The Crystal Warriors (30 page)

Lining up, Mark dropped his first bomb, and kept dropping them. Before he had tossed his last weapon he found that he could no longer watch. The results of a hundred high explosives dropping on thousands of men packed together in a field was sickening. When they reached the end of their run, the formation pulled up and over, ready to meet the sorcerers coming in behind them. The sight that greeted them was beyond imagining.

Where thousands had advanced only moments before, there was nothing left but ruin. The field was awash in blood, so that from the air it seemed as if the ground below had been painted from end to end with scarlet. Thousands of shattered bodies littered the field, and the stench of burning flesh gave it the semblance of one vast pyre. Like maggots on flesh, the survivors crawled about or writhed in agony, their screams a rising cacophony of pain. The battle on this part of the field was over.

"Let's go back upstairs," Mark said grimly, pointing towards the enemy formation chasing them.

"Captain Phillips," Saito cried, and pointed off towards the northeast.

A group of fifty or more sorcerers, flying high, were clearing the hills not a mile away.

"God in heaven," Mark whispered.

* * * *

"Damn it," Jose cried, frustrated with his miss. He swung high to the west, gaining altitude for another pass.

Rolling over and into another dive, he saw where the other two hits had shattered most of the bridge, but he wanted to make sure that his end of the deal was wiped out, too, before rejoining his comrades. They'd be sure to tease him later if he left the task undone.

Taking his time, he came in with deliberate intent, and released.

As the weapon left his hand a firebolt slashed past him.

He dove for the ground while his last drop impacted on the bridge, sending the wreckage skyward. Another bolt slashed in front of him and he jinxed wildly, cutting to run upriver. A glance over his shoulder showed him that three sorcerers were cutting him off from his comrades, who were already unloading their last bombs.

"Blessed Mary help me," he cried as the sorcerer closest to him rolled in, firing repeatedly.

He turned straight into his opponent, firing a shot. Then, defying all the rules of combat, he dove lower―cutting straight underneath his opponent―just inches off the ground.

The sorcerer pulled into a tight turn, while the other two kept to his side, preventing any hope of regaining the protection of his friends.

Dodging and weaving, Jose drifted further from the main field of action, crossing over the scattered backwash of Sarnak's army which bolted in every direction at their approach. Ruins of the temple where Allic had nearly died loomed before Jose. He pulled a tight turn, swung around them and cut straight up, hoping his opponent would cut around below him. The trap worked, and as the sorcerer came around a crumbling wall, he fired a blast. The shot went wide, striking the side of the building. The sorcerer dove to his right, rolled, and recovered.

Now fifty feet up, Jose started into a steady weaving climb, hoping to gain altitude above the two others who were still running to his left. The third sorcerer cut below him and came around in a banking turn, racing up towards his two comrades who were climbing skyward, rushing to get higher and then cut across above him for the kill.

Several hundred feet up they crossed over the main entrance to the tunnel and pressed on. Jose looked desperately around, hoping that the terrain below might offer some means of escape. His eyes fastened on a glint reflecting the early afternoon sun.

Crystals? He looked closer, wondering why such a hoard would be left out in the open with no guards in sight.

A firebolt slashed in front of him. Banking hard right, he tried to flee back towards the river, now nearly a league away.

He suddenly realized that he was lost. By climbing like this to nearly a thousand feet, he was wide open on all sides, without even the hope of using the ground cover to throw off pursuit.

Desperation seized him. He said a silent prayer, and set himself to turn on them, hoping at least to take one of his opponents before he tumbled to his death.

A series of blasts ripped across the sky. Where the three enemy sorcerers had been, there was now only a cloud of flaming smoke.

"Holy Mother of God!" he cried, looking for his deliverers. And then he saw them.

From beyond the ridgeline just ahead, a formation of fifty or more sorcerers was coming up behind him.

They had to be the sorcerers placed to guard the Crystal Mountains to the northeast. He knew that they were ordered to stay there no matter what happened, but at the moment he didn't care about orders. They had saved him!

Swinging back around, he flew slowly, trying to regain his wind and also his nerve. He felt weak all over, as though every joint in his body had turned to rubber. He felt his heart racing like a trip-hammer, his mouth dry as cotton.

