World-Ripper War (Mad Tinker Chronicles Book 3), page 27
So many times in the days the army traveled, Madlin found herself turning to a phantom Jamile, or worrying over a memory of Dan. All she saw were goblins, oxen, and the strange six-lizards that the high-ranking officers rode, saddles perched on the creatures’ heads. K’k’rt was one of those. Though technically he was not a member of the army, he was respected as an elder. The tinker had confided in Madlin that she was technically an elder, should she ever need a bit of leverage when arguing with the officers. Only a pair of sorcerers and one of the generals was over the age of sixteen.
Madlin sighed as she stared at the distant mountains, unchanging as they drew nearer, or at least growing so slowly that she couldn’t notice. K’k’rt said they would be at the base of the mountains by nightfall, but he could have told her a week and she wouldn’t have known any differently.
Except for Rynn. Madlin hadn’t gone into the expedition blindly. Rynn had been using the Jennai’s main world-ripper for days, sweeping the countryside for scouts, mapping the city of Raynesdark, taking count of troops and looking in detail at the fortifications. She had told none of this to her allies. Let the goblins think they were on their own, that she was trusting in them and in her invention to protect her. Let Anzik think that she was waiting to see Raynesdark for the first time upon her arrival. The enigmatic young sorcerer likely would have guessed that she would scout ahead through a viewframe, but she wasn’t about to tell him and remove all doubt. Nor was she about to share the knowledge she gained, at least not without negotiating a price. Given freely, the knowledge of the stronghold was as likely to be used against her somehow, as it was to gain her anything.
The casual consideration of betrayal was new to Madlin. All her life, she felt she had known who to trust. The rebels, her gang friends, her father’s workers, she trusted all of them with her life. She had never been betrayed by a kuduk because she had never trusted one. When did I start becoming so distrustful? Dan? The murder of the unbalanced warlock lad was certainly the first time she felt the guilt of double-crossing someone. No. Naul. First human who ever sided with the kuduks against me. She wondered whatever became of him. Had he delivered the “music box” that Madlin had entrusted to him, brought it to his kuduk patron, and been killed? Had he realized at the last minute that he had his freedom, if only he took it? Madlin shook her head. She had never investigated. The gift she had given herself was the uncertainty of not knowing that she’d sent Naul to his death.
The rumble of wagon wheels and the bestial noises from the goblins’ pack animals formed a relaxing monotony that threatened to lull Madlin to sleep. She tried to judge the size of the mountains, remembering her views of them in Korr, from the thunderail, and from a wagon in Tellurak. But the memories did not come with a ruler or a sextant, or any other measuring device.
K’k’rt’s chuckle snapped Madlin awake. “Do you have your optics?” the goblin tinker asked. His lizard mount was walking beside and behind Madlin’s wagon, and he had guided the creature’s head around in front of her. The lizard was walking without looking where it was going, which Madlin took as a sign that they were either very stupid creatures or very smart ones.
Madlin cocked her head in reply, confused by the question. She pointed to the spectacles, which were not exactly hidden on her face.
“No, the long-sight one on your weapon,” K’k’rt said. “Look to the east, then turn thirteen degrees right.”
Madlin drew her coil gun and sighted down the scope. It was her own gun, not one of the goblin-made weapons with the shoddily-ground glass. They were getting better, she had to admit, but they weren’t yet up to Tinker’s Island standards. In the tiny circle of view, she saw a lot of dark grey rock. She panned to the right, unable to judge precisely how far thirteen degrees might be. Through the scope, it was hard to miss.
It looked so much smaller than it had in the world-ripper’s viewframe, but there it was: Raynesdark. The poor, beset crossroads of two worlds’ ambitions, about to become a battlefield because of Madlin. All she could see of it were the two staggered walls—one above the city protecting it from the glacial ice, one below shielding it from view from the west—and a few taller buildings, one of which was the ruler’s dwelling. Rynn had been all through the building, which was half buried into the side of the mountain, covering the entrance to the old gold mines. It was stark, unadorned stonework, grand in scale but juvenile in its simplicity. Raynesdark had a deep, which surprised her more than anything else she found about it. It was a single, massive vaulted cavern with forges vented up through to the sky. There were offshoots that looked to have been built from old mine tunnels, and a few that appeared to be active mines. The inhabitants were only mostly human. Rynn had seen her first ogres in those deep mines. Gigantic, dull-eyed humanoids, they provided brute labor for the Kadrins; Rynn suspected that they would provide muscle in battle as well.
