Sword Fight

by Nathan Van Coops

  Sword Fight

  Kingdom of Engines

  Nathan Van Coops

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  1. Drive

  2. Inheritance

  3. Ride

  4. Arrival

  5. Unavenged

  6. Lock-up

  7. Impound

  8. The Twisted Tentacle

  9. Stranded

  10. Then

  11. News

  12. Guardian

  13. Fighter

  14. Penthouse

  15. Train

  16. Helter Skelter

  17. Demolished

  18. Dance Moves

  19. Afterglow

  20. Stolen

  21. Discovered

  22. Wet

  23. Dank

  24. Charred

  25. Otter and Oyster

  26. Candle Green

  27. Remember

  28. Race

  29. Finisher

  30. Transformed

  31. Masquerade

  32. Sword

  33. Rebirth

  34. Dreadrock

  35. Reaper

  36. Loser

  37. Justice

  38. Invitation

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Nathan Van Coops

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Authors are frequently asked, “Where do you get your ideas?” The answer is usually something vague, like “I don’t know, they just come to me.” Or sometimes the more whimsical might reply “My muse brings them.”

  My typical response is that I ask a lot of “What if” questions. What if time travel were possible and lots of people could do it? Or, what if people and creatures could live in the sky and have grand adventures?

  For this novel, the question was “What if the war car replaced the war horse?”

  I was fascinated by the idea and imagined what would occur if medieval castles dotted the hillsides of North America and the British monarchy hadn’t lost power.

  The question, of course, bred more questions. “What would it take to make that world possible?” In the interest of not boring readers with mountains of backstory, I narrowed it down to the essential facts.

  An alteration in two major historical events shaped the world of the characters you are about to meet.

  AD 820: China

  A Taoist monk, endeavoring to create an elixir of life, involuntarily creates black powder. Half an hour later, while lighting his pipe, he accidentally ignites the substance, burning his entire monastery to the ground. The monk perishes, and the secrets of black powder vanish with him.

  AD 1217: The Second Battle of Lincoln

  With the city of Lincoln overrun by the French, and Lincoln Castle under siege, a mad inventor unleashes a steam-powered armored vehicle that assists in routing the French forces and evicting Prince Louis from England.

  Military leaders of the time downplay the machine’s effectiveness, claiming the battle would have been won without it, but the madman’s invention is brought to the attention of King Henry III, who is ten years old. Upon visiting the remains of the battle-damaged machine, the young king requests that his workmen immediately begin construction of new motor-driven vehicles.

  Now:

  North America is the Kingdom of New Avalon, and war cars roam the streets.

  Adhering to the laws of chivalry, road knights wield only weapons used for one-on-one combat, fighting at a range meant to look an enemy in the eye. The world remains at the mercy of the sword.

  The era of the war horse is gone, and in its place now reigns the war car.

  It is my sincere wish that thoroughly enjoy this new take on history.

  Welcome to the Kingdom of Engines.

  Prologue

  Sparks erupted from the fender of the Spitfire as it slammed into the guardrail. The roar of the engines reverberated from the cliffs as two vehicles came out of the turn, narrowly missing the drop-off to the sea and rocks below.

  Lady Maggie Sutton snarled into her helmet and wrestled the steering wheel, forcing her war car back to the center of the road. The vehicle beside her swerved away, cutting the corner of the next turn and pulling ahead by a car length.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Maggie muttered, shifting gears. Her car ate up the asphalt as she pursued her competition.

  Maggie hadn’t expected the Omega driver to be so aggressive in a charity-exhibition road race, but if that’s how he wanted to play it, she could drive harder. She hadn’t lost a match-up in months. She wasn’t about to start now.

  The sky-blue Spitfire Maggie was driving was lighter than the Rockwell Omega and nimbler in the turns. It was an advantage she planned to exploit. As the Omega straightened out of the next curve in the highway, she made her move.

  Flooring the accelerator, she flung her car around the driver’s side of the Omega and made a break for the open road beyond.

  The needle on the speedometer hit 100.

  As she drew alongside the other car, Maggie dared a quick glance at her competitor. To her surprise, the window grate on the Omega dropped open, and the driver pushed the face mask of his helmet up. He was grinning.

  The Omega suddenly dropped back, yielding the road.

  Maggie shifted her attention to the rear-view mirror. “What the—”

  When she looked forward again, she slammed on the brakes.

  The car rolling into the lane ahead was timed perfectly.

  Maggie only had an instant to register the empty driver’s seat as the junker rammed into the front of her Spitfire. Her body impacted the restraining harness, then her car was airborne.

  The Spitfire flipped end over end before slamming into the concrete upside down and sideways. All breath left her lungs as glass exploded around her.

  Metal screamed.

  The momentum of the car sent it rolling—once, twice, and a third time—before it thudded into the guardrail.

  Maggie clenched her gut at the force of the impact. The car was left teetering back and forth on the cliff’s edge, its rear wheels dangling over the brink.

