BLADE DANCER
By
K M
Tolan
CHAPTER
ONE
"Stand
ready!" Cort Havada
bellowed. The Datha Qurl slid his
shoulders sideways among the camouflaged ranks crowding the troop cabin. Narrow black eyes darted from soldier to
soldier as the officer tugged at packs and rifles. Mikial pulled back her auburn combat braids,
running them through the back slot in the dun-colored helmet they had given
her. Sensing Cort
pause behind her, Mikial firmly planted her feet upon the less-than-steady
deck. There was a brittle crunch as her
Line Officer found another of his bitter corul roots
to chew on. He jostled the cannon
strapped to her back, then gave her braids a
good-natured yank.
"Secured!"
she said, her contralto reply cutting thrugh the
deeper voices around her. Mikial's claws
scraped against the brass support rails hanging from the ceiling, unwilling to
retract themselves.
The
dirigible turned. Mikial watched as her
shadow shifted in the first rays of an early sun. The only other light was from the Curtain,
the violet star mist swirling across the sky.
Propellers hummed through the black canvas skin of the troop compartment
as the airship aligned itself over a canyon.
"Brace!"
Mikial
gripped the rails as the aft jump door swung up and open. Icy air washed across the smooth caramel of
her high-set cheeks, chilling any bare skin not covered by her armor and battle
dress. An anticipatory surge from wrist
glands sent sparks of energy across her palms.
Her thin lips pulled back into a scowl beneath the flare of a slender
nose, revealing sharp canines. Tradition
or not, she hated being first in line.
Havada leaned over her shoulder, contrasting her relatively
smaller height of ten hands. "Now
let's not embarrass me with a broken neck, little Dathia. We've too few females in this sect as
is." He gave her shoulder guard a
slap before he turned to the rest with a roar.
"Jump!"
Teeth
bared in a feral grin, Mikial hurled herself across the deck until her legs
flailed on emptiness. Harsh winds
slashed her face as she tumbled from the airship. Mikial spread her legs and arms for stability during the
exhilarating fall. She counted three
breaths then tugged at the cord, enduring the endless moment before a silky
gray plume expanded above her with a sharp crack. Leather straps seized her, exacting a grunt
as if she was wrenched skyward again.
Their drop zone
was obvious, a wide trail that swayed far beneath her dangling legs. Dark shadows of bordering trees beckoned like
spears. The wind was faint and from the
west, requiring little correction from her fingers on the guide lines. Beyond the bulge of her chute, Mikial saw the
second airship approach. On board, the
medical teams of the primarily female Shandi sect were preparing for their own
drop. When she looked groundward again, the windings of a deep gorge were coming
up fast. Bramble
Ravine.
Mikial
adjusted for a slight drift, the stony crests of the canyon rising around
her. Legs poised, she aimed for a fairly
even patch of ground. Trees hissed their
welcome in the wind. Releasing the
harness as she hit, Mikial pitched forward beneath the awkward weight of her cannon. She gave an indignant hiss, wiped dirt from
her angular face, and quickly gathered her parachute. No doubt Cort would
have much to say about her drop, and none of it good. Mikial checked that the pistols holstered to
her waist had survived the sloppy landing . She chose cover behind a root-entwined
outcrop. Mikial discarded her chute and
unlimbered her cannon. Flipping the
bipod down, she aimed
the long black barrel in the direction of Bramble Ravine. She watched as her Strike landed, both Lines
melting into the brush. High overhead,
her airship turned toward home.
Mikial's hunting
eyes, internal receptor organs couched near her temples, reached out into the
shadows to seek the natural energy fields emanating from the Datha hidden
around her. The glow of their body
patterns took shape from behind the lighter radiation of covering foliage. Soon she would be able to identify
individuals by their auras alone, as they would come to similarly recognize
her. It was one Datha trait she enjoyed. It kept her from blundering through the night
with lamps like members of the other three Qurl sects.
Parva motioned the Lines to form up. Soldiers moved quietly from their
concealment, dart rifles ready. Hoisting her cannon, Mikial scrambled behind Cort
before he could grump at her for being slow as well as clumsy. Meanwhile, the parachutes of the Shandi
Immediate Teams were descending further down the trail. She hoped no one would require their
services.
