by E. M. Havens
Sam tensed, when the first Fate mechmen appeared from the smoke, hoping their ruse would work. A rising whir joined the thrumming of Air ships, as the Fate mechmen charged their weapons, and lumbered on towards the projectagraphic mechmen. She raised her hand to ready the next signal. They must wait. The metal contraptions advanced, the whir now at discharge pitch. Sam held. They could not move too soon. The Fate had to fire first.
Sam tried to steady her upraised hand. It would not do for her nerves to show now. She flinched at the sound of far off thunder cracks, the first mechmen firing their invisible projectiles. A few more, and then they could make their move. More mechmen fired, and the sound of weapons charging rose again. Now. She lowered her hand and four green flares sparked the sky.
The response was instantaneous. Horses and riders streamed from the thickets along the edge of the plain, charging toward the attacking contraptions. Sam peered through her telescope to watch the lead horsemen. Each horse carried two riders, a bowman and a passenger.
The passengers were red or blue soldiers gripping tightly to their host. Most of the bowmen were Nakona, their tentative new allies, at least for this battle. They were a strange people with strange ways, but they were good horsemen, and excellent hunters. Sam watched the bare chested, tan skinned man in the forefront barreling toward the unsuspecting Mechmen, body adorned with green painted swirls and stripes. His thickly corded dark hair bounced in time with his galloping horse, which he sat astride in his “war dress”, a knee length green skirt. Very odd people indeed.
As the rider neared, he let go of the reigns, drew his bow, and fired at the closest mechman. The arrow hit its mark, dead center of the chest and stuck. The mech halted and convulsed.
“Yes.” Sam whooped. Not having a working mechman, she wasn’t sure if the magnet tipped arrows would have the effect on the contraptions gyro she hoped. It did, destabilizing the metal beast for a moment. The horseman slowed his mount allowing the passenger to disembark.
Sam held her breath. These men had practiced and practiced on wooden mockups. Now they were confronted with the real thing. She followed the progress of the Arboreal soldier as he ran to the jerking mechman, and began climbing, slashing and jabbing at precise points as he went. A few moments later the soldier jumped to the ground, his target machine slumping, disabled. The horseman swung around, and gave a hand up to his passenger, and they headed for another functioning mechman.
The rider stretched his bow, but before he could let loose the man’s chest caved in, a spray of blood exiting his mouth. The horse tumbled to the ground with its passengers pinning the second soldier.
“No.” Sam whispered, and followed the gaze of the trapped man. She watched in horror as the intended mechanical target aimed its weaponized arm at the soldier. She couldn’t make out the individual charging sound, but the jolt of the mechman indicated the release of its invisible artillery. The soldier slumped, headless beside the horse. Sam swallowed the rising panic, and bile in her throat, forcing her attention back to the battle below.
“Slag!”
The sentiment was echoed down the wall, as the sound of breaking mirrors joined the growing cacophony of battle below. The ruse was up. Fate mechmen were firing on the projectagraphics. The fake golden mechmen began to flicker, and fade one by one.
Sam and Crom locked eyes, and she gave him the barest of nods. Five green flares exploded, and foot soldiers streamed from gates in the wall below. With swords and pistols drawn they yelled in battle fury to their foes. Sam took in the scene across the plain. More mechmen were disarmed than not, and more pairs on horseback remained than not, though Sam felt the weight of every body on the field in the pit of her stomach. She breathed an unsteady sigh of relief, joining in the jovial congratulations of another success in the plan. Their biggest hurdles were over.
Only the Fate ground troops remained. Not many had made it past the caustic bombs, and arrows from the Perspician Air Fleet, but they trickled in from the smoke screen on horseback and foot. Even so, their numbers were greater. Most of the Fate soldiers fought mechanically, almost automated, but their blood was real and so were their screams as Alliance swords or pistols ended their lives. The others fought like berserkers, wild and frantic. These were more of a threat, but the Alliance pushed back.
Sam forced herself to watch the flow of battle. Like oil and water, the line blurred and solidified between foes. She tried not to memorize the symphony of gun fire or the clang of metal on metal. She tried not to count as men fell, but her mind had its own tally system she couldn’t stop. At least the numbers were in the Alliance’s favor.
