Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (42 page)

“He blames the Fieri?” wondered Piipo.

“There was a rumor—some time ago—of a Fieri invasion,” put in Fertig. “Mors Ultima caught some people outside. No one knows what they were doing. Rohee tried to cover it up, but Hladik and Jamrog knew about it and were making plans, although the Fieri disappeared before they could get at them. They were furious over it—it's why Rohee was killed, I think.”

“We know,” said Tvrdy, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“We were the ones who removed them from under your noses,” Cejka added. “And you're right—Jamrog used it as an excuse to murder Rohee.”

“I should have guessed,” said Fertig.

“It doesn't matter now.” Tvrdy looked to Kopetch. “Anything else?”

“I heard that a Mors Ultima squad is again searching outside,” the Tanais replied.

“Searching for what?” asked Piipo.

“Fierra.”

“Does Jamrog actually believe the Fieri are involved in the rebellion?” Cejka shook his head slowly. “It makes no sense. He knows we are responsible. He knows ... and yet—”

“Yet behaves otherwise,” remarked Tvrdy. “He is shrewd and dangerous.”

Treet, grieved and angered by Kopetch's recital, roused himself to declare, “He will not be content with ruling Empyrion unopposed. Jamrog means to destroy the Fieri, too. He's using us as an excuse to go after them.”

“If he can find them,” said Piipo.

“He'll find them,” Fertig warned. Saecaraz magicians are searching for maps in the Archives. Diltz has become very interested in the Fieri, and he is commanding the search himself. They will find what they are looking for.”

“Jamrog means to destroy everything,” Treet said. “And I'd say he's got a pretty good start.”

“That is not our worry,” snapped Tvrdy. “We have to save ourselves before we can save anyone else. Right now, that's all I care about.”

The meeting was dismissed and, hands thrust into the folds of his yos, Treet stumped off across the empty compound toward Ernina's makeshift hospital to relieve the physician. He couldn't understand Tvrdy's reaction. The Tanais had acted as if Treet's simple observations were out of place, ill-considered, and unwanted. What was the matter with him anyway?

He was halfway across the compound when he heard a sound like a kettle drum and the ground vibrated beneath his feet. He stopped, looked around.

Earthquake?

He started forward, walked a few more steps, and the ground rumbled again. He turned and glanced back at the decrepit buildings round about. The creaky structures rattled and loose rubble fell, but they didn't sway or pitch forward.

Just then three Dhogs appeared, racing across the compound from the direction of the Isedon. Treet stopped them. “What is that? What's going on?”

The Dhogs, sweating, out of breath, gulped air and looked at one another fearfully. “Deathmen ...” one of them managed to utter. “They be coming!”

“Invisibles? Where?”

Another rumble, louder this time, shook the ground. The Dhogs looked down as if the earth might part and swallow them. They made ready to bolt once more.

Treet grabbed the nearest Dhog and spun him around. “Where are they?”

The man's eyes rolled in his head, and he pointed behind him. “Saecaraz—”

“The ruined duct.” Treet held the man and forced him to listen. “Okay, we haven't got much time. You go find Bogney. Hear me?” The Dhog nodded, terror in his eyes. “Tell him to come here. Fast. Got it?” The man nodded again. “Go! Hurry!” The three raced off, rags aflutter.

Treet turned and hurried back to the briefing room, nearly colliding with Cejka and Piipo as they came flying out the door, their faces taut, anxious. “What is it? What's happening?” asked Cejka, indicating the Dhogs whose backs were just disappearing behind the wall of the command post.

“Invisibles,” Treet explained. “They're blasting out the ruined duct from Saecaraz.”

“Trabant take them,” muttered Piipo.

Just then Tvrdy and Kopetch joined them, and Treet explained the situation. Tvrdy was silent for a moment, and Treet had the awful feeling that the Tanais was going to crack; but when he spoke, his tone was crisp and commanding. “Take some men and get down there,” he told Kopetch. “We've got to know how much time we have. Keep monitor channel 3 open.”

Another explosion rumbled the ground—this one louder, closer, more violent. The Invisibles were not wasting a second. Treet had bizarre visions of a whole squad of specialized subterranean Invisibles bursting up through the ground like oversized black mushrooms, thermal weapons blazing in their mole-flipper hands.

