Battle Across Worlds

by Dean Chalmers

  Jack’s eyes went wide. “Really? I am to start training that soon, then?”

  Ralley nodded. “This afternoon, I believe. A pilot called Jael will train you. He’s supposed to be the very best. They need pilots, Jack. They’ve lost so many good ones recently.”

  “I understand,” Jack whispered, bowing slightly again. “Princess, I am ever so grateful for this opportunity. But who will keep an eye on you and Ralley? The Xai Ashaon and his blue-clad comrades, I assume?”

  “Yes,” Ralley said. “I trust Jarlus, Jack. You must understand. He has an odd way of looking at things, but he is very loyal to the Princess and her family. And Phaedon considers me part of that family now.”

  Jack reached out a finger and pointed at the cut on Ralley’s forehead where Jarlus had slashed him during their duel. “From rival to your protector—hard for me to swallow, I admit.” Jack paused a moment, then asked: “Might I say something to him? To Jarlus, I mean?”

  Ralley shrugged. “I don’t see why not?”

  Ralley approached the Xai Ashaon and spoke to him for a moment, then escorted Jarlus over to where Jack stood.

  Jack offered the little bald warrior a brisk salute.

  “You will be guarding my friend Ralley and the Princess on this mission, Sir?” Jack asked, and Ralley translated this for Jarlus.

  Jarlus nodded. “I am pledged to protect them.”

  “Well …” Jack smiled a childlike grin, and removed his hat. “Can you do me a great favor, noble Sir?”

  “What favor would that be?” Jarlus asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  Jack held out his plumed Dragoon’s hat, and nodded for Jarlus to put it on. “Just for a moment, yes? I’m hoping some of the Dragoon aona might rub off on you, make a link or something, as Ralley would put it.”

  The Xai Ashaon groaned, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he snatched the hat and placed it upon his bald head.

  It was much too large for him, and immediately slid down over his eyes.

  Taxamia laughed, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth to stop herself. Some of the Jarlus’s own men wore little smirks, though they were obviously fighting hard to control themselves. Orcus Gaelti, who had been talking to a technician nearby, looked over with raised eyebrows.

  A few seconds later, Jarlus whipped the hat off his head and handed it back up to Jack with a curt bow.

  “Ahh … Thank you,” Jack said, bowing back before replacing his hat on his head. “I feel much better now.”

  “What are you staring at, Gaelti?” Jarlus demanded. The Master of Kion had approached them and was indeed staring directly at Jarlus.

  Orcus Gaelti stepped forward. “I need to speak to you about this mission.”

  Jarlus frowned. “I was disappointed to hear that you wouldn’t be coming along. I’d hoped to keep a close eye on you.”

  Gaelti shrugged. “I am needed here. I’ve already flown over the area in question myself, and I could sense nothing; neither could our pattern seer. Our only hope now rests with the da’ta se. Taxamia has the necessary skills, and with Ralley’s help she may also have the strength to penetrate the obscuring cloak and find the fortress.”

  “I know all of this, so why waste my time?” Jarlus asked. “You’ve already kept me waiting long enough this morning, yes?”

  “All I am asking is that you do not interfere with their work. Let them do what they need to do. Perform your protective duties, but don’t get in the wa—”

  Jarlus glared murderously back at him. “My protective duties? Since when do you tell me what my duties are, technician?”

  Ralley did his best to intervene. “Master Gaelti, I believe that we all are very much aware of our proper duties.”

  Jarlus turned away, still simmering.

  Gaelti nodded. “So be it. Send a message when you refuel at Serath; Phaedon will want the reassurance that you made it that far, as will I.” With that, he turned and strode away.

  “Cold sort of fellow, isn’t he?” Jack said, nodded towards the departing aon master. “Are you leaving now?” Jack turned to look to where Jarlus and his men were already climbing into one of the large transport flyers.

  “Yes, Jack. Time to go, I fear.”

  “The only truly brave man is the one who understands his own fear.” He placed a hand on Ralley’s shoulder. “You would have made a fine soldier, friend, but I’m glad that you found your destiny. Good luck.”

