Theocracy: Book 1.

by Doug Dandridge

  Patrick swung his sword back and forth, taking out Hyperborean after Hyperborean. He almost cut down a Eirish warrior, pulling the sword to the side at the last moment. The more he fought, the greater the press between him and the Duke. The Duke seemed to be holding his own, though, supported by the warriors around him. Then one of those warriors turned his back on the action, shielded by a pair of retainers, and approached the Duke from the rear, his blade held down and to the side. Patrick didn’t like the look of that, especially when he recognized the man. Rory.

  “My Duke,” he yelled out in a carrying voice. Normally a single man wouldn’t be heard over the din of battle, as thousands of men chopped and slashed, grunted and screamed, while cannon and guns fired. Patrick was trained in using the Fae to amplify his voice, giving it a quality that would be noticed. Hundreds of eyes turned his way. The Duke looked up, puzzlement on his face. Patrick tried to wave the Duke’s attention to his rear, while blocking the blows of a raptor rider who was pressing him. The Duke looked around for a moment, still puzzled. Then the expression changed to one of complete surprise, turning to agony, as Rory plunged his sword into the lower back of the Duke, in the gap between breastplate and armor skirting.

  Patrick screamed out in surprise and anger. The Duke had been assassinated, something the King had been concerned enough about, following rumors from his spies, to have a monk assigned to him in battle. And Patrick had allowed himself to get distracted enough to be pulled away from the Duke’s side. But you won't live to spend whatever you were paid, thought Patrick as he glared at the assassin. He started forward again, cutting his way through the press with his magic blade.

  The first explosion occurred on the opposite slope, among the second wave of the enemy. A bright flash, followed by gouting dirt into the air, mixed with bodies and pieces of bodies. The shock wave traveled down the slope, knocking man and beast to the ground. And then the flying terrors descended from the sky.

  Chapter Four

  Colonel Nathan Chung occupied the copilot’s seat of the lead shuttle as they banked through the atmosphere, killing velocity while they lined up on the target. The flash of kinetic impacts flared ahead. He had marked the targets himself on the tactical screen to his front. He hoped that the buffoons in the navy had done it right. With their competence it wouldn’t have surprised him if they put a kinetic warhead right on his target. It would have enraged him, but not surprised him.

  The valley came into view, a sight that was very interesting to the former Theocracy Marine Assault Officer. The battle had been raging for about an hour, and the tactician in the Colonel found it interesting how the combatants had employed the dinosaurs they used as war beasts. Of course their combat between each other had ceased, as the quartet of kiloton level KE weapons had come down on the field, grabbing their attention. Now they were like a bunch of ants whose nest had been kicked. But thinking ants, able to feel terror at the power of the kicker to the fullest.

  “Our target is here,” said Chung, touching his finger to the screen that gave a three dimensional representation of the field. “All units are to avoid hitting our target at all costs. We’ll thin out the barbarians around him with ground assault.”

  Chung nodded his head and smiled as the gunships and assault shuttles fired rockets and then dipped down for gun runs. They moved as they would on a modern battlefield, weaving and juking as if there were weapons on that field that could knock them from the sky. Chung wondered if he should say something, since there was nothing down there that would even scratch the hulls of the ships. He kept his peace, thinking it was better to have them act by the book than get lazy. On another occasion they might not take an evasive path and end up getting shot down, taking his ass with them.

  The ships circled the valley, sending streams of projectiles and laser beams that flared color as they hit smoke, into the crowded land below. Hundreds fell, thousands, taken out by weapons they had never imagined. Probably think the Gods are striking from the heavens, thought Chung. And in a way they were right, because the servants of God were fulfilling that role.

  “Prepare to land us,” he said to the pilot while touching the screen. “Over there.”

