Brassworks

Long Live the Queen

"They wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way. They found no city to dwell in."

Words of the Prophet

Chapter 19, Verse 3

COUNT Burner stood on the bridge of his airship and beamed at the men below. The assembled army of Powerton hadn't fired a shot, and still the Northmen ran for the hills. Bodies of the dead covered the ground between the front rank of infantry and the shattered walls of the Brassworks. The sand had turned to mud and sucked boots right off soldiers' feet. Burner and his advisors gazed out the still smoldering battlefield and drank in the smell of victory.

"Losses are minimal, sir." Remus pulled at the fringes on his coat. "Mostly guards from the prison and a few scouts."

"Excellent, Remus. And where are our honorable war machines?"

"They were last spotted inside the courtyard of the Brassworks."

Burner's bushy eyebrows rose on his liver-spotted head. "You've lost track of them? They're not subtle creatures."

"I know, sir. We're looking."

"And find my ward. Jonathan has the only control ring."

Remus rendered a hasty salute and disappeared inside the airship, leaving the Count to bask in the afterglow of victory. He leaned against the brass and wood railing, feeling thirty years younger. His free hand found the comforting weight of a locket inside his coat. The Count pulled out the golden disk and popped it open.

"Martha, what I wouldn't give to have you see this." The photograph had lost its color over time, fading to a dull red brown. Still, the woman in the picture looked as beautiful as she had the day they'd met. Count Burner rubbed his thumb over her face, gently so as not to disturb the ink any more. He snapped the case shut and returned it to his pocket.

A high wind rose in the desert, shrieking louder than the heavy turbines of the airship. The air became somehow even hotter. Another sound caught the Count's attention. He peered over the railing to the dune below. Every wrinkle on his face ran toward his brow. Down in the dirt and blood, the sands swirled like a whirlpool.

"Captain," Burner called out gently. The airship's commander approached, stopping a polite distance away to salute.

"Yes, sir?" The captain wore a traditional airman's uniform, sans the long coat and cap. His tunic and vest fit impeccably, and the silver shoulder boards had been polished recently. He wore a tightly trimmed white beard, and his hair seemed somehow lighter. He had the energy of someone half his age, but appeared only a few years younger than the Count.

Burner pointed to the swell of rolling sand below. "What is that happening down there? Something from the engines?"

The Captain pulled at his beard and inspected the strange phenomenon. He looked up a moment later and shrugged. "Never seen it before, sir. I don't sail the Endless Desert often."

Burner nodded and dismissed the officer. He returned his attention to the strange display, feeling a quiet unease grow from his feet to his throat. There was a menace in the unusual turning of the earth, and he suddenly longed to leave the battlefield.

A moment more, he decided. We will confirm that the enemy has fled, find the Warden, and then we will leave this forsaken place.

* * * * *

THEO stumbled out of the engine room and bounced off the walls of the lower level. His stomach swelled from a bowl of hot water and soggy wheat—a remedy crafted by Bones of all people—and he felt energized in a way he'd almost forgotten. The rumble of the engine ran through the floor and up his legs. He rattled, just a skeleton of rags and bones. When he'd left Empton, he'd been a little thick around the midsection. Now his skin only swelled around his joints.