From: bradkwillis@aol.com (BKWillis)
Subject: Desert of Fear, Part 36
Date: 15 Mar 2003 18:15:02 -0800
DESERT OF FEAR
Part 36
Copyright Notes: 'Doctor Who' belongs to the BBC. 'Desert of Fear' and the
original characters therein created by Brad Filippone, Clive May, Ken Young,
and BKWillis.
Caution: This chapter contains scenes of explicit violence, some profanity,
and physical intimacy between women. If this is not to your taste, read no
further.
----
Babydoll spat a mouthful of wine back into her glass. It had taken on a sour
taste in the last minute or so. She shoved it off to one side of the table
and used the empty space now before her to lean forward, propping herself so
as to give her the most insolently up- close view of Bella possible. "That's
cute, Fangs," she snickered. She pitched her voice in a sultry husk that
sounded nothing like Bella's, but still got the point across. "'Because no
one else will.' Heh. How angsty and noble. How... romantic. We could cast
you as the femme-fatale in one of those 'Hump Scrumpanickle: Private Eye' 3-V
shows. Oh, give me a smegging break!"
"What are you getting angry at _me_ for?" Bella demanded, beginning to sound
rather waspish herself.
"I'm _not_ angry!" Babydoll snapped. "I just want to know what the real deal
is with you and that psycho cyclops out there. It just seems to me like, no
matter what he does, you're always covering for him. _Always_. And any time
I try to point out that he's not exactly Prince Charming, you cop this 'You
don't know him' attitude. Well, if I'm so damned ignorant, why don't you
clue me in, huh? Just what is it about him that makes your little heart go
'pitta-pat'? Huh?"
"My little...?" Confusion warred with annoyance on Bella's finely- chiselled
face. She closed her eyes, teeth grinding, and settled herself with some
effort. "Look, Babydoll," she began at last, "the reason why I tell you not
to judge him so harshly is because you're making snap judgements based on
having known him for, what, a year or a bit less? I've been here for a
century and more and I know him better than you ever will--"
"Rub my face in it, then!" Babydoll spat.
Whatever Bella had been about to say died on her lips at that interruption,
her eyes widening in sudden revelation. Instead, she pointed at Babydoll and
exclaimed, "You're jealous!"
"Jealous?! Me?! Of what?" Babydoll shot back.
"You _are_," Bella repeated wonderingly. "That's why you're getting so upset
now. That's why you've been so snappish with me all this time. Jealousy
over... him..." Her voice trailed off, relieved and a little hurt-sounding.
"Bullshit," Babydoll insisted, the heat in her tone covering the hollow sound
of her words. "I may be a lot of things, but I'm not stupid enough to really
fall for somebody." A sneer twisted across her lips. "Besides, who am I to
try and cut in on a century's worth of bedroom games? I'll just leave the
lovey-dovey crap to you immortals, since I'm too dense to understand the
smegging intricacies of wanting to get your rocks off." She rolled her eyes
in derision, head shaking.
"'A century's worth of...'" Bella slammed her hands down on the table,
sending Babydoll's wineglass to shatter on the floor, and lunged to her feet.
"You think he and I...? OOOH!!" She stared about in helpless fury for a
moment, fangs flashing and her chest heaving with the sharp panting of her
breath. Blazing green eyes locked on Babydoll's as the vampire snarled, "You
stubborn, ill- bred, purblind, vexing, infuriating, double-damned FOOL of a
woman!"
Before Babydoll could react, Bella had crossed the two paces separating them
and snatched her up by the collar. One dainty alabaster fist locked in the
tough polyfabric of her bodysuit and hauled her into the air, her toes just
off the floor as the vampire swung her about and shoved her against the wall.
The impact wasn't hard, but the suddenness of it caught Babydoll off guard
and knocked the breath out of her. She grabbed at Bella's arm to force her
to let go, but the smaller girl's muscles were locked in an iron grip that
she couldn't even budge. With an internal wince, she cocked back her fist
for a punch at Bella's face.
Before she could take the swing, Bella yanked her down and planted her mouth
squarely across Babydoll's lips in a hard, emphatic kiss.
