“What was that about, Shannow?” Batik asked as the men reined their mounts. “I would have thought you would leap at the chance of using those guns.”
“Why? You think I am in love with killing?”
“For Cade, to beat the Hellborn.”
“I will not be used, Batik, in another man’s game.” Shannow drew his pistol. “With this gun I have slain many Hellborn. But is it mine? No, I took it from the body of an enemy. Tell me, Batik—how long before the Hellborn capture one of those disgusting rifles? How long before they dismantle one and learn to make their own? They are not an answer to the war; they merely enlarge it. I am not a child to be mesmerized by a pretty toy.”
“You think too much, Shannow.”
“All too true, my friend. I think the Guardians are playing their own game. I think they created the Hellborn weapons and took them to Abaddon. And I think we were lucky to leave there alive.”
“Why did they allow it?”
“Surprise. They did not expect us to refuse.”
“How many more enemies do you expect to make in this quest of yours?”
Shannow grinned, and his expression softened as he leaned over and grasped Batik’s shoulder. “Let me tell you this: One friend is worth a thousand enemies.”
Above them the spirit of Ruth soared away, her joy golden.
She sped to the south and west, passing Babylon and searching for the wagon carrying Donna Taybard, which she located in the foothills some four days journey from the city. Donna lay in the back of the wagon with silver bands around her brow, wrists, and ankles, and she seemed to be in a deep enchanted sleep. The bands puzzled Ruth, and she floated closer to the comatose body, but a sharp tug pulled at her and she soared away. Steeling herself, she approached the body once more and found that the bands acted like a magnet, exerting power against her. She drew closer still, and the pull became painful, but at last she could see the shards of Blood Stone in the bands. She tore herself clear and flew to Sanctuary, her knowledge complete.
Anger welled in her, and she understood at last the truth of the Blood Stones. It was not blood or life they drank but ESPer power, the strength of the spirit.
Soulstones.
Donna Taybard’s life was to flow on Abaddon’s Sipstrassi, and her soul would enhance its power. Ruth’s anger became fury.
A shimmering glow appeared in the corner of her study, and she turned as the image of Karitas blossomed. She relaxed momentarily as he approached smiling, but suddenly his hands became talons, his face demonic.
He lunged … but Ruth’s fury had not ebbed, and in an instant her hands came up, white fire streaming from her fingertips. The demon screamed and burned. The form of Karitas became a mottled, scaled gray under the heat of Ruth’s anger, and the beast within writhed and died.
The stench of decay filled the room, and Ruth staggered back. Windows appeared all around her, and a clean breeze swept the room. She sensed the presence of Pendarric, and the king appeared, dressed in a black tunic with a single silver star at one shoulder.
“I see you have learned how to kill, my lady.”
Ruth sat down, staring at her hands. “It was instinctive.”
“Like Shannow?”
“I need no lessons at this time.”
“The beast was not Karitas. It was summoned from a gateway by a great force, and you had no choice but to kill it. That does not negate what you are, Ruth.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Had I truly the courage of my belief, I would have let it kill me.”
“Perhaps. But then evil would have the victory.”
“Why are you here, Pendarric?”
“Only to help you, lady. My powers in this world are limited to words—a punishment for wreaking havoc during my time here, maybe. But you have power, and you must use it.”
“I will not kill again. Ever.”
“That is your choice, but you can end the dream of Abaddon without taking life. The Sipstrassi works in two ways: it uses power, and it receives power. It must be nullified.”
“How?”
“You can find the way, Ruth. It is important that you find it alone.”
“I do not need riddles.”
“It is time to know your enemy. Seek him out—then you will know.”
“Why can you not just tell me?”
“You know the answer to that, lady. As with your students, you do not take a child and place the power of the world in his hands. You lead him, encourage him to grow, to seek his own answers, to develop his talents.”
“I am not a student.”
“Are you not, Ruth? Trust me.”
“If I destroy my enemies, then my life’s work will have been for nothing. Everything I have believed and taught to others will have proved to be empty, devoid of truth.”
“I accept that,” said Pendarric gently, “but only if you kill your enemies. There is another way to restore harmony, Ruth, even if it is only the harmony of the jungle.”
“And I can do that by dying?”
“It depends what manner you choose.”
Ruth’s head sank. “Leave me, Pendarric. I have much to think on.”
Lewis returned to the tunnel, summoned the elevator, and stepped inside. At level 16 he stopped and moved out into a wide corridor. Passing the living quarters of the field men, he saw Amaziga Archer playing with her son, Luke. She saw him and waved, and he responded and walked on. He could not yet find the words to tell her that Shannow had gone, and with him the last words of her husband.
He approached control and stood outside the steel door; it opened after several seconds, and Lewis walked inside.
“You wanted me, sir?” he asked Sarento. The tall man was staring at a set of architects’ plans and nodded absently, waving his hand at a chair. Lewis sat.
“You know what these are?” said Sarento, passing the blueprints to Lewis.
He scanned them swiftly. “No, sir.”
“These are the original specifications for the Ark. In three days she will sail again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We are about to enjoy an influx of power, Lewis. With that power, to celebrate rebirth, I shall transform the Ark for twelve hours to her original state.”
