Battle Across Worlds

by Dean Chalmers

  Perhaps I‘m too old for this, he thought. Gray-haired old Neron, who’d already been an officer with the Flying Squad back when they rode in horse-drawn chariots. Chariots!

  The younger pilots had to show the way … But at least, he could follow their example.

  Neron shot towards the monstrous Baek Tayon vessel, skimming the top of the hull until he came to the bay, then angling his nose down to fire into it.

  He fired his gun, and the brilliant stream of ambia struck the bay. After a moment, there was a whistling explosion of white light at the rear of the ship, and the whole of the great vessel shook.

  Was Lanaya herself inside this monster?

  If so, the Flying Squad would do its best to make this world her graveyard.

  -42-

  When the blazing white light and the shrill sound which had consumed everything finally faded, Jarlus was surprised to find himself still alive and standing in the corridor of the flying fortress.

  But what about the da’ta se?

  The circular door-hatch opened to his touch and he plunged through in a crouching jog, hurrying down the low tunnel towards the chamber where they’d been imprisoned.

  They were still there, and they were both still breathing. The Princess had her arms around Ralley, who hung from the manacle which bound his right wrist.

  “Thank gods!” he sighed. “You’re all right.”

  “Jarlus!” they exclaimed in unison—and their eyes flashed open.

  Jarlus stared dumbly, his mouth open, unable to believe what he saw.

  Their eyes!

  The Princess’s gold-yellow eyes had been her most striking feature since infancy. And Ralley’s emerald green irises had been as foreign as everything else about him—that shade had never been seen in Damerya before.

  But now! Now, her golden orbs peered out from Ralley’s pale face, while her own eyes had taken on his emerald shade.

  “Jarlus,” Taxamia asked, “is something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Nothing important, anyway. We have to get out, get off this ship.” He looked to Ralley’s bound hand. “Is there something we can use on that chain?” he asked.

  “One moment,” Ralley said. He nudged Taxamia away, then grabbed the chain with his free hand while he pulled the manacled arm down. Grimacing, he applied his strength—and, with a soft clink, the weakened link parted and the chain fell away, and he was free.

  “You did it this time,” Jarlus said.

  Taxamia nodded. “It’s the fire. That gives us strength. We used the convergence to help it along.”

  She also seemed remarkably assured now, her delicate face calm and composed despite the situation.

  Jarlus led them down the tunnel, then out of the low hatch and into the corridor, where they could stand again.

  Once they had emerged into the corridor, he reached down to his belt and pulled out the rapier, holding it out for Ralley.

  “You’ll want this,” he said.

  He was surprised when both the Princess and her betrothed reached for the weapon at the same time.

  After a moment, she nodded to Ralley and stepped back, and he took the sword.

  “Thank you,” he told Jarlus. “I thought I’d never see this again.”

  “Thank me later,” Jarlus said. “Right now we have to get off this ship. There’s some kind of flyer bay in the stern, I saw a small transport and—“

  “We’re not leaving yet,” the Princess declared, shaking her head.

  “We can’t,” Ralley added.

  Jarlus groaned, staring into their mismatched pairs of eyes. “Be reasonable, dammit!”

  “She has an ambia reserve for the cannon,” Ralley explained. His tone was that of parent explaining something to a child. “She’s already used the weapon, and we can’t let her strike another target. We must go for—“

  PAKKA-BOOM!

  There was an explosion somewhere above them. Ralley and Taxamia jumped back towards the inner wall, pressing their backs to it, and Jarlus followed their lead.

  SSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH …

  A loud hissing noise was approaching them, growing louder as it came down the corridor, a menacing wall of noise rushing towards them.

  Suddenly, white light crackled on the outer wall. There was a sound like shattering glass, and a section of wall a few feet up the corridor from them blew outward, leaving a jagged gap.

  A wind rose in the corridor as air was sucked towards the opening.

  When the hissing stopped, the da’ta se carefully went forward, holding hands and still leaning against the inner wall.