A distant rumble of thunder and crack of lightning silenced the congratulations. Some along the wall looked up trying to spot the rain clouds, but there were none.
“Over there!” someone yelled, and Sam scanned the battle field. A Perspician air ship was plummeting to the ground, indistinguishable from a pile of wood scrap and blue cloth. The sound erupted again, and another ship collapsed in the air, sending the occupants to their death.
“What is that?” Sam yelled over the uproar of scrambling men, rushing to the edge of the wall to find the source of the sound. “Where is it coming from? I need to see. Now!”
She studied the field and saw nothing amiss. The Fate and Alliance soldiers battled on with fist and sword. She searched farther out, not seeing much through the smoke haze of their creation, until a glint caught her eye. There was another rumble, smoke swirled, and this time the clack of thunder was deafening. The whole wall trembled, spewing ancient mortar and stone from its side.
Strong hands steadied her against the undulating ground. Cole had one arm, and Jensen the other, both pulling her back toward the exit.
“No!” She shook them off. She would not leave. Not now. This was her machine, and it needed tinkering, except the cogs and pistons were humans, not discardable pieces of metal.
“Sam, it’s not safe here!” Cole yelled over the shouting of others, the thrum of retreating air ships, and the clash of battle.
She ignored him, and peered through her telescope again where she last saw the glint. There was ominous movement within the shroud of swirling smoke. She waited for the weapon to break free, to see it, to decipher its secrets so that she could then destroy it.
“Slag,” she screamed in defeat as she continued to wait, another invisible volley wracking the wall. The Fate were not advancing with their weapon. They didn’t need to. They could destroy the wall from the cover of the smoke screen.
“Slag!” She snapped her telescope closed, and turned to Cole, then Jensen and Crom. “I have to see it.”
“No, you’re not going out there.” Cole was adamant.
Jensen set his jaw against her proclamation. Crom only watched her, bewildered.
“I didn’t ask. I’m going. Come with me or stay.” Sam turned, and bolted down the stone steps into the fray of battle.
How the hell he found himself galloping through a battle field on Octavious, with Sam riding Freedom by his side, Cole would never know. He wasn’t about to let Sam go alone. He supposed they were as safe as they could be, Captain Jensen leading the way, and the garrison men on all sides. Still, they hadn’t hit the thick of it yet.
This close to the castle there were several skirmishes between foot soldiers that were easily avoided. Most of the mechmen were disabled, though the high pitched whirring told him there were still some working.
The air thundered around them, and Cole was afraid to look back and possibly find the wall demolished. Jensen drew his pistol, and Cole immediately unholstered his. He couldn’t see much in front of them, but if Jensen drew, so was he. He checked on Sam and she held her pistol at the ready as well as the rest of the men.
Cole turned back just in time as Jensen fired, drew his sword, and spurred a path through an unavoidable tangle of Fate and Alliance soldiers. He hacked as he went, blade turning from silver to crimson.
The rest of their guard discharged their
pistols, and drew their swords. The sound of battle now rung in his ears, and the acrid smell of gunpowder burned his nose.
Their band had come almost to a standstill in the mob of Fate, and a close gunshot drew his attention back to Sam who was holstering her smoking firearm. For once, she hit her target, a grey soldier falling limply under Freedom’s hooves. She drew one of her swords, a vision of power; gleaming deadly metal at the ready, a smoky haze haloing her windblown hair, and fierce green eyes set to battle.
He could only enjoy her beauty for a moment, as another Fate broke the circle the Sagewood men had formed around them. Cole’s heart clenched, and he fired his weapon at the man’s head, who immediately fell. He holstered his gun, and drew his own sword ready for the next attack. It didn’t come. The men had hewn a path, and the band of riders broke through the throng of enemy soldiers, approaching the dispersing smoke screen.
They picked their way carefully through slumped grey figures, the smoking craters, and bubbling masses that their own air sailors dropped. Cole wrinkled his nose at the noxious smell, and coughed with the rest of the riders. Hopefully the deadly stuff had dissipated. His watering eyes told him maybe not enough.
