Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons
Date: 2018-01-09 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction
Description: The Alliance continues its march across the Empire of Ellala’lysana, winning battle after battle, but at a cost in lives lost. The new tactics and the newly developed technologies of the people from Earth appear to be unstoppable, and the forces of the evil empire are pressed on every side. But the Half Lich Emperor Ellandra Mashara has not lived for four thousand years without knowing how to fight. He is on the brink of immortality, his transformation to a litch almost complete. He needs to beat the human immortals, lead by the German Kurt von Mannerheim and the ancient Jew, Ismael Levine, if
Publisher: Unknown

Refuge:

Book 5:

Angels and Demons.

by

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Kim Callan, probably the biggest fan of the Refuge series out there. Kim has been instrumental in helping to make the book and series better, and if not for her encouragement, this book may never have been written.

Copyright © 2013 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

Follow my many characters and settings at http://dougdandridge.net

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Please respect the hard work of this author. If you found this book for free on a pirate site, please visit Amazon and buy a copy of your own. I feel that I charge a reasonable price for this work.

For more information on the Refuge Universe, visit http://dougdandridge.net for maps, sketches and other details of this work.

Acknowledgements:  I would like to thank all of my fans, especially Kim Callan, who help to edit and proof read this book.

Please read to the end of the book for information about future Refuge books and the future plans for the series.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Doug Dandridge’s Author Page at Amazon

Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4: the Long Fall.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:

Exodus: Empires at War Book 8: Soldiers

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 9: Second Front.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 10: Search & Destroy.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 12: Time Strike.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 13: Retaliation.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Beast of the Frontier.

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 1: Supernova.

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 2: Bolthole.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker

Theocracy

Others

The Shadows of the Multiverse

Diamonds in the Sand

The Scorpion

Afterlife

We Are Death, Come for You

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:

A Fistfull of Credits Anthology.

Lockdown: Zombie Anthology.

The Prometheus Saga: A Science Fiction Anthology

Apocalypse: A Fiction River Anthology.

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

Marathon

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Cast of Characters

Half Lich Emperor Ellandra Mashara.  Four thousand year old Emperor of the Death worshiping Empire of Ellala’lysana.  Nearing the end of his race’s natural lifespan, he has embarked upon an attempt to become undead in order to “live” forever.

Garios na Gonron.  High War Priest of the Kingdom Under the Mountain.

Killiastofa Valdaris.  Conyastaya High Priest of Yanon.

Brigadier General Kurt von Mannerheim.  Ex Wehrmacht officer, Captain of Panzergrenadiers.  Born 1912.  Seriously wounded by fire at the battle of Kursk and recovered with no apparent injuries.  Has not aged since the apparent age of thirty.  Prophesized Leader of the forces of light.

Brigadier General Ismael Levine.  The Wandering Jew of legend.  Born Year 43 BC under the Roman Empire.  The oldest know human Immortal.

Colonel Paul Mason-Smyth.  Former Major, British Army of the Rhine (BAOR).

Colonel Jacquelyn Smith.  Former First Lieutenant U S Army.

Colonel Izabella Kozlowski.  Four hundred year old Polish Immortal.

Colonel Gregor Babich.  Former Russian Army officer.

General Zachary Taylor. Commanding officer of the Alliance.  Highest ranking NATO officer to be transported to Refuge.

Lt. General Walter Delgado.  Commanding General of the First Legion.

Brigadier General James Harris.  Army Chief of Logistics and former Intelligence Officer.

Colonel Antwoine McGurk.  Commanding Officer of First Cavalry Regiment (Heavy).

Colonel Jonathan Wainwright. Legion Brigade Commander.

Major Jessica Stuart.  Dragon Rider and Flight Leader, First Air Wing.

Captain Paul Baurieth.  Former Special Forces Sergeant and Warpriest of Arathonia.

Colonel Cliff Jackson.  Former Senior NCO, U S 3rd Armored Division, Current Siegemaster.

Warrant Officer Three Dirk Winslow.  Bard and leader of The Tarantulas.

Peter Steiner, Wolfgang and Reinhold Schrenker.  Warrant Officer Bards, The Tarantulas.

Captain Beate Terbourg. Priestess of Yanon, God of Healing.

Prince Harrakihn kil Marizom, Mo'orican Commander of the First Cavalry Brigade.

Sergeant Dieter Klausman.  Legionnaire and one of the Protected.

Sergeant James Bubbuh Whitaker: Legionnaire and one of the Protected.

Private Tim Humphrey: Legionnaire and one of the Protected.

Colonel Baron Karl von Hasslehoff. First Wing Commander, former Luftwaffe pilot.

Commodore Steffan Hauser.  Commander of Alliance River Fleet.

Captain Ellysar Kelliosos: Ellala commander of the steamship New Berlin.

Dr. Vogel Kreigel, Biologist, Geneticist and creator of the Neowolves (New Wolves).

Earnst Grueber.  Ex-Krupp Engineer and the man called the Wizard.

Stephan Neigal.  Schizophrenic on Earth.  Firemage on Refuge.

Katherine Heidle.  Schizophrenic on Earth.  Weathermage on Refuge.

Marcus Strom.  Schizophrenic on Earth.  Naturemage on Refuge.

James Drake.  Exchange student from London, Doctoral candidate in Physics and Schizophrenic.

Major Francois Roy. French Officer

Prologue

The Half Litch Emperor Ellandra Mashara stared down at the map spread across the table, a grimace on the illusion that served as his public face. He had been so sure they could stop these new humans. His people had outnumbered them ten to one. Most of his fighters had been warriors for multiple centuries, some for millennia. The newcomers had no one with that kind of skill at arms,  and his people had magic, which the newcomers lacked.

So if all of the advantages lay with his people, how had he lost? Because they had something he did not have, technology.  Their war machines had been awesome, and he had lost entire armies to their weapons. Then, when the technology had no longer worked, either because their motive power was no longer accessible, or they ran out of the ammunition needed to make the weapons work, they marched forth with tactics that the people of this planet had never seen. Added to that were the allies they had gathered, the Ellala elves of Lianardas, the Conyastaya, the Grimikan dwarves, mages and priests and many others, all willing to fight with the newcomers to topple his empire. Which also added their own homegrown wizards, along with those damned immortal humans who were like nothing this world had ever seen.

"We think we might be able to stop them at this river, my Lord," said the officer sent by the general commanding his largest field force. The point on the map the elf was pointing at showed a wide river, the same one that ran right outside the walls of the city to the east, merging with another north of the walls. The river was deep but not very swift, and it was crossed by a number of stone bridges that had been erected to ease passage across that barrier.

"You think?" growled the Emperor, his eyes glowing red as he glared at the officer that the general had sent so he wouldn't have to face the wrath of the ruler. "You thought you could take them in their valley. You thought you could stop them when they marched out. You thought you could stop them with forts, and rivers, and huge field armies.  And they marched through you like you were children, and not fierce warriors who took my gold."

The officer cowered and mouthed apologies for things he had not had fault in. The Emperor did not care. He needed to take his anger out, and this elf was convenient. e murmured the words to a spell and reached his hand out to touch the man on the face. The fear on the face turned into a look of horror as the elf realized that his life force was being drawn from the body.

The Emperor felt much better after he had drained the energy from his victim. That he had sent the soul of the elf to a thousand years of torment before his rebirth was a plus. And he hadn't had to worry about the danger of trying to drain one of the adherents of their insane religion. That was asking for a quick and brutal death as their god immolated those who dared to try to touch the souls of his followers. He turned to look at another of the soldiers in the room.

"You," he growled, pointing at the man. "You will take this message to the general. I expect him to stop the Germans and Americans before they can cross the river. He had better give his life in stopping them if necessary. If he survives, I will make sure he regrets it into the next life.  Now go!"

The man nodded and ran from the room, happy to get away from the threat of his ruler. Ellandra smiled as he watched the elf move as quickly as he could. Ellandra ruled by fear, and seeing that emotion in others made him feel powerful. Now, if only he could elicit that reaction in the newcomers and drive them away from the heart of his empire.

*  *  *

"That's the way into the heart of his empire," said the Conyastaya scout, standing by the table and pointing to the river on the map, the symbol of a bridge showing across the line. There was another forested area, and another river further on.

The first river was marked with the Ellala name Zontalis. The further was called the Elladdril, the river of the Elalla.

Lieutenant General Walter Delgado looked down on the map which showed a bride. On the map the river was a line, but in reality it was a wide body of water. Both sides were controlled by massive forts, both of which would have to be taken if the bridge was to be theirs. There was no telling what the enemy might do to that bridge if they thought they were going to lose it.

He was the field commander of this army, in charge of making the immediate decisions regarding their movement and deployment for battle. He had led through the last attack, when Walther Wittman, the commander of the other legion at the time, had died, and he had been elevated to a command he really did not want. It was his now, and the success or failure of the campaign now rested on his shoulders. Well, maybe not completely on his shoulders.

"What do you think, General Levine?"

The tall slender man standing next to him looked down at the table. Delagado thought the man, with a hundred times more military experience than himself, should have been leading the army.  However, General Zachary Taylor thought otherwise. The ranking NATO officer to come across the dimensional barrier, Taylor had at first refused to let the immortals have any authority.  Suspicious of kings and emperors, the American had wanted to establish a democracy among the Germans and Americans he led. Only their other allies, the peoples of this world, insisted that Kurt von Mannerheim was their prophesied ruler, and the other Immortals would be his nobility. Taylor had finally given in somewhat and had bestowed upon all of the Immortals high rank, though not high enough to suit the elves and dwarves.

"I think it would be better to cross the river at another point," said the oldest of the immortals in a deep voice.

Levine had been alive for thousands of years. Born at the time when Rome controlled Judea, he had lived through the centuries, the Wandering Jew of legend. Not always a soldier, he had still been in enough wars to make the careers of a dozen professionals. He had seen more of this kind of warfare than all but a few of the extremely long-lived elves.

"We don't have the boats," said Delgado, who had already thought of that. The river was said to be almost a kilometer wide at the point of the bridge, and that was the narrows for several hundred kilometers in each direction. They were over seven hundred kilometers from the Northern Sea. The general had to wonder how wide this thing was at its mouth. Amazon size? Larger? Whichever, it was going to be a bastard to get an army across.

"I see there are some more bridges to the north and south."

"And they're guarded by forts, much the same as this one," said the scout.

"Were they that afraid of invasion?" asked Delgado, thinking of all the resources that must have gone into building the chain of double forts up and down this river. Looking at the map, he saw the other massive river closer to the capital city, and a large river to the north of the city, flowing into that one. And more bridges marked with forts.

"Not so much invasion as revolt," said the scout. "My people, the forest and mountain dwarves, the Halflings, even the Dark Elves, all were essentially good people at heart, who chaffed under the rule of the evil Ellala. Even the Ellala of this land for the most part opposed the Emperor, but the evil bastard had the army, and the dragons."

"They don't have them so much anymore," said Levine, pulling out his pipe and starting to pack it with the tobacco they were growing in the Refuge Valley.

"They still have some," said the general, recalling how they had taken out over eighty percent of the Empire's flying monsters back when the humans first came to this planet. The Empire still had some, but Lianardas, the Ellala kingdom to the east, now had just as many. In fact, they had been battling the enemy dragons all the way to this point, stopping them for the most part from raiding the army supply lines, and had been getting the better of the mostly smallish beasts the Empire still had.

The people have been revolting in mass ever since the NATO forces had first started marching, proving that they could take on the Imperial forces and win. While not professional soldiers, every man and many women of the native peoples had war training as part of their upbringing. They had taken down garrisons, stormed small fortifications, kept the tribute of the land from flowing into the capital region of the empire. All because the Army of the Empire was occupied with trying the stop the newcomers and their direct allies from marching into their heartland. Trying, and failing.

"Kurt should be here any day now," said Levine, looking behind him, up the slope to the ridgeline. "Maybe he will have some ideas."

"He's been gone too damned long as it is," said Delgado, thinking that Taylor might not agree with him. Taylor had made his peace with the prophecies of the natives, but he still didn't like the idea of hereditary nobility, being a real American.

[We're coming, Ismael] came the telepathic transmission into all of their minds.

The image of a large man, centimeters taller than the tall Levine, and much heavier, came to their minds. His short blond beard and his long hair marked him as a northern European from Earth. His ice blue eyes were unlike those of any people of Earth. He wore finely made armor of a magical nature, the hilt of a two-handed sword over his left shoulder. The sword was Lenoris, a Godblade of Arathonia; it had been created for use by Paladins, holy warriors. Kurt was not a holy warrior, but the blade had gravitated toward him anyway. By his side was a tall woman with light mahogany skin, not as dark of those of pure African descent, long black hair, and the same ice blue eyes as the man she traveled with. The hilts of twin katanas thrust over her shoulders. The one with the red jewel on the hilt was fire, a blade of volcanic heat, while the blue jewel marked ice, a sword of arctic cold. Both moved with almost the grace of elves, though they could move much faster when needed.

[So, that's the next obstacle,] said the man, Brigadier General Kurt von Mannerheim, in a deep voice, looking through Levine’s eyes. [Doesn't look so tough. We still have some time before we get to it.]

[Says the man who spent four years on the Eastern Front,] sent the woman in a melodic tone that came through the transmission. In her image her eyes twinkled as she looked at the man who was her official consort, and no one could miss the love in her gaze. Jacqueline Smith had been a first lieutenant in the United States Army, and was the youngest of the Immortals. Now she held the rank of colonel, all of her kind being considered senior officers due to their abilities.

[But we don't have our modern weapons,] said Levine, smiling.  [Not even the tanks the Wehrmacht had in that horror of a war.]

Kurt sent a smile back, a melancholy look. Kurt was the third oldest of the Immortals they currently had with them, the Polish woman, Izabella Kozlowski, being the oldest at four hundred years. Paul Mason-Smyth and Gregor Babich were both older than Jackie, and younger than Kurt.  They were still hoping that more of their kind might join up, but they also had resigned themselves to the possibility that they were all there would ever be.

[Does Paul have an opinion?]

[He wants to do a commando raid, with all of us acting as the commandos,] said Levine, shrugging his shoulders.

[That might work,] said Jackie.

[It's too damned dangerous,] said Delgado, piggybacking his weaker mindspeak onto the transmissions of the immortals who all had the most powerful ability outside that of the miraculous wolves they had brought with them. [We can't afford to send all of you into an unsupported attack.  You might live for a very long time, and be very hard to kill, but you can be killed.  I'm not about to lose an asset like you people on an attack like that.]

[Who said we would be unsupported?] asked Kurt, another smile on his face, this one of pure joy.

The transmission ended, leaving Delgado alone with his own thoughts, still staring at the map. If he didn’t push the troops to their limits, a bad idea, it would take more than a month to reach that first river. They would cross many smaller streams along the way, but he didn’t doubt they would take those with ease. After that bridge it was about three weeks to the next river. They should be across and assaulting the city with more than a month to spare if winter came as predicted. If it didn’t? Then he could be facing a Stalingrad type situation on the end of a long supply line that had suddenly become untenable. Even ships might have problems moving from the enormous lake system to the south up the rivers.

If I push them, I might cut off a week overall, he thought, shaking his head. Then he would have lame and sick men strung out along his path, and exhausted troops trying to make the attack. No, better to stick with the plan. And the city would just have to take care of itself when they got there.

Chapter One

Why in the hell won't this bastard work? thought Earnst Grueber, the man they called the wizard.  Not that he had any magical powers. No, he had been a top engineer for Mercedes on Earth, and had come up with some technological miracles on this world as well, including the steam cannon.  However. for some reason the damned steam engines refused to work, and he couldn't figure out why. After all, water boiled on this world at a reasonable temperature, almost the same as on earth. The steam cannon had proven that enough pressure could be built up to propel a ball with considerable momentum. So what was the problem?

Grueber walked around his prototype once again. It wasn't full sized. He was not about to waste the time and resources to built a full size one, like would be needed on a train or ship, until he knew the concept worked. He had such high hopes for the engine. Trains, ships, possibly even cars. Tanks? Maybe not armored vehicles as good as those they brought, which had also inexplicably stopped working despite having fuel and electricity in the battery. However, if he could get it working, they could again have an overwhelming force on the battlefield, especially if they used mages in the crews. They would both protect the wizard from most threats, and allow the magic users to shield the vehicle from magic. He might still be able to use Leonardo's plan and build a horse drawn version. But those would be slow and weak, and probably not worth deploying in any numbers.

"And if I can't get the damn engine to work, all those plans are for nothing."

There was a knock at the door, and moments later a robed dwarf entered without waiting for an invitation. That still bothered the Germen engineer, who was used to the habits of his own people. But the smiling dwarf was hard to stay angry with, and his presence brought questions to mind.

"Welcome, Gomli na Snarsa.  I'm having some problems here with this engine, and I'm not sure why."

"And this is the thing that will take the place of those smelly, smoke belching things you brought from your world?" asked the dwarf, a priest of Grimmoire, the god of the mountain dwarves. "Why ever would you want to reinvent such things?"

"Because they are force multipliers," answered the engineer, shaking his head at the attitudes of so many of the people of this world. "We can use it to move supplies by land and water, in much greater quantities than is currently possible with wagons and sailing vessels. But if the damned thing won't work, then those ideas are stillborn before they start."

"The gods do not like your machines," said the dwarf with conviction.

"I thought the queen of the gods was supposed to have had a discussion with them."

"She can have all the discussions she wants, but that doesn't mean the other gods are going to listen. They all have their own dominions, their own parts of the world that they govern. Then you have the four pantheons, which have gods that might contest each other over certain dominions. My own god, Grimmoire, is not in the same pantheon as Arathonia, though Law sides with Life more often than not. They still don't see eye to eye. Grimmoire has more power over the actual ground, from the surface to the deep mines, than any other. Some of the Ellala and Conyastoya gods have dominion over the soil, but not the dirt and rock under it."

"And Grimmoire doesn't like the idea of my engine?"

"He does not. He is the god of smiths and forges, as well as mines and quarries. And he prefers that his people use the powers of their muscles to labor to his glory."

"And what about the animals that all peoples use?" asked the incredulous German. "Even your own people use beasts of burden, though I have to say they are the most outlandish beasts I've ever heard of."

"And those animals fall under the dominion of other gods," said the dwarf, frowning and shaking his head.

"It sounds like a government run by bureaucrats on my world," said Grueber with a frown. "Everyone out for their own little kingdom, their own base of power, all pushing and pulling their own way, and nothing really getting accomplished."

The dwarf laughed.  "That might be true, but unlike humans we are stuck with the deities we have. Or we were, until you came along and brought some of your own gods with you."

"I never had much use for gods," said the German. "I was raised Lutheran, and attended church most of my life, but it stopped making sense."

"And now? Have you decided to worship one of ours?"

"Not yet. It's too confusing for my poor mind. But I would worship one if it would help me to get my engines to work."

"Perhaps if you tried your engine in another medium," said the dwarf, pulling a pipe from his side pouch and starting the process of loading it with smoking weed.

"What do you mean?"

"The god of the water and the goddess of the air are followers of Arathonia," said the dwarf after lighting his pipe. "Perhaps if you tried it on the water, or in the air."

"Water might be the best place," said the engineer. "I don't have a boat set up to use the engine, but if I can get it to crank up, that will be a start." He looked at the engine one more time, the gears turning in his mind. An idea occurred, and he looked back at the dwarven priest.  "Is there any way we can insulate the engine from the influence of your god of the ground?"

* *  *

“Move out,” yelled out the senior NCO of the company, setting them in motion to follow the next one in line.

Dieter Klausman shook his head as he stepped out into the steady rhythm of the infantry. I wish I had my Marder, thought the former armored infantryman. Here all they had were horse and wagons, and their feet. There was talk about some coming improvements, but when would they come? Until then they had their feet, and their backs. His back was starting to hurt from day after day of humping forty kilos of gear.

The gravity was lighter here, so the forty kilos should have amounted to about thirty-seven here. But the army, in its wisdom, had added another three local kilos to the load. Every heavy infantryman had his armor, helm, breast and back plate, greaves, shoulder pads. And of course the large shield and short sword most were armed with. They also carried two javelins on their backs, and a two and a half meter long spear. The spear had a screw in socket on the bottom, and the meter and a half section carried along with the javelins would turn it into a four-meter-long instrument that could serve to repel cavalry. Then there were the canteens, item pouches and entrenching tools the German and American armies had brought to this world. A butt pack held their rations for the day and some other sundries. Each also had sleeping bags, blankets and shelter halves. Those rode on the wagons that accompanied the troops.

The day heated up quickly, partially due to the exertion of the march. Dust clogged the air, raised by the cavalry and infantry ahead. Dieter pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose, filtering out the dust. He wondered when this nightmare was going to end.

Only when we beat the bastard we’re at war with, thought the sergeant. When that day came, he was going to quit this trade and do something else. Learn a trade, maybe from the crazy engineer that was working to improve the human condition on this world. But fighting and killing was not something he wanted to keep doing until the day he died. Taking up another trade might make that day extend farther into the future.

Horsemen rode by, about a hundred light cavalry, moving ahead through the narrow gap they were entering. This was a danger zone, but the sight of buckskin clad elves up on the slopes was comforting. They might not be able to stop a serious attack, but at least they would get a warning that it was coming.

Dieter envied the horsemen. He knew that riding was tiring to the leg muscles, but at least they weren’t on their feet. They had the ability to ride away from trouble at a rate an infantryman on foot couldn’t match. But when he thought about it, he mostly saw them riding toward trouble, not away.

His company was of the protected, still worshipping the deity or deities of Earth, what the people here called the Overgod. They were immune to magic, and to the soul eating capacities of some of the more evil creatures on this world. However, being immune to magic meant they also were unable to accept healing. The sergeant thought it a good tradeoff if it kept his soul from going to some of the places these local gods were said to have put the people they did not like.

They were a combined German and American unit, survivors of other units that had taken heavy casualties attacking enemy positions. Most of the other units were still of one kind or another, with a leavening of locals who had joined the cause. He could hear marching songs from up and down the line. The German songs were more familiar to him, but he loved the humor in the American variety. Both served to distract the mind from the rigors of the march, so both served their purpose. His company wasn’t singing, because their chief NCO hadn’t taken the time to see to it that everyone knew at least a couple of songs.

Maybe I can approach the first sergeant tonight, thought the German, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Surely he could see the use of keeping us energized on the march? But First Sergeant Heinkle was a strange man, the son of a strict Lutheran minister, who didn’t seem to find anything that didn’t glorify God to be of any use.

So we learn some German hymns, he thought, liking the idea. After all, even most of the Americans spoke some German, and the natives were picking it up as the preferred language to communicate with the Earth people, since most of the newcomers were German. The first sergeant couldn’t object to that, could he?

*  *  *

“It’s fall, sir,” said Mayor Heinrich Mann, the civilian leader of the valley. The man had been appointed to the job when they had first arrived, and had won the general election soon afterward in a landslide. Probably because no one else had wanted the job. “We need all of our people for the harvest.”

And it means that our campaigning season will soon be at an end, thought General Zachary Taylor, the commander of NATO forces on this world. Well, not including the French forces that preferred to fight under their own command, while insisting that everyone else fight under theirs.

Taylor was not about to give command of his people to a man who commanded less than a quarter of the troops he did, even if he had been a three star in his army. Taylor had come over a major general, and had promoted himself to lt. general in order to raise some other officers to two star, so they could command the new divisions they were calling legions. Then he had elevated Delgado, a former colonel, up to three star, and assumed the rank of a full four star himself. Maybe on Earth the promotion wouldn’t stick, but they were never going to make it back to Earth, so the legality didn’t really matter.

What did matter to Taylor was that a democratic government remained in effect in the lands held by the newcomers. The elves and dwarves kept calling for the Immortal, Kurt von Mannerheim, to be declared king for life, which meant for eternity as far as they were concerned. Taylor had no use for the nobility. He put up with it in the native peoples he had to deal with. Now even the Germans, a people who had a long tradition with aristocracy, were starting lean toward that form of government. And Zachary Taylor would not have it as long as he was in command of the army.

In a way it would benefit him to keep the troops out in the field, giving him the excuse to exercise overall command. He really couldn’t bring himself to do that, since more of his people would die. So he wanted to get the war over with before he had to shut down the campaign for the winter.

“Of course you need all of your people for the harvest, Mein Herr. But I cannot afford to bring any of the soldiers back. We still have a lot of gold in the coffers. Why don’t you hire elves and the halflings to work with you?”

Actually, those people had been working with them, one of the reasons they were bringing in bumper crops. And Taylor still needed the craftsmen he had to aid the dwarves they had hired in forging armor and weapons, including the production of straight spear and arrow shafts. The archers with the army made many of their own, but with the force moving, they needed many more than they could find the time to produce.

“They need to see to their own harvests, general. We have lost over half of the native workers in the last week. Gold is useful, but not if their own families starve from lack of grain and fruit.”

Taylor rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment. It was always something. On Earth, he would simply contact higher command and everything he needed would simply appear, right where he needed it. Here it was not quite so simple. There was no arsenal, manufactory or granary across the sea that could ship in everything. They even needed to make their own clothes.

“Do what you can, and I’ll have our people see if there are any natives along our route of march that might need to be evacuated to safer environs. I can’t see where anyplace could be safer than here.”

The mayor nodded, got up from his chair, and walked out. Taylor could tell that the man was not satisfied. People might have to go hungry this winter, but there would be no starvation. No one would grow fat from overeating, but that was okay with the trim officer. As long as they had enough energy to work, it would work out. And the next year would be better, especially if they were able to deactivate some of their military units.

Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you Zachary? There was no guarantee this thing would be over before winter. There was no guarantee that it would be over next year, or the year after. Hitler had kept thinking that during his war, and look where it got him.

“The forgemaster would like to talk with you, sir,” said his adjutant, a young female captain. That was another difference on this world. On Earth, female soldiers had been phased into combat roles, with mixed results. Here, it was obvious that with few exceptions, they were not strong enough to carry an infantryman’s load.

“Thank you, Stacy. Send him in.”

The stocky dwarf that walked into the room had a frown on his face, but then the general could never remember ever seeing a smile on the being’s face.

“We have a problem, general.”

What now? “Running out of Mithril? You know we have the funds to buy more, Harros.”

“No,” said the one point three meter tall male, whose shoulders were almost as wide as he had in height. “We have plenty of Mithril. Or maybe I should say we’re not in danger of running out anytime soon.”

The dwarf took a seat in the office chair that had been placed there for his kind, with raised seat pads to keep him on level with the humans.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“Your materials,” said Harros na Kolos, one of the greatest forgemasters of the dwarven Kingdom Under the Mountains. His people were the Dimikrin, the mountain dwarves, stronger and with more endurance than the Gimikran, the forest dwelling subspecies. The groups got along well together due to their common heritage, but reproduction between the two people was almost unheard of. “We’re starting to get to the bottom of the barrel with some of them. We have plenty of the tungsten alloy used in your vehicles.”

Taylor nodded. The dwarves had marveled at the strength and durability of the Earth alloys, used for all light armored vehicles and as a component of tank armor. It wasn’t as strong as Mithril, or the God weapons forged by beings of immense power. They were much stronger and lighter than the fine steel of the elves. The dwarves were still experimenting in adding Mithril to the mix to produce something even better, so far without luck.

“We need more of the plastics, and especially the foam inserts. We have almost gone through everything in the valley.”

“We have more outside the valley,” said Taylor. “Vehicles were knocked out all through the area.”

“Yes, and dragon or wizard fire destroyed much of that. There is still some out there, but we need people to go out and recover it. I don’t have the surplus dwarves to take away from the forges.”

So, it again came down to people. All of the army supply wagons were busy transporting supplies to the front, and he couldn’t take people away from the harvest.

“How about we establish a bounty for the locals living outside the valley? Gold for foam and plastics?” Taylor sat silent and thought for a moment, and the forgemaster had interacted with the officer enough to give him his silence.

“Do you know where there is any petroleum? You know, the thick black substance that comes out of the ground.”

“We do,” said the dwarf, giving a head nod. “But I understand you use it for the fuel for your vehicles. And Grimmoire will not allow those engines to function.”

And that’s why I have no love for that particular godling, thought Taylor, who had retained his Methodist faith. As a recovering alcoholic he didn’t touch any of that stuff, which meshed well with his chosen denomination, though he got some strange looks from the natives, who all seemed to ingest as much of the stuff as they could pour down their throats.

“Well, we made plastics from it on Earth, and I’m thinking that some of our engineers might be able to figure out how to do the same here. I would like to start a chemical industry, if we can find out what will work here. I would also like to produce Kevlar.”

The dwarf sat up at that word, interest in his eyes. “That would be wonderful, General Taylor. While it doesn’t handle piercing as well as metal or wood, its strength in backing other composites is unbelievable. We can use all that you can provide, and I think my kingdom will buy all you can spare.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Forgemaster. I’m hoping we can make it, but there’s no guarantee we can.”

“Put your Herr Grueber on it and I’m sure he can make it work.”

Taylor smiled. Grueber, the former Mercedes engineer, had been a godsend. Not only was he an automotive engineer par excellence, something not really needed in and of itself on this planet, but he had the most active and knowledgeable mind the general had ever seen. He was worth more than a brigade to the efforts of the newcomers.

“I need to get back to work,” said the dwarf, getting up from his seat. “Those lazy apprentices need constant supervision. Thank you for seeing me.”

Taylor watched the dwarf shuffle out on his short legs. Those lazy apprentices would make any of my people look like slackers, he thought. He had never seen anyone work as hard as a dwarf. Fourteen-hour days were the norm, followed by four hours or more of drinking, then six of sleep, before they were at it again. Every damned day.

“General,” said Captain Stacy Harris in her British accent. “The priest of Arathonia is here to ask for an audience. I think they have a complaint.”

Of course they do, thought Taylor, placing his face in his hands.

Chapter Two

"We are ready for you, your Majesty."

Mashara looked up from his desk, where he had been going over the order of battle that defined his army at this time. It was a discouraging read. Prior to the coming of the Earth people, he had over four hundred thousand Ellala soldiers alone. Add in another couple of hundred thousand Grogatha and humans, and his army was the largest for thousands of miles in any direction. He also had had over five hundred huge red dragons, and several thousands of the large battlehawks. Now he had less than a hundred thousand warriors of all kinds: Ellala, Grogatha and human. He had a mere forty dragons of fighting size, and only a couple of hundred of the battlehawks. While it was estimated that the invaders had over a hundred thousand trained troops. With several hundred dragons, and almost a thousand of the great birds. That did not include the other peoples on the frontiers of the Empire who were in revolt.

The Army wasn't only needed to fight invaders or conquer new territories. They were needed to hold down the populace who didn't always fall in line with the religious beliefs and culture of the ruling Ellala. Many worshipers of one of the other pantheons chaffed under the forced sacrifices of the death cults. As troops were reassigned from occupation duties to front-line battle formations that still failed to stop the warriors of the alliance, those people no longer watched so closely were able to foment revolution. Several of the puppet regimes outside the empire had already overthrown their rulers and declared first independence, then war on Mashara's realm.

