Tinker's Justice (37 page)

“We want no war with your people. I am Lunjak, now king of all daruu. What would more loss of life gain either of us?”

Rynn turned to her soldiers. “Bring my father’s body.”

She watched the new king as six rebels gathered up the broken man who was once the Mad Tinker. The daruu’s eyes were fixed on her as well. King Lunjak must have noticed her eyes wander to Gederon, because he stepped in front of the young daruu, just as Gederon claimed the prior king had done. “An act in grief, and against the killer of a king, is no crime.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” Rynn replied. “But war isn’t a time for trials and laws. You attack us, enslave us, then try to claim innocence? I ought to pour lava down the halls of this whole kingdom of yours.”

“We have done nothing to your people,” King Lunjak said. “We have merely—”

“Draksgollow,” Gederon cut in. “He’s the one stealing you humans. He’s the one who took this whole mess off the rails and made a war of it. My uncle just wanted to mine gold on a world where no one knew about it. Until your father ran off and started a rebellion, he didn’t give a sandstone brick about humans one way or the other.”

Rynn adjusted her aim, but the king kept himself between her and Gederon. After a long, slow, shuddering breath, she lowered her coil gun. “Where can I find him?”

Chapter 26

“Warning: the transport gates can create some rather unusual side effects when paired. Please use extreme caution when activating two in close proximity.” – Traveler’s Companion: Transport Gates

The rolling green hills of Khesh were dotted with new houses. The sweet smell of wildflowers was tinged with coal smoke and the raw, fresh scent of cut lumber. The refugees from Korr mixed with repatriated slaves and the survivors from the
Jennai
. The Human Rebellion was in the past for most of them, though a few still hung on in ancillary roles.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Jamile asked.

Madlin filled her lungs with country air. It felt good to stretch her legs. “No,” she admitted. “But I only get one try, most likely.”

“What if it goes wrong?”

Madlin sighed. It was hard to be pessimistic looking across at new construction. She didn’t have a sense of the Veydran people, knowing so few of them. Most of the Tellurakis she knew took pains to get someone else to do their work for them; her father had recruited those less prone to that vice. But the humans of Korr were workers, and by grace of Eziel, they were working for themselves now. Everything they built was theirs, and they set to the task with fire and zeal.

“Then we keep trying,” Madlin replied. “That’s why we win. We just keep trying until something works.”

Across the three worlds, messengers dispersed. They came by world-ripper and departed likewise. They visited kings and empresses, goblin priests and kuduk councilors. Every major faction known in Korr, Tellurak, or Veydrus was invited. Each received a message, written in their own tongue, which said the following:

You have been invited to the remaking of the world. You may attend in person, or send a delegation of your choosing. This is a meeting of peace, to end all wars, if not for all time then for all foreseeable time. Those who attend will bear witness to history. Those who abstain will still be held accountable to its resolution. Those who defy its edict will perish from these worlds. You will be summoned.

With each copy there was a listing of a time and place where the delegation would be gathered and brought to the meeting. None of the messengers were lost. The few who encountered resistance in their appointed delivery found themselves with a world-hole filled with ready coil guns at their back, ready to defend them. The Human Rebellion had taken no chances.

As twilight darkened, they gathered. One by one, group by group, world-holes opened, delivering the delegates. From Tellurak came the Kings of Acardia and Hurlan, with their retinues. The Emperor of Khesh sent his eldest son and three advisors. Takalia sent three governors. The kingdoms of Krang and Silk Waves came together with their delegation of diplomats. Sak Qual sent no one, but the land of Feru Maru boasted the largest delegation, with the entire royal family attending.

From Korr came the politicians: the governors and prime ministers, the councilors and mayors of the great cities, the peacemakers and warmongers. None came without attendants, using them to fluff their reputation among their peers. The prime minister of Braavland brought a professor of history and five secretaries. Tollopland came with a poet laureate. Grangia’s delegation consisted of secondary officials from nearly every government agency, but no one of principal importance. Ruttania sent their entire Central Council, and at special request, one Ganrin Draksgollow.

Veydrus boasted the smallest number of delegates, but the most diverse. The goblins sent priests of the dragon gods who remained; all were wary of the slayer of Fr’n’ta’gur. The Megrenn Alliance came as one, with the regent of Ghelk and a tiny girl who was heir to that kingdom. Azzat had one ruler, and one delegate: the demon Xizix. He chuckled and snickered, and assured the other delegates that though they were but vermin to him, he had but one intention: to witness the promised history making. The Kadrin Empire had three delegates: the Empress Celia, High Sorcerer Axterion Solaran, and Sorcerer Caladris Solaran (or Dunston Harwick, depending whom you asked). The daruu’s lone delegate was their new king, Lunjak.