  “Watch!” Jarlus cautioned, but they kept moving forward. He followed them closely, cursing under his breath.

  The wind died down, and they all looked out of the gap in the wall.

  Jarlus could see the terrain hundreds of feet below. There were streams, and cultivated fields, and groves of trees of a type he didn’t recognize.

  “It’s Garatayne,” the Princess said. When she spoke the country’s name, she had the same accent that Ralley had—as if she were speaking as a native.

  Ralley nodded. “We’ve come through to my world. If she shot the compressed ambia cannon at the Key, and the energy caused a transference …

  “It is possible,” Taxamia agreed. “But we certainly did cross over. And the ship is heading north.”

  “To town,” Ralley said. “Bryttington is defenseless. We have to get to the controls and stop it.”

  Now, Jarlus could see flyers flitting around the ship. A Dameryan craft shot towards them, turning to aim at the front of the ship, ambia lancing from its needle-gun.

  Jarlus tugged on the pair’s shoulders. “This ship is still under attack! Get away from that damned hole!”

  Sticking close to the inner wall, they made their way down the corridor.

  “This is reckless,” Jarlus told them. “This ship is damaged, what if it falls with us inside?”

  “We have to stop the cannon,” Ralley insisted.

  “What if it’s already been destroyed in the blasts?” Jarlus asked.

  Ralley shook his head. “Doubtful. Most likely the conduits for the firing mechanism run along the very inside of the ship, protected at the core.”

  Now he sounded like that smug bastard Gaelti! Jarlus couldn’t stand it. “Since when are you an expert on this aon madness, boy?” he snapped.

  “I’m not,” the youth calmly replied. “We are not experts, merely learners.”

  Taxamia nodded her agreement.

  “WE are not?” Jarlus asked, completely puzzled now. “Ah … never mind. Let’s get on with it!”

  They made their way slowly down the corridor, Jarlus watching for any sign of the enemy, or sudden explosions, or gods-knew-what other dangers they might face.

  Thirty feet ahead of them, the corridor bent inward, following the contours of the hull. They couldn’t see past this bend.

  ”Careful,” Jarlus said. “I’ll scout.”

  He slid forward along the wall, and had only gotten ten feet ahead of them when two crystal armor-clad, gun-bearing soldiers appeared around the bend.

  These guards saw Jarlus and the freed da’ta se and raised their ambia rifles, shouting: “STOP!”

  Jarlus charged forward, dropping to one knee as thin streams of ambia whistled over his shoulders.

  He drew his knife and threw it. The baekon blade spun as it flew, and there was a wet CRACK as the claw-blade embedded itself in the forehead of the soldier on the right.

  As the man dropped his gun and fell, Jarlus turned to tell the da’ta se to get back …

  But Ralley Quenn was already running ahead.

  Ten feet from the second foe, he threw himself down on his rear and slid across the smooth crystal floor, his legs out in front of him and his rapier in his hand.

  He slid into the feet of the startled soldier, then stabbed the man’s ankle with his rapier, thrusting the thin blade deep. The soldier cried out. Dropping his
gun, he reached for the sword at his side.

  But he was too slow. In one swift motion, Ralley pulled the blade from the man’s leg, then flicked it up to split his throat wide open.

  Gasping, the man fell forward as Ralley slid out of the way of his falling corpse.

  Then, Ralley was up, waving his sword to urge them onward.

  Taxamia rushed past Jarlus, slamming him into the wall with her eager strength. She bent down to retrieve one of the fallen guard’s guns, then continued her charge forward.

  “Wait!” Jarlus called. “You’ll get yourselves killed doing that!”

  Damn it all!

  Whatever fire urged them onward, they had to learn to temper it. Jarlus had spent his life as hunter, soldier, bodyguard, protector … But in dealing with these two whom he’d vowed to protect above all, he was helpless.

  Anxiety and frustration gnawed at his belly as he grabbed his knife and one of the dead men’s guns and rushed after the heedless pair, cursing softly all the while.

