ã€ŠFirestorm: Crusader [Muskets, Mechs, and Magic, Magitek Progression Fantasy]ã€‹


 Chapter 1: Behind the Times

    Marcus leaned against the wrench with all his weight and clenched his teeth. Just one more turn and he could get the panel free to fix the stupid gearshift that once again dislodged itself while in transit. He growled and extended his leg to pin himself against the gunner¡¯s seat of the upright tank he worked on, to add more force in the hopes of loosening the nut. Everything at and near floor level rusted and corroded from the unforgiving Arcadian marshlands.

    And he didn¡¯t look forward to then going to have to crawl into a space barely shoulder-wide to reattach the shifter. That was because the machine was designed by a team of alcoholic monkeys who secretly moonlighted as saboteurs bent on the downfall of lowly mechanics such as Marcus.

    Layne, his best friend, called out from the engine compartment behind the pilot seat, "Did you get it opened yet?"

    Before Marcus could respond, the nut loosened. The wrench drove forward with all of Marcus''s weight plus the force of his leg. In the blink of an eye, his fist launched into the gunner''s left foot pedal and his forehead into the lower half of the metal gunnery control panel with a hollow smack that echoed deep into the bowels of the machine.

    In a half-scorpion with his ears ringing, Marcus groaned. He reached up with a clawing grasp on the side of the control panel nearest the hatch and slowly righted himself. "Yeah, one sec." He pushed aside his beige corduroy hat and patted his forehead with his fingertips, then pulled them away and waited for his eyes to focus, looking for any sign of blood. Seeing nothing, he straightened his cap with his sore hand.

    If this wasn''t an inline twin-seat cockpit, he might have had more room to work. But for some reason this thing could needed two people to operate.

    "It''s hot in here, the engine is still a million degrees." Layne''s muffled whine filled the space.

    He needed Layne¡¯s help because after pulling the assembly apart, someone had to make sure the two control shafts didn''t fall into a narrow gap between the upright¡¯s torso chest armor plating and waist joint. The monkeys worked hard on that part of the design.

    With hesitation, Marcus leaned down again and pulled the final nut off the shoulder-wide kick plate and placed it on the gunner''s seat behind him. "I''m going in, can you get a hand on it?"

    "Yep, yep, going for it now." Layne echoed out.

    As Marcus slid his head into the crawlspace, a resounding holler boomed into the cockpit from outside.

    "Hey!" A nasally voice shouted.  It was Amurad, the current, temporary, owner of the upright.

    Marcus jolted and slammed the top of his head into the metal crawlspace, the thud rang throughout the core of the upright. "Yeah." He craned his neck and yelled a chesty reply over his shoulder as he maneuvered to lean out of the open cockpit hatch on the floor to the left of the gunner¡¯s seat.

    "Is it done yet?" Amurad grunted, then spit on the ground at his own feet. What strands remained of his jet-black hair on the top of his head danced in the intermittent wind of the marshlands. The rest of his wispy, long locks flicked along his fur half cape and around his neck onto his leather chest piece.

    "Does it look done?" Marcus flared his nostrils, hidden behind his arm, meeting the Brigade Commander''s gaze from over the shoulder.

    "Don''t give me that tone, boy. The right answer is either ''Yes, sir.'' or ''No, sir.'' Nothing else." Amurad gritted his crooked, yellow teeth and scowled.

    Marcus stifled a growl and cleared his throat. "No." He took a deep breath. "Sir." He flashed his eyes wide for a moment.

    "Then what are you lounging around for? Get it done!" Amurad shook his head. "You''re lucky you''re the best mechanic we have in this brigade, or you''d be reassigned to being a chamber boy catching shit with your bare hands." He flicked his wrist and walked away.

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    As Marcus''s focus panned from the hatch back toward the crawlspace, he caught sight of the trigger on the gunner''s control stick. His mind immediately wandered to the thought of strapping Amurad to the end of the 3-inch cannon and letting a round fly. A fate the Brigade Commander himself reserved for those he viewed as treasonous or the most disloyal. After everything Marcus had to go through, it would be a fitting end for the barbarian.

    Marcus crouched down, turned on his back, and wormed himself into the gopher hole that was the crawlspace to get to the underside of the gearshift. As he inched around the slight bend and toward the far side, the inside would be nearly pitch-black, if not for the dim glow of Layne''s headlamp diffusing off the top of the metal substructure.

    Echoes of a whisper filled the miniscule space. Marcus stopped his advance and slowed his breathing. The sound of someone speaking again arose from above, in front of his face.

    "What''d you say?" Marcus called out.

    "Free me." An unfamiliar, baritone man¡¯s voice hushed out from a hair¡¯s width away.

    The mechanic startled and smacked his head on the top of the crawlspace. Then he pivoted his shoulder to find only the metal of the shaft overhead.

    "I''m melting, hurry up!" Layne cried out.

    Deciding to press on, after about three body-lengths, Marcus reached the next barrier, a vent.

    Pulling a screwdriver off his tool belt, he began loosening the screws for the grate. Despite the whine of the slowly rusting screws being freed, Marcus wanted nothing more than to be done with this job.

    "You think he''s going to give you the rope this time?" Layne piped up with a grin. He was also on his back, pinning his shoulders and legs on either side of a narrow gap beneath him. Above, he latched onto a thick gear shaft that ran the length of the crawlspace to the engine, three or four body-lengths away, leading opposite the direction Marcus entered.

    "Me?" Marcus smiled and shook his head. "Nah, he likes me too much. You on the other hand..." He dislodged another screw, placed it in a pocket on his tool belt, then shrugged.

    "Oh good." Layne let off a whimsical sigh. "Don''t have to deal with this God-awful mud anymore. I''ll finally be able to get some good sleep too."

    Marcus finished pulling out the last screw and let the plate down onto his chest. Then he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Now that you say it like that, you¡¯d get the better end of the deal. Wanna trade?"

    "What are you whining about? This whole thing was your idea in the first place." Layne spoke lower and clicked his tongue.

    Marcus began rearranging the underside of the gearshift. "You''re not wrong, but being technically correct is the most annoying kind of correct."

    "For not having much of a plan, we got far, but we need to actually put our heads together and figure out how to get this thing away from these goons." Layne hushed.

    Marcus wiped sweat from his face with his shoulder. The inside of the crawlspace was sweltering, the heat from the second engine wafted down the whole length. "Yeah, they''re a little more organized than I first thought. A bunch of barbarians shouldn''t be this put together."

    "They''ve been rampaging through Arcadia for a whole season now, what did you expect?" Layne shook his head. "The most resistance they had is the relentless mud and wet from the marshland."

    Marcus unbolted and rearranged smaller shafts within the panel. "Look, in my defense they weren''t doing much of anything when we first found them. How was I supposed to know they were going to suddenly blitz through some of the worst terrain on the Aegian continent?" He wiped more sweat with his shoulder.

    "And what about Max, Simon, and Ekkehard?" Layne started panting, his arms visibly shaking, still holding the massive shaft in place over his face.

    A loud ping rang out in the crawlspace as Marcus readjusted the mechanism within. "I''ll figure it out." He grunted as the internals gave him little finger room. He twisted his elbows to avoid getting his hands pinned by the countless gear teeth.

    As Marcus struggled with the mechanical work, he squelched any desire to half ass it enough to get it working. While whoever put this gearshift in didn''t do the best job, this was his upright and he wanted it done correctly.

    "Don''t tell me you''re just going to leave them behind." Layne''s arms started to tremble, but he didn''t relent in his job. "They''re our friends."

    It wasn''t Marcus''s upright because he was responsible for its upkeep. It was passed down through his family for generations; stolen from his father years ago. And after months and months of searching, with a little luck, Marcus found it amidst this brigade of Western Barbary raiders moving east to plunder, as barbarians tended to do.

    "Man, they''re prisoners." Layne groaned, his arms vibrating but still latched onto the shaft overhead.

    Marcus wiped away more sweat and snapped one last gear into place. "Alright, let go."

    Layne winced and let his arms fall limp around his body. Realizing the shaft wasn¡¯t going to smack him in the head, he slowly relaxed the tension in his shoulders.

    "No. I''m not going to leave them behind." Marcus started to screw the plate back onto the panel.

    Layne breathed a sigh of relief.

    "But we''re also in the same position as them." Marcus flicked his tongue.

    "Did anyone ever tell you that being technically correct is the most annoying kind of correct?" Layne groaned.

    Marcus heard a commotion outside and panic set in. "Enough yapping, let''s get this buttoned up."

 Chapter 2: Grim Reality

    Marcus fought to catch his breath, dousing himself with murky water from his waterskin. He sat on a rock at the base of the upright and took stock of its form, worried about the overall structure. Its head had three main pieces -- an inner, orb-like mass, likely a counterweight used to balance the machine as it moved. Though Marcus wondered why it had two eye-like insets that seemed to track the terrain as it walked along.

    Protecting the sphere was a cylindrical shroud which enclosed it on three sides plus a small amount on the front, like cheek guards of a real metal helmet. And then across the front, a thick metal plate enclosed everything but the eyelets on the orb. Marcus braved the climb several times and saw that the shroud and plate could be separated and removed but wondered why. It might be the case that the orb could be damaged and might need replacing, but if it was simply for counterweight purposes, why remove it? Fill it with anything that was good enough to keep the machine balanced. A strange design.

    Marcus wiped his semi-greasy hand on the leg of his overalls, then dragged the back of his forearm down his face and shook his head. His attention wandered around the mostly flat, rocky outcrop that the upright was kneeling upon, and he found one of the mechanics'' handlers staring him down with a scowl.

    Amurad had only a few men always guarding his mechanics. Marcus wondered why the barbarian leader put minimal effort into keeping his indentured servants around. Yet more mysteries. Marcus was here for a reason and didn¡¯t need a handler to prevent escape. He turned back to observe his upright.

    This thing was nothing but a giant box of enigmatic design choices. Upright tanks were ancient machines dredged up from the depths of old-world burial sites. Civilizations since long-gone and names forgotten, purposely dumped the uprights deep underground. But more and more explorers and archaeologists were pulling them from the ground. He couldn''t help but wonder why they ended up buried in the first place.

    Perhaps they weren''t always made this way, but every backwater mechanic and blacksmith with enough gumption were just piecing these things together. Working on an upright was half mechanical know-how, half historical guesswork. Which is probably why they were so rare to begin with. They were massive, heavy, and required an ability to think about working with intricate parts in a way most people couldn''t handle.

    "Is that thing fixed yet?" Amurad emerged on horseback from within the barbarian camp on the other side of the forest clearing with his entourage in tow. He trotted his horse across the mud onto the rock flat where the brigade staged their two uprights.

    "Yeah." Marcus called out, wiping the greasy sweat with his shoulder and looking away.

    "What did you say you little worm?" One of Amurad''s guards, wearing a metal breastplate and helmet called out, ready to brandish his flintlock musket. He was swarthy with a scraggly black beard.

    The barbarian commander held his hand up. In a heartbeat the horseman''s weapon eased back down. "We''ve had this talk, I''m sure it was just a... misunderstanding." Amurad smiled with brown and yellow, misshapen teeth and squinted eyes of same hue.

    Marcus scrunched his nose while looking away, then locked eyes with the barbarian commander. "Yes. Sir."

    Amurad nodded. "Good. I expected nothing less." He pulled the reins of his horse and with a kick, departed deeper into the forest, orthogonal from the path he took to reach Marcus. The rest of his two-dozen entourage followed in turn, breaking away from the rock flat.

    But not the armored barbarian. He tightened the grip on his musket and scowled while staring down Marcus. "I don''t care if you''re the only one that can work on that thing." He motioned with his chin toward Marcus''s upright. "If you speak out of line again, I will cut the still-beating heart from your chest."

    Marcus held back what he really wanted to say, the brutal things he''d want to do to the barbarian in turn but chose to take a swig of water and held it in his mouth while matching gaze. Getting shot or cut up for mouthing off would be a stupid end to this entire endeavor.

    A stillness grew between them as the barbarian shifted in his saddle. Then a call came out from within the forest and the barbarian jolted and he snapped the reins of his horse, causing it to lurch into motion, then with a kick he burst into a gallop to catch up with the leader''s entourage.

    Marcus spit out the water and then spit again, as greasy sweat had seeped between his lips during the exchange. Or maybe that was just the sour taste of capitulating to roguish barbarians. If only Amurad didn''t have the key to Marcus''s upright, this whole interaction wouldn''t need to be stomached.

    He looked up at the angular chest armor of his upright and wondered how the ancients made one-way see-through metal. That is, the cockpit was in a central compartment within the mid-section, the chest piece, because the upright was human-shaped, after all. Inside the cockpit when the power was on, you could see in three directions. To the rear was the engine compartment and wasn''t made of one-way metal. Not the worst design, considering a pilot doesn''t usually have eyes in the back of his head.

    "Marcus." Layne called out. His straight reddish hair wagged in the breeze, having tucked his cap into his corduroy overalls. "They''re giving out double rations, even to us." The mechanic carried two big loaves of bread and a large satchel of presumably flour.

    Behind him, Simon, a tall, lanky fellow with brown hair followed in tow, carrying a cast iron cauldron half-filled with water. Alongside was Ekkehard, a rather mousy fellow with dirty dishwater hair, carried a bag of either potatoes or some other root vegetable. And behind them was Maximilian, of average build, carrying bottles of whatever swill the barbarians left over for everyone else in one arm, and a bunch of firewood in the other. They all wore similar outfits as Marcus and Layne, corduroy overalls and caps with linen shirts.

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    "Gunna be a fight soon." Marcus sighed and tucked away the waterskin into a pouch on his tool belt.

    "Yeah, but they don''t usually give us anything extra." Maximilian spoke excitedly. "Maybe we''re doing a good job and they''re happy." He dropped the firewood near the makeshift seats assembled from mostly flat stones pulled together in front of the kneeling upright.

    "Or we''re losing and are about to be thrown into it with everyone else." Ekkehard scoffed and placed the bag of vegetables down near Marcus.

    Layne''s brow dipped at Marcus in a passing glance.

    Simon placed the cauldron beside the firewood and knelt on all fours. He started scraping together the wood to arrange beneath the legs. "Figures they''d just use us as cannon fodder after everything we''ve done."

    Marcus regretted opening his mouth even before seeing his best friend''s reaction. While it was the truth, it didn''t help the predictably low morale of his team. He smacked his hat against his arm to open it up after pulling it from the front pocket of his overalls and fitted it on his still-sore head after brushing back his blond hair. "No sense in worrying about what we can''t control. Let''s look at the bright side, we''re going to eat good tonight."

    Maximilian wasted no time in flashing a smile along with a nod.

    Ekkehard sat on a rock and started untying the band of the sack and nodded with a flat expression, getting ready to cook for the group.

    "At least we''ll die with full stomachs, I guess." Simon sighed, finished arranging the firewood beneath the cauldron, and stood up.

    Layne extended his arm with one of the two loaves of bread in hand, offering it to Marcus, who looked at it and shook his head and motioned for him to give it to Simon. Marcus wasn''t terribly hungry.

    With the barbarian brigade pushing through into Arcadia, conflict was becoming more frequent and that meant more wear and tear on the upright. With each battle fought, the possibility of the machine remaining in one piece grew more and more distant with component failure more likely each passing day, just from the wear and tear from the unforgiving marshland.

