Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (52 page)

Jaire
walked back and forth on the curving crown of the hill. The towering obelisk, with its ring of smaller obelisks throwing long afternoon shadows down the green hill, pointed heavenward as if poised for imminent flight.

She stopped when she heard the chime, and turned toward the amphidrome. Talus emerged with Mathiax close behind him, the dismissal chime still ringing in the air. “Don't be angry, Talus,” Mathiax said. “It is more than we had a right to hope for.”

Jaire hurried toward them. “What is the decision?” She glanced from one to the other of them hopefully, saw their expressions, and asked, “What's wrong? Will they not allow us to go?”

“One fleet only,” replied Talus tersely. “And Mathiax is to stay.”

“We will be in constant communication,” said Mathiax. “I will be as close as your own skin.”

“It isn't the same.” Talus stood woodenly, arms folded across his massive chest—like a tree taking root on the sculpted green lawn of the amphidrome.

“Accept the wisdom of the College,” soothed Mathiax. “It is for the best.”

“The best? The best? It is too little and too late.”

Mathiax closed his eyes and shook his head gently. “It is in the Protector's good time. You are upset or you would agree.”

Grim-faced Mentors began streaming from the amphidrome and passing silently around them. Bohm approached and joined them. “I have spoken with the crew. We are clear to depart as soon as you are ready, Talus. The others will leave in the morning.”

“Come,” said Mathiax. “I'll go with you to the airfield.”

“We're leaving at once?” Jaire glanced around expectantly.

Talus took his daughter's hands. “I am sorry, Jaire. I should have told you straight away. You are to stay here as well.”

She pulled her hands away. “Is Preben going?”

“Yes. Preben, Anthon, and Yarden will be picked up at the bay.”

“Who else is going?”

“Besides myself, only Bohm and his fleet crew.”

Jaire smiled defiantly. “Then I will go, too. I am part of Bohm's crew.” Her expression dared anyone to gainsay her.

Mathiax and Talus looked at one another. Bohm explained, “She is part of the emergency medical support group.”

“The College did not say anything about medical support,” said Mathiax. “It's your decision, Talus.”

He gazed at his daughter. “No, Jaire. It will be difficult and dangerous. I can't allow it.”

“Since it's dangerous, you may need medical support. I am going.” Jaire gazed steadily at her father and saw him weaken. She laid a hand on his arm. “It was my dream, remember. I am part of this. You cannot deny me.”

Mathiax watched them both. “Talus,” he said stepping close, “Jaire is right. The dream was given to her. She has been called. It is in the Infinite's hands; trust in the Protector.”

Talus assented. “I am overruled by a higher authority. Go say good-bye to your mother, collect your things, and meet us at the airfield. We will leave as soon as you return.”

Jaire smiled slyly. “I have already anticipated your decision, Father. Mother knows, and my things are in the evee. I am ready now.”

Bohm clapped his hands once and started toward the waiting vehicle. “Then we leave at once.”

It
was near sunset when Anthon came to her. Yarden was sitting with her chin on knees, eyes closed. She heard the gritty squeak of his tread on the wet sand and stirred.

“Did I wake you?” he asked as he came to stand over her.

She opened her eyes slowly, and lifted a hand. Anthon took it and helped her to her feet. “I wasn't asleep,” Yarden answered. “I was praying.”

“Ah, yes.” He paused, gazing raptly at Yarden. “You know, as I came up to you just now you looked just like my wife. From a distance, that is. She was another one who loved her solitude. I would find her like this—out alone somewhere—and I'd ask her what she was doing. 'Praying,' she'd say, exactly like you did just now. Or, 'Being alone with my thoughts.' That was another one.”

They began to walk back to the encampment. “I didn't know you were married, Anthon. Were you very much in love?”

“Yes, yes. It was a good marriage. I loved her as much as any man could, and maybe more.”

“What happened?”

“It was an accident. She was with our son on a boat; they were out for the day sailing on Prindahl. A storm came up, and they were too far out. I think the boat swamped, and they drowned. We never found the boat or the bodies. They just sailed off one morning and never came back.”