  If these were to be the last minutes of his life, they were certainly going to be very long minutes …

  -43-

  Twigs snapped and leaves stuck to the canopy of Jack’s wingless flyer as he jetted down the forest path. In places it was barely as wide as the flyer itself, and maneuvering was tight. But Jack knew every twist and turn. At least the trees provided some cover …

  Just then, an ambia blast whistled down from above. Jack looked back to see a section of the path just behind his craft explode, the energy gouging a nasty rent in the earth.

  He didn’t need to look up to know that Aubren was still above him. Jack had hoped to lure him down onto the path, where the winding way and the tunnels of trees might lead his pursuer to a fatal collision.

  But Aubren was staying high, and tracking him from above; this was his game now, and while Jack racked his brain trying to come up with some kind of strategy to counter his opponent, he had to keep running.

  Ahead of him, the path ran straight down a gentle slope. He could see a sunlit opening where it emerged from the trees. That would be the edge of the Guardian’s land—and the end of his protective cover.

  He shot forward into the open, then eased the harness down to raise his flyer up just enough to hop the fence before aiming his craft for the faerie mound.

  Even this little jump had the wingless flyer vibrating badly and the control harness bucking back at him.

  Perhaps I was wrong about the wings being mostly ornamental, he thought.

  He meant to pass the faerie mound and then take the track that ran west out of the estate, where it intersected a stream that ran to the sea. He would use the stream as a “road” of sorts, a shortcut to reach another series of wooded paths further north.

  If Aubren would let him get that far …

  As he jetted low across the estate grounds, he was startled to see that the faerie mound was now bared of grass and earth: just a stark pillar of dark crystal poking from a bowl which had been burned into the earth, with the finger-like obelisks sticking from the top of it.

  There was a deep-blasted trench leading towards where the Guardian’s mansion should have been …

  But no house. Only the bits of wood and stone and glass scattered everywhere attested to its fate.

  My God, he thought. The Baek Tayon have destroyed the Guardian’s estate?

  Much was at stake, Ralley had said—the fate of two worlds. But now, as Jack’s flyer skidded and bucked across what was left of the Guardian’s lawn, all he could think about was what was at stake for him.

  He saw a full moon mirrored in a wide river surrounded by majestic cliffs, an iron angel decorating a clay-brick wall, a stubborn and beautiful girl with eyes that flamed like the sunset …

  Tesha. He wanted to be with her again, he wanted to see Damerya again. He just wanted to live. A selfish thought, but it was true.

  Dear God, he silently prayed, if I get through this, I promise to balance courage with caution, and never to take your gifts or my own life lightly.

  Also, he added, I vow to never, ever again let any foe shoot off my wings!

  Amen.

  #

  Ed Bocke ran like all of hell itself was after him, pulling Julea behind him.

  He threw himself forward with every step, heedless of his clumsy right foot. If he stayed in motion, perhaps there’d be less chance of stumbling …

  He didn’t look back, but Julea’s slim hand was clasped in his own with a viselike grip.

  His two goals were very simple: keep on moving, and don’t let go of her.

  The storm of white fire had ended, but Ed wasn’t taking any chances. It was only by their rare good luck that they had avoided being blasted away, he knew. Had they stayed closer to the mound, or run directly for the house, they would both have been killed.

  Where was safety now? He didn’t know. There were odd shapes in the sky, one of them very big and much too solid to be a cloud.

  He had a sudden vision of thousands of Krael-things like Krotan descending from the sky, but that was just too disturbing and he had to put it out of his head.

  “Here’s … the bridge!” Julea shouted, panting behind him.

  They had come to the stream that bordered the estate on the western side. Here, an arched wooden bridge crossed the rain-swollen span of water.

  It was stupid and superstitious, wasn’t it—to think that crossing water would protect a person from the forces of darkness?

