The tide of unmaking, p.5
The Tide of Unmaking, page 5
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
General Eragor nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon then,” he said. “And I’ll take Caerfasz. He’s one of our best pilots.”
“Mix it up, General,” Asp said. “Take a handful of raw pilots as well. Let them cut their teeth on this little test.”
Eragor looked away.
“You will succeed, won’t you?” Asp asked.
There came that wet clicking sound, and Eragor said, “Of course, my Lord. We will succeed.”
“I have no doubt,” Asp replied. “One more thing: bring me back a few humans…alive. I need to perform more tests.”
Thrum.
The sound was much louder now. It brought the kind of pressure that summoned pounding headaches. Eragor thought his skull might explode but, given Asp’s expectations, he managed to hold it together. The mission itself was very motivating as well. It wasn’t every day he got to fly. And it wasn’t every day that he got to kill. Headache aside, it was going to be a good day.
That was until Eragor stormed into the hangar and caught sight of Caerfasz reclining in a pile of leather saddles like it was his own personal easy chair.
“Caerfasz!” Eragor growled. “We fly in ten minutes!”
Caerfasz, a burly pilot with extremely long legs for a Gwar, crossed those legs and casually opened one eye. His only reply was, “So.”
Eragor ripped his twin warhammers free and charged toward the seemingly lazy pilot. “So? SO!” Eragor shouted. “I don’t care how well you fly, you answer me with respect! We’ve got to saddle up these daggerflies—”
“Done,” Caerfasz said.
Eragor stuttered a moment. “Done? Well, we still need to load the arc stones in each—”
“Done.”
“The other pilots need to be brought up to speed on the route through—”
“Done an hour ago.”
“Spider harnesses?”
“Yup.”
“What about the cloaking pumps?” Eragor asked. “They need time to build up the pressure—”
“Look, General,” Caerfasz said, clambering to his feet. “The reason you asked a guy like me on this trip is because I get things done. If it’s ten minutes to air, then you can know we’re already ready.”
“But I don’t see the Warspiders…the daggerflies.”
“But ya hear ‘em, right?” Caerfasz asked.
“Louder than ever.”
“They’ve already been coated,” Caerfasz said. “Gnomes aren’t good for much, but their cloaking paste does the trick, eh?”
Eragor scanned the hangar. The vast chamber had been blasted and carved from the root of Mount Andromeda within Canada’s Columbia ice field. It was shadowy, lit only by dremask braziers, but the Gwar see vividly, even in dim light. And yet, all Eragor could see were piles and crates of supplies and a few Gwar soldiers milling about. He could, however, hear the thrum of the creatures’ wings, loud and clear.
“Well, I’ll be a maladon’s hindquarters,” Eragor said at last, breathing out a loud sigh. “You’ve actually managed to exceed my expectations.”
Caerfasz bowed. “Lord Asp doesn’t care for mediocrity.”
“No, no, he does not.” Eragor said, holstering his warhammers. “Yellowknife Military Base awaits us. Let’s paste up and fly.”
Chief Warrant Officer Cam Strauss had stayed up way too late the night before, plugging away at the combat simulator. Now it was his watch from the Yellowknife tower. Sure the air traffic controllers were there: Master Corporal Harold “Hal” Carmichael and Signalman Isabel LeSage. They did the hard work, but Cam was manning security, and he was not up to the task this afternoon, especially as the clock crept past 2:00 p.m.
Glad I’m not in charge of flight plans, he thought. I’d nod off, hit a button with my nose, and send a troop transport into the side of a mountain.
He had nodded off once already. He’d fallen asleep on his feet and nearly planted his face into a bank of servers. Since then, he’d swilled two cups of Tim Horton’s coffee and figured that would keep him more-or-less alert until his duty ended at six.
So when Cam looked over the airfield and saw one of the base’s CC-138 Twin Otter utility transport aircraft hanging in the air in front of the tower, he had to do a double take. He rubbed his crusty eyes. He blinked. Finally, he slapped himself. No, it didn’t go away. And it didn’t change. The aircraft was still there, hanging, almost hovering in the air…upside down.