Parva
moved them out in an extended line along the trail. Mikial guessed that the Minnerans were still
well ahead of them in the ravine off her left shoulder. The Curtain had faded with the rising sun by
the time they halted at a rocky wash.
A
Datha ranger ran up to Parva, conferring with the Strike Leader for several
minutes. Parva looked down into the
ravine with puzzlement.
He
finally turned to his waiting troops.
"We'll block and flank. Cort, take your thirty into the
brush. I'll move my Line forward to the
next narrows and drive them into you."
Parva looked back down across the field.
"The Minnerans aren't using their standard infantry
formations. These are too widely spaced
for the usual volley fire. Something odd about their weapons, too. Assume their guns will have the range and
accuracy of Kiorannan long rifles.
Anticipate contact within the chime.
Take positions."
Mikial
studied the intended battlefield while they still had a vantage point above
it. The ravine bowled out into a short
meadow extending east to west, confined within banded layers of rock cut eons
ago by swift waters. Thick brush capped
the western edge below the Strike. A
short field extended eastward from the brush roughly one hundred spans; about
the distance it took for a brief run.
She guessed it only wide enough to accommodate one Line - a perfect killing
zone thirty spans in length. Thick mist
marked out a small creek that skirted the southern side of the field. The stream disappeared within a deep gully
angling into the trees.
Her
Line Officer motioned his detachment down the wash while Parva moved forward
with his force along the high trail.
Mikial wished she could shake the feeling that this was just another
exercise. Sling the cannon beneath one shoulder, she approached Cort for
instructions as they reached the stream bed along the bottom of the defile.
His
quick hand signal ordered her to the right flank, not the traditional place for
gunners.
"Parva
wants to try this out," Cort whispered at her
hesitation. Since Feren
Cloa's familiar with how you handle a cannon, I'll assign him as your escort."
"Acknowledged."
Mikial gave Feren a friendly nudge as her
mentor wordlessly took position at her side.
The middle-aged veteran winked a brown eye at her from beneath a
dark-skinned brow bordered with tightly knotted battle braids. He'd spent the previous week getting her used
to how the Strike fought. He took as
much care with her instruction as her own father did. Feren had even
taken her father out fishing yesterday.
No doubt in part to discuss her.
Feren's hand reached to hold her arm in a momentary vise,
his voice a growl of caution.
"Class is over, Mikial. Being
First Student counts for nothing if you get yourself killed graduating."
She
nodded, needing that brief pinch of reality.
A
small knoll crowned by a splintered stump became her home as the rising sun
burned off morning fog. Resting her
cannon barrel over a lichen-spattered log, she surveyed the field through closely
spaced amber eyes. Beside her, Feren's fingers tapped rhythmically against his gun
stock. He looked almost bored.
Her
thoughts drifted to the people she would be fighting soon. Of all the Servant race, the Minnerans seemed
the least able to forgive the Qurl descendants of the race who had once
enslaved them. Never mind that four
centuries had gone by since civil war had devastated the lands of Min Saja and brought their Taqurl masters down. Min Saja. That old name was all that was left of a quarter
of the world - turned to desert by the Taqurls and
their now-forbidden weapons of destruction.
Today, Qurls still had to contend with the
bitter legacy of their forefathers, such as idiots like these Minnerans.
At
first she thought that Feren had committed the
unpardonable sin of revealing their position with a cough. Then the muted sound repeated, and Mikial
realized that it was originating somewhere beyond the clearing before canyon
echoes played their tricks. Puzzled, she
gazed in vain at the line of trees across the field.
Movement
caught her eyes at the far end of the meadow where the valley narrowed. Smoke curled from the right hillside bordering
the treeline ahead of her. As she watched, a sudden puff sprouted like
magic from the ridge. The first distinct
CRUMP reached her tufted ears, followed in quick succession by more
plumes and concussions. Mikial realized
that she was witnessing some kind of cannon bombardment right where Parva was
supposed to be; his flanking maneuver to get behind the enemy must have been
detected.
