Chains of Loss (25 page)

And right now, he would get himself - and his friends - through a hostile city.

***

James had always dreaded this.  The sentries at the Fold crossing were the wrong ones. 

It was hardly a surprise.  The Fold was one of the least popular places for orcs.  The Worldsedge faced north, so the slow, deep river that had formed at its base was almost entirely covered by a perpetual shadow.  The Fold’s mountain-fed waters were always icy, and there was a lazy but steady current pulling out to sea.  Added to the species’ natural hydrophobia and the strong, eerie winds around the escarpment, the Fold was just about the orcish hell.

The Fold’s bridges were the key to the north, though.  Without them, the passes and basket systems were worthless.  Whoever controlled the bridges controlled all travel between the top and bottom of the escarpment.

At least, they did if their sentries were particularly loyal.  James hadn’t directly been a part of it, but he appreciated that immense effort had gone into suborning the guards at the few Fold crossings.  That effort had been mostly successful.

Mostly
, he thought.  Only
mostly
was the reason he was swimming the lake in the dark, a klick west of the target.  He was the only one with the required skills for the mission.  Only a handful of people actually had the sorcerous skill to endure the cold.  None of the others were strong enough swimmers to stand a chance. 

He reached the rocks without incident.  No, nobody else would manage this.  Having special skills was a pain in the ass.  He hauled himself up and started to feel around. 

They’d known they didn’t have all the sentries, so they’d planned ahead.  The cache held a crossbow, three bolts, a stoker stick, and a brace of throwing knives.  James had to give the orcs credit; their phobia had helped them achieve great skill at waterproofing stashes.  He prepped the crossbow as quietly as possible, then wiped himself off as well as he could.  One last thing to do; he pulled the bracelet from his pocket and rubbed the ruby for luck, then put it on.

This side of the bridge had three sentries and a signal fire.  If the sentries encountered trouble, or saw a similar signal from the other end of the bridge, they’d hit a lever and the signal fire would dump straight into the water.  Watchers at the top of the cliff would see the light go out and know to bolster the guard on the pass.  It was a very orcish way of representing danger.

A single gleam of light came from the shore.  Everyone was ready.  The moment the bridge was clear, they’d take out the sentries on their end.  If he didn’t succeed in half an hour, they’d consider the mission failed.

There were grooves in the stone by the cliffs.  He slung the crossbow over his shoulder and climbed as quietly as possible.  He could hear the sentries talking above him, but he didn’t trust their obliviousness enough to get sloppy.

The sentries were hardly paying attention.  It wasn’t really a surprise; elite guards weren’t assigned to the Fold.  If they had been watching the things they were supposed to be watching, James would have been more at ease; they would have been facing directly away from him. 

Instead, one was facing his direction.  That one would have to die first.  After that, the one it was talking to.  It was closest to the lever and would doubtless notice its companion’s death.  The third one was the likely threat.  It was facing away, but it was too far away for him to consider it a sure kill with a knife throw.  When he struck, it would hear the commotion, but by then he’d be between it and the lever.

The conditions were good enough that he didn’t think there was point in waiting.  He took aim with the crossbow and fired.

There was a gust of wind just as he let fly; the bolt went wide, but James was already moving before it hit.  He dropped the crossbow – he wouldn’t have time to load it again – and charged with the knives. 

Number one was unhurt but hadn’t reacted to the attack yet.  He rushed in and shoved number two towards number one, slashing hard across the back of its neck as he did so.  The knife sank in deep between vertebrae, but it was stuck; he let it go and continued the rush, driving into number one, pushing it up to the edge and, with a heft, toppling it into the water.  There was only one splash; doubtless, the hapless sentry sank straight to the bottom.

Number three was ready; if it had charged for the lever he might not have been able to stop it, but instead it had dropped into a guard position, spear poised against his approach.  He felt its sorcery; it was trying to extinguish the flames from a distance, but he shut it down. 

“Nuh-uh.”  He raised his arm and displayed the bracelet.  “See this?  You know who I am.  You can’t win, but if you surrender, you’ll be spared.”

It spat at him.  “Demon!  You will die at my hands!”

“How’s that?”

“You are unarmed!”

“I have this.”  He waved the knife.

“Against a spear?”

“How many times have I faced worse odds?  Besides.  I notice you’re not charging me; you can’t be that confident.  Drop the spear over the side and surrender.”

It bowed its head.  “You swear by the sun you will not attack?”

“No.  I swear by what
I
believe in.  Drop the spear over the side and surrender and I won’t hurt you.”

It hefted the spear and turned it such that the blade faced away from him, then carefully reached over the side of the bridge and dropped it.

“All right.  Now, sit down over there.”  He gestured away from the brazier and it complied.  He unwrapped the stoker stick and tossed it into the fire, which leapt up eagerly for a few seconds.  His companions on the shore could see it, but watchers from above were unlikely to notice. 

Number three bowled into him, knocking him to the ground and rolling with him, its tusks reaching for his throat.  He shoved his arm in its mouth as he angled to counter.  Its jaws closed only partway, but there was a crunch.  He punched it in the throat with his other hand. 

It coughed and recoiled, but he pushed his arm further in, forcing its jaws wide.  Before it could recover, he wrapped his other arm around its neck, grabbed its shoulder, and twisted, snapping its neck.  He sighed.  He usually wasn’t fooled that badly when they pretended to surrender.  That had been far too close.  He pushed it off.  Shards and orc saliva stuck to his arm.

He stared for a moment.  The orc had bit down on the ruby just perfectly; the Blood of Redmere had shattered.  The words came back to him.