The Twin Otter began to rise. Cam tapped on Corporal Carmichael’s shoulder. “Hal. Hal, you seeing this?”
“Idiot!” Hal exclaimed. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Hal?” Cam repeated. “Hal, look out the window!”
Hal looked up at last, but the plane had risen out of sight. “What? I don’t see anything.” He leaned forward, closer to the glass, and looked up. “Blasted—get back!” Hal dove.
The aircraft plummeted from a height well above the top of the tower and slammed into the tarmac. A mushrooming fireball erupted skyward, and a jet of angry orange-burning aviation fuel spewed across a half-dozen armored vehicles.
A concussive wave shattered the windows of the tower, followed by a strange strobing flash of bluish-white.
Cam found himself face down in a pile of broken glass. The last thing he heard before the tower exploded was a deep, resonant THRUM.
Eragor dug his boot heels into the daggerfly’s thorax, just behind the eyes, forcing the creature into a swift dive. He leveled and swung the daggerfly in low, ducking anti-aircraft fire with relative ease.
Human soldiers streamed out of every exit, trying to get to the armored vehicles, helicopters, jets—anything to defend the base.
But it’s no good, Eragor thought. You can’t see us. Your machines can’t see us. You are at our mercy.
“Mercy?” Eragor laughed aloud. “We do not have any mercy today.” His daggerfly was now hovering forward, mere feet above the ground. He slid his left boot down the thorax and then scraped the toe upward several times.
The daggerfly responded, curling its bladed abdomen down. Generating tremendous torque with its thick segments of abdominal muscle, the daggerfly swished the blade about, cutting through soldiers like a machete through saplings. The men ran in horror, unsure of what assailed them, but certain that if they didn’t flee, they’d be next.
Eragor pulled up from the carnage and watched as sides of buildings caved in, armored vehicles were crushed or tossed, and fighter jets exploded. It was obvious that Caerfasz and his team had loosed the Warspiders.
Eragor couldn’t wait to get back to the hold to make his report. As ruthless as Lord Asp could be to those who failed him, he was also known to bestow special privileges to those who succeeded.
General Eragor had led his squadron of daggerflies into the teeth of modern technological warfare…and prevailed. In a mere forty minutes, Yellowknife Base had been decimated, the human slaves captured.
He had to laugh again at the ease of it all. When the time came, Eragor knew, Asp would unleash an attack on the powers of Earth unlike any they had ever faced before.
6: Birthday Surprises
TOMMY STOMPED UP THE CORRIDOR on the way to the Great Hall. “Mandatory Lords meeting,” he grumbled. “And I have to go. HAVE to. I thought the Lords actually ruled around here. I can’t believe this…especially tonight.”
He pounded between two long tables in one of the lower dining halls and wished his Lordly gift, ultra keen archer’s eyesight, had come with nuclear vision beams. He could just imagine blasting the goblets and pitchers off the tables, rattling all the plates and utensils, and maybe melting the suits of armor that guarded each corner of the room.
Yeah, that would help.
A little.
Tommy stopped walking a moment and cringed inwardly. Twenty-one today, he thought, and here I am acting like a tantrum-throwing toddler. A tingle on the ridge of his ears and a fresh batch of goosebumps reminded him that servants of Ellos were made for better.
Tommy sighed and continued on. He ducked under the western archway and picked up speed. But then he paused at the fork in his path. Both passages led eventually to the Great Hall. He decided to go the long way through the Ailianthium. It was Tommy’s favorite place in the rebuilt city of Berinfell.
A cavernous, high-ceilinged chamber with great, curving windows above, and high, sculpted archways open to the outdoors, the Ailianthium contained three acres of living trees. It had taken scores of Elves years to transport the trees, most from the Thousand League Forest. And these were no mere saplings, not in the commonly understood sense, anyway. Mature chalicewood, black hazelnut, maiden ash, and even a few silver mattisbough—the trees towered over the marble footpaths that networked at their roots. Several ambitious limbs even managed to tickle the ceiling some ninety feet above.