For a moment, Babydoll was too shocked to do anything at all. She could feel
Bella's lips -- surprisingly soft and warm -- pushing against her own and
sucking hungrily at her mouth. Bella's free hand -- the one that wasn't
wound up in the front of Babydoll's bodysuit -- slid down across her cheek, a
touch soft as spider- treads. A tiny whine escaped from the vampire's throat
and Babydoll felt the girl's tongue push insistently against her lips, then
between them, bringing with it the soft burnt-iron tang of the blood she'd
drunk. Some still-functioning part of Babydoll's brain registered with
scandalized surprise that the taste was not at all unpleasing.
The blonde let her eyes drift closed as her own tongue instinctively darted
against the intruder, sliding together and around each other in a
give-and-take wrestle. Her fist unmade itself as her hands fell to Bella's
shoulders, though whether to pull closer or push away she hadn't yet decided.
The decision was taken from her a moment later as Bella released her and
stepped back, eyes still alight but her expression confused. She half-raised
one hand to her lips, but then dropped it and straightened, the confusion
giving way to resolve as she drew herself up.
"If _that_ doesn't start to clue you in," she said icily, "I've no idea what
will."
With that, she turned on her heel and marched out, leaving Babydoll to stare
after her.
----
Either the TARDIS's self-cleaning function was acting up or Seraph had some
carefully-calculated reason for letting a layer of dust pile up. Either was
possible, but neither was particularly important at the moment.
He hadn't been in the biotech lab in ages; it wasn't really his forte. His
own science skills -- admittedly rather spotty and scattershot by Time Lord
standards -- fell into more immediately practical fields. In the past,
there'd been others he could rely on to handle this end of things, but he was
on his own now, so he brushed the thin -- more scenic than anything else --
dust aside and set to work.
Glass-fronted cabinets loomed along the walls, laden with the impedimenta of
organic engineering, while an automated work table in the center whirred to
life at his approach. The push of a button initiated its self-sterilization
mode and the sprinkling of dust on it was whisked away.
"HEY YOU! GET OUT OF MY LAB!"
Cain whirled at the shrill screech, staser pistol already swinging to bear.
A tall, elegantly slim woman stood glaring at him, her sharp- angled face
purple with anger. Long, narrow-slitted eyes, each with two pupils like
pin-dots in a pink-red iris, stared daggers as she shook an indignant finger
under his nose.
"KEEP YOUR PAWS OUT OF WHAT YOU DON'T UNDER- STAND, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL!" she
screamed. "OUT! OUT! NOW!" Then, suddenly, her furious expression crumbled
into a huge grin as she burst out laughing, hands on her hips. "Ha ha ha!
Fooled you, Billy! Score one for me!"
Static rippled across the woman and she was once again in her enraged pose.
"HEY YOU! GET OUT OF MY LAB! KEEP YOUR PAWS OUT OF WHAT YOU DON'T
UNDERSTAND, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL! OUT! OUT! NOW! Ha ha ha! Fooled you,
Billy! Score one for me!"
Cain holstered the pistol and started examining one of the shelves as the
message began to repeat again. As he'd thought, a tiny holo-recorder had
been fastened there, wired to a proximity sensor. He shut it off with a sigh
just as the screaming was beginning again, ears ringing in the sudden
restoration of silence.
"My apologies for not alerting you, Master," Seraph trilled, materializing at
his side. "Apparently, Professor Meqaara left that recording as a means of
keeping Mr. Weinberg from intruding here when she was not around. I had
forgotten it with the passage of years."
Cain sent her a flat look. "You don't forget anything, Seraph," he grunted.
"I think you just wanted to see me jump."
"Sudden excitement is beneficial to the cardiovascular health of most
humanoid organisms, including Gallifreyans," the projection
semi-acknowledged. "And the Nanite Configuration Unit you are seeking is in
the third cabinet to your left." She pointed an ethereal finger, a soft glow
springing up around the NCU case. "A manual on its use, complete with visual
aids, is available. Shall I call up a copy, Master?" A 3-D graphic window
popped up in the air beside her.
Cain clumped over and took up the heavy NCU, lugging it to the table with
some effort. "No thanks, and your insolence is noted. I may be gettin' old,
but I do remember basic tool use."
"Apologies, Master. Offense was not intended. It is merely my function to
facilitate whatever tasks you carry out, and as observation of your recent
behavior has indicated a significant degree of irrationality, I was assuming
that your mental faculties had become degraded. Perhaps future data will
indicate a different conclusion." With that, she winked out of existence,
leaving him to his work.
