Sy'anh III

The screw fell.

I kicked the door away and somersaulted out of that compartment. Getting to my feet I saw Sy'anh’s underling—not a character of mine, just some guy—staring at me and Sy'anh drawing his knife.

I threw myself onto Sy'anh, sending him falling to the ground, and started hitting him over and over. He turned the knife and stabbed it into my arm. I didn’t care. Got my knee over his knife arm and kept hitting him in the face.

“Stop!” the underling cried. “I’ll shoot—!”

I glanced up and saw that he did have his gun pointed at me. But you’ll hit him too, ha! I went back to hitting Sy'anh.

“You’re going to hurt yourself! And—why were you there? Why are you gagged and tied up?”

I jabbed my chin at Sy'anh.

“She’s the saboteur—” Sy'anh started.

I hit him again.

He swung his weight around then, threw me to the ground. I struggled but he grabbed my arms and forced them down. Getting his knees on top of them, he flipped the knife into a good grip again and held the blade—over my eye. I screwed my eyes shut.

Bang!

“Stop it,” the underling said with a trembling voice, “Leave her alone for a moment.”

“Ril, what the hell are you doing pointing a gun at a superior officer?” Sy'anh said in a pleasant, conversational tone.

“Just—”

“You saw her attack me. What, do you think she’s pretty or something?”

“No! Just, that we should hear her out.”

I dared to open one eye. Ril, the underling, was standing next to Sy'anh, trying to take the knife out of his grip without forcing it. Sy'anh let him. Next, Ril went to untie my gag.

I spat it out and said, “He tied me up because I know he killed a man in your homeland! The guy who was making him into a cuckold—”

“The hell?” Sy'anh said, a confused expression on his face. “Ril, I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about now—I mean, if she did really knew that I committed some crime like that, why would I tie her up instead of just killing her?”

Ril was a guy of middling height with skin a bit darker than Sy'anh’s and his curls held back by a scarf like the one I’d bought earlier. He furrowed his brow in thought. “But why would she just randomly say that?”

“Because she’s the saboteur, of course.”

“I’m not.”

Ril gave me a hand up. I took it. Outside the window, I could see smoke. My stomach tightened. I couldn’t look too closely, not right now. Ril cut through my bonds with a neat slice of his knife. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, aiming for an innocent, just-standing-there impression, undoing the leather wrap around Jayla’s knife in my right pocket.

“You’re not?”

“No. I just wanted to find someone to talk to about him.” I jabbed my chin at Sy'anh. “He’s a monster.”

“Does one person really make you a monster?” Sy'anh asked. “And, maybe you have me confused for someone? And, if you’re not a saboteur, what were you doing around our tank?”

I finished unwrapping the knife and with a feral grin said, “Sabotaging it!”

In the same moment I darted in under Ril’s arms and cut a wide line across his bicep. He stared at me with wide eyes, pressing a hand to the cut, which was pouring out blood.

I scored another line across the back of his hand and he cried out and dropped the gun. “B-but—I—!”

I picked up the gun—it was heavy, an old-style repeating rifle—and settled my hand where I thought the grip and trigger was. “Sorry! You shouldn’t’ve blown up that tent!” I chanced another glance outside. All that remained of the tent was a crumpled mass of burned and charred fabric. Maybe they got out?

Sy'anh took his own gun off the wall and loaded it in a smooth practiced motion. I pressed the button he’d been keeping me from before and heard the hatch door click unlocked.

The air outside was choked with smoke but still fresher than that cargo compartment. I scrambled up the turret to perch on top, and the smoke hadn’t yet drifted up there. I took several inhales of fresh air while resting the stock of the gun on my shoulder.

Those old rifles didn’t have any safety, I didn’t think, but was it cocked?

I pulled what I thought was the lever. A used cartridge fell from the gun; a clicking sound told me that…probably?

My younger self was a genius for going to that gun training, but I still had no idea what I was doing in real combat, much less with a 19th-century era gun from a fantasy country. Where was Sy'anh? The smoke made it hard to see.

If I were him… I turned around and fired several shots at what had been behind me.

A brief pause, then a returning shot from that spot. I ducked down, covering my ears.

When I glanced up I saw the bullet embedded beside me. Right, the accuracy on these things was shit!

I stood and looked into the smoke. “Are you sure you want to kill me?”

Bang!

Pain shot through my shoulder. I pressed my hand to it and felt my palm wet with blood. Stomach sick with fear, I took several unconscious steps back away from that edge of the turret. How was it possible to aim that well surrounded by smoke?

Sy'anh flipped up onto the turret, flinging himself up with one hand, standing tall and clear now, gun leveled at me. The smoke from the tent he’d destroyed was everywhere, backing him in black and red.

I fired another shot but the heavy barrel wouldn’t go where I pointed. It went wide.

I’m going to die. There was only one way out. I turned around and jumped off the edge.

I landed on top of the tread covering with a rippling of metal, then jumped down to the ground. Now he had a much better angle on me—that’s why I hadn’t wanted to do it—but at least it wasn’t point-blank. I scrambled backwards, squinting through the acrid air that brought tears to my eyes.

And backed into someone standing there.