World-Ripper War (Mad Tinker Chronicles Book 3) (30 page)

The two of them returned to the workshop in time to see Gederon find Draksgollow’s backup workshop once more. King Dekulon looked past his Iron Guard and caught Kezudkan’s gaze. “Citizen Kezudkan, please explain what they are seeing though this portal and what they must strive to preserve. Also, anything you can tell them about kuduk physiology that might be of immediate relevance.”

Well, Draksgollow, it looks like this one is being taken out of my hands. We never quite got on, and now we surely never will. No hard feelings.

Kezudkan described the machine, pointing to commonalities that the Iron Guard saw in the workshop around them. He told them what levers to watch out for and what parts were crucial to secure. Under no circumstances were they to allow any of the kuduks to pull the levers on the machine. He gave a quick synopsis of the kuduks’ weapons and told them about kuduk hardiness compared to humans. The Iron Guard listened stoically; they watched where he pointed things out, but not a single question came from their ranks.

“Are you all satisfied that you know your mission?” asked King Dekulon.

“Yes, King!” came the unified reply.

I have to get myself some of these.

“Fall into ranks,” the Pillar of Defense ordered. “Two wide by ten.” The Iron Guard arrayed themselves for the offensive.

“Open the portal,” King Dekulon commanded.

“Best of luck,” Kezudkan added.

Gederon threw the switch, and the Iron Guard poured through the hole like an avalanche. The bustle of the workshop turned into chaos in an instant. Still paranoid about sudden holes opening in their midst, the kuduk workers kept guns close at hand. The first few workers fell to daruu axes before they knew what hit them, but before the whole host of the Iron Guard were through, the first shots were fired in defense of the workshop.

Old joints crying in protest, Kezudkan lurched out of the line of fire. “Gederon, close it!”

Gederon looked to King Dekulon and received a royal node before obeying.
Rotten little ingrate. That royal interloper didn’t pay your university tuition.
But Kezudkan’s anger faded swiftly once the world-hole had closed and he had taken no bullets during the brief delay.

Without sound, the battlefield was a surreal scene. The Iron Guard bulled their way through the workshop, using their massive shields as both battering ram and city wall, closing in on gun-toting kuduks until they were in range to cut them to pieces with their axes. If they called out orders and instructions to one another, there was no telling beneath the all-encompassing helms. It looked as if they were one entity with a score of axes and a steel carapace that repelled all attacks.

It’s only a matter of time
. Rifles and pistols were impressive enough to stop with steel armor, runes or no runes apparent upon them. They would face a real challenge as soon as the kuduk workers roused the mercenaries to the defense.

And there it was. With the remaining workers playing a game of rat and human around the metalworking machinery, the first of the roto-gun fire blasted into the room from the hallway. Kuduk mercenaries waded in, with tri-barrel weaponry slung low, held in both hands. The muzzles flashed a staccato, and sparks flew from the armor and shields of the Iron Guard. Stray bullets crashed around the room, riddling equipment with holes and dings, shattering spark bulbs, and sending the remaining kuduk defenders diving for cover.

The Iron Guard pressed forward, slowly but inexorably. Their shields shook from the hail of copper thrown in their direction, but none gave way. No holes appeared to show that bullets had pierced them. The mercenaries—no fools or heroes among them—fell back before the Iron Guard closed to axe distance. Kezudkan knew what that foretold.

“Move the view,” Kezudkan ordered. “We’re going to need a view of the corridor outside.”

Gederon complied without delay this time, and swung the view around until they were watching through the doorway from just behind the leading troops of the Iron Guard. The steam tanks were coming. Twelve of them.

Kezudkan held his breath, wondering how his kin would react when the steam tanks plowed into the ranks of their elite troops. The vehicles were not monstrous in size, nothing like the thunderail he had described to the Veydrans. Still, each stood taller than the tallest human and as wide as three daruu across.

“Turn the machine on,” King Dekulon ordered. “I wish to hear this.”

“Wait!” Kezudkan shouted. “Don’t do—”

“That was an order of his majesty, King Dekulon,” stated the successor in a firm tone, glaring at Kezudkan. Gederon obeyed.

