He looked around him and thought at first that his sight had been affected. But he decided that the unnatural colors of the landscape were not illusory. He was in a wood of tangled trees, many of whose leaves and branches had been subjected to a severe battering. There were signs of the wreck everywhere, although not much actual wreckage. Most of the ship could be seen a hundred yards away, still caught by the branches of three trees, held aloft as though in triumph. He glanced back at the way the ship had come, and saw a vivid trail nearly a mile long. A faraway clump of trees on a hilltop were smashed and burning, and much of the grass between that patch of woodland and the one he had ended up in was alight.
He heard Blackstar’s ship then, and saw it drifting high above, supported by its girdle motors. He thought that it could not possibly miss the signs of the crash, but it must all have looked different in shades of red because the ship passed on.
As he worked his way over to the corpse of the ship, a man struggled out of the tangled mess and into the branches of a tree, then climbed laboriously to the ground and sat down. Slavesdream hurried up to the gunner, feeling his own bruises every time he took a pace.
“Anyone not in the control room never had a chance,” said the man on the ground. “Cabins squashed flat or cut in half. Mistream’s badly hurt—caught flying metal from the console in face and chest. The others aren’t conscious, but one or two of them might be all right. You were lucky. Me too.”
Slavesdream helped the man to his feet. “Let’s see if we can get them out,” he said. He and the gunner climbed back up the tree and swung themselves through the yawning gap into the control room. The control room was deep inside the ship, but the intermediate space had been so squashed that the gap opened almost directly into the middle of the ship.
The control panel had exploded. All the screens were smashed. Two of the gunners had broken necks and multiple injuries. Mistream had several broken ribs and a key from the control panel was imbedded deep into his flesh just underneath the collar bone. His face was covered with blood but seemed to be only gashed and bruised.
The man who had already recovered brought round one other gunner, but they failed to revive the last one, although they could find nothing obviously wrong with him.
The three of them contrived to get Mistream and the unconscious man down to the ground. The second gunner sat down to nurse his aching head and examine his bruises.
Slavesdream cocked his head and listened. A drone from far away told him that Blackstar was coming back. He seemed to be on the line of Slavesdream’s flight path, but the Beast lord could not be sure. The Human ship came into view, and Slavesdream watched it anxiously as it curved slowly in an arc, taking a longer look. Then it began to descend, and Slavesdream looked around for a weapon.
THE DEATH OF A SHADOW
Blackstar and six of his men emerged from the belly of the spaceship and began to follow the trail of burnt grass toward the wood. They did not think that anyone could be alive and dangerous, but they kept low as they moved across the open ground and into the trees. It was early autumn, and the trees were not liberally clothed with leaves; therefore they could see some distance into the wood, and the path of the wrecked spaceship was clearly visible. They could see light glinting from the shattered hull, although it was a long way off. There were no signs of life.
The Humans approached carefully, keeping as much cover as possible. But they were not quite as attentive as they might have been. When they got to within thirty yards of the ship, Blackstar caught sight of the stricken Mistream and his unconscious companion lying on the ground, propped up against the knotted bole of a tree. Blackstar motioned to his companions to stay where they were, and moved forward alone.
He saw nothing unusual, and heard nothing. He glanced with some trepidation at the vertical crack in the spaceship skin, which seemed to offer the best cover for a rifleman. He relaxed slightly, and diverted his attention to the wounded men. Mistream was, to all appearances, a rather messy corpse. The other man stirred slightly but did not open his eyes. Blackstar looked up suddenly.
Saul Slavesdream swung himself from one branch to another and launched himself at the startled Human. His feet hit Blackstar s chest, and the big man went over backwards, losing his rifle as he did so. Slavesdream carried an axe-all of the guns save one had been lost in the crushed wreckage of the outer cabins. The only one which was available was where Blackstar had thought it would be: in the crack in the hull. Slavesdream had not even been able to find a pistol, although one of the gunners ought to have been wearing one. He had chosen the axe in preference to his sword.