“Where to?” Jensen asked, his voice and cough echoing in the eerie calm of the smoke bank. No soldiers dared to be here. Gunfire and the clash of swords punctuated the quiet intermittently. Their horses pranced in tight circles, unnerved as the ground began to tremble. A bass hum reverberated through the ground and rattled his chest. The sound rose in pitch, tenor, alto, soprano, followed by a thunder clap, causing most of the horses to rear.
Freedom reared, and Sam pointed to the north with one of her swords.
“I think that way,” she said, and spurred her horse forward. The beast bolted.
“God damn it, Sam!” Cole and Jensen shouted in unison as she disappeared into the smoke. They gained control of their mounts and chased after her. For a moment, the only sound for Cole was the pounding of hoof beats, and his heart, until a volley of gunshots stopped both.
They had cleared the smoke bank, and Cole struggled to take in all he saw. First, Freedom was down and thrashing, ragged holes dripping red from her heaving side. Sam was down too, but not pinned. In her dark clothing it was hard to tell if she was shot, but the sleeve over her right arm was ripped and wet looking.
She brandished her sword, yelling obscenities at twenty or so Fate soldiers, several holding smoking pistols. He could hear the anger and tears in her voice. However, The Fate were not advancing on her. They stood guard. What they were guarding had him paralyzed to action, and Octavious ready to flee.
A giant, glossy black Sprocket lumbered behind them. Instead of six spindly ones, the creature supported its bulk by hinged legs the size of tree trunks. Cole could probably just reach his arms around them. It had no wings. Its back and where the “eyes” should be were covered with white crystals like stunted porcupine quills. Where Sprocket had talons, this creatures “hands” were two enormous cannons like the mechmen had. A veritable black widow, it could be the harbinger of death for the Alliance.
The ground shuddered again as one of the weapons charged. The creature aimed at a Perspician air ship, still in retreat. The body of the mech jolted, thunder clapped, and the air ship exploded into rubble, showering the battle field bellow with bits of wood, metal, cloth and flesh.
“Attack!” Jensen ordered.
Cole was torn from shock, and spurred Octavious forward after Jensen and the men. The Fate guards were reloading their muskets, and they must engage them in battle before that happened. The rest of the group headed to the enemy soldiers, and Cole galloped to Sam, hand extended. She sheathed one of her swords at the last second, grabbed his hand, and swung up behind him in one fluid motion.
“Can you disable it?” Cole yelled over the revving weapon and the fresh clash of metal as the Sagewood garrison met the Black Widow’s guard. He directed his mount to a tangle of brush and scrubby trees that might give them a moment to regroup.
“I…I can’t,” she wailed. When they reached the tentative safety of the thicket, he looked over his shoulder. Sam’s eyes reflected sorrow and frustration. “I can’t,” she repeated. “I can’t see how it works. Just like Sprocket. I don’t even know how I could make it to the engine, or whatever powers the thing.” She caressed the gold brooch on her chest at the mention of her friend.
“One more pass, maybe?” Cole grasped at hope.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
Cole kicked Octavious, and they burst from the thicket at a dead run towards the Black Widow. Jensen and the men were fighting a valiant battle. More Fate had joined in the defense of their weapon, and the soldiers weaved in and out of the legs of the giant beast. Jensen clashed swords with a Fate then pushed hard, leaving the man in the path of the Black Widow’s descending leg. The Fate soldier was squashed, no longer discernible as human. He couldn’t spare more attention to their fight. Cole searched the far end of the field for a place to hide while Sam thought.
They were about to finish their pass of the Black Widow when Sam’s arms went slack around him, she was slipping from the saddle.
“No!” Cole reached back with one hand to keep her from falling as he reined Octavious to a halt. She slid to the ground, and he was off in an instant too, expecting to see her wounded, bleeding and dying. To his relief she stood solidly on two feet, staring. Relief was short lived, when he saw her eyes. Black soulless, Fate eyes staring past the metal beast to the hilltop beyond.
