No one creeps like Gastone (WIP)

Central Llael, Spring 609 AR (?)

 

That was the sound of a Vanguard being ripped to shreds.

 

Despite his best efforts, Gastone Crosse’s steamjack fell into a heap. A heavy Khador axe protruded from its chassis, sparks of energy escaping the machine as it made one last attempt to listen to the warcaster’s commands.

 

“That was my favorite one you know,” Gastone shouted down the cobblestone streets of the small Llaelan ghost town.

 

That heavy warjack wasn’t supposed to be here. This town, formerly called Duhla, was supposed to have nothing but the remains of Llael architectural practices, and a small garrison of Khador winter guard. The idea that they would even bother to bring something that required resupply to the smoking heap that was Duhla, boggled Gastone’s mind.

 

The streets were abandoned, there was rarely a roof that wasn’t collapsed, and now Gastone stood between several collapsed piles of rubble that used to be buildings.

 

There was a building’s distance between him and what was now a Khador Destroyer and a pile of scrap. Gastone lifted his handcannon, the Gypsy Kiss, and the second Vanguard by his side lifted its shieldcannon in kind. They fired off at once, and the shots bounced off the dense armor on the front of the Destroyer.

 

He heard boots on the cobblestone, and behind the Destroyer appeared a man in the dramatic red of the Khador army. He stepped over the corpses of several winterguard that Gastone just happened to find with guisarme sized holes taken out of them, and stood beside the jack.

 

The man was well cut, young, but while Gastone wasn’t fancy enough to know all the markings on the man’s chest, he was sure he was someone important.

 

“You shouldn’t be here, guttersnipe,” The man said in a thick Khador voice.

 

Gastone saw the Destroyer lurch forward as if to move, and then the Khadoran brought a hand up as if to steady the monster. He was definitely a warcaster, but that didn’t really say whether Gastone was out of his depth. He didn’t get this far by bowing down to men with a little magical might.

 

“You wound me, noble horse lord,” Gastone said in his best Khadoran.

 

The man’s brow furrowed, “Your Khadoran is shit,” he said, “And I am no Umbrean.”

 

The Khadoran took a step forward, and the Destroyer moved alongside. With every few steps, the Destroyer’s foot came down, shattering the stone beneath it.

 

“I am Kovnik Andrei Malakov, of the 3rd Khador army,” said the man, “And your last chance for survival is surrendering to me before I have to fire my cannon.”

 

This Andrei was confident, and confidence was usually backed up with something similar to capability. So Gastone took a step back, aligning himself with an adjacent alleyway that sloped down with the city.

 

“While I’m impressed by your cannon,” Gastone said, “I cannot oblige, Horselord Malakov.”

 

Gastone waited for the twitch of frustration on Andrei’s face, then fired a shot directly at the approaching warcaster.

 

The Destroyer intercepted the shot by stepping forward, the ricochet the only sound on the street besides the boilers of the two steamjacks.

 

Andrei drew his sword and pointed it directly as Gastone, “Kill him!”

 

The Destroyer vented a burst of steam, then positioned its arm to aim.

 

Gastone was already moving. When the boom of the cannon filled the air, the young man, best described as a guttersnipe, had ducked into the alley. His remaining vanguard was close behind, the steamjack boiling hard to keep up with its human controller.

 

While Gastone didn’t like to think about it, he knew the Vanguard was more afraid of the heavy warjack than he was. Maybe it realized that Gastone had no intention of standing in front of it to fight it.

 

They gained momentum as they went down the incline, the remains on the buildings on either side of them. Behind him he could hear the Destroyer shoving its way into the tight spice. The heavy sway of its arm as it tried to position. Then it fired, another boom that shook the rubble so hard that a layer of dust was flung into the air.

 

The cannon blast struck the end of the alley, where the path met a building and veered off in two directions, Llaelan architecture. The wall exploded out, and Gastone was almost taken off his feet by a chunk of old brick.

 

The Destroyer was coming in behind them, and Gastone knew he only had one chance to make this work.

 

When he reached the end of the alley, he turned down the left path and got out of the way just in time for the Vanguard to ram it at speed. Then the light warjack attempted to follow Gastone, barely fitting in the tiny corridor to a back street.

 

The Destroyer rammed into the wall just as the Vanguard got through. While the Vanguard could barely fit, the heavy Khador ‘jack couldn’t even attempt it. Its heavy axe swung at the walls, cleaving large chunks of building in an attempt to make some space. It was a futile attempt, and Gastone gave the Destroyer the traditional Llael street gesture for ‘not today you Khadoran bastard’.

 

Gastone cleared the alley, coming out into a street, and just under Andrei’s blade.

 

He barely ducked the blow, rolled away, and pulled one of his trustee knives. The Khadoran seemed perturbed at the exchange in the alley.

 

“You will learn to respect Khador,” He called as he slashed forward.

 

Gastone parried with the Gypsy Kiss, and slashed in return. His blow went wide, and Andrei proved that he wasn’t a slouch in the physical fitness department either.

 

“Can I just respect your swordplay,” Gastone said as he continued to dodge backwards, “And call it a day, no?”

 

Andrei’s form was stiff, formal. He was taught in some academy, probably had a teacher who spent his whole life teaching kids just like Andrei to cut up little Llael boys. Gastone needed to leave.

 

He tried to duck a blow, but the blade cut into his armor. It was shallow, but real enough to highlight his mortality.

 

“Why do you even bother?” Andrei said as he stood tall, his blade at the ready, “What are you even fighting for?”

