A Perverted Path to Victory

Twenty-Six Hours Later

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It took longer than it should have for Tinvel to spot the army. He saw the high-flying griffons marking its position easily enough, obviously, but even as he guided the plane along the river they’d marked, he struggled to discern the Imperial force.

Until he realized there was no river.

The blurry, churning, rumbling mass half-hidden beneath the trees was the army. As the griffons began to circle, indicating the landing zone that had been prepared for Tinvel’s arrival, he spun his head to try and track the force. He’d been told the numbers ahead of time, of course. Forty thousand strong, with thousands more camp followers plodding along in tow. It was now obvious that he’d never been able to properly visualize what that number truly meant. The army stretched further than he could discern even from a few thousand feet in the air, blending seamlessly into the terrain.

A long swathe had been cut out of the jungle, parallel to the road the army was using. He did a brief pass of the makeshift air strip, speaking to Chona.

“Take a look and make sure the runway’s good,” he said. “The Governess said she told them how to do it, but the Powdered Lead didn’t do the work themselves. I really don’t want to spend the next couple months walking back to Tulian.”

He tilted the plane, giving Chona a better view of the dirt strip. He could see it well enough himself and thought it looked fine, if a bit rough and muddy, but there was no such thing as too much caution. Not when the Divine Champion and leader of your nation was watching your work.

“Seems good to me,” Chona reported. “We’ll probably have to scrape a bunch of mud off the wheels, though. Hopefully the sun will dry things out before we take off again.”

“Here’s hoping,” he agreed, turning the plane around.

As he lined up with the Imperial runway, Tinvel forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. He hadn’t had a landing this nerve-wracking since his first water-landing experiments. Ever since the Air Force had been formed, Tinvel was increasingly aware of just how political his every move was. This was the Empire’s first exposure to Tulian’s most advanced weapon system, and they’d be drawing far too many conclusions from the brief encounter. How well he and Chona conducted themselves today could have ramifications that wouldn’t rear their head for years yet.

Thankfully, the landing was an easy one. With the morning’s rain and mist burnt away by the afternoon sun, he only had to contend with a light headwind. He kept his touch light on the controls as the Fulleye descended, making only the tiniest adjustments. He slipped gracefully below the treetops, floating above the dirt for a few moments before, with a quiet ba-bump, the wheels made contact.

Tinvel blew out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, engaging the wheel brakes. The Fulleye squeaked and rattled as it was jostled by the hastily-constructed runway, but that was it. There was no cracking noise, no sudden jerk as a wheel dug into a pothole. Just the usual rumble as the plane came to a steady, graceful stop.

“Thank the gods,” he whispered. “Thank you, Talavan.”

“C’mon, Tin,” Chona said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You didn’t need Talavan’s help with that.”

“I asked for it anyway. I did not want to screw that up.”

“And you didn’t. Now let’s get out of here. My legs are cramped as hell.”

“Yeah. Make sure you turn off the rear engine.”

“Got it.”

Tinvel shut down the forward engine and unbuckled himself, stretching his arms out to the side. He lifted his flight goggles onto his forehead and stuffed his cap beneath the seat, then started to crawl out of the seat.

“Hold it.” Chona grabbed his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Look over there.”

Dressed in shining armor of Tulian make, a man was jogging their way, waving his hands over his head. A wall of similarly-dressed soldiers was advancing behind him, bayoneted rifle-muskets resting on their shoulders. They were moving quickly, their boots crashing through the mud with sharp slashes, and as Tinvel stared, he realized that it wasn’t just a single line heading their way. It was an entire block of musketmen, easily over a hundred in number, and as he lifted his gaze further down the runway, Tinvel spotted another, similarly-sized group approaching.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You think something’s happened?”

“Dunno. Can’t imagine our landing would have been allowed if there was a problem in the army.”

“Hope you’re right.”

The leading man called out as he approached, still jogging. “Message from General Brown!”

Tinvel pursed his lips, concerned, but Chona only snorted behind him.

“General Brown? Which one?”

“I’m hoping it’s the Governess,” Tinvel muttered. While he and Chona had technically met the Steward of Tulian, it had been only on a few rare occasions, and they hadn’t directly exchanged words. He’d heard plenty about her from veterans of the First Sporaton War, however. Never anything terrible, of course. Those who had served under her had a universal and deeply-held respect for the woman. It was just that the respect came with an understanding that the Steward had certain expectations, and it was very much in one’s best interest to meet them.

“It probably was Sara. From what I heard, she’s more in charge of the Powdered Lead than Evie is,” Chona said. “Do you think we’ll have time to see Hurlish?”

