He had no choice. That’s what Mihran reminded himself as he spurred his tocka back across the grassland towards the vast silhouette of the ruined fortress where they had left Crossley. His primary model switched the moment the new species arrived from the forest. Even if he ignored that, the next three suggested retreat as well.
We will fight again, Mihran had thought-cast after ordering the retreat.
They had to. Lose now and they would be stuck in this land with an even smaller army and there was no way Mihran wanted to be trapped here and risk becoming what the Brakari had turned into.
It was the silver gates or death.
He looked up at the green sky. They had enough light to keep fighting: no sign of dusk yet.
Commander. Gal-qadan’s harsh tones entered his head. When do we turn to fight?
Mihran had asked Gal-qadan to form the army’s rearguard, alongside the mounted knights who had survived Lavalle’s defence of the ford. The Mongol knew many tactics but was refusing to accept this was a true retreat.
Defend the rear then seek safety in the fort, Mihran thought-cast. New orders will follow. He turned to catch a glimpse of Gal-qadan’s sneer.
In between Mihran and Gal-qadan, the mass of humans and Sorean ran, limped and scampered across the plain. It was a sorry sight. Many were falling behind and being picked off by the fastest Brakari. Mihran began thought-casting Li to ask her advice but stopped as memories of the explosion came back. There was no one else he trusted.
The dark shape of the ruined fort loomed ahead like an enormous temple. It reminded Mihran of the huge ruins his army had camped in during their campaigns across Mesopotamia and Syria, only this fort had been scarred by flame rather than sand and time. For a moment, Mihran allowed himself to picture what this grand ruin had once been, just as he had done on those desert nights under the stars. He imagined an impenetrable gleaming fortress upon which armies had thrown their might: tall buttresses where skeletal metal now stood and imposing towers where stone now tottered as though leaning against the sky.
Everything returns to dust.
Ahead, Crossley and a number of soldiers stood by a fire with the giant pillars looming behind like a leafless forest. Mihran knew he had to take care and led his tocka on a winding path marked with yellow dots around what looked like deep trenches criss-crossing the ground in front of the ruin.
‘I hope it slows them down,’ he said as he pulled the tocka to a halt. ‘Have you searched the fort?’
‘Sure,’ Crossley replied. ‘We’ve got deep foundations – deeper than I can see anyway – and there are over five hundred pillars.’
‘Made of?’ Mihran asked.
‘Stone with a metal core,’ Crossley replied.
‘And the gap between pillars?’ Mihran asked.
‘The same all the way through.’
Too narrow for a Lutamek to enter and, Mihran hoped, too small for a Brakari. The humans and Sorean would be safe inside the stone forest as long as they were protected from the inevitable bombardment.
‘Anything else?’ Mihran asked.
Crossley raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, it’s funny you ask. Hector here,’ he pointed to a soldier Mihran didn’t recognise, ‘has found–’
‘Wait.’ Mihran held up a hand and dismounted his tocka. He didn’t recognise the new soldiers: four men and one woman. ‘Who are these people?’
‘Soldiers who heard your call to arms and…’
One of the men stepped forward and held out his fist. ‘I pledge my allegiance to your cause.’
Mihran stared at the broad-chested man and the newcomers. He ran their weapons and clothing through the list of soldiers Li had given him. The soldiers matched people missing from the inventory but Mihran had been fooled before. Behind them, the fastest foot soldiers were arriving: the Sorean and Olan were regrouping nearby having navigated the maze of trenches.
‘Olan,’ Mihran called out.
The large Viking sauntered over, panting heavily. ‘Commander.’
‘What do you see here?’ Mihran gestured at the five new soldiers.
‘More soldiers!’ Olan forced a smile as he fought for breath.
‘All human?’
‘Yes.’ Olan stared at the woman, who held his gaze, forcing him to look away.
