Darkwar

by Glen Cook

  She sensed many more suits of that kind. The dead males had not had time to don them. She sabotaged all she could find while they remained inactive.

  She felt another darkship die and grew afraid that the rogues were too thoroughly prepared.

  But no. Surprise had been hers. The alien ship could no longer fire upon its attackers. Its weapons had been disarmed. Inside, those who did not wear the suppressor suits were dying. The task was not complete, but the anchor of rogue strength had been neutralized.

  Marika reached for the planet, where the darkships had scattered and were descending amid a welter of beams. No darkships rose to meet them. The darkships Marika had detailed to support them had elected to join the descent, to help stifle the defense. She touched her surviving companions and ordered all but one darkship to join her. The remaining darkship she detailed to stand off the alien to thwart any escape attempt.

  The screams of perishing silth filled the otherworld. It took Marika a moment to realize that she had sensed several crews perishing at once. She reached…. And was astonished by the nothingness she found.

  All five ships she had sent to intercept the patrol! All gone in an instant!

  Something cold and dark and hungry lurked behind the inward-bound Serke, death on a tether.

  She found an aura she recalled from long ago. From her first flight aboard a dark-faring darkship.

  Bestrei.

  Bestrei was aboard one of the picket ships. She was coming in.

  Fear filled Marika.

  Bestrei. The undefeated champion. Arrowing toward the world. Dragging the heart of the deep behind her.

  Marika murmured mantras, calming herself. The inevitable had come upon her, as she had known it must. It was time to face it.

  She unslung her rifle and gripped it tightly, swung the wooden dagger toward the Serke champion. She touched Grauel, Barlog, and her bath. We go to meet Bestrei. I must have your best.

  III

  Marika turned her conscious mind off, opened to the All, maneuvered without calculation.

  She gathered ghosts, climbed into the Up-and-Over, let go an instant later, raced toward the Serke. She sent a strong ghost whirling ahead.

  She had to release the ghost and bounce into the Up-and-Over to evade the pounce of Bestrei’s great black. She came out again. The great black surged toward her, trailing her by just a few seconds. She barely had time to recover her equilibrium.

  It was to be hammers, then, and no finesse. Strength against strength.

  Of course. Raw power was Bestrei’s strength.

  Marika touched the black ghost, grabbed at it, tried to wrest it away from Bestrei. The great black was the most real of ghosts, the most responsive to stimuli. This one screamed in touch, radiating cold rage and frustration. Bestrei had it on an unbreakable chain, and now it was being torn another way.

  Marika darted closer, sweeping around the vacancy where the great black lurked. Vaguely, her eyes caught the glimmer of sunlight skipping off titanium darkships. Bestrei moved, too, remaining opposite her beyond the great black, leaking a bit of touch that betrayed her amazement. She could not believe she had encountered one so strong.

  Where had she been this past generation? Did she not know that the Reugge had raised up a champion against her?

  Marika could not take control of the ghost. She felt she was stronger than Bestrei, but the great black was attuned to the Serke champion and remained inclined to serve her interest. Perhaps Bestrei better suited its bleak, dark taste.

  The ghost drew in upon itself as it recoiled from the demands placed upon it. The Serke were not three hundred yards from Marika, beyond the ghost. Her wooden darkship rocked and jerked. Grauel and Barlog were firing, using vacuum ammunition Bagnel had given them. Their fire did little but distract Marika. They seemed unable to calculate the ballistics between moving darkships.

  Marika recalled the Serke she had bested in the Ponath, during the fighting at the ruins of Critza. She squeezed the great black viciously, then broke away to fling a burst of her own Bestrei’s way. Her tracers flew so wide one ricocheted off the second Serke voidship.

  Marika’s senior bath touched her with an appeal. The second Serke ship was trying to harm her while she was preoccupied with Bestrei.

  Suns, stars, planet wheeled as darkships danced around the sullen great black, locked in a stalemate. Marika found the duel somehow anticlimactic. All those years anticipating this encounter. It did not seem as dramatic as it should. But such was life. Anticipation, then disappointment or anticlimax.