“I was imagining we’d be grabbing the Governess and taking off right away, but maybe we’ll have time,” Tinvel said, “but I hope we do. I want to talk to her about how well my enchantments have been holding up.”

Back when they’d been nothing more than Garen’s pupils, Hurlish had spent a great deal of time at the University. She’d made countless weapons of all varieties for Tinvel to practice his enchantments on, and her forge had produced the bulk of metal instrumentation that the University had relied on in its early days. In addition, before Professor Brown had arrived, she’d been the main source of otherworldly information at the University, passing on what she’d learned from Sara. She was a big brute of a woman, quick to curse and quicker to criticize, but she was never unfair in her corrections. Every student had loved her.

Whatever and whoever they’d get to see, it would have to wait. The jogging man finally reached them, sweat dripping heavily down his brow. With the hideously muggy air and his thick armor, Tinvel couldn’t judge the way he stopped to catch his breath, bending over to rest his palms on his knees for a moment.

“Apologies,” he gasped, then straightened. He clapped a fist over his heart, saluting forcefully. “Commander Tinvel, Commander Chona!”

“At ease,” Tinvel said, thankful that he’d actually remembered to give the order this time. A few weeks ago, he’d accidentally made a soldier give their entire report while still saluting. Military rules were more arcane to him than magic, at times.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, dropping into a slightly more relaxed posture. “General Brown wishes you to move your aeroplane to the end of the runway as soon as is practical, where we can cover and place it under guard.”

“Huh?” Chona leaned out and to the side of the cockpit, looking down at the soldier. “I thought the whole point of this trip was to show off our fancy new toy to the Imperials. Why does she want to hide it?”

“I can’t say, ma’am,” the soldier said. “I was simply given the message. She wants it down quickly, I believe.”

“Alright,” Tinvel said, leaning back into his chair. “Tell the others further down the runway to get out of the way, then.”

“We were coming out to help you push the aeroplane, sir.”

“Don’t need it. We can move on the ground perfectly fine.”

“Understood.” The man turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Clear the way! Clear the way!”

Tinvel reached forward and sparked the crystal engine to life, a loud clanking and shudder running through the hull as the propeller engaged. If there was one single improvement he was glad to have made to the Artifice Engine, it was the ability to start it without relying on a spell or helper to start the engine’s spinning.

The Powdered Lead quickly broke apart, a few sharp orders sending the groups splitting to either side of the runway. Tinvel added a bit of power to the engine to get the wheels out of the muck, then reduced it back down to taxi speed, bumping quickly over the makeshift runway.

He saw the covered area awaiting them quickly, though it was easy to see how he’d missed it from the air. Large canvas tarps had been stitched together into a fabric hangar, each painted the same vibrant green as the jungle foliage that surrounded it.

Tinvel cut the engine just before they reached the tent, letting the plane rumble silently past the figures holding the front entrance open. The afternoon sun vanished, leaving him blindly blinking in the dark interior. The flap closed behind him shortly after, sealing them off from the outside world.

“Engine one off,” he said, reaching down to confirm the crystals were deactivated.

“Engine two off,” Chona said. “Propellers dead.”

“Propellers dead,” he confirmed. Confirming that the propellers had finished gliding to a stop was a new part of the post-flight protocol, added on account of a particularly brutal gash one of the rookie flyers had earned by hopping out of the cockpit too soon after engine power had been cut.

As his vision adjusted to the dim interior, Tinvel was surprised to find that there was no one else present. He could see shadows of guards outside, and even heard the clanking of the approaching Powdered Lead troops, but there was no one inside. They were alone.

“Let’s see how presentable we can get this thing for the Governess,” he said, lifting his flight goggles up to rest on his forehead. “She’ll probably be here any minute. I think that muddy landing made a mess of the undercarriage.”

“Why should we care how the plane looks?” Chona grumbled, lethargically unstrapping herself. “We managed to fly hundreds of miles without getting lost. If she’s disappointed because we got a bit messy on the way over, that’s her problem.”

“Y’know she’s the one in control of the Air Force’s budget, right?” Tinvel crawled out of the cockpit, forced to crouch as he stepped onto the wing. “If we can show off even a little bit, we probably should.”

Chona’s only response was a halfhearted grunt. Tinvel hopped down off the wing, inspecting the wheels.

They were absolutely caked. Several inches of black jungle mud were piled up on the wheel hubs and outer tire, and even as he watched, the plane was being sucked deeper into the soft ground.

“Guess we don’t need wheel chocks,” he mumbled. He went to the plane’s storage compartment and tossed it open, pulling out a few rags. Returning to the tires, he knelt to begin his work.

