Morveer himself could develop the slightest immunity to it.
He carefully unscrewed the cap-caution first, always-and, taking up an artist’s brush, began to work.
Rules of War
Cosca crept down the tunnel, knees and back aching fiercely from bending almost double, snatched breath echoing on the stale air. He had become far too accustomed to no greater exertions than sitting around and working his jaw over the last few weeks. He swore a silent oath to take exercise every morning, knowing full well he would never keep it even until tomorrow. Still, it was better to swear an oath and never follow through than not even to bother with the oath. Wasn’t it?
His trailing sword scratched soil from the dirt walls with every step. Should have left the bloody thing behind. He peered down nervously at the glittering trail of black powder that snaked off into the shadows, holding his flickering lamp as far away as possible, for all it was made of thick glass and weighty cast iron. Naked flames and Gurkish sugar made unhappy companions in a confined space.
He saw flickering light ahead, heard the sounds of someone else’s laboured breath, and the narrow passageway opened out into a chamber lit by a pair of guttering lamps. It was no bigger than a good-sized bedroom, walls and ceiling of scarred rock and hard-packed earth, held up by a web of suspect-looking timbers. More than half the room, or the cave, was taken up by large barrels. A single Gurkish word was painted on the side of each one. Cosca’s Kantic did not extend far beyond ordering a drink, but he recognised the characters for fire. Sesaria was a great dark shape in the gloom, long ropes of grey hair hanging about his face, beads of sweat glistening on his black skin as he strained at a keg.
“It’s time,” said Cosca, his voice falling flat in the dead air under the mountain. He straightened up with great relief, was hit with a dizzy rush of blood to the head and stumbled sideways.
“Watch!” screeched Sesaria. “What you’re doing with that lamp, Cosca! A spark in the wrong place and the pair of us’ll be blown to heaven!”
“Don’t let that worry you.” He regained control of his feet. “I’m not a religious man, but I very much doubt anyone will be letting either of us near heaven.”
“Blown to hell, then.”
“A much stronger possibility.”
Sesaria grunted as he ever so gingerly shifted the last of the barrels up tight to the rest. “All the others out?”
“They should be back in the trenches by now.”
The big man wiped his hands on his grimy shirt. “Then we’re ready, General.”
“Excellent. These last few days have positively crawled. It’s a crime, when you think about how little time we get, that a man should ever be bored. When you’re lying on your deathbed, I expect you regret those weeks wasted more than your worst mistakes.”
“You should have said if you had nothing pressing. We could have used your help digging.”
“At my age? The only place I’ll be moving soil is on the latrine. And even that’s a lot more work than it used to be. What happens now?”
“I hear it only gets harder.”
“Very good. I meant with the mine.”
Sesaria pointed to the trail of black powder, grains gleaming in the lamplight, stopping well short of the nearest keg. “That leads to the entrance to the mine.” He patted a bag at his belt. “We join it up to the barrels, leave plenty of extra at the end to make sure it takes. We get to the mouth of the tunnel, we set a spark to one end, then-”
“The fire follows it all the way to the barrels and… how big will the explosion be?”
Sesaria shook his head. “Never seen a quarter as much powder used at one time. That and they keep mixing it stronger. This new stuff… I have a worry it might be too big.”
“Better a grand gesture than a disappointing one.”
“Unless it brings the whole mountain down on us.”
“It could do that?”
“Who knows what it’ll do?”
Cosca considered the thousands of tons of rock above their heads without enthusiasm. “It’s a little late for second thoughts. Victus has his picked men ready for the assault. Rogont will be king tonight, and he’s expecting to honour us with his majestic presence at dawn, and very much inside the fortress so he can order the final attack. I’m damned if I’m going to spend my morning listening to that fool whine at me. Especially with a crown on.”
“You think he’ll wear it, day to day?”
Cosca scratched thoughtfully at his neck. “Do you know, I’ve no idea. But it’s somewhat beside the point.”
“True.” Sesaria frowned at the barrels. “Doesn’t seem right, somehow. You dig a hole, you touch a torch to some dust, you run and-”
“Pop,” said Cosca.
“No need for thinking. No need for courage. No way to fight, if you’re asking me.”
“The only good way to fight is the one that kills your enemy and leaves you with the breath to laugh. If science can simplify the process, well, so much the better. Everything else is flimflam. Let’s get started.”
“I hear my captain general and obey.” Sesaria pulled the bag from his belt, bent down and started carefully tipping powder out, joining the trail up to the barrels. “Got to think about how you’d feel, though, haven’t you?”
“Have you?”
“One moment you’re going about your business, the next you’re blasted to bits. Never get to even look your killer in his face.”
“No different from giving others the orders. Is killing a man with powder any worse than getting someone else to stab him with a spear? When exactly did you last look a man in the face?” Not when he’d happily helped stab Cosca in the back at Afieri, that was sure.
Sesaria sighed, powder trickling out across the ground. “True, maybe. But sometimes I miss the old days, you know. Back when Sazine was in charge. Seemed like a different world, then. A more honest world.”
Cosca snorted. “You know as well as I do there wasn’t a dirty trick this side of hell Sazine would have balked at using. That old miser would have blown the world up if he thought a penny would fall out.”
“Daresay you’ve the truth of it. Doesn’t seem fair, though.”
“I never realised you were such an enthusiast for fair.”
“It’s no deal-breaker, but I’d rather win a fair fight than an unfair one.” He upended the bag, the last powder sliding out and leaving a glittering heap right against the side of the nearest barrel. “Leaves a better taste, somehow, fighting by some kind of rules.”
“Huh.” Cosca clubbed him across the back of the head with his lamp, sending up a shower of sparks and knocking Sesaria sprawling on his face. “This is war. There are no rules.” The big man groaned, shifted, struggled weakly to push himself up. Cosca leaned down, raised the lamp high and bashed him on the skull again with a crunching of breaking glass, knocked him flat, embers sizzling in his hair. A little closer to the powder than was comfortable, perhaps, but Cosca had always loved to gamble.
He had always loved triumphant rhetoric too, but time was a factor. So he turned for the shadowy passageway and hurried down it. A dozen cramped strides and he was already breathing hard again. A dozen more and he thought he caught the faintest glimmer of daylight up the tunnel. He knelt down, chewing at his lip. He was far from sure how fast the trail would burn once it was lit.
“Good thing I always loved to gamble…” He carefully began to unscrew the broken cage around the lamp. It was stuck.
“Shit.” He strained at it, fingers slipping, but it must have got bent when he clubbed Sesaria. “Bastard thing!” He shifted his grip, growled as he twisted with all his force. The top popped off suddenly, he fumbled both halves, the lamp dropped, he tried to catch it, missed, it hit the floor, bounced, guttered and went out, sinking the
