Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3)

by Anderle, Michael

  "We're reverse engineering a Lewis gun for Rodania's defenses," said Arth. "You're Jordan's father?"

  The pale freckled man nodded. "Allan. And you are?"

  "I can explain it all later, Dad." Jordan thought that Allan was handling waking up amongst a crowd of Strix extremely well, and attributed it to shock. "Please go back to bed before you fall down."

  "I will, I will. But, I'm dying of curiosity. My last memory is of being thrown from a small rowboat by a turnip. Where am I?"

  "I'm Sol, and this is Toth," Sol introduced the Nycht. "Toth, with Jordan and Eohne—–the one holding you up there," Sol nodded at the Elf, "rescued you from Trevilsom. You can't remember it because the island is toxic, and made you blackout."

  Allan let out a long breath. "Trevilsom-–" His gaze went soft and muzzy around the edges, and his hazel eyes drifted to Jordan. "I've been dreaming of you. I was waiting for you," he reached for Jordan's hand. "In my war room. Counting my treasures until you arrived. Somehow, I knew you would."

  Jordan and Eohne shared a glance over Allan's head.

  Allan's eyes shifted to the kitchen counter, and he and Eohne shuffled forward. "These plans, they look just like my Lewis gun."

  "That's because they are, Dad. Sol and I, we mapped the gun. We need it."

  "Are you familiar with this weapon?" Arth asked, her expression hopeful.

  "Very," he said with fondness. He gripped the edge of the counter. Jordan thought she was getting an excellent impression of how Allan would be in his old age, and her heart gave an aching squeeze in her chest.

  He will get stronger.

  "What drives the magazine?" The Nycht engineer eagerly leaned forward.

  "This cam." Allan pointed at the drawing. "It sits on top of a bolt which operates a pawl mechanism by a lever."

  "Dad, I have to insist that you lay down. You aren't strong enough for this."

  Eohne put a hand on Jordan's arm, her dark eyes locked on Allan's face. His complexion was growing less pallid by the moment, blood was returning to his cheeks. His lips were turning pink, and the sallow pockets under his eyes seemed to be shrinking.

  "The gun from my collection was rendered inert; that might be why you're confused by these plans. It was also a World War I weapon that was modified in World War II. It doesn't use a helical coiled recoil spring, but a spiral spring."

  "Like a clock spring?"

  "That's right." Allan touched another area on the plans. "It sits in this housing, just in front of the trigger. When the gun is fired, the bolt recoils and the cog turns, which tightens the spring. The gas pressure in the breech falls, the spring unwinds and turns the cog, which winds the rod forward for the next round."

  Everyone but Arth looked confused by this commentary. Jordan didn't care that she couldn't understand a word Allan had just said; her heart swelled with pride. His brain was fully intact, even after months of being comatose.

  The Nycht engineer was leaning forward and absorbing Allen’s knowledge like a starving person inhales food. Jordan watched her father, amazed, while he and Arth discussed the gun.

  "It should fire five or six hundred rounds per minute," Allan was saying. "What are you using to build them? Iron?"

  "I have access to carburized bronze."

  Allan showed his teeth in a grin. "Even better. It'll be harder to forge, but the finished product will never rust. And—–" Allan coughed, and Jordan jumped.

  "Dad, that's enough." Jordan put an arm around her father's thin shoulders. "I'm sorry, Arth. My father needs to go slow. He needs to eat and rest, build up his strength."

  Arth nodded. "Of course." She nodded and gave Allan a smile. "Thank you. You've helped. If you don't mind, I might be back later to run a few things by you."

  Jordan shot her a warning look, but Allan was enthusiastic.

  "Please do; it'll give me a reason to get strong as quickly as I can."

  "We'll get to work, then." Arth gathered up all of the plans and documents she'd laid out on the kitchen counter and beamed up at her big brother.

  “Let's go talk to Desl."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jordan found herself torn on a daily basis.

  She wanted to remain at her father's side—–feed him, help him walk laps around the apartment—–but the desire to be out at the training islands with the other combatants pressed on her. The obligation and desire she felt to be with her fellow soldiers was unexpected in its fervency. Eohne repeatedly shooed her from the apartment with encouraging words that Allan would be well looked after.