----
There was tension in the air when Babydoll arrived in the Console Room in
response to Seraph's summons. Rahaaz and his Servii stood in a silent
huddle, cinching down armor fastenings and whetting their long cavalry
blades. Zangkai, small and quick for a Servii, had taken up the battle
standard once borne by the slain Daraaga and was checking the metal rings
that secured the emblem to its shaft. The banner itself was coal-black, with
a saber picked out in scarlet slanting across it. There were other red marks
on the cloth as well -- the indelible stains left by the spilt blood of its
bearers and the foes who'd gone down under the blades of its followers.
Zangkai saw her looking and raised the banner aloft in his left paw while
drawing and twirling his sword with his right. "Where the Red Blade goeth,"
he intoned, "the evil shall drown in blood. So hath it ever been, so shall
it ever be."
"It be so," muttered Rahaaz. "An righteousness be with us, what can stand
against us?"
"Righteousness," repeated Babydoll, sotto voce. "Rrrright." That was the one
thing she quite definitely _didn't_ feel of late. She glanced across the
room to where Bella sat in the old recliner chair, staring hard at nothing.
She took a half-step in that direction, the motion catching the vampire's
eye. Bella regarded her coolly for a moment, looking her up and down, then
turned away, staring at the blank scanner screen, prompting a strange mix of
relief and disappointment to wash through Babydoll. A part of her cried out
to go over there anyway, consequences be damned, but...
("You're _sick_, Mary Rokossovsky! Sick!")
...something told her that she'd be opening a can of worms best left closed
for right now. Instead, she took up a spot near the Console and began her
own pre-battle ritual, meticulously checking each weapon and magazine and
going over her protective bodysuit one last time for tears or gaps. Once,
while testing the grenade fastenings on her belt, she thought she felt
Bella's eyes on her, but a quick glance that way showed the girl to still be
intent on some nonexistent thing off in the middle distance.
"All right, kids, it's almost the moment you've all been waiting for!" Cain
barged in from the corridor, guns and swords clattering, a stubby medical
auto-injector in his hand. He bustled over to the TARDIS controls and tapped
out a quick sequence of landing instructions, then threw a glance at
Babydoll. "C'mere, babe," he grunted. "Time for your distemper shot."
"What the smeg is that?" she demanded, eyeing the injector with no small
distrust.
"Nanite injector. Me and you have to shoot up with these little critters if
we don't want old Snout-Face setting up shop in our psyches." He pressed the
injector to his own neck and pulled the trigger, wincing as the needle bit
home. Seeing her still-dubious expression, he went on, "These are
psionic-suppression nanites. They'll shield your brain from any outside
psychic influence for 72 hours, after which they'll break down and pass out
of your system. If you ain't shielded, then the Lord of the Vale can grab
hold of your mind and make you into his personal sock-puppet."
A little reluctantly, she nodded, tilting her head to let him press the
injector in place. There was a brief stab and then a coolness as the nanite
suspension fluid shot into her vein, but that was all.
"What about them?" she asked, jerking her thumb at the Servii as Cain stuffed
the injector into his trenchcoat.
"The Servii are mostly immune to the Lord's influence already. That's the
main reason why he ain't already the ruler of this dirtball. And as for
Bella..." He shrugged. "What she's got riding shotgun in her brain makes old
Snout-Face look like a Methodist Sunday-school teacher. If His Snoutiness
pokes a tentacle in her mind, he'll regret it in short order, I promise."
Babydoll cast a troubled look at the still preoccupied vampire. She seemed
so calm right now -- angry, maybe, but still calm -- and so perfectly
composed that it was hard to imagine that there could be something so wrong,
so fundamentally alien and inimical inside her. Not for the first time, she
wondered just exactly who this girl who called herself Bella was and what had
made her what she was. But this _was_ the first time she'd found herself
feeling a real need to know, a desire to learn all the secrets behind those
emerald eyes...
Babydoll gunned down that thought in its tracks. There was trouble in the
offing, big trouble, and her soldier's instincts were yelling at her to focus
on the priorities. Thoughts like that were distractions, big old stupid
distractions that served only to cut her odds of battlefield survival down to
that of a fudgecicle in Hell. If she didn't concentrate on the immediate
future, there wouldn't be anything beyond it.
