This Deadly Engine Page 12

The mere thought of the infernal creatures created a yearning to run into their midst and smash their heads together. The only good orc was a dead orc. The old saying proved truer more and more with each passing year. The scars on the back of each hand served as trophies for each one I had personally dispatched from both this world and the dull human world.

  A cry arose from the village. A howl of anger followed.

  I had heard similar sounds in the same sequence as a slave.

  But those days, and the promise I made to Mum to stay alive, had ended. Now a new purpose drove me onward – kill every orc between Sera and me. And free her from Frengarn, the most cursed orc to have ever lived.

  I walked down the hill towards the village. Knee-high grass rippled like waves as a breeze defied the heat of the afternoon. In the distance, thunder rumbled from a storm that brewed like thick soup in a cauldron.

  It was a good day for killing. It was a good day for cleaning blood from my blade.

  The village once belonged to elves, but it had been captured long ago by the orcs. The ones displaced from their homes now worked in the fields. To complement their dwindling numbers, cyclopes joined them, carrying bundles of harvested grain.

  As I approached the first field, two elves stopped and watched me pass. Never a handsome people, the pair looked more pitiful than normal. Either caked-on dirt or too many hours in the sun had turned their faces brown. Endless work and little food made them thin. Though they seemed content to simply stare, I waved to them.

  This would be the day of their deliverance. And perhaps Sera’s as well.

  Another cry from the buildings encouraged me to quicken my pace. The satisfyingly rich smell of orc blood called.

  Before I reached the outskirts of the town center, six orcs lined the road to stop me. They wore the plate mail with the chain skirts that indicated they belonged to the army besieging Reganas Eight. In other words, they were hardened and seasoned veterans who knew how to fight. A lone cyclops provided a sporting distraction from their illicit pursuits of pleasure in the small village.

  Did they think I would stop to barter for my life when I saw their superior numbers? If so, they assumed wrong. I pulled out the pistols I had acquired in the human world. Their special designs incorporated the velocity enhancer in a twisting pattern along the barrel instead of being mounted on the back. The improvement meant far more accurate shots as the bullets spun when they emerged. The barrels glowed red, and steam rose from the end.

  Six shots took down the welcoming party. The sound of the guns firing echoed over the fields and hills.

  As I stepped over the dead bodies, more orcs scurried from the buildings like Terential Worms fleeing a rising river. Some wore armor, some wore civilian clothing, and some wore nothing at all. They were all armed, though, and ready to face what they probably assumed was an elven attack.

  The sight of me and no one else made them hesitate.

  In the moment of their surprise, I unloaded the remaining four shots in each pistol. Eight orcs fell. I holstered the guns, then removed the airship boarding axe I had also acquired in the human world. With a pull of the string, the axe belched smoke. A chain spun along an oval track. I charged into the orcs. The blade chewed through their swords and knives as easily as it chewed through armor and clothing. The monsters tried to swarm me, but I spun and slashed and gashed until the bodies piled up.

  The smell of orc blood filled my nose. Success created a surge of elation which desired more death. When the axe ran out of steam, I let it fall to the ground. I unsheathed my sword and charged after the dozen remaining monsters who, upon seeing how many of their comrades had already died, decided that fleeing presented the best option for survival. I cut the first one down and caught a second as the ugly creature tripped over his own feet. The others ran too fast, though. They all fled in the direction of the main army. That meant reinforcements would come soon enough.

  I wiped my blade on the back of the last dead orc before collecting my axe and proceeding to the nearest building. I kicked in the door and found a bathhouse. Water held a unique fascination for orcs. Stories said that they would soak for hours in a tub. The oval and hammered copper ones I saw in the rooms looked to have been brought from the human world. Two orcs could easily fit in a single tub.

  Three elven girls and two cyclopes, also girls, peeked around the corner of the room to the left.

  I said, “You are free to go. But first, I must ask if you have seen a cyclops – seventy years old with black hair and a scar across her chin.” I moved my finger diagonally across my own chin to show them.