“The power needed will be colossal,” said Lewis.
“Indeed it will, but we now have two hundred percent more energy than at this time last month, and it grows daily. The ship will be the last test. After that we will begin to rebuild the world, Lewis. Think of it: London, Paris, Rome, all rising from the ashes of the Fall. All the technology of the old world visited upon the new, with none of the errors.”
“That is fantastic, sir. But where is the power coming from?”
“Before I answer that, let me ask you this: What do you make of Shannow?”
“I liked him. He is a strong man, and it took nerve to rescue Archer from Castlemine.”
“Indeed it did,” said Sarento, leaning back in his chair, his golden skin glowing, his eyes bright. “And I admire him for it, make no mistake. I had hoped to save his life—to use him—but he would have none of it.”
“He may still succeed,” said Lewis. “I would not like him to be hunting me.”
“He will not succeed. I have alerted the Zealots, and even now they are closing on him.”
“Why, sir?”
“Lewis, you are a fine soldier, a natural follower, a good man. But you are not involved in policy. You do not have the mantle of responsibility for ensuring the survival of a lost race. I do. When I became leader 260 years ago, how much of this … wizardry around you existed? We lived in the caves below the Ark; we hunted for our food and we farmed, much like the other settlements to the south. But I brought rebirth to the Guardians. I gave them purpose and long life; let us not forget that.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with Shannow.”
“Patience, Lewis. Archer showed the way with his records of Atlantis. The Sipstrassi was power, pure m
agic. But the stones soon exhausted themselves. So how did the Atlanteans build their fabled structures? Not on tiny stones, fragments, and chips. No, they had the One Stone, the Mother Stone. I searched for twelve years in the mountains, burrowing deep through hidden caverns. And I found it, Lewis: eighty tons of pure Sipstrassi in one piece. It was the great secret of the Atlantean kings, and they built a circle of stones around it below ground. It was their high altar. Pendarric, the last of their kings, hacked a section from it and used that one broken piece to carve an empire. We will go them one better. We are using it all. And now to your question, Lewis. What of Shannow?”
Sarento stood, towering over the seated Lewis. “He plans, though unwittingly, to stop the power flowing to the Mother Stone.”
“Can he do it?”
Sarento shrugged. “We will never know, for he will be dead within hours.”
“I asked you before where the power comes from,” repeated Lewis.
“Indeed you did, and I hope you are prepared by now for the answer. Every Hellborn soldier carries a Blood Stone, and every time he kills—or even is killed—he transmits power back to the Mother Stone. When the Hellborn sacrifice their ESPers, they use Sipstrassi knives, and much of the power returns to us.”
“Then the Mother Stone is no longer pure?”
“Pure? Don’t be a fool, Lewis! It is merely stronger. Too strong to create food, which is a drawback, but it can now fulfill our dreams.”
“It can’t be right to use the foulness of the Hellborn.”
“Lewis, Lewis!” said Sarento, laying his hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “We are the Hellborn. We created them from the dreams of the madman Welby. We gave him power, we gave him primitive guns, and he is ours, though he does not know it.”
Lewis’ mouth was suddenly dry. “But what of the deaths?”
Sarento sat down on the edge of the desk. “You think it doesn’t grieve me? But our duty to the future is to keep alive the civilization of the past.
“You must try to understand that, Lewis. We can only keep our dreams alive for a short time in this vacuum of a colony. One natural disaster or a plague and it could all be wiped out. The past must be made to live again out there in the new world: cities, laws, books, hospitals, theaters. Culture, Lewis … and technology. And even the stars. For what science could not achieve, surely magic can.”
Lewis remained silent, his thoughts whirling. Sarento sat statue-still, his dark eyes locked on Lewis’ face.
“One thing, sir,” Lewis said at last. “As we build and grow, the stone will need even more power. Yes? Do we fuel it with death forever?”
“A good point, Lewis, and it proves that I was right about you. You have intellect. The answer is yes. But we do not have to be demonic. Man is a natural hunting, killing animal. He cannot survive without wars. Think back on your history; it is a kaleidoscope of cruelty and terror. But from each war man progressed, for war establishes unity. Take Rome. They conquered the world in blood and fire, but only then could civilization take root. After conquest there was unity. With unity came law. With law came culture. But not just the Romans, Lewis. The Macedonians, the British, the Spaniards, the French, the Americans. There will always be those who desire war. We will give that atavistic need a positive purpose.”
Lewis stood and saluted. “Thank you, sir, for sharing this knowledge. Will that be all?”
“No. The reason I have taken you into my confidence is a delicate one. I told you that Shannow must die. In all probability the Zealots will succeed. But Shannow is Rolynd. He may escape. He may return. I want you to find him and kill him should the Zealots fail.”
Aware that Sarento was studying his reaction, Lewis merely nodded, keeping his face blank.
“Can you do this thing?”
“I’ll take one of the rifles,” replied Lewis.
12
FOR FIVE DAYS the riders had tried tentative attacks, but on the sixth their leader went berserk and the Hellborn mounted their horses and thundered into the pass, through the cross fire that decimated their ranks, and on to the trench where Gambion waited with ten men.
