The demons—five of them in all—pressed the attack for several more seconds, though they were beginning to show signs of injury from the sustained fire of the humans. Some of the weapons appeared to have more of an effect than others; the slug-throwers seemed to do them great damage, while the energy-blast and particle beam guns scarcely fazed them.
The snake-thing that had attacked Keefe was the first to fall back, screeching as it went, the sounds not just of bestial anguish but almost resembling words.
Chills raced up the spines of everyone in the group at the unholy noise. They redoubled their efforts at the remaining creatures, seeing the success they’d had with the first one. Within moments they’d driven the others back as well, though none of the monsters looked to have been mortally wounded—if such a term as “mortal” could even be applied here, to such beings.
Guns were hot, bullets were low, and everyone was gasping for breath. At that moment, more shapes appeared and began to emerge from the nightmarish swirl of light and color. Grimacing in anger and fear, Keefe raised her pistol and fired.
The shot deflected off of something solid.
“Wait,” shouted Nakamura, reaching out and grasping her arm before she could fire again. “Hold your fire, everyone!”
Two solid colors were separating from the shimmering storm around them, and it was quickly obvious that they were human shapes. One had a hand raised, waving. The colors were red and green.
“The Guard!” shouted Tamerlane, rushing past Keefe and reaching out to the nearest figure. He recognized the ruby armor instantly—there was only one man in the Empire who wore its like. “Zayid,” he called, trying to see through the man’s crystalline helmet. “Are you alright?”
The Emperor’s Guardsman didn’t reply. He stumbled past Tamerlane and dropped to one knee, while more of the armored men emerged. Behind them came two more figures, unarmored. These were barely on their feet, remaining upright only by mutually supporting one another. One wore black, and Tamerlane didn’t recognize him at all. The other was clad in a pale blue environment suit.
“The Ecclesiarch!” called Keefe. Together she and Tamerlane lifted the older man under the arms, relieving the burden of the person in black. Tamerlane spared this new individual a quick look, wondering who he could be and where he possibly could have come from. He was tall and slender, with dark hair and piercing eyes.
Tamerlane’s attention was brought back to the more pressing issue as Nakamura both shouted and sent over the Aether, “The Emperor! Is he with you? Is he alive?”
Five of the Guardsmen had emerged now. Leaving the Ecclesiarch in the care of Keefe, Tamerlane hurried back in the direction from which they’d been coming. Thus he was first to encounter the figure in pale yellow who staggered out into the open and collapsed into his arms.
“Sire! Are you alright? This is Colonel Tamerlane. Are you—?”
Tamerlane became slowly aware that the Emperor was clutching something in his right hand. For some reason, though, he couldn’t quite focus his eyes on it. They just kept sliding right off of it, whatever it was. Even thinking about it made his head swim. Finally he forced himself to ignore it—the Emperor’s safety, after all, trumped any other considerations—and he found his growing headache eased a bit when he did that. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs that seemed to be growing there, then called out, “I’ve got him! I have the Emperor!”
“Yes!” cried Nakamura triumphantly. “Get him over here! Center of the circle. Everyone form up, now!”
By the hardest, the general and his team—with the Inquisitors helping as best they could—managed to assist the Emperor, the Ecclesiarch, the stranger, and the heavy, armored Guardsmen into a tight group, where they could be better protected. None of them seemed in particularly good shape. As Nakamura attempted to communicate with the Emperor himself, Tamerlane did a quick count of the Guard. Satisfied that all five were present, he squatted down next to the general.
“Everyone’s accounted for, sir,” he stated, “plus one new guy.”
Nakamura blinked at this, quite justifiably confused. “What?”
Tamerlane pointed.
Nakamura frowned as he stared momentarily at the man in black. “They encountered someone? Rescued him?” He waved it away. “We can concern ourselves with that once we’re back safely.”
