Sandcats of Rhyl (19 page)

Although he was hardly an expert on such things, he couldn’t identify the Guardian as among those in the chamber. With the powerful animal inside the throne room, that made fully ten sandcats Slayton had under his direct control. And there was no simple way of telling if there were more in the throne room with him. No way except going in and finding out firsthand.

Nightwind slipped back along the same path he had taken, dropped to the floor and quietly rejoined Heuser and Steorra. “It’s like this,” he said, quickly outlining the positions of sandcats. “So the best plan is this: Steorra will slip around the side of the throne room and attract the attention of the single ‘cat in front of the door. You’ll jump it from above, Heuser. And I’ll try to get in while all this is going on. It’s risky business without blasters, but this should be our best bet for catching Slayton with his guard down.”

Without another word, Steorra moved away, keeping to the shadows and moving more quietly than Nightwind would have thought possible, not that silence really mattered. He and Heuser jumped to the roof of the throne room, duck walked across to the edge and peered down at the solitary sentry below.

The instant Steorra moved around the corner, the sandcat perked up and looked directly at her. It never reached its feet. Heuser’s bulk landed squarely on its back. A flashing fist smashed — hard — into the thick muscled neck. The impact knocked the sandcat senseless.

Nightwind and Steorra were pushing through the doors by the time Heuser joined them.

As quick as they had been, some mental signal must have been given. All the other sandcats were running full speed toward the throne room.

“Quick! Inside!” shouted Nightwind.

Steorra stumbled and fell under the impact of a sandcat hurtling through the doorway. Then the door was closed and securely barred. Nightwind savagely kicked the sandcat in the side to get its attention away from the fallen woman. He wasn’t sure he was any match for the animal; he had to be more of a match than the trapped woman, however.

As the sandcat’s head turned up, Heuser’s arm looped around its neck, and he pulled it forward to the floor.

“I’ll take care of him. Get Slayton.”

Nightwind took two steps before halting. Facing him was the Guardian. The animal was huskier than the others. But even with this slight difference — and the faint blaster burns — Nightwind would have recognized the sandcat instantly.

A feeble wisp of thought licked against his brain:
One with me … not want … too hard … forces Guardian kill … Wand of Command … fighting him … help!

“What’s the matter, Slayton? Can’t you do your own dirty work? Have to get an animal to do it for you? What’s that make you? Less than human?”

“Tut, tut, Nightwind. You simply don’t understand. I command. I am the king of the entire planet, and these are my slaves.”

Fighting him … hard … too hard.

“With a blasterifle by your hand you let a moth-eaten fleabag do your work. It figures. Pick up the rifle and do your own killing.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Slayton clutched the scepter to his breast as if Nightwind could rip it from him at any instant. “You want me to put this down. I would lose control over all my slaves! You can’t fool me!”

“Slayton! Lane. Think, man! What’s happening to you? You’re losing it, that’s what’s happening! You can’t do anything for yourself. That damned scepter is sucking away your will power. The more you use it, the more it takes from you.”

“NO! I am a king, a god!” Wildness flared in Slayton’s eyes.

He tell Guardian kill … no want … friend! … save self … save friends from me … now!

“Your slave is fighting back, Slayton. It doesn’t like being used. Look at it. Didn’t you tell it to kill me? It’s not moving.”

He had to shout to make himself heard. The sandcats outside were smashing with insane fury against the barred door. Slayton was whipping them into a killing frenzy. Not satisfied with the two sandcats in the throne room, he was summoning others.

“They can’t get in, Slayton. Put the scepter down.”

A mighty crash came from behind as Heuser rolled over, still gripping the sandcat in a powerful, strangling hold. His attention was divided between the Guardian and the sandcat fighting Heuser; Nightwind didn’t dare move. As long as he made no direct attack on Slayton, the Guardian could withstand the mental order to kill.

Stand … friend … not want kill … hate!

Nightwind watched Heuser struggle under the beast’s heavy body. With a surge of strength, Heuser lifted the ‘cat off the ground and smashed it into the black wooden wall. Surprisingly, the wall didn’t even crack under the impact. The Rulers had built well.

