Tanequil hdos-2

by Терри Брукс

  The veteran stared at him. «What do you intend to do?»

  «Disable her steering. Use the railguns to damage her rudders and thrusters from underneath, where they can't do anything about it without breaking off their attack and setting her down.» He paused. «We're small enough that they might not see us coming in from behind.»

  Markenstall thought a moment. «Maybe. But if they do see us, we won't have a chance. Railguns are only good from close in. From more than fifty yards, we'll be so much target practice.»

  Pied glanced quickly at the skyline. The moon remained covered by clouds, the light still something between dusk and full dark. Off to their left, theDechtera was hunting its Elven quarry like a big cat, stealthy and sure, striking with bursts of white fire that filled the night air with blinding explosions and the pungent, raw smell of ash and smoke and death.

  «We can't just sit here and let this slaughter continue," he said quietly.

  Markenstall adjusted the controls without a word, swung theAsashiel toward the enemy camp, and sent her skimming over the heads of the advancing Federation soldiers, who fired up at them with bows and slings as they flew past. But they slipped through the darkness unhindered and undamaged, and soon they were behind their target, staying low so that they would not be silhouetted against the horizon, approaching in a gradual ascent that kept them carefully masked from view.

  But suddenly new airships began to lift off from the Federation airfield, fresh reinforcements setting out to lend support to the ground attack on the Free–born camp, their dark shapes like hunting birds as they swung about to place the sloop directly in their path. «Captain," Pied exclaimed with a sharp intake of breath. Markenstall nodded. «I see them. Warn the men on the railguns.» Pied left the pilot box in a rush, scuttling across the deck to Pon and Cresck, his safety harness dragging behind him, and alerted each of the crewmen of this new danger. He found himself wishing they had something besides railguns with which to work, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  Moments later, he was back beside Markenstall. The night had gone black again, the moon disappeared once more behind the clouds, and the air turned brisk and chilly. Pied shivered in spite of himself, wishing he had thought to throw on warmer clothing.

  He glanced out at the cluster of rising Federation airships. At least half a dozen were advancing in their direction.

  «They're gaining on us," Markenstall announced. «I don't think they see us yet, but they will soon enough. We can't wait, Captain Sanderling. We have to take a chance.» «What do you mean?»

  «We have to gain speed and altitude both, get above the heavier air and into the wind and closer to that ship.» The other man paused. «We have to let them see us. If we don't, they're going to find us anyway. We don't have time to be clever or cautious about this.»

  Pied hesitated. He knew Markenstall was right, but he hated the thought of exposing the sloop when they had so few weapons with which to defend themselves. Once they were spotted, the other ships would be after them like cats after a mouse. That would give them only a single pass, barring a miracle, at their target.

  «All right," he said. «Do your best. But find a way to get us close to that ship.»

  «Hold on," Markenstall said, and he pushed the thruster levers all the way forward.

  The Asashiel bucked and shot ahead, — the mouse was in flight. They rose swiftly into the sky, abandoning the comparative safety of the darkness for the revealing light of stars and moon—for the latter was emerging from behind the clouds. Fresh illumination bathed the Prekkendorran in brilliant white light, revealing the hordes of attackers surging toward the Elven defensive lines. Already they were flooding the gap between the twin bluffs occupied by the Elves and their allies, breaking down the Elven fortifications and scrambling onto the airfield, where the last of the Elven airships were frantically lifting off. All across the battlefield, the remains of the destroyed ships burned fiercely, signal fires for the advancing army, encouragement for its soldiers. Pied saw the Ellenroh's hull, a charred, smoking wreck at the center of everything.

  You should have listened to me, Kellen, Pied thought. He closed his eyes. I should have found a way to make you listen.