  Sera had fallen on the porch when she was eight, splitting her chin open on a chair. The wound had healed but a distinguishing scar remained.

  One of the cyclopes stepped into the doorway and shook her head.

  The motion was so simple, but it meant so much.

  I asked, “Are you certain?”

  The woman nodded, then urged the others to follow her. They walked to the door and freedom in silence. When they stepped into the light, they stopped and squinted.

  I could not keep the disappointment from my voice – disappointment for me, but not for them. “Spread the word. You are all free to go, and you had best hurry before the orcs and the giants return.”

  The ladies hurried out and across the square.

  I checked one more building, which turned out to be the food packing house. There, crops from the fields were put into boxes for delivery to the front lines. A group of thin cyclopes – overworked and malnourished like the elves in the fields – stared at me. I asked them the same question and received the same disappointing answer.

  Despite what my source indicated, I did not find Sera in the village. Though in all fairness, my map showed almost a dozen villages in the area that matched a similar description. I had to go to each until I found her, or picked up her trail.

  Frengarn proved once again that he had a knack for hiding his movements. He must have known I tracked him across the villages.

  Yells and cries of jubilation sounded from the town center as word of liberation reached everyone. If I joined them, they would insist on thanking me. Doing so would slow my progress. Nothing would keep me from catching Frengarn. If I had to travel to the ends of both worlds, so be it. I would free my sister, and he would pay for all the suffering he had inflicted on my people.

  It was better to let them celebrate among themselves.

  I left through the rear doors. I reloaded my boarding axe and pistols, then continued to the next village.

  Blood seeped from a busted lip. My left cheek swelled. A dozen bruises covered both arms. Several ribs had cracked. But…they had not broken my spirit and determination.

  They never would.

  An orc stood over me. He slapped a long staff in his palm. “Let me hear you tell me exactly why you believe all cyclopes should be free.”

  I glared at him because he certainly did not want an answer. He only wanted an excuse to inflict more pain. He would use not answering as an excuse, too. But I could endure another beating. If anything, I deserved it for being careless. Fatigue and a stubbornness to free the last village before fully assessing its defenses led me into a waiting ambush.

  The orc sneered as he lifted the staff. “The only good cyclops is an enslaved cyclops.” He struck my arm hard enough to knock me over. His assistants put me back into place – kneeling with my hands tied behind my back and connected to my bound feet. He lifted the staff again.

  Thunder filled the air. People yelled outside.

  The orc hesitated, then ran with the others to see what caused such a commotion. He left the door open.

  A cloud of dust roiled towards us. The ground shook so badly that I almost fell over again. My knees bounced off the floor as I shifted a foot to the right.

  When the cloud reached the town, it swept away both the orcs and the townspeople. Buildings either crumpled or flew apart as if a giant-among-giants struck with his equally-sized clu
b. The roof over my head simply disappeared and gave me an unobstructed view of the mighty girth of Reganas Eight as it toppled. Rocks flew overhead. A ten-foot crack opened to my left. The earth threw me backwards.

  For a moment, the sky turned as dark as the deepest night. I rolled over in time to see the Reganas obscuring the sun. Its V-shape could have been mistaken as the tip of an arrow flung from the heavens in judgment for the sins of the world.

  Silence filled the moment. A gentle breeze drifted across the room.

  Then a deafening boom shook everything. The ground swelled like a wave on the ocean. It tossed me to the other side of a twenty-foot wide crack. Smoke poured from deep within.

  Rocks rained down. Bodies and weapons flew through the air. Shattered glass sparkled all around. Splintered wood shot in every direction. I rolled to the left to avoid a piece of a massive statue. It struck so hard that it buried itself a good four feet. Fortunately, one of the edges sticking above the ground provided an opportunity to cut my bands.

  Once freed, I walked through the dust-filled land, looking for any survivors.