"Have the letters been sent to the tribes?" he asked his secretary as he walked from his office on the heels of the priest.

"Yes, my Lord. Along with all of the gifts."

The Emperor nodded as he left the other Ellala behind. The Western nomads were mighty warriors, if somewhat unsophisticated. Well-armed and with enough armor to make them shock cavalry, they could be a boon when it came to raiding the supply trains of the enemy, and even overrunning some of their smaller infantry units. If he could bring fifty to a hundred thousand of them in on his side, with payments of gold and promises of more, he might be able to slow the enemy down considerably. The Grogatha tribes of the east were not quite the soldiers as the nomads, but they were hardy and savage, and when leavened by some drafts of Ogres and Trolls, they could also slow the Earthers down. If they were all slaughtered, either or both groups, it really wouldn't matter to the Emperor, since their only purpose was to absorb the attack of the enemy and bleed them before they got to his capital.

Mashara had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even noticed that he had gotten down to the sublevel temple. A sibilant voice caught his attention, and he looked up to see the queen of the vampires, Kilesandra Lishana, standing in the shadows.

"When are you going to launch your next attack on the humans?" he demanded before she could repeat her greeting.

"Many of my people are afraid to attack the newcomers," said the beautiful female who had once been an Ellala, before her change thousands of years before. "Many of them are protected by their gods, and it is death to drink their substance. We cannot tell who is who until it is too late."

The Emperor had the same problem. If he drank of the soul of one of the protected, he might as well have poured fire down his throat. His priests had come up with a solution, casting a minor harm spell on the subject. If it came back at them, they knew, and the priest was able to heal himself soon after. Only victims vetted were now sacrificed, which provided for his safety.

"I do not care if some of your kind dies. We all die, and it is in how we serve those above us while alive that matters."

"And Ellandra Mashara does not want to die," said the creature with a mocking smile on her face.

Mashara grabbed the vampire by the throat and lifted her from the floor. Vampires had the strength of several humans, and the queen was twice as strong as most vampires. Mashara was a greater form of undead, even if he hadn't completed the transformation. She struggled and hissed, but could not get free.

"Turn more to your kind if you need, but I need you to be out at night and on the attack," he growled. "Unless you want me to withdraw my protection from your kind and let them fend for themselves in the wild."

The vampire gave the only head shake she could with an iron grip on her throat. Mashara lowered her to the ground.

"Good. Then we understand each other. And admit it, it really doesn't matter if some newly turned babies die, while every one of the protected they detect with their lives is one your elders don't have to deal with."

He turned away and entered the temple chamber, where a score of humans and elves had been lined up in chains, one of their number lying flat on the altar. The priests were already praying, and several stood ready with their knives. The sacrifices stared at the emperor as if he was a snake entering their midst. He smiled as he tasted their fear, feeling the hunger within him that would soon be sated.

**  *

"Keep those wagons moving," shouted the train master, a cavalry captain who had been detailed to move these supplies from the valley to the front. He had over two hundred supply wagons in the train, with a drover on each. There was a cook wagon and several that carried the tents and other supplies for the train. In addition, there were fifty cavalrymen that provided all the security for the train.

The captain sat his horse at the side of the road and watched the large wagons roll by, each pulled by teams of four horses, mules or oxen. He had started out with over three hundred wagons, but the ones no longer with him had supplied his people and horses with the provisions they had needed to reach this point.  It was a game of diminishing returns. Every kilometer they advanced meant a lower percentage of supplies that made it to the troops doing the fighting. There were farms along the way, supply points where the produce of each region was gathered. Those were limited, since they couldn't take everything the people needed to survive, and harvests had already come in in most of those areas, so there were no more provisions flowing in for the moment.

"Sir," yelled out one of his troopers, riding hard his way. "Sir.  I spotted a couple of reds flying over the road to the south."

The captain felt his face flush. As far as he was concerned, this was the worst possible thing that could happen this far behind the lines. He had no air defense, air support, or even a mage that could battle the dragons. They had a weapon that could destroy his train if they found them.

"Get these wagons under the trees," he yelled out, thankful that they weren't crossing an open area or a grassland. Of course, it was easier for the friendly airpower to find and fix the enemy in those open spaces as well, but he didn’t like the idea of luring the enemy into an attack that could still kill his unit. The drovers quickly reined their beasts under the cover of the trees, jumping off and trying their best to quiet their beasts.

Moments later the dragons flew over, one screeching as its rider made it follow a path it probably didn't want to follow.  The captain breathed a sigh of relief after they passed, waiting for ten minutes before he ordered his train back on the road.

An hour later they had to cross an open area from which columns of smoke were rising. He rode into the open area to scout and saw over fifty wagons burning in the road, many with teams of animals that had been burned to death. There were no people, which with the small number of wagons let him know that this train had not been totally destroyed.  Still, the loss of fifty wagons and their livestock was something that would hurt the army, if only in a minor way. The losses added up, and if this went on, soon the forces at the front might find themselves tightening their belts.

*  *  *

"And what the hell is this thing?" asked General Zachary Taylor, the overall commander of the Alliance Army, walking up on Earnst Grueber. His curiosity was piqued by the object, which looked very familiar.

"What does it look like?" asked Grueber, holding up the small object in his hand.

"What it looks like is a flintlock pistol," said the general. "But I know that gunpowder doesn't work here, so I can't figure out how it does what it looks like it does."

The former Mercedes engineer handed the general the hand weapon. Taylor turned it around in his hand. It was the general size and configuration of the flintlocks and wheellocks he had examined in the past. Lighter than the sidearm he had carried on Earth, but longer. It had an enlarged midsection with a screw on cap where the powder would normally go.

"It uses steam, like the cannon?" asked Taylor, not seeing how else it could work.

"Got it on the first try, general," said the smiling engineer, holding out his hand for the pistol. "Let me demonstrate, then you can have a go at it."

Grueber unscrewed the top section and filled the reservoir with water from a small bottle he carried on a strap, then seated a tiny glowing gem in the hole. He screwed the top section back down so that only a portion of the gem was visible.

"It's now water tight, with the bullet and wadding already in the barrel. I'll be aiming at that piece of old armor about thirty meters away."

The engineer extended the pistol, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger, just as he might have done with an Earth made weapon. The weapon went off with a banging hiss, and the clang of the bullet hitting the armor sounded. There was steam in the air, a lot of it, making it hard to see the target now, but Grueber led the way around until they were standing in front of the old breastplate that now boasted a twelve millimeter hole through its center.

Taylor had felt a thrill of excitement as the pistol had fired, which had turned to exaltation as it pierced the armor. He wasn’t sure how much use the small weapon would be, but he hoped they would find a use for it.

"Of course this wasn't highly enchanted armor, but it was some of the thickest I could find."

"Impressive," said Taylor as he watched the engineer recharge the weapon. They went back to the firing line, which by now was clear of steam, and Taylor took the weapon.

He went through the same procedure to fire, and was surprised by the force of the recoil. He hit the target, not dead center like the engineer, but at least any hit on the chest region was a victory.

"Can you make rifles like this?” asked Taylor, an idea coming to mind.

"I was really planning for these to be issued to the cavalry, sir," said Grueber, giving the general a questioning look. "To give them an emergency sidearm in melee combat. They would be much better in many ways than the hand crossbows the elves use. But I can't see a rifle version being better than the archers we already have."

"You can train riflemen much faster than archers," said Taylor, turning the pistol over in his hand, looking at all the details. "And I know we have a lot of the Ellala and Conyastoya archers to fill out our armies. I would like to have some long range firepower in the hands of our own people. People I can trust. In any respect, they might make good sniper rifles. But definitely concentrate on the pistols for now."

Taylor looked off into space for a moment, thinking. "What else do you have on the drawing board?"

*  *  *

Sergeant Dieter Klausman cursed under his breath as the sweat rolled down his face. It was a hot day, six degrees warmer than it would be in Germany at this time of year, if he had gotten the correlation correct. And even after a year of training and deployment as a Legionnaire, one of the protected in fact, he still wasn't enamored with marching. On Earth he would have been riding in a Marder III armored fighting vehicle, and only having to walk short distances to scout or assault. Here he was carrying over forty kilos of arms and armor, along with a small pack of rations. At least the tools and tentage were being carried in the company wagons, or he would have been burdened by that as well.

"Going ta have to go to confession now, aren't you, buddy," said Sergeant James Bubbuh Whitaker, marching in the rank behind the German. "You need to convert to Baptist. I say a goddamn cussword, and I can ask God to forgive me without going through the middle man."

Dieter glanced back at the large man with dark brown skin and frizzy hair under his helmet. Bubbuh was also sweating heavily, though he seemed to take it more in stride than did any of the Germans

"It's just so damned hot," growled Dieter.

"Hot?" barked Bubbuh with a laugh. "Why, back in Tuscaloosa, it would be up over a hundred on a day like this. That's…uh…what? Thirty-eight by your wacky thermometer."

Bubbuh was a smart man, an educated man, despite his what seemed to the German as a barbarous accent. He had played football at Alabama, not the game they played in Europe, but a much more violent game of collisions. He had enlisted in the Army after a couple of semesters of too much goofing off and partying, and had gone into the infantry. Where he found out he had a talent for linguistics. He spoke German, French and Czech, and now had a good grasp on the local dialects of Ellala and Conyastoya. Dieter wasn't sure why the man hadn't accepted the commission he had been offered, but he would not be able to duck promotion to platoon sergeant forever.

"How in the hell could you take that heat?"

"Heck, we used to run sprints in football practice, in full pads."

Dieter didn't know what pads were. He imagined they were something similar to what they were carrying at the moment. All of the men in the company wore banded Lorica armor over their torsos, with shoulder pads and arm guards. All had helms, though most were swinging on their backs attached to the chinstraps that were currently around their necks. All had skirts of metal reinforced leather, greaves, and local copies of the NATO combat boots all had come to this world with, though these were reinforced with steel tops and soles. Wrist guards completed the body armor, but not the entire kit. They had large oblong shields on their left arms, short stabbing swords and daggers in belt sheaths, and carried a short spear slanted over their right shoulders. And pouch hanging from their back contained two short javelins, while a canteen and ration bag on the back of their belts completed the kit.

All of the men in the company were Christians, the Protected as they were called on this world. Muslims, Jews, Hindus and some other Earth faiths were also Protected, warded by the deity of Earth against the magics and terrors of the night on this world. Every week a few of them gave up their faith and converted to one of the local religions, lured by the power of magic to make their lives easier. Dieter would rather go through the hardships of not having magic than risk having his soul ripped away by one of the demonic creatures that inhabited the planet.

"Almost time for a break," said Dieter, looking at his watch, one of the few mechanical ones brought over and still working.

"My belly is telling me almost time for lunch, my brother," said Bubbuh.

"Fall out," yelled the platoon sergeant some moments later, attesting to the accuracy of watch and gut. The men moved off the dusty road and fell down where they could.  Soon the mess attendants were moving from wagons to men, bringing pots of simmering food to ladle out into mess kits.

A column of dwarven ax men marched by, their short legs rapidly stepping at a similar speed to the humans. The stout warriors never seemed to tire, and would march on through the day, only stopping when it was time to set up camp. In fact, they would already have the camp partially set by the time the humans got there. The dwarves smiled and laughed as they passed the humans.

"Damned Neanderthals," said Bubbuh with a laugh. "Shoulda gone extinct."

"What mean you? Like the cavemen?"

"Exactly," said Bubbuh, nodding his head. "That's what the scientists are saying. Those are the Neanderthals that came here before they went extinct on Earth. Them and the Orcs. And then they evolved, or the Gods changed them? Hell, it could be the same thing here."

"But the Orcs look nothing like the dwarves."

"Evolution," said the bigger man with a smug expression.

"I thought Baptists were fundamentalists and didn't believe in evolution."

"Some don't," agreed the black man. "But even among Baptists there are a lot of people who found problems in the bible. My daddy was one of them, and he taught me that the universe was a whole lot stranger than a lot of the ministers thought." He looked around for a moment at the trees, swarming with birds, many of which were extinct on Earth. "And a lot stranger than he thought."

"I wish we had our tracks," said Dieter, shaking his head. His mess kit was cleaned, his body needing all the nourishment he could get into it. "I would kill to have my rifle and ammo again."

"Well, we don't," growled Bubbuh. "And we ain't about to get them back. Or trucks either. Heard tell that there might be steamboats in the future, but unless we're on a river, those ain't going to be doing us any good either."

"On your feet," yelled the platoon sergeant. "We have a ways to go before nightfall, and the camp isn't rolling toward us."

"More's the pity," said Dieter, bringing a laugh to the lips of his friend. Then they were back on the road, now eating the dust of the dwarves ahead of them as well.

*  *  *

Commander Marsalla Linsiri of the Imperial Light Horse looked through his telescope at the column moving along the road below. Most of his regiment was a hundred kilometers away. He was scouting with a half troop, moving through the backroads where they hoped the enemy wasn’t. The bandages some of his men wore attested to that not being true, and the dozen or so Conyastoya archers left dead some kilometers behind showed that the enemy had screening forces out in plenty.

“They sure seem to march well,” said his senior sergeant, also looking through a telescope.

Yes, they do, thought the commander. They also fought well. He knew from experience that they could go from a marching column to a line set to repel cavalry in moments. They were like no army he had ever heard of, and fought in a manner foreign to the native Ellala.

His men would charge en masse and then fall into individual combat, the same as the poor bastards of the infantry. In a battle, it was basically every man for himself. These people didn’t fight like that. Their cavalry struck in an almost straight line, plowing through the opposition, continuing to move as they struck. Then, when they reached the other side, they would form ranks and perform another very effective charge. Their infantry didn’t often charge, they mostly stood in an almost unbreakable shield wall and accepted the attack. When they did charge, they were careful to keep their lines dressed, no man straying ahead and getting cut off. They protected their archers to the rear, and those bowmen slaughtered the enemies in front of the foot soldiers.

It was a devilishly effective tactic, especially since they had found a way to integrate protected magic into it in a way that the natives had never thought of. Now they had those infernal engines that flung balls of iron further than a bowshot. Not as effective as the monstrous machines they had used when they first arrived, but still better than anything his side had.

“How many do you think, sergeant?”

“Each of those blocks looks to be just under two hundred men,” said the lower ranking Ellala. “And they’re spacing them about the same distance as the blocks.”

“Yes,” said Marsalla. “And about twelve of those blocks form what they call a brigade. That’s what I think is down there on that road, and another one behind it, surely. I think this is their main army, and the way it is moving it should be to the Xaklar River in seven days or so.”

The commander folded up his telescope and shoved it into its leather carrier. “Send a cast back to the general. He must know where they are.”

A screeching sounded overhead, and the Ellala looked up to see the form of a dragon through the obscuring foliage, flying high overhead. Before the invasion by these particular humans that dragon would have sure to have been a red of the Empire. This was a gold, one of the mounts of the enemy, and it would gut his half troop if it spotted them.

“We need to get out of here,” said Marsalla.

The two men walked their mounts down the hill, hands on muzzles to keep them silent. Marsalla’s skin crawled being this far behind the lines. Now they could get back to safety, if they could avoid the enemy patrols.

Chapter Three

The priest finished chanting in the ancient language he used to communicate with his god. A priest of Oceanus, or Ichtialis to the Ellala, had been difficult to find this far from the ocean. Oceanus also held dominion over the bodies of water that led to the seas, including lakes and rivers.  Supposedly that God had agreed to the entreaties of the Queen of the Gods, Arathonia. Still, it didn't hurt to make sure that the God had been mollified directly.

"I think you can go ahead," said the human priest in highly accented Ellala. He was a Nord, one of the paperwhite humans who inhabited the northlands of the world. Tall and broad of shoulder, with yellowish-white hair and pale blue eyes.  His people had become allies of the Earth humans after the immortals had freed them from the despotic king that had kept them tethered to the Ellala Empire of the subcontinent.

They were standing in the cabin of a large river galley, the prototype steam engine on a table. Coal had been shoveled into the small furnace, and a mage stood by ready to set it afire. The pressure chamber had been filled with water, and the motive arms were oiled. Everything was ready.

Just like it had been ready all those times before, thought Grueber, readying himself for another disappointment.

The mage standing by ignited the fire, then closed the door. Air was still entering through the vents, and it wasn't long before the kindling and tender had started the coal burning. From there it wasn't long before the water was heating up in the boiler. Grueber wanted to hold his breath until this process had kicked off, but that wasn't possible. The problem with steam engines, as versus the internal combustion type, was the time it took to get them fired up. There were ways to make the process faster, as had been done on Earth. Still not fast enough, and not worth the effort of making such a complicated engine.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was only ten minutes on the engineer's watch, steam started flying from the spout with a shrill whistle. Grueber turned the stop on the spout, then turned the knob that engaged the motive arms. They immediately started moving slowly, speeding up over the next minute until they were moving in a blur, moving the cylinder at the ends of the arms up and down.

"It works," cried Grueber, slapping the mage on the back, then reaching over to shake the hand of the Nord priest. That man looked at his hand in confusion for a moment, then got the idea, reaching back with his own hand.

"We can have steamships," cried the engineer, looking at the steam engine with almost adoration. That would be a start. Steamships, able to move ahead with heavy cargoes no matter the wind or current. And then airships, able to push through the air, provided they could get that god on their side. Then trains? Right now that didn't seem possible, since the god of the earth was against it.  But some of the dwarven mages and priests had ideas to get around the prohibitions of the gods, and he was excited to see what they might come up with.

*  *  *

Captain Paul Baurieth knelt at the edge of the woods, waiting for the signal from their Dark Elf allies.  The French commander of the humans on the mission, Major Francois Roy, ex of the French Foreign Legion, waited on a knee a couple of meters away, glancing around another tree. The hearing of the Ellala was too acute for the humans, considered stealthy for their kind, to move. However, the Delkifini, as the Dark Elves were known on this world, could move like shadows, nothing seen, nothing heard, until they wanted their targets to know they were there. Which in most cases meant they were pulling a sharp blade across their enemy's throat.

The Ellala could also move quietly, though not to the same extent as the Dark and Wood elves. The High Elves had spent too much time in the cities of their civilization. Now, with over a hundred captives in tow, they were not moving quietly at all.

The French major flashed Paul a set of hand signals, relaying what he was receiving from up the line. Forty-one Ellala, a strong patrol, holding a hundred and twenty-three prisoners, all destined for the city and sacrifice to their dark gods. The Ellala would not be hard for the force of a hundred and ten elves and humans to take. But the mission here was to save the prisoners, and everyone knew what the Ellala leaders were likely to do before they let that happen.

Paul brought the words to the spell he was going to open with to his lips. He was a warpriest of Arathonia, and had certain spells set to go off with a minimal amount of hand gestures. It wouldn't be as powerful as the formal spell, but in combat one didn't often have the time for the exact rituals.

The signal came, the hoot of an owl so accurate that no one could tell the difference. Sixty Dark Elves materialized from the forest, swords and daggers in hand, and as many Ellala died within the next few moments. Another twenty Dark Elves fired the crossbows they favored, not a fast firing weapon, but accurate and deadly. All were on target, and the poisoned quarrels stopped any Ellala they hadn't killed from penetration in their tracks.

Paul jumped from his position to the center of the Ellala line, the final words shouted out as he made the single hand gesture. The elves had started to turn his way, some grasping the weapons they would use in trying to close with him, the others turning toward the nearest prisoners.

They all stopped in their tracks as the holy power of the spell washed over them. It was a spell intended to hold people in place, and Paul had been concerned that some of the Ellala might have a charm against it. But every one of the elves in sight, and the humans they had been leading, stopped as if frozen.

All had horrified expressions on their faces. He felt some guilt for causing that fear in the humans, and not at all guilty for what he was doing to the Ellala.

The fighting still went on for some seconds, and Paul was forced to use his warhammer once to smash in the head of an Ellala, breaking skull and neck with one blow.  Then it was over, and the last Ellala were dead or disabled.

"We'll take care of the last of these fuckers," said Major Roy, walking up to an Ellala and cutting the elf's throat. Smiling dark elves came hurrying up and took care of the rest.

It turned the priest's stomach to see them kill prisoners in cold blood, but the dark elves had been enemies of the Empire for a thousand years, had seen hundreds of thousands of their own people die at the hands of this emperor and his soldiers. They had rage fueling them, and they weren't going to be denied these lives.

It was over quickly; at least that was a mercy. The Dark Elves were not cruel by nature, and the lives of their enemies were enough for them. They didn't need their torment as well.

"Go ahead," said Roy, nodding toward the humans who were his fellow Frenchmen.

Paul made the gestures, taking his time, and shouted out the words. More holy power washed out from him, and the humans who had been frozen in place were now free. They started shouting questions in French, and Roy was quick to assure them that they were safe.

A dark elf ran up and started speaking quickly to Roy in French, and the major looked around a little, alarmed, before he started chattering in his native tongue with his people again.

"We must leave," he told the warpriest. "The scouts have seen more Ellala coming this way."

"Can we stay ahead of them?" asked Baurieth, looking over his shoulder.

"We only need to get some distance between them and us," said the smiling Frenchman. "Give us a couple of kilometers, and the problem will be taken care of."

The major patted him on the shoulder, then hurried away to get his people and men moving.

*  *  *

"I need more of those humans for sacrifices," said the Emperor, looking over the captain of his guard.

"The dark elves are killing my men faster than we can capture prisoners, your Majesty."

The half litch growled deep in his throat, his red eyes glaring into those of the Ellala who led his elite guard force, which was also responsible for securing him the sacrifices he needed to finish the process of becoming an immortal, in an undead sort of way. He had worked out a process to screen out those humans who had their singular religions. When those were subjected to the spells that stole souls and life force for his magical processes, they caused a magical feedback loop that destroyed the priests casting the spell and all around them.

However, if a small spell was cast on them, something not too harmful, and they didn't react to it, then they were deemed safe to be used for energy. That was only about one in three of these French. He could also use elves for energy, but though they had a lot of life force, they were lacking in the soul energy of the humans. He wasn't sure why that was the case, but it was.

Nevertheless, if he was losing so many soldiers, it was turning into a zero sum game. There were very few of the French that were not under the protection of the rebellious Dark Elves, which was making securing them harder than ever.

"You have my permission to requisition as many of the city guard as you need, as long as you don't deplete the security of the capital beyond reason."

The guard captain nodded, then bowed and left the room. The Emperor took a seat behind his desk, thinking of food and drink.  But he didn't feel hungry, at least not for physical food. As he thought about it, he realized that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over a year with the exception of some wine.

"We're ready for you, your Majesty," said the high priest, stopping at the entrance of the chamber.

"How many?"

"Four, your Majesty. All we could gather at the moment."

The Emperor nodded. It would barely be enough. Until the transformation was complete, he still lost some energy on a daily basis and it needed to be replenished. Four would make up for what he had lost this week, but he needed more if he wanted to transform into an immortal, and not have to worry about it anymore.

"I will use them now," he said, standing and following the priest from the chamber. They walked down the corridor, the Emperor paying little attention to the Ellala and lesser peoples who fell to one knee and bowed their heads. He wondered for a moment about the Grogatha who had been his seer, who had disappeared one night and had never been seen again. Normally he would think the filthy creature might have been killed by the resistance, but his family had disappeared at the same time, and that was not something the resistance normally did. He had been unable to find one near as good as the Grogatha.

They continued down the stairs that led to the chambers deep under the palace. All knew about those places, of course, but most tried to avoid them. There was an evil feel about the catacombs, and any sensible being stayed clear.

The Emperor nodded to one of the guards, one of the few beings who could stand the feel of the underground. That being bowed in return, his glowing red eyes never leaving the face of the Emperor. A vampire, he was only afraid of two things: holy power, which the half litch didn't control and his own queen.

The room was straight ahead, through the darkness. The Emperor could smell the evil, and it was sweet in his nostrils. People were crying in that room, begging and pleading. That would make it so much the better.

"Get the first one ready," he said as he walked into the chamber. All the sigals had been drawn with care on the floor, all the candles, made from the fat of virgins, lit and in their proper places. The four sacrifices were hanging in cages along the wall, three or four empties between each of them. The Emperor looked at those empty cages, remembering the times when they had all been full. I will have to start sacrificing my own if this goes on. But he needed all of his people to defend his capital, and it was bad for their morale to think that they might have their souls fed to dark gods, even though most of them had that in their future through their own actions.

The first of the prisoners was dragged from the cage by the strong arms of the acolytes. It was a woman, screaming in a barbarous language that the Emperor understood to be French. The Earth humans considered it a beautiful language, but he thought it harsh compared to the Elalla tongue. It didn't matter to him what her words meant. She was soon to be meat, most of her vital energy a part of him.

The acolytes lifted the woman onto the table, making sure not to disturb the candles on each corner. They strapped her wrists and ankles with the leather straps there for that purpose. The high priest tore her shirt, exposing her chest to the air. The Emperor looked at the woman with disdain, thinking that she might be considered attractive to a human, though not so much to his people. To him it didn't matter anyway. He had lost any sex drive years before, when he had started his journey to undeath. Now the only use he had for females was as breeders for his own men, with the exception of those who had the powers of magic, divine or arcane. Like the second high priestess who was chanting at the front of the chamber.

Now the high priest joined in, holding up a blade, while the Emperor assumed his position in the circle across from the table. He stood relaxed, letting his mind fall into the rhythm of the chants as they reverberated through the room. One word stood out among all the others, an echo that shook the walls. Bothar. Bothar. Bothar. The king of the gods of the dead and the deity that the Emperor was pledged to.

The woman screamed one final time as the high priest stood over her, brandishing the knife, then plunging it unerringly into her chest. He sawed for a moment, then reached into the chest cavity and pulled out the still beating heart, tossing it into a brazier of coals. The woman started screaming again, something that should have been impossible without a heart pumping blood through the arteries to her lungs. Her eyes were wide with terror as something worse than death came for her.

A presence manifested in the room, a dark and menacing force brought by the death magic. The woman continued to scream, echoed by those of the ones still in cages who recognized their doom. Maybe not by name, but death was recognized by all people.

A mist began to rise from the woman, mingling with the burning smoke of the heart. She screamed once more, and then went limp, her life force gone, drawn into the god. Some of the energy trickled into the Emperor, a feeling of delicious strength. Then it was over, suddenly. He wished the god would give him more.  But that was not the way it worked.

He did not have to utter a word. The next sacrifice, a man, was carried to the table and strapped down, the dead meat thrown into a chute that fed the scavengers further down. The Emperor still wasn't sure what other use those ghouls might have, but he kept them anyway. The man was sacrificed and the Emperor fed again. Two more followed, and the Emperor almost screamed that it wasn't enough. Of course it wasn't. He would have to have more, but it would have to wait until they had more captives.

He passed by the vampire guard again on the way out when the idea struck him. A way to get more sacrifices, and assure that they were clean of the other dimension's god's influences. He smiled all the way back to his chambers, then sent a messenger to get the Vampire Queen.

*  *  *

Antwoine McGurk looked up at the bright sun that was sending its heat down onto the road. He grabbed his water bottle, uncorked it, and took a large swig. It was now fall, but the days were still too damned hot, especially for one encased in sixty kilos of steel.

The young colonel missed his Abrams, with its easy rolling motion and air conditioning. At first, he had been placed in the scout forces, the light cavalry, wearing no more than an infantryman while still sitting a horse. Not that a horse was easy. It still wore out the legs and the constant pounding on the buttocks could only be believed through experience. Then the command slot had opened for the first cavalry brigade, three battalions of heavy cavalry, what would have been called knights on Medieval Earth. They weren’t quite the over weighted lummoxes of the late Medieval period. Their armor was a mix of plate and chain, and their weapons didn’t drag on them while they were mounted.

“Well, so far, nothing, sir,” said the sergeant major riding beside him. “At least we’re on the road.”

McGurk nodded. The light cavalry, with their much smaller, much more agile horses, would be riding the flanks, up and down hills and through woods. Meanwhile, the heavies kept to the road, where there was less risk of laming one of their big mounts.

It had been difficult finding the large horses at first. The enemy didn’t use them. But some of the other kingdoms used them for draft animals, and with the gold that had been secured when McGurk’s armored cavalry troop had killed the great wyrm red, they had bought several thousand of them and started training them as warhorses. There were now several thousand mares and enough stallions to service them back in the Refuge valley, and the numbers were steadily increasing, while there were three brigades with the army, for a total of almost ten thousand heavy cavalrymen.

“I hope it stays that way,” said McGurk, looking to the sides of the road. “I don’t like the idea of being hit from the sides on this road. Only an idiot would line up to our front, unless they knew something we didn’t.”

The sergeant major nodded. The older man had been in a ceremonial horse regiment in the US Army in his younger days, before becoming a tanker. He knew exactly what his colonel was thinking.

They both looked up as something screeched above, a shiver of fear running down their spines. Both huffed relief as they saw the pair of silvers flying over. The alliance was mounting a strong air patrol over the army, knowing the damage a couple of reds could do. The only problem was the combat air patrols were spread out along the column and the supply train was coming up from behind, and if the enemy struck, it might be in overwhelming force. They might not make it back out, but that would be little comfort to his charred corps sitting on a broiled mount.

“Let’s go,” he said, patting his horse on the neck. He still wasn’t sure about the idea of riding something with a mind of its own. The horse could panic at anything or nothing, and he would be along for the ride, or lying on the ground. However, it was a weapon, as much as any other he carried, and it was the weapon he had.

Chapter Four

"We're ready for the test, master," said the Ellala who would conn the ship down the stream.

This was the first test of a full-size engine actually attached to a screw on the stern, providing motive power.  It had worked with a miniature prototype, propelling a three-meter-long wooden vessel across a small spring that fed a local river.  The priests had told him that it was important that the body of water be connected to the sea.  He wasn't about to dispute their opinions, since they had grown up and grown to power on this world.

"How's the pressure?" he asked after looking at his watch and seeing that fifteen minutes had passed.

"Not quite up to operating level," answered the human who had been a riverboat captain on the Rhine.  It wasn't quite like the diesels he had been used to on that river, but he was the closest thing to an expert that the engineer could find.  "Give it another ten minutes."

Grueber didn't want to give it another ten minutes.  He wanted the thing to work, so he could get back to work on the manufacturing side, making enough engines to have a small fleet on the rivers and lakes of this world.  All the major rivers on this side of the central range of the subcontinent flowed from the chain of large lakes that arose from the snowmelt.  That chain of lakes was well over a thousand kilometers long, with much the same volume as the Grand Lakes on Earth.  They provided this region with a perfect transport net, one which he was about to exploit.

The whistle went off, and the captain pushed forward the levers that connected to the engine room, letting them know he wanted power.  Moments later the ship gave a lurch, then another.  The captain spun the wheel, aiming the ship out from the docks and into the current of the large river.  The ship built up speed, moving smoothly through the water.

