World-Ripper War (Mad Tinker Chronicles Book 3) (25 page)

The geography of Ghelk was a topic in which he had only recently taken an interest. Danilaesis knew the cities and larger villages, the lakes and rivers, the trade routes, and the ports. They were nearing Hemuhn Lake; he could see by the glistening of placid water on the horizon.

“Turn us to the starboard,” he shouted the order behind him. He squinted, trying to gauge the angle. “Fifteen degrees.”

“But warlock,” Captain Gelleoth objected, “We’re on course for the lake. It’s dead ahead.”

“I can see it. I’m not blind as the high sorcerer,” Danilaesis snapped back. “Turn us.”

The first mate sidled up to the bowsprit and spoke in a normal tone. With the noise of the wind, it was the air sailor’s equivalent of a whisper. “Beggin’ yer pardon, warlock, but we has orders from High Sorcerer Axterion. We’re to dump them barrels in the lake and go back.”

“If he wanted blind obedience, he wouldn’t have sent me along. I’m here because a commander in the field has instincts to know when a plan needs to change,” Danilaesis replied. He turned to the captain. “I’m countermanding the high sorcerer’s orders based on new reconnaissance. If you’ve a mind to object, speak up.”

“Aye, aye, warlock,” Captain Gelleoth replied.
Sailors. Almost as good as soldiers for distrusting sorcerers. I’m one of them, but with magic. I get my hands dirty, just like them. I don’t sit in a room all day, writing orders.

The barrels had been his grandfather’s idea. Where the old tortoise had stashed them all these winters, Danilaesis never knew. The barrels looked newly made, but with the preservative runes maintained as well as they were, there was no telling their true age. Like Axterion himself, the appearance of youth was misleading. They hadn’t opened one. Axterion hadn’t dared. What rancid toxin dwelt within those oaken barrels, the high sorcerer had feared to expose them to air while they were still in Kadris.

“Most of their water starts in that lake,”
Axterion had said.
“Foul that, and the countryside is weakened.”
It wasn’t Danilaesis’s idea of fighting a war. But apparently that was part of being a right bastard, as his grandfather had promised he’d make Danilaesis. It was some consolation that it was the first step toward a war, and not the whole war itself. The Ghelkans had wells, and smaller rivers that did not share water with Hemuhn Lake. People would get sick, or die, or do whatever it was that the barrels’ contents were supposed to do to them. But not all of them, and Danilaesis would not see it happen.

Danilaesis wanted blood. He wanted a lot of it. For every drop of blood in his twin’s dead body, he wanted a death in return. Not knowing how many drops that was, he would settle for all of them. The Megrenn Alliance was more than just Ghelk. It was Megrenn, Ghelk, Safschan, Narrack, and all the smaller island kingdoms that had banded together to topple the Kadrin Empire. They had failed, but the remnants still clung together, recovering at least as fast as the empire had in the aftermath of the war.

Danilaesis’s new course put in line with the city of Kehin Nim, but he called for the
Mountain’s Breath
to circle in low among the outlying villages and farms. He leapt from the ship with Sleeping Dragon in hand. The peasantry did not even attempt to fight back. They fled, they hid, they begged for their lives and the lives of their children.
I’m no monster
, Danilaesis told himself.
Their children won’t come to any harm.
Sleeping Dragon took the life of every man in Kehin Nim, and a few stray women who got in his way or who showed a bit too strong a Source for his comfort. The children and the cowering women were left to their fates, condemned to watch their homes and fields burn under the unrelenting fire of the warlock’s magic.

For three days, the
Mountain’s Breath
toured Ghelk. Around the city of Dahn Fah, Danilaesis butchered herds of sheep and set the wheat fields there aflame. In the port of Jhan Mai, he sank fishing boats, punching holes in their sides with bolts of aether and letting the Aliani Sea rush into them. By the time they reached Tehn Mar, the Ghelkans had spread rumors of Danilaesis’s rampage. They laid an ambush, and he found five sorcerers and a hundred troops lying in wait. When they escaped, Danilaesis had to change into fresh warlock garb; the black fabric was soaked through with blood so that it clung and dragged at him.

