“Don’t kid yourself, Slayton. It’s not total power. You don’t know what’s going to happen when you begin to slip — but I do. You’ll let up for a second. Maybe nothing will happen that time. Or the next. But sooner or later, the sandcats will kill you. They were imprisoned once before by that scepter. They’re not taking it too well this time. They’ll rip you to bloody pieces.”
“NO! They worship me! And how do you know what has happened to the sandcats in the past? Only I know from reading their minds!” Slayton looked down at his victim, slyness in his gaze mixed with a little bit of fear.
“I can read their minds, too, Slayton. You mean you can’t without the scepter? Are they trying to block you out?” Nightwind had to goad the man into a mistake.
The blasterifle was less than two meters away. If Slayton’s attention was pulled away for the briefest instant, Nightwind was positive he could get the rifle. Then this nightmare would be at an end.
Guardian … sleep … making sleep … all … no! … stop Ruler!
“Are you getting that, Slayton? The sandcat wants me to stop you. Did you hear it talking to me, mind to mind?”
“This is some sort of trick!” Slayton took a step forward and looked at the sandcat still locked in a death struggle with Heuser. “You’re…”
Nightwind moved as fast as he could, but the sharp, searing pain in his side slowed him. Slayton managed to reach the blasterifle at the same instant. A brief struggle and Slayton came away with the rifle. He carelessly tossed it aside. “I should have known. Now I will finish you off in a manner befitting one so low and beneath my contempt.”
“Don’t do me any favors, Slayton.” Nightwind realized he was about at the end of his luck. Steorra stirred slightly, but he could count on no more help from the woman. Being knocked out twice coupled with the beating she had received at Slayton’s hands would have killed a lesser person. She would recover.
The question was: would she recover to find both Nightwind and Heuser dead?
“I’m going to kill you in a manner which pleases my imperial fancy.”
Nightwind … sleepy … too sleepy.
Heuser was suddenly holding a limp sandcat. He looked across the room, then clenched his tiny fists. “I don’t know what you did to the Guardian, but you’re going to pay for it. I’ll tear your arms off and beat you to death with them, Slayton!”
“I have no doubt but you could. You are deceptively strong, small one. But would you really do it against my will?”
Heuser was slowly advancing across the throne room when his face went totally blank. All expression was wiped from it like dirt from a window. Nightwind could see all the way into Heuser’s soul in that brief instant. Slayton had put the sandcat to sleep for a reason. He was trying to possess Heuser’s mind as he had the Guardian’s.
Nightwind knew a titanic power struggle was ensuing. Heuser’s face began to contort into a mask of rage. His hands clenched tighter at his sides. Knuckles white, he began shuffling forward, his eyes still unfocused. It was difficult to tell which way the battle was going.
Slayton wasn’t controlling the cyborg as easily as he had any of the sandcats. He was panting, his hands shook with effort and his face was pasty white from exertion. The scepter in his hand glowed with a fierce light unlike that which it originally radiated. As the mental battle raged on, Nightwind fancied he could sense the thoughts moving back and forth across the room faster than the speed of light.
Submit!
No! … Kill you!
Weak one … I control … friends useless to you … obey… submit!
Kill you … kill!… must … must not … stop … stop!
Slayton laughed. His voice almost broke from the strain, but he was gaining control. He was slowly assuming power over the cyborg’s mind. His will was being superimposed on that of the small man’s. There was no denying his power augmented by the alien, jeweled scepter.
Nightwind could sense the self-determination of his friend being ripped from him.
Obey!… you are my slave … obey … obey … obey!
No … no … I … what … what want?
Kill Nightwind!
NO!
Yes … kill Nightwind!
“Slayton. Stop it! You’ve made your point.” Nightwind desperately wanted to break the man’s concentration. If he could give Heuser a chance to regain his senses, throw off the yoke of Slayton’s deadly command, there might be a chance yet. The brilliance from the scepter filled the room with an eerie light. This, in part, told of the tremendous mental energies flowing between the men.
