A furious scream rang in his ears, blotting out the sounds of battle, a scream such as a Valkyrie might make if she were actually allowed to attack; and a sudden warmth seemed to wrap around his mind, pushing away the bright, burning bead, away and away until it was only a pair of eyes again… the eyes of a warrior beastman whose huge war club was windmilling down to crush Rod’s head.
He leaped back, yanking his sword free from the shield, and the club whistled past harmlessly. Behind the round shield, the beastman snarled and swung his club up again. Rod advanced and feinted high, at the face. The shield snapped up to cover, and Rod riposted and slashed downward. The sword-tip whipped across the creature’s thighs, tracing a line of bright red. It shrieked, clutching at its legs, and collapsed rolling on the ground. Rod didn’t stay to watch; he turned to glance at the battle-line—and saw a war ax swinging straight at his sinuses, with a broad gloating grin behind it (yes, the dentition was right). Rod leaped to the side and chopped down, lopping off the ax-head.
High above him, the Valkyrie screamed again—now he recognized it; he’d heard it just last week, when Gwen had caught Magnus teleporting the cookie jar over to the playpen. Confound it, didn’t the woman know he couldn’t fight as well if he was worrying about her safety?
On the other hand, she was staying far above the battle—not really in any immediate danger, especially since the beast-men were limited to clubs and axes; not an arrow among the lot of ‘em. He swung about, chopping at another Neanderthal. Snarling, four of them turned on him. Beyond them, he saw with shock, half the soldiers lay dead on the beach, their blood pouring into the sand. Fury boiled up in him, and he bellowed even as he gave ground, sword whirling furiously in feints and thrusts, keeping his attackers back just barely out of club-range. Beyond them, he saw frozen soldiers coming to life again; and a ragged shout of rage went up as they saw their dead companions. The nearest beastman looked back over his shoulder, his swing going wide. Rod thrust in under his shield, and he screamed, doubling over. His companions gave ugly barks, and pressed in. Behind them, two soldiers came running up, blades swinging high. Rod darted back out of the way and braced himself at the sickening thud of steel into meat. Their targets dropped, and the remaining beastman whirled on his two attackers in desperation. Rod shouted “Havoc!” and darted in. Startled, the beastman whirled back to face Rod—and doubled over Rod’s steel. Rod yanked back just before a pike slammed down to end the warrior’s agony. Its owner gave a bloodlust-bellow of victory, and turned back to the battle-line. Rod followed, fighting down sickness. No time for it now; he had to remind the soldiers. “Their eyes! Don’t look at their eyes!”
So, of course, half of the soldiers immediately confronted the enemy stare-to-stare, and froze in their tracks.
The Valkyrie screamed again, and the soldiers jolted awake. Their pikes lifted just in time to block war axes…
And lightning seared, thunder exploding around it.
As the afterimages ebbed, Rod saw the soldiers standing frozen again. High above him, a sudden wail trailed away.
“Gwen!” Rod bellowed. He stared into the sky, frantically probing the darkness—and saw the darker shadow hurtling downward. He spun, scrambling back up the beach, then whipped about, staring up at the swooping silhouette, running backward, tracking it as it grew larger and larger…
Then it cracked into him, rock, bone, and sinew. Pain shot through his head, and the sky filled with stars. A myriad of tiny stabs scored his back and sides, and a chorus of cracking sounds, like a forest falling, filled his ears. His diaphragm had caved in; he fought for breath in near-panic. Finally air seeped in; he sucked it thankfully, the more so because it was filled with the perfume he’d given Gwen last Christmas. He looked down at the unguided missile that had flattened him, and at a noble bush that had given its life for the cause. He felt gratitude toward the shrub; Gwen was delicate, but she was no lightweight, especially when she was coming down at twenty miles an hour.
He struggled upward, lifting his wife clear of the bush and laying her carefully out just under the next shrub down the line. As far as he could tell, she was perfectly all right; no breaks or wounds. She’d have a hell of a bruise tomorrow, of course… And she was unconscious; but he was pretty sure that had happened before she fell.
Rain suddenly drenched him. He remembered the last lightning-flash, and turned to look down the beach. Through the downpour he could just barely make out frozen forms toppling, and a dozen or so that fought back. Another lightning-flash showed them clearly laying furiously about them with their pikes; and they kept fighting, even as the lightning faded. A few, then, had heeded him and were watching their enemies’ hands and weapons instead of their eyes. Too late to do them much good, though—they were outnumbered three to one.
Rod struggled back to his feet, ungallantly heaving Gwen up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and stumbled blindly back over the scrubline in a shaky trot. “Fess! Talk me in!”
“Turn toward the sea, Rod,” the robot’s voice murmured through the earphone set in Rod’s mastoid process. “Approach fifty feet… turn right now… another twenty feet…Stop.”
Rod dug his heels in, just barely managing to counter Gwen’s momentum. He put out a hand and felt the synthetic horsehair in front of him. “Good thing they built your eyes sensitive to infrared,” he growled.
He threw Gwen over the saddlebow, then dropped to one knee, reaching under the robot horse to lift Toby’s head in the crook of his elbow. He slapped the boy’s cheeks lightly, quickly. “Come on, lad, wake up! You’ve done your bit, contrary to orders; now it’s time to get out of here.”
“What… Where…” Toby’s eyelids fluttered. Then he looked up at Rod, squinting against a painful headache. “Lord Warlock! What…”
“You tried to get into the battle by proxy, and got knocked out in person,” Rod explained. “Gwen tried the same thing and got the same result. Now we’ve got to get out of here, before our few remaining soldiers get wiped out. Come on, lad—up in the air. Let’s go!”
Toby stared up at him painfully. Slowly, he nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face screwing up in concentration; then, suddenly, he was gone. Air boomed in to fill the space where he’d been.
Rod leaped up and swung into the saddle, bracing his wife’s still form with one hand as he bellowed, “Retreat! Retreat!”
The dozen soldiers left standing leaped backward, then began to yield ground a step at a time. The beastmen roared and followed, but the Gramarye pikes whirled harder than ever with the power of desperation, keeping the Neanderthals at a distance. There were too many beastmen ganging up on each soldier, though; given time, they’d wipe out the Gramarye force.
Rod didn’t intend to give them that time. “All right, Iron Horse—now!”
Fess reared back, pawing the air with a whinnying scream. The beastmen’s heads snapped up in alarm. Then the great black horse leaped into a gallop, charging down at them. At the last second, he wheeled aside, swerving to run all along their line. The beastmen leaped back in fright, and the soldiers turned and ran. Fess cleared the battle-line; the beastmen saw their fleeing foes, shouted, and lumbered after them.
Fess whirled with another scream and raced back along the Neanderthal line. The beastmen shouted and leaped back—except for one who decided to play hero and turned to face the galloping horse, club raised.