Lin Carter, page 11
And in the same moment, from the opposite side of the cavern, a crowd of disheveled Pelairi burst out of another entrance. The two groups spied each other simultaneously.
Raul raced across the cavern, followed by the others. Asloth flashed nakedly in his fist, glistening in the dim illumination.
There was a soundless flash, a puff of white fire—a long, thin, intensely brilliant needle of energy speared past his shoulder to strike a man behind him. He heard the horrible sizzling sound of human flesh searing in a laser-beam and a full-throated cry of agony as the man fell.
“They have energy-weapons! Quick—take shelter behind these hull-platesl” he bellowed, scrambling behind one of
the curving shields of proton-steel. Panting hoarsely, gasping for breath, the others followed his lead. Another laser-beam flared in a dazzling shower of sparks as it raked the shield, but the heavy metal was sufficient to block the ray.
They were safe—but trapped! Helplessly pinned down, with the Axthon’s warriors free to advance to the skimmer. Raul felt a terrible bottomless pit of despair open up within him, draining his will to fight.
“Are any of you armed?” he snapped. It was the small, plump Chahuna, Bar-Kusac, the man who had been his guide when first he arrived on Ophmar, who replied for them all.
“Only with steel blades, kazar.”
Raul clenched his teeth, grinding savagely. Beside him, the huge blond hulk of Gundorm Varl crouched. “Say th’ word, commander, and we’ll rush ’em!”
He shook his tousled thatch.
“No good, Gundorm. They could pick us off before we could get halfway across the cavern.”
Another sizzling beam played over the shield, spitting up a rain of blinding sparks.
“Listen!”
They huddled there, ears straining, as a shuffling, slapping sound came to them.
Shari cursed vividly. “They are crossing the cavern! They will reach the skimmer within a moment—”
Suddenly Raul reached out and seized his arm.
“The dampener—you still have it?”
Shari’s eyes widened with delight.
“Aye!—but will it work on energy-weapons?”
Raul shrugged. “Arion knows! But try it—quick—time’s running out!” while the chieftain fumbled, searching in his robes for the indispensable little tool, Raul whispered swift instructions to the others.
“If the gadget works, it will kill their lasers. We’ll have only a few seconds to rush them, before they discover their guns don’t work. Every man must be ready—sword in hand!”
“Here!” Shari breathed. “Shall I-?”
Raul nodded vigorously.
“Ready, warriorsi Make every second count—”
As Shari activated the crystal rod, Raul rose to his feet and shouted to attract the Pelairi’s attention.
One of them snapped a bolt at his head—or tried to. But nothing happened. The pistol would not firel
In a flash, Raul was over the barrier and hurtling upon the astounded guards—the others pelting along at his side. Faces mirroring shock and astonishment, the Pelairi leveled the deadly snouts of laser pistols at the oncoming men— to no result.
Then Asloth sank to the hilt in one guard’s bulky chest. Ripping the sword clear, Raul snapped a quick chop-cut at the lifted arm of a second, half-severing the limb. Shouts and cries of the assaulted Pelairi mingled with fierce, triumphant war-cries of the Rilk6. His slim blade flashed out, piercing the throat of one of the Arthon’s pet wizards. Beside him, bellowing out a wordless song of joy, Gundorm Varl was battering in the head of another with a length of iron pipe he had snatched up from the litter of spare parts and miscellaneous machinery.
All was turmoil—utter confusion. They had come upon the guards as they stood in a clump, and the two groups now intermixed—dangerous for close-quarters fighting, when it is hard to tell friend from enemy. Luckily, the Pelairi were garbed in the saffron livery of the Arthon’s private guard, and were thus distinguishable. Through the confusion of strike, recoil, thrust, parry, strike again, Linton caught glimpses of what was going on about him.
He saw Zarkandu, nude to the waist, save for tattered ribbons of black cloth which still adhered to his intact collar, his bare brown torso laced with scarlet blood from a shoulder-cut, grinned with a fighting snarl that revealed the flash of bared teeth, as he struck away a sword with his bare arm and drove his dirk home in a Pelairi heart. Beyond him, the old Shann of Kartoy, shouting the savage rhythms of a Rilk6 war-song, was dueling with two grim-faced Pelairi at once, swords flickering as agilely as serpents’ tongues. In the brief glimpse Raul caught before surging, battling figures obscured his view, he saw the graybeard parry a stroke and strike—sinking his steel through his opponent’s heart with a flawless stroke of superb swordsmanship.
