Vekken landed like a cat and gestured sharply at him. In his other hand, Daus's adjutant carried a compact version of the lance-rifles used by the rank-and-file soldiers, twin-barreled with a sickle-shaped magazine protruding from the top. Sheppard fingered the safety catch on the British-made rifle. He didn't want to shoot anyone if he could help it, but a hollow feeling in his stomach was telling him that he probably wouldn't have the choice. "Aim to wound, then." he said aloud.
"This way." Vekken broke into a run and John had to scramble to keep up. Smoke bombs were popping overhead, white fronds of mist settling over the ruddy-colored mud in lines, obscuring everything more than twenty feet away. Vekken's black coat bobbed out there, moving and weaving. Sheppard's pace was more cautious. This place looked like something from the Battle of the Somme, and the last thing the colonel wanted was to run straight into a minefield or a flooded crater. And who knew what other kind of weird weapons these people might have lying around?
"Damn it, Ronon. What the hell were you thinking?" But the question was irrelevant. Sheppard knew precisely what Ronon had been thinking. He'd known Dex long enough now to have the measure of the man; and it irked him to admit that under other circumstances, he too might have tried something just as reckless to short-circuit this cruel blood sport.
The clattering rattle of lance-fire reached his ears and he turned. Two tancoat troopers rushed forward, firing as they moved. Both men saw Sheppard in a crouch and turned their guns on him, bracketing him with shot.
"I'm not your enemy!" he shouted, but they ignored him. The Atlantis uniform jacket John wore wasn't the same shade of blue as the uniforms of Palfrun's men, but these two clearly thought it was near enough as made no odds. Needle rounds hissed past his head and Sheppard raised the L85. "Ah, damn it." Selecting single round fire, the colonel put one bullet apiece into the legs of both tancoats, sending them down in wailing heaps. He'd barely dealt with that when the high-pitched keening of a mortar round sounded. Sheppard glimpsed a foxhole from the corner of his eye and threw himself into it, yelling as he went. "Incoming!"
He landed hard and winced as a rain of muddy gobbets followed him into the dugout. Blinking away the shock, he glanced up-and into the barrel of another lance-rifle, hovering an inch from the tip of his nose.
At the other end of the gun was a kid in a powder blue long coat, his high hat at a cocked angle and lines of blood issuing from a cut on his cheek. His eyes were hollow and full of terror. Behind him were four more of Palfrun's troopers, clustered around the body of another of their number. The corpse didn't appear to have a head.
"Easy, son," Sheppard said, gently pushing the barrel away from his face. "I'm not your enemy." This time around, the words seemed to work and the young bluecoat let his rifle drop. "Where's your commanding officer?"
One of the other soldiers, a girl with ragged red hair, threw him a confused look. "Aren't you?"
"Our brigade marshal is gone," said the boy with the rifle. "Haven't seen him since the order came down to advance." He gestured up at the airship.
"Advance to what?" demanded Sheppard. "What's your objective?"
The boy blinked. "Kill the enemy?"
John shook his head, disgusted. "What's your name, son?"
"Bryor."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen cycles, sir. Indentured straight from the orphanage."
"Bryor, you're brigade marshal now, understand me? I'm fieldpromoting you."
The girl gaped. "That's against the rules-"
"New revisions, just in," Sheppard said over her. "I'm letting everyone know." He had an edge here, however tenuous, over these conscripts; all that officer training school stuff was paying off as these kids paid attention to him, sold on the idea he was of senior rank to them. "Bryor's in command here. He's going to keep you all safe until the battle's over." John blew out a breath. "Which shouldn't be much longer, I hope."
Sheppard peered up over the lip of the dugout. The fighting had moved on for the moment. He made ready to vault up and over.
"Sir!" said Bryor, his voice cracking. "I... Don't know what to do! I need orders!"
"No, you don't." Sheppard said flatly. "You're the leader now. Your only mission from now on is to keep your unit alive, get it? You want orders? Stay down, don't attract fire. Survive."
John heard a voice shouting his name and the sound of hoof beats getting closer. "But we're supposed to fight for the banner," said the boy.
