Chloë

by Marcus LaGrone

  “It has been ten years since I’ve visited; I hardly remember a thing… Those odd little places I do recall were all little… as in just barely big enough to fit me at six years old…”

  “Dame Heigen,” began Raymond, “When the new fixtures were installed, where all did the workers have access to?”

  “And that is why we keep him around,” grinned Chloë.

  Raspberry, from Heather…

  Grandmother Heigen let out a small sigh and tried to think, “Oh my word, they were all over the place I’d imagine. They had to go on the roof, down into the cellar, all over the place. They started to install the lovely…” The great old lady sighed as she reflected on the false favor brought to her doorstep. “Lamps… I retired to the flower garden out back and made an afternoon of it with Caleigh. The groundskeeper might know better, he was with them a while.”

  “On it!” barked one of the Shukurae.

  “The groundskeeper has access to the house and not just the grounds?” asked Raymond.

  Grandmother Heigen nodded, “Anything to do with power or plumbing he handled.”

  “Groundskeeper is missing, his wife says he is overdue for the evening,” interjected the Shukurae.

  “Part of it all, or deceased,” murmured Raymond.

  “Things are getting very rough,” grimaced Maria. “Chloë, Heather, I think it is best that you two return with me and let the professionals handle this.”

  “No. No ma’am! I’m not leaving again without my mother!”

  “I’m with Chloë,” glared Heather.

  Maria sighed, “Alright, when you three head out again, you take some of the Shukurae with you.”

  “We can ride, that is perfectly practical,” replied Raymond. “But where to?”

  “Plumbing… Grandma, are the fountains out back still natural hydraulic or did they get replaced with conventional pumps?” asked Chloë suddenly.

  Grandmother Heigen permitted herself a small smile, “No, they are still natural hydraulic. Three hundred years old and still work perfectly. That was craftsmanship!”

  “So the water lines still run up to the reservoir?”

  “Yes, the feedstock comes from the lake on the borderlands…”

  “The borderlands that face House Bretmyre!”

  Panic gripped the old lady’s face as the obviousness of the situation, “My cousin Prince Albert of the Bretmyre stood against your father in Great Civil War!”

  “That’s his out!” snarled Raymond. “The Bretmyres would gladly take in anyone to force House Amsterval’s hand!”

  “I thought my mother’s marriage was supposed to have helped smooth over some of that,” murmured Chloë.

  “My guess is not enough,” growled Raymond. “So he follows the access tunnels up to the lake and then takes a gavesled over to the Bretmyre’s?”

  “No gravsleds, just sail boats,” replied Grandmother Heigen.

  “Unless he planted one when the work was being done on the château,” finished Chloë. “Well, what are we doing standing here? Send people to our side of the lake to head him off and we’ll go chase him up the access tunnels!”

  “That is bordering on a plan!” grinned Heather. “Hey! Any of you Shukurae up for a run!”

  61

  Shukurae warriors… noted in most dictionaries as a redundant concept. The Shukurae had been the pawns, the slaves of the Gelkin Empire for over a thousand years. Warriors that entire time, they had earned respect far and wide. Even now, two hundred years after their liberation, their warrior tradition still dominated their cultural personality, their psyche, their very being. Caught flat footed by Reinhardt’s earlier gambit, they were eager to even the score. A dozen warriors, Shukurae warriors, held the hall in case of a double cross. Another dozen were soon running down the long corridors of the château towards the cellars and the access tunnels beyond. Their great three meter frames stooping only when they hit the tunnels. There on the back of three of them rode Chloë, Heather and Raymond; Line Centurion Watzkel herself carrying Lady Chloë. The tradition of transporting Highland Taiks on their back had started those two hundred years ago when the Shukurae and Highlanders first fought alongside each other. A tradition that was unlikely to change anytime soon as generations of Taiks and Shukurae had made such teaming into an art. The three Taiks, Highlanders by both birth and now choice, were not the seasoned veterans that normally worked alongside the Shukurae, but what they lacked in experience, they made up for in pure determination.

