Conquest unbound, p.24
Conquest Unbound, page 24
‘Yer a gold-drunk fool,’ snapped Rogoth, heading left. ‘This way!’
The other three duardin chased after their captain. A few heartbeats later Rogoth stumbled as his boot caught on a twist of root. He did not lose his footing, but the trip was enough for him to stagger to a halt for a moment. Fairgold slowed, head turning to look at his crew member.
A massive shadow engulfed Rogoth.
‘Get down!’ yelled Fairgold but it was too late. A moment later, jaws as big as the aeronaut snapped shut and the mawcrusher swooped up, leaving a splash of blood and shredded yellow where Rogoth had been. Nukduk gave a wail of despair and slowed down, neck craning as he watched the mawcrusher ascending. Fairgold skidded to a halt, heavy boots sending up dust from the dry mountainside. He took two steps back and grabbed Nukduk’s arm.
‘It’s coming back,’ the captain said, tugging. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘Go where?’ snarled Nukduk, digging his heel into the ground as Fairgold tried to pull him into a run. ‘The Daughter’s gone without us!’
‘They haven’t gone nowhere, you flange-headed dolt,’ insisted Fairgold, loosening his grip. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the mawcrusher wheeling across the slope, ready for another diving attack. ‘Stay here if you want to end up like Rogoth.’
A glare at Thorkki and Zanna brought them after Fairgold as he gathered speed down the slope once more. Nukduk followed a moment later.
‘Where are we going?’ Zanna called, her braids like flails as her head whipped back and forth between the clifftop ahead and the descending mawcrusher coming from the left.
‘Trust me,’ said Fairgold.
He powered on, panting hard. A sudden gust lifted up the brim of his hat, flipping it from his head. He tried to turn and snatch it, but his short legs were not suited to such manoeuvres and he fell backwards, cradling the satchel to his chest on instinct as he rolled over. Zanna was nimbler, plucking the headwear from the air as it slipped past her. Back on his feet, Fairgold accelerated again, just behind his crew.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the vast shadow of the mawcrusher approaching fast. Just a few paces from the cliff’s edge the others started to slow. Fairgold drew in a deep breath. It was too late to stop now. Legs pumping harder than a ship’s piston he caught up with the others, arms outstretched, and shepherded them to the edge.
As a group they leapt into the open air.
Rising below them was the Night’s Daughter, her burnished hull and aether-gold cistern gleaming. Custom-built, she was longer than most shipyard vessels of Barak-Mhornar, her aether-gold tank and oversized skyscrew engines mounted lower and further rearward for speed. Where ships built for the battleline of the city fleet had bulging carbinades mounted in their prows, Fairgold’s unaffiliated freegun vessel sported more crew room with shuttered firing slits in place of fixed pintle guns, currently bristling with weapons from within. It was a remarkable piece of work given it had been put together from a dozen different salvages and wreck raids. For a couple of heartbeats, Fairgold admired the vessel as he fell, before he and Zanna slammed into the side of the balloon-like aethertank while the other two aeronauts fell to the deck a little further below. Fairgold slid down the side of the cistern, fingers scrabbling at rivets and thick banding until he came to a stop. Zanna held on to the rail around the pilot’s hatch above him, satchel in the other hand, captain’s hat clamped between gritted teeth. He felt the whole ship throbbing as the engines powered it upwards past the cliff.
‘Sorry!’ Eskar Druadak shouted past Zanna from her piloting position. ‘The cliff was going to break. Had to circle and wait. Didn’t want that mawcrusher to see us.’
‘Everyone else all right?’ Fairgold called out as he allowed himself to carefully slide further down the aethertank until his foot touched a stabiliser fin. A chorus of half-hearted affirmatives broke the drone of the engines. A sudden wind as the Night’s Daughter crested the cliff set the vessel swaying, and for a moment there was nothing beneath Fairgold and a long drop down to the cliff bottom.
The ironclad steadied as Eskar started to turn it away from the mountainside, but as she did so, Fairgold, face pressed against the bronzed tank as he clung on like a High Magnate holding a ha’penny, saw the mawcrusher swooping like a thunderbolt.