Tommy’s pace quickened as he drew near. During the day, the sun’s light danced in the Ailianthium’s trees and dappled the world in every green and gold ever seen in the world of men or Elves. But night was Tommy’s favorite time to visit. The dremask chandeliers turned the Ailianthium to magic. If they were all lit, and if a subtle breeze played through the archways, it was as if millions of multicolored stars danced among the trees. It reminded Tommy somehow of Christmas trees, only on a far grander scale.
Christmas trees.
Tommy sighed. It had been a long time since he’d thought about Christmas. Being at home with his parents and decorating. It was lovely…and painful. At first, Tommy couldn’t bear to exile the memories, visions of his parents and his childhood. But the scent of pine, gingerbread, and pumpkin pie vanished like smoke as Tommy came to the Ailianthium’s root-entwined threshold. Something was very wrong.
The Ailianthium was always beautiful, sometimes mysterious, but never dark. Not pitch black like this. Never.
Tommy glanced back over his shoulder. No flet soldiers either. Should have noticed that sooner, Tommy thought. He reached for his bow and silently berated himself for leaving his favored weapon back in the training yard.
“Looks like it’ll be the sword, then,” Tommy whispered. He stepped into the inky darkness and drew his rychesword. From the moment it left the sheath, the weapon felt odd. The balance was off…or something. Tommy wasn’t sure. He didn’t spend time considering it. He had to focus everything on his vision.
Elves could see in the dark better than humans, but not usually anywhere near as well as the Gwar. But, with his gift, Tommy could nearly see as well in the darkness as a Gwar could. What he saw in the Ailianthium still left too many unknowns, too many potential dangers. The trees towered, columns of gray with boughs reaching out high overhead. Their foliage created a ragged, broken canopy of darkness. And up near the high ceiling, there were strange, bulbous shapes that Tommy couldn’t identify.
Something moved.
Ahead, a shadow flitted out from one trunk and disappeared just as quickly behind another. Not quite confident enough in Nightform, Tommy dropped into a Vexbane stance known as Jendurath, Elven for viper.
He crouched low with legs flexed, right foot forward, left foot perpendicular. He rotated his torso counterclockwise, lifted his sword hand to shoulder height but turned the blade to horizontal. He was compact, coiled, ready to strike.
The tenets of Vexbane demand that combatants identify everything—anything—that might be used as a weapon or a component of a weapon. With Vexbane, an Elf was never unarmed. Tommy had his blade, but there was much more. In the shadows, he noted a bulging chalicewood root, curling up from the ground in a kind of loop. A well-timed shove could send an enemy tripping over it. Tommy imagined the movements, felt the necessary muscles tense and twitch. It would be easy enough.
There was a crook in the neighboring hazelnut tree, offering endless possibilities. Trap an enemy blade? Leap from it into a kick? Maybe, if his foe was off balance, he could even use it to break its neck.
The shadow moved again, the motion: a wraith passing between trees, whipped Tommy into instant focus. No, he thought. Not a wraith. Wraiths. A second shadow moved in a different corner of the Ailianthium, followed by a third. And then something even further back…something very large…produced a low growl.
This changed everything. Tommy’s mind began calculating angles. He uncoiled, slid a few yards up to a perfectly vertical ash tree, and took a deep breath. It would have to be Nightform after all.
Tommy slowed his breathing and eased back against the tree. One of the shadows drew closer, now a mere forty yards away. Tommy allowed himself to sway like the trunk of a willow in a summer breeze. A half breath later, Tommy had flowed to the other side of the ash. His blade traced the contour of the trunk. He saw the movement coming, now from behind and to his left. He heard the stealthy footfalls.
He counted: One. Two.
It wasn’t a guess—he knew—exactly where the first assailant would be. Tommy flowed around the perimeter of the trunk, dropped low, and drove his blade up under the shadow figure’s left shoulder blade. He expected to hear a wet crackle as the arm severed at the joint, but heard only a dull thud. There was no time to wonder. He spun and slammed the blade into the already caving enemy’s side.
While the first intruder crumbled, Tommy listened. He heard the rapidly accelerating footfalls padding from two directions. Tommy used the fallen enemy as a ramp, leaped for the lowest limb of the nearby ash, and swung effortlessly around its trunk. He came down 280˚ later, right behind another shadow figure.