Grueber hurried out of the cabin and ran to the stern of the ship.  It was purpose built for this test, and would make a good light cargo ship.  Nothing at all like those he planned, which would have triple the capacity of this one.  He reached the stern and looked over the back with a smile on his face.  There was a noticeable wake behind the ship.  Not what one would expect to see on a speedboat, but similar to what he expected from a slow freighter.  He ran back to the bridge and stopped beside the captain.

"Are you at full power?"

"Not quite, but not far from it."

"And your estimated speed?"

"I think we're doing about seven knots," said the captain, looking up to the ceiling as if he were doing calculations in his head.  "We'll probably get up to nine when we reach full power.  Of course, if we're loaded down with cargo we can expect to lose a couple of those knots."

Grueber did his own calculations. A sailing ship could get up to the same speed as this steamship in open water, if the wind was blowing in the proper direction.  That could be a problem on a river, where there wasn't enough maneuvering room to tack.  They could do it on the lakes, but it would still reduce overall speed to a standstill.  A galley could move against the wind, but at most they would make seven knots for a short period of time.  The steam engine could keep on working day and night, and would allow the delivery of cargo, or troops, in a quarter of the time of the other means.  He thought the general would be happy with that progress.  Now all they had to do was provide the ships and the engines.

The boat steamed along for an hour, then turned and headed back.  It would drop him off and continue down the river, making a run to the connecting large lake and cruise across it.  He needed to know if the engine could work for an extended period.

They passed the shipyard on the way, where humans and elves were constructing five more of the same class of vessel.  Other ships, larger, were also taking shape.  While he was sure that his engine was not perfected, he was sure he could work out the kinks in the future.  Some of the technology of Earth would live again on this world.

*  *  *

"Everyone take a break," yelled out Kurt von Mannerheim as he rode his horse along the side of the road. The sun was beating down from the sky and the day promised to be a hot one. The infantry was raising a cloud of dust that could be seen for a dozen kilometers or more. Hopefully, the cavalry had taken care of everything that might be able to observe that cloud.

Jackie looked over from her horse with a smile of relief. She was just as strong and tough as he was, but horses were not something she had known before coming here, while he had ridden the beasts of his father every chance he had when younger.

Second division was now his. Since their original commander had been killed in the battle that had broken the back of the Imperial army and Delgado had been promoted to corps command, there had been a need for experienced large unit officers. Kurt had commanded a panzergrenadier battalion in the Second Great War, and though Taylor had resisted the idea, it had finally reached the point of no choice.

The men dropped to the ground on the grass lining the road as soon as they could, pulling canteens from belt pouches. They had marched with helms secured by straps around their necks, head uncovered until they needed the protection. They had carried their large shields on their left arms and a spear over their right shoulder. Overall, they weren't weighed down any more than an infantryman on Earth. Actually, they would have been less so, since the gravity was lighter here. However, someone had decided to add more gear to bring them up to the same load. It was an evenly distributed weight, but the lorica armor, metal reinforced leather skirt, and metal greaves held in the heat. And even the infantrymen from Earth had done most of their movement by vehicle.

"There's a stream up ahead, sir," said one of the cavalry officers of his scout squadron. "We can fill up the water bottles and give the men a lunch break."

Kurt nodded, looking up to the sky as a gold dragon flew over, part of their air cover. They had plenty of water on the supply wagons, but he had learned in the past to fill up whenever he could. You never knew when you might run out and not be able to get more, and a running stream was perfect, since it was unlikely to be poisoned, like so many of the wells they had found along the way. Of course they would test the water.  That was something the priests were good for.

"What is that up ahead?"

"It's a burned out village, General," said the cavalry officer. "It's awful. Every man, woman, and child, dead. Livestock slaughtered, crops burned in their fields."

Scorched earth, thought the immortal, staring at the smoke. Worse than what the Russians did.  They had not killed their own people. Sure, some had starved when there wasn't enough food for them in the relocation areas. But even Stalin, the evil bastard, hadn't killed his people outright. At least, not like that.

"It looks like the evil bastards are trying to starve us out," continued the officer.

And they just might do it, thought Kurt. Almost half the supplies coming from the rear had been destroyed before they had reached the front line units.  If they could cut off enough supplies, the army might have to march back to where supplies could be brought up.  If enough were stockpiled for a campaign next year, they could march on and take the capital.  But Taylor was having nothing of it, and in a way the big German didn't blame him.  He wanted to take out this bastard now, before he killed more people.  Not just killed them.  He was feeding on the souls of people to feed his desire for immortality.  From what the immortal had heard, it didn't just take the life of the person sacrificed, but their soul as well.

It went against any tenant of Earth religion, where a person only paid the ultimate price of eternal punishment if they were guilty.  Here the innocent could also face torment, if not eternal, then long enough.  From how it had been explained to him by the priests, someone who was sentenced to a hell, or ascended to heaven, would spend a thousand years there, maybe a bit longer.  But when it was their time to be reborn, their soul would be jerked out of the pits, or paradise, as the case might be, and brought back to the mortal realm.  It seemed too unfair in so many respects.  If someone had been a right enough bastard, they should not be returned to the mortal realm.  And if they had earned paradise, they should be there forever as well.

He had asked the priests about his people, and they lacked a ready answer.  Some thought they would go through the same process as others, their souls in one or the other afterlife until they were ready to be reborn.  Others thought that they had no souls, and the other after they would have was oblivion.  Kurt had been an atheist for many decades after the war.  The things he had seen had been enough to make many a man an unbeliever.

And the damned Ellala bastard who was well on the way to becoming a litch?  He was told that the Emperor would live for all time in his rotting body, held together by magic.  As long as the heart was preserved in the phylactery that did not have to be attached to his body, he could never be destroyed.  Not permanently.As long as that heart was alive, he would reconstitute.  He would come back stronger than ever.  Which meant they had to destroy the heart as well, or this thing would not be over.

"On your feet," yelled the immortal in German, riding his horse down the road.  "We have a bastard to take down, and we're not going to do it sitting on our asses."  He repeated himself in English, then in the words of the several native languages he had learned.

The men cursed under their breaths, but were quick to get back to their feet, settling shields on arms and spears over shoulders.  Soon they were marching down the road, their NCOs leading them in marching songs.  Taylor might not be correct in ordering the army to continue forward.  It could add up to a battle as disastrous as Moscow had been for Kurt's army in the Russian Campaign.  But the general was in charge, and as long as he was, the immortal would do his best to carry the fight forward.

Chapter Five

"And after a fun day of marching, we get to dig in. Isn't life just fuckin' wonderful in the infantry?"

Dieter nodded his head as he threw a shovelful of dirt onto the pile. It was backbreaking work, but at least they were able to get out of their armor while doing it, and they would not have to pull guard duty tonight.

The dwarves, who were the first to arrive at the campsite due to their stamina on the march, had already done much of the work, and were now at their evening meal. Deiter's battalion, by dint of being one of the first to reach the site, would finish the work and then rest through the night. They would have it almost completely ready when the other brigades came marching in. Since the newcomers would not have done much of the excavation, they would be tasked with providing guards through the night. To Dieter's way of thinking, that was eminently fair, though at the moment it seemed to have some flaws. Like the fatigue he was feeling while shoveling earth. However, a full night's sleep was nothing to sneeze at.

The fortifications they were building were based on the old Roman plans, with earthworks and stakes, turning it into a stronghold if needed. Some changes were needed to fit it to the tactical realities of this world. Dragons were one, and rows of tents set up in the open were an invitation to a strike that could kill thousands. Mages were another, and so the castra was being built under the trees of the dense forest. Positions were being emplaced for the guards to give the camp protection from the ground. A tree could still catch on fire, but burning trees could be outrun, while dragon fire coming down on tents would incinerate them in seconds. Plus, the mages had spells that could extinguish the trees before they became too much of a threat.

They were working on the positions near the edge of the woods. There were openings to either side where wagons were pulled under the trees. Not all of the train would fit, but it was thought better that wagons be burned than the people that used them.

A screech from above caught the attention of everyone working. Bubbuh craned his neck trying to catch sight of the creature.

"It's one of ours," said the sweating man as he swiped at the moisture rolling down his dark face. "Silver."

"Thank God for that," said Dieter.

"I still don't understand why in the hell we have to dig in like this," said Private Tim Humphrey, another American, with freckled skin that seemed to get redder every day. "We fight standing up, you know what I mean?"

Dieter stared at the man who was in his squad, who had not been a combat soldier prior to the transit to this world. Humphrey had been a computer tech in an artillery unit, a specialty that was no longer in existence since they had no computers.

"So, you would rather stand your watch upright, and get cut down by arrows coming in at you?" asked Dieter, shaking his head. He knew that Humphrey had attended the lectures on the strategy and tactics the alliance army was going to adopt on this world. Men in positions could still scan the night, or listen in silence, without making as much noise as moving soldiers, and they would be harder to spot. A very important fact as far as survival was concerned. They could still yell out and everyone on their side would know where they were, while the camp could be awakened.

"Well, we just dig these things for one night, then abandon them. That seems like a real waste, you know what I mean?"

Humphrey also had the annoying habit of adding 'do you know what I mean' to many of his statements. Dieter knew it wasn't something the man did to be purposely annoying to people, but it was annoying nonetheless.

"The units that come up behind us get to use them," said Bubbuh, pointing a finger at the private. "So they aren't really a waste."

"And we have to dig new ones every night because we're at the head of the army. That doesn't seem fair to me, you know what I mean?"

"No one knows what the hell you mean," said Bubbuh, glaring at the lower ranking soldier. "Why don't you just shut up and keep digging. The sooner we're finished, the sooner we can eat and bed down."

Humphrey stared at the sergeant for a moment, but didn't dare open his mouth. Though this battalion wouldn't have to stand watch, there were other jobs that could be assigned, such as preparing food and cleaning the field kitchens in the morning.

They weren't really at the head of the army. That honor belonged to the cavalry brigade attached to this legion, which would be making their own camp about ten kilometers further down the road. It wouldn't be the same type of camp, since they were not that kind of soldiers, and the infantry would march by their position in the morning while they continued to scout ahead, making sure there were no surprises that would catch the slower moving infantry flatfooted. Given sufficient warning, the brigade could close up and present a formidable formation to attacking enemy cavalry or infantry. Without warning, they might just get rolled over.

The evening meal had been prepared by the battalion cooks, men who had ridden wagons all day. Beef stew with a thick mash of vegetables, filling and enough to replace the calories burned through the day. Conyastoya hunters brought in wild pig or deer, while the quartermasters bought the vegetables from local farmers. It still was not enough on its own, and supplies had to be shipped from the Refuge valley almost a thousand kilometers a day to the marching troops. That distance was growing by twenty kilometers a day.

"I'm not all that hungry," said Humphrey, picking at the food in his mess kit. "I'm too damned tired. You know what I mean?"

"I advise you to eat everything you can, troop," said Bubbuh, wiping his own kit clean with a piece of fresh baked bread. "We might not have full meals in the future, and then you'll regret all the calories you didn't take in."

"You don't think they'll keep us supplied?" asked Humphrey, his brows furrowing. "That wouldn't be good, you know what..."

"Don't fucking say it," growled Bubbuh, and Dieter laughed at the exchange between the two Americans.

"And what the hell are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, Bubbuh. Nothing."

The night seemed to go by too quickly. It was a luxury to not have to be awoken during the night for a guard shift. Still, it felt like he had only been in his bag for an hour, but the state of the camp showed that it was morning, even though the sun had yet to rise. Fires were blazing so that the men getting out of their insulated bags would be able to absorb heat while they got dressed. The cook fires were going, and the odors of pig and potatoes for breakfast filled the air. After eating breakfast everyone loaded up their ration bags with some sausage and bread, their marching meal for the day.

The sun was just cresting the hills to the East when they first set boots to the road. Horns were sounding to the front and rear, giving the commands while it was still twilight, and the flags were not useful. It was still chilly, and the troops were anxious to get moving so they could warm up.

Two hours later the day was starting to heat up, and the soldiers were again starting to sweat.

"How long till we stop for a break?" asked Humphrey, adjusting his spear so he could wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. "I really could use one, you know what I mean?"

"Watch it, idiot," yelled the man behind Humphrey, pushing the spear point back up with his shield.

"Sorry," said Humphrey in a low voice.

Dieter looked over at his fellow NCO with a smile on his face. Humphrey was a screw-up in most respects. Maybe he had been a wiz with computers, but that was no longer a job for soldiers. One thing they knew was that the young man had yet to see combat, unless huddling helpless in the bunkers while dragons torched the Refuge valley counted. He had undergone the usual training for a legionnaire: how to stand in formation, the use of shield and stabbing sword, and how to throw a javelin with enough accuracy to hit somewhere within a mass of charging enemy. However, he had yet to stand his ground, trusting in the people to either side, as a screaming mass of Grogatha charged.

They had a break shortly, able to get their fill of water from the wagons and also refill their canteens. Then it was back to the road, a couple of hundred meters behind the middle battalion, this day in the rearmost position of the brigade, which was also further back in the order of march. It seemed it would be another uneventful day, something that brought ambivalent feelings to the fore among the veterans. They wanted to meet the enemy out in the open, where their formations gave them the advantage. More likely, but unwanted, was the probability of having to push the foe out of fortified positions, forts, castles, or bridges.

"Form a line," yelled an officer, the battalion XO, Major Standridge, spurring his horse from rear to front. "Form a line, "Facing right."

"What the hell is going on?" asked Humphrey, looking around.

"Just get your ass in line, newbie," yelled Bubbuh. He reached out and pulled the soldier to a position beside him.

Dieter made sure that the eleven men in his squad were in line, right behind Bubbuh's, while the third squad of their platoon lined up behind his. To left and right were the other platoons of their company. Beyond them was nothing for almost fifty meters, the other companies also in their unit formations.

"Watch out," yelled a voice from the end of the line, not telling them what they were supposed to watch out for.

Arrows came hissing in, and men started yelling and screaming. Several in the company went down with shafts sticking out of soft spots in their bodies, arms, legs, in one occurrence through the top of the skull.

"Get your helmets on," screamed Dieter, trying to balance his own shield and spear, leaning the weapon against his body to get the head covering in place.

Bubbuh had his helmet on before Dieter, and he was glad to see that Humphrey had also gotten his on, and was now covering himself with his shield.

"Get ready," yelled the major, still on his horse right behind the formations. Dieter wasn't sure why the man was still up there giving the enemy a good target.

"Here they come," yelled another voice.

Dieter was trying to a good look at they, but he couldn't see very well around the wall of shields to his front. He could feel the ground shake, and hear the neighing of horses that seemed to indicate that they were about to be hit by cavalry. But what kind? Heavy lancers or nomad horse archers? It would make a difference to their continued survival.

Another wave of arrows came hissing in, almost all hitting the large oblong shields, some glancing off helmets. There were still a couple of strikes, and a few screams of pain or fear.

Another mass of arrows flew overhead, this bunch outbound. Their own archers, mostly the wood elves known as Conyastoya, the best bowmen on the planet, were arranged and sending feathered death into the enemy.

Dieter finally got a glimpse of the enemy, a mass of horsemen in lamellar armor, light lances couched, riding hell bent for the legionnaires. Where the hell are our pikes? he asked himself. With their long spears they could knock the lancers from their horses before those lances made contact. The spears that the legionnaires held didn't have that reach in their current configurations, and they hadn’t had time to screw on the extensions.

A trio of fireballs flew out from the alliance lines, bursting into blasts on hitting the enemy, torching everything for ten meters in every direction. The enemy shamans returned fire, their own balls of hot flame flying into the infantry and bursting in circular walls of fire.

Dieter closed his eyes as the flames washed over him, acting from reflex even though he knew what the result would be. Or thought he did. A feeling of gentle warmth swept through his body, and then it was gone. The entire company was still there, protected as they were by the deities of Earth. There was a scream coming from behind the formation, one of the wood elves who had been caught up in the flames without the protection of the Earth humans.

"Rearward two ranks, shift spears," yelled out the company commander.

Dieter placed his spear carefully on the ground, while the man behind him placed his beside the German sergeant’s. The men in the front rank couched their spears, getting as much of the two and a half meters out in front of them as they could. He knew what was coming, but because of discipline, he waited even as the enemy cavalry came closer. More arrows came in, some bouncing from shields, some penetrating and quivering in place, but none accomplishing any more through the shield wall. The Conyastoya archers in the rear continued their barrage, and horses and riders went down.

"Javelins," yelled the CO, and almost a hundred hands reached back to grasp the first of the pair of javelins they carried.

Dieter could see the faces of the charging enemies, skin as yellow as a dark lemon, squinting eyes looking on with murderous intent. His murder in those eyes. The difference in combat between this world and Earth. Here you were more likely to die with a weapon in your guts while your killer looked into your soul, not struck down by a piece of metal hurled from hundreds of meters away by a weapon held by a man who couldn’t see your face. In a lot of ways this manner of combat was more frightening.

"Throw," yelled the commander. A hundred javelins arced through the air, covering the forty meters to the front of the charging enemy line. As soon as they were released the spears were picked up and the wall of points tripled.

The heavy javelins came down on the horsemen, the sharp points penetrated even deeper than the arrows, and scores of horsemen and beasts went down, interfering with the charge. Others lost their shields as the soft metal shafts on the javelin heads bent, pulling their arms down, but not enough had been stopped.

The charge hit, horses ramming their mass into shields and knocking men over, lances pushing through armor, spears penetrating the other way into nomads. Horses and men screamed, bodies fell, and the charge penetrated and moved through the company.

Not everyone was knocked down. Two thirds of the company was still on their feet, and now they went on the attack, pushing spears into the enemy that was mixed in among them. As spears broke, or were jerked, away the swords came out. The blades would seem to be a disadvantage against the longer swords of the horsemen, but the infantry crouched behind their shields in small groups, back-to-back, jabbing and stabbing. They were giving as good as they got, and held their own. It seemed to go on forever, though it could only have been minutes. Horns sounded, and alliance cavalry swept onto the field and attacked the enemy from the rear. Moments later, the pikemen were coming in from the flanks.

The nomad horsemen were suicidally courageous. Not many left the field, and those reluctantly. Dieter looked around him as the enemy cleared. Many of the faces he was used to seeing every day were missing, and there were a great number of bodies on the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief as Bubbuh limped over, a look of pain on his face. And Humphrey, still on his feet, covered in gore, blood dripping from the blade of his sword. The young man had survived his first bout of combat, and in fact had contributed to the victory if his appearance was to be believed.

"Wow…that was pure hell! Do you know what I mean?"

Bubbuh put an arm around the young trooper as both of the sergeants burst into laughing. Humphrey would still be an obnoxious prick who would drive them crazy, but they would put up with the idiosyncrasies of a veteran.

*  *  *

Prince Harrakihn kil Marizom, the Mo'orican commander of the Fourth Cavalry Brigade, Light Horse, reined his mount to a stop on top of the hill, pulling his telescope from its case on the saddle, and putting it to his eye.

"It looks like they're ready for us, my Prince," said Nazara kil Khanas, his second in command, already looking at the bridge off in the distance.

The prince lowered his telescope and looked over at his countryman, who had come from his father's kingdom with the original thousand horsemen. Nazara was a prime example of his people, with red hair over framing a face as black as that of a dark elf. Fine features and light-colored eyes showed that he was not of the same race as the Earth Africans.

The four thousand horsemen of the brigade were still about one-third Mo'oricans, the rest were other native humans and elves, all skilled horsemen. The prince had found that the Earth humans on the whole were not very good on horseback, with the exception of some few of the Americans who had grown up in their rural areas, and even fewer of the Germans. The humans who were not so skilled. yet willing, had been shuttled into the heavy cavalry, the shock troops of the army. They possessed greater striking power, but the light cavalry, like the First Brigade, required more agility, and that meant greater horsemanship.

"How far in front of the Brigade is A-troop?" he asked his assistant, who had the job of keeping track of such things. While the prince had mindspeak, like all of the royal family, the commoner Khanas had much greater ability, the reason he had risen so high in rank in the aristocratic nation.

"They're within a kilometer of the outer works of the bridge, my Prince. Their commander is reporting that he believes they have not been seen."

"Then send him my order that it is to remain so. I don't want the Ellala knowing we are so close. They might already know, but if they don't, I want it to remain that way. I want the other troops of that squadron to fan out to the side, but not to extend their positions to the river."

His exec nodded and closed his eyes, connecting to the people in question and sending out the orders.

The prince put his telescope back to his eye. He had been offered some of the Earth made field glasses, but had turned them down, preferring to use an instrument that he was comfortable with. The view of the telescope was actually more powerful than the binoculars he had seen, and the image of the bridge fort leapt into view. The tower on this end looked as strong as any fort he had ever examined, with high walls and thick towers. Inside was another fort, a castle keep, and the road that carried over the bridge went through that keep, which meant it had to be taken. Just putting the castle to siege would accomplish nothing. The walls appeared to be sparsely manned, but they only needed a watch to make sure no assault parties got close before they could reinforce. He was sure there were more than enough soldiers within that fort to hold it against any quick assault.

Harrakihn then swept the focus to the fort on the far side of the bridge. It was an almost exact duplicate of the one on his side, and he was sure that it would be just as well defended. Taking one fort wouldn't accomplish anything if the other was still held. The river had to be more than a kilometer wide at this point, probably closer to two, and it would be one holy bitch to get the army across by boat and supply it on the other side. All the while leaving forts full of troops behind who would have the capability of cutting the supply line of either side of the river.

No, he thought, pulling the telescope down. It will have to be taken before we can move on. If anyone could figure out how to do it, it was the siege-master of the army, Colonel Cliff Jackson. Harrakihn came from a warrior people, one who had been building and taking fortifications for over a thousand years. The depth of knowledge of the Earth borne human, who had been a mere senior sergeant on his world, was almost unbelievable.

"Send our findings back to General Delgado," he told his exec.

"Do you wish to have your pavilion erected near here?" asked another trooper, his aide.

"No, Maroosh. We aren't here to relax in luxury, not even the brigade commander. I will sleep with the soldiers tonight."

The aide gave him a disapproving look, one he was quick to hide.

Many of the people in his command had not grown up in aristocratic societies, and did not didn't see others as their betters. Because of that, they didn't see why they should sleep on the ground while their commander slept in a fancy pavilion. Even the field commander of the army didn't have what a prince of Mo'orica would consider a luxurious habitation. It was large, but that was because his staff was there with him, and the general's quarters were actually quite small.

Night came quickly, and the brigade camped without fires to give them away. Some of the magic users were able to heat without flames, and everyone had a hot meal that night, but it could not be considered a feast by anyone. The night passed without event, and the horsemen of the heavy cavalry preceding the infantry came riding up by midmorning. By evening, General Delgado was there, and he repaired immediately to the headquarters of his scout force commander.

"Well, Prince Harrakihn. What do you have?" asked Delgado, walking to the top of the hill where the observation post had been established.

"Welcome, General," said the prince in greeting, lowering his telescope. "No change in the enemy status, so far. We can see wagons moving into the fort at the far end of the bridge, but the gate of the near fortress remains tightly shut. I don't think they are going to give us an easy entrance into that place."

"I agree, Prince Harrakihn," said Colonel Clifford Jackson, following his commanding officer. "They aren't stupid, they have a good position, and they are going to make us pay to take it."

The colonel, an old sergeant major according the humans, whatever that was, had dark skin that was not the equal of the jet-black of native humans and dark elves. It still seemed to give him enough protection from the sun, and after a time it started to look as normal as the light tan skin of the majority of the Earth humans. His features were broader than most of the humans, indicating that he was from another genetic group. That was as much as the prince could guess.

"I'm afraid you're right," said Delgado, running a hand through his hair. "What are our chances of tunneling in?"

"Not great," said the siege-master, putting his binoculars to his eyes. "I'll have the dwarves and our geologist look the area over as well as they can from out of eyesight. But if its soft earth, we're going to have the water table working against us. And if it's rock, it's going to be one holy bitch to tunnel through. And I know that neither method is going to mesh with your time scale."

"I want to take it quickly," agreed the general, nodding, then raising his own binoculars to his eyes. "But I don't want to gut the army taking one bridge."

Harrakihn liked that about the newcomers. They weren't afraid to shed blood to get what they wanted, but they also didn't believe in wasting lives. In their societies, the individual was important, no matter their birth status. In fact, in the nation of the ones known as Americans, as these two men were, birth meant little. A rich man could be found guilty of a crime as easily as a poor man. Within limits, he was sure. The Germans still had aristocratic birth, but even they had removed many of the privileges afforded by nobility.

"Then I suggest we dig in and show them what they are facing," said Jackson. "Then bring up the artillery and start battering the gate. Not that I think we're going to make much of a dent in that thick portal. But it will attract their attention while we try for another way in."

"I think the colonel has made an excellent suggestion," said another man, his long legs carrying him up the hill.

The prince turned and quickly bowed to the man. Ismael Levine was said to be an ancient member of an ancient people, one of the immortals, younger than some elves, older than most.

"Welcome, Brigadier," said Delgado, reaching out a hand.

"General, Colonel, Prince," said the utterly cultured man to each in turn, shaking all of their hands.

The prince wasn't sure why this man wasn't the leader of them all, even above the other immortal the Ellala had said was the prophesied savior. He had more intelligence, and most importantly, more wisdom than the shorter lived of his people. However, it was not up to him to decide how these people did things. He looked again at the fort through his telescope, wondering what the newcomer humans were going do, and highly anticipating seeing it for himself.

Chapter Six

"It would be so much easier if you were to convert to the life gods of this world," said the beautiful priestess who was looking over his leg.

"But then I would be the prey of the night terrors that hunt here," said the dark-skinned American, frowning, and grimacing as she ran her fingers over the wound.

"Well, Sergeant James Whitaker," said the priestess, whose own nametag identified her as Captain Beate Terbourg.

So, a German then, he thought. She was a pretty little thing, and had obviously been blessed by the local gods to become a healer in such a short time.

"Bubbuh, ma'am."

"What?"

"I go by Bubbuh, ma'am. What my people used to call me back in Alabama. And since I'm immune to magic, just what do you think you can do for me that simple time won't?"

"I was in training to be a nurse before I came over," she said, pulling a vial of some brownish liquid from her medical bag. "I jumped at the chance to become a healer. Who wouldn't want to be able to say the words and feel the power flowing through the hands, and watch even the most grievous of wounds close up and turn to healthy pink flesh?"

"And your soul?"

"If I do everything right, I will end up in a heaven, the one of the healing God Yanon. As long as I avoid those night hunters of yours."

"Not a chance I'm willing to take," said the big sergeant, shaking his head. "Not one my daddy would have approved of either."

"Your German is very good," she said, sticking a brush into the vial, and then removing it.

"I studied it in college, ma'am. Then I was assigned to Germany, and it just seemed to flow out of me." He turned a jaundiced eye to the dripping brush. "And just what the he, I mean heck, is that?"

"It's an herbal mixture made up by the elves. For healing when a priest is not near. Not quite as potent as magic, but its medicinal properties are nothing short of miraculous." The captain smeared the foul smelling paste onto the wound on the shin of the calf, making sure to cover the entire area.

"That feels, wonderful," he said as the warmth of the paste began to infuse his leg. It wasn't the miracle of magic, which would close the wound immediately, but it had to be the next best thing. There was now no pain, not even from the deep cut into the underlying bone.

"There won't be any infection," said Beate, smiling. "It has miraculous antibiotic and analgesic properties. And it will speed the healing process. In a couple of days, you should notice the wound completely scabbed over. A couple of days later there will be a scar, and you should be able to walk normally."

"Thank you," said Bubbuh, patting the priestess on the shoulder. "You are a good woman. But I still fear for your soul."

"I know you do, sergeant. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. Now, I have to go. There are other people I need to see, and I think I can get a dozen or so of them back on their feet before I exhaust my energy for the day." She stood up and started to walk from the tent, turning at the last moment. "Just make sure you don't get stuck with another sharp object, Bubbuh."

The sergeant laughed as she went through the flap. That's the trick of it, he thought. On either world, not getting in the way of things meant to pierce your hide was the trick to coming out of combat whole.

*  *  *

Dieter and his new protege, Humphrey, sat on the grass and drank beer out of the cups that had been part of their mess kits. Dinner had been excellent, even if it had been served from a large field kitchen. It had included large steaks, lots of fresh bread, and fresh vegetables bought from what local farmers could be found in the area. Now they had beer. Good beer, brewed back in the Refuge valley and brought by wagon here in great barrels.

"You know this means we're going into battle," said Humphrey. "And it's going to be a bad one, you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean, private," said Dieter after smacking his lips with the taste of the beer on them. They were giving the troops some rest and relaxation before committing them to battle. A good meal and some alcohol, such as was custom in most naval forces if not all land forces. The German army always provided the troops with beer, and if the Americans hadn't traditionally, their soldiers were just as hard drinking.

Now, if only we had some women, he thought, looking around. Unfortunately, female companionship had not been provided. There were some human and elfin women in the camp. The humans were all officers, priests, mages or such, that wouldn’t appreciate the sexual approach of an enlisted soldier. And the elf women all seemed to feel that most human males were beneath them, short lived and ugly. Some still might try to force themselves on the females, but anyone who did would face court martial, if they survived, which wasn't a given.

"Looks like the band is starting to warm up," said Humphrey, holding up his cup to attract the attention of one of the mess soldiers who were carrying jugs around to serve the combat soldiers.

Dieter looked up at the small stage that had been set up on one side of the camp. Eight thousand soldiers were their audience, not the largest this band had ever played before. Dieter had seen the Tarantulas in concert in Frankfurt, when sixty thousand people had crammed into a soccer stadium. There they were simply entertainment. Here, he knew, they were so much more. Even the couple of hundred sentries guarding the camp would catch the magical vibe of their music. Then the drummer launched into the opening rhythm of one of their most popular songs, and every voice faded while every eye turned their way.

*  *  *

"Everyone ready?" asked Warrant Officer Third Dirk Winslow, holding his guitar at the ready. They had all gone through the tune-up, and they could feel the anticipation of this crowd, waiting for their magic. On Earth that would be just a word. Here it was a reality.

Dirk had been considered one of the hottest guitarists in the world, a combination of the raw energy of a Jimmy Hendrix and the technical mastery of Steve Howe. He had been in Germany with his German born band when the disastrous war had broken out. He could just as easily have been in America with his American father, a former black soldier who had married his native sweetheart in Germany. He had been given warrant status, since he was not really in the chain of command, and was really more of a specialist, since he and the other bards of the band didn't have the overt power of the mages or priests. However, their bardic magic was even more powerful than that of most of the magic users when they combined their talents and used their instruments.

"Ready," said Warrant Officer Second Peter Steiner, the drummer, hitting one of his symbols in a staccato rhythm.

"Ready," said Warrant Officer Second Wolfgang Schrenker, bass in hand, nodding over at his brother Reinhold, who was holding his electric guitar in an easy grip.

