by Paul Chafe
“Kdar-Leader, Second Formation! With me! Kill the handlers!” Without hesitation he leapt toward the enemy. Attack screams rose behind him and he knew Kdar's Heroes were following. They would succeed, or they would all die in the effort.
His charge took him through the space between Greow-Formation-Leader's left and right forward sections. The Tzaatz couldn't use their ranged weapons when both sides were engaged at close quarters. A few leaps took him to the closest raider as a bolt from the rider's crossbow flashed past him. The beast snapped at him with jaws strong enough to crush him through his armor, but he dodged to one side and struck at the articulation on its knee. Behind him he could hear the attack screams as Greow-Formation-Leader's warriors leapt to attack with him. The rapsar's rider stabbed at him and he dodged again. His own blow had glanced off the beast's leg armor, and now it kicked at him with hind claws the length of his forearm. His belly armor saved him from disembowelment, but the force of the blow sent him flying backward, just as another raider's jaws closed on the space were his head had been. A Tzaatz net flew past and wrapped itself around the rapsar's leg. It tripped and fell, crushing its rider, who screamed in agony. The helpless rapsar snapped impotently and Pouncer found himself on his back, somehow now amongst the front rank of attacking Greow-Formation-Leader's zitalyi. A battle-scarred face in Rrit-liveried armor looked down at him as he rolled to his feet.
“First Sergeant!”
“Command me, sire!”
“Take your four-sword to the right flank. Make them turn, don't let them build momentum.”
“At once, sire!” First Sergeant started yelling commands as Pouncer rejoined the battle. The Tzaatz flankers had the advantage of momentum with their beasts, but if Pouncer's small force could keep them disorganized then they couldn't use it.
He was dimly aware of the clash of arms behind him. Myowr-Guardmaster's warriors were heavily engaged against the huge assault rapsari, but he could not spare the instant it would have taken to look. Immediately in front of him a raider rapsar snapped its jaws and a Rrit warrior died in gurgling agony. Pouncer stepped forward and brought his sword up. The beast crashed down, its severed aorta spraying him with hot blood. Its rider swung at him as he fell, but the blow went wide and on the backswing Pouncer caught him under the shoulder, cleanly amputating his sword arm. He moved to finish his victim, but a blow came out of nowhere and staggered him sideways. One of the reptilian raiders, wounded and out of control, had tripped on him and fallen, crushing him to the ground and pinning him beneath its bulk. He struggled to free himself, fighting to breathe under its crushing weight. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see a Tzaatz warrior scream snarling in triumph, variable sword upraised to deliver the killing blow. Fear and rage spiked in his system and he lashed out with his one free arm in a desperate attempt to unbalance his attacker. He had no leverage and the variable sword came down. He would have been beheaded, but the Tzaatz's marker ball skidded off the rapsar's armored flank, and the slicewire just glanced off Pouncer's helmet. The Tzaatz screamed and swung again, only to die as a zitalyi leapt out of nowhere and ran him through his belly articulation. The body dropped, spilling blood and guts, and then the zitalyi was gone again, spinning away to engage another raider-mounted Tzaatz.
Pouncer struggled free of the encumbering body and rolled to his feet, adopting v'dak stance, instantly ready for another attack. There was none, and he realized that the flank attack had been stopped. The bodies of warriors and raider rapsari alike lay broken in the dirt, and a single wounded raider was running for the forest, shrieking in animal pain and dragging its dead rider in its tangled harness. Of the original twice-eight-squared of Greow-Formation-Leader's force, only a pawful remained standing, a bare half sword. The action had taken only heartbeats. There was no time to rest. Fear is death. Rage is death. Pouncer felt only exhaustion, but that too could be fatal.
A crystal iron ballista bolt thunked into the ground an armspan in front of him. He jumped and turned around, assessing the situation. The Tzaatz missile beasts were again finding the range. To his right Kdar-Leader was deploying his depth elements as flank guards. Farther away on the right flank a group of heavy-bloated, six-legged rapsari waddled toward the Citadel walls, guarded by a swarm of raiders and out of arrow range. The mounted flank attack had been meant to cover their advance. The function of the fat waddlers was unclear, but the way was now open to attack them. Pouncer looked around for more zitalyi to rally, but they were all fully engaged. The Rrit had nothing left to attack them with. Guardmaster would have to commit his depth formation from reserve or let the attackers reach the walls unchallenged.