The company was already at quarters as the order to ready weapons rang across the ship. A score of aethershot carbines and pistols presented towards the mawcrusher from deck, firing slits and support stanchions, while the arkanauts at the main gun hurriedly turned their great cannon towards the incoming beast. It was still traversing when the first small-arms shots crackled out, dappling the Night’s Daughter with muzzle flare. Bullets speckled the thick hide of the monster with little visible effect. Breech-cranks snapped and screeched as the aeronauts readied for a second volley. There would be no time for a third.
The main cannon boomed into angry life, setting the Night’s Daughter shuddering from the serrated prow ram to the skyrudders aft of the main screw. The jolt nearly threw Fairgold from his precarious perch, so that he was clinging on with one hand as he watched an explosion of shrapnel engulf the hurtling mawcrusher. It burst from the cloud of sharp metal and black smoke with mouth agape. Blood trailed from its face and left shoulder, and it rolled to one side as fresh carbine fire crackled below, a clawed foot lashing out as the beast swept past.
Engines now at full ahead, the Night’s Daughter powered cloudwards, leaving the wounded monster to land lopsided at the clifftop, screeching its rage.
Picking his way to a support strut, Fairgold was about to slide down to the main deck when he saw flashes of blue sparks and a slick of dark smoke trailing from the gouge ripped into the side of the aether-engine by the mawcrusher’s vengeful claws. Metal had parted like paper and a pipe hissed steam within. Even as he found footing on the deck, the captain could sense all was not well with his ship, a stuttering in the stroke of the engines.
Even so, his first thought was not for the ship but the endrineer below.
‘Verna!’ he bellowed into the smoke-filled chamber beneath the aethertank. The smell of burnt rubber and hot metal assailed his nostrils.
A goggled face smeared with grease appeared from the bank of vapour, a knitted beard-hammock protecting dark brown whiskers.
‘She’s fine,’ said the duardin, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag. ‘Me too, thanks for asking. Busy.’
‘What’s the damage, Oggin?’ asked Fairgold.
The endrinrigger sucked air through his teeth and shook his head.
‘Not good.’ He turned to call back into the hidden depths of the endrinroom. A muffled voice replied and Oggin repeated it for his captain. ‘Couple of displaced packing glands… Thumbnail rupture on the eduction pipe… Splinters in the crossheads.’
Fairgold rubbed his beard thoughtfully, waiting for Oggin to continue. Nothing else was forthcoming.
‘You dunno what any of that means, do you?’
‘Nope. Except splinters, I know what they are.’ Fairgold leaned past the assistant to address the mistress. ‘How long? Can we make Breakward Stark?’
‘I’ll get us there, but we’ll have to make do with endrin-shimmies until we land for proper repairs,’ came the reply.
‘You’re the best!’ Fairgold called before turning away from the hatch, to find himself confronted by Thorkki. The greybeard stood with fists on hips, brows knotted tighter than one of the rigger cables that held the endrin-tank in place.
‘You still going to the orruks, after what’s happened?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Rogoth is dead!’ Thorkki shook his head, which set his beard to waggling fiercely from side to side. ‘Don’t that mean nothing?’
‘It means nothing if we don’t finish the deal,’ snapped Fairgold. ‘He’ll still get his share.’
‘What you gonna do with it? Stick it on a pile of mawcrusher sh–’
‘Arrangements will be made!’ barked the captain. ‘All shares will be paid, in full, as promised.’
Thorkki grumbled some more but Fairgold pushed past, ignoring him.
‘Eskar?’
The young pilot gave him a thumbs up from her position at the forecradle of the main superstructure.
‘Already on our way, captain!’ she called down. ‘Quarter speed’s the best we can do.’
Fairgold signalled his thanks and returned his attention to the rest of the crew, trying to find the right words. He failed. Everything that came to him, a usually gifted orator, seemed trite.
‘Stand down from quarters, Thorkki,’ he told his first mate. The greybeard hesitated and then complied, giving his beard a short tug of salute. ‘Get some grub and rest, and then stand to again when we get to Breakward Stark.’
As the other duardin busied themselves, Fairgold moved to the starboard rail near the bow, staring ahead into the golden clouds at the horizon, the twin jutting peaks of Breakward Stark just about visible against them. About two hours, Fairgold reckoned, but his thoughts quickly moved away from the immediate future.
‘I told him to go right,’ he muttered to himself.