  The Elf was in fine spirits now that Allan had woken and was on the mend. Her shoulders recovered the strong set they'd had when Jordan first met her, and the line that had taken up residence between her brows since Trevilsom eased away with every passing day.

  Jordan would fly home, exhausted after a solid day of training, and arrive to the sounds of laughter and conversation. As she got stronger day by day, so did Allan. Whatever Eohne was feeding him was filling him out in record time.

  Weeks had passed, and there were murmurings among the combatants that the harpy threat had subsided, that the last attack had been enough to deter them. Toth warned them daily not to lower their guard. The Nycht leader seemed absent more often, leaving Caje in charge. When Jordan asked Caje where Toth was, the burly Nycht told her he was working on battle strategy with Balroc.

  "How does he know there will be another battle?" Jordan asked over a lunch of steaming feroth stew, a treat provided to them by the king's own chef.

  The combatants had no chairs at the training islands, so they broke in twos and threes and sat on rocks or sprawled on the ground to eat their lunch. In Toth's absence, Jordan found herself drawn to Caje, and sat at his elbow while they ate. There was something steadying about the overgrown Nycht, and Caje seemed to enjoy her company—–or at least, he didn't openly despise her presence the way Chayla did. Even now, Chayla was glowering at Jordan from Caje's other side. Jordan ignored her.

  "Because, the last attack was organized," Caje said, raising his brows on the last word to emphasize it.

  "Organized?" Jordan drew a blank. She couldn't remember anything about the last attack that seemed organized. The whole affair had been messy and noisy and chaotic.

  Caje set his spoon down.

  "The Nychts of The Conca know more about harpies than anyone else on Oriceran. We've been fighting them for a decade. Harpies are a nasty business, but what you don't realize is that, prior to the rebel Nychts leaving Rodania, the beasts either didn't exist, or they lived so far north that we never came into contact with them." He waved a hand the size of a dinner plate. "Oh, there were other kinds of harpies—–smaller, stranger beasts with the faces of human women—–but they're from a different land, and don't even warrant a place here beyond a passing mention in Rodanian classrooms."

  "Harpies are a new threat," added Chayla, her voice absent of the sneer to which Jordan had so become accustomed to. The Nycht woman gave Jordan a steady look in the eye. "It's not their talons or beaks that make them frightening."

  "It's not?"

  Caje shook his head. "It's the fact that their behavior is mystifying, and it’s still changing. They're evolving. If I was King Konig, I would pull my head from my bunghole and hire a team of scientists and warriors to go straight to the caves of Golpa."

  "Golpa." Jordan remembered this name. It was where Toth had said the harpies were from, the caves at the north end of The Conca.

  "Someone needs to study them, understand them. How can we prepare for a battle with creatures we can't predict?" Caje leaned over and fixed Jordan with an unblinking stare. "Do you know what a harpy is?"

  Jordan nodded. "They're a cross-breed––dragon and greater-vulture. Toth told me they're a species that shouldn't exist."

  Caje nodded, his dewclaws tightening above his head. "We've since learned that the dragon species breed whose genes they have is Tchielis vulgaris. This particular breed of reptile is characterize
d by a kind of group telepathy."

  "Whoa," Jordan exhaled as the harpy threat came into perspective. "That's what you mean by organized?"

  "Yes." Caje shovelled a heaping spoonful of stew into his mouth and spoke around it. "Every subsequent harpy attack has been a little more deadly, a little more efficient. They're learning.”

  "What do you think they have against Rodania? Why attack us? We're several hours’ journey across the water; surely there is easier prey closer to Golpa?"

  "Not necessarily." Chayla shifted on her hip, pulling a pinned wing out from under her butt, and letting it relax behind her. Jordan was pleasantly surprised by how Chayla was engaging in conversation without lacing it with sarcasm. She almost mentioned it, but decided not to mess with a good thing.