A hail of steel balls as large as his head caromed through the remnants of his formation, one of them shattering the corpse of a rapsar raider directly in front of Pouncer. One thing was clear, they could not stand long where they were.
“Zitalyi to me!” Panting hard, he ran back to where Guardmaster was directing the second wave in its attack against the Tzaatz main body. The Tzaatz had brought forward more of the heavy assault rapsari, and the leviathan beasts were simply crushing the opposition before them. The first zitalyi wave had made the Tzaatz pay heavily for their advance, and several of the creatures lay dead or mortally wounded, surrounded by the bodies of Tzaatz and Rrit alike, but there were too many of them for the light zitalyi forces to stop entirely.
“Guardmaster! Command me.”
“Sire!” Guardmaster's relief at seeing Pouncer was evident.
“We stopped their flank attack, but they have more beasts moving to the Citadel on that side.” Pouncer panted as he spoke.
“How many Heroes have you left?”
“Just five, including myself.”
“And Greow-Formation-Leader?” Guardmaster couldn't keep the concern from his voice.
“Dead in their first salvo. Kdar-Leader's flank guards are covering that side from farther back now, out of range of the Tzaatz arrows.”
Myowr-Guardmaster was silent for long moment, surveying the battlefield. When he looked at Pouncer, his face was determined. “You must fall back, sire. We cannot hold them here.”
“We will hold them or die.”
“We cannot hold them. We can only buy time with our lives.”
“A Rrit does not run.”
“You foolish kitten, what do you think we're buying time for, if not your escape? You are the Patriarch's son. Now go!” Guardmaster pushed him toward the inner gate, but still Pouncer hesitated. “Go! My duty is to die here. Yours is to live and avenge me.”
A lumbering assault rapsar came into range, and the outer rank of zitalyi leapt for its flanks, variable swords seeking the chinks in its armor. Tzaatz troops jumped from its back to engage them, and the beast reared back, seizing a Rrit in its jaws and crushing the life from him. It tossed its victim aside and snapped again. Another beast moved up behind it, this one smaller, but shooting gouts of sticky toxin from fleshy nozzles on its head to encumber the defenders. The second battle developed in front of them, and Guardmaster snarled combat codes into his comlink, then “Zitalyi! Quarter flank left… Attack!” The second-wave commanders screamed orders at their troops, and the last Rrit formations began to close with the oncoming Tzaatz. He turned to Pouncer once more, shoving him in the direction of the Citadel. “Go, curse you! I've just ordered the gate closed.” He didn't wait for a reply. “You four…” He pointed to the survivors of Greow's formation. “Assault line. With me, advance!” Ahead of them the leading zitalyi were slashing at the huge war beasts, trying to climb their flanks to kill the handlers who rode behind their serpentine necks.
Pouncer watched him for a long moment, then turned and ran back toward the Patriarch's Gate. To his left the huge waddling rapsari had reached the walls with their reptilian bodyguard. He could now see they had huge, suckerlike mouths and concentric rows of rasplike teeth. Several had attached themselves to the Citadel walls, and acrid fumes billowed from their nostrils. As Pouncer passed, the eye-watering s
cent of powerful acid reached his nose. The creatures were literally eating their way through the cerametal structure of the fortress. A crossbow bolt bounced off his armor and tore a gash in the back of his hand, but neither the warriors nor their creatures moved to intercept him. He looked behind him to see more rapsari charging for the gate, pushing through the defenders who were still hanging on behind him. Showers of arrows arced overhead to suppress the Rrit archers on the battlements, and behind them more Tzaatz grav skirmishers leapt to seize the heights. Guardmaster was buying him time with his life; it would not be much time. He turned to run again. A double-sword of zitalyi stood at the huge battlesteel gate, the last guards there. They urged him forward as it ground closed, Tzaatz bolts buzzing past too close for comfort. He flashed past them and through the gate just in time.
