Glen Cook Darkwar 03 Ceremony

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aimlessly, complicating the battle situation. The struggle remained close
despite the technology and numbers ranged against the silth. Henahpla and
Cherish, recalling what Commander Jackson had told them about warships, were
trying to intimidate the enemy by concentrating on vessels capable of carrying
riders away.
Perhaps that was not the wisest tactic, Marika reflected. But she let them
continue, with just a light touch to let them know she would be back among
them soon.
She opened the urns and sang an ill-remembered memorial chant. The breeze
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around the darkship wafted bits of meth dust. She continued on into rites of
Mourning for the entire Degnan pack, which she had owed for so long.
"I kept my promise, as you kept yours," Marika whispered to the spirits of the
huntresses. "We kept faith. Fare you well wherever, and I pray we meet in
another life, to hunt the same trails."
Fighter aircraft were coming up from the south and in from the west. Another
flight circled over the distant sea, hoping she would flee that way. Up in
orbit others were thinking of her too. Starstalker was keeping close track.
She scattered the last ashes, sped one final farewell, then resumed her place
at the tip of the dagger, well satisfied that she had fulfilled her principal
obligation. Now she could join the rest of silthdom in death.
She had the golden bowl passed, for she felt a need of renewed strength. She
had begun to feel her years. And she could not convince herself that
self-sacrifice was the only remaining answer.
Ready?
Her crew responded affirmatively. Some even seemed eager to fling themselves
into the jaws of the All. There were no doubts in their minds. They would die
here, heroically, or later, if vanquished but unslain, in some grand and
foolish ceremony.
Marika hurled ghosts wherever aircraft were approaching, scattering wreckage
over land and sea. Then she climbed rapidly, calling on her backup to assume
the Mistress's duties again.
She stretched herself to the system's bounds, searching for her old dark ally.
The great black fought her angrily. She refused to acknowledge its desire to
be left alone. She dragged it toward her.
Then she opened to the battle.
It was even no longer. Henahpla had been slain. Cherish had but two bath
remaining and could not manage her black while struggling to control her
voidship. Several fainthearts had fled for the derelict.
The outcome was no longer in doubt if one were silth enough to read it.
Starstalker began guiding alien warships to intercept Marika.
She whipped the great black in on the Serke voidship. They shrieked and jumped
away, but not without having smelled the rotton breath of death. Not
distracted by having to manage the darkship, Marika kept watch. She hurled the
black the instant she sensed Starstalker returning from the Up-and-Over. Again
she got her blow in. Then again, and again, and the fifth time Starstalker did
not gather ghosts fast enough to escape.
Marika brushed the Serke voidship once more to make sure it would not recover,
then let be. Let them think, and worry, and wonder if their allies would save
them or let them die, adrift a few thousand miles from the homeworld they had
come so close to recapturing.
The warships above were sniping at the wooden darkship, though Cherish
valiantly strove to distract them. Rather than assume control of the darkship,
Marika began flinging the great black among those who awaited her. Her hammer
blows caught them off guard. In minutes they began to scatter.
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Despite the evidence that the struggle would end in their favor, alien ships
began leaving the inner orbits. A quick scan told Marika they were removing
their jump ships from danger. The riderships would have to carry the brunt.
She might die here. She might be defeated. But already she had won a great
victory for Commander Jackson's people. If they took advantage.
She reached orbital altitude despite all that could be thrown her way, though
she lost two bath and had to resume control of the voidship before she wanted.
She clawed her way into the shadow of one of the smaller moons, dodged from it
to another farther out, part of her mind wielding the great black, part
seeking ghosts with which to take the Up-and-Over. She wanted to get into open
space now, to steal maneuvering room.
Ghosts were scarce. Most of the surviving Mistresses had fled, stripping the
surrounding void. She would have to wait till more drifted in.
She pranced around the little moons, among the wrecks of alien ships, at times
pretending to be debris. She sent a dozen ridership crews to whatever those
creatures recognized as their maker. Always she inched away from the
homeworld. Always the All stalked with her, though she was so weary she
thought she would collapse any moment.
Cherish died, her soul parting from her flesh with a last scream of touch
encouraging Marika to fly away, to regain the derelict and thence mount
another offensive. There were a few Mistresses among the stars, wandering. She
could bring them in, train them to the great blacks, and finish the massacre
begun here.
Marika returned a gentle, thankful touch as Cherish melded into the All. There
was one silth who, like herself, never yielded.
She gathered ghosts.
She was alone in the home system, the only darkship still in action. The
aliens were closing in. Even those vessels that had withdrawn were returning
to taste the kill.
She threw the great black one last time, then jumped, dragging the monster
with her a hundred million miles outward.
She waited.
They did not come. They had lost touch.
She had the senior bath pass the golden liquid again. And then she jumped
inward again, dropping not four miles from Starstalker and a bevy of small
alien attendants.
Good-bye, old witches. Old enemies. You lose again. She loosed the great black
and took pleasure in the screams of the dying till enemy fire came so near one
of her bath complained of scorched fur. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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