"So, what's the game plan, Boss?" she asked, letting Babydoll the Heartless
Professional take over from Babydoll the Confused Woman, a shifting of mental
gears that was becoming harder to do with every passing day. "You gonna
bring us down behind this Lord guy's chair and stuff a shaped-charge up his
ass, or what?"
Cain shook his head, a few stray gray-blonde locks shaking loose from their
binding and spilling across his shoulders. "No can do, babe. He's got
powers beyond just turning people's brains to oatmeal, and one of those is a
primitive sort of control over the Vortex in his immediate area. We bring
the TARDIS within a klick-and-a-half of him, the only way we'll get it back
out is to carry it. I've picked us out a good spot to land, outside his
reach but close enough to start a ruckus, timed about ten minutes after we
left Shatterstone." He gave her a sudden wolfish grin. "Besides, we've got a
little errand to do first. There's somebody waiting for us, you see..."
----
Centurion Dinsekeriol swept his spyglass across the open ground in front of
the arched doorway, seeing nothing moving as far as the swell that marked the
valley's halfway point. Not far beyond there, he knew, a troop of ape
soldiery was running down the handful of intruders who'd cut their way into
the Vale. Or so it had been reported, at any rate. To the Centurion's own
ears the breeze had carried the din of the still-raging fight going on
somewhere beyond the rise, in the thickening jungle, while a single panicked
harvuk, riderless and bleeding, had gone galloping past just a few minutes
before.
"The apes will destroy the heathen scum," spat Brother Surek beside him.
"But it is well to be prepared. Where are your men with that blasted
fieldpiece?!"
Dinsekeriol regarded his 'ally' with cool forbearance, his three eyes hooded.
The Trinnian came of a race who made war their profession. Being lectured by
a non-combatant, and a human non-combatant at that, ran against the grain.
But when you took someone's coin to fight, you owed them a certain degree of
tact, he'd been taught. "They will be here soon, Brother Surek. The
culverin is an awkward weapon to maneuver through these tunnels, and by hand
at that. But once it is in place here, we will be able to command this
entire slope. If any Servii try to force this entrance, they will pay a
heavy price for it."
"They must be stopped!" the priest snarled. "They must all be killed and
devoured for their blasphemy!"
The Centurion shrugged, armored cuirass creaking. "Your master pays us to
fight your enemies and defend your lands. We'll earn our keep."
Surek started to break into another round of fanatical proclamations, but
seeing the Trinnian's stoic indifference, evidently gave up on it as a waste
of breath, which was exactly what Dinsekeriol had been hoping for.
The two stood in the archway, watching, waiting, and listening, a study in
contrasts. The Trinnian, native to the rugged hill country of the far
southwest, was sturdy, clean-limbed, and armored in well-kept hardened
leather, the crest of his mercenary legion painted on his chest and leg
armor. Smaller and lighter- boned than the blocky Servii, he might pass for
a human in bad light, save for the pale green cast of his skin and the third
eye in his forehead. A tight queue of dull golden hair stuck out beneath the
back of his helmet, while a thick beard of the same hue covered his long,
lean jaw. The priest, on the other hand, seemed like a human made from
scraps and cast-off filth. His mottled, corpse-white skin was stretched over
a rack of narrow bones, his face little more than a skull. With his patchy
hair and ragged red cassock, he might have been taken for a dead man if not
for the feverish light that glared in his eyes and the spastic jerking of his
movements. A curved dagger hung from his belt, but this had seen more
service in cutting the throats of bound sacrifices than in pitting life
against life in tests of prowess. Dinsekeriol thought the priest a gutless
lunatic. Surek thought the Trinnian a mindless animal. Aside from their
shared allegiance, the only thing they had in common was mutual contempt.
"Where are those fools with the fieldpiece?!" Surek snarled again. "I've had
slaves flayed for such indolence!"
Dinsekeriol shot the man a narrow glare. Agitation was one thing, implying
threats was quite another; plus that 'slave' reference rankled. "I told you,
Brother Surek, that Pajatino and his crew are moving their gun with all
possible speed. My legionaires do not shirk their duties or malinger, I
assure you."
