Engines and werewolves

Chapter 48

Silvercaps,” Andre says. “They’re good to eat. Here.” He digs into a pouch and extractsseveral wadded bags. “Take the ones that are about as big as your hand. Just grab them right under the cap and snap them off the stalk. Try not to touch anything else. I don’t know if anything really nasty grows here, but I wouldn’t take chances.”

The Coward takes a bag with bad grace, and the Moron accepts one with no sign of understanding. I exchange a glance with .

“That’s it?” I say. “We’re gathering mushrooms?”

Andre’s face is thunderous. “We’re doing the job we’ve been assigned to do, fresh meat. Be glad it’s such an easy one.”

and I take our bags and follow him inside the moist garden. The fungus is thickest on the edges of the path, so we walk in single file, staying clear of protruding growths. In places they tower overhead, tall spires of pale white flesh and sprays of leafy nodules.

“It’s practically a forest,” says.

“I’ve never been in a forest, so I wouldn’t know.”

“What?” turns to me. “You’ve never seen a forest?”

“We don’t have them inside the walls of Rachtown. Until they brought me here, I’d never been outside the city.”

“Oh.” gives me an odd look, and goes quiet.

We stop to pick some of the silvercaps. They’re a little rubbery to the touch, but their flesh parts easily under my fingernail. I drop several into the bag, and stop to look down at one particularly large specimen, nearly a foot across. Its silver coating reflects a distorted image of my face.

“It’s pretty,” I offer, feeling as though I ought to make conversation.

It reminds me of descriptions of the Vile Rot,” she says. “Mushrooms that grow to the size of houses, and plants that take root in living flesh.”

I pause, halfway to picking another mushroom. “Charming.”

“Sorry.”

We work for another few moments in awkward silence.

“In Nimar,” says, “there are women who pick mushrooms in the royal forest. They find them using pigs, trained pigs.”

I’m not quite sure what to make of this. “That’s interesting,” I say, non-committally.

“The thing I could never understand,” she goes on, “is how they keep the pigs from eating the mushrooms once they find them.”

My only experience with pigs is when they’re sliced up in bronze sauce, so I shrug. She’s not looking at me, and I wonder if she’s talking to herself.

“I always wanted to try it,” she says. “My father wouldn’t let me, of course. Not a proper activity, a princess grubbing around in the dirt with pigs.” She pops a silvercap free. “I suppose I got the last laugh there.”

“—”

She turns around, grinning. “Sorry. I’m rambling. I just—”

“, move!”

Something huge and blue comes up over the edge of the walkway.

It’s a leg, as long as I am tall, protected by bright blue armor plating. It has four joints, and the end is tipped with a hairy, gooey ball that squishes against the deck. Another identical limb follows, rising over the edge and coming down gently amid the fungi.

“Andre!” I shout. I’m already backing away, letting the bag of silvercaps fall, looking around for the others. Belvia is just ahead of us, and Andre is a little behind. The Moron is nowhere to be seen.

The body of the thing comes up over the rail. It’s enormous, bigger than a horse, discshaped, with four limbs on each side. Six legs serve to stick it to the walkway, as easily as any housefly walking upside down on the ceiling. The two arms are much larger, thick as tree trunks, supporting a pair of grasping claws big enough to fit around my waist. Facing me is what I assume is the thing’s mouth, a nightmare thicket of dozens of blade-tipped tendrils as long as my arm. Every bit of it is blue, the armor a bold sky color, the mouthparts closer to teal. There are no eyes, but the shell is covered in spiny growths.

I have fought men who were bigger and stronger than me, many times. When I was a little girl, I fought men who might as well have been ogres, compared to my slight frame. But at least they were human. I’ve heard stories of the monsters of the world—the tigers of City of bangad, the great snakes of the Southern Kingdoms, the ancient nightwalkers of the iceling lands, and of course the horrible twisted things that set on anyone who gets close to the Vile Rot. But I’d never thought to see one with my own eyes.

So I freeze, for just a moment. Up ahead, Belvia has frozen, too, clutching his sack of mushrooms as though they’re the most precious things in the world. The crab glides toward him. It’s so quiet, armor plates sliding smoothly across one another, and its padded, sticky feet make no sound at all. It steps forward almost daintily, entirely on the walkway now, one claw reaching toward Belvia. The movement is oddly tentative, as though it doesn’t quite know what to make of us.

“Hey!” shouts. A fist-sized bit of fungusflies through the air and shatters on the thing’s carapace in a spray of spores. “Over here! Leave him alone!”

The crab’s whole body shivers at the sound. It spins, and its claw swings toward , hard and fast. While its slow advance had me almost hypnotized, the quick motion activates instincts hard-won in a hundred street fights. I throw myself flat and pull down with me, and the claw goes over our heads.

Run,” I hiss at her.

I leave facedown in the padded fungus and spring up, igniting my blades. Melos power crackles from my wrists and runs over my body as the armor field stabilizes. As the crab brings its second claw down, I throw up an arm to push the strike aside, ready to move closer and jam an energy blade into its maw.