  "Once harpies have a taste of something they like," Chayla informed her, "they won't settle for lesser prey. They like horse, feroth, and human, but they like Strix even more. Rodania has been protected by a dome of Elvish magic for the last century or so. Now that the harpies have found a way through, Rodania is an undefended feast."

  Jordan's stomach was full and warm, and she felt the inevitable post-lunch drowsiness creeping up on her. Her eyes combed the skies to the northwest, where Toth had trained all of the combatants to watch. The vast blue horizon was empty of clouds or any winged threat, as empty as it had been for over a month.

  "How do you think they got through the barrier?" she asked.

  "They didn't do it alone," Caje grunted, getting to his feet and lumbering across the grass for another helping of stew. Several large copper pots sat steaming on the ground in a haphazard circle.

  Jordan got a chill as she watched the big Nycht scoop a helping the size of Jordan's head into his wooden bowl. "They didn't do it alone," she echoed thoughtfully.

  "If you ask me, the Light Elves have grown tired of King Konig. They're not getting enough out of the deal, and," Chayla snapped her fingers, "they made a breach, and stepped back to let the harpies do their work. I heard the Elves are denying having anything to do with it; they're pointing fingers at the Rodanian government." Chayla snorted a laugh. "Ridiculous."

  Jordan blinked at this horrifying theory. She knew nothing about the nature of the Light Elves’ agreement with Rodania, only that Sol had told her the deal was ironclad. If there was ever a problem with the Elves, they would simply lower Rodania's islands into the sea, and the floating nation would become an island nation. Just your garden-variety cluster of islands with regular ports of trade.

  "I hope you're wrong about that," Jordan replied.

  "Me too," added Chayla. A look passed between she and Jordan before the Nycht got to her feet and walked away.

  Jordan puzzled over that look for the next several hours, and settled on labeling it as uneasy respect. It was better than no respect at all.

  That same evening, Jordan came home to an empty apartment.

  "Dad? Eohne?" She poked her head into the bedroom, into the water closet, and into the closet that had turned into storage for Eohne. No one was home.

  A warped glass cup sat on the island, and Jordan spotted something yellow trapped beneath it. She lifted the glass and snatched up the note.

  ‘We've gone to the forges on Lower.’

  The note was scrawled in her father's nearly illegible writing.

  The sound of wings and boots on tile made Jordan look up. Sol closed up his wings and strode into the apartment. His face was dirty, and as he snapped his wings together, a cloud of dust drifted in the air.

  "Hello there," he crossed the room and planted a kiss on Jordan's cheek. "How come we never get to train together?"

  Jordan caught Sol's lips with hers. They'd had no time or energy or privacy these last few weeks, and she'd missed him.

  "I think Toth reckons we'd just distract one another."

  Sol nuzzled her neck. "He's right. We've already proven that." His voice was muffled and laced with comical resignation.

  "Where are the forges on Lower Rodania?"

  Sol pulled back. "Why?"

  Jordan held up the note for Sol to read.

  Sol's eyes passed over the words, pausing to discern the scrawl. "I guess your father is feeling better." Sol brushed a lock of Jordan's hair away from her face. "Concerned?"

  "Not as long as he's with Eohne, no. It's just…I've hardly had any time to talk with him. At first, I was putting it off to give him a chance to get better. Suddenly, he's better," Jordan's shoulders hiked up, "and he's not here."

  "Want to go? I can take you there."

  "You're not too tired?"

  "Of course not." Sol took the cup from the counter and filled it with water from the big brass tap. He handed it to Jordan. She smiled at his gallantry, took the cup, and drank. Then Sol filled a cup for himself and guzzled it. Water trickled from the corners of his mouth, and made tracks through his now thicker beard. He let out a satisfied 'ahhh' and clopped the glass into the sink.

  "Let's go."

  Jordan grabbed Sol's hand, pulling him around to face her.

  "Sol."

  "Yeah?"

  She put her palms on his cheeks, wanting just a moment to themselves. "Your beard has grown." She used the pads of her thumbs to wipe away some of the grime from his face, only managing to smear it. She guessed her own face was just as filthy.

  "Don't like it?" Sol ran a hand over his beard, unsure.