The ground vibrated as the gate came down and the seals engaged, and Pouncer paused to catch his breath. The courtyard was full of arrows stuck point first in the ground, overshoots aimed at the defenders on the battlements, and more salvoes fell as he watched, a steady, deadly rain. Close to the wall he was safe, but not for long. Snarls and the clash of weapons rose above him, and he looked up reflexively. Tzaatz leapers with grav belts had gained the battlements. A sundered body in zitalyi colors fell, hitting the ground with the nerve-jarring crack of bones breaking inside rigid armor. The rain of arrows would slow now. Pouncer took a chance and ran for the outer bastion that guarded the entrance to the Middle Citadel. To his right an eight-sword of Tzaatz warriors in mag armor and grav belts touched down in the courtyard and fanned out. He ducked into a doorway into the outer bastion wall. It led to a secondary sector gun position, abandoned now as unusable in a battle of skalazaal. He slapped a palm against the release, and the heavy battlesteel blast door slammed closed. It would take time for the attackers to breach the barrier. For a moment he considered the heavy laser cannon, positioned to sweep the walls. The position entirely controlled the approaches to the Middle Fortress. The targeting system was already up and running, the power banks fully charged. When the attackers came through the gate he could slaughter them with impunity; it would be simple…
He pushed the thought away. He was First-Son of the Patriarch. Rrit Pride would not be the ones who broke the traditions. There was a hatchway in the rear of the emplacement, and he ripped it open and dived through. Beyond it was the arterial corridor that ran through the heart of the Outer Fortress defenses. The tunnels to the space defense weapons would be sealed, but if the attackers were concentrating on the gates he might be able to escape over the river wall by jumping into the Quickwater below. He ran down the corridor at a fast lope, down a set of stairs to a tunnel that would take him beneath the outer courtyard and then up another set to the arterial corridor of the outer wall. He dashed down it to the New Tower and up the spiral stairs to the battlements along the top of the outer wall. The mag armor showed mirror silver along the walls. The Citadel's defenses were formidable, but denied the use of its high technology weapons it was vulnerable to envelopment.
A salvo of arrows snapped past his head as he ran onto the battlements. There was a Tzaatz archery unit concealed in the trees a bare bowshot away. He looked at the long drop to the Quickwater below. They wouldn't likely be able to hit him in midair if he leapt, but there was no chance they wouldn't notice. Once in the water he'd be helpless while they closed in on him. Farther down the wall a unit of zitalyi fired back with crossbows. Not all of the defenders were carrying the weapons. The first defense alert had been for ground attack, and they had brought heavy beam weapons. The skalazaal had taken them by surprise.
That's a lesson for Guardmaster. The next thought followed automatically. If he survives. The Tzaatz had used surprise to tremendous effect.
A fusillade of heavy steel balls flew up from below, some slamming hard against the magnetically reinforced cerametal walls, others hitting zitalyi defenders and hurling their crushed bodies into the outer courtyard behind them. Pouncer ducked behind a battlement instinctively. Where did that come from? He tracked the trajectory back, saw another specialized assault rapsar still swaying from the force of the launch, modified mid legs already cranking its back-mounted catapult down for another shot. A gravcar beside it was laden heavy with more of the balls. The traditions of the Honor-War denied all but muscle-driven weapons, and denied the use of slaves, but rapsari eluded both restrictions. Tzaatz Pride was treading narrowly on the edge of honor, but though the Conservers might later refine the code to prevent another upstart from toppling their regime with biostructs the way they were toppling the Rrit, no one would be able to dispute the fact of their victory.
