by Allan Cole
But in his agony he was glad that not one sorcerous missile struck the boy. He could sense the child was gathering his strength and wits— trying to form another spell to hurl at the enemy.
The boy, however, was too inexperienced in the ways of violence and the spell he cast did little to stem the deadly tide.
There was nothing Scratch could do to help him. The pain was too great for him to focus on Billy’s attempt to save them.
All around him he heard the panicked cries of the villagers as they fled the oncoming hordes. He heard the voices of human friends cursing and begging as they died. He heard fiends who had called him brother only the night before shriek defiance as the enemy slew them.
It was too awful to bear. And there were so many dead and dying that all Scratchy could think about were the last moments on HolidayOne when the beings under his care were slaughtered by this same terrible presence who was supporting the ogre and his demons.
Instinctively he knew that the presence— a shape he was beginning to recognize— could not act on his own. That he relied on the ogre and other creatures who called him master to do his evil work.
This realization was no help to Old Scratch. All he could do was protect the boy as those fierce spirits closed in on him.
But at the last possible moment— just as he thought he was about to die— Scratch heard an incredible roar, like something from the hot guts of an enormous dragon. The ravaging pain suddenly lessened.
He looked up and saw two strange ships whirling overhead. White hot blasts of lightning poured from the ship’s guns, riddling the fiends who besieged him.
And then, like a guardian angel, he saw a winged creature circling above him. Straddling its back was a woman with two big antique pistols in each hand.
Even as he watched the pistols bucked: Boom! Boom! Boom! and several spirits who were closing in on Scratch burst apart like balloons filled with green water.
But other DeathSpirits quickly took the place of their dead brothers and sisters. Gnashing their teeth as they swept toward Scratch and the boy.
The woman quickly holstered her pistols and drew out a long black weapon from the sheath dangling from the flying creature’s saddle.
Then Scratch realized it wasn’t a living creature at all the woman was riding— but some sort of strange flying machine powered by mechanics, rather than magic.
And then the woman opened fire again and all the hungry fiends around him shrilled agonizing cries, then burst apart and died.
A long shadow fell over him. Scratch looked up and saw the Ogre pacing forward. A big pistol clutched in his right claw.
The Ogre aimed the weapon at him and Scratchy could see the DeathSpirit grinning at him from the bottom of the barrel.
But just before he fired, a round from the woman’s weapon smashed into the ogre’s chest.
And the Ogre was flung backward, pin-wheeling away even as he triggered his pistol. The DeathSpirit bullets flying harmlessly into the sky.
Sudden silence descended on the scene.
Scratch was safe and so was the boy, who was struggling in his arms.
“Let me go, Scratchy,” he demanded. “It’s that woman again!”
And Old Scratch’s belly turned inside out at this revelation. One enemy had been defeated, only to be replaced by another.
He looked up as Tanya brought her fly-flapper to the ground. She climbed off and stalked over to him, her expression grim, her weapon raised.
“You’re under arrest,” she announced.
And all poor Scratchy could do was sigh and hold Billy tighter to him in case she fired.
* * *
Infeligo saw the whole thing.
Frozen on the hilltop, fearing he was going to die any minute, he watched the ogre named Kriegworm lead the Planetar Demon’s minions down the hill.
The subsequent death toll he witnessed didn’t concern him. He was only worried about the softskin boy and the Engine Devil. If they were killed, he thought, it would leave him with no witnesses to his discovery.
But soon as that thought rose in his mind he cursed himself as a fool. Although the Planetar Demon was gone— vanishing the moment the strange fighting ships had appeared and opened fire— Infeligo was still incapacitated by the spell.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t form his mind around a fighting spell of his own. He could only sit there as the woman, backed by a dozen uniformed men, led the Engine Devil and the boy up the hill toward him.
Infeligo was not accustomed to helplessness of any kind and his condition frightened him mightily. He finally realized what it was like for the beings he had made slaves to his will for hundreds of years.
And now the woman was standing in front of him. Her eyes examining him from scale-armored head to clawed toe.
“Who in the hell are you?” she asked.
Infeligo burned with anger at her rude tones. If only he could regain his powers, he’d teach her a painful lesson about addressing a member of the Council Of Eight in such a demeaning fashion.
Then, to his intense humiliation, one of the uniformed men prodded him with a bayonet.
“Answer the major, buttwipe,” the man snarled.
Oh, how he ached to kill these foolish softskins. He would’ve gladly traded all he possessed to revenge himself on them. A foul curse formed in his throat, but he couldn’t get it out. It stuck there like a hard knot, choking him.
Then it came to him who this softskin female was: Major Lawson, the UWP investigator. Once again fear roused itself in Infeligo’s breast. Lawson was dangerous. As a detective she was a veritable Javert who would not give up the chase until she either captured her suspect or was killed.
He had to be careful not allow her the slightest clue about the existence of the Council Of Eight or all would be revealed.
Suddenly he was glad he couldn’t reply to her questions.
The marine jabbed him again. “Speak, dammit!” he demanded.
