Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  Inspiration came to Mikial as she swam beneath the dangling ropes that secured boats to the pier. Mikial pulled her knife and reached over to slice all the lines she could find. She watched with satisfaction as fishing vessels and pleasure craft were driven out into the inlet under the lash of successive concussions.

  Much to her surprise, the Minnerans began to follow her example. Soldiers started to run from one mooring to the next, severing lines in an attempt to save the ships from fire. Blazing streamers fell among the masts even as she watched. Ducking fiery shards, Mikial pulled herself up on the pier and dashed towards the bank. Where had Ryan got to in all this?

  The ground heaved Mikial off her feet twice as massive explosions lit the night. A crouched figure motioned her to cover alongside mounds of netting as more debris streamed down like small meteors. “Ryan!” she said, diving beside him. “You all right?” Mikial stared into his wide and unfamiliar eyes. Not Ryan.

  “You ... you're...” the soldier gasped. She tore his throat out with her claws.

  Mikial searched out her companion's unique pattern. She found him in the shallows of the adjacent embankment. “Up here!” she shouted over the explosions. Shaking her head, Mikial tore off the corpse's helmet and hurled it at the half submerged human.

  A hammer blow threw her against the netting. She saw a Minneran charging her across the pier, his pistol raised for another shot. Ducking, she tore at the holster worn by her nearby victim. Mikial pulled out its clumsy-looking pistol. Chips flew from a post beside her as she sought solution to the cumbersome mechanism.

  “Like this!” Slender fingers pulled the weapon from her hands. Ryan rolled to one side and pulled back the hammer. He fired twice, dropping her assailant. “Are you hit?” he yelled, ducking as more projectiles sang overhead.

  “You're wasting shots.” Mikial grabbed the gun back. Two Minnerans opened fire from behind poles along the dock. One had a rifle. She took him first, grazing the soldier with the initial shot. Mikial threw him back with the second as she adapted to the unfamiliar weapon. His comrade fell with her third ball striking him in the chest. “Did you see my rifle anywhere?"

  Ryan shook his head. “No, but it looks like you got the wrong end of one. The back of your armor's gouged, but it didn't penetrate. Can you move?"

  “You expect me to stay here?” Mikial retorted, getting to her feet.

  They raced a wave of flames to reach a small fishing boat. Kicking away from the smoking pier, Mikial winced as yet another ball of fire rolled skyward from the ammunition dump. The night tore itself apart with an even greater detonation. The mushrooming explosion laced the sky with incandescent white streamers. She threw herself down on the deck as they pulled away, Ryan following as superheated air rushed across the surface. The sails of three nearby craft erupted into torches.

  A noticeable current drew them into the river channel. Mikial pulled out a pair of weathered oars from their brackets. “Head for the middle. We're too exposed near the shore like this."

  Together they strove to send the small fishing boat toward what little darkness existed. More explosions brightened the waters around them. Rows of barges were in flames, as if a fiery brush had outlined the riverfront. Mikial's eyes suddenly caught on an even more horrific sight. “Ryan, look at the bridge behind us."

  “Must be over a hundred of them,” he said, the grisly silhouettes swinging lazily from ropes beneath the arches.

  “Their own people. Why?"

  “Cantel is the Blue Guild stronghold,” Ryan explained as they rowed. “Or at least it was until now. Manwal Kinn just cut the heart out of the Blue Belts with a knife they probably handed him. The Protectorate would never have let the Union Army near Cantel, so he must've used the excuse of needing a staging area against your people. Voting against that would've been tantamount to treason after the drubbing his expeditionary forces took at your hands."

  “Those barges weren't for fishing. He still intends to attack us."

  Ryan nodded. “Your little bonfire may have bought you guys some time.” His words were punctuated by another fiery exclamation point behind them. “Row hard."

  * * * *

  Dawn came as bleak and clammy as the gray waters around them. Coils of mist glided across the river like questing hunters. Mikial stared gratefully at the small triangle of canvas they had hoisted up the mast. Her neck and back had stiffened until each oar stroke felt like a lash. The pain finally overrode her control enough for Ryan to notice. He produced several ineffectual-looking pills from the yellow box inside his backpack. Giving him a long look, Mikial refused them. “I don't trust you that well. Besides, those are for humans."