  “There, up on left,” bellowed Chloë. “Turn!”

  There was no pause for questions, the Shukurae plowed ahead as directed. Down the long halls of the cellars they approached what had to be the outer foundation wall.

  “Look for a big thick door about thirty meters ahead. That should open to the access tunnel under the back gardens and fountains!”

  A few brief seconds later there was the unmistakable sound of a Shukurae putting his shoulder to a wooden door. Only seven centimeters thick, the door instantly shattered. It barely slowed down the juggernaut in question.

  “Taik! Injured!” barked the lead after just a few short steps.

  Chloë gritted her teeth and hoped it wasn’t some poor soul who had just accidentally gotten in the way at the wrong time…

  “Groundskeeper, bound, unconscious. Serious head trauma,” came the quick appraisal of the situation.

  “Life threatening?”

  “Questionable, it looks pretty serious.”

  “Farmak, tend to the injured and evacuate as needed. Everyone else, plow on!” bellowed Watzkel.

  The Shukurae had barely made it down to a jog when they expertly picked the pace back up and continued down the long halls.

  Chloë gritted her teeth nervously as they ran down halls with much lower ceilings. Her nervousness was unwarranted: Watzkel and the other two with passengers ducked lower yet to make sure everyone was safe. Chloë risked a glance over her shoulder and noticed that Raymond had shifted his grip and posture to the side so he was barely peeking over his ride’s shoulder and the Shukurae had reflexively raised his height back up, enabling him to run faster. Chloë tried to mimic Raymond’s posture and was rewarded as Watzkel’s tempo picked back up. What would normally have been weeks or months of training she was having to learn now, on the job.

  After several long minutes they broke into a larger maintenance room. Extra pipes and fittings graced the far wall while the great feed pipes fed into the narrower ones that feed the fountains. The bleed water drained out through holes in the floor.

  “Ozone. Some sort of vehicle,” blurted the lead.

  Chloë blinked, she couldn’t smell a thing. The Shukurae were unreal…

  “Tracks on the ground… and then wheel marks in the dust.”

  “Hypothesis: Lady Caleigh was loaded onto a service vehicle and they headed uphill.”

  “Hypothesis operational,” barked Watzkel in agreement. “Lady Chloë, do those ladders lead topside?”

  Chloë blinked as she looked across the gloom, “Yes, ma’am. Those should come out behind the back of the château.”

  “I want higher ceilings,” barked Watkel. “Keshem and back, give pursuit up the tunnels. Everyone else, topside. We chase overland!”

  Four Shukurae broke off from the group and ran like they were on fire up the long tunnel. Watzkel quickly moved to the access ladder. It was a narrow passage, obviously never designed for someone as large as a Shukurae and Chloë quickly became nervous they would even fit.

  Watkel grabbed the base of the ladder, “Lady Chloë, sit on my head, feet on my shoulders. Grab my tusks if you need extra stability!”

  Chloë blinked twice, sit on her head? Chloë moved as instructed more out of reflex than anything else, obviously Watzkel knew what she was doing… right? Extra stability indeed! Chloë immediately went for Watzkel’s tusks as the pair started up the ladder. They were going to fit, but just barely. Chloë permitted herself a brief chuckle: sitting on Watzkel�
�s head got her out of the way, and it wasn’t like Watzkel needed to see in order to go up a ladder.

  Moments later they were back above ground. Watkel helped the other two with ‘riders’ and then left the rest to fend for themselves as the threesome bolted across the landscape. Now out in the open, the Shukurae turned on the speed. They were sprinting, but it was several kilometers to the base of the dam, much less climb up the sides. How long could they maintain such speed before collapsing from exhaustion? A kilometer out, four other Shukurae had finally caught up and seven proud warriors made good time.

  “Problems getting clearance for a gunship,” barked one as he listened in on the com traffic.

  “Not surprised,” barked Watzkel. “Keep moving people!”

  The other four Shukuare ditched their battlepacks and they all poured on more steam. Chloë worried about them not having the extra supplies but the obviousness struck her a heartbeat later, this wasn’t going to become a long running gun battle. It would probably all end with a single shot.