  What was the story? Bestrei was a sport, overpoweringly strong. She, the upstart, was strong, too, but she supposedly had a brain as well. Why was she not using it? Why had she locked herself into a reactionary role? Was it her fear? Or a misplaced respect for the great?

  She was afraid. Terribly afraid. And that had crippled her ability to reason and plan.

  She turned the tip of the wooden dagger toward Bestrei and pushed forward, trying to drive through the great black, trying to part it as if it were some dark, noisome fog.

  She failed. Bestrei forced her back, though she had to strain to her limits. Marika sensed Bestrei’s growing concern. Never before had the Serke champion encountered an opponent she could not overpower immediately.

  Marika allowed Bestrei to force her back. She withdrew from the contest of strength gradually and devoted her freed strength to gathering ghosts for a jump into the Up-and-Over.

  That took more effort than she had anticipated. Lesser ghosts were scarce where the great black prowled.

  Marika gathered enough. She sighted on the nearest neighboring star and climbed into the Up-and-Over, drove with all her strength. A tendril of victory touch from the Serke trailed her.

  Only seconds passed. She reached her destination, regained her equilibrium, felt the void.

  There. It was very far out, but it was there. Another great black. She scrambled into the Up-and-Over again, and came out near it, grasping desperately for balance before it pounced. For a moment she feared she would lose the gamble. Cold hunger, dark hatred engulfed her. Then she found the place to touch, to grab, to command, and took control.

  Marika rotated her darkship and sighted upon the Serke star. She fixed Bestrei’s darkship in her mind, then climbed into the Up-and-Over.

  Her bath projected a whining complaint about the load she imposed upon them. She was drawing upon them heavily, conserving her own strength.

  She dragged the black along with her. It went with great reluctance.

  Out of the Up-and-Over again. Closer to the planet now. The otherworld was astenchful with fear. Those who had come with Marika were in flight from the Serke champion.

  Marika rushed the Serke, flinging her great black ahead.

  Bestrei wavered, then turned back.

  Marika’s darkship and Bestrei’s hurtled toward one another. A silth scream filled the otherworld as Marika dispatched Bestrei’s companion, then fended the Serke’s great black.

  If anything, the ambience was colder, more dark and hate-filled with the second black added. The two great ghosts slid around one another like slippery water creatures never touching, though those who wielded them tried to use them like swords.

  For a time Marika and Bestrei traded blows like fighting huntresses standing toe to toe, hammering one another with doubled paws. Neither could harm the other.

  Brains, Marika reminded herself. The reason silth feared her more than Bestrei. Supposedly because she had brains. She should use her head as well as her hatred.

  She used the reluctance of the blacks to touch to force Bestrei’s monster to one side. Those demons of the void twisted around one another, well out of the way. Bestrei concentrated upon that struggle, for that was what she had been taught and that was her great strength. Marika nudged her darkship nearer Bestrei’s, letting it drift, keeping most of her strength with the great black. She let the Serke think she was winning the test of strength slowly.

 
Fifty yards separated the darkships. Then twenty-five. Marika lifted her ship slightly relative to the other. In seconds she would be over Bestrei, just yards from the Serke. Ten yards away.

  Bestrei finally sensed her danger. She tried to pull out.

  Marika leaned and fired short, rapid bursts that raked the titanium cross, sent sparks scattering into the void. She emptied her magazine. Grauel and Barlog laced the night with tracers.

  Bestrei pulled away. Marika slapped another magazine into her weapon and pushed after the Serke, firing down the length of her darkship.

  Bestrei almost got her with a surprise strike from her black. Marika turned the blow, but barely, and had to abandon the chase. Bestrei withdrew several miles.

  Then she turned and started back, accelerating—straight toward Marika. Marika watched with her eyes and silth senses, dumbfounded. What was Bestrei doing? It seemed she meant to collide with her, taking them both out in one magnificent crash.