It was enough for Mihran, who trusted Olan’s chest plate. ‘Good. You are welcome in our army.’ He pointed at the oncoming enemy, who were forming a wide shadow across the horizon. ‘Your timing couldn’t be better.’ Mihran stared into Hector’s eyes. ‘Have you had any… changes?’
‘I…’ the man looked down at his feet.
‘Just tell him,’ Crossley said. ‘All of you – we haven’t got time for this!’
The big man gave Crossley a look similar to the one Lavalle saved for him, then turned to Mihran. ‘I can push arrows away with my thoughts.’
Mihran’s eyebrows raised. ‘Good.’ He’d last longer than most when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, he thought.
The other four listed their adaptations, none of which were game-changers, but Mihran added them to his model. ‘Crossley, I need the archers in position. Direct them as they arrive. All other troops are to be scattered throughout the fort.’
‘Yes, Commander. I know the perfect spot,’ Crossley replied.
Mihran closed his eyes to thought-cast the same message to his captains.
Nearly there, Samas replied.
And then wefight, Gal-qadan replied but Mihran didn’t respond. He wanted Gal-qadan’s tocka hidden deep inside the fortress.
Looks like I might be waylaid, Commander, Bowman replied and shared an image of a group of Brakari who had his group surrounded. Ethan and Euryleia were with him.
Lavalle, Mihran thought-cast. Help Bowman.
There would be fewer archers at the fort than Mihran had planned for. He adjusted his models. They were running out of time.
Mihran led his tocka into the fort, calming it with soft words as they passed in between pillars and into the darkness. This sanctuary would have to suffice, he told himself and, after a quick saunter around, he sought Crossley, who was giving directions.
‘…up that stairwell then jump over and you’ve got a perfect view. Hey, Commander, our spot is over here.’ He led Mihran and his tocka up a slope to a metal platform that gave them a clear view through the diagonal gaps between the pillars and a view of the ground straight ahead.
‘Perfect. And what about our other plans?’
‘Pretty perfect too.’ The American smiled.
A flash of light on the open plain caused them to turn and cover their eyes.
Mihran blinked to get rid of the black and white lines. Report, he thought-cast.
We’ve lost Ethan, Bowman replied. Several injured.
Get to safety, Mihran ordered. Lavalleis coming to your aid.
‘Well that screwed up my eyes.’ Crossley blinked and stared into the dark centre of the fort.
‘Leave me, I need to think,’ Mihran said. ‘Get the army in as quickly as possible.’
‘Yes, Commander.’
Mihran stood beside his tocka on the platform with a hundred questions circling his mind. He stroked his dyed beard, took a deep breath and started bringing order to the chaos. He visualised his thoughts as birds in a clear sky and herded them into groups. Thoughts about the origins of the fort; Gal-qadan’s alien weapon; injured soldiers; the new titans; Belsang. Categorised and prioritised, he pushed away the frivolous questions and concentrated on the immediate problems.
Regroup. Assess. Attack.
Words Li had told him came to mind: ‘In war, numbers are not an issue – concentrate your strength, assess your enemy and win the confidence of your soldiers.’
It was time for his wildcards: the unpredictable weapons and abilities. He couldn’t calculate their effect but they needed something to catch Belsang off guard.
First they needed to set the trap.
Billy, Mihran thought-cast the Scottish warrior, Sing me a song.
Aye , Commander.
Mihran saw Gal-qadan’s tocka winding through Crossley’s trenches and minefields.
Come straight through, Mihran ordered him and spoke when he came into earshot. ‘Send your troops deep, to our right flank. Then we must talk.’
Gal-qadan gave his orders then brought his tocka to the base of the ramp.
‘You have a choice, Gal-qadan,’ Mihran said. ‘Give your weapon to the infantry and lead your men, or dismount and fight here with your weapon.’
Gal-qadan snorted and looked away. Mihran took it as a sign he was weighing up his options. He was well aware he was forcing Gal-qadan to give up what the Mongol regarded as half his power.
