Gunpowder & Embers Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  GUNPOWDER & EMBERS

  JOHN RINGO

  KACEY EZELL

  CHRISTOPHER L. SMITH

  Gunpowder & Embers

  John Ringo, Kacey Ezell, Christopher L. Smith

  In the smoking ruins of our world, will the struggle for yesterday's technology spark tomorrow's global war? A new postapocalyptic novel, in which a young cowboy claims his destiny—and tries to prevent a catastophic war—from New York Times best-selling author John Ringo, Kacey Ezell, and Christopher L. Smith.

  WAR IN THE SMOKING RUINS OF TOMORROW!

  Thirty years ago, the world ended. Giant electrovoric ants and pterodons came through a rift in space-time, millions of humans died, and that was that. Without electricity, human ingenuity has provided some creative work-arounds to the energy problem, but most people survive at subsistence level.

  For Chuck Gordon, the simple life of a rancher was enough. But then he met a mysterious dying stranger and now he’s on the road of destiny across America accompanied by a warrior monk, a beautiful dragon tamer, a runaway cultist, and a mystic drunken lecher—all searching for the key to reclaiming humanity’s past—and future.

  BAEN BOOKS by JOHN RINGO

  LAST JUDGEMENT’S FIRE (with Kacey Ezell and Christopher L. Smith)

  Gunpowder and Embers

  Smoke and the Water (forthcoming)

  BLACK TIDE RISING

  Under a Graveyard Sky

  To Sail a Darkling Sea

  Islands of Rage and Hope

  Strands of Sorrow

  The Valley of Shadows (with Mike Massa)

  River of Night (with Mike Massa)

  Black Tide Rising (edited with Gary Poole)

  Voices from the Fall (edited with Gary Poole)

  MONSTER HUNTER MEMOIRS (with Larry Correia)

  Monster Hunter Memoirs: Grunge

  Monster Hunter Memoirs: Sinners

  Monster Hunter Memoirs: Saints

  TROY RISING

  Live Free or Die

  Citadel

  The Hot Gate

  LEGACY OF THE ALDENATA

  A Hymn Before Battle

  Gust Front

  When the Devil Dances

  Hell’s Faire

  The Hero (with Michael Z. Williamson)

  Cally’s War (with Julie Cochrane)

  Watch on the Rhine (with Tom Kratman)

  Sister Time (with Julie Cochrane)

  Yellow Eyes (with Tom Kratman)

  Honor of the Clan (with Julie Cochrane)

  Eye of the Storm

  COUNCIL WARS

  There Will Be Dragons

  Emerald Sea

  Against the Tide

  East of the Sun, West of the Moon

  INTO THE LOOKING GLASS

  Into the Looking Glass

  Vorpal Blade (with Travis S. Taylor)

  Manxome Foe (with Travis S. Taylor)

  Claws that Catch (with Travis S. Taylor)

  EMPIRE OF MAN (with David Weber)

  March Upcountry and March to the Sea (collected in Empire of Man)

  March to the Stars and We Few (collected in Throne of Stars)

  SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES

  Princess of Wands

  Queen of Wands

  PALADIN OF SHADOWS

  Ghost

  Kildar

  Choosers of the Slain

  Unto the Breach

  A Deeper Blue

  Tiger by the Tail (with Ryan Sear)

  STANDALONE TITLES

  The Last Centurion

  Citizens (edited with Brian M. Thomsen)

  Von Neumann’s War (with Travis S. Taylor)

  The Road to Damascus (with Linda Evans)

  Gunpowder & Embers

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by John Ringo, Kacey Ezell, and Christopher L. Smith

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 978-1-9821-2428-1

  eISBN: 978-1-62579-749-0

  Cover art by Dave Seeley

  First printing, January 2020

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Ringo, John, 1963– author. | Ezell, Kacey, author. | Smith,

  Christopher L. (Christopher Lee), 1975– author.

  Title: Gunpowder and embers / John Ringo, Kacey Ezell, Christopher L. Smith.

  Description: Riverdale, NY : Baen, 2020. | Series: Last judgement’s fire

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019041770 | ISBN 9781982124281 (hardcover)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Science fiction. | Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3568.I577 G86 2020 | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019041770

  Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Electronic Version by Baen Books

  www.baen.com

  As always

  For Captain Tamara Long, USAF

  Born: May 12, 1979

  Died: March 23, 2003, Afghanistan

  You fly with the angels now.

  —•—

  For EZ, the hero of my story

  and coolest guy I’ll ever meet.

  And for my mom, LeEllen McCartney,

  who taught me to love dragons. —kc

  —•—

  For Sandra K. Smith

  February 27, 1947–October 31, 2018

  Thanks for being my biggest fan, Mom.