    Despite the rigors of keeping the upright running giving him more opportunity to learn about the machine, the chances of getting a lucky break during a moment of disorganized chaos grew slimmer by the day. The brigade grew more alert and focused as attacks from the Arcadians became frequent.

    His train of thought was derailed when a hunk of bread landed in his lap, tossed by Layne. "You got to eat something, stop going to bed hungry for our sake." Then he turned to offer chunks to everyone else.

    After looking down at the food that landed on his thighs, Marcus found that the cauldron was already boiling and Ekkehard already chopped most of the vegetables into the makeshift stew after pouring three of the four bottles of swill into the cauldron along with the flour. "Could use some meat, but I ain''t complaining." He then took a swig from the green bottle and passed it along to Maximilian.

    "I haven''t had meat stew in..." Maximilian thought for a moment, taking a swig of swill. "I don''t remember how long." Then he passed the bottle to Simon. "That would be so good."

    Simon scooped up the bottle and took a big chug. "I wouldn''t bother thinking about it. We''ll probably be dead by tomorrow anyways." He took another swig and passed it off to Layne.

    Layne grabbed the bottle and sighed. "I don''t think they''re going to do anything like that. Who''s going to fix these things if we''re gone?" He took a small sip.

    Simon shook his head and leaned forward, propping himself up by his elbows while sitting on a rock. "Do you think they really care? Look at how these things come back. I doubt they''d even care if these machines ended up in a pile of metal. Maybe it would be better for them that way."

    Then Layne offered the bottle to Marcus.

    Marcus took the swill and swirled it around, staring at the mostly gone green glass bottle of alcohol, using the fire as a back light. "No, I think they need us more than anything. Without these uprights, they''d just be another gutless pack of bandits, holding up unsuspecting merchants for ale money."

    Simon, Ekkehard, and Maximilian immediately straightened themselves up to look around, and then hushed Marcus.

    Ekkehard relaxed and then returned to stirring the stew with one of his wrenches. "It''s easy for you to talk like that, but we have to deal with the backlash." He shook his head at Marcus. "You two are the golden children." He motioned toward Marcus, then Layne.

    Layne let out an exasperated breath. "I don''t think they heard anything, don''t worry." He pursed his lips and passed a glance at Marcus with dipped eyebrows.

    Maybe it was the multiple head injuries speaking, but Marcus had a hard time holding back his tongue today. His lack of a real plan going into this whole ordeal was the major point of grief. "Sorry." Despite his loose tongue, he really didn''t want to get himself or his friends killed because of a sudden bout of impulsiveness.

    Then he stared again at his kneeling upright, now mostly silhouetting the violet dusk horizon, with a small bit of the firelight flickering against the blue-gray hull. Taking a swig of booze, he realized that worry about himself wasn''t a part of the equation.

    He had no other purpose in life but to restore his family''s legacy.

    Marcus did worry about Layne, who blindly rushed in with him, without regard for the stakes. If there ever was a regret about this whole situation, it was dragging Layne into this. But now there were others involved in this plot, even if they were unwitting to it. He passed the bottle to Simon, who sat on a rock off to his right and gave the anxious mechanic a reassuring nod.

    The group ate with a consistent pace from start to finish. Marcus''s glacial speed was just enough to finish the hunk of bread he was first given, before each bite he scooped some of the thick vegetable stew up with it. Hopefully that would be enough to ward off Layne''s ire.

    Finally, the pot was entirely empty, and the mechanics sat, leaning back on their rocky seats, and letting off mighty belches.

    In the distance, the sound of rapid thunder echoed out. Marcus sat up straight and looked around, hoping to better hear the strange cacophony. Another blast made him realize that no, that wasn''t a storm. That was gunfire, and not far.

    "I think the Adder is backfiring again." Simon slurred, hiccupped, and swayed, talking about the second upright tank in the barbarian brigade''s possession.

    Another volley of muskets rang out, filling the night sky with the spark and roar of battle.

    Marcus stood up and looked in the direction that Amurad and his entourage charged hours ago, the same from where the noise emanated. "The Adder has been cold for a while. That''s fighting going on. And it''s getting closer."

 Chapter 3: Resistance

    Marcus stood beside the embers of the mechanics'' cooking pot campfire, watching as the dusk light was quickly being overtaken by a growing blaze in the distant sparse forest. When another close volley of musket fire rang out, Marcus''s drunken crew snapped out of the stupor onset by overeating and an excess of drink.

    "Are you sure that''s coming this way?" Maximilian''s arms shook as he dragged himself upwards from his rock-chair, voice unsteady.

    Marcus opened his mouth but hesitated to acknowledge what was unfolding in front of him.

    "It is." Layne stood up and walked next to Marcus. "What should we do?"

    Silhouettes and shadows darted with haste between the linen and leather pop tents of the barbarian encampment. The shouts of men within the tent city grew more frantic after another volley rang out. This time accompanied by countless flashes of light from the tree line downhill from the encampment.

    Marcus eyed the handler who had his hand on his still-sheathed sword, his attention divided between the nearing conflict and the mechanics. If Marcus had a way to start his upright, now would be the perfect time to snatch and grab. But the key to get it going remained with Amurad.

    The barbarian leader appeared into the faint light cast by the nearby encampment from the darkness of the field, as if the thought crossing Marcus''s mind conjured him from the abyss. Sliding to a halt from a gallop, Amurad''s horse bucked.

    "Get that thing ready to go." The commander shouted, motioning toward the two uprights positioned toward each other.

    "You want the--" Marcus pointed toward his own upright.

    "The Adder, the Adder. I don''t have anyone for a second seat right now." Amurad pointed toward the smaller, more bulbous upright.

    "Let''s go." Layne beckoned the rest of the mechanics as he leaped into a sprint up the gentle slope of the rock ledge. "We have to get the jump box to start it."

    "It''s getting cold out here, we need the heater, or the fuel is going to gum up." Marcus pointed at Layne while talking out loud.

    "I''ll get it." Maximilian called out and broke away from the group, toward the supply train.

    Marcus nodded and joined in the run up to the wagons with Layne and crew.

    There were two ways to start an upright with a cold engine. The first was to shift it into neutral and let locomotion take over. Then with enough speed, a swift drop of the clutch in the proper gear would jolt the engine running. But, as they didn''t have an already-running upright, and the grade on the terrain was too gentle and the field too muddy, that wasn''t an option.

    The second option was to use a jump box. The box would pump fuel fast enough to compress the liquid as it entered the engine at high speed. The compression would jump the engine when the starter, controlled in the cockpit, was turned over. It had the same effect but required a lot more effort.

    Marcus, Layne, Simon, and Ekkehard reached the wagons and pulled a leather tarp off the jump box. It was about six foot wide, ten foot long, five foot deep. It overhung the wagon by more than Marcus''s shoulder width.

    "I''ll start it, just get it down the hill." Marcus climbed the side of the wooden wagon, stood on the edge of the bed side guard, then stepped up onto the jump box. Pushing the wagon down a mild slope was the easy part of this operation. Hooking up the battery and turning the crank to get the internal engine of the jump box started was the harder, more dangerous part.

    "You don''t have to--" Ekkehard started to speak.

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    "Do you want to argue, or get it done?" Marcus called out as he laid flat on the jump box and opened a panel to expose the battery.

    Ekkehard shook his head and took up position behind the yoke to push with the other two.

    Marcus dreaded hooking the battery to the starter. They couldn''t keep it connected because the jump box would drain it dry in under a day. When he first got to camp, there were more mechanics. The first lesson he received was by someone else standing on the ground and using both hands to hook up the connections. There was one less that day.

    With his left hand firmly latched onto the jump box''s metal frame, he used his right hand to manipulate the circular connector. Doing it in the dark made it harder to find the metal peg on the battery. Marcus re positioned himself, hoping the memory of the layout inside the panel would be enough to help him loop the connection together. But with each swipe, he found himself smacking the lead into the ceramic frame of the battery with a deep thud.

    Finally, after several attempts, the connector found the metal peg. But it was a glancing blow. A bright flash of light illuminated the inside of the panel for a split second, and a resounding pop filled the air around the wagon.

    "You alright back there?" Layne called out, huffing and puffing.

    "Yep, just figured some fireworks would lighten the mood." Marcus shuddered, thinking about the mechanic that baked himself on the battery terminals.

    But the moment of light allowed him to see the metal peg on the battery. With another swift swipe, he landed on the terminal and with firm twists, secured the connection. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and slammed shut the panel. Then he hit the switch for the starter. Now was the hard part.

    "We''re almost there, Marcus." Simon puffed out. "I hope that thing still has fuel."

    From a narrow gap between the wagon bed sideboard and the jump box, he pulled out a bar with an L-shaped bend near the top and then kneeled up. After shifting over, Marcus inserted the opposite, straightened end of the bar into a hole on top of the jump box, near his knees. Now he needed to use the bar as a crank to get the jump box running. The downside was, that there was no clutch between the starter and the engine. Once the jump box got going, there was a short moment when one could pull the bar from the machine, or let it flail on top as the jumper ran. Not paying attention was an easy way to break an arm or catch a spinning bar to the face.

    After inserting the starter bar, Marcus stood up and planted his feet, using the momentum to get it spinning. The hardest part was getting it moving at first. Even with all his weight and the jostling of the wagon, the bar wouldn''t budge.

    "What''s taking so long?" Amurad shouted.

    Marcus ignored the barbarian''s cries and with a groan, shifted his weight in the hopes of getting the bar started spinning. It was usually a two-man job, but Marcus could get it by himself if he just worked at it enough.

    Another volley of musket fire rang out, and it was even closer to the encampment now. The light from the muzzle flashes momentarily lit up parts of the tent city.

    Marcus grunted and growled through clenched teeth. The starter wouldn''t budge. And the chilly temperature didn¡¯t help matters either. Determined to not waste time, he dug in and leaned all his weight into the grip of the starter bar, a risky maneuver. If the engine decided to suddenly turn over and he stumbled forward, he''d probably get his head taken off.

    The wagon slowed to a stop at the foot of the disk-like foot pads of the Adder. As it came to a halt, Marcus didn''t relent. He leaned, his legs shook, and arms quivered.

    A steady stream of cursing and epithets finally loosened the starter, and it lurched into motion. Then he tripped.

    A high whine filled the air, then a dull roar followed as the engine inside the jump box spun to life.

    Not wanting to get ripped apart by the rotating bar, Marcus let go and straightened his legs. The force sent him sliding across the surface of the jump box and launched him over the edge. He landed back-first hard on the rock surface, which knocked the wind out of him.

    Layne, Simon, and Ekkehard rushed over to pick Marcus up from the ground, who was dazed from his trip.

    "I got it, I got it!" Maximilian called out, jogging down with a metal assembly in both hands.

    Marcus hobbled over to the rear of the wagon with the other three in tow, where they needed to connect the heater to the exhaust, and to the fuel pipe that would start the Adder''s engine.

    "Give..." Marcus gasped with each breath. "...it here." He motioned for the mechanic to hand over the heater assembly. It was a rather delicate piece of equipment.

    "I''ll do it, don''t worry." Maximilian nodded and reached up for the exhaust.

    "That exhaust is already hot." Layne insisted. "Be careful."

    Maximilian nodded and then opened the latch to wrap it around the small pipe throwing sooty exhaust, invisible in the darkness but pungent regardless.

    Then the high-pitched sound of metal smacking stone rang out.

    "Shit, I dropped it." Maximilian hushed out, falling to his hands and knees.

    The heater hit the ground hard and was strewn in a half dozen pieces.

 Chapter 4: Contact

    Marcus stood next to the jumper box, staring at the dimly lit ground where the fuel heater lay in pieces. Next to him, Maximilian, who just dropped it, stood frozen and wide-eyed.

    "W... what do I do?" Maximilian whispered, then swallowed hard.

    "What''s going on? Get that thing hooked up now!" Amurad dismounted his horse and limped toward the Adder that the mechanics were readying to fuel.

    Marcus peeked over the wagon for a moment with a grimace and then crouched down again. "Just get it back together, quickly." He spoke with a hushed tone, motioning toward the ground. Then he reached up and started to pull the hose out from the bottom of the metal jump box frame, it uncoiled from around his arm as he reached in.

    The Adder was a bulbous-framed bipedal upright, with three broad toes on each cylindrical foot. Layne already climbed a quarter of the way up the machine''s left leg on the rungs attached to the limb and reached down, beckoning for Marcus to hand the hose up.

    "I''ll hook it up, pass it this way." Layne stretched his arm.

    Marcus stepped on the first rung of the upright''s leg and pulled himself up with his free hand toward his friend to hand off the line. The moment Layne took hold of the hose and hoisted it over his shoulder, he hurled himself upwards, toward a connector on the underside of the hull above the legs. In moments, the hose was connected, and he stood on the third-to-top rung, waiting.

    After jumping from the upright''s leg, Marcus readied to throw himself on his hands and knees to help Maximilian but found Amurad on fast approach. The barbarian leader came wide around the wagon and readied to ascend the ladder on the bent leg, toward the open cockpit hatch on the underside of the main hull.

    "What do we do?" Simon whispered from behind Marcus.

    Marcus looked at the closed control panel of the jump box. The outside temperature would cause the fuel to become gelatinous and bind once it stopped pumping from the jump box. Whatever was pushed into the engine would ignite from the pressure, but once the line was disconnected, there was little chance the fuel pumps inside the machine would be able to draw enough goop to keep the engine running. The upright would lurch into motion and stall shortly after disconnecting from the jump box.

    ¡°Just run it, we don''t have any choice." Marcus spoked hushed and spun his finger in a circle while motioning toward the jump box panel.

    With a resounding click, Layne connected the hose to the fuel connector on the underside of the main hull. "Good to go."

    Amurad pushed past Marcus and Simon and began to climb up. "Let''s go, move it!" He shouted over his shoulder after a few rungs.

    Simon slid open a panel on the back side of the box which revealed three levers and four push buttons to the right of them aligned vertically. He swallowed hard and looked at Marcus one more time, who returned his gaze with a reassuring nod.

    Layne gave a thumbs up. Then he was pushed aside by Amurad and dangled by one arm and the toe of his shoe on two rungs.

    With a deep breath, Simon reached for the left-most lever and pushed it from down to up. The rumbling jump box roared to life and began to plume smoke from a small pipe near the front of the wagon. Then after pressing the buttons sequentially, he pulled the other two levers simultaneously.

    The machine sputtered. Then it started to chug and vibrate. Marcus winced but resisted the urge to see what Amurad was doing.

    Simon, with sharp jabs, poked at each of the buttons frantically until the jump box stopped rumbling. Then he pulled back on the levers until the chaotic shaking eased and a steady stream of smoke resumed pouring out from the exhaust. He stopped touching the controls and stepped back, then dropped his arms and stared at Marcus.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    That was as much as they could pump with the fuel being so cold. Marcus leaned forward and checked it over. The machine was barely at 60% power. Hopefully the Adder itself wasn''t too cold or it wouldn''t start.

    Marcus puffed his chest and clenched his teeth. Then he gave a thumbs up to his best friend.

    Layne had recovered from nearly being tossed from the ladder and gave him a nod. "Primed!" He leaned toward the open hatch.

    A deep hiss emitted from the backside of the Adder''s bulbous hull and twin opposing smokestacks positioned at the rear. Then the machine jolted and rumbled.

