The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2)

by M. D. Presley

  Luca saw the same in him as he nodded to Crum’s companion. “This all you brought?”

  “Needed to see the notes first before I put my neck out further.”

  “Then you’ll have to wait,” Luca answered. “My partner has them, and he won’t show until you make good.” Well aware the man carried no gunpowder, Luca hoped they would finally turn to violence or be done with the charade.

  Crum chuckled. “Canny stripling, this one. No novice, you. Tomorrow, then, just the four of us, three packages and hard currency. What do you say?”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  Crum and Barber disappeared back into the dark, and Luca meandered back to town as he awaited Isabelle’s arrival. She did not show by the time he reached the city’s outskirts, where he lingered. A few moments turned to minutes, which extended into hours. Unable to keep his hands idle, he whittled then paced when the wood was through. He found his mind turning to Bo and his tobacco pouch. It had always helped alleviate a bout of nerves, and Luca considered accosting some tavern patrons to acquire some when Isabelle finally rode up. She had walked out to the tree along with him, yet his relief kept him from noticing the horse.

  “Where were you?”

  =Following. Found camp and prize. Fifteen men and two women. Strong, but lazy. Could take. No trade.

  Luca waved her idea away. “They have no intention of trading.”

  =I know. Wears cloth around. Red like dream. Seas of blood waiting. Death there, so correct we take and give nothing.

  The audacity of her plan attracted him, but he could not overcome the hard facts. “And you expect we kill all seventeen of them, just the two of us?”

  =Much less when they leave to make trade and we not there. Take then. Or run away if too many.

  Her idea had a seductive simplicity to it, but she was burdened by her inability to think of other people. They existed in a society, after all, and Luca believed there was no reason to risk their lives when others were more than willing to do it for them.

  ***

  The Woods Walker lieutenant, one Ole Swilling, did not initially believe Luca’s promise to take them straight to their target, so Luca interspersed his tall-tale with the truth. Explaining how Crum’s companion approached him, the mention of the red sash sparked Swilling’s full attention, and within the hour he, Luca, Isabelle, and Swilling’s squad of eight rode out. Dressed in her Mynian best, Isabelle led the party through Luca’s voice despite riding behind him. He kept mum as to her running commentary about their vaunted woodcraft skills, which she insisted were rudimentary at best.

  A half-mile from their objective, Luca called a halt. Swilling’s men dismounted and spread out among the scrub, leaving just the three of them as the afternoon waned. Although cagey with his thoughts, Swilling could not hide his disdain at the dandy and his servant beside him.

  “And the red sash really meant nothing, far as you knew?”

  “Should it have?” Luca inquired in mock ignorance.

  “Covenant rebels still wear the crimson in memory of their flag. We’ll put them all down eventually, but you were in more danger than you knew. Probably your ignorance what saved you.”

  Swilling’s men soon reappeared to confirm Crum’s presence and give a final check over their muskets and sabers. Aware Crum and his crew would depart before dusk, they hastily spread out to cover the area from numerous angles. Although only nine with Swilling joining his men as Luca and Isabelle remained behind, the rangers seemed quite cavalier about facing a force nearly double their own. All finally in place, Swilling’s voice rang out:

  “Abandon arms and submit!”

  The harrier encampment immediately fell to disarray, some dropping to their knees while others gazed about for their unseen assailants. Two men reached for their sabers and gauche daggers, three reports ending them before they could even ascertain their attackers. Watching from afar, Luca hoped this would quell the confrontation, but it only spurred the erstwhile Easterners on. Grabbing weapons then cover, the remaining Covenant Sons dug in. Luca never saw such savagery or such an unwillingness to buckle in the face of insurmountable odds before. The rangers never in any danger as they winnowed away at the harriers’ numbers, it was more an execution than battle. Even when the Easterners rallied and charged against a Newfield flank, the report of Western shots cut the press short.

