Tinkermage (Book 2) (21 page)

“All right then. Steady as she goes!”

Swinger
descended into the cloud bank under the strained hum of her machinery. Strong wafts of burning oil and grease clung to the deck. The sinking sun blazed over the mountaintops to send purple ripples through the striations of mist, giving the sky a vast, oceanic feel. As
Swinger
displaced tons of willowing vapor, Stena had the indescribable urge to hold her breath against the sinking feeling.

And then they were inside.

Head and shoulders above the rail, Stena peered down into the depths, a faint mist forming on her face. The air seemed suddenly warmer here, a brief respite from the aching cold. The clouds wrapped
Swinger
in a cocoon of muted sound. It seemed like a forever of silence in this eerie place.

They emerged from the cloud bank to straddle the world. The forests and hills bathed in the shadows of the Utenes while it remained blindingly bright above the mountaintops.

“Slow, Lins.”

Her first officer piped more heat into the bladder by turning a crank. She lifted a lever to apply more pressure to the starboard and port propellers, spinning them to a horizontal position to add lift.

It took several moments for them to stabilize.
Far too long
.

Stena peered over the port rail as their bow drifted toward the distant ocean. They were directly above Goad’s Pocket, floating over the cup-shaped group of hills and mountains, which tailed off in a deep curve from west to east. She’d never been this far south, over land anyway, and the view was captivating, made even more surreal by their lazy drifting. To see mountains made small from this altitude gave her a giant’s head; she was a goddess of the southern winds, a sky rider, a wind walker, for as long as she could keep them in the sky. It took a moment to realize her breath had caught, and she’d forgotten the ache of her stiffening shoulders and back.

But there wasn’t time to enjoy the view, for between the folds of the hills, from the top of a bald rise, a great host moved down into the valley cut. At first, Stena thought they were orcs, but she’d need a closer inspection. Hightower had dealt with orc incursions before, but a host of this size would undoubtedly require immediate attention.

Only those dirigibles didn’t have orcs, did they?

“Bert,” she shouted, “bring me those futtering magilenses!”

Bertrand clambered up the ladder and brought her the viewing device, and Stena raised it to her eyes, peering through the complex series of lenses that instantly, and with a punch of nausea, sucked her to the ground. After a quick study, she ripped the magilenses away from her eyes, partly from the vertigo and partly because she couldn’t believe what she’d seen. Stena looked again, her stomach sinking at the composition of the small army below. She was suddenly very worried about Hightower, her friends back home, everything she knew.

“Lins, Bert… we need to get a message to—”

The second enemy vessel plunged down through the clouds, almost crashing into them. The thing went by so fast that neither crew had time to react, to align weapons, or otherwise alter course. As the gaseous enemy ship went by,
Swinger
’s crew absorbed a round of hateful glares. Two or three of the beasts thought to leap the divide, but Stena stood hard at the rail, giving back her best scowl, shouting in her most raucous voice, “Stay off my
ship!
”

One beast barked an order, and his mates stood down. The ship slipped on by. Bertrand joined her at the rail, and together they watched them descend, slowing their speed to no doubt align an attack on
Swinger
. Stena found herself wondering not only about this alien dirigible and her terrible crew but the things below. She now believed Dale more than ever. Ultraworlders, aliens from another place, and the horrific dockside tales of what had happened in Swicki Forest and Harwood Lake became very real to her.

Stena knew one thing as infinitely as she’d ever known anything in her life. They needed to get word to Dale, to warn him and everyone else that Hightower was in grave danger. The gravest.

“Can we get back into the clouds?”

Linsey shook her head, looking hopeless.
“
We’re not going up, Captain. At least not quickly.”

Stena thought hard as shouts rang out from below, guttural, hard-jawed sounds that told her they didn’t have much time. They couldn’t outrun the vessel in a flat-out race now that Stena had seen what the enemy vessel could do with its deadly bursts of speed. They wouldn’t survive another bashing.

You can’t go up. You can’t outrun them. But you
can
go down. Yes, you can certainly do that. And with just a little bit of luck, maybe you’ll survive the day… and maybe get back to Hightower in several pieces, if not one.

“Captain?”

There was only one way to rid themselves of that flatulent gas-bag of an airship…

“
Captain!
”

Stena’s eyes drifted down
Swinger
’s length, down the bloodstained deck, past the main mast and control deck to the wicked needle protruding from their nose like a stinger.

“Lins, point her down and ram that vessel.” Stena’s voice was surprisingly calm despite the twisting fear inside of her.

“Captain?”

Stena turned and yelled in her first officer’s face. “Ram that futtering ship. And Bert!”

The linguist’s eyes were wide with terror, face green with sickness as
Swinger
’s deck began tilting,
again
. Frost caked the thin tuft of hair growing from his chin as he spoke through his chattering teeth. “Yes, Captain?”