He was alive!

The formation which had been coming towards him now started to drop as one, all converging on a single point. Jose looked down and saw that they were racing towards the hoard of crystals.

Why would Sarnak have left so many of the precious gems out like that? He started to drop to take a closer look. His suspicions aroused, he looked again, and it was as though his power cut through the light to see light and power that could not be seen by ordinary eyes. And then he knew, seeing as through smoked glass, that the power emanating from one of the gems was different, darker, redder!

He looked again at his saviors and still they were flying downward.

"It's a trap," Jose screamed. "A trap!" His communications crystal, which could send the information, had been destroyed hours earlier from a near miss, so he couldn't talk to them directly.

"It's a trap," and he tucked into a dive, heading straight for the sorcerers, hoping to reach them before they landed on the pile where their shielding would touch off the great red stone concealed beneath.

Stunned and screaming, be found himself weaving as half a dozen bolts came up from the approaching party. They did not recognize him! Mind racing, Jose realized that they had seen him flying with the others and thought he was on the other side in spite of his uniform, and now there was no way to tell them differently in time.

"It's a trap," and at that moment he knew there was only one way to stop them, for if he tried to close and warn them away they would blast him from the sky.

Pointing straight down, he dove for the cache, trying to get close enough for an accurate shot. He glanced at the other sorcerers, hoping that they were far enough away, and fired a blast at the crystals.

The world before him disappeared in a blinding storm of light. As if picked up by the heart of a wave, he tumbled end over end.

In the last instant of life, he felt the remaining bombs he carried in the satchel crash against his chest, the glass containing the small red crystal breaking with the impact.

* * * *

"God in heaven," Mark whispered, looking off towards the advancing column of sorcerers. As if from one hand all of them fired at the same time. Mark traced its path and saw what appeared to be three sorcerers in the distance disappear in a flash, while their companion turned and arced away.

"They're ours!" Mark cried. They must be the guardians of the Crystal Mountain. How or why they had been released, he didn't care, but come they had.

"All right!" Mark cried. "Up to Valdez and let's finish these bastards."

With a shout of triumph they started into their climb. The sorcerers who had been coming down on them but moments before, now paused at the sight of the enemy closing in the distance, and those now coming up from below. As one they broke, heading back towards their companions still engaged against Valdez.

Across that field of strife there came a feeling that the battle was now hanging in the balance. Both sides could claim victories and defeats in the day's action, for though Mark's attack had broken the flanking action, Sarnak's main army was holding its own against Shigeru's determined counterattack. Overhead the price for supporting Mark's sweep had been the near decimation of Valdez's forces, so that only an embattled handful were left, the rest having fallen to their death or spiraled back within the city, crippled and exhausted.

And in that instant it seemed as if the sun itself had come down from the heavens to tear open the earth with its light.

A column of fire, dwarfing any explosion seen so far that day, erupted on the hillside above the city. Upward it climbed, into the heavens, and the battle came to a stop as all watched transfixed. Overhead the battle simply disintegrated as the shock wave washed over and scattered those in the air.

"Turn with it!" Mark cried.

The flyers wheeled and were engulfed in a hurricane blast that did not subside until they were more than a hundred yards back inside the city wall, flying raggedly at rooftop level.

The blast was past them, but still the pillar of fire roared heavenward.

"What the fuck was that?" Walker asked, awestruck.

"I don't know," Ikawa shouted. "It looks like it took out our reinforcements."

"Let's get some altitude back." Mark's voice was shaky. "I think we lost our help. We better get upstairs, they're going to need us."

Suddenly from around the side of the ascending column, there appeared the flight of sorcerers that had seemed to be annihilated by the blast moments before.

"They must have been too far away from it," Mark screamed in triumph. "All right, let's go!"

But on the rest of the field, most still had either not seen the reinforcements to start with or were now waiting to see whose side they really were on.

The unidentified formation came on, skimming low. Suddenly a ripple of fire lashed out from the advancing sorcerers, striking into the shattered remnants of Sarnak's formation. With that single blast they pulled straight up, bearing for the scattered air battle overhead.

In that instant all who could see gave voice, half in triumph, the others in fear.

