“At first, humans were easy to deal with. I could march ‘em and counter march ‘em until they fell down, then I killed them. If they didn’t march after me, then I did whatever I wanted. They couldn’t fight me. They couldn’t not fight me. Marching was my best weapon. The Malachites knew this and damn them, they solved that problem.
“One day, those humans just kept on marching like dwarves, and when they fought, they fought like lions. That wasn’t natural. I needed to know why. Fortunately for me, Altyn and Imeni walked in looking for a job. They were just the people that I needed at exactly the right time. I set those Astreans on the trail.
“Those two discovered that the Malachites were using a substance called Red Snake. It gave strength to the weakened will and relieved the body of the burdens of sleep. It was a strong weapon. The Malachites had lots of it, so I presumed that they could make lots of it cheap. Now that I knew about it, I could account for it.
“If that had been their only new weapon, I could have stomped them, but the Malachites were smarter than that. They might be faithless dwarves, but they are still dwarves.
“The Malachites developed an intelligence weapon. They routinely learned my plans as fast as I could make ‘em. They knew who was where before I did. They used that information to its full potential. They tried knocking me down and kicking me in the face at every opportunity. Even so, they had a hard time of it. I had a veteran army that knew how to fight. When it came down to a scrap, we fought better.
“Still, sooner or later I knew that the Malachites would either get lucky or figure out how to fight. I needed their advantages nullified, so I put those two Astreans back on the job.
“The secret was in the encrypted documents that we had been capturing. They deduced the Malachite cypher just by using math. Incredible.
“They showed that there was somebody called a Red Sybil behind everything. Now, if you were a student of ancient history, you would know exactly what that means. Since you aren’t, I’ll explain it to you. Back during the Crusade of Light, the sole purpose of the Battle of Knessex, which we just commemorated, was to ambush and kill the one and only Red Sybil in the Oathbreaker army. Their reasoning back then was pretty much the same as mine was on the campaign. The enemy’s superior intelligence was killing them.
“Learning about the Red Sybil was the most exciting moment of my life. Over a millennium had passed since any general had had the opportunity to kill a Red Sybil, and now it fell to me to order her death. I felt honored.
“I personally led the mission. Altyn, Imeni, and I snuck into their great and wonderful capital, Charyastos. What an adventure that was. We picked up some convenient revolutionaries just itching to spark a rebellion, including a band of Black Tigers, and we fought our way into one of the lesser royal palaces.
“We kicked their asses. I personally lopped off the Red Sybil’s head. The girls grabbed the papers and the Red Sybil’s personal drugs, and we got out of there. We let the revolutionaries burn the place to the ground. They took the whole blame.
“When the girls started using the Red Sybil’s drug, they got the same visions. By controlling those drugs, we could control the intelligence. We learned what the Malachites were doing, and not surprisingly, what they were doing was finally getting smart. The Malachite Emperor knew that they would lose without that Sybil, so the Emperor decided to change his strategy and buy off our allies. That, my friends, was a smart move. The Phoenix Empire was broke and happy to take the reparations. Without those allies, we didn’t have enough manpower to control the ground, and whoever says otherwise is an idiot.
“Learning that, I had a choice to make and I made it. I give no apologies for it. I chose to protect my veteran field army. I wasn’t going to lose them on a point of pride. I’d rather lose territory than my army. During the winter, I retreated. Desperate move, I knew, but it had to be done. I had to maintain control of the cannon. I lost a whole lot of Horsebreakers that winter, more than I ever wanted. It was worth it. I denied our enemy our superior weapons.
“Those cowards in the Slagsmal sacked me for that. But what was I to do? I wasn’t losing my field army over a lost cause. It’s better to keep your army and lose your pride. Pride is cheaper and easier to rebuild.
“My replacement was an idiot. If you notice, my replacement refused to negotiate, utterly failed to beat back the Malachites, and lost the far end of the Canyon Bridge. That was an absolutely avoidable loss. Did they exile him for his stupidity? No, of course not. He didn’t even get a no confidence vote. Fortunately for us, somebody decided he needed a long visit with the White Lady. I’ve always supected Jasper.”