Brother Surek's thin lips peeled back, showing the ruins of his rotted brown
teeth. A bit of froth flecked his mouth as he hissed, "Instant obedience to
the will of Our Lord the ONLY--"
The priest's words died on his tongue as the echoes of a horrible rending
shriek, the wheezing scream of dying devils, split the moldy air. The sound
rasped on the ears, setting the Centurion's teeth on edge as it rebounded
from the wet stone walls. Reflex drove him into a fighting crouch, his short
stabbing sword at the ready as he stared wildly about the tunnel. Surek
staggered against him, groaning along with the awful sound, both hands
clutched to his temples. Dinsekeriol swatted him aside like a bothersome
insect, his warrior instincts telling him to keep his sword arc clear.
And then the sound was gone, as suddenly and as completely as if it had never
been. The priest dropped his hands, blinking in confusion.
"What was that?!" the Centurion demanded.
"I-I-I know not," Surek stammered. "I have never heard the like... AAH!" He
thrust a bony finger toward the wall just beyond Dinsekeriol's shoulder.
Whirling about, the Trinnian saw nothing to be alarmed about. The rough-hewn
corridor was still as empty as before, only moldy, sweating stone and the
round buds of fungi showing in the shadows around the door in the tunnel
wall...
The door.
There hadn't been a door there before.
But there was one there now, a panel of heavy, crumbling wood crisscrossed
with scummed bronze bands, set in a stone archway. It was just exactly like
scores of other doors throughout the Vale's extensive fortress and Temple
complexes. Except that it was standing where it had not been standing
before, set into a wall beyond which was only solid earth and stone.
"A miracle!" rasped Brother Surek. "A miracle of magic!" He crept reverently
toward the mysterious door, hand outstretched to touch it. Abruptly he
stopped, sudden doubt on his face. "But is it the power of Our Lord, or a
trick of the heathen? Surely it must be the work of Our Great Lord, though,
as how could heathen sorcery take hold in this holy ground?"
Dinsekeriol, for his part, had no such theological qualms. To him, the door
was a mystery, therefore it was a deadly threat until proven otherwise. He
remained on his guard, sword out, silently praying for Pajatino and Fedranit
and the other lads to hurry the bloody Hells _up_ with that culverin!
Surek's trembling fingers were almost touching the worm-riddled wood when the
door, without preamble, swung wide open, nearly bowling the priest over.
Dinsekeriol saw the sudden flash of fear in the man's eyes, and then the tip
of a blade lashing out like silver lightning to open Surek's throat in an
endless red scream. The priest's body crumpled in a twitching, sodden heap,
the reek of his corrupted blood filling the passage.
The Centurion set his back to the wall, blade at the ready, as a huge dark
shape stepped out of the doorway and into the tunnel. It was a human, he saw
in the failing light, or looked to be, but such a human as Dinsekeriol had
never seen in all his long years of service. A grim-faced giant, shrouded in
a flapping black coat, the apparition sent slivers of ice through
Dinsekeriol's spine. Remembered fireside tales of ghost-eaters and reaping
demons whispered in his brain, creatures that took on the semblance of life
to rend and slay, tearing out and devouring the souls of their victims.
Human or demon, the long, gently curved swords in the man's hands were
something Dinsekeriol definitely understood. He grimly slipped his dagger
into his left hand and crept forward, prepared to give the intruder all the
fighting he could manage.
The man regarded him coolly with his one good eye. "Go your way if you want,
Trinnian," he rumbled. "I've got no quarrel with your kind, just your
master."
A little of the ice left Dinsekeriol's blood. A demon wouldn't bother about
speaking, it would just start slashing. Emboldened by the knowledge that his
foe must be mortal, he straightened and replied, "I have taken coin,
stranger. The Lord's quarrels are now my own."
"As you like," the man said, stalking forward with his swords at the ready.
Dinsekeriol came forward as well and the two met in a whirlwind of slashing
steel, sparks flying as blade met blade. But almost immediately, the
Centurion saw that he was overmatched. His opponent's speed and skill were
phenomenal, forcing him to a frantic defensive posture that could not long
last. Coupled with the man's greater reach and superior blades, the
Trinnian's options were few and bleak. His armor seemed to be his only
advantage. Steeling himself, he raised his sword to guard position, drew
back his dagger, and sprang forward in a head-down rush, putting his faith in
his armor to let him get close enough for a stab at his opponent's
unprotected belly.
