by Jack Conner
Ruegger held his breath and turned to Danielle. She looked grim, distracted, but suddenly he felt her hand in his, and clutched it tightly. The next few seconds were critical.
“Closing,” repeated the human. “Five feet ... another rush! Hold!”
A beat passed. Then another.
“Shit,” growled Kharker. “Unit Six, you still there?”
The human gave no answer.
Ruegger strained his eyes to pinpoint exactly where Unit Six was making its stand. He half expected to see the ground buck and heave at underground explosions, but he saw nothing of the sort. He could feel Danielle’s hand tighten in his own, and then her shoulder was pressing against his, perhaps seeking comfort. He hoped he would be able to provide it.
Then, as suddenly as he had gone silent, Robby leapt to life again. “Sirs, still there?”
“Yes,” answered Mauchlery. “What’s your condition?”
“I ... it’s me, Corporal Strite. Sarge is dead ... all the others are, too. We … we were attacked by zombies. Strong ones.”
“Balaklava blood will do that, Corporal. Are they all dead?”
“Yes. I’m all that’s left ... Please advise.”
“Your call, Darkling,” Francois said.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Your call, Ruegger.”
He thought for a moment. If the Libertarians sensed that one of their teams had stopped moving, they would converge on the spot to find out what happened, and that could be disastrous. So he said, “Unit Six ... Corporal ... are you listening?”
“Yes, sirs,” Robby said.
“Follow the angle the Libbies were taking, keep circling. Make a lot of noise, vibrations. Act like you’re the three zombies you just helped kill. Do that and the Libbies might think nothing out of the ordinary happened.”
“But what of Sarge and the others?”
The man’s voice sounded so wretched Ruegger wanted to tell him to forget it, forget everything. Instead, he said, “You’ll have to leave them for now. Later, we can give them a burial fit for heroes—but for the moment, just kick it in gear and plow some snow. Understood?”
“Yes, sirs.”
“Good thinking,” offered Kharker.
“It was the only way,” Ruegger said. “Just hope it works.”
A beat passed and another Councilman emerged out onto the balcony. “All Teams are in position,” he announced. “At your word, they’re ready to spring.”
“About fucking time,” Kharker said. “We just lost three good men due to your incompetence.”
“Enough,” said Roche Sarnova. “It’s time to do our jobs.” Addressing the Councilman, he said, “Tell Units Two through Five to make themselves known to the Libbies. Lead them toward the Teams.”
“Yes, my lord.” The Councilman scurried back inside.
“This should be interesting,” said Kharker.
“Let’s hope not,” Mauchlery replied.
“Unit Six,” Ruegger said to the human. “Corporal Strite, are you still there?”
“Yes, my lords. Still circling.”
“Your job is done, Corporal. Well done, I might add. Sorry about your mates. They served their kingdom honorably. As for you, it’s time to make your way back to the high ground, where the Teams are. Don’t worry if the Libbies pick you up; the Teams will guard your rear.”
“Yes, sirs.” Even through the human radio, the corporal’s voice sounded relieved.
Still to the human, Ruegger said, “Robby, shift your focus to Unit Seven.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man replied. This time it was in Robby’s own voice, not tainted by the inflections of others. Abruptly, the voice changed, became that of a gruff and weary sergeant—the leader of Unit Eight, which was the Unit farthest from the Sabo’s boulder and the one closest to the point where Ruegger estimated Subaire’s forces to be.
“Unit Eight here,” came the voice.
“Eight, what is your position?”
“Static, sirs. The only movement from Subaire’s area was a brief surge toward Unit Seven’s position. There wasn’t any gunfire, though, so I guess Seven went undiscovered. Other than that, nothing, sirs.”
“Thank you, Unit Eight. Please keep us informed.”
“Of course. Unit Eight out, Sirs.”
“Robby,” Ruegger said, “direct your attention to Team Beta.”
“Yes, sir.” A moment later, Robby related, “Strike Team Beta here, Sirs.”
“What’s your condition?”
