Cursing a steady streak under his breath, Kochanski held himself under rigid control as a Tal was brought before each of the outlanders.
Christ, what a monster, he thought, and was stunned when a thought was projected into his mind.
*I am Nar-Talon, of Dar-tal's line. Very strong, good fighter.*
"Uh, I'm Stan Kochanski, U. S. Army Air Corps," Kochanski responded, and the others looked around at him as if he was crazy.
"Look guys, the thing talked to me," Kochanski said defensively. "Honest!"
"Ah, bullshit," Goldberg replied even as a trainer brought one of the Tals up to his side.
"Hey, what was that? Who the hell was talking?" Goldberg cried, stepping back.
"Batha was merely introducing himself," the trainer replied, looking at Goldberg as if he were an ignorant peasant without any manners.
"What?"
"Tals are intelligent creatures," Valdez said in an exasperated tone. "I told you that before we came down here, but you laughed at me."
"But he spoke in my mind!" Goldberg looked warily at the Tal next to him.
"Precisely," Valdez replied, as if to a group of idiots. "You don't just ride a Tal, you become a battle partner with him. He's an extra set of eyes, and though limited, an extra brain that can help make decisions in the heat of combat. Tals can speak telepathically with whomever they please. Treat them with respect and affection and they'll be loyal until death. In the months to come each of the Tals will choose the man it prefers, and then you'll be a battle team."
"You mean they'll pick one of us as a partner?" Kochanski asked.
"Yes," Valdez said wearily. "You don't want to be atop a Tal that doesn't like you. They want a partner they can trust."
"I'd hate to be on the wrong side of one," Goldberg responded.
"Aye, their mouth is a mean one, to be sure. Why, 'e can rip a head off with a single bite," a stable hand said, affectionately stroking a beast on its muzzle.
Private Matsumoto stepped forward from the assembly and approached the Tal directly in front of him. He rubbed the Tal's flank and to the surprise of everyone placed his arms around its neck and gave it a hug.
"I had a dog back home," Matsumoto said softly. "How I've missed him. And now I have a friend again."
The trainers, who obviously held the same affection for the beasts, smiled approvingly.
Without another word Matsumoto vaulted into the saddle and leaned forward, patting the Tal on the shoulder.
"His name is Onta-Talon," Matsumoto said happily, "and he claims he can outrun all the others in this pack. So let's see!"
With a whoop of delight Matsumoto hung on as Onta broke into a run and charged out of the stable. The other Tals, having heard the challenge, approached the men with loud growls and short jumping movements, like oversized puppies eager to play. Their growls echoed and roared, and their leaps shook the stable.
"Well, let's go, Nar-Talon, or whatever your name is!" Kochanski cried as he grabbed hold of the pommel and swung himself into the saddle. The others, struggling both with their courage and the Tals, finally gained their saddles as well.
Kochanski grabbed hold of his peaked flying cap and waved it in the air.
"Hi-ho, Silver, away!" Kochanski roared as he galloped out of the stables in hot pursuit of Matsumoto, with the rest of the pack thundering behind him.
"Damn fools," Valdez mumbled, shaking his head.
* * * *
"My lady, a messenger hawk has returned to the aviary."
Patrice turned from the window and looked at the young witch standing before her.
"Let it in, then leave us."
Bowing low the girl backed to the door and held it open. A small hawk fluttered into the room and landed on the windowsill beside Patrice.
It was such a beautiful creature, she thought, extending her hand to lightly stroke its breast. It was a special breed, a secret known only to herself and a handful of servants in the court. Not even her uncle Jartan knew of this little sideline of interest that she had developed.
Bending low she fixed the creature with her gaze and stared into its unblinking eyes.
If anyone had been in the room they would have seen a light shimmer from her hand encircle the bird, so that its bright red wings and dark orange body seemed to glow with fire. For several minutes she held it with her gaze, then smiling, turned away.