  She groaned as she exhaled.

  The windshield was gone. The protective steel grating that formed the driver’s cage had held, but all the windows had blown out. The hood was crumpled enough that the Golden Stag of the Sutton House crest was now angled toward her. Maggie shifted in her seat and winced as pain shot up her back, but the movement gave her a view of the open air beneath the rear end of the car.

  Her heart jolted in her chest.

  It was at least a hundred feet to the rocks and waves below.

  Seabirds whirled through the air beneath her, darting in and out of their cliffside nests. Their cries filled her ears with screeching. Maggie fumbled at the door frame, for the first time registering the pain in her arm.

  Something was broken. Her wrist didn’t move the way it should, and her fingers fluttered uselessly against the door latch. Her legs were numb, and everything about her body felt wrong.

  She coughed and tried to orient herself.

  Her ears were ringing, blending with the shrillness of the birds outside.

  Then she noticed the engine noise. The low rumble was coming from the Rockwell Omega. It glided into view from her left, easing along the shoulder of the highway.

  At least he’d stopped to help.

  As the car idled, the driver’s door opened and the racer climbed out.

  The man moved slowly, boots crunching gravel as he walked around the front of the car and crossed the shoulder to where Maggie’s Spitfire was perched.

  “Sterling,” Maggie said, the word coming out as a croak. “Help me.”

  The other racer removed his helmet, shaking
blond locks from beneath it. The silver helmet matched the reflective armor of his racing jacket. The ice-blue eyes found hers but betrayed no emotion.

  “This is quite the state you’ve found yourself in, Lady Magdalena.” Lord Jasper Sterling’s eyes roamed over the car, settling on the stag emblazoned on the hood. “Did you know that the Regional List has House Sutton as the premier racing team of the season? They said you’d be the clear favorite in the King’s Tournament. What was it they said about you this week? Something like ‘Maggie Sutton is the perfect blend of competitive skill and moral courage.’ Did you read that?”

  Maggie coughed and attempted to get her fingers on the windshield grate latch.

  Why was he just standing there quoting race reports?

  The car reeked of gasoline, and something was smoking. She managed to get her helmet off—it clattered to the floor next to her—but the effort left her light-headed.

  “Jasper. Help me. I don’t think I can get out.”

  “I’m actually surprised the car stayed on the road. I thought for sure you’d go over.”

  “Stop talking,” Maggie said. “And get me out of here.”

  The smell of gasoline was overwhelming now, and she was getting dizzier. She fumbled with the latches of her safety harness with her one good hand, then coughed and attempted to reach the passenger-side door. The latch moved but the door wouldn’t budge.

  She’d need a rescue team. Door cutters.

  She fumbled for the microphone on the radio, but it slipped from her slick fingers and fell to the floor. That’s when she noticed the blood dripping down her arm. She got her fingers around the microphone cord and attempted to drag it up to her lap.

  “Here. I’ll get that.” Jasper Sterling reached through the passenger window and snatched the microphone out of her hand.

  “Rescue. I’ll need the medics.”

  Jasper’s face was impassive. “Calm down. I’ll call it in for you.” He yanked the microphone out of its jack and bundled the cord into his fist. He tossed it over the brink, then turned and walked back to his car.

  “Sterling?” Maggie called out after him, her head swimming. She tried to focus. What was he doing? She watched with confusion as Jasper climbed back into the Omega.

  The radio crackled with static, and Jasper’s voice came over the race channel.

  “Safety team, this is Lord Jasper Sterling. There’s been an accident on the coast highway. The Sutton car took a turn too fast. Went through the guardrail.”

  “Copy, Team Sterling, this is Safety. We’ll get Rescue on its way. What is the condition of the Sutton vehicle?”

  “Not good. Looks like it went onto the rocks. It was a long drop.”

  The words registered belatedly in Maggie’s mind. “No.” She stretched for the radio, her fingers clawing at the empty microphone jack. “I’m still up here! I’m still—”

  She jolted in her seat as the car rocked from an impact.

  She looked up to find the Omega’s brake lights pressed against her hood. The Spitfire tilted forward as the car pulled away, then the reverse lights on the Omega came on again.

  “No. No no no!” Maggie shouted. The Omega’s rear tires kicked up gravel as they caught, launching the vehicle backward, faster this time. She could just make out Jasper through the rear window, one arm draped casually across the seat as he raced toward her. The rear bumper of the Omega slammed into the Spitfire again, and this time, whatever was holding the car gave way. The hood of the Spitfire pitched skyward, the golden stag leaping gracefully into the air. The windshield filled with nothing but blue sky.

  The Spitfire slid over the edge of the cliff to the sound of metal scraping stone, then the world went quiet.

  Maggie came out of her seat.

  For a brief moment, she was weightless.

  The air once again filled with the screeches of startled seabirds.