The colonel ran his gaze over the cluster of soldiers and saw nothing but a group of frightened children. "Not today"
"Sheppard!" It was Vekken, and he emerged from the smoke on the back of a riding animal. He spotted John and beckoned with his weapon. "I secured transport! Quickly! Climb up!"
He ran over. The animal looked something like a shaggy-coated horse, but with a head that was more lupine than equine. It hissed through a bridle at him. Sheppard noticed that the mount had blue detail on its saddle. "Where'd you rustle up this thing from?"
Vekken jerked his head. "The previous owner had a fall."
"I'll bet he did." John hauled himself up on the back of the beast. The animal was longer than a horse, and there was more than enough room for both men to ride easily. Vekken swatted the neck of the animal with a stubby riding crop and it launched away into a gallop.
Daus's man rode hard and fast; it was clear that he was an expert horseman. Sheppard hung on for dear life, clutching the rifle to him as they threaded through the battlefield. They re-entered the zone of densest fighting and the wolf-horse snarled at the gunfire, spitting out foam from its lips.
"What does your Runner hope to achieve, Sheppard?"
John noticed that now it was just the two of them, Vekken didn't feel the need to address him by his rank. "My guess is he's angling for a draw."
"And what then? Will he invade every other honor engagement and contest? Battles bigger than this one are waged in skirmish enclosures every week on Halcyon. Our people welcome them. They give our society structure and an example to follow. Your Runner's interference will alter nothing."
"Haven't you ever heard of the phrase `Give peace a chance'? You might wanna try it sometime."
Vekken laughed. "You dress like a soldier, you carry yourself like one, but I see now that it ends there. Are all you Earthkin so shy of bloodshed?"
"Sadly, not nearly enough," replied Sheppard.
Ahead, the blue bunker was becoming visible, the soldiers defending it mired in a sea of advancing tancoats. More shells shrieked down from the air and a chain of yellow fireballs erupted around them. The animal balked and reared back, throwing the two men off and into the mud. Sheppard got to his feet and hauled Vekken up.
The adjutant glanced at the wolf-horse. A shrapnel wound on its thigh was pink with new blood, and it gave off a pitiful mew. Without hesitation, without even a flicker of concern, Vekken shot the animal dead.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Sheppard exploded.
"It was useless to anyone in that state. Better to finish it quickly." He moved away, toward the sound of gunfire. "This way."
Sheppard's face hardened. On the wind, he heard the familiar crackling snap of Ronon's pistol.
Dex's path wasn't hard to find. Injured bluecoats and tancoats alike were scattered about like fallen trees. Vekken grinned. "It seems your scientist McKay was correct about the Runner. He has indeed left a trail of destruction for us to follow." Shells and guns crashed across the landscape in a constant rumbling chorus. The adjutant bent, pausing for a moment to study the face of a comatose bluecoat rifleman. "Good economy of use in his blows. He fights well for a man who dresses like a low-born."
Sheppard snorted. "Could you be any more arrogant? I mean, really, I'd like to know. Every time I think you can't be more snobbish and patronizing, I'm proven wrong. I'm just wondering if there's some kind of upper limit."
"There is no shame in acknowledging one's own superiority, Lieutenant Colonel. A man who knows his pla
ce in the world is content."
John's lip curled. "I bet you have a whole book of those little homilies, don't you?"
They entered the tunnel network at the foot of the hill; shots came from up above them, and Sheppard heard Ronon's voice in a wordless snarl of pain and anger.
Vekken continued, unconcerned. "If you find Halcyon unpalatable, then I am sure you could take your leave to the Great Circlet and go..." He smiled to himself. "Oh, but that's right, I am remiss. You have no home to go to, do you? After you surrendered the City of the Precursors to the Wraith."
"We didn't surrender it," Sheppard retorted it. "We..." He swallowed, catching himself. "They saw it destroyed and then they left."
The adjutant gave him a quick look. "The Wraith can be easily fooled, if one knows how to do it." He looked away. "But I suspect you stay here for another reason. The Magnate spoke to me of Dr. McKay's interest in the dolmen. I wonder, you think us so objectionable, and yet you would tolerate us just to take a look at an old, crumbling stone obelisk? The Lady Erony has always suggested that our scientists should give it closer scrutiny. Perhaps she is correct."