"One," shouted out Dirk, who was also the singer, though they didn't always have vocals within their songs. "Two." He could feel the energy building up in his finger, his hands, all the way up his arms to his shoulders. "Three," he yelled, and launched into the opening riff of one of their most popular songs from their last Earth album.

The power flowed through the instruments and into the magical amplifiers the dwarves had made them. They weren't quite the same as the Marshal's they used on Earth, but close enough, and the music flowed out over the crowd, its magic complexities taking hold.

Bardic magic was an unusual specialty on a world that was restricted to lutes, simple drums and some wind instruments. Some of those bards were good, but none were of the class of the four members of the Tarantulas, who were at the top of their game in the rock world. Steiner worked his drums with fast and complicated rhythms, the Schrenker brothers formed a counter that blended in perfectly, their fingers flying over their strings, while Dirk belted out the words to the song. A ballad about men giving their all for their people. One that had been intended to tell the story of the tribesmen of Hermann, the hero of Germany who had defeated the Roman legions thousands of years before. The song fit in perfectly for the soldiers of this world of muscle-powered weapons and brutal death.

Dirk launched into the first of his guitar solos, though solo didn't really fit, not completely. It was a masterpiece of guitar, fitting in with the general tone of the composition. It allowed the other two guitarists to follow, while he weaved an improvisational overtone that took it to the next level.

Far beyond the music was the power that moved the souls of men, then revitalized and invigorated them. The song went on for twenty minutes. One of the Tarantulas' signatures was the long and complicated song, and this they delivered. But all good things had to end, and so did the song. After less than three seconds, while the crowd erupted into joyous screams, Dirk launched into the next song.

And the next, for over an hour the magical power flowed out, but also flowed into the musicians, and they could have played all night. However, that was not in their orders. They were to play for an hour, and they had already gone over that time. Then they were to break it down and allow the men who were likely to be facing death on the morrow to get their rest. The power of the music would give them a restful sleep, devoid of nightmares and anxiety. The greatest miracle they could work for the force. They would now move to another location and give another concert for yet another group that were less likely to be facing death the next day. But they might, being the reserve force, and they would also gain the benefit of the magic of the bards.

*  *  *

Dieter stared at the band in open-mouthed rapture. He had seen the band several times on Earth, but they had been nothing like this. He could feel the energy flowing through him, invigorating him, taking away all of his worries and cares. The song ended, and he opened his mouth to scream his delight, when they launched into another with their typical style.

The sergeant downed his beer and held up his glass to show that he wanted more, and it was filled by one of the men carrying a large pitcher. He took another deep drink and let himself flow into the music.

But, we're supposed to be immune to magic, he thought, not really understanding the effect. Unless it was something that, because it worked on the mind, unlocked what was already in the body, and didn't infuse one with the energy of a spell. He didn't know why it worked, but it certainly did, and he was willing to accept the blessing of his God to allow him to experience this wonder.

"Bubbuh," he yelled out as the man plopped to the ground next to him, a large mug of beer splashing liquid onto the ground. "How are you?"

"Good as gold, my brother," said the American, moving his head with the music. "And my boy Dirk is still amazing."

"Your boy?" asked Humphrey, shaking his head. "Just because he's half black?"

"His daddy and mine were good friends, rookie," said the American sergeant, punching the private in the arm. "I actually met him before he became famous."

Dieter looked over at his friend for a moment with new respect in his eyes. He had always dreamed of meeting the members of this band, and here his friend had known him before he broke out on the world scene.

"Will you be joining us for tomorrow's festivities?" asked Dieter, yelling over the music.

"Oh, yeah. I'll be there. Right along with you, facing those scary bastards."

Yes, thought Dieter, a flash of worry running through him before the music blew it away. Then all of his worries were gone, and he knew he would sleep well this night.

*  *  *

General Zachary Taylor didn’t leave the valley much. Today he thought it important that he get a look at what was going on at the bank of one of the large rivers that flowed from the southern lake chain, the one they were calling the Grand Lakes, to the Northern Sea. Not that the river itself was of much interest, but there was a lot of effort going on there to make something they were hoping would benefit the war effort greatly.

So here he was, on the back of a gold dragon, sitting strapped in right behind the pilot, though she was really no more a pilot that a horseman was a driver. He kept telling himself that it was no worse than riding in a helicopter, but a chopper didn’t look back at one with a head of horns and a mouth that could eat you in one bite.

“We’ll get you there, sir,” yelled Major Jessica Stuart, the pilot. “Gallandralla hasn’t lost a rider yet. Well, except for her first rider, and he was killed in combat.”

“Thank you, Major. You’re such a comfort.”

There was nothing else for it. He was secured by six straps that were connected to the saddle. As long as the saddle remained on the beast, and it stayed in the air, he was safe. If it fell, he had whatever time there was to hit the quick releases on all six of the buckles, then parachute down. Taylor had never gone through airborne training. He was a tankhead all the way. But he was sure he could get to the ground with the chute. What condition he was in when he got there was the question of the hour. The trip by horse or wagon would take a day there and a day back, and he had too much work to miss that much time in his office.

He tried to relax and take in the sights. There was another dragon flying about fifty meters to  the right, Stuart’s wingman. The day was bright and clear, and he could see for tens of kilometers. The valley was beautiful below, reminding him so much of the Shenandoah back in the Virginia he would never again see. The river running through the center sparkled in the sun, while fields of ripe grain waved in the breeze. To the west was the pastureland, with thousands of cattle and horses grazing placidly.

What it had that the Shenandoah didn’t were high mountains around the sides. There were only a half dozen passes granting entrance all the way around, and heavy fortifications had been erected in every one. The open end of the valley was also fortified with a double wall and a moat. The valley was as secure as could be, and the almost a million people who called it home had little to fear.

He looked down and to the side to see the plateau city his people had taken for their own, after clearing out the undesirable creatures that had lived there. They had repaired and refurbished the stone buildings, using dwarven stone and elfin provided timber. Most of the population didn’t live up there, preferring not to trudge up and down the steep ramp that granted access. Still, it was a vital craft and manufacturing center, and wagons rolled up and down the ramp all day every day. The sunlight reflected off the glass of the greenhouses that were going up. They would grow vegetables there even in the heart of winter, while the maze of caverns and tunnels were the perfect places to grow the variety of fungus the dwarves subsisted on.

Smoke rose from the other end of the valley, near the entrance. They were refining oil there, something that could be used for lubrication in the steam engines they were developing, and they were making plastics, at least the simpler ones.

What we need is a railroad, he thought, not for the first time. If only that damned god of the dwarves would see reason. You’d think he wants that evil bastard to win.

They swept over the falls that brought the river into the valley, then over the mountains that separated them from the next watershed over. Taylor was more than happy that he had worn a winter coverall and heavy gloves. It was cold as hell up here going over mountains that had to be five thousand meters above the sea level of this world. The waters in the river came from the snow melt up here, but the peaks above the tree line were never without the frozen stuff.

The dragon flew at about a hundred and sixty kilometers an hour, one hundred miles an hour in American reckoning. Not as fast as a helicopter, but better than anything else other than the giant hawks they also used. A hawk was not a useful transport though. An hour’s flight outside the valley and they were on the other side of the range, looking down on a dense forest that ran hundreds of kilometers, unbroken except for the few roads that ran through from east to west.

Another fifty kilometers and they were over the great river the Germans called the Danube, since the Ellala name was so hard to pronounce. Right below on the near bank was the worksite.

“Great navigation, Major,” he yelled to the pilot.

“I do it all the time,” said the officer. “But I’ll be glad to get back into the action.”

Taylor nodded. They rotated their fliers back from the front, since they needed them for air defense and transportation back here. Nevertheless, most fliers wanted to be in the action, and he couldn’t blame them. Sometimes he wanted to get in the action himself, but that was no longer his job.

The dragon landed softly on the ground, then lowered itself on its legs until the people were only four meters off the ground. Stuart dropped the ladder, then helped her VIP passenger to the ground.

“Welcome, General Taylor,” said Ernst Grueber, walking into the landing area to greet his visitor. “Come to see my boats?”

There were a half a dozen dragons in the clearing, resting and eating. They were obligate carnivores, and used a lot of energy to fly, so there were cattle pens nearby to hold their rations.

“I’ve been hearing about them, Doctor Grueber. And I had to come out and see them myself.”

“Well, then. Follow me.”

They walked down to the river, where the alliance had been building war galleys and cargo ships for the last year. They were still building some of those, Ellala craftsmen shaping the wood and attaching them to several frames that were standing on the ground above the river.

What caught the general’s eyes immediately were the other frames sloping down to the river. Three of them, all occupied by hulls made of steel, nearing completion as swarms of dwarves worked the metal. They hammered it into place, and then welded it together through their own magical techniques. One hull was still partially open, and Taylor looked inside to see the steam engine that would propel the vessel.

He looked to the side, where large cannon were lined up, waiting their turn to go into the ships.

“We’ll be starting on the cargo ships as soon as we’re finished with these boys,” said the engineer. “You think three will be enough””

“Oh, I think so. There won’t be anything on the water to challenge one of these ironclads, much less three of them. And how much cargo can these carry, once they have crew, weapons and rations aboard?”

“Not a lot. Maybe a couple of hundred tons.”

Taylor whistled. A wagon could carry about eight tons, with a train of mules or oxen. They didn’t have that many mules, that animal not being known here before they came. Donkeys were rare here, but they had gotten enough to start a breeding program. They had to keep enough of the smaller equines breeding to keep their population growing as well. One of these ships could carry as much of twenty-five wagons. The three could carry seventy-five wagons worth.

“And how much capacity will the cargo ships carry?”

“A thousand tons or more, I would think. A little slower than these warships, but still much faster than a wagon. Now, if only we could figure out how to build a railroad.”

Taylor was thinking. They were planning on building three cargo vessels after the warships were finished. Then they would be able to carry over six thousand tons of supplies in a trip. As much as seven hundred and fifty wagons, and they would still have the wagons. Of course, it would take wagons to move the supplies from the valley to this river. It would have been nice if there had been a waterway from valley to river, but they had to work with what they had. The river cutting through the valley flowed into the Grand Lakes, but it was too shallow in spots for anything but flatboats. Someday they could dig a canal through it, but at this time they didn’t have the excess manpower.

“Great job, Earnst,” said Taylor, patting the man on the back. “You’re worth a brigade to us.”

“I only do what I can to help. And I have ideas for airships in the future, general. Could you imagine that? Great vessels plying the air, moving even more?”

Taylor really wasn’t sure if that was possible, but if this man felt it could be done, he wouldn’t have bet against him. He looked over at the dragon field, where Major Stuart waited for him. He wasn’t looking forward to the flight back.

Chapter Seven

"Are you sure this is going to work?" asked the Warpriest Garios na Gonron, staring at the hundreds of people that were building as many camp fires along an empty stretch of the river, just back from the banks at the edge of the woods.

"Nothing is a sure thing in war," replied Delgado, smiling as he looked at the people who were preparing the deception. Further up the bank, on the other side of the bridge, men were setting up picket lines of horses. Some of those horses were cavalry mounts, but most were every nag and plow horse they could gather from the region. They would present the appearance of being the mounts of a large cavalry force. Most of the real war horses were with the other force, or were riding and screening the army.

Up on the ridge another regiment of the first brigade of the second legion marched down the road on the gentle slope, calling out their cadence as they walked in step, their banners in the front.  I bet those boys are getting a might tired, thought the general. This was their fourth trip around the circle, walking down the hill, into one of the camps, then through the woods and back up a covered path, until they could form up into a regimental grouping again to march back down. It gave the impression that they had an army many times its size. Following them this time would be a cavalry unit made up of infantry riding substandard mounts.

"I think this idea is genius," said Colonel James Drake, once a physicist on Earth and now, due to his schizophrenia, one of the master mages of the alliance. "I commend you for it, General."

"It wasn't my idea," said Delgado, shaking his head. "A genius of the nineteenth century came up with this ruse, and it worked very well for him in a number of situations."

"Forrest," spat Colonel Antwoine McGurk, once the leader of an armored cavalry squadron, now a heavy horse regiment leader. "Damned racist bastard."

"Yes," agreed Delgado. "And a slaver."

McGurk nodded, appearing satisfied at the general's response.

"And so were Julius Caesar, and Alexander the Great, and Genghis Khan."

"But Forrest murdered helpless captives."

"As did Caesar, Alexander, Genghis, Napoleon, and too many others to mention. Look, Colonel. I know what you're trying to say, and I'm calling bullshit. The man may have been an asshole, but he was also a natural born military genius. I would be a fool to not read about him and his tactics."

"I read about him too," said McGurk, grimacing. "And yeah, me and mine use some of his tactics ourselves."

"I would use the tactics of the fucking devil if I thought it would win a victory with minimal casualties," said Delgado.

"I don't think it good to call on the evil ones of your religion, General," said Garios, making a holy sign in the air.

"You know we people of Earth are an irreverent lot," said Delgado after a short laugh.

"And it doesn't hurt, on your world," said the mountain dwarf. "This is not your world, and calling on the evil ones can bring disaster."

Delgado knew the man was correct, but he doubted that the Christian devil would ever manifest on this world.

The sun was starting to go down over the hills on the other side of the river. The fires were all being lit, and men would be tending them through the night, even if no one was sitting around those blazes.

"We will see if this works," said the general, looking back at the fortress on this side of the river, a high wall surrounding a large keep, thousands of soldiers behind those ramparts ready to repel all attackers.  He was thinking that if he still had the weapons on Earth, he could blast through the walls in less than a day, despite their dwarven fused stone. Unfortunately, even though they still had some of those weapons, they no longer worked. The physical laws of the planet were such that things like internal combustion engines and explosives were impossibilities. They had worked for a while, because the belief of the transplants had overridden those laws in a limited area. But only for a while.

"What do you think, Colonel?" asked Delgado, looking over at Cliff Jackson, the siege-master of the army. "Can your machines do anything to those walls?"

"We'll give it a try," said the former command sergeant major, who had multiple higher degrees in military history. "I would like it better if we could mine the walls, but that's not going to happen."

Delgado nodded. The ground the fortresses were built on was sandy soil with a high water table. While easy to dig through, any tunnels would be flooded almost instantaneously. So mining the walls was out, and the keep was said to be anchored in the bedrock deep under the soil.

"When the sun comes up we'll start the bombardment," said the siege-master.

And then, hopefully, they'll pull their reserves to this side of the bridge, thought the general.

*  *  *

"Welcome, my Lord," said the Ellala officer. "My Lady."

"Are we ready to move, Colonel?" asked Kurt, returning the slight bow of the officer.

"Whenever my Lord and Lady are ready," replied the gracious elf.

[We need to keep this operation on schedule] sent Jackie to Kurt on their private telepathic channel. [Not as it pleases my lord and lady.]

[Correct,] replied Kurt, looking back as another twenty of the large war canoes beached on the shore and disgorged a dozen men each, all armed and armored for a fortress assault.

There were already several thousand men gathered in the woods off the beach.  The slow moving river gurgled by on the rocks of the shore, and more of the large canoes were on their way in while those that had just released their troops were heading back under the control of their two crewpersons. There were over a hundred of the small craft, made by the Conyastaya and brought up by the army supply train. Some flat boats were also employed to bring across the war horses of the cavalry.

"Where are the others?" asked Jackie.

"They are in the woods, at the command post," said the officer, gesturing, then turning and leading the way.

Everyone ran from the river to the woods. It was important that they not be spotted. There were more than thirty cavalry patrols out, watching for enemy patrols, ready to intercept them before they reached this area. Cavalry had been operating on this side of the river for over a week, making it less suspicious that the enemy would run into them now. But cavalry could not take the fortress unless the gates were open, which was not likely to happen unless friendly infantry first took them.

Troops were talking quietly among themselves as the immortals walked by. There were no fires, and the soldiers, mostly elves of the various species, along with a large number of dwarves, were eating the cold rations that had been brought along. The soldiers were well disciplined, having adopted the practices of the human armies that were now leading the way.

The tent was set up in a small clearing, the sky overhead mostly covered by the branches of the great trees. The colonel held open the first flap, making sure everyone was in the small light lock before opening the next and motioning for everyone to move into the lighted room revealed.  Dozens of people were in the room, standing around the map table or seated in chairs along the side walls. A trio of magical glow globes floated in the air over the table, bathing the tent in a warm light.

"All hail Kurt," shouted out one of the Ellala elves standing by the table. Everyone jumped to their feet, with the exception of a couple of humans and an elf with coal-black skin along one of the  walls.

"At ease," he shouted, looking over as a giant of a man, accompanied by a shorter bear of a man and a tall and beautiful woman, walked toward him with his hand out.

"Paul," said Kurt, a smile growing on his face. "Good to see you, you big bastard."

Paul Mason-Smythe, ex-major of the Sherwood Foresters of the British Army of the Rhine, smiled back and took the hand of the only man near his own size in the tent. "Took you long enough to get back. I thought we were going to have to take out the undead bastard by ourselves."

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," said Kurt as Paul turned to Jackie.

"And you're as beautiful as ever, Colonel."

"Why, thank you, Brigadier," said Jackie, putting a smaller hand into the great one of the British immortal. "And I must say, Izabella, you are just as beautiful as ever."

The Polish immortal, the second eldest among them, smiled back.

"And you look just as ugly as ever, Gregor," said Kurt to the other man, whose shoulders were actually broader than Paul's were, though he gave up about twelve centimeters in height.

"And you are just as witty as ever, Kurt," said the man in Russian accented German. “I can understand why my people wanted yours out of my country.”

The five immortals stood there for a moment, basking in the presence of the others of their kind. Kurt and Izabella had both gone through periods on Earth of hiding their ages and changing identities, something the younger immortals hadn't had to deal with, and never would on this world, where they were accepted as they were.

"May I introduce Colonel Jacques le Clerque," said Paul, gesturing at the short man with the aquiline nose who had wandered over, another male of similar appearance with him, as well as one of the coal-black elves. "And this is Yenagles, a noble of the dark elf kingdom closest to the Ellala capital."

Kurt shook hands with the Frenchman, saying some words of greeting in fluent French. He glanced over at the dark elf, who had crossed his hands over his chest and bowed. This wasn't the first of the dark elves he had seen, but he was sure he would run into many more from this point on. They had a large underground kingdom near to the lands of the Ellala, and had sheltered the French when they had first arrived. On Earth they were mythological creatures, and thought to be the heart of evil. Reality was something different, and just like the other races of the fair folk, they had their demons and their paragons of virtue.

"I'm happy to meet you, Yenagles. And hope that our people will work well together now and into the future."

"We have brought many soldiers with us to aid you in the river crossing," said the handsome elf in heavily accented French, "and our human companions have brought some as well."

Kurt nodded, trying hard to understand the elf. French was a difficult language to pronounce. He had only become fluent in the language with much practice over many years.

"We have come with six thousand warriors," said le Clerque in almost flawless German.  "Four thousand of Yenagles people, and two thousand of our best light infantry. Would that we could have brought more, but the evil Ellala bastards still press us at the entrances to the caves that Yenagles' people inhabit. We are holding, and fortunately your battles have caused them to pull much of their forces from the field against us. But we still find ourselves fighting hard."

"I understand," said Kurt, knowing of what the man spoke. The Ellala emperor wanted to get his hands on as many Earth humans as possible, lusting after their life energy despite the risk of running into the counterforce that many of the people from the other dimension seemed to carry with them. "Let's repair to the map and make our last moment plans."

The map was a close in view of the bridge with its fortresses displayed in detail. Each fort had an outer wall twenty meters high, with multiple towers ten meters higher. The barracks for the troops and the supply warehouses were mostly within this wall, separated from the next ring by twenty meters of open ground. A thirty-meter-high wall enclosed the next area of the fort, with forty meter tall towers. Finally there was a fifty meter tower, the keep, forty meters in width with walls over five meters thick. The metal valves of the tower closed off the road which proceeded over the bridge. It was the same on both sides of the river. They estimated that four thousand soldiers, mostly Ellala, resided in both forts.

"We had thought of doing an airdrop on the bridge," Kurt explained as he picked up a pointer and tapped the roadway between the two keeps. "They've seen it before, and we would only find ourselves trapped between the forts. So, we have decided to go with an assault on both forts. The army across the river will start the offensive, firing catapults and bolts of magic, a demonstration we hope will draw some of the forces from the fort on this side to reinforce them. At that time we will assault the fort on our side, going over the walls, while a select group will be landed on the outer towers to occupy the forces on the top of the wall."

"And who will be providing that force?" asked le Clerque, one of the few people present who didn't know the plan.

"Why, we will," said Jackie with a smile.

"You," blurted out the Frenchman in surprise.

"No one I would rather have by my side," said Kurt, clapping the woman on the shoulder.

"You don't want to piss her off," said Paul, looking down on the man. "Hell, I wouldn't want to piss her off, and I'm not afraid of anything on this world."

"And we will be accompanied by a battalion of commandos," continued Kurt, looking over at a medium sized man wearing the armor of a priest ready for combat. "Mages and priests. I think we can take the wall and get the gate open, but we will need reinforcement as soon as possible."

"And then what?" asked the dark elf.

"Ah, and then we pull another surprise on them."

*  *  *

The dragon¸ one of twelve in the squadron. screeched its displeasure at the people below as it turned in the sky. The Empire still had a dragon force, a very small one compared to what they had started out with, while the alliances air power had grown. The alliance still had all the dragons from Lianardas, already a strong force before the start of the war. But they had also gotten many more of the large raptors that served as light fighters into the air. There were also over a hundred of the giant owls used by the dark elves, supreme at night due to their heightened senses.

A fireball came flying up from the castle, a bright and tiny dot that expanded as it rose, but from the distance decreasing and the ball expanding. It roared in the air, targeting the lowest dragon, which started wheeling in the sky in evasive maneuvers, trying to get out of the way. The fireball flew past, barely missing the left wing of the gold, flying on into the sky and exploding fifty meters further up.

Major Jessica Stuart looked down, her eyes narrowing as more bright dots appeared. I wish I had my helicopter right now, thought the former warrant officer/pilot. With the weapons of Earth she would have been able to send missiles into the castle well out of range of the enemy wizards.  The dragon looked back at her, frustration on its own face. Jessica smiled back.  Her helicopter had not had a personality, not like her current mount. And she loved that personality.

[I could probably dodge most of those going in if you want to attack,] sent Gallandralla through mindspeak. The dragon was anxious to attack their enemies, and silence the wizards who threatened her rider.

Jessica simply shook her head. She didn’t want to hazard herself if the situation wasn’t right. Even more, she didn’t want to hazard the beautiful gold that had become her best friend.

[The time will come for that, but we must wait until the group commander gives us the word.]

The disappointment came over the link. She knew the dragon realized what discipline was, and why it was needed. She had been a trained war mount long before Jessica had bonded to her. Gallandralla knew the pain of losing a rider to which she had bonded. Acceptance followed the disappointment. They would wait until the attack force went in, when their own attack would do the most good for the least risk.

*  *  *

The First Regiment of the First Brigade of the First Legion marched forward, shields held at the ready, javelins in hand. They were in a column thirty wide, forty deep, those three ranks back and further holding their rectangular shields overhead against arrows. Forty meters to their left side marched the Second Regiment of the same brigade, while to other marched the Third Regiment.  All had been brought up to full strength by levies of natives, humans, elves and dwarves. Just behind marched smaller units of archers, all elves consisting of the Ellala and Conyastoya peoples. Behind them were aligned the forces of the Second Brigade, further back the Third.

The brigade came to a halt five hundred meters from the gates of the fortress. Lines of oxen now pulled the engines forward, large catapults and ballista. The engineers unhitched the draft animals as soon as the machines were in position, moving the oxen out of harm’s way while others prepared the machines for action.

"Do we really need all these people standing around out here?" General Delgado asked of the man who was his top adviser on ancient warfare. "I don't see them doing anything. If the enemy rallies to attack our machines, we can send the cavalry out to cut them off."

"It's psychological warfare, General," said Ismael Levine, nodding toward the ranks of troops.  "The Romans terrified their enemies with their discipline. Many of those they fought joked about the Romans, who were small men for the time, and wore more armor than any respectable barbarian would be caught dead in. But in fact, the sight of their disciplined ranks moving and standing was enough to unman the people they fought, and won many of their battles before the first javelin was thrown."

"Very well," agreed Delgado, whose own training tended toward deploying troops in a manner that took advantage of cover and concealment. This marching people out in the open went against his instincts, but it was the way of warfare on this world. "And just why are we going to throw rocks at them through the day, when we have mages? And the cannon will be here soon?"

"The mages will be needed for the main assault, General," said the immortal, shaking his head. "I'm hoping they'll let their mages have a go at trying to strike back. They won't have as much magic to use against the main assault. The guns will have a role to play, later. If the damned things ever get here."

A flag waved up near the center catapult. Delgado looked over at his standard-bearer and nodded. The soldier raised and waved the banner. A moment later the center-most catapult, the largest on the field, went into action. The basket rose on the central pylon until it hit the cross bar, sending the large stone into the air to hit the wall of the fortress just to the right of the gate. It hit the hardened dwarven stone and bounced away with no appreciable damage.

Within ten seconds the forty catapults had all cycled through their first shots, most hitting the wall, a couple going over, which were actually more of a success as they came down on the heads of the defenders. As soon as each machine’s operators gauged their shot they wrestled their machines into more suitable setups. As soon as that was done the engineers went to work ratcheting the arms back down, while other men wrestled stones out of wagons and dropped them into baskets as soon as they were set. This time the engineers lit the stones, that had been wrapped in straw and covered with oil soaked cloth. As soon as they were lit the catapults fired.

Forty balls of fire were in the air within seconds of each other, flames flaring as they flew.  Over thirty made it over the wall, trailing black trails of oily smoke. As they hit yells came up from the fortress, and larger spurts of black smoke, the sign of flammables caught up by the fireballs, rose into the air.

This time there was a response. Balls of fire, bolts of lightning, blue rays of cold, they all came from the walls and flew toward the siege machines. It was a terrifying sight, destructive magical energies that would destroy the engines and the men who worked them. Those men started to run from the machines, but the bolts of power would reach them first. Or so it seemed, right up until the bolts of power splashed against a shield that had been erected in front of the machines. Fireballs hit and squashed into the barrier, flowing along both sides, burning bright for a moment before fading. A bit made it through, some to land on the machines and start small fires.  One engineer was hit in the back, falling to the ground with the clothing over his armor flaring into flames. The same held true of the other bolts, electricity branching along the barrier, a few sparks forking through. One catapult took the partial power of a bolt of cold and iced up, the arm cracking and falling.

"Not what they expected, I'm sure," said Brigadier General James Harris, the man responsible for getting supplies to the army, standing to the right of Delgado.

"Nope, not at all," said Delgado with a smile on his face. Every priest and mage in the army was currently chanting spells, while all of the soldiers stood with closed eyes and mumbled the words of the protective mantras they had been taught, reinforced through hypnosis, one of the products of science the humans had brought with them. That was except for the protected in their ranks, who had no need of magical protection when their own immunity served well enough.

There had been some damage, a couple of people injured, a machine destroyed, but the enemy had surely figured they would have knocked out at least a third of the engines. Not only had they thwarted the enemy magic users in their intent, they must have hit them hard in their faith in their powers.

The engineers rushed back to their engines and started to go through the firing cycle again. They threw more flaming rocks over the wall, just before the magic users of the enemy sent another wave of arcane and divine attacks. This time there was a little more breakthrough as the shield weakened. One catapult shattered as electricity struck and ran through the structure, superheating the moisture still within the cured wood. Two of the crew caught flaring bolts, one falling dead to the ground, the other landing while his muscles quivered. Another machine burst into flame as the flaring of a fireball came through, torching four of its crew. The flames of all were quickly smothered by their fellows, and none were killed, though a couple would have need of much healing magic.

"I think we can take one more volley," said Colonel James Drake, looking over at the mages he commanded to gage their strength. "Then we'll have to pour some more power into it."

Delgado knew the plan. They were holding back their big guns in the magic department, waiting for the enemy to weaken before using them. But if they started hitting his forces with magic themselves, he would have to loose his own mages. It would not matter if they hit the first ranks of his legions. Those men were all believers in the deities of Earth, manifestations of what the people of Refuge called the Overgod, the actual creator of the universe. As such, they were immune to all the magical manifestations of this world: harmful and helpful. That was not good when they were injured and needed healing, but it sure came in handy when someone was trying to set them on fire from a distance. Nevertheless, this magic could destroy all of the engines they were using, and that was not what they wanted. They needed those machines for this attack. They weren't the primary weapon, but they were still necessary.

Another volley came in and more of the power got through, this time destroying four of the machines.

"The next one will shatter it," said James, starting the hand motions of a spell.

Delgado stared at the young man for a moment, who by being naturally wired for the art, controlled more power than that of the native-born archmages who had studied for decades, if not centuries. The ground under his feet was glowing as he pulled energy from the earth. Drake was a fire mage. Not meaning that he couldn't use other forms of magic, but fire was his affinity, just as other elements were the affinity of some of the other Earthborn. Fire was his power, and it colored his magic.

Stephan Neigal, another firemage, stood a hundred meters away going through the same motions. Katherine Heidle, a weather mage, stood a hundred meters to the other side, while a number of other Earthborn were lined up to both ends of the army. Lt. Colonel Lissara Glannassa stood further back, using her divine magic to enact a reinforcement spell.

The bolts and balls of power once again flew through the air. All of the Alliance mages who were working on the reinforcement spells flung their hands forward. James and Stephan shot forth waves of flame that hit the shield from the other side and spread quickly to fill in the extent of the shield, glowing highlights making the field visible. Lightning bolts, along with a blast of wind. flew from Katherine's hands. The lightning hit and flared along the shield, mixing with the spots of fire, while the wind carried through and blew outward in gusts.

The enemy bolts and balls hit, splashing off the shield, some missing completely as the gusts of air caught them and threw them off course. Nothing came through this time, and the shield glowed with power as it continued to strengthen.

"That should do it," said James, looking over at the general, his eyes alight with fire.

"How much do you have left?" asked Delgado.

"I think that used about ten percent of what I can access today," said the young man. "Maybe a little more or a little less for the rest."

The catapults fired again, sending their flaming rocks over the wall. This time about half were knocked off their paths and fell short, the enemy mages finally coming up with a working strategy. Only they didn't have enough of them to take out all of the projectiles, and they would eventually run out of power, unlike the mechanisms of the catapults.

"General Delgado," called out an aide, Major Dolf Klausmier called out as he ran up to the command group. "They've arrived, sir."

Thank the Gods! He had been waiting on the new artillery, but as it kept being delayed had decided to go ahead with the attack. But the damned Mercedes engineer had come through again.  Or so it was hoped.

"Continue the bombardment through the rest of the day," ordered Delgado, looking at his command team to see if there were any objections and saw none. "We'll bring up the artillery and place it during the night, under spells of obscuration."