  The rally turned out to be a feint, Crum somehow riding away during the charge. Several musket balls buried themselves into the horse’s flank, its gallop quickly devolving into a stumble, but it still continued on. Luca assumed the rangers would be able to track the dying beast in no time, but Isabelle suddenly hied her horse after him. Luca yelled at her to stop, but she persisted. Driving his heels into his horse’s flanks, Luca rode after his bietala.

  He quickly caught up with her, the girl slowing down as she fiddled with her sling. For the longest time, Isabelle used stones smoothed from streams until Luca showed her bearings. Soon as she tried the perfectly spherical lead weights, Isabelle increased her deadly aim a hundredfold. Slipping a lead shot into her pouch, she got in a few rotations when Luca’s words caught up to her:

  “Turn around!”

  Her horse turned immediately, Isabelle’s left hand guiding it. Her right still spun the sling, the girl twisting in her saddle to make the release. Her aim ever-true, Crum crumpled a moment later in his saddle. Luca hoped that would end it, but Isabelle urged her mount forward when Crum toppled from his horse. Riding down her fallen prey with a black-bladed knife in hand, Isabelle dismounted to reach for his hair when Crum struck.

  She was certainly swifter, her knife slashing several times, but Crum barreled through to overpower her with his size alone. One hand clamped to her throat, the other wrenching her arm with the knife as if he intended to tear her apart with his bare hands.

  “Stop,” Luca called as he leapt down. Crum wheeled, keeping the barely conscious Isabelle between them. Her head bobbled like a straw-doll’s, and for that, Crum earned his end.

  “Your horse in trade and she sees—”

  Luca never broke stride, his lockblade drawn, distance covered, and Crum’s throat rent before the man even realized Luca’s intent. Arterial blood quickly covered them both, but Luca paid no mind. Crum fell, Isabelle teetering as Luca reached for her.

  Her full consciousness returned before he caught her, the girl quickly dropping to reclaim her fallen knife. Flipping it to an underhand hold Erro would never have approved, the blade dug into the dying Crum again and again. Her guttural cry sounded inhuman, but Luca caught the word “chi-hoo-atgo” from her Mind as she continued to carve Crum’s corpse. The first few swings he allowed her, the woman due her revenge, but when she started mutilating his face, Luca caught her hand.

  Isabelle wheeled, her other hand rearing into a fist. He recoiled from the impending strike and received her kiss full-force instead. She tasted of a passion borne of the wild intermingled with the blood still lingering on her lips, the latter flavor forcing Luca to push her away.

  =Weak.

  “He was strong enough to overcome you.” Despite how it might appear to her, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand to rid himself of the taste of blood.

  =You weak. This life. True freedom of the outside. Kill. Take. Keep. Safe.

  “Jaelle,” he sputtered. “My heart belongs to her.”

  =I know. What makes you weak. Motions with no meaning. Make far better wife than Jaelle. She ever kill for you?

  Her question disgusted him, Luca doing all he could to keep his voice steady. “We need to get his body back. Keep our stories straight. I was the one who killed him.”

  =I will stay silent.

  Isabelle’s barked laugh punctuated her statement, but Luca found no humor in it. As she turned away, he blew upon his imbued Listener pin. Soon as it glowed, Luca wondered why he had even bothered in the first place.

  ***

  Upon seeing Isabelle’s face, Swilling asked no questions as to the state
of Crum’s corpse. Looking at the clean slice beneath all the savage cuts, he approved of the dandy Luca somehow avenging the assault against his servant. The how or why never came into question, only what Luca was willing to do that earned him the ranger’s respect. His head more attuned to separating the survivors from the corpses, Swilling scarcely paid Luca any mind until the Dobra spoke.

  “Where’s the powder?”

  “Powder? Thank Sol they had none. With powder they may have stood a chance.”

  Upon hearing their prize never existed, Luca could not comprehend why Isabelle barked another laugh.

  Chapter 29

  Blotmonad 29, 567

  The colonel’s uniform Ed produced looked old and the insignia a little suspect, but Marta decided they would suffice. She encountered a similar ensemble on most nights while forging battle plans with Bumgarden, but never dreamed she would one day wear one. Her new disguise complete, she covered it with an overcoat Ed provided. She refused to admit it aloud, but his forethought impressed her. More impressive was the Home Guardsman uniform, complete with bear-headed pin and pistol. Ed noticed her interest, nodding grimly.