He turned and followed the others back into the building.

They
huddled over a crude map in the briefing room, staring at the place Tvrdy had marked—the exit shaft leading from the Isedon Zone to the refuse pits of Saecaraz. No one spoke, although the nervous shift of eyes around the table told all.

“We can't keep them from blasting through,” Tvrdy was saying. “So I suggest we don't try. Let them come in—in fact, we let them come all the way through Isedon and then take them here—at Annerson Spike.” He stabbed a finger at the map.

“They'll expect an ambush. They'll be ready,” said Cejka.

“Yes, but I propose to offer them a first ambush before they reach the Isedon—a false ambush. We have men here and here,” his finger moved over the map, “and we wait until the Invisibles get into position. We hit them, give them a fight, then break and run, leading them into New America Square and the real ambush.” Tvrdy glanced up to see if everyone was following him.

“They'll still be very cautious—suspect a trap.”

“Perhaps, but it won't matter. I talked this over with Kopetch, and he agrees. Once attacked, they'll have to give chase. They don't know where else to go. The secret lies in making the first ambush appear genuine. To do that, we'll have to make the attack quick and sharp. It must not appear that we're holding back our true strength.”

“What happens to the men here?” asked Piipo, pointing to the other place Tvrdy had specified.

“They wait. Once the Invisibles have moved off in pursuit, they will destroy the entrance once again and then follow the enemy in, cutting off the retreat.

“Bogney,” Tvrdy continued, “you will lead the first ambush and then lure the Invisibles in. You must be careful not to go too far ahead. We don't want to lose them or give them time to think. If they believe they can overtake you and finish you off, they will try it before regrouping and moving in.” He paused. “Of course, move too slowly and they
will
overtake you and finish you off.” Tvrdy glanced across the table. “Fertig will go with you.”

“Dhogs knowing how to trick deathmen.” Bogney's face was set in a dirty scowl. Anger burned in his small, close-set eyes.

“Piipo, you will join Kopetch and his men at the entrance. You will be responsible for sealing the entrance once the Invisibles have moved off. Then follow them in, but at a fair distance. They must not see you or even suspect that you're there.”

“How will I seal the entrance without alerting the Invisibles?”

“Wait until the first ambush starts. They won't hear you then.”

“Cejka, you and I will take our positions here in the Isedon. We'll hit them from two sides at once. Bogney will circle back around and hit them on the blind side. The resulting crossfire should finish them. Any who try to flee back to the entrance will be met by Piipo.”

There were nods and grunts of agreement all around. It was a good plan on short notice. Tvrdy glanced around the ring of faces. “Any questions?” No one said anything. “Then we go.”

Treet felt as if he should say something, give a pep talk, remind them that the future of the planet was riding on this battle, but decided that no one needed that kind of pressure. Still, the thought nagged him.

“What about me?” he asked as the others hurried off to join their squads of men, already assembled and waiting in the compound field.

“You stay here,” Tvrdy said curtly. “There's nothing for you to do now.”

“I could help; I could fight.”

“No.” Tvrdy's face remained impassive. “Stay here.”

Tvrdy's order struck Treet as bullheaded. Just because he and Tvrdy had had words moments before the blasting started, did that mean Treet couldn't fight by Tvrdy's side? “If you're still upset about what I said before, I'm sorry,” said Treet. “But I think I should come with you now.”

“You are not trained with these weapons,” replied Tvrdy. Outside in the yard, the men moved off, their shouts of victory ringing hollow in the stale, unmoving air of the Old Section. “And I do not want anything to happen to you.”

“You're using me as some kind of figurehead,” said Treet. It suddenly dawned on him why Tvrdy was so insistent on protecting him. “You want me safe so I will look good on the platform when the time comes.”

Tvrdy rolled up his map and stuck it in his yos. “I have to go.”

“That's it, isn't it, Tvrdy? What for? I want to know.” Treet stepped up to him. “Answer me.”

“The people respect you,” replied Tvrdy hastily. “You've seen how they watch you, look at you. They believe you know how to save them. We need this hope if we are to survive. Stay here, and let us handle this.”

The Tanais hurried away. Treet picked up the radio monitor and went in search of Ernina, thinking they'd hold vigil together.