The
Mountain’s Breath
flew low over the hills of central Ghelk, cutting across the countryside on their way home. Their lack of altitude was meant to hide them from the airships of the Megrenn Alliance. Poor copies of the Kadrin vessels though they might have been, Danilaesis was growing fatigued from the constant fighting and wanted no battle he did not choose on his own terms.

“What about the barrels, warlock?” Captain Gelleoth asked as they flew.

Danilaesis shrugged. He caught Captain Gelleoth looking at the top of his head strangely, and ran his fingers through his hair—they came away stained red. He wiped the blood-stained hand on his pants. “Fine. Go ahead. Bring us over Hemuhn Lake on our way back, and we’ll dump them in.”

He looked down at his hand, still smeared with blood that clung to the tiny crevices in his skin and to the whorls of his fingertips.
I am Danilaesis Solaran, Warlock of the Empire and blood-stained right hand of the empress.
His formal title had never seemed more appropriate. Fatigue got the better of him, and he found the thought helplessly amusing for no reason he could explain. He chuckled, then laughed out loud and could not stop until he had forgotten why he started.

The crew of the
Mountain’s Breath
looked at him strangely. He held up the offending hand for them to see, and laughed himself silly once more.
Come on, it
is
funny, isn’t it?

Chapter 19

“You can’t be your own man, if you’re someone else’s.” -Ganrin Draksgollow

Draksgollow wrinkled his nose at the smell. The tunnel stank of human excrement and blood. Dead kuduks had been hauled away, the wounded carted off on express trolleys for the nearest hospital. There were no wounded humans; the ones too injured to escape had been finished off by Draksgollow’s soldiers. They had won, but it had been costly.

He scratched at the stubble of his patchy beard. “Where did they get these things?” he muttered to himself. It was light in his hand, dense but not very large. It seems incongruous that the strange guns the humans had carried would punch holes in his steam tanks like an awl through leather. There was copper wound all around the barrel, which was made of brightsteel instead of plain carbon steel. Perched atop the barrel was an optical scope more appropriate to a rifle than a pistol. It made him wonder at the gun’s range, that whoever made it saw fit to attach one. Most hand-held firearms weren’t accurate enough at long range to warrant the addition of optics. Workmanship-wise, there was no question in Draksgollow’s mind: kuduk quality.

“Arvernus, ask around a bit on the side, see if any of them spark scientists have been working on anything like this,” he said over his shoulder. He knew that Arvernus was still hanging around, shadowing Draksgollow as he had all day. “Melt down my metal leg if I’ve got half a clue how a load of human miners got these in their stinking mitts.”

Down one of the side passages, bodies were lined up like thunderail ties, all on their backs, heads on the same side—those that still had them—and spaced with enough room to walk between them. Draksgollow kept the strange gun in his hand while he walked the line. He heard grumbles from some of his men, mostly the mechanics and metalworkers from his workshops, not the soldiers. Hauling bodies and putting them out for display was gruesome work; it should have been left to humans, as far as they were concerned.

“Any sign of him?” Draksgollow asked. Three of his soldiers held newspapers in hand, comparing the ruined human faces to the one in the headline flashpop.

“Got three, might be him, on account of I can’t say it’s not with what’s left to look at,” one of them replied.

“I won’t call it him unless I can see that face, that dumb, staring, ox face from the flashpop,” Draksgollow replied. “Sick of seeing that mug on every slow news day or every time there’s a rebel attack and they don’t got any other flashpop to run. If we’re gonna make a thump around here, we need that head in a jar. I want to put that on Councilor Dorsheen’s desk and see the look on her face.”

“That what we’re doing now? Trophy hunting humans?” the soldier inspecting bodies asked.

“We’re using the machine for the greater good. We’re all going to be rich, soon enough,” said Draksgollow. “We can be anonymous, but that only lasts until we slip up once. We get caught, and we’re villains. We polish our image up a bit first. When someone sniffs out what we’re actually doing, they shrug and think to themselves, ‘huh, so that’s how they did it.’”

