by John Dalmas
“No!” The wraith of Nils cut him off. “The other way! Quickly! The corridor to your left, and let your people out of their cells!”
For just a second he hesitated, confused, staring after the two warriors, then turned, dodged another rushing Northman, and ran with the key in his hand. But behind his eyes was what he’d started toward a moment before-orcs, a mass of orcs spilling through a doorway and the two Northmen hacking at them. He’d be killed. They all would. They were trapped down here like rats.
“Here!” The wraith was ahead of him again, pointing. Charles thrust the key into a lock and turned it.
“Watch now. There are two more farther on-Matthew and Mikhail. Quickly!”
The two men were at their cell doors, amazement in their eyes as Charles ran up and let them out. They started down the corridor, stopping to obey when a ghost called to them to help Chandra and Anne Marie.
Charles sprinted past them, pushing a fresh magazine into his pistol grip, then brought out another grenade. Pulling the pin with his teeth, he careened through the guard room and into the corridor where the two Northmen had been fighting.
It was over. Three Northmen stood there now by a litter of bodies. A heavy iron door had dropped into the opening from which the orcs had been issuing, nearly severing some bodies that lay across the threshold. Sten leaned grimly on a lever near it, a bloody sword in his hand. Three of the dead were Northmen.
Charles realized he had an armed grenade in his hand, walked back through the guard room and peered into the room with the cots. An orc knelt there, wounded, trying to stem the flow of blood from a comrade with the corner of a blanket.
Damnl thought Charles. No place to throw the damned thing. What in the hell do I do with… Abruptly the kneeling orc was on his feet, a knife in his hand, and Charles as quickly shot him, then backed from the room and lobbed the grenade around the edge of the doorway. The five seconds were forever before it exploded.
In the guard room, Matthew and Mikhail stood beside Anne Marie, staring at a Northman scalping an orc. Matthew had the slack-bodied Chandra over his shoulder. The other two Northmen strode in, hands and wrists smeared red.
“Let’s get out of here,” Charles said urgently, “before something happens.”
Sten looked at him, nodded, and gave an order in Scandinavian. They moved the heavy guardroom table beneath the ventilator. One Northman was boosted up and pulled himself into the duct. Then one after another they all were helped until only Sten was left to jump for it.
When they were gone, the only sound was the soft moaning of a twice wounded orc still alive in the guard quarters. The prisoners in their cells were as silent as if a threatening guard might come momentarily and punish them.
XXVI
“ Alpha, this is the captain. Alpha, this is the captain. Over.”
“This is Alpha. Over.”
“Ivan, have you returned the Northman raiders yet? Over.”
“Not yet, Captain. We’ve been overflying the two armies-the orcs and the Northmen-at about six kilometers. The Northman in charge of the commando-his name is Sten-is sizing the situation up, seeing where the armies are relative to one another and to the Danube. And man, let me tell you, there’s an awful lot of orcs down there. Must outnumber the Northmen eight or ten to one, and… ”
“Damn it, Ivan! I didn’t send you down there to carry out a military reconnaissance! Your orders were to get our people back and bring them up here! Unload those Northmen as fast as you can and get our people back to the Phaeacia; they may need medical attention critically! Have you got that straight?”
“Right, Captain. Sorry. Nobody seemed that critical, and I figured that five minutes… ”
“ARE YOU A MEDIC?!?!” Ram’s voice was suddenly shrill. “Who told you you could make medical decisions?” The violence of his own reaction startled and shook him.
“Yes, sir. I’m on my way to unload the Northmen at once, sir.”
“Let me talk to him,” Matthew said softly. “Phaeacia, this is Matt Kumalo. Over.”
There was a brief lag, and the voice, when it answered, was husky and earnest. “God but I’m glad to hear your voice, Matt. How are you? How are all of you?”
“Mike and I seem to be all right, Ram, considering. And Anne Marie says she’s all right too. But I expect Jomo and Celia had better check us over when we get back up. Chan’s the one in bad shape. Catatonic. He was curled up in a tight ball when Charles and the Northmen got us out, and I had to clip him pretty hard to loosen him up enough to carry.”