The Night’s Daughter had never purred; it had too many craft involved in its parentage to boast the kind of engine you’d find in a thoroughbred ironclad. A growl, perhaps. More of a snarl, if one was being critical. And now it had a sporadic cough as the ship limped towards its rendezvous with jury-rigged pistons and whatever other endrin-based miracles Verna had enacted. Fairgold hadn’t moved from the bow rail and the ship’s company was quiet. The gate peaks of Breakward Stark were large ahead, while if he glanced back, he saw a smear of smoke in their wake, dispersing across the glimmering Ironpeaks.
It was nearly time.
‘Thinking too much?’
He turned with a smile at the sound of Verna’s voice.
‘Maybe about the wrong things,’ Fairgold confessed.
She had her endrin-suit on, thick black leather with ribs and plates of metal bound into it where a powered harness could be attached. While Oggin was usually sooty, oil-stained or in some other way marked by his labours, Verna had a knack for remaining almost spotless despite spending half her life below deck. Not that her haunt of choice wasn’t without consequence – Fairgold could smell lubricant off her from ten steps away. Her light brown hair was pulled tightly back in a large plait but dozens of strands had worked loose, each trying to escape on its own trajectory.
She approached, assuming a businesslike expression that Fairgold knew would cost him money.
‘Karazi…’ When she used his birth name, he knew it was going to be a lot of money.
‘What do we need to replace?’ he asked with a resigned sigh.
‘Main bracket head,’ she said.
‘I know that bit,’ replied Fairgold. ‘That’s part of the hull, not endrinworks! You didn’t mention it earlier.’
‘Because I couldn’t fix it earlier. Anyways, you’d have seen it, if you’d had a proper look where that bloody great gash in the side is. Like I haven’t got enough to do.’
He stepped closer, arm snaking out for an embrace as apology, but she evaded with a twirl that almost decapitated Fairgold with her iron-threaded braid.
‘Got to sort me tools,’ she told him. ‘Piston heads to remove, threads to cut, all sorts of delicate work. And you need to be getting ready to make the deal.’
Fairgold nodded and followed her back to the main deck. He stopped a moment to lay a hand on the ironwork around the main endrinroom. He could feel the occasional splutter, the deck juddering perceptibly with each missed beat. Verna had done her best work, now it was his turn to do his.
A bell clamoured into life along with repeated calls of ‘All Hands! All Hands!’ Booted feet thundered on iron steps and wooden decking as the ship’s company, some twenty duardin in all, burst from below decks and dropped from hammocks slung from the main deck stanchions. Thorkki bellowed orders, relayed by his juniors, setting the crew to tidying away everything on the deck, readying the guns and their personal weapons.
When they were done they stood in several loose ranks in front of Fairgold, clustered on the forward section of the main deck.
‘I’ve told you many times, there’s no such thing as one big deal,’ the captain began. ‘We don’t do getting rich quick on this ship. You might as well chase skymaids and cloudsilver if that’s your thing.’
‘Or legendary wrecks!’ someone piped up from the back, but Fairgold could not recognise the voice.
‘Looking for the Night’s Gift is different,’ he said slowly, scowling at the group as a whole. It was no secret that he wanted to find the remains of the infamous sky-ship, and he wouldn’t have it held against him. ‘That’s family, not business. Anyway, this job is going to be one of the biggest deals we’ve made. It’ll be tough, we’ve got to hold our nerve, and it means handling the orruks properly. Ten of you are coming with me. The rest will be guarding the Daughter. We get the map from the orruks, swift screws back to Barak-Mhornar and then it goes to the highest bidder at the Goldworth. And if the rumours of the Ironpeaks are to be believed, that map is going to be worth as much as an ironclad or more.’
As he rubbed his hands at the thought, Fairgold could feel the ship dipping as Eskar started to direct the vessel groundwards. Ahead the captain could see the twin peaks getting taller and taller. Nestled between them was a lush valley of forests, haphazardly hacked out in places by the orruks that lived there, reminding Fairgold of the pates of crew members that had saved a penny too much at the dockside barber’s.
‘Coming in a bit steep-like,’ said Gorddo, head of the starboard team, turning to the others, who were muttering in similar discontent.
