by Devin Hanson
Andrew frowned, a growing sense of fear making his stomach twist. "And what will we do? When they catch us?"
"Catch up." she emphasized the last word. "Just because they find us by no means dictates we must roll over and submit." She dropped one hand to the holstered revolver at her waist, an unconscious gesture he hadn't seen her make before.
He cleared his throat. "Well. Uh. Look, it may surprise you, but I do have some skill in arms."
"What, your daddy sparred with you with sticks around the campfire at night?" she huffed a laugh.
No, Andrew thought to himself, but I did learn swordfighting. "More than that," he hedged, still unsure what Jules' reaction would be to his full history. "I can defend myself."
Jules gave him a long look then shrugged off her pack. "I don't have another gun," she said as she dug around inside, "but, ah. Here." She drew out a blade in a plain sheath, the hilt worn and the leather wrappings discolored from heavy use. "It's not runework, but it's reliable." She tossed it to Andrew and he grabbed it out of the air.
Andrew drew the blade. It was roughly eight inches long with only one edge honed sharp. The blade had been nicked repeatedly and the damage honed out, leaving the edge with a slight waver. It wasn't pretty, but the edge was sharp enough to shave hair off his wrist when he tested it. "It's not what I trained with," he said, giving it a few swings to test the balance, "but it's better than nothing."
"Keep it," Jules suggested. "Ever since I made this one," she patted the blade at her belt, "that one's just been sitting in my pack weighing me down."
"Thanks, Jules."
Jules turned away abruptly and swung her pack onto her back. "Sure. Gotta keep you alive if you are going to lead me to that brooder. Just don't stab yourself with that knife. It's a long way back to town, and I'm sure not going to carry you."
Andrew took a moment to strap the sheath to his pack strap where he could get to it quickly. By the time he was done, Jules had moved ahead of him out of easy earshot. He sighed and jogged to catch up. Now was not the time to get separated.
By the time noon came around, Andrew was starving. They had skipped breakfast in their haste to get out of the campsite and walking on rough terrain all morning had worked up an appetite.
Their path had taken them through a valley between two ridges, the bottom of which was thick with pine trees. The thick carpet of pine needles deadened their footfalls and gave a rich scent to the air. Occasional patches of exposed rock broke the solid tree cover, and Andrew was careful to steer them wide around them. Their cloaks were the wrong colors and pattern to give any camouflage if a dragon flew by. Fortunately the trees were thick enough to give them complete cover.
A small spring formed a pool of crystal clear water and they stopped to fill their water skins and eat. Andrew took the opportunity to ask Jules about the blade she carried.
"The knife you have," Andrew asked, as he shared out portions of hard sausage and unleavened bread from his pack, "You have a lot of runes carved into it. What do they mean?"
Jules frowned at him then sighed. "Well, if you ever get into the Academy Alchemic for real, they'd teach you them eventually. Understand, though, the secrets of the runes are what makes the Guild powerful. They do not stand for their sharing lightly."
Andrew nodded. "I've heard tales of the Guild assassins."
She laughed quietly, little to no humor in her voice. "Yes. Though they wouldn't call themselves that the description is apt."
"You're taking a risk teaching me. I wanted to say, um, it means more to me that you might think."
Jules waved a hand, dismissing it. "It's not like I'm not getting anything out of it. If we manage to collect half a dozen brooding scales, I could buy my own title, independent of my father." Her eyes glittered with something hard, a cold rage that burned for a moment before she slipped it back into whatever mental box she kept it in. "And their retribution against me would be limited. You, they'd kill out of hand, so I advise you to keep a lid on what you've learned so far. At least until you are legitimized.
"But the knife." She drew it from its sheath and held it up to catch a stray beam of sunlight. The edge glittered, and the sun caught the fine etching running all along the length of the blade. She chuckled to herself, eying it. "It's not a simple piece of runework, Andrew. You must learn to walk before you can run."
"It must have taken you ages to scribe the runes."