It was a vain hope. The man's left sword slashed inward, flicking the dagger
from his grasp and laying open his heavy leather gauntlet and the hand
inside. The right came down hard on his sword's flat side, snapped the short
blade at the hilt, and crashed down onto his helmet, biting into the scalp
beneath. Blood poured down Dinsekeriol's face as his three eyes fluttered
shut and he tumbled to the moldy floor.
----
Cain stepped over the fallen mercenary, carelessly swiping blood from his
katana. "This way, kids!" he called as the Servii came filing out of the
TARDIS, Babydoll at their head, Bella quietly bringing up the rear. He
jabbed his blade toward the tunnel mouth and the twilit valley beyond. "The
other side of that rise, there, in amongst the trees. When you get there,
you'll see what to do. Now move!"
And move they did, Rahaaz and Babydoll side-by-side, he with his beloved
pistols drawn, she with the auto-shotgun slung hipshot- fashion from her
shoulder. Zangkai was right behind them, battle standard unfurled and
grinning like a fiend, with the rest of the raiders at his back.
Bella watched them go as she slipped into the shadows, folding the darkness
around her like a cloak. Cain flashed her a quick thumbs-up, nodding.
"You're our rear-guard, babe," he growled. "Kill anything that comes up this
tunnel. We'll be back in just a bit."
"Be careful," she whispered, feather-soft.
"I will," he grunted as he turned and ran after the Servii, not noticing that
it wasn't him she was looking at when she said that.
----
"What?! Thou'rt surely not in earnest, War Chief!"
"Aye. Deadly earnest." Ghorlok glared at his two subordinates, daring them
to question further. Jaskah merely nodded, shifting the unconscious body of
the slave girl to a more secure position so that he could free his swordhand.
Shizaan, though, was still inclined to argue.
"Shall we imperil the soul of our Cause to save our enemies' lives?" he spat.
"'Tis madness!"
"Thou wert not present when the prophecy was made," Ghorlok growled back.
"The Exalted Greatmother hath said, 'allies both expected and strange to us'
shall stand with the Servii. These I so deem. And as the Servii leave not
their smallest child nor meanest servant to the hands of the evil, so will I
not leave those who take our cause. Follow me now, else slay me and be
done." And with that, the War Chief set off at a run through the trees, back
toward where Geta had fallen before the apes, bellowing like a mad bull to
try and draw the furry brutes' attention. Shizaan shook his head, sighing,
and set off after him, sword in one paw and an axe in the other.
----
Geta screamed as the ape's knotty cudgel swung down at her. Still
half-stunned, she managed to jerk aside at the last second. She screamed
again, louder, as pain exploded through her shoulder, which had taken the hit
meant for her head. Growling its frustration, the beast raised its weapon
again, then dropped it, gagging on blood as a stone-tipped spear opened its
neck.
Marduk stood over her, one of the crude apish spears clenched in his fists.
The other apes gave back a little as he tore into them, running a second
beast through the heart, then bashing another with the shaft in a
lightning-quick return stroke. This was respite enough for Geta to clamber
to her feet, snatching up a fallen club in the process. Her left arm hanging
useless, she swung the club desperately with her right, trying to cover
Marduk's flank.
It wasn't enough. The apes were too many to hold at bay for long, and the
two Skyborn too weak. Marduk's spear lashed out, driving through a
fur-matted belly. The ape howled like a damned soul, but grasped the shaft
and held on with all its dying strength as Marduk tried to wrench the weapon
free. Another ape slipped in a ferocious stab that narrowly missed skewering
the young Guardsman, laying his side open in a messy but shallow furrow. He
staggered back as the ape grinned at him and drew back for the finishing
blow.
Something went whirring just past the Skyborn's head and the ape's face
dissoved into red ruin, a hand axe buried in its skull.
Again the apes gave back as Ghorlok and Shizaan came plowing into them,
sabers a-whirl. The Servii's terrible, lashing strokes split heads and
bellies, leaving a carpet of thrashing and sundered bodies in their wake.
The ferocity of the charge rolled the fighting back away from the two
Skyborn, giving them a moment to recover.
