Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  That afternoon, Mikial's eyes were drawn to a column of dust. For the last few chimes they had been paralleling a gravel highway, keeping it barely in sight. Ryan had already fallen asleep twice in his saddle from exhaustion, but refused to stop riding. They knelt their yhas down in a thicket where Mikial could observe the heavy traffic from a safe distance. What she saw was unsettling. A Force-sized body of around one thousand khaki-clad soldiers marched along the causeway. Several hundred cavalry escorted a line of wagons packed full of supplies. Many of the soldiers appeared to have the new rifles, although only gold-belted officers wore the improved armor vests.

  Ryan's attention was caught by eight artillery pieces limbered behind their ammunition wagons. He swore softly to himself.

  Mikial pulled the human's small field glasses from her side pocket and scrutinized the weapons. Their gray barrels were as long as the yhas and ammunition carts pulling them. They appeared to be breach-loaded, making the tubes used against the Datha in Bramble Ravine seem like mere toys. Mikial looked over at Ryan. Dismay was written upon his face as he watched the procession. “I saw large craters back at that village,” she explained. “It seems that we found the butchers you've so readily equipped for the task. Care to go over and complain to them?"

  “I'd do it from here if I just had a fusion cannon."

  "Fusion?"

  Ryan gave her an expression of deadly sincerity. “As I keep saying, you have no idea what you're up against. I'd burn this little parade in an instant for what they did."

  “Your other friends would only make them more,” she retorted.

  They continued westward until Ryan began sagging in his saddle again. Like it or not, she soon would be forced to camp or watch him slide off the yhas. Mikial angled them toward a deep ravine where water tumbled across rocks slick with moss. They dismounted, carefully guiding the animals down the steep bank. Low-hanging trees provided a thick canopy against prying eyes.

  “Evening is only a few chimes away,” Mikial said, tying the yhas near some tender rushes they could nibble at.

  “Your day is about a third longer than ours,” Ryan said with a wince as he sank to the ground. “Between that, and the slight gravity increase, it makes for a hard ride.” He gestured to the packs looped over her saddle. “Any food in there?"

  “Biscuits and dried meat,” Mikial said, tossing him one of the satchels she had taken off the Minnerans. “If you've some roots left, we can have some murr as well."

  Groaning, he got up and filled the pot she gave him. “At least we don't have to see if the water's clean."

  She stared at him. “What kind of world are you supposed to be from, if it isn't Dessa?"

  “Oh, it's not a bad place.” Ryan tossed a root into the pot and placed it over the heater she set up. “Matter of fact, there are parts of my country that look somewhat like this place. Dessa's not a lot different from where I come from. Times like this have me asking why I left Ireland."

  “Ireland,” she parroted, noticing the slight lilt in his words when he pronounced it, in contrast with his usual uninflected speech. “Why did you leave it? Got caught dealing in weapons there too?"

  “You're a real joy to be with.” He sniffed at one of the biscuits. “Actually, I wanted to see something other than Belfast. That's the city I'm from. My parents were a lot like these Blue Belts here, except that they worked in factories instead of fields."

  “What did they make?” Mikial inquired. She wanted a glimpse into this other world of his to see how real it sounded.

  His answer was in that other language. Ryan paused, his eyes staring up into the late-afternoon sky for a moment before he spoke. “You don't have a word for them. How to put this?” He tapped at his cup. “My parents made machines, Mikial. These machines taught other machines to do things."

  “Taught?” she said with an incredulous look.

  “In a manner of speaking. Lets just say that I wanted to see more than somebody's shop floor, where the big excitement is a spilled water bottle."

  “You should've stayed home.” Mikial bit into a biscuit. The Cothra would go crazy over this one. She would go crazy just listening to him.

  Ryan slept soundly as Mikial kept watch, the Curtain gradually filling the darkening skies. Her own thoughts flitted between what to do next, and what had become of Dalen. Mikial glanced at Ryan as he slept. That day she had fought with his airship. Had he been the pilot? If so, Ryan could have easily rammed Dalen's powered airsail. Yet he hadn't.

