Archdruid indeed. The title he had coveted for so long had a hollow ring these days. While Glover wore the title, the members of the Circle always seemed to look to Hyde-White for direction. Without a struggle, the fat old man had leeched the leadership role and prestige from Glover. How had Hyde-White managed it without Glover noticing? He never missed a power shift in ATT and had always moved with the flow to increase his own influence. So, what had happened within the Circle? Without the fat old man actually present, Glover was still master of the others, so Glover was not totally without influence. Hyde-White was foolish in allowing Glover to garner the lion's share of the power their rituals raised; one day that shortsightedness would turn around and bite him. Glover would not stay first in the Circle in name only. He may have missed the opening pitch, but the wickets weren't down yet.
'Archdruid?' Neville prompted.
Glover shook himself free of his brooding and turned to his questioner. Neville stepped back, apparently startled by something he saw in Glover's face.
'I just thought that,' Neville began. 'I meana151if there is a significant danger, he should know.''
' 'And show weakness by running to him over some petty problem that most likely has nothing to do with the Circle? You don't know him half as well as I do, Sir Winston. You would only earn his scorn.'
'And if it does concern tie Circle?'
'Then we shall resolve it and present him with the evidence of our efficiency. We captured the priest without his involvement, as you recall. We shall show him that the Circle is no longer weak.'
And I will have shown that I no longer need his strength.
Sam could see some kind of commotion at the base of Hawthornwaite Tower. Flashes of light from heavy weapons fire and magical blasts lit the sky with the sudden violence of summer lightning. The arcane bolts were coming from inside the building, which most likely meant that one or more of the druids was involved. The Centrum's security company had no onstaff magical talent, relying on quick response from the municipal police forces. Sam was pleased. The istraction would only make his job easier, perhaps changing the odds of success from utterly impossible to only mostly impossible.
He banked the Fledermaus, sending it in a wide curve around the western tower. Locking the maneuver into the autopilot, he relaxed and sent himself down into trance to free his astral body. Any warning his reconnaissance might give now would be minimal. He ghosted through the target floor and found nothing alive. The thing coiled on the sanctum's arcane dome hissed at him, but did nothing to impede him. As he passed through an area set aside as an office, a communications device buzzed, demanding attention. An immediate response cut off its strident complaint. There had been a telecom in the sanctuary; HydeWhite must have answered the call from there.
He rejoined his body as the Fledermaus finished its turn. Sam called up an overlay graphic to the headsup display and confirmed the target floor. Dipping the nose of the craft, he headed in.
One hundred meters from the tower he switched on the auxiliary motors, giving the three craft the extra power they'd need to deal with the updrafts around the building. His screech transmission to Willie was answered at once. Sam blew the armament covers, sending fragments of radar-absorbent panels fluttering toward the ground, then cut the trailing craft free. They'd be under Willie's control for the final approach; there was no longer any need to maintain comm silence.
'Fifty meters, Willie.'
'Affirm.'
'Launch on three.'
'Wilco.'
'One. Two. Three'
The Fledermaus bucked as it launched the single air-to-surface missile slung under its belly. Flashes of fire lit the cockpit from either side as the remotely piloted craft launched their missiles simultaneously.
The floor-to-ceiling transparex windows of the target floor dissolved into millions of fragments under the hammer blows of the triple explosion. Sam fought the controls as the backblast washed over the Fledermaus. Somehow he managed the keep on the flight path. An updraft caught the craft just as its nose reached where the windows had been. The tail drifted forward and one wing dipped. Dipped and caught against the building. The 'Maus slewed around, flopping hard on its belly. The light craft bounced, then came down again on its nose, balancing precariously. Sam, hanging in the safety harness, saw one of the other craft nose up as it crossed their newly made threshold and kiss the ceiling inside the residence. The collision canceled its momentum. The Fledermaus's tail was still hanging outside. With a grinding roar, the craft slid backwards and out into space again. Sam could picture it tumbling toward the plaza.
Thank you, Lord. That could have been me.
His own craft rocked backwards, its precarious balance disturbed by the rush of air chasing the plummeting Fledermaus. Sam's teeth slammed together as his aircraft crashed to rest in a horizontal attitude. Half-dazed, he flicked the harness's quick release with one hand and with the other triggered the explosive charges that blew the canopy open.
He crawled shakily from the wreckage of his Fledermaus, eyes flying across the area in search of any opposition. Finding no immediate threats, he checked the status of the third craft. The other 'Maus had made a perfect landing and was discharging its cargo. A dozen rigger drones rolled down the extended ramp.
Each drone ran on four fat, deeply treaded tires and looked remarkably like a child's radio-controlled toy. But no child had ever had such a toy. The drones were armored with ceramic composite plates and armed with fully automatic pistols mounted in extendable turrets. Each was equipped with a dog-brain that allowed it limited tactical responses when the rigger wasn't directly controlling it. The expert system wasn't a great shot or a canny fighter, but the drones would make good pillboxes capable of suppressive fire. Their small size made them difficult targets.
Once off the ramp, each drone turned in a different direction. Most were headed for the entrances to the residence level; their job was to limit reinforcements for Hyde-White. Some stolidly climbed up and across obstructions, proceeding in direct lines to their stations. Others whizzed around debris, taking corners as if they were driven by tiny, demented road rally drivers. Sam thought he knew which ones Willie was running. Within thirty seconds, only three remained in sight, and they had taken up station in a triangle with Sam at the center. Their turrets swiveled to allow gun and camera sight to cover a circular field of fire.
Smoke from the missile explosions filled the air, cutting visibility. Sam crouched, trying to keep his head below the smoke. He had to move cautiously; there were plenty of places to hide in the warren of living spaces that made up the residence level and no guarantee that Hyde-White was still in the sanctum.
Sam drew the Lethe. If by some chance Janice had been present in the sanctum and was now roaming the floor, he didn't want to shoot and kill her. Once he had a better idea where the opposition was, there would be time to shift to the heavy Ares Predator filling the holster on his left hip.
The stalk through the apartment was slow, lengthened by Sam's caution. The metroplex's night sounds were distant. They faded from Sam's awareness. Only what was near at hand mattered. He stepped carefully, trying to move silently. He listened for the slightest sound. The drones escorting him hummed almost inaudibly.
'Bogey. North Quarter,' Willie announced suddenly in his ear reciever causing him to jump. 'Tally ho!'
A short burst of weapons fire ruptured the silence, followed almost immediately by a howl of pain. More gunfire followed, and the sound of a heavy body crashing into things, but there were no more vocalizations. There was a crack like thunder and a flare of light washed the ceiling in the north quadrant.
'Drek. Oh drek!' Willie wailed in his ear.
Sam's escort drones swiveled their turrets and surged forward. As the last one careened out of sight around a corner, more gunfire erupted.
Sam arrived at a waist-high partition and ducked behind it. Cautiously raising his head, he got a glimpse of the battle. The drones were racing about, dodging beneath and behind blood-spattered furniture while taking pot shots at Hyde-White, who was dodging with surprising agility. He too was using the residence's furnishings as cover while he sought a clear shot at the whizzing drones. The fat druid looked uninjured, and his right hand glowed with some kind of spell held in readiness to cast.
Before Sam could decide on a course of action, Hyde-White spun and faced a drone that had backed itself into a corner. Disdaining to use his prepared spell, the fat druid reached out with a stubby-fingered hand and grabbed. With a casual flip he smashed it into the opposite wall. The drone split open on impact, scattering innards like shrapnel. With a sizzling pop, it tumbled from the drone-shaped dent in the wall and landed sparking on a couch.