Jules shrugged. "Before the Tan, the steel was very soft. Could almost scratch it with your fingernail. But my Tan is very good. It's not a master Tan, there's only one Tan runemaster and that distinction belongs to Professor Milkin, but it's very good." She brought the blade over to where Andrew sat, and showed him where on the spine she had carved the Tan.
"There're two Tans," Andrew said, puzzled. "I thought once the Tan was in, that was it."
Jules sheathed the blade. "Usually it is. Trying to carve a second Tan after the first is very difficult. If you can, though, the resulting effect multiplies. I don't think there is any force I could bring to bear on this blade that could damage it."
"I guess you got tired of smoothing nicks out of your old blade."
Jules smiled. "You could say that."
Andrew opened his mouth to say something, but the wind shifted, bringing the sound of a distant throb.
"Airship!" he hissed.
Jules looked startled for a second then tilted her head to listen. "I don't hear it."
Andrew shrugged out of his pack and freed his newly acquired knife. "Trust me," he said grimly. "That's an airship."
Jules slipped from her pack and leaned it back into the underbrush surrounding the spring. With unhurried haste, she drew the revolver from its holster and popped the cylinder, loading a round into the live chamber before flipping the cylinder back. She caught Andrew's look and said, "I keep the chamber empty so I don't accidentally shoot myself."
There was a story there, but Andrew didn't push it. Now was not the time.
The sound of the airship grew louder and Jules nodded. "You're right. I'll skip over how a merchant-turned-gunny can recognize an airship's engine for now, but don't think I'm going to let that one slide. Come on," Jules beckoned, "We need to find a place with better cover."
Chapter 12
Discovered
Without the weight of the packs slowing them down, they moved quickly through the underbrush up the slope until the trees thinned out to sporadic clumps by bare rock outcroppings. As they left the tree cover, the airship hove into view over the treetops.
Andrew had experience with two types of airships in his life: the Belathon, the massive, oversized warship with ranks of cannon and great twin armored torpedo balloons; and the converted merchanters like the Caerwin, the same twin balloons with the suspended gondola beneath them, but no armor anywhere and a paltry four cannon on each side.
This airship was completely different. It had a single torpedo balloon, and the gondola, rather than suspended beneath, was fused into the bottom of the balloon. It was armored in airon from nose to stern, with a half-dozen swivel-mounted cannon per broadside. It was a warship, like the Belathon, but this warship was sleek and minimalistic, built for speed and stealth. Every line of it screamed pirate.
Jules started swearing under her breath. "It's Trent, burn him," she announced. "That's his father's privateer, the Storm Shadow."
Andrew smothered a laugh with a cough. "The what now?"
A slight smile quirked at the corner of Jules' lips. "Not everyone can be born with good taste. Come on, I found just the spot up ahead."
Jules' spot turned out to be a narrow gulch between two rocky outcrops with several jags and turns in it, bordered on both sides by scrubby brush and sheltered by a scattering of pine trees growing at improbable angles from the rocky ground.
"They can't see us, can they?" Andrew panted, as he crouched behind a rock.
"They don't need to see us," Jules responded. "Stay down, watch my back."
Andrew settled down and tucked his cloak about him. It wasn't really the best match for the terrain, but the mottled greens and greys blended in with the shadows in the gulch. The long knife in his hand was slippery with sweat. He dragged both hands through the gritty sand at his feet and renewed his grip on the hilt.
Jules stood out in the open, between the narrowing walls of the gulch, her head held high, hair lofting in the gentle breeze. She looked regal and calm as if she was on an afternoon stroll through a park. Both hands held casually at her sides, but close to the hilts of her weapons.
Down the slope, someone shouted an alert and a few more voices answered. From his hiding place around the corner, Andrew couldn't see down the slope to count, but there had to be at least four men.
"That's far enough," Jules called out. "Identify yourselves."
"You the Lady Vierra?" a coarse voice called back.
"I am. And who addresses me?"
"I've orders from my master, see. You're to come wit us. And no fussin' now, or I'll stick you."
"Is Trent here with you?"
"My master prefers to remain private," the voice sneered back. "Drop your irons, and come on out."
