Deathstalker War (36 page)

There was no sign of battle anywhere. The war had moved on. There was no way of telling who, if anyone, had won here.

After a while, the board games gave way to giant jigsaws, the pieces broken and scattered, sometimes rearranged for tactical reasons, so that the pictures made no sense anymore. Some pieces were just missing, removed for no apparent reason. There were more dead toys, left to lie where they had fallen because honor for the dead was a human thing. Toys just recycled what they could, and got on with their war. Sometimes the dead were presented in novel ways, for aesthetic or psychological reason, to throw horror and fear into the heart of the enemy.

A whole regiment of sailor dolls had been carefully crippled and disfigured and then crucified in long rows the length of a hillside. There were hundreds of the crosses, stretching up the hill to the very top, where one sailor doll, presumably the leader, had been crucified upside down, and then set on fire. Smoke was still rising from his charred and blackened costume. Evangeline wanted to stop the ship. She was sure a few of the dolls were still struggling feebly. The Captain refused. There was always the chance, he explained with what seemed genuine remorse, that this was the bait in a trap. It was the kind of thing the bad toys did. The humans looked, but couldn’t see any sign of an enemy.

“They can be anywhere,” said the Captain. The humans remembered the rag dolls under the railroad tracks and were silent.

Farther on, hundreds of toy dogs and cats lay still among the bomb craters, ripped and torn apart, their stuffing rising out of great rents in their bodies like fluffy white guts. Their animal faces seemed innocent and puzzled in death, as though wondering how and why they had come to their end in such a manner. Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat stood very close together as the ship moved slowly past the carnage, holding paws but refusing to let themselves look away. Poogie sat at their heels, sniffing quietly, tears brimming in his large sad eyes. The toy who’d named himself Anything stood a little apart and watched in silence as they passed a field containing dead adaptor toys like himself. The gleaming metal toys had mostly died in the midst of changes, caught in strange half shapes that were neither one thing nor another, as though death had come upon them while they were desperately trying to find some shape that didn’t contain the wounds that were killing them.

Thankfully, after that trees and shrubbery began to appear along the banks, thickening into trailing woods that hid the killing fields from view. The trees were tall and broad, heavy with summer greenery, but no birds sang on the branches, and no animals moved in the lower vegetation. The woods had been built for show, made for climbing and hiding and other games, and there was nothing natural about them.

The day grew slowly warmer, hot enough to raise a sweat without actually being uncomfortable. The humans lay sprawled in deck chairs, watching the quiet scenery go by, waited on by Halloweenie, who couldn’t do enough for them. When he wasn’t getting them cold drinks or hot snacks, he sat at their feet and asked endless questions about what life was like on other worlds. He’d only ever known toys, human patients, and then the war. He couldn’t understand half the answers he got, but he just laughed and shook his bony head, and asked more questions. The Li’l Skeleton Boy loved stories, and would listen happily to tales of bravery and derring-do from Giles and Finlay. He tried to listen to Toby, but most of the journalist’s stories went right over his head. Poogie, the Bear, and the Goat played endless games of quoits on the deck, and argued constantly about the rules, especially when the Goat was losing. Anything kept mostly to himself, but would occasionally take time out from his brooding to change into different shapes for Halloweenie, who found it endlessly amusing, and would shriek and clap his bony hands at each new transformation. Anything rarely joined in conversation, but he would sometimes talk quietly with Halloweenie, always clamming up if anyone else came near. The Captain stayed on the bridge, guiding the paddle steamer down the exact center of the River, and studying both banks with scowling suspicion. The parrot never strayed from his shoulder, murmuring comforting obscenities to itself.

Small artificial animals lived in holes and burrows in the earth of the Riverbanks, and would sometimes wave and chirp cheerful greetings to the humans, from a cautious distance. Artificial dolphins, made in bright primary colors, came swimming up the River and swam alongside the ship for a while, occasionally raising their sleek heads out of the dark liquid to study the humans with bright, knowing eyes, neither hindering nor helping. The long day passed slowly, warm and pleasant and undemanding, just as it must have been in the early days of Shannon’s dream. The sounds of the war were just a distant rumble, like far-off thunder threatening a storm to come, and some of the humans were actually dozing when the ship passed into disputed territory, and everything went to hell in a hurry.