Through the cloud of dust sent up by the pounding hooves of their horses the Hellborn bore down on the waiting men.
“Fire!” screamed Gambion, and a ragged volley smashed into the first line of riders, bringing down men and horses. A second volley hammered into the horsemen; then Gambion’s men broke and ran for the second trench.
Above them, with three riflemen, Janus cursed. He stood and emptied his rifle into the surging ranks of the enemy. Only Gambion remained in the first trench; his rifle empty, he tugged his pistols clear and shot a man from the saddle. Now the dust swirled above him. A horse leapt over him, then a second. He fired blindly into the dust. A hoof clipped the top of his skull, and he fell as shots hammered into the dirt beside him.
Janus screamed at the running men to take up positions, and they responded, dropping down beside the three men in the second trench. Shells tore once more into the Hellborn, and they broke and ran.
“After them!” shouted Janus, sweeping up a rifle and leaping the earthworks. Some seven men followed him; the rest hunkered down behind the relative safety of the earthworks. Janus knew the next few moments would be crucial in the battle. If they did not push the Hellborn outside into the canyon, they would spread up onto the hillside and outflank the defenders. He ran to the first trench and waited for his men to join him.
“Together!” he shouted. “Volley fire. But only at my signal.”
The men settled their rifles to their shoulders. “Now!” A volley shrieked through the dust clouds.
“Again!” Three times more they fired into the fleeing Hellborn. Janus led his men farther into the pass, aware that their position would be perilous should the Hellborn turn, but in the billowing dust the enemy had no idea how many men were pursuing them. At last Janus stood in the mouth of the pass itself and watched the Hellborn galloping out of range.
“Take up positions,” he ordered the men around him.
“I’m out of bullets,” a man told him.
“I’ve only got two rounds left,” said another.
“Strip the dead,” said Janus. “But be careful—some of them may only be wounded.”
They gathered what ammunition they could from the fallen riders and returned to their positions. Janus sprinted back to the first trench, where Gambion was sitting up holding his head.
“You ought to be dead,” Janus told him, and Gambion looked up at the blond youngster and grinned broadly.
“It’ll take more than a kick from a horse.”
“We are almost out of ammunition. We can’t hold much longer, Ephram.”
“We have to.”
“Be reasonable, man. When the bullets are gone, then so are we.”
“We’ve held this long, and we’ve made them pay. Just four more days.”
“What do you want us to do? Throw rocks at them?”
“Whatever it takes.”
“There are only twenty-two men left, Ephram.”
“But we’ve taken over a hundred of them bastards.”
Janus gave up and ran back to the pass, climbing high onto the ridge and shielding his eyes, trying to see the enemy. They had dismounted and were seated in a circle around two officers. Janus wished he had a long glass to study the situation more closely. It seemed to him that one of the officers had a pistol in his hand and that the barrel was in his mouth. The crack of the pistol drifted to him, and he watched the officer topple sideways.
Gambion joined him. “What’s happening out there?”
“One of their leaders has just killed himself.”
“Good for him!”
“What kind of people are they, Ephram?”
“They ain’t like us, that’s for sure. By the way, I done a count, and we’ve roughly fifteen shells per man. Good enough for a couple more attacks.”
Janus chuckled. “Your head’s bleeding,” he said.
&nb
sp; “It’ll stop. You think they’ll come in again today?”
“Yes. One more charge. I think we should take a chance on stopping it dead.”
“How?”
“Line up everyone across the pass and hit them with ten volleys.”
“If they break through, there’ll be nothing to back us.”
“It’s up to you, Ephram.”
Gambion swore. “I’ll buy it. Damn, but I never thought to see the day when a boy would give me orders.”
“And a child shall lead them,” said Janus.
“What?”
“It’s from the Bible, Ephram. Don’t you ever read it?”
“I don’t read, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“Do it fast. I think they’re coming in again.”
Gambion and Janus slid down the slope, calling the men to them. They came reluctantly for the most part and gathered in a ragged line.
“You’d better stand this time, by God!” yelled Gambion.
The riders came on at full gallop. The guns of the defenders bellowed, echoing up into the pass, and the rolling thunder of the volleys drowned the sound of galloping hooves.
The pass was black with cordite smoke, and as it cleared, Gambion watched the last of the Hellborn cantering away out of range. Fewer than fifty men remained of the three hundred who had launched the attack on the first day, while seven defenders were dead and two were wounded.
“We’d better gather some ammunition,” said Janus. “Send ten men to strip the bodies.”
Gambion did so, while the other defenders kept a wary eye on the retreating riders.
“We did well today,” said Gambion. “You believe in God now?”
Janus cursed. It was the first time Gambion had heard him swear.
“What is it?”
Janus pointed to where, on the far side of the valley, a column of riders could be seen.
“Shit!” hissed Gambion. “How many?”
“I don’t know. Five hundred, maybe.”
The scavengers returned with sacks of bullets and some extra pistols. One of them moved alongside Gambion.
“They didn’t have more than five shells apiece. Ain’t enough to hold that bunch.”