Heuser rolled to his feet and faced the silently snarling sandcat. Jowls pulled back, the animal’s teeth gleamed savagely in the thin light. One paw came forward. In the split second when the animal’s weight was shifted, Heuser acted. The cyborg launched himself and got another grip around the sandcat’s thick neck. Pulling up and back, he managed to get the beast’s legs out from under it.

Keeping the advantage, he locked his own legs around the sandcat’s body. Squeezing with arms and legs, the cyborg slowly crushed the sandcat. Life slipped away more and more with each heartbeat.

Die … tell clan!… hate!

Nightwind shuddered under the sandcat’s mental message as it perished. Until now, only the Guardian had been strong enough telepathically to contact him. In its death agony, another ‘cat had bridged the gap between the two races.

It wasn’t a pleasant way of establishing rapport.

“That evens things up, Slayton. Three of us against you. And the sandcat’s not going to help. It hasn’t attacked, has it?” Nightwind had to drive a wedge of doubt into Slayton’s self-confidence. With the obvious effect the scepter was having on the man, he might not have enough humanity left to appeal to.

Can’t stop … look out!… forgive me!

Nightwind was prepared. Humans had once survived in primeval jungles because of one small advantage over a four-legged animal. Once committed to a leap, such an animal couldn’t match a dodging human’s action. Nightwind waited until the Guardian’s muscles bunched, then sent the animal surging into the air. At that instant, his own catlike reflexes sent him hurtling to his right. The Guardian missed by centimeters.

When the beast landed, it was in an awkward position. It had to spin the full length of its body; Nightwind had only to pivot. He jumped, his arms encircling the sandcat’s neck. And he immediately found out firsthand the meaning of having a tiger by the tail. He dared not let go. In spite of the internal fight going on in the Guardian’s mind, in spite of its friendship, it was trying to kill. Nightwind hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the beast. Friends, even alien ones, were precious.

Hanging on, letting the Guardian move, Nightwind managed to slide one of his legs back and trip the sandcat.He yelled, “Take Slayton! Get him!”

It was wasted breath. Steorra was already fighting with Slayton, trying to wrest the scepter from his grip.

Nightwind felt himself go tumbling over the Guardian’s head. His fingers weren’t able to hold firmly enough against the sandcat’s prodigious strength.

The powerful beast looked down at Nightwind, a look of tenderness and regret in its amber eyes. But there was no mercy shown by the sharp teeth as it silently snarled.

Sorry … my friend to die like this … eternal shame … sorry … can’t control self.

And then the Guardian leaped at Nightwind.

NIGHTWIND’S ARM FLEW up to protect his neck. But the ponderous bulk of the sandcat never struck. Heuser charged like a bull across the throne room and smashed into the creature. His small frame grappling with the animal appeared ludicrous.

No one could have given the cyborg one chance in a million — but still he fought. The Guardian held back; that helped. But Heuser’s artificial strength was the single factor saving Nightwind’s life. The cyborg was able to grab the sandcat in midair and carry it off target. In that instant, cyborg and sandcat crashed to the floor, a heap of flailing arms and legs. Teeth snapped mightily. Heuser avoided the brutal bite. Forcing his arm under the Guardian’s neck cut off the sandcat’s wind.

Trying relax … must help … ordered kill … no!
… no!
…
friends!

Nightwind got to his feet, unsteady and dazed by his close call with death. For a moment, he couldn’t decide which way to go. Slayton and Steorra were still struggling on the throne. But Heuser was not able to fully cope with the most potent of the sandcats.

The decision came rapidly. If Slayton were out of action, the Guardian would no longer be under the compulsion to kill. And the sandcats battering at the door would cease. If they broke in, the game was over. Nightwind didn’t kid himself for an instant. Eight sandcats would rip through them and never notice the resistance. They might be able to kill another sandcat; Heuser was preternaturally strong. He might even be able to kill the Guardian. It wasn’t a pleasing thought, killing a friend; it was even less pleasant dying.

The only solution was to eliminate Slayton — immediately.

Nightwind caught a brief note of triumph from the Guardian:
He weakens … kill me … must try to kill friend … no … no!