  “You trusted me with your life,” he pointed out. “These little pills shouldn't hurt a big girl like yourself. I've seen them used by Minnerans with no side effects."

  Wincing, Mikial reached for the medicine.

  “Nice to know walking nightmares like yourself have limitations,” he said as she swallowed them.

  Mikial looked at him with begrudging respect. “You could've escaped. Perhaps there is a grain of honor in your heart after all."

  “We're not bad people, Mikial.” He paused, as if addressing himself. “Stupid, sometimes."

  “Then why start trading in weapons?"

  “I don't have a nice reason for you, Mikial. We needed a place to fix our ship, and weapons were the easiest currency we could come up with in order to get what we needed. You may not know it, but a lot of people hate your kind."

  “We don't hang anyone from bridges, Ryan."

  “No, but I've heard all kinds of horror stories about what your people used to do.” Ryan squatted on the prow bench. “You must've had an advanced civilization, judging from how well your ancestors blasted each other to bits in the northern hemisphere. We scanned that desert up there and found evidence of city-sized craters in the substrata. Lots of trace radiation too."

  “Min Saja,” she whispered, the pills beginning to have a welcome numbing effect on her back. “That was long ago, and we have learned to better ourselves.” Mikial turned and stared through the rising fog at the gray outline of mountains. The Masar Range, and beyond it her Holding. She fished Ryan's map from a pocket. “Your map shows a pass through to the Gap near here. We can try to make it."

  “I wouldn't recommend trying until after dark,” he said, pointing along the bank. “Those folks might not take kindly to your presence."

  Loose knots of travelers could be seen along the road, many with wagons heaped with possessions. Small children walked among the yhas. The wail of infants echoed like accusations across the valley. Amber eyes straining, Mikial could see armed escorts along the ragged lines. The men appeared to have long rifles more characteristic of normal Minneran weaponry. “They must be from that Blue Guild,” she surmised, “perhaps trying to run toward Kioranna through the city of Murcanna. Fort Asul guards that approach. They'll never get by it."

  “And you'll never get by anyone if you don't get some sleep and let that medicine work,” Ryan admonished, pulling at an oar.

  Mikial doubted she could successfully stay alert much longer. “You gave me three of those pills. Are you sure that was the proper dosage?"

  He grinned. “I hope so. I'm surprised you're still awake."

  She laid back against the stern. “If you turn back north, Ryan Donald..."

  “I know. You'll rip my throat out."

  * * * *

  Mikial woke to horror. Rough hands pushed aside a covering of branches and pulled her from the boat, which had apparently been brought to the river's bank. Ryan was gone. Instincts burned through her drugged disorientation. She kicked one of three attackers, sending him tumbling into the river. Pain shot through her back in turn. Crying out, she could do little against the other two males dragging her ashore by her arms. They were dressed in the khaki uniforms and helmets of the Minneran army.

  “Thought I smelled something!” one exclaimed with a harsh laugh. “Would you look a
t what she's wearing, must think she's...” His grin of anticipation changed to astonishment when his eyes fell on her extended claws. “Taqurl!"

  “Get her down!” the third soldier said, clambering up the muddy bank. Mikial gasped from his kick. “My nose don't care what she is.” He tore loose the buckles of her tensa kilt.

  Mikial cried out in a mixture of pain and disbelief as the pants of her battle dress were wrenched down. Jamming a knee in her stomach, the Minneran thrust his hand between her legs. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream from the violation.

  “It's female enough for us, I'd say. Hold it fast!"

  A detached part of herself saw Ryan rush through the thicket. He slammed hard into the Minneran who held her left arm, freeing it in the process. Rolling, she threw her tormentor off her belly. Something far baser than fear twisted her face into a savage mask of desire.