The gems no longer seemed milky white. They were now coruscating points of brilliance too intense to view directly. Their colors changed constantly. The entire spectrum was represented briefly as the jewels flared out their pseudo-lives in the attempt to seize control of another’s mind and emotions.
“Quiet!”
Nightwind crumpled under the mental blow accompanying the command. He didn’t think Slayton had any reserves left. He was wrong. The mental pressure seemed to crush him down to the floor. His weakened condition didn’t help; the mental blast almost killed him.
Kill Nightwind!
Kill?… friend!… no … kill!… Nightwind!… no!
YES!… kill … kill … KILL!
Nightwind saw the curtain pull across Heuser’s eyes. They clouded with uncertainty. But the cyborg’s hands reached toward him. And one slow step at a time was bringing the cyborg toward where he lay. Nightwind didn’t doubt Heuser was fighting. The snippets of mental communication he intercepted told him that. But Heuser wasn’t going to be able to withstand the combined mental pressure of Slayton and the scepter. He was going to obey.
Obey and kill his best friend.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“SLAYTON, WE’LL LEAVE you alone. We’ll go off and forget all about this place. It’ll all be yours.”
“You surprise me, Nightwind. I hadn’t expected you to snivel and beg like a slave. A whipped dog. A … a … ” Words escaped the man. His face was bathed in the light from the scepter. Nightwind guessed, from the way the wand’s jewels were pulsing, the control over Heuser was tenuous. If he could only break it for a moment, the pair of them could overcome Slayton. As he watched, Nightwind was certain he saw the vitality drain from Slayton. His physical reserves were about used up; he didn’t understand the scepter was his master, and he was the slave.
He felt like a king. That was enough.
“You can’t possibly hope to make him kill me. He’s my friend. We’ve been through hell in the past ten years saving each other’s lives so many times we’ve lost count.”
“Watch!” Slayton cried, triumphant.
Nightwind’s eyes were held by the sight of the cyborg advancing on him. Heuser’s hands shook as if with some exotic form of palsy. He was clenching his teeth, grinding them together, pulling his lips back from his teeth. The sweat beading his forehead told of immense strain.
Nightwind caught a brief telepathic flash: Sorry!
Then Heuser was on him, hands groping for his throat.
In an ordinary fight, Nightwind knew he would have stood little chance against Heuser. The cyborg was slower, much slower. His reflexes were largely artificial and couldn’t compare with Nightwind’s genetic feline ones. This was an intentional feature programmed into the plasteel limbs to protect both owner and surroundings from an unthinking move. Heuser had to be deliberate; he was too strong not to be.
Nightwind was vastly faster — normally. Now, his injuries slowed him. And there was no question of matching the cyborg’s strength. Slow, deliberate, powerful. He was implacable. He was a Titan. He could lift ten times his own weight and never show strain. Steel bars were like rubber in the hands of the cyborg. Nightwind couldn’t fight Heuser and win.
But Heuser was far from being in top form. He was mentally fighting against Slayton. The sweat on his forehead showed it. The way his hands shook, the hesitant steps, the gritted teeth
all pointed to it.
This might be the supine man’s salvation. But Nightwind couldn’t count on it. If Slayton could keep an entire pride of sandcats under mental domination, one mere man should pose little trouble.
Heuser’s fingers touched Nightwind’s windpipe. In a move much slower than normal, but still faster than Heuser could respond to, Nightwind gripped Heuser’s left wrist with both his own hands and twisted to the left. The stranglehold was broken, and Heuser landed face down on the floor.
Nightwind tried holding the cyborg but couldn’t. A tiny trickle of blood ran from Heuser’s nose where he had collided with the floor. He didn’t seem to even notice the thin river of red dripping down onto his desert suit.
“See, Nightwind, see? He obeys me. ME! And he’s going to kill you. Oh, how I’ve waited to see this! Ever since you humiliated me aboard the Ajax, I’ve wanted to get even. No one makes a fool out of me and lives to brag about it. Especially not some too-tall, too-scrawny type like you. Now your friend will kill you.”
“And then, Slayton, what?”