  Then she understood.

  A bullet had found one of Bestrei’s bath, and another Bestrei herself. Neither wound was mortal or incapacitating, but they had weakened and distracted the Serke, and she was no longer confident of victory.

  She did mean to go out in a glorious suicide, taking her Reugge opponent with her.

  It was an act worthy of a legend. Worthy of the noble silth Bestrei was supposed to be.

  Kalerhag.

  The only hope for the Serke who had fled the homeworld.

  Marika wrenched her darkship away. The Serke dagger passed within inches, Bestrei trying to roll it so an arm would tangle with one on Marika’s ship. Marika rolled too. Bestrei missed.

  Tracers streaked around her.

  Bestrei’s black struck. Marika pushed it away. By the time she freed her attention the Serke was coming at her again, a silvery streak driving toward her heart.

  She dodged.

  But this time Bestrei made it even closer.

  Marika emptied her rifle as the titanium cross ripped past. Grauel and Barlog did likewise. This time it was the recoil that saved the wooden darkship, for it skewed away, twisting, barely sliding beneath the sweep of Bestrei’s voidship.

  Somebody got lucky. The storm of bullets tore one of Bestrei’s bath apart. The performance of the Serke darkship declined immediately.

  Marika stabilized her ship, faced Bestrei, waited. Bestrei waited too.

  This is hardly traditional darkwar, Marika thought. We cheat on our silthdom. Especially I. Bestrei must be scandalized.

  She felt for the great blacks. Hers had fled into the void. Bestrei’s was going. The Serke champion seemed too weak to recall it.

  Bestrei seemed to have strength enough only to guide her darkship toward the planet.

  Marika reached for Bestrei’s great black.

  It did not want to be ruled again. And she was not at her strongest. She needed another draught of the golden drink. But she did take the great ghost, and brought it back, and drove it toward the Serke.

  Bestrei tried to force it back. But wounded herself, with one bath wounded and another dead, she could not withstand Marika’s greater strength.

  Silth screams filled the otherworld.

  Before long the Serke voidship was a fiery meteor plunging toward the surface of the planet.

  The song of Bestrei was sung.

  BOOK SIX:

  STARSHIPS

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I

  Marika neither mourned the Serke champion nor waited for her dying to end. She gripped Bestrei’s great black ghost tightly and drove it at the alien starship.

  The suppressor suits worn by the brethren were powerful, but they could not withstand the great black. Images of insects in campfire coals crossed Marika’s mind as she listened to dying cries haunting the otherworld.

  She reached out to her allies—those who had not yet vanished into the Up-and-Over—and summoned them back to the struggle. Bestrei is no more, cowards! Come! Let us put an end to this tale.

  Marika directed her darkship to orbit, following Bestrei, watching as the Serke’s titanium voidship heated white hot and began to burn. She felt those on the planet below pause, watch the glow streak across their sky, and realize what it meant. She reached, pulled the great black toward her.

  Could she force it down there, to the surface itself, to complete the conquest of the brethren? She tried, but the black’s resistance was too much for her. She did not have the strength to overcome its will to avoid large masses. But she believed she could force it down if she were fresh.

  She released it with a stroke of gratitude. It flashed away across the void to resume its place on the edge of the system.

  Marika sent her allies down to complete the subjugation of the planet. She drifted across to the alien starship and forced her way inside. The last minutes before she succeeded were desperate ones, for she had no strength left and was beyond help from the senior bath and her golden fluid—even had the bath had strength enough to leave her station. Had she tried to descend to the planet’s surface she would have followed Bestrei as a shooting star.

  She led her huntresses and bath into halls filled with breathable air. The moment they were safe she sat down, her back against metal, and sighed. “That was close. As close as ever I want to get.”

  It was very strange in there. Very spartan and spare, all metal and cold and electronic lighting and the hollow sound of feet shuffling on deckplates. Her curiosity was intense but she hadn’t the strength to pursue it. “Grauel. Barlog,” she whispered. “I must rest. Stand watch. Please.”

