Blade Dancer

by K. M. Tolan

  Turning, Mikial saw the stricken look on Sencia's face, the Tasuria apparently having overheard her.

  Sencia did not answer.

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  * * *

  Fifteen

  Mikial gave a frustrated hiss as she pushed her way through the crowds at the winery near South Watch. An entire day had been lost in that Shandi hospital. The largest land battle in current history was taking shape and she almost missed the start of it. Holding her tensa-feathered helmet in a bandaged right hand, Mikial searched among cargo transports of all colors and sizes, her stocky body casting harsh shadows in their bright headlamps. Insects darted around larger floodlights as supplies were lifted into cart trains normally reserved for hauling fruit from the valley fields.

  “Dathia! Mikial!"

  Mikial spied Yora waving from the hood of a runner. It was the first time she had seen her Strike Commander in combat dress, having only worked with Parva's Strike. Like her, Yora wore a sleeveless armored vest and kilt, with attaching guards for shoulders, arms, and legs. Yora's tensa plates were fashioned into flames that appeared to wrap the Dathia's body in a roaring blaze. Grinning, Mikial waved back.

  “Thought the Shandi had you."

  Mikial raised her bandaged hands. “They did, but the Tasuria let me go."

  Yora frowned. “Can you fight with those hands?"

  “By morning, I'm told."

  “Guess that'll do.” Sliding off the runner, Yora inspected the pistols strapped on Mikial's thigh guards. “I heard that you were the one who shot down that contraption above the city. Is it true that you used a Taqurl cannon?"

  “Before it blew up on me,” Mikial spat, not wanting to elaborate on the rest; she had enough of a stigma to live down as it was. So what did everyone think of her now? Renegade and Taqurl?

  Yora's hug was more reassuring. “You never cease to amaze me, Mikial. Stay alive, and I'll have you singing First Greetings again, no matter what Principal Kyian says. In the meantime, take a seat in the runner. We're finished here."

  The ride was a slow crawl due to the five carts they pulled, Yora negotiating the trails using only her night vision. Although Mikial wanted to join the other Datha walking alongside, Yora insisted that she remain in the runner. “Just heal. I'm told the flash from your cannon could be even be seen out here."

  “No doubt,” Mikial replied, looking to change the subject. “Any more word from home?"

  Yora shook her head. “The only good news is that Second Force outflanked and destroyed the cannons firing on High Keep. Beyond that, I can't get the Ipper to say much of anything. Just as well, because we've enough to concentrate on here."

  “Any word on the human, Ryan. He went with them."

  “They actually let your pet out of his cage?” Yora swung the runner around a protruding gnarl of roots, looking back to ensure that the carts cleared them safely. “Maybe he can make us some of those fancy cannons, too."

  “Hopefully he's through making that kind of mistake.” Mikial glanced at the carts. “Might I ask what has a Strike Commander running cargo?"

  “New armor and weapons. Your Dalen hasn't been the only busy Cothra in this Holding. Trouble is, they've only made enough for one High Strike.” Yora grinned. “Making the selection wasn't too hard. They just looked for who owned the crazy Strike Leader from Bramble Ravine."

  Mikial was reunited with her Strike in a narrow canyon that bordered the frontier ridges. Parva met her with a roar, lifting her off the ground with his armored embrace. “Couldn't leave without starting a little war, eh?” His grin faded. “They still talking about exile?"

  “Not for the moment,” Mikial replied, exchanging good-natured swats with Cort Havada as her Line Officer passed to unload crates. “I'm sure the subject will come up once the smoke clears."

  Parva gave a derisive snort. “After what you did with that cannon last night?” He held up her bandaged hands. “And this?"

  “More of what I did with that cannon last night. It'll heal."

  Yora gave her a smirk. “Enough showing off, Mikial. Parva, get the Strikes gathered."

  Within the chime, Yora was standing on the hood of the runner beneath the swirling Curtain. Four hundred and eighty Datha watched in the darkness as she held a rifle high above her head. “New weapons, everyone. Note the larger barrel, and two batteries on either side of the stock; much like a cannon has.” She pulled out the magazine. “No more darts. We use ceramic bullets now. That's a human term we borrowed, along with their technology.” Yora held up a silencing hand to the disparaging mutters. “Yes, we have half the ammunition load as before. Nor will you like the range. It's been halved as well."