“Okay. Sounds like it could be worse,” Ram said. “Look, Matt, about the Alpha: I’m really concerned that we don’t get mixed up in their war down there. What I want is to get all of us back on board, including Nikko.”
“We’re already mixed up in their war, Ram,” Matthew said mildly, “or maybe I should say they’re mixed up in ours. Three Northmen were killed getting us out of that hell-hole-three out of six.”
There were seconds of silence. “It was their choice,” Ram answered. “They like that kind of thing; they wanted to go. And I didn’t plan to tell you yet, but the Northmen are holding Nikko hostage.”
This time the communication lag was Matthew’s. “Hostage?”
“To pressure me for help when the orcs had the Alpha. But we’ve got Ilse and her baby of course, and Nils is on board the Beta. So now that we’ve got Alpha away from the orcs we ought to be able to trade and get Nikko back.”
“Ilse’s husband on board the Beta? Are you sure? I’d swear he was dead. This may sound crazy, but everyone else seemed to see what I did-Mike and Anne Marie did anyway. His ghost was in the dungeon during the fighting.”
“I believe you, all right, but he’s not dead. It’s just something he seems to do, some wild psi talent. Ilse does it too.”
Ivan interrupted. “Matt, you’d better sit down now. I’m going to land in just a minute. Sten says their big chief is down below.”
“Right. Did you hear that, Ram?”
“I heard it.”
Beta was in sight now, a bit above them, as if she’d been waiting; she made no move to land. Alpha sat down gently. Charles opened the door and sent the landing steps out. At once two powerful arms wrapped tightly around him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides, and carried him helpless from the pinnace. A second Northman picked up Anne Marie and carried her unprotestingly out. Quickly Ivan activated the shield.
“You’re trapped,” he said. “I turned the shield on; you can’t get out.”
“Then turn it off,” Sten said reasonably.
“I thought we were friends,” Matthew said. “What are you doing this for?”
“We need your sky boat. Don’t worry; we’re not orcs. We won’t hurt you. Get out now-” He gestured at Mikhail. “-you and him, and take the unconscious one with you.”
Matthew looked at the Northman’s scarred face for a moment, finding neither threat nor relenting in it. “Okay,” he said, turning. “Help me, Mike.” They picked Chandra up and carried him outside.
Sten and Ivan were alone then. “Open your invisible wall so we can take them away,” Sten instructed. “Then do what is needed for me to talk to Nils Jarnhann in the other sky boat.”
Ivan hesitated and the Northman’s sword slid from its scabbard to touch lightly on a switch, deactivating the shield. Ivan’s eyes caught on the congealed blood that remained where the blade met the handguard. Obviously the Northman’s attention missed little, and his competence and willingness were beyond doubt.
“Beta and Phaeacia, this is Ivan. Beta and Phaeacia, this is Ivan. The Northmen have taken us prisoner. The Northmen have taken all of us on the Alpha prisoner and one of them wants to talk to Nils now. Over.”
Willi broke in from the Beta. “Captain, this is Willi. Captain, this is Willi. Okay to let Nils talk to him? Over.”
Long seconds passed without answer.
“Phaeacia, this is Beta. Phaeacia, this is Beta. Are you receiving? Are you…
”
“Let the goddamned savages talk to each other!”
The anger was like a hammer, shaking the spacemen, but after a moment Sten began speaking calmly in Scandinavian; Nils answered in the same language. After several minutes Nils switched to Anglic.
“Captain Uithoudt, this is Nils. Sten says he and our war chief, Kniv Listi, want both pinnaces to help them fight the orcs. He says the man called Charles is skilled with your weapons and they want him to teach some of our people so they can shoot orcs from the sky when the battle comes.”
Again the reply came after a long pause. “And what if I tell him to go to hell?”
“Hell?”