“We’re monitoring the progress of the underground Units. They’re coming this way ... the Libbies just picked them up ... four of the Libertarian groups are in pursuit. Unit Three is approaching our position ... nearing the rocks ... nearing ... The Libbies are about fifty feet behind. Unit Three is taking their time, baiting the Libbies in. We’re preparing to strike, and Alpha with us.”
“When Three gets up in the rocks with you, the Libertarians should be about there. They’ll be noticing the rocks and the high ground, wary of a trap. Don’t give them time to think about it. Strike immediately.”
“Yes, sirs.”
Off to the side, Roche Sarnova smiled. “Ruegger, would you like some help running this battle or are the rest of us just here for our good looks?”
“He seems to be doing fine,” Kharker said.
“Team Beta, how’s it going?” Ruegger asked.
“Unit Three’s scaling the rocks. We’re preparing to strike their pursuers. Hold. The Libbies are slowing. Slowing ...”
“They know they’ve lost the advantage, Beta. Strike—now!”
“Yes, sirs. Beta is striking. Out.”
Robby fell silent, awaiting his next command.
The Councilman reemerged. “Team Delta is in position in front of the boulder.”
“Good,” said Mauchlery. “Now the Libbies have no place to go.”
Ruegger peered over the rails and saw Team Delta standing proudly in front of the Sabo’s back door … but there was something wrong. The Team was too small. And of all the Teams, this one was the most important.
“How many men are in Delta?”
“Ten,” answered the Councilman.
“I requested at least twenty, more if you had them.”
“We couldn’t spare the manpower,” said Roche.
“Ruegger’s right, Blackie,” Kharker said. “I think you’d better send Delta some reinforcements.”
Before Sarnova could respond, Robby interrupted: “Strike Team Beta here. Met with four zombies and one Libbie soldier. They killed two of us, and us one of them. Also, Team Alpha incurred a casualty. The Libbies are in retreat—and we’re close behind.”
Another messenger burst onto the balcony. “The plan’s working. The Teams are in pursuit; the Libbies are headed back to the boulder.”
“And to Team Delta,” added the Councilman.
“Team Beta, here,” reported Robby. “The Libbies we’re chasing have felt Delta’s vibrations and are altering course toward the lake.”
“Right on schedule,” said Sarnova. “See, Ruegger, your plan will work even without Delta’s score of men.”
“What’s at the lake?” Sophia said.
“That’s Jean-Pierre’s contribution,” Kharker said, looking proud.
When Sophia raised her eyebrows at the albino, he merely said, “We’ll see if it works.”
“Team Beta here,” Robby relayed. “The Libbies are almost to the lake; we’re in the rear, and Alpha’s flanking them. I can sense other Teams and other groups of Libbies converging on the same spot. The trap is almost complete.”
“Good,” said Mauchlery. “Robby, switch to Team Gamma. They,” he told Sophia, “are some of Roche’s elite guards; he sent them down into the Refuge, to guard against the Balaklava. Jean-Pierre suggested we send some of them back down the tunnels and up through the lake. Ruegger, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that there are over twenty of our finest in Team Gamma.”
“So
you were herding the Libertarians toward the lake all along,” Sophia said.
“Yes. It’s a shame we didn’t get any of Subaire’s forces in the bargain, but at least this is something. I’m a little concerned with the number of zombies we’re seeing, but I’m sure Maleasoel sent some high-ranking officers along to meet with Subaire. For the present, they’re all we need.”
“Team Gamma here,” Robby said.
“How close are the Libbies?”
“Forty feet and closing fast, sirs. We’re ready to spring once they get within fifteen feet.”
“Good. That’s all.”
“Team Gamma out, sirs.”
Sarnova smiled. “Cross your fingers, folks.”
“Sirs!” cried Robby. “This is Team Beta. The Libbies are splitting up, going in all directions ... hold ... make that two directions ... some are cutting to the side, making their way back to the boulder. Hold ... the rest are still moving to the lake ... almost to it ... There!”
