by Rick Cook
"I doubt Wiz will be ready to make such a decision when we find her. Do not try to decide now. But think about it. And think about how to do what we must do if it comes to that"
"It wont come to that," the young programmer said firmly. "Wiz will find another way, or I will, or someone."
Malkin’s expression did not change. "I hope you are right."
It could not be said to be anyplace, really, for it had no sense of self as we know it. There was a nexus, but its senses were spread over more than a continent. There was no feeling for where it left off and others began, because in a very real sense there was no "other"-there was only that which had not yet been absorbed and turned to its purposes.
It had discovered the strategy long ago, in the brutal battles that had led to its supremacy. Better to absorb and adapt than to destroy, to incorporate and use rather than smash. It was a superior strategy and even if it had the gift of introspection it would not have troubled about the consequences. This frozen corpse contained magical knowledge it could incorporate. With that came a burning hatred seared soul-deep, a hatred that set it on its present course, but that was of no moment. Later the gleanings of a soulless husk far away reinforced that animosity as well as adding knowledge. That too was of no moment. They were simply things to be absorbed and put to use. That was enough. Wiz awoke still groggy, with an ache in his head and someone’s foot in his face. From the way the rest of the pile shifted and grumbled he got the feeling they weren’t in any better shape.
"Hmf," Danny grumped as he disentangled himself from the pile. "Another day, another monster."
"Not many of those," Malkin said.
Danny quirked a smile. "Hell, I even miss the lobster."
"I’m not so sure I’d go that far," Wiz said.
"I would," Malkin put in. "We could eat for a week off that bug."
Wiz really wasn’t quite ready to go that far, but he could understand the sentiment.
Carefully he measured the grain and a little of the vegetables into the cooking pot and added ice. Then he gestured and a flame sprang up among the rocks. He set the pot with the ice on it to melt. He crouched over it, hands extended to soak up the warmth.
"That will tell the Enemy where we are," Malkin said, eyeing the magic flame and not quite protesting.
The Enemy probably knows where we are already," Wiz growled "We’ll be in a lot better shape to face him if we’re warm, rested and fed"
After breakfast the group continued on. Wiz was right. If conditions were no better this day, at least they felt better for the hot meal.
Wiz had Danny take the lead with Glandurg behind him. Actually that meant Danny and June were in the lead and Glandurg following them. Malkin brought up the rear and Wiz stayed in the center of the formation for a change.
Just before the break for the noon meal Wiz pulled Malkin aside. "I want to talk to you."
The tall thief saw his expression and nodded. "You heard last night?" He gave a tight little smile. "I don’t sleep real well when I’m cold." Malkin cocked her head, waiting.
"I’ve been thinking about it ever since." Wiz drew a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you, I think you’re right. I think we can still get Moira out, but if we can’t:"He stopped, gulped another breath and went on. "If we can’t I want you to know I understand if you do: what has to be done."
"You want us to take action, then?"
"I know that thing about shooting your own dog, but I can’t" He tried to smile again and the effect was ghastly under the bluish magic light. "Just don’t do it unless you’re absolutely sure, okay?’
Malkin nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak.
"Now let’s catch up with the others."
"He heard us," Malkin whispered to Danny later when she contrived to get him and June off to one side.
"And?-
"He does not like it but he sees the force of the argument. He only asks that we do it should it become necessary."
"I’ve been thinking about this too," the young programmer said. "I think maybe there’s an alternative." .
"If there is, well and good," Malkin told him. "But we do not dare leave Moira, or Moira’s body, here."
"They say you’re coming with us."
Mick looked up from his planning software to see Jerry and Taj standing before him. There’s nothing more useless than a staff officer when the battle’s joined. So yeah, I’m going with you."
"We figured you’d need a weapon," Jerry said, handing him the box.
Mick opened it and inside was a military-issue Beretta semi-automatic pistol with a couple of clips of ammunition and a shoulder holster like the one he had worn in the attack on Caer Mort.