  They were approaching their target now. The Dechtera was right ahead of them, her bulk blocking out an entire section of the sky. She was huge, a flying platform supported by four sets of pontoons with cross–bracing running all along her underside. Three masts flew yards of light sheaths, radian draws feeding banks of parse tubes housing the diapson crystals that powered her, metal shields opening and closing in sudden bursts of converted energy as the ship maneuvered first this way and then that, bringing the deadly weapon mounted on the foredeck to bear. No one aboard seemed to realize yet that the Asashiel was tracking her, all eyes were directed forward to where another Elven ship was under attack, a rope of fire burning through her, sizzling and exploding wood and metal in a booming cough that rocked the sloop with concussive force. Burning bodies flew over the railings of the stricken airship, tumbling to the earth like stricken fireflies.

  Pied made a quick, agonizing survey. Only three Elven airships remained aloft of the twelve or so that had started out. The fleet was decimated.

  «Quick, Captain!» he hissed at Markenstall. «Before we lose any more!»

  The Asashiel was right below the Dechtera now, and Markenstall angled her to the port side, away from the approaching vessels that by now had surely spied them, giving his crew a chance to position the railguns where they could do the most damage. He, too, knew they would only have one pass. The big ship was moving forward in a slow, steady line, a fresh target already in sight, still oblivious to them. They were going to have a clean shot at her underside. The men on the railguns had swung their weapons into position and were sighting down the long barrels, waiting patiently.

  Pied glanced over his shoulder. Their pursuers were closing on them, and he could see the frantic efforts of some of the crew to give warning to the men on theDechtera.

  «Release!» Markenstall shouted.

  Both railguns discharged in the same instant, sending a hail of metal shards into the underside of the Federation ship, the missiles striking with explosive impact. Pied had just enough time to see two of the parse tubes disintegrate entirely and the main rudder collapse, and then Markenstall was swinging the Asashiel away, speeding out from under the damaged enemy, a tiny gnat in flight from a giant bird. They emerged from beneath the warship's shadow into a sky awash with moonlight and were immediately exposed. The railguns on the decking of the enemy swung toward them, but Markenstall dropped the sloop below their angle of fire, skimming the flats once more, content to take his chances with the missiles fired from the foot soldiers.

  But it wasn't over yet. A line of white fire sizzled past their mainmast, snapping off one of the spars, burning away wood and sail and knocking theAsashiel sideways.

  «Brace!» Markenstall shouted automatically, grabbing onto the railing to keep upright. Reaching for the thruster levers, he jammed them all the way forward, then sent the sloop into a stomach–churning dive.

  «We should have taken a shot at that weapon, tool» Pied snapped at the veteran.

  The Captain righted their wounded vessel not fifty feet above the flats and lurched away from the deadly Federation weapon. Pied glanced over his shoulder. TheDechtera hung silhouetted against the moonlit sky. She was still moving forward, but he saw that her course was fixed and undeviating. At least one, and possibly both, shots from the sloop's railguns had done the job, — the steering was damaged, and the vessel was unable to come about.

  He exhaled sharply. The big ship was slowing down. The other Federation warships were coming up from behind, preparing to offer help. It occurred to him that now was the perfect time for that attack Kellen Elessedil had been so anxious to launch, the perfect opportunity to destroy that ship and the weapon she bore. But the bulk of the Elven fleet was in flames, and the ships of Callahorn were still on the gro
und somewhere east.

  He looked down at the flats, swarming with Federation soldiers, then at the Elven defensive lines. He remembered the faces of the men and women he had seen earlier, weary and disinterested. He remembered the lack of discipline, evident everywhere. He was not encouraged. The Elven airfield had been overrun, the remainder of the fleet fled north. If their ground defenses held through the night, it would be a miracle. An impossible miracle, he amended, without help from the Free–born allies. And in the end, it might not matter anyway. By week's end, theDechtera would be airborne again and would fly in support of the Federation attack, her terrible weapon primed and ready for use. What it had done to the Elven airships was nothing compared to what it would do to the Elven army.

  The implications of his thinking did not escape him. The war on the Prekkendorran was about to take a disastrous turn, and he wasn't sure there was anything that could be done about it.