Jules turned her shoulder five degrees and tilted her head just so. It was a social snub Andrew had been on the receiving end of, and he knew how devastating it could be. "If your master can't bother himself to come and fetch me himself, I don't think I'll oblige."
Above him, Andrew heard a faint scuff of leather against rock. While Jules was occupied at the front, the privateers had sent a man around behind her back to catch her unawares. Andrew felt his heart start to race and adrenaline pumped through his system.
"Here now!" the voice called from below, anger clear in his voice. "Don't be a silly bint. We outnumber you five to one!"
The man sneaking behind Jules peered over the ledge into the gulch, his eyes scanned right past Andrew then up to fix on Jules' back. He carefully lowered himself down and dropped the last few feet in the deep, soft sand with a barely audible hiss. He drew a long, slender blade and turned toward Jules.
The man was good, Andrew admitted, but not quite good enough. A double step took Andrew up silently behind the assailant, and he snaked his left arm up under the man's armpit and behind his head, locking the arm out. At the same time, he brought Jules' blade up under the man's throat, giving the man a shallow cut when he startled and tried to turn. "Ah, ah," Andrew said. "Drop the knife."
Jules spun around and saw the assailant, her mouth open in shock.
"Get her!" A shout rose up from down the slope, along with wordless cries.
Jules turned back, hands whipping out the revolver and her runed blade.
Andrew felt the man tense in his grip then an elbow smashed into his stomach and he dropped wheezing. The man kicked the knife out of Andrew's grip then turned toward Jules. Andrew flung a hand out and grabbed his heel, bringing him crashing to the ground. The man kicked back at Andrew, bruising his shoulder and Andrew let go long enough to get up into a semi-crouch before leaping forward to drive his shoulder into the small of the man's back, bringing them both back down to the sand with a thump.
Jules' gun went off, the thunderous boom echoing up and down the valley. Andrew flinched from the sound and the man he was wrestling with hooked a jab around into Andrew's jaw. Andrew threw some sand into the man's face then hit him as hard as he could somewhere in his chest. Andrew's hand flared with brief pain at the impact and the man folded over, bringing his face down into convenient height for Andrew to drive his knee up with a crunch of breaking nasal bones. A quick rabbit punch dropped the man to the ground and Andrew fell on top of him, feeling more than a little punch drunk.
Two more shots in rapid succession then the clash of steel on steel brought Andrew back to the fight. He struggled back to his feet, cast around for his blade but didn't see it anywhere, snatched up the privateer's thin blade instead and staggered toward the mouth of the gulch.
He arrived just in time to see Jules parry an overhead strike. The attacker's blade sheared off at the hilt as it met Jules' runed blade. Jules pivoted and drove her blade, flick-flick, faster than Andrew could follow. The man staggered back, blood blooming across his chest in a riot of red and collapsed. A last man stood off from the gulch by twenty yards, a dueling pistol in his grip.
"You handle yours?" Jules asked him.
Andrew gulped and nodded, his throat suddenly parched. His breath came ragged, he had gotten sand in his eyes during the fight and his ribs ached where the man had elbowed him. Jules, in contrast, had barely broken a sweat. Two men lay dead at her feet, two more bleeding from bullet wounds.
"I've got you covered!" the pistoleer called. "You so much as twitch and, and, I'll blow you to pieces!"
Jules eyed the man, his shaking hand, the smoothbore pistol in his grip. "I'll take my chances."
Andrew saw the determination in the man's eyes, the final extension of his arm in preparation for the kick, knew he was too far out in the open to possibly get to cover in time. The dueling pistol was notoriously inaccurate at range, the round shot as likely to spin off in some completely unexpected direction as to strike the target, but it wasn't a chance Andrew was willing to gamble on, despite Jules' blasé attitude.
Jules threw out a hand and shouted something as the man's pistol went off with a booming echo and a flare of black powder, just as a disk of ice appeared in front of Jules, four feet across and several inches thick. The bullet cracked into the ice, shattering it, and the ricochet howled off into the valley. Jules cried another word and flung out her hand. A spike of ice shot from her outspread hand and impaled the man in the leg. He toppled backward, screaming.