Mick slipped into the shoulder harness and hefted the pistol. "Thanks, guys. But didn’t you say things like this won’t work in this world?"
"Things like that work just fine," Taj said. "It’s guns that don’t work here."
"What he means is, it isn’t what it looks like," Jerry explained. "It’s actually a magic weapon that shoots lightning bolts. It just looks like a pistol."
"We could make it look like a Star Trek phaser if you’d prefer," Taj offered.
"Or something really wicked."
"I think I’ll stick with this, thanks." Gilligan slipped the weapon into his shoulder holster.
"Anyway," Taj said. "If you’ve got a few minutes we thought you might want to come down and watch the takeoff."
Mick looked at the spreadsheet hanging over the map. There were still things to do, but he realized that most of it was make-work. The ball was about to start rolling and things were moving increasingly out of the war room and into the real world.
"Yeah," he said, rising from his desk, "yeah, I’d like that."
The three made their way down into the depths of the castle and into the echoing dimness of the dragon aerie. For Mick it was the first time he had been on the aerie floor since Karin brought him here the first day. He felt a pang at the realization.
Sitting in the middle of the aerie was Charlie’s AN-2 Colt, newly equipped with a top turret, tail gunner’s position and with what looked like science-fiction machine guns sticking out on the sides. The dragons eyed the newcomer and shifted and bridled uncomfortably. Clearly they didn’t like this addition to their midst.
That thing looks like a bomber," Gilligan said. "A B AN-2?"
"Actually it’s a more like an EW AN-2," Taj said. "Except it’s magic not electronic warfare, so I guess it’s an MW AN-2."
"Why do I get the feeling this is never going to make Jane’s All The World’s Aircraft?’
"Different world?" Taj suggested.
"Here he comes," Jerry said. "And it looks like he’s got his, uh, user interface with him."
Charlie stepped between the looming monsters and marched out to the group of waiting wizards and programmers. Trailing behind him were five bat-eared demons.
"My crew," he said to the group.
The first in line was a fresh-faced demon in aviator sunglasses, an officer’s cap with a thousand-mission crush and a brown cowhide flight jacket with a Flying Tigers Blood Chit on the back and an Eighth Air Force patch on the sleeve. "Gerry O’Demon. My co-pilot"
Jerry groaned and threw an anguished look at Taj, who merely spread his hands and shrugged.
The next demon was short and slovenly with an unshaven chin and beady little eyes that never seemed to look at anyone straight on.
"That’s Joe, my tailgunner."
Next in line was an older demon wearing a baseball cap, coveralls liberally smeared with grease and chewing on a cigar stub that was disreputable even by demon standards.
"Kelly. He’s my crew chief and waist gunner."
Next was a young demon in a fleece-lined leather jacket, baseball cap and a particularly goofy grin. This is Sparks. He’s radioman and handles the other waist gun."
Finally there was a slender, rangy demon wearing a leather flight jacket and a battered Stetson.
Tex here’s the t
urret gunner."
With introductions made, Charlie waved his "crew" toward the airplane. "Okay, boys, saddle up and let’s ride."
"User interface, huh?" Mick said to Taj as they watched Charlie and the demons swarm over the plane doing last-minute checks.
"At least it ain’t Windows 95," Jerry said.
The best interface is the one that best fits the user," Taj added. "Can you think of a better interface for this job?"
At last Charlie and the demons were aboard and in position. Charlie slid open the cockpit window and signaled thumbs-up to the Flight Master, who controlled operations from the aerie.
As he had been taught, the Flight Master waved to Charlie to indicate all was ready. Charlie responded with a one-finger salute. The Flight Master turned to the door, dropped to one knee and brought his stiff arm down pointing at the entrance. On that signal Malus raised his staff and the big biplane shot the length of the aerie and out into the open air like an F-14 coming off the deck of a carrier. The cavern erupted into a deafening chorus of roars as the dragons protested an unfamiliar flying thing in their airspace.