So long as you wear this, I promise you will only find fights you can win.

He shook his head.  It was just a good-luck charm, wasn’t it?  He’d known enough magic to realize that there was no enchantment on the gem.  He’d found plenty of unwinnable fights since then; he’d just been smart enough to back down.

Any other time, he might’ve taken it as a warning, but the prize was too important – and the rest of the night should be easy.  Throw the body off the bridge, then move on.  Half an hour to get up the ramp, ten minutes to head to the west gate, be out of the city in two hours, be in cover by dawn.  No problem.

***

Flames licked the sky near the west gate.  Fire was the universal diversion of sabotage; Rathiela’s kin had made the obvious choice in using it. 

Derek felt more awake than he had in days.  He had to get away from here.  His pursuer had recovered from a broken leg and an explosion and kept on coming.  It would come back after the injuries he’d inflicted today.  It would follow him, unless he took drastic action.

They reached the gate.  It was closed.

Mycah grimaced.  “Not unexpected.  We’ll wait, and – ”

“No,” Derek said.  “No waiting.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Sure.”  He set his shoulder and charged the last fifty meters to his destination.  The gate was hardwood and iron – not enough to stop him.  A dozen guards – all orcs – stared at him in amazement as he emerged from the other side.  He raised his gun, then paused.

“In the interest of fairness, I have to inform you that my companions and I are going to travel through your city.  You can grant us passage or I will resort to the minimum force necessary for our safety.  I will also ensure that we are not followed.”

He waited for their reaction, which was, sadly, predictably hostile.  Each orc received a gel slug in the collarbone analogue.  The high-tech rounds might break bones, but they would also set those same bones, apply a microsplint, and suture their own entry wounds.  It would, however, take time for them to do so, and the enemy would not be able to follow him.

There were dozens of people – orcs and humans alike – in view, but most of them shied away, retreating into alleys and buildings.  As long as they didn’t try to stop his passage or harm his friends, he had no wish to fight. 

He muttered into a closed visor as he walked down the street.  “We don’t kill.”  It wasn’t all it meant to be a New Athenian, but it was important.  He couldn’t get around how much he’d
wanted
to do it. 

The slaves’ deaths had been an accident.  He could probably convince himself of that entirely, given enough time.  The orc he’d almost just killed, though – that would have been inarguably cold-blooded murder. 

The girls were talking to him but he didn’t listen; they both showed up on sonar.  They were fine.  Someone reared out of the shadows, aiming a stick with a blade at the end at one of them.  He didn’t care which one; the slug he fired in response broke the attacker’s wrist.  One shot per enemy, and only if they were combative.  Even so, he found himself pouring through his ammunition.

They reached the building that had been marked on the map.  Derek shouldered the door off of its hinges, then used one arm to push the guard that had been standing next to the door against the wall before it could strike at him.  He secured it against the wall, then struck it hard in the ribs, knocking the wind out of it.

There was another guard.  It almost managed to stand up before Derek grabbed its shirt and slammed it next to its partner, giving it similar treatment. 

He scanned the area.  They were there; no enemies were.  He turned to the girls and pointed to the baskets.

“Get in.”

He didn’t watch to see if they complied.  Instead, he kicked a sturdy table against a wall and shoved the stunned guards under it as he scanned the building.  When the guards were covered and the area was clear, he slammed his hand into a wall and pulled out a structural support, collapsing part of the ceiling towards the door and sealing the guards in their improvised prison. 

He paused to take a breath, then primed his scanners.  It was time for drastic action.

***

Gorti fought his way to consciousness.  The star’s soul had given Drotak phenomenal power – or had that, somehow, been Droluch?  He didn’t even know.  It had happened too quickly.

His power had healed him already, but the bones had not been set properly first.  His right shoulder had fused, and his leg bones were similarly mangled.  Pain shot through them as if something inside the broken joints was trying to move.  He would not fight again this night, even if he could acquire another weapon.  That didn’t mean he would give up.

He scrabbled at the ground, crawling to the object Droluch had dropped.  It was a small cask of black powder.  He snarled.

Stardust
.  The symbol of how the humans had chained the sun’s children and forced them to be weapons.  There was only one reason why they’d bring stardust here.

He forced himself to stand; his left leg wouldn’t bend, so he took it and pulled until something cracked.  Pain shot through him, but he could get the leg to move.  If he didn’t sit too long, it would stay usable.

There were fires in or at the city.  Droluch hadn’t been carrying much stardust, but if there were others...

His enemy’s plan coalesced in front of him.  Gorti
had
to get into the city!

***

Mycah sat in the basket with Rathiela as Derek lowered them down.  He was standing at the edge, holding onto the rope and pulling with immense force, putting them into a rapid but controlled descent.

Rathiela nudged her.  “Is he often like this?”

Mycah tried to keep the worry out of her voice.  “No.  Never.”

“He is battle-mad?”

“I really don’t know.” 

The taerlae sighed.  “I have at least as much to learn about him as about you.”

“Amen.” 

Awkward silence reigned as Derek continued to lower them.  It seemed like hours passed before they stopped at the base of the escarpment.  Derek didn’t jump out of the basket; he kicked a hole in the side, then gripped the rope in both hands and tore it in two.

“Derek?”  Mycah stared at him.  He looked grim. 

“Cross the bridge,” he said.

“Derek, what are you doing?”

“I’m sick of orcs.  They don’t live down here, you said?”

“Not – not really.  They – ”

The gun was in his hand again.  “Then we don’t have to worry about seeing them again?”