"Tor, I have waited three thousand years to meet you on the field of battle. You are mine."
* * * *
Tor turned and launched himself at Jartan. Coming in low he aimed and fired a blast backed by thousands of years of hatred. The pillar turned to flame. With a coarse shout Tor fired again and again, closing the distance between them.
Behind him his chief lieutenant raised his arm to join the fray. Instantly a beam from the Heart annihilated him and those closest to him. All the others remained frozen with their shields off and their arms kept carefully pointed at the ground. They knew what was about to happen and had no desire to sacrifice themselves needlessly.
Tor continued to fire at Jartan, who appeared to stagger. Closing to twenty feet, Tor marshaled all his remaining strength and fired another blast, raising the color of Jartan's shield to white hot.
And Jartan smiled, revealing at last his hidden reserves. He raised his arms and instantly the field surrounding him spread to envelop Tor. The moment the superheated field touched Tor's shields they flared and vanished, searing Tor in the process.
The light inside was blinding, and Tor could barely make out the glowing figure that faced him. He felt, rather than saw, the careful blasts which shattered all of his crystals. A new shield formed around him, a shield of containment, that froze him into immobility.
The god Jartan stood before him in all his power: a figure of light and strength which stared at him with glowing eyes.
"As it was in the beginning when the gods came from Chaos, we can return to the universe of our birth."
Beneath Tor's feet the ground turned black and began to swirl. Horrified, Tor could see the blackness grow and chum, flashes of barely controlled energy lapping at the edges of the shield. It seemed to devour his legs, spreading up within the shield. As it reached his groin he screamed, a scream of such terror and despair that all the others in the valley, Jartan's and Tor's troops alike, shuddered when they heard it.
A bolt slashed from Jartan's hand to strike Tor in the chest and draw the Essence out of his body. He tried to scream again but could not catch his breath.
Tor felt lightheaded as the last of his power left him forever. He was like a husk drained of its vitality until nothing was left but dust and bitter memories.
"Now join your father in hell!" Jartan roared.
The light that surrounded them pulsed and shimmered down.
Jartan stood alone. As a breeze shifted across the valley, the dust at his feet swirled and disappeared with the wind.
* * * *
"Captain!"
Saito came swinging up to Ikawa's side and pointed across the battlefield. In the melee of the past minutes their formation had finally come apart as the battle disintegrated into individual duels.
Ikawa had managed to keep Saito and Welsh with him as they weaved back and forth, dodging blasts and hunting down any enemies who had yet to surrender.
Saito eagerly pointed towards the retreating enemy line.
For a moment Ikawa thought he was dreaming, or seeing a ghost.
"Mokaoto!"
His former animosity for his lieutenant was forgotten, so stunned was be to see a comrade whom he had thought dead. How he had suddenly appeared in the midst of this carnage, Ikawa did not even consider.
"Mokaoto." Slowing in his flight, he swung over and headed straight towards the lieutenant who, strangely, was still dressed in the uniform of Imperial Japan.
Saito swung in beside his commander crying out for joy. But Welsh, as if sensing something wrong, pulled up higher and hovered above the other two.
Mokaoto came up towards them, his features set in a mirthless grin.
"Mokaoto," Ikawa cried, slowing to hover in midair, his shield shimmering down, "never did I dream to see you again."
"Of course not, you traitor to your people," Mokaoto said softly, drawing in closer.
"What?" Ikawa said, confused by this greeting.
"You embrace the enemy that destroys our homeland," Mokaoto cried. "You are not samurai. But I still am!"
He raised his hand, and Ikawa tried to raise his shield in defense. The blast snapped out at close range, catching Ikawa on the shoulder.
With a cry Ikawa fell backwards. A second blast snapped at Saito who raised his defensive crystal and struggled to absorb the blow.
"You bastard!"
From the side opposite Mokaoto's shield hand, Welsh dropped, firing a direct blast. Mokaoto spun, firing wide.
