.
Madlin had little thought of forcing their way anywhere they weren’t welcome. The whole point of cities was respite and resupply, neither of which a city would afford them under siege or occupation. The tents they bought in Bouo were comfortable, and the weather was mild enough that sleeping out of doors was no hardship. Small detachments were sent to purchase food and whatever else they decided they couldn’t go on without: pillows, cookware, wet-weather gear.
They had been making steady progress toward the range Madlin’s maps called the Dragon Fang Mountains. As the countryside rose and fell beneath them, they caught glimpses of the mountains to the east.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” Jamile remarked. Madlin lowered her telescope. In the fading light of the sunset, the Dragon Fang Mountains looked like an oil painting. It was an awkward and fascinating view—she had never seen them from the outside before.
“Did I ever tell you that Rynn lives in that mountain range, somewhere in Korr?” Madlin asked. She handed the telescope to Jamile.
“I know you told me you live in Eversall Deep,” Jamile answered. “I guess I hadn’t really thought much about where that was in Tellurak. Does this feel like a homecoming?”
“No,” Madlin said, shaking her head. “Not at all. Too much sky up there.”She shivered. “Maybe once we’re inside the mountain it’ll feel different. Right now I’m always thinking that something could fall on us at any time.”
“That’s silly,” Jamile replied. “Things don’t just fall out of the sky for no reason.”
“No tunnels, either,” Madlin said. “Streets aren’t bad, but out here things can sneak up on you from anywhere.”
“Miss Errol,” one of the sentries called out. He was jogging back from his post on the perimeter. “We’ve got someone looking to talk with you. Some Kheshi official.”
“Where is he?” Madlin asked.
“Powlo’s talking to him now, by the south road.”
“What’s this Kheshi’s issue?”
“He didn’t say, but I don’t think he’s looking for friends.”
“Madlin, be careful,” Jamile said, taking Madlin by the arm. She would not let go until Madlin turned and promised that she would be.
After extracting her arm from Jamile’s grasp, Madlin followed the sentry, checking as she walked that her revolver was free in its holster. The caravan had set a wide perimeter, and it took them a few minutes to reach the place where Powlo stood arguing with one of the locals, who was holding a horse by the reins. They were too far away for her to make out the conversation, but as far as she was concerned, anything Powlo was discussing was moot now that she had arrived.
“What’s the problem?” she called out. The conversation broke off as both men stopped to watch her approach with the sentry. The sentry and Powlo were each carrying rifles. She saw no weapon on the Kheshi’s person, but there could have been something among the horse’s saddlebags.
Powlo pointed her way and said something to the Kheshi. The man was thin and wore a tailored jacket and trousers that fit him like a mold. The fading light made the color and fabric difficult to discern, but everything he wore was dark. His hat was low and flat-topped, with no brim at all and a medallion pinned to the front. It looked like some sort of insignia.
“You are the one leading an armed force in my land?” the Kheshi called back in reply. The accent was a bit more formal than what she was used to hearing, but she was fairly certain there was a note of incredulity to his question.
“Yeah,” Madlin answered as she drew near enough to hold the conversation below a shout.
The Kheshi frowned. “I am Sir Tollni Graelson, loyal servant of Lord Jahant, whose lands you are crossing.”
“Madlin Errol, daughter of Cadmus Errol, heir to the Errol Company,” Madlin introduced herself. To her mind, her own title was the more impressive.
Now that she was mere paces away, she took better stock of the Kheshi knight. Plate armor and knights of the fairytale sort were a dying breed across Tellurak. Sir Tollni was the epitome of the other kind. He was a head taller than Madlin, but lacked the brawn of a proper knight. His blond, manicured beard looked fit for the face of a Korrish rebel, but she couldn't see Sir Tollni earning the right to wear it. He pursed his lips as he listened, and inclined his nose to look down steeply at Madlin.
“What is your business on my lord’s land?” Sir Tollni asked.
“Taking the roads, like any other merchants.”
Sir Tollni let out a single, scoffing laugh. “I have heard of the weapons you carry, merchant. It sounds more like an army moving across Khesh.”
“Call it what you like, we’re passing through, and aren’t looking for trouble,” Madlin said.
“Yeah, if we were here to cause—”
“Shut up, Powlo,” Madlin snapped. The last thing she needed was extra mouths in a negotiation. “Go back to camp.”
“You sure, Miss Madlin?” Powlo asked.
She leaned close, and whispered to him in Korrish. “I can handle this one. Don’t worry.”
“So, this is my lot?” Sir Tollni asked as Powlo departed, taking the sentry with him. “To bargain with a woman?”
“Listen, friend, I don’t know who Lord Jahant is, but if you want us off his land, fine. We’re heading southeast, and we don’t plan to linger.”
Sir Tollni closed his eyes and raised a hand. “Unacceptable. At the rate your army is moving, it will be three days before you leave Lord Jahant’s lands. He demands that you turn about and depart to the north.”
“Not a chance,” Madlin said. “We have a writ of passage from the Empress’s secretary, guaranteeing us free travel.”
