The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2) (23 page)

“You take the gun, Kipes,” the woman said.  There was a low chorus of assent.

Kipes ran his hand along the insulated metal stock, taking in a deep breath.  He picked up a flint and steel, hanging in a pouch on the wall, and struck a spark against the oil-soaked wick dangling from the lip of the weapon’s mouth.  The wick caught, a small, low-burning flame hanging dead center in the barrel. 

He let the flint and steel drop and wrapped his arms around the top of the tripod.  “For our homes,” he vowed as the four of them burst into the sunlight.

*****

“What in the world—”

Dame Gaulda looked over her shoulder.  Four farmers were emerging from a house close to the gate, nearly forty meters from her.  Two were carrying thick wooden shields that covered almost their entire bodies as they advanced.  The shields obscured what the man behind them was carrying, his face straining with the effort.  She caught a glimpse of a metal leg swinging just above the ground;
a tripod?
  The last villager was wheeling a small metal cask on a cart, like a half-measure of petrolatum, connected by hoses to whatever the man in the middle was carrying.  A trail of smoke was rising above the whole unnerving assembly.

“Let’s not wait for them to spring that surprise,” Dame Orinoco said, jumping to her feet.  “Dame Gaulda, with me!”

Dame Gaulda took in a deep breath and rose to a crouch, wary of the snipers across town.  As Orinoco sprang towards the newcomers, quick as a gazelle, Dame Gaulda hesitated before chambering the next rounds of gel shot.

The battlefield was changing too quickly for her to make informed decisions.  Against barely armed peasants, priority one was minimizing loss of enemy life.  Against the unwelcome surprises they were starting to see, priority one was keeping her squadmates alive.  Flinging her fingers wide would eject the tubes of gel shot, and a shake of the wrists would chamber live rounds instead.  Her conical bullets were strong enough to pierce those wooden shields.  She could cut the farmers down before they ever brought their machine to bear. 
Overwhelming force now saves lives later
, her mind calculated. 
It’s the humane thing to do.

“Burn me,” she swore at herself as she chambered two new rounds of gel shot instead.

The big farmer in the middle set the tripod down, its heavy metal legs digging divots into the earth.  The shields closed around him so only the mouth of his weapon was visible between the gap.  Gaulda fired twice, aiming for the bits of human bodies she could see, the edges of their hands and the tops of their heads.  But the shots just splattered against the thick panels of wood, knocking the weapon momentarily out of place as the farmer tried to draw a bead on Dame Orinoco. 
Maybe I can give her enough time to get to them
, Dame Gaulda thought, reloading her tubes.

Then the dark bell of the weapon swung towards her, a tiny spark of light dangling just beneath its upper rim.  A second later, the world went white-hot.

*****

Dame Orinoco stumbled as a long stream of fire lashed out across the air, like dragon’s breath from the old songs.  There wasn’t a fire arrow, or any other visible projectile launched from the bell of the farmer’s gun.  Fire simply appeared where there had been none before, and flew forwards in a spear of orange and red and white.  It splashed against Dame Gaulda’s breastplate, immolating her like a hunk of dry bread toasted too far inside the stove.  Her death’s head faceplate was just visible inside the cloud of smoke before she fell backwards.

Orinoco heard a shout come up from the other ‘nauts, and the whine of their suits as they started to run towards the Shock Trooper.  She tensed her muscles and redoubled her speed.  Letting the farmers use their weapon again was not an option.

The bearded man behind the shields swung the flame gun towards her as she ran.  A rush of fire came at her face, pushing a column of hot air along with it.  She leapt away, launching herself high and to the side, higher than the nearby stockade.  She flung her arms out and her sails sprang into view.

Her armor had seams along the sides of the breastplate from her armpits to just below her ribcage.  Hidden cords pulled taut as she spread her arms, and two finely woven pieces of fabric unfurled down the lengths of those seams, creating triangular sails from mid-torso to each of her wrists.  The rushing wind caught her sails, giving her a slight feeling of lift.  She kept her arms wide and curled inwards, arching her back and bending her knees.  As the jet of flame tried vainly to track her movements, her sideways jump away from the farmers began to curve back towards them.  Dame Orinoco sank towards the ground, tucking her head down and holding her sword close to her hip.  She landed into a dive roll just behind the shield bearers, as precisely as if she’d jumped straight over their heads, not perpendicular to them. She sprang to her feet with lightning quickness, rolling her shoulders to retract the sails into their hidden sheaths.