Welsh ducked and fired again. Mokaoto shifted, trying to drop beneath his opponent, but Welsh was ahead of him and shot again. This firebolt cut into Mokaoto.
But Welsh was exhausted, still weak from his earlier injuries, and he had expended all the power he had.
Mokaoto, numbed from Welsh's blows, tried to line up for another shot and then saw several of the Americans winging in to give aid. To stay would mean his death.
With a scream of rage he fired blindly, and turning, dove away.
Mark and Walker dove towards the fight.
"It's that Mokaoto bastard," Walker cried, and he set out in pursuit while Mark cut down to help Saito.
Mokaoto dove into the billowing smoke that now obscured most of the field of battle. Walker, cursing, chased him and they disappeared from view.
Circling downward, Mark came to land beside Saito.
"How bad is it?" he asked.
Saito looked up at him, eyes wide with fear.
Reaching down, Mark helped him to pull open Ikawa's scorched tunic.
Ikawa's right shoulder was burned, the flesh blackened from neck to upper arm.
"I never did trust him," Ikawa said weakly. "I was just so glad, though, to see him."
"I wish I had him," Mark said, choking back his fury.
"You know at the moment I wish you had," he said, trying to force a smile. "You'd have shot first."
"You're damn right."
Ikawa grimaced with pain.
Mark looked at him, panic-stricken. Don't die, he wanted to scream. Don't die and leave me now.
A shadow passed over him and he looked up to see Welsh landing beside them, while several others were coming in from the distance.
"You saved my life, my friend," Ikawa said, looking up at Welsh.
"I should have hit sooner. I knew that bastard was up to no good."
"You did well enough," Saito replied, looking to him and then to Mark. "He saved my captain's life. I owe him―I owe all of you whatever I have."
"You would have done the same."
Mark looked around and saw Walker and the rest of the offworlders settling to land, forming a defensive perimeter around their fallen commander.
Looking back towards the city, Mark saw where Shigeru and Nobuaki stood by what appeared to be a small wagon.
"Come on," Mark said, "let's pick up those two ground fighters and get Ikawa back into the city. The battle's finished for us; the reinforcements can take care of the mopping up."
"There goes one," Welsh suddenly cried, pointing up towards a low flying demon coming out of the city behind them.
"Let him go," Mark shouted. "They're finished."
But Welsh, the anger of battle still in his soul, soared upward in pursuit, cutting back in towards the city to head the demon off.
"Not one," Nobuaki cursed, "not one did I hit. It was always you."
Shigeru chuckled good-naturedly, leaning against the side of the smashed wagon where they had found to their shock Sarnak's one remaining heavy crystal, which must have survived the air strikes and been dragged out of the city in the retreat.
In their mad attack the two had overrun the wagon before the enemy could even fire the weapon. They had then used it against the packed formations of Sarnak's troops and demons until the battle had finally swept past them, leaving the two with the crystal in its wake.
"I cannot help it," Shigeru said, "I cannot fly as well as the others. But when my feet are on the ground, then I can fight."
&nbs
p; His companion spat out a curse and slumped down beside the crystal, watching as thousands of the enemy swarmed up the distant hill or plunged into the river. But he could not shoot, for soldiers from the city were mingled among their foes.
A shadow passed over him and he looked up.
"A demon!" Nobuaki cried, and leaping to his feet he swung the crystal around, ready to take aim.
"Look out, he's mine!"
Welsh shot past not a dozen feet overhead. A single jet of flame shot from his hand, catching the demon, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Welsh pulled up and looked back at Nobuaki. Then, laughing, he waved and went into a victory roll.
Nobuaki had been cheated yet again, and now the American was laughing at him! Suddenly all the hatred, all the pent-up rage that had been building for months was before him, a target to focus on.
A bolt shot from the heavy crystal.
Crying in horror, Shigeru leaped to his feet and knocked Nobuaki away from the crystal.
Shigeru raced across the field, praying that it was not so, that it was a bad dream. He slowed, came to a stop, and then fell to his knees, crying in anguish over Welsh's shattered body.
