Chapter 44. The Rocket Punch

Chapter 44. The Rocket Punch AnnouncementWell, since most voted to keep it with DST, here is the next chapter. Enjoy

“So, you have chosen military service.”

I blocked Irje’s strike with my shield and glanced at the approaching lamia. “Did you expect me to do something else?”

She shrugged her shoulders; her face hidden by her customary veil. “A woman can hope.”

“Bah!” Irje scoffed and tried to hit me with her wooden sword once again. “After what you did?”

While Irje was predominantly training with Anaise on how to handle Flow, she had to take breaks to avoid depletion sickness. We decided to keep sparring during these breaks to prepare Irje and me for further training and potential combat.

Despite quickly absorbing the teachings of Master Siamak, I was still new to the concept of melee warfare, while Irje didn’t have any experience in combat at all. Thus by fighting each other, Irje could test her attacks against someone fighting ‘by the book’ while I had the opportunity to face off against a larger and less predictable opponent.

Anaise could teach me the Flow poetry later. Perhaps on our way to the ‘local’ recruitment office. From what I could gather, most of Emanai arm forts where training took place were established along the northern border, far away from Samat.

“Yes,” Shahin replied, unamused. “After my continuous efforts to...ameliorate previous grievances, one is bound to hope for some improvement.”

“Your recent actions do speak for you, Shahin Esca Yusuf-ja,” I said as I threw a few quick jabs to keep Irje off her feet. “But it is the culture of Esca and Yusuf that created the Envoy who came to see me dead. I am unwilling to place the safety of my family in their hands.”

The most important lesson so far was to never allow Irje, or any other wer and wermage, to place a well-connected hit against me. Their strength was significant enough that, even if I managed to block successfully, I would either have my shield thrown off or get flung into the air.

It didn’t matter how good my stance was if my feet lost contact with the ground after a single hit. Well, there was also an option to receive a downward swing and hope that one’s back and knees could absorb the blow.

“Do you think that Yusuf is different from Emanai? Or that the hands of Tarhunna Wafiq are cleaner than mine? Ask your Domina how the seven Manors came to rule this land.”

Yet another reason for huge shields and long spears. With multiple layers of wood glued together to form the Emanai version of plywood, pavise shields were tall enough to intercept any overhead blows before they could crush the murk behind it. And, if said murk knew what they were doing, the long spear would engage the opponent long before crushing blows became an issue.

I jumped back to avoid the blade whistling through the air. “Which is why I am joining the military: I lack full trust in Emanai Houses as well. While Aikerim Adal will side with me on many things as long as I don’t question her authority, I can’t expect the Kiymetl to throw its entire weight behind me. Behind Anaise, maybe, but not me.”

My shield had already started creaking from incoming blows. Layers of wood and leather with occasional studs could last for quite some time, but shields were ultimately a disposable piece of equipment. Just as wooden shafts of my future spear.

“And what will you do, once you are back? Or are you planning to spend your life bashing skulls and pillaging villages? You know that the Seven will be here, waiting for you to return.”

I had some ideas about using advanced materials to make shields stronger but decided to scrap them. Without a bio-printer at hand, I would be limited to whatever materials I could bring with me away from Samat. While I could easily bring enough aramid silk cloth to patch our armour many times over, shields would have to be remade from scratch.

“In the early summer,” I winced as Irje’s wooden sword, runed for rigidity, smashed through my shield and showered me in splinters, “I was nothing but a farm slave.”

With a slight smirk on my face, I twisted my shield, wrenching the stuck sword out of Irje’s gauntlet.

“Now, as the autumn approaches, I am the first husband of Anaise Hilal, the lady of the House and very very likely the future Matriarch of Kiymetl. Amanzhan Irada has nothing that could compete with the personal attention of the Goddess herself.”

My cougar grinned and swung at me with her fist, despite being more than two steps away.

It didn’t matter.

A glowing gauntlet slid off her hand and launched itself straight into my chest, finally knocking me off my feet.

“Don’t forget that I am your first wife, dear,” she purred.

“Noted,” I croaked in the dust.

With a slight rustle, Shahin slid closer to me and offered her hand. “And what was it like?”

I grabbed it and was immediately lifted into an upright position. Lamian height was a range rather than a number. “The rocket punch? Cheeky, but surprisingly effective.”

Shahin shook her head. “I do not care for the esoteric names of her spells. What was the personal attention of the Emanai Goddess like?”

I took another glance at the hawkish eyes peering into mine. Despite their familiarity with local divinity, wermages didn’t have a lot of opportunities to interact with them directly. I was more than sure that Anaise’s entourage would become the trendsetters of tomorrow. Their stories and descriptions would affect how Emanai was going to dress and act for the centuries ahead.

Who knows, maybe someone would invent a flying carpet for me to purchase.

Which was also why the ‘divinely-touched’ epithet carried such a great weight. And it was of no surprise that Shahin was equally intrigued. Judging by magically enhanced lifespans, these hands likely helped early settlers to claim these lands from the Forest.

