Prison of Night

He sat in a somber room looking at his maps, a communicator at his side and, behind him, like a scarlet flame, stood the cyber Dumarest and known must be at the commander's service.

And, this time, there was sound; the rustle of papers, the sigh of breathing, the rustle as Tomir moved, the scrape of his chair.

"Report!" he snapped into the communicator. "Unit Two!"

"No change, sir." The man had a hard, rugged face. "Still no surrender."

"Advance barrage."

"More and we'll be on the walls."

"Obey!" Tomir slapped at a button. "Unit Five! Report!"

"Castle walls breeched and internal damage achieved. Alcorus asked for permission to fly to Belamosk and urge surrender. Permission granted."

"Hold your fire. Unit Four?" Tomir grunted as he heard a similar report. "Maintain surveillance. Unit Three?"

"No reaction as yet, sir."

"Increase destruction. Cease only when the owner asks for permission to visit Belamosk."

Ardoch said, as the communicator died, "My lord it would be best to cancel your orders to Unit Two. Belamosk must not be put at risk."

"This is my war, Cyber!"

"And you will win it, my lord. But we have a bargain."

"Dumarest. I know. But he is stubborn and I refuse to wait longer. Once he sees his woman in danger he'll show himself. Once she sees her precious castle begin to fall apart she'll surrender. Either way we win."

A crude prediction, too crude for any satisfaction and too dangerous for Ardoch's mission. One missile and luck could send stone to crush Dumarest's skull. There was no safety for anyone under fire. Even a near miss could ruin his mission and, as he well knew, the Cyclan had no patience with those who failed.

He stepped closer to Tomir, unaware of the things lurking in the crevasses of the walls, the eyes and ears which caught and relayed every word. Creatures of the Sungari living in the gloom of the underground chamber, adapted for a specific task and set to spy.

"My lord, you must cancel that order." His voice retained its even monotone but, even so, Tomir caught the hidden threat.

"Leave me, Ardoch!"

"The order, my lord. You will cancel it." The cyber's hand rose, a finger pointing at the young man's face. From beneath the nail something gleamed and, as the hand darted forward, pierced the skin of Tomir's cheek. "You will do it now."

The man was already dead, the drug injected into his flesh robbing him of all volition. He would obey as if a marionette and then, like a puppet with broken strings, he would fall.

But, as he turned to the communicator, his hand slipped and hit the destruct button incorporated into the military unit.

The unexpected. The unknown factor which could ruin any prediction. The element which could render useless any plan. Ardoch looked at his hand, the dead body, his mind already assessing probabilities. The orders had been given, even now the missiles would be closing the gap to the walls. Orders could stop them but would they obey his commands? Louchon was the the next in line, he could stop the barrage, but first he had to be convinced.

Dumarest watched as the cyber left the chamber.

"Now! If you are going to help do it now!"

A wordless cry from the mind to those who had shown him a little of the power they possessed. The Sungari who alone could do what needed to be done.

And he was looking at a group of men standing around a launcher.

They were efficient, glad the waiting was over, eager for what spoils victory would bring. Their officer lifted an arm and waited for a moment. He wore the visor of his helmet raised and few of his men wore body armor. There was no need when fighting at so far a distance. The sky was clear of rafts, no enemy could touch them, and confident in their safety they were careless.

"Now!"

Before the missile could be fired, the load it carried delivered to the castle, the fury of the warhead tearing at stone and flesh and bone and turning graceful men and women into crawling things of horror.

"Now! For God's sake stop them if you can!"

The air blurred.

It shook to the quiver of wings, the passage of bodies spined and with serrated fins, creatures of chitin and bone. Living darts, pointed, barbed, coming from nowhere and striking without warning.

The officer screamed and fell, holes where his eyes had been, blood gushing to stream down his face and join the fountain pulsing at his throat.

His men spun, some running, others beating at the air with hands too slow to hit the living missiles. They died, falling with blood marking their bodies, clothing ripped, flesh torn from bone, bone shattered by the bullet-like impact.

A shift and other men, more death, more destruction of the invading force. And more. And more. Until, finally, it was over.

From the raft the ground was a mottled patchwork of rocks and boulders lined with crevasses and dotted with patches of scrub. A hard place to find anything still less the relatively small figure of a man. Sighing Gartok lowered his binoculars and palmed his aching eyes.