  They hit the stairs at the base of the dam and launched upward, two mighty steps to a flight at a time. Like mountain goats they sprang up the side. Chloë gritted her teeth as she noticed two Shukurae starting to fall behind, their endurance amazing but not unbounded. Even Watzkel was breathing heavily. Could they last? Chloë gritted her teeth, of course they could last! They had come too far to fail now!

  Raymond’s Shukurae lost his footing and Raymond expertly leaped onto the back of the next nearest one. Without breaking stride with her new passenger, his new ride quickly made up the lost time as they continued the arduous climb.

  They were all breathing hard as they leaped over the security rails and started the long run across the top of the dam towards the boat dock. Up ahead, they could make out some form of movement!

  Raymond lifted a flare gun off of his ride and fired it high overhead. A moment later the flare drowned out the nighttime gloom and gave them a clear view of the docks: Reinhardt trying to start the engines on a compact gravsled with bound Caleigh on back. A collective snarl filled the air and the Shukurae somehow managed to accelerate again: their prey in their sights, they found their second wind!

  Raymond tucked his left foot into shoulder straps of his charge and braced his right foot on the lower buckles as he brought his pulse rifle up to bear. He kept his knees bent to soak the rolling motion and trained carefully downrange.

  Chloë cringed as the first three rounds burst down range at mach six. She reflexively feared for Caleigh but knew Raymond wouldn’t have fired if he had felt there was a risk to her mother. As the second burst struck home, Chloë suddenly understood what Raymond was doing. He had shot out the power relay that Reinhardt was using to start the engines! But how close were the engines to being able to start on their own already?

  They were down to five now, the three riders and two escorts as they raced down onto the docks and tore after Reinhardt. The worble of the engine slowly coming online made Chloë’s stomach tie in a knot, Raymond had been too late. The sound of their quarry about to escape, however, put the final spurs into Watzkel as she exploded forward.

  “She’s not going to make it,” grimaced Raymond.

  Watzkel wasn’t listening. She wasn’t doing anything but running. Running straight for Reinhardt and his gravseld as its engines finally sprang to life. The butterflies of a moment earlier vanished from Chloë’s stomach as Watzkel radiated determination and Chloë ate it up! The gravsled was pulling away… and Watzkel was obviously getting ready to jump… A gutteral scream of defiance erupted from Watzkel as she leapt off the dock toward the departing vessel. She had thrown everything at it, but was still coming up short…

  Chloë’s eyes narrowed, locked onto to the bound form of her mother laying there on the back of the gravsled. Apologies would have to be made in the morning, of course, for Watzkel would soon be bloodied, but Chloë had made up her mind, and failing wasn’t part of it. Chloë’s scream rivaled Watzkel’s, if not in volume, than in raw determination. She felt her claws extend as she pushed off from Watzkel’s back. Only minutes earlier she had been embarrassed to be sitting on Watzkel’s head, now she was using Watzkel’s head and face as a springboard. With claws at full extension, she kicked off from the Shukurae’s head and leapt into the gloom after her mother.

  62

  The first sparring practice Heather had taught her was all about how to fall down without hurting yourself. Chloë had been a good student, but not quite good enough as it was immediately obvious she had dislocated her shoulder on the landing and subsequent roll. But Chloë didn’t care, she was on the back of the gravsled!

  Caleigh’s eyes went wide as she gazed upon her daughter. They went wider yet as Chloë invoked her Live Steel short sword in a majestic blue display and effortlessly cut free the binder on her mother’s arms. Effortlessly from Caleigh’s perspective: the pain in Chloë’s shoulder lashed out at her all but flooring her. Her mother bade her attention, for something was suddenly important, but the pain from her shoulder engulfed her mind.