Blackstar threw Slavesdream off before the Beast lord could get in a slash with the axe, it was a heavy weapon and the lightly built Slavesdream was off balance from his leap. Slavesdream came quickly to his feet and lunged at the Human. Blackstar met the haft of the axe with the flat of his sword while he still lay on the ground. The axehead sheared off to the right, Slavesdream was forced to sidestep, and Blackstar’s left hand could not reach him as it grabbed for his arm.
The other Humans incautiously ran forward. A Beast armed with a sword dropped from a tree exactly as Slavesdream had, and toppled two of them. The man inside the spaceship opened fire. Two of the Humans were dead before the others collected their wits. The other two who were still standing dived for cover and directed careful fire at the spaceship, pinning the gunner down while the other two disposed of the man who had dropped on them. Those two were, in actual fact, having some trouble doing that. One of them was wounded and the other was using his rifle to stave off a furious onslaught from the swordsman.
Both Slavesdream and Blackstar had recovered their feet by now, and were circling warily. Blackstar had only just realized that he was not fighting Storm wind, but some Beast lord totally unknown to him. Slavesdream, on the other hand, was acutely aware of the identity of his opponent. He knew that this was the second son of Starcastle, whom—it was rumored—only Stormwind could hope to kill. But, Storm-wind or not, Slavesdream was a Beast lord and it never occurred to him to surrender.
The swordsman who had undertaken the most dangerous part of the plan died with a dagger in his back—thrown by the man he had already wounded. As he pitched forward, he hurled his own weapon full into the throat of the rifleman, who had unwisely paused in his frenzied defense. The Beast gunner burned down the man who had thrown the knife but was badly burned in the arm and on the side of his face as he tried to dodge back into the protection of the steel walls.
Slavesdream was desperately trying to maneuver Black-star into a position between the axe and the rifleman, allowing the gunner to take a shot at the high lord; but Black-star was conscious of the danger, and moved as fast as Slavesdream.
Blackstar finally lost his patience and attacked, blade dancing forward at Slavesdream’s eyes. The Beast lord gripped the axe at the bottom of the haft and just beneath the head, and twisted it to knock the sword aside, making threatening dabs with the head when Blackstar came forward again. But Blackstar was in no real danger from the axe used like that, and the quick thrusts continued.
Slavesdream was cut twice in the chest, the blade slipping on his ribs and doing no real damage. Nevertheless, the wounds were painful, and Slavesdream knew that he would have to make more than token resistance to preserve his life. Accordingly, he made the customary dab in retaliation to one of Blackstar’s questing thrusts, and let go at the head. Inertia carried the axe in a low, curving swing, the head going low to catch Blackstar s legs.
Blackstar slipped sideways to his knees and leaned back. The axe merely plucked at his clothing and carried straight on. Blackstar had all the time he needed to slip his blade up under Slavesdream’s rib cage, through the diaphragm, and into the stomach.
The Beast lord fell, choking in his own blood.
The gunner in the ship, suddenly seeing the prospect of a clear target, dived headfirst from his shelter and fired at Blackstar. The high lord ducked frantically, and the beam
blistered his cheek and ear as it missed by a fraction. The two Humans burned the gunner to a cinder.
The last two riflemen moved right up to the ship. One gripped the lowest branch of a tree to swing himself up to the crack in the ship’s skin. There was a loud report and he fell back.
The unconscious man was unconscious no longer, and he held the pistol which Slavesdream had been unable to find. He was weakly trying to aim again, but the sound of the pistol had sent renewed waves of blackness through his throbbing head, and the recoil had hurt his bruised arm. The other rifleman shot him, and his aching head became a black ruin.
Blackstar moved forward cautiously but kept his distance while he looked at the blood-drenched Mistream.
“He’s dead,” pronounced the high lord, without much conviction, and not caring very much. He and the sole remaining rifleman walked away. They had had quite enough.
