On Discord Isle (24 page)

The draconic megalith had not fallen. More of it stood uncovered by the quake, even taller and wider than Fengel had first guessed at. It was a massive bust, with most of the torso, shoulders, neck, and head rising up from the flank of the mountain to bow out over the sea. Falling debris had knocked away some of the dirt and greenery to reveal shining metal underneath, more of the same invincible brass as the spine that had breached the hull of the
Goliath
. More fine detail could be made out on the giant icon. Its eyes were closed, as if asleep, or praying.

Fengel hacked with his new saber and pushed through a massive fern. The foliage gave way to open air and a steep, gritty embankment. Beneath him the ground suddenly shook, the plants around him shivering with another tremor. His footing crumbled, and Fengel cursed as he slid down, coming to a stop a few feet below.

The tremor stopped only a moment later.
This won’t do,
thought Fengel.
We need that ship before this whole place shakes apart.
Glancing about, Fengel found himself in a small ravine. The slope back up to the jungle was only ten feet or so. Down at its base flowed a small wide stream, only a few inches deep. On the opposite side rose a similar gritty slope only a little higher, topped by yet more jungle. To the left, the creek curled out of sight. At his right Fengel spied a small, dark cave poked into the base of the volcano. The waters of the stream seemed to issue forth from here.

The foliage rustled up above. “Sir!” cried Paine. “You okay?”

Fengel glanced up to see his new officers, as well as several others, poking their heads out of the jungle. “Right as rain,” said Fengel. “Just a bit of a slip. Cumbers, have the men come down here for a bit of a rest. I think this is fresh water. Move carefully, mind.”

The crew of the
Goliath
descended. After Dawes tested the water and found it clean, everyone knelt to wash and have a drink. Fengel climbed back to his feet. He walked upstream toward the mouth of the cave, curious.

The opening was wide. Maybe ten feet across and just as tall. Ambient sunlight only illuminated the interior by a few feet, revealing smooth stone walls and more of the stream as it flowed outward. Something caught his eye, however. In the depths Fengel saw a glimmer.

A fluttering sounded beside him, followed by a thump. Fengel glanced over to see a parrot squatting on a rock near to the cave mouth.

It was singularly ugly. The creature had a long, butter-yellow beak, stumpy orange legs, and was shaped like a melon. Brilliant plumage covered it, a shimmering rainbow of color that would have been lovely on anything else, but here only looked garish. The bird looked tired. It panted slightly. When it noticed Fengel, it glared with over-large eyes. Then it opened its beak and squawked at him.

The noise sounded like something halfway between a honk and a scream. Fortunately, it wasn’t very loud. Fengel pulled back with distaste.

A great crashing sounded through the underbrush on the far ledge above. Fengel looked up to see a woman push through the jungle atop the opposite slope. She held a scimitar in hand, wore a tattered blouse, and blinked in surprise at the sudden change in her footing.

It was his wife.

A number of Salomcani raiders pushed through the jungle to join her. Natasha stared down at the Perinese. Then she saw Fengel. “There they are!” she roared in Salomcan. “There’s the Perinese bastards! Charge!”

The Sheikdom raiders raced down the slope into the crew of the
Goliath
. Most of Fengel’s men were caught unawares, sitting in the stream or washing in it. They scrambled to their feet and went for their weapons.

Fengel drew his saber and ran back to join the fray. A large Salomcani with a blue headscarf and striped trousers leapt from the slope at him, scimitar raised high. Fengel stepped aside and lashed out with his blade. It met resistance as the man fell past. He collapsed into the stream screaming and clutching at now-bloodied shins.

“Rally!” Fengel cried. “Men of the
Goliath
, rally to me!”

More Salomcani charged out of the jungle. A rat-faced man appeared before Fengel, long dagger upraised. Fengel cut at the arm holding the weapon and bashed his pommel into his nose.
If I can just make it to her, I can end this quickly
. Natasha stood only a short distance away. He watched her cut down one of his crew and smiled as a Bluecoat crept up behind her with his musket held like a club. She ducked as he swung and then whirled to meet the man, lunging forward to run him through. The Bluecoat cried in surprise and pain. Natasha bent in and kissed him on the cheek, then let him crumple down to the stream.