“How tragic! I'm sorry, Anthon—I wouldn't have asked if I'd had any idea—”

“Please, it's all right. I don't mind. I have nothing but good memories. I get lonely for them sometimes, it's true, but it only serves to make our eventual reunion the more joyful. I know that we'll be together again one day. In the meantime, there is much to do. I am needed here.”

“I'll say,” said Yarden, taking Anthon's arm. “I have a feeling I'm going to need all the friends I can get.”

“You know how the council decided?” He cocked an eyebrow quizzically.

“Well, let's just say I have a feeling my speech didn't sway the masses.”

“Sadly, no. We could have hoped for a better response, there's no denying that. But we did gain something—perhaps more than you suspect.”

Yarden looked up sharply. “What? Tell me,” she said. “You must!”

“I thought you knew everything.”

Yarden stopped. “Please, don't joke about this. It's too important.”

“You're right. Forgive me; I was taken by your b—” He hesitated, turned, and looked out across the bay. “I forgot myself for a moment.”

Yarden felt a warmth envelop her. “It ... it's all right, Anthon,” she said softly. “What did you come to tell me?” She let her hand slide away from his arm. They began walking again.

“The Preceptor has decided to allow a balon fleet to travel to Dome to assess the situation.”

“Really? That's wonderful!”

“It is a beginning. Talus and Bohm argued most eloquently, and I did what I could, of course. But in the end the College remained unconvinced of the threat. It was all we could do to get them to agree to one fleet—six balons. They only consented because the Preceptor supported the idea—it was her suggestion, in fact. A compromise. Talus wanted six fleets; the Mentors were against sending any. The Preceptor suggested a fleet in case there were people to bring out, and the Mentors relented.”

“But still, it's a victory. How soon can we leave?”

“You can believe Talus and Mathiax were already prepared. A balon is probably on the way to pick us up now.”

“That'll take weeks!” exclaimed Yarden, suddenly realizing just how far away from Fierra they were. “Can't we leave for Dome now?” The notion was absurd, and Yarden admitted it as soon as the words were out. “Forget I said that. It's just that ... well, isn't there a faster way?”

Anthon chuckled. “A balon can travel quickly. It won't take them as long as it took us. Two or three days. Anyway, you don't want them to go without you, do you?”

“You'll go, too?”

“Yes, and Preben has volunteered. Talus is going, as you know, and Bohm also, with his regular balon crews. That's all.”

“Mathiax?”

“In the Preceptor's absence, he must stay in Fierra.”

“Maybe I could get Pizzle to come, too. He might be useful in the clinch.”

Anthon stopped and took her by the shoulders. “Yarden, this is to be an observation tour, not an invasion. We do not go in force—the Fieri have no weapons in any case.”

Yarden glanced at her feet. She nodded. “I understand. I got a little carried away.” She raised her eyes hopefully. “But whatever we can do to help Treet, we'll do, right?”

“Whatever we can do to help, we will do. Beyond that ...” Anthon shrugged. “We will have to wait and see.”

He stared at her for a moment without speaking. Yarden became self-conscious under his gaze and looked away, feeling that strange warmth again. “The Preceptor,” he said finally, “would like to see you now. We'd better get back.”

From the suddenness of
the attack, Treet guessed the Invisibles had been in position and only waiting for daylight to commence the slaughter. At sunrise the rebel camp lay in sodden sleep, having dosed themselves to the point of numbness with the Dhog's rough, bitter liquor. Shared out among the men, there had not been enough to actually liberate anyone from his senses. Still, the attack caught them asleep—disaster for a soldier.

The first blasts brought the rebels to their feet. They dove for their weapons and began returning fire while the echoes still boomed from Dome's crystal shell. The rebels understood that if they did not win, this would be their last fight. They fought with dire ferocity, driving the Invisibles' assault force back by the sheer force of their fury.

When they saw their hopes for a quick victory evaporate under the rebel's blistering defense, the Invisibles withdrew to surround the cemetery mound and dig in.

Tvrdy, standing atop a stack of weapons cases, shouted orders to his men. Cejka and Kopetch dashed here and there around him, organizing the equipment for transport. “What's going on?” asked Treet as he came running up.

“We're going to try to reach the Bolbe tunnel,” yelled Cejka as each blast showered smoking clods and rock dust over them.

“We'll never make it,” said Treet. “It's too far. There's nothing between here and there but dead trees and broken ground.”