“Then Heuser will kill the woman. And for him?” Slayton shrugged. “I shall feed him to the sandcats. That seems appropriate. I’ll wake them up and let them all rip him to shreds and devour his flesh.”
Nightwind was too busy fending off Heuser’s new attack. The cyborg moved as if both feet were embedded in concrete. But that didn’t stop him from eventually backing his prey into a corner. The cyborg was relatively unscathed in spite of his twin fights with the sandcats. His arms and legs were covered with deep cuts, cuts which didn’t bleed. The cybernetic portion of his anatomy had borne the brunt of the sandcats’ attacks.
“How do you like it, Nightwind, knowing your very own friend will soon be killing you?”
Nightwind caught a frenzied thought: NO! … never!
He knew Heuser was fighting back. It didn’t seem possible, however, that he could continue fleeing from the clutching fingers long enough for the cyborg to break the hypnotic compulsion Slayton held over him. The power of the scepter was too great.
“I don’t like it, Slayton. And Heuser doesn’t, either. I’m picking up his thoughts. He’s fighting back. He’ll … augh!” Nightwind’s words were cut off. Heuser managed to grip the man by the arm and squeezed.
The torturing grip took Nightwind’s voice. Red pain from crushed bones blasted into his brain. And by that pain, gained a few extra seconds of life.
His pain was broadcast with such intensity, even Slayton’s scepter-backed control was blanked out.
NO!… Slayton … kill him!
Heuser, freed of the scepter’s mental domination, spun to attack. He got less than a pace. As the pain died in Nightwind’s body, the first surge of agony gone, Slayton managed to regain the telepathic control again. The expense: he lost a little more of his own vitality.
Nightwind saw the battle continuing. Heuser was not amenable to easy control. He wasn’t a sandcat with a long racial history of mental slavery. He was used to thinking, doing, deciding for himself. His power of mind was great. Without the jeweled telepathic amplifier, Slayton wouldn’t have stood a chance.
As it was, Heuser was slowly being brought back under the self-styled king of Rhyl’s power. Nightwind watched the change come over his friend. Slowly, inexorably, the change occurred. The facial muscles went slack, the arms hanging limp at his sides began to tense, the fists to clench. And then Heuser was turning back, once more intent on killing him.
But this time, Nightwind had new hope. Steorra was stirring, coming out of the depths of her unconsciousness.
“Slayton,” he said in a loud voice, never taking his eyes off the advancing cyborg, “Steorra is behind you with the blasterifle. You shouldn’t tempt her to shoot you in the back. She’s weak. She might actually enjoy it.”
“That’s so old, Nightwind, it amazes me you would try it. Watch Heuser. I am. I want to see him crush the life from your body. Perhaps I’ll make him rip you apart. He seems possessed of incredible strength for one so small. I could believe he’s not quite human. Is that it?” Slayton sat down on his throne, sweat pouring from him. There was a wild look in his eyes hinting at total madness. The magic wand in his hand was exacting its price for the power he was wielding so ruthlessly. It was taking more than any man should be required to pay.
“He’s a cyborg. I thought you’d have guessed that before now. But I’m not joking about Steorra. Look, Slayton, look behind you!”
“Hah!”
Steorra, hearing her name, fought against the black tides threatening to consume her again. She rolled to one side, felt pain, was prodded to alertness by it. Finding the blasterifle near at hand, she reached out and gripped the stock. She came to a sitting position, aimed the powerful weapon and pulled the trigger. A sick crackling noise followed by a corona discharge was the only result.
The blasterifle had been damaged in the fight. It didn’t fire.
But the static discharge caused Slayton’s attention to be pulled away once again. His eyes widened slightly as he saw Steorra sitting, vainly pulling at the trigger of the rifle.
“Slut! I’ll kill you with my own hands!” He raised the scepter high and swung in a mighty downward arc.
Blocking with the rifle, she prevented the scepter from smashing her skull. They grappled, Slayton trying to pin her to the floor and finish her off with his bare hands.
Nightwind had his own hands full. Heuser still fought the compulsion to kill, but the insidious power of the scepter was too great for him to completely break.