  I finally wrote one you could read

  without covering your eyes.

  PROLOGUE

  Ariel felt excitement skitter along her nerves as her mother smoothed her hair back with trembling fingers.

  “So beautiful,” her mother whispered in her roughened, wasted voice. “Your hair like queensilk, so soft and full. Dark like your eyes, like the finest warrior’s chitin.”

  “Thank you, mother,” Ariel said. Despite the illogic of emotions, something warm and joyous curled within her breast at her mother’s words. For once, the older woman was noticing Ariel—really paying attention to her. Normally, she was far too busy fighting to complete her tasks and win her spot in the larvae chamber. Which was a good thing. The colony needed the full efforts of Ariel’s mother and all of the other acolytes in order to thrive.

  And full effort it was, Ariel thought. The number of Holy Warriors, workers, and drones had grown considerably recently. The demand for power, and therefore acolyte labor, had increased exponentially.

  Ariel herself had begun working shortly after she could walk. Her mother had taught her to read, and then she’d been shown to the turbine chamber, to assist the a
colytes there. She’d started by cleaning and fetching things for the adults, and as her body and mind had developed, she’d taken over responsibility for the upkeep and maintenance of the all-important turbines. The turbines produced the electricity that fed the colony. Without power, there would be no nest, and the Queen would deny them her Blessings and protection, and the colony would die. Any who escaped would be reduced to grubbing in the dirt like the unbelievers. She’d been taught that this could not be allowed to happen, so as the older acolytes had faded away, Ariel had naturally stepped into their roles. This was the order of things.

  Only the hardest, most successful workers were allowed into the bliss of the larvae chamber. The others (which all too frequently included both of Ariel’s parents; they were growing too frail to be truly useful) were left to suffer the tremors and pains of being left wanting.

  Not today, though. Today, Ariel’s mother would not only be there in the chamber, she would have a prime position from which to receive the Child’s Blessing. In fact, the only person better placed than Ariel’s mother would be Ariel herself. For today was Ariel’s First Blessing. She had come of age and could finally, at sixteen years old, take her place as an adult working for the good of the colony.

  “I am ready,” Ariel said, smoothing her hands down the front of her smocklike garment. Though not nearly as fine as queensilk, the adult tunic was far smoother and better fitting than anything she’d been allowed to wear as a juvenile. It had been made from true silk, spun by specialized workers who had emerged from metamorphoses with a specialized gland on their forelegs. Only useful adults wore true silk. Juvenile humans made do with castoffs and whatever they could scrounge from plant fibers.

  That same silk lined the tunnel they followed toward the heart of the colony, dimming the lights shining at distant intervals along the top of the walls. All around them, faces peered out of doorways and alcoves. Hungry, longing looks creased the countenances of those other acolytes following their progress. Some called out to Ariel’s mother. Some, mostly children she knew, or had taught, watched with wide eyes. Some merely fell in behind Ariel, hoping to be allowed to be part of the ceremony. Ariel didn’t know if they’d be successful or not. She’d never seen a Child’s Blessing before.

  As they neared the chamber, the compound eyes of the Holy Warriors began to replace the hollowed, hungry stare of human acolytes. As was proper, Ariel dropped her gaze to the floor and concentrated on following her mother through the twisting, silk-lined tunnels. The sound of mandibles clicking behind her made Ariel very glad that her mother had been thorough anointing Ariel’s new clothing. Without the proper scent, the Holy Warriors wouldn’t recognize her as an acolyte and they would attack to protect the colony. Especially this deep, near the precious Children and the Almighty Queen.

  Soon, they came to the massive double doors leading to the chamber. Ariel had been told that they’d once closed completely, sealing off the chamber from the rest of the world. Over the decades since the Arrival, however, layers of silk had wedged them open until they stood silent—immobile sentinels marking the entrance to the holiest of holies. The heart of the nest. The chamber.

  It was very dim inside. The only light came from a few ancient fixtures that some acolyte or another had rigged up by running lines of the precious queensilk to them. Like in the hallway outside, these fixtures hung high on the walls, shrouded in layers of the conductive silk. Diffused light left the room in a kind of perpetual twilight.

  At least to human eyes. The holy ones had other ways of sensing, ones that didn’t rely upon the presence of light.

  One of the Holy Warriors came forward and inspected Ariel, her six feet surprisingly soft and quick for an animal stretching over four meters in length. Like the tiny ants she resembled, the warrior had a long, lean body encased in a tough exoskeleton with the overwhelmingly large mandibles of her warrior caste. These mandibles opened and closed as she moved, allowing Ariel to glimpse the jagged, cutting edges that lined each meter-long appendage. The warrior stood so close that Ariel imagined she could see her antennae quiver as she tasted the air around Ariel, testing for the proper anointing chemicals. After a breathless moment, the warrior dipped her head and stepped to the side, allowing Ariel to pass.

