Gunwitch (34 page)

It seemed to take an eternity for the first of the packed charges in the wall of the fort to explode. Then the ground shook as four more explosions in rapid succession destroyed the silence of the dawn. Rose had added what energies she could spare to the packed charges, amplifying them, directing their force outward from the center of the fort.

The colonel pulled on the reins of his horse and spun the beast around. Saber still raised, he spurred his mount at Ducoed. “Attack!” he shouted. Up and down the line, the men of his command echoed the shout. “Attack!”

Rose resisted the urge to look at the smoke billowing from the fort–either the walls were breached or they were not–and the even more personal, powerful urge to target Ducoed. She spun on her heels, raised her pistol to clear the heads of her men, and squeezed the trigger. Lightning and fire arced and exploded in the ranks of Ducoed’s forces near the northeast bank of the river. The bullet was consumed in the magic, adding to the destruction in a way that mere lead never could. She saw bodies broken, and blown apart by the blast.

She dropped the pistol into Corporal Rickell’s left hand and took the pistol he held in his right. She was aware of Rickell handing her spent pistol to Private Gartside for cleaning and reloading, but she focused on the line of the enemy. She fired again. She felt the magic tearing against the unreinforced barrel of the pistol as the exploding powder and hot shot were taken apart and added to the magic. The barrel held, though only just. Rose decided she would risk one more shot through the gun. She handed the pistol to Rickell again and took the next one he gave her. Shot after shot, she walked fire and lightning along the line of creatures that blocked the northeast treeline, trying to clear a path for the soldiers even now advancing and firing in that direction.

After the fifth shot, she had her own pistol again. The enemy was recovering from the surprise of the explosions at the fort and the fury of her attacks and the line of creatures had begun to move forward. Where she had fired, the line had been thinned, but not cleared. She hoped she would have a chance to assist that part of the battle again, but now she needed to see to the other escape route.

“Turnabout
right
,” she shouted. The cold of her magic had already begun to seep into her chest. Her breath misted despite the warm, humid air. “Two paces and
set
.”

Sergeant Tabart echoed her order.

“Now!”

She turned to the south and took two steps, Rickell moving in orbit about her and the rest of her men staying in formation around her as they matched her step. As she turned, her eyes slid over the sight of Colonel Laxton and his officers, still mounted, fighting against the hissing and clanking armored men. She refused to take time to wonder why she had not heard nor seen any return magic from Ducoed. She saw that Ducoed’s creatures were already beginning to close the gap along the riverbank. She aimed and fired.

The soldiers with litters of wounded streamed past her and Sergeant Tabart and Corporal Rickell and the rest. The wounded had their guns out now, but held their fire, trying only to hang on to the muskets against the bouncing and jostling–and to not fall off the litters. Rose fired over their heads like a human artillery piece, one shot after another, her lightning and fire keeping the path in front of them clear.

“Advance five paces,” she ordered after another nine shots, “then turnabout.” She did not hand the pistol she had just fired to Rickell. She dropped it. Her breath misted in front of her as the red-hot barrel hissed where it touched morning dew on the churned earth. That was one pistol used up, and three others about to go. “Now!”

Five paces forward hardly seemed to move them any closer to the south bend of the river which was their planned escape route as well, but she was the only artillery the fort had left. Facing back to the northeast, she again concentrated her fire toward the riverbank there. Only three shots, though, as the center of Ducoed’s arc had now advanced enough to need attention. The squat grunzers were moving out on to the field. They stomped and struck when targets were in reach, but they were all heading toward Rose.

“Steady, lads,” Sergeant Tabart said, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle.

Rose had never seen grunzers like these before, but they were still grunzers. She targeted the ground in front of the nearest grunzer, aiming to trip its jointed metal legs by exploding the dirt beneath its segmented feet. That grunzer fell forward after only two shots, so she shifted her attention to the next.