The bearded man shouted frantically, lifting up the tripod in an effort to turn the fire gun towards her.  A man carrying one of the shields rushed at her from a crouch, using the heavy wood as a ram.  Dame Orinoco chopped viciously at the top of the shield with her sabre, driving its base into the ground.  The man ran into the wooden wall he was holding and spilled forward in an ungainly heap as she took a short hop backwards.  A second man, standing by the metal tank on a wheeled cart, was pulling a long knife from his belt.  She quickly took a look at the two fabric hoses connecting the tank to the meter-long gun. 
It must shoot petrolatum, but how is that possible without igniting the whole tank at once?
Deconstructing the engineering marvel could wait for later.  Dame Orinoco sidestepped as the bearded man launched another stream of fire, far too wide to touch her as he struggled with the clumsy tripod.  She rushed forward, ignoring a glancing blow across her armored belly from the farmer’s knife, and swung her sabre upwards through both hoses.

The fabric tore with a wrenching sound, but the coils of spiraling metal remained intact as she followed through, ending with sword held high.  The upper hose hissed, swaying back and forth as some invisible gas escaped it.  She shifted her feet as a blue-gray jelly spilled out of the lower hose from both severed ends, sliding slowly along the ground like congealed grease.  The stream of fire belching from the weapon abruptly died.  Dame Orinoco pivoted backwards and brought the pommel stone of her sword down onto the knife-wielding farmer’s head. The blade dropped out of his hands and he crumbled straight down into a sitting position before toppling over.

Letting the other shield fall, a woman pulled a pistol from the small of her back and aimed for Dame Orinoco’s head.  With form that would make her fencing instructor proud, the Cavalier lunged forward and thrust the tip of her sabre straight into the woman’s knuckles.  An épée would have skewered her more effectively, her distant instructor said in her mind.  Stabbing with a sabre—all edge and no point—was like stabbing with an oversized dinner knife.  Despite the sub-optimal weaponry, the woman still flinched in pain, her hand deviating a few degrees before the pistol fired.  The ball whizzed past Dame Orinoco’s head, sending her ears ringing.

“Die, monster!” the bearded man at the tripod shouted, his eyes wild with rage.  Dame Orinoco’s eyebrows shot up as he lifted gun, tripod and all in his burly arms and hurled the massive arrangement at her.  The unexpected projectile caught her flat-footed.  She managed to raise her sword in front of her face and take one step back before the machine clouted her, the heavy gun barking her shoulder and one leg of the tripod smacking the outside of her knee.  She slipped on the jellied stuff and sprawled onto her side, wincing.  She rolled up backwards into a crouch almost immediately, sword point held low as the three determined farmers stalked towards her.  Then Dame Orinico looked down.  There was a tiny flame still lit in the mouth of the gun—which was now resting on its side in a slow-building puddle of fuel.  As she watched, a lick of fire took shape on the edges of the blue-gray slime, and crept along the ground towards the hose at a curiously lazy pace.  Dame Orinico stared at the growing fire for as long as it took to blink once.  Then she lowered her sword and jumped as high as her legs would take her as the fire crawled up the hose and into the metal tank.

The explosion sent her careening in mid-air, shoving her legs out from under her and flipping her upside down.  She dropped her sword and flung her sails open, scrambling to get control of herself before she landed head first.  Losing altitude fast, Dame Orinoco fought her way to a horizontal position, belly facing the ground, the wind whistling shrilly past her head.  She bent her knees and got her legs under her just as she struck the ground next to one of the thin-roofed homes.  Momentum pushed her forward into an ungainly somersault, and then another, sending her perilously close to crashing into the stockade.  She finally flopped to a stop on her back, her vision swirling.  She heard the distinctive whine of ‘naut boots hustling towards her. 

“Fine, I’m fine!”  She preemptively brushed off her team’s concern, sitting up.  “How’s Dame Gaulda?” she asked, turning her head.

The three masked figures above her raised their metal claws.

*****

“Oh Spheres,” Iggy breathed.