“Treet!” shouted Tvrdy. “Help or get out of the way. We're going. We can't stay here.”

“What about the wounded?” Treet demanded, hands on hips.

Tvrdy glared at him and then turned away, saying, “We take them with us—of course.”

The next few hours were a nightmare of death and searing fire. The rebels—Dhogs and Hyrgo loaded like pack animals—retreated en masse, their exit covered by Tanais and Rumon marksmen. The Invisibles sensed victory close at hand and pressed the retreat hard, hoping to divide and scatter the rebels. Casualties on both sides were heavy.

Treet, laboring alongside Ernina, assisted the wounded and helped keep up the flagging spirits of those around him as, meter by meter, they fought their way to the safety of the Bolbe tunnel. Each meter cost them dearly. When a man fell, not only did they lose a soldier—they lost the supplies he carried.

But Tvrdy, displaying superhuman leadership and tenacity, kept them all together and moving ahead, while the marksmen put down a blanket of fire behind them. This way, the Invisibles were unable to move into position ahead of them and cut off the retreat.

Firebolts streaked through the crackling air as the rebels pushed on. The Dhogs, caught in camp when the attack started, had no choice but to join the fight. They had planned to be away at daybreak, heading for Fierra with Treet leading the way.

Giloon Bogney cursed and gnashed his teeth, and worked himself into a purple rage at the Invisibles for stealing his chance to leave Dome forever. But he also put his head down and applied himself nerve-and-sinew to the task of getting himself and his people to safety.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the Bolbe tunnel.

In actual fact, it took forty minutes to travel a distance slightly more than two kilometers. Treet was among the first to reach the tunnel. He saw the tunnel's mouth yawning from a low earthen bank covered with dry shriveled brush. He ran ahead and ducked inside. The interior was dark and cool, with a fetid, musty odor.

He took a quick look around and dashed outside again as the Invisibles, now comprehending the rebels' destination, redoubled their effort. The shriek of their weapons filled the air like a scream of rage.

The Rumon and Tanais marksmen, limping from hillock to ditch to rubble pile, dug in to face the attack while their comrades scurried to safety.

Treet helped herd the wounded inside the tunnel, and then went back to help the Hyrgo carry equipment and supplies while the Tanais and Rumon formed a semicircle around the tunnel mouth to cover them. Tvrdy stood in the center, directing the fire and urging on the struggling carriers.

Treet saw one Tanais crumple and fall, and Kopetch appeared in the gap, snatching up the man's weapon before it touched the ground, firing away.

The Invisibles gathered their forces together and charged the rapidly dwindling defenses. Treet, sweating and panting from his exertion, muscles throbbing, lightened the burdens of others, pulling the heavier articles from their packs to carry himself, dashing back and forth to the mouth of the tunnel.

Above the frizzling whine of thermal weapons, Treet heard the shouts of the Invisibles as they rushed the defenders. He turned to see a formidable wave of black-clad Mors Ultima surging toward them, the throw-probes of their weapons white-hot and spitting lightning.

The line of defenders buckled as the rebels shrank back. Treet was bent over a fallen Dhog when a Rumon marksman cried out, spun backward, and collapsed; his weapon clattered to the ground. Treet hoisted the Dhog to his feet and rushed to the Rumon, whose body twitched on the ground. The scorching discharge of the weapons around him was deafening.

The Rumon had taken a glancing hit; the side of his neck was a shriveled red welt and the flesh along the top of his shoulder was burned away, revealing a length of fire-blackened clavicle. Treet bent over the man, heard a sizzling crack, and dropped flat to the ground as the air convulsed over his head.

The wash of air that hit him stank of ozone and the retchingly sweet odor of burning flesh.

He saw the Rumon's weapon steaming on the ground, rolled to it, and scooped it up. He pointed it in the direction of the oncoming Invisibles and hit the pressure plate with his palm.

The weapon jolted in his hands as the blast discharged in a blinding flash with a sound that pierced his skull.

Treet fired again and again, heedless of his aim—his only intent to discourage the Invisibles in their assumption of him as an easy target—sliding backward on his belly over the uneven ground.

Tanais and Rumen were falling around him. The cries of the wounded rang in the air between blasts. He choked on the stench of hot metal and charred meat.