  “All assault troops prepare to disembark,” he said over the com circuit. “You know what to do. Now let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Looking through the eyes of Shadow, who had found a very good observation point above the valley, Alyssa Suarez was at first drawn in to the drama of the battle. She had zoomed in on her target many times, marveling at his skill with the ancient blade he carried. Also marveling at the destruction that blade wrought on his enemies. She held her breath as he ran under the damned Tyrannosaur analogue and cut its legs out beneath it. Derrick McAndrews sat in the chair next to her in the control room, his own eyes glued to the repeater screen that was showing the images the cat transmitted to her brain.

  “Glad I’m not caught up in that fight,” said Derrick, pursing his lips.

  “Is it really any worse than fighting a modern battle,” said Alyssa, cringing as she watched the monk yell out something, his face twisted with pain and anger.

  “More personal,” said Derrick with a shake of his head. “I mean, here you go face to face with your enemy, while trying to separate parts of his body. It’s…”

  The picture jumped at the same time as several bright bursts blotted out the image. Alyssa could feel the panic of Shadow was he tried to pull back into the hole he had found, his eyes burning from the overly bright images.

  “What the hell?” asked Derrick, looking over at Alyssa.

  “Kinetic energy rounds,” said Alyssa, trying to calm herself while sending waves of serenity through the link. Shadow hunkered down, his heart beating fast, as he tried to follow the dictates of his mistress and settle down.

  The vision of the cat was clearing fast. Alyssa breathed a sigh of relief, happy that the feline’s vision hadn’t been permanently damaged. Not that it couldn’t be repaired, but she thought she might need the cat very soon. Especially when she saw the gunships and assault shuttles of the Theocracy drop out of the sky.

  “What are we going to do,” said Derrick, looking from screen to Alyssa’s face.

  “I think we need to bring the ship up to near surface, first thing,” she answered, watching as the Theocracy ships swept back and forth over the battlefield, spraying death where they went. “We might need to bring our own weapons to bear if they get the target. I will not let them get away with him.”

  “Us against an entire Theocracy task force,” said Derrick, brows furrowing. “That’s crazy.”

  “That it is,” agreed Alyssa, nodding. “But our mission is to either pick up our target, or make sure that the other side doesn’t. If we have to shoot down the shuttle he is on, we will do it. Even if we get taken out ourselves.”

  “What about Shadow?” asked her partner, a worried expression on his face.

  “He’ll do fine here,” said Alyssa, wondering the same thing herself. “He’ll probably find another human and live in the lap of luxury when they realize what he is. And I don’t want him aboard if we get reduced to plasma.”

  “Lucky him,” said Derrick with a shrug. “Wish you could drop me off somewhere before you paint a target on us.”

  “Sorry, buddy,” said Alyssa with a tight smile. “I need you to help man the weapons systems.” And Shadow, my friend. I’m sorry, but I need to place you in danger once again.

  Alyssa sent the command over the entanglement, receiving the acknowledgement as soon as it was sent. The cat was nervous about leaving the hole and venturing into the madness beyond. But he was a good, well trained cat, and would do what was necessary.

  * * *

  The shock wave knocked Patrick over onto his side, just like it knocked everyone else in the vicinity to the ground. Before he could even begin to get up three more shock waves struck in close proximity. The mental shock hit about the same time as the second, third and fourth waves. He wasn�
��t sure what was happening. Only that it was something out of his experience, and he was sure out of the experience of everyone else on this field.

  Then Patrick realized he still had a job to do. Not his original job. He was sure the Duke he was supposed to protect was dead. But he could make sure the assassin didn’t get away with it. With that thought the monk scrambled to his feet, and stayed on his feet, despite the ground seeming to want to throw him back down.

  There were several large clouds of what he thought were dirt climbing into the sky. There was fire in that dirt, something he didn’t think possible. And they reminded him of umbrellas as they spread at the top.

  Then the flying vehicles, controlled by who knew what, swooped down. Bright pinpoints appeared on the wings and noses of the things. Men started to yell and scream, and fall back into the dirt, those who were up. Blood splashed along the valley in long lines. Some men exploded as if hit by large cannon balls, though there was nothing visible striking them. Others, along with their beasts, flared into flames as pieces dropped to the ground. It was a shocking display, and most of the men just stood and stared until whatever death was coming from the sky came for them.