    It didn''t start.

    Amurad began hollering but the echo inside the hull coupled with the roaring jump box made him impossible to understand. But he probably wasn''t saying anything good.

    Simon stood frozen, staring at the open hatch.

    Marcus brushed past him and looked over the throttle settings and then slowed the pump rate. Then he grabbed the rubber fuel hose and squeezed. It felt like thick manure plopping out from a linen sack. With Maximilian still feeling around on the ground, there was no chance the heater was going to be in one piece in time.

    "Hey." Marcus called out to Simon.

    The mechanic jolted and turned to gaze at Marcus.

    "Feed me a lot of slack." Marcus pointed at the hose as he continued to unravel it from the jump box.

    Simon blinked and then nodded, taking over unraveling the hose.

    "When I say so, reverse the pump." Marcus jumped up on the box and started pulling the excess slack with him toward the exhaust. When he reached it, he whistled. "Good enough."

    Simon stopped feeding him slack and stood at the ready on the controls.

    In a wide ring, Marcus wrapped the hose around his arm hovering near the exhaust, careful to not let the rubber touch the bellowing, hot metal pipe. He continued to squeeze near the part of the hose that led up to the hull until he felt the fuel loosen from the heat. "Reverse."

    The hose jostled and the jump box began pulling fuel back from the Adder. The hose suddenly shifted, and Marcus pivoted quickly to protect it, throwing his free arm into the gap between the bulky hose and the glowing red exhaust. As the thick goop turned back to liquid, air caused more violent shaking in the line, and it pushed Marcus''s free arm into the burning pipe.

    He yelped and slid away, catching a momentary blast of sooty exhaust straight to the face before getting the fuel line closer to the heat and his head away from the plume. Marcus coughed and gasped for air, shaking his head. "Pump it in, full power!" He sputtered.

    Simon threw all levers to max, and the jump box rumbled.

    What little Marcus could feel inside the hose was the rush of liquid fuel. "Go!" He called up to Layne.

    "Primed!" Layne shouted into the open hatch.

    The Adder rumbled and puffed soot from both of its exhausts, but it didn''t start.

    "Reverse, we flooded it." Marcus called to Simon.

    The rush of fuel came back through the line and then stopped as the line was pulling air from the intakes. Marcus nodded to Simon, who looked mortified.

    In the distance, another volley of musket fire rang out. The enemy was almost upon the camp.

    "Alright, give it half, we wet her lips, let''s give the ol'' girl a soft start." Marcus called to Simon.

    This time, fuel and air mixed in the hose as it rushed up to the machine.

    "Good." Marcus called up to Layne, wincing as the heat from the exhaust started to scorch his arm.

    "Primed!" Layne hollered into the hatch.

    A deep rumble filled the forest clearing as a pillar of steam and soot exploded into the air from the Adder''s twin exhausts. Then the scream of its massive engine suddenly spurred it from a squatting lean into standing up proper.

    Layne wasted no time and scrambled down the leg, leaping from above shoulder height and rolling back toward safety near the jump box.

    "Cut it, cut it." Marcus motioned with his fingers across his neck at Simon.

    The roar of the engine suddenly detached the fuel hose from the hull of the Upright. Marcus stood upon the jump box and started pulling the hose ring up and away from the exhaust.

    Layne recovered from his hasty retreat and yanked at the loose hose with desperate grasps to get it away from the Adder, sure to lurch into motion soon enough. Ekkehard rushed to help get the hose stowed while Simon carefully shut down the jump box using the controls.

    Another volley of musket fire rang out. It sounded like it went off right behind them, followed closely by whirs of something moving fast over their heads.

    Marcus turned around to see a silhouetted grouping of musket men standing in the field not far from the rocky outcrop.

    Aside from a lone fighter, the rest of Amurad''s entourage was wiped out. Likewise, the mechanic''s handlers were also dead.

    The blare of a horn indicated the shadowy musket men were readying to charge down Marcus and his crew.

 Chapter 5: Infernal Machine

    Marcus stared and watched as the staggered line of enemy musket men afar on the dusk-lit grassland reformed their lines. They then took aim at the flat rocky outcrop where the upright tanks were staged.

    Another blare of the horn spurred a wild cry. A second enemy formation emerged from the woods behind the gunners, brandishing long pikes with metal tips that glinted in the light of the full twin moons overhead.

    Behind Marcus, the Adder roared to life, its dual smokestacks plumed thick smoke as its engine rumbled and sputtered. It stepped forward and its spindly leg with a rear-facing knee joint smashed into the ground, causing the mechanics to stumble and lose their footing.

    From the speakers embedded in the forward section of the bulbous hull, Amurad''s voice boomed. "You like to hit and run? So do I!"

    A spotlight on the underside of the upright ignited and illuminated both the musket men formation and the lancers charging. The lancers wore mismatched dark brigandines and black leather boots, the musket men in dirty white uniforms with blue accents and open-faced basinet helmets.

    Just as Marcus recovered from the stomp which shook the ground, a shockwave from behind sent him stumbling forward. The cannon tucked between the Adder''s steel lance and its torso opened fire just as the lancers passed through the staggered musket line. A blinding light caused Marcus to recoil. Then the shell''s impact caused him to take cover, holding his ears and shutting his eyes.

    When the heart-rattling blast eased, Marcus recovered to find his eyes seeing the ghosted-white outlines of the two formations in his vision. He blinked rapidly in a panic, holding onto the front of the wagon to keep himself stable and upright. When his eyes readjusted to the darkness, it became clear that what remained of both the lancers and the musket men were in a rout, fleeing for the tree line.

    Amurad cackled as the Adder took another harrowing step. "Let''s see how you like it!" His voice filled with delight.

    Then the engine chugged and sputtered. The thick plumes from its exhaust turned to small puffballs wafting into the breeze. Another buck caused the Adder to stumble forward clumsily before it stopped, and the engine whirred to a sudden halt with a hiss.

    Amurad emerged from the still-open hatch on the underside of the hull as the Adder fell into a resting squat. He threw himself out of the hole and across the narrow but closing gap between the hull and the ladder on the leg. Then the barbarian leader scrambled down the rungs.

    "Get after them, go!" Amruad shouted into the disheveled camp, stopping his descent for a moment to point in the direction of the fleeing adversaries.

    The barbarian leader rushed over to one of two horses that survived the skirmish and rushed up the hill, disappearing into the forest.

    As fast as the chaos of battle descended upon the clearing, it disappeared. Marcus''s ears still rang, and his heart was ready to beat out of his chest. Still latched onto the wagon''s railing, Marcus pulled himself upright. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his trembling legs. "Is everyone alright?"

    "Yeah." Layne called out firmly, pulling himself to his feet using the wagon.

    "I... I''m not hurt, I think." Simon called out meekly, still crouching behind the jump box with trembling arms holding hands over his ears.

    "Good here." Ekkehard replied briskly, standing upright, staring out at the forest.

    Marcus listened for Maximilian''s voice, but only the sporadic cracks of gunfire in the far distance could be heard. He stepped around the wagon in search for the silent mechanic.

    Sitting on the ground, with the pieces of the fuel heater on his lap was Maximilian. He stared up at the now-silent Adder looming over the grasslands on the edge of the rocky outcrop, shivering.

    Marcus knelt and placed a hand on the mechanic''s shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

    Maximilian sat in silence for a while before his head vibrated into a shake. "N¡ªno."

    With a slow glance toward the upright, Marcus traced the mechanic''s unwavering gaze, to be sure there wasn''t some other looming threat overlooked. Finding nothing, he turned his attention back to Maximilian.

    "Can you stand?" Marcus held his hand out.

    Maximilian didn''t acknowledge the offer. "That''s my fault, isn''t it?" He motioned by pivoting his elbow toward the motionless upright.

    Marcus kept his hand out in offering and sighed. He regretted not just doing everything himself. "It was dark, and things were hectic. I''m sure it will be fine." He bobbed his hand and nodded.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Maximilian hung his head. "That''s easy for you to say."

    Marcus closed his eyes and shook his head, exhaling hard. "We have to get the cannon prepped and ready to fight again." He pointed up at the Adder. "Or we can make things worse by sitting here and sulking."

    Maximilian swallowed hard. "W¡ªwhat should I do with this?" He wagged the fuel heater''s parts in his arms.

    With two hands, Marcus motioned for the mechanic to hand them over. "We''ll just put it on top of the jump box and fix it when it''s light out."

    After handing the parts over, Maximilian then pulled his legs against his chest and hugged them, still shivering while rocking back and forth.

    Marcus placed the pieces atop the jump box and then beckoned Maximilian. "Come, we still have work to do."

    With hesitation, Maximilian stopped rocking and slowly unfurled himself, then got to his feet.

    Marcus turned to Layne. "We need another shell for the cannon, go grab one. We''ll start getting it prepped to be loaded."

    Layne motioned to Simon, who had stopped cowering behind the wagon and since gotten to his feet. "Let''s go." The two departed up the hill, away from where the fighting was happening, toward the baggage train from where the group had retrieved the jump box.

    "Ekkehard, grab the spare ropes under the wagon." Marcus turned to walk toward the Adder, but stopped to look at Maximilian, who was standing meekly and staring into the distance. "Hey."

    The mechanic jolted and looked at Marcus.

    "Help him get things sorted out." Marcus motioned toward Ekkehard, whom already was crawling under the cart.

    Maximilian nodded bashfully and then complied.

    Marcus marched over to the rungs on the Adder''s legs and began his ascent. The stars on the horizon just above the forest were obfuscated by a plume of smoke and a faint light that filled the sky. A big fire raged afar. He reached the cockpit hatch on the underside of the hull and climbed in.

    Inside the cramped space was almost impossible to see, aside from the extremely faint moonlight which shined through the one-way glass of the hull. It revealed silhouettes of the control panels. Marcus felt around and slid into the cockpit seat. Instinctively, his hand reached for the joystick.

    His mind wandered to the cannon blast and immediately thought of putting Amurad in the crosshairs. Marcus''s hand wandered toward the small side panel that contained the engine start up controls. He felt around for the keylet. Maybe in the chaos the barbarian leader forgot it there.

    His hand touched the cold metal of the upper ignition contact. Then his finger traced down to the bottom contact. Nothing was in between. Thoughts of Maximilian''s wellbeing flowed through his mind, and he couldn''t help but slam his fist onto the wide leather armrest.

    The keylet was a special piece of metal that unlocked the internal controls. It''s why Amurad had no qualms with leaving a bunch of prisoners simply hanging around huge hulking war machines that could easily devastate his entire warband. Marcus tried everything to bypass the keylets on either machine to no avail. There was something special about the keys that Amurad possessed which kept the machines firmly locked down.

    Marcus stared out into the darkness and for a moment, his mind wandered to the day that he''d have his family''s upright back. Marching along the plains, getting his family villa returned to him in his hometown of Lapis Meridia. Once he had that machine back, everything would go back to the way things were when he was young.

    "Hey, you alright up there?" Ekkehard hollered from the ground.

    Marcus scrambled to his feet and climbed through the hatch to the engine compartment. Then he stood and threw open the top hatch, pulling himself up and out. "Yeah, the trapdoor got stuck, probably need to grease it up later." He called down from standing atop the upright.

    From the pinnacle of the machine, Marcus saw the extent of the carnage. The small meadow of the clearing was turned to a swampy muck. Even in the moonlight, he could see the countless body parts from the two columns that Amurad blasted, peppered around the crater in the middle of the grassland, not far from the encampment. Battered corpses were strewn in a loose line leading into the forest. Marcus shuddered at the sight.

    He pivoted and turned to look at the weapon armature on the left side of the upright. The cannon barrel was lower than the hull, while the steel lance attached was slightly higher, in line with the midsection. There was a lock on the breach which would manually open it and allow the spent shell to fall out.

    Marcus walked over to the rear of the hull and lowered himself onto the breach, holding onto the angled section of the lance to keep himself from slipping and tumbling to the ground. "Throw the rope up here." He called down to Ekkehard.

    With half the rope bound in a large ring and tied together with a loose knot, the mechanic took a skipping start and threw the bundle of rope up. It flew high, up and over the lance. The rope ring smacked into the cannon barrel which Marcus caught before it slipped off. He untied the knot and threw the unspun rope down with it draped over the lance.

    "Opening the breach, stand clear." Marcus called down.

    Ekkehard stepped back, but then noticed Maximilian just standing there, so grabbed him by the shirt to get him out of the way.

    Marcus pulled out a long lever that was embedded into the top of the cannon. Leaning against the lance, he had to get enough pressure on the rear of the cannon to free the breach, but then also find a good spot to stand afterwards or end up falling through the gap and down to the ground. With both feet on the lever, he pushed with a deep grunt. It wouldn''t budge. But he didn''t give up. Sliding his feet higher, he pushed harder.

    Then a snap sent the lever suddenly flying toward the back of the hull as the breach loosened and slid open. Marcus held onto the lance in desperation as a hole twice his shoulder width opened where he once stood. He placed his feet down on the two top guide rails that guided the breach into the lock.

    Through the gap, the massive spent brass shell tumbled to the ground and slammed into the rock bed. Then it tumbled and started to roll. Ekkehard ran in its path and thrust his hands forward to stop it. The moment his skin met the brass, he retreated and spun, placing his shoulders against it with a sharp yelp. "Dammit, it''s still hot!" He pulled his hands close to his body.

    The distant sounds of combat had long since died down. Now it was replaced with the stomping of hooves drawing near. Marcus spotted a lone horseman emerging from the forest.

    Amurad had returned.

 Chapter 6: Consequences

    Working throughout most of the night, Marcus and the rest of his team got the cannon loaded, the jump box stowed, then camped out on the rocky outcrop. As usual, he slept on a ragged leather bed roll, choosing to lay out on the hard stone surface rather than braving the blood-marsh that formed in the clearing.

    His slumber was short-lived, however, as he felt a presence looming that awoke him. His eyes shot open, and he found a silhouette standing over him. With the early morning sun hidden behind their head, his eyes struggled to focus on their features. Whoever it was, they weren''t very tall and had narrow shoulders.

    "Get up." The figure spoke with the voice of a child and prodded Marcus in the shoulder with their toe.

    Marcus winced as the morning light dazzled him. He groaned and sat up the moment he saw the child was wielding a musket. Then he started standing up.

    "Mr. Amurad wants to see you." The child spoke as Marcus rose to his feet.

    After struggling to get himself upright, Marcus noticed that the weapon the child held with both hands was made from three sticks bound together with twine to look like a musket. Then the mechanic rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, yawned, and grumbled. "Who are you?" Marcus couldn''t stifle the suspicion from his voice.

    "I''m here to guard you. Make sure you don''t get away." The child spoke with the facsimile of a foreboding tone.

    Marcus stifled a chuckle, but it was quickly washed away as his morning brain finally connected the dots of who he was speaking to. This was a child soldier, likely kidnapped by Amurad''s goons from some town or outlying village as the brigade passed. It happened often in Lazulus, where he was from. Some of Marcus''s childhood friends got snatched off the street and were never heard from again.

    "Fine, I''ll go see Amurad. Go stand over there." Marcus motioned toward a small, elevated area of rock on the other side of the larger outcrop, near the baggage train. A quick glance over the pint-sized guard helped Marcus realize that the corpse of the kid''s predecessor was starting to bake in the morning sun where he fell. It would put Marcus''s mind at ease if the child wasn''t in the line of fire for another potential attack.

