The cowardly Warlord, seeing the struggling host engaged, had dodged around the clot of battling figures, and was making for the ship, leaving his followers to die fighting.
Raul stumbled, seeking to move, but his exhausted muscles could not be forced into action. He glanced around with despair, seeking aid, but all his friends were engaged and would not even hear if he had shouted. He snatched up a laser in desperation from one of the fallen and yelled frantically, windmilling his arms to catch Sharl’s attention. When the chieftain noticed him, he gestured violently, pantomiming to Sharl that he was to switch off the dampener—and at last, Sharl comprehended, and the pistol came to life in Raul’s numb hands.
By now the Arthon was entering the small atmospheric flyer. While bloodless fingers fumbled to fire the gun, he could see within the ship through the transparent observation blister, the bulky, cloaked form hunched over what must be a communicator.
There was no time to run after him. He raised and sighted the gun coolly—and fired.
The blazing needle of white fire snapped through the tough plastic and seared through the Arthon. His figure convulsed galvanically as the ray tore through his body and exploded in a flare of sparks against the control panel. Raul snapped off the weapon and watched dully as the dead body fell from view.
Had he been too late?
ELEVEN
WHEN YAKLAR FELL, the battle was over. Seeing their Warlord slain, the remaining Pelairi lost heart and surrendered. Tossing away their weapons, they lifted empty hands. Sharl took command, and herded the prisoners off to a dungeon cell, while Zarkandu summoned help for the injured.
The men crowded around Linton where he stood, the laser still clutched in one lax hand, recovering his breath. He traded jokes and compliments with them, as a leader should, and praised their fighting skill.
Zambar, the giant, ebon Faftol who was the Kahani’s own guard, grinned at him with a flashing smile.
“Did I not say he was a man, the Shakar?” he demanded of the others. “Did I not say here was a true man at last, to lead us in battle? Hu-ah! The golden sword reaped a full harvest of blood—did not mine own eyes see it?” Linton slapped him on the shoulder. “And did not my own eyes see the havoc wrought by thy great hammer, O Zambar? Aye! Men fell before it as full sheaves of grain fall before the reaper … thy hammer drove many souls deep into the floor of hell this day!”
Mightily pleased by the Shakar’s praise, the black giant grinned and strutted, beaming with pride.
“Drink, lord—replenish thy strength, for I too saw bright Asloth tirelessly ply through waves of men,” the deep-voiced old Shann of Kartoy boomed heartily, handing Linton a skin of cold wine. He drank deeply, gratefully, feeling warm new strength seep into his weary muscles.
Sharl came up to them, his stem face grim.
“Alas! Shame unto me that I must stand aside when such a battle is fought before my eyes!” he groaned. “No honor unto my name nor my house, this day!”
“No honor!” Zarkandu laughed, happily. “By the Seven- had not thy vokarthu magic drained the venom from their guns, we would all be wandering the cold halls of the restless dead this moment. Honor, and thrice-honor, are thine, O chieftain!”
Raul drew the Yellow-Eyed one aside.
“How did they get loose in the first place?” he demanded. Sharl shrugged.
“In truth, I know not, O Shakar! For these eyes saw them securely locked and under stout guard. Perchance some agent of the Arthon was planted amongst our men—”
“Where’s Wilm Bardry?”
“He has gone to the radar control, to see if Yaklar didst succeed in summoning his fleet. Honor to thy name, that thy hand slew the Outworlder, whose name henceforth in our memory shall he Yaklar Truce-Breaker!”
Then the battered warriors drew aside, for the Kahani was among them, slim as a girl in her white gown. Her eyes shone with triumph and her soft voice rang with pride as she praised their prowess and called them each by name.
“And you, too, Lin-ton! You more than all the others—O Sharl, how right you were! This was the man to be our Shakarl”
She gave him her hand and he took it and held it, feeling foolish, feeling all his manly competence fade away before her bright eyes. Standing close to her, the dry and spicy scent of her in his nostrils, inhaling the heady odors of candlewood, he didn’t know what to do—to kiss her hand, or to take her in his arms—so he just stood and gawked, feeling as awkward as a boy experiencing the pangs of first-love.
But when Wilm Bardry, white-faced, was coming up to them, and the dangerous moment passed—making room for other dangers.
“Raul. They’re coming. Radar spotted them heading down the Rift. They’ll be overhead within ten minutes,” Bardry said flatly.
The Kahani paled. Sharl cursed bitterly: “Then all this was for nothing! For we have—what is the phrase?—‘won the battle, but lost the war!’ ”
Raul was not ready to give up. If defeat must come, he would make it pay dearly for every inch.
“Sharl—Innald—deploy your troops! How swiftly can we get your ships into the air, to fight?”
She said: “Too late! Too late, my Shakar! They are stored at the foot of the gorge, under camouflage. By the time my pilots could reach the ships, the Pelairi would be overhead to gun them down as they arose to do battle!”
“Then, for honor, get your people into the deepest caves —hide from the bombardment. If the fleet lands, we can fight a delaying guerrilla action—”
“Wait!” Innald cried. “I have forgotten—curse my slow wits! There is a small battery of lasers on the cliff above these caverns. I know not if they will serve to fight off a fleet, but it is better than nothing!”
“That’s better!” Wilm laughed, joyously. “Where do we find them? Raul and I have Naval training—we’ll try to hold off the fleet while you disperse your people into the deepest caverns.”
Sharl pointed. “There is an elevator behind that door. It leads to the top of the cliff. The battery is disguised under painted tarpaulins. I will show you—”
Raul shook his head.
“No. We’ll locate them. You take command down here, chieftain. Get the pilots into their ships. Deploy the troops into the best bomb-shelters you can find. Move! C’mon, Wilm, we’ve a job of work to do upstairs—”
“Commander! I’m comin’ with you,” Gundorm Varl protested, hurrying up to them.
Raul refused. “Help Sharl get the people out of here—Wilm and I can man the guns—wait! Better yet, Gundorm, get to the radar control and have the men there stay at their posts. We may need them to give us a fix on the fleet. No arguments, now—I haven’t the time!”
And then he and Bardry were racing across the cavern and into the elevator, slamming the door shut behind them and jabbing at the controls with frantic haste. In moments like this, Raul always experienced a curious sensation as if time itself were slowing down while his reactions speeded up. Every motion seemed to take three times as long to execute as was normal. This was a power-elevator, and he could feel it smash his weight down into his heels as it lifted up the shaft, but to his tense impatience, the trip seemed endlessly long—he felt as though any second they should feel the bone-shaking impact of a planet-buster bomb … or hear the supersonic shriek of guided missiles cleaving down through the thin, cold air over their heads.
Actually, it took only seconds before the elevator stopped and the doors snapped open and they were out in the open, a bitter wind lashing their cloaks and tugging at their hair, running across the great dome of rock under the tumultuous medusa-mane of radiance that was the mighty nebula. The breath burned down his throat, searing his lungs. His legs jolted to the impact of his headlong race against time—he shot a glance aloft—but the fleet was not yet within sight.