Wings Over Talera - Charles Allen Gramlich [77]
Between the columns of out-fliers came the big ships, dark hulled against the bright sky, with maroon sails straining at the wind. Even at this distance I could detect the activity that beehived the decks of those ships. I could see the flags whipping and knew they bore the symbols of the Nyshphalian state and the crest of the house of Jystral—Rannon’s house. I knew that upon those flags, too, were sewn the emblems of honor gained in hard battle by the great galleons.
A fierce pride swept me. I shouted out, though the wind tore the words from my mouth and I know not what I said. These were my people. Whether or not they wanted me, I had chosen them. And I would fight for them now.
In the next instant, I was made to realize how desperate that fight would be, and how all the glory and honor of the ships and their crews would not hold them safe from harm. Above and below me in the pyramid walls, portals slammed open and the evil black snouts of cannon poked through.
With a start, I remembered. There were supposed to be four cannon-armed airships in Vohanna’s armada. Three I’d blown up; I’d not found the fourth. Until now. What devastation this one massive gun-ship could wreak among a packed Nyshphalian fleet armed with catapults and ballista I could only guess. And there was no one to stop that destruction but me.
A wheel-dagger caromed off the doorframe above my head, spalling off chips of stone that bit blood at my cheeks. It had been thrown from behind, from the corridor I had just exited.
I spun, dropping into a crouch, my sword seeming to jump into my hand. Three of Vohanna’s hybrids had found me. Only three. The others must have split off to follow other corridors. I was lucky the wheel-dagger had missed, though it must have been an awkward throw from within the narrow hallway.
I leaped into the corridor to meet the three within it, where they could come at me only one at a time. The first looked human except for the clacking mandibles that would have been more at home on a mantis. It was he who had thrown the dagger, and only now did he reach for his sword. I repaid that little stupidity with a foot of steel through his insect mouth.
The second...“man” had three arms on one side of his body, four tentacles on the other. He hacked at me with a saber and I blocked it on the forte of my sword. We strained there, with no room to free our blades. But his tentacles were lashing, striking like hooded cobras. I felt the burn of suckers across my face and shoulder, felt my left arm wrapped in rubbery flesh and nearly jerked from its socket as he tried to pull me forward within reach of the knife held in his third fist.
I threw myself against him. Our long blades unlocked. I butted him savagely in the face with my forehead as he started to swing his dagger. He groaned with the stunning shock of that blow, lost control of the dagger. It cut a gash through my jeans and through the thin flesh over my hip, scraped on bone and then spun free of nerveless fingers to clatter against the wall. The grip of his tentacles went momentarily loose; I tore myself away.
He knew what was coming. Even with his face bloodied and his mind surely a kaleidoscope of bright pain behind his pupils, he tried to lift his saber. It didn’t help. I stabbed him twice in the gut with my sword, then stepped back, my anger cold at being cut yet again.
The man’s body spasmed; the red in his eyes faded. He suddenly looked...scared. Then he was smashed casually aside from behind and a bellow shook dust from the corridor walls as my third foe charged upon me.
There was nothing human in the creature that came against me now. He was massive as a bull—part reptilian Klar, part leonine Nokarran, part something that I could not name. He stank. His eyes were hell-kites of vermillion. In broad hands he carried a