“You…you…” Marquos gasps for air, sitting back onto the floor and looking up at the commander. Retical waits for him to regain his breath. “…you said I was…working with them.”
“I told you,” Retical crouches to Marquos’ height, “I told you of one man that I wanted. The sort of man who would kill his own kin if he thought they might give him away. I know his handiwork.”
“I did it alone.”
“Like fuck. The lady was scared out of her mind but she knows what she saw, and it wasn’t no damned one man army. If you have any love for your country you’ll tell me where he is, right now. Have some dignity about it.”
Marquos screws his eyes shut for a moment, rocking on the floor. He groans, “I just want the girl to be safe. I couldn’t risk her safety.” He opens his eyes, “I’m just trying to get her home.”
“You’re pathetic,” Retical stands. “Where are the Kands?”
“I don’t know.”
Retical nods to the guards and they quickly grab Marquos by the arms and haul him to his feet. He hangs limply in their grip, tensing as the commander clutches onto his neck. Retical snarls into his face, “Where the fuck is Goreth?”
Marquos gags. The guards release him. Retical shoves him away, and the pilot stumbles back to the floor. Marquos turns back to him, coughing, and struggles to speak, “They left. They jumped ship as soon as you sent that whirlybird after me. Up in Chapel Way. I don’t know what direction they went in, but I’ll wager they’re as far from the waterway as they could get.”
“If they already left you,” Retical retorts, “then why were you heading away from us so fast?”
“Because,” Marquos growls back through gritted teeth, “I thought you might try and attack me anyway.”
Retical regards him carefully, pausing for thought. He shakes his head, appalled, “You have that little faith in the Border Guard? We represent every hope of security and expansion that the Estal Nation has, if you are afraid to work with us then you are no better than the rebels you harboured. I will give you one more chance to redeem yourself. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Marquos says. “He jumped ship a long time back.”
The commander scans the fields around them, assessing his options, and quickly reaches a decision. He tells the guards, “Take him back to his boat, dump him with it. Tell Qait to circle the area then take the girl back to the Mine Guard.”
“No!” Marquos cries out, leaping up, and is immediately struck in the face by a guard’s fist, sent rolling back across the floor. Retical ignores him, continuing his instructions, “Spread out over the plains. He’s out here somewhere, and I want him found. We’ll fly back towards Chapel Way, spread out and regroup here in two hours.”
Retical turns away and strides towards the airship as his guards grab Marquos and hustle him back into the wheeled-vehicle. He struggles, but they punch him in the gut again and all his strength shoots out of him. They toss him onto the floor and start driving back across the field. His head is pounding as he tries to push himself up, too weak to even lift himself from the floor. The guards say something to one another and start laughing. He cannot hear their words. They are racing back to the boat. They are going to kidnap Red again. He has to do something. He looks sideways to the weapon beside one of the guards. A wide-barrelled pistol: it will only take one shot at a time. One shot. He waits. The vehicle bounces over the terrain and he hits his head against the floor. The guards laugh again. They come to a halt and the guards jump down, dragging Marquos out after them. He reaches for the pistol, but his action is so slow and weak that they do not even notice the attempt. He is pulled out onto the grass and pushed into a roll. He looks up and sees the Hypnagogia, beached against the grass bank with the hull split. He hears Red cry out, sees her heaved up by another guard, carried towards the gyrocopter. Marquos rolls over on the floor, barely able to move. The airship lifts into the air in the distance. The noise of its engines and propellers thud into the earth, making the world around him vibrate. He hears the guards talking.
“Dump him and the boat,” one of them says. Marquos is grabbed by the shoulder and dragged along the floor. He tries to raise his free arm, but cannot. His head spins. He is thrown down the bank, metres away from his boat. He rolls over and looks up at the guards. Two of them stand over him, distracted. They are sharing another joke. The sound of more propellers. Marquos rolls his head to one side and sees the gyrocopter pilot firing up the flying machine. A guard carries Red to him. Marquos rolls his head to the other side. The airship has gone, somewhere in the clouds. He rolls his head back. One of the guards is raising a blunt tool above his head. Marquos finds the strength now, to raise his hand and hold it in front of his face as the guard swings the club down at him.