  With that, Ralley and the Princess clambered up the wooden ramp behind Jarlus and into the high-set seats of the military transport flyer. They were quickly joined by a squad of Jarlus’s blue-clad men, who clambered into the seats behind them.

  Their silk-scarved pilot was already seated at the controls, drumming his fingers on the console, impatiently waiting to take off.

  Other Xa Ashaon troops boarded the two similar craft which would be their escorts, along with a few Order of Kion technicians who would be aiding them. All three of the transport flyers were armed with ambia guns; though they were not as maneuverable as the smaller Hummingbird fighters, they could defend themselves if need be.

  Their group would consist of only the three craft; Jarlus and Gaelti had both agreed that a small group of flyers would be the most suitable for this mission. They would have to stay close together, as there was no method of communication once in the air, save for hand signals and other visual cues.

  In a minute, the flyers were rising, the cliffside fortress receding above them. Their ambia jets flared white, and they were off, speeding south.

  #

  “I cannot wait longer than two days,” General Lanaya Culcras said.

  She was crouched in the confines of the barrel of the flying fortress’s main gun: a cylinder of blue crystal laced with veins of silver, which ran a hundred feet through the length of the ship.

  At the rear of the shaft, just behind her, a young Technician named Telnon was working in the light of an ambia lamp, a silver tool in each of his hands.

  Before him was the ambia-forged green crystal needle—the gun’s firing mechanism—which he was struggling to fasten into place.

  “But the process is delicate,” Telnon protested. His lips quivered and sweat gleamed on his face. “Mounting this needle is the least of it … This weapon hasn’t been fired in eons. The ancient sympathetic aona have to be brought into convergence with the utmost accuracy. Otherwise, when we activate the cannon, we might rupture the shells. That would be catastrophic.”

  “Two days,” Lanaya repeated. “Use your skill to serve my glory. Bring this ancient dream of destruction to fulfillment. You have it within you.”

  He nodded, entranced by her gaze, his eyes wide with adoration and fear.

  She slid out of the barrel and climbed down a rope ladder to the pit-floor of the main hanger. There was a “whoosh” from high above, and she looked up towards the massive ceiling of the pyramid to see two Axehead flyers gliding in through one of the openings there.

  “The new trainees, Pai General,” one of her lieutenants explained, glancing up at the craft as they descended. “The Axehead pilots are doing better than the Armor squad—fewer deaths so far—but still, these machines are very hard on a pilot.”

  The first ship came down spinning and shuddering, too fast, hitting the floor with an ear-splitting crack and fracturing the stone blocks under it. The ramp-door on the side of the flyer folded down, and the pilot stumbled out, tripping down the ramp, his tightly drawn face a mask of agony. He wore only a simple linen kilt, and had ritual scars patterned across the red-brown skin of his body.

  He was an abarvae, one of Lanaya’s most loyal troops, a member of a southern tribal culture that place strength and battle prowess above all things.

  But, as he stepped from the flyer, this warrior was shaking and weeping. He fell at Lanaya’s feet, half-sprawled there, whimpering.

  “Pain,” he cried. “Too much. So much. I burn all over, my body burns …” he began to convulse, his tongue lolling out,
his eyes rolling back in his head.

  So. Yet another would-be Axehead pilot had found the pain too much to bear.

  It made sense, of course; these powerful craft had been meant for the ancient elite, whose very minds and nerves had been sharpened by aon engineering for battle. The craft had been linked to them by touch, controlled as much by their thoughts and perceptions as by the simple crystalline controls. Mere humans found that the link created intense pain …

  As several warriors dragged the convulsing man away, the door of the second flyer opened and the pilot emerged. It was the pale-skinned man she’d taken as her pet—Aubren, as he’d indicated to her he was named.

  He wore a black leather vest with intricate nanaen embroidery over a simple linen suit. His outfit was soaked in sweat, and he was red-faced and shaking, clenching and unclenching his fists as he walked down the ramp.

  But he was smiling.