Had she wanted to, Madlin could have arranged for Rynn to do any number of things to sabotage the Kadrins’ defenses. With access via the world-ripper, she could have arranged assassinations, undermined the city wall, poisoned the water supply, or pillaged the armory. But something Anzik had told her kept nagging at her thoughts. The Kadrin Empire keeps its power by magic. Dan was a symptom of a larger problem with the empire: sorcerers bred for generations to produce stronger and stronger bloodlines. If one of those sorcerers caught her with an open world-hole, there might be no end to the trouble that resulted.
Of course, Madlin also didn’t care whether the goblins prevailed. So that was an even better reason not to risk aiding them. The coil guns worked. She knew they would function to the dragon’s satisfaction.
“It’s just a wall,” K’k’rt said. “Unless you see something more than these old eyes could make out.”
Madlin blinked and lowered the coil gun. “No, just thinking.”
K’k’rt chuckled. “Getting the palm sweats before a battle. You wouldn’t be the first.”
Madlin snorted. “Please. I’ve been to more battles than you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, I hadn’t realized I was in the presence of such a grizzled old warrior, elder Madlin.”
“You know,” Madlin replied, “for someone who claims that speaking my language cramps his tongue, you sure talk a lot.”
K’k’rt laughed out loud, slapping his knee repeatedly. “Exercise doesn’t do an old body like mine any good, but it seems my tongue is younger than the rest of me.”
Madlin sighed. The city was still well out of range for the coil guns. The wagons dragged on. “So what now?”
K’k’rt shrugged. “For such a young human, you are quite impatient. We wait.”
The arrayed goblin forces prepared for the assault on the Kadrin city of Raynesdark. Madlin had never seen the whole group at one time, strung out as they were over the course of miles of wagons. Now, as tents popped up and cooking fires lit the dusk, the plains below the mountain city teemed with scrawny, grey-green invaders. Madlin crouched at the flap of her tent, too tall to stand inside it. It was an annoying precaution, but a sensible one for her safety, having her in the same tents as the army. Even poking her head out to peer through the optics on her coil gun seemed risky. There was always the chance that some sharp-eyed bowman or sorcerer aided by magic would catch sight of her and make her a target. Rynn had made and runed a steel plate jacket for her, but Madlin resisted the urge to open a world-hole to receive it. Her better protection was anonymity.
Up on the walls, in the evening’s fading light, Madlin could just make out movement. The city’s defenders must have known that the goblins were settling in after a long journey, not preparing for an immediate assault. Sorry fellas. You may just be doing your job up there, but you’re doing it for the wrong side. At least, everything Madlin had heard told her that it was the wrong side. When she had started out her rebellion, it had been the right thing to do. Humans. Kuduks. Daruu to a lesser extent. She knew who she was fighting for, who she was fighting against. A few holes in some knockers were a cause for celebration. Dead humans were mourned. Now she was surrounded by goblins, about to attack a city of her fellow humans. Except that these humans—in fact all humans of this world—seemed to place little value on that fellowship. She had needed allies, and to secure them, she had taken sides. In so doing, Madlin had set in motion this series of events that led her to Raynesdark. There was no way she could have foreseen it, but she was the cause nonetheless. The human blood spilled was on her conscience. The goblin blood, Fr’n’ta’gur could keep on his own conscience—if dragons even had them.
The clank of spoon in bowl brought Madlin’s attention back to her immediate surroundings. “Still looking through that thing?” K’k’rt asked. He handed her a bowl of the sugary mush that the goblins seemed to use for any meal that had to feed thousands. Madlin wondered if they even had a more sophisticated cuisine.