  Mikial looked westward. The sky still retained some light despite the onset of evening. It was a defused amber glow, spreading across the horizon like a reluctant sunset. She frowned, reminded of the campfires made by the Kiorannan army. This was not Kioranna, though. She prodded Ryan awake a few chimes later and pointed the illumination out to him. “Any idea what's up ahead?"

  “Got my suspicions,” he said with a stretch. “Let's find out."

  They submerged themselves within the inky obscurity of the deep ravine. Mikial let her yhas pick its way carefully along a rocky embankment while rushing water threw luminescent froth into the darkness. She halted before the twist of an old tree hanging over a shallow slope. Her heart joined the downward tumble of the adjacent stream.

  “Welcome to the Asul Valley,” Ryan spoke up beside her as an incredible panorama stretched before them. “That walled city filling your vision happens to be Cantel. It's the second largest city in Minnera, and regional capital for this area. My guess is that the band of light running up the valley is the bulk of the Eastern Union's army. Lucky us."

  Mikial leaned against the tree and fought off waves of despair. The city was a spider's web of gas lit streets half hidden beneath the rising bulk of buildings and ramparts. A great spire rose in illuminated glory from the center, its foundation a collection of towers and tiered levels. A sprawl of lesser buildings spread outward. Bright arcs described what appeared to be a network of bridges, sparking her flagging hopes as to a possible route of infiltration.

  She brought out the map from Ryan's kit, using the city glow to read by. According to it, they were in western Minnera midway down a wide valley. The city of Cantel was shown astride the Asul river that flowed south to the coastal city of Murcanna, adjacent to her Holding. The Masar Range bordered the western edge of the valley, and beyond it was the Minneran Gap. Her Holding was that close. Looking down toward the city, Mikial eyed those bridges with heightening interest. Hopefully her traveling companion could swim.

  “We'll leave the yhas behind,” she instructed. “This kind of work is best left to our own feet."

  “Right out of the textbook,” Ryan said.

  “What textbook?"

  “Mine, of course."

  She leaned her face close to his. “If you so much as look like you're trying to get us caught, I'll rip your throat out. Understand?"

  “You're really a trusting sort, aren't you?"

  Fighting the urge to follow through on her threat, Mikial took the backpacks from the yhas and gave one to Ryan. Rifle in hand, she began to pick her way down the gradual incline. As close as it seemed, the city was still a day's march away.

  Her decision to keep along the brush-choked creek was rewarded near daybreak by their arrival at an old mill. The water wheel had been rendered useless by the partial collapse of a retaining wall. Mikial's hunting eyes assured her that it had been abandoned. Ryan followed her over to the buttress against which the wheel rested. She forced her way through the roots of an old ironwood tree that had grown over the structure like a tangled curtain. Effectively screened from view, a damp but useable corner niche would become their camp until the following evening.

  They sat between two roots that erupted from a sag of stonework, Ryan using the metallic blankets from his kit to insulate themselves from the wet ground. Mikial willed herself to relax. It was not an easy task considering the campfire smoke visible just beyond the mill. Glancing over, she saw that Ryan was already on his way to dreams, a lu
xury denied her these past days. Mikial entered her watchful half sleep, consigned to watch the sun rise and fall within the peripheries of her awareness.

  A sudden nudge jerked her awake. Mikial's hand swiftly retrieved her knife in a blur of motion. Shards of sunlight shown through the roots. Having prudently moved away from her, Ryan gestured upwards with one finger pressed against his lips. “You were moaning,” his voice croaked softly over the gurgling stream. “That's not the best way to avoid detection."

  Startled, Mikial slid her blade back into its sheath with trembling fingers. She had fallen asleep! Again. Mikial looked over at the human. Ryan could just as easily have slit her throat with her own knife as prod her awake. Mikial reached out with her senses, then relaxed. Except for Ryan's strange aura, she could detect no other patterns.

  “Some dream from the sound of it,” Ryan said with a grin. “You Qurl girls go into Passion like the rest, by any chance?"