  “Along with the intelligence of certain Cothra,” Parva added dryly, pulling at his white braid in disgust.

  “Mikial!” Yora snapped, giving Parva a jaundiced eye as she slapped the magazine back into the stock. The Strike Leader bent and pulled a captured Minneran vest from the back seat of the runner. “Take this over to that outcrop of rock to your left.

  Nodding, Mikial set the armor against the rocks and stepped back.

  “A demonstration of halved Cothra intelligence,” Yora said, sighting the rifle. There was a sharp crack that obscured Yora's target in a haze of pulverized stone.

  Eyes wide, Mikial was first to inspect the torn remnants of the vest. “It's almost like cannon shot!"

  “Thought you'd like it.” Yora hopped off the runner. “You can engage an enemy up to medium range without worrying about his armor. These rifles will suit us fine in the streets we'll be fighting in. Beyond that, you've still your gunners to rely on.” She pointed out another cart. “The Cothra have an answer for Minneran bullets as well."

  Puzzled, Mikial watched her Line Officer remove the lid from a wide gray box. Reaching inside, Cort pulled out what first appeared to be another Minneran vest. The armor was covered by camouflage fabric, giving it the appearance of a padded jacket. Cort tossed the first one to Mikial, who gave the vest an experimental rap with her knuckles. “Tensa plates inside?"

  “Drastically refined, I'm told,” Yora said. “It's lighter, more flexible, and should stop Minneran bullets at ranges greater than our own rifles.” Her voice fell. “We have helmets in here as well."

  Mikial ran her hands along the etched feathers of her own tensa armor, realizing just what this vest would replace. Surely this was only temporary? Mikial gave Yora a despairing look and gaped in disbelief.

  Her angular face frozen, Yora stood with her hands clenched at her sides. Parva was cutting off apricot and ebony swathes of hair with his knife. “No,” Mikial half whispered, pushing through other Datha who watched the spectacle with leaden faces.

  “There wasn't time to modify the helmets to our particular needs, Mikial,” Yora explained with a grim look as Parva finished. Yora's hair ended in abrupt chops just below her tufted ears. Dark eyes glistening, the Strike Commander motioned Mikial within the silent ring of Datha. “Remove your helmet, Dathia."

  Swallowing, Mikial let her ornate headgear fall to the ground, her fingers numbly removing the pins that kept her auburn braids in place. Yora stepped forward and pulled her own blade from her thigh sheath. Mikial felt a brief tug as the first braid was sliced, two-thirds of the twisted cord falling among Yora's calico hair.

  Neither of the Dathia expected what came next as a white tassel joined their discarded tresses. Stepping back, Parva re-sheathed his knife, his famous braid now gone.

  “You didn't need...” Yora's voice quavered, her control slipping as another Datha advanced. Pulling off his helmet, the soldier cut loose a combat braid and left it with the rest. Mikial clasped Yora's hand as four Strikes solemnly left a part of themselves in tribute at the two Dathias’ feet.

  Everyone changed into the new armor in silence, Mikial grateful to at least retain her arm and leg guards. The rest had been piled into the runner. Ample pockets lined both sides of the new vest, a needed convenience considering the ext
ra ammunition they would now carry. The helmet was a simple camouflaged hemisphere. Clipping on the plain chinstraps, Mikial tried to ignore the lack of weight against her scalp. Yora was back to giving commands. The officer looked like a smaller version of the Datha around her due to the concealing vest. Mikial gave a sigh as she felt the wide armor plates press against her breasts.

  Mikial joined the other thirty in her Line along the canyon floor for what she expected would be a short rest. She doubted Yora would get any respite, having left with the other officers to attend a meeting with Force Commander Keel. When they returned within the chime, Parva brought over yet another long crate and sat it down before Mikial where she sat with her back against a stump. “A new toy especially for you."

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Let's find out.” He pried off the lid. “Looks like a cannon.” Parva picked up a note attached to its firing handles. “Cothra send it with their apologies.” He shrugged.

