Confluence (Godbreaker Book 3) Read online

  He had half a mind to clip his heels off with his longstaff blade and leave him lame on the sidewalk. But he figured that would only make Teran angrier. More likely to side with Lucky.

  She’s smart, Perry told himself. She’ll figure it out.

  Their small procession turned the final block to the back of the temple grounds and came to a dead stop in front of a wall of legionnaires. They didn’t stand as readily as they had against the crowd earlier, but it was clear they were still keeping a tight perimeter around the temple.

  Perry picked up the pace and caught up to Stuber at the front.

  “You again?” one of the legionnaires said, looking at Stuber first, then Perry. “Didn’t we just get rid of you two?” His eyes caught onto Mala. “And what the fuck is this she-beast behind you?”

  Neither Stuber nor Perry spoke for a brief moment of surprise. Did this legionnaire really not recognize a demigod when he saw one? Or was he just screwing with them?

  Mala didn’t look particularly god-like, that was true. She was hunched around her wound, her black hair hanging in sweaty tangles around a pale and drawn face. Her battle attire was scuffed and dusty—no longer black, but more of a dusky tan.

  But still. You don’t see many seven-foot-tall women.

  “Well, that’s rude,” Petra spoke into the silence.

  The legionnaire—probably another decanus—fixed Petra with a lecherous gaze. “Not you, love. The giant behind you.”

  Still, Mala remained silent. Possibly she didn’t have the energy for a retort.

  Stuber seemed ready to throw himself over the shield and tackle the decanus, but Petra wisely stayed him with a gentle hand. She could be quite regal when she wanted to be. That still stuck out to Perry—the total mismatch between husband and wife.

  “I’m the only doctor in Karapalida at the moment, and that giantess behind me is one my patients. I’ve come here because…” she cast a furtive glance in Perry’s direction. “…I heard one one of your men got their arms chopped off. I believe Legatus Mordicus would like me to have a look at him.”

  Smart.

  Perry decided to keep his mouth shut and let Petra do the talking. By silent consent, Stuber seemed to agree.

  “Ah.” The decanus shook his head. “Poor ol’ Boomer.” He cast a withering glance at Perry. “That was dirty, what you did.”

  Perry immediately forgot about letting Petra do all the talking, and opened his mouth to explain to the decanus just how—

  “Be that as it may,” Petra said with an air of authority. “These kind gentlemen have escorted me safely through the untrustworthy rabble in the Old Section so that I can tend to…Boomer.”

  The decanus sighed. He seemed perhaps a hair disappointed that this wasn’t going to turn into anything action-packed. “Alright. Fine.” He wish-washed his hand through the air. “Let ‘em through.”

  As the rank of legionnaires parted and the group sidled through, the decanus took up position next to Petra, graciously—or perhaps ingratiatingly—offering his arm. “I’ll escort you to the legatus, love.”

  That was about as much as Stuber could take. He interjected himself sharply between the decanus and Petra. “Retract your filthy arm from the vicinity of my wife.”

  The decanus smirked. “It’s not battlefield rules in here, deserter. You can’t just claim a woman.” Looking past Stuber in the most dismissive way possible: “Ma’am, is this wayward creature bothering you?”

  Petra gave the man a withering look. “No, my husband is not bothering me.”

  “Well.” The decanus seemed unwilling to back off, and Perry felt the tension heating up in the nearly nonexistent air between Stuber’s body and the legionnaire’s. By Perry’s best guesstimation, this was about two sharp words from turning into a fight to the death. “I’ll have to escort you anyways. Can’t just have random people roaming about inside my perimeter, all willy-nilly.”

  “Decanus Mercutio,” a loud voice called out from the temple.

  All eyes flicked to the back steps of the temple, where Legatus Mordicus stood looking sternly down on them.

  “Let them through,” Mordicus ordered.

  Stuber wasted no time in giving the decanus a mild shoulder to create space. “Mercutio, huh? Isn’t that a taken name?” Stuber smiled antagonistically. “I didn’t think real legionnaires had time to be true believers. You must be reserves.”