As Blackstar’s ship disappeared, aligned for Alph at last, a Beast ship came up over the horizon and moved slowly forward, looking for whatever had caused Blackstar to land on Kamak.
MISLEADING EVIDENCE
Just as Blackstar had taken particular notice of Slaves-dream’s ship during the battle, Mark Chaos had watched Blackstar. He did not know, of course, that it was Black-star, but he had been curious about the fact that the Human ship did not align with the rest. He had followed Eagle-heart’s orders and aligned his own ship for Diadema as the battle died, but his curiosity had overcome him after a brief moment and he had headed back for Kamak.
He saw Blackstar land without—apparently—being observed himself. He landed a long way from Blackstar and watched his screens until he saw Blackstar run for space and disappear. For the sake of his curiosity, he began to look for the cause of Blackstar’s odd behavior.
He found Slavesdream’s wreck with the variously afflicted corpses lying all around it. He inspected Slavesdream’s body carefully, and then moved on to Mistream. The control gun-. ner looked very dead on the surface, but his heart was still beating, and he was still conscious. He ordered one of his men to fetch water for the stricken Urside. In the meantime, he carefully removed the pistol from the hand of the corpse which lay next to Mistream, and hid it without anyone else seeing it. Plans were already forming in his mind.
When Chaos had poured water between his lips, Mistream recovered sufficiently to talk.
“Blackstar,” he whispered. “Blackstar came.” Chaos looked round at the listening crewmen.
“What happened?” urged Chaos.
“Crash,” murmured the Urside. “Fight. Blackstar killed Slavesdream. Men killed all the others. I played dead and they went away.” Mistream ran his fingers over his face. “I look dead.”
“How many?” asked Chaos. “How many of them were there?”
“I don’t know. Too many.” Mistream turned round to look at the dead man propped up beside him. “He was badly hurt. Only Slavesdream and two others. No chance. Too many.”
Chaos stood up. “Get him into the ship,” he ordered. “Be careful, and he’ll live. Take Slavesdream’s body as well.”
He climbed up into the wrecked ship and looked around. He found the bodies and checked them. He found the crushed cabins where the rifles must have been. He found the scars of rifle fire within the gap in the hull and realized that the man with the rifle who was now dead on the ground must have been holed up here in ambush. He realized that Slavesdream had jumped the Humans. And his half-formed plan became a beautiful actuality. All the Beast corpses were on the ground. Only one had a gun. All had minor injuries. One, apparently unarmed, had been badly hurt.
He leapt down from the wreck and spoke to his second-in-command. “They never had a chance,” he said. “The Humans must have slaughtered them. No time to get guns from the ship.” Chaos pointed at the man with no face. “That poor bastard had no weapon. Probably wasn’t even conscious. They did well to get five. If they’d been warned, that one with the rifle would have been up in the ship holding them off. And the one with the sword wouldn’t have been over there. Like Mistream said, no chance at all. It was plain murder.”
The gunner nodded, quite convinced. “Blackstar!" he murmured. Chaos savored the hate and disgust in the man’s voice.
THE WRATH OF STORMWIND
While Slavesdream did not return, the tales of his heroism grew in dimension. The praise of the Ursides was lavished freely. While they believed him dead, they accorded him far more respect than they ever had when he had been alive.
A worried Stormwind listened and believed it all. A dead Slavesdream meant no less to him than a live one. All that was important to Stormwind was what Slavesdream stood for. The man himself had been unnecessary for years.
It was not Chaos who brought him the body, but a young Lemuride who had heard and believed Chaos’s supposed evaluation of the situation on Kamak. He told his tale of slaughter in halting, stilted language that was convincing because it was awkward and honest. With the eyes of a hundred Beasts on his back, and the bleak grey eyes of the lord of Sabella searching his own, he told the story exactly as Chaos had built it in his mind. He gave an elaborated version of what Mistream had said, and told of the murdered man propped against the tree. He told how Blackstar had killed the Vespan lord personally.
