The Ascendant Stars - Michael Cobley [188]
‘Not any more, Kao Chih,’ he said, feeling a new impatience. Amidst all the dread, death and chaos he at last had somewhere to lay all his anger. ‘Kuros must answer for his crimes. I won’t let him get away.’
As the Roug foray-pod swept away from the doomed Silver-lance in a tight curve, guided by autopilot, Greg’s thoughts took on a dark and resolute edge.
And if it comes down to it, I’ll not be bringing him back alive.
THEO
He moved carefully from torchlit foothold to foothold while trying to avoid becoming overbalanced by the big Brolt rifle that was slung across his back. He breathed heavily from the effort. The rain had eased off a little but the shattered rocks were still slick and as Theo picked his way over them he found himself reflecting on the destructive aspect of warfare.
After all the dilemmas, perils and just plain insanely hair-raising scrapes he had been through (including his experiences as a younger man during the Winter Coup), it seemed fitting at this point to be negotiating a course across an eerily lit demolished landscape, as it might have been depicted by a demented artist. Nearly two hours ago he and Rory, and the dozen or so heavies recruited from the Hakon-Haer and the Stonecutter Clan, had been approaching the vicinity of Giant’s Shoulder from the southwest, alert and aware of the noise of battle coming from the promontory. They had just reached a bushy hilltop when thunderous explosions overwhelmed the fighting sounds, roaring and echoing out through the rainy night. From the hilltop they had all stared in collective disbelief as the sheer sides of the promontory cracked and split while massive detonations tore up the flat surface of the summit. There had been craft hovering overhead at the time and at least two of them were downed by the eruptions of splintered rock.
At first Theo had felt stirrings of hope that the warpwell had been destroyed, perhaps by a weapon fired from orbit, and that the bomb Rory was carrying was no longer necessary. Dense clouds had been thrown up, soon to be washed from the air by the continuing downpour. And there had been a pale glow at the heart of the murk which seemed to brighten by the minute. Then a breeze had picked up and torn aside the hazy veil, by which time Theo recognised the icy harshness of the light that now shone forth. He had seen it before, weeks ago when the ancient guardian of the warpwell had seized Robert Horst, the Earthsphere ambassador, and spirited him away. With the dust clouds blown away it was now like a bright column of cold blue radiance aimed straight at the sky.
It was not long after that the armoured cyborg creatures began emerging, black insectile objects that rose up in a trickle that grew to a dense stream of them, flying up through the clouds. There were a few that broke away from the gleaming black torrent but they were visible only for as long as they swooped around the warpwell’s glow.
And now here they were, clambering over mounds of shattered rock, heading for that icy radiance with the Scot called McRae acting as pathfinder. They had come over the ridge that had previously led onto the wide hummocky rise at the rear of the promontory’s summit, only to be confronted with a jagged brink and a thirty-foot drop. Moving south some way, they found some sloping ground which merged into the rubble field into which they ventured.
And always, overhead, that continuous upward cataract of pitiless enemies and the deep hollow rushing moan that it made. How many had poured forth by now? Thousands? Tens of thousands?
Great God or Father Odin or whoever’s in charge, please just let us get there, set the bomb and get out alive.
‘Yer looking awfy grim, there, chief,’ said Rory. ‘That you run outta baccy?’
‘Worse than that, my lad – I’ve just been thinking of all the good Blackeagle Ale that’s going undrunk at the moment!’
That raised a few laughs.
‘Aye,’ Rory said. ‘And the Greydale whisky going unsipped.’
‘The girls going unkissed!’
One of the Hakon-Haer Norj grinned and waved a pointed