  Patrick started to run toward where the Duke had been standing. He saw his brother getting up from the ground, waving his sword in the air and trying to rally his men. The lines of death didn’t seem to be reaching this part of the field. Patrick wondered why as he ran, leaping over people living and dead. A couple of times someone rose up who looked like they wanted to stop him. A quick swing of his sword and the obstruction was gone.

  “Rory,” yelled Patrick as he came upon the Duke’s party. The men were getting to their feet, several of them looking down at the body of Duke Seamus. All looked bewildered, and Patrick was sure that none knew what had happened to bring down the nobleman in the confusion. None except for the one. “Rory,” yelled Patrick again, running at the man, his feet touching ground or men in quick steps, his balance perfect.

  Rory raised his shield and snarled at the monk. His eyes were the eyes of a frightened animal. Patrick was sure the man had planned to be away by now. But now he had an angry monk with a magic sword coming for him.

  Rory thrust with his sword, trying to hit Patrick before the Monk could strike. Patrick leapt to the side, swinging his katana blade down at the top of Rory’s shield. Blade struck shield and sliced through it as if it were made of air. Through the shield, through the arm holding the shield, and down through the bottom.

  Rory screamed as the fore part of his left forearm fell from his body. The shield separated into halves and fell with it. Bright arterial blood spurted from the stump of the arm. Patrick brought his blade back up and sliced through the man’s neck, sending more blood into the air, following the head, ending the screams.

  Patrick looked at the falling body for a moment, continuing to stare as it settled to the ground. Too quick, he thought of the man’s death. He had been taught at the monastery that all deaths should be quick, as swift as possible. Suffering was not a good thing. But in this case he disagreed with the teachings. This man should have suffered for his treachery, and for making the Monk fail in his primary task.

  He was pulled from his thought by increased yelling and screaming, and then a high pitched sound like he had never heard. Looking up, he found that several of the sky ships that had been dealing death to both sides were settling onto legs that ended in broad disks, crushing bodies into the ground as they lighted. The doors opened and large men in armor came striding out, followed by what looked like four legged demons.

  Patrick was sure that the men were huge, much larger than normal men, until they got closer and he could see their faces through the transparent visors of their helmets. Then he realized that the armor they were wearing was what made them seem so large. And he then wondered how men could even move in that bulky covering. The demon creatures wore armor as well, but more of a normal protective covering that Patrick was familiar with. Or so he thought.

  The men in armor pointed strange looking devices that must have been guns of some type. Eirish and Hyperborean warriors began to fall, with the clanging of fast moving objects striking armor, ripping holes through it, and the explosion of red misting blood. Heads exploded as something hit them. Patrick ducked down as something unseen cracked past his own head. He brought up his shield and covered behind it. Objects sprang from the shield, bouncing off, hard enough to push the protective device back into Patrick’s body. The Monk put his other hand on the shield. Something struck the sword blade that poked out to the side and spun it from Patrick’s grasp. He ducked down further, taking care to stay behind the shield, as the super fast bullets continued to spray over the field.

  Patrick glanced over at where his brother Sean was standing. He had gathered a few score men around him and was trying to get them started toward the sky invaders. Pike points were set, but the men didn’t seem willing to advance. For some reason they were not taking fire from the sky people. But the men in the heavy armored suits and their demons were heading toward them nonetheless.

  As the sky people moved, they fired. Not the sprays they had been releasing before, but single shots that were knocking individual pikemen to the ground. One shot struck Sean, fortunately on his magic breastplate. Sean fell for a moment, but was soon up to his feet without injury, trying to get his men to attack the invaders. To no avail, and soon Sean was the only one standing as the monsters from the sky moved to surround him. Sean yelled at the top of his lungs and moved toward the closest invader, swinging his sword in a two handed grip. The sword struck the armor and bounced from it. The man swung his arm and struck Sean in the chest, sending the stout warrior into the air like a child. Patrick’s brother landed on his back with an oof, the air knocked from him, while the armored figures stood around him.