He swept the blade hard into the back of the enemy’s knees. But Tommy didn’t let him fall. He caught the intruder as he fell backward and slung him into the unseen third assailant. There came a heavy whump, like dropping a sack of grain on a hard floor.
Tommy almost smiled, the satisfaction welling up, but that was when the booted heel slammed into his back. Tommy flew bodily and smacked hard onto the tiled floor. Pain radiated across his shoulders and down his back. There were tingles and numbness in his right arm. But Tommy rolled twice and surged up to his feet.
That was when the lights began to flash.
Dremask lanterns of many colors blazed to life and then vanished while others kindled. Flashes blinked on and off from every direction. It was like being in a multicolored strobe light.
Tommy heard the footfalls, including those of the giant beast that had waited in the woods, but he was too disoriented to act. It was all he could do to flex his abs before the booted heel struck him in the gut. He groaned, folding inward to absorb the blow even as he stumbled backward.
The figure came on again, but this time because of the blinking lights, Tommy saw him. One-on-one, Tommy shifted back to Vexbane. The enemy lifted a peculiar oblong blade and seemed to be aiming for Tommy’s head. Tommy waited and then uncoiled. His blade met the enemy’s with a sharp crack—not the ring of metal. An intruding thought almost threw off Tommy’s timing. But Tommy bounced his blade off the parry, spun, and feinted a strike at the enemy’s legs. Instead, Tommy put a side kick into the assailant’s lower back. He flew forward and hooked his foot in the looping tree root. The enemy went down in a jumbled heap.
Tommy raced from the clearing and found a tile path leading north. He took it and sprinted for the other side of the Ailianthium. He charged with all his might, his heart pounding, but with the odd blinking lantern flashes, it felt like he was running in slow motion. He glanced left and then right…and growled. There were enemies fifty yards away on both sides, matching his pace, and surging from tree to tree. A giant shadow stalked him as well, a massive monster he knew he couldn’t outrun.
One of the assailants moved with supernatural speed. Maybe it was the light, but this warrior left the others behind and raced ahead into a thicket. Tommy adjusted course and took a leftward angle. A plume of white flame flared up on Tommy’s left. He felt the blast of heat and swerved back to the right. Something darted by him, grabbed the crook of his right elbow, and flung him around.
Tommy found himself surrounded by five figures clad all in black, and the monster looming behind them. The strobing lanterns revealed that each enemy bore a sword, mace, or club, and they were closing in, tightening the noose.
Uh, oh.
Tommy thought of the fluidity of water coursing through a boulder-strewn riverbed. It was the perfect Nightform image. Tommy allowed his body to relax. He rolled his neck loosely, flexed each major muscle group in turn and let them loosen. The enemies came closer, just out of reach.
Tommy knew that, if he let them close off the circle, he’d have no chance. But the flashing light had triggered a pulsing headache. His muscles involuntarily began to tense. The pain was excruciating. He tried to focus on the steps, the angles, the counters, and defenses, but it was too hard. He had no choice now. He’d have to launch into the first couple of moves and improvise the rest.
Tommy turned in place, waited for the shortest enemy to lunge, and then leaped. He planted his foot on the enemy’s knee and used it to propel himself up. Flying at shoulder height and feeling for the moment very much like Kiri Lee, Tommy kicked one of the combatants in the chin. Still in the air, Tommy used the momentum of the blow and swung his blade at the head of the next warrior.
But the head wasn’t where it was supposed to be. The enemy was up in the air, right in front of Tommy. Flabbergasted, Tommy began to fall. Something stuck him hard in in the shoulder.
A flurry of blows pounded Tommy to his knees. He waited for the slash that would take his head, but none came. Suddenly, a booted foot slammed his rear end so hard that Tommy flew forward.
His sword cartwheeled ahead, and Tommy fell into an exhausted pile. When Tommy looked up, silvery blue light illuminated the figure towering over him. Tree trunk legs, a barrel chest, broad shoulders—made all the more massive by dark armor—this mighty warrior seemed descended from a race of giants. He reached over his shoulder and loosed a terrible, twin-bladed battle axe.