Svero lay down. “Enough of that. I need my sleep. I’ve been up too damned many days in a row.”
The silence sank back in. The wheels rattled lightly on the road. Maran’s sleep stole up on her. The world seemed far away.
The wagon’s light barely lit the houses. Large shadows loomed up, then fell away as quickly. Shadows played on shadows, making things that were not there, and hiding things that were. The wagon’s lantern light found many creatures that lived in the night. A rat. A cat hunting the rat. A pig rooting through garbage. A dog.
Maran nodded. Her brain stirred like molasses. Her senses pushed against the sleep.
No, that dog walking by the wagon was not a dog. It was too long and lean. It was a soul hound. It was a soul hound that paced the wagon, and it was not Kepi.
Trying to rouse out of sleep, Maran grabbed the driver’s arm. “Death is out there. Driver, gallop. Gallop! The hounds are there. Gallop!”
The driver casually muttered a word to his horses, and they sped up to a trot. “There we go, missy,” he said, in a condescending way. Then ahead of them, in the shadows, figures moved in. They pushed in a barricade.
“Damnation. Malachites!” The driver twitched his reigns. “By Jack, I’m gonna do somethin’ stupid! Hold on!” he yelled, bursting into a gallop.
Maran twisted around, kneeling up on the driver’s bench. “There’s people out there!”
The driver twitched his reins, pulled a brake, and the horses veered, yanking the wagon’s back end around in a skipping arc, slamming it into the barricade and their ambushers.
Something banged, punching Maran in the back. It was like a huge fist had punched her. Pressure, not pain, was her first sensation. The sharp report of guns, many guns, filled her ears, their muzzles flashing like lightning.
Maran lurched forward, falling, barely missing the wagon wheel. She slammed onto the cobblestones and lost consciousness.
Holding Onto Death
The Malachites tossed Maran into a wardrobe. Their questioning of her had revealed that she was a cook, and so they had grown frustrated.
The woman in the red veil had yelled and yelled. She sounded like a songbird. She sounded like Altyn. “Who are you? How can you be a cook? Where’s the bitch?” In her incoherence, Maran could not answer. It all seemed so strange.
“You fools!” was the last thing that Maran remembered. “You incompetent fools! What did I hire you for? I’ll throw you into the river and let the turtles take you!”
As the wardrobe door slammed closed, Maran slipped into dreams and went to the Steel City.
In the city, it was predawn. The wind off the river blasted Maran, stinging her skin. The air stank of dead fish lapping among bottles that clinked from every ripple. Birds gathered around the dead fish. Turtles belched out black smoke from their smokestacks, slowly consuming the corpse of a derelict ship.
Maran walked along the riverbank. Some people fished, standing there quietly waiting for a bite. They nodded to Maran as she passed, and she nodded back. They had nothing in their baskets and nothing on their lines.
Ahead of her, filling her sight, a black iron bridge spanned the waters. On the far side, Maran saw the roundhouse of the Iron Duke. The bridge still stood open. Flashes of light told her that repair work continued apace.
Why was she walking to the bridge?
Why was she here along this river?
Thinking clearly now, Maran could remember being on the wagon, then feeling a punch that had knocked her off. They had been attacked. Maran felt her back again. It must have been a bullet. Somehow, her dress must have stopped the bullet going into her. At least, she supposed that elven cloth stopped the bullets. She would have a large bruise when she woke up.
Who had lived and who had died? Had she lived or died? Was that red veiled woman living or dead? She spoke like an Astrean. Was she the legendary Imeni? Maran did not know.
At the next gap in the buildings, Maran walked up makeshift stairs to the street. Few people were out. A man with a wagon delivered milk. A boy left bundles of papers on doorsteps. Birds pecked at things between cracks.