  Perry pushed him on. “That’s enough, Stuber.”

  It wasn’t enough for Stuber. “Don’t worry, little reservists! I actually fought for my bread. I’ll try to save you when the machines come back.”

  The decanus looked like his hair might catch fire, but he wouldn’t do anything under the gaze of his legatus. As they mounted the steps to the back of the temple, Perry’s eyes went up to Mordicus, fearing that the man would be angry with Stuber.

  Instead, he was smirking, a small, knowing smile.

  “Decanus Mercutio,” Mordicus said as they reached him. “Was indeed a reservist.”

  Stuber grunted. “I could smell it on him.”

  Mordicus’s eyes narrowed. “And that would make you a front line soldier.”

  Perry watched carefully and saw the glint in Stuber’s expression—a knife blade of thought, slicing through Mordicus’s verbal trap. Because a front line soldier for The Light would have, at some point in their career, killed many of Mordicus’s men.

  Not that any of that mattered any more, but Perry was relieved to see Stuber sidestep the question. “Not for many years, legatus.” Stuber put on a painfully innocent smile. “I’m just a washed-up has-been.”

  “Hm.” Mordicus sniffed. “Indeed.” He turned to Petra. “I see you’ve found your lovely wife and the only doctor within the city. Why, may I ask, are you back here?” He turned after asking the question, as though he didn’t care about the answer and started walking back into the temple.

  Perry and the others looked amongst themselves, confused, but then decided to start following Mordicus.

  That was apparently the correct decision, as Mordicus started talking again. “Of course, I overheard the reason you gave Mercutio, but we both know there’s not much you can do for Boomer unless you’re an expert in prosthetics.”

  “I’m unfortunately not,” Petra admitted.

  “So why are you here?”

  They were entering the main hall of the temple. The massive chasm surrounded by stone representations of the Nine. A few squads of legionnaires occupied the space, one down by the front entrance, the others lounging in the shadows between the statues, and another picking their way through the offerings at the feet of Annad.

  Perry hustled forward to be abreast of Mordicus—he didn’t like trailing behind and speaking to the man’s back. Mordicus gave him a frown like he was a mangy dog begging for scraps. “We ran into a bit of a problem back in the Old Section.”

  Mordicus stopped at a table that had once been used as an altar, but now had all its religious trapping swept off into a pile, and was laid with a few projected monitors, glowing starkly blue and oddly anachronistic in the torch-lit gloom of the temple.

  “You must mean the demigod you have trailing along the back of your pack, as though I can’t see her seven foot frame.”

  Perry swallowed. Nodded. “Yes. That’s what I mean.”

  After a brief silence wherein Mordicus perused a few readouts that made little sense to Perry, he turned and squared himself to his guest. “Can you use that longstaff you’re carrying, or is it just for looks?”

  Perry glanced down at it, surprised at the question. Why else would you carry a longstaff except to use it? “Yes, I can use it.”

  “Show me.”

  Perry frowned at him. “In here?”

  “Why not? This place is worthless to me except as a defensive stronghold. One bolt from your longstaff won’t bring it crumbling down. Perhaps you can remove the face of one of these false gods.” Mordicus looked thoughtfully up at them. “How about Rennok, the
peacemaker?”

  “I’m not entirely sure that’s smart.”

  Mordicus didn’t reply outside a quirked eyebrow, as though to say, are you calling me dumb?

  Perry sighed, and then all at once hefted the longstaff, pointed it at the face of Rennok, across the hall, and fired off a rapid, low-powered bolt.

  Low-powered it might have been, but it still drew quite a reaction. The blaze of green energy smashed the visage from Rennok’s statue into a gout of dust, causing the legionnaires present to shout in surprise, weapons coming up.

  Mordicus didn’t even flinch. As pieces of molten stone splashed to the ground and cooled, he held his hand up to his legionnaires in a silent order to hold their fire. Then he gave Perry the slightest inclination of his head.

  “Very well. Tell me about this trouble you ran into.”