John realized he was on unsteady ground here, and he trusted this man about as far as he could throw him. "McKay is interested in the Ancients." It was the truth, in a manner of speaking-just not the whole truth. "It's scientific curiosity, which I guess might be hard for you to get a handle on, seeing as you people seem to think you know everything already."
Vekken laughed again. "You amuse me, Lieutenant Colonel. For that alone, I think you should not yet leave Halcyon."
Sheppard bit his lip and refused the urge to retort to the man's comments; instead, he shifted carefully into the flag bunker, his nose wrinkling at the smell of burnt metal and ozone.
Ronon Dex was sitting atop an ammunition crate with his pistol laid across his lap. The snub barrel of the gun was cherry-red with heat from its discharges. The Satedan had the powder blue pennant of Baron Palfrun's Dynast in his hand and he was tearing a strip from it. He gave Sheppard a weary nod, and returned to shredding the flag into a makeshift bandage. Dex had a line of puncture wounds on his upper left arm where needle rounds had struck him. His coat was dotted with dark smears of blood and mud.
He lifted his other arm to show the tan pennant hanging there. "Game over. Tell the Magnate, I have both flags. I claim victory."
"Most impressive," Vekken allowed, "even though Palfrun and Noryn's conscripts lack the skills of the higher Dynasts, for one man to take them all on... You have exemplary skills." Then he sighed. "However, as I tried to explain to the Lieutenant Colonel, your ignorance of our rules has led you to a sadly mistaken conclusion. Yes, the codes of engagement do state that he who holds both pennants is the victor, but the letter of the law requires that person to be a duly sanctioned soldier in the service to a noble Dynast, or an operative of the Magnate's will. And you, Ronon Dex, are neither of those. The battle continues."
Ronon came to his feet, snarling, the gun in his grip. "I won!" he spat. "Call it off!"
"I do not have that authority," Vekken said coolly. "All you have done, Runner, is ensure that there will be more bloodshed, not less."
The mood of belligerent amusement that had filled the obser vation gallery was gone now, replaced by cold fury and righteous consternation from the two opposing cliques of noblemen. Minister Muruw and the scientist Kelfer were watching and talking quietly; it seemed like they were setting up a private wager on the outcome of the day's events. Rodney saw the tension in the stances of Private Hill and Teyla, the two of them drawing closer around him, ready to fight if things turned the wrong way. McKay's fingers twitched nervously, and he gripped a mounted telescope to give them something to do; something other than stray to the holstered pistol on his belt.
Violence was ready to ignite here at the drop of an ornate hat. "One wrong word and these guys will be at each other's throats," he whispered. "It's like being in the stands at a hockey game."
"More like Rangers versus Celtic," said Hill. "Stick close if it kicks off."
Linnian accepted a teleprint from one of the servants and studied it gravely. "Observers in the north quadrant report that the Runner appears to have secured the second pennant." He blinked, as if he wasn't sure of what he'd just said aloud.
The Magnate gave a small smile but said nothing. The turn of events appeared to be entertaining him.
A chorus of denials and angry retorts came from Noryn's group, although the baron himself said nothing, kneading the grip of his sword.
Palfrun stepped forward, and drew a cluster of metal rods from inside his coat. "My Lord Magnate, I petition you."
"No!" cried Noryn, eyes wide with shock, "Do not say it!"
Palfrun ignored his adversary. "This tender represents a group of my holdings. I bid them in request to engage your favor."
Linnian took the rods and counted through them; Rodney suddenly understood that these were the Halcyon equivalent of coins or paper money, perhaps even deeds or tokens of ownership. Erony's adjutant nodded at the Magnate and the rods vanished into his tunic.
Noryn was shaking his head. "This... This is not fair!"
"You may make a counter-offer, if you wish," said Linnian. "Speak now, Baron, if that is your intention."
"You know I cannot!" Noryn thundered. "The poor harvest after the storms in Gethil Province, the loss of my hunt splinters in the last sojourn... I have no resources to spare!"
"Then you should not have sought to engage me!" replied Palfrun. "I am willing to take this to the certain conclusion... Unless you will concede?"
"To you? Never!" Noryn went for his sword, but a nod from Linnian made sure that the Baron's own cohorts stayed his hand. The man's face fell. "Please, I beg of you..."