And behind them all, straddling the steel barricade, Shari stood aiming the dampener at the knot of struggling men —and cursing ferociously that he was doomed to stand “idly” by, and miss so glorious a battle!
But then suddenly Raul was too busy to note what the others were doing, for two swordsmen engaged him, too, as the Sharui. Asloth sang and rang in the thrilling song of steel beating upon steel, as the golden blade wove a sparkling web of steel between him and the two enemies. Truly was the “Golden Girl” forged in a fortunate hour—a sharbaré, in very truth—nor did ever Mnardus God-Smith beat out a finer blade on his divine anvil! In his grip, she seemed to come to life with a strange power of self-movement.
Almost without action of his own will or sword-skill, her saber-blade and rapier-point flashed through the deadly air —drawing a thread of scarlet across one man’s belly and toppling him to the floor, feet tangled in his own bowels— sinking a foot in the heart of his second opponent—and then flashing free to engage the steel of a third.
He fought in a timeless small continuum, occupied only by himself and Asloth, and endless Pelairi who arose to confront him—and fell in a gush of arterial crimson. Sound of the combat around him faded—vision smeared into a gray blue—exhaustion seeped through his dancing body like a slow, heavy fluid, weighing down his arm, dulling his brain, slowing his motions. One blade sped past his heavy guard to draw a red line across his cheek—another slim épée sank painlessly (and without harm) through the flesh part of his thigh. Another sword, swept in a vicious, back-handed disemboweling stroke, cut through the fabric of his tunic and grazed his middle as he sprang clumsily back to elude it.
Although fatigue numbed him like a drug, the training of years of sword-skill sustained him … or was it the fierce, singing spirit that inhabited the sword, pouring vitality into his exhausted body from its slim, living length of steel? He did not know. He fought on, as one in an endless dream.
And then, colors emerged from the dull haze that enwrapped him, and he suddenly found himself alone, staggering but still on his feet, fighting for breath, lungs heaving and throat on fire as if with every gasping breath he drew in fiery vapors. But—miraculously—no enemy faced him.
As the spinning mists faded from his vision, and he looked around with keener comprehension—he saw one figure racing across the floor towards the skimmer.
Yaklarl
The cowardly Warlord, seeing the struggling host engaged, had dodged around the clot of battling figures, and was making for the ship, leaving his followers to die fighting.
Raul stumbled, seeking to move, but his exhausted muscles could not be forced into action. He glanced around with despair, seeking aid, but all his friends were engaged and would not even hear if he had shouted. He snatched up a laser in desperation from one of the fallen and yelled frantically, windmilling his arms to catch Shari’s attention. When the chieftain noticed him, he gestured violently, pantomiming to Shari that he was to switch off the dampener—and at last, Shari comprehended, and the pistol came to life in Raul’s numb hands.
By now the Arthon was entering the small atmospheric flyer. While bloodless fingers fumbled to fire the gun, he could see within the ship through the transparent observation blister, the bulky, cloaked form hunched over what must be a communicator.
There was no time to run after him. He raised and sighted the gun coolly—and fired.
The blazing needle of white fire snapped through the tough plastic and seared through the Arthon. His figure convulsed galvanically as the ray tore through his body and exploded in a flare of sparks against the control panel. Raul snapped off the weapon and watched dully as the dead body fell from view.
Had he been too late?
ELEVEN
When Yaklar fell, the battle was over. Seeing their Warlord slain, the remaining Pelairi lost heart and surrendered. Tossing away their weapons, they lifted empty hands. Shari took command, and herded the prisoners off to a dungeon cell, while Zarkandu summoned help for the injured.
The men crowded around Linton where he stood, the laser still clutched in one lax hand, recovering his breath. He traded jokes and compliments with them, as a leader should, and praised their fighting skill.