Tamerlane nodded. He couldn’t help but peer down at the Emperor, whose face was obscured by the gleaming synth-resin faceplate of the helmet of his environment suit. Then, over a tight, one-to-one Aether connection with Nakamura, he asked, “How is he, sir?”
“I—can’t tell yet, Ezekial. He’s not responding.” A pause, then, “Let’s just get him out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” Tamerlane stood. “Alright, everyone,” he called out, using both his natural voice and the Aether. “We’re moving out. Quick as you can, but stay together!”
Once all the members of the group—now swelled to eighteen—were on their feet, Tamerlane led them back the way they’d come while the general hung close to the Emperor, helping him along and attempting to communicate with him.
“Ling,” Tamerlane called via the Aether. “Do you read? Lt. Ling, come in.”
A voice, static-filled at first but slowly clearing, came back over the link.
“This way,” it said. “Straight ahead.”
The party pressed forward. The heat was oppressive now, and no one’s equilibrium was exactly right. It seemed the longer they spent in this bizarre environment, the more destabilizing it became on their inner ears, their vision, and their other senses in general.
“That’s it,” the voice said, sounding increasingly hollow somehow even as the signal strengthened. “Yes. Come this way.”
Tamerlane frowned.
“Ling?” he called. “Is that you?”
“Come this way,” the voice repeated.
“Ling?”
A huge, monstrous shape appeared before them. It was translucent, like the snake they’d fought moments earlier, but much larger. In its form it was somewhat reminiscent of a gorilla, but with much exaggerated features—and four arms, each ending not in hands or paws but in hook-like talons. Flames burned across its head and shoulders and deep within its pitch-black eyes. An awful stench radiated out from it in waves, and that alone was nearly enough to knock Tamerlane off his feet. The creature leered, then lurched towards them.
Keefe screamed, and several of the others cried out. The Inquisitors chanted wards and protection spells again. Tamerlane had his quad-rifle up and firing from the moment it appeared. Learning from the previous encounter, he stuck to using the projectile barrels, firing slugs and explosive rounds.
Under the barrage of fire, the demon faltered momentarily—and then two more identical creatures appeared behind it, charging at the group.
“Stick with bullets,” Tamerlane ordered.
“I’m already out,” Keefe cried.
“Me, too,” came the wail from Landau.
A massive, clawed hand swiped at the edge of the group. Landau grunted as it impacted him near the waist, and he was sent tumbling off to the side. The silver disk he and all the others wore—the disk that provided a defensive electromagnetic field around him—was knocked loose and rolled away in the fog.
“Your disk!” shouted Tamerlane. “Landau!”
The lieutenant got back on his feet and then Tamerlane’s warning seemed to hit home. Reaching down, he felt and discovered that the object was missing. He whirled about, looking for it, to no avail. The flames were already sprouting from his hair and his uniform at that point.
The creatures had halted in their advance for a moment, but still held the attention of nearly everyone present. Thus only Tamerlane, who was already looking directly at Landau, saw what became of him.
The flames that licked across his body spread rapidly, their intensity growing. They seemed to be emerging from inside him somehow. He screamed—a horrifying, blood-curdling scream—and now the others we
re looking. By then, it was too late to see anything but a column of fire.
The flames grew to blinding intensity, then faded. When they were gone entirely, so was Landau. Only a tiny cloud of ashes remained, quickly lost in the fog.
The creatures roared and began to advance again, clawed limbs slashing.
Tamerlane gritted his teeth at the loss to their ranks and kept firing. His quad-rifle was overheating, and it was nearly out of ammo, anyway. Even as he fired, he noted that the Guardsmen hadn’t raised so much as a finger in their defense—they were simply standing there like zombies. Nakamura was basically holding the Emperor up on his feet, meanwhile firing away with his sidearm, contributing what he could to the effort. Keefe was holding up the Ecclesiarch, while the man in black sat on the ground alone, seemingly disoriented.
