by Moore, John
He smiled. It was a lovely day for battle.
“Damn, I knew that stuff about the exit,” said Kevin. “I don’t know why I didn’t remember it.”
Stan was being careful with his prisoners now. A full dozen of Voltmeter’s soldiers, their weapons drawn, surrounded the escapees. Stan led them back into the depths of the fortress, with Kevin reluctantly at his side and four guards behind them. Then came Becky, Laura, and Mercredi, prodded along at spearpoint by the remaining eight soldiers. The constant jabs kept them all moving briskly, while adding insult to the injury of being captured once again. They wended their way through the wide halls and up the narrow stairs of the fortress. The mazelike design became more and more obvious. Stan didn’t have a weapon himself. Instead he carried a clipboard. He talked to Kevin as they walked.
“By the way, that trick of always turning in the same direction doesn’t work either. It works on the classical designs, but in a newer maze it will only keep bringing you around to the same spot.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind for future maze running.”
“I don’t see why you keep on trying to play the hero, Timberline. Why should you care who rules Deserae?”
“I have an aversion to seeing innocent people slaughtered.”
“They won’t be slaughtered if they surrender without a fight. After what you see here today, you can persuade Calephon to abdicate. Put that diplomatic training to good use.”
“If you’re counting on my help, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I’ve studied your dossier, Timberline. You’re being forced by your father to marry Princess Rebecca. I suppose you’re trying to win her hand with these heroic antics.”
Kevin’s silence confirmed his guess. Stan looked smug. “The Princess Rebecca. She’s the one they call the Ice Princess, isn’t she? Frankly, I should think you would be glad to be out of it.”
“It’s complicated,” admitted Kevin.
They reached the forbidding oak door of the central chamber. Stan paused to look back over the other prisoners. “If I were you,” he said quietly, “I’d forget about the Ice Princess and make a play for that barbarian babe. She seems more your type. And it’s obvious she likes you.”
“Stan,” said the Prince, “you’re a smart man. But you don’t know as much as you think.”
Stan shrugged. “Too late now.” He opened the door.
The soldiers pushed them through. This was unnecessary, as they made no resistance, but pushing people around is part of the job when you’re a soldier to an Evil Overlord, and Voltmeter’s guards were well trained. The prisoners stumbled inside. Immediately, Kevin felt the curious lethargy, the inability to resist, that he had previously felt in the Overlord’s presence. Once they were inside, Stan dismissed the soldiers. “They are under Lord Voltmeter’s power. There is no need to stick around. Go and man the battlements. The attack is about to begin.”
The guards disappeared. Kevin willed his body to make a run for the door, but it continued to carry him forward, and Stan closed the door behind the soldiers. In the center of the room, the phlogistocator sat silently. On top of the gleaming stack of copper and brass tubing, astride a massive black iron boiler, almost at the ceiling, rested the Ancient Artifact. Next to it was a small round platform that held only a large T-switch. A metal ladder led up to the platform.
At Voltmeter’s back was a long table stacked with swords, knives, crossbows, arrows, bolts, and other assorted weapons. Kevin suspected Voltmeter laid them out as some sort of psychological torture, knowing that the Prince would long to grab a sword and slice off the Overlord’s head. Indeed, Kevin tried to do exactly that. But the four captives could only look at the weapons helplessly.
The Evil Overlord was staring out one of the casement windows, squinting into the bright sunlight. He spoke without turning around, and without a trace of surprise. “So glad you could join us, Your Highness. I believe your friend Lord Logan is about to make his move. Would you care to have a look?”
The Prince stepped sluggishly forward and looked down. Becky looked over his shoulder. Below her, Voltmeter’s mercenaries were massing on the Fortress walls. Yesterday Kevin had told her their ranks were thin, but today there seemed to be plenty enough. Beyond them, in the valley below, were the neat lines of Logan’s army. They had crossed the stream and were assembled on the fields before the cliff, flying the flags of Deserae and Angostura. From the tower they seemed small and vulnerable. Her heart went out to them. The path that switchbacked up the cliff face was long and steep, and the attackers would be exposed to a constant rain of arrows. Upon reaching the top, they would be confronted by the heavy doors and sheer walls of the Fortress itself. Even if those were breached, there would still be Voltmeter’s well-trained and well-armed soldiers to contend with. The attackers had no siege engines or rams—it would be pointless to try to get them up that cliff.