As the grooms and riders fought to keep the dragons under control the plane disappeared below the rim of the entrance for a heart-stopping instant and then appeared again, climbing smoothly For altitude.
"Come, My Lords and Ladies," said Bal-Simba. "We have our own work to do." With a final glance at the rapidly vanishing speck in the center of the patch of blue, Gilligan turned and followed the group out of the aerie.
"Where’s your girlfriend?" Taj asked as they climbed the stone steps back to the main keep.
"She left a little while ago," Mick said shortly.
Deep beneath the ground the pale queen sat upon her ink-black throne. Light there was none, nor sound. Neither was needful.
Part of her was in this dark hall and other parts were in a thousand different places, sensing, observing and here and there acting. All of that was part of the dark queen just as she was part of all of it.
She could feel the pulse of the earth and the putt of the tides. She could sense the currents and eddies of magic which flowed through this place. She could sense her belly ripening even as desires ripene. All were good. All would come to fruition in the fullness of time.
The pale queen knew neither impatience nor haste. Only the pattern, changing, unfolding, becoming. That was all there was and all there needed to be.
TWENTY-FIVE
THE FLIGHT OF THE OLD CROW
The sea was gray, the sky was pale, dear blue and all was quiet. Too quiet. I shoulda had the wizard do something about engine noise, Charlie thought as the plane hissed through the air. The AN-2 was as rugged as a steel I-beam, but her Russian designers hadn’t spared any attention for non-essentials like soundproofing. Flying a Colt and being able to hear himself think was a new experience for Charlie. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
He flicked the intercom switch.
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,
And wee’lll alllll stayyy freeee.
None of the demons could sing worth a damn and that wasn’t stopping any of them. In fact they’d been singing constantly since they launched out of the aerie several hours before. They’d started with "Remember Pearl Harbor" and worked their way through a medley of World War II patriotic songs, including a rousing number called "Bomben auf England" that Charlie was sure never graced the messes of the Eighth Air Force. When again. It wasn’t such a large repertoire and Charlie had decided long ago he preferred the unnatural silence of the cockpit to the racket in the intercom.
Gilligan leaned over the map and put his fists on the table. "Okay, their forces are deploying. We’ve got six, eight, it looks like about ten squadrons of dragons moving into range of Charlie."
"What is Dushmann doing?" asked Kuznetsov.
Gilligan looked puzzled.
"The enemy," the Russian explained. " ’Dushmann’ means the Enemy."
"In the air over the city, not much. There are only scattered indications from the City of Night. It looks as if they only have a few sentries up." He looked over at Bal-Simba. "I’d bet he’s got forces still on the ground and ready to launch. But the ones that are homing in on Charlie are probably out, of the battle. They can’t get back in time."
Moira thrust her scaly head between Gilligan and Kuznetsov. "Has Charlie been warned?"
"He knows they’re there," the American said dryly.
Everyone watched silently as the waves of red acts swept toward the lone green diamond.
"Six o’clock high," Tailgunner Joe sang out over the intercom. "Bogies. Multiple. They’re going for a beam pass."
"I got "em," Sparks shouted. "Here they come."
Charlie twisted in the seat to catch sight of the attackers. The undead dragons weren’t as smooth as the ones he had seen at the castle. Their formation was ragged, they tended to slew in the turn and their flight was stiff. But all that only made them more menacing. He counted at least six as they swept around in a flat turn to come in on the Colt broadside. On they came, rising and falling slightly in the air currents, growing larger and more sinister as they bored in for the kill. Charlie saw the skeletal riders rise in their saddles to draw their great iron bows.
Just when it seemed they were too close to matter, Sparks opened up with the waist gun. The undead riders and their zombie mounts were immune to death arrows and hard to stop with dragon fire. They would have laughed at .50 caliber machine gun bullets. Energy bolts were another matter.
