Brassworks

A Lesson in Warfare

"Our father cried, his flesh alight, and melting in that endless night, he crawled through rock, he breathed the blight, and perished in the first morn's light. But father's gift, from man and wife, was more than everlasting life. His trials and his storied strife, were etched into this holy knife. Now brothers dear and sisters strong, we rise to right the many wrong, our nights are fierce, our lives are long, now fly up with the Angels' song."

Pillar of Strength

The Words of Jericho

CAPTAIN Buford waited impatiently for the gondola to settle on the moor. The landing was taking longer than normal. Usually, the guards at the Brassworks had his ship ready for disembarking a minute after arrival. This was most unlike them, and unsettled him greatly.

It wasn't just the missing guards. Something terrible was happening in the fields only a mile from where they now hovered. He'd seen the pillars of smoke on the horizon from miles out, but there was no reason to turn around yet. By the time he saw the siege engines down below, it was too late to turn back. They made for the relative safety of the Brassworks, losing steam rapidly to gain speed. By the time they arrived, their tanks were near empty.

"Where are those damned guards?" He paced the bridge, his long coat fluttering behind him with each step. He normally wore it buttoned to the top, but the heat from the engines had become too much. His tunic underneath the wool jacket was dark and damp.

"Captain, I see some men below. They're grabbing the lines."

Buford cursed under his breath. "About damned time. Go below and secure the cargo. And ring the bells so the Warden knows we're here. He'll want to leave as soon as we're refueled."

* * * * *

BOOKER and Blake tied the ropes tight to the mooring platform. The Sheriff caught the rim of the gondola and guided it down to the deck. He wondered if they'd be able to convince the crew to keep flying, or if they would need to pilot the big boat back into the Vale themselves. His thought was cut short by a nearby explosion. The Blood Legion had opened with their 12-pound canons.

"Do you think that'll work?" Blake asked. She stared off the platform at the battle raging nearby.

Booker shook his head. "I don't know what those things are made of, but they shrug off bullets well enough. I doubt a canon will do much."

Blake walked quickly to the large water tank on the side of the wooden moor. She lifted the heavy hose and paused. "Which line goes into the tank?"

The Sheriff stared blankly.

"The number two port," Theo called out. He stood at the edge of the platform, propped up by Dalia. James and Bones stood not far away, guarding the main entrance. Theo hobbled over to Blake and guided her hands, connecting the six-inch hose to the sealed water retaining tank. His thin fingers struggled with the tight cap, but he managed to do the heavy lifting without help.

Another explosion shook the platform. The battle drew closer to the prison. Guards started abandoning their posts, sliding down ladders and racing toward the garage. A few climbed into Skiffs and roared off into the desert. Theo watched them go and shook his head. The steam-powered carts would run out of fuel in a few hours, leaving the guards hopelessly lost in the middle of nowhere.

The Blood Legion was close enough now that the screams of the wounded carried to the Brassworks. Blake and Booker both wore the same dour expression. Dalia pressed her hands against her ears and waited for it all to stop. James and Bones focused on security and ignored the rest. Only Theo paused to look out at the chaos happening nearby. He lifted the patch on his left eye and gasped.