And as if the attack had been planned and rehearsed for months, there came another rippling sheet of blasts from beyond the western bank. From out of a low streambed a mile beyond the city, another fifty sorcerers appeared, skimming the ground, slashing into Sarnak's forces on the other side.

"It's Storm and Macha," Mark cried. "The battle is ours! Let's close and get this finished."

With a shout of triumph the Americans and Japanese soared heavenward, and their enemies fled before them.

"I
t's finished here," Sarnak said quietly, still standing while all around him had been knocked down by the blast which had nearly crushed the tunnel above them.

Standing by the entrance, he watched grimly as the enemy sorcerers shot past not a hundred yards away and raced on towards the heart of the battle.

Moments before they slashed into the rear of his army, he saw the other formation emerging from the shallow riverbed on the western side.

Angry now with himself for having posted only a handful of sentries over there, he watched as the sorcerers from the southern army deployed before going in on their strike.

"Damn them," he mumbled, more to himself than to those around him. At least neither group had yet seen the tunnel entrances.

The plan had failed here, but there was still Tor. There was always the just reward he could now claim―and was that not the ultimate goal, after all?

He turned and looked at Mokaoto. "Take your equipment, destroy what cannot be moved out immediately, and prepare to blow the tunnel entrance. We're pulling out right now."

"But what about your army back there, and the sorcerers still fighting?"

"They're finished. I can save only what I have with me here. We leave at once."

Turning, he strode back into the dark recesses of the tunnel, already dropping from his thoughts the tens of thousands who had served him and were now dying as a result. There will always be more armies, and with the treasures that Tor would bring, there would be more sorcerers, as well. They would come to him begging to share in his power.

"Mokaoto."

There was no answer.

"Mokaoto!"

The entrance to the tunnel was empty, his assistant gone.

"Fool." Turning, he disappeared into the darkness.

* * * *

Tor stood at the head of his army, poised at the sealed mouth of the tunnel, waiting for the signal from Sarnak. As soon as they knew that all available forces had been committed to Allic's struggle, his time would come.

He surveyed his strike force. Four hundred of his best sorcerers stood in the ranks. He wanted no ground troops for this raid. The Crystal Mountains were only thirty miles away; a quick flight and an assault with overpowering force on the unsuspecting garrison, and the Heart would be his.

The message crystal flashed brightly as Ralnath passed the word from Sarnak.

With a wave Tor activated the trap door. As planned, tons of earth and stone fell away into a side pit dug underneath the mouth long ago.

Beams of sunlight entered the tunnel's gaping entrance, clouds of dust rising and twisting in the wind.

"Follow me," he commanded. As one the sorcerers flew through the dust into the sunlight.

There, waiting for them, stood a regiment of sorcerers and crystal cannons. And in front of them all stood a pillar of light.

Tor came to an abrupt halt, his forces deploying around him. His roar of frustration was almost deafening.

"Most impressive, Tor. I can't recall when I've been more frightened," the shifting figure of brightness mocked in a chilling voice.

"Damn you, Jartan. How did you know?"

"I've acquired a new sorcerer with some most unusual abilities, and he detected your tunnel some time ago. I did a little searching of my own and had more than enough time to prepare this little reception. I've even brought the Heart with me, though I doubt you would want to be introduced to it." Tor had already noticed the monstrous crystal mounted on the hillside, glowing with an unquenchable fire, and aimed at him. Fear tempered his rage and he began to calculate his chances.

"I offer life to those deluded followers of yours, Tor. All who drop their crystals and surrender will live. The others die!"

Tor could sense the wavering in his ranks. He looked over his shoulder with a threatening glance. Those behind him stood rigid, caught between the wrath of their master and his opponent.

"Tor, I have waited three thousand years to meet you on the field of battle. You are mine."

* * * *

Tor turned and launched himself at Jartan. Coming in low he aimed and fired a blast backed by thousands of years of hatred. The pillar turned to flame. With a coarse shout Tor fired again and again, closing the distance between them.

Behind him his chief lieutenant raised his arm to join the fray. Instantly a beam from the Heart annihilated him and those closest to him. All the others remained frozen with their shields off and their arms kept carefully pointed at the ground. They knew what was about to happen and had no desire to sacrifice themselves needlessly.