Upon arriving at the ruined exit, Kopetch had reported that the Invisibles were, by his best estimation, six to eight hours away. That had been an hour ago, Treet reflected. Figuring it would take another couple of hours for the squads to get into position, the main ambush might not take place for another three or more hours ... plenty of time for Treet to get to the ambush site and find himself a place to hide.

He had no sooner thought of it than he was hanging back in the doorway, watching Tvrdy and Cejka lead their men off to their positions. As soon as they disappeared behind a ravaged wall at the far end of the field, Treet made his move, taking up the trail behind them.

The
comforting shadows of the Blue Forest lay two days' journey back. The man and cat walked in the bright daylight, uneasy in the open spaces, wary of the uncluttered distance around them. Since sunrise this morning, when they resumed their trek, they had been ascending a gradual incline, climbing the broad back of a rock shelf that lifted the earth in an easy tilt. Tan rock poked through the shelf's thin crust. Unable to hold the moisture, the soil was dry and dusty, the sparse ground cover withered white by the sun.

The huge black wevicat padded along, its sleek midnight coat gray with the dust that puffed up beneath its great paws. Crocker, too, was covered in fine powder from crown to sole, except where sweat made muddy trails down the sides of his face and below his armpits. He still carried his spear, but used it now as a staff to help pull himself along.

They walked for hours watching the sun scale the eastern sky wall. By midmorning they had reached a rocky promontory that bulged up above the surrounding landscape; they climbed the mound and stopped there in the shade of a solitary fan tree to rest. The man squatted in the dust and sniffed the fitful breeze blowing from the east. “Water,” he announced. The cat gazed at him with its lemon eyes and yawned, its big pink tongue curling backward behind jagged rows of clean white teeth.

There was not a sound to be heard except the breeze sliding over the rock and ruffling the wispy leaves at their feet. To skins used to the shadowed dampness of the forest, the naked sun felt hot and the air unnaturally dry. The man looked back at the bluish smudge of the forest in the distance, felt a tug: to return would be comfort, safety.

But the force that moved them onward was stronger. Ahead, just over the next rise, or the next, lay their destination. What would happen when they reached it?

It didn't matter. Reaching it was all that mattered.

When the sun stood directly overhead, the man rose and took up his spear again and began walking, his long legs swinging into the loose, ground-eating stride once more. The cat got up, shook itself all over, and stood motionless for a moment, sampling the wind-borne scents for anything of interest—warm-blooded or otherwise. There was water not far ahead, and something else.

The wevicat's nostrils worked the dry air and soon caught the human scent—very faint. The cat's tailtip jerked back and forth quickly as it put its head down and trotted ahead.

Their shadows had begun stretching out before them as they reached the edge of the cliff. The rock shelf ended in a series of bluffs overlooking a vast bowl of cool green water. The bluffs tumbled down onto the strand, and there, spread out upon the sand like colorful geometric flowers or grounded silken kites, lay a thousand tents, glowing in the afternoon light.

The sight filled Crocker with wonder ... and fear. He looked at the strange, asymmetric tents—and at the people moving in and out of them—and his mind reeled. People! So many of them!

His first impulse was to run away, back to the hidden depths of the Blue Forest. But the voice in his head, which he had not heard for many, many days, came back instantly.
Stay!
the voice told him.
It's all right. They won't hurt you. Stay. Sit down. Rest. Watch them. You have come for this purpose.

Crocker nodded to himself. “Stay,” he told the cat and dropped to his knees at the cliff's edge, hugging his spear as he gazed out over the Fieri tent city. As they watched, cooking fires sprang up on the beach and smoke began drifting up the cliff face, pushed by the breeze.

The smoke was sweet-scented, smelling of roast meat and savory spices that brought the water to his mouth. He leaned on his spear, licking his lips and thinking of what it would be like to taste such food. The wevicat beside him lay down on its stomach, head erect, feet stretched out in front of it, tail slapping the dust into little ridges. Together they gazed down at the scene below them, drawn to it, but held back at the same time.

The stars found them still sitting there, immobile, watching the firelight sparkle on the sand, and listening to the faint tinkling sounds of music and laughter drifting up to them from the beach. Waiting.