‘It is borrowed anyway.’ Gal-qadan cut a strap holding the large gun on the back of his tocka, sending it crashing to the ground, and rode off without looking at Mihran.
‘Keep on the flank,’ Mihran said. ‘I’ll need you soon.’
‘Crossley,’ Mihran called out, ‘I have a new toy for you.’
Mihran scanned the army. If he pushed his mind out, he could feel where the archers and foot soldiers had been stationed. He could also feel the mass of Brakari and slave soldiers pressing down on them. He opened his eyes and listened to the Scottish lament that came and went with the breeze. Then he saw the first ghost warrior, standing by one of the front pillars, another shimmering into existence next to it.
The way of war, he thought, is a way of deception.
Now to prepare the attack.
John scanned the bodies on the valley floor and assumed the army had been taken into slavery by the Brakari, but the blinding flash over the horizon told him the fighting was still going on.
Millok pulled the cart to John and he clambered in. His friends needed him. How could he look them in the eye after all this and tell them he hadn’t tried to help?
Millok pulled away and, as they passed bodies and trails, John built a picture of his army’s last actions. The storage boxes lay empty where John had last seen them next to the bodies of the Lutamek, and a stream of abandoned weapons, bags and dead soldiers led back in the direction the army had walked that morning. John saw the hazy silhouette of a thousand smokestacks in the distance and it became clear.
‘It’s a retreat!’ he shouted to Millok. ‘A tactical retreat!’
‘How do… if it is… best?’ Millok’s words were cut off as she ran.
‘It is,’ John replied, guessing what Millok had said.
They had no time to stop and talk.
He pictured Crossley by the tall stacks of the ruined fort and smiled at what his friend would have in store for the Brakari. It was all part of Mihran’s plan! He must have known this would happen all along. The wind rushed past John’s ears and tousled his hair. It felt good. But as they passed more bodies, John’s good humour faded. Clusters of burnt human and Sorean bodies lay smouldering. A few Brakari carcases could be seen seeping dark blood into the grassland, but only a few.
John’s army was being hunted down and slaughtered.
Millok slowed down when the rearguard of the Brakari army came into view. From this distance, the haze of Brakari and their slave army looked endless and he didn’t recognise the huge lumbering beasts on the right wing.
He spotted the silhouette of a Lutamek.
‘I’ll turn the box on,’ he said to Millok, who unhitched herself and came round to inspect the Lutamek gadget.
‘Do you know what to do?’ she asked.
John stared at the twinkling lights and coloured buttons and swallowed. ‘I thought it would be obvious when the time came.’
‘How about this one?’ Millok used a leg blade to tap a square shape.
Nothing happened.
John rotated the cube, searching for a sign. A glass panel covered rows of tiny coloured lights and beneath each light he could see rows of dots, which matched the patterns he had seen on the Lutamek. He scanned them until he found one he recognised.
‘Here, Ten-ten.’ The light next to the rows of dots was red, while others flickered blue and many showed no light at all. ‘What does it mean?’
‘I assume the empty boxes are dead Lutamek.’
John scanned the empty lights until he found a set of dots he recognised. ‘Two-zero-three.’ He remembered the leader’s deep tones and stern manner. ‘He must have died when the Brakari set them against each another,’ John said. ‘What would the survivors do without a leader?’
‘Don’t worry about that, it’s the flashing lights we need to concentrate on – they must be the enslaved Lutamek,’ Millok replied.
John pressed one of the flashing lights and it turned red. He looked up and stared across the prairie, expecting one of the huge robots to jump into the air. But nothing happened. When he looked back it was flashing blue again.
Crossley would know what to do, John thought. Or Mihran or Althorn. But they were on the other side of the enormous enemy army. John started to feel hot. He didn’t want to make a decision like this, he just wanted to go home and leave all this behind.
‘Oh, bloody hell!’ he cursed and pressed all the flashing blue lights. They all changed to red, but a second later they were winking blue again.
‘Maybe we need to get closer?’ Millok suggested.