"What about the assault on the other fort?" asked Colonel Glarum na Turon, the leader of the dwarven engineer brigade that had been busy digging night and day.

"They will lay low tonight, and go when we signal. Now, what's next on the menu?"

*  *  *

Dieter stood in the front line of the center brigade as the enemy magic users threw bolts of power his way. He had faith in his God, that he would protect his faithful servant from the massive power that was flying through the air. Still, he flinched as they came in. He would have to be inhuman not to, and Dieter was very aware of his fragile humanity at the moment. There were, of course, other concerns. God would not protect him from arrows, or even worse, catapult projectiles. A large rock would smash him to mush much like any other man in the army, and arrows would pierce him just as readily.

At least we shouldn’t have to worry about hand to hand, he thought. The shrinking numbers of the protected were thought to be too valuable to waste on combats where their peculiar abilities didn’t help the army. Of course, the general could always change his mind and send them rushing in.

“Here comes another one,” shouted Humphrey in a frightened voice.

The man was scared out of his wits, but he was holding his place in line and his shield as steady as any of them were. The first barrage had done nothing to the shield the mages had erected ahead of them. What about the second, or the one after that?

The mages had mostly aimed for the siege engines, the greatest threat to them at this time. But some of the balls or bolts were still heading into the infantry, and this time some of the power got through.

Dieter felt the power of a partial fireball wash over him like a gentle warmth. None of the front line was affected, though some of the power got through to those behind them, and there were screams of pain and agony as men were burned. Still, it was not a full strength ball, and between the magic shield, the interposed bodies of the faithful, and the mantras the unprotected infantry chanted, none of the wounds were fatal. The injured were passed back through the lines as others moved up. Healers would go to work on them, and most would be back in the ranks before the end of the day.

They were out of bowshot, but some of the defenders still had to try. Arrows arced out and fell point first into the ground a hundred meters to their front. One arrow came streaking over an impossible distance, to slice through the shield of one of the protected twenty men down the line. The arrow pierced shield and arm, but was stopped by the body armor. The man fell back so he could be tended by the medics. He wouldn’t be back this day, but with luck, he could return by the end of a week.

So they have something with major magic in it, thought Dieter, his eyes narrowing as his heart beat faster. The magical component of the arrow would do nothing to him. But his protection would mean nothing to the bow that flung that arrow hundreds of meters farther than any normal bow, and with a penetrating power of hundreds of kilos along a tiny sharpened point. It could, with bad luck, pierce his heart or stomach, or even his face. His faceplate was down, but a shaft like that might go through it.

The arrow came in again, the other archers refraining as they saw they weren’t going to do anything. This time it hit the helmet of a soldier at just the perfect angle and penetrated armor and skull. The man’s eyes went blank, and he fell like a poleaxed steer to the ground. The man was dragged away, while the line of protected closed up. The archer must have been satisfied with that shot, for another came in at head level moments later, striking the helmet of Private Humphrey. This time hitting at the perfect angle to glance off.

“God is with you today,” said Dieter, glancing over at the other man. He was trying to keep his attention to the front so he could interpose his shield against an incoming arrow if he thought it was coming for him.

Humphrey was dumbstruck, not even coming out with his patented, maddening phrase. The next arrow to come in hit something before it got to them, an inertial barrier, and came through like a gently thrown stick. To bounce off the shield of its target. If it had come through full force it looked to have hit the man in the visor, possibly killing him. The next four arrows came through the barrier in the same way, and the archer seemed to have given up.

They stood there for over an hour, until people behind them started shouting.

“The guns are here.”

Now we’ll see what our own wizard has come up with, thought Dieter with a smile.

Chapter Eight

Colonel Baron Karl von Hasslehoff looked down from altitude as he flew over the river. The first legion was arrayed in the open, looking like toys from the height of several thousand meters.  He could see the catapult stones trailing smoke as they arced through the air, most going over the wall, some striking the hardened dwarven stone and falling to the ground.

Unlike the commanding general and the others, the battlehawk wing commander could see into the fortress, where the stones were coming down. One of the barracks, that against the central tower, had a partially collapsed roof where three stones had come down, crushing through the tiled roof and into the wood framing below. Flames rose through the holes, smoke billowed into the air.

The rest of the large compound down there looked like it was a swarming ant nest. Just the right target for his birds.

[You see the targets] he told the pilots of his wing, looking up to see the birds circling in the sky. Over sixty of them, the four squadrons that made up his wing. The acknowledgments started coming back, and one of the squadrons started to drop lower as it lined up.

Von Hasslehoff had at first felt slighted that he had not been given dragons to command.  The huge creatures were so much more powerful, so much more intelligent, the ultimate aerial combatant on this world. He reached down and patted the neck of his own mount, a large male of the species. Mallas was more intelligent than a raptor of normal size, carrying a larger brain, but he would never be accused of having the intelligence of a dragon. He wasn’t as strong, but he was much faster, much more maneuverable. After riding him for most of a year he had come to love the bird, and the others of his kind.

The first squadron came in, wings pulled backed in diving posture, building up their speed as they fell toward the fortress. Each held a large rock in their claws, the mass of a normal human.  Their commander watched them move in, his chest tight as he waited for the response he knew had to be coming.

A fireball reached up from the fortress. Two of the birds veered off their courses, avoiding the ball that flew past and exploded a hundred meters above the squadron.

[Now] shouted the colonel in his mind. Half the birds released their rocks, which arched through the air to come down within the fortress, crashing through the roofs of more buildings, some hitting the open square and slamming into some few of the soldiers below, crushing them to the cobblestones. The second part of the group released, just as another fireball and a flight of arrows came up, and the first group flared out their wings and braked, moments later flapping to gain altitude as they banked away.

The fireball hit a bird, turning raptor and rider into a flaming mass that continued to fall until it landed in the river. There was no hope for that rider or his steed. Another bird took an arrow through a chest muscle and screamed in anger and pain. The bird veered off in a glide, making it out of danger. Von Hasslehoff knew that team was out of the battle. It would fly back to the nearby base, to be attended to by the raptor healers, and would be ready for battle again in the near future.

Von Hasslehoff continued to wheel his bird in the air, assessing the damage the first attack had done. Not enough to destroy the fortress, not that he had expected as much. But it had caused casualties, and those were men that neither assault force would have to face.

At a command the second squadron came in, and then the third, then the fourth. He lost two more birds, and one pilot. One had been able to get off his bird after it took a half a dozen arrows, including a couple that inflicted mortal wounds. The chute opened while the pilot was still a hundred meters up, and the man made a hard but safe landing on the friendly side of the river.

The fortress was a mass of confusion as people ran back and forth, and a bucket brigade was formed from one of the wells. Smoke was blowing across the open square, and many of the defenders were trying to extricate their own from the smashed buildings, but it wasn't as bad as it looked. Overall, the attack had not done that much. It had wrecked some of the buildings the garrison slept and messed in, but there were other places under stouter protection. The walls were still manned, the enemy had too much discipline to pull everyone off, and none of the defensive structures had been damaged. That was not the point of this attack, as it hadn't been the point of the catapult assault. It had been intended as a galling attack and nothing more.

With that thought the colonel guided his bird away, on the trail of the rest of his wing, while another group took up position overhead, ready for the next assault. And so it would continue through the afternoon. They had over four hundred battle hawks, and the order was to use them to their best advantage.

*  *  *

"They are attacking the bridge over the Zontalis river, my Emperor," said the cowering messenger, averting his eyes from the man who held the power of life and death over everyone in the capital.

"Is the defense holding out?"

"So far, my Emperor. They have only attacked the fortress on the far side, and they haven't been able to breach the wall. But the commander is calling for reinforcements."

The half litch sat on his throne and said nothing for some minutes. He did not want the enemy to make it over the river, but he couldn't see how they would stop them. Delay them, bleed them, yes. And reinforcing the river fort would weaken the force he would need to hold his capital.

"The commander said that the enemy is sending battle hawks over continuously to drop rocks on the fort, and he has nothing to stop them."

The Emperor stood, stepping down from his dais and advancing on the messenger. He had made it a point to not take it out on the messenger, since that dissuaded people from telling him the truth. This time his temper had gotten the best of him, and he was in a killing rage at the elf speaking to him while he was trying to think.

The half litch said the quick words to a familiar spell as he reached a hand toward the warrior. He could feel the life energy start to flow from the other elf, who looked up with shock in his eyes when he realized what was happening.

"Fool. No one speaks while I am in contemplation."

The elf tried to get to his feet, whether to run or to fight the Emperor he wasn't sure. Not that either would have helped him, because he immediately stumbled and fell back to his knees. The Emperor smiled as the life force flowed into his body, energizing him and driving the depressive thoughts from his mind. He pulled as hard as he could, until the last erg of energy came through the connection. The face of the man had turned into that of a desiccated mummy, and the bag of bones fell to the floor.

The Emperor laughed, then the smile was wiped from his face by a frown. He had achieved momentary satisfaction, but had also assured that any messengers in the future would be too terrified to approach him with bad news. Moreover, he still had to deal with the siege of the fortress, and now needed someone to carry the news.

"I need my military advisers," he yelled out, knowing that servants would hear him and take word to the men. "And someone come in here and get this carrion out of here."

In moments a trio of servants ran in, eyes down on the floor, bodies trembling as they moved. They grabbed the desiccated body that weighed less than a third that it had in life, and lifted it, running it out of the chamber. It took several minutes for one of the military advisers to come into the chamber, holding his eyes down, ready for the worst.

"I want you to get together the following reinforcements for the river forts," said the Emperor. "And I expect them to reach there in a timely manner.  Understood?"

*  *  *

"I'm surprised General Taylor allowed you out of the valley, Mr. Grueber," said Walter Delgado to the man they were calling the wizard.

"I told him that if he wanted me to work on the other toys for his army, he would damn sure let me fire this one in combat the first time."  The middle-aged man patted the barrel of his toy.

To Delgado it looked like a modified twelve pounder Napoleon, a civil war weapon. The back end was different, a wide bell instead of the narrow continuation of the barrel. The firing mechanism was different as well, with a screw on hatch and that had the actual mechanism.

He looked back at the engineer. Taylor had risked much in letting him come, since he was the brains behind the newly formulated old technology he was developing. There was more on the drawing board, but so far this was the best-perfected weapon they could come up with.

"The sun's going to rise soon, and I want you to get your shot in before they have time to notice this weapon," said Delgado, pointing to the gate that stood five hundred meters away, out of standard bowshot, but not out of the range of some of the enchanted bows or the power bolts of mages. The gate itself was made of dwarven forged steel, not Mithril, since that would have been prohibitively expensive, but the next best thing. It would take more than one shot to bring it down.  They really didn't know how many shots, which was why they had six of the guns lined up in embrasures, with plenty of heavy balls and the substances needed to fire them.

"Then let's load them," said the engineer, moving over and spinning the firing mechanism to open it. The crews of the other guns went through the same motions, preparing their weapons for firing.

The engineer pulled the mechanism away, waiting while some of the other crew poured water from a bucket into the chamber. Two men wrestled the ball into the mouth of the barrel, letting it roll in the half meter that was slightly wider than the ball. The men with the ram came up and pushed, hard, moving the ball into the narrow part of the barrel that formed a seal.

"This is the source," said Grueber, holding up a glittering gem and seating it in the firing mechanism, making sure it was in the proper orientation, and then cocking the Mithril hammer. That done he carefully placed the mechanism over the opening and screwed it in.

"One must be careful that the gem remains in place while loading, and that the hammer does not fall before you are ready."

"How likely is that?" asked Delgado, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the weapon, which seemed to be as dangerous to the user as the target.

"Not likely, but possible. Which makes it a weapon not to use on the field of battle, when quickness counts, and only in siege warfare."

"We're ready, Master Engineer," said the gun captain, attaching the lanyard to the firing mechanism.

"Everyone," said Grueber, looking at the crew. "Stay clear of the recoil."

Delgado made sure he was well clear. From all he had heard the weapon performed wonderfully. But he didn't want to lose his life to random chance, when there were so many other things on this world out to kill him on purpose.

The engineer stepped three paces to the side of the gun, took one last look, and then pulled the lanyard. There was a crack within the chamber that started showing a slight reddish glow. Moments later the ball came flying out of the barrel, followed by a cloud of steam and a hissing bang. It traveled so fast that it was little more than a flash before it was gone, with much greater velocity than the civil war weapon it looked like. An instant after firing the gate to the fortress clanged with the hit, the ball falling away after leaving a dent in the metal.

The other five weapons fired, sending their projectiles unerringly into the gate, where they all bounced with a staccato clang.

"Step back now, Master Engineer," said Delgado, waving the man away while the crew went to service the weapons. The men all wore heavy leather armor, with thick gloves to handle the heated metal.

Steam puffed into the air as the firing mechanisms were removed. Buckets of water were poured into the chambers, flushing out more steam and cooling the gun, while more of the crew pushed new balls into the barrels and shoved them down. It took over a minute to service the guns, but not long after that all six were ready. On command they all fired, and six balls again slammed into the gate, again leaving large dents in the metal.

The enemy tried their best to interfere with the firing. Arrows fell short, as expected, but some enchanted bows sent arrows out that had the range. Most that made it hit the guns or the sides of the embrasures, though one made it through to hit a crewman, dropping him to the ground with a serious wound. The next volley of arrows hit a mass of wind raised by Heidle, and were knocked to the ground fifty meters from the target. Mage thrown bolts of power did little better, hitting the shield that the mages had erected and were constantly strengthening.

An hour into firing, after an expenditure of over three hundred balls, and the gunners slowing from fatigue, one of the valves of the gate started to sag on a broken hinge. Both valves looked like they had been made of Earthly sheet metal battered by sledgehammers in the hands of strong men for half a day. However, they were still in place, and it looked like it might take all day to breach them. There was always a chance one would cave in, and the general wanted to be ready for that chance.

"Are the assault teams ready?" asked Delgado, looking over at his aide.

"They are, sir."

Delgado glanced back to see the men of the first brigade arranged in assault companies, javelins in hand, shields readied on the other. He could see some fear in the eyes of the men in the first rank of the first company. He couldn't blame them. Combat on this world was mostly close quarters, looking into the eyes of an enemy who was trying to take your life before you took his.  Even men he recognized as veterans showed some signs of anxiety. Why not, given they knew what was about to happen?

"I want them to go forward as soon as one of those valves falls," he told the aide. "No use giving the enemy time to make more preparations." He looked over at one of his mages. "And make sure General von Mannerheim knows when we are breaching the gate."

Kurt would not be going forward immediately. He would wait until the fort he was facing, hopefully without the defenders' knowledge, had sent reinforcements over the bridge to try and stop Delgado's attack. If he could take the far fort the enemy would be in a bad way, with no place to go as they were besieged through their fortresses.

Ten minutes later the left valve sagged for a couple of moments, then fell from its last supporting hinge, to clang onto the stone road, where it slid off. The other valve sagged in further. A final ball hit that valve, swinging it in, and the way was open.

"Go," yelled the company commander of the first assault formation, leading the way as the almost two hundred men ran forward, shields held at the ready. Companies of archers ran along to the side, arrows notched.

A sleet of arrows came from the walls, striking the shields, helms and greaves of the soldiers, dropping a few to the ground. The bowmen stopped and sent back a rain of answering shafts, while the catapults and cannon opened up, aiming at the wall tops of the fort.

The captain leading the first company fell with a glowing arrow, a magical penetrator, sticking from his back. One of the lieutenants hurried forward, taking the place of his captain and leading them toward the gate, where a wall of enemy were already forming. The legionaries went into a sprint over the last fifty meters, and the lines clashed together in a continuous cacophony of arms and armor.

There wasn't enough room in the gate to send more than a company in at a time. In fact, there was only room for a ten-man front, which wasn't fair to those men who found themselves stuck into the fight. The Ellala elves had been warriors for centuries, maybe millennia, and they were to a man better swordsmen. In this kind of fight the victory didn't often go to the better swordsman, but to he who stayed in formation and protected his fellows. That's what the humans had trained to do, and they formed an overlapping shield wall that protected them from the swung swords of the elves, while they thrust their short blades through the small gaps that had been formed between the shields. The men in the two ranks behind raised spears in one hand and thrust them forward and down, adding their attacks to the battle, while men even further back flung their pilum, the legendary javelins of the Romans, into the ranks of Ellala.

Four elves fell for every human, but humans did fall. The men behind pulled them from the lines before they could get underfoot, some still alive for the healers to wrap and bandage, most bleeding out too quickly. Men in the rear stepped into the places of the fallen, pushing forward quickly to protect the flanks of those exposed by the lack of a soldier. In most cases they got there in time, sometimes not.

Archers in the rear sent shafts upward, trying to suppress the enemy archers on the walls, while those warriors sent shafts down into the company of legionaries, who were holding their shields overhead to catch the arrows. The archer exchange was going the way of the defenders, having the height advantage and the protection of the crenellations of the wall.  The alliance archers had the protection of their light armor, but didn't have the shields of the legionaries, and two of them were dropping for every defender. However, there were more of them, and they knew if they kept at it they would win the exchange.

Delgado cringed inside as he watched the battle. He didn’t like this kind of fight. The armies of NATO on Earth had always held the technology advantage, and had overwhelming firepower. Here it was muscle to muscle, with the men in the front almost certainly doomed. He was forced to watch while maintaining an outward calm that was a lie. If he could have, he would have put himself in those front lines, knowing that he would fall just as fast as any other would. Probably faster. That role was forbidden to him as army commander. He was the brains, and one didn’t lead a battle with the head.

A sextet of cannon balls hit the wall, four hitting too low to do more than bounce away with a spray of small rock chips, more danger to the friendlies below than to the enemy. One went through the gap of a crenellation and knocked two archers away, while another hit the edge of the stone tooth and sprayed the defenders with chips.

A mage stepped up on the wall and sent a ball of fire at the heavy infantry below.  The flames washed over the men, and faded, with no effect. Delgado smiled as he thought of the shock the wizard must have been feeling, just before a shaft hit her in the chest and she fell back from the wall. The men in the assault companies were all true believers of the gods of Earth, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, even some Jews, immune to the effects of magic good and bad. The general, with aforethought, had been forced to use them, and he was sorry to expend that resource which was not renewable, at least not at a rate that could replenish the loss. But he needed to take this fort, and he did not want to lose more men to wizardry than he could help.

If only we could get in under the ground, thought the general. The dwarven engineers had tried, but the walls of the fort went too deep, right down to the bedrock. Any attempt to get down that low ran into the water table from the river. That didn't mean there were no other ways to get men in, and that attack would be going in right about, now.

Chapter Nine

The birds approached from down low, just over the treetops, what would have been called knap of the earth back on the old world. The thirty baskets were towed behind, each attached to three birds by ropes. Bags of gas lifted the baskets in the air, helium gas, magically primed with ten times the lifting power that they possessed on Earth, holding them up. In each basket were eight armored dwarves, fighting men as stout and hardy as any on the world, and two Conyastoya Elf archers. A squadron of dragons flew with them, ready to provide fire support for the landing.

Another ninety birds, towing another thirty baskets, moved five kilometers to the south, crossing the river and preparing for their part of the assault.

It took some practice to accomplish the maneuvers, slinging the baskets against the wall back by the river, where it was not heavily defended. The teams had practiced this maneuver for over a week on another castle, one taken months before. Just before they hit the wall the elves threw grapples onto the ramparts, making sure the baskets didn't bounce away. They secured the grapples and started to ply their bows, while the dwarves scrambled onto the wall, meeting the defenders breast to breast.

The Ellala had the advantage of speed and agility, but the top of the wall gave them little space to use either to its full advantage. The Mountain Dwarves held the advantage of strength and stamina, and the wall was a perfect battleground for the stout folk as they covered behind their shields and struck with their heavy axes. They pushed out from their landing points and secured the wall, cutting down the defenders who hadn't a chance. More elves swarmed up the stairs until the dwarves overran the landings, and then started to fight their way down. The Conyastoya plied their bows, raining arrows down on the enemy below. Some of the dwarves dropped rope ladders off the wall, as soon as they were secured, allowing more human legionaries to swarm up them and swell the ranks on top of the wall.

The men at the gate redoubled their efforts as attention was turned to the wall. They pushed through, opening a space where the front line could expand from ten to thirty wide. It was obvious that the first layer of the defense had been breached, but there was still a tough fight ahead.

*  *  *

The ten reds came down the river from the north, flying in perfect formation, their riders watching the skies around them, waiting for the reaction of the enemy. At one time they had been able to cover the sky with their numbers, the terror of the Empire. Now there were less than a hundred of the beasts, and very few were the huge monsters that should have gone on a mission like this. These were some of the last adults in the Imperial Dragon Corps.

[We will fly over and hit them on the walls] sent the commander. [Then we will split, first flight to the gate, the other to the enemy engines.]

The acknowledgments came back, followed a moment later by a cry of alarm. The commander looked up into the sky, to see fifteen silver dragons coming down on them out of the sun.

[Scatter and attack] ordered the commander, sending his own mount, the largest of the group, into the air. Fireballs came down, the breath weapons of the silvers, most missing the weaving reds, one striking the smallest and burning its rider from its back. That red was injured, not seriously, but no longer under control of a rider and now flying for its life. Two of the silvers banked off from their formation and took after the red, spitting fireballs its way as they closed the distance.

Reds and silvers came together in the violent collision of species of dragons that were natural enemies. Breath weapons hit before they brought their claws and teeth into action. The reds were outnumbered, but not by a large margin, and most of the collisions were one on one. Claws raked deep through scales while hot dragon's blood spurted, snake like necks arched and wide jaws darted forward. It looked to be a bloody and drawn out affair, until the smaller raptors came diving in to strike the enemy dragons with steel shod claws and beaks.

The end was never in doubt once the battle hawks had joined. Three remaining reds flew off, only one with a living rider. The last effort of the evil Emperor to reinforce the bridge had failed.  There were less than ninety dragons left in the entire Empire, and he would be saving them to fight the assault on the capital.

*  *  *

The sun was fading in the west and the battle was still going on. The alliance troops on the wall were resting when they could, while fresh troops carried the battle to the enemy. The second assault company was now leading at the gate, having forced their way in and spread out into a standard Legion formation. Third company had joined them, and the widened front was pushing the enemy across the courtyard.  Soon they would be among the ruins of the barracks and in front of the central tower, in a fight they were not trained to win. It would devolve into one on one combat, something with which the Ellala were much more experienced.

"Remind the battalion commander to stop before he gets to the structures," said Delgado, talking to a messenger. "If the enemy comes at them, they are to stand their ground and kill them from formation. But under no circumstances are they to break formation and follow the elves into the buildings."

The messenger nodded and ran off. Delgado had already sent a mental command to the battalion commander, but he wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding.

The sun had almost gone down, his own Ellala were starting to move forward to take their own part in the battle, doing what they did best, and it was almost time for the attack to go forward on the other fort.

*  *  *

"Are we ready?" asked Kurt, looking into the eyes of the other immortals around him. Jackie, Gregor and Izabella all nodded, anxious expressions on their faces. They had the best armor in the army, the best weapons. They were hard to kill, healing quickly from any wound, but invulnerable they were not. They could feel pain as well as any living creature, and they would be facing numerous enemies before they were reinforced.

The sun had gone down an hour before, and it was starting to become very dark, just the conditions they had been waiting for. A hooting erupted nearby, followed by some whispered commands in a soothing tone.

"Then let's be about it," said the leader of the force designated for taking this side of the attack.  It went against all military doctrine for the leader to be dropped right in among the enemy, but he was probably the mightiest warrior on either side of the river, Levine the possible exception, and he was needed on that attack.

"The riverboats are reporting a number of Ellala moving over the bridge, General," said one of the communications mages. "A great number."

"That's what we've been waiting for," said Jackie, flashing a nervous smile.

Kurt nodded and led the way through the brush to the landing area that was far enough away from the fort to remain out of sight during the day. Large eyes turned their way as they entered the clearing, soft hooting erupting. The riders, men and women with elf features under coal-dark skin, stared at the humans with red eyes that seemed to glow in the night.

"Can't be any different than riding those big hawks," said Izabella Kozlowski, the oldest of the immortals after Levine, though her age was an order of magnitude less than his. Still, being in Warsaw while Napoleon rode through was saying something.

Kurt wasn't sure he agreed with her, but this was what they had, so this was what they would be using.

"The birds are ready," said a human in German with a strong French accent. "We are ready."

The Immortals wouldn't be the only riders in this attack. Almost a hundred former members of the French Foreign Legion and their Dark Elf allies would be coming along. The commandos wore light armor of great enchantment, made to work as camouflage in the night, blurring the lines of the wearer and making them indistinct targets, as well as giving them protection just slightly less robust than plate. They carried dark elf crossbows that had been modified by the Earthers to make them fast firing weapons, capable of being cocked with two pulls of the lever. Bolts in quivers protruded over their shoulders.

"Are the gate assault teams ready to go in?" asked Kurt, looking over at his aide.

"Yes, sir. And we have sent out the signal to the hawk teams.  They are ready as well."

"Then let's get this over with," said Kurt, waiting as the Dark Elf ground crew motioned them to their birds.

The giant owl looked down curiously at its temporary rider, a calm look, disconcerting in a fierce predator. A Dark Elf was already strapped into the saddle, her own crossbow in one hand.

"We are ready, my Lord," said the rider in French, nodding to the rope ladder.

Kurt climbed the knotted rope and swung a leg over the saddle. The elf smiled back at him as he settled himself in his seat, snapping the Earther-made belt around his waist. We didn't only bring our advanced tech with us, technology that no longer works, thought the immortal. But we had so many simpler ideas, still advanced of anything they had, which are proving useful. Like this simple buckle.

It took some minutes to get everyone aboard. As soon as the last commando was settled a loud hoot announced the command to lift. The bird under Kurt spread its wings, flapped hard twice, and sprung into the air. Loud flapping sounded from all sides, and the forms of the great birds soon surrounded Kurt's owl, rising up and leveling out over the trees, heading toward the walls of the fortress.

The birds stayed low, their natural inclination. The hawks were high fliers, owls weren't, and they were also predisposed to be quiet. But no matter how quiet they were, they would be seen.  Or they would have been, if not for the field of darkness that was now surrounding them, the gift of the Dark Elf priests who tapped into the power of their Chaos gods. Still, the wall of darkness rolling across the open area in front of the fort had to be something someone would notice. Hopefully it was something that would confuse them long enough.

The owls and their riders had no trouble seeing through the darkness. They were creatures of darkness, and even though it had an adverse effect on that vision, it was not enough to harm their ability to operate.

A fireball lit up the night, very little light reaching through the field of darkness, though the heat of the ball was felt as it flew by. One owl hooted in terror as the ball came too close, singeing its feathers and sending it off at an angle to strike one of its fellows.

A couple of arrows came flying through the formation, not hitting anything, seemingly launched without a target. More followed, a few hitting by random chance. One owl hooted in pain, a Dark Elf grunted. Another fireball flew through and one of the owls went up in a torch, flapping away in agony, carrying its burning passengers with it.

Kurt was readying himself for the storm of projectiles that would soon be heading for him when the owl's rider motioned for him to unbuckle and get off. He looked down, seeing only darkness, not knowing how far off the ground he was. It could be a hundred meters, but he had to have faith that it was close enough that he would land uninjured.

The Dark Elf fired his crossbow at something, then cocked it and quickly set another bolt on the tray. Kurt pulled the buckle, then pushed himself to his feet and jumped from the bird. The ground came up faster than he had expected, seconds after he pushed off.  His feet hit the hard stones, the darkness was no longer around him, and it was no longer time to think about anything but fighting. There were a dozen Ellala in the square still on their feet, most with swords, some bowmen firing at random into the air. More were looking down from the walls, bowmen pulling their strings, swordsmen looking for the quickest way down to the courtyard.

The other immortals landed, along with over ninety of the French and Dark Elf commandos.  The commandos aimed and fired their crossbows as soon as they had targets, most at the men already in the courtyard, some at those along the wall. As soon as they fired they knelt, cocked their bows and set the next bolt in place, aiming and firing as soon as they were ready.

"To the gate," yelled Kurt, pulling Lenoris, his Paladin's blade from the sheath over his back.  The blade started singing as he swung it, a song of divine power and terrible rage. A couple of arrows struck his armor, bouncing off, including one glowing magical penetrator. He, like all the immortals, was wearing the best armor his side possessed. At first he had balked at the thought of taking armor that could protect a worthy man who didn't heal as he did, but it had been drilled into him that it was important that he remain functional on the battlefield, since he and the others of his kind were each worth more than a score of any other warriors. So he ignored the projectiles and concentrated on cutting his way to the gate, his great blade singing through the air to slice through the armor and flesh of the defenders, leaving at least one dead with every swing. He moved in a blur, impossible speed for one so big, kicking his system into overdrive. It was an ability of his kind, and one that could lead to temporary damage to his nervous system and permanent destruction of memories as his body overheated. Nevertheless, it was necessary at the moment in time.

Two Ellala in their plate and chain armor attacked the immortal, swinging their blades in to clang off his heavier protection. Kurt swung his blade with one hand, slicing through the shield and armor of the first elf, his blade hitting the much better shield of the other. Just because it couldn't cut through didn't mean the blow wasn't effective. It lifted the elf from his feet and flung him ten meters away to crash into some of his fellows and take them all to the ground. The big man reversed his swing and hit another Ellala, this one a bowman, on his top right arm. The Paladin blade screamed as it cut through the chainmail, and continued into the arm, through the bone, and into the chest cavity. The elf was lifted from his feet and thrown away, already dead.

Jackie fought beside her lover, her twin katanas flashing through the air. The right hand blade was Fire, burning into the flesh of her opponents. The left was Ice, freezing flesh and armor, leaving them vulnerable to the other blade that hit to shatter the target. She was faster than Kurt, though not as strong. Which meant she was both faster and stronger than the Ellala she fought, and she carved a path through to the gate piled to both sides with the bodies of her enemies.

Kurt took a brief moment to admire the grace of the beautiful woman, his chosen bride on this world. Her ice blue eyes, the same color as his own, flashed his way for a moment, while white teeth shone in her brown face. Then she was back to business, as was Kurt, skewering an Ellala on the point of his blade and throwing him into a group of warriors running in, disrupting their attack.

Gregor and Izabella were also fighting as a team, keeping the enemy from massing in enough of a formation to take out the commandos. Gregor used a massive ax that would have taken both hands of a strong man, crushing multiple enemies with each swing. Izabella, who had trained in the age of Napoleon as a swordswoman, smashed faces with her small shield while the point of her blade darted like the paw of a cat, taking a life with each thrust.

A fireball washed over Kurt and Jackie, thrown from the walls, where archers and a few mages were trying to turn the tide of the fight in the courtyard. The Ellala still in contact with the pair burst into flame with screams of agony piercing the air. To Kurt it felt like the warm air from a clothes dryer had flowed over him, and he thanked his immunity to magic for keeping him from becoming like the elves around him. A trio of crossbow bolts hit the mage, who fell from the wall before he could complete another incantation.