  He walked over to her and bowed, still shaking a little. “Pai Lanaya,” he whispered. Then, he pointed to the flyer he’d just left.

  “Tuaed,” he said, and laughed. Tuaed. Pain. He knew what the word meant now.

  He was telling her that piloting the flyer caused pain, but he was laughing at it. In some way he even seemed to … enjoy it?

  “Are all men of your world so strong?” she asked. “No, it is probably only you, yes?”

  He placed his hand on her waist, slowly slid it up to trace the curve of her breast through the linen of her shirt. Close by, two of her lieutenants looked on, mouths agape at his boldness.

  “Pain is best mixed with pleasure,” she purred. She pulled Aubren close, opening her mouth and sliding her teeth along his sweat-slick neck.

  Encouraged, his hands found their way under her shirt, rising up to her chest, pulling and pinching and pleasing her there.

  This one was very bold.

  But such boldness was a part of her, as well. She was a goddess, and took her pleasure when and where she wished …

  While the soldiers and technicians around them averted their eyes and did their best to focus on their work, Lanaya stripped off Aubren’s clothes. They enjoyed each other for a very long time, sharing their pleasure on the rough stone of the hangar floor.

  -24-

  “That stranger’s coming over here, Jael,” the young pilot Uhon observed, watching as the man in the red coat with the silver buttons and yellow plumed hat crossed the landing platform and came towards them.

  Panna Jael nodded, adjusting the well-oiled fore-braids that hung in front of his face. “We’re short of ambia and I’m not supposed to fly unless absolutely necessary, but now I’ve got to train this foreigner? I should just throw him out of the damn flyer a thousand feet above the river and be done with it. Pity me, Uhon.”

  Jael was right; it was an odd request. Still, it had come from very high indeed …

  “Phaedon said to do it,” Uhon said. “Guess you’re stuck.”

  Jael made a disgusted face, and nodded towards the foreigner. “You see that hat? He dresses like that dancing monkey in the bazaar. He IS a monkey, I think. A yellow-furred monkey.”

  “Maybe more like a baboon?” Uhon suggested.

  “No, baboons are wise,” Jael insisted. “He’s a monkey.”

  “So, you going to play nice?” Uhon asked.

  “I think I’m going to give him a ride, yeah.” Jael grinned, his ivory teeth gleaming ferally in his sharply handsome face. “After today, let’s see if he ever wants to fly again.”

  Jael leaned casually against the side of his Hummingbird flyer as the stranger approached. The fair-haired man took off his hat, held it out, and bowed with an odd flourish.

  “Jack,” he said. “Jack Chestire.”

  “Reminds me of a courtesan who once propositioned me,” Jael remarked. He bowed slightly to the stranger. “He can’t even present himself as a man.”

  “Jael, come on,” Uhon said. He didn’t want his proud friend causing a diplomatic incident … “He’s Phaedon’s guest. Watch what you say, eh?”

  “Ha. He doesn’t understand a word of our language … do you, monkey?” Panna said, smiling at the stranger all the while, waving his hands about as if he was excited to see the man. “Do you understand that you stole my personal flyer and wrecked it, and now I want to humiliate you, you little bastard? Of course not. Keep smiling at Panna, that’s the way.”

  #

  Jack thought that the pilot set to train him, Jael, looked oddly familiar.

  It took him a moment to realize the reason: this was the tall pilot whose flyer he’d stolen to rescue Ralley from the falling stone bridge.

  Would the man hold a grudge?

  As he approached, Jack saw that Jael wore a belted leather jacket and a lengthy silken scarf, with some of the excess silk wrapped around his neck and under his arms, in the fashion that many of the pilots seemed to adopt.

  But the way he leaned against his craft showed a degree of arrogance, as if the flyer was just a tool for him, an instrument of his skill. Jack had seen men who treated horses like that, and he’d never liked them, either.

  After Jack bowed and introduced himself, Jael kept going on about something, waving his arms and grinning a broad and exaggerated smile.

  Judging by this, and from the tense expression of the other pilot standing nearby, Jack was fairly certain that Jael was insulting him in Dameryan all the while.