‘Closer?’ John knew they had to fight but what use were two soldiers against an entire army? Maybe distracting some Brakari would buy the army some time? He grabbed the tin soldier under his shirt. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’
Millok set off, skirting a wide arc to the Brakari’s left flank and John pressed the buttons. He looked for other signs on the box but, as they drew closer, his attention drifted.
‘What’s that?’ John pointed to two huddles of shapes off the left flank. Light flickered between them as though they were inside a tiny lightning storm.
Millok headed for it and John realised it was a separate melee.
‘They’re rounding up the stragglers!’ John shouted and his gun-arm clicked.
As they neared, John made out a group of twenty humans and Sorean hiding behind rocks, while several well-armed Brakari tried to surround them and blast the cover away. One of the Brakari ventured wide to get around the open side of the defenders but was sent scuttling back by a laser shot that ripped off a forearm.
John recognised Li’s rifle.
‘We need to distract them!’ John shouted and started spinning shapes in his gun’s chamber.
His stomach tightened and he retched. This was it. Into battle. Time to fight.
A shape to the right came into John’s view and he turned to see a swathe of tocka rushing with it across the plain at a speed greater than Millok could manage. Lavalle rode at the head, splendid in his black armour, sword raised and visor pushed up. As their speeding paths closed, John could see Lavalle’s eyes were lit with anger and his tocka bared a mouth bursting with razor-sharp teeth. A memory of his grandfather came to John: his red face and foaming mouth as he recounted a cavalry charge. Now John was really doing it!
He couldn’t help himself. ‘Charge!’ he shouted, willing Millok on.
Millok sped up and John braced his gun-arm on the cart side. His heart was racing as they neared the Brakari, who were turning to face them. John started spinning bullets: long and pointed to fly far and produce less heat, he hoped. He held his breath as Lavalle’s tocka met the first Brakari. Lavalle hung on as his steed weaved and leapt at the Brakari with the prowess of a lioness. It took a slash on a hind leg but was too quick for the lumbering Brakari and was on its back in a flash. Lavalle was slashing his heavy broadsword, cleaving limbs from sockets and parrying blade-legs from below but, as John and Millok passed, the Brakari rolled over, sending Lavalle and his tocka flying.
John couldn’t look back. Millok was heading straight for another Brakari, who flashed green like Doctor Cynigar. John aimed and fired a stream of bullets. It was harder than firing the old gun because he had to build the bullets as fast as he fired them, but he soon caught the knack and threw in a few corkscrew shells to tear at the Brakari’s thick shell. It wasn’t working though.
The Brakari fired back, releasing a ball of light, the cart exploded with a flash and everything stopped. The ground and sky sped past, one after the other and, when he stopped rolling, roaring sounds and flashes filled John’s mind as he struggled to pick himself off the ground. Apart from his dazed head, he was uninjured. Millok was nowhere to be seen and the battle raged around him. Tocka dashed past. The blue shells of the Brakari were near, as were the rocks where the soldiers had hidden, who were out now, attacking.
He saw a woman – was it Euryleia? It looked like her but John’s head was spinning and something seemed wrong with her body. He blinked and turned to see Millok fighting. It was the first time he had seen her in her element. Released from the cart, she was nearly as fast as Althorn. It was obvious she was on the allies’ side and her grey colour set her apart, but John still worried someone might fire at her by mistake.
John dug his metal foot into the dirt and pushed off his gun-arm to stand. Now he could see the fight more clearly. Lavalle’s tocka had regrouped and were charging three Brakari who had created a defensive position against the rocks, while a party of Sorean were spinning and dancing around a cornered Brakari as they fought in their energetic way. A laser shot flashed as it pierced a Brakari head shell, frying its brain. John followed the beam back to Li’s rifle and was surprised to see someone else holding it.
‘Bowman?’