PART II
1
The Kands know exactly what they are doing in Estalia. Experts in guerrilla warfare, the only true type of warfare that still exists in the world. In the Border Guard, recruits are well-trained and well-equipped, but they operate in large numbers and their individual worth is seldom tested. For a Kand rebel, living amongst the enemy, personal strength is necessary for survival, and it is tested every day of the struggle. They have to move fast and silent, and every blow they make has to strike home. They do not hesitate to kill, and understand the terrain better than the natives who live there. Their weapons are primitive but effective; their victims seldom see or hear them coming. Tunnels run under the plains, with secret entrances hidden in the trees and safe-houses throughout the urban areas.
Only a dozen guards are left in the plains before Thesteran, with the airship drifted out of view. Three entrances are opened in the dirt, and a host of Kands rises from them. Three guards are struck from behind by arrows, falling without a sound. Three more find hands clamped over their mouths as another slips silently under their chins, a blade flashing across their flesh. Two more spot their colleagues falling and turn to address their enemies, just in time to be bludgeoned to the floor. One lifts a rifle to fire but takes an arrow through the neck. The guard carrying Red releases her and turns to run away. He is sprinting through the open when a rock flies into his head, cracking his helmet and driving straight through his skull. The gyrocopter pilot steps forwards and hoists Red up under one arm, lifting his rifle with the other hand and backing onto his vehicle. The approaching Kands spin their rocks and ready their bows, but they hesitate when they see the child. He crouches into his seat, hiding behind the girl, and targets his rifle at one of the Kands. A Kand sneaks towards him from the other side, a down-turned knife ready to throw, but the guard knows he is there. As the Kand goes to throw the weapon, the guard twists and fires a clean shot into the rebel’s eye. The gyrocopter lifts into the air as the remaining Kands charge towards it, letting lose their rocks and arrows. The vehicle banks away, avoiding the missiles, and its cloud of black smoke engulfs the pursuers. It flies across the sky, fleeing at a relentless speed, as Red dangles over the edge, flailing her arms and legs.
The two guards that stand over Marquos are distracted by the fighting, a scream throwing off the killing blow so it narrowly misses his head. They both turn to see their colleagues slaughtered, and one lifts his single-shot pistol to fire at the rebels. His single-shot is wasted, his arm jerked towards the sky as a knife spins into his chest and he tumbles to the floor gargling blood. The final guard drops to his knees and starts pleading, hands raised in undisguised fear. A rebel calmly walks in front of him, raises a hammer and swings it down into his temple.
The rebel force wastes no time in clearing up the carnage they have caused. The guards’ bodies are dragged back into the tunnels, their dropped tools rounded up and ferreted away. A small troupe of rebels take the Hypnagogia’s mooring lines and start dragging it up the stream with great heaves. A Kand rebel stands over Marquos and holds out a hand to him. The pilot looks up dumbly, unable to move. Another Kand approaches and the pair lift Marquos. He does not resist as he is swiftly walked towards th
e copse of trees. Within it, he sees a hole in the ground, next to a tree that has somehow been pivoted to one side. He is dragged into it and finds himself in a dark tunnel, barely wide enough to crawl through. Though too dazed to understand the words, he hears instructions to move on ahead, and he faintly begins to crawl. A rebel gives him a shove from behind, encouraging him to move faster, and he does so without thinking. The tunnel is a hard mix of rock and soil below his hands, unlit and descending into the unknown. Marquos ducks his head low, crawling onwards without being able to see, occasionally stumbling, catching his hands on the walls that barely fit his shoulders. The rebel behind him keeps pushing, urging him on, and he hurries, the black closing around him. Marquos’ breathing grows heavier, and he can hear it pounding back into his ears in the confined space. He moves faster, aware of the huge distance they are travelling. Anything could be up ahead. He does not want to ask how long it will go on for. He keeps crawling, blind for the world, on and on.
