The Way of Caine ,The Warcaster Chronicl - By Miles Holmes Page 0,8

troop was the only one granted a leave pass.”

“The … uh, boys and I just put our backs into it, sir,” Caine lied. From the armory, he could hear the sound of great iron-shod feet stamping closer, with a rhythmic hiss of steam. Nausea started to twist at his guts and the swell of pride he’d felt only moments ago had long since gone. Why was the lieutenant bringing this up? Hadn’t he just done something no-one had ever managed? Shouldn’t they be lauding him? Asking him how to perform the evocation, even? How was this suddenly going so wrong, so fast? Caine fought to keep his breath, but his heart pounded.

“Or maybe they had help? Eh, cadet?” The lieutenant turned to watch the doorway of the armory. Through the open doors, an immense figure stooped to pass the archway, and out of shadow. It was a worn Engines East model, built for general labor duties. In appearance, it was like a hulking armored man some ten feet high with a visored face, thick bulbous shoulders, sinews of pistons and oversized triple-jointed claw-grip hands. From a single chimney on its back, a wisp of smoke billowed. Alongside, the gunnery sergeant marshaled it on with barking commands. His expression was unmistakably smug.

“You know, if it weren’t for your little gunnery show today, I might never have put it together.” The Lieutenant’s arms were crossed now, eyes narrowing.

Caine felt the thing, its blunt thoughts now pushed at the edge of his mind. As it drew closer, it felt him too. Smoldering eyes set deep within the slit of a grated visor perked up, locking on him. He tried not to look at it, but the recognition it showed put him in a panic.

No! Stay back! He thought, desperately trying to bend the semi-intelligent machine to his will. It had worked last week, after all …

He just couldn’t stop it now.

The beast broke stride with the gunnery sergeant and made a beeline for Caine. In a few broad strides, the heaving, hissing machine was standing submissively before him, head cocked.

“Aw, for pity’s sake! Will you just get away from me?” Caine sighed.

Dutifully this time, the labor-jack took precisely one step back. Holding still, it cocked its head once more, awaiting another order.

“That’s what I thought.” The lieutenant nodded. “That will be all, gunnery sergeant.”

The gunnery sergeant shouted for the machine to fall back, but it remained fixated on Caine.

“Sir, I don’t know …”

“Cadet Caine! In light of this and other incidents for which you’ve been cited, it is my decision to file for your immediate dismissal from this battle school.” The lieutenant declared evenly.

Caine could not hide his outrage.

Over a year’s work! Sure, he’d had his share of troubles adapting to life in the service, but had not his very blood and sweat been shed in this uniform? Had he not shown talent? Since that last night with his father, accomplishing this one thing had burned in him, like nothing before. He would hold it up to the old bastard. Rub it in his face.

“You can’t take this from me!” A snarl twisted his face, and the officer before him recoiled.

“Stand down, Cadet Caine!” the lieutenant waved him off. “This is a transfer, not a discharge! Clearly, we’re wasting your time here. I’m putting you in for battle school in Caspia. Your shenanigans will probably get you tossed, alright. But if they don’t, you might just make warcaster.”

Three Years Ago

Winter, AR 593; Orven

“Journeyman Caine! We’re nearly there, sir.” Lieutenant Gangier called out.

Caine wasn’t listening, lulled as he had become by the steady clip-clop, clip-clop of his horse’s shoes against the cobblestones.

“Journeyman Caine, sir! The Long Gunner junior officer repeated, regarding Caine with puzzlement.

Caine snapped up, looking across to the lieutenant bundled tightly in winter dress on horseback alongside him. The streets of Orven bustled with life around them, and the lights and livery of the upcoming winter festival were everywhere one might look. From within his suit of armor, Caine shivered, and pulled his riding cloak tighter around him.

“The train station is just ahead, you see?”

Caine nodded, still trying to turtle within his armor for warmth. He hadn’t gotten used to the weight of it even after a year, and it chafed despite oils and softening balms he’d rubbed into the leather lining. He particularly hated that the breastplate would bind at his chest when he was short of breath, it felt as though he were trapped. Even so, he couldn’t deny it