“Hell! What if I refuse to give him the Beta?”
“He says the army will take your people with them, and if the army is destroyed, the orcs will kill or recapture your people. But if we have the pinnaces to help us, we will surely win, and your people will be safe.”
Again there was no immediate answer. Ivan got nervous but Sten seemed relaxed enough.
“I’ll go this far,” Ram said at last. “Your people already have the Alpha, so I’ll agree to let Ivan fly it for them and Charles can show them how to shoot and use grenades. But I won’t give up the Beta. I’ll let her fly air support-that is, I’ll let her fight the orcs-but she’ll have no Northmen on board. My own people will fly her and do the shooting. Under no conditions will I let the Beta out of my control. Over.”
Nils and Sten conversed briefly.
“Captain,” said Nils, “Kniv agrees to your offer. Also he will let the Beta pick up two of your people, Anne Marie and Chandra. He says the woman is sick and the man should not die among strangers. He says the Beta will not be molested when it lands.”
“Hah! Why should I believe that?”
“Has one of us lied to you?”
“What assurance can you give me?”
“Assurance?”
“Pledge,” Ram said, patiently now. “What pledge can you give me that your people won’t try to take over the Beta when she picks up Chan and Anne?”
“We are offering you two of your people back, the two you were most worried about. My people will stand well away when Willi picks them up. And finally I give you this oath. If they don’t let the Beta fly away freely with your people, I will take my own life, or you can take it if you prefer. I have said it. Over.”
Sten spoke quietly to Kniv, who narrowed his eyes and nodded.
Ram’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Willi, land and pick up Chan and Anne Marie, and bring them up immediately. And be careful. Call me as soon as you’re off the ground with them. Over.”
“Right, Captain. I’m to land, pick up Chan and Anne, and bring them to the ship immediately. And call you as soon as I’m off the ground again. Yes, sir.”
“Affirmative. Phaeacia over and out.”
“Beta out.”
Ram pushed open the dispensary door almost violently, his expression so bitter it frightened his wife.
“Welcome home! Welcome back to Earth!” he said, glaring at her. “If I ever get them all back on board I’ll leave this rotten planet so fast it’ll make your bloody head swim!”
XXVII
And it came to pass… that the Lord cast down great stones from heaven upon them unto Aze-kah, and they died: they were more which died with hailstones than they whom the children of Israel slew with the sword.
HOLY BIBLE, Joshua 10:10.
There was no longer even a semblance of a road, and on the high plain they needed none. Their formation was a great oblong checkerboard of cavalry units several hours into the morning’s ride, with the dew now dried by the sun.
A scout trotted his horse toward them, riding smoothly, proudly erect, sunlight glinting on plumed and polished helmet and black mail, upright lance tilted a correct ten degrees forward. Another orc detached himself from the small lead formation and galloped to meet him.
Kamal had been experiencing misgivings; something seemed to have gone wrong, perhaps seriously. Draco had not contacted him all of yesterday, either directly or by radio, which was disturbing in itself. As a consequence he’d had no information of the enemy in that time. Judging from the last report, he’d expected to meet the Northmen before noon today, and in fact before now. He’d even made camp early the day before, to help ensure they’d not meet in the evening.
Having decided the preceding evening that he could not rely on aerial reconnaissance, he’d sent scouts out before dawn to fan widely through the countryside ahead. With one of them returning now, his concern was replaced by hard-eyed attentiveness. His aide-de-camp rode back with the scout at heel.
“They’ve found where the Northmen were.”
“Were? So they learned about us and turned back! We’ll have to catch them then!”
The aide-de-camp turned to the scout and gestured for him to speak.
“They don’t seem to have turned back, my Lord,” the man said. “They split into two forces, one turning north, the other south. Yesterday, by the signs. We have riders following both groups.”
“Yesterday! How far ahead was this?”
“About seven kilometers.”
“How large a force? Their entire army?”
“I don’t know, my Lord. A large one, surely; the grass was widely trampled.”