The toys had crept through the trees, keeping to the shadows, silent and unobserved, and then slipped quietly into the dark waters of the River. They swam deep beneath the surface, not needing to breathe, and then climbed the sides of the ship, unseen by any. Until they came swarming over the guardrails, waving swords and axes and screaming curses against Humanity. They were colorful, jagged figures, boiling over the railings the whole length of the ship. They were human in shape and size, but composed of different-colored parts and components. They had arms of different lengths, legs out of proportion to their bodies, heads that turned through three hundred and sixty degrees. Finlay recognized the toys from his own childhood. They came as separate pieces—bodies, limbs and heads of different colors and types, that a child could fit together to make a whole. Or you could swap the parts with other toys to make new figures. Someone had brought the idea to Shannon’s World, and now the patchwork toys had come to take revenge for years of being dismantled and rebuilt at a child’s whim, never having anything to call their own, not even their own bodies.

The humans sprang to their feet, shock and alarm driving out their drowsiness. They just had time to draw their swords, and then the toys were upon them. Finlay and Evangeline stood together, back-to-back, hacking at the toys as they came within range. Giles was caught and cornered in the bow, but stood his ground, his heavy sword shearing through the patchwork bodies with ease. He fought calmly and economically, conserving his strength and refusing to be intimidated by the sheer numbers ranged against him. Toby and Flynn put a stateroom wall at their backs and built a barricade of deck chairs from behind which they could fire their disrupters, blowing great holes in the packed crowd of toys. Flynn’s camera hovered overhead, covering the action.

Julian tried to form his mind for a psiblast, but just the effort was enough to cripple him with a blinding headache. He fell to his knees, blood spilling thickly from his nose and mouth. Halloweenie grabbed him by an arm and dragged him with desperate strength into the stateroom, shutting the door and then pushing heavy furniture against it. He hovered over Julian for a moment, distraught at the sight of a human bleeding and in distress, and then he grabbed an iron poker from beside the fireplace, and stood before the barricaded door, determined that no one would pass while he still had strength in his bony arms.

Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat were as much targets as the humans, and fought side by side. The Goat had produced a large club from somewhere, and wielded it with great authority and a certain amount of glee. The Bear’s claws had burst out of his paws again, and he tore through the attacking toys with a cold, methodical fury. Poogie had also sprouted terrifying teeth and claws, and was tearing a vicious path through the packed crowd of toys filling the deck. Up on the bridge, the Captain yelled curses and defiance, and tried to increase the paddle steamer’s speed, to leave behind those toys still in the water. As yet, none of the patchwork toys had reached the bridge, but the Captain had a long cutlass ready for when they did.

They covered the whole deck now, with still more swarming over the sides. There were already hundreds of the patchwork toys, and there seemed no end to them. Swords cut through them easily enough, but where one part was damaged, the toys just discarded it and kept fighting. When they were damaged too badly to continue, other toys would rip them apart to repair themselves. Scattered body parts littered the deck, getting underfoot. Disembodied hands clutched at human ankles. The humans fought on with increasing desperation as they grew tired and their enemies did not.

Finlay was fighting at the peak of his powers, rested and strong and deadly, and no one toy could stand against him. But there were so many of them, and not even a man who had been the undefeated Masked Gladiator of the Golgotha Arenas could stand for long against an army. Evangeline guarded his back with savage determination, doing her best to wield a sword as he had taught her, and tried to keep her rising horror to herself, so as not to upset Finlay.

The barricade around Toby and Flynn was slowly but steadily being dismantled, despite all their efforts. It was becoming clear to the two newsmen that they had allowed themselves to be trapped in a corner from which there was no escape. They struck out with their swords, reluctantly becoming part of the story they were covering. Toby yelled for Flynn to be sure and get his good side. Flynn said he didn’t have one. Toby laughed harshly, and swung his sword with both hands.

