Land and Overland - Omnibus (68 page)

Toller was so bemused by the phenomenon that more drawn-out seconds passed before he began to appreciate that in weightless conditions the eagles would never be able to fly. In the absence of gravity the equations of winged flight were no longer valid. The dominant force acting on the birds was the upward thrust from their wings, and without weight to counterbalance it they were thrown into continuous backward rolls. An intelligent creature might have responded by altering its wing movement to something akin to a swimmer's stroke, but the eagles—prisoners of reflex—could only go on and on with their futile expenditure of energy.

"Bad luck, Landers," Toller murmured, feeding his engine. "And now you have to pay for your mistake!"

In the ensuing minutes he saw balloon after balloon set alight, apparently without loss among his own fliers. Now that the Landers fought from stationary positions their balloons burned less readily, lacking a flow of air to feed the blaze, and sometimes the flames extinguished themselves long before the entire envelope was consumed, though without making any difference to a ship's eventual fate.

On this occasion the battle was given a touch of the bizarre by the presence of the gyrating eagles. Their terrified shrieking formed a continuous background to the roar of fighter jets, the patter of muskets and occasional blasts from cannon. Most of them kept on spinning, mindlessly squandering their strength, but Toller noticed that some had become quiescent and were drifting with their heads tucked under their wings as though asleep. A few were inert with wings only partially furled, giving every indication of being dead, perhaps overcome by sheer panic.

Immensely gratified by the turn of events, Toller pulled clear of the white-swaddled tumult to search for a likely target and saw a pilot of his own squadron closing in on him. It was Berise Narrinder, and she was rapidly opening and closing her right hand, signalling that she wanted to talk. Puzzled, he closed his throttle and allowed the fighter to coast to a halt. Berise did likewise and the two craft drifted together, gently yawing as their control surfaces became more and more ineffective.

"What is it?" Toller said. "Do you want to bring one of the birds back for dinner?"

Berise shook her head impatiently and pulled her scarf down below her chin. "There's a ship far down below the battle zone. I'd like you to have a look at it."

He looked in the direction she was indicating, but was unable to find the ship. "It has to be an observer," he said. "The pilot was told to remain well out of trouble and return to base with a report."

"My glasses tell me it is not an ordinary ship," Berise said. "Look carefully, my lord. Use your binoculars. Look where that line of cloud crosses the Gulf of Tronom."

Toller did as instructed, and this time was able to pick out the tiny outline of a skyship. It was on its side relative to him, reinforcing his opinion that its function was to observe the outcome of the battle. He wondered if it had yet become apparent to those on board that all was far from well with their fellows.

"I see nothing unusual about it," he said. "Why are you interested?"

"What about the markings on the gondola? Can't you see the blue and grey stripes?"

After further study of the miniature shape Toller lowered his binoculars. "Your young eyes are obviously better than mine." He paused, a coolness on the nape of his neck, as the full import of Berise's words reached him. "Blue and grey were always the colours of the royal ships—but would Rassamarden have retained them?"

"Why not? They might mean something to him."

Toller nodded thoughtfully. "In spite of his declarations of contempt he seems to covet everything the old kings had. But would any ruler be foolhardy enough to venture so close to a battle?"

"I've been told that Leddravohr often
led
his troops—and he wasn't a New Man," Berise said through featherings of vapour. "And what about the eagles? If they had done what was required of them things would probably have gone very badly for us. Rassamarden may have expected to witness a famous victory."

"Your mind is as sharp as your eyes, captain." Toller gave her an approving smile.

"Compliments are all very well, my lord—but I have a more apt reward in mind."

"Assuming it
is
a royal ship, you want the honour of destroying it."

Berise met his gaze squarely, eyebrows drawn together. "I believe I have that right—I am the one who saw it."

"Your feelings are understandable—and I sympathise with them—but you must consider my position. If Rassamarden is on board that ship all else should be subordinated to the task of slaying him, thus bringing this war to an end. In all conscience, it is my duty to attack the ship with every fighter at my disposal."