The
odd coughing thud increased in tempo.
She was sure it came from among the trees, but...
Something
like a quick rush of birds made her look up.
A
geyser of dirt flashed skyward near the creek just to her right, scattering
stones and debris through the brush.
Before Mikial could make sense of what had happened, another crash of
sound and light erupted in front of the Line's position.
Cort Havada gave a series of
signals that sent her scrambling to her feet.
Assault by flanks. Mikial bolted as more "birds" flew
in, chewing ground around the Datha blocking force.
Feren was right behind her as she dashed along the creek along
the hillside. Glancing back, she saw Cort lead a skirmish line across the field as enemy cannon
shells continued to rend the bushes they had left behind.
Then
came the next ugly surprise. It sounded like the sharp blast of a Qurl
cannon, except that one report followed another in impossibly fast
succession. Something raked across the rushing
Datha like a deadly wind, many crumpling in bloody sprays.
Mikial
dove instinctively as projectiles far worse than simple rifle balls smashed
rocks and tore the soil around her. A sting
rain of debris made it seem like an entire cavalry brigade had chosen her for
volley fire.
"In the trees!" Feren
shouted, slapping at her helmet.
"Just ahead...see the flashes?"
"Targeted!"
She snapped open the bipod attached to the cannon barrel and raised the
weapon into position. What ever the thing
was, it had gone back to hammering Cort's group in
the field, forcing Datha to crawl across the meadow.
Mikial
reached over to the square battery packs on her cannon and clicked open their
discharge switch before sighting her target.
She guessed it to be around ninety spans away. Her cannon was
effective up to four times that distance.
She drew hard within herself until the fine hairs rose along her arms
and special conductive sweat drenched her palms. The Minnerans' hidden cannons slammed more
shells into the field, the concussions making it all but impossible for her to
hold her weapon steady.
Fire
spat once more from her target amid the trees.
Mikial replied, discharging her stored energy in one great shudder. Her cannon's blast added its thunder to the barrage,
sending a brilliant streak of lightning across the field. The enemy position blossomed into a spray of
smoke trails, their glowing tips twisting skyward like angry serpents.
Mikial
barely had time to gather her strength, let alone her cannon, as Feren's strong arms scooped her up into a staggering
run. She started to ask him what he
thought he was doing when a smashing fury from behind hurled them into a furrow
between the roots of two trees.
"I've got to find those cannons," she shouted as sections of
pulverized hillside fell around them..
"They
certainly found you," her mentor said as the barrage lifted. "We're more than halfway to the trees Just follow the
stream. Let's go!"
She
scrambled with him through a pungent haze.
It was simple enough to understand the lull as the fluttering sound
shifted once more toward the field beside them.
Mikial
held her cannon high as she leapt with Feren down the
sloping sides of the gully the stream spilled into. In the same instant, three Minnerans burst
from cover, heading in the opposite direction.
They were far smaller in stature then any Datha, their khaki uniforms
making her think more of field workers than soldiers. The five of them met at the bottom of the
gully in a confused rush.
Mikial
used her forward momentum to smash the butt of her cannon against the head of
the nearest wide-eyed Minneran soldier.
Spinning, she caught the other with a kick to his groin before crushing
his larynx with a chop of her free hand.
Mikial did not see what had happened to the third Minneran, but Feren's dripping claws were indication enough as she joined
him in a run up the other side of the gully.
The only thought Mikial had was one of amazement at how fast the
Minnerans had died.
The
Datha waved her forward to a hollow where the creek dug into the ground beneath
a granite wedge. Rifle fire crackled
close by, punctuated by a sudden shriek as a Qurl dart found its mark. The air was tinged with a dun-colored haze
from repeated shell impacts in the field to her left. The Line won't last long under that kind
of punishment, Mikial realized. She
traded looks with Feren. Giving a grunt, he became a blur across the
stream, vanishing into the surrounding foliage.
Fingers
tight around her weapon, Mikial threw herself after him. Each splash seemed
sure to alert the world to her presence.