“Honestly? Surprisingly tangible. I expected to witness something that was more Flow than flesh. Don’t be mistaken — there was a lot of magic, the whole place hummed with power, but the gods themselves were... corporeal?”

The yellow-on-black eyes blinked at me a couple of times and Shahin finally let go of my hand and glanced at the clear sky. “Your answer is not something I expected to hear, even from you, yet I do not find myself surprised.” She rubbed her chin in contemplation. “Should I be surprised about not being surprised then? I wonder.”

I threw a towel at Irje and wiped dust and sweat from my face with another one. “Is there a purpose for your visit? Your curiosity about my decision has been answered and if you wish to know more about gods then you are better off seeking an audience with Anaise. I am in the middle of something here, after all.”

“It is not gods I was curious about, but your perception of them. You seek power, Erf. I have been an envoy long enough to smell ambition and you can not hide yours from me.”

I frowned. “I do not seek to conquer Emanai.”

“No. You do not. Your ambitions lie elsewhere. Somewhere nebulous. It is no wonder that the elite of Emanai have so much trouble figuring you out. They expect you to move in predictable patterns, fit for their understanding of ambition.”

“And what about the elite of Yusuf?”

Her tail coiled around me without getting too close. “A caravan master chooses when to travel and which path she should take. But all caravans need food and water, just as they need to sleep during the heat of the day. I might not know the path you wish to travel but I know that you will need camels and they would need to be fed. And I know about equipping caravans just as much if not more than you.”

“Is it time for flowery language again?” Irje walked over, wiping sweat off her arms. “Or are we heading off somewhere?”

“More like the Esca have finally decided to make their move.”

“You have the gold of the House of Trade, just as you have access to Emanai markets and beyond,” Shahin continued, ignoring our by-play. “While marriage to the rising star of Emanai secured your status and rank, you are still missing arms to hold your banners. It matters little if these arms hold spears to defend you or tools to craft for you.”

“I need those that are willing, not those that are forced.”

Shahin raised her eyebrow. “And you think that slaves of your estate are willing? It matters little if you call them servants and give them a daily stipend for their work: each one of them knows that Domina could call them back at any moment. That is not loyalty but fear. Not the fear of a whip but the fear of losing their current fortune.”

“I had little choice in the matter. Domina wouldn’t allow me to pull urchins from the street just to teach them glassmaking,” I grumbled back.

The previously composed eyes got almost comically wide. Shahin shuddered and leaned on a nearby Irje. “It seems I need to present another gift to Aikerim Adal. Teaching street rabble the art of glass... Erf, promise me that you will never speak these words in the presence of other Esca. Your ability to insult whole Manors without even meaning to knows no bounds.”

I coughed. While I didn’t feel any shame about my intentions, I could understand how the Esca would see it from their end.

“I know that you are trying to be a good master and I applaud your morals, but this is Emanai. Do you really think that Domina would let you hire urchins to learn smithing? The kind that Isra Haleh built a large fence around, lest a passer-by would sneak a glance at her work? Or some other craft that would have a chance of attracting Gods themselves? The only source of labour available for you will be slaves. The ones that Domina can threaten with death and torture if they even think about betrayal.

“Besides, if you hope to earn loyalty as quickly and as easily as you do now, you will need to seek the desperate among the free. The ones that dream of daily bread and are willing to sell themselves to escape hunger. Children, cripples, the insane. You won’t find artisans among these.”

I pursed my lips. Shahin was callous, but she was right. While I could eventually create jobs that would require little oversight, I wasn’t there yet. Assembly jobs where I could hire anyone off the streets without worry that they would leak a secret method of tightening five bolts into some obscure shape. While I could provide healthcare that even wermages couldn’t dream of, I wasn’t there yet. I didn’t have a forest of bio-printers either gestating full appendages to be surgically attached or organic prostheses that could attach themselves. Nor did I have the ability to protect said forest or keep it secret.

Isra and Wrena were critical, but I couldn’t force them to shoulder entire industries. Especially industries that weren’t exactly their speciality, to begin with. Both of them were creators of art, wooden or metal, while I needed soulless but identical cogs of industrialisation. I had a carpenter and a smith when I needed machinists and engineers.

Those would come with time, but the more able-bodied workers I had right now — the more likely and more quickly I, or Yeva, could fill these jobs.

Her head turned to the other male in her domain. “Erf?”

“While I do not question your skills as a mastersmith, we are working with a new style of armour that neither of us has any experience with. Each suit will have multiple plates attached together; their size and shape can make or break it. If you feel uncomfortable doing this — just tell me and he will leave.”

“Oh yeah?” The werfox squared against the not-so-much-affected murk.

“Do you want your suit or not?”

Ramad Qasam grumbled something under his breath but didn’t press further.

“His suit?” she clarified.

“That is his price for help. And we can figure out how pieces should stack together while making it.”

“Really?” Isra cast a critical glance at his chest. “He is rather...lacking.”