  The Minneran on her right arm had a brief chance to scream before the noise became a bubbling rattle from his torn throat. Her would-be rapist bolted in horror. Mikial lunged after him, only to trip over pants that shackled her ankles. Spitting, she took precious moments to pull them up again. Her attention turned to the combatants on her left. Ryan had gotten the soldier's knife, and was moments away from driving it through the Minneran's heart. She glared eagerly at the other retreating soldier that had touched her. Baring her teeth in pleasure, Mikial hurled herself after the prey. There was no pain now. Only a primordial need.

  She caught up with him as the soldier broke from the trees. He shouted hoarsely at a column of soldiers along a roadside choked with refugees. The savage howl that ripped from her throat made him stagger and look back. Her raking claws tore his horrified expression into bloody shreds. Mikial's second blow sent a crimson spray from his neck. Eyes wild, she struck again in a decapitating snap of bone and tissue. Far from satiated, she drew her knife and charged headlong toward the line of stunned soldiers.

  Mikial smashed into them before they could bring their weapons to bear. She was dancing again. Spinning and leaping with fluid grace, Mikial performed a pattern like none other. Her ears filled with the screams of her audience as she wove her way across the stage. Mikial felt as if she could soar into the air. But instead of rising, she slipped, nearly falling. Angrily, she looked down. The floor was slick with blood.

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  * * *

  Eleven

  A dull rocking pain. Mikial's eyes opened to find an oil lamp swinging above her from wooden support hoops. A ceiling of stretched canvas quivered and shook with each bump. Everything moved—a creaky rhythm that spoke of wagon wheels and rocky terrain. The air was cool. Her eyes lowered to the frayed edging of the thick quilt that covered her. It was a rich chocolate weave with crimson-and-indigo squares. Her armor and battle dress had been stuffed into a grain bag beside her.

  Pale fingers lifted her head. A spoon nudged against her lips, her nostrils taking in the savory aroma of a thick stew. “Come on, Mikial. Eat, and stay awake this time.” It was Ryan's voice, his hopeful tone tempered with uncertainty.

  She greedily sucked at the meaty flavor, letting its warmth fill the weakness that beckoned her back into nothingness.

  Ryan coaxed another spoonful into her mouth. “That's it. I have a whole bowlful for you."

  Mikial regarded the square-jawed human with his ugly round ears. Dark brown stubble shadowed his cheeks. Less clouded by fatigue, Ryan's eyes glittered like an Ipper up to mischief. She did not take that as a good sign for her future.

  Mikial looked about. Every available space around her cot was packed with someone's personal belongings. She recalled the line of people along the riverbank. She opened her mouth to half whisper. “The refugees?"

  “Blue Guild,” he confirmed with a nod. “You interrupted what would've been another massacre, with them being the guests of honor."

  She tried to get up, but failed miserably as pain lanced through her back. “They'll use me!"

  “Whoa!” Ryan hurriedly set the bowl aside and pressed her firmly back into the bedding. “I've already dealt with that. I told them you were mixed blood. From what I understand, the only baby you'll produce would be Qurl. I suspect that's probably a result of deliberate engineering, since I'm told your ancestors actually bred the Servant race into existence. Your Taqurls would've built in ways to control population levels.” He glanced outside. “In any case, I don't think there's a line of volunteers waiting to get their throats torn out.

  “I'll kill whoever—''

  Ryan shoved another spoonful of stew in her mouth.

  “Relax, would you? Nobody's going to touch you. They're now in the awkward position of having a Qurl for their savior.” He offered her another helping. “You've gained some more unlikely allies."

  Mikial tried to sit up again, despite a new pain it brought to her left arm. She inspected bandages above her elbow. “What did this?"

  “A bullet. You call them rifle balls. Your armor stopped two others, but that one got through.” He gave her another helping of stew. “I dug it out. The wound is closing nicely. You folks heal fast."

  A slow breath escaped her lips as she sought memories with which to anchor herself. “The boat. We were in a boat."

  His voice remained carefully neutral. “What else?"

  “There must be more...” Cold foreboding wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing further recollections away. She swallowed the emotion back with consternation.

  Ryan reached out and touched her hand for a moment. He spoke in that other tongue of his, and then smiled. “You're going home, Mikial. Think about that while you finish this stew."