Giles Deathstalker stood alone at the bow, surrounded by furious, howling toys, with no way out. He fought hard and well, slowly tiring, but still strong. The boost thundered in his arms. The odds were bad, but he’d faced worse. Or at least, he thought he had. And then, for the first time, he looked out at the hundreds of toys filling the deck and his confidence wavered. There were some odds that no man could beat. Not even the legendary Giles Deathstalker. He fought on anyway, because there was nothing else to do, but desperation, and the beginnings of something that might have been fear, began to gnaw at him. He’d faced death before and never been afraid to look it straight in the eye, but he’d never thought he’d die like this. To die so ignominiously, brought down by sheer force of numbers. Hacked apart by toys on a stupid pleasure planet.

The toys surged forward, screaming horribly, their artificial voices full of rage and anticipation, swords and axes raised to hack him into pieces that would never re-form. And rage and desperation flooded through Giles, igniting the Maze-given forces within him. Power blazed up in the back brain, the undermind, shining so very brightly through parts of his mind he’d never used before, and suddenly Giles was somewhere else. He stood on the bridge, next to the startled Captain, while down below the toys overran the bow where he’d been and stared stupidly about them, wondering where their trapped prey had gone. Giles laughed suddenly. He’d teleported. He could feel the new ability settling into place within him, as easy and natural now to him as breathing, and couldn’t help wondering what other abilities he might manifest in times of need. He looked down at the swarming toys and smiled unpleasantly as he began to plan what to do next with his new power.

On the bridge, the Captain staggered back and forth on his peg legs, swinging his cutlass with more strength than skill. Only a few toys had reached him so far, but he could hear more on their way. The parrot fluttered in their faces, screaming abuse, distracting them. With no one’s hands on the wheel, the ship drifted aimlessly, heading for the bank.

Down below, Anything had turned into his most martial shape, and was cutting through the massed toys with razor-sharp hands. Their weapons rebounded harmlessly from his metal body, so they clung to his arms and legs, trying to drag him down by sheer weight of numbers. But the toy who wished he was a Fury stood firm and would not fall.

Poogie had become a snarling fury of hate and destruction, no longer cartoonlike at all. Enraged at the toys who would keep him from his atonement, and would dare attack humans under his protection, he fought tirelessly in the center of the deck and defied one and all to bring him down.

But there were so many patchwork toys. So very many.

In the stateroom, Halloweenie hovered helplessly over Julian, and wondered desperately what to do for the best. Toys were hammering on the barricaded door and smashing the windows. The young esper was still bleeding heavily from the mouth and nose, despite everything the Li’l Skeleton Boy could do to stop it. The ship did have a med bay, but Halloweenie knew he wasn’t strong enough to drag the esper such a long way, even if they could avoid being noticed by the patchwork toys. Halloweenie might have escaped on his own, but he didn’t want to leave the injured human unprotected. The toys hammering against the door were slowly forcing it open, and pushing the piled-up furniture back inch by inch. Toys were trying to get through the windows. Halloweenie ran back and forth, pushing them back out.

And then the barricade of furniture suddenly collapsed and fell backwards, and the door swung open, and the toys came howling in. Halloweenie ran forward to stand between them and the human, but they were so many, and he was just a little skeleton boy. He went down under their stamping feet, his bones cracking and breaking, crying out for Julian to run. The young esper tried to get his feet under him and lurched forward to help his small defender. Swords and axes rose above him.

There was a clap like thunder and a rush of displaced air, and Giles Deathstalker appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the stateroom. The patchwork toys fell back, unnerved by the sudden appearance, and Giles moved forward and hauled Julian to his feet. And in that moment, while the toys hesitated, Giles reached out with his Maze-altered mind and slammed into Julian’s. There was a moment of opposition, as the young esper realized what the Deathstalker meant to do, and then Giles swept it aside, seized control of Julian’s esp, and summoned up a psistorm.

Julian screamed horribly, the sound rising above the roar of battle, and everyone hesitated a moment. And then it was as though a great wind swept the length of the boat, picking up the patchwork toys and pitching them overboard. Others were torn apart, reduced to their component parts, and scattered by the wind. Some simply exploded, touched by the stormfire crackling across the deck, spitting and seething. The humans stood and watched in awe, untouched by the power of the storm.