by L. E. Horn
Another command over the comm requested the attendance of a smaller group. Karn had suggested they provide a new addition to the army. The tall, lean Gryphon had long legs that promised speed, and each carried a boxlike contraption strapped to his back. They bowed to the old Gryph leader. Kesar gestured, and they broke away in pairs to spread out across the canyon floor.
In the flare from the assault on the shield, a Grypha stepped forward and Kesar greeted her with a nod. She cantered back, gathering others as she went.
The old warrior watched her go. Between them and the enemy stretched a series of trenches perpendicular to the walls. The Tlok’mk army must work its way around them, giving Kesar an opportunity to strike at the front line, before staging a strategic retreat to the next barricade back along the route.
He thought of his son leading the army attacking from the jungle end, and of Drake’s team. If the humans failed to disable the Fang command, the Gryphon battle strategy would alter in a heartbeat. Kesar’s warriors would face thousands of armed slaves and be forced to treat them as they would the Tlok’mk. The canyon floor would run red with the blood of slaves and Gryphon warriors.
And if the shield comes down, he thought, the best we can hope for is to die with honor.
KARN’S NOSTRILS QUIVERED AND HIS tail thrashed as he looked through the magnifiers at the back end of the Tlok’mk army. The canyon walls decreased in height where they met the jungle. The canyon vegetation consisted primarily of grasses interspersed with scrubby trees, rocky outcroppings and the occasional freestanding boulder.
So far, they had found and killed a handful of Tlok’mk scouts, all Farr.
The Tlok’mk commander does not trust his intel to slaves that could be freed by our Healers, Karn thought. In a way it made things easier for the Gryphon. It takes less time to kill than it does to disable slave collars.
Either way, the Tlok’mk army undoubtedly knew of the Gryphon’s presence.
Karn had expected to see the fortifications massed within the walls, and he had been warned about the border of human female slaves positioned across the full width. Even though the canyon entrance narrowed from the main section, the sheer number of humans amazed him. Karn worked to suppress his anger at the Fang for putting the women around the entrance, wooden spears in hand. His tail thrashed again, the only evidence of his emotions.
The scenario reminded him of a prior pre-battle assessment when he had stared at an unexpected army of human slaves. He still remembered his shock and anger when the Tlok’mk first used humans in the war. Until then, the Tlok’mk fighting units were getting smaller and more disorganized, and Karn, along with his father Kesar, was optimistic that the war neared its end.
Karn’s army had poised for an attack. He remembered creeping onto a boulder to peer through his magnifiers at the enemy. For the first time, he saw humans on the front lines.
He’d heard and seen images of them. He knew the Tlok’mk harvested humans as slaves. Yet to see them here, armed and forced to fight, shocked him. At that point in the war, I underestimated the Tlok’mk’s ruthlessness.
Instead of attacking as planned, Karn called an emergency meeting with his father. The human slaves’ arrival as part of the Tlok’mk fighting units changed the war. It permitted the reptilian aliens to continue when they had been so close to defeat.
Humans, Karn thought, as he watched the female slaves. Little did we know how a single species would change every aspect. At the time, they were a sign of the war’s continuance. Now, they are pivotal to our success, and we find ourselves dependent on them to save us. He thought of Michael and his Berserker alter ego, and of Lianndra and her abilities with the Darkon. Such an incredibly versatile people. Who guessed they would have such latent talents? Or that these abilities would be brought to us when we need them most—and by our enemies, no less. It is enough to make me finally believe in Fate. He shook his head. Wilf will be so pleased.
To one side of him, Roz also stared at the female slaves. He growled. “Their evil knows no bounds. How can such an advanced race lack morality?”
“It is the downfall of arrogance,” Karn said. “They see the slaves as little more than animals, a means to their end.”
“We treat animals better,” Roz sighed.
“Let us just hope my plan to get them out of harm’s way is successful,” Karn said as he looked beyond the pitiful women. Barely visible behind them were the human male soldier slaves, along with alien slaves including the giant Zraph. The metallic gleam of laser cannons peered out from behind boulders and rock outcroppings. Although his father reported over the comm system that the remaining Tlok’mk army had camped for the night, these soldiers stayed alert.
