The Merchant’s War

Rudi squinted into the sunlight and swore as he tried to gauge the wind speed. The walls of Castle Hjorth loomed before him like granite thunderclouds- except they're far too close to the ground, aren't they? He shook his head, fatigue adding its leaden burden to his neck muscles, and glanced at the air speed indicator once more. Thirty-two miles per hour, just above stall speed, too high ... the nasty buzzing, flapping noise from the left wing was quieter, though, the ripstop nylon holding. He leaned into the control bar, banking to lose height. Small figures scurried around the courtyard below him as he spotted the crude wind sock he'd improvised over by the pump house. Okay, let's get this over with.

The ultralight bounced hard on the cobblestones, rattling him painfully from spine to teeth, and he killed the engine. For a frightening few seconds he wondered if he'd misjudged the rollout, taking it too near the carriages drawn up outside the stables-but the crude brakes bit home in time, stopping him with several meters to spare. "Phew," he croaked. His lips weren't working properly and his shoulders felt as stiff as planks: he cleared his throat and spat experimentally, aiming for a pile of droppings.

Rudi had originally intended to go and find Riordan and make his report as soon as he landed, but as he took his hands off the control bar he felt a wave of fatigue settle over his shoulders like a leaden blanket. Flying the ultralight was a very physical experience-no autopilots here!-and he'd been up for just over three hours, holding the thing on course in the sky with his upper arms. His hands ached, his face felt as if it was frozen solid, and his shoulders were stiff-though not as stiff as they'd have been without his exercise routine. He unstrapped himself slowly, like an eighty-year-old getting out of a car, took off his helmet, and was just starting on his post-flight checklist when he heard a shout from behind. "Rudi!"

He looked round. It was, of course, Eorl Riordan, in company with a couple of guards. He didn't look happy. "Sir." He stood up as straight as he could.

"Why didn't you report in?" demanded the eorl.

Rudi pointed mutely at the remains of the radio taped to the side of the trike. "I came as fast as I could. Let me make this safe, and I'll report."

"Talk while you work," said Riordan, a tritle less aggressively. "What happened?"

Rudi unplugged the magneto- no point risking some poor fool chopping their arm off by playing with the prop -and began to check the engine for signs of damage. "They shot at me from the battlements and the gatehouse," he said, kneeling down to inspect the mounting brackets. "Took out the radio, put some holes in the wing. I was two thousand feet up-they've got their hands on modern weapons from somewhere." He shook his head. Shit. "If anyone's going in-"

"Too late."

Rudi looked up. Riordan's face was white. "Joachim, signal to the duke: defenders at the Hjalmar Palace have guns. No, wait." Riordan stared at Rudi. "Could you identify them?"

"I'm not sure." Rudi stood up laboriously. "Wait up." He walked round the wing-tipped forward so that the central spar lay on the ground-and found the holes he was looking for. "Shit. Looks like something relatively large. They were automatic, sir, machine guns most likely. Didn't we get rid of the last of the M60s a long time ago?"

Riordan leaned over him to inspect the bullet holes. "Yes." He turned to the messenger: "Joachim, signal the duke, defenders at the Hjalmar Palace have at least one-"

"Two, sir."

"Two heavy machine guns. Go now!"

Joachim trotted away at the double, heading for the keep. A couple more guards were approaching, accompanying one of Riordan's officers. For his part, the eorl was inspecting the damage to the ultralight. "You did well," he said quietly. "Next time, though, don't get so close."

Rudi swallowed. He counted four holes in the port wing, and the wrecked radio. He walked round the aircraft and began to go over the Hike's body. There was a hole in the fiberglass shroud, only inches away from where his left leg had been. "That's good advice, sir. If I'd known what they had I'd have given them a wider berth." It was hard to focus on anything other than the damage to his aircraft. "What's happening?"

"Helmut and his men went in half an hour ago." Riordan took a deep breath. "When will you be ready to fly again?"