Tamerlane noticed for the first time that the Emperor was holding something in his hand—something large, hanging down at his side, its color matching the shimmering yellow of his suit. How he’d missed seeing it before, he had no idea—but apparently no one else had taken notice of it, either. There was no time to study it further, though, for the creatures were descending upon the group.
Tamerlane fired until his weapon ran dry. A second later, Nakamura’s was out. They glanced at one another, recognizing that this was the end.
As the massive talons swept around and down at him, Tamerlane lowered his gun and waited for death.
Death didn’t come.
Blinking, he looked up.
The creatures had stopped in their advance and were standing there, staring down at the group—and at one figure in particular, who stood at the forefront, holding an object up over its head. Tamerlane was perplexed for an instant. He couldn’t imagine it was actually who he thought it was—the Emperor—or that he was holding what it looked like he was holding—the supposedly lost Sword of Baranak.
He started forward, but found he couldn’t move very quickly at all. It was as if he were covered in concrete; some force was slowing him, dulling his thoughts. Meanwhile he could see the Emperor standing there, holding the sword—radiant with golden light—out before him, and speaking in some unknown language as he stared down the creatures.
The monsters swayed back and forth for a few moments, blinking at the glare from the sword, each of them making snuffling noises. Tamerlane got the distinct impression that they were sniffing his team—trying to smell something—though how they could smell anything over their own awful stench was hard to fathom. Then, as one, they turned and shambled back into the swirling colors, vanishing entirely.
Tamerlane gasped for breath and looked around. As far as he could tell, the group was still intact, everyone still alive.
“What happened?” called the general.
“I—don’t know,” Tamerlane replied. He seemed to remember that someone in the group had done…something? Was it…the Emperor? But that was impossible, he realized, turning to see the Emperor sitting where he had been before, zombie-like, nearly catatonic.
Hadn’t he done something, though? And it had involved an object—one the seemed familiar…
Tamerlane sighed. His head was splitting with one of the worst headaches he’d ever experienced. Tiredly he decided to let it go.
“General? Is that you? Colonel?”
Tamerlane looked up, as did Nakamura.
“Ling?” the colonel called back. “Ling, can you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” came the voice that was very clearly Lt. Ling this time. “I can see you, too. Look to your left.”
Tamerlane and Nakamura both turned that way and could just make out the shape of the lieutenant, jumping up and down and waving his arms. Behind him stood the big, black rectangle. The dimensional doorway.
The way out.
“Thank all the gods of the Above,” came the voice of the Inquisitor from behind them. He’d seen Ling, too. “Let us give thanks—to all of Those Who Remain—for this deliverance.”
“We’re not out yet, Inquisitor,” Tamerlane noted—but he could already feel a good deal of weight lifting from his shoulders.
“Let’s move,” Nakamura barked, as no-nonsense as ever. He helped the Emperor up and together the party headed in the direction of the doorway. As they moved, the general at last noticed what the Emperor was carrying, and he halted in mid-step.
“The Sword!
Tamerlane looked back and now he remembered seeing it, too, during the attack. It had been the sword. The Emperor had found it! He’d held it up against the demons. Tamerlane squeezed his eyes closed as pain lanced through his head again. Why in the name of the gods hadn’t he been able to remember seeing it afterward?
“Majesty,” Nakamura said, astonished. “Where—where did you get that?”
The Emperor was still unresponsive.
“Allow me to carry it for you, at least,” Nakamura said, reaching for the gleaming weapon. Janus didn’t respond—didn’t even look up as the general made the effort to take it—but his fingers were locked like iron around the hilt.
At last Nakamura gave up and began moving forward again. Looking on, Tamerlane frowned. The demeanor of the Emperor and all the others they’d come to rescue was beginning to trouble him deeply, but his overwhelming priority at the moment had to be simply getting everyone back out safely.
As they all reached the big black doorway, and a very visibly relieved Lt. Ling, Tamerlane blinked in surprise. The doorway shimmered for an instant, as though passing through discolored water, and when it solidified again it stood at least two meters to the right of its previous position.