Zambar, the giant, ebon Faftol who was the Kahani’s own guard, grinned at him with a flashing smile.
“Did I not say he was a man, the Shakar?” he demanded of the others. “Did I not say here was a true man at last, to lead us in battle? Hu-ah! The golden sword reaped a full harvest of blood—did not mine own eyes see it?” Linton slapped him on the shoulder. “And did not my own eyes see the havoc wrought by thy great hammer, O Zambar? Aye! Men fell before it as full sheaves of grain fall before the reaper … thy hammer drove many souls deep into the floor of hell this day!”
Mightily pleased by the Shakar’s praise, the black giant grinned and strutted, beaming with pride.
“Drink, lord—replenish thy strength, for I too saw bright Asloth tirelessly ply through waves of men,” the deep-voiced old Shann of Kartoy boomed heartily, handing Linton a skin of cold wine. He drank deeply, gratefully, feeling warm new strength seep into his weary muscles.
Shari came up to them, his stem face grim.
“Alas! Shame unto me that I must stand aside when such a battle is fought before my eyes!” he groaned. “No honor unto my name nor my house, this day!”
“No honor!” Zarkandu laughed, happily. “By the Seven-had not thy vokarthu magic drained the venom from their guns, we would all be wandering the cold halls of the restless dead this moment. Honor, and thrice-honor, are thine, O chieftain!”
Raul drew the Yellow-Eyed one aside.
“How did they get loose in the first place?” he demanded. Shari shrugged.
“In truth, I know not, O Shakarl For these eyes saw them securely locked and under stout guard. Perchance some agent of the Arthon was planted amongst our men—”
“Where’s Wilm Bardry?”
“He has gone to the radar control, to see if Yaklar didst succeed in summoning his fleet. Honor to thy name, that thy hand slew the Outworlder, whose name henceforth in our memory shall he Yaklar Truce-Breakerl”
Then the battered warriors drew aside, for the Kahani was among them, slim as a girl in her white gown. Her eyes shone with triumph and her soft voice rang with pride as she praised their prowess and called them each by name.
“And you, too, Lin-ton! You more than all the others—
O Shari, how right you were! This was the man to be our Shakarl”
She gave him her hand and he took it and held it, feeling foolish, feeling all his manly competence fade away before her bright eyes. Standing close to her, the dry and spicy scent of her in his nostrils, inhaling the heady odors of candlewood, he didn’t know what to do—to kiss her hand, or to take her in his arms—so he just stood and gawked, feeling as awkward as a boy experiencing the pangs of first-love.
But when Wilm Bardry, white-faced, was coming up to them, and the dangerous moment passed—making room for other dangers.
“Raul. They’re coming. Radar spotted them heading down the Rift. They’ll be overhead within ten minutes,” Bardry said flatly.
The Kahani paled. Shari cursed bitterly: “Then all this was for nothing! For we have—what is the phrase?—‘won the battle, but lost the war!’ ”
Raul was not ready to give up. If defeat must come, he would make it pay dearly for every inch.
“Shari—Innald—deploy your troops! How swiftly can we get your ships into the air, to fight?”
She said: “Too late! Too late, my Shakar! They are stored at the foot of the gorge, under camouflage. By the time my pilots could reach the ships, the Pelaiii would be overhead to gun them down as they arose to do battle!” “Then, for honor, get your people into the deepest caves —hide from the bombardment. If the fleet lands, we can fight a delaying guerrilla action—”
“Wait!” Innald cried. “I have forgotten—curse my slow wits! There is a small battery of lasers on the cliff above these caverns. I know not if they will serve to fight off a fleet, but it is better than nothing!”
“That’s better!” Wilm laughed, joyously. “Where do we find them? Raul and I have Naval training—we’ll try to hold off the fleet while you disperse your people into the deepest caverns.”
Shari pointed. “There is an elevator behind that door. It leads to the top of the cliff. The battery is disguised under painted tarpaulins. I will show you—”
Raul shook his head.
“No. We’ll locate them. You take command down here, chieftain. Get the pilots into their ships. Deploy the troops into the best bomb-shelters you can find. Movel C’mon, Wilm, we’ve a job of work to do upstairs—”
“Commander! I’m cornin’ with you,” Gundorm Varl protested, hurrying up to them.