  Another man came striding into the group. This was also a large man. Large on his own, for he didn’t wear the armor of the others, though he held one of the strange looking guns in his hands. He started talking, his eyes on Sean. Patrick could almost understand what he was saying. It had some similarities to the English spoken by the Eirish people. But not exactly. The man grunted, nodded his head, and pointed toward Sean. At which point a couple of the armored men started toward him, reaching with their armored hands toward the warrior.

  Patrick roared a war cry as he ran toward the nearest invader. The armored man had barely begun to turn as Patrick’s blade came down on a metal clad shoulder. Patrick had worried as to whether or not the blade would penetrate that obviously advanced armor. He was relieved when it sliced through, just as it had with the local armor on this day. Blood misted into the air as the sword took off the arm. Patrick swung the blade out, then in, catching the side of the armored suit that the arm no longer blocked. The blade sliced in deep. It almost stuck as he pulled it out, and he reminded himself to not strike so deep into the unknown metal the next time.

  The invader to his left swung his weapon around. The gun kept on going to the right, along with the hand that was holding it, as Patrick brought his sword down. He brought the blade back around low and took the left leg from the man. The armored invader to his right did get his weapon trained. The pellets it fired bounced from the shield Patrick brought quickly into line. Patrick’s sword sliced the front of the man’s throat, cutting through armor and flesh and dropping the man to his knees. Patrick sent a swift front kick into the armored giant, whose dead weight fell back.

  Even though the man was dying, the bulk of his armor caused damage to Patrick’s foot. He felt as if there would be a bruise come the next day, and his ankle didn’t feel that strong either. Then he was too busy taking on the next opponent coming at him. And this one was not human.

  The demon creatures had run onto the field on all fours, on what looked to be paws. Now one stood on its hind feet. Front and rear paws both unfolded into hands, tipped with sharp claws on each digit. It swung the left hand with frightening speed, slicing through the monk’s left s
leeve and into the flesh below. Patrick maneuvered his blade into the way of the next strike, the right hand, and spat as foul tasting blood flew into his face.

  The demon howled, a sound that sent shivers down Patrick’s spine. He thrust his sword into the chest of the creature, turning howls into gasps. The creature fell to the ground as a pair of compatriots came forward.

  “Hold him,” yelled the large man, glaring at Patrick as he gestured toward Sean. “Stay back,” he growled, gesturing at the two demons. He drew a short curved blade from a sheath, a blade that shimmered just like the one Patrick carried. “I’ll kill this one.”

  Patrick swung his sword in a two handed grip, hoping to end the confrontation with the intimidating looking man quickly. The shorter blade rose and deflected the Katana. It stayed intact, obliviously a kindred blade to the one Patrick wielded. Patrick sent out a front snap kick to the man’s stomach, then turned on his side to send a side kick to the same region. The man stepped back just a bit, laughing.

  “You have to do better than that, you low gravity weakling,” growled the man in an accent that Patrick was able to understand.

  Patrick knew the man was goading him, but his calm was broken and his temper flared no matter the knowledge. He yelled and stepped forward, swinging his blade at the man’s neck. The man smiled as he brought up his own blade to block the sword. At the same time his left hand struck out, knuckles hitting Patrick in the face and snapping his neck back. Then the entire world turned to pain as the man slashed his magic blade across Patrick’s stomach.

  Patrick’s hands flashed down to his stomach as the intestines pushed out through the slash. His legs weakened and buckled under him. Agony struck again as the shock of hitting his knees transferred to his guts. The big man towered over him, looking down with cold blue eyes. He grabbed Patrick by the hair and pulled his head up, bringing back the blade for the fatal strike.