The fight was nearly over and, for a reason John couldn’t understand, he felt sad. He felt left out. He hadn’t done anything to help this group effort and he felt like he had to be part of the group. He headed towards the three Brakari and pictured corkscrews spinning in the gun chamber. He added barbs and fine points and found himself running as the group of tocka attacked the Brakari. Two tocka were brought down, sliced to pieces by the Brakari blades, and John saw an unsaddled rider hammered into the ground with a rock-like claw, yet John ran faster. One of the Brakari saw John and ran at him: claws raised and mouth blades slashing. It let out a screech as it charged. John didn’t think about what to do next because it came naturally. He slowed, planted his feet, raised his gun-arm and fired an infinity shape, crossing over at the Brakari’s head.
But the Brakari still charged.
Puffs of dust were exploding behind the Brakari, who sped up.
Thirty paces away; twenty-five.
Had he missed? John created and fired new bullets. More tiny explosions ripped the ground behind the Brakari.
Twenty paces.
He fired more.
Fifteen paces.
He noticed a change. The rhythm of the Brakari’s pace became disjointed as one leg stopped moving in time with the rest. Then another leg. It didn’t slow down, but its legs were dropping limp one by one. John fired more as the huge blue-shelled beast closed in on him, shaking the ground. Then a front leg fell, tripping the next, sending the Brakari into a stumble and roll. With a piercing scream and wildly slashing claws, it rolled past John.
Only when the Brakari stopped did the dark blood spout from the myriad holes created by John’s bullets. He stood in silence, staring at the dead soldier. Had he done that? He looked around. The rest of the Brakari were dead.
A scuttling sound behind him made John turn and raise his gun.
‘Well done, John.’ It was Millok. Her sides flashed blue and her spiracles gasped for air.
‘I–’ John panted for breath as well.
‘You can lower your weapon now,’ she said. ‘The fight’s over.’
‘Oh.’ John let his gun-arm swing down. ‘Sorry, I just…’
Lavalle arrived with a clatter of tocka feet. ‘Your weapon is working now, John?’
‘Yeah.’ John smiled at Euryleia, who sat behind Lavalle.
‘And the box? Did you get it?’ the knight asked.
‘Well, yes.’ John gestured back at the cart. ‘I tried working it but nothing’s happened.’
‘I’ll let Mihran know,’ Lavalle said and closed his eyes to thought-cast their commander.
While he waited, John watched Bowman help injured Sorean onto the cart and coaxed a tocka over. Euryleia was bending a bow and stringing its tight cord. Didn’t she already have a bow during the fight? John thought.
Lavalle opened his eyes. ‘John, join Bowman on the cart and hold back with…’ he cast a glance at Millok.
‘Millok,’ John said.
‘Millok, yes. Then follow us.’ He turned the tocka in the direction of the main Brakari army.
‘What are you doing?’ John asked.
‘We’re attacking of course!’ Lavalle’s eyes glinted and he kicked the tocka into a gallop. ‘With me!’ he shouted to his cavalry.
As they paced away, John had a clear view of Euryleia on the back of Lavalle’s tocka. She had two quivers strapped across her back and held two primed bows. John blinked and looked again.
She held two bows in her four arms.
Why didn’t Belsang just finish these weaklings off? Panzicosta’s plates snapped in annoyance as he galloped across the grassland. Everything was in Belsang’s favour: a weak, unprepared enemy; a battlefield of his choosing; the power to bring back the first army; even a platoon of unexpected allies for Brak’s sake. With all this, Belsang still let the humans crawl away undefeated. Victory was there for the taking, so why didn’t he grab it and be done with it? Did he want the ‘perfect victory’? That kind of talk got you killed in Panzicosta’s day. War was ruthless and unforgiving. You won or lost.
‘Get out of my way!’ Panzicosta bellowed at a pair of young Brakari who veered into his path.
He might not be manoeuvrable or slim like other Brakari, but when he got moving nothing could stop him.
‘General.’ They submitted and parted.