But the rifle fire she expected did not come. Across the stream at last, she crouched down
low in the brush. Feren
had taken cover to her right. His eyes
locked on the same sight as hers.
Situated
upon stone terraces only a few spans upstream was the
Minneran battery; at least, that was the best explanation she could
provide. A dozen soldiers busied
themselves around what appeared to be six black stovepipes. There was no mistaking them as the source of
destruction slamming into the Strike.
Three of the pipes were tilted toward the southeast corner of the valley
where Parva's Line was held down. The
other trio of tubes was aimed toward the field.
Minnerans dropped small, finned shells into their smoking maws, turning
away as the pipes coughed them back out in a belch of flame. Bewildered, Mikial looked over at Feren.
He
reached for her cannon, slapped the discharge switch closed, and gripped the handles. Mikial felt the transfer of energy from his
body. Hope you left enough for your
rifle, she thought. She eased the
cannon barrel through a gap in the tree roots.
He took covering aim, giving her an encouraging wink.
Resetting
the batteries to discharge, Mikial sought a target. The tubes were widely spaced and she doubted
the enemy would wait until she recovered for a second shot. Mikial drew hard until her palms glistened
with the need to release. That pile of
green boxes the Minnerans were getting those odd-looking shells from would do
fine. She couldn
not destroy all the tubes, but scattering their ammunition might suffice. Mikial centered her sights and fired.
The
crack of her cannon was immediately devoured by a shock wave blasting her into
the loam. Stunned, Mikial pulled back
her weapon, seeing nothing ahead but a cataclysmic white fog. Her ears hissed from the concussion. More explosions sent shrapnel ripping through
the woods as Feren tugged hard at her shoulder. Together they sped back down the gully, urged
on by scattered detonations from ammunition like nothing she had ever
seen. Insane as it seemed, they had to
be using explosives as propellant. Qurl
rifles and pistols used a pulse of energy to fire darts down their barrels -
employing batteries that didn not blow up in one's
face. Mikial doubted that anyone would
be coming out of that haze to pursue them.
"Ahead!"
Startled,
she saw Feren raise his rifle just as several
Minnerans entered the gully ahead of them.
Pushing her aside, Feren shot first, hurling
two Minnerans to the ground with darts to the heart. The third leapt into the brush and
disappeared.
"Watch
our backs," he growled.
"Minnerans are retreating all arou-"
The
two dead soldiers rose up on elbows and returned fire.
Mikial
could see projectiles tearing through Feren’s body
even as pain smashed into her awareness.
Collapsing on numb legs, she saw her protector fall back in a spray of
blood while firing. Mikial dropped her
cannon and drew her pistols to take aim at the prone forms. They weren
not firing. Each of their faces
was transformed into a red smear.
"Body
armor," Feren croaked beside her, his eyes staring
upwards.
"Hold
on!" Dropping her pistols, she
pulled open the medicine pouch on his belt.
"Aim...head." Blood erupted from the Qurl's
grimacing lips as his fingers reached out to entwine hers in a fierce clasp.
Shaking
her head in disbelief, Mikial heard his final breath leave him.
Brief
explosions still sounded behind her as she forced pain aside and probed the
foliage around the gully for more Minnerans.
Her hunting eyes found nothing...yet.
Lips curled back, she rolled on one side to inspect the burning source
of her own wounds. A mix of blood and
dirt caked her hip. She could see a
gouge in the metal pads of her kilt pointing to an oozing hole. Another injury stained her armored jacket
just above the pistol belt.
Rifle
fire erupted to her right in increasing volleys. First aid would have to wait. Teeth clenched, she retrieved her pistols and
crawled up the rise for better position.
She was not worth Feren's death. Neither were the Minnerans who shortly would
pay for it.
Five
khaki-clad fighters burst into view, running across sunlit patches of ground in
panic. One fell without a cry. The remaining Minnerans spun around, knelt,
and shot back at their pursuing antagonists.
Mikial felt the tug on her body's dwindling reserves as she discharged
through the pistol grips. Metal darts
sped toward her targets. The first two
convulsed and fell as the projectiles slammed into the exposed backs of their
necks. She took the third as he
turned. The remaining soldier
desperately flopped on his belly, only to end up sliding helplessly down the
gully wall. Her dart was through the Minneran's forehead before he reached the bottom. More Minnerans charged out from among the
trees. Far too many.
