The Way of the Power (19 page)

Too often, she encountered those who wished to be warriors but rarely measured up. When she found a true warrior, one who could make sacrifice upon sacrifice if it helped the mission succeed, she noticed that one of the many stressful layers in her life disappeared. She could rest when she had time, she could think when she had time, she could fully relax when she had time — all because she trusted that this true warrior would do the job that was needed. So, while Tommy rested with the Artisoll baby, Malja had no concerns over skirting the periphery of the Ro camp — she trusted Stray to stand guard and make sure no harm came to their small party.

Her recon provided a detailed layout of the camp. The Ro showed much more organization than the Bechstallon. The soldiers’ tents had been erected in an orderly rank-and-file formation. At the head, a larger tent designated the commander’s quarters.

Off to the side of these tents, Malja noted two large structures — half-tent, half-wood. Probably was all-tent when they had first arrived, but as their stay increased, their commander ordered sturdier construction for specific, important buildings. Malja guessed they were a medical station and an armory.

Behind the soldiers’ tents and downwind from the entire camp, a temporary stable and pasture had been designated. Mostly, this consisted of a guarded swath of land that their herd of rogwells could graze upon while several chicken-like creatures pecked the ground. One small building stood at the back end of this loosely marked area. Smoke poured out from behind the building.

On the side of the camp opposite to Malja, the ocean waters lapped against the shore. The water looked serene, but that didn’t fool Malja. She knew what a temperamental bitch the ocean could be.

Walking through the snow, Malja’s do-kha heated her feet. She slid in closer to the camp, seeking a clear view of the dock. But no matter what angle she observed from, the numerous tents, horses, and soldiers cluttered her view.

She decided to take a lesson from Stray. When they had first arrived to find Harskill, Stray climbed one of the trees to get a better view. She could do the same.

After passing only a handful of branches in her climb, she slipped and she tumbled to the ground. The warmth from her do-kha had been melting the snow around her feet, turning them into wet, slippery fish. Concentrating on her do-kha and her feet, she pictured them turning it rough treads. Seconds later she felt the soles of her feet reshape.

Back in the tree, her new grips clung to the branches without fail. When she reached a point high enough to overlook the Ro camp, she saw three full-sized vessels in the water — the kind that took an entire crew to operate. Quietly, she eased to the ground and hurried off toward her group.

“We can’t steal a ship,” she said as she settled in next to Stray. “They only have three and each one is massive. They’ll notice if one is missing. They’ll notice right away, and we’ll be stopped long before we reach Tunistall.”

Stray looked unperturbed. “You’re wrong.”

“I saw it clearly. Even had to climb a tree to do it.”

“The Ro love the sea. Practically are born in the water. If you saw only three ships, three large ships, then those would’ve been the troop transports. But the commander will have several cruisers as well — at least, one private cruiser just for herself.”

“Cruisers?”

“Small ships. Strong enough, capable enough, to endure ocean travel but not practical for moving large forces.”

Malja held back a grin — she enjoyed hearing Stray speak with a military mind. “That could work for us, but I didn’t see anything close to a cruiser. Just the three ships.”

“If they were docked on the opposite sides of the ships, they are small enough for you to miss.”

“We can’t go ahead with this on an
if
.”

“No commander given such an important task as recovering the Artisoll would come without at least one of her private cruisers. Not the Ro. They over-prepare for everything, and their vanity is not to be ignored. The status that the cruisers give her is, in some ways, far more a declaration of her strength then the insignia of her rank.”

“You’re sure?”

Stray cocked an eyebrow at her. “We will steal a boat tonight. It’ll work.”

“Well, these are your people. You know them. So, do you have a plan?”

“These are
not
my people, and yes, I have a plan.”

When Stray finished, Malja relaxed. She thought it was a simple plan, and simple was good. Simple meant fewer variables, fewer things that could go wrong. Late that night, they would sneak across the camp to the docks, grab the guard watching the boats, and steal one of the cruisers. Once they safely put out to sea, they could dump the guard overboard and be on their way.

The hours that followed tortured Malja with their tediousness. Waiting for nightfall and the camp to sleep gave her ample opportunity to envision every possible scenario Stray’s plan could create. The more she thought, the more his simple approach looked fraught with problems. What if there were two guards (or more) at the dock? What if they were spotted while crossing the camp? What if — but the
what ifs
would drive her mad. Instead, she did her best to clear her mind and practice controlling her do-kha.

When the time came that Stray tapped her shoulder, Malja had drifted off. “We go now.”

As Malja organized her things in preparation, the Artisoll cooed under Tommy’s care. “Is she going to be a problem?”

“Don’t worry about her,” Stray said. “Even as an infant, she’ll know when to stay quiet.”

“She better.”

Stray brought his jacket that held the Artisoll over to Tommy. “Guard her with your life.” He tied the jacket, cinching it tight against Tommy. They locked eyes and said nothing more.

Malja led the group along the treeline until she reached the back end of the soldiers’ tents. Crossing between the stables and the tents, they had rogwells on one side and slumbering soldiers on the other — the least chance of getting caught. The deep huffs of the rogwells mingled with the snoring soldiers, both making enough noise to cover the footsteps of Malja, Tommy, and Stray. A bitter odor of a burning root drifted by — a guard smoking.

When they reached the dock, they crouched behind some half-filled crates — mostly tents and shoes. Malja looked over the lid to find only one guard. A young man, not much more than a boy, with a pimpled face and tufts of a poorly-grown beard. His uniform hung limp over his shoulders, and he rubbed his eyes like a child fighting sleep.