"But you don't
know
that Rassamarden is there," Berise said, shifting her argument with a casual speed which reminded Toller of his wife's similar ability. "Surely it would be wrong of you to divert your forces from the main battle to pursue a single ship, especially one which in any case cannot hope to escape us."

Toller gave an exaggerated sigh. "May I at least accompany you and witness the exploit?"

"Thank you, my lord," Berise said warmly, and for once without the hint of challenge she always insinuated into the title. She immediately reached for the throttle of her red-striped machine.

"Not so fast!" Toller protested, pausing as the exhaust of a jet slewing wide of the battle made communication momentarily impossible. "First I want you to seek out Umol and Daas and bring them to me, and I will tell them what we are about. They must keep an eye on our progress. If we fail to return, they must attack that ship in force—on
no
account can the ship be permitted to withdraw with any of its crew or passengers still alive."

Berise tilted her head and frowned, her face a beautiful mask in the upflung light of the sun. "We are two fighters against one skyship—how can you doubt our success?"

"Because of the parachutes," Toller said. "When a skyship carries common soldiers it is enough for us to destroy the balloon. It matters little to us if they survive the drop and come back for more of the same medicine another day. But in this case the ship is of no importance—it would be less than pointless to burn the balloon, but allow Rassamarden to return safely to his pestilent kingdom. In this
crucial
case the balloon is not our target, nor even the gondola.

"We have to kill Rassamarden himself, and I don't need to tell you that will be a far more hazardous business than merely spiking a balloon at long range. Do you still claim the honour?"

Berise's expression was unaltered. "I am still the one who saw the ship."

A few minutes later Toller was riding down towards the distant ship, with Berise holding a parallel course, and it was then that he began to have doubts about allowing her to accompany him. The fighter pilots shared a special bond, a spirit of comradeship which surpassed anything he had previously known in ordinary military service, and she had skilfully made use of it to influence his decision. It was perhaps all right for him, half in love with death, to undertake such a dangerous mission—but what about his responsibility towards all those he commanded?

The dilemma was intensified by the fact that if he were to send Berise back to comparative safety she would jump to the conclusion that his motives were selfish, that he wanted the glory of killing Rassamarden all to himself. Most of the other fighter pilots would side with her, their impulse-governed natures allowing no options, and he dreaded the prospect of losing their esteem. Could that be the obvious nub of a childishly simple problem? Was he prepared to waste a young woman's life rather than forfeit the flattering regard of a handful of young bucks?

The only reasonable and honourable answer had to be:
No!

Toller looked at Berise, preparing himself for an ordeal, then he was overwhelmed by a rush of unexpected emotion. It was a blend of affection and respect, triggered by the sight of her diminutive figure astride the streamlined bulk of the jet fighter and outlined against silver whirlpools in a dark blue infinity. It came to him that she was both courageous and intelligent, that she had certainly been ahead of him in every one of his ponderous deliberations, and that she was fully qualified to choose her own destiny. As though sensing his interest she gave him an enquiring glance, her features all but hidden by her scarf and goggles. Toller gave her a salute, which she returned, then he concentrated his thoughts on the forthcoming skirmish.

He and Berise were on a straight line between the main battle and the lone skyship. His hope had been that their condensation trails would remain unnoticed against the tangled confusion of smoke and sun-glowing vapour above, but the evidence was that keen-eyed lookouts had already spotted them. Musketeers were diving out from the gondola, tumbling to the ends of their lines, forming a sparse circle from which they could direct fire at a fighter going for the balloon's vulnerable upper surface. Their chances of disabling a pilot were not great, but the problem in this particular instance was that Berise was required to go in on a level with the musketeers in order to attack the gondola itself, and in previous encounters the Landers had proved themselves to be excellent marksmen.

A few furlongs away from the ship Toller gave the talk signal and shut down his engine, and when Berise drifted to a halt beside him he said, "Before taking any unnecessary risks, have a closer look at the gondola. Find me some evidence that Rassamarden really is on board."