  Getting up, Mikial wrinkled her nose at another battery-lined barrel. She kicked the lid back over the crate. “Not again, they don't. This one stays in its box."

  “I'll get you one that explodes at the proper end,” Cort offered through the general laughter of the Datha around them. His rough face lost its humor. “Everyone, we have battle orders."

  Parva Conn stepped up on the crate that Mikial rejected. His sharp features carried an anticipatory grin beneath his helmet. “We're not just fighting Minnerans down there. Several other Servant countries have joined them, sending their inexperienced soldiers to the slaughter. They call themselves the Eastern Union.” His teeth shone in the darkness. “They'll be calling themselves something else by the time we're through with them."

  Parva raised his hand to stifle the chuckles. “We're going to get behind the right flank of the Servants guarding the coastal road to Kioranna. We will force them to fight with their backs to that road, just before Seventh Force hits them head-on. Once their defensive line has collapsed, Forces Six and Ten will exploit the break. The rest of Eighth Force will follow us down the cliffs while the Minnerans and their allies are engaged. We will link up in a push to Haken's Wall, and then drive this Servant army up the Asul Valley."

  Cort gestured up the hillside. “The Cothra are already waiting with ropes up top."

  “Everyone up!” Parva ordered. His gray eyes fixed on Mikial. “Dathia, you can take those bandages off now."

  Mikial nodded, pulling off wrappings to reveal only slightly reddened palms. She pulled leather gloves from her belt and headed up the slope. Trees and granite outcrops provided excellent cover from which to view the darkened city. Mikial glanced over the cliff edge as Cothra strung out twenty lines of black rope. Over three hundred spans below, a string of flickering dots outlined the Union's defensive line. She tested the air. It smelled like rotted fish down there, not surprising since their assigned assault zone was across the town dump.

  Yora crawled next to Mikial, her dark eyes sweeping across the city from beneath her new helmet. “We start down in a quarter chime,” she whispered.

  Mikial glanced around for her Line Officer. Where is that cannon he promised? The last thing she wanted was to go back and get that prototype. Mikial imagined herself suspended in High State above the city, with the entire Eastern Union shooting at her. Wonderful.

  Apparently understanding her dilemma, Parva motioned his other Line forward to the ropes. At Yora's command, the first group of Datha slid out of sight over the jagged lip of the cliffs. A sharp tap on her leg announced her Line Officer's arrival. Grinning, Cort edged up beside her and strapped a regular cannon across her back. “Try keeping this one intact,” he hissed in her ear.

  “Acknowledged,” she replied with a grin, giving his helmet a swat before moving forward. Mikial gripped one of the ropes ahead of its anchor. She heard nothing from below the cliff while her Line prepared their descent. A good sign. At Yora's order, Mikial eased herself around, her legs dangling over the rough granite edge. The hot surge of instinct and training narrowed her thoughts to the grim necessity waiting below.

  Holding the rope adjacent to her own line, Parva swept his hand downward. Mikial took a long breath, then eased herself over the lip enough to find the cliff face with her feet. She pushed hard with her legs. The cliff receded into dark shadows as her line sang between her hands. Gritting her teeth, Mikial let her legs absorb the impact as she swung back against the rocks. Again she rappelled, ignoring the sensation of plunging into some bottomless pit. She had never gone down cliffs this high.

  The pungent smell of ripe fish warned her of the ground's approach moments before she landed near a noisome mound of half-buried garbage. Mikial unlimbered her cannon.

  Adroitly missing refuse piles as he landed, Parva directed everyone up the embankment of a dirt road that ran out into the dump. Mikial moved down the rutted track and watched as the Strike flowed around a campfire two hundred spans up the road. Nearing the fire, she glanced at the three Minnerans who sat around it. Her sharp eyes detected no auras. Parva's first Line had already killed them, propping the Minnerans up like dolls. The scene repeated itself along the fringes of the dump as Datha silently dispatched their victims.

  Parva brought the Strike to a halt behind a long low building at the western edge of the dump, waiting as a pair of guards passed by the front of the structure with rifles slung over their shoulders. He pointed ahead a few spans where Servants continued piling debris in a makeshift bulwark across the road that led to Kioranna. The Strike Commander gestured for Cort to take his Line down to the right where a thin strip of reeds separated the Union barricades from the dumping grounds behind them.