The door opened, and Valerie entered. She had changed back into her black leather bustier, then added a pair of calf-high boots over skintight leather pants. She had also touched up her hair and reapplied her red lipstick. In one hand she carried Thunk’s sword. The frumpy dress was draped over her other arm. Stan looked the leather clothing up and down and gave her a disapproving frown. The two girls, who appeared pretty bedraggled after their night in the cell, stared at her resentfully. Valerie ignored them all. She put Thunk’s sword on the table, gave the Prince a calculating look, and stood beside the Chief Minion.
A flicker of something black moved in Kevin’s peripheral vision. He turned back to the window. An armored knight was riding along the ranks of archers. His shield and breastplate were lacquered in deep, glossy black, and a plume of rich black feathers sprang from his helmet. His horse, draped in black silks, was massive. And more riders were circulating through the massed troops, calling out orders, assigning positions, directing movements. As their paths crossed back and forth it was impossible to get an exact count of them. Kevin did not have to be told who they were. He recognized them immediately, as did every man on the Fortress walls. They were the Black Guards.
He felt like cheering for them. This battle would not be one-sided. He could see down to the field, where Logan had assembled his archers. Already the men were fitting arrows to their longbows. Despite the cliff, the Fortress walls were within reach of those weapons. They would lay down a continuous barrage, keeping Voltmeter’s men under cover while Deserae’s soldiers stormed the Fortress. The foot soldiers were strong, fast, and efficient. The trail up the cliffs was steep all right, but men carrying siege ladders would rush it under the protection of the longbows. Once at the base of the walls, short bows and crossbows would drive the defenders away from the battlements, while the infantry scaled the ladders. They would go over the top with swinging swords and axes. Blood would flow.
Logan was an experienced commander. Kevin knew there was a very good chance the Black Guards would take the walls successfully.
“What a lovely day for battle,” said Voltmeter. And he laughed again, that staccato, patented, Evil Overlord’s laugh. “The sun glinting off all their bright little buttons, their banners fluttering in the gentle breeze. I almost wish I could pack a hamper and go out for a picnic.” There was not the least trace of concern in his voice. Kevin turned his head and saw that Becky was looking at the Diabolical Device. It filled the tower, not only with its actual bulk but with its malevolent presence, like a huge predator waiting to feast.
Logan, on a black charger of his own, paraded before the men, giving his prebattle speech. The soldiers cheered. The band struck up a bright marching tune—the incongruously cheerful “Whiskey in the Jar.” Voltmeter’s men were looking distinctly nervous. When a man knew he was about to fight the Black Guards, it tended to sap his confidence.
“Music, too. How very pleasant.” Voltmeter turned. “Stan, go downstairs and join the defenders. I want you to collect data for the calibrations. Girls, please step to the windows. Today history wi
ll be made. I should hate for you to miss it. Professor Mercredi, would you be so good as to mount the ladder and prepare to throw the switch on my command?”
Mercredi was no more capable of refusing than Kevin was. The fear showed plainly on his face as his body made him climb the ladder. He pulled himself onto the platform and crawled over to the switch. Voltmeter waited until his shaking hands were curled around the switch handle before reassuring him. “Oh, no need to worry, Professor. I took the liberty of switching the polarity back to its original settings. We’re quite safe here from the phlogiston field.”
Kevin gave Mercredi a look. Mercredi returned it. “Well, of course he can do it,” the alchemist called down defensively. “He’s an Evil Genius. I never said it was impossible. I just said it wouldn’t be easy.”
“I didn’t say a word,” said Kevin.