Tinvel kept one ear to the outside world as he and Chona cleaned. The tent steadily became the nexus of a considerable furor, a growing crowd surrounding them from every direction. Most of those close enough for him to overhear were speaking Continental, marking them as members of the Powdered Lead, but they were regularly referring to the crowds further beyond. As the Imperial army crept past, more than a few soldiers proved willing to risk a brief detour, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the strange creation they’d seen soaring overhead.

“No wonder she wanted us to hide the plane,” he absently noted. “If there was actually something they could see, we’d have ended up getting trampled.”

“I can’t believe how many there are,” Chona said, careful to keep her voice down as she used spells to flick mud off the underside of the fuselage. “You remember what the reports said? That they’ve already equipped this entire army with muskets? Even our new factory couldn’t do that.”

“This army has half as many people as all of Tulian,” Tinvel reminded her. “If they could put that many people in armor, imagine how many blacksmiths they have out there. Thousands, at least. Tens of thousands, maybe.”

“Gods.” Chona moved behind Tinvel, watching him knock clumps of dirt off the Fulleye’s wheels. “No wonder the Governess wanted to ally with these people. We’d never stand a chance.”

Tinvel was about to respond to that, arguing that the fortifications built around Tulian could resist any number of enemies, when he was interrupted by a sudden noise.

“Attention!” An authoritative voice barked. “Make way for the General!”

A commotion followed as the Powdered Lead stomped forward, shouting orders in the Imperial language. Tinvel hurriedly knocked a few of the larger clumps off the wheels, then leapt up, trying to clean himself off. Chona sidled up next to him, plucking his flight goggles off his head. She tossed them into the plane, then joined him in facing the tent flap.

As was nearly always the case with Sara Brown, Tinvel heard her before he saw her. A chiming laugh split the air, one that was so full of mirth it swept aside all the moment’s tension, easing the soldiers and calming the crowd. Her voice followed a moment later.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m not in uniform, Tikker,” Sara chided, the rebuke entirely lacking in venom. “You don’t have to be all fancy. I’m off-duty right now.”

“Still my job to guard you, ma’am,” the man replied. “And I’m supposed to be guarding this here ‘aeroplane’ as well. Y’can understand my concern, of course.”

“Sure, sure,” Sara said, her voice growing closer. “Good on you for being all professional and stuff. But since I’m off duty, I get to give you a hard time.”

“What about you, ma’am?”

“I believe it is best if you consider me to always be on duty, Sergeant,” Evie replied, her cool words cutting through the air. “Unless otherwise specified, of course.”

Tinvel heard the clank of a salute, fist colliding with breastplate. “That’s what I figured, ma’am.”

Chona shuffled to the side, her shoulder brushing against Tinvel’s.

“Guess the Steward’s showing up after all,” she murmured quietly.

“Did you think she wouldn’t?”

“A girl can dream.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“We’ll see.”

The shadow of a remarkably tall woman darkened the flap. Sara pushed open the flap, tossing a shout over her shoulder as she stepped inside.

“Don’t worry about her, Tikker. She’s got more bark than bite.”

Tinvel caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he snorted. “With respect, ma’am, that’s bullshit.”

Sara laughed. She seemed like she was about to say something else, but cut off as she moved into the tent, her eyes turning towards Chona and Tinvel.

Halfway through her step, she froze.

The next few motions happened in a blur that Tinvel could barely track. The Governess’s eyes flitted to Tinvel’s face, down to his flight jacket, then bounced across the shoulder that was rubbing against Chona’s arm. She squinted ever so slightly, head tilting a few degrees to the side. Her eyes narrowed, then widened, a grin, frown, then smirk flickering across her lips for the briefest of flashes, each there and gone again before he could even be certain he saw them. The smile that eventually landed on her face was almost disturbing in the sense of knowledge it exuded. Tinvel felt as if he’d been placed under one of Professor Brown’s magnifying glasses, every aspect of himself enlarged for her inspection.

“Hey,” she said, speaking in a perfectly casual voice. “Looks like you two had a good flight out here, huh?”

Evie entered the tent as Sara spoke, her ears twitching this way and that. Sara had asked him a question, yet Tinvel couldn’t help but stare at the Steward of Tulian. Even standing next to a Divine Champion, the woman was striking. Four pistols hung from a sturdy waistbelt, secondary pieces doing little more than highlighting how much larger the massive Colt Walker strapped to her steel breastplate was. Tinvel knew that gun well; at Hurlish’s behest, he’d done what he could to enchant its blacksteel form. He knew his contributions had been mediocre by any objective measurement, but it had hardly mattered. When working with a weapon painstakingly forged by a master blacksmith from the most magically malleable material known, his inexperienced efforts had yielded a product far beyond his usual capacity.