Mikial
slid back into the gully, leaving a bloody trail behind her. Feren stared in
lifeless accusation as she rolled next to him.
He had given his life for her. Couldn't she do the same for her Line? Mikial lay still as death while Minnerans
leapt and stumbled across the gully, a few even jumping over her body. The only thing she could do now was survive,
though conditioning screamed for her to leap up and attack instead. The Minnerans' retreat soon passed her
by. Mikial's hunting eyes picked up one
straggler, the panicked soldier falling headfirst into the depression. He lay there unmoving. She sent a dart through his face anyway.
She
could feel blood welling up just above her waist. Mikial pulled out her medicine pack and
poured the yellow powder into the wound, quickly numbing the pain there. She sensed the welcome ripple of her approaching
Line.
A
Datha slid down the dirt slope beside her.
Growling, the soldier bent down and did a quick assessment of her
injuries. He tied a yellow marker around
an overhead branch before resuming pursuit.
Other arms soon supported her as an Immediate Team pulled her out upon a
bed of leaves. A Shandi female in full
armor bent over her, placing her palms near Mikial's temples. Mikial felt a relaxing wash of energy and
knew nothing more.
# #
#
She
danced. Mikial felt her soul whirl and
spin like a rising leaf as her body moved.
Her dance pattern glowed with life, an intricate latticework set like
jewels within her mind. Following those
lines brought a joyful release. There
was music from somewhere; strange, exciting, filling her in ways she never knew. Again and again she tried to capture those
feelings, to express bodily the wonderful sensations for all to see and
share. Again and again, she failed. No matter what dance style or form she chose,
her movements were somehow distorted.
The First Dancer was frowning at her, and she heard mutterings of discontent
from the balconies. Eyes burning with
tears, Mikial tried one last time, and succeeded. The audience gasped with pleasure. Mikial felt as if she could soar into the
air. But instead of rising, she slipped,
nearly falling. Angrily, she looked down. The floor was slick with blood.
Mikial
woke with a snarl, claws extended to slash...at what?
A
cluster of lights dimmed above her. The
bulbs hung like buds from the open petals of a domed ceiling painted to look
like a blue nightflower. A blue-and-gray quilt was tucked around her
on the elevated swivel bed. She had seen
her mother’s workplace many times, but never as a patient. Mikial groaned, Feren's
lifeless eyes staring at her from the mud of fresh memories.
"Easy,
Dathia," a female’s voice spoke. An
elder Shandi in a yellow operating gown bent over her, the surgeon's brunette
hair bound back in a hurried-looking knot of white cloth. "Your mother will be happy to see you
back in one piece again."
Mikial
licked dried lips. "Where is
she?"
"Counselor
Yeneen is operating on one of your comrades.
She is already credited with saving two before him. The Holding will be quite proud of you
both. If you're wondering why you can't
move much, it's because we've immobilized you." The Shandi brushed long fingers over the extended
claws on Mikial’s unresponsive right hand.
"It was more for our protection while we worked on you,
Dathia. I will unblock just your arms
now. We don’t want you moving about
yet."
Mikial
felt her upper limbs tingle with returned use.
She winced as she tried raising her left arm.
"We’ve
pulled some odd rifle balls from your side and hip and mended the damage
there. You are regenerating nicely,
Mikial, but it will be some time before you can return to your dancing."
"I
can wait," she muttered, the dream's bite still bitter in her mind. Remembering her manners, she gave the Healer
an appreciative smile. "I'm grateful for your help."
Thanks
to your bravery, our work was less than it might have been," the Shandi
replied with an approving nod. "It
seems that your skills extend beyond the dance floor."
"I'm
not so sure."
"You
have to mend, Dathia." The Shandi's
hands paused gently on her forehead before sliding to her temples. "Sleep. The next time you wake, it will be in the
comfort of your own bed."