“I’ll get him,” Stray said.

He showed stealth and agility, managing to position right behind the guard, grab the young boy, cover his mouth, and carry him back to the others without making a sound. The boy’s terrified eyes darted from Malja to Stray to Tommy. Malja glanced down — at least, the boy hadn’t wet himself.

In one deft maneuver, Stray shifted the boy across to the left and, with his free right hand, produced a dagger. He placed the blade at the boy’s groin. “We need one of the cruisers. You’re going to help us.”

Malja leaned in. “You make a sound, you lose a most precious part of your body. You make a second sound, you die. Understand?”

The boy nodded vigorously.

Pulling the boy to his feet, Stray said, “Good. Which of the Commander’s cruisers is ready to go?”

The boy pointed to the single cruiser at the far end of the dock. As Malja turned to head off, the boy said, “Y-Y-You can’t go.”

Malja grinned over her shoulder. “Watch us.”

“No, no, I mean you have to have the key. Otherwise, you can’t steer.”

Stray shoved the boy to the ground again, and they crouched around him. “What key?”

Looking younger with each passing second, the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, don’t make me tell you. They’ll put me in jail. They might charge me as a traitor.”

“We don’t really care.”

This time a puddle did form beneath the boy. Malja pushed Stray’s dagger aside. She forced what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I don’t want to have to kill you, and I don’t want your fellow soldiers to have to kill you. So, I’ll try to make this easy. You don’t have to tell us anything. Just answer me Yes or No. Can you do that?”

The boy nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Is the key in the camp?”

“Yes.”

“This camp isn’t that large. So, is the key by the stables?”

“No.”

“Is it with the soldiers?”

“No.”

“Well, that leaves the Commander’s tent.”

“Yes.”

“See? Not so hard.” Malja motioned toward Stray. “Knock him out.”

Stray smacked the butt of his dagger against the boy’s temple. Twice. The boy passed out.

“I’m sorry. I only knew the boats of Ro by reputation. I had no idea they needed keys.”

Malja removed her long coat and handed it to Tommy. “I’ll get the key.” She unbuttoned the boy’s jacket and held it against her. It would fit.

As she put on his shirt, jacket, and hat, Stray said, “You’ll get spotted.”

Malja tucked her long braid underneath the jacket collar. “I will, but not before I get that key.”

Stray glanced at the boy’s urine-soaked pants. “You want those?”

Malja inspected the black pants of her do-kha. “These’ll do fine. Nobody will notice.” She hoped it was true. “I look okay, right?”

“Except for that giant blade in your hand.”

She handed Viper over to Tommy. He tried to give her a reassuring pat, but she knew he couldn’t help. Whenever she lacked the weight of her blade on her back or in her hand, she felt incomplete.

Dressed like a Ro private, Malja marched through the camp with confidence and determination. Nobody challenged her — most were asleep, and those awake only noticed her in passing. Nobody cared enough to take a closer look.

When Malja reached the front of the block of soldiers’ tents, she stopped. The distance to the Commander’s tent turned out to be longer than she had expected. When she had spied upon the camp from the treetops, that distance had seemed so small. Standing there now, knowing she would have to walk across an open area, straight toward the guard sitting by the entrance flap, gave Malja’s stomach a slight twist.

It was one thing to move through the camp being ignored by the few still awake. It was another to stand still before the Commander’s guard. Not only would a casual inspection reveal that she was not what she purported to be, but the moment she spoke without a Ro accent, she would be discovered.

Not for the last time, she wished she had Viper.
Nothing’s going to happen if I stand here — except I might get caught.

Back straight and head up, Malja walked toward the guard. She hoped that moving with purpose would be enough to at least catch the guard unaware. Halfway across, she discovered her concerns were unfounded — the guard had fallen asleep and snored soundly.

Malja ducked under the tent flap and entered. The Commander’s tent consisted of two rooms — the front housed a desk, chair, a locked chest, and a wide table with a map of the area rolled out; the back room, presumably, was where the Commander slept. A single lantern hung off the tent’s central post, and the taste of heavily seasoned fowl lingered in the air. Malja had experienced being a commander herself and knew that it often came with perks — for the Ro, this apparently meant a private chef.

Malja rifled through the papers on the desk. There were several cubby holes and two drawers. She worked through those without any result. Nowhere on the tent walls hung anything for holding keys nor did she see any kind of stand. The map table was well-organized and clean. That left the bedroom.

Malja approached the bedroom door flap and listened. No sounds of motion or conversation, but no sounds of sleep either. She poked her head in and found the Commander sitting upright in bed, holding the key with a smug expression on her face.

The Commander had fine, fiery red hair, sharp features, and stern eyes. “Come in. Sit.”

Malja stepped forward, knowing that since the Commander had not called the guards right away, she had another plan. Without Viper or any other option, Malja would have to play along until opportunity presented itself. To the right of the door flap was a stiff, wooden chair. Malja sat.

“Good decision,” the Commander said. The hand not holding the key came out from under the covers gripping a gun.

Malja had seen many weapons before but none that looked so brand new. The mixture of wood and metal with extravagant carvings along the side gave the gun a formal appearance. The muzzle ending in an open bell with polished stones inlaid around completed the picture.

A bell muzzle lost significant accuracy but made up for it by spraying pellets in a wide pattern. At such a close range, the Commander wouldn’t have to bother with aiming.

“Do you have a name?”

“Malja. You?”

“You call me Commander. Is my guard dead?”

“He was asleep when I came in.”

“Then he’ll be dead when I deal with him. You — you’re the one who stole the Artisoll.”