Hostiles (The Galactic Mage series) (50 page)

He saw the orcs forming up in the flashes of vision afforded by the demon’s thrashing, its bulb head waving him in the air in the spasms of its rage and agony, all the while his battle suit whining and hissing as it was put to the limits of its design in his efforts to avoid being flung free, perhaps even flung several blocks away. He had a feeling this might be his last fight if that happened, no telling into what kind of mess he might be thrown, and so he made a point of pushing the jackhammer even deeper in.

The huge shaft of ice came at him at the same time the demon died, and with the barest flick of his legs, he was able to yank the demon’s body in front of the incoming missile right as it struck. The force of the impact reverberated through the largely hollowed-out bulb of the slain demon, but its armor held, and both the suit and carcass were sent sliding down the street with the momentum of the giant ice lance. It finally came to rest against the broken tree where Private Sanchez had been.

The demon lay across the colonel’s mech heavily, and he labored to get the body off quickly. The hydraulics jolted powerfully against the limp mass as he shoved at it, but he could not throw it off. He could hear the footfalls of the orcs coming down the street, their alien war cries, bass and resonant as they ran. The rattle of their armor got louder and louder the nearer they came, as loud as the motors of the suit while he worked frantically to lift the carcass even just a little bit. He realized that Roberto would try to save him if he could not break free.

He looked back out through the top of the canopy, hoping to see the other members of his team. Neither was in sight, nor was Corporal Chang and his fire team.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Levi,” he called out. “Wait for Chang to get here before you show yourself.”

“Negative, Colonel. Orli will kick my ass if she finds out I sat here and watched you die.”

“Stay where you are, Commander, that’s an order.”

The colonel heard the confusion amongst the orcs before he heard Roberto say, “Not going to happen, sir.” There was shouting and growling, and the noise of at least two orcs in pain.

“Oh, shit,” said Roberto, not sounding entirely pleased. “That got their attention.”

“Idiot,” snarled the colonel. “Get out of there.”

He heard ballistic rounds go off, four of them in rapid fire.

“Head shots, bitches,” proclaimed Roberto. “You want some more of that?” Three more loud bursts followed.

“Levi, get out, goddamn it,” the colonel ordered again. Then, to Fire Team Two, “Chang, where the hell are you?”

“They keep coming, sir,” the corporal replied. “We can’t get clear.”

He could see in his console that his two team members were still moving, the flashes on the grid map indicating the frequency of their fire. He pushed against the demon pinning him, but again met with futility. “Goddamn it,” he spat.

One of the orc shamans came into view as Colonel Pewter looked past the curving bulk of the demon into the gray skies above. The orc bent down from his perch atop the demon’s body and peered into the mech’s canopy as if the colonel were some strange specimen in a jar. The colonel tried to pull his Gatling out from under the demon, but it was stuck. He made a futile swipe at the shaman with the left arm, the jackhammer spitting its staccato at the orc, loud, but useless. He flipped on the flamethrower, but didn’t even get one fiery gasp. It had been out of gas for an hour now.

A second shaman climbed up next to the first, and they spent a few moments seeming to discuss what they were going to do. All the colonel could do was watch.

“Shit,” shouted Roberto again. “They’re in here now.”

“Get out,” shouted the colonel, feeling useless and weak.

That’s when he heard the sound of hooves pounding on the ground. He could feel them in his back where he lay pressed against the dirt. He tilted his head back and saw Lieutenant Forland and his crazy cavalrymen charging in. Six of them had lances lowered and ran at the front of the group, with a seventh on the right side of their line with only a sword. Behind them followed four more horsemen, each of them standing in their stirrups and chanting what the colonel knew would be some kind of spell.

The two shamans looked up, startled, and one of them began a chant of his own, while the second one slipped back out of view on the other side of the lifeless demon. A moment after, a fireball struck the chanting shaman in the chest, blasting it off the demon corpse, burning and howling in agony. Seconds later, the horses charged past him and the air filled with the sounds of steel on steel and the grunts of combat being fought hand to hand.

A movement beside him caused him to look left where he saw a man in chainmail, wearing a brown tabard splattered with blood, placing his hands against the body of the slain demon. He closed his eyes and began to sing, and after a few moments, the demon vanished, changed in that instant to a great splash of water that fell heavily upon the colonel and then washed out into the cobblestones, turning quickly to dirty little brooks that ran away through the wreckage of the street.

The colonel, marginally used to magic by now, had not expected that, and it took him a few moments to realize he was free. When he did, he regained his feet and spared no time for thanks, wading instead right into the combat taking place in the middle of the block.

He was in its midst in nearly an instant, and in no time he’d punched his jackhammer fist through the chest of one orc and the head of another. It only took a three-round burst from the fifty-cal to bust open a shaman a few paces off, one in the middle of casting a spell, and a sweeping backhand right after sent another shaman flying over the house where Roberto was. The colonel could not be sure if it was dead or not, but it turned icy blue in the air, which suggested something might have backfired with the spell it had been working on.

That’s when Roberto came leaping out of the second-story window. He flew out over the colonel, arms and feet churning, and he landed heavily on the street, rolling as he hit. The roll absorbed most of the momentum, but he hit hard enough that his assault rifle went skittering away. In the moment it took him to recover and start for his weapon, an orc had also burst through the window and leapt down after him, its giant mace poised to pulp the Spaniard in a single swipe.

The colonel yanked his mech’s arm back, its length still extended to maximum from the last swing, and just managed to get it under the mace before it made jelly of Orli’s best friend. The mace clanked heavily against the extended limb and a mist of hydraulic fluid began spraying out where a hose was torn free from its mount.