  Mikial gaped at him. That dream! Dalen was starting to ... She gave a low cry, feeling the unfamiliar fires still at work as her body clung to that false promise. Not now. Not here!

  Ryan stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “No. You're joking. Please tell me that you're joking."

  Mikial stifled a shriek and slashed at the bark beside her. What other explanation would fit her sloppiness these past days? She should be home. Dismissed from duties. Mikial got to her feet, too aware of Ryan's closeness.

  The human was doing his best not to laugh. “Take it easy, I can't smell a thing. It doesn't work on me.” His humor faded as Ryan looked up toward the mill. “Just hope no one else smells you."

  “I should kill you for this! I'll never make it back the way I am."

  He stood up. “We will, Mikial. You can take a dip in that creek for starters. I'm told it helps."

  Hurling her helmet down, Mikial knew she had no choice but to test what scrap of sincerity he had. Finding a brush-enclosed backwash, she immersed herself in the spring water to quench both her scent, and the lingering need in her loins. She was in Passion, and the only male around was an enemy. He was not even Dessan, let alone Qurl. Water streaming from her armor, Mikial went back to see if he had fled. Her senses quickly determined that he had stayed put this time.

  Ryan parted some foliage for her like a curtain. Mikial tried to ignore the quiet smile on his face. “Just keep telling yourself how funny this will be a few months from now."

  Teeth bared, she stomped past him and tore at another section of bark. “You don't understand. This is my first time!"

  He raised his hands. “You're safe with me. Trouble is, how safe am I?"

  Her nostrils drew in his body. She found nothing particularly arousing as her mother told her to expect from males catching her scent. “Doesn't your kind ever go in Passion?"

  That brought a chuckle from him. “All the time, Mikial, not just twice a year. We react more to sight than smell, however.” Ryan broke into a grin. “Forgive me, but you're just not what I'm looking for right now."

  “I may just kill you yet,” Mikial hissed. Her mood softened as she considered his understanding of what Passion involved. “How long have you been on Dessa, Ryan?"

  His lean face sobered. “Just over a year, most of that in little more than a prison. At least I can speak your language with all the practice I've gotten. Even made a dictionary.” Ryan grinned and shook his head in amusement. “We'd started out communicating by trading pictures back and forth with the Minnerans."

  “We, you mean your crew?"

  He nodded. “There's around forty of us. What worries me sick is what might be done to them now. The Minnerans won't see my disappearance as anything less than an escape attempt. There's going to be reprisals, I'm sure."

  “Don't expect me to free you,” she warned.

  Ryan folded his hands across his lap. “Right now your people are the best hope I've had to save my crew, so I'm going to take care of you. Oh, and my last name is Donald in case you're interested."

  “I can still take care of myself,” she stiffly replied. “We'll leave at sunset. If you see any little gray flowers along the way, let me know."

  “Aile,” he guessed. “I've seen ladies wearing aile necklaces to mask their scent. I'll let you know if I see any. What was your last name again?"

  “Haran,” she muttered, reminded of how proud her father used to be of her. “Get ready. We're going to go through that city tonight."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Ten

  Mikial spent the last hours of sunlight studying her intended route through the field glasses. Getting into Cantel itself was thankfully unnecessary. There were plenty of barges lining the wharves along the Asul River. The flat-bottomed craft were tied up at least three abreast from the look of it, indicating how this Eastern Union intended to travel. And what a lovely gathering we have here, Mikial thought glumly. Tents were erected everywhere; umbrella-shaped shelters surrounding the city.

  Roads brimmed with military traffic. It left her little choice but to keep to the stream, which now spilled out into the river as a minor tributary. The inlet was clogged with an assortment of small boats denied berthing by the barges, a virtual forest of swaying masts. Mikial returned the glasses to her pocket with a sigh. Right now her Passion seemed manageable. She pressed a hand against the feathered armor plates across her breasts, aware that she had only a few days at best, before her combat efficiency dropped below that of an Ipper.

