In the Empire of Shadow. Lawrence Watt-Evans
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“We’re under attack?” Susan asked, turning the gun away from Valadrakul.
“It’s a trick, lady,” one of the soldiers called. “He’s just trying to get the gun!”
Susan started, and her grip on the pistol tightened, but none of the natives of “Faerie” were paying any attention. Raven was looking about for cover, glancing every so often at the sky; Stoddard was shading his eyes and looking up at the treetops; Elani and Valadrakul were both muttering and gesturing, preparing spells.
Pel got slowly to his feet, not sure just why, or what he hoped to do; he was unarmed, and had no way to fight if Shadow’s creatures really were approaching.
“Aye,” Elani called, in a pause between mumbles, “Shadow’s creatures draw nigh. Hellbeasts, carried by another, one that flies—they approach, yonder—a score, perhaps, aboard the flyer!”
The Earthpeople and the Imperials stood, baffled, or milled about in confusion; the natives were more alert. “Shelter in the ship?” Stoddard asked, nodding toward Christopher.
“Nay,” Raven replied, “an we might be trapped within and besieged, or the vessel crushed and us thereby.”
Stoddard nodded an acknowledgment; Pel, who had been heading for the door of the ship without realizing it, stopped dead in his tracks.
A better means of escape occurred to him. “Elani,” he called, “can you get us out of here? Open a portal?”
Amy had gotten to her feet, as well, and was standing close beside the little wizard; she added her own voice, saying, “Please, Elani?”
The sorceress shook her head. “We’ve not the time,” she said.
“Look!” one of the soldiers called, pointing upward.
Something big and black was moving, up above the trees, blocking the sunlight and plunging them into shadow. Pel, watching it, thought it resembled a blimp passing overhead. Did Shadow use airships?
“All right, men,” Lieutenant Dibbs called, “form up, two lines, helmets on, weapons ready.”
“No,” Raven shouted, “flee! Take shelter, wherever you may!”
“These are my men…” Dibbs began.
“Sir,” a soldier said, cutting him off, “our blasters don’t work here.”
Dibbs froze for a second, then said, “Damn. All right, then, we’ll take cover—but in proper order. We aren’t running away. Shelby, you take that end, and the rest of you form up, we’ll move over there, under the starboard vane.”
“Lieutenant…” another man began.
“Move!”
For a moment, no one spoke; leaves rustled, boots stamped, as everyone did what he or she thought best to prepare for an assault. A faint humming that reminded Pel of distant insects came from somewhere overhead, and he realized it came from that dark shape.
Pel remembered his previous visit to Shadow’s realm, and the horrific fight near the forester’s hut on Stormcrack lands, the fight where Spaceman First Class Cartwright had died; there, Shadow’s creatures had burst up through the ground and come showering out of the trees from every direction. There was no safe place. The only chance to survive was flight.
He considered turning to run now, dashing off into the forest at random, but that, he realized, might just take him into the jaws of some slimy black monstrosity.
Besides, if he died, perhaps he would be reunited with Nancy and Rachel. If he died bravely, went down fighting, didn’t he deserve to join them, wherever they were? Maybe if he died here he would wake up safely back home on Earth, in his own bed, alive and well.
But there was no point in being stupid, in making it easy for Shadow. He headed for Valadrakul and Susan; Valadrakul had his spells, Susan her revolver.
“’Tisn’t seeking us,” Elani said abruptly, breaking the silence.
“Is’t not?” Raven asked, startled. Pel saw that the nobleman had found a broken limb among the debris that the ship had brought down, and was holding it in his right hand like a club. His bandaged left hand was empty.
“Nay. ’Tis come to study the portal that brought us hither.”
Pel started to relax, then realized what that could mean. “It’ll find us soon enough, then,” he said.
“An it flies not on through, into Empire, aye,” Elani agreed.
“Mistress Thorpe,” Raven called, “can you send word, warn those who remain at Base One?”
“Of course, sir,” Prossie replied. “But I can’t promise they’ll pay any attention.”
Raven muttered a word Pel didn’t catch. It sounded like an archaic obscenity.
“The flying creature is at yon portal,” Elani announced, pointing upward.
“Goes it through?” Raven called.
Pel looked about, and saw that the party had collected into three groups—and one individual.
One group consisted of Elani, Amy, and Ted, clustered at the base of a large tree of undistinguished species; another was composed of himself, Susan, Valadrakul, Stoddard, and Prossie Thorpe, standing by the side of the downed ship; and the third was made up of Lieutenant Dibbs and his fourteen men, gathered under the ship’s stubby wing, farther astern. Raven stood alone, on an upthrust root of a gigantic oak, swinging his makeshift club stiffly and watching the leaves overhead.
And Colonel Carson’s body lay in the open part of the little clearing between the ship and the trees, near the center of the uneven quadrilateral formed by the survivors. Pel turned away, and found himself looking at the dead officer’s troops.
Dibbs had his men arranged in two rows of seven, one line facing forward, the other aft, with himself at the outer end; all of them were crouching, as the fin provided slightly less than six feet of headroom. Some, Pel saw, were clutching their blasters by the barrels; others were searching the ground for sticks or rocks.
“Are there any other weapons aboard the ship?” Pel called to the lieutenant, shifting back to the rear of his own cluster.
Dibbs shook his head.
“Nay,” Elani cried. “It turns away! It senses us!”
A dozen faces turned upward.
And a moment later, a dozen assorted black-winged horrors plunged down through the green leaves, claws outstretched, fanged mouths agape.
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