“Is this what you meant before, General?” Tamerlane asked, taken aback.
“It moves, yes,” Nakamura responded. “Let’s get through it quickly.”
“We have to hold hands—all go through at once,” Tamerlane reminded the others.
Before the doorway could move again, Nakamura and his team joined hands, pulling the Emperor and his party into their circle by the hardest. While none of those who had been lost had yet spoken, they seemed to wake up a bit as they were forced to clasp hands with the others. Tamerlane noticed that the man in black appeared to be the most aware of his surroundings, his dark eyes glittering as they flicked from one soldier to the next. For the third time since they had encountered the Emperor’s group, he wanted to ask the stranger a few questions—and for the third time, such desires slipped from his mind immediately after he thought them.
Once everyone was joined hand in hand, Nakamura gave the order and they all stepped forward, forming a “V” formation behind him to either side, like ducks migrating south for winter. He nodded and they all passed through the doorway.
The disorientation was maddening, just as before. It felt as if it would never end. And then it did, and they were all standing in front of the massive, hideous eye again.
Torval was right where they had left him, his own tether wire stretching off into the fog, the other wires neatly bundled on the ground beside him.
“General?” he said, regarding them with puzzlement. “Something wrong?” Then he saw just how much larger the party was than it had been. “You found them!”
“Remember,” Tamerlane pointed out as he disengaged himself from the Guardsman he had helped through, “it hasn’t been very long for Torval since we left him.”
“Very long?” Torval said, eyes wide. “It’s only been a few seconds, sir. Where did you find His Majesty?”
Nakamura shook his head. “Debriefing later,” he barked. “I want all of us out of there—now!”
With two or even three individuals per wire, they were able to quickly get everyone moving back toward the portal. Those whose belts were actually connected—or reconnected—to the wires sent the signal that caused the wires to begin to retract, and the entire party was slowly pulled back to where they had first entered this bizarre realm.
Tamerlane watched the swirling gray clouds moving past them in every direction. He frowned as he discerned that they were darken
ing—almost souring, or curdling—as they passed through them. Puzzled, he glanced over at the Inquisitor to his left.
“You see it too, do you not, Colonel?” Stanishur asked softly.
“I do,” Tamerlane answered. “All around us—”
“Despoiled,” the Inquisitor finished for him. “The Above becomes despoiled as we pass through it.”
Tamerlane’s frown deepened. This truly disturbed him. “Are we causing it? Just our presence here?”
“There can be little doubt.”
“But—why? We didn’t cause anything like this before, on the way in.”
Stanishur’s eyes met his directly, and he nodded once. “That is quite correct.”
“But, then—” He looked over to where the Emperor and his entourage were being pulled along by their cables. “It can’t be them—”
“Our group carries with it the demonic spoor of the Below,” Stanishur stated coldly. “Why, I know not. Yet.”
The wires continued to reel them in. They dangled from them as though being pulled up through a planet’s clouds from a hovering vehicle high in the sky.
A beep sounded from one of the devices at Lt. Ling’s belt. He checked it, started, and checked again.
“The radiation is building up rapidly,” he reported to the others. “It’s different from what I was detecting in the Below, but it’s still far stronger than we need to be experiencing.”
“What does that mean?” Tamerlane asked, spinning around a bit on the wire to face the man.
Ling shrugged. “There is simply no way our little disk shields are coping with this,” he observed, voice hollow.
“I can feel it,” Torval said, holding his hand up and staring at it, as if it were about to mutate into some sort of amphibian appendage or the like. “I feel it all inside my hands—Hey, I think I can actually see through my hand…!”
“That’s enough,” Nakamura snapped, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I told you—we worry about getting home first, and then we deal with the other matters.”
“Energy is off the scale,” Ling muttered, still staring at the device he was carrying. “We’re dead.” He groaned. “Already dead, and just our bodies walking back out of Hell.”
The Shattering: Omnibus Page 13