Fengel growled in anger and charged forward. She danced back and barked out an order, sending two of her Salomcani to meet him with scimitars and daggers in hand. Fengel hacked at the one on the left, a short, stout man, eager to reach past him to Natasha. The raider parried the blow. Fengel rebounded from the block to flick a cut at the tall dark-haired man on the right, who similarly deflected his strike.

They were strong, and skilled. But Fengel knew that he was better. He fell back a step, enticing them to strike. They took the bait and he beat both blades aside, using the opening to cut at the arm of the man on the right. The raider saw the danger and pulled back, only earning a light cut across his bicep. His mate pulled his own blade back into guard and rushed Fengel, aiming for his head with the pommel of his scimitar. Fengel dodged back, drawing his saber across his assailant’s thigh.

The three of them drew back with blades upraised in guarding positions.
Not bad
, Fengel thought. He could beat them, but it would take time. His wife knew what she was doing, damnably.

Time was something he didn’t have. A quick glance told him that the men of the
Goliath
were sorely pressed. Cumbers fought well, clubbing a raider to the ground and firing a shot at the man who snuck up on him. Riley Gordon and Midshipman Paine worked as a team, but already sported a number of minor cuts. Aetherite Dawkins gestured at a raider and unleashed a small puff of black smoke. His assailant fell, choking, to the stream. Dawkins rabbit-punched him across the side of the head, then fled back behind his mates. Everyone else was falling back, wounded. They needed a chance to regroup, and Natasha wasn’t giving it to them.

The dark-haired raider to his right lunged in. Fengel parried and bashed his assailant’s face with the butt of his saber. The man fell back with a grunt and Fengel stepped in to meet his shorter fellow, knocking his blade aside and cutting at his forehead. The blow hit home and the second raider staggered back, blood seeping down into his face.

Fengel took the opportunity to lash out at a few other nearby raiders. He skewered one and cut the calves of another, taking some pressure off of his crewmen. “Fall back!” he cried. “Men of the
Goliath
, fall back to me! To the cave!”

“Ha!” shouted Natasha from somewhere in the struggle. “Run, you dogs. We’ll cut you down all the same! And a fistful of golden sovereigns to the ones that bring me Fengel alive!”

Fengel’s crewmen made for the opening in the base of the mountain. He gave them what cover he could, blocking and binding any pursuers, falling back foot by foot until he found himself with Cumbers in the mouth of the cave holding off five men at once. A pistol snaked in at the sergeant’s chest. Fengel lopped the fingers holding it off at the wrist before it could fire.

The wounded raider screamed. He fell back. Unnerved, his mates gave pause and joined him as well. Fengel grabbed Cumbers by the shoulder and shoved him back toward the depths.

“Run!” he said. “Get the men away to somewhere we can recover!”

Cumbers panted. He nodded in the gloom and darted behind. Fengel continued to retreat, not taking his eyes from the Salomcani at the mouth of the cave until the opening was just a pinprick of light behind them.

A yell echoed down to him from the crewmen who had run ahead. Fengel closed his eyes.
Eyes of the Goddess. What now?

He staggered back through the cave. It was uniform, a ten-foot-wide tunnel with a stream at its base. The glimmer he’d spied before was stronger now, some bright light up ahead. His crewmen fled ahead of him at top speed, shoving each other to get away from the Salomcani. The shout had come from the head of the column.

Fengel pushed his way past the others. The light ahead grew stronger until it resolved as the end of the tunnel, an opening into some great space. His crew were packed tight around something that had them swearing in surprise and panic. Fengel pushed through to see what all the fuss was about. Then he froze.

Cumbers, Hayes, Dawkins, and Paine all stood in a semicircle at the head of the column, weapons drawn and pointed at a figure standing in the stream before them. It was a metallic armature, almost a skeleton, formed of Voornish brass. Its torso, head, and forearms were like a child’s suit of armor, covered in alien scrollwork. Two great glass eyes looked at them.

The construct seemed agitated.
“Variss goldeyn! Hara hailo!”
It spread both hands out at them in a warning gesture.