  Still, it gave them a goal. Cross the water, and then go north …

  They were halfway across when Ed heard a whistling noise and saw two large objects rushing at them from downstream. Startled, Ed froze.

  The first object was white and gold and, as it skimmed along the water towards them, Ed had the bizarre impression that it was some sort of flying chariot, with a glass cage surrounding the driver’s seat.

  The second thing was a frightening hunk of dark crystal that rushed through the sky behind the “chariot,” firing white bolts which threw up crackling clouds of steam and energy when they hit the streambed.

  “Rutting hell!” Ed swore, shaking off his paralysis. He tugged Julea ahead, trying to get them over the bridge, before—

  There was a loud whoosh, and Ed looked down as the “chariot” shot under the bridge. For just an instant, he got a glimpse of the driver of the thing as it rushed past.

  “No!” he exclaimed. “It can’t—”

  WHISTLE-BOOM!

  The second object soared overhead, blasting the bridge as it passed. There was a shower of tiny splinters, and Julea screamed as the bridge tilted down under their feet.

  But when the other end of the destroyed bridge splashed down into the water, their own end was still touching the shore, bent but unbroken.

  Grunting, Ed pulled Julea up onto the solid ground at the other side. She was pale and breathless, clutching the music box as if it held all that was precious to her.

  “We’ll go over in those trees,” he said, pointing to a place alongside the northward path. “Have to rest.”

  “What … what were those things that came past?” she asked, trembling.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  But the mad thing was … what he had thought he had seen, in that instant when the first one, the chariot-thing, had rushed under them …

  The driver had been blond and bearded, and was wearing a rutting plumed hat.

  It was Jack Chestire. He was sure if it!

  So the bastard Dragoon was still alive, and a part of all this?

  #

  There were people up there!

  Jack saw them as he approached the bridge—but it was too late to get the flyer out of the stream and alter his course. He made it safely under the bridge, but then Aubren shot at them as he passed over.

  Cruel son of a …!

  Jack glanced back and saw the pair on the bridge scrambling to safety, which was a relief.

  Funny … Perhaps it was just
the shock of the situation playing with him, but he could have sworn that the man was Constable Bocke, and that his companion had been a young lady in a blue wedding dress.

  Odd, but then he’d seen many odd things today.

  Still, if Aubren was going to go taking spiteful shots at any passers-by, Jack had to be careful. He couldn’t lead him up island. Northward was Bryttington, and too many people would be in the way of their little duel.

  Jack took his flyer out of the streambed, finding an eastward path which he knew would soon bend towards the rocky southern shore of the island. Aubren followed, blasting in his wake.

  He’s apt to get bored soon, Jack thought. Better make this quick, before he stops playing and starts getting serious …

  He had an idea. It was desperate—possibly hopeless—but it was the only trick he could think of that might work in his situation.

  If he could only get to the water …

  Weaving the flyer down the path, he swiped the side of a few trees in his haste, ripping off bark and forcing him to compensate rapidly to retain control of the craft.

  Aubren stayed above him, firing regularly, spurring him onward.

  At last, he could see the ocean. The trees parted ahead, and there was a little promontory, like a natural stone pier, leading out towards the gentle waves of the briny expanse.

  There was another whistling blast from above. This time, the ambia lanced out in front of him to blast the trunk of a large oak that hung over the path. Its support vaporized, the tree fell.

  Jack reacted just in time. Pushing the control harness down forcefully, he lofted the protesting flyer fifteen feet into the air. His craft shot between two heavy limbs of the fallen tree, snapping off branches and scattering leaves in his wake.

  So, Jack thought, he IS getting serious.

  After a second, the Hummingbird dropped back down hard, the bottom actually striking the ground for a moment, the craft skidding wildly forwards.

  His craft sliding back and forth, Jack frantically adjusted the ambia jet steering levers.

  He managed to guide the flyer down the promontory and out over the ocean shallows. There was a wide shelf of reef here, he knew, which is why ships always docked on the northern end of the island.