Tor continued to fire at Jartan, who appeared to stagger. Closing to twenty feet, Tor marshaled all his remaining strength and fired another blast, raising the color of Jartan's shield to white hot.

And Jartan smiled, revealing at last his hidden reserves. He raised his arms and instantly the field surrounding him spread to envelop Tor. The moment the superheated field touched Tor's shields they flared and vanished, searing Tor in the process.

The light inside was blinding, and Tor could barely make out the glowing figure that faced him. He felt, rather than saw, the careful blasts which shattered all of his crystals. A new shield formed around him, a shield of containment, that froze him into immobility.

The god Jartan stood before him in all his power: a figure of light and strength which stared at him with glowing eyes.

"As it was in the beginning when the gods came from Chaos, we can return to the universe of our birth."

Beneath Tor's feet the ground turned black and began to swirl. Horrified, Tor could see the blackness grow and chum, flashes of barely controlled energy lapping at the edges of the shield. It seemed to devour his legs, spreading up within the shield. As it reached his groin he screamed, a scream of such terror and despair that all the others in the valley, Jartan's and Tor's troops alike, shuddered when they heard it.

A bolt slashed from Jartan's hand to strike Tor in the chest and draw the Essence out of his body. He tried to scream again but could not catch his breath.

Tor felt lightheaded as the last of his power left him forever. He was like a husk drained of its vitality until nothing was left but dust and bitter memories.

"Now join your father in hell!" Jartan roared.

The light that surrounded them pulsed and shimmered down.

Jartan stood alone. As a breeze shifted across the valley, the dust at his feet swirled and disappeared with the wind.

* * * *

"Captain!"

Saito came swinging up to Ikawa's side and pointed across the battlefield. In the melee of the past minutes their formation had finally come apart as the battle disintegrated into individual duels.

Ikawa had managed to keep Saito and Welsh with him as they weaved back and forth, dodging blasts and hunting down any enemies who had yet to surrender.

Saito eagerly pointed towards the retreating enemy line.

For a moment Ikawa thought he was dreaming, or seeing a ghost.

"Mokaoto!"

His former animosity for his lieutenant was forgotten, so stunned was be to see a comrade whom he had thought dead. How he had suddenly appeared in the midst of this carnage, Ikawa did not even consider.

"Mokaoto." Slowing in his flight, he swung over and headed straight towards the lieutenant who, strangely, was still dressed in the uniform of Imperial Japan.

Saito swung in beside his commander crying out for joy. But Welsh, as if sensing something wrong, pulled up higher and hovered above the other two.

Mokaoto came up towards them, his features set in a mirthless grin.

"Mokaoto," Ikawa cried, slowing to hover in midair, his shield shimmering down, "never did I dream to see you again."

"Of course not, you traitor to your people," Mokaoto said softly, drawing in closer.

"What?" Ikawa said, confused by this greeting.

"You embrace the enemy that destroys our homeland," Mokaoto cried. "You are not samurai. But I still am!"

He raised his hand, and Ikawa tried to raise his shield in defense. The blast snapped out at close range, catching Ikawa on the shoulder.

With a cry Ikawa fell backwards. A second blast snapped at Saito who raised his defensive crystal and struggled to absorb the blow.

"You bastard!"

From the side opposite Mokaoto's shield hand, Welsh dropped, firing a direct blast. Mokaoto spun, firing wide.

Welsh ducked and fired again. Mokaoto shifted, trying to drop beneath his opponent, but Welsh was ahead of him and shot again. This firebolt cut into Mokaoto.

But Welsh was exhausted, still weak from his earlier injuries, and he had expended all the power he had.

Mokaoto, numbed from Welsh's blows, tried to line up for another shot and then saw several of the Americans winging in to give aid. To stay would mean his death.

With a scream of rage he fired blindly, and turning, dove away.

Mark and Walker dove towards the fight.

"It's that Mokaoto bastard," Walker cried, and he set out in pursuit while Mark cut down to help Saito.

Mokaoto dove into the billowing smoke that now obscured most of the field of battle. Walker, cursing, chased him and they disappeared from view.

