Horizon (23 page)

“The horse folk were taken north,” Odd said.

Mags’s hand tightened on his arm. “And the comm device is west.”

The hope rising in his chest sank back down into nothing. “This cannot be,” he said. Had he so angered the sun that she now thought to toy with him, to give him an impossible choice so she might enjoy the entertainment of watching him suffer?

On a larger scale, the comm device was more important. The allied splinters needed to know where to find Karl Strand, not just his army. They could fight for years and never see an end to the war . . . unless they removed Strand himself. He was the serpent’s head, and they needed to cut it off.

“There’s a wee bit more,” Mags said. “If you’ve got ears for it right now.”

“It’s bad, boy,” Odd said. “Make no mistake.”

Dash closed this eyes and breathed deep. He did not want to know whatever news Odd and Mags thought was
worse
than what they’d already told him. But ignorance was only the illusion of a shield, not a shield itself. It could not protect him.

“Tell me,” Dash said.

Odd nodded, started to speak, then changed his mind. He nudged Mags in the shoulder. She scowled at him, but took the hint.

“The horse folk, the two that raised you, they were given to one of Strand’s generals,” she said. “As a prize.”

Dash swallowed. “Do you know the name of this general?”

Mags nodded. “They call her Scorch.”

His fathers were not warriors. Erke and Gan would not bear up well against torture, and the experience would not harden their resolve. If Scorch found out they were related to him or in any way connected to Aluna, she would exact revenge. Erke and Gan would suffer, and no matter how hard they fought it, they would break.

Dash knew this. And yet, he knew something else just as true: Erke and Gan would be disappointed in him if he chose to save them instead of helping so many others. They did not raise him to be that boy, or that man.

There were so many things they did not know. Perhaps the Upgrader they sought had no comm device after all, and perhaps Erke and Gan were already dead. Right now, all he could do was act on the information he had and follow his heart. In this case, it was telling him not to rescue his parents, but to honor them.

But perhaps, just perhaps, he could do both.

D
ASH HELD HIS ARM STILL
while Mags sliced a thin line through his flesh with a scalpel. He felt no pain. The skin covering his mechanical wrist and hand contained only a few vital nerves, and Mags had skillfully avoided them. She pulled his skin back to reveal the blood-slicked metal underneath.

Mags whistled. “Good work, this. Where’d you get it?”

“The HydroTek dome,” Dash said. “The Meks there have access to entire laboratories of ancient tech and are fully programmed for its use.” He thought of Liu the crab-girl and tried not to blush.

Mags used a tiny pincer to pick up the small device she was inserting into his arm. “Easy to hide the homer in all this tech,” she said. “They’ll never find it unless they tear your arm apart.” She looked up quickly. “Which they’ll have no cause to do, I’m sure.”

He nodded, his mouth dry.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Mags said quietly. “There’s other ways we could manage.”

“If you think of any, I would enjoy hearing them,” Dash said with a smile. “Karl Strand is the key. We can fight his army forever, but until we remove him from power, this will never be over. I do not know any other way to find him.”

Mags poked something in his arm and he flinched. “Nerve,” she said. “Almost done.” She pulled out her pincers and reached for her stitching needle.

“Where is your homing beacon?” Dash asked.

She tapped a spot behind her ear, somewhere in the dense cloud of her hair. “Had to have someone else put it in, but it was worth it,” she said. “No one ever looks there.”

“Odd truly cares for you all,” he said. “These devices must have required a steep trade.”

“Kludge comes first,” Mags said, as if no other explanation were needed. “And that includes you now, too. I just hope the homer signal screams loud enough to reach our receiver. Rumors say Strand is holed up in the mountain somewhere. You go in too far, and we won’t be able to find you.”

“Then give my last position to the others. It will be better than nothing,” he said. His plan had many risks and only a small chance of success. He liked to think that Aluna would approve.

Odd ambled over just as Mags was using skin glue to hide the last traces of the incision in his arm.

“Squirrel spotted our target over the next ridge,” he said. “Girl says he’s got the weirdest upgrades she’s ever seen. Not just horns like Pocket, but
horns.
” He held his hands out half a meter from either side of his head. “Face like an animal, she says, but I don’t know about that. Seen many a punched-ugly face in my years, and never seen one yet that surprised me.”

Odd pulled a thick rope from his waistband and waited.

Dash stood, touched fingers to his heart, and bowed to Mags. “Thank you.”

She nodded and shooed him with her hand. “Just don’t get yourself killed now that I’ve spent so much time on you.”

“I will try not to invalidate your work,” he said. Although, truthfully, the homing beacon would continue to function even if he was killed. It was one of the benefits of his plan that he had chosen not to mention to the others.

Dash put his arms behind his back and stood quietly while Odd tied them together with his rope.

“I wish I had thought to take one of the fake restraints we used on Aluna and Calli when we first joined you,” Dash said. “If they see how we have weakened the rope, they may suspect something.”

“Most folk are lazy. Won’t even check,” Odd said. “You want me to keep your swords? Won’t use them or anything. Won’t mess with your changes or nothing. Just to keep them safe till you get back.”

“Yes, thank you,” Dash said. He had forgotten about the swords. Of course they would be taken from him, and better for Odd to have them than for someone in Strand’s army to wield them against an ally. “My retractable blade is hidden in its sheath at my waist. I will not be entirely unarmed . . . unless they are less lazy than you say.”

“Lazy,” Odd repeated. “The whole lot of them.”

