“You’re one of the mechanicals from Sanctorum Lux,” he said.
But the mechoservitor ignored the statement. “Your arrival is the salvation of the light,” the metal man said, stepping forward. “We have urgent need of your vessel in the formulation of our response.”
Rafe Merrique prided himself on knowing which jobs to take and which to turn down. This one, he realized, was the latter. I should not have come here. I should not have heeded the bird. His mouth went dry as he found the words. “My vessel,” he said, “is not for hire after all.”
“The Kinshark is a Tam-manufactured galleon sailing with a complement of forty-seven men,” the metal man continued, again ignoring Rafe’s words. “Stealth oils are applied routinely for concealment, and scout powders are administered to the crew in three shifts to maximize effectiveness and minimize adverse health impacts. The vessel boasts comfortable passenger accommodations and various holds—concealed and plain—for the transport of sensitive goods. Minimum seagoing complement is four men.”
The other three robed figures were converging on them now, walking slowly, metal frames clicking and gears whirring beneath their plain gray robes.
“We’re leaving now,” Rafe told his men as he turned back to the longboat.
But as he moved toward the boat, a metal hand came down firmly upon his shoulder. Rafe spun, reaching for his cutlass, but another hand gripped his wrist and he cried out at the strength of it. Around him, his men surged to life, but the mechoservitors were faster and stronger. Struggling, he twisted against his captor and saw his first mate collapse beneath a hand on his windpipe. “You will be adequately compensated,” the mechanical said, “upon our return.”
Firm hands pulled him quickly toward the wagons. “Analysis indicates that with proper rationing the provided supplies will allow forty-seven men to survive fourteen days in this environment. The nearest intact Androfrancine supply cache is twelve days’ march at a pace of thirty leagues per day. A map and lock ciphers have been provided for you. We will summon you by the bird when our return is imminent.”
Rafe opened his mouth to speak, but the hand had now moved to his throat, and spiderwebs of thin, white light filled his vision as the pressure increased.
“My deepest apologies,” the mechoservitor said, “for this violence and deception.”
Then his world went gray.
When it came back into focus again, Rafe was bound to the wagon with his landing party. His crew of forty-six cursed and sputtered in the surf, so recently extricated from their vessel by the unexpected speed and force of its metal boarders. Underneath the clamor of their cursing came another sound: a hot night wind catching the Kinshark’s sails as she left for points unknown.
Eyes fastened upon his departing vessel, Rafe Merrique added his own curses to those of his men and shouted for someone to untie him.
Chapter 1
Rudolfo
Rudolfo urged his stallion forward and laughed with his son as the wind caught his turban. Overhead, the afternoon sun blazed in a sky so blue it burned the eye. Around them, a warm wind stirred the Prairie Sea, golden waves rippling across the vast, rolling expanse. Ahead and around them, on the horizon, the Ninefold Forest rose up to meet the sky.
“He takes well to the ride, General,” a voice shouted to his left above the pounding of the hooves.
Rudolfo looked to Aedric, the first captain of his Gypsy Scouts, and grinned. “Aye. He does.” Then, he leaned forward and whistled the horse faster as Jakob squealed with delight. They’d ridden long enough now for father and son to both grow comfortable with the riding harness that held the swaddled infant snug against Rudolfo’s chest.
The same that bore me upon my father’s steed. Rudolfo felt the slightest stab of loss. Those knives were different upon him now that he himself was a father. The cut upon his soul took a different turn as the moments with his new heir brought back hazy recollections of his own rides with the man he’d named his son for—the man Rudolfo had watched die in his twelfth year. And those memories came with others—wrestling with his brother in the shallows of the Rajblood River, singing in the forest with his mother, learning the Hymnal of the Wandering Army with Gregoric, Aedric’s father, now nearly two years dead.
Those memories had brought sadness to him many times before, but now, alongside the grief, he found hope and joy in remembering. This child helps me find the good