by Jean Kilczer
“Thank you, Father.”
The family parted as Brinn plowed a path to the water and threw himself in where there was no ice.
Granbor turned to his people. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Just Lasron,” A Druid called as he hovered over a bleeding female. “She was cut by the sharp edge of the roof as it fell. It is not serious, Father.”
“Thank the gods, if there be any,” Granbor murmured to Flair. “This bloody work,” he told his people as they closed around him, “is not the end, but only the beginning.” He looked toward the sea, the Druids true home, and felt a pang of fear as he considered the loss of beloved family members in battles yet to come.
Chapter Twenty One
Sarge and I sat in the rear seats of the jeep with our hands behind our backs, as though they were tied. Actually, we held our stinglers, set on hot. No games this time. The two captive Cultists sat in the front seats, one driving, looking for all the world like the captors as we approached the high ice walls of Lord Aburra's keep.
The driver tapped the horn.
Sarge had contacted his mercs, who waited a few miles back, with a scrambled message on his comlink that we were at the gate. I carried a comlink I'd taken from the three captured Cultists in the tunnels.
My senses were on high alert as the gate swung open to an eerie silence.
A tall, young tag, with a mop of curly hair, and a chin that receded into his neck, waved us through the gate.
“Quirrel?” I asked, “what are you doing here?”
“Oh, Jules!” He hopped around the jeep and gave me a toothy grin. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it's me. What are you doing here?”
He'd been a cook with Big Mack's mercenaries on planet New Terra.
“And where is everybody?” Sarge asked him.
“Oh,” Quirrel said, and fluttered his hands, “you must be Big Sarge. Lord Aburra has a dart board with your face on it.”
“Good for him!' Sarge said.”Now where the hell is everybody?"
“They're out hunting Druids. Uh…” He lowered his head and scraped a piece of ice off the door. “Lord Aburra has declared war on all Druids,” he mumbled.
Sarge's eyes narrowed. "Is the lord at home?'
“No. He's leading the foray. He's pretty pissed.”
“So,” Sarge said, “you're the only one holding the fort?”
Quirrel nodded. “Somebody had to stay behind and keep the sous chefs full and running.” He shrugged. “I'm sorry you two are prisoners.”
“Don't be.” I pulled my hands around and showed him the stingler.
“Oh!” He backed away.
“Don't pee yourself, Quirrel,” Sarge told him. “You're not a combatant.” He waved his gun at the two Cultists. “Get out.”
As we walked them to the prison hut, Quirrel explained that with Big Mack dead and his mercs dispersed, he had to find work somewhere, and not on Earth, where all Mack's men were wanted for killing natives on New Terra.
“You know what these scuds you work for are doing?” I asked him.
“I didn't!” He spread his hands like a child caught disobeying. “I swear I didn't know. Until this morning.”
“What changed your mind?” Sarge asked harshly.
Quirrel pointed to a Slattie hide hanging from a post. A pool of dark blood lay beneath it."
I came up short. “What the hell is that?”
“Don't you mean who?” Sarge turned to Quirrel. “A Rebel skin?”
“N-no.” Quirrel pressed his hands over his ears. “A Cultist. I can't get his screams out of my head.”
“Aburra killed a Cultist?” I asked.
The two prisoners whispered to each other in their native language. The shorter one cried softly. The other patted his shoulder.
“His name was Brinn,” Quirrel told us. “He-he came back with a message that Druids had destroyed the meat factory and the boats, and killed all the workers, except him.”
“So your great Lord Aburra,” Sarge said, “in all his kindness, had him flayed for not fighting to the death with his comrades.”
Quirrel nodded quickly. “How did you know? The screams. Oh my Gods! Will I ever sleep again?”
“You mean…” I started, “you mean, he had this Brinn tag flayed alive?”
Quirrel nodded.
The shorter prisoner whimpered and leaned against the other, who helped him stay on his feet.
“I didn't know,” Quirrel said.