    The guard grunted, frowned, and brandished his stick-musket at Marcus.

    The mechanic sighed and displayed his palms. "Look, you want to be able to see what we''re doing and where we are, right?"

    The child blinked and his cross expression eased. Then he nodded.

    "You see that?" Marcus pointed at the spent shell from the Adder''s cannon waiting to be returned to the baggage train, laying near the upright''s rear third toe. It was longer than the child was tall.

    The guard turned to look, blinked, then nodded.

    "One of those lands on your head, you''re done for." Marcus crossed his arms and then motioned with his head toward the small, raised stone platform. "If you were smart, you''d make sure you weren''t in the way when we have to do that again." He gestured with his elbow toward the cannon mounted high on the upright, still displaying his palms to the guard.

    The child looked up at the cannon and then lowered his head to look at the shell and swallowed hard. "I¡ªI''m watching you." He backed away, toward the rock ledge before turning and bolting for higher ground.

    Marcus shrugged. "I expect nothing less." He brushed himself off and looked around for the rest of his team, but they were nowhere to be found. "Hey." He called out to the child. "Where is he?"

    Just before ascending the stone platform, the guard pointed toward the tent city afar.

    Marcus leaned to look around the Adder''s leg to see his team lined up at the very edge of the rocky outcrop, near the encampment. After a deep breath, Marcus strolled over to join up with the rest of the mechanics.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Layne, Simon, Ekkehard, and Maximilian were all loosely in a line, shoulder to shoulder with each other, and looking into the tent city.

    On approach, there was no sign of Amurad. "What''s going on?" Marcus looked to Layne.

    Layne looked over his shoulder at Marcus and shook his head. "Just waiting, I guess. The boss said he wanted to talk to us, but..." The mechanic gesticulated in front of himself, toward the encampment.

    Upon closer inspection, the tent city was in tatters. There wasn''t a stitch of canvas or cloth tent cover that wasn''t bullet-scarred in the 20 rows by 35 columns of shelters. Two sets of two men with canvas stretchers walked into each tent one-by-one and pulled an endless supply of corpses from each.

    Marcus and Layne were in the service of this brigade since they were in the far west, where Marcus tracked the barbarians down, and discovered them in possession of his father¡¯s¡ªhis upright. While Amurad had his fair share of victory and defeat, this seemed to be the most pyrrhic of victories yet.

    A somber expression caught Marcus''s eye. On the far side of the line stood Maximilian. He looked to be staring through the ground, his shoulders were slumped and head hung low. Marcus patted Layne on the shoulder, then sauntered over, stood next to the depressed mechanic, and shoulder-bumped him. Like a frail leaf wagging in the wind, Maximilian shifted side-to-side from the impact. But he didn''t stop looking at the ground.

    "What a mess, huh?" Marcus slid his hands into his overalls and let his elbows hang.

    Maximilian didn''t respond.

    "I''m sure it''s not as bad as it looks." Marcus looked over to his compatriot. "Did you get the fuel heater back together?"

    The mechanic produced a subtle nod.

    "Why are you sulking?" Ekkehard, who was standing on the other side of Maximilian also shoulder-to-shoulder, towered over the depressed mechanic. "You should have been more careful."

    "What good is there in saying that now?" Simon piped up, who was standing next to Ekkehard.

    "I''m already tired of seeing him pout." Ekkehard threw his right hand up suddenly. "We almost got killed but he''s over there sobbing like a schoolgirl because he messed up. If he''s got time to think about his mistake, he should spend some of it figuring out how not to do it again."

    "I don''t think that''s why he''s upset, Ekke." Simon spoke with a hushed tone. Without raising his arm, he motioned toward Amurad, who was marching down the main throughfare of the tent city, observing the carnage.

    Ekkehard grumbled. "Should''ve thought about that before messing up." He whispered back.

    It wasn''t long before the barbarian leader made his way through the encampment and stepped onto the rocky outcrop to meet the mechanics. Gone was his entourage from before. His only companion, the same brute from before, with musket in hand and axe on his belt, stood fast, staring down the mechanics with squinted eyes.

    At first, Amurad said nothing, but simply paced back and forth, up and down the line with his right hand resting on the grip of a flintlock pistol wedged in his leather belt. His other arm was wrapped in a makeshift sling from torn cloth. A circle of dried blood saturated a bandage on his bicep. His face was cut, and head wrapped in a bloody bandage.

    The cacophony of men running amongst the camp filled the silence between them.

    "I see we had a little trouble last night." Amurad broke the silence, motioning toward the dormant Adder looming behind the mechanics. "Unfortunately, this little mishap allowed our ambushers time to escape. I daresay call it a blunder." The barbarian leader''s pace slowed as he stared down each mechanic as he passed. "Perhaps its--" Amurad stared down Maximilian for a moment.

    The mechanic cowered and trembled as the barbarian leader passed.

    "...sheer morbid curiosity. But help my lousy little layman mind wrap around what happened here." He stopped and squared off with Marcus, staring him down. "I can''t help but wonder if it was, perhaps, the fault of someone here." Amurad''s attention shifted toward Maximilian.

    "There was a problem with the fuel heater." Marcus spoke, deadpan.

    Amurad returned his focus to Marcus, then his brow began to lower.

    Marcus exhaled sharply. "...sir."

    "And what, specifically, was the problem with the fuel heater?" The barbarian''s lips pursed, then he clenched his teeth.

    The group was silent. Marcus didn''t move his head but passed a glance down the line. "It was dropped."

    A frown began to form on Amurad''s face.

    Marcus flared his nostrils. "...sir."

    Maximilian winced.

    The barbarian leader passed a glance toward Maximilian. Then he returned his attention to Marcus. "For no reason, it fell to the ground. A matter of fate, circumstance of a cruel world, do you suppose? No one is to blame for this?"

    Marcus''s eyes shifted toward Maximilian for a moment, then he took a deep breath. "I dropped it."

    Amurad turned his nose up and cooed. "You dropped it." His voice was inquisitive.

    "Yes." Marcus responded plainly.

    A snarling expression started to form on Amurad''s face.

    "...sir." Marcus corrected himself.

    "And what do you feel is a proper punishment for this error?" Amurad tilted his head.

    "I think that--" Marcus started.

    Before he could finish, Amurad drew his pistol and shot Maximilian in the chest. The mechanic collapsed backwards.

    The group jolted and backed away. Marcus gasped and turned to help his friend but found the barbarian leader pointing the pistol at him. He stopped and raised his hands.

    "I''m sorry, what were you saying?" Amurad''s voice was calm, and tone conversational.

 Chapter 7: Requiem

    Marcus clenched his teeth and decided to say nothing, staring down Amurad pointing his pistol at him.

    "Did I break your concentration?" The barbarian leader shook his head.

    The echo of the shot settled in the distance and silence grew between them. Movement in the encampment resumed, filling the quiet.

    Amurad smacked his lips. "You should know better. You''ve been here the longest now. I don''t tolerate failure." He cocked the hammer of his gun.

    Stillness filled the gaps of the clatter of workmen fixing the camp behind Amurad.

    Marcus didn''t know what to say. He kept his hands held up.

    Amurad pulled the trigger.

    The hammer fell, followed by a resounding snap of the flint striking on the empty pistol. He withdrew the weapon and stuffed it back on his belt. Then he exhaled slowly while looking around. "I''m glad we could come to an understanding." The barbarian leader glanced at Maximilian''s body. "I''m sure that won''t happen again." His gaze then locked onto Marcus.

    Marcus lowered his hands carefully.

    "Good." Amurad spun on his heels and departed the rocky outcrop, disappearing into the tent city with his one lone companion.

    Marcus turned to look at Maximilian, who lay dead on the ground, eyes as wide open as the hole in his chest. The mechanic fell into a squat, instinctively wanting to help his friend.

    The rest of the crew gathered around the body, and all observed quietly.

    Ekkehard scratched his head and let his arm fall limply to his side, then looked down.

    The moment Layne closed, he looked at Marcus and fell into a squat next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

    Marcus reached down and closed Maximilian''s eyes.

    In the time he''d been a part of this crew, Marcus saw many mechanics meet their untimely end, both by way of job hazard and by Amurad, or his goons'' hands. There were many when Marcus joined, and with each loss, the next became harder to endure. Maximilian was always a part of the crew, even before Marcus joined but it wasn''t until recently that he was moved from being a runner to being responsible for maintenance on the uprights. Marcus''s failure for not teaching Maximilian better caused this.

    Simon shook his head and crossed his arms. "See what good all that grousing did?" He turned to look at Ekkehard.

    "Yeah." Ekkehard''s voice was low, grave. "About as good as yours is right now."

    Simon grumbled and looked away.

    Layne looked around at the other three. "We should bury him." Then he motioned beyond the rock their child-guard sat upon. "There''s soil over that way that might be firm enough."

    Marcus nodded. "That will do, I''m sure." He stood, ready to lift Maximilian''s body.

    Layne rose, following his lead.

    As Marcus readied to reach down, Ekkehard stepped forward and with his hulking form, brushed him and Layne aside with a jostle. The two stumbled away from the sudden shove. Then Ekkehard picked up Maximilian into his arms and started in the direction which Layne motioned. Marcus and Layne looked at each other with cocked eyebrows and decided to follow. Simon trailed in tow.

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    As they neared the other side of the rocky outcrop and onto a small grassy depression surrounded by more rock on a slight downhill decline, Layne broke away and retrieved shovels from one of the carts.

    Ekkehard laid Maximilian down on the surrounding stone outcrop and cut into the dirt with his spade. Marcus then jabbed his shovel into the dirt, followed by Layne and Simon. The four worked, with only the sound of the wind and excavation of dirt filling the quiet between them.

    "While the rest of the camp is still in disarray, you should make a break for it." Marcus continued to shovel but turned his attention toward Simon and Ekkehard. Then to Layne. "Eat big tonight and then slip away when the guards aren''t looking."

    Ekkehard shook his head and scoffed, continuing to dig.

    Simon''s attention drifted toward Ekkehard, then to Marcus.

    Layne didn''t acknowledge Marcus, he just kept digging with dipped eyebrows and pursed lips.

    "I mean it." Marcus stopped shoveling and rested his hands on the handle of the spade burrowed in the dirt.

    "And go where?" Ekkehard''s voice was harsh, sweat beaded down his face as he forced his shovel into the soil. "The entire brigade is on the verge of being consumed by this marsh." He drove his spade into the ground and looked up. "What hope could we have out there?"

    Marcus motioned west, the direction from which the whole group was traveling. He opened his mouth, but Ekkehard cut him off.

    "You want us to go back?" Ekkehard shook his head. "To what? What village or hamlet did we run into on this trip that wasn''t razed to the ground by Amurad? Do you think there were any survivors in any of those places anyways? Or that they would be excited to see the likes of us even if there were?"

    Layne was the only one still digging, keeping his attention directed toward the ground.

    Ekkehard scowled. "And what about you?"

    Marcus passed a glance toward his father''s upright. The machine casted its shadow over Maximilian''s body. "I''ll stay behind, cover for you." He refrained from discussing his plans openly, the only person who knew why he was here at all was Layne, and he''d done a heroic job of remaining silent about it throughout this whole endeavor.

    Simon looked at Ekkehard, then Marcus and swallowed hard.

    Ekkehard shook his head and scoffed. "That''s the dumbest idea I''ve ever heard." Then he drove his shovel into the ground and threw a pile of dirt over his shoulder.

    Simon looked down and continued shoveling. "Well, Ekke kinda has a point. How would you run everything by yourself?"

    Marcus returned to shoveling as well. "I''d make it work."

    Ekkehard grumbled. "Just dig the hole and shut your trap so you don''t fill it back in with horse shit. None of us are going anywhere."

    The four finished digging the hole and laid Maximilian''s body within, then covered it with dirt. They stood, leaning against their shovels and stared at the mound for a while in silence.

    "We should say something." Layne looked around at the other three.

    Marcus tapped his shovel against the ground and nodded. He wiped the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve. "You were always there to lend a helping hand, and never backed down, even when you were scared. You''ll be sorely missed."

    Layne stared at the burial spot. "You were quick to tell a joke, and slow to complain. You were a good friend."

    Simon nodded. "Thanks for always listening to me, even when I knew you didn''t want to."

    Ekkehard stared in silence for a while. "You should have never been here. None of us should be, but you especially. You should have been off still tending your parent''s farm, not wrapped up in all of this mess. It was a cruel twist of fate you ended up here, and it cost you for no good reason." He scrunched his face and looked away for a moment. "Sometimes I don''t think before I say stuff and it ends up doing more harm than good. And I did that to you. I''m sorry."

    The four returned to silence, staring at the mound once more.

    While Marcus was grateful that they were undisturbed during the burial, they still had work to do on the uprights and questions would be asked by the wrong people if they weren''t staying busy doing something that seemed productive, especially since they spent most of the day. Evening had come and night would be quick to follow.

    As Marcus opened his mouth to get everyone on the move, he was interrupted by a shout behind him.

    "Hey." The child guard called out to them from his rock perch a great distance away.

    The four turned to face their miniature handler still holding down his elevated position. Marcus braced for the inevitable clamor over nothing getting done.

    "Which one of you is Marcus?" The child continued.

    "Me." Marcus boomed.

    "How do I know you''re telling the truth?" The child responded.

    Marcus grumbled. "Just tell me what you want."

    The guard motioned toward the tent city. "The boss wants to talk to you."

 Chapter 8: Opportunity

    As daylight gave way to evening skies, Marcus entered the tent city, summoned by Amurad. The workers that were retrieving bodies from the hole-riddled tents already finished their work for the day and what was left of the barbarian brigade were huddled around campfires dotted throughout the encampment. Marcus was anticipating more trouble for spending the day on burying Maximilian rather than tending to the uprights.

    Amurad''s tent was the largest, situated at the center, elevated above the rest on a hastily constructed log platform. While the leader''s shelter had a few holes, it didn''t look as bad as many of the others, for some reason. Marcus approached from the opposite side of the entrance; he would have to walk all the way around the platform to get inside.

    Usually, he would take a wide path, as the brigade''s fighters wouldn''t take kindly to Marcus lurking around the outskirts of their leader''s tent. But today there were only a few stragglers around the base of the platform. And instead of standing on guard, scanning their surroundings, these weary bunch were simply loitering, aloof. Marcus decided this would be a prime opportunity to potentially get the drop on Amurad.

    Marcus knew there was little chance in taking the barbarian leader on in a head-on fight. But if Amurad were caught unaware, perhaps Marcus had a chance of taking him down were he to attack from behind. The lethargy induced by the camp attack created an opening he might not get again. On his side was the fact that he''d been summoned to Amurad''s tent many times, for one reason or another.

    While the barbarians took heavy losses before in other engagements, this was the first time an enemy struck at their back line. The Fallen Kingdoms of the Midlands put up a fight, but were no match for the concentrated, determined force put up by Amurad and his barbarians. But once the group entered Arcadia, what remained of the empire awakened and offered little hospitality to their uninvited guests.

    It seemed that the Fallen Kingdoms weren''t well-educated on how to fight with or against firearms. A recent invention, it seemed that despite the wild, unkempt battle lines of the barbarians, the musket was enough of an advantage that even the most highly trained warriors in melee eventually fell. But the Arcadians didn''t fall behind.

