by John Daulton
“They may be big,” shouted Corporal Chang, “but they go down like little bitches.” He just started to sound off a long and profane battle taunt when the colonel cut him off.
“There are more,” Colonel Pewter said, turning back in the direction from which they’d just come. “Lots more.”
And there were. Six more. None of them quite like another. Some much smaller, one much bigger, but all black as a moonless night and all hideous and indescribable.
“Get these other units up and keep on to Little Earth.” He switched to the command com. “Get the transports in the air. I don’t want those ships caught on the ground if this goes bad. Fighters up, bombers up and mechs down, then I want those pilots at twenty thousand feet until I say otherwise.”
“Roger that, sir,” came the com officer at Little Earth.
Little Earth was in sight by the time the six misshapen monsters caught up to them. Colonel Pewter almost made it back to his reassembling platoon when one of the smallest of the monsters caught up to him, leaping into the air and landing heavily on his back.
The computer-controlled gyros and gravity compensators did their best to keep him on his feet, but he still stumbled forward and had to brace himself with one arm to avoid having his mech sent sprawling face first into the mud. He twisted his head around to see the beast pounding on the canopy and trying to push one of its twisted claws in through the gap he’d made by opening it as he had.
He had faith in the shield, but he didn’t want to trust his luck too far, so he tapped the control and sealed himself back in. If one of the Prosperion mages decided to teleport him into the center of the planet, well, then today just wasn’t his lucky day.
Reaching back with the suit’s left arm, he clutched the creature by a portion of what might have been a tail. With a mighty yank, he whipped the creature off his suit back and pinned it to the ground, stuffing the end of his Gatling gun right into its twenty-eyed face and letting go a ten-second blast. Its pus-colored blood hissed and steamed off the plasma shield, and its legs were still twitching as the colonel finally rejoined his men.
He could see the formations of the other companies spreading all around. More ships were landing even as others took off. Very soon he’d have his ten thousand Marines. It might only barely be in time.
Looking back out over the plains, he saw at least twenty more of the black monsters on their way. Long-range sensors showed others appearing in the distance, popping into existence as if … by magic, which he knew was, most likely, exactly what it was.
He’d trained for a lot of things over the course of his forty-two years in the corps, but never for battle against wizardry. He told himself he needed to stop underestimating them. Every time he did, they ratcheted the surprises up another notch.
The twenty beasts crawled across the prairie like animate tumbleweeds, their speed unnervingly fast, but they stopped inexplicably, holding up just over five hundred yards away, the lot of them twisting and reaching limbs and claws into the air, mandibles and jaws and vacant orifices filled with teeth shaping the sound that could only come from such manifest monstrosity. The colonel hoped they might be considering a retreat based on the number of Marines forming up, but the movement from the others behind them, the new creatures appearing in the distance, proved him wrong. These were waiting for the rest to come. From the looks of it, the army itself, those behind the creatures, had no intention of breaking ranks. They appeared, at least for now, committed to letting the misshapen black behemoths deal with the colonel and his men. He couldn’t decide if that was good news or bad, but either way, more of the giant creatures were on their way. Lots of them.
More and more of them appeared, and at a rate of escalation that went from exhilarating, given his recent victories, to something out of a nightmare. In the course of eleven minutes, the number of the black beasts had tripled and would soon approach the same number as his Marines.
“Colonel, this is Raptor One, reporting. Do you want us to engage?”
He looked up and saw two fighters hovering above him at a thousand feet.
“Roger, Raptor One. Let’s see what they think of Tiny Tim.”
“Roger that. A quarter kiloton of fuck you on its way, sir.”
“Visors dark, people,” ordered the colonel. “Gravity set to dig in.”
No sooner had he said it than the contrail of a long slender missile streaking from one of the planes above drew its chalk line across the sky. Even with the canopy nearly black, the blast seemed blinding, and the colonel had to squint and turn his head away.
He turned off the dimmer right after and watched the mushroom cloud rising even as the pressure wave came at them. It blew by and then, a moment later, sucked back, pulling with it a few bits of cloth that made the colonel turn around.
The Prosperion cavalry had reformed its lines some forty yards behind where he stood, or at least, they seemed to have been attempting to do so when the concussive wave set all their horses to bucking and more than a few, along with their riders, tumbling through the grass. He counted them damn lucky they’d been as far off as they were.
He looked into his monitor. There was no movement in the area where the monsters had been gathering. That was good. However, in the time it took for the dust and smoke to settle so they could view the crater where the monsters had been, long-range indications showed there were over twelve thousand of them now near the main host of the army.
“That’s not even possible, is it?” came Private Sanchez’s voice. “You guys are seeing all this, right?”
“Raptor One reporting no survivors at impact site, Colonel. Total kill.”
“Well, they’re not hard to destroy,” said Major Kincaid from her position, fifty yards off with her platoon. “But there’s a crap-ton of them now.”
The young Prosperion officer with the red plume in his helmet rode up to Colonel Pewter’s battle unit then. He moved boldly out in front of it and tapped on the canopy with the end of his lance. Which made the colonel laugh good-naturedly, for it was a curious thing for the officer to do.