 

Behind Andrei, Gastone’s Vanguard pulled itself from the alleyway. The steamjack wanted to come help, its first instinct to charge the aggressive Kovnik. Gastone had a better idea.

 

“I fight for,” Gastone looked up, “Llaelan architecture.”

 

The Vanguard fired, and an overhang of ruined building above the Kovnik exploded into mortar and bricks.

 

Andrei’s look of surprise was visible for one moment before the stones came raining down on him, burying him alive.

 

Gastone took a deep breath, dug into his pockets, and pulled out a cigarette. He was supposed to already be out of the city, and here he was, being chased around by warjacks. He wasn’t being paid enough.

 

As he turned to go collect the cortex from his crunched Vanguard, the rocks on top of Andrei shifted. Gastone pulled his gun and aimed it at the pile.

 

Some debris rolled away and revealed the man, barely alive. His warcaster armor must have protected him. Even half-dead, the Khadoran had a look of determination on his face.

 

Gastone looked down at the man, and closed his eyes. His remaining Vanguard wanted to stop the man into the dust. Gastone was likely to agree.

 

Andrei’s hand reached out, his bruised hands struggling to grab something that only he could see.

 

Gastone gripped the man’s hand.

 

When Andrei woke up he was surrounded by darkness, except a flickering lantern burning low on a crate. He tried to sit up, but a burst of pain went through his chest.

 

“Should probably stay down, friend,” Said Gastone.

 

The Llael mercenary came into the light of the lantern, dressed down from their battle earlier. His hair looked wispy but dark, it fit his young face.

 

“Why aren’t I dead?” Andrei asked as he looked around the room. He could barely make out the bare walls, but he could clearly see the stars through a hole in the roof.

 

Andrei was dressed down too, he lacked his warcaster armor, and he couldn’t find his sword. Instead he was in plain brown rags.

 

Gastone moved the lantern to the floor and sat on the old crate. It creaked under him. “I’m not being paid enough to kill you.”

 

Andrei laid back in the bed, “Typical mercenary. Did you figure you could sell me to my superiors?”

 

Gastone shrugged, “It crossed my mind. You might imagine I don’t see a lot of coin.”

 

He pointed to the roof, and around the room. Gastone looked at Andrei, and saw that the Kovnik wasn’t was watching the ceiling. He couldn’t imagine what you think about when you are at the mercy of a man who should have killed you.

 

If it was Gastone, it would be something like hope, maybe thankfulness. He had never seen a Khadoran exhibit either.

 

“What were you doing here?” Andrei asked, it was almost a whisper.

 

Gastone shrugged, “I’m sorry, my lord, I sleep here.”

 

Andrei sneered, “Stop with the jokes. You attacked my men. Are you part of the resistance.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So you killed Khadoran soldiers for this city?” Andrei asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

Gastone looked over to Andrei and saw the man watching him. His eyes were stern, how could he look so serious while on his deathbed? Didn’t he realize he was hurt? It was possible he was too pompous to feel fear.

 

“You Llaelese,” Andrei said, looking back up to the stars, “You try so hard to be brave. You just cause yourself suffering.”

 

Gastone laughed. He couldn’t help but bend over in laughter, his hands gripping his knees.

 

“What?” Andrei said, wincing with pain.

 

Gastone looked at Andrei, “You still don’t know a thing about Llael, and you have been sent here to hold it.”

 

He stood and walked away from the edge of the bed, vanishing from Andrei’s sight, “Llael has no bravery. We sold it all. When the coffers are empty, you end up like this.”

 

Andrei tried to lean and peer into the shadows, but he couldn’t see far enough.

 

“Then why would you risk everything?” He asked. He held his stomach and closed his eyes as another wave of pain hit him.

 

Gastone reappeared with a loaf of bread in his hand, “Pay a man enough, and he will become a patriot, no?”

 

Andrei accepted the bread, and took a bite.

 

“Stale,” The Kovnik said.

 

“Cheap,” Gastone replied.

 

Andrei finished a bite, “You would not have lasted long in the academies of Khador. Loyalty is everything, the motherland is everything. It seems I was right, you are nothing but a guttersnipe.”

 

Gastone stood at Andrei’s side and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, “That’s an odd way of thanking me, Kovnik.”

 

“For what?” Andrei snapped.

 

“Not killing you, I bested you fair and square.”

 

Andrei looked up at Gastone, his mouth a line, and his eyes peering through Gastone, “You are a cheat, and a coward.”

 

“That defeated you in single combat,” Gastone said while rolling his eyes.

 

“With cheap tricks,” Andrei added.

 

Gastone pulled in close enough to whisper to Andrei, “I might add, I had already disabled your men.”

 

Andrei forced himself to sit up, “You attacked privats on guard duty.”

 

“And you are what?” Gastone said, now eye to eye with Andrei, “Worth many privats, yes?”

 

“I’m a battalion of privats,” Andrei said with a pointed finger.

 

Gastone moved closer, “We’ll see.”

 

The mercenary pulled Andrei in with a hand, their lips meeting in the low light of the lantern. Skin to skin, Gastone’s breath pouring into Andrei.

 

Andrei’s eyes closed, then shot open, before he pushed the Llaelan away.

 

The Khadoran wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his arm holding the thin blanket close to his chest.

 

Gastone looked on from the edge of the dark, his eyes reflecting the flicker of light and his confusion.

 

Andrei opened his mouth to speak, then looked away.

 

“Sorry,” Gastone said as he fished into a pocket and found a cigarette, “I guess that was Llaelese bravery.”

 

Andrei groaned, his head in his hand, “Just go.”

 

“Get some rest,” Gastone said, “You’re no good to me dead.”