Instantly, they were awash in the ominous grumbling of the approaching steam tanks, the grinding of the drive chains against the stone, the cough and hiss of the steam engines that powered them. In the background, they heard the screaming and occasional gunfire that marked the end of the kuduk workers’ defense of the workshop.

One of the Iron Guard in the fore raised his axe high. “HOLD!”

The three lead troops, including the one who shouted, blocked the doorway fully, facing down the oncoming tank. In unison, each lifted his left foot and stomped down, then repeated with the right. Each foot thundered against the stone. The Iron Guardsmen set their shields against the ground and hunkered behind them, leaning their weight forward.

The steam tank hit the wall of shields with a crash. The Iron Guardsmen rocked back, but none gave an inch of ground; not one foot budged. Drive chains scrabbled for purchase. Roto-guns mounted on the steam tank lacked the angle to fire across its own nose. The troops kept their footing and set to work with axes, blade biting into the steel flesh of the metallic beasts. With the sounds of resistance dying away in the background, more of the Iron Guard pressed in to attack over their fellows’ ducked heads.

Kezudkan watched in fascination as twenty daruu warriors—the finest of Dekulon’s kingdom—hacked a battalion of steam tanks to scrap metal over the course of several minutes. When the guardsmen reformed into ranks as King Dekulon came through the hole to inspect the battlefield, none of them appeared badly injured. A few armor spikes had been bent or broken. Enamel paint was chipped in hundreds of places from bullet strikes. The Iron Guard was covered in blood, but most of it was on their axe blades or had splattered from their enemies.

The world-ripper had received some bullet-related damage, but Kezudkan promised that it was all reparable. He oversaw the task of hauling it into Veydrus under the supervision of the Pillar of Runes, who saw it as an aether converter and therefore under his purview.

Kezudkan bore all of it with a bemused sense of wonderment. In the course of a day, his view of the world had been dug out from under him.
We’re going to take back Korr.

Chapter 22

“It’s twice the work to undo something as it is to do it—if you can undo it at all.” -Cadmus Errol

Madlin stared out over the valley. Her trek to the hilltops had become a morning ritual, seeing the changes from the day before. She wished she had thought to take flashpops from the same vantage every day and lay them out in a row. Two months … two months was all it had taken. However, for the first morning, the view was essentially unchanged. The work in the valley had moved indoors. Facilities that had grown like weeds from the valley floor now lay complete. Goblins and oxen that had carried lumber and the ingredients for poured-stone now hauled raw metals and firewood for the furnaces.

It had taken half of her time in Veydrus to figure out how to teach the goblins Korrish manufacturing. In the end, she had given in on all but the most essential processes. Instead of drawing the copper wire through dies, goblin sorcerers heated it to a molten liquid and poured it through funnels. Trigger assemblies were hammered into shape by jewelers and blacksmiths working in tandem. For the barrels, Madlin had gone to the trouble of designing rudimentary steam-powered lathes so that they could get a straight bore.

Metallurgy had been the least of her troubles. The goblins professed complete ignorance of brightsteel when she explained it to them. But, like the poured-stone, all it took was a detailed formula with percentages, and their metalworkers took care of the rest. The results were crude since the goblins lacked the sophisticated measuring and metering equipment of a Korrish foundry, or even the foundry on Tinker’s Island. But the goblins made viable alloys, and they got better with each batch.

It scared her. She had the ultimate in trainable workforces at her disposal, but when she stopped to think about it—something she preferred to avoid—they were not hers at all. They belonged to Fr’n’ta’gur.

“How long before I get to take my quarter share?” Madlin asked.

“We await word of Fr’n’ta’gur’s acceptance of the weapons.” As was his habit, K’k’rt stood with one foot in her shadow. The goblin tinker was equal parts translator, assistant, and liaison to the dragon’s priests. Since her initial meeting, Madlin had not seen the dragon in person.