The colonel switched on the megaphone and turned the volume down low enough that he hoped it wouldn’t startle the officer’s horse. “What is it, son?”
“On my world, sir, we say that ‘my enemy’s enemy is my ally.’ I feel that, given what I have just observed, that you and I may be in a circumstance so described.”
“I can see how you’d want to see it that way just now,” observed the colonel. “So what happened? Your magicians lose control of their monster brigade?”
The puzzled look that came upon his features struck the colonel as genuine even before the clean-shaven rider spoke. “These demons are no work of my men.”
“So, what are you trying to tell me?” asked the colonel. “Whose … demons are they then?” He watched the man very carefully as he spoke, his years of command, years of working with young men who often had a tendency to manipulate the truth, serving to filter every movement, every twitch of the face, every word of the young Prosperion.
“I assure you, sir, I have not the least idea. But you have my word, on the honor of the House of Forland, that those things are not the work of any of my men.”
“So, assuming I assume you’re not setting me up, what are those things?”
“Demons, sir.”
“You said that before. Do you mean demons like, well, like fire-and-brimstone demons? Wrath of God and all that stuff?”
“Yes, sir. Precisely, sir.”
The colonel wanted to laugh, but the absolute solemnity upon the Prosperion officer’s face, and the newfound humility, was such that the reflex died before it had wind enough to fly. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As death itself, sir.”
“So why don’t you undo it. Send them back to hell. Isn’t that the point of all that magic you people do?”
“It can’t be done. There is no spell for it. Or at least none that Her Majesty would allow. We are wit
nessing the very thing that marked the end of the dwarves of Duador.”
“Yes, I remember hearing about that a time or two from my daughter and her boyfriend. Unending hordes still running around somewhere. Total genocide.”
“That is correct.”
“How do I know this isn’t the work of your Queen?”
“The legions of orcs that have gathered at the outskirts of the city are evidence enough to my eyes,” he said. “But I can’t say how you would know that this was true. But even if it were some incomprehensible plan of Her Majesty’s, which I do not believe for a moment, then I am as troubled by it as you.”
“Orcs?”
“If you could not see it, there is an orcish army gathered out there beyond all those demons.”
“Orcs. The people that hit Tytamon’s castle a few months back?”
“They are not people, but yes, the same. They are less of a problem than the demons. Those must be stopped immediately. If such a thing is possible.”
“Well, I think we can kill them easy enough,” said the colonel, pointing to the crater a half mile away. “That was a little one. But if their numbers keep growing like they are, I don’t think your Queen is going to be too happy about what we have to do to the countryside to finish them. She may have to find a new place to live for the next few centuries.”
The officer looked as if he at least partly understood, but he returned to his original point. “May we then, for the time being at least, call off hostilities between our forces, until such time as this new threat has been abated?”
The colonel laughed and nodded. “Yeah, we’ll call a truce for now. But if I see any of those ice blocks busting into even one of my people, I’ll turn my guns on you personally.”
“Very well. Thank you, sir. I will let my men know we have an arrangement for now.”
“You do that.”
The young officer started to turn away, but the colonel stopped him, having thought of one other thing. He released the canopy on his suit and let it open all the way. “What’s your name, son?”
“I am Manduval Forland, son of Gustemore Forland, Baron of Dae and Westmore, and I am second lieutenant in Her Majesty’s Seventh Cavalry, sir.”
“All right, Lieutenant,” said the colonel as he unpinned his com link from his uniform. “I’m Colonel Pewter, First Marines, Northern Trade Alliance. Glad to know you.”
“Glad to know you too, sir.”
He tossed the com link to the young man, pointing at it with the purse of his lips as the cavalry officer caught it. “If I understand these enchantments of yours right, I won’t be able to understand a word you say once you get out of range, but at least you’ll get the gist of what we’re up to. Don’t make me regret giving you that.”
“On my honor, sir.”
With his canopy closed once more and the lieutenant on his way to rejoin his men, the colonel radioed the new situation with the Prosperions to his own troops, some of whom protested via muttered profanity, but all accepting it as fact.
The sensors read five thousand of the “demons” now.
“Colonel, there are going to be over two hundred thousand of those things within the hour if my calculations are correct.” There was an edge to Major Kincaid’s voice as she gave the report. “If we’re going to do something, we better get it done.”
“How many suits we got now?”
“Nineteen hundred,” answered Little Earth control. “Six birds in the air. Fourteen more in prep. More troop ships still inbound.”
Colonel Pewter supposed that was good news, but he couldn’t help wondering if ten thousand Marines suddenly didn’t seem like remotely enough.
“Incoming,” said the Major then. “And look, they’re spreading out. Looks like they learn quick.”
Sure enough, the mass of the black beasts was scattering as they ran toward them, separating out from the orc army like sand thrown into the wind. He almost had to laugh. The only thing worse than the real-life discovery of a demon horde was the discovery that such a horde might be even marginally intelligent.
“Keep them pruned back, Raptor squadron, and laser support down here where possible. Marines, hold this ground. And protect the Prosperions if you can.”