“Yeah, but this one human …”

“Aww, blast it!” said Draksgollow. “What’s one human or another? This one on all the papers, people will know that one. We ventilate a bunch of miners; they’ll all say: ‘Yeah, but where’s that Mr. Coin-Eyed Gawper, the one from the flashpops? They ain’t got
him
yet?’ We bring his head and plop it on a newsman’s desk; they’ll see someone’s doing something about it.” He hadn’t thought of it until he said it, but a newsman was a better choice that Councilor Dorsheen. There must be rules to being famous written down somewhere, and letting someone already famous make big news for you … that couldn’t be the way to make a name for yourself.

“Yeah, but if he weren’t here, where we gonna find him?”

Draksgollow looked down at one of the bodies and spat on it. “One problem at a time.” He looked down the copper-wound barrel of the gun in his hand. “One problem at a time.”

The Katamic Sea washed against the side of the
False Profit
. The deck did not yet feel right under his boots, but Denrik Zayne was home. The crew went about their work with a hustling efficiency that he demanded. Even after the disgrace of losing a ship, the story of sinking one of the Mad Tinker’s smokers was enough to maintain his legend. If he happened to let slip rumors that perhaps the destruction of Tinker’s Island was part of his revenge, then so be it. No one in Tellurak was going to gainsay him.

Footsteps sounded behind him on the deck, but Denrik knew who it was. Long habit had made him learn the gait and heft of every man aboard his ships. A captain could not be seen constantly looking over his shoulder. “Mr. Tanner …”

“Liking your new ship so far?” Tanner asked.

Denrik sneered, but Tanner would not have seen it from behind him. “It serves. I like it well enough, I suppose.”

Tanner sidled up beside him. “You don’t love her, though.”

Denrik remained silent and hoped that Tanner would let the matter drop.

Tanner sighed theatrically. “Guess you’re just gettin’ too old to love a new ship. You know, you’d keep ‘em longer if you didn’t go around firing cannons at everyone.”

“Do you have some purpose in coming to see me, Mr. Tanner?” Denrik asked. He wondered for the hundredth time what had possessed him to take on the annoying Kadrin twinborn.

“I heard about Dan,” Tanner said. He sounded melancholy, not angry. That, at least, was a good sign. “I suppose that was your idea?” Denrik snapped his head around and fixed his glare on Tanner, who held up his hands in surrender. “Not accusing. Just … curious. Never had the grapes to do it myself, but I knew it’d happen sooner or later.”

Denrik turned his attention back to his crew’s preparations on deck. “It was Anzik’s plan. The boy reads too much if you ask me. Asymmetrical warfare, he called it. I plotted entire wars, but I always thought of the twinborn connections as a parallel. I hadn’t thought to use the Mad Tinker’s machine to switch duels.”

“Boy’s smarter’n his old man, huh?” Tanner said. Denrik could
hear
the stupid grin on his face.

“Indeed.”

“So … I … just wanted you to know …” Tanner said. “No hard feelings, ok?”

“Why is it that you’re here, Mr. Tanner?” Denrik asked. “You’ve never shown especially much disloyalty to the Kadrin Empire before …”

“I spent three years traveling with a madman of a warlock. A warlock who’s going to be charging up for a war like a monohorn with its danglies caught in a bear trap. Not much point getting’ caught up in that. He’ll march me off to get killed just to see more of your folks die. Rumors are already travelin’; he’s just bent on blood.”

“Yes, Jadon has told me of the raids. This time, we’ll end them for good.”

“Well then, take that as your answer. I know enough of what’s going on that I want nothing done to me ‘for good.’”

“As straight an answer as you’ve given me in ages, Mr. Tanner,” said Denrik. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a ship to run.”

“Sure, boss,” Tanner said with a mocking salute—Kadrin style, with fist to temple. “If you need me, I’ll be checking on the whiskey and cards to see if they’re in proper order.  You know … new ship and all.”