The apes gave further and might have broken, for all their numbers and
brutish fury, but a new will took hold of them, driving them into the fray
again. Ghorlok, yanking his blade from an ape's gushing ribs, noted the
sudden change, the stiffening of his foes' resolve. A moment later, his
heart sank when, as he'd suspected, a figure in red robes came galloping up
on the back of a winded harvuk. He sent another ape's head spinning from its
shoulders as he pawed at his belt, but his dagger was gone. He was out of
throwing weapons and Shizaan had already used his axe. With a grim curse,
the old War Chief began trying to hack a path to the foul priest. As long as
that man lived, there would be no escaping the apes.
"Take them!" the priest shrieked, lashing the Golden Apes with voice and
whip. "The defiling heathens must be killed and eaten! Death to them!"
Seeing Ghorlok striving in his direction, he nudged his mount away, letting
more of his minions rush between them. He suddenly caught sight of Jaskah
standing further off among the trees with Xel and jabbed his whip in that
direction. "Those two!" he yelled at a troop of his soldiery. "I want those
two, or their heads!" Instantly a clot of the beasts detached themselves from
the fight and began trotting toward the Servii and his precious burden.
Marduk, acting on instinct, moved to intercept them. He'd gleaned another
flint-headed spear from the dead apes and he thrust its wicked gray point at
the nearest ape as the group lumbered past. The big brute batted it aside
with a paw and stabbed at him with its own weapon. The two spear-fenced for
a moment, Marduk keeping a tree at his left to shield him, while the rest of
the apes pressed on with their mission.
Jaskah stood almost no chance of fleeing the apes in this jungle even alone,
much less with the slave-girl in his arms. Besides, he was a Servii born and
bred and it was not in him to run from a fight, regardless of the wisdom of
doing so. The apes let loose a volley of thrown spears as they came on and
Jaskah hunkered low under that rain, using his own armored body to shield
Xel. Most of the weapons missed, but a few rattled off his armor, one
cutting a gouge in his arm.
One of the apes, a long leap ahead of its fellows, brought up a club to dash
out the Servii's brains, but Jaskah's saber caught the hairy arm on the
downstroke. The ape squawled in agony, staring at the spouting stump as its
forearm thudded to the ground, club still clenched in its paw. Other apes
shouldered their maimed cohort aside and lunged in with spears. A flint
point splintered on Jaskah's breastplate as he twisted to keep his body
between Xel and those deadly spears. A hairy face bellowed its fetid breath
into his own a heartbeat before he caved it in with a punch of his hiltguard.
The blinded beast fell, taloned paws clutching at Jaskah's legs, immobilizing
him. The Servii kicked and stomped, feeling bone give way under his boots,
but still the ape held on. Another, seeing his distraction, caught his
swordarm and hung on with all its animal strength as a third leaped in with a
crude flint knife, hacking at his head. The first two strokes chipped
against Jaskah's tough helmet as he writhed in the apes' grip, not daring to
let go of Xel, even to save himself. The stabbing ape, frustrated by his
failure to hurt the Servii, grabbed at Jaskah's face to hold him still.
Apish fingers gouged cruelly at his face, drawing blood, but Jaskah twisted
his head free and clamped his teeth down on the questing hand. A clench of
powerful Servii jaws and a shake of his head sent the ape reeling out of the
fight, clutching at its mangled hand. Jaskah spat two bloody fingers into
the face of the next ape, which bellowed its rage as it rammed its spear
toward his chest.
All at once, the ape's head shattered into red mist as a series of rapid-fire
blasts shook the trees. The apes went down as if before a scythe in blasts
of tattered, hairy flesh. The ape holding Jaskah's arm was blown backwards
as an explosion blew out its chest in a shower of gory meat. In the blink of
an eye, a dozen Golden Apes were down, dead or dying, while the remaining
handful broke and ran for their lives, hooting in terror.
Jaskah took a moment to finish off the ape holding his legs, then checked to
make certain Xel was unharmed before glancing up to find out what mighty
savior had rescued the very hope of the Servii race from the jaws of their
foe.
"Hiya, greenie," said Babydoll as she trotted up. "So, are you the
designated babysitter, or what?"
Jaskah could only stand and gape at her as the crackle of Servii rifles
joined the din of battle in the jungle.