  Her fingers found the steering wheel, gripping uselessly. As the car turned over, she recognized the hard line where the ocean met the sky, but now it was inverted. Down was up, ocean replaced heaven and she was flying toward a firmament made of jagged rocks and frothing waves.

  The last thing Maggie Sutton had time to think was—

  “Copy. We’ll send medical. Safety out.”

  “Roger that.” Jasper Sterling smirked as he hung up the microphone.

  The air was ripe with the scent of rubber and fuel, and a fresh cloud of smoke drifted up from the rocks below.

  He took a deep breath, relishing the smell, then tossed his helmet into the passenger seat. He ran a hand through his messy, blond hair, then donned his sunglasses before shifting into gear and pulling back onto the highway.

  He drove north for several minutes before turning onto the mile-long bridge that crossed the South Bay. To either side, whitecaps dotted the water in a view that was nothing short of breathtaking.

  Three of the castles that guarded Sterling Bay were visible today. Their towers and battlements stood watch over the many bridges crisscrossing the waves.

  When he reached the fortified outer walls of Port Hyacinth, the gates stood open for him. He navigated the remainder of the race course in a state of pleasant contentment until pulling into the heart of the arena. Several thousand spectators had turned out to witness the end of the exhibition.

  He hung an arm out the open window of the Omega as he crossed the finish line, then pulled the car around to the winner’s circle. He climbed out and waved to the crowd on either side of the nobles’ section, turning slowly in place to allow time for the sun to sparkle from the plates of his polished driving armor. He then bowed graciously to each occupant of the elite boxes.

  Finally, he pushed his hair back from his face and looked up to the central point of the stands, to the Sterling box, but his smile faded.

  His family’s seats were empty.

  A clash of steel echoed through the corridors of Sterling Castle as Jasper descended to the old dungeons.

  Unlike the cramped and claustrophobic cells of old, the lowest floor of his family’s ancestral home was a cavernous place of high arches and elaborate stonework. The broad flagstones were worn from several centuries of hard use, but rubber mats now lined each one, and the only torture being done in the ancient rooms was voluntary.

  Masked fighters of all shapes and sizes sparred with one another using staves and swords in the dungeon-turned-gymnasium. The spot where an iron maiden had once stood now featured a dueling ring encircled by steps. Atop the platform, fighters were taking turns defending the highest position, holding off as many attackers as possible before some stronger or faster swordsman could topple them.

  Jasper found his father, Lord Alister Sterling, supervising the sparring from his director’s chair. His usual glass of whiskey was in one hand, and his mistress, the Baroness of Manchester, was at his side.

  “No,” Lord Sterling said as Jasper walked up.

  Jasper frowned. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

  “But you were about to, and I know what you’re going to ask. The answer is still no.”

  Jasper looked down at the trophy in his hand and shifted his feet.

  Lord Sterling’s eyes didn’t leave the fighters atop the tower. “The king is coming to our city to look for a knight to sit at the Round Table. A knight that is more than just a pretty suit of armor in a fancy car.” He waved vaguely toward the room full of fighters. “One of these men will represent our house in the tournament.”

  “I’m your son,” Jasper said. “I should be our house champion.”

  “You should be, yes,” Lord Sterling replied. “And yet here we are.”

  Jasper bristled. “If you ever showed up for anything, you’d know I’ve just won the East Bay Exhibition Cup. And I’ve eliminated House Sutton from the lists.”

  “No doubt ruining yet another of my cars,” Lord Sterling replied. He straightened in his chair and shouted to a man in a black mask that had a crimson streak across one eye. “You there!
You next! I want to see what you can do atop the fool’s tower.”

  Jasper could only seethe as the masked man climbed the steps to the platform.

  Lord Sterling turned to the baroness. “I’ve been watching this one all day. I have yet to see him lose an event.”

  The baroness merely sipped her drink and examined her manicure.

  The contender atop the tower raised his sword and saluted his opponents, then, one after another, his competitors began their attacks. Blades flashed separately and at once, assaults coming from all angles as the warriors attempted to gain the platform and force the masked man from the circle. The swordsman moved with the grace of a tiger, fluidly defending blows and delivering devastating counterattacks. One-by-one, each challenger was sent tumbling down the steps.

  When there were no more competitors left, Lord Sterling stood to applaud. “Bravo! Well done!” He turned to Jasper. “Do you also feel up to besting a dozen men atop the tower today?”

  Jasper scowled.

  “I didn’t think so,” his father replied. He gestured for the man in the crimson-streaked mask to descend. When the swordsman was standing before them, Lord Sterling sized him up. Jasper noted with irritation that the man stood several inches taller than he did. “What is your name, swordsman?”

  “I fight under the name Red Reaper,” the masked man said.

  “A name the city must come to know,” Lord Sterling replied. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and counted them out. “Consider this a down payment for your services. You’ve just earned yourself a spot on the Sterling team.”