Later, Ruegger would realize that it was here that his plan went sour. Team Gamma, the elite guards, sprang up from their position around the lake. Some soldiers slipped underground to prevent the Libertarians from getting to the lake that way, but the majority stayed above and fired their weapons into the snow. At this, the Libertarians attacked—some from underneath, some from aboveground. Others looked for a way out but were stopped by the pursuing Teams—Alpha, Beta and the others.
The Libertarians that had broken off their flight in favor of another approach on the Sabo rose up from the snow and engaged Team Delta.
To Ruegger, watching it all from above, it was chaos. All he could hear were the sounds of battle, gunfire and screaming. Then something odd struck him.
“The Libertarians at the lake are all zombies,” he said.
“You’re right,” Danielle said. “And the ones fighting Delta aren’t. They’re the real Libertarian soldiers, I guess the ones you want to capture. But there’s less than ten of them; how can they fight Delta? I don’t understand.”
“I do,” said Kharker. “And so does your boy.”
Ruegger nodded. “Team Delta should’ve had twenty men. Or more.”
Suddenly, the boulder shielding the Sabo rolled to one side and, from out of the darkness, emerged a Collage.
Ruegger stared.
“Well, shit,” said Kharker.
The men and women of Team Delta fought the Libertarians at their fronts, completely unaware of the danger at their backs.
“Robby!” snapped Ruegger. “Get Delta on the line.”
“Delta here,” came a strained voice. “Fighting, sirs! Shit, a shotgun! Damn—”
“Delta Team,” Ruegger said, “get the hell out of there, now! That’s an order.”
“We can take them, sirs. I—what is that thing!”
From his position on the balcony, Ruegger saw the Collage converge on Team Delta, catching three of the Castle soldiers in its twisted limbs and stuffing them into its slavering maw. Blood and gore rained down upon the battlefield and dripped down the monster’s chest, where greedy faces lapped it up. Then the Collage reached down and scooped up another handful. One by one, the Castle soldiers were forced, screaming, into the beast’s mouth and consumed.
In less than a minute, every member of the Team was dead.
The Collage raised its strange head so that it appeared to be glaring up at the balcony of the Red Light Outpost itself, then lifted a blunt limb up in the sky. The end of the arm peeled back and a single humanoid form shot out; Ruegger, straining his eyes, saw that the figure was the torso of a dark-headed woman whose hair was shot through with silver streaks. One of her fists was raised high, and from this fist, her middle finger was extended toward the balcony. Ruegger’s keen vampiric vision could see it clearly. On her youthful face, she wore a fierce smile.
And then she roared—in a voice so thunderous it nearly brought the battle near the lake to a standstill—“I am the Collage! Tremble at my might, and feel the power of Lords Junger and Jagoda!”
Still smiling, she withdrew back into the blunt limb, the gruesome petals folding back over her once again.
“Godsdamned Balaklava,” Ruegger said.
The Libertarian soldiers that the Collage had saved scurried past it into the dark sanctuary of the Sabo. Without further insult, the Collage realigned itself into the thick, armed worm-shape it had assumed the night it chased the horse, then followed the Libbies inside. The boulder rolled shut behind it.
For a moment, Ruegger and the others on the balcony stood in mute shock, slapped into action once again only by the sound of Robby’s voice.
“Team Gamma here,” the human said. “The zombies have surrendered, what’s left of them.”
“How many?” Roche Sarnova asked.
“Four. They took their licks, sirs, but we lost three men ourselves, and I can see that the other Teams took some losses, too.”
Roche Sarnova visibly pulled himself together. “Send the wounded and dead to med bay at once; maybe they look more seriously injured than they are. Meanwhile, incarcerate three of the deaders and fly one up to us for immediate questioning.”
“Yes, sirs.”
The Dark Lord ran a hand over his face, then turned wearily to Ruegger. “Next time, my Heir, I’ll make sure to spare the manpower. Of that you can be certain.”
Ruegger nodded, but said nothing. All he could think about was that he had designed this battle, this trap, and what had he done? Killed probably a score of Castle soldiers for four fucking zombies.
“It’ll be alright,” Danielle said. “You’ll see.”