  “Follow the Holy Warrior,” Ariel’s mother murmured, her voice threaded through with equal parts reverence and excitement. Ariel steeled her own nerves and obeyed, keeping her eyes on the fur-covered chitin of her guide’s posterior. With every step onto the increasingly thick silk, the analytical part of Ariel’s mind whispered that her steps would be noticed and transmitted as a series of vibrations to every warrior present…and to the Almighty Queen herself. Perhaps for the first time, she would know of Ariel’s existence.

  The thought was both frightening and exhilarating.

  Finally, the tunnel emptied out into an open area, a three-dimensional obloid bubble within the sea of queensilk. Very little light penetrated here, just enough for Ariel to make out the outline of her guide and to see that the walls forming the obloid were pocked with alcoves, some small, some larger. Her steps must have slowed, because her guide turned around and clicked her oversized mandibles in a warning. Ariel jumped. The Holy Warrior’s message was clear: Follow instructions or be destroyed. They would brook no disobedience here in this holiest of places. Ariel swallowed hard and followed closer, mentally berating herself for her inattention.

  The bubble was large enough that the top ceiling and both side walls curved away into darkness as they made their way directly across from the entrance. Once the opposite wall came into view, Ariel could see that her guide was leading her to one of the smallest alcoves, just a meter or so off the center path that they’d taken.

  “A small one, that is good,” Ariel’s mother breathed, making Ariel jump again. She’d quite forgotten her mother’s presence during this unnerving journey. “The larger ones give much more of a powerful Blessing. It might be too much for you for your first time.”

  Ariel nodded and once again noticed the bit of longing she’d heard in her mother’s voice. She’d always sounded thus. And finally Ariel would learn why.

  The Holy Warrior stood aside and Ariel’s mother murmured that this was Ariel’s signal to approach the alcove.

  Within, lit only by the faintest of light filtering through from somewhere, lay the Child. White and helpless, she lay nestled in the silk alcove, wriggling and opening her mouth. Ariel’s mother made a cooing sound.

  “Is she not beautiful?” Ariel’s mother whispered as she placed her own hand on the back of Ariel’s neck. “She is perfect for your first time. Now, simply put forth your hand to call down her blessing upon you.”

  Ariel gulped and reached forward, fingers trembling. With her mind a riot of cautions and self-doubt, she brushed her fingertips against the invisibly fine hairs covering the Child’s white, soft chitin.

  Pleasure exploded within her body, roaring up from her loins to engulf each of her senses in an overload of joy. Every nerve ending lit up in incandescent revelry. Her ears rang with the melody of gladness. Her lips tasted of pure indulgence. The scent of bliss engulfed her, threatening to drown her in such happiness that she’d never breathe again. All of it closed around her, leaving her gasping in the darkness as delectation overwhelmed her mind.

  * * *

  William Schilling, Baron of Ironhelm, stared intently at the messenger before him.

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?” Schilling said, scowling.

  “No, milord, no news from your man in the Hive,” the messenger said, carefully keeping his gaze on the floor. “His handler waited an extra week. It’s unusual, to say the least.”

  “Highly.” Schilling steepled his fingers before his chin. “It’s possible our friend ran afoul of the Queen, or found himself in the belly of one of her soldiers. Unfortunate, if that’s the case.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Thank you. You may go.”

  The messenger bowed, turned, and qu
ickly took his leave. Schilling allowed himself a tight smile—displays of fear in his presence, no matter how small or trivial, never failed to please him.

  “Lady Moore,” he said, turning to the beautiful young woman next to him, “What are your thoughts on this matter?”

  “As you said, my lord. It would be unfortunate if something had happened to…what was his name, again?”

  “Called himself Gunslinger, for some reason,” Schilling said.

  “Ah, yes, rather silly, I thought.”

  “Allowing for a few personality quirks in reliable assets tends to get better results, I’ve found,” he said. “At least until those assets become less than reliable. Speaking of which, how is my pet dragon?”

  She was good at controlling her emotions, but he caught the anger in her eyes at the words.

  “Quetzalith is fine, my lord.” Her words were clipped, her voice even. “In fact, if my lord pleases, I’d like to take him out to hunt this afternoon.”

  “By all means, my dear,” he said. “One more thing before you go, however. Gunslinger’s last message mentioned a Gant population growth, and his suspicions that the Queen has matured. I need verification, and I only trust the cultists so far. Having honest information flowing my direction is imperative. Whom would you recommend?”

  She thought about her answer for some moments, her tanned brow furrowing in concentration.