  “There’s a bounty out on ‘em, but the man who delivered that one refused it. Just doing his duty, he said. Left it to us to wash out the blood though.”

  The Whisperer wearing the uniform, introduced by Ed only as Jewell, winced at the admission. Too young to have served, Marta wondered what tragedy drove him to the Covenant Sons. She also worried at the boy’s mettle as he tried to roll himself a cigarette with trembling fingers. Guardsmen were known for their sense of superiority, and she hoped the bounty on their heads would account for her accomplice’s trepidation. Thin and with greasy hair he wore too long, Marta made him tuck it up under his cap. He looked more the part then, and she prayed he would prove as useful as Ed claimed.

  She and Luca spent the previous night walking the edge of the university campus. Skirting as close to the barracks as they dared, they picked up the lay of the land. The soldiers at the base seemed almost arrogant, having erected only a low stockade not even chest-high that they patrolled in pairs. Even a child could climb such a wall, and at first, she wondered at their lack of foresight. Then she realized their indifference was intentional, inviting the citizens of Ceilminster to see them at their formations and drills to remind them of their place. This lazy fort in the heart of the Eastern Weaver stronghold under the airship’s shadow was an intended reminder, and Marta wondered if Bumgarden himself insisted on its design.

  Finally sure she correctly committed it to memory, they returned to Isabelle and Caddie. Although her body begged for sleep, Marta spent the morning with paper and pen forging orders. During the war, she saw her share of such missives, Bumgarden often handing them to her for her opinion, and she hoped their style had not altered much in the two intervening years. It would be the Whisperer Jewell’s job to ensure they were accepted, but Marta cut no corners in her facsimile. Her finger did not help, but did not hinder her terribly either. Declaring it healed through Luca’s voice, Isabelle removed the splint, leaving Marta with a tender digit. It throbbed constantly, but Marta made sure to flex it open and closed fifty times before retiring to her bedroll.

  The fake orders taking possession of the daemon heart would only come into play if Luca’s part in the plan proved fruitful. Riding out east of the Cousins’ station on the ley, he would send an urgent message alerting the base to Colonel May Oles’ imminent arrival. It possible that the Dobra manning the line might recognize his message as false, she, Jewell, and Ed would watch the station. If a courier immediately departed for the barracks, she and the Whisperer would quickly follow. If more Cousins were summoned, it meant they discovered the deceit and their mission would be scrapped. Either way, Luca would remain on the ley to Listen for any messages sent back east into Meskon to the real May Oles. If any went through, he would answer as if Oles to soothe any suspicion. After two hours, he would then ride to the designated meeting spot on the north side of town. If the heart was delivered and everything appeared to be in good faith, he would summon Isabelle, who was to be in possession of Caddie somewhere even Marta would be unaware. How Luca would accomplish this feat, Marta had little clue, but Isabelle nodded without incident when he said it, and Marta suspected it had something to do with her glowing locket.

  Ed seemed impressed by her forethought as well, only hesitating a moment before asking, “Why tonight? Why not wait another few for me to put more men into play?”

  “The best Tinkers will tell you, the more moving parts, the more pieces to break down. Best keep it simple as we can.”

  “If this is your simple,” Ed smiled, “hard would right boggle the mind.”

  Marta offered him a thin grin to sweeten her lie. The real reason was the familiar amethyst Breath she spied hovering over their camp that morning. She only told Luca and Isabelle about their predator’s reappearance before breaking camp and scattering. Although a solitary creature, there existed a chance Graff would barrack at the Newfield base they intended to invade, and Marta hoped this potentiality would play to their advantage. Only a raving lunatic would willingly enter the lion’s den, and so she believed he would not think to search his own lair.

  And if he did appear, she might even finish the Render once and for all. Luca assured her up and down Isabelle’s stone blade could cut Breath same as glass, but it had barely hurt her. So far, her odd Armor appeared invincible to bullets and glass, so perhaps his deadly glass dagger would shatter against her before she shattered his spine.

