Brian McCLELLAN - Ghosts of the Tristan Basin - A Powder Mage Novella

Eight months before the events of Promise of Blood...

Taniel Two-shot crept through the murky, chest-deep water of the Tristan Basin, eyes scanning the surface for the tell-tale ripple of boas and swamp dragons. He clung to the shadows of the big cypress trees, his rifle, kit, and powder horn held over his head. The sounds of the droning insects, bird calls, and the occasional splunk of an animal slipping into the water were drown out by the heavy thumping of his own heart, echoing in his ears like a kettle drum.

Despite his reservations about the local wildlife – it was not unheard of for the unwary to be pulled beneath the water, never to resurface – Taniel had more immediate concerns. There were eighty Kez soldiers nearby, if his Palo guides were to be believed, each of them armed with the very best muskets and accompanied by local guides of their own.

One of them stood on a dry hummock of land not twenty paces away from Taniel’s position, his back toward the water.

Taniel’s toe caught an exposed root and he felt his heart leap into his throat as he drifted forward, chin dipping dangerously into the water. He resisted the urge to gulp loudly for air and instead pushed off with his other foot, keeping his head and rifle above the surface. The movement caused a slight disturbance against the base of the nearest cypress.

Up ahead, the Kez soldier gave no indication he’d noticed.

Taniel paused and held his breath as the ripples subsided, then continued forward. The bank rose sharply, and Taniel’s bare shoulders, then chest, then the belt of his buckskins emerged from the water. He set his rifle and equipment on the bank of the hummock, drawing his belt knife.

It took him three strides before he was on top of the Kez guard, snaking one hand around to cover the man’s mouth and pressing the blade of the knife to his throat with the other.

“One sound and you’re dead,” Taniel whispered in Kez. “Nod if you understand.”

The soldier stiffened at the touch of the knife. This close, Taniel could smell the sweat and fungal rot of his skin, and the lingering odor of shit from a case of dysentery. The soldier was probably in his mid-twenties – older than Taniel by at least five years – with large, black sideburns and a fresh scar on the side of his chin. He gave a slight, trembling nod.

“Good,” Taniel said. “My name’s Captain Taniel Two-shot, and I’m running a pretty heavy powder trance right now. I could kill you but I’d rather not, so let’s do this easy, all right?” He removed his hand from the soldier’s mouth. “What’s your name?”

“Private Jibble, sir.”

Taniel took the powder charges from Jibble’s kit and tucked them into Jibble’s jacket pocket, patting them gently then disarmed him. He fetched his own kit and rifle and returned to the soldier’s side.

Jibble stood stiff as a board. A slight tremor in his voice betrayed his fear. “You’re the powder mage?” he asked in a whisper. “The one who killed Privileged Slattern?”

Slattern. Taniel recognized the name – a mid-ranking Privileged sorcerer in the Kez cabal. Taniel ignored the question and waited in silence, keeping his eyes on the swamp.

Nearly a full minute passed before a short, slight figure emerged from the cypress trees further up the hummock. She was a member of the Palo tribe that had been helping Taniel and his company of irregulars in the war against the Kez. Though she looked like a Palo, with bright red hair and skin covered in ashen freckles, she was an outsider, like him, and her strained relationship with her tribe meant she had become his constant companion here in Fatrasta.

Her small build always made Taniel think of her as young, barely a teenager, but there was a clever defiance in her green eyes that always left him a little uneasy. Besides, he’d seen what she could do with the machete strapped to her thigh.

A bit of reed stuck out from between her teeth, and the front of her buckskins were soaked with blood.

“It’s your lucky day, Jibble,” Taniel said to the soldier.

“Sir?”

Taniel jerked his chin at the girl. “You got me instead of her. What took you so long, Pole?”

Ka-poel grinned at him in that way that he found unnerving, gesturing at the blood on her buckskins.

“The other guard?” he asked.

She drew a thumb across her throat, meeting Jibble’s eyes as she did. The soldier swallowed hard, glancing from Taniel to Ka-poel as if he wasn’t sure who to fear most. Ka-poel pointed at Jibble, cocking an eyebrow at Taniel.

“No,” Taniel answered quietly, “we’re not going to kill him. Not if he’s smart.”

Ka-poel gave a casual shrug, as if she didn’t care one way or the other.

“Their camp?” Taniel asked.

Ka-poel pointed, then held up ten fingers. A hundred yards due east, on a big hummock that his own men used from time to time. It’s back was to a deep channel, and its flanks were protected by almost impenetrable cypress groves. Not something Taniel wanted to fight through.

“All right.” Taniel nudged Jibble gently in the small of his back with the barrel of his rifle. “Let’s go nice and quiet. Pole, tell the others to get ready.”

Ka-poel pursed her lips and gave a loud, shrill whistle, warbling it at the end like a glade sparrow. She waited three seconds, repeated the call, then waited another eight before doing it once more. The call was answered a moment later. Ka-poel gave Taniel a nod to proceed toward the Kez camp. She fell in beside him, her hands in lapels of her buckskin vest like she was a gentleman out for a stroll in a city park.

The camp was a collection of mud-caked tents and bedrolls tossed out on the hummock in an unorganized fashion. The stench of disease hung over it, and they passed a row of half a dozen men squatting over a shallow latrine, their heads between their knees, moaning pitifully. Taniel spotted three corpses tossed unceremoniously off to one side.

They were almost at the center of the camp before anyone noticed them. A soldier sitting on a root beside the largest of the tents looked up from his whittling, his eyes growing large.

“Enemy contact,” he said in Kez, scrambling to his feet. “Enemy contact!” He produced a musket from behind his makeshift seat and leveled it at Taniel.

The camp fell out, men and women emerging from their tents or coming in from guard duty, muskets and swords at the ready. There was a general, panicked shouting as they searched for the enemy, looking every which way, expecting an army to come pouring out of the cypress.

An older gentleman emerged from the biggest tent. His shirt was undone at the collar and his face was pale, but his posture was impeccable as he pulled on his jacket, keeping a pistol in one hand at all times. A pair of pins on his jacket collar identified him as a major. He took stock of the situation at a glance, then eyed Ka-poel’s bloody buckskins and gave Taniel a look up and down. He tossed the pistol away and took a long step from the closest soldier.

He’d heard the stories. He knew exactly what he was dealing with. “Order in the camp!” he bellowed.

Slowly, the chaos died down, and Taniel soon found himself staring down the barrels of at least fifty muskets, as well as the major’s unwavering gaze.

“What’s going on here?” the major demanded.

Private Jibble licked his lips. “Sorry, sir. He came upon me on guard, sir.”

“Were you sleeping?”