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  The halfling eventually found his way up on the roof of the cab. It wasn’t particularly comfortable there either, the surface being made of a steel grating, but at least it was a flat surface and he could sit, so long as he kept on eye out for low-hanging branches. It wasn’t long before Morgane climbed up to join him.

  At this point, they were well down the mountain. The canopy of trees had closed in, blocking out everything but the tracks ahead. Since there was nothing of interest for him to draw, Micah filled his pipe and started puffing as they rolled down the tracks. This got Morgane’s attention.

  “What leaf is it that you’re smoking?” she asked. “It smells sweet.”

  “That’s why it’s called sugarleaf,” Micah winked. “It has to do with the way the plant is cured and aged. It’s very flavorful. Would you like to try?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I do like the smell of it. Tell me, Micah... Where do you come from?”

  Micah clamped the stem of his pipe between his teeth and gave her a sideways glance. “Why do you ask?” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I don’t know. Because you’re different, I suppose. River and the others -even the Tal’mar- aren’t that different from the people of Stormwatch. Socrates is strange, but then he’s a machine. But you... You’re different from the rest of them, aren’t you? You’re not like the others.”

  “I should say not. I’m four feet tall.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Your height makes no difference in who you are.”

  Micah blew out a puff of smoke and it vanished in the wind. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’m not a warrior like Kale. I’m not a mechanic like River, or a bard like Thane. I’m an artist. I’m interested in reading and looking at maps.”

  “What else do you like to do?”

  A slight smile twisted up the corners of his mouth. “I like to walk. I like to see what’s over the horizon; what’s beyond the next mountain. When I was young, my family once thought I had been carried off by trolls. I’d gone walking, and didn’t come back for three days. It’s a miracle I survived.”

  “How old were you?”

  His grin widened. “Seven.”

  Morgane’s bright silvery eyes widened. “You spent three days on your own in the wilderness at that age?”

  “That’s how I earned my name: Longwalker. If only they could see me now...”

  Shayla laughed. “That’s what I mean. There is something different about you. Why do you think that is?”

  Micah shrugged. He took a puff on his pipe and gazed off into the distance. “I suppose it started with the view... My village is in the northern Blackrocks, south and east of Sanctuary. My family lived in a tree at the edge of the village-”

  Morgane sat upright, staring at him. “Your family lived in a tree?”

  Micah smiled. “A tree house. Much of our village was built in the trees.”

  She was mystified. “How? How does one build a house in a tree?”

  “The lower branches are very strong,” he explained. “They support the floor. I suppose the walls and upper stories are built more or less in the same way as a normal house. I’m not really a carpenter-”

  “Upper stories!” Morgane said, her eyes wide.

  “Yes, I lived on the upper floor of our home. It was one of the tallest trees on the slope, and I had a clear view over the other houses, looking towards the mountains. I suppose that’s what first inspired me. Whenever I looked out and saw those mountains, I always wanted to know what was on the other side. I needed to go see for myself.”

  “What did you find?”

  “More mountains,” Micah laughed. “Always more mountains. Until I left my village for good. That’s when I found the railroad tracks, and met up with the Iron Horse. It was pure chance, really.”

  “So you left your home just to see beyond the mountains?” said Morgane. “Why join Socrates on his quest?”

  Micah took another puff. In a resigned voice, he said, “It’s a long story.”

  “We have time. Look, the sun is still high.”

  Micah’s pipe had gone out, and he tapped the ashes out. The wind whipped them up, and Thane started coughing and gagging in the cab below. “Watch it!” he shouted.

  Morgane giggled. “Here,” she said, reaching for it. “I’ll refill your pipe, while you tell me what happened.”

  Micah sighed. He reclined back on the roof, staring up at the canopy. “There are three villages of my people. About four hundred of us, all together. As far as I know, we’re the only halflings in the world. That can make finding a suitable mate... difficult.”

  “Ah,” said Morgane. “You left because of a girl?”

  “It’s my own fault, really,” Micah said in a distant voice. “I was never like the others. I wasn’t interested in building a home or learning a trade. I was always dreaming of distant places. Always drawing pictures. No one in the village understood me.”

  “That didn’t keep you from falling in love, though,” Morgane said with a devious smile.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  She handed Micah his pipe, and twisted around to recline on her side next to him. She propped her head up on her elbow, gazing at him. “Tell me about her.”

  Micah inspected his pipe as he spoke: “In every village, I suppose there’s always one girl who’s more beautiful than the rest. In my village, that was Andeana. We all loved her. She had her choice of any young man in the village. It was only predictable that she’d choose him.”

  Morgane raised an eyebrow. “Him?”

  “Merkroy. He was one of the older boys. He was a big, mean, sadistic brute. He made daily entertainment of beating up the smaller children. He stole our toys, sometimes gave them back, but usually broke them. He’d catch mountain vipers and chase us up and down the slope, threatening to put them in our beds while we were sleeping. In my case, it didn’t help that my mother was killed by a viper.”

  “How horrible.”

  “I was very young. My memories of her are only vague. I try to draw her from time to time, though I can never be sure if I’ve got it right.”