No, not victory. The Rrit are not yet fallen. The Citadel defenses were strong, and the Tzaatz were a long way from their homeworld. The rapsari were beasts, powerful perhaps, but still only beasts. The battle would be decided claw to claw, and there were no better warriors in the Patriarchy than the zitalyi. A swarm of Tzaatz on grav belts leapt up as another catapult rapsar swept more defenders from the battlements. The remaining Rrit met them on the points of their variable swords; kill screams and the clash of weapons against armor rose in the air. Two of the enemy landed three leaps from Pouncer, facing him. He drew his own variable sword and extended it, ready to receive them. They leapt again as soon as they had touched down, aided by their gravbelts. Pouncer took v'dak stance, twisting sideways to strike as the first one's leap carried him past. The blow glanced off his opponent's back plate, and he pivoted to kick. His foot connected hard and the Tzaatz warrior slid over the ice-slick surface of the cerametal rampart, scrabbling for a purchase. The other attacker slammed into Pouncer from behind, knocking him flat. Pouncer twisted to escape, bringing his weapon up to block the blow he knew was coming. The variable swords connected, the shock hard enough to shatter bone. The other raised his weapon again and brought it down, aiming for Pouncer's vulnerable eyes. Fear and rage warred in Pouncer's liver as he struggled to free himself. Fear is death, some distant part of his brain told him. Time seemed to slow down, and he watched as the Tzaatz warrior raised the sword above his head. Pouncer slid his own sword into position, leaving himself open for the killing blow, but as the other brought his sword down he flipped his own blade up in between the gaps in the vulnerable shoulder joint of his opponent's armor. The Tzaatz screamed in agony as his amputated arm fell to the ground. Pouncer kicked himself up and over and drove his sword into the other's face. Without pausing he whirled around to face the first attacker, who had regained his footing a hairsbreadth before tumbling off the wall. Pouncer dropped to v'scree stance as two more Tzaatz moved up behind the first. He could not run; with their grav belts they would catch him before he had gone two leaps. Panting hard, he prepared to take them on. They closed in, snarling. He fell back a pace, and something hit his chestplate with a sharp crack, glancing off and staggering him backward. He twisted in midfall, kicked out blindly in case his attacker had leapt with his fall, but when he look up again the Tzaatz were gone. One of the catapult rapsari had fired wide. His attackers had been thrown off the wall by a barrage of the heavy steel balls. Had he not stepped backward he would have gone with them. A high-pitched whine rose, and he whirled to see a spybot whine past, still on its patrol circuit. The Command Lair should have those under active control. What is happening down there?
No time to worry about that now. Below him more Tzaatz troops were coming out of the forest, and along the wall the grav skirmishers were finishing the last of the defenders. It was too late now to escape by the river. Pouncer turned and ran back the way he had come, diving into the tower entrance and half running, half falling down the stairs. His only hope now was to hide in the Citadel until the attack was over. His honor didn't twinge at that course. He knew now that the Citadel was lost. His duty now lay to the Rrit dynasty, and the most important thing he could do was survive.
Where to run? For an instant he considered the House of Victory. Kchula-Tzaatz himself would be there, with just a handful of retainers to
guard him. If I can get to him I can challenge him to skatosh. He is old and slow, and when he is dead his forces must surrender. I can end this before it has truly begun. But Kchula-Tzaatz would have planned for that, and his brother the Black Priest was there, the most accomplished single-combat expert in the Patriarchy. If Pouncer challenged for single combat, Ftzaal-Tzaatz would stand for Kchula, and while Pouncer was confident in his own skills, the Protector of Jotok was legendary.
No, if his duty was to survive he would survive. He headed for the Inner Fortress, aiming for his own chamber and the hidden shelter behind his bathing pool. Twice he crossed open courtyards under the noses of the invaders and their rapsari. Twice speed and surprise saw him clear. He gained the Hall of Ancestors without further pursuit, and thought he could hear the sounds of battle closing in around him. From the Hall a corridor led to the side. A dozen leaps down that was his chamber and safety.
He bounded the last length toward it, twisting in midair, touching down with hind claws extended to brake. He skidded sideways, already turned ninety degrees to face down the cross corridor, legs gathered to start running again with a leap as soon he cleared the archway. The water of his bathing pool would break his scent trail, and he would be safe there, for a time. Safe enough while the attack played itself out, safe long enough to plan an escape, to plan revenge for the betrayal Tzaatz Pride had visited upon his line.
The archway slid past and the corridor opened before him. In front of his chamber a full sword of Tzaatz warriors and a pair of rapsari raiders. No escape there! He let his momentum carry him past the opening, aborting the leap. There was a roar from one of the Tzaatz, and a high, keening cry from a rapsar. They had seen him. He twisted again, awkwardly, and leapt in the direction he had been going already, his mind calling up a map of the Citadel. Here in the ancient core of the fortress there were many twists and turns, many potential hiding places.