  The rapid and near-constant change of conversational directions had Perry on his heels. Which was, perhaps, what Mordicus wanted, for reasons that were beyond Perry. Maybe he was just being a dick. Perry shook his head as though to clear it, then refocused himself.

  “Some people from the Old Section heard that we had a demigod in the clinic. She’d been wounded fighting one of the Guardians last night, so we took her to see Petra—that’s the doctor. And…well, a riot sort of happened.”

  “A riot sort of happened,” Mordicus echoed with a wry smirk. “Indeed.” He raised his gaze to the group of Perry’s friends, still standing a few paces away. “Paladin,” he called out, raising his hand. “Will you speak with us?”

  Oddly formal, Perry thought. But old habits died hard. Or Mordicus was trying to get their guard down so he could kill Mala himself. Perry tightened his grip on his longstaff, prepared for whatever might happen.

  Mala strode through, still not looking half like a paladin. Worn and weathered and wounded. Her longstaff clanking alongside of her like a crutch while her other hand clutched her belly. She stopped in front of them and managed, with a deep breath, to draw herself up and look imperiously down at Mordicus.

  “What is it that you want, legatus?” she said, her tone neither friendly nor hostile.

  Mordicus eyed her up and down. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

  She sniffed, looking away. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

  “Your people abandoned us.”

  She met his gaze again, placid. “That’s true.”

  “They presented themselves as warriors, and then when the war came, they turned into cowards, every one.”

  A nod. “Also true.”

  Mordicus looked troubled. “You don’t defend them?”

  “Why should I? They are responsible for their own actions. I’ve spent the better part of my life training and attempting to warn others to do the same. To be ready for the day when the Watcher would unleash its Guardians on us because the paladins had grown weak.” She shrugged. “They didn’t listen.”

  “You would have me believe that you’re different?”

  “I don’t particularly care what you believe, legatus. Your eyes tell you the truth more than any words I can say. Or have you seen other paladins amongst you in bloodied and broken armor? Have there been others that were willing to fight and die alongside the humans?”

  “Hm,” was Mordicus’s response. A long moment of silent thought, and then, “You two.” A finger flicked between Perry and Mala. “You’ll be useful to the cause of securing ourselves against the Guardians.”

  Mala shook her head. “I fought a Guardian last night. And lost. As you can see.”

  “Perhaps. But you did survive. And now there are two of you.”

  “It’s still not enough,” Mala said. “When the Guardians return, there may be more than one.”

  “Are you refusing to help?”

  “No, I’m simply saying that we won’t do as much good as you think.”

  “Which brings me to the autoturrets.” Mordicus shifted his attention to Perry. “And ammunition to load them with.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to find the man I told you about,” Perry said. “And he’s not here. If he’s anywhere, he’ll be in Junction City. I can go and find him for you, as we agreed, but I’d like Mala to come with me. Which leaves you back at square one, with no demigods to help your fight.”

  Mordicus shook his head. “No, you will go to Junction City alone. Paladin Mala will remain here and assist in making sure we’re not overrun.”

  Perry’s eyes narrowed. “All due respect, legatus, but Mala’s in no shape to fight.”

  “Speak for yourself, Halfbreed,” Mala snapped. “Even wounded I’m twice the fighter you are.”

  Perry looked tiredly at her. “So I keep being told.”

  “It’s settled then,” Mordicus said, airily, and turned back to his projections. “Mala will stay and assist, and you will go to Junction City and return as soon as possible with whoever this man is that can reload my autoturrets.”

  “That brings up something else,” Perry said. “I worked on his crew. I know a thing or two about the reloading process myself, and the equipment that this man can bring to the table. If he’s fully equipped—which I can’t promise he will be—then he’ll have enough projectiles to reload maybe half of what you need to run those autoturrets in a full-on battle with the Guardians.”

  “Interesting,” Mordicus gruffed. “You hadn’t mentioned this caveat before.”

  “Well, I’m mentioning it now. You’re going to need bullets. A lot of them.”