After what seems like an endless crawl, too exhausted and beaten to have his mind wander over the horror of this unending tunnel, Marquos spies a speck of light ahead. He moves even faster now, clawing at the ground to propel him through the darkness. He is not sure if it’s real, he has been in the dark for so long, but he has to get there as soon as possible. It seems forever before the light starts to grow, but when it does it suddenly fills his vision, so close now. He finds himself laughing with hysterical delight, to see the light drifting towards him. The tunnel will end. He charges forwards on hands and knees, and dashes out from the hole, into a small clearing where a fire burns, feeling the bite of the cool air. He is helped to his feet and pulled away from the hole by people who he does not see, and has to blink repeatedly for his eyes to readjust to the light. Someone is talking to him again, but he can hardly focus on the words.
2
It takes Marquos a few minutes to regain his senses, but once he has settled onto a log and been handed a hot drink he begins to realise where he is. The tunnels from the plains led to a large cluster of trees, somewhere far south of Thesteran. From the clearing, it is hard to see any easy way through the trees to the open country, and it is harder still to see the clouded sky through the ceiling of branches. The clearing itself is small and lit by a fire in the centre, which stands at the mouths of half a dozen tunnel entrances. Kand rebels stand by the entrances with blades and hammers, guarding them carefully. He recognises some of the faces before him; Lian hiding in the shadow of a tree at the very edge of the clearing, whilst Goreth stands proudly at the centre, helping fellow rebels out from the tunnels. It is difficult to tell how many rebels there are, as many of them immediately depart into the cover of the trees, but at least a dozen remain milling about the clearing. Their numbers include all shapes and sizes, from the tall and thin to the short and fat, both male and female. They are a filthy bunch, skin caked in mud from the tunnel crawl, and dressed in the reused rags of a vagrant force. One burly man leans against a tree, making brash comments as some of the tired rebels return to the fold. He kept repeating one man’s name, “Vilce! Hey, Vilce! Vilce!” and when he finally has his attention, “How was the weather down there?” The burly man laughs at his own jokes, whilst everyone else tries to ignore him. Another Kand has Marquos’ attention; one sat at the opposite side of the clearing in a huge green blanket, only the eyes visible poking out of it, pointed directly at him. Those eyes keep watching him the whole time he sits sipping his drink.
Marquos makes no comment as the rebel force return to the clearing. They congratulate one another, swig from vile-smelling drinks and generally disappear into the woods. Some throw their bloody weapons down in the clearing, others drag theirs away with them. They stop coming eventually, and Goreth and the other guards move away from the fire, announcing that the last of their men are back. Goreth finally comes to Marquos and tells him “I wish we could’ve been quicker. We were ready to take down that airship.”
“How?” Marquos replies, nearly inaudible as he looks into Goreth’s face. The poor light illuminates only the harshest features of the warrior Kand, his deep scars and square muscles.
“With fire, of course. Simple fire. An arrow or two in the right place, a gas bomb, and the whole flying fortress would fall.”
“No,” Marquos shakes his head and speaks hoarsely, “How were you ready? How did you know we would be there?”
“These men are always ready. These plains are our territory, and the Border Guard will know it well now,” Goreth slaps Marquos’ shoulder encouragingly, making the pilot wince with an unspecific pain that rushes through his body. “They got you but good, huh? I’m sorry about that. As I say, I wish we were quicker. But maybe now you see who you’re dealing with?”
“They took Red.”
“I know. Don’t you worry, we’ll get her back. We can’t let that gyro go far, else he’ll tell of what he saw. It’s better that all Retical’s men just go missing, down in the collapsed tunnels.”
“I let her down, Goreth,” Marquos responds distantly. “They took her away from me. I was supposed to protect her…I was supposed to get her home…I let her down, just like Tojo...”
“Don’t you worry. You need to get some rest.”
“What’s with the Estalian?” the burly Kand suddenly booms.