They gathered beneath clear skies on the night of a full moon, with the stars winking into sight as the night grew deeper. A tropical breeze wafted from the nearby Aliani Sea, masking the potpourri of odors from every major culture of three worlds. The hushed crash of waves from beyond the leafy palms surrounding the clearing conveyed a sense of calm. Three massive stone tables had been placed in a triangular arrangement. Each was round, surrounded by chairs, and carved in the center with runes that spelled three names: Tellurak, Veydrus, Korr.

Rebels of the Human Rebellion milled among the delegates, guiding them to seats amid an atmosphere of tension and mistrust. Every war that could be fought, every war that had been fought, had its participants present. The rebel ushers had been chosen for the languages they spoke. As the delegations finally took their places, the ushers fell into place behind them, ready to translate.

A world-hole opened, and a lone figure stepped through. There were murmurs, but the delegates were too wary of the power gathered around them to draw unwanted attention to themselves. “My name is Madlin Errol, the Mad Tinker, as my father was before me. I have gathered you all here tonight to deliver a message. The time for vengeance is at an end. We have warred, and through ingenuity and cunning, we have devised a means of plunging three worlds into perpetual war, with no hope of safety, with no peace of mind without the annihilation of our foes. We gather beneath the Veydran night by means of this very device.” Madlin raised her arms to the sky.

“What safety is there, when an army could be camped in your bedchamber? What peace when a lone soldier with a gun can kill a king? What hope does victory hold when all that you hold dear dangles by a thread? Tonight I offer peace.”

Questions erupted then, as the translators caught up with what Madlin had said. She understood a few, but most were garbled by the din of voices or by dint of language. “What peace can I hold forth, you ask? Why should there be peace at all, when you have at your disposal the means of such effective war? I offer you the warden’s peace. The tinkers have out-thought you this time. We hold the upper hand and we intend to play it. Those who would think to kill me here and now need only remember that it is not my hand that holds the gun to your heads.”

Rynn stood at an open world-hole, the control console of the secret base’s world-rippers within her reach. Madlin had made one key modification before her departure: a timer. With the flip of a switch, the machine would activate thirty seconds later. But Rynn was not watching the world-ripper; its controls were already dialed in, its target ready. She watched through her twin’s eyes, waiting for the right moment in Madlin’s speech, and it had arrived.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the switch. An arrangement of gears set into motion, a motion that would take precisely thirty seconds to complete. Rynn glanced to a corner of the secret base, where Cadmus Errol’s body lay covered in linens.

“Goodbye, father,” Rynn whispered. It harkened back to the ancient traditions of the Korrish humans, spoken with reverence in the teachings of Eziel. The funeral pyre was an extravagance in a world with little wood. Even the rebellion, so enamored of Eziel’s reborn elegies, had not taken up the practice. But Rynn and Madlin had one fit for the Mad Tinker.

Rynn shut the world-ripper that allowed her to reach into the secret base. She found herself once more in a lunar headquarters that had long since stopped being a secret among the rebels.

“I don’t know if I hope it works or not,” Jamile said quietly.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” They were both there in Veydrus: Madlin speaking, and Sosha translating for a Takalish governor.

Amid curses and threats, kept under tight control by rebel soldiers with coil guns, Madlin shouted over the cacophony and managed to continue. “You ask what right I have. You ask who am I to tell you what you can or can’t do. You boast of your magic, your armies, your entitlements. I ask you to look to the sky, and witness the wrath of science unleashed!”

Madlin raised both hands to the sky, hoping that her estimate of thirty second had made for proper dramatic timing. She hoped there would be something worth seeing at all. This whole mess could have gone very poorly if not …

There was a flash, and Madlin felt a wave of relief. A tiny orange plume jetted forth from the surface of the moon.
It worked! Let them see that I can blast a crater in the moon, and see what they …

But that wasn’t all that happened in the night sky. A shadow slashed across the surface, irregular and jagged, but thin. It spread like cracks in broken glass, and Madlin’s breath caught in her lungs. The moon above Veydrus had shattered, and the pieces were drifting apart. She stared up in mute horror at what she had done. The world-ripper had been positioned a hundred feet below the lunar surface on the visible side. It ought to have been enough for a spectacular show if the machine worked as she had envisioned.

Most of the audience was struck dumb as well. A few muttered prayers were heard, and more than one delegate was brought to tears. Madlin had some expectation of what was about to occur, and even she needed several moments to collect herself.

“That could have been the homeland of any of you,” Madlin said, hoping no one noticed the tremor in her voice. “That could have been the whole of Korr, or Tellurak. If you persist, this is the weapon you will face. These are my terms: The humans of Korr are free from this moment. They will be evacuated via my machines, to the destination of their choosing. There will be no further use of the machines known as world-rippers by any other than my own organization. We will find violators and they will be eliminated. There will be justice for the Human Replacement Project. The kuduk tinker known as Ganrin Draksgollow will oversee the dismantling of the project he had created. He will be under constant surveillance for the remainder of his days, and will take part is no further activity relating to the development of world-ripper technology. All existing machines will be turned over to Errol Company or destroyed utterly.”