  “Why didn’t Merkroy’s father beat the little scoundrel?”

  “His father was just like him,” said Micah. “No one would stand up to them. Merkroy and his father owned that mountain.”

  “And this is the person your beloved chose to marry? Andeana chose Merkroy over you?”

  “Of course,” Micah said with a shrug. “He was bigger, meaner, and stronger than anyone in the three villages. Why wouldn’t she choose him?”

  “Because he was a cruel little monster.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Micah said. “What matters is that he made her feel safe and protected; like she would never go hungry or be in danger. I didn’t understand that at the time, but I’ve learned a lot since then. I have learned from watching humans.”

  “Humans? That’s a disconcerting thought.”

  Micah gave her a cockeyed look. “What do you mean?”

  “Humans have nothing good to teach. Nothing at all.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Socrates-”

  “Isn’t human,” Morgane interrupted.

  “Well, River is smart...”

  “Oh? Then why did she leave Kale behind to go on a hopeless journey through the Firelands? Look what that brought her.”

  That was true. The Iron Horse had been destroyed, and for all they knew, River might even be dead. Micah considered the others he had known: Kale, with his prolonged adolescence and narcissistic tendencies, Shayla and her obsession with bringing justice to Dragonwall when it wasn’t her problem, or any of her business; Burk and his greed and lust for power that had driven him mad.

  Then there were the Tal’mar. They weren’t human, just different enough to convince themselves that they were superior in every way. It occurred to him that Morgane might be right. These were the people he had known, and they were all fatally flawed. Every single one of them.
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  “It’s just as well,” Micah said around his pipe stem. “What would I learn from watching people who are perfect?”

  “How to be bored,” Morgane laughed.

  It was late afternoon when they reached the bridge marking the vicinity of the Ana-nuit village. Thane activated the steamscout’s brakes and released the pressure valve on the steam engine.

  “Are we stopping?” Morgane said.

  The bard leaned out of the driver’s cockpit. “It’s getting late. The sun will set in an hour or two. I thought it might be better to spend the night here than in the jungle.”

  “I agree,” Micah said. He was thinking of the undead dinosaur they had encountered during their first trip into the crater, and he had no desire to repeat that adventure. Morgane concurred. After gathering up their bags, they began the short trek through the jungle to the pyramids.

  Within minutes of leaving the steamscout, they became aware of a layer of smoke permeating the surrounding jungle. It smelled like burning wood. This wasn’t unusual, considering the fact that it was about the right time of day for the villagers to be preparing their cooking fires, so the group proceeded without comment. Later, as they reached the outskirts of the village, the smoke grew heavy enough to concern them. Micah pointed out an overturned cart in the road up ahead.

  “Something’s happened,” Thane said, producing his sling from a pocket in his long coat. As he loaded it with a large steel bearing, Morgane drew the double-barreled derringer Socrates had gifted to her before their departure. Micah, armed only with his walking stick, felt suddenly unsure.

  “Maybe we should go back,” the halfling said in a quiet voice.

  “Not yet,” said Thane. “I want to know what happened here.”

  He approached a nearby hut and pulled the drape away from the door to peer inside. It was empty. The bard crossed the road to try another, and had the same results. The third time, Thane entered the hut and came out with a long knife, which he handed to Micah.

  “Just in case,” he said. “You might need something more than a stick.”

  “Not a very impressive weapon,” Micah grumbled, testing its balance. The knife had a thin, crooked blade and a cracked slab handle, making it both unbalanced and uncomfortable in the hand.

  “It’ll do for now,” Thane said.

  “If you wanted better,” Morgane said, “you should have taken Socrates up on his offer before we left the Horse. He’d have given you a sword or even a pistol.”

  “I thought we were going straight to Dragonwall.”

  Thane hushed them. In a low voice, he said: “If anything happens, head straight for the steamscout. Whoever gets there first, release the brakes and get it moving. The others will catch up.”

  As they rounded a corner, the town came into sight. Morgane caught her breath. Chunks of stone and debris lay scattered across the streets. The smoldering remains of the buildings churned black smoke into the air. Up ahead, they saw the ruins of the great pyramid. The upper half had been destroyed, the walls crumbling, smoke pouring out of the structure. They saw an occasional flash of light coming from inside the ruin, accompanied by a noise like lightning.

  “What happened here?” Micah said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I have,” Thane said in a grim tone. “Where the Vangars used their airships to bomb the countryside in Astatia, this is how it looked.”

  “Oh, no,” Morgane said, turning in a slow circle.

  “But the Vangars were defeated!” said Micah. “Who could have done this?”

  “The Legion,” said the bard distastefully. “They must have an airship, or maybe gyroplanes.”

  “But where are all the people?”

  “Gone,” Thane said. “Hard to say how many survived the initial bombing, but those who did must have fled into the jungle.”

  “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  No one had an answer.

  “Let’s go,” Morgane said, stifling a chill. “I’m not staying here. I’d rather drive all night.”

  Her companions nodded their agreement.