This turns out to be a very bad idea. I do it automatically—against a smaller, weaker opponent, many large men will go for a sweeping downward blow, even if they should know better. It’s a great opportunity to end a fight before it really gets started. But I’m used to fighting humans, not crabs the size of carts. The claw meets my Melos blade and keeps coming, pushing my arm aside with no effort at all. It’s like trying to deflect a lead weight dropped from the top of a building. I have to throw myself out of the way, wrenching the muscles in my side, to avoid getting crushed.

Even as I do, my second blade sweeps out, intercepting the crab’s arm just behind the claw. Against a human, a Melos blade will take a hand clean off with a good hit. Now my blade scrapes over the crab’s armor with a sound like a needle dragged over glass, leaving a dark, smoking scorch mark but no other damage. I feel heat wash across my arm as my power flares.

The claw hits the ground with a crunch. Fortunately, by luck or good reflexes of her own, rolled sideways out of the way. Unfortunately, that took her closer to the crab, just underneath the writhing, bladed tendrils around its mouth. sits up in time to see a half-dozen tentacles tipped with long, sword-like points reaching toward her, and starts scrambling backward.

Time to assess, now that I have a moment. The best option at this point would be to run away. Let the crab eat and probably Belvia, too. Neither of them seems like they’re going to be much help, and I think I can find my way back the way we came. Andre probably already took off. If objects to my coming back alone, I can always kill her.

But I don’t run. ’s not moving anymore—she grabbed the first two tentacles to reach her, and I can see her arms straining to keep them away. Blood leaks from her hands where they cut her, but she’s not giving up, even as more tentacles stretch forward.

Rot. Oh, Blessed’s rotting balls. What am I doing?

This is what I’m doing:

Running forward. Seeing the big claw coming, ducking underneath it, feeling the wind of its passage on my back. Swinging my Melos blade at the closest tentacle, which has pinned. Feeling the flesh part—no armor here—and seeing green energy crackle. Watching scramble free as I sever another tentacle, feeling a third slam against my belly and bounce off in a spray of Melos power, the lines of energy hot underneath my skin.

Seeing, too late, the second claw closing around my waist, catching me in its grip. I think screams my name.

The crab lifts me off the ground, my feet kicking, and it squeezes me like a nutcracker. My armor flares in response, two shimmering discs of Melos energy, keeping the two halves of the crab’s claw from coming together and crushing my midsection. The lines of energy under my skin, where power from the Well runs, grow first warm, then hot, then unbearable, as though wire still glowing from the forge had been wrapped around me. I slam my blade against the claw, again and again, leaving a crisscross of smoking marks.

Something hits the crab from behind, bright and too fast to see. A bolt of flame, and then another, impacting against its shell with explosive force. I can see Andre, his hands ablaze with orange-red Myrkai power. A third firebolt catches the crab on one of its squishy feet, and it stumbles for a moment, off balance.

The pressure on my waist lessens, going from unimaginable pain to mere agony. The crab turns on its noiseless feet to go after Andre. It’s shockingly fast, as fast as a galloping horse. Andre throws another bolt of fire at its maw, but his aim is off and the flames explode along its shell. They burn for a moment, then wink out, leaving scorches but no damage. Andre backpedals rapidly as the crab’s other claw reaches out for him.

I’ve had a second to catch my breath and think. I’ve never had a proper instructor for magic, obviously. In the Legions, they have drills and techniques, perfected over hundreds of years. All I’ve ever had to work with are my instincts. The power has always just been there, like a trusty knife in a secret sheath, and it never seemed wise to question it too closely.

But now I need something different. Not a long blade for parrying, but something hard and sharp that will punch through this rotting armor. I exert my will, pushing the power down my arm, fumbling and uncertain. It feels like trying to think about something your body knows how to do automatically, like tying a knot, awkward at every step. But something shifts, and heat rises as green lightning crackles across my skin.

I let one blade vanish. The other changes, getting shorter and thicker. It looks less like a sword and more like a spike, and I can feel the potential inside it, like a coiled spring. I jam the energy blade as hard as I can into the crab’s claw, aiming for the joint between armor plates.

There’s a c***k, like a lightning bolt, and a sharp metallic smell in the air. The blade goes in, armor plate snapping, the fracture spreading sideways. As it breaks through, I release the energy, and I feel power pulse through me and explode into the crab. There’s a sudden stench, like charred fish, and the claw holding me spasms and lets go.

I hit the fungus-covered ground, feeling a wash of blessed chill as my armor vanishes. For a moment I lie still, breathing hard, but the crab is still moving. Another bolt from Andre hits it, and it charges toward him, legs churning as it passes over me. I roll onto my back after it goes past, in time to see him dodge another claw swipe. One of its tentacles licks out, slashing open his arm in a spray of blood. Andre desperately blasts the crab with a wave of fire, which forces it back a step.