  The bath, except their senior, had collapsed into sleep already.

  Grauel and Barlog shared their remaining ammunition and stood guard, though they themselves were near collapse from exhaustion. Marika had drawn upon them as well as her bath.

  Marika wakened ten hours later, feeling little better than when she had closed her eyes. Barlog was snoring. Grauel had the watch. The bath were all still asleep. “Any trouble?” Marika asked.

  “None yet,” Grauel replied. “Not a sign of life. But this place makes me nervous. It vibrates all the time, and makes sounds you cannot hear unless you listen. It makes me think of putting my ear against someone’s stomach and listening to what is going on inside. It makes me feel as if I am inside the belly of some mythological monster.”

  When Marika listened she could hear and feel what Grauel meant. It was disconcerting. She opened to the All, seeking those who had come to the system with her.

  Dead ships were adrift everywhere. A disaster? She counted carefully. There were only ten derelict or missing. Not as bad as she had feared. But only ten? Was that not disaster enough? That was almost half the force she had brought. A massive loss of dark-faring silth. Virtually every voidfaring Community would be plunged into Mourning.

  And the expense of victory did not stop totally with a count of darkships lost. The survivors down below, upon the planet’s surface, resting and inventorying what had been taken, numbered only enough to cobble together crews for seven or eight darkships. The fall of the Serke might mark the end of an era in more ways than one.

  “Is there anything to eat?” Marika asked. “Did anyone think to bring anything in? I’m ravenous.” The struggle had consumed her body’s energy reserves.

  “There is cold meat,” Grauel replied. “The bath remembered to bring it in, but I have found no way to cook it.”

  Marika was amused by a vision of nomads cooking over a dung fire in the middle of the floor of an electric kitchen. Neither she nor any of those with her had any idea what anything aboard the alien might do.

  “Did we take any captives who know anything about the ship?”

  Grauel shrugged. “I’m not silth, Marika. I can’t communicate with those below.”

  “Of course. It was foolish of me to ask. Get some rest now. I’m going exploring.”

  “Marika…”

  “Give me your ammunition. I’ll be fine.”

  Grauel
did not argue, which indicated just how far she and Grauel had extended themselves. Marika moved the ammunition from Grauel’s weapon to her own, then settled down to gnaw on cold, half-cooked preserved meat. Her stomach rumbled a greeting as sustenance finally arrived.

  Having eaten, she reached out to the planet and tracked down a Mistress who was alert enough to be touched. She sent a series of queries and learned that only a pawful of Serke had been taken captive. Few of the rogue brethren had survived either. There had been a lot of anger in the struggle down there, and each death scream of another allied darkship had heightened the fury of the attackers. The majority of the prisoners were bonds. They would know little or nothing.

  Some who had been interviewed were unaware that they were not still upon the meth homeworld.

  But we did capture the records of the investigation of the alien ship, apparently intact.

  That is wonderful, Marika responded. I will come down to examine them as soon as my bath are rested enough to make the descent. We will want hot food, and lots of it, when we arrive. She broke touch and began to wander through the dead ship.

  She found dead brethren everywhere. Those who had not gotten themselves into their suppressor suits had begun to bloat, to stink. The first order of business would be to get rid of them before they polluted the environment permanently. She stepped over and around them, ignoring them, as she examined alien hardware.

  The ship was a Jiana, she reflected. Or, if not a doomstalker, certainly accursed. Twice those it sustained had been slaughtered by enemies from without. She sped an admonitory prayer to the All, suggesting that that not be made a tradition.

  The starship was a tradermale’s dream. It recalled the wonder she had felt the first time she had entered the control cabin of a dirigible, now so long ago the moment seemed excised from another life. The line of descent from that crude array to this was obvious at the control stations.

  Much of what she saw was recognizable in terms of function, if not of actual operation. She saw several places where tradermales had made repairs and brought parts of the starship back to life.