“The Empress is not here. Lord Jahant administers these lands. I cannot imagine that the Empress or her staff would have approved any such writ if they had known you would be bringing an army with you.”
“I don’t care what you think,” Madlin replied, raising her voice. “We have authorization, and we have a deadline. I’m not taking us days out of our way because you and your lord can’t accept that.”
“I have men just west of here, prepared to drive you back should you persist.”
Madlin fumed. “Listen, is there someone smarter that I can talk to? You can’t seem to get it through that stupid hat of yours that we’ve—”
“How dare you!” Sir Tollni shouted. Madlin saw telltale signs: the step forward, reaching his hand across his body with fingers loose. As Sir Tollni brought his hand up to slap her, Madlin was already retreating. Some instinct of Chipmunk’s had her hand reaching for her revolver before she knew what she was doing.
Blam!
Sir Tollni fell dead at her feet.
The horse reared and Madlin scrambled back from it. The beast hadn’t been in the line of fire, so she knew it was just f
rightened, not injured.
“He was coming at me,” she told the horse, as if it might understand her. “It was self-defense.”
Whether the horse believed her or not, Lord Jahant’s army was unlikely to be sympathetic to her story. Gunfire would bring her own men rushing to her aid, but she was skeptical that they were closer than the Kheshi lord’s troops.
Madlin stuffed her revolver back in its holster. She held her hands out wide, trying to reassure the horse as she approached it. “It’s all right boy. I just need a ride out of here. You’ll be needing a new master anyway, I think.”
The horse shied from her, but didn’t bolt. It looked down at its fallen master, confused and unwilling to stray too far from him. Madlin felt a pang of guilt.
“Good boy,” she cooed. “Take it easy. Good boy.” She was only guessing that the horse was male, but was not about to take the time to check. She edged toward to the animal, who stepped back again. It was allowing her closer each time it retreated.
“Come on, boy, we can do this,” Madlin said in a singsong. She had no idea if horses liked that sort of thing, but it worked on small children. “Just hold still a minute.”
She heard the sound of horses—other horses—from the west, and knew she didn’t have much time.
“There!”
She grabbed the reins and held tight as the horse flinched. “Hold still boy! We’ve got to get out of here, fast.”
Madlin wasn’t as used to running and climbing as Chipmunk. Good food and a comfortable life had made her a bit slower afoot and less nimble than her twin. She struggled with a skittish horse and stirrups that were higher than she would have liked, but managed to make it into the saddle.
“Let’s go!” she gave the reins a quick snap, but the horse ignored her. “Come on, hurry up!” She tried bouncing in the saddle to get it to move.
Through the trees she saw the first of the Kheshi riders approaching. She needed to slow them down, give them pause in approaching her. She saw swords at the riders’ sides and bows slung over their shoulders. The primitive weapons gave her some hope.
She drew her revolver and aimed for the lead rider.
Blammm.
The rider toppled from his horse, and the riders closest to him veered away as his mount panicked.
Any satisfaction Madlin found was short lived. Her own mount reared, startled by the noise. Madlin was no expert rider, but she clung to the reins with all her strength. When the horse once again put all hooves to the ground, it bolted. Madlin couldn’t even holster her revolver, but she slipped the wrist of her gun hand through the reins to help her hold on and try to steer the horse. With a choice between open ground and an onrushing charge of familiar—but angry and loud—cavalry, the horse galloped off in the direction of Madlin’s camp. A bit of persuasion from the reins got the beast heading along the road.
The distance wasn’t great, and the horse was running full out, so it wasn’t long before Madlin encountered her would-be rescuers. She was surprised to find that the first of them on the road was Jamile. The Takalish girl ran awkwardly with a long rifle in hand. Madlin had shown Jamile how to fire one, but she wasn’t sure she would relish the idea of the girl trying to fire past her to slow her enemies. Aim had not been Jamile’s forte.
“Madlin!” Jamile called out. “What happened? Are you alright?”
Madlin hauled back on the reins, and the horse fought its way to a halt. She finally managed to holster her gun. “Quick, get on. No time.” She reached down and offered Jamile her wrist. Jamile was stronger than her, and heavier, but Madlin had enough leverage to help Jamile onto the horse behind her. The rifle was too clumsy for the process; it fell to the turf.
“Leave it,” Madlin ordered, “and hold on.” Jamile’s arms coiled around Madlin’s midsection like a snake, threatening to break Madlin’s ribs.
Madlin could hardly breathe, but she could worry about that later. She snapped the reins and heeled the horse in the flanks until it started running again.
“Guns out! Hostile cavalry ... coming in behind me,” Madlin called out ahead of them. Jamile must have heard Madlin gasping, because she loosened her grip. “Sentries, fall back to the main camp.”
“What happened?” Powlo shouted. “I just left you minutes ago.”
“Negotiations broke down,” Madlin answered. “Get the camp packed up, we’ve got to move.”Madlin turned in the saddle and fired until her revolver was emptied.
Rifle fire split the air, causing horses to whinny in terror and men to scream. There were shouts in Kheshi on both sides, though Madlin’s men cursed in Feru and Takalish as well.