Along that ramshackle stretch, Maran spotted the cafe that she sometimes visited. She tried the door, but it was locked. However, with a stiff push and a few rattles, the door opened anyway.
Before she could enter, a jingle and a bark rang across the street. That sounded familiar. Maran turned around to see Kepi, her soul hound, bouncing and barking with astonishing gusto. “You look worried, girl. Look at your ears and tail. What’s the worry?”
Kepi bounded away, then came back, then away, and back.
“Oh, follow you. Go on. Go on.” Maran walked quickly.
Kepi bounded to an alley.
In the middle of the alley, between metal cans, Maran saw someone sitting and crying. It was Quema. Her hair was darker and she weighed less, but it was Quema.
“Hello, Quema,” said Maran.
Quema looked up, recognizing Maran. “Oh, no! Not you, too!” She tossed her arms around Maran.
“I’m just visiting,” said Maran.
“I don’t want to cross,” said Quema.
“You don’t have to cross.”
“He tried to cross.” Quema pointed to the bridge.
“Who is he?”
Quema clutched her right hand into a fist. “The driver. He tried to cross the bridge. He walked out saying that he could swing across on a chain or something. I tried to go, too, but that damned dog barked at me. He wouldn’t let me walk away.”
Maran touched Quema’s shoulder. “Kepi is a she, and she was looking out for you.”
“Siberhaus tried going on as well, but bird people attacked us. They chased Siberhaus. I ran away.”
“I’m here now. You are safe. I’m here. Try this. Look up.”
Quema looked up. Nothing happened. She should have waked up, but she did not. Quema was stuck here.
Maran pursed her lips. “That’s not what I hoped for. You should have left. Let’s try something else. Let’s find you someplace better.”
Maran put her arm around Quema’s waist. “Stand up and come with me. I know a good place. Can you stand up?”
“The dog!”
“Her tail is wagging. Do you see? Kepi kept you there until she could find me. I’m here now. She’ll just follow.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t die.”
Slowly, Maran coaxed Quema up. They walked arm in arm along the street. Kepi walked quietly with them.
Maran found the cafe again and pushed through the open door.
Quema looked about nervously, noting the chairs turned upside-down on the tables. “Are we allowed in here?”
“It’s the safest place that I know, but I don’t know many places.” Maran took Quema’s clenched hand. “Let’s see if anyone is upstairs.”
Maran pulled Quema up a narrow stairwell, the old wood creaking as they stepped. Gray painted steps had black rubber treads glued onto them. The top door was ajar. Its old oil paint had slowly dried, cracking the surface in long parallel lines.
The room upstairs was quiet. The lights were off. Clothes littered the floor. No one was sleeping in the bed. A stand with many lights stood dark, pots of many colors left forgotten.
Once inside, Kepi began nuzzling Quema’s hand. She moved it away and Kepi followed. When she lifted it, Kepi jumped up, springing for it.
“No!” Quema’s hand pushed hard, flinging away Kepi.
Maran had noted the clenched hand earlier, but had not thought about it. If it interested Kepi, it interested her. “Down Kepi!”
Kepi stayed down, but still eyed that hand.
“Quema, what’s in your hand?”
“I don’t know.” Quema did not look at her hand.
“Open your hand.”
“No!” Quema put her hand around her back.
Maran gently took Quema’s other wrist. She stroked Quema’s hand. “Just relax. Look at your hand. See? I am not hurting you. There is nothing to fear. Just bring your other hand around. What is in your other hand?”
“I can’t. It will hurt me.”
“It won’t hurt you. I am here with you. You are my friend. I will make you safe. May I see your other hand?”
“Is this important?”
“I am your friend and this is important. I believe that this will help you.”
Quema brought the hand around. Maran placed her hand on top, feeling the fingers tremble a little. She stroked Quema’s hand softly. “It won’t hurt you. Feel it. See it. If you see it, it can’t hurt you. I know. I’ve done this. Look.”
Quema relaxed a little. She sighed. Slowly she unclenched her hand, revealing a small stone ball. “It’s a bullet.”