  They were flying over the captured Elven airfield now, heading west toward the besieged Elven lines. «Captain," he called to Markenstall. The wind came up again in a sudden rush, tearing at his words. The veteran turned. «Can you fly us to where—"

  He never finished. White fire lanced through the center of the airship in a searing rope of brightness that slammed the entire craft sideways with such force that Pied was thrown from the pilot box, catapulting over its railing. He caught a glimpse of the mast going up like a torch, the flames spurting skyward as the sails caught fire. Both railguns and crew disappeared into an explosion of sizzling light. The sloop lurched wildly, bucked, and began to drop.

  «Markenstall!» he called weakly.

  There was no response. His safety line was still attached to its ring inside the pilot box, but he was tangled so thoroughly in the rigging that he couldn't move. He tried to lift himself to see what was happening inside the box itself and failed. There was blood on his face, warm and sticky, running down his neck and arm. He had thought them safely away from the Federation warship and her terrible weapon. He had been mistaken. Its range must be enormous. Even from the better part of a mile away, it had managed to fix on them. Even now, after the fact, Pied could not imagine it.

  He felt the sloop plunge earthward with sickening speed. He closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

  Twenty–one

  It took Penderrin Ohmsford and his companions almost a week to navigate the maze of passes and defiles that wound through the Klu Mountains, although they did not again encounter the treacherous combination of mist and clouds that had very nearly prevented their initial escape from Taupo Rough. With Kermadec leading, steady and assured now in his choice of routes, they pressed on without needing to rely on Pen or Cinnaminson to find the way.

  Nor did they see anything further of their Druid pursuers, although Tagwen was quick to point out, when the subject was raised, that not seeing them didn't mean they weren't out there. Once before they had thought themselves safe, only to discover how badly they were mistaken. If the Druids hunting them were doing so on orders from Shadea a'Ru, they were not likely to give up easily, the Dwarf insisted. But it was the use of the Elfstones that had brought Terek Molt and theGalaphile down on them in the Slags, Pen thought. As long as they were able to refrain from using the Stones, they should be able to keep Traunt Rowan and theBallindarroch from finding them here. After all, he reasoned, if the Druid and his cohorts had magic that would enable them to find the little company, they certainly would have done so already. That they hadn't shown themselves even once suggested they were hunting blind.

  Nevertheless, as the little company pressed on through the mountains, Pen found himself glancing skyward periodically to make certain he was not making a mistake.

  It was late in the day, the sun already sinking into the jaws of the peaks west, when they climbed through a particularly nasty tangle of switchbacks to a ledge that overlooked the broadest, darkest valley Pen had ever encountered. It was difficult to judge exactly how big the valley was, — from so high up there was no point of reference by which to measure accurately. Hundreds of square miles, perhaps? Even more? It sprawled in all directions, spilling out from its central cradle into passes and canyons like the fingers of a giant's spread hand. At its eastern end, farthest from where they stood, it simply disappeared into mist and twilight, so densely packed with trees and brush that its shadows overlapped to create the impression of a lake thick and black with deadwood and weeds.

  Anything might live in a place that looks like this,Pen thought, and he shivered in spite of himself.

  «The Inkrim," Kermadec announced, his voice flat and unemotional, a perfect match for his stolid Troll face. «Some say it is as old as the Races, and that the things that live there are older still. Some say there are things living down there that are as old as Faerie.»

  «Trees and dirt," Atalan muttered from behind Pen. «Nothing we haven't encountered before.»

  «And Urdas.»

  Atalan snorted. «Savages.»

  It seemed to Pen an odd comment coming from someone who looked vaguely like a walking tree stump, all bark and rough surfaces, as brutish and forbidding as anything that walked the Four Lands.

  Kermadec must have thought the same. He looked at Atalan carefully. «Savages to us, but who are we to judge? In any event, I wouldn't be too quick to dismiss them. Urdas have lived in this valley since the destruction of the Old World. This is their ancestral home, and they regard it as sacred. Especially Stridegate. They will fight to protect it from outsiders. Like the Spider Gnomes on Toffer Ridge, they worship the creatures that share their abode, a symbiotic relationship, however one–sided, that influences their attitude toward intruders like us.» He paused. 'There are a lot of them down there, brother.»