  Chapter 4

  As Kale began his descent from the plateau outside Dragonwall, a cold wind rushed up to meet him. A heavy frost lay on the ground, and the warrior’s breath came out in billowing clouds of steam. His spring-powered charger made clicking and whining noises, its steel hooves clip-clopping across the rocky terrain. The sky overhead was clear and glistening with a billion stars, and the frozen ground sparkled like scattered diamonds.

  The knight found himself tempted to go back for a heavier coat. The light jacket and riding gloves he wore were hardly enough to keep the chill at bay. At the very least, he should have thought to wear his cloak. Unfortunately, in his haste he’d gone out into the winter cold wearing clothes better suited for inside the mountain.

  It wasn’t that Kale couldn’t take the cold. He was used to freezing weather -much colder in fact than it was now- but the humidity made a difference. The moisture of the sea air had a way of penetrating through the clothes right to the skin. It reminded him of the port town of Avenston, where he’d lived as a young man. The weather hadn’t affected him so much then.

  Things were different now. He’d begun to feel aches and pains that had never bothered him before. He had even caught himself on occasions of late, pausing to consider the wisdom of saying or doing something that he wouldn’t have thought twice about a year ago. He was changing in ways that he’d never expected. In fact, there were moments when he thought back on his behavior over recent years and felt a twinge of shame, the result of which left him feeling even more unsteady.

  If I’m not that person anymore, he reasoned, then who am I?

  Kale shrugged off the cold and turned his attention to the task at hand. While making wedding preparations with Aileen, a page had arrived with a message from Gavin. Kale’s face had immediately darkened as he read it. Aileen had put a gentle hand on his arm.

  “What is it?”

  “Shayla,” he said in a disgusted tone. “She’s been coaxing the refugees to join her.”

  “Join her?” Aileen said. “I don’t understand.”

  The warrior took a deep breath. “Apparently, she’s telling them she can keep them safe. She’s telling them we can’t.”

  “But she’s just one woman, and probably insane at that.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “This isn’t right. You must do something, Kale.”

  “What? We can barely feed these people, much less protect them from what’s coming. Shayla’s right about that much.”

  Aileen gave him a sympathetic look. “I understand your frustration, but do you truly believe this is what’s best for them? What might happen to these people, out there alone in the woods? Winter is here. Can Shayla give them shelter? Can she keep them warm? Remember, these are just peasants. They don’t have your skills, or your ability to survive in the wilds alone.”

  It was a losing argument. Even before Aileen had convinced him it was the right thing to do, Kale had a feeling he’d be coming out here. He nudged the charger ahead, eager to get it over with and get somewhere warm. Below, a low-lying fog mingled with the smoke of cooking fires, forming a haze around the encampments. As the warrior circled around Stormwatch and deeper into the fog, the stars blurred out and then faded away behind layers of gray.

  At the bottom of the slope, Kale slowed his mount as he entered the tent city. The mechanical stallion’s hooves clacked on the icy stone road and the gears inside made quiet whirring sounds. Kale saw soldiers here and there, distributing food and blankets. He had ordered this with the first arrivals, and it had been ongoing ever since.

  The refugees huddled together under blankets next to the fires, the barren ground around them slick with ice, the cold night pressing in. They were quiet, dirty-faced peasants, frightened and confused after being driven from their homes by the Legion. They avoided Kale’s gaze when they saw him pass, and hurried out of
his way if they crossed his path.

  They’re like frightened children, he thought, tightening his jaw. How would he teach these people to fight? How could he make them into an army? It seemed beyond the realm of possibility. Yet, it had to happen. How else could they fight off the scores of undead that were sure to come? He certainly couldn’t do it with two dozen knights and a reserve militia of a few hundred farmers. Perhaps there was another option, some way to divert the Legion away from Danaise... But how?

  Things couldn’t have happened at a worse time. It would be hard enough to feed and warm these people through the winter, much less find a way to arm them and teach them to fight. Dragonwall’s stores would not last forever, and Stormwatch had already been strained since the fire. At that very moment, a dozen knights were on the beach hunting dragons for meat. If they returned empty-handed, they would have to go into the crater next.

  A sudden shadowy movement in the corner of his eye caught Kale’s attention. He reined his steed to a halt. He had been distracted by his thoughts, and he’d already ridden to the far edge of the encampment. It was dark here, far away from the fires and the torches. Empty wagons and hand carts surrounded him, their dark shapes barely identifiable in the swirling fog.

  The hairs rose on the back of his neck as he scanned the shadows around him. Someone was there. He instinctively reached for his sword, but realized suddenly that it wasn’t there. It hadn’t even occurred to him to bring a sword to the encampment. His only thought had been to get out into the fresh air and sort out a plan.

  Kale twisted in the saddle, eyes narrowed, ears straining for a hint of danger. Under him, the metallic horse shifted, the gears in its belly grinding softly. “Come out,” Kale said under his breath. “I know you’re there. I can smell you.”

  There was a shuffling noise up ahead. The rear flap of a wagon pulled back, revealing a shadowy figure clad in black. Two more figures emerged from darkness, one to his left, the other to the right. Kale pulled on the reins and used his boot heels to pressurize the lower kick plates on the stirrups. The mechanical charger took a step back, the springs in its legs tightening.