    Against well-disciplined, modern forces, the barbarians didn''t stand a chance. The invading force''s only advantage was having two upright tanks at their disposal. And even then, it seemed it wasn¡¯t enough of an edge to keep their adversaries off-balance forever.

    Marcus approached the platform of the commander''s shelter from a narrow shadow between a row of soldiers¡¯ tents. The four corners of the log platform were propped up by vertical log segments serving as anchors for the rest of the structure. The platform was about waist-height, and while still wrapped in relative darkness, Marcus prepared to hoist himself up and readied to slither beneath the canvas of the tent. But a voice near the front of the shelter prompted Marcus to crouch down and take stock of who might be observing him.

    "Where are you going?" The voice at the front of the tent called out, one of the guards.

    Marcus took a deep breath, ready to reply.

    "I''m here to cook tonight''s supper. As I do every night." The camp cook replied, prompting Marcus to remain silent.

    "No entry." The guard responded. "Boss''s orders. No one enters. He wants to be alone right now."

    The cook scoffed. "You''re telling me he doesn''t want to eat at his usual time?"

    A silence grew between them.

    Marcus looked around, suddenly nervous that he was being watched. But there was no sign of anyone that might be able to spot him. Just the guard and the cook on the far side of the platform, beyond the commander''s tent.

    "Fine," the cook sputtered, "but you''re dealing with him hungry, not me." His voice trailed off quickly as he fled the scene.

    Marcus leaned, to check more angles, but despite his nerves it seemed that he was unobserved. With a firm grip on a log, he slid himself up onto the platform and crawled toward the tent on his belly. The rear of the shelter was where Amurad did his planning, on a small table and bench. Perhaps that also might be where the keylet to Marcus''s upright might be kept. Marcus closed in and reached to lift the canvas wall of the shelter.

    The cry of a crow perched upon a pole from behind startled Marcus. He retreated his hand and looked, fearful that the bird would draw attention. But it seemed he was still alone. He reached again, when another crow cawed, perched on a line hanging between two tents. That''s when Marcus realized that the commander''s shelter was surrounded by dozens and dozens of crows perched and still.

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    The strange sight unnerved Marcus and he began to retreat, back the way he came. Just as he slipped over the edge and crouched down on firm ground, a sudden gale blasted Marcus and ruffled the entire tent city. A black cloud formed rapidly in the evening sky over the commander''s platform. Then it coalesced into a cyclone, which touched down inches away from where Marcus once laid prone.

    Marcus was latched firmly onto the log corner, desperate to not get swept away by the immense pressure of the storm. But as fast as the cloud formed, it suctioned itself up into the cyclone, which coalesced and slipped under and into Amurad''s abode. Then all was still once more. He looked around, expecting the barbarian encampment to rouse from the sudden chaos. But there wasn''t even a peep.

    He crept toward the guard at the front of the commander''s tent in order to catch a glimpse. But it seemed the barbarian was on the verge of falling asleep standing up. Marcus leaned forward, around the platform and stared at a group of warriors hunched over a roaring campfire. They were sloshed and singing a mournful elegy, far from in tune.

    Slinking back into the shadows, Marcus realized there was no sign of the countless crows perched up around the platform. Thoroughly unsettled, he readied to retreat, to make himself known to the guard so that he could be banished back to the rocky outcrop and far away from whatever was going on here.

    "Amurad." An unfamiliar baritone voice spoke with a dissatisfied tone from within the tent.

    Before he could stand up, Marcus''s curiosity urged him to lean harder against the platform so to better hear what was going on inside the commander''s shelter.

    "Y¡ªyes my lord." The barbarian leader replied with a fearful voice.

    A flickering glimmer on the peak of the tent caught Marcus''s eye and he pulled himself higher to see that the rear of the commander''s shelter was being held up somehow. Keeping low, Marcus rounded the corner and edged closer to the gap held open. As he neared, Marcus spotted who was speaking to Amurad.

    The stranger wore an all-black hooded robe adorned with elaborate red and gold embossments, one of which was a bird with a scythe-like beak etched into the shoulder.

    "I am disappointed in the results you''ve shown so far." The stranger spoke slowly, carefully.

    "I¡ªit''s not my fault." Amurad started. "It''s... it''s... it''s these troops. They''re incompetent. I¡ªI¡ªI can''t work with these worms. If I were sent more motivated men, this wouldn''t be¡ª"

    "Silence." The stranger spoke deadpan.

    The tent fell quiet.

    "You were given a task. Lugus has already penetrated the southern interior of the empire." The stranger shook his head.

    "B... ut..." Amurad sputtered.

    "We will have retribution. We must bring these villains to justice." The stranger paced back and forth with his hands held behind his back. "We cannot tolerate letting them get away this time."

    "I understand. We''ll make progress, I swear. We just need more material." Amurad spoke quickly, with a high-pitched voice.

    With his back turned to the barbarian leader, the stranger leaned back and looked up, taking a deep breath. "Done." He pivoted on his heels and stared down Amurad. "But know this." He placed a leather-gloved hand on the commander''s desk and leaned down to meet eye to eye with the sitting commander. In the lantern light of the tent, a sharp chin curved forward and long nose were revealed from beneath the hood. "We will retrieve what has been spent if we don''t get what is owed."

    What features revealed by the lantern light seemed very familiar to Marcus. Someone he met some time ago.

    "O... of course, we''ll be upon the capital in no time with fresh supplies, don''t you worry." Amurad chuckled nervously.

    The stranger''s attention slowly turned toward the gap in the tent and Marcus unwittingly matched his gaze. Paralyzed with fear, the mechanic sunk his nails into the log structure. Whatever Marcus had just been thinking about was blown away by a sudden, supernatural terror that pierced straight into his heart.

    A wide smile formed on the stranger''s face, revealing overly straight and white teeth. Then he diverted his attention back to Amurad, with a serious look.

    "But know this," the stranger started, "you can be replaced. Quite easily, in fact."

    "O¡ªof course, my lord." Amurad nodded and swallowed hard.

    The sudden onset of dozens of crows cawing in a chaotic cacophony filled the air as the cyclone once again formed outside, only a few steps away from where Marcus stood crouched behind the platform. Just as the storm grew to full strength, the stranger''s form dissipated. Then the cyclone whisked up into the sky and returned to a cloud-like formation before the countless crows emerged from its form and disappeared into the distance.

    All was still once more.

    Amurad''s tent was returned to its normal state, without a gap in the canvas wall.

    Blinking to ensure he wasn''t seeing things, Marcus pried his nails from the wood, and he stood, despite his shaking legs. He''d never seen anything like that before in his entire life. Holding onto the platform, Marcus decided to make himself known to the guard and hopefully be told to get lost. He desperately needed to be away from whatever lunacy was going on in the tent city.

    Marcus approached the warrior standing guard at the entrance of Amurad''s tent, leery and still bewildered by what just unfolded.

    "What are you doing here?" The guard belted, crossing his arms against his dirty linen shirt.

    "I was called here." Marcus spoke flatly, hoping his meek disposition would spur an instantaneous ejection back to the rocky outcrop.

    "I didn''t hear noth¡ª" The guard started but was interrupted by Amurad''s incoherent command.

    The guard turned and peeled open the tent flap and shoved his head in, his bushy beard and greasy hair getting caught on the canvas. "Yeah boss?"

 Chapter 9: Raw Deal

    Marcus deflated even more with a sharp exhale and entered the command tent after finding that Amurad indeed summoned him.

    He found himself in a small antechamber with two benches on either side and another open flap leading farther into the tent. In the far section was a small table and bench, the same one that Amurad sat at to plan his invasion day after day, for months of their arduous trek across Aegia; situated on a round carpet laid directly over the dirt floor. On the right side of the room was a wooden platform with a pillow, where Amurad slept. The mechanic continued into the second section.

    "Lately you''ve had a knack for tardiness." Amurad spoke as Marcus approached. "But somehow you appear just as you''re needed. Curious."

    "You called." Marcus spoke, holding back contempt.

    Amurad cocked an eyebrow.

    Marcus sighed. "...sir."

    The barbarian leader wagged his hand in front of his face. "I definitely did not. Who said I wanted you here?"

    "The guard." Marcus spoke with an even tone.

    Amurad, still sitting at the desk, leaned over as if to look out the front of his tent. "He told you?"

    Marcus shook his head. "The other one." He motioned roughly in the direction of the rocky outcrop.

    The barbarian leader traced his gaze in the direction which Marcus was pointing, a confused look on his face. Then his eyes widened for a split second. "Ah, the pip squeak." He scoffed. "Making up stories for attention, I''m sure." He leaned back, folding his hands together and resting them on his stomach. "I''ll have to have a talk about putting a lid on that overactive imagination." He kicked his feet up on the desk.

    Marcus blinked, expecting more monologuing from Amurad, but was met with only silence. "Will that be all?"

    Amurad patted himself on the stomach and then sat upright, lowering his legs and carefully letting his sling down to ease his wounded arm into place. "No." He leaned on the desk with his good appendage. "We''ll be packing up and pushing ahead soon. Supplies are coming in and we need to keep moving."

    Marcus bit down hard on his own tongue, to keep any notion of knowledge from etching onto his face. He nodded. "We''ll have the uprights ready to go."

    "I know you will." The barbarian leader strummed his fingers on the wooden surface. "But that''s not what my concern is."

    Marcus shifted on his feet and swallowed hard.

    "You may or may not know that we took heavy losses in yesterday''s skirmish." Amurad stopped tapping on the table with a sharp strum. Then he paused, staring at the surface. "You''ll be taking up a seat when we continue on our campaign." Amurad pursed his lips and reclined once again.

    Unable to stop his brow from raising, Marcus tilted his head. "Taking up a... seat?"

    The barbarian leader rested his hands on his stomach. "Yes, as a co-pilot."

    Marcus blinked rapidly. "What about someone else in your entourage?"

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    Amurad clicked his tongue and grit his teeth with parted lips. "Unfortunately, almost all of them were smeared across the landscape during the fight. I have only one who''s capable of piloting. Though he''s shot up, he''ll be useful enough for the trip."

    Marcus looked around, desperate to stifle any chance of him showing elation. "S¡ªso what, you want me to run the Adder or something?" Asking about piloting his own upright was too bold, as Amurad tended to favor it.

    The barbarian leader burst into laughter and shook his head. "No, not a chance." He sat up, a smile on his face. "You think too highly of yourself." He leaned forward on the table.

    Marcus wondered if he''d given himself away.

    "What you''re going to do," Amurad''s smile faded. "Is sit in the second seat of my upright."

    "What about the Adder?" Marcus''s voice pitched higher.

    "We''ll tow it." Amurad spoke matter-of-factly.

    There were a million ways for that to go wrong. Usually when towing one upright with another, it was only for a few steps before the engines would fire and the tether would slip off and fall away for one reason or another. From the way the familiar stranger spoke to Amurad, Marcus got the sense the barbarians were a great distance away from their intended destination. Towing one upright with another would be messy and complicated over a long distance.

    But Marcus caught himself before he opened his mouth to raise an objection. Messy and complicated was only to his benefit. Confusion, especially if the Arcadians returned in force, would be a boon. Still, something felt off. "Why do you need me if you and your guard can both run an upright?"

    What remained of the lightness on Amurad''s face disappeared and he passed a glance beside Marcus, where the hooded stranger once stood. "I''ll be leading the caravan from the front. Time is short and I need to make sure we''re not falling behind schedule."

    "I see. Towing the Adder is a good idea." Marcus nodded.

    Amurad smiled. "I know. That will be all."

    Marcus turned and left the tent. All the way back to the rocky outcrop, countless potential ideas surged from the depths of his mind for how to depose Amurad and reclaim his father''s upright. The thought of jumping up from the bottom cockpit seat with sword in hand and running the barbarian leader through, repeated in his head over and over.

    The snap of a campfire within a circle of stones brought Marcus back to the present, and he found himself staring at his friends, all of them with worried looks on their faces lit by the blaze. He was on the rocky outcrop, beyond where the uprights stood at rest, near Maximilian''s grave.

    "Are you alright?" Layne piped up.

    Marcus looked around trying to get his bearings. "I... uh, yeah. W¡ªwhy?"

    Simon leaned forward with a charred stick in his hand. "You''ve been standing there, staring off into the distance for a while, not saying anything."

    Ekkehard stayed quiet, focusing on the dancing flames of the campfire.

    Marcus fell into a sit in front of the fire and rested his chin in his hands. "Just a lot on my mind, I guess."

    Layne and Simon looked at each other.

    "What did the big guy want?" Layne motioned with his thumb over his shoulder toward the tent city.

    "There''s..." Marcus''s voice trailed off as he looked at Simon, then to Ekkehard. He hesitated to continue his thought. "It¡ª" he stopped himself and exhaled sharply.

    Layne cocked an eyebrow.

    As the fire flared from the evening breeze picking up, Marcus spotted their handler standing with his makeshift stick-musket, eying the group. The mechanic scrambled to his feet with a question he couldn''t bear to keep to himself.

    Layne and Simon watched with wide eyes as Marcus marched over to the guard.

    "Who told you to send me down to Amurad?" Marcus spoke harshly, with an intense tone.

    The child-guard puffed his chest out, but the moment Marcus closed and towered over him, the handler caved, and he cowered.

    "I¡ªI don''t know." The guard spoke with a bashful, meek tone.

    "Did you know him?" Marcus stopped and loomed. "Have you seen him before?"

    The guard shook his head quickly.

    Marcus groaned and stepped back, placing one hand on his hip, and ran fingers through his blond hair. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

    "Uh¡ªuh..." The guard hugged his stick. "H¡ªhe..."

    "Anything about him, do you remember?" Marcus looked away and grumbled.

    "He was tall. And wore a black robe." The child''s voice was shaky.

    "Anything else?" Marcus crossed his arms. The stark caw of a crow perched on a rock column only a few steps away startled him.

    "There were a lot of crows around and on his shoulders." The guard nodded.

 Chapter 10: Journey Unknown

    A day and a half passed and Marcus, along with the rest of the mechanics, got the uprights into a travel-worthy condition¡ªgreasing joints, reloading and sharpening weapons, and tightening various loose bits of armor. Marcus put all his time and energy into his father¡¯s upright.

    With the sun now high in the sky and no incursion or any other sign of Arcadian forces in the area, the barbarians reestablished their perimeter, and Marcus along with his crew entered the surrounding forest to gather lumber so to replenish their low stock of wood gas, fuel used in an emergency to run the uprights when actual liquid combustible was not available. It wasn''t the best, but better than nothing.

    With the mechanics so far away from the tent city, Amurad wasn''t taking any chances. He had a small group of warriors advance ahead of Marcus and the crew, partially to make sure a sudden ambush wouldn''t down his only mechanics, but also there was a sense of distrust permeating the barbarians, much more than usual.

    Marcus and Layne finished sawing a log and loaded it onto a cart full of similar-sized tree sections. At the reigns of the horse-drawn cart, Simon and Ekkehard helmed, along with their child-guard, with a firm grip on his stick-musket.

    "We''ll drop these off and get the burn started on them." Ekkehard called out as Simon snapped the reigns to get the horses in motion.

    The child-guard turned and glared at Marcus. "I got my eye on you. You better not go nowhere."

    Marcus nodded enthusiastically. "I know you do. I won¡¯t. We''re going to get more trees ready for when you get back."