Karn shifted and handed the magnifiers to a young male crouched on the other side of Roz. The aide’s armor still retained the waxy coating that would wear off with time. Karn’s armor appeared nothing like his father’s but possessed enough bashes and dents to warrant respect.
If I could wear this armor during most of our skirmishes, it would tell a darker tale, he thought. My lighter leather armor is cut to ribbons.
His army was a smaller force than Kesar’s but fiercely loyal, having fought many successful battles since the war began. Karn would have to test that loyalty. His scouts had located several laser cannons at the canyon’s top rim that must be taken out before any attack on the canyon could begin. Preferably before dawn, while darkness offers us some cover.
Karn knew casualties could be heavy within the canyon, even without the cannon along the rim. The Tlok’mk had removed the brush for a distance around the entrance. Even though his warriors specialized in blending with the terrain, their stalking ability required something to hide behind. A direct frontal assault near dawn remained the only option.
As Karn and Roz paced back to the army’s main body, it made the young Gryph leader proud that his warriors stayed hidden within the rocks and grasses around him. Even the flare of plasma on the shield did not reveal his people; they specialized in employing stealth to get close to their targets. These Gryphon knew how to use every bush and stone as cover and crouched low to the trembling ground as they awaited instructions.
Timing would be critical. His father would engage the Tlok’mk front line to slow it down, while Karn came from behind to pinch the army between Gryphon forces. Both father and son’s attack strategy depended on the success of Drake’s men.
Karn looked to the sky where the twin moons dropped close to the horizon. Only a few more hours until dawn.
Drake’s group had until then to succeed or fail.
THE GROUND TREMBLED AND MICHAEL could swear the plasma blasts were getting stronger.
At least the regular intervals are easy to predict, he thought.
The team held their positions within the cracks and crevices, waiting for the red and orange flash to subside before continuing their descent.
In the returning darkness, Michael saw Andrea swing onto the rock face. Above her, he followed suit, aware of the perimeter guards who prowled the firelight’s edges, looking along the canyon walls.
Even with Michael’s enhanced vision, the Healers were nearly impossible to see. As long as they stayed in the shadows, their natural camouflage and Vloxx cloaks made them appear as part of the rock wall. The task of descending unseen would have been much more difficult if the Farr guards weren’t so distracted by their comrades’ lewd activities. Every so often, one would stop to take part in the bleeding of some hapless slave. Their commanders didn’t seem interested in disciplining them. Perhaps they felt secure, bordered as they were by the canyon walls and buffered by their slave army. Or more likely, the Fang commanders had their own entertainment within the privacy of their tent walls.
The rebel strategy involved the Healers descending just ahead of Michael, Drake, and the men. The women were to take out the guards. In the event a problem arose, Drake wanted Michael within striking distance to protect the Healers. Once they took care of the guards, Drak
e’s men would move in. Then they would need the Berserker.
Michael heard himself growling. Timing the Berserker was a tricky prospect, and as he rappelled, he fought his own internal battle. The Beast roared within him as it sensed imminent release, rattling his mental bars so loudly Michael swore the Farr pacing below could hear it. His descent seemed achingly slow. The desire to let go and drop into the camp below was so strong his hands shook on the ropes. When he and the other men froze along a shallow ledge, Michael released his rope; he would not need it to swing down on the Fang. He could leap from here.
Flattened on the ledge, he noticed Drake watching him and knew the captain must see his eyes shining gold. He held up seven fingers and smiled. Drake held a hand up: hold. Michael snarled but nodded, lowering his chin until it rested on the cold stone.
STREWTH, DRAKE THOUGHT, HE LOOKS like a panther ready to pounce. I hope he can hold on just a little longer. He knew his control over his friend was rapidly coming to an end.