"You dare!" Jules screamed at him, "you dare shoot at me!" She took a step forward.
Looking back on it later, Andrew had a hard time putting a finger on exactly what had tipped him off. A slight change in the quality of the light, perhaps, or a sudden absence of bird calls. Andrew leapt forward, grabbed the hem of Jules' cloak, and yanked her backward into the cover of the gulch a fraction of a second before a dragon swooped overhead, its claws extended, blade-like talons passing through were Jules' head had been.
It roared its frustration, a brassy two-toned shriek of rage, and dropped on the wounded man with the spike of ice in his leg. Burnt cinnamon flooded Andrew's senses as the man's screams cut off abruptly. Andrew dragged Jules behind him until growing comprehension turned her struggles into agreed flight.
"Can't stop," Andrew panted as he sprinted through the gulch.
"It can't see us in here," Jules argued.
"Doesn't need to. Just run!"
They reached a spot where a pine tree had fallen across the gulch and Andrew turned, made his hands into a saddle and nodded up at the tree. "We'll go up here. Hurry!"
Jules put her boot into his hands, and he practically flung her up the side before scrambling up after her. The dragon was tearing into the pistoleer a hundred yards away, great black wings spread wide as it bolted down the remains of the man.
Andrew grabbed Jules' arm and pulled her down to a kneeling position a dozen paces from the edge of the gulch. "Hood up," he instructed her quickly, demonstrating with his own. "Tuck the edges down and kneel on them. Quickly."
He watched to make sure Jules was doing it right then tucked himself down into his own cloak with one practiced movement. He hoped Jules remembered his instructions. If she got curious and turned her head up to look at the dragon, they were both dead.
Andrew found himself in the position of spotter, the most dangerous responsibilities in any climbing crew. It was always one person's duty to freeze in place, but with his face exposed so he could see the dragon. It was movement that attracted the dragon's attention, and a deep hood almost always was enough to fool the dragon's eye into thinking the spotter was just another rock.
Almost always.
To help the disguise, Andrew placed himself next to a bit of stone that had fractured off the mountain furt
her up and tumbled down the hill. With one hand, Andrew pulled his hood down tight so a stray breeze wouldn't flap it, leaving just enough of a slit that he could keep an eye on the dragon.
The dragon finished eating the five men who had fallen outside the gulch and sniffed around for more. It spotted the man Andrew had knocked unconscious inside the gulch, and proceeded to rip at the sides trying to get in. Frustrated, it bellowed and breathed a blast of fire into the narrow crevasse.
The stone walls kept the blast confined and flames rolled down the entire length of the gulch, setting the grasses and trees ablaze where they were too close to the edge. Smoke rolled over Andrew and he held his breath through the initial cloud then started breathing shallowly through a fold of his cloak.
Next to him, Jules coughed, and Andrew felt his blood run cold. If the dragon heard her, or if it saw her cloak moved as she coughed, it was over. The dragon would fly over to investigate, and no amount of clever camouflage would hold up to a direct inspection.
Then the airship rose up above the trees and a brilliant jet of flame lanced out of back of it. Like a startled horse, the airship lurched and raced away. The dragon abandoned the gulch and launched itself into the air in pursuit. Incredibly, the airship kept up the same acceleration and soon disappeared behind a mountain, the dragon following after but losing ground.
Without bothering to give the all-clear whistle, Andrew broke out of cover and dashed over to Jules, keeping a fold of his cloak over his mouth and nose. "Come on," he shouted, "the dragon's distracted. Let's make a run for the trees!"
Jules staggered to her feet, eyes streaming from the smoke and racked out a cough.
"Breathe through your cloak. There you go. Come on, the dragon will be back soon."
Side by side, they ran down the hill toward the tree line, dropping the cloth from their faces once they were out of the smoke. Once inside the trees they slowed down to a fast walk, both of them coughing and trying to catch their breath. As they approached the spring where their lunch had been terminated, they discovered the signs of a hasty retreat.