“Thanks,” she replied, juggling her coil gun and the bowl until she managed to holster her weapon. “Just wanted a better look, I guess.”
K’k’rt chuckled softly. “Second thoughts about attacking your own kind?”
“You think it’s funny?” Madlin snapped.
K’k’rt cocked his head. “Oh … that. Nervous habit. I seem less threatening if people see me as pleasant-faced.”
“You mean lighthearted.”
K’k’rt shrugged. “Same thing, I imagine. I have spent far too long—most of my ember years—balanced on a blade. I used to be a sorcerer who tinkered for amusement. I was younger, back then.” He drew a thin blade from his belt, little more than a pocket knife, and twirled it in his fingers. It spun, darting around nimble fingers, twisting and reversing. Then it fell to the turf. K’k’rt muttered something in his own tongue and kicked the knife away, stumbling as he overbalanced.
“What was that all about?” Madlin asked.
“I used to be able to do that all day, without even paying heed to it,” said K’k’rt. “I used to have the fingers of an assassin, or a harpist. I was quick with my spells. Now, I’m a shepherd of vengeful humans, a promise-maker to dragons, and not much of a sorcerer at all. You’d laugh too, if it kept them all at bay.”
Madlin sat down in the dirt beside the tinker, still poised at the opening of her tent flap. “What’s gotten into you? Battle too much for you?”
“I was here the last time,” K’k’rt replied. “My magic was growing difficult even then, six winters ago. But it was enough to sneak me away. I saw it all though before I escaped. The cannons smashing the Kadrin wall. The glory of Ni’hash’tk breathing fire down on their city, routing their forces. I saw the demon arrive and the two of them quit the battlefield together, to watch us mortals fight it out. I watched the demon kill her, and destroy the high wall, dropping an avalanche over our forces. As far as I know, only myself and the human sorcerer who taught me to make cannons survived.”
“So, history coming full circle?” Madlin asked. “You’re worried it’ll only be you and me walking away from here?” She winked at him, trying to cheer him up.
K’k’rt sighed. “No, I think this time is different. The demon is dead. Ni’hash’tk is dead. And Fr’n’ta’gur is not the fool she was. History repeats so that we can do better each time. But …”
There it was. “But what?”
“You have a plan to escape if this goes badly,” K’k’rt said. It was always difficult to tell, given his shoddy Korrish, but Madlin heard no hint of a question.
“What if I did?” Madlin asked, staring K’k’rt right in the eye. Sitting next to him, they were of like height.
“The machine that sent you will snatch you back,” K’k’rt said. “You had the same plan when you argued with Fr’n’ta’gur. I have known madman humans, but you do not strike me as one of them. At the first sign of danger to you, you will sneak away.”
Madlin remained silent. Assume all you want. I don’t have to tell you anything.
K’k’rt leaned close. “I want you to rescue me as well.”
Madlin pulled away, trying to get a full view of the wrinkled, grey-haired goblin as if seeing all of him would make his request any less bizarre. “What?”
“I can be of use,” K’k’rt continued. “Even if we sneak back, if the danger passes, I can cover your story. I can be a valuable ally.”
“You aren’t on my side,” Madlin said. “You’re keeping watch on me for the dragon, making a deal for your friends in Megrenn, and coming out ahead. I know where we stand.”
“We stand on the edge of a blade. I’ve been on it for a long time, but you’re new up here. You’ll want an expert.”
Madlin kept silent once more.
“Don’t answer me now. Eat your meal and get some sleep. The attack will launch before the dawn.”
Rynn found herself wandering the corridors and catwalks of the Jennai with no destination in mind. Madlin lay sleeping in an undersized tent, waiting for the sound of goblin signal horns to wake her for the battle. Rynn was no good at waiting, so she stalked the far corners of her ship, looking for distractions. There was activity even in the dark hours, though the most interesting construction happened in the daylight hours. Despite the scarcity of daylight as the sun crept over the western horizon, she headed to the belly of the ship—or more precisely, below it.