Most noticeable of all, however, was the bizarre tattoo encircling her neck. Silver and purple ran in a choking spiral across her throat, running down her collarbone to disappear beneath her armor. Tinvel had no idea what the meaning of it was, but he found himself struggling to tear his eyes away. It was captivating in an alien manner, convincing some part of his mind that the purple stormclouds were about to stir to life.

The Governess’s appearance was nearly as striking, if for different reasons. Standing a full head taller than Tinvel, her unremarkable clothing did nothing to dull her ethereal beauty. Tinvel had seen the Governess on a number of occasions, of course, but he’d never grown accustomed to the sight of her. He never would. She seemed to be something more, as if her beauty was proof that she was more concrete a presence than any other, reality itself bending the knee to accommodate her existence. It didn’t matter that she was wearing an undyed tunic and homespun breeches. She was a shimmering exception to all that was normal, a woman whose mere presence demanded all the respect he had to give.

Or, more properly, she would have been that, if she’d acted in literally any other manner.

Sara grinned toothily, wiggling the pair of fingers she used to point at Tinvel and Chona. “I’m surprised you two aren’t at each other’s throats, though. Last I remember, you were arguing all the time. Must have been pretty hard to get all stuffed up in each other’s business for so long.”

Tinvel swallowed. She couldn’t really know, could she? But the way she was talking…

“It wasn’t a bad flight at all,” Chona said, answering for him. “Navigation was pretty rough, but we just followed compass headings for the most part. Your dad’s better compasses are crazy accurate, but still, we never would have found our way here if it wasn’t for the griffons.”

“Glad I convinced ‘em to spare the time, then,” Sara said. She turned to Evie, holding out a hand. The Feline produced a notebook without a word, which Sara began to write in even as she spoke. “What about the weather? The morning rains must have been rough.”

“We had to take off a lot later than sunrise, of course, but other than that it was fine.”

“Good. Vesta has been dying to get some aerial trade routes up to send high-value, low weight goods back and forth. ‘Course we won’t be able to spare the planes any time soon…” She finished writing, handing the notebook back to Evie. “Now, Tin. I got something for you to do in camp. Chona, can you prep and load the plane for takeoff on your own?”

“Of course,” Chona scoffed. “I could fly it, too. I just let Tinvel do it because he can’t cast spells like I can.”

“Sure. Anyway, while Tinvel and I go do stuff, Evie will help you get everything sorted. Tinvel, follow me.”

He blinked rapidly, bewildered, but had no time to process the order. The Governess was already walking out of the tent, clearly expecting him to follow, while Evie was moving forward, rolling up her sleeves to help Chona unload the plane.

“Uh, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” Tinvel said to Chona as he scurried out of the tent.

“I guess? Have fun doing whatever it is.”

With the Governess already out of sight, that was all they had time to say. He pushed his way through the tent flap, squinting into the afternoon light. The crowd of Imperial soldiers was still milling around the area, but had diminished in size considerably, likely owing to a number of Imperials in fancy armor shouting what could only be curses at them. Looking around for a moment, Tinvel eventually found Sara’s tall head weaving through the crowd, and he hurried to catch up.

The Imperial 1st Blackpowder Army, even when spread out on the march, was a more densely populated mess than any Tinvel had ever known. The thickest of Tulian crowds weren’t half as difficult to navigate, no matter the occasion. He was bumped off the shoulders of thickly armored soldiers time and time again, his slight weight barely disturbing them, and he constantly had to weave between more common laborers carrying obscenely large packs on their back, stuffed full of various supplies. The Imperial army, as far as he could tell, didn’t have a single pack animal. All the goods were being carried by unfortunate-looking men and women, though many of them, despite their burdens, seemed to be in good cheer. Even stooped under their heavy loads, they chatted with one another as they walked, even smiling and laughing at times. Tinvel felt certain that the ease with which they carried so much could only be explained by a Skill. An entire Skill, perhaps an entire Class, dedicated to marching with the burdens of war material on your back. The Empire was a terrifying place.

The Governess, naturally, had nowhere near the struggle navigating the crowd that he did. Other than when she ran across those of orcish descent, she was at least half a head taller than anyone else, which meant she was impossible to miss. Further, though she wore the most unremarkable of commoner clothing, her pale skin, flowing hair, and generally striking appearance made her unmistakable. Though she would happily weave around those who didn’t notice her, very few failed to step out of the Champion’s way. It was a luxury that Tinvel didn’t receive. By the time they broke free of the denser press, he was sweating and panting with exhaustion.