Berise raised her binoculars to her eyes, was quiet for a moment and then—unexpectedly—began to laugh. "I glimpsed a crown! A glass crown! Is that what King Prad and all the others wore? Did they really walk about with ridiculous ornaments like that on their heads?"

"On certain occasions," Toller said, wondering why he had begun to feel offended. "If what you saw was the Bytran diadem it is composed principally of diamonds, and is worth—" He broke off, suffused by a savage gladness. "The fool! The puffed-up, vainglorious
fool!
His fondness for that little glass hat has cost him his life for certain! How many cannon shells have you?"

"The full six."

"Good! I'll take the balloon, but from the side rather than above, so that I'll be visible from the gondola. All eyes will be upon me when I loose my arrow—and that's the moment for your attack. Perhaps fate will let you burst their crystal stores on the first pass. Are you ready?"

Berise nodded. Toller made sure his pneumatic reservoir was at maximum pressure, then blew crystals into his engine and the responsive machine surged towards the skyship. He flew a little slower than he would normally have done and swept outwards into a curve which would take him past the balloon on a descending diagonal. Berise was on a steeper downward course, using her engine in short bursts which left an intermittent trail of white.

As the blue-and-grey gondola expanded in his vision Toller saw a milling of figures among the wicker partitions. He counted eight soldiers at the ends of radial lines, all with a hunched foreshortening of their upper bodies which told him they were aiming their muskets in his direction.

That's what I want,
he thought, removing his right glove.
That's just what I want.

He took an arrow from a quiver, ignited the tip and nocked it on to his bowstring. He gunned his engine, bracing himself against the acceleration, and dived on the balloon. The howl from the exhaust obliterated all musket reports, but he saw their toadstool billows of white. As the monstrous shape of the balloon swelled to become a curved brown wall blotting out much of the universe, he rolled the fighter to put the solidity of the engine between him and most of the enemy marksmen. Land and Overland obediently slid into new positions in the firmament.

Toller drew the bow and fired in a single practised movement, and in the same movement heard the double blast of Berise's cannon. His arrow streaked into the balloon, its line of flight vectored into an arc by his own speed. Something flicked his left leg and tufts of cottony insulation whirled away in the fighter's slipstream. He crouched low on the rounded back of the machine and burned his way out towards the stars. At a safe distance he shut down the engine and pulled into a turn which gave him a view of the battle scene.

Berise was completing a similar manoeuvre above him and to his right. Fire was spreading on one side of the Lander balloon, but although he was certain Berise's aim had been good, the gondola appeared to be undamaged. There was no way of telling what injury, if any, the iron balls passing through it had inflicted on those inside.

Berise was busy clearing the breeches of her cannon and inserting fresh shells. When she had finished she raised a hand and Toller went for the balloon again, trying to draw as much fire as possible in order to give her a second clear run. He successfully put an orange-streaming dart into the now misshapen giant and again sought out Berise in the empty sky beyond. Instead of pausing she reloaded during a sweeping turn and drove in beneath him at speed, coming up from beneath the Lander gondola.

The tethered soldiers were turning their muskets towards her as she fired both cannon. The gondola shuddered as the shot ploughed into the planking of the deck, but it remained structurally intact, and soldiers on board kept on firing through the black smoke which was gathering around the stricken craft.

Toller, who had been praying for a crystal explosion, coasted to a halt. There was a possibility that Rassamarden had been hit, but a man was a small target within the volume of a gondola, and in this instance he
had
to be able to claim a certain kill. Nothing else could be acceptable under the circumstances. He looked around for Berise and saw her swooping down on him in a nimbus of brilliant vapour. As she drew near he tapped his chest and pointed at the skyship, signifying that he intended to mount his own attack. She pulled down her scarf and shouted something he failed to hear above the growl of her engine. Her face was savage, almost unrecognisable. He barely had time to note that her windscreen was spidered with white lines, then she had given her engine full throttle and was dwindling into the distance—heading straight for the skyship amid an appalling blast of sound.