  It took half the night to get down to the inlet. Mikial was forced to creep along the muddy banks within speaking distance of several encampments. She kept herself immersed in the deepening waters in order to keep the scent of her Passion hidden. Ryan demonstrated his own prowess at infiltration, slithering across the wet soil by her side while she trained her rifle on nearby sentries. More importantly, he had been presented with plenty of chances to shout for help, and chose not to use them.

  They made the inlet without being seen. Crawling in the shallows with only their heads above water, they viewed their next obstacle from a clump of reeds. Mikial gave a low hiss. The marina was heavily guarded, as if the Minnerans had been expecting them.

  “How about a diversion?” Ryan whispered in her ear.

  Mikial scowled, hardly expecting cooperation to turn into active assistance. “Such as what? Your attempt to escape?"

  “These guys look too trigger-happy for that. Besides, I promised.” He pointed a finger toward the river to their right. “There's a bunch of boxes stacked up on the wharf that I think are artillery shells. By themselves they won't blow easy, but these idiots have got some boosters piled alongside them."

  Mikial gave him a questioning look. “What?"

  “Boosters", Ryan explained softly. “They're like rockets. Attached to the shells, they triple the range. What you did back in the shuttle, can you do it again?"

  Mikial nodded with full understanding. “That will detonate them?"

  “Along with erasing half the river front."

  “Getting me killed in the process."

  Ryan gave an evil grin in the darkness. “The thought did come to mind. Can't you just send out just a little jolt?"

  She shook her head. “I would have to touch them to discharge, unless you've another one of those energy guns to shoot me with.

  He gave her a confused look. “You blew a hole right through my ship, remember? Give it a try."

  “It won't happen again, Ryan."

  “We're not going to get very far if it doesn't."

  Mikial looked up at a nearby tent, where a gas lamp outlined several occupants inside. “Would fire do as well?"

  Ryan shook his head. “Not hot enough."

  “Then prepare yourself for disappointment."

  Rifle readied, Mikial bellied up the embankment under the cover of reeds and tall grass. Once more she placed herself in the hands of an enemy. All Ryan had to do was shout, and she would be as good as dead. Mikial surveyed her target from the edge
of a gravel access road running adjacent to the inlet.

  The wharf itself was guarded. Soldiers paced past crates stacked four deep under the light of several gas lamps. Cylindrical objects the size of snare drums were loosely piled with the rest. She gave Ryan an inquiring look.

  Nodding, he quickly spread his hands outward.

  Mikial motioned Ryan to stay put and crept up to the guard tent with little problem. From inside came the slap of cards over coarse laughter and casual jibes. Her hunting eyes outlined the presence of at least four players. Licking her lips, Mikial set her rifle aside and began to draw in her body's energy until her hair stood at end. She felt a peculiar burning sensation expand across her body, making her wonder if she had taken internal injuries from Chasa's gun. Each movement brought with it a sparkling crackle along her skin. With one eye on the soldiers, she aimed her extended hands toward the ammunition casings a few paces away from the tent. Palms dripping, Mikial discharged. To her surprise, a modest arc of electricity snapped between her hands and her target.

  Its effect was an immediate orange explosion that threw her back. Numbed, Mikial fought to regain her muscles as pandemonium broke out inside the tent. A soldier tossed aside the flap and staggered into her. Larger concussions erupted from fires within the ammunition stores. It knocked them both flat in a stunned heap. Finding her legs, Mikial ran from the wharf. Behind her, a chain reaction of explosions sent both crates and drums flying with thunderous booms.

  “Taqurl!” someone yelled in disbelief behind her as she ran. There was a volley of shots, rifle balls impacting around her. Then it was as if day had come, highlighting the inlet waters in bright orange ripples. Mikial cried out as a flash of heat swept over her.

  Her next awareness was of swimming up through cold water toward a wildly dazzled surface. Fighting the weight of her tensa armor, Mikial broke free, sucking in air with choking gasps. Boat masts rocked before her, their thin lines contrasting against a yellow-and-red firestorm boiling skyward from the wharf. Blast waves rippled across the inlet as Mikial headed towards the piers. Hunks of falling debris masked her own graceless splashes. Somehow she still had her helmet on. Her rifle was gone.