  Suddenly Chloë found herself staring at the nighttime sky as a new wave of a pain rushed over her. She watched her blade skittle over the side of the craft with complete disregard, it was Live Steel, she could bring it back. The pain on her face, however, wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. She tried to regain her wits as she spat blood from her mouth. Through a blood soaked eye she could make out Reinhardt. Apparently he had floored her with a well-placed roundhouse and was coming back to finish the job. Her face throbbed, her eye burned and the metallic taste of blood rounded out her grim mood. Her shoulder, now in an argument with her head as to who could cause the most pain, was not her friend. But she had just begun.

  “Stupid girl! You and that Highland bitch messed up everything!” bellowed Reinhardt as he went for the fishing gaff on the wall.

  “Say what you want about me, but don’t insult Heather,” snarled Chloë as she charged Reinhardt.

  Reinhardt struck high and clumsily with the hook. Chloë ducked and slid into Reinhardt, narrowly missing getting kicked again. Chloë rolled over and looked up at Reinhardt. She was in no condition to grapple, she was in no real condition to fight at all. But she knew how to make an exit. With a growl that would have been at home on the ancient forests of twenty million years past, Chloë summoned up what strength she had left and brought her Live Steel sword along for the ride.

  Reinhardt cried out in pain as Chloë drove her sword through his foot and into the deck. She stopped only when the hilt was flush with the top of his foot and then rolled clear, back toward her mother. Chloë ignored the barrage of insults hurled her way as Reinhardt fruitlessly tried to pull the sword out of his foot. The blade was wedged fast and Chloë didn’t care, she had someplace else to be. She staggered over to central console and grabbed an emergency floatation device before grabbing her mother and jumping off the back of the gravsled.

  They hit the water hard and Chloë fought to maintain her breath. They had gone over the side at some speed and her dress was ill suited for swimming, but she didn’t care. She looked around in the gloom and found her mother had already activated the floatation device, it inflated at once and its soft emergency beacon flashed in the night. Sidestroke! Chloë laughed to herself through the pain as she finally had a use for those swimming lessons so many years ago. Why sidestroke when there are so many better, faster strokes? With one arm lame, she made excellent use of her swimming skills even if her dress was unobliging. In a fury of strokes she reached her mother and the safety of the flotation aid.

  She watched in sinister glee as Reinhardt started to fade into distance, the gravsled still going and the errant knight was still fighting to free his foot from the deck. Chloë thought of a thousand things to say, to yell out at the source of her frustration. A thousand unflattering words rolled by in her head. A thousand words that would have made Heather blush and hide. But no, she said nothing, she just laughed and hugged her mother tight.r />
  The sonic boom from a nearby projectile is a disturbing event. Chloë had never appreciated that; a fact that she was none too shy to admit. But Chloë had been right earlier: it all ended with a single shot. A single well placed shot from Raymond, prone on the deck, watching them disappear into the distance. Chloë watched Reinhardt slump to the deck and quickly turned away. She was glad it was over. She was glad Reinhardt was gone, but she didn’t want to dwell on the sight of it all.

  Giddy from pain Chloë called out, “Hi mom!” and her mother tearfully responded doing her best to cradle her daughter while still holding on safely. Chloë just lay in the water and relaxed the best she could. Far in the distance she could hear the sounds of Shukurae barking back in forth in their native tongue. Help was coming. She was just tired, tired of everything. An errant grab by her mother reminded Chloë that her shoulder was still in a horrible shape, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need to care… There were good people watching over her.

  63

  Chloë waved with her good arm to the pilot of the human drop ship that had so graciously returned her home. The Highlands. She stood there with Raymond, Maria, Heather and the army of thirteen year old girls. Chloë beamed at Heather as they started the trek across that every-so-wonderful field of wildflowers and down to the ancient bridge. Chloë’s arm was in a sling, likely to stay that way for a month, but she still wore a broad and honest smile. Prince Philip had never recovered from his… condition, and thus by default Princess Caleigh was put in caretaker charge of the entire principality. The earl was so good at arranging such things… She laughed to herself as she knew Earl Kevin of the Lakes was presently in route to visit dear Anna in the hospital. Chloë’s smiles grew broader yet as they met up with glowing Gwen and the rest of the children. The entire ensemble was soon on their way back to the house.