“What didn't you know,” Sarge asked, “the depths of your lord's depravity? You shoulda known before you signed up for this gig.”
I felt shaky as we walked the prisoners past the hide. The head was still attached.
We locked the Cultists in a cell inside the prison hut.
Outside, I closed my eyes and lowered my mental shields. If Brinn's kwaii was still around, confused and scared, I wanted to offer him some comfort.
Sarge studied me and waited quietly.
Nothing.
“He must already be in the arms of Great Mind,” I said.
“You've got to tell me about that some day.”
I lifted my shields and opened my eyes. “Some day.”
Sarge got on the comlink and told his mercs of the change in plans.
“Position your men on either side of the road, Attila. If you catch the enemy filing through, take out as many as you can. No prisoners. We don't need martyrs. We need to wipe this scum off the face of the planet.” He paced as he talked. “Send us ten men right now, with explosives. We'll be waiting on the rooftops. Make sure you post lookouts to watch for their return.” He paused and stared at the Slattie hide. “Aburra wears a golden armband. If the slime fucker shows his face, burn a hole between his eyes. Over and out.”
I watched the hide sway in a cold breeze and felt a sudden fear of our enemy lord. What sort of being could take satisfaction at such torture? Great Mind, I sent into the void, I know he is also one of your children, but–"
But, Spirit sent back, it is not for you to judge.
Maybe not, Spirit, but if I get the chance, I will execute him.
Execute? Now you have become a judge and an executioner?
A judge, a jury, and the executioner. Yes!
As you will. It is all in Great Mind's hands anyway. He cut the link.
Sarge snapped the comlink shut and stared at the hide. “I want Aburra's head mounted on my wall like an animal trophy.”
* * *
While Big Sarge and his ten men planted explosives in the buildings, including the church and Aburra's chambers, I swept the surrounding land from the church's ramparts through graphoculars, searching for any sign of Cultist movement. White ice and blue sky. It had a certain beauty, but I was beginning to long for the varied, subtle colors and majestic peaks of the Rocky Mountains back on Earth.
It is exciting to leave Earth and go off on an adventure, exhilarating to be successful on an important mission, but just as satisfying to return to the comfort and security of home.
Home is the hunter…
I missed my daughter Lisa. Had her tel and kinetic abilities continued to develop? Someday, for better or for worse, Lisa would be a powerful tel with abilities that far surpassed my own. I hoped I'd be around to guide her along that rocky path that could be a gift or a curse.
Up here, the wind found ways past my layered clothing and I felt chilled. “Attila,” I called into my comlink, “do you see the Cultists yet?”
“Not yet,” he answered airily. “I'll let Sarge know when we do. He'll tell you.”
“OK. Oh, over and out.” My team was much more casual about our talk and protocol on a comlink. I put the unit into a pocket, swept the land again with the graphs, and wondered what Sophia was doing while she waited on our boat.
What was that?
Movement along the snow banks to the north. Quirrel had said the Cultists went south to the sea, searching for Druids. What was that distant line of jeeps and white bodies sprea
d out to the north? General Ara Saun and his Rebel Slatties were bivouacked to our west, planning their own invasion of a Cultist military post. My thumping heart, and a blue flag waving from the lead jeep, told me these were Cultists.
“Christ and Buddha!” I fished out the comlink and almost dropped it. “Sarge. Sarge!”
“Yeah! I'm here. What's up? Did the Cultists walk into our trap? Attila would've notified me.”
“Not exactly.” I said.
“Not exactly what?”
“I think they're approaching from the north.”
“What the hell would they be doing up north? There's no entrances to the sea up north. What are you seeing?”
I looked through the graphs again and saw blue flags on all the jeeps as they got closer. “I'm seeing a force of Cultists moving fast in our direction from the north!”
“What the fuck. Attila!”
“Yeah, Sarge, I heard that. Our lookouts haven't spotted the Cultists. You think they were warned and went around us to the north?”
“Depends,” Sarge said, “if Jules is seeing what he thinks he's seeing.”