Mercredi stood by the ladder. Stan left to rejoin the soldiers. Laura stepped forward and stood to one side of Voltmeter. Becky summoned every ounce of will she had to resist Voltmeter’s command, but slowly her feet dragged her to a window. Outside, Voltmeter’s archers nocked their arrows. Down in the valley, Logan’s archers released their first round. But not at the Fortress. Instead, the arrows struck the cliff wall, broke, and fell upon the trail. Black smoke issued from them.
Smudge pots, thought Kevin. Logan is trying to create a smoke screen along the trail, so his men will be harder to hit.
There was a sudden clatter outside the windows. A second flight of arrows had struck the battlements. Voltmeter’s men ducked behind the parapets. Logan’s men began to flow up the cliff, a double file that moved with surprising speed against the steepness of the trail. Dispersed within the column were the Black Guards, letting their armor block the arrows to protect the men behind. Even Voltmeter was impressed.
“Strong men,” he observed. “And well disciplined.”
Another flight of arrows struck the Fortress of Doom, and more followed. Rising from the shadowy valley, they were nearly invisible until they suddenly flashed into sunlight, then they were lost in the glare. Voltmeter’s men stayed down behind the walls, holding shields over their heads. One of them, less careful than the rest, suddenly staggered back with a narrow shaft of oak protruding from his left shoulder. Voltmeter leaned out the window to get a better look. “Can’t see a thing down . . . GET DOWN!”
Compelled to obey, Kevin, Becky, and Laura dropped instantly to the floor. Voltmeter spun away from the window just as four arrows came through simultaneously—one even passing through his cloak—to miss him and clatter on the stone floor. Two more came through Kevin’s window and zipped over his head, breaking harmlessly on the Diabolical Device.
Voltmeter laughed. “Very nice, Lord Logan. Very nicely done indeed.” Still another arrow came through the window and struck the floor at his feet. “Well, I think that’s enough of that. Professor Mercredi, be so good as to activate the phlogistocator.”
Mercredi responded with a hostile look but reluctantly threw the switch.
Nothing happened.
Well, of course nothing appears to be happening, Kevin told himself. Phlogiston is invisible, after all. You can’t see phlogiston, you can only see its effects. Still, he expected the machine to do something. Hum, click, whir, rattle, make high-pitched beeping noises, emit puffs of steam, or at the very least, glow with an unearthly green light. The massive machine made no more movement than a pile of scrap metal. Any activity was on the inside, and apparently very quiet. There were a few dials at the top that Mercredi seemed to study, but Kevin couldn’t tell what they showed, if anything. Voltmeter wasn’t looking at the Diabolical Device at all. He had returned to the window, apparently with no fear of another arrow.
Kevin went back to the window himself. Logan’s men were fast. The first of them had nearly reached the top of the cliff path. They were breathing hard, gasping for breath, but did that mean anything? They had just charged up a steep trail with weapons and siege ladders. Of course they would be out of breath.
Then the smudge pots went out.
The smoke cleared away. And down in the valley, the archers began breathing hard also. The barrage of arrows had already stopped, and the men were putting down their bows. The officers were exchanging puzzled looks.
On the Fortress walls, Stan told the officers to hold their fire. The officers relayed the command to the men, and the shouted orders traveled along the battlements.
Now all the men along the cliff path stopped their charge. Swords, axes, and ladders dropped to the ground. Most men put their heads back, mouths open wide, drawing great breaths, desperately trying to suck in air that just didn’t seem to be there anymore. Others frantically tore open their collars. A few clutched their throats. The man closest to the Fortress walls took a step forward, tripped over the ladder he had just dropped, and fell to the ground. He didn’t get up. A moment later his partner was lying beside him. The scene was repeated down the line. Even the horses swayed and fell.
“Excellent results,” said Voltmeter. He clapped his hands lightly. “Just what you predicted, Professor Mercredi. It’s rather a shame they broke ranks, don’t you think? It would have been so nice to see them all topple in a row, like dominoes.”
They were too brave, thought Kevin. If only they had retreated. If only they had fled.