  «Not enough to stop us,brother," Atalan replied, giving an edge to the last word that left no doubt about how he viewed the relationship. «We are the stronger force, no matter how few we are.»

  There was a hint of anger in Kermadec's eyes and a muttering among the other Rock Trolls. «You have never been down there," the Maturen said quietly. «I have. It isn't just trees and dirt. It isn't just Urdas, either. It is darkness of a different sort. Too many who thought as you do have disappeared into that darkness. If we are careless, we could end up the same way.»

  Then we won't be careless, will we?» Atalan declared. His eyes flicked from his brother to Cinnaminson and Pen. «Lucky we have just the little people to help us. A blind girl who sees and a boy who speaks with lichen. What have we to fear?»

  He shouldered his way forward and started down off the ledge, not bothering to see who might follow. Kermadec watched him go for a moment, then glanced back at the rest of the company and motioned them ahead.

  The descent into the Inkrim was accomplished without incident. The trail down was not steep, though it was narrow and twisting, and at times even Pen, who was among the smallest, was forced to hug the cliff wall. The twilight deepened steadily all the while, and as it did so the valley came alive. Hushed before the change of light to dark, it began to hum and buzz with insect life. Night birds called out, their cries piercing and shrill as they took to the air in shadowy flocks, and Pen could hear grunts from ground animals, some recognizable, some not. He listened carefully as he walked and tried to sort them out. He searched for what sounded familiar amid the cacophony and failed.

  At the bottom of the trail, the company made camp in a stand of fir. Even though they had reached the valley floor, they were still several thousand feet above sea level, cradled by the peaks of the Klu, and the air was clear and cold and the sky brilliant with stars and moonlight. As on past nights, Kermadec would not allow a fire. «Tomorrow," he promised. By then they would be deep enough into the territory of the Urdas that a fire would not draw Druid notice or, if spied, would not seem unusual to anyone searching for them. They would be risking discovery by the Urdas, of course, but that was a risk they were taking just by being there.

  «The ruins of Stridegate lie much deeper in this
valley, Pen," he told the boy later, when dinner had been consumed and they were sitting alone at the edge of the encampment. His blocky features were inscrutable, but his eyes were intense. «Two more days at least, and that's if we press ahead at a steady pace. I've been there, the one time I was in this valley before. I remember their look. It isn't a sight you are likely to forget.»

  «And the island?» Pen pressed. «The one that contains the tane–quil?»

  Overhearing their conversation, Khyber, Cinnaminson, and Tag–wen had wandered over to join them. They sat down in a close circle, silent and attentive. Behind them, a pair of sentries had taken up positions just out of sight in the darkened trees. The rest of the Rock Trolls were settling in for the night, bulky forms lumbering through the darkness, the heavy clank and rasp of their weapons audible. Atalan was sitting not far away, hunched and unmoving, his back to his brother, his gaze directed into the forest dark.

  «It is not an island of the sort you might imagine. It is surrounded not by water, but by a deep ravine choked with vines and trees. A single bridge spans its width, an ancient stone arch thousands of years old. It offers the only passage to the other side. But no one I know has ever crossed it.»

  «Why not?» Khyber asked at once.

  Kermadec shook his head. «I am not superstitious in the manner of the Urdas, but I know the nature of the things that live within the Inkrim and I respect the power they wield. A warding stone placed on the near side of the bridge forbids passage. I try to pay attention to such things, when I can.»

  He paused. «I was told that others did not. Some attempted to cross anyway. There were rumors of a great treasure. A few used the stone arch. A few went down into the ravine with the intention of climbing out the other side. None were ever seen again.»

  'Then how are we to cross?» Khyber sounded suspicious and didn't bother keeping it from her voice. «Why are we any different than these others who couldn't?»