“Prepare a message for Precisor General Dillwind. Keep it simple; attacked by two enemy air vessels, Goad’s Pocket rife with enemy troops. Composition: unknown. Intention: hostile.” Bert nodded and meant to carry out his assignment when Stena grabbed his coat collar and pulled him close, his face just inches from hers. “Get a pigeon in the air, Bert. I don’t care if we’re right in the middle of plunging to our deaths. If you don’t, everyone back home will follow us into the bowels of Hell. You understand?”

Bert tore from her grasp without another word, descended the ladder, and stumbled to the deck hatch.

Now to buy the linguist a few minutes of time. Stena leaped to the deck, waved her blood-covered knife as high as she could lift it, and shouted to her crew. “Crick and Rose, to arms, to arms!” And then an old sailor’s battle cry as she made her way up to the control deck. “Steady legs, a sharp sword, and a strong arm to wield it! Let’s show these land kissers what it means to taste gnomish steel. For Hightower! For Hightower!”

Chapter Twenty-Five

For two more days, the caravan traveled the Western Road, camping one night on the road’s shoulder and then again on the south side of the curve where the gap in the Utene Mountains showed Niksabella the west for the very first time. And while they were turning south soon, she knew that westward was the road to her future home, Thrasperville.

A few other parties camped nearby but not too close, travelers in twos or threes, rogue men and dwarves from the west, a small caravan of grumbling Pelorian merchants who’d tried and failed to tie up their trade route in Hightower. Of all the races Hightower gnomes mistrusted the most, it was humans whether it be the pale-skinned ones from Teszereth or their darker Pelorian brothers who lived further south along the western coast.

Regardless, they kept their distance from
all
their road mates, burning their fires low and turning the wagons into a tight circle.

Termund approached and gave her a quick hug. The smells of the road had settled upon him. Horse and dirt and sweat. But there was something wild about it all, so none of that mattered to her. She just obsessed on whether or not her breath was sour smelling, which made her shy about kissing him. Termund didn’t seem to notice or care.

“In keeping with Jontuk’s request to keep our destination a secret,” he said, “we’re going to pick up two hours before dawn and head south into the hills. So make sure you get plenty of sleep tonight. If Jontuk doesn’t reveal our destination at that time, we’re heading directly to Thrasperville.”

Niksabella gave Termund an incredulous look. “I realize this is only my third day on the road, but anyone can see that we’re not going to get the carts any further south than they are now.” She pointed at the Utenes winding south like a wintry scar, footed by inhospitable-looking rises all brown and dusted with white. Before, it was just a route drawn on a map. The reality was far more intimidating.

Termund only winked and went back to settling the camp, leaving Niksabella to her studies. She found a quiet spot near one of the smaller campfires and set her folding chair down. The cold had gotten to everything by now, turning her chair into a chorus of squeaks when she unfolded it. But there was a fire and a new book, the second one in her bag of books and the first in her field of interest: summoning.

She’d made great progress in such a short amount of time. Her wellspring was healthy and came to heel regularly now with barely any effort. She’d even been able to meditate for a few hours at a time while perched on the back of her pony. Last night, she’d summoned a tongue of flame and made it leap into her hand and wiggle without a single burn to her skin. Terrence and Uncle Brit had both seen it, rewarding her with raucous applause. Not a true elemental, to be sure, not like Jontuk, but one imbued with her own life force; it almost seemed like a child,
her
child.

She could see why practicing magick could be so addicting and why her brother constantly yearned to increase his power. It was addicting. Niksabella put her hand close to the fire, palm up, and bent her wellspring toward the flames. A true summoner would be able to bring the fire to life within a moment, but Niksabella required far more concentration, staring at the brilliant and twisting light until it seemed she would fall right into it. In her mind’s eye, time slowed, and she began to pick out tiny flickers of flame, capturing them as she might an image on a photoplast, and then she caught a sprig of heat, captured in a blink, the power of her wellspring giving her the force to hold the element in suspension until she could finish the spell.

She spoke the simple, binding words. “Come flame, come fire, to me, no longer free.”

The hot tongue leaped into her hand, flickering back and forth between the tips of her fingers and her wrist as if testing its boundaries. But no, she had it, and she bent it to her will, causing it to remain relatively still (as much as fire can remain still). Her palm was warm where it hovered, but not overly so, and Niksabella felt the strain on her wellspring leveling off into a comfortable flow from her mind, through her arm, and into the tiny lick of flame. Last night, she’d spent a great deal of her wellspring in the ensuing rush of excitement, but this time, she was determined to take it slow and steady.

Niksabella played with the flame, curling it around her wrist, always keeping it on top, its tiny fingers reaching for the sky. Then she picked up her book and set it in her lap properly, opening it while making sure to keep the heat away from the delicate pages.

“We don’t need all that much power, do we, little flame?” she told it. “Just you and me and a good book.”

Beneath the glow of her own creation, Niksabella dove into the world of elemental magick. At first, she struggled, having to split her concentration between her new friend and studying what was written on the page, but soon, she absorbed the pages with nary a distracting thought, enjoying the fanciful prose of one high elemental magi, Kaytzi Zeet, written in the year 128 H.T..

