the packs away,” said Pilgrim.
Pham glanced over his shoulder. Woodcarver’s troops had regained the field and were racing toward the castle walls. Another sixty seconds, max, and they would be in contact with Steel’s packs.
There was a loud brap from Blueshell’s voder, and Pham looked forward. “By the Fleet,” he said softly. Packs on the ramparts had fired some kind of flamethrowers into the pools of oil below the castle walls. Blueshell flew in a little closer. Long pools of oil lay parallel to the walls. The enemy’s packs on the outside were all but cut off from their castle now. Except for one thirty-meter-wide gap, the section they had been guarding was high fire.
The boat bobbed a little higher, tilting and sliding in the fire-driven whirl of air. In most places the oil lapped the sloped base of the walls. Those walls were more intricate than the castles of Canberra—in many places it looked like there were little mazes or caves built into the base. Looks damn stupid in a defensive structure.
“Jefri!” screamed Johanna, and pointed toward the middle of the unburning section. Pham had a glimpse of something withdrawing behind the stonework.
“I saw him too.” Blueshell tilted the boat over and slid downwards, toward the wall. Johanna’s hand closed on Pham’s arm, pushing and shaking. He could barely hear her voice over the Pilgrim’s shouting. “Please, please, please,” she was saying.
For a moment it looked like they would make it: Steel’s troops were well back from them and—though there were ponds of oil below them—they were not yet alight. Even the air seemed quieter than before. For all that, Blueshell managed to lose control. A gentle tipping went uncorrected, and the boat slid sideways into the ground. It was a slow collision, but Pham heard one of the landing pods cracking. Blueshell played with the controls and the other side of the craft settled to earth. The beamer was stuck muzzle first into the earth.
Pham’s gaze snapped up at the Skroderider. He’d known it would come to this.
Ravna: “What happened? Can you get up?”
Blueshell dithered with the controls a moment longer, then gave a Riderish shrug. “Yes. But it will take too long—” He was undoing his restraints, unclamping his skrode from the deck. The hatch in front of him slid open, and the noise of battle and fire came loud.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing, Blueshell!”
The Rider’s fronds angled attention at Pham, “To rescue the boy. This will all be afire in a moment.”
“And this boat could fry if we leave it here. You’re not going anywhere, Blueshell.” He leaned forward, far enough to grab the other by his lower fronds.
Johanna was looking wildly from one to the other in an uncomprehending panic. “No! Please—” And Ravna was shouting at him too. Pham tensed, all his attention on the Rider.
Blueshell rocked toward him in the cramped space and pushed his fronds close to Pham’s face. The voder voice frayed into nonlinearity: “And what will you do if I disobey? You need me whole or the boat is useless. I go, Sir Pham. I prove I am not the thrall of some Power. Can you prove as much?”
He paused, and for a moment Rider and human stared at each other from centimeters apart. But Pham did not grab him.
Brap. Blueshell’s fronds withdrew. He rolled back onto the lip of the hatch. The skrode’s third axle reached the ground, and he descended in a controlled teeter. Still Pham had not moved. I am not some Power’s program.
“Pham?” The girl was looking up at him, and tugging at his sleeve. Nuwen shook the nightmare away and saw again. The Pilgrim pack was already out of the boat. Short swords were held in the mouths of the four adults; steel claws gleamed on their forepaws.
“Okay.” He flipped open a panel, withdrew the pistol he’d hidden there. Since Blueshell had crashed the damn boat, there was no choice but to make the best of it.
The realization was a cool breath of freedom. He pulled free of the crash restraints and clambered down. Pilgrim stood all around him. The two with puppies were unlimbering some kind of shields. Even with all his mouths full, the critter’s voice was as clear as ever: “Maybe we can find a way closer in—” between the flames. There were no more arrows from the ramparts. The air above the fire was just too hot for the archers.
Pham and Johanna followed Pilgrim as he skirted pools of black goo. “Stay as far from the oil as we can.”