“I know what I'm seeing, Sarge,” I said, “and they're coming fast!”
“Keep the link open, Attila,” Sarge said. “The explosives are planted. I'm going up on the roof.”
I watched him trot across the courtyard and into the church. Two minutes later, he was through the door and beside me. I was already handing him the graphs when he said “Gimme the graphs.”
“That way.” I pointed north.
He lifted them to his eyes and muttered something. “Here!” He shoved the graphs at me and took out his comlink. “Attila! The enemy is approaching the stronghold from the north. Leave a few lookouts and the rest of you get over here, pronto!”
“Somebody warned them,” I said as we ran to the door and down the steps.
“I trust my men!”
“Uh oh.” I stopped short.
He piled into me and we both grabbed the banister.
“What uh oh?” he demanded.
“The Cultist prisoners. They could be hiding more comlinks in their pouches. Did you search their pouches?”
“They've got fucking pouches, like kangaroos?”
I nodded. “Belly pouches. I thought you knew.”
“Sonofabitch!”
Sarge's ten men met us as we ran into the courtyard.
“Tattoo Jones,” Sarge called to a tall man with tattoos that covered his thin face, “Kickstart!” Sarge threw the cell keys to a short bald man and nodded at the prison hut. “You two check out those bastard slimers for comlinks in pouches. Belly fucking pouches!” He glanced around quickly. "We're gonna be sous meat if they get here before our people. Hump, you an' Dump burn down the gate. We don't want it locked if the Cultists make it here first
Hump and Dump, both heavyset men with hanging jowls, looked alike, except for Dump's gray hair; maybe father and son. They unholstered their weapons as they trotted to the gate. I checked my stingler. Green charge light.
Kickstart and Tattoo Jones ran out of the prison hut.
“Here, boss,” Jones gave Sarge two comlinks. “They had all kinds of stuff in their pouches, even lunch.”
“Good for them,” Sarge said. “Our men are on their way,” he told the group while Hump and Dump fired the wooden gate with stinglers. It was strange to see flames shoot up in this white world.
“Take up positions on the roofs,” Sarge ordered. “Priority one, stop the scuds from entering. We want them caught outside with their pants down when our people arrive.”
Hump and Dump trotted back to the group.
“Did you hear what I said?” Sarge asked them.
They both nodded.
“Then let's go.”
I heard the distant whine of ground vehicles and hoped it was ours but feared it was theirs. “What about their hovair?” I asked Sarge.
“Yeah, their hovair,” Sarge said. “Take out their hovair first or they'll pick us off like flappers in the sand. You come with me, cupcake. The rest of you, take up your positions. They're almost up our asses.”
Sarge and I climbed the steps back to the church's rampart. Now we could see the Cultists advancing with the naked eye. Their hovair flew above the troops. Was Aburra inside, I wondered, to direct the attack?
To the south, Sarge's mercs were already advancing, with their hovair leading the charge from the air. I felt as though Sarge and I were in a deadly game of checkers, with blues against reds.
Would Aburra destroy his own keep to eliminate his enemies? The mercs hadn't set charges in the prison hut, but unless the two Cultists watched from the barred window, and warned their lord of the explosives, Aburra wouldn't know that Sarge held the trigger that could turn his keep into mounds of icicles.
Damn! Aburra's hovair would make it here before ours. Our hand stinglers were useless against the ship as long as it remained out of range.
I no longer felt the cold, or the dull ache in my right side if I turned too quickly.
All the world, the deafening whine of that hovair overhead and Cultist troops calling to each other as they swarmed into the courtyard. Only my heart seemed to beat louder.
“Attila!” Sarge said into his comlink, “the Cultists are climbing over the walls and up our asses. You men inside the stronghold, take cover until our troops arrive.”
“Will engage the enemy as soon as we reach the stronghold,” Attila responded. “Hang tough, Sarge. You too, cupcake.”
“Thanks much, Kung Fu,” I leaned over and said into the link.
“You think the hovair crew knows we're here?” I asked Sarge as we backed down the steps.