Madlin pulled one of the goblin-made coil guns from inside her jacket. It was poorly formed by Korrish standards. The wire gauge was inconsistent; the barrel ribbed with marks from the lathe; the optics never quite able to focus. But it worked. The one in her hand she had fired herself and pronounced it a success. “I’m going to
show
Froontagger how acceptable they are if he doesn’t approve me getting my share.” Madlin leveled the gun toward the mountain and peered through the sight. Much as she pretended they could shoot through anything, a few hundred feet of stone were more than it could handle.

“Fr’n’ta’gur,” the goblin tinker corrected her.

Madlin shrugged. “Whatever. You clip all the vowels you want, I can’t talk like that.”

K’k’rt pinched the wisp of beard that dangled from his chin and nodded thoughtfully. “His proper name is Faaraunatagur. Blech, is that ever a torment of the tongue. But it is more respectful than that … that
thing
you called him.”

“This isn’t about names, or languages,” said Madlin, “it’s about bargains. And that overgrown lizard is kicking my pipes. Keep it up, one of them’s going to burst.”

K’k’rt chuckled. “This is why I keep company with humans, I think. You stood in the presence of a creature a thousand times your size, who was born a hundred generations before you, and who could devour you in a single bite. And you would point a tiny gun at him and threaten him. That takes a sense of humor about life, I think.”

Madlin shoved the coil gun back in her jacket. “You’re the expert. When do you think he’s going to make good?” she asked.

K’k’rt sighed. “You must think like a dragon. Fr’n’ta’gur will make sure he gets his share. How can he ensure that?”

Madlin bent low and took K’k’rt by the front of his shirt in both hands. “You better not be telling me that your dragon is going to double-cross me.”

“I’m telling you nothing,” K’k’rt said, with a hint of a nervous chuckle. “I was merely asking you to consider that a change in perspective might offer new insight.”

Madlin let the goblin tinker go with a shove and stood to tower over him once more. “I want you to get word to the priests. I want to know when I get my share.”

Rynn and Sosha sat across the table from one another in the corner of one of the
Jennai’s
dining halls. It was between standard meal times, which meant fewer people, but not a lack of food. The kitchen staff probably grumbled about it behind her back, but Rynn could always get a hot meal. The two women shared a platter of fried pork cubes with a honey molasses sauce for dipping.

“You’ve got to keep Cadmus on the level,” Rynn said.

“Easier said,” Sosha replied. “He’s been wound like a watch spring since you went through to Veydrus.”

“I just need you to keep a clamp on him. He gets any crazy ideas about a rescue; he could ruin everything. It’s a delicate situation. Those goblins are like rats; they get brave with such huge numbers. And I’m getting a distinct impression the dragon might be planning on leaving us empty-handed.”

“Rynn, you’re not doing much of a job convincing
me
we shouldn’t mount a rescue,” Sosha replied.

Rynn popped one of the pork cubes in her mouth, not worried about talking with her mouth full. “We’ve got the world-rippers, and the dragon doesn’t have any idea just how valuable those are. Rescue is trivial. What I need is my father to stop following me everywhere with the viewframe. I think some of the little runts are able to sense when it’s around. I see a lot of puzzled stares over my shoulder, and when I look, nothing is there.”

“That’s going to be a hard sell. Cadmus doesn’t do much without the viewframe open, looking in on you,” said Sosha.

“Isn’t he still working on new designs?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t stop him working within a turn of the head of watching you. Everything’s all placed, so what he needs is all right there for him. He set it up that way.”

Rynn slumped back in her seat, taking another of the pork cubes to chew on as she thought. “We need another project for him. One that needs the world-ripper in use. Maybe get Kaia to work on it, training and that sort of thing.” Madlin’s eyes widened and she stopped chewing. “Kupe.”

“What about him?”

“Let him train Kupe,” said Rynn. “Turn him into a proper leader. My father’s been giving orders so long he hardly thinks about it anymore, but he was head of the largest company in Tellurak. He got men to do what he wanted even before he had the money to just bully them into doing it.”

“I don’t know …” said Sosha. “Kupe’s not exactly leader material, I think.”