Lawson intervened. “Hold on, Moon,” she said. “As much as I’d like to see you keep sticking this filthy thing, I think there’s something wrong with him. He not only can’t talk but he can’t move, either. He didn’t even flinch when you jabbed him.”
“What’ll we do, then?” Infeligo heard the softskin named Moon ask.
“Let me try it a different way,” Lawson replied.
Then she stepped very close to Infeligo, head lowering to stare into his eyes. Her own eyes started to glow and to Infeligo’s dismay he suddenly felt the cold tendrils of a magical probe slithering through his mind.
Lawson nodded as she found what she was looking for and withdrew the probe.
She turned to Moon. “Just as I guessed, he’s been immobilized by some sort of spell. Damned strong one, too. I sure as hell couldn’t have done it myself.”
Lawson frowned, thinking. After a long silence, she said, “Lay him out on the ground. I think I know how to go about this.”
Moon and four of the other marines lifted the immense demon up, then unceremoniously dumped him on the hard earth. Now Infeligo was staring straight into the red sun, the hot rays burning his eyes.
He heard Lawson talking to the Engine Devil and the softskin boy.
“Do either of you know anything about this creature?” she asked.
“Why should we help you?” came Billy’s hostile response. “You’re just gonna throw us in jail, or something.”
Tanya sighed. “Listen, Billy,” she said. “In case you didn’t notice, I just saved your life. There’s no reason to be mad at me, you know. I wasn’t trying to kill you. But I am trying to find out who was.”
Billy, ever stubborn, just snorted.
Then Infeligo heard the Engine Devil speak. “Major Lawson is right, Little Friend of the World. She did save our lives. Perhaps we should cooperate with her.”
Silence. Then Billy spoke up. “Okay, Scratchy,” he said. “If you say so, I’ll do it. But we shouldn’t talk in front of this demon. He was hunting
us too and the less he knows, the better.”
Then the three withdrew out of earshot and Infeligo couldn’t do anything but stare up at that angry sun. After while, his vision became blurry and he wondered if they were going to leave him here until he went blind.
What cruel creatures these softskins were, he thought, without realizing how ironic that thought was considering what he and his colleagues had done over the past ten centuries.
After what seemed like an eternity he heard the returning footsteps of his enemies.
A shadow fell across his face and Tanya stood over him. She was holding a thick black candle in her left hand with red runes painted on its side. The sight of the candle and runes made Infeligo’s heart quicken.
“Like it or not,” she said, “you’re going to spill the beans, buddy. Before we’re done with you, we’ll have turned you inside out.”
And then she crouched down out of sight and Infeligo heard her start the brain-probing chant he expected.
A second later the Engine Devil’s rough voice joined in and he felt a powerful jolt of magic strike his body. He did his best to resist. Fighting them tooth and claw to retain his will.
But then the softskin boy piped up. And his added magic was so strong that the dam of Infeligo’s will burst and all he knew surged forth.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Planetar Demon was not a creature of common emotions. Oh, yes it knew envy, anger and hate. But these feelings— if they could be called that in such an entity— were a thousand times more intense than any mortal or spirit world folk could experience.
All matter, all energy that entered his immortal “body” was squeezed and shattered into the smallest possible particles. Which were trapped forever. The Planetar Demon could not rid himself of these things. Not that he had ever desired to do so, for his power came from this constant, most potent subatomic brew.
Emotions, however, were an entirely different matter. The only love the creature had ever experienced was love of self— a matter of base desire for survival. He had certainly never known compassion.
But the other things— hate, anger and envy— had expanded over thousands upon thousands of years until the Planetar Demon could barely contain them. He had to grow— to increase his size— or he would surely implode and die.
The only solution was to overthrow the Council Of Eight and seize its enormous supply of mortal and spirit-world souls.
This had been his purpose from the very beginning when he’d destroyed the HolidayOne. Followed by the destruction of the super secret Russian base.
The result, he’d been certain, would not only doom the fiendish Council, but the resulting Galactic war would provide an enormous pool of souls heavily-spiced with fear and hate to satiate his hunger. And allow him to grow.
A growth he could then sustain for many thousands of years as he fed on the survivors.
What happened after that didn’t concern him. After all, he’d have more than enough time to come up with other plans to nurture his immortality.
Everything had been going well until that softskin bitch, Tanya Lawson, had launched her surprise attack on the Planetar Demon’s minions— led by the ogre, Kriegworm.
How could a mere mortal have managed such a thing? It defied all logic. The Demon’s plan to cover up his presence by killing the human child and the Engine Devil were exploded in that single assault.
And now, he was certain, Lawson was surely working at breakneck speed to uncover the remainder of his plot.
At any other time the Planetar Demon would have reacted instantly and overwhelmingly. Hurling all his remaining forces at Lawson and her allies. Crushing her as easily as he’d destroyed the Russian base.
But his recent efforts had badly drained him of magical resources. Given time, he could muster still greater powers and kill not only the woman, but blast entire planets from the heavens.
That time, however, was not available to him. He had to act quickly and decisively before it was too late and his conspiracy was discovered.
Fortunately that opportunity was readily at hand: the ongoing duel between Davyd and Vlad.