The commandos were still in the game, but they were getting the worst of it as more Ellala entered the fray. If not for the immortals, they would have been almost instantly overrun. The French weren't the close in fighters the elves were. Though the Dark Elves were on par with the Ellala, they were heavily outnumbered. As strong as they were, the Ellala kept swarming in the way of the immortals as they fought toward the gate.

Kurt had to admit that the elves were brave. They had to realize that any that got close to the immortal humans would not be in the land of the living for much longer, but they continued to throw themselves in the path of the fighting machines. If something didn't break soon, the four would find themselves alone in the courtyard and surrounded. They were very hard to kill, healing almost instantly from any wound, but enough damage could bring them low enough to be swarmed under, and once captured he was sure the elves would come up with some way to dispatch them for good.

Kurt cut down three more Ellala and thought the gate in reach, when more rushed out of the guard towers to push them back. He did the only thing he could, strike and strike again, each blow killing one or more of the seemingly endless mass of enemies keeping him from his objective.

A few yells from the wall caused him to look up for a moment, all he could spare. The birds had arrived with their loads, and dwarves were fighting their way along the wall while the Conyastoya along with them were firing down into the courtyard. Scores of Ellala fell to arrows, and the battle started to stabilize, not quite swinging in the way of the attackers, but no longer headed for disaster.

[We're outside the gate] came the message by mindspeak to Kurt.

[And that's great, but we're not to it yet] he sent in return, bringing his blade down on the shoulder of another Ellala.

[Over here] sent Jackie as she killed another defender and reached a lever on the wall.  She pulled it down and some of the huge bolts holding the valves closed started to retract. But not all of them.

Kurt joined her and set his back to the wall, defending the lever from the Ellala who realized they must get to it or the gate would be opened. Gregor and Izabella had reached the other side, and with a quick motion the Russian pulled the lever while the Pole guarded his back.

The second set of bolts withdrew, and now nothing was holding the door closed. Kurt sent a message over mindspeak, while he set his hands on one of the valves and started to push as Gregor, almost as strong as the German, pushed on the other. The doors were perfectly balanced, and could be pushed open by a couple of the much weaker Ellala. The two immortals shoved the gates partially open while the women guarded their backs. Kurt felt a couple of blows on his back, one a light tap that had to have been caused by an arrow, the other the heavier blow of a swung weapon. There were several shrill screams as the attackers were removed. Men outside the gate grabbed the valves and pulled them open, leaving the way clear for a company of legionnaires to come rushing through, Paul at their head. The largest of the immortals had a hammer that had been forged by one of the lesser gods, sparks of electricity dancing along its head.

Paul ran to the gate in the other wall, that was just being pushed shut. He swung his war hammer into the left portal with a thunderclap of power, blasting it open and flinging the defending Ellala back. He was through the gate in an instant, beating down the elves that were trying to get him out of the way so they could close the gate. A handful of dwarves came through with him to form a shield wall.

"Follow me," yelled Kurt, leading the way, just as he done with his panzaergrenadiers on the Eastern front of the Great War. He led the way across the courtyard on the run, knocking Ellala out of the way with his sword, not even attempting to kill at the point. The only thing on his mind was getting to the other gate, the one set in the tower which the road ran through on its way to the span of the bridge. That gate was currently open, and some Ellala were still running into the courtyard to join the battle. Kurt was willing to let that happen, since elves in the courtyard were easier to kill than those holding a tower.

The immortal reached the leftmost valve as it was still in the process of closing, the other already shut. He grabbed the valve with gauntleted hands, setting his feet and pulling against the many Ellala on the other side. Something heavy hit one of his hands. It didn't penetrate the armor, but it hurt like hell, and he gritted his teeth and forced himself to hold on and pull. The gate resisted for a moment, then started swinging out as his strength overcame that of the men on the other side. With a hard grunt he jerked it away and open. Releasing the gate, he grabbed his blade from the ground and ran through the opening, his sword knocking dozens of Ellala to the turf.

The other immortals ran in after him, and soon Gregor was pushing the other valve open, Paul striking down doomed men with his hammer, while the legionaries came rushing in. Kurt fought his way across the chamber, to reach the other gate, assuring himself that it locked from this side. He pulled the one partially open valve closed and set the locks. Leaving the gate under the charge of a squad of legionnaires, along with Paul, he led the assault on the tower, running to the wooden door that guarded the way up and shattering that portal with a single blow.

He found Jackie had rejoined him, while Gregor and Izabella took the door on the other side of the chamber and started up that way.  The fight went on, level after level, stairway after stairway, door after door. The Ellala fought hard, but they could only come at the immortals a few at a time, and a few at a time were no match for the two immortals they faced at every turn. It was tiring and thirsty work, but the exhausted immortals continued to battle their way up, until they hit the last doorway and ran up the steps and onto the top of the tower. Over a score of warriors waited for them, and Kurt let them have no chance to prepare, taking the fight to them in an instant, Jackie by his side.

The Ellala moved to surround them, and the pair found themselves beset on all sides. Kurt felt the pain of some wounds, blades that had gotten through the chinks in his armor. Jackie grunted in pain, then cursed as she returned the blow. Suddenly the press around them fell away as Gregor and Izabella slammed into the other side of the enemy formation, and toke down half a dozen elves in a couple of seconds.

Kurt wiped his blade on the surcoat of one of the elves as he looked over the wall. Some of the outer wall towers were still held, and some few Ellala were on the tops sniping at people below, and being hit in return. Those towers didn't matter. They would take them in time, and there was nothing the defenders could do about the alliance army moving through. He looked across the bridge, where a line of legionnaires were marching toward the other fort across the river. There were still some Ellala falling back on the bridge, fighting a delaying action and not slowing the humans down in the least.  Most that were on the bridge were hurrying to the gate on the other side, to reinforce the fort that still stood.

"What now?" asked Jackie.

"Now we plan our assault on the other tower. We've taken the outer fort, and they've reinforced the inner." He really didn't like that last part, but it had been thought necessary to reduce the number of defenders in this fort. He thought they still could have taken it, even with its full complement of defenders, but it was too late to cry over spilt milk, as the Americans said. It was done, and they still needed to take the other tower so they could march their army across. They could take quite a few of them over by boat, but that would take more time. It would take much more time to ferry over the cavalry and the wagons. So they needed this bridge.

"I could use some rest," said Gregor, leaning against one of the crenellations.

"And some rest we will have," said Kurt, looking at the legionary officer who was his aide, who had just come to the top of the tower. "Give the men some rest, excepting those watching the enemy held towers and the bridge. Food, and some sleep for those who can snatch it."

Delgado would need some time to reorganize his force as well, in order to assault the tower.  Moreover, he would lead his people against it from the other side. It would be much harder to take than this one, with much greater loss, but it was necessary if they were to get to the city of the Ellala Emperor.

Chapter Te,

"They have taken the fort on the close side of the river, my Emperor," said the messenger, his head almost on the floor, trembling in fear. "The tower on the far side still stands."

The Emperor lurched to his feet, growling in anger like a rabid animal. He had hoped the fort wouldn't fall, and the enemy would be delayed in crossing the river. Now he knew that was a false hope. There was no way they could have stopped the enemy, only delay them. They could still delay them with the final tower. It would not be easy to take, but these humans had proven they could do the impossible, so the difficult would happen sooner or later. Probably sooner.

"Leave," ordered the Emperor. Relief flashed across the face of the messenger, and he staggered up to his feet.

"And send in my Archpriest of Bothar."

Moments later the summoned man entered, his red robes fresh and spotless, as befitted someone in his position. Still, the man smelled of death, an odor that no amount of bathing could get rid of.

"Are your people ready?"

"We are, my Lord," said the man in a sibilant voice, his eyes locked on the emperor's. This was a man who feared no one but the gods he served, and for good reason. He was the most powerful necromancer in the Empire, after the Emperor. And even the Emperor couldn't do without the power of the man and his minions.

"How many can you summon?"

"I think we can bring forth at least forty, my Lord."

"So few," growled the Emperor, his red glowing eyes narrowing,

"They will all be greater demons, my Lord," said the priest, his eyes still locked on those of the half litch. "And we may be able to bring something even greater."

The Emperor felt a thrill run through him at the thought. There were very few beings more powerful than a greater demon. Those that were could defeat armies by themselves, or so it was said.

"And can you do something to aid the soldiers at the bridge?"

"I might be able to do something, my Lord. Not enough, I am sure, but something to bleed the enemy some more. Maybe a couple. And they will have a hard time ridding the area of those I do call."

"Then do it," said the Emperor, a cold smile playing across his face.

*  *  *

"Fire," yelled the gun captain. With a short but loud hiss, the cannon released its projectile, a cloud of steam following it from the muzzle.

The projectile flew toward the door, moments after a shimmering field appeared in front of the hard metal portal. The ball struck the shimmering field and slowed to almost a stop, hitting the portal and bouncing away without leaving a mark.

"It's one of those damned inertia fields," said Delgado, looking over at Levine.

"Your weapons have blown through them before," said the old immortal.

"And they were traveling at a much higher velocity than these things," said the general, looking over the battery of guns set up in the courtyard. He was glad they had the guns, and he expected big things from them in the future. But they weren't as good as the one hundred twenty millimeter guns of the tanks, or even the lower velocity howitzers.

"Maybe the mages can help," said Levine, waving a hand to attract the attention of Drake and the rest, who were sheltering behind the shields of an infantry company in reserve.

Delgado looked over as the mages, the once mentally ill of Earth, came running over, men with shields moving between them and the enemy. He still didn't trust all of them. The young physicist, Drake, was trustworthy. The woman, Heidle, had almost destroyed the Refuge valley with her tornadoes, at the same time the enemy dragon fleet was threatening them with destruction. She had lost her mind, mad with power. Supposedly she had recovered, and had not slipped into madness again. But once a madwoman, always a madwoman, as far as he was concerned.

"You wanted us over here, General Levine?" asked James as they came up behind the guns.

"We're having a problem with that field they have up protecting the gate," said Levine, gesturing toward the tower. "I was hoping that you might be able to do something about it."

"The problem is, the guns can't generate enough force to get through the inertia field they've put up," said Delgado, pointing to the tower. "What little they have is absorbed, and what gets through might as well be spitballs."

"Katherine could probably just send a tornado at them," said one of the other mages.

"That I will not do," said the woman, a horrified expression on her face.

No, she won't, thought Delgado. That kind of display of power could send her tumbling back into the realm of madness. He would as soon cut her throat now than risk his army to one of her rages.

"Perhaps you can impart some momentum to the balls as they leave the cannons," said Levine. "Do you have that kind of control?"

"I…don't know," said Katherine in a soft voice.

"But you can try," said James, smiling. "I know you have the power. Now, we just need to refine your control. And here is your needed practice."

Katherine nodded, then looked over at one of the guns. "Get ready to fire. On my command."

The gun crew nodded and went about their preparations, loading the water into the chamber, then setting the trigger with the glowing gem. As soon as the ball was shoved down the barrel they turned and looked at the weather mage.

Katherine had meanwhile been whispering words under her breath, whether as a spell or simply to focus her thoughts, no one could tell. She opened her eyes, which were now a glowing blue, with hints of the dark white of storm clouds. A wind started to rise, first a gentle breeze, rising to a light gale, then rising until it was shrieking around the guns. Men cowered, holding onto their helms, many closing their eyes.

She gestured at the gun several times, a flash of energy leaving her hands to impact the cannon. The gun fired without the captain having to pull the lanyard. The ball flew from the barrel, kicked into motion by the wind that increased its speed slightly, only to hit the field and die in the air, bouncing from the door without leaving a mark.

"Well, that didn't go well," said Delgado, glaring at the door, then looking over at the woman.

"Give her a chance," said Drake, putting a hand on Katherine's shoulder. "Try another one."

Katherine nodded, then moved next to another gun, this one already prepared to fire. She went through the same motions once again, and yet again the gun fired without any need of a crew. The ball barely made it through the barrier to bounce from the door.

"Again," said James, pointing to the next gun over.

"I'm not accomplishing anything," she complained, shrugging her shoulders.

"And you won't if you don't try," said James.

Katherine nodded once again, and performed her magic with the third gun. Again the ball barely made it through the field.

"It's got to be weakening the magic," said Levine hopefully.

Delgado didn't see it. So far she had sent three balls into the field, and the door seemed to be laughing at her efforts.

The fourth ball seemed to pick up more of the wind, and hit with a noticeable clang as it bounced from the door, still without noticeable effect.

"She did better that time," said Levine.

"And it still got us nowhere."

Drake shot an angry glance at the general, and Delgado felt a shiver run up his spine. The young mage could turn him into a pile of ash in an instant, and his army would not be able to do anything to prevent it. He shook his head at the thought. Drake was not a murderer, nor would he use his fire magic against the army, but it was still frightening to be around people of such power, useful though they were.

The fifth gun went off, and this time a concentrated gust of wind kicked it in the rear, slamming it through the inertia field and actually putting a dent in the door. The sixth gun did even better, and the door shook from the hit.

The first gun had been reloaded. Now archers from the tower were showering the gun positions with arrows, trying to stop the assault. A glowing wall appeared before the guns, and every shaft that entered it turned to ash, to shower slowly to the ground, while their heads dropped as half molten objects. Katherine used the gun, and this time the inertia field dropped like it ran out of power. Delgado thought it probably had, since mages had to put energy into constructs like that, and each assault used up some of that power.

The second gun fired, and a highly concentrated blast of wind caught it and flung it into the valve they had been attacking. With a high shriek of tearing metal one of the hinges ripped away, and the door leaned out on the remaining sagging point of contact.

"Get the men ready to rush the door," ordered Delgado, looking back at his aide.

Another gun went off, this time battering the door that first flew back into its frame, then fell outward until it was halfway to the ground. The next shot finished the door, which fell to the ground with a clang.

"About time I earned my keep," said Levine, pulling his sword from his sheath and jumping over the embrasure the guns had been set behind. He trotted toward the tower, the assault company at his back.

That was when a sound like sails booming in the wind came to them, and every eye looked up. Delgado felt his knees weaken as fear rushed through him at the sight of what was dropping from the sky. A huge humanoid creature, at least ten meters tall, with another meter of horns protruding from the head. Red skin, with wings that flared out twenty meters. The general had seen demons before. His tank brigade had run into them when they first got to the planet. They had killed the ones they faced, though he had lost men and vehicles to them. But this thing looked a whole lot deadlier, and his people no longer had one hundred twenty millimeter guns to fire at them.

People started yelling, and men panicked, running furiously for cover. Levine set his feet and looked ready to fight, but the general was not sure that even the immortal could handle this creature.

"You men, stay by your guns. You mages," he yelled, looking at Drake. "Do what you can, or that thing is going to slaughter us."

The general wasn't sure why the enemy had waited this long to deploy this weapon, but he saw his campaign going down in ruin if they couldn't stop it.

*  *  *

Commodore Steffan Hauser stared in disbelief as two huge forms dropped from the sky, their flapping wings slowing their progress. One was coming down on each side of the river over the two forts. Neither seemed to have noticed his small flotilla of six galleys, a fact for which he was truly thankful. Each ship had a large ballista aboard, and he might be able to put a heavy shaft through them, with luck. He doubted there was that much luck in the world.

"If only we had some cannon," said Lieutenant Jeff Bridges, the commanding officer of the vessel.

If only, agreed the commodore in his thoughts. But there weren't enough of them, and the army got what was available. To the commodore it made sense to arm the galleys, at least a couple of cannons per ship. So far, the ram-equipped galleys had been more than a match for any of the river craft of the Empire, so guns had not been needed, but against a demon?

Screams and yells started to echo over the water, and Hauser crossed himself like the good Catholic he was. His faith might not save his life on this planet, but it would save his soul.

*  *  *

"General Kurt. You have to see this. Back at the other fort."

Kurt looked back that way, far enough that he didn't have to worry about fire from the fort they were besieging. The gate on the other side of the tower had been breached, the attack was about to go in, and the only job his force had was to keep the enemy from escaping from this side.

The big immortal sucked in his breath as he saw the creature flying down into the far fort.  He wasn't an expert in demonology, and didn't have to be to recognize that this thing was trouble. And something that his people wouldn't be able to handle.

[We have one coming down here as well] sent Levine, the nervousness of the ancient man coming in over the transmission.

Kurt thought that if something could scare the ancient man, it must be trouble. There was nothing he could do about that demon. He needed to handle the one coming into the other fort.

"Come on," he shouted to the other immortals, then started running full speed over a kilometer down the span of the bridge. There was yelling and screaming ahead, the sounds of people dying in agony and fear. He knew what they must be feeling, those who were fighting back, their blades or arrows bouncing off the rocklike skin of the demon.

[I won't bounce off its skin, my master] sent his blade into his mind.

[Can you kill it?]

[If I am used skillfully and with strength, yes. But you must protect yourself, for this thing can kill you as well.]

Kurt ran through the open gate, across the chamber, then through the other gate, coming out in a courtyard that was pure chaos. Two score of men were down, some crushed under the clawed feet of the creature, others ripped apart by the talons on its hands. Several men were attacking it with long spears, and the demon bit through one, then grabbed the other and lifted its wielder into the air, to fling him against a wall. The man slid down the stone, leaving a red trail of blood behind.

I wish Paul were still here, thought the German immortal as a shiver of fear ran up his spine. Paul had gone with the cavalry on a sweep. They had thought that he wouldn’t be needed here, but the largest immortal with the huge hammer would definitely have come in handy right now. He had to hope that the four of them could handle it. And what about Levine, who had no other immortals with him? Kurt dismissed that worry. Levine was the most capable of them all, and he had the mages with him.

Kurt yelled at the top of his lungs and ran forward, his sword held to deliver an overhead strike. Jackie was right on his heels, both swords out and blazing with power.

The demon turned to face the immortal, its eyes widening as it recognized the threat of the Paladin blade. It flapped its wings and rose up in the air above the reach of the immortal, its fiery eyes boring down into those of the man, freezing his marrow.

Jackie took a running leap into the air, leading with Ice. The enchanted blade sliced into the foot of the creature, freezing the flesh around the cut. The demon let out a booming roar and reached down to swat the woman, who was already dropping back to the courtyard.  She landed on her feet in time to look up to see the talons heading her way. Kurt's blade sliced into the hand, cutting off the thumb.

The monster roared again, this time releasing a gout of flame that struck at Kurt, dissipating as it entered the protective field of the Paladin blade, proof against all infernal projections of power.  The demon swung his head to the side and played his flames over a couple of legionaries, setting one on fire, while the flames did nothing to the other.

"Get all the unprotected out of here," yelled Kurt as he swung his sword at the monster, who, with a flap of his wings, moved out of reach. Kurt cursed, squatted down and jumped as high as he could, his great strength pushing him ten meters off the ground despite the weight of his armor.  The tip of his blade entered the bottom of the demon's left foot, pushing deep into the creature's flesh and releasing a flood of black ichor.

The blood burned as it hit Kurt in the face, and he felt his stomach turn as it entered his system through his skin. He forced himself to hold onto his sword as he fell onto his back, the blade pulling free and ripping out through the front of the member. Kurt spit out some vomit that had risen through his throat and wondered if this was another way to kill an immortal, with whatever poison was in the blood.

The creature landed on the immortal, its great weight coming down to deform the metal of the armor. Kurt cried out as he felt bones snap and he tried to bring his sword up, foiled by the bulk of the monster. The demon roared again and flapped up. The immortal wasn't sure why it did that, when it had him dead to rights, when he caught a glimpse of the slender figure of Jackie hanging from the monster's back, holding onto the grips of her katanas, both buried to the hilts in the demon's back. As he watched, she pulled Ice out and shoved it back into the monster, going for its internal organs.

"Are you okay?" asked Izabella, kneeling beside Kurt.

Kurt nodded, still gritting his teeth, but the pain was starting to recede, along with the feeling of nausea. His peculiar physiology, amplified on this world, was healing him from his injuries.  If he could just lay still for a few more moments he would be fine. But they didn't have a few moments, not if they wanted to take this thing out before it killed more people. From what he understood from the priests, killing was not the worst thing it would do to those it murdered.

Kurt pushed himself to his feet. Jackie was still on its back, still plunging one sword blade at a time through its rock-hard skin. Gregor was hitting the right foot whenever it came within reach. A couple of mages were throwing bolts of cold at its face, while the priests in the courtyard were calling down the power of their gods on it. The demon was bleeding from its back and grimacing as cold and holy power washed over it.

"I don't think it likes what we're doing to it," said Izabella with a tight smile.

"I want it to not like or dislike anything ever again," growled Kurt, running at the demon and springing into the air, bringing his sword back to strike into an upper leg, slicing through flesh and muscle.

The demon roared, looking down at him and sending another gout of flame his way. As before, it was dissipated by his sword before it could wash over him. He fell back from the monster, getting in one more strike before his feet hit the ground.

The creature kept trying to reach around and get Jackie, but there was no way its arms would extend that far. It turned in the air, then flung itself against the tower, trying to crush the pest that was on its back.

"No," yelled Kurt, running and leaping into the air again, leading with his sword, right into the groin of the creature. It had no noticeable sexual characteristics, but he thought that would still be a vulnerable area, and as his blade sank in the flesh and the creature jerked in agony he knew he was right.

The demon leaned forward as both of its hands went to its groin, its wings folding up in a sympathetic reaction to the pain. Jackie fell to the ground, unconscious, and Kurt went into a frenzy, striking the legs and abdomen of the demon over and over again, splashing black blood that splattered his armor. It still burned when it hit his skin, but the nausea was missing, and it seemed that his system had become used to it.

Gregor hit the monster from the side, his great battle ax, glowing with enchantment, slicing into muscle and even scoring the steel hard bone underneath. Izabella attacked the other side with her sword. Moments later any concern Kurt had for his lover disappeared as she climbed off the ground and launched herself onto its back once again.

Priests were shouting words of power, mages were hitting it with bolts of energy, everything but fire. The demon was obviously weakening. It extended its wings and gave a flap, its feet rising off the ground.

"We can't let it get away," yelled Kurt, shoving his blade into its lower abdominal area and hanging on with all his might. "If it flies away it will heal, and we'll have to deal with it again."

Power with the blue-white glow of life surrounded the head of the creature, some powerful priest coming up with the right spell at the right time. By itself, it wouldn't be enough, but it weakened the demon enough, just enough, so it couldn't escape the superhuman warriors swarming over it.

The demon landed heavily on its feet, staggering forward. They were doing terrible damage to it. Kurt really couldn't see what was keeping it on its feet, unless it had some infernal source of healing that mimicked their own. If so, maybe they couldn't destroy it. He dismissed that thought.  The Army had killed demons when they first arrived on this world. True, they hadn't been this powerful, and the humans had used weapons they no longer had, but if they kept at it surely they could kill this thing.

The demon staggered back, one hand going out to land on one of the partially smashed barracks buildings. The hand went through the roof, and the creature fell to its knees.  It turned its gaze on everyone to its front, an angry glare of glowing red eyes. Kurt met those eyes with an unwavering gaze, showing the creature that he was not afraid of it, that he would be its death. It pushed itself back to its feet, then stomped forward, bringing one foot down a short distance from Gregor and raising the other one to attempt to stomp Kurt into the ground.

"Let's tip this bastard over," yelled Gregor, stepping up and grabbing the lower leg of the monster, pushing with legs and back, trying to lift the great weight.

Kurt grabbed the other foot before it could come down, then mimicked his fellow immortal.  The creature staggered, but didn't go down, until a trio of mages sent bolts of force into its chest.  The creature tipped, slowly going over. Jackie jumped from its back, slicing into a wing as she fell to the ground. Then it had passed the balance point and was falling backwards, its head and shoulders slamming into the central tower with an earth-shaking rumble.

"Your sword," yelled one of the priests. "It's a weapon that can kill it, if you act fast, before it recovers."

Kurt looked at his blade, Lenoris, a Goddess blade of Arothonia, one of the most powerful weapons on the planet. It was a two-handed blade, long enough to reach its heart. Or at least he hoped so. With a thought he ran toward the demon, jumping into the air and landing on its lower abdomen, then running up and raising his hands in the air, hilt gripped tightly, blade pointed down.  With a powerful slam he shoved the blade into the demon's chest, about where he thought its heart would be, based on what he knew of human anatomy. Not that it had to be configured exactly like a human, but he had to count on something.

The creature roared its pain and displeasure, and tried to reach for the immortal. The other three attacked its arms, slicing through flesh, cutting nerves and vessels. It knocked Gregor away, then grabbed Izabella and pulled her up to its wide-open mouth.

Kurt pushed the sword in deeper, almost to the hilt, meeting some resistance. Izabella jammed her sword into the open mouth, slicing the tongue and lining. The demon roared and flung her away, to strike one of the fortress walls with a loud crunch and slide to the ground.

"Here," yelled a priest, a dwarf in the heavy armor of a warpriest, tossing up a heavy mace.  Kurt caught the weapon in the air, feeling the weight of a smashing object, sensing the holy power of the mace. He raised it into the air, then smashed it down on the pommel of the sword, apologizing to both weapons in his mind as he swung. With a crashing roar the blade went into the chest of the creature to the cross guard.

The mouth of the monster opened wide, gouts of black blood gushed out, while the hands of the demon twitched spasmodically. In seconds its entire body was shaking, like a massive earthquake under the feet of the immortal. Kurt looked down at his blade, tempted to grab it before he jumped.

[Leave me] said the sword in his mind.  [You can retrieve me after it is gone.]

Kurt sent back his understanding as he leapt from the creature, landing on bent legs, then running toward Izabella, worried that she might have been hurt too badly from her collision with the wall. She was still lying on the ground when he reached her, breathing heavily, her face screwed up in agony, still alive.

"I can feel myself healing," she groaned out through gritted teeth. "Still hurts like hell. Did you finish it?"

Kurt looked back over at the sprawling demon, which had stopped twitching and was now leaking fluids everywhere. As he watched the body shrank in on itself, until it was little more than a bag of flesh draped over bone.

"Yes, my dear. I think it's finished."

He had to wait another ten minutes before the creature had completely dissolved, even the fluids having evaporated into the air. Izabella was sitting up by that time, looking like she was going to recover fully. He walked over to where the demon had lain, now only a shadow on the stone, and picked up his sword, holding it up to examine it.

[Are you okay, my friend?]

[I am fine, my master. More than fine, since killing such a creature brings great merit to such as myself.]

Kurt smiled as he held the blade up to the sky, letting it commune with the goddess that created it, thanking all the gods of this world and his own that he had found the sword. Or was it the sword that had found him? And then he wondered how Levine was doing against the other demon. He sent a message by mindspeak to Levine, and was shocked by the impression that came back.

"We're not finished here, people," he told his fellow immortals.  "There's one more of the bastards to kill."

Chapter Eleven

"Okay, guys. It's time to instill some courage in our people."

"I'm not sure I have all that much courage to instill," groaned Warrant Officer Second Peter Steiner, the drummer. "I mean, look at those fucking things."

Warrant Officers Second Wolfgang and Reinhold Schrenker said nothing, simply staring at the red winged creature that was darting and diving over the fortress.

Dirk Winslow felt the same, but they had a duty to perform, and dammit, he was going to perform it. He checked the sword at his belt, realizing that it would be next to useless if that thing came after them. He had served a term in the United States Army, and Peter had done service in the German, but neither had been what would be considered combat soldiers, and they were definitely not warriors on this world.

"We need to support our people," yelled Dirk, checking the strap on his guitar. "If you guys won't help me, I'll have to do it alone."

The three men continued to stare, sometimes at their bandleader and superior officer, more often at the demon. Dirk thought about ordering them to accompany him, and then thought better of it. Unless their hearts were in their music, it would accomplish naught. He was the most powerful of them, probably twice the measure of any of them. But the band playing in harmony would tap into more than five times his own personal power.

"Well, dammit. I'm not going to let our guys down. You all can play along with me, or be damned."

The band was set up on a rocky shelf on the hills overlooking the bridge fort. They were about four hundred meters from the walls, just out of accurate bowshot, though not for a lucky shot. A pair of mages stood in front of them, ready to erect an inertial shield if shafts were in the air and headed their way. A hundred Conyastoya archers stood on a lower shelf, their defense against any enemy trying to get at them the old-fashioned way. It had made Dirk feel good that the army thought so much of their services. They were the only thing like themselves on this world, as far as they knew, and they were to be protected. They were also a military asset, and would be used as such if needed, and now seemed that time of need.

Dirk hit a loud riff on his guitar, sending the sound waves out over the fort and the areas surrounding it. He had a choice to make. Send out waves to energized and encourage the troops. Or send out those that would have a detrimental effect on the creature they were fighting. After a minute of sending out encouragement, and now sure that no matter how energized the music wasn't going to give them the advantage over the infernal creature, he started into a song that was sure to cause the demon discomfort. Or so he had been told when he had composed it with the help of the priests.

The loud screech of the music caused the demon to look up and into the eyes of the guitarist across the distance. It was a look to freeze the marrow of the bones, but Dirk kept at the song, his fingers moving quickly over the strings in perfect timing, the music fighting his fear. The demon continued to stare his way, and the bandleader was sure that at any moment it would come flapping toward him, to rend him limb from limb. Instead it turned its concentration back toward the people it was fighting below, and Winslow let out a breath of relief while continuing to play.

The beat of the drums came in behind him, adding to the music, adding to the power. Moments later the bass adding its beat to that of the drum, and Dirk started weaving his riffs in with them. Then Reinhold, a skilled guitarist himself, started in with a counterpoint that wove in among the faster riffs of his leader. The power of the music increased exponentially, and the demon could be seen shaking its head, at time placing its hands over its ears. That didn't help, and the creature seemed to be spending as much time shaking its head and growling as it did fighting. So they were doing their job.

They played through the entire fight, watching as the demon went down below the walls and didn't come up. The feel of evil that had been in the air for most of the fight dissipated quickly, The fight might still be going on, but no longer against infernal creatures.

Dirk help up a hand to silence the band. "Start into something lively. When You Found Me."

The drums and bass started into the rhythm track of the song, one of the most popular from their first album. Reinhold started a secondary lead, which Dirk soon played over and under, sending the waves of magic out over the field. Due to the working of the magic it only had an effect on the friendly troops. To the enemy it was no more than loud noise, unlike anything they had ever heard before.

*  *  *

Ismael Levine looked up as the great beast dropped out of the sky. He could feel the fear the demon radiated, probably not as much as the people around him, since he had the age behind him that produced the wisdom that tempered emotions. The ancient immortal didn't know what he was going to do about this terror dropping into his lap, but he did know that it was going to be his job to get rid of it. If only he had Kurt's sword. His was powerful enough, but a holy blade would come in handy at a time like this.