The rifle fire continued, but was joined by the hiss of arrows taking flight. The campsite had wagons, tents, and crates for cover, while the riders had only their horses and nowhere to run for shelter. The range hampered the bowmen far more than the riflemen, but poor light plagued both sides.
“Madlin, can we get somewhere safer?” Jamile asked.
“They’re too far to aim,” Madlin assured her. “One place is as good as—”
A scream from one of her own men cut Madlin short.
“I’ve got to help him,” Jamile said, and this time Madlin didn’t argue.
The Takalish girl slid from the back of the horse and ran to the sound of the injured guard. Madlin guided her nervous mount over to one of the wagons and tied the reins. She dismounted and went to join Jamile.
One of her men had taken an arrow in the back of his leg while he lay in the short grass, firing on the approaching Kheshi force. Madlin watched as Jamile ordered two men to hold the injured rifleman down so she could extract the arrow. Blood gushed from the wound as Jamile tossed the arrow aside. One of the men, forced to act as nurse, kept a rag pressed on the wound while Jamile found her medical kit.
Jamile washed the wound with whiskey, then took a needle and thread from her bag. Her hands moved with a certainty that she had lacked in every other part of the venture south. The brightsteel needle plunged into the skin on either side of the wound, leaving a row of stitches as tidy as any tailor could manage, despite the writhing of her patient and the welling blood as she worked. With each stitch, the hole grew smaller, the flow of blood slowed. Jamile tied a knot at the end the thread when the wound was closed and rinsed the area once more with whiskey. Minutes later, the wound was wrapped and tied with white linen stained with red finger-marks, and the soldier was gulping down the remainder of the whiskey.
“That was amazing,” Madlin said. Jamile looked the part of a murderer, her hands caked in blood. The injured soldier lay panting with his eyes closed, as he recovered from the ordeal.
“Thanks. But aside from working in a battlefield, I’ve done it a hundred times.”
Rifle fire still sounded, though the return fire of arrows had faded off to nothing.
“They’re retreating, Miss Errol,” one of the guards reported.
“Yeah, don’t count on them staying retreated,” Madlin replied. “We’ve gotta get moving.”
Their night was plagued with sightings of Lord Jahant’s horsemen as the weary caravan plodded through the starlight. They made camp once more at dawn, when riders in the sparse woods around them had no help from the darkness to hide themselves.
“I heard the men talking as we drove,” Jamile said quietly. She and Madlin were alone in their tent—the “women’s barracks” as the men referred to it. “Did you really kill that Kheshi knight?”
“Knight’s a strong word. He was a fancy thug, and he was taking a swing at me.”
“You shot him for that?” Jamile asked. “I thought being twinborn you’d have been used to taking a beating now and then. Small price for safe passage, I would think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Does your patron beat you?”
“Doesn’t yours?” Jamile countered. “My job is a matter of life and death. I can’t afford mistakes—in anything. Surely you had to be taught your job.”
“I mop floors and dust b
ookcases. I could teach most of the classes I eavesdrop on. So no, I don’t really get taught much,” Madlin said. “And if they had a habit of beating me, I’d have opened a valve in them by now.”
“How do you live like that?”
“It’s called being free. I work a thankless job for kuduks who think I’m not worth the slop I eat, and I get paid in loose change. But I could walk away any day; I only stay to steal parts and gain an education. The day they treat me like a slave, they’ll be the ones getting an education.”
“Must be nice to feel that way.”
“I thought you were free,” Madlin said.
“I am, technically,” Jamile replied. “But my patron has a lot of kuduk patients who aren’t comfortable around free humans, so...”
“Wait, you’re not telling me you wear a slave collar, just so some beard-brained kuduks feel safer around you?”
“I mean, it’s not one of those big, heavy ones like you see the miners wear.”
“He lets you take it off then, when you’re not seeing kuduk patients?” Madlin demanded.
“Of course not. Kuduk aren’t fools. What if someone saw me walking around without it, or saw that it wasn’t riveted properly?” Jamile asked. Madlin heard her sniff. “Just think of all the wonderful things I’ve learned. I saved a man’s life tonight.”
“Jamile ... you didn’t...”
“I tried taking the thunderail to Barven Deep on my day off, but an enforcement officer pulled me off the train and beat me. He dragged me back to my patron’s office. He wasn’t there, so the officer chained me to the door. It wasn’t until the next morning when my patron found me and paid the fine for runaway return to get me unlocked.”
“That isn’t pretending to be a slave, Jamile,” Madlin said.
“I know.”
Chapter 11
“You haven’t worked in the patent office in years. How long until you run out of other people’s inventions to build?” -Madlin Errol
Erefan wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He looked around, marveling at the array of machinery in the workshop. Each piece he had either built himself or at least installed. The centerpiece of the whole endeavor was a circular steel framework, webbed with wires across the opening, which spanned twice his height. Heavy glass bulbs, fitted with coils, protruded outward from it like the rays of a child’s drawing of the sun.