When she next held her pistol, she aimed for the boiler of the tripped grunzer as it struggled to regain an even keel. A normal bullet had no chance of penetrating the plated iron of the boiler. A magically infused shot from a normal pistol had a chance, though not a chance worth betting on. With her own pistol– As the grunzer’s boiler burst and pulled apart its chassis with a screech of tortured metal, Rose wished she had a full rack of rune pistols. Though even that might not be enough–

She pushed down thoughts of losing, and dying. They were none of them trying to win this battle. Only to survive.

Besides, if she were wishing, a pole-mounted 3-pounder with a crew to load it for her, would be even more useful than a rack of rune pistols right now.

She heard some of her men shouting in surprise and fear.

“Steady!” she shouted.

With her next shot, she built on the cloud of steam from the disabled grunzer, pulled in the fog now dripping off her and the smoke from her shots and the shots of a hundred men across a bloody field, and sent it out to create a wall of churning gray across the battlefield.

“Now, Sergeant!” As she shouted, she turned around to run with her men to the southwest. “Holy Mother of God,” she said, and pulled up short.

A boiling black cloud stood like a pillar of night along their path. Standing atop the pillar as if it were a solid object was the big man with the mottled skin. He had his arms spread, and he was shouting words that Rose could not understand. The black clouds sprang from the palms his hands, dripping and roiling on their way to the ground.

A soldier in a red uniform ran out of the black cloud, coughing and gagging. Rose saw the soldier trip and fall. One of the black, spider-like skeletons came out of the cloud behind the soldier, stabbed the soldier with its claws, then picked the screaming soldier up like a farmer might use a pitchfork to lift a bale of wheat.

“ROSE!” Ducoed’s voice boomed across the battlefield louder than a cannon. “I AM SO GLAD YOU COULD JOIN US, ROSE.”

Rose turned around, trying to look in all directions at once, trying to spot Ducoed. Then she saw him. He was mounted, sitting tall in the saddle, the red and gold of his uniform bright in the first direct sunlight of the day. And he was uphill of her. He had somehow ridden around the west flank of the battle up toward the still-smoking fort.

Rose raised her pistol. As she did, a line of black clouds rolled across the battlefield between her and Ducoed, obscuring the sight of him as he pulled on the reins. She squeezed the trigger. The chill of her attack left a trail of fog in the air and caused the blackness to twist and spin.

“SO COLD, ROSE. ALWAYS SO COLD.”

She dropped the pistol and grabbed the next one from Corporal Rickell. She fired it after the first, the cold rushing out of her creating a dusting of snowflakes that melted into tiny drops of water.

“I DO HOPE THAT MEANS THE LOVELY CHAL IS WITH THE GIRLS, ROSE. I HAVE BEEN SO WANTING TO GET TO KNOW HER.”

“No!” she shouted. The bastard could
not
have anticipated her again. He had not even known she was in the fort. How?

She grabbed the next pistol from Corporal Rickell, but before she could fire it again, black clouds swirled around her and engulfed her, blocking the light. But not blocking the sound of Ducoed laughing at her. Again.

Chapter 17

Margaret

Fort Russell

1742 A.D.

Margaret huddled in the darkness at the back of the stall, sitting on the horse blanket that Janett had spread over the straw. She clutched the pistol Chal had given her, holding it to her chest even though the claw of the striker dug into stomach and the cold metal of the barrel made her shiver. Not for the first time, she thought about dropping the pistol. It was heavy, and it was loaded. She did not even know whether she would be able to use it.

She felt more than saw Janett shift positions. Janett had the long musket in front of her, butt resting against the ground. She had laughed when she first saw Janett with the rifle slung over her shoulder, looking for all the world like a cross between Miss Rose and Chal. Prettier than either of the women, of course, because Janett could not help but be pretty.

She had thought that Da would have a fit when he saw his daughters with guns, especially her, his Little Puncher, but he had said nothing. He had only repeated the instructions Chal had given her. “Pull back on this until it locks. Aim low, Margaret, because it’s going to kick when you pull the trigger.”