"So my impetuous cousin thinks his new allies can be safely let out of the castle. Now we can begin to play the game. He has too many of them already, and I think it's time the wealth was shared."
* * * *
"Magnificent, simply magnificent."
Mark brought his Tal alongside Ikawa's and eased into a slow canter.
"Did you say something?"
"It's just I never could have imagined anything as beautiful, as stunning as this," Ikawa replied. "I thought Fuji in the springtime, still snowcapped, with the cherry blossoms around it, was paradise. But this..."
Mark leaned back, relaxing a little bit after the hard gallop of the last half hour.
Comfortable ride now, sire, stay slow?
He still wasn't used to a voice in his mind. The Tal turned its head and looked back at him with an appraising gaze.
"Ah, yes, that's fine, Gukha-Tal," Mark said out loud.
The Tal fell into an easy stride. Mark realized that the creature undoubtedly knew his anxiety and was responding by giving the gentlest ride possible. He leaned over and patted its flank. The creature growled softly, like a playful dog.
The wild beauty of Allic's realm spread itself around them. A high ridgeline, which they had been climbing for the last half hour, dominated the view in front. Turning in his saddle, Mark looked back down onto the open, fertile plain. Derosa trees dotted the countryside from horizon to horizon like great elms, their spreads a hundred or more feet across, and covered with blossoms. Deep red was predominant, but the colors shifted in some groves from pale pink through burgundy. The warm air was awash with a heady scent like lavender and new mown hay.
The fields were laid out checkerboard fashion. The crops appeared to be primarily grain, but here and there an ancient well-ordered vineyard was evident, the arbors heavy with fruit. There was some mechanization in the form of reaping machines pulled by oxlike creatures and occasional water- or wind-powered mills, where wagon-loads of grain were waiting to be ground and logs were ready to be cut. In all of this there was a sense of organization and pride in labor that was well done. In many ways it reminded Mark of old Currier and Ives prints of American farms in a simpler and happier age.
They passed through small, well kept villages of whitewashed houses made of masonry and split timber, peaked with brilliant tile roofs that more often than not were laid into multicolored designs of winged birds or swirling geometric patterns. The houses, large and comfortable looking, were decorated with intricate wood carvings depicting pastoral scenes.
The farm holders and villagers were a healthy lot, not at all Mark's image of medieval peasants. The men wore loose fitting trousers, open shirts, and broad-brimmed straw hats. The women who worked in the fields wore trousers as well, while those in the villages were dressed in bright skirts embroidered with arabesques. Almost all the women wore loose peasant blouses pulled in with a small waist cincture or corset.
Their eyes were bright and they called out cheery greetings to Allic, who returned their cries with a happy wave. He stopped occasionally to inquire about the crops or accept a beaker of wine, and Mark could not help but notice Allic's easy relationship with his people. There was a note of deference, to be sure, but it was the deference of a proud people who respected their leader and expected respect in return. No bowing and scraping: these people were yeomen, not serfs.
The outlanders were a source of curiosity, and when walking their Tals, a number of shouting, laughing children would run by their side. From more than one second floor window a young woman, and sometimes several, would lean out in their low-cut blouses
and shout suggestive offers.
The Americans responded in typical fashion, and by the time they left a village behind, the children were already imitating their wolf whistles or shouting outlander slang.
Soon they had left the last village behind, as the trail led into the forest. It seemed they rode through a tunnel of green and sun-soaked red, the derusa trees creating a canopied tunnel that appeared to stretch forever. The path beneath their feet was strewn with fallen blossoms. The outlanders rode as if in a trance, soaking in every detail.
The forest was alive with great flocks of small birds with golden wings and lavender bodies that wheeled and darted around them, chirping rhythmically in an ever-varying song.
Many of the nobles in town kept a dozen or more of the birds as pets, since each one would respond to a call from the other by singing on a different note so that a group of them would weave an ever-varied tone poem. Its effect was hypnotic when just a dozen were singing, but out in the wild the gentle calling of hundreds seemed a symphony of changing harmonics.