"Do not be so weak," Palfrun was disgusted. "Accept the inevitable."
"What are they on about?" said Hill quietly. "I can't follow this posh twaddle."
"I believe he is paying Daus to intervene in the battle." Teyla replied.
"Bribing the referee? That's a bit rough," said the soldier.
Baron Palfrun bowed to Daus. "I humbly ask that I might call upon my Hounds to deliver the final blow in this honor engagement."
The Magnate considered the request. "The codes do not allow Hounds in a skirmish of this size, Palfrun; but then, the play of today's events has made this anything but a common battle. I will endorse this petition. You may deploy your Hounds."
Palfrun bowed again and gestured to one of his men, who ran off to give the order. Rodney saw that Baron Noryn had gone pale, shrinking against the glass windows. The handful of other nobles who didn't wear the same colors as his men detached themselves from his group and drifted away. Even though McKay didn't understand the full dynamics of the situation, the meaning was clear; Noryn was finished.
Moments after Palfrun's adjutant had relayed his master's command, Rodney saw the shape of a large gyro-flyer rattle over the tree line and drop into the combat zone. He scrutinized it through the telescope. Powder blue insignia lined the sides of the aircraft. The flyer dropped into the middle of the fighting and ramps fell open from it. Figures emerged; they wore glitter ing armor plates of silver metal, with full helmets designed after the shape of a wolf's head. Light blue scarves hung from their necks. Most of them were unarmed, but those that were only carried melee weapons; curved, cutlass-style swords or battle axes with diamond-shaped heads. They waded into the fight like berserkers, attacking anything that moved with feral intensity. McKay looked away, sickened.
Hill kept watching. "That must be their heavy mob."
"We have to get Sheppard and Ronon out of there," began Rodney, turning to Teyla. "We-" McKay's words died in his throat as he saw the look on the Athosian woman's face. Her eyes were distant, locked on some horror that only she could see. "Teyla?"
"Oh no," she whispered.
Dex's attack on the second bunker had caused a momentary lull in the battle, as troopers on both sides hesitated while news
of the Runner's interference spread across the lines. Sheppard and the others emerged from a trapdoor on the hillside to an odd quiet broken only by the sporadic crack of shot and the lazy murmur of the engines on Daus's airship. Ronon was the first to see the gyro-flyer deploying the new arrivals.
"What's this?" he demanded, still holding both pennants in his fist.
Vekken's entire posture shifted the moment he saw what Dex was pointing at. "It would seem that the Magnate wishes to bring this engagement to a swift conclusion. He's given Palfrun leave to release the Hounds."
"Dogs?" said Sheppard. "What, are we supposed to make like foxes now?"
Sunlight glinted off metal plate armor. "I saw them when we arrived at the palace," said Ronon, "a squad of armored warriors."
Vekken shook his head. "No, those were Hounds from the Lord Magnate's personal kennel. The Fourth Dynast wields the largest pack on Halcyon. Those who join us now are from Palfrun's paltry stock. I imagine that may be all he has."
Sheppard squinted through his field binoculars. "They're wearing Palfrun's colors, and-" The colonel gasped as he saw one of the Hounds kill two tancoats in as many seconds with brutal attacks. The others were fighting with wild abandon, shredding flesh with iron claws fixed to their chain mail. "They're slaughtering those kids out there!" He turned on Ronon. "Give him the flags. Vekken, take them! You win, just tell Daus to call them off!"
The adjutant gave Sheppard a pitying look. "It does not matter, Lieutenant Colonel. The Hounds are wild animals. They are simply set loose with one order in mind, and they kill and kill until it is achieved, or until they are beaten back."
"You're down here, too," snapped Ronon. "Doesn't your lord and master care if they kill you?"
Vekken smiled. "Lord Daus clearly has great faith in my will to survive."
Dex turned to Sheppard. "Looks like that leaves us with only one option, then." He drew his gun and his sword.
"Ah hell," grated John, checking the ammo on Hill's rifle. "This mission is getting worse by the second."
"Think of it this way," said Vekken, hoisting his twin-barreled weapon, "if nothing else, today you have gained a rare insight into the Halcyon personality."
Stargate Atlantis: Halcyon Page 10