  She prayed she was correct, but still held Caddie extra close, memorizing every detail in case this was their last encounter.

  ***

  A relieved sigh escaped Marta when the bleary-eyed quartermaster arrived. Midnight had scarcely passed when they set her plan into motion, arriving just minutes after the Dobra courier carried their message to the barracks to ensure this very bleary eventuality. She had no doubt it was that same unopened message he held in his hand as he stepped into his office. Not allowing her prey to get his bearings, she handed over false orders before willfully ignoring her subordinate.

  “Hmm. Well…” he trailed off as he took a seat at his desk. He reached for a cigar and spark box, Marta pounding the table to get his full attention.

  “I don’t care to be kept waiting,” she said, making it a point to glance at his insignia as she revealed her own from under the overcoat, “Captain…?”

  “Donalds,” he replied. The fear she saw gratified her to no end as he quickly peered over his new orders. It was replaced immediately by confusion, which was less desirable.

  “Which regiment did you oversee during the troubles?”

  He glanced up, Marta making sure her displeasure at his eyes leaving the page greeted him. She needed to keep him distracted long enough for Jewell to ply his Whisperer trade, so more questions were due.

  “The 16th,” he offered before returning to his orders.

  “Then you served under Junkins.” It was not hard to express her hate at the name, Junkins being the quartermaster during the siege of Sinton. Other than General Underhill, there were few names more despised by the Traitors Brigade, Junkins taking particular glee in ensuring they remained unsupplied during that bitter winter.

  “I did,” he said, sneaking another glance.

  “Do you remember Abner Schlater, Gonzalo Talreja, Reid Paxton, Tollie Pryor, Rupert Keating…” Marta recited the names fast as she could as she pulled back her hair to expose her brand. After hiding it so long, to reveal her ugliness made it burn again, but she made the sacrifice. As did her tongue for adding one last name to her list of friends. She knew she sullied their memory in including him, but she had run out of friends.

  “Leon Doyle?” she finally said.

  “No.”

  “It’s a shame for you I do.”

  She wished she had a Tinker’s camera to capture his reaction when he beheld her brand and understood her hate. Or perhaps i
t was Jewell’s doing that made him hurry to his feet, but Marta suddenly suspected she could have pulled this fraud off on her own.

  “Just a moment for me to bring it out, sir.”

  He made for the door, Marta and Jewell just a step behind him. “Secrecy is the currency of the hour, so just the three of us.”

  “But,” he stammered, “you’ll need a cart and several men to load it.”

  “My associate will ready the cart. And I assure you, its weight will be of no account,” she added, letting some of her Shaper glow to slip out.

  ***

  Armed with the quartermaster’s script, Jewell departed to acquire the cart and horses while Marta followed Donalds into the building’s bowels. Weaving between boxes and crates, he finally came to a massive safe. He hid the combination with his body, but her Cindra training ensured she stole it before he swung the door wide. Pausing as he looked over his notes, he seemed oblivious to the glass heart on the center shelf before noticing Marta’s incredulity.

  “I need to make sure it’s all there.”

  “It is. I’ve seen more than my fair share.” It indeed looked too heavy for one man to carry, and Marta readied her mental plans. Her odd Armor would make quick work of it, but the sight of it would certainly rouse suspicion. Even Abner’s childish Armor she summoned to lift the daemon heart free earned her a raised eyebrow from Donalds as she struggled under its weight.

  “Are you paid hourly?” she forced out between clenched teeth.

  “You’ll need to sign for it.”

  “At the cart.” She did not bother to look back to see if he followed. “And step quickly.”

  ***

  Jewell demonstrated his worth when she arrived to find the cart and two hitched horses. Happy to be finally free of the heavy heart, Marta deposited it in the back and Jewell affixed an oilcloth over it. Out of breath and sweating, she realized her state was not from the exertion, but from the idea they were nearly free. She had seen no inkling of Graff or his accursed Breath and therefore dared to entertain the idea they might meet Hendrix that night without any additional impediments.