As they emerged from the forest onto the high crest of the ridgeline, more than one of the riders looked back longingly at the magic they had just left behind.
But the view that now confronted them was even more breathtaking.
As far as the eye could see, the countryside was alight with the shimmering red-greens of the forest, checkered with the neatly arranged fields, orchards, and vineyards of Allic's people. Far away to the south and west, as the countryside swept downward, they could almost see where areas of cultivation reached the edge of the escarpment, which dropped away for thousands of feet down to the open savannah of the distant horizon. Far to the east was another ridgeline which marked the edge of Sarnak's realm, the distant mountains a shimmering dark blue line against the afternoon sky. Looking down and to the north, they could see the city of Landra, its great temples, palaces, and manor houses laid out along both sides of the river, all of which was surrounded by the shimmering limestone walls.
"Not a bad looking fiefdom, is it?" Allic asked, his pride obvious.
"I never thought I would see anything more beautiful than my homeland in the spring," Ikawa replied softly. "But now I have; it will hurt beyond measure when finally I leave this place."
"Let's not talk of leaving now," Allic said. "You still owe service to me, and I brought you here because I wanted to show you something. Please dismount."
Following Allic's lead, the Americans and Japanese dismounted, talking excitedly of the wonders they had seen.
"Would you men come with me," Allic called. "Don't worry about your mounts, they can take care of themselves."
The men fell in behind Allic, following him up a narrow, winding path that cut between a series of rounded boulders.
"Ah, the rest of you can head back to the castle," Allic said, gesturing to Pina and the dozen or so sorcerers who had accompanied the party. "Your mounts will find their own way back."
Without comment Pina nodded to his lord, a smile lighting his face. Effortlessly the dozen rose into the air, hovered for a moment, then with a wide sweeping turn they darted over the edge of the ridge and swooped away, disappearing from view.
"Damn," Mark mumbled, wishing that he could follow them. He started to turn his thoughts inward, ready to try again for the hundredth time, but Allic's command interrupted him.
"This way, all of you. We're almost there."
The path weaved up the ridge to end suddenly at the edge of a cliff. Allic stopped at the precipice. "Gather round, gather round, all of you."
The men came up to his side, forming a half circle around him, and stopped.
Ikawa came up to the very end of the trail and felt his heart climb into his throat. They were standing on the edge of a sheer cuff, thousands of feet above the wooded valley below.
The men were silent. Some went to the edge and looked down, but most stood several feet back.
"Now, you're probably wondering why I've brought you to this spot," Allic began. A faint shimmer encompassed him, and he rose a dozen feet into the air. "Gentlemen, I was talking with your commanders today about motivation."
Ikawa and Mark looked at each other, trying to recall the context of the conversation.
The shimmer around Allic grew in intensity. He held up one hand. "Gentlemen, we're here for a little motivation," he said, barely suppressing a laugh. "It's time for flying lesson number one!"
A beam of light shot out from Allic's hand, slamming into the rock directly behind the party. With a shattering roar the ground collapsed beneath their feet.
"Shit!" Mark screamed as the ground fell away beneath him. He was tumbling in space, falling to certain death. The wind rushed past him, plucking at his clothes, shrieking in his ears. He looked down to the ground rushing up. No, not yet. Not yet, damn it!
"No!" Mark held up his hands, willing the ground away to keep it from smashing his body. "No, goddamn it! No!"
Suddenly the ground was dropping away, the horizon rolling up before him, and the terrifying sense of falling had stopped.
"What the hell?" He was flying!
"I'm flying!" Mark screamed. His arms were straight ahead, the air screaming past him, while the ground rushed by several hundred feet below. He extended his arms out to either side, and looked off to his left.
The earth wheeled beneath his feet and he banked into a turn.
"I can fly!" Mark felt exalted. This was flying―flying with the wind in your face and no hulk of steel around you, no stench of gasoline and thunder of engines. He looked straight up and there above him several men were drifting through the air, one of them doing a series of low, lazy rolls.