  Mikial moved with her Line in a slow-motion crouch past a cluster of tents, her hunting eyes watching the Minnerans pace warily along their defenses. A sea borne wind kept the Line's scent away from their prey. She located her first target. It was one of those lethal heavy repeating guns supplied by Ryan's race. A crew had fixed its heavy center tripod upon an overturned cart. The soldiers around it were not sleeping; Mikial's nostrils picked up the savory smell of murr from the cups they held.

  After pointing her kill zone out to Cort, Mikial eased herself into a prone position within the reeds. She unclipped a triangular piece of metal from the round firing chamber between the handles of her cannon. Mikial screwed the splitter onto the end of the barrel, hoping the spray of lightning would destroy both the repeater and anyone within ten paces of it. Hunkering down, she waited for the signal flare from Eighth Force.

  * * * *

  It was only a short time before a red streak arced out from the cliffs above, outlining the Minnerans in crimson highlights. The Servants gave panicked shouts and aimed their weapons down the road in front of them.

  Filled with a quick influx of energy, Mikial flipped the sliders to engage her cannon batteries; her fingers slipping from the immediate surge of sweat across her palms. She took aim and discharged. White-hot fingers slammed into the knot of soldiers around their repeating gun, hurling them across the barricade. The initial clap of thunder was sustained in the barrels of her Line's new rifles as they fired in volley. More Minneran soldiers were thrown forward, the front of their special vests exploding in crimson spray as the new Qurl bullets tore through them.

  “Roll their right flank!” Cort Havada roared over the din as Mikial rapidly recovered from her initial discharge. She spun on her belly to catch dozens of Union soldiers bursting from tents to the Line's left. The dirt beneath her danced from the shock wave of her next blast. The angry snap of Qurl bullets over Mikial's head sent the few survivors to their deaths.

  Lunging to her feet, Mikial dashed along the heaps of broken furniture and corpses. She gave a warning signal to Cort after a staccato burst ripped across the coastal road in front of her. Repeater cannon further up the barricade, she realized. Falling to one knee, Mikial spun the splitter off the cannon as a line of bullets stitched back toward her. She drew hard and fired at a muzzle flash fif
ty spans ahead. The Union gun was silenced in a brilliant detonation.

  She was next aware of Cort dragging her down the road embankment as the Line rushed past. “Condition,” he ordered.

  “Discharge ... stun,” Mikial gasped. “Don't think the batteries had much in them that time."

  “You lit up like a lightning rod,” her Line Officer grunted, glancing around with his rifle ready. “Let's go. Seventh Force will be through here any moment."

  Mikial struggled to her feet, strength and wits slowly returning as she recovered. She grabbed her cannon and scrambled to rejoin her Line. They had pinned down a group of defenders between themselves and Parva's Line further down the beach. A fresh crash of sound behind her announced the arrival of Seventh Force overrunning what few enemy elements still manned the barricade. The Eastern Union's line was not only being rolled up, it was disintegrating.

  Strokes of lightning from beyond Parva's location suggested that the Minneran defenses had firmed up.

  Cort slapped her back. “Head up there and help our other gunner."

  Mikial sped across the road and through a drying yard where nets stretched over large wooden racks. A spray of bullets sent her to ground, bits of splintered board rebounding off her armor. Crawling forward, she joined a Datha behind a pile of salty wet netting. Mikial bared her teeth in a hiss. Half of that Datha's head and shoulder were gone.

  What sounded like another heavy repeater cannon hammered a vicious swath through the yard, shattering heavy timbers into kindling. The crack of a Qurl gunner's weapon answered. Sighting the cannon flash, Mikial realized she was now left of Parva's position. He had wisely avoided the area around the drying nets. The corpse beside her was a grim reminder that even the new armor had its limits.

  Hunkering down as more bullets smashed around her, Mikial flicked her battery levers to recharge and gripped the cannon handles to recharge them. Two discharges later, she reset the fully powered batteries. Mikial looked up. Dawn was coming, which meant the Minnerans would be improving their aim with that gun.