“S — sorry, Rod,” he mumbled as he staggered forward.
Nightwind summoned up all his strength. With a mighty kick, he impacted squarely on Heuser’s kneecap. He was shocked all the way up to the hip by the kick. He staggered but Heuser’s leg was kicked out from under him. This was all Nightwind needed. He kicked again — this time for the temple. His foot collided accurately on Heuser’s exposed head. The small man’s head jerked at a sickening angle, he twitched convulsively, then lay still.
Nightwind couldn’t take the time to see if his friend was still alive or not. If he didn’t kill Slayton — fast-there would be no hope for any of them. Steorra was managing to hold her own against the scepter-wielding madman. This was all that allowed Nightwind to come up from behind and smash his fist as hard as he could into the back of Slayton’s neck.
The blow stunned Slayton enough to force him to drop the jeweled wand. Nightwind kicked it spinning across the room, then repeated the kick, this time for Slayton’s solar plexus. His foot seemed to vanish to the ankle.
Air whooshed from the man’s lungs, he let out a sick grunt and fell over, knocked out cold.
Nightwind clutched his left arm to his side. The wrist was definitely broken. The pain in his shoulder indicated a broken collarbone. In addition, he hurt all over.
He sank to the throne, grateful for the softness of the cushions Slayton had manufactured with the aid of the scepter. They eased the tension in his body a little, although they did nothing to take away any of the pain.
Nightwind looked down at Steorra and said, “Milady, you’re a mess. But the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen. The next fight I get into, I want you on my side from the start.”
“And you, sire, you’re not exactly in the best shape.”
They looked at each other, mutual admiration shining in their eyes. They laughed, not from humor but from nervous release. The laughter turned into hysteria and before either knew it, they were clinging to each other for support.
Finally, tears leaving salty trails on Nightwind’s cheeks, he managed to control himself. He held Steorra away from his injured arm, saying, “Is Slayton sleeping well enough? Or should we tend to him a little more?”
Steorra brushed back a vagrant strand of her brunette hair, now totally disarranged, and wiped away a smear of blood before checking Slayton. She put her hand to his neck searching for the carotid artery. Looking up, she said, “I get a pulse. He’s st
ill alive.”
Nightwind sighed. He would have liked to kill Slayton, but somehow it didn’t seem so important anymore.
“What are you going to do with him, Rod?”
“Why ask me? It was your father who put us on the trail to this lovely city. And it was Slayton and Dhal who were the claim jumpers. It seems to me the decision is up to you.”
He watched her carefully. The betrayal, the murderous attempts on her life, all the counts against Slayton, were being tallied up.
She said simply, “He goes to the authorities for what he did. The Council needs living proof of his treachery. Maybe that will shock them into acting faster on the recognition for the sandcats.”
“A good idea, I guess. Steorra?”
“Yes, Rod?”
Their eyes locked for a moment. He started to say something, but his lips became thick with pain and a wave of nausea washed over him. He managed to say, “Look after Heuser. See if he’s still alive.”
It wasn’t necessary. A weak voice from across the room said, “If I didn’t have such a hard head, you would have done me in. Next time see if I let you buy those fancy steel-toed boots.”
Heuser joined them, obviously operating at less than full capacity. He limped, his leg bent at a strange angle where Nightwind had kicked him.
“Space! You mean I did that to you?” Nightwind couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t normally strong enough to do permanent damage to plasteel limbs. In his condition, it seemed impossible.
“You must have an incredible store of adrenaline, Rod. But it looks like you two took the worst of it.” He surveyed both of them with a critical eyes, then declared, “You’ll live. But what about our mutual friend, the king of nothing?”
They quietly explained their intention of taking Slayton back to stand trial. The brain scanners would quickly reveal the depth of his involvement in the attempted enslavement of an intelligent race. He would be able to atone somewhat by hastening a Council decision on the sandcats’ status.
“I hate to see the louse live, but …” Heuser stopped in midsentence. “The Guardian!”
Sandcats of Rhyl Page 16