Swirling around for another swooping pass over the snipers, a flicker of orange light caught her eye at the far side of town.  She saw the whole thing as a column of fire knocked Dame Gaulda off her feet and danced against her armor as she writhed on the ground.  Kelley and the Cavaliers abandoned their cover immediately, rushing towards the smoking ‘naut as Orinoco dashed towards the deadly new weapon.  Iggy shook her head, feeling a chill through her patchy flight suit. 
What is going on in this town? 

A musket ball zinged against the starboard plating.  She gritted her teeth and cast another glance at her own gun, patiently resting on its rack. 
When is it time to start fighting fire with fire, as it were?

She cut the throttle way back and Ironsides dropped like the great slab of metal she was, shedding half her altitude in an instant.  Screams rose up from the pair of snipers left on the roof.  It must have looked for all the world like she was going to plow into them full-on this time, like an avenging meteor from one of the outer Spheres. 
Maybe I am
, Iggy thought, narrowing her eyes.

She gunned the throttle with her right hand and pulled up the steering column with her left.  She swept close enough to the long-roofed building for Ironsides’ exhaust to propel one of the snipers, a reedy middle-aged man, right off the roof with a shriek and a thump.  The other dove for safety down the ladder, disappearing into the building.

Ironsides started to climb again, and she looked straight down as she flew towards the village gate.  Sir Kelley was spraying white foam all over Dame Gaulda from his fire douser.  The Shock Trooper was still, now; but not too still, Iggy saw with relief, as Gaulda moved her arm to point towards her still-smoldering midsection.  She’d live, with luck; though if the flaming stuff she’d been hit with was anything like the vial that had set Sir Mathias ablaze, she’d be weak as a piglet for days.

“Burn me!”

The exclamation ripped out of her throat as the explosion on the ground sent Ironsides rocking.  Her hair whipped over her shoulders as she looked down, eyes wide.  Where the flame gun had been, there was an oily crater, dotted with patches of fire and three or four bodies.  Dame Orinoco was cartwheeling through the air, away from the nasty business, but there was no guarantee she’d been able to get away before being scorched.

Iggy pulled up higher, leaving the stockade behind and coasting over the treetops.  Her mind was spinning.  Only a few minutes in, and their team might very well have been out two ‘nauts.  And who knew if these hicks and their Golden Caravan buddies were just getting started?

She swung Ironsides around in a long circle, grabbing the stock of her musket with the other hand.  “Mathias,” she said, bending over the trumpet of her Communicator.  “If we want to get out of here, I think it’s time to fight these bastards for real.”

*****

Dame Orinoco howled as one of the men stomped down on her hand, the ranine coils powering his leg with crushing force.  She rolled away from him, folding her injured hand to her chest and kicking out at one of the other masked Petronauts.  Her toe caught him in the stomach and crumpled backwards, the air knocked out of him.  His shining golden eyes glared at her unblinkingly. 
Why wouldn’t they deploy in full suits? 
she thought, her dazed mind barely able to keep up with the situation.

Her sword was a thousand kilometers away, back towards the gate.  As she levelled her gun-arm at the closest ‘naut, another one pounced on her like a wildcat.  Six claws battered against her back all at once, pressing jagged furrows into the metal.  Her shot went wild, and she gasped as the dented metal dug through her padding and into the flesh just behind her ribcage.  As they swarmed around her, she leapt with all her might, angling desperately towards her sword and the rest of their squad.  The masked ‘nauts leapt after her, hurling themselves through the air just as far and just as fast as she could.  She chambered a new round in mid-air and landed heavily on her feet.

A new pair of footsteps was coming closer at astonishing speed.  She whirled around, heart sinking, but felt her throat loosen with relief when she saw Sir Xiaoden’s sabre glinting in the sunlight.  As the gold-eyed ‘nauts landed they swirled to meet him, slashing with their claws.  The Cavalier brought his sword across his body, deflecting the claws of one man away and sidestepping for distance.  He spun the sabre high around his head, building speed in a continuous motion, and chopped downwards, flicking his wrist at the last moment as if casting a fishing line.  There was a dull thump as a clawed arm hit the ground.  The masked man stood there, staring at his own arm in the grass as if unable to make sense of it. Then Sir Xiaoden raised his leg and kicked the man between his shoulder blades, and he hurtled face-first to the ground.