Fengel raised his voice. “Move aside, fellow. Or...whatever you are.” He made a shooing gesture with his sword. “We’re being pursued and haven’t time for your babbling.”

The construct cocked its head. “
Hara hailo!
You cannot be here!”

Shouts came from the tunnel behind them. Fengel heard Natasha’s screech of bloodlust.

Fengel lowered his blade.
Well,
he thought.
This is all I need.
He replaced his monocle, which made the automaton looked cracked and broken.
Now what do I do?

He glanced at the worried, angry faces of the crew around him.
Never let them see you stumble.

“Cumbers,” he said. “And you two.” He pointed at the automaton. “Grab that thing.”

The machine cocked its head as the crewmen stepped in to meet it.

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m not so sure about this anymore.”

Lina smiled hungrily at the punter and gave Runt a caress. The scryn purred, winding over her shoulders and around her upraised arm. “Come now, sir,” she replied. “Let us take you somewhere...unimaginable.”

The man stared at her. He was of average height and weight, with a neat brown beard, a bowler, and now an expression of utter revulsion. “No,” he said after a long moment. “I can imagine it quite clearly. I think I had better just go home.”

Lina watched him walk away down the street. When he turned a corner, she shoved Runt back into place across her shoulders. Then she gave a sigh of relief and fell against the brick wall of the alley mouth.

Breachtown seen from the ground was incongruous. The original Perinese colonists had done their best to bring the Kingdom with them, resulting in a city mixed out of tedious tradition and practical compromise. Dull buildings of grey brick clustered tightly, their sharp rooftops falling down into narrow alleys, while thin windows peeked out onto small yards bounded by ornate wrought-iron fences. Yet those yards sprouted lush palms and blooming vines completely at odds with their surroundings. Tropical birds flocked to the tiny baths built at regular intervals to coax them down from navigating the turbulent rigors of the Stormwall Breach.

Lina rested in an alley between a haberdashery and a cigar shop. Across the street loomed the wide brick facade of the Breachtown Colonial Counting House, a three-story building topped with a small glass dome where all fines were paid within the colony and a portion of all the vast wealth flowing out of the Yulan was taxed. Numerous windows along the second and third floors peered down at harried locals passing by in the street below. The building was framed by an apothecary to one side and a jeweler at the other.

She’d thought the alley a great place to gather information for tonight’s raid. Unfortunately, even with the city under occupation by the Perinese Royal Navy, most of the men she saw went out of their way to approach her in her disguise as a local prostitute.

I’m going to kill him for that.
Lina rested against the alley mouth, and vowed vengeance upon Lucian Thorne for the hundredth time today. Climbing down from the
Dawnhawk
and slipping into town just before dawn had been easy enough. She’d been so focused on that task that she hadn’t unpacked Lucian’s ‘disguise’ until she’d found the counting house, and her alley. Only then had she discovered that the committee-member had provided her with a revealing dress, high-heeled shoes, and fishnet stockings. He’d even included rouge and a bottle of overly strong perfume.

It was insulting, irritating, and a dozen other things besides, but in the end Lina didn’t have anything better at hand. At least she knew she could play the part. So, swallowing her curses and taking a nap, she’d risen around midmorning to put everything on and stash her things among some old crates at the back of the alley. So far, she’d spent most of the day observing the counting house and using Runt to scare off those that thought her disguise genuine. Hopefully Lucian would send someone to retrieve her.

Which had better be soon.
The late afternoon sun hovered just above the rooftops, falling from the sky. Her reinforcements were already late, though that wasn’t surprising. The park which Lucian had specified did not appear to exist. She just hoped that her crewmates weren’t lost in some other part of the city.

Lina stretched and stood away from the wall.
Ah well
. Until someone did
show, she had work to do. She moved again to the alley mouth and plastered on a provocative smile. Runt, torpid after devouring a toucan earlier, went back to sleep around her shoulders. Lina was eyeing a third-story window of the counting house when she noticed someone approaching out of the corner of her eye.

Goddess’s hairy armpits.
Were all the men in this town so desperate? Lina rolled her eyes and turned to face him.