The packs of Mr. Steel were rounding the flames. Pham couldn’t tell if they were charging the lander or simply fleeing the friendlies that chased them. And maybe it didn’t matter. He dropped to one knee and sprayed the oncoming packs with his handgun. It was nothing like the beamer, especially at this range, but it was not to be ignored: the front dogs tumbled. Others bounded over them. They reached the far edge of the oil. Only a few ventured into the goo—they knew what it could become. Others shifted out of Pham’s sight, behind the landing boat.
Was there a dry approach? Pham ran along the edge of the oil. There had to be a gap in the “moat', or surely the fire would have spread. Ahead of him the flames towered twenty meters into the air, the heat a physical battering on his skin. Above the top of the glow, tarry smoke swept back over the field, turning the sunlight into reddish murk. “Can’t see a thing,” came Ravna’s voice in his ear, despairing.
“There’s still a chance, Rav.” If he could hold them off long enough for Woodcarver’s troops…
Steel’s packs had found a safe path inwards and were coming closer. Something sighed past him—an arrow. He dropped to the ground and sprayed the enemy packs at full rate. If they had known how fast he was getting to empty they might have kept coming, but after a few seconds of ripping carnage, the advance halted. The enemy sweep broke apart and the dogthings were running away, taking their chances with Woodcarver’s packs.
Pham turned and looked back at the castle. Johanna and Pilgrim stood ten meters nearer the walls. She was pulling against the pack’s grasp. Pham followed her gaze… There was the Skroderider. Blueshell had paid no attention to the packs that ran around the edge of the fire. He rolled steadily inwards, oily tracks marking his progress. The Rider had drawn in all his externals and pulled his cargo scarf close to his central stalk. He was driving blind through the superheated air, deeper and deeper into the narrowing gap between the flames.
He was less than fifteen meters from the walls. Abruptly two fronds extended out from his trunk, into the heat. There. Through the heat shimmer, Pham could see the kid, walking uncertainly out from the cover of stone. Small shapes sat on the boy’s shoulders, and walked beside him. Pham ran up the slope. He could move faster over this terrain than any Rider. Maybe there was time.
A single burst of flame arched down from the castle, into the pond of oil between him and the Rider at the wall. What had been a narrow channel of safety was gone, and the flames spread unbroken before him.
“There’s still lots of clear space,” Amdi said. He reached a few meters out from their hiding place to reconnoiter around the corners. “The flier is down! Some… strange thing… is coming our way. Blueshell or Greenstalk?”
There were lots of Steel’s packs out there too, but not close -probably because of the flier. That was a weird one, with none of the symmetry of Straumer aircraft. It looked all tilted over, almost as if it had crashed. A tall human raced across their field of view, firing at Steel’s troops. Jefri looked further out, and his hand tightened almost unconsciously on the nearest puppy. Coming toward them was a wheeled vehicle, like something out of a Nyjoran historical. The sides were painted with jagged stripes. A thick pole grew up from the top.
The two children stepped a little ways out from their protection. The Spacer saw them! It slewed about, spraying oil and moss from under its wheels. Two frail somethings reached out from its bluish trunk. Its voice was squeaky Samnorsk. “Quickly, Sir Jefri. We have little time.” Behind the creature, beyond the pond of oil, Jefri could see… Johanna.
And then the pond exploded, the fire on both sides sprouting across all escape routes. Still the Spacer was waving its tendrils, urging them onto the flat of its hull. Jefri grasped at the few handholds available. The puppies jumped up after him, clinging to his shirt and pants. Up close, Jefri could see that the stalk was the person: the skin was smudged and dry, but it was soft and it moved.
Two of Amdi were still on the ground, ranging out on either side of the cart for a better view of the fire. “Wah!” shrieked Amdi by his ear. Even so close, he could scarcely be heard over the thunder of the fire. “We can never get through that, Jefri. Our only chance is to stay here.”
The Spacer’s voice came from a little plate at the base of its stalk. “No. If you stay here, you will die. The fire is spreading.” Jefri had huddled as much behind the Rider’s stalk as possible, and still he could feel the heat. Much more and the oil in Amdi’s fur would catch fire.