Up ahead a stack of broken towers loomed: a safe haven for the humans. The dull sun was still high, so they had time, but what if darkness fell before a victory was established? Would they still win? And why did Belsang insist on sacrificing the one-eyed human in front of the enemy? There were far better ways to intimidate them.
Ahead, a group of Brakari captains were feasting on slaughtered humans and Panzicosta felt his hunger rise as he watched them rip into their abdomens and gorge themselves on the foetid bowels within.
It gave him an idea.
‘Cease!’ he ordered and, with great effort, slowed his hulk of a body to a trot and curved a path round to face them. ‘Cease your feeding.’
The Brakari officers looked up.
‘You are welcome to your portion, General.’ A sleek Brakari captain pushed a corpse forward.
Panzicosta closed his spiracles and fought the urge to dig in. ‘No, I have a better use for these.’
One of the officers, his mind fogged by bloodthirst, stood to his full height and approached Panzicosta with both claws raised.
‘We are in battle, Sergeant,’ Panzicosta roared, ‘hand the corpse to me or face instant punishment!’
The sergeant snapped its shells without slowing its stride. Its mouth-pieces gnashed rhythmically against each other, forming a foam of human blood, which dripped from his mouth.
‘You risk death over a meal?’ Panzicosta was almost bemused by the behaviour and flexed a back leg. ‘So be it.’
Panzicosta clicked a button with a foreleg and a silver tube emerged from his undercarriage and sprayed the advancing Brakari with white gas. The sergeant froze instantly. Panzicosta walked over with no rush, tapped the Brakari on its head plate and, with a sound like breaking glass, the large arthropod’s shell shattered and collapsed to the floor, followed by his warm innards.
‘Now.’ Panzicosta faced the other officers. ‘Load the bodies up and take them to the catapult.’
‘Yes, General. Victorio Brakarius!’ they chanted.
Panzicosta flexed his plates and stretched his legs. ‘Yes, Victorio Brakarius.’
He stalked away without looking back and cast a glance to where Belsang floated on his lumbering Vaalori, surrounded by guards and dragging the human sacrifice behind on a broken Lutamek. Around them, other sparking, collared Lutamek peppered the host of slave soldiers, hemmed in by Brakari guards. Light-blue clones mostly. Which reminded Panzicosta – where was that dried-up Skrift turd, Cynigar?
General!
Panzicosta reeled back as Belsang’s mental icicle drilled into his head. Yes, Dominus.
Cease killing my officers.
Dominus, his insolence needed reprimanding, Panzicosta replied.
So will yours if you disobey me. The sharp pain pressed deeper into his head, then disappeared. Panzicosta swayed and opened every set of eyes as he fought a wave of nausea. He breathed deeply and caught sight of a troop of slave species carrying large metal canisters. These were the energy potions Doctor Cynigar brewed for Belsang. An idea formed and Panzicosta smiled, but a sudden flash of light made him turn with a gasp.
‘Brakarius!’ he groaned.
Two sets of eyes were temporarily blinded but others compensated and focused. He could see a host of dead soldiers: the fastest Brakari and their last few Skrift had been destroyed by whatever weapon had released the light. Some humans and Sorean had been injured too.
‘Report!’ Panzicosta shouted at one of the nearest Brakari officers.
‘General?’
‘The explosion – what happened?’ Panzicosta asked.
‘A human detonation, General.’
‘It sacrificed itself?’
‘It’s not clear, General, but–’
Panzicosta held up a front claw to silence the officer, who cowered, waiting to be relieved. The General ignored it and stared at the tall towers in the distance: the humans’ refuge. They must be getting desperate if they were sacrificing soldiers. Was that Belsang’s plan? To force them to use up their hidden weapons until they were broken and could fight no more?
Panzicosta set off, striking the officer with a tail blade as he passed.
The tocka pulled the cart faster than Millok had been able to and, despite the fear tightening John’s stomach as they closed in on the Brakari army, he felt exhilarated. The two Sorean clinging to the tocka’s back looked wide-eyed and happy too, with their fur flowing in the wind. A hundred paces ahead, Lavalle and the other knights were veering to the right.