"Oh god," Mark whispered, wishing that he had not seen what had just occurred.
Together they had all gathered around Ikawa and were preparing to lift him into the air when Walker, who was circling above them, had cried out.
Within seconds they were all aloft, Saito and Smithie helping to lift Ikawa.
They landed by Welsh's body and Shigeru stood to face them, tears streaming down his face. Without another word he turned from the group and strode back to the heavy crystal where Nobuaki was coming to his feet.
With one hand Shigeru dragged him back before the others.
Mark looked around the group and his heart froze. Minutes before he had seen them gather as one around Ikawa. Now they stood apart, the Americans to one side of the body, eyeing with suspicion the Japanese who stood crestfallen on the other side.
"You slant bastards," Younger growled.
"Shut up," Mark said quietly.
"Never trust them, that's what I've always said. So now Welsh is dead. You're not fit to command these men, you never were."
Mark was silent.
"And I say he is," Kraut shouted, coming up to stand behind Mark.
Mark realized that it was now an open challenge that could no longer be avoided. There was no rank to pull here; it would have to be up to the men.
"Younger, I always knew you had your head so far up your ass that there was a ring mark around your neck," Walker snarled, coming to stand with Mark.
Smithie looked at Younger, then spat on the ground by his feet and came over to Mark.
"Giorgini," Younger snapped, but all could sense the growing fear in his voice.
Giorgini looked at Mark and those who stood by him. For a moment Mark could see him wavering, and Younger turned to stare at him.
With head lowered, Giorgini went to stand behind Younger.
Mark breathed an inner sigh of relief. He now knew beyond all doubt that he commanded the men behind him through respect, and not by titles from Allic, or a rank given back in another world that seemed like a half-forgotten dream.
"I've had it with this chickenshit outfit," Younger shouted, his voice nearly breaking. "We're leaving."
"You've made a pledge to serve Allic," Mark said quietly.
"Fuck that. The hell with him and his damned princedom," Younger cried.
There was a low growl from the Japanese, and even from the men behind Mark.
"You've condemned yourselves by your own words," Mark replied evenly. "I'll spare you now only because we once served together. You can leave, but you must leave your crystals here."
"Without crystals we're sitting ducks out there," Giorgini cried.
"They're no good to you anyhow, once you've broken oath," Mark said. "While you wear Allic's crystals he will always be able to track you down."
Younger looked down at the bracelets on either wrist and Mark suddenly realized that Younger had completely forgotten that one fine point to the contract.
Younger looked back up at him with hate-filled eyes. He wavered for a moment, then tore the crystals from his wrists and waist.
He turned to face Giorgini, who still hesitated. With a curse Younger tore Giorgini's crystals away.
Without another word the two lifted into the air, wobbling. They could still use the Essence, but without crystals their control was far less precise. They turned north, heading away from the fighting. As they left, Mark overheard Younger telling Giorgini about one Redfa, a merchant. Had this confrontation been planned?
For the moment Mark had forgotten what had triggered it. Then the cold memory came rushing back.
Nobuaki stood before him, his eyes wide with shock.
Mark and the Americans were silent. Nobuaki turned to look back at his companions, but they dropped their heads with shame and moved away.
As they stood in silence, Valdez came skimming across the field, Storm at his side, with Goldberg flying behind them. All three were shouting triumphantly, but as they approached the circle of men they fell silent.
"I am without honor," Nobuaki whispered. "I gave my pledge to Prince Allic and I have broken it. Though I still hate all of you." For a moment defiance glared in his eyes.
He looked back again to his old comrades, hoping beyond hope that they would rally to him. But all he saw now was shame and anger.
"I have no one now, my honor has been stripped away," Nobuaki said. "All I have left to me is the path of seppuku."
The Americans looked at each other, wide-eyed. Mark looked at Ikawa, who lay on the ground, alive now only because of the man Nobuaki had slain. The pain and rage in Ikawa's eyes told him that there was nothing to be said.