The Evil Overlord was hanging out the window, shielding his eyes with one hand. Becky casually drifted to one side of the table of weapons, where Thunk’s sword lay. Laura noticed her. She looked at Voltmeter and Valerie, both preoccupied with the battle outside, and she, too, edged away from the Overlord, to the other side of the table. Kevin was careful not to look at the girls at all. Instead he put his head out of his window and kept Voltmeter’s attention. “You fiend, you’ll pay for this.”
“How trite, Timberline. Was that phrase in your little book?”
“Yeah, it was. But my dad has plenty of sorcerers and alchemists of his own. And so do Deserae and Angostura. They’ll devise a counter to your damn machine, and the next attack will succeed.”
Becky wrapped her fingers around the hilt of Thunk’s sword.
“They won’t have time,” said Voltmeter. “This is the prototype. We have also built a portable phlogistocator, small enough to fit on a wagon. We only need this test to calibrate it. Then my legions will march forth from this castle, the phlogistocator leading the way, pushing before it a wave of death that no plague could ever match. Deserae will be mine within days. Angostura will be next, then Rassendas. In a month I will control the Twenty Kingdoms. Your armies will be helpless to do anything. Except bury their dead.”
Carefully, silently, Becky slid the barbarian sword out of its scabbard. Across the table, Laura eased a crossbow from the pile of weapons and fitted a bolt to it.
“Oh, look at this,” said Voltmeter. He pointed over the walls. A lone knight, not one of the Black Guards, was staggering up the cliff trail. He had discarded his helmet, and the agony on his face was plain to see. His chest heaved with the effort of drawing each breath—Kevin could hear his labored gasps even from the tower—but still the knight kept coming. His hair was soaked with sweat and beads of it stood out on his forehead. He had thrown his sword away. In one hand he held a short bow he had picked up. The other hand held a single arrow. At the top of the trail he looked to the tower windows, and clearly he recognized the Evil Overlord, for he fitted the arrow to his bow.
And in a single horrifying moment, as the knight raised his eyes to the tower, Kevin recognized him. Oh my God, he thought. It’s Sam Bigelow.
The Evil Overlord made no effort to move from the open window. He stood motionless, a fully framed target, with a slight smile playing on his face. His mercenaries stood up, looking at the knight at the base of the wall, at Voltmeter in the window of the tower, and back to the knight again. And Bigelow, swaying on his feet, his vision swimming, tried to take aim. Twice he raised the bow, and twice he lowered it.
Please, thought Kevin. Do it, Sam.<
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Bigelow dropped to one knee and in that position was able to steady himself. He drew the bow and aimed again. And then he collapsed, falling to one side, the arrow skittering harmlessly along the wall.
“What a commendable display of courage,” said Voltmeter. “I did enjoy that. You may be familiar with the saying, ‘A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic.’ I can say truthfully that the valiant death of that lone soldier has amused me more than the destruction of all the rest of Logan’s forces.”
“Die, you bastard!” screamed Becky. Voltmeter swung around just in time to see the blond princess leap at him, the barbarian’s sword high over her head and swinging downward. There was no time for him to move. The heavy steel blade was but an instant away from cleaving his skull. Becky’s face was red with fury, but triumph was shining in her eyes.
Laura shot her in the heart.
Kevin’s world ended.
His brain screamed, “Becky!” but he didn’t hear the word come out of his mouth, didn’t hear her short gasp of pain, didn’t hear the hero’s sword slip from her hand and clatter to the floor, didn’t hear anything but the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He saw her knees buckle and her body pitch forward as if in slow motion. He caught her before she hit the floor and cradled her head in his arms. The blue eyes were rolled back in her head. The beautiful lips were slack. There were drops of water on her face, and Kevin only dimly realized that they were his own tears.
“Such language,” said Voltmeter. “So unbecoming a princess.”
He waved a hand dismissively and turned back to the window. Kevin looked up dully. Valerie stood still, too surprised to react, the absurd wool dress still draped over her arm. “Princess?” she said. She heard a clicking noise. Laura had calmly braced the crossbow against the table and ratcheted back the cocking lever.