“Maybe not. Might just be getting the lay of things and directing their ground troops.”
A blast overhead cracked the sloped ceiling and sent shards of ice bouncing down the stairwell.
“Then again.” I turned and started down the steps with Sarge behind me. “Uh oh.” I stopped at the second-floor landing.
“Again uh oh?” he asked. "Wait a minute. I hear Cults coming up the stairs.
“Yeah, that uh oh.” I opened the second-floor door and went inside.
Sarge closed the door behind him and hit the comlink button while I looked around. “Attila!” Sarge whispered, “are our people inside the compound yet?”
“Not yet, Sarge. We're whipping the horses under the hoods and we see it ahead.”
“Whip them harder,” Sarge told him. “We're in a little bit of trouble here.”
“This has to be Lord Aburra's chambers,” I said, “by the plush look of things.”
A king-size wooden bed with a real mattress took center stage on a thick blue carpet. Ice walls were covered with paintings of blue-banded Slatties, some having sex. A statue of a Slattie with a cape that seemed to billow in the wind, and a golden armband, graced an alcove. Guess who? I thought. Real glass windows sported hanging blue drapes, a marble table and chairs, and a large vis screen, completed the room. Nothing here to reveal the ruthless heart of the resident.
“I'll bet all this cost him a few creds.” I went to a window. An alleyway separated the church from a small building next to it. Too high to jump down.
“Or maybe it cost a few tusks and hides,” Sarge said.
“Yeah, that too.”
There was a dark hallway, probably leading to other rooms.
“Search the third floor,” someone called from the stairwell. “The hovair saw two infidels go through the roof door.”
“I've got an idea,” I whispered as we drew our stinglers.
“Well don't keep it all to yourself.”
"Tear down a drape. I moved the marble table quietly to a window.
Sarge yanked on a drape. It fell, but he shook his head. “Nice idea, cupcake, but I ain't climbing down this piece of cloth. And the jump's still too far. Hard to run with two broken legs.”
“Tie it to the table,” I told him. I opened the window, took the other end of the d
rape and threw it outside. “Way too far,” I said.
Voices from the hallway.
We were surrounded.
“C'mon, Sarge!” I slid to the carpet and rolled under the bed. Sarge was right behind me.
About a minute later, Cultists threw open the door and charged into the room from the stairwell, and the hallway. They gathered not ten feet from us.
One of them walked to the window. “Those heathen bottom feeders escaped through here.” He slammed a fist on the windowsill. Ice chips flew.
“I didn't think humans could jump that far,” another commented.
“I hope they broke both their legs,” the first one said, “and had to crawl away.”
White furry feet milled about, then the Cultists filed out the stairwell door and left it open.
I lowered my shields and scanned.
I cannot believe they went out that window, a Cultist thought. More than likely a ploy. “I am returning to our lord's quarters to look again,” I heard through the open door.
“Go!” I whispered to Sarge.
We crawled out from under the bed and ran to the hallway. We went quietly through the hallway and came to a deserted kitchen.
“Sarge,” I said as we walked through it, “if we could lure the Cultists inside the compound, and get your men outside, you could blow it all to the devil's own keep.”
We went past a bathroom, then a conference room with a long table and maps on the wall.
“Aburra's war room,” Sarge commented. “That's not a bad idea, cupcake. We'd have to wait until dark to give our people a better chance to escape.”
We went down five steps and opened a creaky door to a dark room. “Christ and Yawa,” Sarge muttered as we walked through a medieval torture chamber, complete with a rack.
“This scud's a real nut case.” I stepped around a dark smear on the floor, probably dried blood. I hadn't lowered my shields, but I felt cries of tortured beings, as though from the other side of a tunnel. Their kwaiis might've been too terrified to move on. It was unnerving, and overwhelming. I had no time to help them. “Let's get out of here!” I said. “This place is full of ghosts.”
“I'd hate to end my days in this bloody hell.” He opened the door and I took a deep breath of cold, fresh air.