Pocket ran up to them, his face scrunched with worry. “Squirrel says they’re getting ready to move and we have to go in now.” He rubbed his hands on his pants. “I’m not sure I can do this. Maybe someone else should try.”

Odd put a meaty hand on the boy’s shoulder, and Dash felt a small pang of regret. He had experienced the weight of Odd’s affection perhaps for the last time.

“You can do it and you will do it,” Odd said.

“Didn’t earn your name for nothing,” Mags added.

The boy’s name wasn’t Pocket, but
Pickpocket.
Dash had been surprised to learn that the boy was named for more than the secret compartments hidden in his limbs. Surprised, and pleased. Pocket had a crucial role to play in their upcoming maneuvers.

“One last piece before we go,” Dash said. “Odd?”

“You ready?” Odd asked. “This might hurt a touch.”

Dash lifted his chin, held his breath, and nodded. He watched Odd pull back his massive arm and squeeze his hand into a fist. A fist that seemed the size of Dash’s entire head.

The blow fell, and Dash found himself on the ground with no real memory of how he had gotten there. His cheek ached and burned and felt as if it were already swelling to twice its normal size. A trickle of warmth dripped down his brow and he wondered for a moment if his entire skull had been crushed, and if he would ever be able to stand up again.

He was vaguely aware of Vachir whinnying, of her hoof scraping the ground not far from his head and her hot breath huffing in his face.

Then Odd reached down, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him back to his feet as if he weighed no more than a feather.

“Well hit,” Mags said. Dash tried not to wince as her fingers probed his face. “Looks a mess, but there’s nothing broken. The cut will bleed good and long.”

Dash stood there, swaying slightly, and said nothing. The world felt muted, as if his friends spoke in the distance. Only the thunderous throbbing in his head seemed real.

“Thank you,” he finally managed. “I appreciate your restraint.”

Odd slapped him on the arm. Dash groaned as the reverberation made his skull pound even more. “Hitting is the one thing I’m good at,” Odd said. “Don’t get to do it nearly enough. Even the little love taps like that one make me smile.”

Love tap?

“Get yourself ready, now,” Mags said. “Best be moving.”

Dash nodded. He could feel blood drip down from his brow and spot his cheek. At least Aluna, Hoku, and Calli were not here to see his face. Then again, Aluna would probably have attacked Odd with her talons, even though he was only doing as Dash asked. He never minded when Aluna came to his defense. It was . . . refreshing . . . after a lifetime of fighting for himself almost every day.

Vachir bent a knee so Dash could hop on her back more easily. He had wanted her to run off and hide until this was all over. A horse of her caliber would be a tempting prize to bring into Strand’s army. But Vachir disagreed, and Dash did not argue. She was her own person and he would not deny her a role in this if she wished it.

“Don’t know how many eyes they have out here,” Odd said. “Best play our parts now.” He thumped Vachir on her rump, and she whinnied angrily. “Sorry,” Odd grumbled. “Still not used to a four-feet with a brain.”

Odd, Mags, and Pocket wore grim expressions as they flanked Dash and Vachir. Dash lowered his head and let his body slump in the saddle, doing his best to be a wounded, defeated traitor.

They walked through the outskirts of what appeared to be a major stronghold for Strand’s army. Men and women gathered in organized clusters, cooking food in huge pots over their campfires, sharing stories, and even trading tech. Dash saw more bizarre enhancements than he had even thought possible. He had a hard time looking away from the man with slitted eyes and fangs who had grafted spotted animal fur to his torso and legs. He had made himself into a Human cat.

Some Upgraders looked up as their small group passed, but most continued with their gossip and their tasks. They saw only a plain, dirt-covered prisoner being brought to justice. He was nothing to them.

Odd handled the first army official who approached them. She identified herself as “Winder’s left-hand woman, second only to Winder’s right-hand man and to Winder himself.”

“Got a special prisoner,” Odd said. “Need to see Winder. . . . Unless there’s someone more important than him around?”

“More important than Winder?” The woman barked a laugh. “No one of that particular description, unless you talking about one of the old man’s own children, Fathom or Scorch!”

“Well, can we talk to one of them, then?” Mags asked. “Or send us direct to Strand, if you want.”

“Oh, sure, if you want your limbs ripped off and your face melted for fun,” the woman answered. “Because that’s going to happen, or worse, if you waste the Sea Master’s or Sand Master’s time with a silly little nothing like this.” She poked Dash in the leg with a finger sharp as a dagger.

“They’ll want this boy, I promise you,” Odd said. “We’re willing to bet our lives on it.”

The woman looked Odd up and down, then sighed. “Follow me. I’ll take you to Winder and we’ll let him decide what’s to be done with you. Don’t be surprised if he slices you into pieces on the spot, though.”

She trudged through the camp and people scattered to get out of her way. The five of them followed. And somewhere out there, watching, was Squirrel.

The groups of soldiers grew thicker and better equipped as they neared Winder. What appeared as a ragtag army on its outskirts had become an organized, clearly experienced force at its core. Dash imagined his fellow Equians with their swords and spears and bows lining up to fight this heavily armored, heavily weaponized army. Despite their ferocity and skill, his people would be killed in great numbers.

“There he is,” the woman said. “There’s Winder.”

Squirrel had been right; Winder was no ordinary Upgrader. From his waist up, the man was covered in brown hair splotched with white, like the hide of a horse. His head, so massive it dominated his three-meter frame, had a long snout ending in wide nostrils. Some of the Equian herds raised cows, and Winder reminded Dash of a bull.

“Minotaur,” Mags whispered. “One of the splinters Strand made up for himself.”