“Well,” Erf scratched his head, “I was thinking about merging the front plates into a single covered breastplate. An increase in rigidity will not only provide extra protection but will offer additional support.”

Isra pressed her breasts and hummed in contemplation. “Perhaps.” But then vigorously shook her head. “But this will take a lot of time! A palm-sized piece is easy but making a single cuirass to fit Irje will take me days!”

“Well, it should still allow some breathing room within so there is no need to make it too...detailed.” Erf smiled and nodded at the large steel structure in the corner. “I see you finished casting the other pieces.”

“Yes. Wrena and I agreed to split the work. She and her apprentices carve blanks and make casting forms in advance so that I can cast them all at once when I am free. The new lathes need a lot of iron parts and I am busy with my tasks, but Wrena wants to move forward anyway.”

“Good idea. Her wooden ones need powered runes to carve metal parts for your machines and the sooner she can avoid that — the quicker the process will be for both of you.” He walked over and patted the structure. “This is the frame of a wheeling machine. Rather than using the striking pressure of a hammer to shape the metal, it uses the rolling pressure of its wheels to curve metal in two separate directions at once, producing spherical shapes with ease. You know how steel moves when you strike it — imagine what would happen as two rollers, secured in place by this giant frame, received a sheet of metal that is a little bit too thick to fit inside.”

“Oh?” Ramad walked over, curious.

“Don’t touch it!” She pointed her hammer at him. “It is mine!”

Her fingers traced the curves of steel with a new sense of appreciation, feeling the strength within, waiting to be used. Erf’s design was both ambitious and forethoughtful. There was plenty of empty space, something that Isra always lacked when working with complex shapes on an anvil, while the slot for a screw meant that it would work with different thicknesses of steel.

“Perhaps Wrena should wait with her lathes,” she murmured. “I can power the runes if she brings her wooden one here.”

“She needs her lathes to make you bearings, screws, and wheels. You can make do with a limited stock of specialised tools for now as you are only making armour plates. The rest can wait until we aren’t strapped for time.”

“Will this contraption be enough?” Ramad Qasam crossed his arms. “If this thing can bend metal — so will the mace or the spear of an enemy. Or the claw of a Creature.”

Erf looked at her with a sly smile, “Isra?”

She grinned. “The steel is special. I don’t just shape it into a new form — I teach it that form.”

Ramad smirked. “Just like that sample piece you’ve made for Domina?”

“Just like that.”

“Riveted in place to special silks on each side?”

“Yep!”

“And how are you planning on cleaning shit, blood, and rust from them, then?” he mused sweetly.

“Well...” Isra grimaced inwardly. They wouldn’t be the suits for generals who stood on their chariots and inspired other soldiers with their striking presence. While Anaise might achieve a high rank due to her status, that was still a long way off.

“We will plate them.”

Both of them glanced at Erf. “What?”

“We will paint them with other metal, impervious to rust. Possibly add a layer of special paint on top of that. For additional protection and to make scratches and nicks more visible for repair. While a field smith will have no chance of replicating the metal itself, they should be capable enough to rivet one back in place once it is repaired and cleaned.”

The werfox tail twitched. “Paint them with metal? Like tin or lead?”

“The overall concept is similar, yes. But I won’t rely on something as fragile and temporary as covering steel with molten tin.”

Ramad glanced at her. “Can he do that?”

She glanced at her new anvil, hard on the surface yet limber within. “Oh yes.”

“Huh...” He shook his head. “Pull my tail and call me yours, kid. Now I definitely want this armour.”

Isra nodded in agreement. Though she preferred new tools rather than armour.

Amir Esca Shirvan-ja

“So?”

“He agreed. But the price will be steep. Not only is he willing to let Aikerim Adal haggle on his behalf, but he was sharp enough to recognise that we are looking for something more than looking glasses.”

Amir grimaced. “His willingness to trust others is quite hindering. How much does he know?”

“He did not say, nor did he try to guess.”

“I wonder why...” Amir lit her pipe as she thought. “Is he counting on finding out as he teaches, or was he afraid to reveal his secrets if he guessed wrong?”

“To be honest, I do not think he cares.”

“Of course not, he has Domina to care for him. What does he care about, then?”

“He is rather particular to slave well-being. He made quite a few demands on how any of them will be transported and treated.”

“Particular enough to be affected by it?”

Shahin shook her head. “His morals guide him without clouding his mind. Rather than trying to pressure him with morality, which would likely see him walking away from any deal, we should present ourselves as a stable trading partner.”

Amir pulled out a tiny piece of wood and let her fingers slide across the runic script, nearly impossible to see, carved out by the heat of the sun rather than a chisel of a carpenter. Nearly invisible but just as potent.

“A daimon that seeks stability yet discards its foundations... We should be ready to take him away if he manages to ignite the next slave uprising across Emanai.”

“Be careful, cousin. The Emanai Goddess is watching.”

“Then she would be undoubtedly pleased if we manage to pull him out of the bloodbath.”

Her head snakes hissed as she smiled. “Or the Sky Dragon would lay a claim on him herself.”