“You never knew me when I was younger,” said Rynn.

“I
only
knew you when you were younger,” Sosha replied with a smirk.

“Blast it! You
have
been keeping Cadmus company; you’re even picking words apart like him.”

Sosha shrugged. “It’s me and Greuder by turns, really. He won’t talk to Anzik unless he needs an answer out of him, and Kupe and Kaia spend most of their attention on Kaia and Kupe. Your father’s got a lot on his mind, but when you get him to relax a little, he’s really quite pleasant company.”

“Well, whether it’s you or Greuder, you’ve got to stop him watching over my shoulder all the time.”

“Why the sudden urgency?” asked Sosha. “You’ve been there months now.”

“Because,” said Rynn, “I’m hoping to get another meeting with the dragon. If the goblins might be aware of the viewframe’s location, I worry that the dragon will, too. I don’t want to play our hand early, in case we need to surprise the dragon with the world-ripper sometime soon. So whatever you have to do, get my father away from that world-ripper.”

Sosha gave the kind of smile that just curled the edges of her lips and never showed in the eyes. She didn’t look directly at Rynn. “I’ll manage. Don’t worry.”

Madlin sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, on a bench that had to have been considered short even by goblin standards. The priests had insisted on her taking a bath before entering the dragon’s presence and had dressed her up in orange robes. She found it curious that they had human-sized garments on hand or had made suitable for her in advance. Madlin certainly hadn’t given them enough notice to have sewn it from a bolt of fabric before she arrived. The garment was lightweight, silky soft and left her feeling naked. Her gun belt lay in a bin that one of the priests had carted off, along with the rest of her personal possessions. She had persuaded them to leave her the spectacles she wore, but nothing else was allowed.

I guess I’ve slipped down the ladder a bit since my first meeting. Either that, or the priests just got their way this time.
Without her pocketclock, she had no idea how long they had kept her waiting. It had been an hour, at least. That was just another of the ploys to make her feel uneasy before her audience. It was working. Madlin considered flagging down one of the priest and telling him that she had changed her mind. The longer she thought about it, the fewer ways she could think of where she came out ahead in the encounter.
I’m not likely to intimidate something that size. It already has what it wants from me. It might only be keeping me around because it wants to make sure I can fix the guns or the factories if something goes wrong. If I manage to upset it enough, it could kill me before Rynn can open a world-hole.
Despite ordering Jamile to keep Cadmus away from watching this negotiation, Rynn was ready at the controls with just a twist of the world dial separating her from a quick intervention.

Madlin was beginning to feel like the fulcrum between two great forces. Unfortunately, all the leverage was on one side.
That’s what I really need. A lever. No, not just a lever, some huge force on the opposite side from the dragon.
Madlin wracked her brain for an adversarial force that the dragon could wrap its reptilian brain around. Surely Rynn and Cadmus could figure out a way to harm the dragon, but the dragon might not believe the threat. The Megrenn might be displeased enough at being cut out of the bargain that they might be plausible but perhaps not enough of a threat. The Kadrins? If the dragon had any inkling of what had passed between her and the Kadrin warlock, the gambit would likely end in her death. K’k’rt had made it clear how tolerant the dragon was of deceit.

Madlin needed a threat, and it needed teeth. She looked up suddenly.
Of course … teeth. I need to give these coil guns to one of his rivals.

Worry had settled into an uneasy, pent-up energy by the time the priests arrived to take Madlin to her audience. Even seated on her little bench, she was taller than them. When she stood amid her ceremonial escorts, she felt like she was shepherding children.

As she followed them down the wide tunnel to the dragon’s lair, she rehearsed her threat.
I only want what I’ve been promised. If you don’t make good, someone else will. If you kill me, we’ll send another in my place.
A chill in the subterranean air made her shiver, the supplicant’s robe doing nothing to keep her warm. Her bare feet didn’t help either, with the heat from her body sucked into the smooth stone through the exposed flesh.
Next time I come to see you, dragon, I’m telling your priests to piss off.
Rules were meant for those who couldn’t break them and get away with it.