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NO SOONER HAD TALI let Dun go, the screaming began. Distant at first, but getting louder with the approaching hissing. She was wondering a million things at once: would she have enough time or anywhere secure to set up a first aid station? What the hells was the weapon causing all the screaming? Where the hells had those River-folk cowards gotten to. She needed a little more backup to help cover everyone’s retreat. The answers to the last two of those questions came quickly and hard on each other’s heels.
The whooshing came in bursts, the screaming was pretty constant. Tali tried to locate the nearest approaching source of the noise to respond, but the stream of casualties hit her first. Running to her as the obvious go-to for injuries, running toward her where they could still Air-sense or smell, running pell-mell in a panic where not. The flood of burned folk was ghastly and massive; if she didn’t act now, then it would take one folk to slip over, and there’d be deaths to contend with too. If the severity of the burns didn’t make it inevitable anyway.
Tali was stuck in a panic. Not a blank of no decision: between two. She didn’t know whether to organize the folk to keep running for cover at the risk of having them all run down by whatever approaching awful battle machines were coming. Or whether to use her alchemist’s instincts and lob one of the concussions at her belt in the general direction of the attackers.
Only a click had gone by, time had stretched out with the elastic that only disaster can bring, but a tick was already too long. They were way too far away from the tree line for her to make it there with a mass of casualties in tow. But if she was the only combatant, she didn’t fancy her odds against three or four teams of these awful steam hurlers. Where the hells were the River-folk when you needed them?
That was it. Of course. Two ticks gone by now, but now she had a plan. Where would the River-folk go? To the river. The nearest meander of the river that filled the lake in the hab was nearer to her than the edge of the central park, and she’d bet good tallies that the River-folk had gone right there. That would be her backup. She hoped. At least if they’d done something more random she’d have somewhere to cool down her casualties.
“Follow me!” she yelled. “Run toward my voice, as fast as you can!” She jockeyed backward so she could sense whether she’d had a response and where the enemy was. The stream of maddening folk seemed to be heading toward her. That was good.
Then the steam hiss again, closing now, and urgent shouts. They were following her voice too. Shreds.
“Run!” she yelled as the steam came.
There were screams all around her, that shrill piercing squeak of visceral panic. She continued running to where she thought the river was, but a flat pain built at her back. She tweaked her ears back. She could hear nothing above the bellowing of the closing steam. The roar rang in her ears. She flicked her ears forward again as she felt them starting to burn.
Then shouting came from in front of her. “Geddown!” A River-folk accent if ever she’d heard one. Friend not foe. She reached out her arms to both sides of her, scooped down the nearest folk and hit the deck, hoping.
“Fire!”
Tali froze from the loud barked order, but it came from in front of her, not behind. There was an almighty taut twang and a whizz overhead. Then a sharp clash of steel against steel, screaming, and the steam whooshed out of control, spinning like the pipe had been dropped. What the hells? Those bloody River-folk had only gone and brought two of the armed barges upriver, so they could use their massive harpoon guns in the battle. Thank gods for sneaky River rats.
“Small arms! Fire!”
A dozen higher-pitched twangs rang out, and it seemed like Duchy military were getting picked off with those nasty hand crossbows the River-folk seemed to like.
“Now run!” came the voice again.
Tali didn’t need telling twice. She scooped up the same folk she’s helped duck and hand in hand they ran to the river. There was splashing as her two charges jumped in. Tali stayed dry momentarily while she scanned the battlefield for any more folk. Mostly the running was taking her folk in the right direction but there was a small huddle farther onto the field where they’d run from. An adult folk and a child. The flailing loose steam pipe must have caught one of them as it sprayed. But Tali could Air-sense another of the steam cohorts approaching, about the same distance from them as she was. She turned and started to sprint. The fur on her back was stinging. It had gone from burning to dry without seeming to pass through wet, so hot was the steam and now every foot pound tore at the increasing soreness. But her focus was ahead. That steam pipe was still whipping about, and that was seemingly what was keeping their heads down. But the soldiers could Air-sense as well as she could, and the small huddle was obvious across the flat expanse. She had to deal with that pipe. The soldiers were closing, slower than Tali was, but those steam pipes had some range. She reached down to her belt, hopping as she ran, and placed her hand around one of the flasks. The code of knots securing the stopper told her it was a concussion. That’d do. She pulled it out, aimed, and threw it toward the approaching troops. Then she tweaked her course toward the huddle.
In that tiny turn, she tripped. Time slowed again as she rolled forward, tucking her head as she did. With her head underneath her, she heard the concussion go off, but she kept tucked and rolled again, righting herself about ten or so strides from the huddled family. Two adults and a child, now she was closer. She recognized the smell as Stone-folk she knew vaguely. And fear, everywhere was the smell of fear. She hissed toward them as she approached. “It’s me, Tali. Stay down till I say, then run for the river.”
She ran to them, yelling, “Duck!” as she jumped over them and headed for the still lashing steam pipe, five or six strides the other side of them. She hoped to all hells that the concussion had had some kind of effect because she couldn’t hear or Air-sense a damned thing with the whipping steaming snake occupying all of her senses. The thing was transfixing; it swished this way and that with a life of its own. She tried to focus some of her senses on it, and then heard a child’s shriek behind her. Damn. She jumped at the hose, catching the blast of super-heated steam full in the face. She grabbed the nearest metal ends she could find. They were hot too. She tamped down the reflexive need to let go and stood firm, hose pointing into the air, but under control.
She heard one of the adults behind her say, “No...” and now the soldiers barking orders, sounding close enough to touch.
“Damn straight, no!” she yelled, bringing the steam mouth to bear on the soldiers before they had a chance to fire themselves. She couldn’t hear if they were screaming, the steam was too loud, but if she was honest with herself, she didn’t care. She swung the hose back and forth madly. Moving toward where the troops were. “Run!” she yelled over her shoulder.
The folk staggered up and lurched toward the river. At least one of them must have been way more injured than she thought.
“Bastards!” she yelled, spraying manically. She wasn’t even sure if there were still soldiers on the receiving end of the hose, which seemed to be getting heavier. She felt oddly cold. There was buzzing in her head.
Her hands were numb but also slick. The weight of the metal mouth end of the pipe took her to her knees, then buzzing got louder still, and she lost consciousness.