The great scaffolding that hung below the Jennai was all new. Rynn slung herself down by one of the larger support beams, and onto the makeshift walkway that ran to either side of her father’s latest project. Below her, clear to see through the metal mesh of a floor, was the sunset reflected from the sea a half mile below them. It caught her breath short every time she looked down, but there was not a spot anywhere along the scaffold where there was a gap large enough for her to fit through on purpose, let alone by accident. The welds were sound; she had checked them herself. She had even carved levitation runes on a belt she wore, ready to be activated in case of a fall. For all that, the feeling of doom when looking straight down from such a height never faded.
The enormous cannon was a product of Cadmus’s recent paranoia. The design and oversight of its construction had kept the Mad Tinker busy, but it was a ludicrous waste of resources. The bore was large enough for workers to crawl down on hands and knees. The copper wire had not been wound around it; the gauge was so thick it had to be hammered into shape around the barrel. Cadmus had constructed six dynamos to power the weapon. It was covered in split runes, ready to come together and make the barrel as massive as the whole of the ship for a brief moment as it fired. It was ludicrous on a scale that Madlin had rarely seen from her father. She had nicknamed it the World Ender Cannon, Version 1.
The problem was not that a coil gun wouldn’t work on such a scale; on the contrary, Rynn was convinced that it would. The problem was that there was very little worth firing such a weapon at. The Jennai had been harassed by kuduk airships from one nation or another from time to time, but between their own liftwing airships and the hundred or so handheld coil guns they had aboard, the crew had always handled the situation.
As a rule, machines don’t like to fly. The science of keeping one in the sky was finicky, and it didn’t take much convincing to send one back to the ground where it belonged. While the World Ender Cannon, Version 1 would certainly make short work of any vessel it hit, a far smaller bore would have been just as effective and much easier to build. Not to mention the small matter of aiming something mounted ventrally the length of the ship. How many coil guns could we have made with all this copper? Goblins or no, it seemed like a waste of resources. That was what puzzled her.
Cadmus Errol was not a wasteful man. He never had been, and it seemed like a peculiar time to start. There was a war to be fought, and Cadmus’s gun was a solution to a battle they had already won. The skies belonged to the rebels. Wherever the Jennai went was their home. Cadmus knew that as much as Rynn did. As she ran a hand along the wrapped copper coils, strolling the length of the barrel, Rynn tried to imagine what you could do with a gun like the World Ender.
The target would need to be slow-moving, preferably stationary. It would need to be well protected, something that would justify putting this much power behind it. Ideally, it would be of use to us in the rebellion against the kuduks.
Rynn stopped, the springs in her tinkers’ legs bouncing her once as they settled. A chill ran through her as she put the pieces together. He wants to destroy the deeps. Perhaps her flippant moniker for the cannon was not so far off the mark. It would explain the chuckle from Cadmus when she named it. If a coil gun could put a half-inch steel ball a few inches into rock, how far could this monstrous weapon send a three-foot diameter steel shot though stone? It had six times the power of a world-ripper … the math just eluded her. She had no idea.
Rynn slumped against the side of the scaffolding. He’s going to try to wipe them out. In moments of anger, Rynn had wished for the extinction of all kuduks, but when her temper cooled, she could not sustain that wanton vitriol. They weren’t all bad, and even if they were, that wasn’t justification for wiping out their whole race. Rynn had proven that the rebellion could evacuate humans from the deeps. Get that operation working on a larger scale, and they could pull the humans to safety and bury the kuduks—and daruu, she supposed—beneath the stone of their own cities.
“You all right?” a voice called from the far end of the catwalk. Sosha. Her dark skin made it hard to pick her out in the fading light, but the voice left no doubt.
“Yeah,” Rynn shouted back. “Just out for a walk while I wait for the rusted goblins to attack.” She leaned back against the scaffold as Sosha approached.
Sosha wasn’t dressed for the night air, shivering in a light dress. Wherever she had expected to find Rynn, it hadn’t been outdoors. “What are you doing down here?”