  She frowned. Her whole body felt hollow. “How long have I been like this?"

  “Two days.” He helped prop her up in the wooden cot and handed over the bowl. “Now eat."

  Two days? Mikial frowned and ate another spoonful. “What happened?"

  Ryan took a long pause before replying. “I decided to make contact with the refugees while you were sleeping in the boat. We needed help getting through the mountains. Unfortunately, a Minneran patrol had gotten ahead of me and was rounding them up.” His eyes lowered for a moment. “They found you too, even though I covered the boat with branches. I stopped them before they could ... hurt you."

  Mikial's thoughts chilled as they scrambled uselessly for any scrap of recollection. “Was I raped, Ryan?"

  He clasped his hands together. “No, I don't think so, but you did go a little crazy. You attacked a firing squad about to get to work on these folks. That started everybody fighting. It was a real mess, but the Minneran soldiers caught the worst of it. I found you later among a pile of dead officers. Apparently you just collapsed.” Ryan gestured out the wagon's back flap. “Gratitude aside, these folks are scared you'll do a repeat performance on them. I made a deal to keep them from leaving you behind."

  Mikial paused in mid-bite. “What deal?"

  Ryan's grin did little to comfort her. “Tell you later when I've thought the thing through. You just eat that stew and gain your strength. We have a couple of day's travel ahead of us. Just understand that these people don't have any real leader, let alone a plan. I've managed to give them something resembling a strategy. They're liable to panic if they lose faith in it."

  “You gave them a leader, too,” she surmised.

  He shrugged. “That's part of what I do, Mikial. You've learned to trust me this far, haven't you?"

  “Trust you? You have a talent for limiting my choices, Ryan Donald."

  “Don't I at that.” Grinning at her over his shoulder, Ryan lifted the flap and exited.

  Settling back in the cot, Mikial tried once more to search her memories. There was the boat they had escaped in. She sighed. Then there was now. One thing was certain, she had been knocked out of her Passion. The flames had withered and died, taking the scent along with them. Mikial's heart sank at the thought of how she could confirm part of Ryan's story. Her fears were answered as she carefully prob
ed herself. She had suffered violation. Mikial gave a soft cry. She was far from her mother's arms.

  Lying there, Mikial wished she could simply blend into the creaking and jostling of the wagon until there was nothing left. The lamp glow became more pronounced as the canvas darkened with the arrival of evening. Shortly after, the wagon came to a halt, the refugees apparently setting up camp for the night. Ryan returned once with others who momentarily peeked in at her. Another bowl of stew, and she sank through her misery into disjointed dreams.

  * * * *

  The air grew colder, and the trail more jarring the following day, as they ascended into the Masar Range. Ryan used the highly detailed map of Minnera to pinpoint their location to her. Mikial saw that they would eventually come out at Foggy Pass in the northern basin topping the Minneran Gap. She did not tell him of the Datha Watch across from it. Ryan's confidence made her uneasy. Coupled with a stiff back that left her all but helpless, Mikial faced the disquieting truth that she had gone from captor to pawn. One misstep away from prisoner. Ryan had yet to tell her of the plan he concocted, beyond suggesting that it was all that kept these Blue Belts from her throat.

  She fought off depression by placing her situation in the context of a strategic campaign. Mikial tallied up her personal injuries, and factored them into the greater plan of getting home. In military science there was little room given for grief or loss. Plan and counter. Analyze and exploit. The very teachings she scorned as hampering her emotional side now rose to defend her against it. She was Dathia. That was enough. It would have to be. She would make it be.

  Mikial ate everything Ryan gave her, which became less as the refugees’ food supplies ran thin. The wound in her arm improved, helped along by the last of the healing powder she carried with her into the field. Mikial paid the most attention to her wrenched back muscles. No doubt the explosion that had hurled her into the river was to blame. Gathering her strength, she put herself through a routine of exercises to stretch injured muscles. Pain, unlike misery, was an enemy tangible enough to fight. By the third day she could tolerate sitting up on the edge of the cot. Mikial kept the accomplishment to herself until they camped beside a cobalt blue lake the following evening.