  Why had I been spared? I knew not. But speculating on the possible answers would have to wait.

  The fall of Reganas Eight meant the war turned in favor of the orcs. And that meant the search for my sister grew that much more desperate.

  “Alexander? Is Alexander there?”

  I opened my eyes.

  No, not eyes.

  Eye. Singular.

  The room appeared narrower and the edges distorted as if I peered through a curved window…which, in a way, I did. A helmet squeezed my ears. The heft of the glass on the front tried to pull my head forward. I wanted to adjust the fit, but something held my arms down.

  A short, plum-shaped human stared at me. The glass distorted his features such that he looked rounder and wider. When he spoke, his mouth resembled that of a fish. “How does Alexander feel?”

  Alexander? The name tickled a distant memory of a human. Did he work for Duke Schaever? “I am Perrin.”

  The plum-shaped human sucked in a quick breath. “Pienne told them this could happen. He warned them, but did they listen? No, for no one ever listens to Pienne.” He wrung his hands and paced three steps before turning and pacing another three. Each time he turned, he looked like a toy doll with a head on a spring that allowed it to wobble back and forth.

  When I laughed, he stopped. He might have frowned, but his cheeks jiggled too much to tell. I wanted to squeeze them. “I think you are funny.”

  The human reached above me. He pulled down a tube with a needle attached to it.

  Needles hurt. I did not care for them, especially when they poured elixirs into me.

  The straps holding my arms combined with a general weakness to keep me from knocking the needle away. I still tried to squirm when the man pressed the sharp object against my skin. Unable to do anything else, I kicked him.

  He fell to his knees but picked himself up. “This will not hurt Alexander. Only something to help. There is no magic in this one.” He stepped to the side, out of reach of my foot, and stuck the needle in my arm. “Pienne wants Alexander to return. He cannot hide from Pienne.”

  Warmth spread from my arm. It filled me with a sense of safety and took me to a place where I slept with no worries, a place where loved ones surrounded me. What was the place called, and what did it look like?

  No, I had not known such a place in over forty years.

  “Alexander?” the human asked. “He can return now. The pain has ended.”

  Alexander? No…I was Perrin…and another name long forgotten.

  “Go away, Perrin,” the human said. “Pienne does not need you. He needs Alexander.” He held something up, something that spun on a chain. “Does Alexander remember this? He gave it to Pienne. He wants Pienne to tell him that Rebecca gave it to him.” He opened the locket to reveal the picture of a lovely young lady with brown hair and green eyes.

  Rebecca? Rebecca…Donnavan?

  The room spun. My belly heaved, and I emptied its contents on the floor. Another nauseous wave took care of what remained within.

  Pienne asked, “Must Alexander do that every time? Pienne does hate such messes.”

  Had he stuffed my mouth full of wool? “What…have…you done…to me?”

  “Does Pienne speak with Alexander?”

  Yes, I suppose I am he. I am…someone…

  I said, “Yes, Pienne. I am Ash.”

  He held a mirror up. “Then look and see what Alexander has become.” He sounded pleased with his feat.

  The mirror reflected the familiar features of Hansen and Jansen and the Misters’ doorman. Every cyclops I had ever known looked back at me with the square jaw, large nose, and wide mouth. Mostly, though, I looked into one large eye.

  My own eye.

  I whispered, “By all that is good, Pienne, what have you done?”

  Chapter 7

  The Treyo Duthku asked, “Are you clear on your instructions? Or should I repeat them?”

  Either my single eye made the top of her head slightly wider than her face, or the glass of the helmet distorted my vision. One of the two also stretched her lips wider than normal.

  To keep from laughing at her, I stared at my large, calloused and scarred hands. They served as reminders of the strange situation which claimed me. Those same hands, four times the size of what I once knew, had killed more orcs than I could, or want, to count. Deep within I knew what it felt like to kill so many times that it no longer disturbed my conscience.

  And that in itself bothered me.