Denrik listened to him go. Let the buffoon drink himself stupid and rob his men at the Crackle table. He was bound to have drunkards and gamblers among his crew even with the vetting he’d given them. It was just a hazard of the occupation that many good sailors turn to piracy because of unfortunate vices that make them unwelcome on respectable ships. Tanner fit in better than most passengers he took aboard.

The man was a puzzle. He seemed to flit along in life, looking out for himself. Then on rare occasion he would show himself to be a better man than he let on. He had volunteered to save Anzik and Jadon both when kidnappings had taken both twins from him. Ostensibly Tanner had used the quest to find a way off Denrik’s ship. He hadn’t expected to see the Kadrin twinborn once he let him go, but Tanner had returned—in both worlds, with both boys. It was a debt that never seemed to be repaid, for whenever he thought the ledger balanced between them, Tanner would need some small favor, and a tiny voice within Denrik could not refuse the man who had saved his son.

Now, it was the betterment of Veydrus. Tanner seemed to have finally realized the depravity of the Kadrin Empire and decided to work against it. Or had he? Denrik had to be careful until he was certain.

“Father?”

Denrik flinched, startled. Of all the footsteps on the ship, only his son’s could be silent enough to surprise him from behind. “What is it, Jadon?”

“The runes worked like you said. It feels like Tellurak now. No more floating when I try to walk.”

Denrik grunted. The moon, of all places for the Mad Tinker to take refuge. It fit his moniker. Only in a fever dream could Denrik have conceived of people living on the moon. In a world where machines could transport your enemies to you in an instant if only they knew where to look; it was an inspired choice of hiding spots. He hated having to credit the man who sank the
Fair Trader
, the man whose little fleet of smoking ships had harassed him for years, with such a coup.

“How are the goblins doing?” Denrik asked.

“We haven’t made direct contact since Madlin went to Veydrus,” said Jadon. “But we’ve been watching over her. There are thirty-five thousand two hundred eighteen goblins working on building … buildings. I don’t know what they’re meant to be yet, but Madlin is directing them.”

“You didn’t ask the tinker?” Denrik asked with a frown.

“No,” Jadon replied. “He and I don’t talk much. I suspect he doesn’t trust me because I’m your son. I try not to provoke him.”

Denrik scoffed. “You’re not afraid of that weaselly tinker, now are you? Anzik was able to kill the twin of Danilaesis Solaran with little enough trouble.”

“That was an ambush. I knew what I would face,” Jadon replied. “I was the stronger of Source and mind, so a victory under even equal terms was all but assured. We need Cadmus Errol for our plans, so I cannot strike against him unless I am sure he has betrayed us. That means that most likely I will be the one ambushed.”

“But still …” said Denrik.

“He is a clever one,” Jadon replied. “A man who not only thought to hide on the moon but discovered the means to get there. I have postulated eighteen ways he might get the better of me, despite my advantage as a sorcerer.”

“Humor me,” said Denrik.

“He could change the settings on the world-ripper just before I step through, sending me into the void between worlds. He could use one of the coil guns against me—possibly with specific modifications to circumvent shielding spells. He could reprise my own trick and open a portal that would bring Danilaesis Solaran into my presence. He could use any one of a number of different ways to kill me in my sleep, including pumping anesthetic gas into my room, planting explosives in the room below—”

Denrik waved him off. “That’s enough. You have a point. Hopefully the bastard doesn’t know where Kadris is to even
try
bringing Danilaesis Solaran into this.”

Jadon cocked his head. “Moon.”

Denrik sighed. Jadon had a point; a man who would think to hide on the moon would have the breadth of thought to find the most notorious sorcerer in Veydrus. Language barriers aside, it would not even be difficult.

“Just keep a close watch and make sure the goblins don’t double-cross us or harm Madlin Errol. If anything goes wrong with the goblins, as long as we have her help, we can get
some
number of those guns.”

“The dragon is the bigger worry. The goblins will obey the bargain.”

“Dragons are always the worry whenever they’re involved,” said Denrik.