Chaos listened with pride. He could produce a reliable witness to support the story in Mistream. An honest man had just offered his evaluation. It was perfect.
Stormwind laid his friend’s body on the ground and turned away.
Grief brought a cold fury to his brain and a darkness into his heart. He believed everything that he had been told. He wanted to believe it. He desperately needed to fix his unreasoning hate and anger, and he fixed them on Alexander Blackstar.
Stormwind’s searching guilt brought forward the fact that Slavesdream had been killed in Stormwind’s place, that Slavesdream had died instead of him, that it was Richard Stormwind who must take a ritual revenge.
He had to appease his guilt and defer his grief. His vanity would not let him rest until he had killed Blackstar. An army waited, sharing his grief. They had fought for Sky-wolf, now they must fight for Stormwind. His withdrawal from the war and the sound reasons behind it were all forgotten. Skywolf against Starbird, Beast against Human, Stormwind against Blackstar. Motives, in his tide of emotion, no longer meant anything. What was real was pain and the vanity which would not let him live with it.
He turned back to the assembled Beasts, and found Ralph Eagleheart standing before him, waiting.
“Lord Eagleheart,” he said. “We will take the Beasts into space. We will find the Humans, wherever they are. We will attack, no matter how well defended their situation. We will kill and kill. I will find Alexander Blackstar and kill him.”
Eagleheart extended his hand, respectfully, and Stormwind accepted it. The Beasts were united now, in truth.
ALPH
The swamp on Alph is an unpleasant place. There are no animals to haunt its stagnant pools and hostile, jungle-covered islands, but mist falls at dusk and does not rise until daybreak; and it can be a frightening place. The sun is very rarely visible in the sky because curtains of cloud always seem to be there, and it rains for six days out of ten.
It is a place to run to, a place to hide. There are pleasant spots on Alph, but none which can offer the same concealment and anonymity. It is not only easy to be lost in the swamplands, it is easy to feel lost; and that feeling can be a great comfort to a fleeing man. There is an aura of nonexistence about the place, a ghostliness and remoteness which is hard to find in a universe opened up by the omega-drive. The ugly, skeletal trees and the leprous grasses, the fleshy lianas and the bright, bloated swamp flowers all contribute to the feeling of loneliness. Psychologically, it is a perfect place to hide. It is a place where a coward need know very little fear.
Only a general as brilliant as Ralph Eagleheart and a warrior as bold as Richard Storm wind would attack an army in the swamp on Alph.
THE BATTLE OF THE SWAMP
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The Humans were spread through several miles of thick, uncrossable jungle. It was impossible to think of an enemy , reaching them,. and so they were not as vigilant as they ‘might have been'
They rested and recovered from the disappointments of the battles they had fought in space. They sat still and coughed in the stifling atmosphere and listened to the incessant splashing and sucking of marsh gas released by decaying vegetation. Most of them stuck close by their ships because they did not like to wander far into the pale, sick jungle.
Everything in the jungle seemed to be diseased. Every natural color in the leaves or bark of the cadaverous trees was blotched and tainted by bacterial infection. Snakelike parasitic stems hung lazily from the trees. Patches of fungus—all colors, some waxy, some fluffy—grew on the snake-stems. Protozoans lived in the fungi, bacteria in the protozoans and bacteriophage in the bacteria. Everywhere there was decay. With no animals, there were no consumer food chains. Recirculation took place almost exclusively through decay and parasitism.
There was very little color in the jungle. The big flowers of the serpentine parasites and the free-living plants were all dull, usually white. There were no insects to attract. Plants were either self-fertilizing or wind or water pollinated.
Nobody liked the swamp. But nobody objected to being there either. Ever-since the attack on Merion there had been the need to sleep with one eye open, to be forever looking behind. There had been no true rest for days. But here there was safety.
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