    Layne stood shoulder to shoulder and the two watched together the cart disappear beyond the forest''s smaller trees, back toward camp through a cut path. He looked toward the scout detachment lingering in the far distance to their right, well beyond earshot. "So, what''s really going on? You''ve had a look about you since last night that spells nothing but trouble." He kept his voice low.

    Marcus continued to stare in the direction that the cart left. "I''ve come up with a plan that can get us all out of here."

    With a sigh, Layne glanced to Marcus and shook his head. "The last time I heard something like that, you and I ended up in servitude, working for a slave-driving rogue." He turned and started sizing up trees, hauling the two-man saw in front of him.

    Marcus chuckled. "Well, second time''s the charm, no?" A long silence followed by a thud that rattled the forest floor caused Marcus to groan. "I was just kidding, no need to be so uptigh¡ª"

    His mouth was snapped shut by a gloved hand and a honed blade hovered over his throat.

    "Make a sound and I''ll split you nose to navel." The grizzled stranger whispered in Marcus''s ear.

    Marcus raised quivering hands.

    "Move." The stranger put pressure on Marcus''s cheek, to turn him to the right.

    Marcus complied and was spun in the opposite direction. As he spun, he spotted Layne in the same position as himself, gripped by a man in a green cloak covering a dull metal breastplate. These weren''t Arcadians, who usually wore blue and white. Did Amurad figure out his plan?

    "Walk."

    A knee met his lower back and urged him forward. As he started walking, the grip on his face loosened, and a sudden smack hit the back of his head. He tumbled forward. The world around him faded.

    "Nighty-night sweet cheeks." The stranger cackled as Marcus lost consciousness.

    Marcus found himself suddenly in total darkness, feeling weightless. A light in the far distance twinkled like a shimmering star in the night sky.

    ¡°You.¡± The unfamiliar voice he heard when crawling through the internals of his father¡¯s upright called out to him, from the same distance of the luminance.

    Marcus used all his strength futilely trying to raise his arm.

    ¡°You who dares.¡± The voice called out, deep in timber and warmth.

    Marcus tried to call out, but his voice wouldn¡¯t carry.

    ¡°Free me.¡± The voice called, resolute.

    Suddenly the glimmer exploded into an ever-expanding fireball. The raging fire took shape, spreading wings with purple and orange feathers. From above, a beak emerged and turned toward the heavens. It let out a baleful cry as in all directions, a raging inferno expanded in a ring. Inside, a silhouette took form, that of his upright.

    Marcus panicked as the towering flames neared but was unable to move or shout.

    A splash of water poured over Marcus''s head and startled him awake. He was bound with his arms behind his back, against a post. As he wiggled trying to free himself, he found that his thrashing was met with a similar counterforce. Looking over his shoulder, Marcus found he was tied to Layne. They were bound to each other by the arms and to the same post.

    "Wakey-wakey." The stranger that once held a knife to Marcus''s throat cackled.

    He was wearing a faded brown gambeson, with a battered metal plate covering the center of his chest, half of it bound with rope, the other half with a tattered belt. He wore a metal nasal helmet, partially rusted. The stranger was missing teeth, some others rotted black in his mouth. At his hip was a sword with a pistol wedged into the belt of its baldric.

    "Buck, the letter of marque only said we needed one of them, what are we going to do with the other?" Layne''s captor spoke, holding a bucket, standing on the opposite side of the post. Sunlight revealed his features under his hood, he was narrow-faced and had a wispy, scraggly unkempt beard.

    They were near the edge of a tidal creek flanked by the forest. The water flowed rapidly and looked to be rising.

    "One, two. Who cares?" Buck, Marcus''s captor shrugged. "Shooter, you whine too much."

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    "Piss off, we only brought enough supplies to bring back one and I''m not going hungry again because of stupid decisions." Shooter, Layne''s captor barked and tossed the wooden bucket on the ground.

    Buck wagged his hand and rolled his eyes. "Fine. We''ll cut up and toss one of them in the river. Happy?"

    "You''re one of the worst mercenaries I''ve ever worked with." Shooter scoffed.

    "Yeah, boo-hoo. You''re one of the whiniest I''ve ever worked with. Go take a powder and keep a look out. The old man should be here soon." Buck crossed his arms and turned his attention to the tree line.

    Marcus gritted his teeth and wriggled in frustration.

    Shooter departed while flipping a middle finger at Buck.

    After calming down, Marcus then focused his attention on Layne, who was still wiggling and writhing, trying to free himself. Each tug yanked Marcus''s arms painfully. "Go easy, save your strength." He whispered over his shoulder. It seemed to calm Layne a little.

    "What do you want with us?" Marcus called out to Buck.

    The mercenary continued to scan the forest. "Shut your mouth or I''ll cut your tongue out."

    Metal armor clattered behind Marcus in the distance. He shifted, trying to get a good look but only ended up causing himself more pain by craning his neck strangely.

    "Are these them?" A grizzled, aged voice called out from the forest behind Marcus.

    "Yeah." Buck nodded, with arms still crossed.

    The clattering armor drew closer until it finally ceased, next to Marcus. Towering over the two bound mechanics was a man in armor from head to toe. His full-face, slit helmet had a red horsehair streamer. His plain pauldrons rested atop banded mail chest armor with adornments. He took his helmet off, revealing silvery hair and a tidy full-face beard.

    "You got ''em here both alive too. Good job." The knight nodded.

    Buck shrugged. "Fat load of good it does us. The script only calls for one. No bonus."

    The knight pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows with a subtle shake of his head. "Knowledge is power." Then he turned his attention down to Marcus. "So, you are one of our fabled invaders. Tell me, why have you decided to destroy the peace of these people?"

    "I''ll tell you only if you guarantee our safety. Wherever you take one of us, we both go." Marcus looked up at the knight.

    Buck shook his head. "Ain''t happening." He kept his attention focused on the tree line.

    The knight glanced at Buck for a moment with flared nostrils, then back to Marcus. "Well, that sounds like we''re at a bit of an impasse then. How do we know it''s worthwhile to even bring you back?" He placed a hand on his hip. "It''s a long trip. Why don''t we get to know each other first?"

    Marcus sighed and looked at Buck once more, then back to the knight. "He knows everything." Marcus motioned to Layne with his head. "I''m just a simple errand boy. Take him with you."

    The knight blinked and his brow shot up, with a smile forming on his face. "Somehow, I don''t believe that."

    Marcus rested his head against the post he was tied to and stared out at the rushing water only a few steps away. "We got to know each other. That''s all I have to say." He resented his fate but refused to worm his way out, especially after dragging Layne through all of this.

    The knight crouched down to get at eye-level with Marcus and clasped his gauntlets together on one knee. "I don''t think that''s entirely true. You introduced yourself, errand boy. I haven''t reciprocated. I too am an errand boy, of sorts. We''ve been hired by the Arcadians¡ªto impose a bit of subterfuge on the invaders, I assume your boss, in the hopes of stopping them."

    Marcus turned his attention back to the knight. Layne stopped trying to break free.

    "We''ve had some success in capturing a scout or an infantryman here and there, but I''d sooner drain a stone of blood than be able to pull any useful information from them." The knight nodded. "See, if these invaders were nothing more than a band of rogues marching into these lands, they would have never been heard from again in short order."

    The knight tapped the wrench still in Marcus''s front overall pocket. "But they have uprights. And that''s why they''ve been so successful. And now we have not one, but two of their mechanics in custody. I have nothing against you. You have a chance to go in peace. Tell me what I want to know: the weakness of your uprights, and we can part ways for good, never to meet again."

    "And what will you do when you figure out these weaknesses?" Marcus blinked.

    The knight laughed. "I''d destroy them, of course."

    The thought of his father''s upright going up in flames sent a shiver down Marcus''s spine. He returned to resting his head against the post. "I don''t know anything; he''ll tell you everything you need to know." Marcus tilted his head towards Layne.

    The knight looked at Layne, who was staring at the ground, dangling from his bound arms, then back to Marcus. "Because you''re an errand boy?"

    "Because I refuse to be the reason why my father''s upright gets destroyed." Marcus continued to stare at the flowing water.

    The knight stood up and placed a hand on his hip. "So, you''re the son of the leader of these invaders."

    "No!" Marcus''s head snapped to look at the knight. "Not in a million years. There''s no way I would willingly have anything to do with that animal."

    The knight poked his hair with his gauntlet and squinted. "You stumped me on this one, kiddo. Who''s running this upright then?"

    Marcus sighed. "Amurad is the leader of the band of barbarians, and he''s also the one who pilots the uprights. But one of them is my father''s."

    The knight blinked. "So, your father is also one of these bandits?"

    "No, he," Marcus stared at his outstretched legs, "disappeared when I was a kid. I don''t even know why; just one day left like he was going to war and never came back. No explanation. No one even knew he was leaving."

    "And somehow this Amurad ended up with his upright?" The knight spoke with an inquisitive tone.

    "Right." Marcus nodded.

    The knight hummed. "Which one is it?"

    "The big one." Marcus spoke flatly.

    The knight scoffed. "You mean to tell me your father possessed an upright and you can''t even tell me the machine''s model name?"

    Marcus craned his neck to look at the knight. "He never told me and there''s no identifying markings, inside or out. Unlike the Adder."

    The knight nodded. "KV61 Adder. Pre-war scout. That''s not the one I''m worried about. That will pop like a bubble if a cannon gets a good hit." He looked at Buck for a moment, who was still on watch. "What I am worried about," he returned his attention to Marcus. "Is, as you say, the ''big one'', the X47 Firestorm."

    Marcus sat up with eyes wide.

    "It''s up armored from its original design. The model is very capable at range and in melee. It''s why the Arcadians refuse to field any uprights against the invaders and no merc or noble would touch a contract against them. The losses would be too great."

    "Buck, I don''t see any sign of him." Shooter called out, marching along toward the other mercenary.

    "Dumbass." Buck called out and pointed at the knight with both hands.

    Shooter stopped a few dozen paces away from and stared at the knight. "Oh."

    "Tell me," the knight started, "what''s your name?" He focused his attention on Marcus.

    "Marcus. Marcus Valentia."

    "And his?" The knight pointed to Layne.

    "Layne Seinsheim." Marcus motioned toward his friend with his head.

    The knight drew a knife and knelt, bringing it toward the rope. "Well, Marcus, I think that given the circumstances, we might be able to come to an arrangement that will be mutually beneficial."

    "Hell no." Buck called out and squared off with the knight. "You dopey bleeding-heart hedge knight." He lowered his hand toward the sheathed sword on his hip. "I''m-a cut your fucking head off if you dare think about turning them loose." He motioned toward the knight, then Marcus.

    "There''s no need to die." The knight responded, still holding the dagger. "I''ll compensate you for the trouble, and you can leave in peace."

    "Nah." Buck shook his head. "I''m not dropping another script for a few coin."

    Shooter stared blankly at Buck, then his eyes widened.

    "Yeah." Shooter called out and placed his hand on the handle of the sword sheathed on his hip. "They''ll kick me out of the guild if I come back empty-handed again."

    The knight placed his helmet back on his head. "Feet planted above ground is better than whole body below."

    "I know." Buck''s voice grew deranged as his hand slid from the sword on his hip to the pistol wedged in his belt. "Why don''t we make some noise? If I''m going to get banned from mercenary work, I bet there''s some invaders hiring."

    Buck drew his pistol, cocked the hammer, and pointed it at Marcus.

 Chapter 11: Tomorrow Come

    Marcus stared at the 50-caliber flintlock pistol pointed at his chest, held by Buck, his captor.

    "You really think that you both can take me on?" The knight choked up on the knife using only one hand and then flipped it around, holding it by the point and lowered his free hand toward the pistol on his belt as he inched forward to stand on the balls of his feet.

    "This thing will blow a hole in your antique armor." Shooter cackled after producing a pistol of his own and brandishing it at the knight while closing in.

    Then the knight shifted his shoulders as to turn toward Shooter. "Is that so?"

    "Two-on-one, old man." Buck cackled.

    The two mercenaries were a half-dozen paces each from the knight, on opposite sides.

    The knight then slowly spun and stood upright, his stance offset, almost squaring off with Shooter. "I see. That is a good point. It appears I''m outnumbered." He loosened his hold on the pistol, letting the barrel rest on the leather belt at his waist and sighed. "I hate it when that happens."

    Buck grunted and stood his ground. "Can''t always win, old timer." He adjusted his grip and steadied his aim at Marcus, with his tongue dangling from the side of his pursed lips.

    The knight pivoted his torso toward Buck, who was behind the armored warrior. "Too true." He took a step back in retreat, bringing himself closer toward Buck''s line of fire. "But before you shoot, you should know that you forgot one small detail."

    Buck squinted and looked at the knight. "What''s that?"

    A shot rang out. Marcus winced.

    From the knight''s hip a shot cracked and hit Buck square in the stomach. His legs buckled beneath him and the mercenary''s weapon fell his hands to the ground.

    With the flick of his elbow, the knight hurled the dagger at Shooter, sinking it into his right breast. The remaining mercenary fired his shot.

    The knight was hit. He staggered back and spun, falling to one knee, hovering over Buck''s dead body. "I don¡¯t do guild work. It¡¯s beneath my station." He panted and struggled to his feet. After righting himself, he pulled another dagger from three attached to his baldric, then walked over to Marcus.

    "We don''t have much time, get on your feet." The knight had a massive dent in his pauldron, a ring of black soot around the point of impact. He used his hips to swipe at the ropes while puffing and wheezing. After a few moments, he hacked away at the bindings and freed both Marcus and Layne.

    "Get him." The knight pointed at Shooter. "Toss him in the river. Leave his belongings on him so his body won''t float near the top." Then he motioned with his head. "And the dagger too, don''t take it out."

    Marcus rushed over to grab Shooter''s arms and Layne hurried to grab the mercenary''s legs.

    As they closed on the ridge of the raging flow, it was clear Shooter was still alive. He was gasping while choking on blood that dripped from his mouth. "No. Please." The mercenary sputtered and looked up at Marcus.

    The mechanic hesitated. He''d never killed anyone before.

    Layne frowned and started yanking at Shooter''s feet to get momentum so to swing Shooter into the river. "Let go. I''ll do it."

    Marcus looked up to find a committed and intentful Layne, a fury burrowed in his best friend''s eyes never seen before.

    Despite the apparent hatred held by Layne, Marcus suddenly felt like it was a betrayal of everything they went through together to simply leave the deed to Layne alone.

    With a deep breath Marcus followed Layne''s lead and helped swing Shooter. After reaching shoulder height, the two hurled the mercenary into the rapids. As Shooter flew into the water, Marcus was met with his terrified expression. The mechanic shuddered and the mercenary disappeared into the rapids.

    The knight struggled, but with his one good arm, dragged Buck along the ground and tossed the body into the river. Then he turned and pointed at the pole and rope, "get rid of that too."

    Layne rushed over to the pole and with two hands gripped near the top, snapped it in two with three furious pulls and tossed it into the water. Only a small nub still jutted from the ground.

    Marcus swept up the rope and threw it away in kind.

    In the distance, a volley of gunfire rang out.

    The knight knelt and picked up Buck''s pistol. As he wound up to throw it away, he looked at Marcus, then stopped and jammed it in his belt. "We don''t have much time, come with me."

