“People of Godsworld!” The voice boomed out suddenly, coming from the hovering device; John started, as did almost everyone.
“People of Godsworld!” the voice repeated. “You are marching against the People of Heaven, thinking to destroy the Citadel and loot the protectorate. This is your only warning; we have the means to defend ourselves. We have weapons that could shatter Godsworld like a hen's egg hit by a sledgehammer. Turn back now, return to your homes, and no ill will befall you; continue on and you will be destroyed. This is your only warning. We do not wish to harm anyone, but any further advance in our direction will be met with force.” John noted that the voice had only a slight Heavener accent. The device hung silently for a moment longer, then swooped away with only a faint buzz.
“It's a Devil's trick!” John bellowed as the thing shrank into the distance. “Forward, march! In the Name of the Lord!"
With some scattered hesitation, his men got to their feet; with more hesitation they formed lines. John saw, with some distress, that a few were falling out, stepping aside, even turning to run. He drew his sword and waved it over his head. “In the Name of the Lord, we march on!” he shouted as he spurred his mount forward.
The horse took a few steps, then stopped and shied as the larger flying craft came roaring up at them again from behind the eastern hills. This time it was lower in the sky than before, and seemed to John to be diving directly at him; without thinking, he slid sideways off his horse to the ground, rolling as he hit.
Something flashed, and men screamed behind him. He struggled to his feet, sword still in his hand, and looked around for an enemy he could strike-or for something he could use against his flying foe.
The enemy was gone again, but this time its passing had not been harmless; supply wagons were ablaze, and John could see men lying sprawled at the roadside, blood running freely. Screams and shouts battered at him.
Then the wedge-shaped thing was back, and the voice announced, “This land is under the protection of the People of Heaven; you have fifteen minutes before further action will be taken against intruders."
John shook his fist at it, sword flashing. “Darn you! Damn you!” There was no way he could strike at it. He had never thought before about the difference flying machines could make in a battle.
Habakkuk was shouting something at him; without bothering to listen, John shouted back, “We march on, those of us who dare to fight for the Lord!” He remounted his horse. “We have fifteen minutes to find cover! Those of you who are too cowardly to face the Devil's minions, turn back now; the rest of us will pray for your souls when we've triumphed!"
He spurred his mount forward again; when he had gone a few yards he glanced back and saw that his army was ripping itself in half. Some men were following him, pressing forward, while others had turned back. There was no pattern or order to it, simply two mobs sorting themselves out from one another.
He kept his horse walking forward; Habakkuk was, as usual, at his right hand, and to his surprise he saw Miriam following close on his heels.
“What are you doing?” he called.
“I want to see what they do to you,” she called back. “I've been waiting for this for months!"
He had calmed considerably, as he always did when the actual instant of crisis was past, but her reply irritated him anew; he turned away and ignored her. Instead of worrying any further about Miriam, he called to Habakkuk, “Go back with them-see if you can turn them around when they're over their initial fright.” He pointed at the reteating half of his army.
“Yes, Captain,” Habakkuk said; he saluted, then turned his horse and spurred it to a gallop, back toward Marshside.
By the time the fifteen minutes were past the two groups had separated completely, a widening gap forming between them, and Habakkuk was in the midst of the retreating group; he was not yet trying to turn them, but merely riding along until the moment seemed right. At the head of his own half John was trying to pick up the pace, as his reduced force was still far from any decent shelter, anything that might shield them from whatever mysterious power had sliced up a dozen men and set three score wagons ablaze.
The triangular thing had hovered overhead the entire time, occasionally changing position; now, as it hung close above the center of John's loyal troops, the voice suddenly called, “Cover your eyes! Cover your eyes!"
John glanced up and then, without thinking, covered his eyes with his arm.
Even so, he saw the flash; the light seemed to burn into his eyes, pouring around his forearm and even through it, so that for an instant he could see the shadow of his own bones.
Then the shockwave hit him, and everything vanished.
He awoke slowly and painfully, blinking unsteadily up at the uncomfortably bright, greenish-yellow glow of the ceiling.
That glow answered the first question that anyone asks when waking up somewhere different from where he or she went to sleep; John knew where he was, he was inside the Heavener stronghold.
That left a myriad of other questions, however.
How had he come here? What had happened to his men? It seemed obvious that his army had been soundly defeated; where did that leave his people? What had that flash been? Why had the flying thing shouted a warning to the attacking troops to cover their eyes? What was he doing here? And just where in the Heavener fortress was he, and how could he get out?
He turned his head; his neck was stiff, but he ignored the sharp twinge of pain.
He was lying naked in a bed, covered by a soft white sheet and surrounded by more of the familiar and hated golden plastic walls that seemed to be in everything the Heaveners built. A small table stood nearby, and the walls were dotted with various mysterious panels and protrusions. The bed was not flat; it seemed to be fitted to his body in a wholly unnatural way. It was extremely comfortable, which immediately made him suspicious. Life was not meant to be comfortable; the pleasures of the flesh were snares and delusions. They weakened a man's will.
“Please do not attempt to get out of bed,” a pleasant voice said from an unidentifiable source; it had only a trace of the Heavener accent, and John was unsure if the speaker was a man or a woman. He turned his head back the other way, looking for whoever had spoken, but the tiny room was empty save for himself, the bed, and the table. There were two doors, one opposite the foot of the bed and one to his left; to his right the center of the wall contained a large panel that might have been a shuttered window.
“Who said that?” he asked; his voice was a faint croaking. He swallowed, coughed, swallowed, and asked again, “Who said that?” This second attempt was better, but still thin and hoarse.
“Who said what?” the pleasant voice asked.
“Who are you? Who am I speaking to?"
“I'm Cuddles; I run things around here."
Another of the absurd Earther names, John thought. “Where are you?” he demanded feebly.
There was a pause before the voice replied, “I'm right here."
“Let me see you! Show yourself!” John's breath gave out after making this demand; he coughed feebly, then lay back to recover. He was still not at all sure what had happened, but he had apparently been injured somehow. This place was the Heavener infirmary, he was sure.
A panel on the wall beyond the foot of the bed glowed oddly, then seemed to vanish, leaving an opening into another room. A bland face smiled down at him. “Here I am,” Cuddles said.
John still could not be certain of the speaker's sex; the face was beardless, the black hair worn at a moderate length, the features fairly delicate but not clearly feminine. The skin was oddly dark, as if heavily tanned.
“Come in here!” John demanded.
“I can't do that,” Cuddles replied. “But someone will be there very soon. Here he is now."