So! And where was the high-flying Draco, the eye of the army? He wished now that Dov, in command of the City garrison, had been left a radio, but there were only three for the entire field army. He also wished for a few squads of horse barbarians, for scouts. They’d have told him how many Northmen had been there and when. It should have been fairly late in the day, for them to have gotten so far east, but one couldn’t be sure, especially with Northmen. If they’d broken camp before dawn yesterday, or forced the march… But why would they force their march? They were too smart to wear out their horses without good reason.
Now he had to decide in ignorance. He had the nasty feeling that the Northmen were in charge of the situation, maneuvering him into doing what they wanted; he’d had too much experience of them in the Ukraine. But how could they even know he was out here on the march? The sky chariot should have seen and killed any far-ranging Northman scouts or patrols.
And the sky chariot should have contacted him the evening before and again this morning.
He looked up as a rider approached at a canter, calling to him. “My Lord! Another scout is returning!”
Kamal squinted westward at the scout, still distant, and ordered out his aide-de-camp to meet him, while a trumpeter halted the army. Minutes later his aide galloped back hard, with something on his lance tip.
“My Lord!” he snapped, and held out a stinking severed head to his commander. “One of the scouts found the bodies of our Lord Draco and others near the place where the Northman army divided. He brought this as proof because the bodies had been stripped and there were no insignia.”
“And the sky chariot?”
“Not there.”
“Any sign of it?”
“He didn’t say.”
That was an answer of sorts. Had it been there, the scout would have told of it. But how else could Draco have gotten there? And yet, how could the Northmen have moved it? Surely they couldn’t fly it; it had taken training by the star men to enable Ahmed’s men to fly them, and the Northmen were barbarians.
The scout was trotting up to them. “Man!” Kamal shouted at him, “don’t you know anything except that they’re dead?”
“Yes, my Lord. Their bodies bore no wounds. They had no marks of arrow, sword, or knife, and they had not been scalped.”
Kamal swore, looking again at Draco’s discolored face. The hair was still there, and the Northmen always scalped anyone they killed. “How many bodies?”
“Four, my Lord.”
All four! “And no sign of the sky chariot?”
“None, my Lord.”
Too many questions were unanswered; there were too many unknowns. But this
he did know: he had to deal with the Northmen without help from the air.
“The army will turn back toward the City,” he said finally. “Apparently the Northmen know about us and out-flanked us in the night. And there are only five cohorts left in the City in case they attack it.”
It struck him then. Five cohorts-1,500 men. Draco had rough-counted the Northmen from the sky. Five cohorts were almost as many as the whole Northman army, and they were orcs-trained, disciplined, fighting orcs!
The neoviking mystique, their reputation for supernatural cunning and invincibility, had been overblown, he told himself. And Kamal had no respect for a commander whose automatic response to an enemy was caution, defense. Out here the Northmen had no forests to hide in or attack from, and they bled and died like other men. He’d killed one himself-skinned him and watched him die. Another he’d crucified, to groan to death beneath the Ukrainian sun.
He changed his decision, in part.
“We’re between the Northmen and their people now, so the Third Legion won’t go back with us. They’ll continue to the mountains, to where the Northman army left its people, and wipe them out. They will take no prisoners except girl children and young women.”
Kamal began to expand and glow as he continued. “Couriers to each legion. Inform the commanders. Have each of them signal when he’s been informed. I will then signal the First, Second, and Fourth to begin the return. The Third will stand, and its commander will ride here to me for instructions. I’ll catch up with the rest on their first break.
“Is that clear?”
It was, and the mnemonically trained couriers galloped off to repeat his instructions exactly. Within ten minutes the army was moving.
The men of the Third Legion considered themselves privileged. Instead of riding like the others to battle, they were riding to sport. When they stopped that evening, sentries were posted, and patrols circled the camp, but this was Standard Operating Procedure, not a response to possible danger. And rather than each man sleeping by his picketed horse, the animals were hobbled and picketed within a single large rope corral around which the men camped.