Raul refused. “Help Shari get the people out of here— Wilm and I can man the guns—wait! Better yet, Gundorm, get to the radar control and have the men there stay at their posts. We may need them to give us a fix on the fleet. No arguments, now—I haven’t the time!”
And then he and Bardry were racing across the cavern and into the elevator, slamming the door shut behind them and jabbing at the controls with frantic haste. In moments like this, Raul always experienced a curious sensation as if time itself were slowing down while his reactions speeded up. Every motion seemed to take three times as long to execute as was normal. This was a power-elevator, and he could feel it smash his weight down into his heels as it lifted up the shaft, but to his tense impatience, the trip seemed endlessly long—he felt as though any second they should feel the bone-shaking impact of a planet-buster bomb …
or hear the supersonic shriek of guided missiles cleaving down through the thin, cold air over their heads.
Actually, it took only seconds before the elevator stopped and the doors snapped open and they were out in the open, a bitter wind lashing their cloaks and tugging at their hair, running across the great dome of rock under the tumultuous medusa-mane of radiance that was the mighty nebula. The breath burned down his throat, searing his lungs. His legs jolted to the impact of his headlong race against time—he shot a glance aloft—but the fleet was not yet within sight.
“There it is—that pile of boulders, over there!” Wilm shouted breathelessly. They headed towards it.
“Right!”
The nearer he came, the more the pile of rocks began to resemble a cleverly-painted canvas. With numb hands he slashed Asloth’s keen blade through the strands holding down the tarpaulin against the gale, ripping off the cover and exposing the battery of lasers. Never had cold metal looked so good to him! It was a ten-beam battery of 57-microns, smaller and less powerful than the great surface-to- space battery on Valadon, but fully competent to dispatch a few small ships.
Automatic habit-pattems imposed by endless hours of Naval gun-drill took command of his body. He slammed switches and ignited the firing-chambers, slapped wheels and watched the long glittering muzzles begin to elevate. At his side, Wilm was using the battery’s communicator.
“Radar! Radar! Give us a fix, will you?” Bardry yelled. A tinny voice crackled back at them from the speaker.
“They’re coming into range now, sir, braking for atmospheric entry.” It was Gundorm Varl’s voice, Linton knew.
“Give me a fix, Gundorm!”
“Right, sir! Set your guns at R.A. 14 hours, 36.2 minutes; Dec. -60° 38”—no, cancel that! Cancel that! The bastards are cornin’ in too damn fast for manual. Wait a minute— yes! Set your battery on ‘automatic’—I see there’s a tracldng-computer hookup here. We can fire the guns automatically from here—find the switch?”
Raul searched the panel for the switch.
“Right!” His hand went out to close it
“Stop right there. Don’t move, or I shoot!”
Raul froze.
“Back up ten paces—come on, move, Linton! That’s it. Now turn around, slowly, slowly. Drop those weapons, both of you—” the cold, hard voice from behind him demanded. Raul let his laser pistol and Asloth slip through his fingers. He turned to see a stooping figure in dirty Rilk6 garments covering himself and Bardry with a neuronic scrambler. Blinking his eyes against tears caused by the biting wind, he sought to make out the features within the suede cowl. A lean, sour-mouthed brown face—vaguely familiar—
“Pertinax!”
The sour mouth smiled primly.
“So I was right all the time about you, eh Linton! You really were a traitor, all the while.”
Raul shook his head numbly, as if to clear his mind.
“Listen, Pertinax, I don’t know how you got here or what it is you think I’m doing, but for all the stars in space, man, let me get back to those guns! It’s our only chance—”
Pertinax spat.
“You treacherous turncoat! Enough of your lies. I came here yesterday, in disguise, with a number of other ‘recruits’ for this invasion. And all I heard from the dirty natives was how a great Shakar from the Inner Stars, a Commander Linton, had come to join the Kahani and lead her troops, along with those of other rebel princes from the Border-worlds, to invade and sack Omphale and the neighboring stars. You bloody-handed traitor! Lead a pack of grubby natives against your own people, will you? But I’ve got you now!”