“When concentration is fleeting and the cold winds of doubt blow against your nape, think positively about the elements associated with your companion’s properties: the warmth of a comfortable campfire, the smell of wet, damp earth, the salty scents of ocean waves beating against the sand…”

Ocean waves. After what I did to my brother, no thanks. I’ll stick to fire and earth.

Admittedly, some of the text was giggle-worthy, but it was much better than the bone-dry volumes of chemical and technical prose she’d suffered through in her study of the alteration of physical properties: imbuing.

Kaytzi further explained concepts about conflagration exacerbation, tidal reach, earthen re-vibration, and many other combinations of effects. The hardest element to master was earth, the weight alone enough to challenge even the most experienced master. Lastly—and the penultimate goal of every magician—to summon an actual elemental being, a creature with some depth of soul and intelligence. A creature like Jontuk.

Give me about forty years or more, and maybe I can bring forth a true elemental, a baby one to be sure, wherever those exist on Sullenor.

In any case, it was easy to see how one could study elemental magick their entire lives and still not know everything there was to know. And judging from the text, Kaytzi had the ability to move great mounds of earth. Side notes mentioned her enlistment in the Hightower Fire Brigade at one time, where she battled blazes by simply snuffing out the flames with her mind.

“You control fire now?” Termund stood over her.

Startled from her focus, her flame faltered and nearly went out before she caught herself and brightened it again.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. But, look there, you kept the little fellow going. That’s quite an amazing trick.”

She nodded, pleased she’d been able to maintain control of the dancing light. “Hardly a big deal compared to a true master, but soon, I may not even need the binding words. Soon, I’ll have the ultraworlders shaking at the sound of my name.” She said that last bit jokingly, but with an underlying wish.

“And you’ve got the Thrasperville Mercantile Guild at your service.”

“I’m honored to have their protection, good sir. But things are after me, Termund. They
have
been after me, and we don’t have Jancy anymore, or Dale, or the kind folk at the Golden Cog. I can never be too careful, wouldn’t you agree?”

Feigning bluster to hide what Niksabella suspected was a hint of annoyance, Termund went on. “True, I’ve never seen one so stealthy as Jancy, but here, we Thrasperville gnomes are in our element. To us, out here, every quiet sound is a lick of lightning, every footfall thunder. It’s no place for someone who—” he eased his tone to a polite but firm-lipped reproach, “for someone who isn’t used to this type of climate, fighting on uneven ground when your fingers are stiff with cold.”

“If you recall, I didn’t have a problem taking down that mongrel in my workshop.”

Termund bowed again, this time with a gentler grin. “You speak true. But if I remember correctly, mine was the fat one.”

“Fat and slow.”

Termund bent down, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her forehead. “No offense intended, Nika,” he said, slapping his palm against his sword hilt, “but there’s no replacement for cold, hard steel. Make sure you get to bed soon.”

“Do you have first watch?”

“I have second watch. I’ll be getting some rest now… if you want to come and share…?”

“I think I’ll stay out here and study. Not sure if there’s enough room for you, me, and your
steel
.”

Termund grinned and then held up his hand. “I’ll just step away now before you set my hair aflame or some other such wizardry.”

She took his proffered peace offering, allowing herself a satisfied smirk. He was learning. So was she.

“Just letting you know, dear, that when we leave the road, we’ll be passing into orc territory. I don’t expect them to be out in any great numbers as they are wont to burrow into their mountain dens for the winter, but you never know.”

Niksabella’s eyes narrowed as he walked away, and she tossed her summoned flame from her left hand to her right in an acrobatic arc. “Orcs can’t stop us, right, little fellow?”

She continued to play with her pet until the feeling of someone’s gaze drew her attention. She glanced up to see Uncle Brit leaning against a wagon. He mimicked Niksabella’s movements with the mug in his hand. His delighted chuckling reached her ears, and she tossed the globe of heat back and forth between her hands, much to his delight.

“Ha-ha!” He slammed his hand over his mouth to avoid stirring the others, then composed himself and gave her a thumbs-up gesture followed by a shooing motion in Termund’s direction, wrinkling his nose in the process. Niksabella grinned at him.

At least someone in this camp has some confidence in me.

She dove back into her book once more, burrowing into the pages as she leaned over it, absorbing Kaytzi’s words. It had been a long time since the mere act of studying had stimulated her mind like this. It was a dizzying amount of information and she felt a responsibility to understand it right away. She went beyond simple flame manipulation and discovered, with a terrified gasp, that there were methods of immolating another being by infusing them with a more robust version of the little guy currently flickering around her arm. Niksabella studied long into the night and didn’t notice, until she finally shut her book, that her conjured nip of flame had curled up beneath her chin.

Sleep well, my snuggly pet.
Then she yawned and made for her and Termund’s cocoon, allowing her friendly flame to fade away.