The demon flapped its wings, arresting its fall as it looked around the courtyard, apprising itself of the possible targets. It looked at the guns, then breathed out a gout of flame, white hot, much more powerful than that of a dragon. It would surely destroy at least one of the guns, while killing the crew of all of them. At least it would have, until the young schizophrenic physicist turned fire mage stepped forward, waving his hands and shouting out words of power. The flame washed over Drake, curving around so that all of the fire struck his body and nothing past it.

Levine sucked in his breath, thinking the mage dead. The flames were sucked into the man's form as if it was a vacuum, until it was all gone, and the young man stood there, glowing red eyes staring at the demon, his garments smoking. His eyes were bugged out, his mouth was open in a silent scream, and it appeared as if he wouldn't be able to hold the power in for long.

The young man pointed a finger at the demon and released the fire, a gout smaller but no less fierce than what had been absorbed by the mage. The demon laughed as the fire played over it, not discomfited in the least by the infernal power.

[It's not working, James] sent Levine by mindspeak. [Use it for something else.]

James nodded, then moved his finger down, the fire moving out like the jet of a flamethrower.  It hit the gate to the tower. The valve that was still up glowed, going from red to white-hot in an instant, while more of the flame moved through the open side of the portal. Screams sounded from within, proving that the flame was doing something other than being a mere pyrotechnic display.

The music of the bards came in over the fort, sounding much like an Earthly rock concert. At first it seemed to invigorate the humans and elves of the army. Unfortunately, that didn't help them to damage the demon to any greater extent. Levine was about to order someone to order the band to start into another theme when they did it themselves, and the demon hovered in the air, its eyes turned toward the area where the band was set. And holding its hands over its ears.

Levine snorted a laugh. He sometimes felt the same way about this kind of music, but as long it helped his side, he didn't care if he liked it or not.

The demon roared, then headed down, attacking a couple of soldiers, ripping through the armor of one, then climbing back into the sky, where it again stared over at the band and screeched its displeasure. Levine was afraid the creature would head off toward the band, which didn't have the fighting power gathered around itself to handle such a threat.

[James. Attract its attention.]

The mage nodded and gestured, sending a small burst of flame into the demon. The creature ignored it. Being a creature of fire, the magical flame was not going to damage it. So James sent a larger blast toward it, finally attracting its attention. It glared down at him for a moment, then back at the band, shaking its head. Levine was afraid it wasn't going to reengage with them. In a way that would be a perfect outcome, in the short term, since the soldiers wouldn't have to worry about it while it was away. However, it could destroy the bards, a unique resource, and it would be back. James sent another bolt its way, this time hitting it in the face.

The demon roared again, flapped his wings, and headed for the young mage, leading with his taloned feet. Katherine Heidle stepped forward, raised her hands, and a blast of wind struck the creature and pushed it back. It righted itself and landed on the ground, stalking forward. A cannon cracked and steam flew from the barrel, sending a ball into the chest of the monster. The demon grunted, but the ball bounced off and it took another step forward.

Levine saw his chance, and ran up, jumping into the air and coming down on the back of the demon, his enchanted blade plunging deep into the muscle. The demon roared again and turned, trying to get at its tormentor. As it pivoted a pair of balls struck in the side, while a flight of arrows hissed in to bounce from the rock-hard hide.

"Don't hit Levine," yelled out General Delgado. "And get some damned priests up here."

Levine smiled at the contradictory words of the general, despite having to hold on for dear life to his sword. He couldn't pull it out, and if he dropped to the ground he would be giving up one of the few weapons that seemed to be able to hurt the thing. Nonetheless, the profanity of the general was still funny, calling for holy men as damned.

The demon jumped into the air, turning over and flapping furiously. Levine felt the blade start to slip out, and then slide completely from the creature's body, dropping him to the ground. Levine twisted in the air, trying to land on his feet, and failing, his posterior making first contact, then his back. He grunted at the shock, his eyes closing for a moment, opening in time to see the taloned feet coming down on him.

Levine went into overdrive, rolling out of the way and onto his feet, then stepping back in to shove the point of his sword through the calf of the monster.  The demon kicked at him, connecting and knocking him into the air to fly against one of the walls.  Levine felt something snap in his back, and was positive that some of his ribs had broken. He bit his tongue and felt the coming confusion of a concussion. A normal man would have died from the impact. Hell, even an abnormally strong one would be looking at paralysis and eventual death. He landed on the ground and could already start to feel his legs, a sign that his spine was knitting, along with the bone that protected it. The first few breaths hurt like hell with the broken ribs, but even that pain quickly subsided, and he was back on his feet. His sword was nowhere to be found, but he soon spotted it still in the calf of the demon, which was limping toward the gun emplacement again.

A trio of guns spoke, their firing muted when compared to weapons that had used the gunpowder that no longer worked on this world. Two hit the creature in the chest, bouncing away, while one, with much greater momentum, propelled by the winds of the weather mage, actually punctured the skin before falling away.

Priests were now chanting their prayers, and the demon reached its hands up to its head, obviously in some pain as the holy power washed over it. It shook its great head, glaring at all around it, and then spitting a gout of fire at the priests, setting one on fire before a strong wind arose which blew the flame away from its targets. It turned and stepped back toward the weather mage, who looked back with an expression of terror on her face. That was just before she raised her hands into the air and moved them in a twisting motion.

The wind picked up, the clouds overhead rushed together, and a funnel dropped from the sky, questing for the ground.

"By the Gods, no," yelled Levine, getting up and running for the demon. He knew the girl felt threatened, and was pulling out her last card to stop the monster. However, what she was attempting to control might be as bad or worse than the monster, and there was no way to stop it without harming her. He saw James reach out and grab one of her arms, which she immediately shook off. She said something to the other mage, Levine couldn't hear what despite his enhanced hearing with the freight train sound of a tornado roaring through the air.

The demon looked up, and recoiled as it saw what was coming for it. It flapped its wings furiously, trying to get out of the courtyard before the suction got it. It almost made it when the questing opening of the funnel cloud grabbed it out of the air and pulled it in. Then funnel cloud then moved upward, the figure of the demon trapped within. They could see the swirling red of the creature, a leg visible here, a wing there, one of the horns for a moment.

It looked like she had finished the demon when it was flung out of the cloud, one wing flapping, the other limp and obviously broken. The creature was at some height, and fell to the ground outside of the fort. Levine could see his sword still sticking out of its calf, and he ran for the gate, determined to get his weapon back and kill the monster.

The men outside were already busy attacking the thing, sending spears and arrows into it to bounce off its skin. The crippled wing still hung useless on its left side, while the right thigh bent at an unnatural angle, broken. It wasn't helpless, snatching up a pikeman who had gotten too close and tried to ram his weapon into it. With a twist of its hands it pulled the soldier in two, then shot a gout of flame from its mouth to torch the rest of the pike squad.

There it is, thought Levine as he ran toward the monster, coming in from behind and grabbing his sword, then pulling it from the calf and swinging it with all of his strength into the back of the muscle. The enchanted blade, propelled by the strength of the eldest immortal, cut deeply into the muscle, doing even more damage as he pulled it through in a draw cut. The creature roared its pain, then stumbled into a turn, its injured legs barely able to support its weight. Levine thrust upwards, the point of the blade pushing into the uninjured thigh. He moved before the reaching hand could get to him, and he swung down and into the wrist.

*  *  *

The demon cried out in frustration. Everything it had tried had failed. It had killed a few people, taken their souls, except for the couple that had actually caused it pain when they entered it briefly before flying away. Its attacked had been thwarted, and it had been hurt. Things were not getting easier as it battled this small creature that was so much faster and stronger than the others were.  Still, there was no quit in it. If it died on this field its soul would go back to the realm of the death gods, and it would eventually, be capable of returning to this world if called many years in the future. If it could just crush this one gnat it would be satisfied. But when it swung again, the creature was not there. Unfortunately, its blade was, and it again pricked it, this time in the left forearm.

The demon was weakening. It was still a mighty creature, but it was now operating at less than half its original strength. It swung again, a blow that would take the head off any puny mortal it struck. This time it hit, the edge of the blade the man thrust upward, cutting deep into the wrist and severing the tendons, crippling the member. It brought up more fire, spitting it at the man, only to see the flames dissipate as they hit the human. It knew it was dealing with something more than human, more than just strong and fast, and it was determined to take it with him before it fled this veil.

*  *  *

Levine realized that he had hurt the creature greatly, but it was still dangerous. It could definitely kill him, despite his ability to heal. If it ripped his head from his body or stopped his heart, he would be gone. He needed to finish it now.

The second paw came swinging in, and he punched his sword point through it. The demon roared and lifted the hand, grabbing the blade and flinging the immortal into the air. Levine clamped down on the hilt, holding on for dear life, swinging himself in to strike the creature in the face with his boots. It was only a stinging strike, one that wouldn't really harm the creature, but the only thing he could think of doing at the moment. To his surprise the feet went out from under the demon, the injured legs giving out, and it fell backwards. Levine landed on its chest, blade in hand, thinking of the best way to kill the thing.  He dismissed a thrust to the chest immediately, since the throat offered such a better target. With thought came action, and he leapt forward, the blade swinging for the area below the chin of the creature, which was in the process of thrusting a hand out to help it back to its feet. Too late, and the blade sliced through the flesh and into the windpipe below.  Frothy black blood flooded the mouth of the demon, while its one usable hand went to the throat.  Levine ducked the other hand, still flopping on the end of its limb, and thrust his blade into the creature's right eye. Then leaning his weight to push the sword deeper, he went for the brain.

Black ichor exploded from the eye, some of it splatting onto the hands of the immortal and burning into the skin. Ignoring the pain he forced the sword deeper, until the demon contracted in agony, and he was flung off the huge body to land on the ground without his sword. He was on his feet in an instant, feeling nauseous from the demon's blood, but sure he would survive. But if the monster came for him he was not so sure he would handle it without his sword.

The demon was flat on its back, unmoving, liquid flowing from its body as it started to dissolve. Hundreds of people stood around slack jawed, staring at the dead monster as it first liquefied, then gasified until nothing was left, leaving only the enchanted sword and the outline of the demon on the now dead grass. Levine walked over, stared at the outline, and picked up his sword.  They still had a tower to take before the bridge was open. Still, he took the time to stop and talk with the young mages who stood conversing as they looked at the remains of the demon.

"Good job, young lady," said Levine to Heidle. "You are gaining control."

The young woman still looked visibly shaken, though she had a smile on her face from the compliment.

"I told her to have faith in herself," said Drake, his arm over Katherine's shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad you risked calling down the tornado," said Levine, touching the side of her face with his hand. "Now, we still have a battle to fight."

As soon as he was back inside the fort he knew there was no reason to worry. The blast of demon's fire that Drake had shot within had killed many of the defenders, and had taken the fight out of the others. Men were dragging the fallen valve out of the way, while others pushed the still hot member hanging from its hinges back with their spears, where it could be held in place by cannonballs carried forward.

The men were cheering the victory, or maybe just being alive. Levine shook his head, but couldn't keep from smiling as well. It was cause to celebrate, but there were still many fights ahead before this war was over.

Chapter Twelve

Delgado sat his horse and watched as the first organized unit of heavy cavalry crossed the bridge, returning the salute of their company commander and the standard-bearer. The general had never been a horseman. He still didn't like riding, though he was getting more comfortable on them, since he really had no choice. Jeeps and armored vehicles were a thing of the past, and he doubted he would ever see their like again. So it was a sore ass from sitting a horse like a leader, or riding in a wagon. Given that it was his image he had to maintain, he sat the damn horse with his staff around him.

The infantry that had taken the forts was already through and holding the ground, while light cavalry squadrons fanned out over the countryside scouting the way They screened the army from enemy cavalry determined to scout them. The general had gotten across as fast as he could, but hadn’t been able to beat those people.

The first unit through when he had gotten into place was heavy cavalry, men that would ride forward and sweep away any enemy they could handle, or wait for the infantry if they were ensconced behind fortifications. Many different faces looked out from the almost two hundred horsemen that rode in a column of twos. European faces, African-American faces, even a few Asian faces, mixed in with the visages of native-born humans of varying colors and a few elves. Most of the Earth humans had been armor and armored cavalry trooper before coming to Refuge. Now they wore the armor of the cavalrymen, and rode horses. Delgado wondered if any of those men hated riding as much as he did. Probably some, but it still beat walking.

The next troop was preceded by the regimental command staff, a straight-faced African-American colonel in the lead. The general could tell that the man was hardly able to contain himself, a born cavalryman who had only transitioned to horses after leading an armored cav unit on arrival.

"Your men ready, McGurk?" yelled out Delgado while he saluted the banner.

"We are, sir," yelled back the young officer. "About time you gave us something to do."

The last two companies of the squadron followed, trailed by the next squadron, and the next, until the entire regiment was across and moving down the road, with some troops of each squadron fanning out to provide flank cover. That regiment would lead the march, smashing through anything on the road that had been set up to stop them.

A regiment of light cavalry followed. Then another regiment of heavy cavalry like that led by McGurk, what would have been called knights or men-at-arms on medieval Earth.

Then the first of the fresh infantry came through the fortress gate and stepped down the road.  This was the second legion, the one that had not taken part in the assault on the bridge, and so one of the best rested of the army. It was a battalion of heavy infantry, followed by another, then the skirmishers, followed by the archers. The second brigade marched through, and then a long line of wagons, the equipment and rations for the division.

"This is getting tiresome," said Levine, sitting to the side of Delgado. "It's all well and good to see how mighty our army is, but why can't we do it when the sun's down."

Delgado looked over at the immortal and laughed. He knew the big man had seen more armies marching than he ever had or would, and had fought hard this day.

"You have my permission to leave, General," he told the man. The other immortals had already excused themselves from the parade, and he hadn't felt like trying to force them to attend.  His position, as far as they were concerned, was as temporary commander, since they were prophesied to become the rulers of the free peoples of this land. Hell, Levine was over two thousand years old if he was to be believed, and Delgado had no reason to doubt him after seeing what he could do. The Polish woman was almost three hundred, and even the German had lived well over a century.

The French and the Dark Elves hadn’t waited either. They had gone back into the forest with their owls, and the sounds of music and revelry were coming out. They weren’t under his command either, but he had been damned glad to have them. Without their initial attack and sacrifice this side of the bridge wouldn’t have fallen.

Levine nodded and turned his horse, moving it away at a walk, and then spurring it into a gallop, to head for the quarters the immortals had established on this side of the bridge, near the French. The general wished he could follow, but his troops expected him to sit here and watch every damn one of them march by. And so he would, sore ass or not.

The last of the second division finished coming across, followed by the first of the third division, the one mostly made up of newly trained people, many of them natives of Refuge. When the last of them passed it meant that half the army was over. He had spent over an hour and a half sitting his horse, which meant he had at least that much time to go.

*  *  *

"I want your priests to figure out how to deal with these things. I want a plan, and I want it yesterday."

The senior priests of the kingdom bowed their heads. Most of them were natives, elves and dwarves, the prelates of the two so-called good pantheons, Life and Law. Two were the most exalted members of their faiths, the others high up the ladder if not the pinnacle.

"We had forgotten about the powers of that evil bastard," growled a squat dwarf with the weathered face of a warrior. "It is our fault, entirely."

"And my people died because you didn't recall that an evil bastard might use evil magic," growled the general who was the leader of the alliance. "Who would have thought that a man that has death priests serving him might call upon death magic. Fucking demons. We're just lucky we had those damned crazy mages there."

"You're lucky the king was there as well," said an Ellala priest of Arathonia, the queen of the life gods.

Taylor growled deep in his throat as he shot a glare at the elf. He still didn't like the immortals, since they represented ideals that his own country had rejected, those of hereditary ruler-ship. However, the people here seemed to be comfortable with it, and it seemed he was fighting a losing battle to instill democratic ideals into their hearts and minds.

"There were priests there, General Taylor," said the dwarven warrior/priest. "They did aid in the destruction of the monsters."

"Not enough," yelled Taylor, slamming a fist down on his desk. "If they can call down creatures so powerful, why can't you? Are your Gods that weak?"

The priests all recoiled from the general, their faces reflecting their horror. That was fine with Taylor, who as a practicing Methodist was immune to the power of their gods, good and bad.  He had made the decision soon after coming to this world. Sure, he gave up the advantages of quick healing, but he didn't have to worry about his soul ending up in some dank hell because of a chance encounter. So let them be mad with him all they wanted.

"We can call down powerful beings, as powerful as the demons of the enemy," said the Ellale priest. "For a price."

"You do want to defeat this evil bastard of an Emperor, don't you? Is that worth the price?"

He could see some doubt on the faces of the priests. Knowing a price and paying it were two different things altogether.

"It's worth the price," said the dwarven warpriest, nodding his head and looking around at the other clerics, who were also nodding. "Not that I want to meet my god anytime soon, though it will eventually happen. But it takes preparation to be ready to call something that powerful. It can't exist on our plane for long."

"Then get your people prepared. Every one that has the ability to call these things? What do you call them?"

"Angels," said the Ellala in a quiet voice. "Or at least that's what you might call them. Or daemons."

The last word took the general back for a moment. It sounded too close to demon, and it took him a moment of memory searching to recall that is meant a force of nature, and not something from the infernal regions.

"Get your asses ready to call these angels then. r daemons.  Or whatever you call them in your languages. But the next time they hit us with these things I want something in the air that can handle them. Understood?"

There were some stares, some humanlike nods, and yeses in several languages. And some head shaking from priests who didn't agree. There was really nothing he could to people that were not actually in the military. He had some control over those who were assigned to military units, but not as much as he would wish.

An hour later Taylor was sitting in a meeting. Gone were the temporary tents that had served when they had first arrived.  Now his headquarters was housed in a very comfortable mountainside villa with great views of the lower valley and quarters for his entire staff with the local service buildings.  Steaming pots of coffee sat on the long table in the large room that had been converted to a conference room. Pitchers of cream and bowls of sugar stood by each carafe. That was something Taylor loved about this world. All the food was fresh and delicious, without the additives almost everything on Earth came with. The environment itself seemed to hum with healthy energy. People who had come over with diseases such as diabetes and cancers had found that they cured themselves, when doctors on Earth had told them there was no cure, only long drawn out treatments.

Coffee beans were not native to this area, though they might be found on some of the continents connected to the K'ellysius subcontinent that was their area of operations. Fertile beans had been brought along in the samples of plants of the University scientists. Fields had been established in the mountains of the Refuge valley, and very good coffee was now making its way to feed the addiction of the Earthborn. Hops had also been planted, and rye and barley, so earth-made spirits were now available as well.

"How are we doing with recruitment?" he asked one of the earthborn officers, a colonel who was his chief of staff for procurement.

"We've about scrapped the bottom of the barrel for earthborn humans, sir," said the man. "We've brought in about ninety percent of the men of military age, and the other ten percent are too important to our research and development efforts."

"And the other peoples?"

"They are giving us what they can," said the colonel. "We have no shortage of Dwarven axmen and Elfin archers, but we can only slot so many of them into a legion and still maintain the proper ratio. Cavalry is another matter. Most of the local humans are farmers, with little in the way of war experience, and it will take quite some time to train them up to the standards of our cavalry. We are still offering high bounties for mercenaries from the other kingdoms, and they are trickling in. Still, we have our quotas of light and medium cavalry filled, but are far too short in the heavy variety. It takes a lot of skill and training to become the equivalent of one of our medieval knights, after all."

"And air power?" asked Taylor, not really satisfied with the answer. He was concerned with what he could bring to the air war. He didn't think the enemy could match them in the sky, not anymore, but he couldn't say for sure, and history had taught that enemies sometimes squirreled away their air assets until they could spring a surprise.

"We've hit a roadblock as far as dragons are concerned, sir. It takes a hundred years for one to grow from hatchling to young adult, the smallest we can use for saddle-trained mounts. At least a hundred more before they become the more formidable full adult. We can't hurry the process, and we don't know of a source of ready to use adults. Every kingdom outside our area refuses to sell them to us, or even hire them out as mercenaries. They're just too valuable to their nations."

"So we're stuck with using the big birds," said Taylor with a frown.

"Afraid so, sir."

The battle hawks were a valuable asset, and one which went from newly hatched to full grown in less than five years. They could carry a rider, including a magic using one, and drop rocks, but they did not have the breath weapons like the dragons, and as such weren't a powerful ground attack asset.

"We are training up another six hundred of the birds, sir. They, and their riders, should be ready to deploy in another month."

Which would give them a much more powerful air force than the enemy, which had had their hatcheries overrun or taken out in the general uprising that was sweeping their kingdom. Along with the giant owls the French and their Dark Elf allies were contributing. Still, he would have liked to have more of the silver and gold dragons with their powerful flame weapons. No help for it, thought the general, who was sure that future generations would ensure there were always enough of the huge creatures to fight and win any air war. That would be one legacy the Americans would leave, if nothing else.

"What about our airships?" he asked, turning and looking at the master engineer, just flown back from the front by dragon.

"The frames aren't the problem, general," said Grueber. "We can construct them out of some of the strong woods available here. In the future we may be able to build them out of aluminum, once we figure out how to make it. And the helium we've found coming out of the natural vents is a much better lifting gas here than on Earth. As I guess you heard from the way it lifted the baskets used for the fortress assaults."

Taylor nodded. He had heard all of this before. The gravity of this world was less than on Earth, despite it being larger, something to do with a different gravitational constant. Helium had many times the lifting power. While the earth physicists and mages were working on a way to energize it to make it even better, they envisioned airships floating through the sky like battleships, capable of carrying a variety of weapons and large crews. Possibly even airborne soldiers, but not at this time. Right now the best they could hope for were bombers and light paratroop transports.  But Taylor could already think of a myriad of ways they could use those.

"The problem right now is the steam engines," said the inventor. "We can get them to work for a short period, and then, for some inexplicable reason, they stop functioning. At least on the ground. As you know, they work well in the water, and we’re hoping the same will hold true for the air. We’re hoping."

Taylor grunted. He had heard about that problem, and wished that he hadn't.  They would keep working on them, but when they would solve the problem of ground based steam engines was anyone's guess.

"How are our logistics?" asked Taylor, looking at the next man on his staff, Brigadier General James Harris, the army chief of logistics and a former intelligence officer. "Can we make it to the city on what we are carrying?"

"If we can gather some supplies on the way," said the officer, nodding his head as he reached for the carafe of coffee. "That's supposed to be rich farmland, so we shouldn't have any trouble getting what we need."

"Make sure the farmers and merchants get paid for what we take," cautioned Taylor, looking into the eyes of the man he didn't completely trust. He was a very good officer, and a very capable logician, but he sometimes failed to do as he was ordered unless he was watched closely. "We are not a conquering army. I don't want the people to see us in the same light as the despot we came to depose."

"Yes, sir."

"And what happens if the enemy takes away the supplies that we need?" asked another officer, the current intelligence officer, Colonel Thelma Hausser, formerly an analyst for a German division.

"I don't see how that can happen," said Harris, a confused expression on his face.

"Oh, come on, Harris," said Taylor, losing patience with the man. "What the hell do you think the Russians did to our German friends in the second world war. It's called scorched earth, and I wouldn't put it past that evil bastard of an Emperor to grab what he could remove to his capital, then burn the rest. And be damned to the survival of his people."

"Well," said Harris, putting his coffee cup down and scratching his head. "If he does that, we'll just have to haul in more supplies. We can bring most of it in by river to the bridge and offload it to wagons there. It might cost us another month to get to the capital city, but we'll still get there."

Taylor was really wishing that they had the steam powered cargo ships launched. The warships were in the water, but it would be another month until any of the freighter versions were ready.  The freighter steamships could carry much greater cargoes due to their larger holds, not needed displacement for guns and armor. Railroads would be a dream, though he doubted they could run a rail that far in less than a year, even if they had the kind of rails they needed on hand.

"I want you to prepare for the worst," he told the headstrong general. "Don't wait. Start gathering all of the wagons you can get your hands on and loading them with food for the horses and men. And start them on their way to the front."

"They're going to need protection on the way," said the frowning officer. "Even though it’s through territory we liberated, they still have some partisans loyal to the Emperor."

"Then we'll get you some cavalry units. I believe we have a few around here that can be detailed for escort duties."

Taylor stood up from the table, signaling that the meeting was over. He wanted to take out the Ellala empire as soon as possible. Quick and decisive offensive action was in his blood, but if he had to go slow to keep his army intact and healthy, that was what he would do.

*  *  *

The Emperor Ellandra Mashara sat at the head of another table in another large room over a thousand kilometers away from the human general. One wall was open and leading a large balcony that was fifty meters long by twenty wide. It offered a view of the city, with its two hundred meter towers looking out over the sparkling river Allasos. The river swarmed with boats, most of them small cargo sloops that were carrying the production of the Empire into the city to prepare it for a siege.

"They are over the bridge," said the current commanding general of the Imperial army.

"Which means they only have one more river to cross," growled the Emperor, turning a cold stare at the officer that elicited a shiver from that man.

"We should be able to stop that crossing," stammered the elder Ellala, who must have been contemplating the end of his long life.

"We haven't been able to stop them crossing the last half dozen rivers," screamed the Emperor, slamming both hands on the table hard enough to make the cups and saucers jump.

"They are getting farther and farther from their source of supply, your Majesty," said another Ellala, Count Gerrasa Mashara, Chief of the Secret Police. "They are supplementing their supplies by foraging off the land. But unlike us they don't take enough to threaten the existence of the people whose lands they invade, and they pay for their supplies, in gold."

"And so they turn the people against us," said the commanding general.

"Then they are no longer our people, and their welfare no longer our concern," said Mashara with a slight smile on his face.

"And what does that mean?" asked the Emperor, wishing the man would get to the point.

"It means that we should destroy the crops the enemy might use for their army, the forage for their horses." The count looked around the table, making eye contact with everyone present. "The people that might plant new crops that the damnable humans might use. And then, if we hit some of their supply columns, we can starve them out while they're besieging us. Force them to leave our territory, while we rebuild our forces."

"That is some of the richest farmland in the Empire," said Baron Thelissa, the minister of the Exchequer.

"And land of no use to us while the enemy occupies it," said the commanding general, smiling as he saw a way out of his dilemma. "I suggest we send mages out into that countryside, along with all the dragons we can spare, and torch anything the enemy might be able to use. And we need to act quickly, before they advance too far and are able to stop us."

"Let it be so," agreed the Emperor. "And put every farmer to the sword. Especially those not of our race."

There were some shocked faces at the table, though also many nodding heads. And Count Mashara looked like he was hardly able to contain his glee.

Chapter Thirteen

"Make sure those outbuildings are set to the torch," yelled Marsalla Linsiri, the young cavalry commander, sitting his horse and looking down at the burning village. He felt a tearing in his heart as he watched a mage send a fireball into a field of ripening wheat. The stalks turned into ash across a circle forty meters in diameter, and the flames spread out from there over the highly flammable field of grain.

The Ellala had grown up in this region of the Empire, a land of numerous farming villages that fed the capital city.  Simple people with simple comforts, folk who didn't really care about what went on in the halls of power, so long as they could make a living and be left alone. Now he had been ordered to take his cavalry troop out to destroy this region and kill everyone in it. He hated to do it, but orders were orders, and disobedience meant death, or possibly something much worse. He knew most of his men didn't like it any more than he did, but the same punishment hung over their heads.

"We caught some of the halflings trying to flee into the woods," said a sergeant, riding up with a trio of heads hanging from his saddle.

The commander shook his head. He had never been a religious man, since he didn't respect the gods of his rulers, and worship of the gods of life was forbidden for the military. He paid lip service to chaos, since those deities weren't quite as evil as the gods of death, but even they were not palatable to his morality.

What morality? he thought, again shaking his head. He had no morality if he was doing this thing, and he could see his future burning in some forgotten hell. The Gods wouldn’t care that he had done it out of fear for his life, only that he had done it.

In an hour it was done, and not a crop stood unburned. What they could gather was in the wagons they had brought. The livestock had been gathered and were being driven down the road. Rations for the capital city, to keep alive the defenders of the murderous bastard that ruled them all.

"On to the next one?" asked one of his lieutenants, not looking happy with the idea. In fact, his face looked downright horrified.

Most of the men looked just as sick, but he doubted any of them would disobey orders either. None wanted a death that would consign their souls to a very long period of torment before their rebirth. But these actions might send them there anyway, without a long period of penance and prayer. And serving the Emperor, they would never get that chance.

"Wait here," he ordered the lower ranking officer. "I'm going to ride to the squadron commander and ask him a question before we proceed."

The lieutenant looked relieved, though it was only a temporary reprieve.

The captain rode off, heading for the woods as if he was taking a shortcut. As soon as he hit the woods he turned away from the path that would take him to the squadron commander. He wasn't sure how the enemy would greet him, but he knew he couldn't do this anymore.

*  *  *

Colonel Antwoine McGurk felt sick to his stomach as he looked over the village.  His three squadrons had already ridden past, leaving him with his security platoon and staff. They had started coming on the ruined villages early in the morning, after seeing the glow of fires in the distance the night before. It was now early afternoon, and they had penetrated over thirty kilometers into enemy territory. And everywhere they looked it had been the same.

Every building in the village, the pub, the mayor's house, all the dwellings, had been burned to the ground. The farmhouses in sight for kilometers in each direction were also nothing but mostly burned timbers. But the worst were the people. Some had died in the burning buildings, leaving charred bodies among the timbers, some in the process of crawling outside when the flames got to them. Others lay in the dirt streets between the ruined buildings, killed by sword, lance or arrows.  A few, better dressed than most of those killed in the streets, hung from trees. The headman and his family, thought McGurk. But the worst were the children, small bodies, from infants to what would be considered school aged on earth. This had been a village of Ellala, so there weren't any of the small adult bodies of halflings.

Some livestock was also lying dead in the streets or fields, probably the animals the enemy didn't find worthwhile to herd away. The very young and the very old. Many of the trees had also been cut down, those that produced fruits or nuts, anything that might have been of benefit to the invading force.

Bastards, thought the officer. What they were doing made sense, in a horrid kind of way.  Scorched earth, just like the Russians had done during the second great war of the twentieth century. But even the Russians hadn't slaughtered the peasants who had planted the crops. Some had died of starvation, but they had not been killed by the retreating Soviets. Most had fled the invading Germans, and continued working for the Soviets in new lands.

"Lieutenant," yelled out McGurk, waving over the young mage who was his communications officer, able to send messages much farther than the colonel's limited mindspeak. "Get this to command right away."

It looked like they were not going to be getting any supplies from this region, which would slow down the campaign.  While at the same time they needed to liberate these people as fast as possible.

McGurk looked up to see a couple of troopers riding his way from the woods near the edge of the fields. They had another mounted man with them, wearing the chain and leather of the Empire’s light cavalry.

“This Ellala wanted to surrender sir,” said the sergeant who was senior of the pair, speaking English.

The private with him looked at the Ellala with rage in his eyes, his hand tightly gripping his sword hilt. It looked as if the man was exerting all the control he had to not strike down the elf, and from the sights the colonel had seen that morning, he couldn’t blame him.