  “And where would you like for me to find this mystical stockpile of projectiles?” Mordicus rounded on him. “Supply lines are destroyed. Manufactories are likely destroyed with them and it would take too long to hunt them down and return with the goods.”

  “I understand that. But you have a whole city in ruins, which means you have a lot of scrap to melt down.”

  Mordicus considered this, but then shook his head. “Steel would wear the barrels down after a single engagement.”

  “Not steel,” Perry shook his head. “Melting point is too high for casting and you’re right—it’ll fuck up your guns. But all throughout this city there’s copper. Pipes, wiring—nearly every home in the Old Section has massive copper conduits pulling from the power hubs. Not to mention the power hubs themselves. The New Section is crammed full of wiring. The godsdamned jumbotron probably has enough copper in it for a few thousand rounds. It’s not the ideal substance for bullets, but it’ll do in a pinch and it’s readily available. And it won’t fuck up your guns.”

  Mordicus squinted at him. “You seem to be a man of surprisingly varied skills.”

  “While I’m flattered, you’ve pretty much seen them all at this point: Fighting, reloading bullets, and shooting this longstaff. But I am surprised to be using the reloading skill again. I’d thought that was behind me.”

  Mordicus turned back to his array of projections and swiped a finger across one, changing the display to what looked to Perry like an aerial map of Karapalida. It was not current, he noted—at least not from the last day or so. The buildings were all still whole.

  “Very well,” Mordicus said. “This place is filled to the brim with peons with nothing better to do with themselves. Might as well put them to work scavenging copper. But how do you intend to cast them?”

  Perry smiled. “I’m glad you asked. I’ve been thinking about this since you asked for more ammunition. Casting actual bullets will be out of the question—it’ll take too long and we don’t have the equipment for it here in Karapalida. The nearest bullet forge I’m aware of is out west, near Rotroka. They’re too far and they’ve probably been wiped out anyways. But…”

  Perry leaned forward and gestured to the map of Karapalida before them. “There’s a pipe and wiring foundry on the north side, right on the line between the Old and New Sections. If you can get someone with a little technical expertise—and if the Guardians haven’t completely trashed the place—you can probably recalibrate their wire extruder to form copper lengths
with a point-four-five inch diameter. You cut those into one and a half inch lengths and you’ve got solid copper four-five-eight-caliber slugs.” Perry felt a wash of satisfaction at seeing Mordicus raise his eyebrows and blink a few times as though impressed. “They won’t be very accurate, but an autoturret can compensate for accuracy with volume.”

  “I see.” Mordicus placed a thoughtful finger to his lips. “There were a lot of perhapses and maybes in that theory.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s the best I can do.”

  “And I’m not sure if I have anyone with any technical expertise in this field. We might be able to locate the foundry workers, but I have the suspicion they’re dead with the vast majority of people that got wiped out in the first wave of Guardians.”

  “Those are all good reasons why this might not work,” Perry admitted. “But all we can do is try. It’s either we figure this out, or I can only guarantee you a half-load for your autoturrets. And I want to see us take down those Guardians just as much as you do.”

  Mordicus issued a heavy breath from his nose. “Very well. I suppose I have my work cut out for me. As do you.”

  Perry nodded, his brief moment of positivity replaced with a sudden crash of doubts. There seemed to be too many things to get done, and they had no idea when the Guardians would return. They only knew that they would return. And Perry had the sneaking suspicion that the more people gathered in Karapalida, the more the Guardians would seek to return.

  “If you’ll excuse me, legatus,” Perry said, stepping away. “Time is short.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  Mala fell into step beside Perry. “You sure you want to go to Junction City alone?”

  “I won’t be going alone,” Perry said. “I’ll have Teran and Stuber with me.” He said this as he approached his friends, and he watched their eyes fix onto him as they heard it.

  He glanced at Mala, suddenly unsure.

  Mala gave him a look that seemed to say, You might want to double-check that.

  Perry frowned, whipping around to the others. “Wait. I am going to have Teran and Stuber with me. Right?”