A second orc was jumping out through the window after the first, and the colonel hit it with a short burst from the Gatling gun, shaking his head ruefully as he did. Ammo wouldn’t matter now, he knew. He could tell by the spray of oil that he was going to lose control of that arm anyway.

“Thanks, Colonel,” Roberto said as he reclaimed his weapon. “I wasn’t sure how that was going to turn out.”

The colonel didn’t waste time to answer, and instead charged back to help the Prosperions with the remaining orcs. They’d made pretty good work of it before he got there, proving how it was that the eleven of them still remained alive when so many others had died. These were men any officer would give anything to have with him, any commander, in any service, at any time in history. Such combinations of heart, mind and skill transcended time and type of weaponry.

By the time the group of orcs were dispatched, Private Sanchez had returned. His companion had not had the same luck that he and the colonel had, and the private conveyed it wordlessly with only one long look. The colonel nodded. That made one less of those rare combinations to help them here today.

There was no time to mourn losses, though, and he instantly checked back on Corporal Chang. “Chang, can you get clear?”

“Sir, they’re coming from everywhere. We need to bug out. I think the south wall is completely gone. I can see the Queen coming up the street with a ton of other Prosperions. It looks like a rout. And, sir, there’s a really big one back there. I mean, like really big. With a long-ass arm that it’s flinging around like a busted coolant hose mashing everything.”

“We’ll come to you then. Protect the Queen as best you can. We’ll be right there.”

He popped open his canopy to look the red-feathered cavalryman in the eye. “It’s all going to shit now,” he said. “Your Queen is in trouble two blocks away.” The Prosperion said something back to him, but he’d moved off too rapidly at the news for the colonel to make it out. Within seconds, the eleven horsemen were gone, galloping off to protect their monarch.

He called up to his ship, asking about the reinforcements from Earth, but all he got was the same “they’re forming up, and will be there as soon as it becomes possible to spare them” that he got the last three times he asked. He knew exactly what that meant.

He looked down at Roberto, who, standing in the street as he was, looked so small and fragile compared to the battle suit the colonel wore. The young commander stood ready, however, with only his rifle, his side arm and a bulletproof vest. Not much for fighting ten-ton, or even just two-ton demons, that was sure.

“You’re probably going to regret having offered to fly us in here,” said the colonel with a crooked grin. “They won’t evac us now, you know, because of what we did. Technically, we’re AWOL.”

“I know. Shit happens, right?”

“Yes, it does. But for whatever it’s worth, I know why my daughter thinks so much of you.”

“That’s funny,” Roberto said. “Because your daughter usually tells me I’m a pervert and only have a one-track mind.” He flashed a wide smile, however, and was clearly proud of his alleged misdeeds.

They both laughed, though it only lasted as long as it took to transform itself into a pair of coinciding sighs, a few seconds of levity before reentering the storm. “Well,” said the colonel, “let’s make sure you have a chance to continue building that reputation, Commander. Stay low, stay close and, for God’s sake, stay out of sight.”

“Roger that. I’m definitely done playing the hero this time.”

They both knew that wouldn’t be true if it came to the precipice once more, but then, that’s why they were both still alive.

Major Kincaid’s voice crackled over the com as the colonel’s canopy was snapping shut again. “Colonel?” She didn’t sound pleased.

“Yeah, Kincaid, go ahead.”

“Sir, a quarter-mile stretch of the west wall just fell.”

Chapter 40

A
ltin returned to the tower, bringing his small supply of seeing stones and the basin he’d filled into the bare little room that had served as Tytamon’s private teleportation chamber for all those centuries. Wanting to set straight to work, he took only a moment to glance out and check on Orli, assuming she would still be sleeping at the table where he’d left her. She was not. She stood at the narrow window looking out on Blue Fire’s world again, her back to him. Slight upward movements of her shoulders coincided with soft sniffling sounds as she gazed out upon the planet, and Altin knew immediately that she was crying or, at least, that she had been recently.

He rushed to her side, peering around her to confirm in the glow of Blue Fire’s planetary light that there were in fact tears running down Orli’s face, lines of shimmering reflection drawn down her soft cheeks and into her bosom where they disappeared. She did not look back at him, only down at Blue Fire. She sniffled again, but that was all, the eye of the storm’s sorrow having already passed.

“Orli, what’s happened?” he asked. “What’s going on?” She had been sleeping soundly only a few minutes ago. He hadn’t spent that much time with Kettle in the courtyard.

When she did look at him, it was with distance in her eyes, as if she were far off somewhere in her mind. She shook her head, barely enough movement to discern. “He’s going to rape her.”

“What?”

She pointed down, out through the window at something far below. He followed with his eyes and saw it then, the huge round mass of a giant Hostile orb, a titanic thing, twice as large as the one they’d seen at Mars, hovering down near the lowest edge of the visible disc of Blue Fire’s world. A threadlike line of smaller orbs made their way out of it and into Blue Fire’s atmosphere. They glowed like a string of bubbles moving through a bottle of space-black champagne, a steady penetration of the thin veil of Blue Fire’s atmosphere.

Altin tried at once to get Blue Fire to speak to him, but she could not. He tried again, sought it in the way of a telepath, a press of mana rather than a simple thought. Still nothing. He could still feel her terror though, the lingering essence all through him, around him like an atmosphere of his own.

“I can’t get through to her now,” he said. “She’s blocking me.”

“
He
is blocking you.”

“He? He who? Red Fire?”

“Yes.”

“How? Why?”

“They block other males. It’s why he never found her before. Her mate blocked him from finding her all those years ago, scared him off with his great power and secured this territory.”

Altin whispered some Prosperion profanity under his breath, but it was inaudible. “It even blocks human males?”

“So it seems.”