‘We’re losing trim!’ shrieked Eskar from the piloting wheel above and behind Fairgold. She was so taken aback she forgot her studied Westdock-of-Barak-Zilfin accent. ‘Not ’nough power, too much weight for’ard!’
The ship was quickly pitching forwards. Skyscrews whistled in protest while increasing creaks and groans from the superstructure warned of the strain as gravity fought the buoyancy of the aether-gold.
‘Get aft!’ bellowed Thorkki, waving the crew to follow as he started towards the endrin-block and aethertank.
‘Aft, you sod-soled, jelly-kneed laggards!’ Eskar encouraged from above.
The ship’s complement bundled aftward, stumbling up the steepening deck. Fairgold staggered to the endrinroom hatch and grabbed hold of the frame.
‘We need more power!’
‘T’ain’t no more,’ Oggin called back.
‘Then grab something strong and get ready for a bump.’
Fairgold turned to see what lay ahead. A sea of dark green and silver trees as far as the eye could see.
‘Cap’n!’ Eskar’s call dragged Fairgold’s eyes away from the rapidly approaching treetops. ‘I can’t haul us up.’
He grabbed a rigging cable and climbed up as quick as he could, dragging himself over the rail of the fore-cradle to stand beside the pilot. She had one hand on the wheel and the other on the main pitch trim lever, looking as though she were wrestling two immense stone vipers.
‘Aim for that gap,’ said Fairgold, pointing towards a curving slash through the trees that could have marked a road. He grabbed the trim lever in both hands as soon as Eskar let go, turning to put his whole weight on it as ailerons and stabilisers fought mechanically to straighten themselves.
The nose lifted slightly and then, as the aerodynamics of the guide fins assisted the aether-gold, rose faster, but not so quick that they didn’t crash through the foliage of the first few trees. In a plume of broken branches and scattered leaves they burst out across the cleared way, which was indeed a road of the very muddy and rutted variety.
‘Steady off,’ Eskar called down the speaking tube to the endrinroom, before lifting her voice to the rest of the crew with a bellow untoward for her petite size and generally refined disposition. ‘Ballast up, you snail-wits!’
Rather more precipitously than they were used to, the Night’s Daughter’s crew brought the ship to a halt, ploughing a deep but short furrow in the muddy road. As the sky-ship bobbed into a hovering position with its keel just above the ground, Fairgold gave Eskar a kiss on the forehead.
‘We’re here!’ he called out and lifted off his hat with a whoop. ‘Time to seal a deal!’
The air in the valley was thick with humidity and Fairgold was sweating inside his full suit by the time he had readied himself and descended the rope ladder to the ground. Wet mud oozed under his boots and flies buzzed from the trees to investigate this new intruder into their world. The air was tainted with sulphur from the surrounding volcanic mountains, which had recently belched forth a vast cloud of aether-gold vapours. If the rumours were true, a sky-seam had been discovered the likes of which Fairgold believed could fuel a fleet for half a season or more. Enough to sponsor another expedition to find the Night’s Gift. Caught in the strange astromagnetic winds of Chamon, the aether-gold would soon disperse and it was a race against time to get the location from the orruks and back to Barak-Mhornar to sell it.
Their last calls of farewell ringing from the trees, Fairgold and his companions set off up the road, leaving the others to patch the damaged hull and finish the endrin repairs. Clad in bulky aethersuits, the contingent tramped up the road, heavy boots sinking into the mud.
‘With a following wind we’ll be back by nightfall, no problem,’ the captain said cheerfully to his satchel bearers.
The orruk settlement was more impressive than Fairgold had anticipated – he had been expecting some hybrid of dung heap and salvage yard. The road, such as it was, had brought them to a wooden gatehouse set within a stockade of stripped tree trunks, each broader than a duardin. As he passed within, the captain saw a score and more dwellings had been built in a broad gash of hacked-down forest. Timber walls held up roofs of metallic leaves so that each appeared crowned with bronze and silver and copper. Smoke dribbled from the chimney of a solitary stone building set apart from the others; gangs of grots and a few humans laboured at piles of dirt beside it, while ingots of purer metal appeared on pulled sleds from the other side of the foundry. The handful of greenskin guides-cum-guards that had met the duardin on the rough road steered the group towards a longer, higher building than the rest, presumably the hall of the warboss.