They were walking against the flow of the army, and seemed to have found themselves at a lull in the endless parade of soldiers. There were more up ahead making their way forward, but for whatever reason, only a few stragglers were occupying their stretch of road at the moment. Sara glanced around them, confirming that there was no one within earshot, then slowed her walk, facing him with a predatory grin.

“So. You and Chona are really getting along better, aren’t you?”

He swallowed. “Er, yes. We are.”

“I can tell.” Sara put her hands on her hips, looking him up and down. “So it looks like two of Tulian’s most promising mages are dating each other. That’s a big deal, you know.”

Oh, gods. Where is this going?

“I know you’re both pretty young, and you haven’t had much chance to figure things out. Hurlish is worried you might screw some stuff up. So.” She looked him in the eye, deadly serious. “How much do you know about vanara reproductive anatomy and sexuality?”

Tinvel doubled over like he’d just been shot.

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Chona

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Working alongside Evie Brown was, without exaggeration, the most profoundly uncomfortable experience of Chona’s life. She’d been in plenty of awkward, unpleasant situations before, both social and physical, but this was something else.

Evie Brown was in an atrocious mood. Chona had met her on a few occasions and found she was a direct, humorless woman, but this was something else. As a crate of goods was brought in, the Feline’s ears were pinned flat to her head, her tail whipping the air over and over again, like a tiger about to pounce. She was utterly silent as she cracked open the sturdy wooden crate— using nothing but her bare hands, mind— and began to pull goods from the straw-stuffed interior.

Chona had no choice but to mirror that silence. She certainly wasn’t going to try and strike up a conversation with the woman. Though Evie’s face remained impassive and blank, it didn’t require empathic spells to spot the emotions radiating off her tense, furious lines. While Chona began pulling the spare geodes from the Fulleye’s storage spaces, leaving the energetically expended sets behind to create more room, Evie was all but throwing her collection of items to the ground, every clack and clatter making Chona flinch.

Eventually, perhaps five or so minutes after Tinvel and the Governess had left, Evie straightened. With the stiff-backed motions of poorly greased industrial machinery, she raised herself up and faced Chona.

“I,” she began through clenched teeth, “have been instructed to share my experiences with the problems caused by obsessing over my romantic partner’s safety.”

Chona felt like she’d been shot.

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Tinvel

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“So you didn’t bring any contraceptive herbs?”

“No!” Tinvel half-shouted. “No, I didn’t. Why would I? Wh-wh-what would I have expected to happen?”

“Tinvel, I think you should have expected that you were gonna get laid.”

His head was spinning. Once, when he had been very young, he had contracted a terrible fever, back in the days when healers had refused to enter the ‘god-cursed’ city of Tulian. His parents had carted him out to a village healer over the course of an exquisitely agonizing day, forced to leave him jostling on a rickety cart padded by the thinnest layer of itchy hay. The delusions he’d experienced on that trip, that unique sense of sickly unreality, was something he’d almost forgotten.

Until the Governess of Tulian had started explaining sex to him.

“Look, it’s important to keep these herbs around, okay? Even if you’re not planning anything.” Sara pulled a cloth bag from her pocket, holding it out to him. “It’s better safe than sorry. A guy has to mix them into tea about twelve hours or so beforehand, but women can take it up to three days after they have sex. Until you guys start having sex regularly, it’ll probably be best if you let Chona take it afterwards, instead of trying to guess when you guys end up doing anything.”

“Wha- why do you have those on you right now?” He asked, even as he reluctantly reached out to take them.

“Because I fuck a lot of people, Tinvel, and some of them are paranoid I’m lying when I said I’ve taken my dose. Remember that, especially if you’re gonna have an open relationship-”

“A what?”

“An open relationship, where you and your partner fuck other people whenever you want.”

“Is that a real thing?”

Sara’s expression was almost pitying. “Yeah, man. It’s a real thing. I promise.”

“But… what…”

“Anyway!” Sara clapped, interrupting his dazed mumbling. “Now that you know how to keep yourself safe, let’s talk about Chona. Did you notice she doesn’t have periods? Or, I guess you guys might call them monthly cycles? Menstruation?”

He stared, his head filled with nothing but white noise.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Sara said. “So. I’m not sure if my dad got very far in teaching you animal anatomy, but if a mammal doesn’t have periods, that means their reproductive system operates a bit differently. And since Chona’s a mammal, and it’s almost spring…”

Never before in his life had Tinvel wished he could rip his ears straight off his skull.

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