"Shigeru, will you be my second?" Nobuaki asked.
With a grunt of assertion the warrior stepped forward, picking up a sword from the ground.
Nobuaki stood silent for a moment, looking to the sky. He went to his knees by Welsh's body and drew a dagger from his waist.
Mark turned away. He wanted to stop this in spite of his rage over Welsh, but he knew that only when the blood of the two had mingled would it be complete.
He heard a grunt of pain as Nobuaki drove the dagger into his body. A second later there was the whistling hiss of the sword and the sound of a body falling to rest atop Welsh.
The party stood transfixed, and then one by one they turned and started to walk away.
Mark felt a hand slip into his. It was Storm.
Mark wanted to speak, but too much had happened. He knew that he would heal, that soon they would again love, and that his life in this world would go on. But at that moment he was numb beyond all caring.
Sensing his thoughts she squeezed his hand lightly, and flew off with Valdez to direct the mopping up of the battle.
At last Mark turned back, averting his eyes from the two bodies. Ikawa was still on the ground, Saito standing beside him, ready to help him back to the city.
As Mark approached them he glanced at the rest of the men who were heading back to the city on foot. They were not separate but mingled together, Smithie by Shigeru's side, talking to him, his hand on the giant's shoulder as if to comfort him. Kraut was with several others, and somehow they had found an intact bottle on that field and were passing it back and forth. Goldberg walked to one side, weeping for his lost friend, a Japanese soldier on either side of him, offering words of comfort.
Mark knelt by Ikawa's side. The two were silent for a moment. At last he looked over at the two bodies and then back again to the others.
"We've become one at last," Mark said softly.
Ikawa reached out and grasped his hand, and Mark pulled him to his feet.
"Yes, my friend," he said softly. "And most importantly, again we have survived."
Epilogue
"Down there, do you see him?" Mark asked, pointing towards
a sorcerer flying tow several miles ahead.
Ikawa nodded, and spoke into his communications crystal.
"Checks out," Ikawa replied several seconds later. "One of Madia's people carrying a message, that's all."
Mark knew that chances were good the other sorcerer was friendly. This region had been swept and reswept a hundred times, but there was still that edge of wariness towards anything that might be a threat.
Resuming their course, the two flyers dropped into the river valley that cut through the heart of Sarnak's old realm, repeating yet again their standard patrol sweep that took them from the old frontier, up the valley to the inner fortress line, and then back out again.
Everything below them was now occupied territory, there hadn't been a hostile sighting of any kind in nearly a month, but caution was still in order. Mark found it hard to believe that peace had returned.
After the defeat of his army and subsequent flight, Sarnak's fortresses and battlements fell easily to the combined forces of Allic and Macha. Even Patrice took advantage of the situation and sent her army into the fray.
Allic still had not completely recovered from his wounds, but had left his healers only ten days after the battle of Landra was over. With half his face bandaged he directed the conquest of Sarnak's realm.
To Mark's amazement it was taken as a matter of fact that Allic's eye would one day heal completely and regain its sight, but for now Allic sported an eye patch which gave him a rather piratical look. For Pina the prognosis was not so good. Limbs, even eyes, that were damaged could be healed in time. But something that was completely destroyed was gone forever. Still, he had the one good arm, and could fight almost as well as he did before, hanging his defensive crystal around his neck. By the closing stages of the campaign he was up and again playing his part.
Sarnak's land had been conquered and subdivided between Allic and Macha as partial payment for their losses. Macha had taken the western third of the land that bordered his realm and Allic took the rest.
It took a little convincing to persuade Patrice to be happy with just the booty gained in the initial assault and to retire to her old borders. In a way Allic had been disappointed, as he was half hoping for an excuse to pick a fight with Patrice and overthrow her too, knowing that Macha would be more than happy to help him. Having her as a neighbor meant problems eventually, but Patrice acted as if she knew what Allic and Macha were thinking and was extremely careful to be cooperative and accommodating.
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