  "I love it. You seem happy under all that dirt and hair."

  Sol's white teeth appeared, breaking through his beard like the sun breaks through clouds. "I am. I'll be happier when we know for sure that harpies will never get through the barrier again. And when we have five minutes to talk like civilized Strix." He took a sniff. "Strix that don't smell like sweat, leather, and metal."

  "You don't miss your job?"

  "Jordan," Sol put his arms around her waist. "I'm so glad to see that my battle-hardened love hasn't lost her nurturing touch. But don't worry about me. When this harpy disaster is over, I'll make our lives right again. You'll see." He planted a soft kiss on her mouth, sending her stomach spiralling. "Now do you want to go to the forges tonight or not?"

  Jordan nodded.

  As they flew over Middle Rodania and dropped over the edge for Lower, the two moons of Oriceran came out, and the stars danced alongside them. Jordan wondered if there would come a moment where the pure craziness of her life, all the events that had brought her and Allan to this moment, to this place, might hit her all at once. One thing had tumbled into the next, and there still seemed no rationale for much of it. Her life felt like one big puzzle; a half-sewn quilt, with giant patches of color missing.

  The harpy threat was so big, so demanding of everyone's time, that Jordan came to feel that taking a bathroom break and a shower was pure luxury. Even her father had gotten swallowed up in the maw of preparing for battle. The worst of it was that she didn't understand how it started, why it had happened, or what was going to bring it to an end. This feeling that something even uglier than a harpy flock was at work behind the scenes pervaded every thought. Jordan had to shove it aside to make room for what was happening in the moment.

  Again and again there was no time for rumination, no time to work things out. These were the thoughts that captured her mind as she followed Sol through the darkening sky over Lower Rodania.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jordan realized as they swooped over Lower Rodania that it was her first time flying over the massive island. Below her, yellow lights illuminated the streets of long, low buildings, the parks, the squat stone towers. Strix could be seen throwing shadows as they moved about in the evening light––flying, walking, carrying things.

  Sol led Jordan to the northwestern coast of Lower Rodania, where a long strip of beach snugged up to a row of semi-circular buildings. Each one was half-open and manned by at least three or more Strix, hard at work.

  Lit forges sent light and waves of heat from great ovens nestled in the back walls of the stone buildings.
The sounds of chatter, crackling fire, laughter, and metal banging on metal blocked out the sound of waves lapping up on the beach.

  The Arpaks landed on a stone walkway that connected all the forges––too many to count at a glance. Putting their wings away, they noticed passing Nychts all headed in the same direction. With a bemused glance, Jordan and Sol fell into step with the crowd, and headed north along the coast.

  "What's happening?" Sol asked a muscular, bare-chested Nycht glistening with sweat.

  "Firing the prototype," the Nycht’s voice was a deep rasp, and his face was alive with excitement. "If it works the way the little engineer says, production will be full-steam ahead."

  Sol and Jordan shared a look. "That's why Eohne brought my father down here. He wouldn't want to miss this for the world."

  The Arpaks took to the sky again and skimmed over the heads of the moving crowd, their eyes raking the scene below for a familiar face.

  "There," Jordan pointed to the beach where torches flickered, and the slender wingless forms of her father and Eohne stood out among the arched silhouettes of Strix.

  They landed on the beach.

  "Dad!" Jordan called.

  Allan turned, his face alight. He crossed the beach to his daughter, his feet kicking up sand. "You are simply brilliant." He kissed her cheek.

  "I am?" Jordan blinked at the scene behind her father.

  Arth, Toth, Caje, and Chayla were all there, and a perfect replica of her father's Lewis gun glittered from a crossbar erected on a platform. The whole construction had been erected on the beach, just beyond the lapping water. The gun’s barrel was pointed out to sea.

  "How come no one told us this was happening?"

  "It's all been very last minute. Toth wants to get the guns operational as quickly as possible. As soon as one step is finished, boom, it’s on to the next." Allan spoke quickly and with great energy.

  "You've been working with Toth?"

  "Of course! He's been consulting with me for the last several days."