Lances of lightning stabbed toward the attackers. The afterimage burned purple in Charlie’s vision of a dragon arcing its neck back almost on top of its rider in a lambent nimbus of brilliance. Then Tex joined in from the top turret and the brightness became too much to bear. Charlie blinked and shook his head, trying to see. The instrument panel was lost in the dark spots swirling across his vision. He drew a gasping breath and nearly choked on the ozone. The flat crack-crack-crack of the lightning bolts told him Sparks was still firing. Suddenly it was quiet again. "Eight in, eight down," Sparks yelled into the intercom. Charlie looked out the side window and saw two splashes in the ocean below. One of them had a burnt relic that might once have been a wine disappearing at its center.
Back in the cockpit Gerry O’Demon, his copilot, was holding the controls straight and level as if nothing had happened.
"Good work, son," Charlie said into the mike.
"Don’t get cocky," came Joe’s growl from the tail position. "We got two more groups on our six."
Gerry leaned forward and squinted out the windshield. Twelve o’clock high!" the demon called. "Multiples. Three squadrons at least. I think more behind those." Charlie’s eyes weren’t as good as the demon’s but when he looked hard he saw them too. He craned his neck left and right seeking more bogies. He didn’t see any but there was an ugly looking thunderhead boiling up a couple of miles off to the left.
Normally Charlie would have avoided a storm cell like a temperance lecture. But the three squadrons of zombies were coming straight at them. He heard the crack-crack-crack as the squadrons behind them came within range of Tailgunner Joe’s weapon.
"Really sporty, huh?" chirped his co-pilot.
Tu madre," Charlie muttered. Then he kicked the rudder hard, shoved the throttle to the firewall and ran for the clouds for all he was worth.
Far above, the watching demons scanned everything that came within their purview. They were without emotion or even intelligence. They simply collected sense impressions and transmitted the information through intermediary demons back to the Wizards’ Keep, where it was processed and displayed on the magic map in the war room.
Moira thrust her scaly head over Gilligan’s shoulders. "It appears that Charlie has destroyed some of his attackers."
"He’s got firepower in that plane," Jerry said.
"Every one he takes out is one less we have to worry about," Kuznetsov added. Gilligan peered deeper into the tank. There were a lot of red dots closin
g in on the lone green diamond. "From the looks of it I’d say we’re going to have plenty to worry about anyway."
"Are we ready for the next phase?" asked Bal-Simba.
Gilligan looked at Kuznetsov and both men shook their heads. "We want them committed as fully as possible before we spring our next little surprise on them."
"A while more," Kuznetsov said.
Gilligan watched the battle develop and tried not to think about Karin and what she was doing.
TWENTY-SIX
THE EXECUTIONER
No sea birds, Karin thought, scanning the gray sky above the gray-green sea. She spared a glance down at the crag. No nests and no signs of them. Not even the deposits of whitewash left by birds using the rocks for fishing lookouts. The place probably smelled better for the lack, but it did not make it any less forbidding.
The Executioner’s attraction was its geography and topography, not natural beauty. There were several reefs and bars within a two-hour dragon flight of the ruined City of Night, none of them big enough or high enough above water to be called islands. But the Executioner had one thing the others lacked: Hiding places. The volcanic rock was laced with crevices, blowholes, fissures and pumice caves that could keep a dragon or two and their riders safe from eyes in the sky.
Karin and her partner had been here for almost two days now, keeping concealed and waiting for the signal. Karin hugged the jagged rock and stared out over the sullen ocean, scanning from horizon to horizon and back again for any speck that might be an approaching dragon. But the sky was as empty as the sea. Finally satisfied, she twisted on the narrow ledge and waved to her companion below. Senta was a small, dark woman who was unusual in being both a skilled magician and a dragon rider. Karin was with her as her wingman and to use her scouting skills to keep them undetected and out of trouble until they had done what they came for.
I wonder where Mick: But she pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated on the business at hand.
Down below, back under a lava overhang, Stigi and Senta’s dragons were restive. They didn’t like being on the ground when there were enemies about, and the undead dragons made them nervous besides. Well, that was fine with Karin. She was nervous too. As soon as they completed their job here she would be only too glad to be back in the air and winging her way home.