The mental pressure diminished as Nightwind concentrated on Slayton. He watched the man raise the scepter and bring it crashing down on Steorra’s arm. She flinched but kept up her attack on the self-styled king of Rhyl, potential master of the cosmos. The second blow, however, landed on her head.

She staggered and dropped to one knee. A thin trickle of blood ran down her forehead and into her right eye. Before Nightwind could prevent it, Slayton swung the scepter doublehanded. This time he caught the woman directly on the forehead. She fell without uttering a sound.

Then Nightwind tackled Slayton. “Damn you, damn you!” cried Slayton, flailing with his jeweled wand. “I am king!”

He kicked viciously, following it with a powerful blow of the scepter. Nightwind caught the foot in the chest. Stars danced in front of his eyes as the pain washed through his body. The heavy scepter crashed into his left shoulder.

Barely able to catch his breath, his arm hanging useless, Nightwind refused to surrender. He rolled, avoiding another crushing blow from Slayton’s elegant bludgeon. Somehow, Nightwind’s fingers circled the discarded blasterifle. Victory was in his hand.

And snatched away just as quickly.

Slayton kicked out powerfully, sending the rifle cartwheeling across the room out of Nightwind’s reach. But the look on Slayton’s face wasn’t triumph. Something was happening. Something was going wrong.

“Losing control, Slayton? Is that it? Are the sandcats getting too strong for you? I made a pact with them. They’re on my side, not yours!”

“Shut up! Shut up!” he screamed.

Kill … kill Ruler!… weakening.

Nightwind barely intercepted the thoughts of the Guardian. The sandcat and Heuser were still grappling across the room. But the contest looked more even now. The sandcat was successfully resisting the order to kill.

“You’re losing, Slayton, you’re losing! The sandcat won’t obey your commands anymore. Give up. Now! Before it’s too late!” Nightwind was massaging his left shoulder where the scepter had landed. The pain lancing into his body left him weak, but not too weak to fight back again.

He dived, his body parallel with the floor, and smashed into Slayton’s legs just above the knees. They went down in a jumble. Left arm almost useless, Nightwind groped for a hold with his right. He no longer noticed the blows with which Slayton was pummeling him. Adrenaline surged through his tired body, revitalizing him. This was his last chance. He would either succeed now or die.

The scepter scored a glancing blow on the top of his skull. Nightwind was forced to back off, dazed. His head was cut open to the bone. He was bleeding profusely. His left arm refused to obey him. And each breath seemed as if liquid fire was scorching his lungs.

“Who’s going to lose, Nightwind? Who? Not me!”

Slayton fell to his knees as Steorra smashed into him from behind. Nightwind joined the fray. With the woman, Nightwind pinned Slayton to the throne. Their combined strength wasn’t much, not after the battering they had received at Slayton’s hand, but it was enough for the moment.

Sleepy … trick … watch out friend … kill.

The sudden thought from the Guardian made Nightwind look around. That simple action was all it took for Slayton to regain the upper hand. He swung, connecting firmly with Steorra’s chin. A dull crunch indicated a solid blow. She fell back to the floor, unconscious.

Nightwind’s legs were kicked out from under him, and Slayton fell heavily on top of him. Again pain lanced through his body. The relentless attack was becoming harder and harder to avoid. The exertions he had been through earlier were telling on his stamina. Slayton, rested, was in better physical condition now. And in far better condition to take physical punishment.

The wind knocked out of him, Nightwind could only lay on the floor at Slayton’s feet, taking in air with tortured gasps. He was certain his left arm was broken. It refused to move at all.

Breaking free … any moment … lessening … win freedom back … you helped friend.

Nightwind caught the Guardian’s ragged thoughts and knew what was happening. Slayton had become too engrossed in his own fight. The compulsion he had put the sandcat under was fading. In a short while, the Guardian would finish the fight with Slayton. Nightwind wondered if he would be alive to see it.

“So,” gloated Slayton, apparently unaware of the defection in his ranks, “the proud man lies at my feet! Do you have anything to say before I permanently remove you?”

Nightwind knew the symptoms. The insecure man wanted to boast of his conquest. What good was winning if the vanquished didn’t acknowledge defeat?

If he could keep Slayton talking, either Heuser or the Guardian might be able to finish the man off once and for all.