“Sam!” he screamed in her face, and shook her shoulders trying to bring her back, but she only stared. Cole grabbed her telescope from her belt, and looked in the direction she faced. His breath caught, and his heart clenched in his chest. Two men stood atop the hill. One, unkempt blond haired, green eyed, and without any doubt an older male copy of Sam. Jasper.
It was the second man that doused his insides with cold fear. He would be unremarkable; close cropped dark hair, clean shaven, rows of color on his grey Fate uniform; except for the hole. Where his heart should be was a fist sized hole, straight through with blue sky visible on the other side.
The hole was surrounded, around and through, with shining silver armor, like a knight of old. The man without a heart. The Fate Sovereign.
“Slag, Sam! Stop!”
Jensen’s strained yell pulled Cole away from the unsettling men. Sam had walked away, straight toward the hill.
“There,” Jensen yelled to Cole. The Captain was entangled with two Fate, and Cole followed the man’s line of sight to a grey clad soldier who had just finished reloading his musket.
“Sam,” Cole screamed, desperately hoping she would surface. Cole ran to close the distance between them. The Fate raised his musket. Aimed.
“Sam,” He screamed again, and dove to cover her. The air around him exploded in sound. He could no longer breathe, and a great weight settled in his chest. He prayed for her safety as their bodies tumbled to the ground, then peace and darkness embraced him.
Darkness. Everything was dark and…
The ground rumbled beneath her, a heaviness held her there.
The ground. Dirt, grass in her mouth. She spit it out.
“Sam” the word filtered through the swish of her heart beat, and ringing in her ears. No other sound.
“Sam,” the distant voice said again. They sounded serious, but it was so quiet.
Sam. She was Sam.
The ground rumbled again, the sound coursed through her body, her soul. The weight was gone, and hands pulled at her arms causing a burning pain in one. The person stood her on her feet. Light blinded her, so she looked down, away from the sun.
“Sam, we have to go.” the voice was so urgent. Hands pulled her, but she saw something, and it was supposed to be important. Green grass, dirt, a hand, a wedding band. The hand belonged to a man. The man had smoke coming from a small singed hole in his waistcoat above his heart. The man did not move.
The voice wanted to make her leave th
e man. She turned, and shoved the palm of her hand into the face of the insistent one, who let go of her to stop the flow of blood from his nose. Falling to her knees, she cradled the face of the man. She couldn’t see his eyes. She knew they were blue, no green. Blue and green. Cole.
A deluge of sound flooded her mind. Men screaming, yelling, sword clash, gunfire, and the rising rumble. The noxious smell of sulphur, and burnt flesh gagged her.
“Cole.” Her memories flooded in too. “No!” Sam held his face between her hands, the loss shattering her as the Fate weapon did the airship. Sorrow threatened to immobilize her, but a thunderclap pulled her attention to the Black Widow. It began gearing up for another discharge. Sam watched the wicked machine for a moment, then turned her eyes to her men fighting for country and freedom.
Sorrow flowed out, spilling to the ground like the soldiers’ blood around her. In its place molten fury burned and bubbled. They would pay. Cole was everything, and they would pay.
The shing of metal as she drew her swords was like the quiet tapping of the conductor’s baton to begin a symphony.
“Slag you.” Jensen said flatly, wiping the blood from under his nose with his sleeve.
“Slag you, too.” Her response was just as emotionless. She didn’t have to look back to know he fell in step behind her as she stormed towards the Black Widow. There had to be a way to disarm it.
Between her and the giant mech stood more Fate guarding the beast. She raised her swords, inviting the battle to begin. The first soldier charged. He must think her an easy target. She sneered, and sidestepped letting him impale himself on the sword she knew Jensen would have waiting for him.
The next man was a little more wary, and struck with precision at her throat. She blocked the move with one sword, muscles straining under the force. She couldn’t hold back the strike for long, but she only needed a moment to slice through his gut with her other sword. Her upper armed burned with the movement. She must be injured. It didn’t matter. The pressure was released as the man fell to the ground clutching his gapping abdomen.