And so it began.
Chapter 28
Gromf and the crooked figure of Kazuk-Hal-Mandik made their way to the eastern edge of the formation while the shaman working the concealment spells brought down the dome that hid the army upon the plain. They came to a halt a hundred paces away from the main body of the orc host.
“Let us summon only one at first,” said Gromf. “Test the resolve of God.”
“Still you doubt,” said the old warlock. “Even here, at the brink of victory.”
“I wish not to fall from it.”
“Summon your one if that is all you have the stomach for. I will bring God forth.”
Gromf shook his head, but he knew that Kazuk-Hal-Mandik would not be convinced of the risks he took.
Leaving his God Stone in its pouch, Gromf began casting the demon summoning spell he had learned from the human song. He didn’t bother with the circle of sulfur this time. He once more found and followed the hidden threads of mana that wove their way through the deepness, through the great hole in the world and down through the furious rotations of the massive vortex that emptied into the valley of God’s demons. Gromf again went down and peeked through the tiny opening at the tip of the vortex, down into the writhing mass of black deformities, the heap of twisting limbs and gnashing teeth, the claws reaching up to him as if calling for him to choose them over all the rest. They knew that he watched; their hateful eyes turning up at him proved it even as he looked down.
Again Gromf felt the presence of God, saw the flash of his eagerness like a signal fire on the edge of the valley. He tried not to look, but he could not help it. God smiled his earthquake smile. Gromf tore himself free of that hollow gaze and speared a demon at random with a shaft of mana that he made. He hauled it out, up through the funnel, and like a sling this time, he flung the demon out to the northeast of the army, far from himself and his people.
It appeared in the air above him and landed three hundred paces away, a five-legged form of darkness like the shadow of a long dead tree. It landed heavily and stood upon the plain, its red eyes turning this way and that, taking in the scene.
Gromf looked to Kazuk-Hal-Mandik, but the old shaman was still casting his own spell. He looked back to the demon and waited for it to charge. It turned and glared at him, all of those eyes narrowed in obvious hatred, but then it spun and roared.
It roared to the east. Which Gromf thought odd.
But then Gromf saw the cavalry charging in, over a thousand humans on heavily armored horses, thundering at the orc flanks at breakneck speed. Already!
How could they have known? Gromf wondered. The counter-magic had always been in place. Here, while summoning, but also in the mountains, all these months, all the plans carefully concealed. The hiding magic the great promise of Discipline. And yet there they were, humans riding into the army’s flanks the moment the concealment spell was gone, as if they’d been waiting there all along.
The ground shook then, terribly, and even beneath the cloudy sky, a shadow fell over Gromf as something large loomed nearby. He turned to see what it was just as he heard Kazuk-Hal-Mandik cry out, “Behold, God has come.”
The army behind them all fell to their knees, though Gromf didn’t see it, for he was too busy staring at the arrival of this figure that had seemed small in the bright light of the subterranean pool or, at least, not much larger than Gromf himself. But here, on the surface of Prosperion, standing beside him, God was huge. As tall as ten orcs at least, and that one long arm ran off for fifty paces like a rope of stone, the girth of a pine trunk. God stood upon his crooked legs, seeming to surmount the plain, and he roared so loudly birds fell dead from the sky, their bodies falling like feathered hail to land with dull thumps upon the grass.
> Gromf looked again to Kazuk-Hal-Mandik, who had eyes only for the face of God. The old warlock raised his God Stone to the giant before them and muttered prayer words in the old language, the language before Discipline. Gromf shook his head.
God looked down at Gromf and that crevice in his head cracked across his face again. “Now do you believe, tiny mortal?” God asked him in a voice that nearly knocked Gromf down.
“I have never doubted that you would come,” said Gromf, holding his ground.
“Open the gate, and I will show your people to glory.”
“Why do we need them all? You can slay the humans alone, for you are God.” He pointed across the plain to where the human cavalrymen were nearly upon the demon Gromf had brought. “There is your first taste of human flesh.”
The five-legged beast Gromf had summoned was almost among the humans then. He could see as it approached them that several of their magicians cast giant fireballs and long lances of ice. Those washed over the demon uselessly, the lances broke into pieces, burst into mist like snow. Gromf laughed. He had learned that lesson too: magic was of little use against them.
The cavalry charge pulled up short as they came upon the demon then, or perhaps they were thwarted by the size of the army they saw formed upon the field. They may have thought a thousand cavalry a nice flanking move, but it was not enough with a demon now in their midst.
Gromf looked around for signs of the main body of the human army, for surely there was more, this thousand just a feint, but it was not there.
So much for human intelligence, Gromf thought. How foolish did they think orcs were? Or how feeble. This small group of horsemen spoke of a human insult.
The demon he had brought forth grabbed horses and flung them wildly about, plucking them out of the grass like tubers and tossing them high into the air. The cries of the terrified humans, the shrieks of the tumbling mounts made Gromf happy, and it occurred to him that he might have been wrong about God.
“Open the gate,” God commanded again.
“I will do it,” Kazuk-Hal-Mandik said, rising from where he had fallen to his knees.