  The elf leaned closer, which caused her entire head to stretch along the edges. “Did you hear me?” She turned to Pienne. “You assured me that the magic has stabilized. Are you sure he has recovered sufficiently?”

  “Yes,” I said with a voice not my own. Its deep tone echoed in the helmet. “I understand.”

  The large body reminded me of a thick costume, one that did not necessarily want to cooperate. If this was how it felt to walk in someone else’s shoes, it was a difficult task.

  The elf glared at me. “You need complete control of your body before undertaking this mission. But you have caused us too many delays already. Duke Schaever grows more suspicious by the day. Our source has had to reassure him that we will move as soon as tonight.”

  Waiting wore on me, too. The Donnavans needed to be found as quickly as possible.

  “And I have my own need,” a voice, one much deeper and more solemn than my own, said. “Who are these odd women who haunt your thoughts and memories? This Aimee…what kind of monster is she?”

  “Who are you?” I asked aloud.

  And where is my little canon?

  Cavendish squinted at me. “What fool kind of question is that?”

  Pienne and the elf exchanged looks of nervousness and concern.

  The voice said, “Who do you think I am, Alexander Asherton?” And in that instant, I saw myself…Perrin…being dragged off by twenty orcs. The cuts on my forearms, the scars of which I still carried, ached anew at the memory. My shoulder throbbed in the spot where they struck me with the hammer.

  A stronger surge of Perrin memories took me to the Gateway, but from the magical realm side. An oval twenty feet tall and eight feet wide, nestled in a crevice at the base of a mountain, beckoned. A company of elves, all dressed in the black of the Treyo Duthku, stood guard on the left side. A company of orcs, wearing their chain armor, stood on the right. Both sides examined any and all sojourners.

  Red lines danced through the milky-white membrane in a mesmerizing fashion. On the other side waited the scientific realm, the human world. I had heard the frightening stories of the creatures, their dull land, and their unusual smells. Despite my reluctance to go, however, the fear of Frengarn drove me to obey his every wish. So long as he held Sera captive, I remained his dutiful servant. The black band around my neck also assured my complete obedience. As such, I would soon serve the needs of a human called Re
ginald Schaever.

  When I entered the membrane, it wrapped around me. Cold seeped into my bones as a force pulled me forward at the same time it pulled me backwards. For an instant, time simply ceased in its constant progression of seconds. I floated between two worlds. Nothingness pressed on all sides.

  Then the membrane parted as the forward pulling force won. I stumbled into a room filled with the aroma of drink, as well as numerous unfamiliar smells. They reminded me of alloops steaks cooking over an open fire, and of a dozen unwashed orcs huddled together.

  An elf offered a mug. “Drink this. It will help you gain your senses.”

  The smooth flavor washed away the unease. The earthy tone reminded me of the potions of Karandoo that Father once brought home. Did all human drinks taste that way? If so, perhaps spending time in their world would not be so bad.

  The elf motioned for me to follow him. “We have been expecting you, Perrin.” He wore the same black choker with the diamonds as I did. “Your transportation awaits.” He led the way between tables where gnomes and elves and dwarves and lizards and orcs all drank and talked and laughed. Strange, pale creatures joined them. What were—

  Humans!

  Based on the stories, I expected hardened, crusty creatures…not scrawny and fragile people with eyes as small as the elves’.

  How…disappointing…

  “Ash?” Cavendish asked, pulling me from the memory. “The instructions?”

  Perrin said, “You are a strange creature, Alexander Asherton. I might like you, but I might not. Are you a thief or a priest? Is there a difference?”

  As I tried to ignore the judgmental commentary in my head, the Treyo Duthku said, “I do not believe the spell has stabilized sufficiently. I will have to make the transformation permanent.”

  Pienne stepped beside me. “Perhaps one more injection will provide Alexander with a stable magic.”

  I asked, “What do you mean—”

  Pienne stuck my arm. Sweat dripped down his forehead. “Pienne apologizes for this shock.”