Maran gently took that bullet.
Kepi barked. She jumped up and grabbed the bullet, then sped away through a wall.
Quema took a deep breath. “Why did I ever fear it?”
Maran suddenly found herself breathing as well. “I think that was good. I think that was extremely good. I think that we just saved your life.”
Quema hugged Maran for a while. “I was so scared. It wanted my heart. It wanted to rust my heart.”
Unexpectedly, Maran forgot what to say. She could not form a sentence. Something in her head said that she was waking up.
“Quema, why don’t you clean up for a while? If you want, take a little walk. The owner should show up. Tell her that Maran sent you. She should help you.”
“What about you?”
“I need to wake now. I’ll be back when I can.”
Facing the Serpent
Despite her headache, blurriness, and the deep bruises on her ribs, Maran squatted before the fire and made breakfast. Berk hauled her out of the wardrobe and told her to stand, so she stood. Berk demanded that she cook, so she cooked. What else could she do? Unfortunately, between her rampant headache and blurry vision, all the food smelled awful. Still, she would cook for the Malachites.
The food itself trickled in from various Malachite foragers. Maran wondered whether they snatched the food, beat people up, or murdered for it. The latter certainly seemed most plausible. Given how brutal the slums around Jura City could be, they weren’t the only ones doing so.
It took Maran a while, but she eventually recognized where they were. She had visited this house a few weeks back. In this place, she had driven soul hounds away from a dying criminal and saved his life. That was the same criminal who had later tried to kill Altyn.
They should have come here after the Demmarians got killed. Why hadn’t they? Or had they? Had Altyn said something about this? Maran could not remember.
The Malachites watched Maran with amusement, idly taunting her. One of them finished cleaning his brassy gun. He pointed it at Maran’s head. “Pow. Brains for breakfast.”
His companions laughed.
In some ways, Maran felt as if she were working for the Missus again. The fear was the same. The cruelty was the same. The only thing that was different was her tin frying pan.
While frying some eggs, Maran felt something nuzzle her apron, so she looked down quickly. That movement was too much for her. Vertigo twisted her around, leaving her tumbling back. Maran plopped onto the ground to a reception of laughter.
Kepi stood there, tail wagging, invisible to the mortal eyes around h
er.
A dwarf there yelled, “Gonna fry you up if you don’t work!”
Maran stood back up, kneeling this time instead of squatting.
Kepi poked her nose in the frying pan, sniffing about a bit.
“You’re curious today, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Stay out of the way as I cook. I can’t see a thing with your head in the way.”
The dog obeyed, investigating the table instead.
Maran pressed on and finished breakfast. Eggs, meat hash, and pan fried bread. It wasn’t fit for a lord, but these people were not lords.
Maran tried to taste the hash, but Kepi barked at her.
“What are you doing? Go away. The hash smells funny and it needs something.” Maran wished that she knew what was wrong, but she just could not think straight.
Maran tried to taste the hash again, but Kepi nipped her arm.
“Ow. I give. You don’t want me eating. I just wish I knew why. I’ll just feed these folks.”
Maran filled bowls and put them onto the table. This time, she had the good sense to stand slowly. The vertigo tried to twist her around, but every time it did, Maran slowed down. Standing took a long time.
The Malachites grabbed the food and wolfed it down. On tasting her cooking, the Malachites seemed impressed.
Everyone ate except their captain, Berk. He only ate the bread.
“Is something wrong, sir?” asked Maran.
“My appetite is a bit off today. Don’t bother yourself.” Berk eyed Maran. “Answer a question. Why do you work for them? The Ironmongers, I mean. They’re the ones who killed your people.”
“Why, sir? Are there any dwarves in the Union who hate us less?”
“I suppose not. Still, it shows the farce, doesn’t it. You have this great and wonderful Union that makes all dwarves equal as long they are Hadeans. How can you ally with that? I would think that you would abandon them to their own myopia.”
Standing Between Earth and Heaven Page 15