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    The three departed, traveling along the river''s edge until they got to a footbridge. Then they crossed and climbed over a tall dirt embankment that spanned the length of the opposite side of the tidal creek. Once they crested and descended, they were in a damp mangrove forest where the knight led them to a path carved through the thick brush wide enough to walk single file.

    At the end of that path, on a small dry islet amid the trees were ruins of stone structures. The walls were only waist high with sections that were once twice Marcus''s height. Inside the largest structure with the tallest walls was a stone circle fireplace, and two other warriors just as heavily armored as the knight sitting on rubble and staring at a small fire.

    The moment the knight entered the room, the two other warriors stood and readied to draw their blades. Without a word, the knight removed his helmet and raised his gauntlet waist high toward the two. They sat back down but stared wearily at Marcus and Layne after the mechanics entered.

    The knight placed his helmet on a stone shelf and let out a deep breath. "First, I owe you an introduction." He sat down on a flat-topped pile of stones. ¡°A real introduction.¡±

    The two warriors rushed over to pull the knight''s dented pauldron from his armor after removing his gauntlet.

    "My name is Arminius of New Canterbury." The knight said.

    "Your shoulder''s dislocated." One of the warriors with slicked back, blue-grayish hair spoke plainly, holding the battered pauldron. He was young, despite his hair.

    "Fix it, Caeso." Arminius nodded to him.

    Caeso, the blue-grayish-haired warrior, put the pauldron and gauntlet on the shelf next to Arminius''s helmet.

    The other warrior, with bushy red hair walked over to a pack and produced a bottle, uncorked it and offered it to Arminius, who took a swig and handed it back.

    Caeso reached into a pack and produced a belt and offered it by placing it in front of Arminius''s mouth. The knight shook his head and Caeso threw it over his own armored shoulder.

    "Ready?" Caeso stood to Arminius''s side.

    "Do it." Arminius spoke firmly.

    The red-haired warrior reached down and firmly locked Arminius in place with two hands, one on the knight''s chest, and the other on his back. Caeso raised Arminius''s arm above shoulder level. As soon as the warrior brought it above chest height, the knight winced and groaned.

    In one swift motion, the warrior yanked Arminius''s arm, and a dull pop filled the room. A gravelly grunt came from the knight, and he lowered his arm, rotating it and reaching toward the red-haired warrior, who placed the still-open bottle in Arminius''s hand.

    Marcus and Layne stood in silence as this was happening. Injuries like this weren''t uncommon when working on big metal objects.

    Silence filled the room as Arminius took another swig of the liquid from the bottle and handed it back to the warrior. Caeso offered the pauldron to the knight but was refused.

    "Just give me a few minutes to settle down." Arminius spoke, staring beyond the wall between Marcus and Layne.

    Marcus cleared his throat. "We never got a chance to thank you for saving us."

    Arminius blinked and straightened his posture. "Don''t mention it." He cleared his throat. "You might come to regret it soon enough." The knight laughed with his belly. Then he pointed at the fire. "Come, sit. No sense in everyone standing for no good reason."

    Marcus stepped forward and sat on the uneven stone floor before the fireplace, across from Arminius. Layne looked at the knight, then to Marcus and sat next to his friend.

    Arminius pointed at his exposed arm. "If it was a long gun, at that range I would have been in trouble." He shrugged his shoulder, rolling it with sharp exhales. "You know why they called him ''Shooter''?"

    Marcus shook his head.

    "Because he could shoot at the ground and miss." Arminius smiled.

    "Why''d they call the other one ''Buck''?" Layne tilted his head.

    The two warriors came to stand on either side of the knight with a mild rigidity, arms crossed.

    Arminius leaned forward and squinted at Layne. "It''s a long and layered story but to keep it brief, have you ever gone hunting?"

    Both Marcus and Layne nodded.

    The knight sat up and looked away for a moment. "Male deer like to strut and posture, but in the end they''re just prey animals." Then he looked at Layne. "What do you call a male deer?"

    "A buck." Layne spoke plainly.

    Arminius pursed his lips for a moment. "Today was just fate for those two. There are worse ways to go than a clean death.¡±

    The image of Shooter''s desperate face as he was hurled into the river crossed Marcus''s mind.

    Layne glanced at Marcus for a moment. "Well, you still got hit by Shooter." Layne looked at Arminius and pointed at his own arm.

    The red-haired warrior stopped crossing his arms and stood upright with a step forward.

    Arminius laughed and raised his hand. "Baldmund." He turned to look at the red-haired warrior.

    Baldmund retreated and returned to crossing his arms with a frown.

    The knight locked onto Layne. "A blind squirrel will find a nut, sometimes."

    Marcus cleared his mind. "Why did you bring us here? Amurad will be looking for us and will grow suspicious if we''re not back soon."

    With a deep sigh, Arminius nodded. "I want to stop this invasion. You want your father''s upright back. Let''s make a plan to get you into that machine and get it away from this Amurad."

    Marcus stared at the miniscule flames of the dwindling fire inside the stone circle, lost in contemplation. He shook his head. "I''ve been trying the entire time I''ve been there. I can''t do it because of the medallions he has."

    "Because of the medallions he has..." The knight trailed off. "Ah, you mean he has lockout inhibitors?" Arminius nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. "I see. That complicates things."

    "Look, if I knew how to bypass it, I would have already." Marcus didn''t hide the frustration in his voice.

    "I understand, but aren''t you one of his mechanics? How do you move them around? Can''t you just steal one of them when you''re working on them?" Arminius crossed his arms and looked at the fire. "Inhibitors are used in place of a coded pilot. The machine will run but in a reduced capacity." He shook his head and returned his attention to Marcus. "I''m rambling, what were you going to say?"

    "We can''t move them, only he and his goons are the ones allowed to handle running them. We just fix them when they get beat up or broken down." Marcus sighed.

    "I have an idea." Layne looked to Marcus then the knight.

    The two focused their attention on him.

    "Aren''t we supposed to be moving camp tomorrow?" Layne blinked.

    Marcus''s eyes widened. "I think we can make this work."

    Arminius smiled. ¡°Let¡¯s put together a plan then.¡±

 Chapter 12: Stormy Horizons

    Marcus led Layne back to camp from the mangrove hideout under the veil of night. After slipping past one of Amurad''s mounted patrols canvasing on the way back, the two mechanics arrived at the rocky outcrop.

    Sitting at an open fire pit near the foot of the Firestorm was Simon and Ekkehard. Simon sat cross-legged on the ground, Ekkehard laid against the angled toe of the upright.

    Exhausted from the day, Marcus sat at the fire without a word. Layne plopped down across from him.

    Ekkehard startled as Marcus entered the light of the fire and Simon rolled back with a gasp. Leaning forward from the upright, Ekkehard looked around. "Where have you been?" He whispered barely louder than the crackling of the fire.

    "We got cap¡ª" Marcus started to speak.

    Layne spoke over him. "¡ªlost." He bobbed his eyebrows at Marcus.

    Marcus passed his best friend a subtle nod. "We got lost. Has anyone been looking for us?"

    Simon looked at Layne for a moment, with a few rapid blinks and then turned his attention to Marcus. "No. No one has seen the big guy all day, probably because a baggage train came in."

    Ekkehard motioned with his thumb toward the sleeping child-guard, perched on a rock. "We put him through his paces in the meantime too." Then he leaned back against the toe of the upright. "So, how''d you get lost."

    Marcus stood up. "I think it''d be best if we just turned in for the night. It''s been a long day."

    Layne got to his feet just as fast as Marcus. "We''ll explain everything tomorrow."

    Ekkehard and Simon looked at each other with wide eyes and then back to Marcus.

    "O--okay, you got it." Simon uttered.

    Ekkehard nodded hesitantly.

    After laying down, Marcus closed his eyes but was as wide-awake as he could have ever been. Everything that could go wrong danced through his mind: what if Amurad changed his mind about putting Marcus in the cockpit? What if suddenly they decided to stay an extra day? There was so much that could go wrong, and Marcus had no trouble figuring out new ways his plan could be for nothing.

    But after wearing himself down with everything that could stop him, his mind wandered to the thought of succeeding. Returning home with his father''s upright. Everything finally getting back to normal. The idea that what they¡¯d gone through would be worth it eased his anxiety. A slight smile formed on Marcus''s face, and he drifted off to sleep.

    The crack of metal banging jolted Marcus awake, all too soon, as the morning sun dazzled him.

    "Wake up, wake up, get on your feet!" The child guard hollered, banging on a scrap metal sheet leaned against a rock with his stick. "Get up, stop being layabouts!"

    Marcus wasted no time and scrambled to stand, his heart suddenly raced, and he started breathing as if he''d run for miles without stop.

    The tent city was already mostly disassembled as the brigade loaded up wagons with their gear and assembled in formation. From the meadow came a familiar face, one of Amurad''s guards from his entourage. The long-bearded warrior in a bloody linen vest approached Marcus.

    "Change of plans." Timur, the entourage guard belted.

    Marcus swallowed hard and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. It was over, plan ruined.

    "I''m the pilot now." The guard motioned towards his chest.

    Marcus hesitated. "O¡ªokay, what do you need me to do?"

    "You''re riding gunner still." Timur pointed with his whole hand, fingers extended. "Get it started, now." He pointed toward the Firestorm as he turned to walk away.

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    "What about Amurad?" Marcus couldn''t hold back letting the question slip from his lips.

    The guard stopped in his tracks, squared off with Marcus and then closed rapidly, towering over him. "Get that fucking thing started and don''t say another word. Stop asking stupid questions."

    Marcus raised his hands and stared at the guard''s chest. The guard turned on his heels and stomped away. The mechanic let his arms flop down to his sides as he stared at the back of Timur''s head with grit teeth. Marcus''s arm slid up his leg, around his waist and touched the grip of the pistol wedged in his waistband at his back.

    "You good?" Layne appeared from behind Marcus.

    Marcus let his arm fall and turned to his best friend. "Yeah."

    "What''s going on?" Worry tinged Layne''s voice.

    Marcus looked at Timur from over his shoulder for a moment. "Change of plans."

    "It over?" Layne turned his attention to the departing guard.

    Marcus focused on Layne and shook his head. "Stay the course."

    Layne nodded and then sized up Marcus. "Try not to bend over too much." He motioned toward his own back. "I''ll deal with the jump box today. Just stay focused." He then turned and walked toward Ekkehard and Simon, who were already leaving to get supplies.

    Suddenly finding himself alone amid everyone else rushing to leave, Marcus looked around at the countless warriors striving to get themselves squared away before the brigade''s immanent departure and felt a strange disconnect. He walked over to where Maximilian was buried and stared at the ground, moist from the morning dew.

    "Either I''m going to make things right," Marcus uttered at the ground. He turned to look up at the Firestorm, its shadow cast over the warriors gathering in formation where the tent city once stood. "...or I''ll be buried along with you."

    A sharp whistle startled Marcus and he spun. Layne stood upon the jump box, attached to the Firestorm and beckoned to Marcus. "Let''s go, it''s time." Layne called out.

    Marcus took a deep breath and glanced at the grave before exhaling then turned to rejoin his companions. He stepped up to the jump box controls and started flipping switches to prime the starter.

    "What are you doing?" Ekkehard spoke, looming next to Marcus.

    Marcus blinked and readied to speak but was interrupted by Ekkehard.

    "He''s already up there, you need to start climbing. Go, I got this." Ekkehard flicked his fingertips at Marcus, to shoo him away.

    Marcus traced the path of the ladder rungs on the Firestorm with his eyes, finding Layne dangling by one arm, with one foot on a strut near the fuel connectors on the underside of the torso.

    His best friend motioned for Marcus to ascend. The hatch to the cockpit was open and waiting. Marcus''s mouth suddenly felt like sandpaper. He looked to Ekkehard once more, who gave him a stern nod. Then he spotted Simon leaning around the jump box, from where the fuel line was fed out, who gave him a smile.

    Marcus climbed up toward the cockpit entrance and stopped when at eye level with Layne.

    "You ready?" Layne spoke in a low tone.

    Marcus nodded.

    "Me too. See you on the other side." Layne passed him a devious smirk.

    Marcus couldn''t help but pass him a knowing smile and climbed into the cockpit.

    "Took you long enough." Timur hollered from the pilot seat, the higher and farther back of the two inline chairs. It was situated near the engine room hatch. "Sit down."

    Marcus hoisted himself into the cockpit and took a step to his side to put himself in the gunner''s seat.

    "Fuel line primed and ready." Layne shouted into the open cockpit door.

    Marcus instinctively raised his arm to the switch to his right for the fuel injectors.

    "Don''t touch a damn thing unless I say." Timur shouted.

    Marcus stopped and placed his hands folded on his lap, clasping them tight to fight his nerves. "You got it."

    "Turn on the fuel injectors already, didn''t you hear him?" Timur boomed.

    "Engaging fuel injectors." Marcus turned to his right and flipped two metal switches then turned back to hold tight his hands in his lap.

    A low rumble filled the cabin as the fuel line filled the primer tank.

    "Go for start." Layne called out.

    Marcus fought off the desire to throw the starter switch, staying still.

    "So, you going to just sit there, or are you going to start it?" Timur scoffed.

    "Starting engine." Marcus spoke flatly, reaching over to the double-throw and flipping from ''off'' to ''on''.

    The jump box screamed as it pumped fuel into the machine and after some chugging from the Firestorm''s engine, the hull vibrated, then the upright''s engine roared to life. The starter double-throw automatically tripped, snapping back to ''off'' on its own.

    "Breakaway, you''re free and clear." Layne shouted over the roar of the engine.

    Then the cockpit hatch was closed and sealed with a hiss. Noise from the engine dulled and it was much quieter. It was pitch black, aside from a few lights on the consoles of both the pilot and gunner. But the darkness didn''t last long, as the walls phase shifted and a broad panoramic from behind Marcus''s left, across his forward field of vision, to behind his right revealed the landscape. It was like he was floating in the air.

    Marcus heard the cock of a gun and worried that somehow, he''d gotten the hammer of his stuck on the seat. But the sound came from behind and above.

    "You see this?" Timur called out.

    The mechanic turned to find a pistol resting on top of the pilot''s console, pointed directly at his head.

    Timur continued. "You make one wrong move, and I paint this room here with your brains."

 Chapter 13: Activation

    Marcus stared down the barrel of the pistol placed on the pilot''s console, at eye level. The barbarian got them into motion, navigating around the formations and maneuvering the upright toward a clearing in a distant mangrove forest on the other side of deep marshland. Near the cusp of the horizon was a series of shallow mountains.

    "So face forward, and don''t make any sudden moves." Timur glared at Marcus.

    Marcus slowly turned away, sat upright, and placed his hand on the weapon control joysticks lingering near the bottom of the seat on each side.

    On both flanks, horsemen passed by, disappearing periodically beneath the canopy of the forest. From this height, Marcus could see the aftermath of the battle a few nights ago. Large portions of the canopy afar, on their left side, were scorched.

    As his skin came in contact with the metal handles, a tingling sensation ran up his arms, then down to his feet. Immediately he started sweating and his mouth dried like he''d laid out in the sun for days.

    Timur revved the engine and kept dropping the clutch, causing the entire upright to shudder and buck with each step. "Piece ''o crap won''t go any faster."

    Panting and wheezing, Marcus suddenly found he couldn''t let go of the weapon controls, no matter how hard he pulled at his arms. "Push the clutch and shift into second." He murmured.

