The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [125]
Moving on clusters of fingerlike legs, Sirix led the two identical machines up beside Basil Wenceslas. Cain felt sweat glistening on his pale forehead, but he did not dare reach up to wipe it away.
“These are the first new robots we’ve released from our factories,” the Chairman announced. “They and others will be exchanged for more newly reassembled EDF battleships.”
Sirix stepped forward, his crimson optical sensors bright. Basil discreetly moved back half a step to give him room. Cain closed his eyes.
The first shots rang out.
A patter of projectiles whizzed through the air and stitched an embroidery of sparks against Sirix’s black body core. McCammon’s guards and Andez’s men shouted, trying frantically to locate the sniper. Andez pointed to one of the rooftops where an automated self-guiding gun had risen up from where it had lain hidden among the pipes and heat radiators.
Basil threw himself to the ground as projectiles ricocheted off the black bodies of the other two robots. Andez pointed to the warehouse rooftop and barked orders. McCammon’s men were already opening fire, though they could not see any sniper. Within seconds, they had blasted the automated weapon to pieces.
McCammon raced to the podium, panting, while Colonel Andez sprinted ahead of him, apparently wanting to be the first to reach the Chairman’s side. Afraid it would appear that he had waited too long to respond, Cain grabbed Sarein’s arm and they ran forward as soon as the gunfire stopped.
Stumbling, Sarein gasped at Cain, “What do we do now?”
“Why, we try to save the Chairman,” he said, struggling to play the expected role. “We need to say that Freedom’s Sword must be behind this. They are the ones who wish to assassinate the Chairman.”
Sarein looked stunned; then she nodded briskly. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
Sirix and the two other black robots extended their multiple sharp-tipped arms, ready for close-in combat, if necessary. “Who dares attack us?” he demanded.
“Those shots weren’t meant for you,” Basil snapped. “Somebody was trying to kill me.” His face was red with anger. He drew deep breaths and said coldly to Andez, “Find out who did this.”
“We will,” McCammon answered.
* * *
87
Faeros Incarnate Rusa’h
Following the impact of the shipyards, Mijistra was an inferno. But this was not a cleansing, reviving fire such as the faeros might cause. The magnificent Prism Palace, the legendary Hall of Rememberers, the museums, sculptures, and fountains — all of them erased, vaporized in a fiery flash of impact.
At the heart of the blaze, embers and shards of superheated crystal stirred. Dozens of brilliant faeros fireballs swirled around the impact point like angry hornets. They added their energy, nurturing the flames, pulling upon the lava.
Rusa’h emerged, his form intact and wreathed in flames like the corona of a sun. His skin glowed, and his soulfire quivered with fury for what had been done to him and to this glorious city. The part of him that still remembered being an Ildiran recoiled from the appalling act. The Prism Palace! Mijistra! And an Ildiran had done such a thing.
Now, because of the thoughts he had glimpsed in the thism, he knew it was all because of Mage-Imperator Jora’h.
In a shower of sparks Rusa’h cast the wreckage away. He stood powerful, throbbing, his fists clenched. His transitory flame garments billowed in a windstorm of his own making. The wild fireballs circled overhead, barely under his control, hot with their need for destruction. The faeros wanted to sweep across the landscape now and incinerate every remaining Ildiran in every camp, every sheltered tunnel, every town and settlement.
Rusa’h was barely strong enough to hold them back. He would not let them exterminate his people. “No, we have a far more important goal.”
The crucial target.
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