Andrea, Hannah, and Kate reached the ground. Drake strained to see them against the rocky floor. They used boulders and scrub bushes for cover, dividing to creep closer to where the three guards paced. A Fang stood near a fire, watching a slave girl trying to fight off a Farr soldier. Another observed the same scene from across the camp. The third sat on a boulder and scratched himself. Only those three Farr held laser rifles, while those around the campfires ate, rested, or mauled captives. They might have knives on them and rifles nearby but not immediately at hand.
Drake’s heart pounded in his chest. Even though the three Healers had killed with their minds before, hesitation at the wrong moment could prove disastrous. The element of surprise remained critical to the mission. Taking out the guards would buy the rebels a few precious seconds to get down among the Fang. In close quarters, lasers were not as useful as swords and knives. Odds would temporarily be in the rebel’s favor.
The least accessible Farr stood by the campfire. The one on the boulder, and the guard across the camp should be easy. Fortunately, the soldiers nearest him had already bedded down.
Movement drew Drake’s attention to the boulder-seated Farr. The Fang stiffened, rubbing at his torso in confusion. Drake could just make out Kate’s hand touching his elbow so lightly that the Farr didn’t notice it. Small hands caught the big reptilian alien as he slumped without a sound. She leaned him back against the rock as though he’d fallen asleep.
One down. Drake heard a low sound and glanced at Michael, who flattened against the ledge with his gold eyes focused on the scene below. The big man growled in a low, continuous rumble. Startled, Drake noticed Michael’s fingernails now extended into long, curved claws.
When did that happen? Drake wondered. The fact Michael’s body might still be responding to the mutagens in Lianndra’s blood unsettled him. The rebel captain wrenched his attention back to the matter at hand. I hope he still has enough sense to keep his sword with him when he goes.
He returned his gaze to the guards. Searching for Hannah, his heart beat harder against his ribs. He thought he caught a flash of red hair right behind the Farr strolling on the camp’s other side. The reptilian alien moved to navigate around a small, scrubby bush, and a form detached itself from the ground to rise behind him. The Fang spun at her touch but collapsed before he could make a sound. Glancing around, Hannah struggled with the heavy body, rotating it just far enough to hide it in the bush’s shadow.
Two down. Drake sighed with relief. Hannah’s safe. That meant Andrea had taken on the toughest task: the soldier by the fire. The growling from the ledge beside him deepened, and Drake tapped Michael’s hand. The growl ceased, then continued at a softer level.
Patience, mate, Drake thought.
Michael must be hovering near level Eight, which meant they had seconds before the big man lost control. He wondered what Andrea waited for when the sky lit with another cannon blast. She moved and struck from the shadows, swift as a rattlesnake.
The guard hadn’t yet hit the ground when Michael vanished from the ledge. Michael may be a large man, but Drake hadn’t even seen him move. The rebel captain stood and signaled to the other men, and they dropped onto the camp like spiders along a web.
Moving with uncanny speed, Michael strode through the middle of camp, swinging the black Vertraax sword like a scythe. He mowed through sleeping Farr as though they were paper rather than flesh and blood—swift, brutal, and efficient. The few cries of alarm that did sound were not enough to alert those feeding off the slaves on the other side of the canyon. Sean, Tomas, and the others fanned out behind him, cleaning up those he missed. At the edges, the Healers darted toward the Zraph, who roused from their slumber. With any luck, they could disable the giant aliens and remove them from the fight before the entire camp awoke to the rebels’ presence.
Drake hit the ground running, moving in Michael’s wake. He jumped clear over a campfire, thrust his sword through a Farr struggling to rise and wrenched it free as he passed by. Running for the nearest tent, he waved his bloody sword high over his head. As intended, Michael saw the movement and changed course, mowing his way toward his friend.
Out of the corner of his eye, Drake watched him come. Michael never took a single misstep. Despite his size, he moved like a dancer through the obstacle course of campfires and Farr soldiers. The sword became a black blur in Michael’s hands—spinning and darting like a rapier, while slashing through Fang with a broadsword’s brutality. Drake tracked the big man as he led the way to the target. He waited until the last moment and stepped aside. He had some experience with leading the Berserker in a battle.