“Never you mind, Copin,” Goreth waves a hand back to him, “There’ll be time for it later.”
“He looks like his dog just died.”
After sleeping without dreaming, the pilot stirs and sits upright, clearing his eyes to take in the collective gathered around the fire. They are in high spirits, drinking mugs of glus with laughter as consistent a sound as the crackling of the flames. Resting against the log, Marquos takes in a deep breath and puts a hand to his head. It hurts to touch. He looks to the sky, but there is nothing to see. The light of day has already faded and the blanket of branches above is visible only in flickering shadows cast by the fire.
The general chatter around the fire is interrupted as the burly joker from before stands, raising his mug and shouting above the ruckus for attention. He pokes fun at one of his cohorts before announcing, “But seriously now. Seriously I want to toast this fine man that’s returned to our fold. We thought we’d lost a good man. Here’s to you, Gore, and here’s to reminding you that we’re all counting on you to figure a way out from this damned mess.”
The Kands cheer and raise their drinks. Goreth responds with equal boldness, “You’ve nothing to fear on that. Whatever numbers we have left will be enough to crush these cowards. One righteous Kand is enough. And even if I had fallen, you still have the most righteous Kand I have ever met right here leading you.”
The crowd cheers again. The figure in the heavy blanket, one of the smallest around the fire, rises to an uproarious celebration. Marquos looks into the eyes, finding them staring at him again, and realises this must be the high leader that Goreth spoke of. Hidden in her massive green sheet, all focus is on the wide eyes that sparkle in the firelight. The Kands quieten, waiting for her to speak. She lifts a mug of glus, saying nothing. They all cheer again and return to drinking. She turns away from the circle and slips past her drunken men into the shadows of the trees.
Marquos starts with a jump as a man slips to the floor beside him, but relaxes on recognising Lian. Lian pulls his knees up to his face, nervously hunched up, and mutters “Every one of these people is a murderer. They would stab one another for sovereignty.”
“They saved our lives,” Marquos replies. “And I don’t see you rejecting their hospitality right now.”
“They are one pocket of evil in a whole world of it,” Lian says, “What use would forsaking them do.”
“Quite,” Marquos sighs. “Do you know where we are?”
“Far south of Thesteran, hidden in the woods. People do not live near here, guards do not pass through.”
“I need to get to Red.”
“No chance,” Lian shakes his head, lowering his voice further, “The
y’ve gone after her, I’m sure she’ll be fine, but right now you ought to worry about yourself. Mind their hospitality here, don’t cause trouble right away, no. You saw her Highness? She was there just now.”
“I saw her.”
“She came to you whilst you were unconscious. With her doctor, Copin. He has very little respect for others. A Gentar. They were checking you over.”
“I didn’t stir.”
“No. She’s not to be trusted, Marquos. Anyone that can rally the greatest clans of our war did not do it through sweet-talking.”
“If she wanted to hurt me, she’d have done it whilst I slept.”
“You’re too bashful, Lian,” a female voice interrupts them from behind. Lian scrambles sideways in a whimpering furore through fallen leaves. Marquos looks up to see the lady in the blanket standing over him, having circled through the trees, holding a plate and mug in small hands that protrude from the blanket. The nearest Kands turn to watch, nudging one another and going quiet. Highness Elzia speaks with a smooth, strong voice, her accent refined from a higher level of society, “Tell him what’s on your mind. What you’re afraid these people do.” Lian shakes his head hurriedly at her, shifting back across the floor. She rolls her eyes and says “Get some food. Your twig frame isn’t any use to me.”
Lian tries to stand and trips, encouraging laughter from the Kands at the fire. He slinks away towards the edge of the group, eyeing Elzia fearfully as he retreats. She flashes her men a warning glance and they look away, leaving her to Marquos. Elzia ducks down to sit beside the pilot, pulling her blanket in around her, and holds out the plate and cup to him. Marquos takes them and peers at the steaming pile of meat he has been handed. She says, “Tuck in, you need the energy.”
Wixon's Day Page 13