The cold metal of the gun touched her and she shivered again. She wondered why she was not more scared. Maybe because all of it was so unreal, like a dream. A nightmare. Especially here in the darkness where she could not see, it was easy to believe it was all a fever dream. She had not seen what she had seen. She had not heard Mr. Thomas say the things he had said. Da was not riding out to his death to save her and Janett. She would wake soon, and there would be Mum, comforting her, maybe with a cold, wet cloth on her forehead, telling her that everything was alright and what a fright she had given everyone.

“Maybe I should go check the men.” Major Haley’s disembodied whisper made the dark seem even darker. “It’s been more than long enough.”

“They are brave men,” said a man’s voice, one of the soldiers, also only a voice in the darkness. “Do not question them now.”

“You are right, of course, Corporal,” the major said.

“It has not been as long as you think, Major Haley.” Chal’s voice now. “But more time may have passed than I think. Either way, you do not want to be in the open when–”

The ground shook under Margaret as if lifting her to meet the thundering roar of the explosion. She stifled her scream but nearly dropped the pistol. She felt Janett beside her, trying not to fall. Dust and straw fell on them from the unseen ceiling above them.

The first explosion had only just begun to subside when four more happened. This time Margaret screamed. Or she thought she did. Her mouth was open, but she could not hear anything but the continuous roar of a thunderclap that hit her over and over and over. Something hard hit her on the back and she realized she had fallen forward and had her face pressed against the horse blanket. She clutched the pistol as something soft and warm stretched across her back. She screamed again.

She was still screaming when the warmth across her back pulled away and hands pulled on her shoulders and waist. Then someone was shouting at her and shaking her.

“Margaret! Margaret!” She heard Janett’s voice, though only barely, and collapsed forward into Janett’s arms, sobbing. Because she knew it was not a dream.

* * *

Major Haley picked her up as if she was a toddler and held her against his chest as they ran out of the stable. As they came out into the gray light of morning, Margaret put her arms around the major’s neck so she would not slip down. She almost dropped the pistol when it knocked against his back. Over his shoulder she saw black smoke and dirt rolling across the deserted fort. Bits of wood still fell out of the air around them and on them. The front gate of the fort was a gaping hole. Large, splintered fragments of the gate were scattered everywhere. The east wall had been reduced to rubble. She heard more explosions coming from outside the fort, to the east. Behind her, the three soldiers who had responded to Major Haley’s request for volunteers came out of the stable. Two of them carried a canoe. The other carried long coils of rope and a set of pulleys.

The wooden stairs that went up the back, north wall of the fort were badly askew, but Major Haley managed to carry her up without losing his balance. On the top of the wall, Margaret wriggled, forcing Major Haley to set her down.

In front of her, Chal paused and looked to the south. Margaret followed her gaze. She could hear still more explosions, like lightning and thunder, more distant than before, and gunshots and even some shouts, but she could not see much of the field that surrounded the fort because of the smoke. She could not see Da. Or Miss Rose.

The soldiers dropped the canoe and the rope and pulleys on the top of the wall. One of them began tying off the pulleys around a crenellation while the other two went back down to the stable and fetched the party’s packs.

Chal whispered words that Margaret did not recognize, then went to the wall. She took her short rifle in her left hand, then stepped on the rampart and stepped off on the other side, into nothing. Margaret ran to the wall to look down. Chal stood on the lip of the cliff below the base of the wall, smiling up at her.

One of the soldiers came up beside Margaret and threw down a line. Chal caught the line and wrapped it around her waist.

Margaret and Janett followed Chal down the wall, but they held on to knots in the rope and were lowered. The slope of the wall was steep, but with enough of an angle that they could walk down it backward, as long as they held the rope. Margaret had put her pistol in her belt. It would have slipped through her pants leg and fallen if the hammer claw had not ripped a hole in her pants and hung there. The metal barrel was even colder against her legs inside her pants.

She stumbled when her feet hit the ground, and the gun in her pants tried to trip her. Chal caught her and helped her lean back against the slope of the wall. The edge of the cliff was at least two yards away, and she probably would not have gone over even if she had tripped, but her heart was racing and she was panting. The edge felt much closer as she looked at it.