He wished to be with them and even as the wish formed, he arched upwards. So that's how, Mark realized. Think it or look at it, and the Essence responds.
He soared towards the men above him and recognized Kochanski and Walker, both roaring with delight.
Most of the Japanese still were terrified, drifting wobbly in the air. But the Americans knew this element―it was their love. Reaching the height of his two comrades, Mark continued straight up, noticing that the climb had cut his speed to practically nothing. He arched his back over in a fair imitation of a loop and swooped back down, coming in on Walker's tail.
"Hey, tailgunner," Mark screamed, "somebody's on your ass."
"Jesus, Captain," Walker cried, tears of laughter clouding his eyes, "we're flying... Damn it, we're flying like goddamn Superman!"
One by one the Americans sought out their comrades in the sky, as if the old instinct of flying together in a B-29 still held form here, an unimaginable distance away.
"All right, Dragon Fire," Mark cried, as Smithie, the waist gunner, finally came into the formation.
A form snapped past them overhead then turned back and drew up alongside. It was Allic.
For a moment Mark forgot himself. "You madman," he cried, "you scared the shit out of us!"
"Didn't I tell you this morning," Allic replied, ignoring the insult, "that all you needed was a little motivation and you'd be flying? So I gave you the motivation the same way a hawk teaches her young."
"Yeah, fly or die."
"Precisely. Why are you complaining? It worked, didn't it?"
"Damn near shit my pants," Kochanski said.
"Bet some of those Japs did shit their pants." Giorgini chuckled.
Most of the Japanese were flailing around below them, bobbing this way and that.
"And suppose we didn't fly?" Mark asked. "We'd be dead."
"I wouldn't waste such a good investment," Allic replied. "Look over there." He pointed, then dove towards the cliff where Pina and his companions were hovering.
Several of the sorcerers were carrying terrified Japanese soldiers, while Pina and a couple of others flew slowly alongside the weakest flyers, ready to intervene if something went wrong.
"Say, let's buzz some Japs!" Giorgini started to break formation.
"Knock it off," Mark swung in fron
t of Giorgini. "We got enough problems as is without rubbing this in to them. You want to start a fight or something?"
"Yeah, why not?" Giorgini was defiant. "They're Japs."
"They're allies of Allic, the same way we are," Mark roared. He could feel a terrible rage building, and for the first time created a noticeable aura around himself.
"Get back in formation," he said, "and that's an order!"
Giorgini looked at him for a moment, then silently lifted back up and swung in beside Younger. Circling over the cliff they saw Allic swing in beneath them, motioning for the group to re-form.
Effortlessly the Americans landed as a group on the precipice. The Japanese staggered in after them.
Ikawa suddenly rose into view. With a dash of bravado he attempted to roll as he came in for a landing, but his timing was a bit off and he landed sideways and collapsed on his backside.
Mark came over and gave him a hand, pulling him back to his feet.
"Not bad for your first solo," Mark said quickly, before any of his men could make a sarcastic remark. He could understand Giorgini's comments earlier: the temptation had existed for him as well. But if he ever let it show, the alliance would collapse in seconds.
"Most exhilarating," Ikawa said evenly, but Mark could see that his eyes were wide with fear. Only his iron control kept him from shaking like a leaf. Mark felt a wave of understanding: they both had to put on a show, to act fearless. He clapped Ikawa on the back.
"You should have seen my first landing back in flight school," Mark said, lying in what he hoped was a convincing manner. "You did okay."
Ikawa looked into his eyes for a moment, then smiled back.
"So, flying lesson number one is over," Allic said smoothly, as the last of his sorcerers came in bearing Takeo, the only one who had not managed to fly.
"You'll need practice, lots of practice, to learn complete control," he continued. "Now it's time to head back to the castle. Are there any here who would prefer to fly? The Tals know their own way back, so don't worry about your mounts."
Crystal Warriors Page 10