    "What?" Timur grunted.

    "Push your left foot down, then the shifter on your right. Move it down one." Marcus gasped for air.

    The barbarian cocked an eyebrow, then looked under his arm to locate the seven-pronged shifter which led from the floor. With a sharp jab of his left foot to depress the foot pedal, he yanked the gear shifter. After some grinding, it moved to second gear and he dropped the clutch, rapidly accelerating the upright. "Oh, yeah there it goes."

    Holding the weapon joysticks became painful for Marcus as the tingling turned to a burning sensation.

    Suddenly, the strange voice from the bowels of the machine spoke. "Free me." It boomed, as if shouting directly in Marcus''s face.

    But there was no one in front of him.

    A chirp rang out over head three times. Then, after a brief pause, the burst of noise continued to sound with the same interval, ceaselessly.

    "What is that?" Timur looked around, a tinge of panic in his voice.

    Marcus opened his mouth to reply that it was the radio, and they needed to place on their headsets. But despite being in pain, somehow, he managed to keep his wits. "Flip the switch that says ''intercom''."

    "I can''t read, you lout." Timur scoffed.

    Marcus closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath in a bid to stifle the pain. "The metal switch near the shifter, between the two sets of bright lights."

    Timur turned and looked over the control panel. Then with hesitation after passing a glance at Marcus, the barbarian reached over and toggled the switch.

    "Timur!" Amurad''s voice filled the cabin.

    The barbarian looked frantically around for a moment. "Boss?" His voice exuded confusion.

    "You know what to do, right?" Amurad''s voice condescended, as if he were speaking to a child. "Where did I tell you to go?"

    Free Me.

    The voice boomed in Marcus''s mind once more.

    "Yeah boss, like you said, there''s only one place to go. We just have to cross the marshland and climb onto the plateau to get to the capital." Timur spoke while spreading his attention around the cabin.

    "Good." Amurad spoke like he was praising a dog.

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    "Boss, where are you?" The barbarian''s voice had a tinge of desperation.

    "I took the Adder and went the long way. I want to make sure the path is clear for the baggage train." Amurad spoke plainly.

    Marcus closed his eyes and spoke in his mind. I can''t free you when you won¡¯t let go of me. If you want my help, let me do what I need to do!

    "Okay boss." Timur nodded.

    "Amurad out."

    Static came from the overhead speaker.

    "How do I turn it off?" Timur grumbled, staring at the ceiling.

    Marcus was suddenly shot against his seatback after the force that gripped him released. Out of breath, trembling, and sweat-soaked, he raised a shaking arm and motioned with his index finger. "J¡ªjust flip the switch back."

    Timur reached over and slapped the toggle, which squelched the static. "Better." He sighed.

    Finally catching his breath, Marcus realized Arminius perfectly calculated the route the Firestorm would have to take, but also that the Adder would be out of place from their plans. The knight mentioned that his weaponry had little hope of penetrating the Firestorm''s armor, but with the Adder in tow, downing it would be useful deadweight. But if for some reason, Marcus couldn''t take control over the Firestorm, Arminius and his crew would try to sink the upright in the marsh. A slow death for whoever was inside.

    The whole plan hitched on Layne. Marcus hoped his best friend was doing alright back there.

    "We''re far beyond anywhere we''ve scouted so far. Pay attention." Timur''s voice grew serious.

    They began to cross the marshland. The Firestorm''s legs sank up to its shin-armor. Having gotten closer to their destination, the capital plateau was now easily visible from the vast marshland. They were moving directly east, and the plateau stretched from far north, beyond what could be seen in the cabin''s panorama to the left; to their south, and then hooked around to their right. The closest point was a section of isolated plateau that looked like a fang jutting into the marsh.

    Somewhere around here was where there would be an ambush. Marcus hoped that Arminius had a backup plan for the case where the Adder wasn''t with them.

    The Firestorm waded through the shin-high muck, but the machine¡¯s RPM lowered, and the engine started to bog.

    "Stupid thing." Timur kept jabbing the clutch to keep it running.

    "Shift it to first." Marcus let slip an impatient tone.

    The barbarian violently shifted down and the engine once again roared to life. The legs powered through the watery goop once more.

    Marcus leaned forward and to his left, hoping to see behind them, to no avail.

    "What are you doing?" Timur squinted.

    "Trying to see if I could spot Amurad. Are we really all alone?" Marcus sat back and faced forward.

    The barbarian nodded. "It''s just us. Amurad and the baggage train took the high road to stay dry."

    Marcus blinked. "No one at all? No scouts? What if we run out of fuel?"

    "We''ll be fine." Timur spoke matter-of-factly.

    Judging how hard the barbarian was driving the machine, there was little chance that the fuel tank would last even a half day''s trip. And then Marcus realized he''d never considered a wasteful pilot burning up most of the fuel in the tank. After the deed was done, the destination was still the Arcadian capital, nearly a full day''s march from the old barbarian camp.

    A glint on the right of the viewport caught both Marcus and Timur''s attention.

    "What is that?" The barbarian tilted his head.

    Marcus squinted, and then saw a battery of smoothbore cannons upon the section of plateau jutting into the marshland. They surrounded an upright, human-like, lying flat on its belly. It was time.

    A flash of light burst from the plateau and a red-hot tracer darted across the marshland, skimmed off the surface of the boggy water, and smacked into the Firestorm''s torso with a bang, then a hiss. The upright stumbled. Then the machine regained its bearing.

    Timur jumped in his seat. "How do I shoot back?" He looked around frantically at the pilot''s control panel.

    "You can''t, that''s my job." Marcus looked over his shoulder, purposefully wasting time meanwhile psyching himself up.

    The barbarian swallowed hard. "Then shoot them!"

    "Now?" Marcus shouted at the engine room.

    "Yes, now! Shoot now!" Timur''s voice was frantic.

    Puffs of smoke rose from the dozens of cannons on the plateau. Then a hail of cannon fire descended upon the Firestorm, pelting it with round shot that bounced off armor plating.

    "Right now?!" Marcus leaned to holler directly at the engine room door, to make sure he was perfectly clear and able to be heard over the chaos coming from outside.

    "You idiot, return fire!" The barbarian leaned forward and shouted, nose-to-nose with Marcus.

    "Alright. Right. Now." Marcus screamed at the top of his lungs. He reached down and grabbed both gunner joysticks. The burning sensation returned, and he started to feel the tug of the voice once more.

    Marcus''s shouting was supposed to be the signal for Layne to jump out of the engine room and ambush who was in the pilot''s seat. But something was wrong.

    Arming the 3-inch, Marcus slowly pivoted the torso toward where Arminius''s upright and the cannon battery were set up.

    "Faster, faster!" Timur jumped in his seat.

    "It doesn''t go any faster." Marcus insisted. But it did, he was rotating as slow as possible, hoping to buy time for Layne to emerge.

    Another volley of cannon fire descended on the Firestorm, causing the machine to stumble.

    As the center of the viewport lined up with the cannon battery, a crosshair appeared in the direct center of the window. Marcus slowly and carefully brought the crosshair in line with the plateau.

    "Fire at those bastards." Timur growled, leaned forward over the gunner''s seat and pointed.

    Marcus delayed as long as he could. But if he opened fire on Arminius, they were going to sink the Firestorm.

 Chapter 14: Judgement

    Marcus guided the crosshair across the landscape, creeping toward the plateau where the knight Arminius along with a battery of cannons were firing upon the Firestorm.

    "Get them!" Timur shouted, leaning over the gunner''s seatback and pointing at the plateau.

    If Marcus fired on the group, that was the end. They would sink the Firestorm into the terrain; it would be a slow, suffocating death as the marsh consumed the upright. He was counting on Layne jumping out from the engine compartment to ambush Timur, but something was wrong. He didn''t emerge when Marcus shouted the signal.

    Another volley of cannonballs rained down on the Firestorm, bouncing off the head and upper torso armor plating. Deep resonate droning of metal hitting metal filled the cockpit. Likewise, with the machine at a standstill, the upright was already slowly sinking into the muck of the marsh.

    Marcus needed to figure out a way to take Timur out fast and find out what happened to Layne.

    Timur was taller than Marcus, but lankier. Likewise, it seemed he was still injured from the battle near the tent city a few nights ago, he favored his right leg, and when standing still, propped himself up with his left arm. While his opponent having a bad leg wasn''t going to offer much of an advantage in such close quarters, it wasn''t nothing.

    And Marcus still had the pistol hidden in his overalls.

    With Timur distracted and leaning over his shoulder, this was the perfect time to let slip a shot into his chest from below. Marcus tried to retreat his hand, but once again found it glued to the gunner''s joystick. The mechanic stifled a grunt and spoke in his mind to the voice.

    Let me go.

    The voice responded with deep intensity. Free me.

    We''re all going to sink to the bottom of this bog if you don''t let me go right now. Marcus breathed intensely.

    The supernatural grip that bound his hand to the joystick eased.

    "Why did you stop turning? Get them!" Timur gritted his teeth and put his nose almost up against Marcus''s right ear.

    Riled from the voice''s unexpected meddling, Marcus reached to grab the pistol that was wedged between him and the seat back with his left hand. Pulling it from his overalls, he turned and aimed at Timur while retreating onto the gunner¡¯s control console.

    The barbarian gasped and stumbled back into the pilot''s chair.

    Marcus aimed center of mass and pulled the trigger.

    Nothing happened.

    The mechanic blinked. Then he tried again.

    No shot rang out.

    Marcus looked down and inspected his weapon. He was sure it was loaded. Then he realized he had to cock the hammer.

    Timur bounded from his chair and threw a punch while charging his opponent. "You worm." His voice, filled with hatred.

    Marcus realized what was happening and tried to duck but wasn''t fast enough. He caught a fist to the forehead. Like a church bell that was just rung, Marcus tumbled up over the gunner''s controls and panel. Then he slammed down against the viewport, slumped over his straightened legs.

    Getting his bearings, he realized his hand was empty. His weapon landed on top of the platform that propped the pilot''s seat higher over the gunner''s chair.

    Timur''s leg buckled the moment after his fist connected with Marcus''s head. The barbarian recovered as fast as he stumbled, scooping up the mechanic''s pistol in the process. He righted himself, stood upon the closed cockpit hatch, and pointed the weapon at Marcus, brandished just out of arm''s reach.

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    "You gotta cock it, you dumb bastard." The barbarian cackled and reached to draw the hammer back.

    Marcus swung his legs up and around, kicking the pistol away and used the momentum to hurl himself forward, throwing a punch just like Timur did.

    But the barbarian threw a backhand and struck Marcus across the face.

    The hit dazzled Marcus and his arm went limp for just long enough for it to bounce harmlessly off Timur''s shoulder.

    "Only I can pull off something like that, dumbass." He recovered the pistol that swung wide and pointed it at Marcus.

    Marcus tumbled down and reached out with both hands, latching onto the barbarian''s bad leg. Just above Timur''s knee was a crusty bloodstain. Using his thumbs, Marcus dug both into the bloodstain and pushed through a cloth binding underneath. Stitches popped loudly as the mechanic''s fingers broke through already-torn flesh.

    Timur howled and writhed. He hammer-struck Marcus''s back with the pistol¡¯s handle.

    The mechanic gripped hard and started to open the wound more, widening it with his fingers.

    A second hit from the barbarian caused the weapon to tumble from Timur¡¯s hand.

    Marcus squeezed as hard as he could while spinning the barbarian in place. Then he dragged him up toward the pilot''s seat and away from the pistol that fell on the floor near the gunner''s chair.

    Screaming and kicking, Timur landed a solid hit on Marcus''s arm that finally freed him from the mechanic''s grip, but in doing so left his leg torn open and bleeding profusely.

    Marcus, stumbling back from the kicks, spotted the pistol resting on top of the pilot''s control panel and jumped to reach for it.

    But despite shouting in agony, the barbarian noticed what was happening and thrust his good leg straight in front of Marcus.

    The mechanic tripped and fell onto the pilot''s control panel, squarely smacking the golden medallion hung next to the shifter. The keylet that kept the Firestorm running was dislodged. Marcus¡¯s hand went through the hole that the medallion covered.

    In a heartbeat, the engine came to a stop with a sigh and the upright felt into a parking squat. As the viewport slowly faded back to its opaque gunmetal material, all that could be seen was the machine still sinking into the marsh.

    Red emergency lighting engaged, just bright enough to make out shapes in the cockpit.

    The sudden jolt of the Firestorm coming to a stop sent the pistol on the console sliding off, right onto the barbarian''s chest.

    Timur, bleeding profusely from his leg, started laughing as he turned and sat up against the wall.

    Marcus tried to turn to face the barbarian, but the same force that kept his hand bound to the gunner''s joysticks restrained his hand inside the pilot''s control panel.

    The voice returned. You must free me.

    Marcus desperately tried to yank his hand away but was pinned to the panel.

    "Killed by your own machine." The barbarian cackled, panting between words. "What a shit mechanic you are." He lazily brandished the pistol, the barrel bobbing and weaving as he trained it on Marcus. "Useless fucking idiot."

    Marcus gripped his pinned arm with his other hand and tugged to no avail, eyes wide.

    The engine room door swung open. With a leaping kick, Layne emerged and knocked the pistol away. Then with a frantic cry, he fell to a crouch and with a knife in his hands, repeatedly stabbed the barbarian in the chest. He kept going, even after Timur stopped moving.

    Layne stopped and stood, covered in the barbarian''s blood. "Who''s useless now?" He bent down and got in Timur''s dying face.

    Marcus stopped trying break away from the panel and stared at his best friend, then swallowed hard.

    Out of breath Layne sighed and righted himself, then spun. "Am I late?"

    Marcus shook his head.

    "Did I ever tell you how hot it gets in that engine compartment?" Layne wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

    "You hinted at it once or twice, yeah." Marcus nodded.

    Layne shrugged. "I might have taken a little nap." He motioned to Timur''s corpse. "You''re not going to tell him I was sleeping on the job, right?"

    Marcus loosened his tight shoulders and couldn''t hold back a laugh, despite still trembling. "I think he''s setting a bad example."

    Layne slumped his shoulders. "I''m thirsty."

    With his free hand, Marcus reached across his stomach and pulled the water skin out of the opposite side of his overalls. "Here."

    "Oh good." Layne grabbed and chugged the entire waterskin in one go. "I hoped that I wasn''t going to have to guzzle bog water." He sighed with satisfaction.

    Marcus continued to try and free himself. Despite the engine off and the reserve power disengaged as indicated by the emergency lighting, something still kept hold of him.

    Layne motioned to his friend''s arm. "What''s going on there?"

    "This thing won''t let me go for some reason." Marcus grunted with each painful pull.

    You who dares. It is time. The voice boomed in Marcus''s mind.

    "You just got your hand stuck again, didn''t you?" Layne said smugly, squinting.

    "Yeah, totally. I thought the best time for a tune up was in the middle of a gunfight." Marcus pursed his lips and groaned, trying to pull away from the console while trying to free himself.

    Layne chuckled.

    Marcus looked at the ajar engine room door. "We need to figure out how to fire this thing up without a jump box or we''re dead."

    Layne looked down at the gunner''s seat and then jumped to the lower platform. He ducked for a few moments then stood, displaying two pistols, one in each hand. "I have two really bad ideas."