# #
#
True
to the Healer's word, Mikial's eyes opened to see familiar ironwood bedposts,
their dark surface scored by scratch marks from her claws when she was
younger. She glanced out the window to
her left. Dawn was not even a hint
outside, the Curtain coloring the night sky in its purple hues. Heating vents blew softly across a floor with
deep orange boards fashioned from the sturdy wood of sheld trees growing
throughout the Holding's hills. Mikial
smiled to herself. It was not a big
room, but she found the cozy confines a welcome refuge against impositions life
provided.
Wincing,
she reached over to the nutwood stand between the
window and bed and switched on the battery of her cone lamp. Mikial drew the back her blankets in the soft
yellow light to see what had been done to her.
Her left side was one large ache, punctuated by a deep soreness in her
hip. Angry lines marked where the Shandi
had sealed the wounds by fusing her skin back together. The marks would disappear as she regenerated.
Mikial
scowled at powerful muscles sculpting her calves and thighs. Some things would stay, unfortunately. Even her modest breasts were couched in bands
of muscle that also endowed her with broad shoulders and bulky arms. The description "slender" or
"petite" never applied to the few rare Dathia in the otherwise male
Datha sect. She couldn't help but envy
those more fortunate females in the other three sects. Especially her best friend
Paleen Chimmer with the body of a reed, no claws, and fewer worries about staring
down at the opposite sex. Paleen
was Ipper Qurl, a sect valued for their work in both communication and general
entertainment. Paleen was always good
company, if not overly energetic even for an Ipper. Unfortunately, she was returning from the
western Holding of Kinset where her mother's family lived. The largest Qurl Holding, the small continent
of Kinset sat well off the coast of
Mikial
gave a bleak look at her reflection in the copper-lined mirror standing next to
the right side of her bed. Her auburn
battle braids had been undone, softening a predatory face halved by a narrow
nose. Her greater height and build,
along with her claws, marked her as Dathia; no sect was as physically apart
from the rest as hers was, and this morning she felt every bit of that
distance.
Mikial looked across the foot of her bed, her nostrils catching
meaty flavors issuing from beyond her door. No doubt they were the reason she'd woken
up. Her stomach rumbled its consensus,
the scent becoming clear. Torses! The
pastry-wrapped meats were her favorite meal.
Mikial eagerly scooted forward to sit up, but sucked in a breath as her
hip stabbed with pain. Sighing, she
pulled up the blankets and settled back to wait. She hated feeling so helpless.
After
a moment the bedroom door swung open, and her mother entered bearing a white
porcelain tray heaped with torses. Yeneen's curly brown hair was tied back in a
manner reserved for a day's work at home.
She wore her yellow morning robe as she might a surgeon's gown. Her gray eyes centered on Mikial with a
determined smile below lightly tanned cheeks.
"Welcome home, daughter. How
are you feeling?"
"Sore,"
Mikial grumbled, eyeing the tray her mother sat on the dresser adjacent to her
mirror. "And
hungry." Her humor improved
as she regarded the sizzling strips of tender meat wrapped in delicate curls of
pastry. "You know I love those things."
"There's plenty of them," Yeneen said, the smaller
female pulling extra pillows from the dresser beside Mikial's closet. "Here, let me help you sit
up." She carefully braced Mikial's
back to bring her to an upright position, then propped the pillows behind
her. "I can't tell you how relieved
I am to see you safely home. Your father
boasts about you to everyone within earshot.
That battle has the entire Holding talking."
"We
did win, didn't we?" It was a
question Mikial had never thought any Datha would have to ask after fighting
mere Servants.
"Well,
you sent them running for home, so I suppose we did."
Mikial
shook her head. "They weren't
supposed to get back home." She
gave her mother a bewildered look.
"They had better weapons than ours."
"Nonsense. Now
eat your fill and stop looking so worried." Yeneen picked up the tray and set it across
her lap. "There's milk to wash
these torses down with, and plenty of fruit in the
cooler if you want me to get you some.
You'll be in bed for a few days, so enjoy it. You've certainly earned it."
Mikial
knew better, but did not want to share that particular burden with her
mother. Soon enough she would be giving