  Oh well. If Jael was a flying master—if he was truly the best—then Jack would still do all he could to learn from him.

  “I am sorry that I had to steal your craft, Sir,” Jack said. “I can see that it wounded your pride, as your type is easily injured in that way. But I promise to be a good student, and to duly tolerate your rudeness.”

  After a minute of speaking these meaningless pleasantries in their own tongues, Jack waved toward the flyer, suggesting that they get underway, and Jael nodded his assent.

  Jael opened the flyer’s canopy and climbed behind the controls, and Jack seated himself behind him, closing the canopy himself and locking it in place.

  As Jael eased the flyer up into the air, he took his hands off the controls to wrap his silk scarf around his head, carefully tucking his hair-braids under it as if they were precious to him.

  Ah, Jack thought. Vain as well …

  But Jael’s fingers darted back to the controls now and again as he adjusted his silk head-wrap, precisely flicking several thrust levers, adjusting the lifting harness by a fraction of an inch—all without looking at the controls.

  The man knew the flyer well, that much was certain.

  They flew out over the river, soaring straight and even. Jael looked back at him, smiling maniacally, then took the craft into a sudden drop.

  He hit the jets and they shot forward, accelerating, descending towards the water all the while.

  He whipped the flyer around a bend in the river, hugging the cliff-side. As he made the turn, Jack saw a low boat ahead of them, weary fishermen on the deck pulling in their nets. Jael brought the flyer down just over their heads, and they dove for the bottom of the boat, one of them deciding to plunge into the river instead.

  The flyer flew on, climbing now …

  Jael hit the side jets and the flyer spun, but only for a second, turning full around, then straightening out and zooming back the way they’d come, still climbing the entire time.

  Incredible, Jack thought, trying to watch Jael’s hands as they danced in a blur across the controls. He doesn’t even have to think about it, he just … makes the craft his, part of him.

  Jack felt a bit jealous, and for a moment felt a pang of longing for Ermaline’s saddle.

  But you can master this flying steed too, he told himself. Just observe, learn all you can.

  Now they were speeding back towards the fortress, shooting through the close gap in the cliffs where the shattered bridge of Xai Kaor had previously stood. Jack got a flashing glimpse of the stunned faces of several of the men harnessed there, working on the
bridge repairs.

  Jael brought the flyer low again, skimming the water, the craft kicked up spray as they shot around another bend in the river.

  After a while, Jael looked back, squinting, obviously trying to see how Jack was coping with this wild ride.

  Jack politely covered his mouth and yawned dramatically. “She’s a bit touchy around the corners, isn’t she? Took me a few minutes to get used to that.”

  Jael frowned, and he shook his silk-scarved head violently. He returned to his controls, his hand on the harness linking the rods which controlled the altitude.

  It was then that he did something truly astonishing. He pushed the harness down to lift the flyer up, as Jack was used to doing himself—but when Jael did so, he tilted the harness so that the front rods slid in just a bit further than those at the rear.

  The result was a change in the craft’s orientation. The nose tilted up sharply, so that they were almost perpendicular to the ground as they rose. To speed their ascent, Jael hit the rear ambia jets and let them blaze the entire way up.

  As Jack was forced back into his seat by the acceleration, adrenaline surged through him.

  Such a discovery! One could tilt the craft in flight … What possibilities that might open up, especially in combat!

  They climbed very high before Jael evened them out again. They were so high up that Jack felt a sharp chill in the air, and he could the line of the river snaking across the landscape below, the fertile green farmland along the river banks like moss on a field of sandy brown.

  There was a subtle shudder just as the flyer reached its peak, as if the craft didn’t want to go any higher … perhaps this was its limit.

  Jael seemed to be the kind of man who liked to test limits; Jack could certainly sympathize with that.

  Jael looked back at him again, and Jack grinned and patted his shoulder, his enthusiasm now very real.

  “You must show me that again, friend,” he said, miming the previous actions of Jael’s hand on the harness as best he could. “I had no idea that the craft was capable of such. Ralley said they call these craft Hummingbirds—the way she moves, I can see why.”