‘What’s this then?’ Bowman strained his neck to get a better look from where he sat next to John.
Their tocka followed its instinct and stayed with the herd.
John peered back, past the injured Sorean who shared his cart, to see Millok keeping up with them.
‘That’s where we’re heading!’ Bowman pointed at the huge beasts.
From this distance it was hard to make out individual Brakari soldiers but Belsang’s huge steed was plain to see at its core, as were the large creatures on the right flank. John squinted as a shape rose off the catapult on the back of one giant, lifted high into the air and smashed into the ruined fort with a hollow echo.
‘We have to help,’ John said.
A whip-crack signalled a new bombardment, followed by another soon after.
Bowman shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Lavalle said hold back.’ He smiled and patted Li’s rifle. ‘But this should make easy work of them, eh?’
John nodded and stared at the flashing lights on the gun, which were as much of a mystery to him as the Lutamek box. ‘How did you get it?’ he asked. ‘What happened to Li?’
‘They picked her off,’ Bowman replied. ‘Then Ethan had the rifle… amazing shot he was.’
‘What happened to him?’ John wondered who in their army was still alive.
‘We were caught back there.’ Bowman nodded back to the plain. ‘Whole bunch of us. You know how his skin was turning grey?’
John nodded. He’d heard Dakaniha tell Mihran it was a skin disease.
‘Well he must have been absorbing light, that’s my guess. God knows how in this bloody cloudy land but, anyway, we were surrounded and defending ourselves. Lavalle and his lot were off chasing Brakari and Gal-qadan’s tocka were long gone.’
John took another look at where they were headed while Bowman talked. More catapults were firing and he could see the red worms massing together to load more boulders.
‘He waited till they were near enough then he exploded.’
John turned back. ‘A flash of light?’
‘Yep. Then he was gone.’ Bowman shrugged.
It was the flash he and Millok had seen from the first battlefield.
‘He took out most of the Brakari and we finished off the rest,’ Bowman continued as the cart bobbled and jolted beneath them. ‘A few of us were caught in the blast though.’ He looked over to where Lavalle rode at the head of the pack.
‘Is that how they were injured?’ John nodded at the burnt cat-like soldiers who looked like children with their hair burnt off.
‘Yep,’ Bowman replied.
‘And Euryleia?’ John asked.
Bowman’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, strange thing. Should be used to it now but, well, she was in a bad way and then these new arms grew.’ He stopped with a shake of the head.
They were getting close and John saw more detail in the Brakari army: individual slave soldiers; Belsang on his beast; the enslaved Lutamek. John picked up the metal cube and handed it to Bowman. ‘If you can work Li’s gun you might know what to do with this.’
Bowman frowned. ‘Just a load of flashing lights to me.’ He played one-handed with the lights on the panel John had found, pressing them in a random order. Then he laughed. ‘Funny how you turn them off and they turn on again like someone’s playing a game.’
‘Well it’s not a ga–’ John stopped mid-sentence. ‘Maybe someone is switching them back on again.’ John stared across the enemy army and spotted a green mass of thrashing vines. ‘Look, there’s Mata!’
The Maori was in full battle mode on the edge of the army: covered in skin of a hard bark core, trapping anything in his path with thorn-ribbed tendrils as he stalked the prairie. He reminded John of the sea creatures they’d seen in the lake, as Mata reeled in his prey on tentacles and pulled the tough Brakari apart like Cromer crabs.
‘Looks like it’s our turn now.’ Bowman nodded to where Lavalle led his knights on the right wing.
Bowman handed the Lutamek box back to John and got on his knees. ‘Ready for some target practice?’
John looked at the box and saw a new section where Bowman had slid a panel back, revealing three new buttons. He didn’t know why but he held them all down with his thumb, then ran the muzzle of his gun over the lights. This time they stayed red.