Point and get the hell out of the way.
With a blood-curdling roar, Michael crashed through a tent, spearing the Fang commander as the savage creature slept in its bed. He rammed through the first tent and into the next within a fraction of a second, a whirling, slashing, kicking juggernaut of unstoppable force with a sword in one hand and knife in the other. The Bernaf bodyguards took one look at him and melted into the darkness. A few reacted as their panicked commanders activated their collars, but the Berserker proved thorough and vicious. Their Fang commanders died.
Tomas was the only man in Drake’s group who hadn’t seen the Berserker in action. As the camp awoke to the danger and fought, the slim young man joined in with the other soldiers when they chanted Michael’s name. Drake saw him weave through the chaos, ducking and diving. Tomas proved deadly as well as graceful, his sword flashing as he struck lethally fast. On the other side of Tomas, Drake could see glimpses of Sean as the tall man bulldozed his way through sleeping Farr. A talented sniper, Sean could also fight with the best of them in close quarters.
While grappling with his own battles, Drake caught more glimpses of the Berserker. He spotted a giant Zraph rising directly in the big man’s path, wielding a massive battle-axe. Michael buried his knife in its stomach, letting his momentum carry him inside the axe’s lethal arc as he climbed the solid, heaving body to slice off its head with a single powerful swing of his sword. Then the big man vaulted off the crumpling Zraph’s back, flipped head over heels, and dealt the next alien in line a brutal spinning kick to the side of the head, following it with another decapitating sword swing. He sprang away as the body folded in on itself and landed on the ground, before heading for another tent.
Following him, Drake noticed this activity cleared a path to the laser cannon. The rebel captain jumped onto the crude wagon housing the weapon and aimed it past Michael to the long line of commander tents, now boiling with Farr soldiers.
Drake yelled a warning, and Michael possessed enough awareness to duck as the beam sliced past him to light up the night with a long line of blazing tents. Michael ran his sword straight through a Farr soldier and pulled the laser rifle from the soldier’s slack hands. He shook the gore-soaked weapon clear of the body to brace it against his waist with one hand, swinging the sword with the other. His laser beam cut straight through a group of Farr. They fell like bowling p
ins, and he neatly sidestepped them, sending another beam through the walls of a nearby tent.
One of Drake’s men slipped into place beside the laser cannon—Sean, with his blond hair sticking out from under a battered helmet. A quick glance showed Drake all the tents were down. The shift in momentum proved subtle, but he noticed it. Drake handed the cannon’s controls over to Sean and slid along the wagon’s side, touching the comm against his ear. After a moment, Hannah’s breathless voice answered him, barely audible over the battle din.
Thank God. Relief flooded him as he ordered her and the other Healers to get out. He looked up in time to spot a Fang crawl behind the controls of the next closest laser cannon, swiveling it around to aim their way. Drake grabbed Sean’s leg and yanked them both away just as their cannon took a direct hit and exploded.
Ears ringing, Drake picked himself up and looked for Sean. As the dust cleared, he saw the blond soldier struggling to get to his feet. Drake moved to help, noticing a chunk of metal embedded in Sean’s right leg. He pulled the younger man upright, and with their arms linked they headed back toward the cliffs.
Drake caught the eye of the nearest soldier—Tomas—and chopped his hand across his throat, pointing back the way they’d come: time to go.
Tomas nodded in acknowledgement and stooped to snatch a laser rifle from a dead Fang. Blasting away, he relayed the orders to the soldier beside him.
Drake activated his comm again. “Fall back, fall back.” His ears rang so terribly he couldn’t hear if they replied.
Squinting through the smoke from the burning cannon, he looked for the one soldier who would not willingly retreat. Turning Michael loose is easy. Reeling him back in is not.
In response to a summoning gesture, Tomas moved in to take Sean from Drake. A hoarse scream rose above the roar of the laser fire, and Drake headed in that direction.