Quickly, he shot through uttermost space and came to the place where the Russian and American warriors were preparing to face one another.
If he could have experienced humor, he would have smiled in deep satisfaction at what was occurring.
The two men were moments away from the final confrontation. They were assembling deadly magical weapons of both offense and defense.
Immediately, the Planetar Demon realized he could not only force the duel to much higher levels, but the power the combat released would go a long way to answer his immediate need for sustenance.
As he studied the two men, searching for weaknesses, the first thing he noticed was Vlad’s use of the Hound to track Davyd.
The Hound that employed the voice of the Planetar Demon’s nemesis: Tanya Lawson.
Both men were clearly smitten by the softskin detective. Their intense feelings for her undermined their wills. Confused their purpose.
New plans took shape in the Planetar Demon’s mind as the duel between the two softskin warriors commenced.
* * *
Davyd was coming! His hatred was so intense that it beat like Poe’s storied tell-tale heart against walls of guilt and remorse.
Vlad cast his first weapon— a sorcerous caldron of boiling oil.
To his immense aggravation, the spell was countered and Davyd dodged the red hot onslaught of many hungry mouths seeking out his flesh.
Vlad strained to catch further signs of his enemy. How would he come? Where would he go?
But all his efforts hammered against emptiness. Davyd had disappeared. Gone to ground. Waiting and looking. Vlad could almost feel his enemy’s eyes upon him, although he knew this couldn’t be so. His defenses were too good, too strong to be penetrated so easily.
He’s back in his lair again, Vlad thought. Readying a new assault.
To his dismay, Vlad realized the first blow had not yet been struck. Davyd’s approach had only been a minor foray to test Vlad’s fortress.
Quickly, he reviewed his situation. To his relief, he realized he really hadn’t given anything away. Davyd already knew his position. And Vlad’s reaction to the foray had revealed nothing about his true arsenal.
He relaxed, steadying his nerves. Going over what had to be done to win this fight. Getting himself ready for the true battle to come.
As he prepared, Vlad once again determined that this fight had to be carried to a much higher level than the one he and Davyd had engaged in aboard the Borodino.
Then they’d only maneuvered to get off a killing shot at the other. That was nothing. Hardly worthy of an engagement between Church Of The Sword and Odysseus Corps soldiers.
After all, the whole combat would’ve been resolved by sheer chance. A miracle, favoring one or the other. A faint fluctuation in magic powers. Or merely an errant nail in the sole of a shoe.
He could not allow the coming fight to be governed by luck. The Church of the Sword certainly never relied on such thin matters as Fortune and her fickle minions. Each victory was the result of careful preparation. Nothing was ever left to chance.
Vlad thought of this as he reviewed his own careful preparations. He studied his little tower fortress for weaknesses. Where could a rat find its hole?
He felt sweat trickling down his back and suddenly thought how wise he’d been to take a newly improved magic-based deodorant with him. Surely he could not come to Tanya like this …
Jackass, he immediately cursed himself. Dead or alive, you will never see her again.
Motionless, in the very middle of the small room, he waited for Davyd’s next action.
His breath slowed, his pupils widened until his irises were barely noticeable. The darkness of the room was dissolved by dim light filtering in from small cracks beneath the door and shuttered windows.
The objects in the room were plain to him
now. And through his heightened senses he could even make out the faint ethereal glow given off by his magical weapons.
Davyd, he thought, would have the advantage of the first blow. Even after his initial foray, he still enjoyed the advantage of being able to choose both the moment and the direction of the true assault.
But to Vlad’s trained eyes, his position was practically impregnable. Practically— because there were no strongholds which could proudly proclaim themselves unassailable when tested by the best fighter Odysseus had to offer.
And then what would happen?
A good acolyte of the Church of the Sword ought not to think about such things before a fight. But Vlad no longer considered himself as faithful as he’d been before.
He’d violated many rules and regulations when he’d let his enemy escape from the Borodino. And now he must pay for it. Pay for Tanya’s charms, for her warm hand above his own, for the thin fragrance of her perfume, for the wild dreams inside his own soul.
Now it was his turn to throw the dice. His, despite Davyd’s active position and all the advantages of the first blow. Let Davyd believe he had that advantage. In truth, Vlad had excellent plans of his own.
Realistically speaking, it seemed to him that it was unlikely either would survive the duel. They were too evenly matched.
But then Vlad wondered, what would exist after the two dogs of war ripped each other apart? Without question, two colossal machines of destruction, both Rooskie and Amer, would instantly lurch into motion.
A war to the finish for both cultures. Welcomed by many because the release of such long pent up hostilities would certainly devastate the Old Earth and all the nearest colonies. Turn all the Fiendish plans upside-down.
And who knew what forces would be liberated after those savage blows?
Would the very fabric of the Universe remain intact? Could it support all those scorched planets and cold stars? Flame sucked out by the tremendous destruction unleashed by so many magical weapons of war?
He’d gladly sacrifice his own life to prevent it. Let Davyd win, if it would help. But all that would accomplish would be to give the Amers a new triumph, making them emotionally stronger for what was to come.