He barely heard her. The flapping of wings jolted him from his brooding, though, and he blinked to see a shapely jandrow flying up with a chained zombie clutched in her arms. The flier released her load, accepted a word of praise from Mauchlery, then returned to her unit.
Ruegger studied the scarred zombie, a touch overweight but lean-limbed and haggard just the same. The scars seemed to come from acid, but how they’d arrived there Ruegger could only guess.
“What’s your name?”
“Why, laddie, it seems that lately I’ve been called Ambassador Red quite a lot. Kinda fancy the name, too, now you mention it. Does have a ring to it, don’t ya think?” He offered a little curtsy, then gave a belly laugh, which had the unfortunate effect of releasing his foul breath. “Ah, now—but I bet you have some questions for me, yes?”
“Yes,” said Sarnova. “As a matter of fact, we do.”
“Sorry about all that, then. I’ve been instructed that, before answering any questions, I must first give you a message.”
“What?”
“Just this: the Mistress Maleasoel, in conjunction with my own dear Lords and the Morbine Subaire, says to tell you that she intends to launch a battle to claim this Castle, to steal it away from the hands of its old rulers, if that proves necessary. However, she wishes to avoid unnecessary violence—which, by the way, is something me own bosses seem to find right jolly—and courteously requests your surrender.”
“Tell her to go to hell,” said Roche Sarnova.
“The Mistress says that she and her allies are sure to win victory over the rest of you, so there’s little point to the coming war. It will only mean a loss of life. And she hastens to point out that if, by some miracle, you do win, she has several nuclear warheads that she’ll have set off in the event of her defeat. If she don’t win, no one will.” Red spread his hands as wide as his manacled wrists would allow. “So—you surrender?”
Francois placed a hand to his temples as if experiencing a severe headache. “We’ll give it some thought,” he said, and Ruegger couldn’t tell whether the kavasari was being sarcastic or not.
“The Mistress says if you don’t declare your surrender by tomorrow night at nine—when you give your big speech—then she and her allies will attack. If ya’d like to surrender now, without all the fanfare, I’ll just telepath it back to me masters. That way, no loss of life on eithe
r side.”
Kharker grunted. “Even if we did, you really think your masters would relay the message to Maleasoel? They want war.”
Red’s smile only grew wider, but he did not reply.
Francois’s face darkened. “I’m willing to surrender to Subaire under the condition that she and Roche Sarnova work out their differences and reunite the Dark Council. All we want is peace. But the Castle will not be enslaved by a power-hungry army or sociopathic Balaklava.”
“Wrong answer,” Red said.
Jean-Pierre cracked his knuckles. “We’ve got some questions to ask you about Maleasoel’s encampment and your masters’ layout.”
“Ah, that. Questions. Yes, I knew we’d get to this point sooner or later. A shame, I think, me being so young and all, me best years ahead of me. But then, I never liked this old body much anyway. Too creaky. Well, now I’m just stalling. You see, in the event of interrogation, I’ve been instructed to do the following.”
He gave another hearty laugh and flung himself backwards off the balcony. His ribald chuckles, carried on the winds of the mountain, seemed to echo for quite a while before, with a rotten smacking sound, he struck the jagged rocks below and was ripped apart at the seams.
Chapter 13
“Okay, that’s it,” Kilian declared as he stuffed a suitcase. He had sold a Castle Guard some of his blood in order to find out the outcome of the battle—and he was not pleased with the answer. “This place is going down in a hurry, and we’re getting the hell out of here, I don’t care how. If they won’t loan us a helicopter, we’ll fucking hike it back to civilization. Agreed?”
“In principle, yes,” answered Loirot, stretched out on the bed. “But what about Cloire?”
“Screw her.”
“No.” This came from Byron, standing still as a shadow in the darkest corner of the room. “At least, we’ve got to give her the choice.”
“If we do, she’ll try to assert her own influence on our plans, try to vie for leadership.”
“At this point, I don’t care who the leader is,” Loirot said.
“Do you really want Cloire running the show again—now, while she’s shacking up with that damned human?”