‘John!’ Bowman shouted. ‘We’re getting close!’
He saw the worms wriggling across the backs of the giant catapult holders, less than fifty paces away.
‘Okay, let’s do it!’ John shoved the box in his satchel and started spinning long-range bullets.
Bowman attracted the attention of the Sorean on the tocka’s back and explained what they wanted to do: circle in, fire and speed off before the enemy could retaliate.
John looked back at Millok and hoped she would understand what they were doing.
‘Fire at will!’ he shouted, pointing in the direction of the lumbering beasts, and the cart dashed in for their first attack.
‘Aim high,’ Bowman shouted over the noise of the wheels, ‘we’ve got a wind coming in from the right.’
John felt the spinning air-bullets line up and aimed at the red worms on the nearest beast.
‘Bet I hit more!’ Bowman’s eyes were wide with excitement.
‘Let’s see.’ John gritted his teeth as they fired in unison.
The flash from Li’s rifle startled John, sending his first burst of bullets to the right, knocking off one of the catapult loaders.
‘Yes!’ John shouted.
As they closed in, John fired flat-nosed bullets that punched the worms off their platforms. One of the Sorean on the tocka’s back was firing a crossbow, while the other steered the tocka around the back of the enemy beast. John kept firing in bursts, trying to keep the temperature of his gun-arm down. He’d lost count of how many enemy he’d hit. One had been thrown backwards by his shot and tangled up in the catapult mechanism which fired prematurely, sending its lump of rock spinning into the Brakari army.
‘Nice shot!’ Bowman shouted.
‘Cheers,’ John replied.
‘Bring us around!’ Bowman shouted to the Sorean jockey and they wheeled away.
Looking ahead, John saw a group of Lavalle’s tocka had leapt on a fallen behemoth, while another stomped about blindly with one of Euryleia’s arrows protruding from an eye. Behind them, John caught a glimpse of Millok disappearing into the throng of catapult giants only to appear on one’s back, flashing electric blue and flitting about quicker than John’s eye could keep up with. A second later, the platform dropped from the beast’s back, smashing into the ground.
John’s tocka swung towards the group on the far right. Bowman took a long shot, trying to hamstring the nearest beast, but its tough armoured skin absorbed the energy pulse.
‘It isn’t enough,’ John shouted to Bowman.
Dozens of catapults still threw their devastating loads and the nearest battalion of Brakari had turned to defend them.
‘Aim for the straps,’ John shouted and Bowman nodded.
The tocka sped up again and they aimed low. Bowman’s pulse caught a side strap and melted the lacquered hide but it didn’t split. John tried to finish off the job but just peppered the strap with holes. They cut left and swerved back to the next beast where Bowman’s second shot had more luck, cutting through a major strap, jolting the catapult. The weight shift pulled the beast into the next behemoth and it fell to the ground with a deep bellow.
The tocka wheeled away as a wave of Brakari rushed through, firing energy pulses and spinning missiles at them.
‘Watch out!’ John shouted as a devilish snake-like torpedo whipped through the air and blasted the archer Sorean off the tocka’s back.
John turned and fired at the Brakari. Bowman had given up on the rifle and fired his trusty longbow now, sending Marodeen’s bird arrows into the sky, followed by some of Crossley’s explosive mini-spears. Together they bought enough time to retreat and regroup.
‘We need to get to Lavalle or back to Mihran,’ Bowman said when the tocka slowed for a rest. ‘I’ll thought-cast for orders.’ He closed his eyes.
‘Right,’ John said and slumped to a sitting position but only had to wait a few seconds.
‘Shit!’ Bowman’s eyes snapped open. ‘We need to get out of here. Quick, pull them around!’ he shouted at the Sorean jockey. ‘Everyone, this way!’ Bowman beckoned the group of tocka away from the Brakari army.
John was looking around in panic as the cart sped away. Something was about to happen, but what?
Then he heard a deep rumbling sound.