Circling downward, Mark came to land beside Saito.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

Saito looked up at him, eyes wide with fear.

Reaching down, Mark helped him to pull open Ikawa's scorched tunic.

Ikawa's right shoulder was burned, the flesh blackened from neck to upper arm.

"I never did trust him," Ikawa said weakly. "I was just so glad, though, to see him."

"I wish I had him," Mark said, choking back his fury.

"You know at the moment I wish you had," he said, trying to force a smile. "You'd have shot first."

"You're damn right."

Ikawa grimaced with pain.

Mark looked at him, panic-stricken.
Don't die,
he wanted to scream.
Don't die and leave me now.

A shadow passed over him and he looked up to see Welsh landing beside them, while several others were coming in from the distance.

"You saved my life, my friend," Ikawa said, looking up at Welsh.

"I should have hit sooner. I knew that bastard was up to no good."

"You did well enough," Saito replied, looking to him and then to Mark. "He saved my captain's life. I owe him―I owe all of you whatever I have."

"You would have done the same."

Mark looked around and saw Walker and the rest of the offworlders settling to land, forming a defensive perimeter around their fallen commander.

Looking back towards the city, Mark saw where Shigeru and Nobuaki stood by what appeared to be a small wagon.

"Come on," Mark said, "let's pick up those two ground fighters and get Ikawa back into the city. The battle's finished for us; the reinforcements can take care of the mopping up."

"There goes one," Welsh suddenly cried, pointing up towards a low flying demon coming out of the city behind them.

"Let him go," Mark shouted. "They're finished."

But Welsh, the anger of battle still in his soul, soared upward in pursuit, cutting back in towards the city to head the demon off.

"Not one," Nobuaki cursed, "not one did I hit. It was always you."

Shigeru chuckled good-naturedly, leaning against the side of the smashed wagon where they had found to their shock Sarnak's one remaining heavy crystal, which must have survived the air strikes and been dragged out of the city in the retreat.

In their mad attack the two had overrun the wagon before the enemy could even fire the weapon. They had then used it against the packed formations of Sarnak's troops and demons until the battle had finally swept past them, leaving the two with the crystal in its wake.

"I cannot help it," Shigeru said, "I cannot fly as well as the others. But when my feet are on the ground, then I can fight."

His companion spat out a curse and slumped down beside the crystal, watching as thousands of the enemy swarmed up the distant hill or plunged into the river. But he could not shoot, for soldiers from the city were mingled among their foes.

A shadow passed over him and he looked up.

"A demon!" Nobuaki cried, and leaping to his feet he swung the crystal around, ready to take aim.

"Look out, he's mine!"

Welsh shot past not a dozen feet overhead. A single jet of flame shot from his hand, catching the demon, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Welsh pulled up and looked back at Nobuaki. Then, laughing, he waved and went into a victory roll.

Nobuaki had been cheated yet again, and now the American was laughing at him! Suddenly all the hatred, all the pent-up rage that had been building for months was before him, a target to focus on.

A bolt shot from the heavy crystal.

Crying in horror, Shigeru leaped to his feet and knocked Nobuaki away from the crystal.

Shigeru raced across the field, praying that it was not so, that it was a bad dream. He slowed, came to a stop, and then fell to his knees, crying in anguish over Welsh's shattered body.

"Oh god," Mark whispered, wishing that he had not seen what had just occurred.

Together they had all gathered around Ikawa and were preparing to lift him into the air when Walker, who was circling above them, had cried out.

Within seconds they were all aloft, Saito and Smithie helping to lift Ikawa.

They landed by Welsh's body and Shigeru stood to face them, tears streaming down his face. Without another word he turned from the group and strode back to the heavy crystal where Nobuaki was coming to his feet.

With one hand Shigeru dragged him back before the others.

Mark looked around the group and his heart froze. Minutes before he had seen them gather as one around Ikawa. Now they stood apart, the Americans to one side of the body, eyeing with suspicion the Japanese who stood crestfallen on the other side.

"You slant bastards," Younger growled.

"Shut up," Mark said quietly.

"Never trust them, that's what I've always said. So now Welsh is dead. You're not fit to command these men, you never were."