“Do you have a name?” asked McGurk in accented Ellala.

“I am Commander Marsalla Linsiri of the Empire’s Fifth Cavalry. And I wish to quit my side and come over to yours.” The Ellala seemed to have trouble making eye contact, somewhat unusual for his people.

“Were you responsible for this?” asked McGurk through clenched teeth, his own hand gripping his sword’s hilt.

The Ellala looked down, a tear rolling down one cheek.

“Answer me, damn you.”

“I am already damned,” said the elf, looking up, both eyes red. “I didn’t destroy this village, but men under my command did. And I have destroyed many others.”

Antwoine stared at the Ellala, wondering if he should just go ahead and hang this one from a tree, right next to the headman and his family. He couldn’t understand how anyone could kill his own people, even on the orders of the madman that ruled them, even to save their own lives. He calmed for a moment as he thought. He had never been put in that position, and had no clue how he would react. He hoped differently, but he would never know until he was in the same shoes as this man.

“And what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I grew sick of slaughtering innocent people who wanted nothing more than to live their lives in peace. So I left my command. I have no family for that evil bastard to torment. Only myself to think of, and I have had enough.”

“So, you’re here to help us depose the man you had served for how many years?”

“Over a thousand,” said the commander, again looking off the side of his horse to the ground.

Damn, thought the colonel. He still had problems thinking about how long some of these people lived. The dwarves could go for over four hundred years, the wood elves for several thousand. And the Ellala were said to reach four thousand regularly. The elf sitting his horse in front of him could have been a young man in his twenties if he were human. The down side of that was promotion came slowly, when the people ahead of you could also hold their positions for over a thousand years. But to live that long?

“You don’t really think we will trust you, do you? Right now I’m tempted to have some of my men execute you for war crimes.”

The Ellala looked him straight in the eye with those oversized blue orbs, all pupil. “I only ask, n I beg, that you allow me to pray to the Gods of Life for forgiveness before you kill me. It may not be enough to save me from a thousand years of torment, but I would at least like to make the effort.”

McGurk continued to look into those eyes, He realized that this man was ready to meet his death, but wanted to atone for the misery he had caused others. If they were on a battle field, the colonel would strike him down without a thought. But the idea of ordering someone who had no ability to resist killed, in cold blood, didn’t sit well with him.

“Okay. I’ll send you back to our army commander. I’m sure he’ll have some questions for you. And the priests back there can tell if you are trustworthy. You’ll go back with a squad, including a couple of horse archers, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Colonel,” protested the sergeant. “This bastard commanded people that did things like this. Give me the word and I’ll put a sword in his guts, and leave him to bleed out on the ground.”

“You will do no such thing, sergeant,” growled McGurk. “We may no longer be on Earth, but this army still adheres to the rules of warfare as formulated on our home planet. You will gather your squad and take him back to the general. And I don’t want to hear about any kind of funny business along the way.”

“And if he runs?” asked the sergeant, a slight smile on his face.

“If he runs you can cut him down. But be sure you will face a priest if that happens, and we will find out the truth. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant, sitting up in his saddle and saluting.

“And what will happen to me when I meet this general?” asked the Ellala, his expression showing that he really didn’t care all that much one way or another. This was an elf truly defeated, no longer willing to fight for the savage beast that led his empire, and ready to die if that was called for.

“That’s up to General Delgado. What I can promise you is, if you behave, nothing will happen to you on the way there. After that, it’s out of my hands.”

“And I understand, Colonel. Thank you.”

The Ellala rode off between the two troopers. Very soon he would be on the way back to the army field headquarters. If he can get more of his people to come over, men like himself, we won’t have to kill as many of them. Antwoine McGurk would kill as many men as it took to win this war, but the fewer the better as far as he was concerned.

*  *  *

Commodore Steffan Hauser smiled as he walked aboard his new flagship. The galleys were fine vessels, and they would still perform yeoman's service in the battles ahead, but this ship was a beauty. Oh, the New Berlin had her faults. She looked like a slab-sided block floating in the water, and her twin stacks looked like poles sticking out of an oblong. There was nothing elegant or graceful about her. She was made for one purpose, and on this planet, at this level of technology, she was probably going to be very good at that task.

He had been flown here by dragon to take command of the squadron. As the most experienced naval officer in the alliance they had picked him to take charge. The galleys of his former squadron would still be in service, as there was nothing wrong with them, despite being made obsolete by the steamships. However, until they had more of the steam-powered vessels they would remain in service under a newly promoted commodore.

"Permission to come aboard?" he asked as he stood at the end of the plank. He took a moment to look to the left, then the right, taking in the sister ships of the New Berlin, the only other vessels of her class ready for this campaign.

"Permission granted, sir," said Captain Ellysar Kelliosos, the Ellala commander of the vessel. The elf didn't have any experience with steamships, or ironclads, but he was very experienced with rivercraft, hence his position.

Hauser walked up the plank, smiling as he took in the ten gun ports on the port side of the ship. The starboard side was equipped with the same number of guns, while the bow had a mere two guns, though they were of larger caliber than the broadside armament. The hatch in the side was open, and he could take in the thickness of the hull, a half-meter of strong oak overlaid by five centimeters of steel, faced with Mithril. It was the strongest armor on the planet as far as they knew, and the most durable since the tanks had gone down. The Mithril gave it more resistance to magic than the armor of the tanks had done. The addition of select mages ensured that this ship would not go up in flames because of one hit by a fireball. It wasn't invulnerable, but it was the next best thing to it.

"We're firing up the engines now, sir," said the exec, coming up through the central passage. "We should be up to steam in thirty minutes."

Hauser listened while he nodded. It was nowhere near what he had been used to in the German navy, when they could get the turbines up in less than a minute. The speed would be nothing to write home about, either, if he could write to his home.

"Here's the bridge, Commodore," said Kelliosos, gesturing through the hatch.

The commodore walked in, his eyes landing on every corner of the six by six meter chamber. He had been involved in the design of this thing, but this was the first time he had ever set foot on the real deal. The shutters were open, raised on their poles. The shutters all had viewing slits in them, wide enough that an arrow could make it through by chance, but not likely. Centered in the chamber near the front was the wheel, much like an old ship's steering mechanism, almost a meter in width with handles set at thirty-degree increments. To one side of the wheel was the mechanical telegraph to the engines, along with a speaking tube. Another speaking tube came out of the ceiling.

"Your flag bridge is above," said the captain, pointing to the ladder.

Of course, on the most vulnerable part of the ship, thought the commodore with a laughing snort. It was also the highest viewpoint on the vessel, giving the commodore the best vista of the battlefield.

Hauser climbed the ladder, stepping out into the flag bridge that was no larger than the chamber below. There was a bank of speaking tubes, one going below, another to the signal deck near the stacks, and a third back to the engine room. There was a pair of comfortable seats near the front of the chamber, one for the commodore, one for…who?

He walked over to the speaking tube bank and spoke into the one leading down. "Captain. I want us underway as soon as you have the power." He picked up the tube leading to the signal deck. "This is the commodore. Signal the other ships in the squadron that we will be leaving the dockyard area. They are to follow New Berlin on the planned course.”

At the appointed time the ropes were released and the engines of the ironclad churned into action, the twin screws pushing her through the water. The commodore took the ladder up to the next level, a flat deck with a handrail running around, giving the best view on the ship, as long as they weren't under fire. New Berlin was moving toward the center of the wide river, her stacks putting out masses of black smoke. Behind her steamed her two sisters. The river had a current of about three knots in the center, and the ships could make about fourteen knots, meaning they would make eleven against the current. When they reached the first of the Grand Lakes, whatever current there was would be negligible, and then the trip down the river with the current.

It would take them five days to get to the target, and he hoped that the enemy would be mightily surprised. How could they not be when the seventy-eight meter, three thousand ton vessels came steaming up, belching black smoke and firing ten-kilogram balls at the enemy works? Each of the ships had two hundred and twenty crewmembers divided among sailors, stokers and gunners, with forty of the men trained as Marines. For this trip each also carried a hundred archers.

It was hoped that they would avoid action until they reached the river where they were to help in crossing. Hauser hoped no such thing. He wanted to see what these ships would do against those of the enemy. Based on his knowledge of ships, they should be able to brush aside any enemy force with ease, but this was not Earth, and the magic of the enemy might hold some surprises.

Chapter Fourteen

"In three more nights we are going to have a major problem, General Taylor," said the high priest of Arathonia, stopping in front of the commanding officer's desk.

"What now?" asked Taylor, spilling coffee on his uniform as he took in the words 'major problem.'

"It is time for a Lycanthropes moon."

Taylor sat there for a moment, thinking about what the Ellala had said. They had already been through a couple of major lycanthropy events since arriving on this world, which seemed to be crawling with the shape shifters. Werewolves, wereboars, werebears, you name it. Werebears were good, mostly, while the boars and others could go either way, depending on the personality of their human forms. Werewolves were almost universally evil. All could change at will, and all were resistant to damage by normal weapons. On the night of a full moon they had to change, and they were much more powerful. Those changing the night of a full Lunas were very strong, those changing on the nights of the other moons were not quite as stout. And when multiple moons were in the sky, they became stronger to the extent that the effects of the moons added together. And when all three moons were in the sky?

"Jesus Christ," said the general, slamming down the cup and spilling more coffee on his desk. "How powerful are these things going to be? And why haven't we heard of them before? And why the hell are you just bringing this to me now?"

“The Lycanthropes' moon occurs every year and a half, when all three of the bodies align. As to how powerful, it is almost indescribable. Most of the people of this world hide in a fortified position during the night, even high priests." The priest looked down at the floor for a moment, an embarrassed expression on his face. “And, we just assumed that everyone knew of this event, and had marked it on their calendars.”

Taylor shook his head in disbelief. His people were newcomers here. Nothing like this ever happened on Earth, and why didn’t the idiots in charge of the priesthood realize that? But they hadn’t. To them it was just something that everyone knew.

"Can they be killed?" asked Taylor, trying to think of what he was going to do with his army in the field. Those men and women were not going to be able to get into fortified positions, not all of them.

"It's not unheard of," said the priest, eliciting a hiss of relief from the general. "If one has a god weapon and is an exceptional warrior."

"Shit." There were god weapons out there, a few. But he had an entire valley to protect, and the supply line to the army. There was no way they could cover that entire area. They could probably get everyone in the valley into one of the old fortified areas, including the old city on the plateau and the caves along the north wall. There were several intact fortresses along the supply line, including the multiple bridge forts they had taken. But enough?

“What happens to my people if they’re just wounded?”

“Then they become one of the lycanthropes that inflicted the wound. Good, if that beast is good. Evil if not. Not always evil, but definitely when the change occurs with the lunar cycles.”

"Get me all of my senior mindtalkers and com mages," shouted Taylor to the people in the outer office. He looked up at the priest, at first wanting to shout at him for not bringing this forward before. He calmed himself and took a deep breath. "Thank you, your holiness. Now, I need to get this information out to my people in the field."

"They may already know, some of them," said the high priest after a shallow bow. "After all, everyone on this world keeps track of such things. That was why I didn't think of telling you until now. It occurred to me that some of you might not know."

The priest turned and walked out of the office, leaving the general to his thoughts, until the first of the com specialists came to stand before him.

*  *  *

“Tonight is lycanthrope’s moon, my Lord,” said the priest, bowing to the emperor.

“Of course it is,” said the half litch emperor. “Everyone knows that.”

“But these newcomers have never experienced one before. Tonight will hold special terrors for them.”

And it would, thought the Emperor, staring at the priest. If I have organized shapeshifters at the ready.

Unfortunately, all of the evil shapeshifters that might be his to command had been killed off in the last attack. If not killed, they were at least in hiding. He had no one he could call on. He thought for a moment about ordering his army to strike, catching the enemy cowering in whatever shelter they could find, with no sentries on duty. He dismissed that notion as soon as it came. As afraid as his people were of him, they would be even more frightened of being out this night. It would take several strong men to pry the fingers off whatever the unfortunate was holding onto to prevent himself from being ejected into the night. Even then, they would be just as likely to go screaming into the night looking for a hiding place. Unless.

“Summon the vampire queen. I think I have a task that is right up her people’s alley.”

*  *  *

"They need all of us out there tonight. Werewolf time."

"Not again," groaned Jackie, shaking her head. "You'd think those assholes would have learned by now."

Every time the lycanthropes or vampires had attacked, the immortals had proven more than a match for them. Their peculiar physiologies protected them from whatever shapeshifter plague the monsters carried. They still might be killed, if a pack was able to down one of them and rip them apart. Otherwise, to the immortals they were just an inconvenience, but not so to the others in the army.

"This time it's much worse," said the big German. "This time it's something called the Lycanthrope moon, when all of them are full. And the werebeasts are much stronger, almost invicible."

"And that's just wonderful," said Izabella, rolling her eyes. "If they're invincible, how are we expected to kill them?"

"Almost invincible," said Kurt. "From what I've been told, a god weapon in the hands of a great warrior can take them down."

"Which means you're set," said Paul Mason-Smythe in his bass voice. The huge Brit towered over all of the other immortals, and had the build of a titan. He had been an officer in the Sherwood Foresters, a mechanized infantry battalion in the British Army of the Rhine, and as far as they knew the only Brit unit that had come over. Maybe the only English people from Earth to make it over.

"You might be able to smash a werewolf with that big hammer," said Gregor after a laugh.  "Or maybe we can get you an even bigger hammer."

Paul shot a glare the Russian's way. The Brit had been mistaken for some kind of shape shifter after he had healed from having his throat ripped out fighting undead. They had mistook what they saw as an unnatural recovery as something supernatural.

"What we will have is the best weapons we can get," said Kurt, looking over at the implements of destruction laying on a tarp. "I already have the best I can get, as does Jackie."

"And I think I have myself covered," said Levine, hefting his own sword, a godblade of a lesser deity of Law.

"Gregor, I think this might suit you," said Kurt, reaching down and picking up a sheathed two-handed blade. "Not a major god blade, but the weapon of one of the secondary gods of the river. I think in your hands it will suffice."

Gregor smiled and took the sword, holding the sheath in one hand and grabbing the hilt with the other. He pulled the blade, which glowed with a bluish light. "What does it do?"

"I have no idea," said Kurt, looking at the runes on the blade. “The priest didn't know either. Only that it had something to do with the power of the god."

"Maybe it will let you bathe the monsters," said Izabella with a smile. "And what about me?"

"Not a god blade, but one forged by the greatest dwarf smith in the history of this world," said Kurt, lifting up a bastard sword, also in a finely tooled sheath. "They found this on the body of the commander of the river fort.  It was originally made as a werewolf killer. So maybe in your capable hands it will kill several of the bastards."

"And that hammer is for me?" asked Paul, pointing a thick finger at the last weapon on the tarp. It was a warhammer, one that looked like it would need a giant to wield. Paul wasn't a giant, but he had the strength of one. “What’s wrong with the one I’ve got?”

"It is," said Kurt, lifting the weapon and actually having some trouble with it. "And I think you’ll like it even better. Here," he said, tossing the weapon at the Brit, who caught it in one hand and cursed at the weight.

"No one's sure where in the hell that one came from. But it seems to have the power of kinetic shocks built into it. One of the priests thinks it may have been a weapon forged by one of the old forgotten gods. And we know that no one in the army can wield it. So that leaves you."

Paul took the weapon and stood up, moving to get some room, then swinging the hammer.  The hammer swished through the air, propelled by his powerful muscles. A smile grew on his face, growing ever wider as he swung the hammer, left to right, right to left, overhead and down. He finally brought the hammer down on the cobblestone road. It hit with a thunderous roar that forced the other immortals to clap hands over their ears, and many of the nearby soldiers to fall off their feet. Pieces of stone flew into the air and the ground shook under their feet.

Paul held the hammer up into the air, roaring at the top of his lungs. "I'll call you Mjolnir."

"And what the hell is that?" asked Izabella, her face still showing the pain of the thunder.

"The hammer of Thor, the god of thunder," said Kurt with a laugh.

"What else does it do?" asked Paul, looking for all the world like a little boy with a new toy.

"I guess you'll have to find out," said Levine, reaching out to touch the hammer, smiling as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface.

"Then that's what I'll do," said the Brit, placing the butt of the hammer gently on the ground and resting his forearm on the head.

I don't think anything that runs into that will remain invincible, thought Kurt.

*  *  *

The deep howl sounded through the night, sending shivers of fear up the spines of men and women. Most were sheltering in whatever fortresses they could find. Old castles, forts, even caverns blocked with the heaviest materials they could locate in the area. Others sat on boats anchored in the middle of wide rivers. In the Refuge valley most of the people were in the deep caverns or atop the plateau city rising from the plain of the lowlands.

However, some people were still at large; the hunters, who would attempt to take down as many of the lycanthropes as they could. They moved under the light of the three moons, their bright discs looking down. Lunas was the largest and the brighter, while the other two wree made large by being closer to the planet. It was actually a living world, with oceans and continents, and the green of vegetation. Many of the people of the planet didn't understand how things worked as far as astrophysics were concerned. The humans from Earth did, and had educated as many of the Elf and dwarf elite that were interested, which included almost all of the priestly class, and pretty much all of the arcane magic users.

Kurt could hear the large bodies moving toward him through the woods, the confused lycanthropes looking for the prey that had been promised them, and seemed to be missing. The bear standing next to him growled, sounding all the world like an Earthly grizzly. It was one of the good lycanthropes, as most bears were. There were also some boars and tigers out with the immortals.  They were just as powerful as the evil shape shifters, and just as quick to anger, but without the lust for innocent blood.

Two large werewolves burst from the brush upon seeing the human ahead of them and charged forward. Lanathredus, a Conyastoya female who transformed into a bear nine times her normal mass, growled and charged one of the wolves, striking it from the side with a great paw, knocking the wolf to the ground and then leaning in to savage it with the teeth of a bear. Most animals would already be dying, but the wolf was healing even as it was taking wounds. It bit into the forepaw of the bear, crunching through bone and eliciting a moan. The bear backed off for a moment, its paw hanging useless for almost a half-minute, then again bearing its weight as it healed. It looked as if the creatures would fight it out through the night, able to injure, but neither able to kill the other. That was Kurt's job, while Lanathredus was only there to guard his flank until he could get to the next one.

The other wolf jumped at Kurt. There was no recognition in the eyes of the beast. As far as it was concerned this was just another human victim, one he would take care of in seconds. Instead he met the blurring Paladin's blade, swung overhead and down from right to left, cutting into the shoulder of the beast. The sword glowed with power, as it was wont to do when dealing with demonic creatures. The skin of the creature was stone hard, and almost any weapon, even a magical one, would have bounced away. The godblade, with the more than human strength of the immortal behind it, sliced through skin, muscle and bone. It passed all the way through the creature and leaving the forequarters writhing on the ground while the rear twitched, and blood flowed from arteries no longer under the pressure of a heart. That organ had been sliced neatly in two.

Wasn't too hard to kill, thought Kurt, then stared as he watched the pieces of the creature try to crawl toward each other. He was sure if they met they would heal back into one monster, and that was something he couldn't allow. He thrust his blade through the head and lifted the forequarters into the air, flinging them into the night. The rear quarters continued trying to crawl toward the missing fore section, weakening by the second.

The other wolf and the bear were still fighting. It looked like an even match, or it would be if the other wolves he heard in the night didn't get here first. Kurt walked up and took careful aim at the neck of the wolf, waited a moment to get a clear swing, and then took the head off of the beast The head lay on the ground, its eyes looking up and jaws still snapping. The bear grabbed the forepaw of the wolf and savaged it, while Kurt flung the head into the night.

"We've got more coming," Kurt told his partner.

The bear nodded. She couldn't speak, but she still understood human language. She had several deep wounds that were healing as Kurt watched. The bear walked toward the oncoming wolves. Kurt wanted to call her back, but saw the wisdom of her decision. Both would attack her, and he would be able to kill them both at his leisure. At least that was the plan, until four of the great wolves burst from the brush.

*  *  *

Jackie stood in the clearing with Ice and Fire in her hands, glowing blue and red in the night. Beside her two large tigers crouched and growled low in their throats. One was an elf male, the other a Red human female. Both massed well over what a full-grown Siberian tiger would on Earth. Both were terrifying, even to her, though she knew they were on her side. Still, they were animals with human intelligence this night, but lacking the human control of their emotions.

"Get ready," said Jackie, crouching, getting prepared for the enemies to come into the clearing. The priests had thought they would go after the scent of intelligent creatures. So all of the immortals were standing out in the open, along with their lycanthrope allies. There were also some of the more powerful priests and their paladin allies off on their own in groups of a half dozen. Some of the groups had mages as well, including several of the Earth borne archmages.  They hoped it was enough. The fear was that the werebeasts would attack the entrances of fortified areas with every bit of strength they possessed. If they got in among a group of people without the power to fight back against them, it would be a blood bath.

The howling went on, getting closer and closer. The tigers grew more restless, and Jackie tightened the grip on her twin katanas.  They were not godblades, but were the most powerful things this side of them. She hoped with her strength and agility she would be able to kill these things, but there were no guarantees. No guarantees she would kill these things, no guarantees she would survive the night.

I wish Kurt was here, she thought. She had never thought she would fall in love with someone who wasn't an American, but it had happened without her consent. Not only did she love him, and, she thought, he her, but they also fought well together, like warriors who had been with each other for life, and not a mere three years. But Kurt had his own fight this night, as did she.

A huffing came from the woods, and then two wolves erupted from the brush, heading straight for her, tongues lolling from their mouths. The two tigers took off, one to each wolf.  The tiger on the right swung a paw into the head of its opponent, knocking it to the ground, where it rolled with its head swinging on a broken neck. Two more wolves came out of the brush and hit the tiger, snapping at it, one fastening on the rear of the tiger and the other going for a forepaw. Another pair attacked the tiger on the left, while the previously dead wolf got back to its feet and reinforced its fellows.

Jackie shook herself out of her shock. She needed to help her allies. If they died, then the six wolves would all come after her, and she didn't think she could handle the half dozen by herself.

She was about to let loose with a battle cry, but stopped herself with the thought that it would be better to hit them before they realized she was on the attack. With that in mind she ran at one of the wolves, savaging the hindquarters of the ally on the right, and thrust both blades into its body.  Fire raised smoke from the body as the fur caught afire and boiling blood wept from the wound. Ice went into a leg, and immediately froze flesh, blood and bone. She jerked both blades free, shattering the leg into fragments of ice while the torso burst into a furnace-hot fire. She kicked the wolf away before it could catch her ally on fire, then sliced its head from its body with Ice, jabbing fire into an eye and starting a blaze going on that decapitated body part.

One of the wolves let go of the tiger, turning toward the human, with rage and blood lust in its eyes. It crouched down, ready to spring, but she ran in first in a blur of speed that caught it off guard, both blades thrusting into the open mouth and through the roof.  The combination of volcanic heat and interstellar cold exploded the head, dropping the wolf to the ground. From there it was only a couple of strikes to take out the last wolf. The tiger, now free, ran over and jumped on one of the wolves attacking its partner, bearing it away and to the ground.

Jackie, now practiced in the technique, thrust her two blades into the back of one of the wolves still attacking the tiger. Again, the opposite forces of the blades ripped apart the spine and thorax of the beast, dropping it. Jackie took off the head, and then did the same as before, thrusting both blades into the skull and blasting the skull apart.

Now each tiger had only one opponent, and their greater mass and strength, coupled with their superior speed and agility, made short work of the other beasts. Jackie backed off, getting her breath, her ears searching the night for the next enemies. It didn't take long to find them, and she waved the two cats forward and followed them into the night.

*  *  *

Paul stood in another clearing, twenty kilometers from the other immortals, with his three allies, a trio of massive boars, or technically sows. They had been three beautiful Conyatoya sisters before the rising of the moon. All wore glowing collars that would identify them in the battle, in case they ran into some others of their kind. Wereboars could be good or evil, and they looked the same either way, which made them some of the most terrifying of all the shapeshifters. You couldn’t just assume.

Grunting came from the woods, and Paul was damn happy that someone had thought ahead. Otherwise, he would be in a rumble of boars and not know which ones to strike. Six of the massive evil beasts came out of the brush, two heading toward each of his allies. They knew. They probably had a different odor, good and evil beast, though the immortal thought they all smelled foul.

The huge Brit ran over to the fight on the left and brought his hammer down on the hindquarters of the animal. Bone and muscles shattered, then exploded outward under the kinetic power of the hammer, and the squealing beast’s forward section dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. The other boar continued to trade rips of tusks with the sow, until its head exploded under the not so gentle ministrations of the hammer. Paul did the same with another pair of boars, then turned as he heard howls coming toward him. The sisters all ganged up on the two remaining evil shapeshifters, savaging them with their tusks. If allowed to go on, the fight would last the night.

Paul felt something in the back of his mind, something alien. The hammer, he thought, and received what he could only think of as approval. He could tell that the hammer had not been wielded for a long time, thousands of years, and would not let just anyone have access to its powers. It approved of the might of its current wielder.

“Do your stuff,” said Paul as he pointed it at the pair of giant wolves that ran out of the forest.

The night lit with the crackle of electricity, and a massive bolt of power linked hammer with wolves. They shook in place for a moment, hair standing on end, smoke coming out of eyes, ears and mouth. Then, without warning, they exploded as the heat within their bodies reached critical levels.

Paul whooped a war cry while holding the hammer high in the air. Mjolnir, indeed, he thought. This was a weapon he was going to keep. Grunting brought him back to the here and now, and he walked over to finish the opponents of the sisters.

*  *  *

A small pack of werewolves had found the entrance to the burrow the neo-wolves were laired in, containing a dozen nursing females and over seventy pups, from newborns to those almost ready to start their training. The werewolves hated natural wolves, and killed them whenever they could. As the first one poked a head into the lair it grinned in devilish delight. The females might attack, they might even cause it wounds. Its would heal, theirs would not.

Then it whimpered as it felt something invade its mind, freezing its body in place. A collective of over thirty minds, the females and the oldest pups, were pushing against it, almost a physical force. The mind of the shapeshifter was filled with images of its fate after death, burning in the hells of the death god. It screeched out a scream and backed away, pushing the others of its pack out of the way, and then running panicked into the night. Another wolf made its way forward, and was soon in the retreat. On it went, until the entire pack was running through the night, its only thought to get away from the demons that had been planted in their minds. There was no escaping the creatures that would follow them through the rest of their lives.

*  *  *

“How did we make out?” asked Taylor of the high priest of Arathonia.

“Hundreds of the evil ones destroyed,” said the priest with a smile. “I wouldn’t have believed it possible.” The expression of the Ellala sobered. “We lost almost a hundred people, ours and yours. Some were priests and paladins, and will be difficult to replace.”

Taylor frowned. Of course, they knew there were going to be losses this night. Still, it had been thought they would be in the thousands, so they had dodged the bullet. “How many wounded?”

“We think less than a hundred,” said the priest. “We are searching for others.”

That was the problem with being wounded by a werebeast. It started a slow process of changing the personality, even the hominid one, from good to evil. Some would hide wounds because they were afraid of what the good priests would do to them.

“And you think you can cure them of the curse?”

“It is possible. We might be able to relieve half of them from the curse. The others?” The priest gave a very human shrug, something he had learned from the newcomers.

Taylor shook his head. The ones they couldn’t cure had two options, neither their choice. They could be imprisoned for the rest of their lives, with the risk that they might break out and threaten others. Or they could be put down, no longer a menace to anyone. As tough a decision as it was, they had to go with the second option, a permanent solution to the problem.

“And this won’t happen again for what, a couple of years?”

“About that, general. I would have to consult our calendar to give you the exact date.”

Taylor sat there digesting the information. For all its wonders, this world certainly had its share of terrors. Of course, Earth had its own, starting with the nuclear weapons that had sent them here, and killed so many there.

Chapter Fifteen

"We have sails ahead, Commodore," came the call of the captain over the speaking tube that reached into the flag officer's quarters.

"I'll be right up," said Hauser, pulling himself from his bunk and reaching for his boots. He had been up late the night before, planning with his staff their passage into the second of the Grand Lakes, the one that would lead to the river that flowed past the capital city of the Ellala Empire.

I wonder if they're ours, he thought as he pulled open the door to his cabin and walked quickly up the corridor to the bridge. It was unlikely, since he knew the general whereabouts of all the ships of the alliance, but it wasn’t impossible. They might also be neutrals who just happened to be traveling across the lakes on business unrelated to the war.

"Lookouts are saying there are six vessels ahead," said the captain as Hauser walked onto the bridge. "We have no sight of their hulls, yet, but I'm sure they've spotted us."

Hauser nodded. That was the major weakness of the steam vessels. They poured out a cloud of smoke that rose high into the air, giving them away well over the horizon. Modern ships on Earth had gotten rid of that cloud, but here they had to burn wood or coal, and a cloud was unavoidable.

"Ask the lookouts what flags they're flying."

The captain spoke into a tube, then listened for a moment. He looked over at the mage who was standing next to the scrying ball that was their main com. That woman shook her head, and the captain turned back to the commodore.

"They're flying no flags, sir."

"Then prepare your ships for action. And signal Hannover and Washington. I think we've got a fight coming up."

Bells started sounding across the ship. They didn't have the klaxons, of course, but striking a bell did as good a job. Shouts sounded from the gun deck as the crews ran to their weapons.

Each gun crew had at least one experienced artilleryman from Earth, most often as the gun captain. Their expertise was mostly wasted otherwise, and though there was some need in the field artillery, there were not enough guns deployed to take them all.

On the upper decks the armored Marines and Conyastoya archers ran to their positions. Their job was to keep the enemy from boarding, about the only way the experts thought their foe might be able to take one of the ironclads. Joining them were some of the offensive wizards, while those tasked with defense stayed behind the armor.

The wizard working the scrying ball waved her hands and it projected an image overhead. The ships approaching them were all of a kind, sailing vessels capable of going across the lakes or down the major rivers, weighing about twelve hundred tons each, with twin catapults mounted on a forecastle and a pair of masts holding three sails each. They wouldn't have been out of place in eleventh century Earth, and had probably been the terror of these lakes in their day.

Their day is over, the commodore thought as he studied them closely. He glanced over at the captain, wondering when the man would order his forward guns to open fire. He refrained from giving the order himself. After all, this was Kelliosos' ship.

"Fire as they bear," shouted the captain, his command echoed as it reached down to the gun deck.

The forward guns fired one after the other in quick succession. They didn't go off with a roar or the crump of an Earthly gun, but with more of a popping hiss. It was still loud, almost deafening. but it wasn't gunpowder, which didn't perform on this world. Instead, a gem of magical power was shattered by the trigger and superheated the water in the compression chamber, sending the ball out at high speed. At first Hauser hadn't been sure the idea was workable, but the army had proven it in the field with smaller guns, and his own people had practiced with them until they could get off two shots a minute. That was up to the standard of the pre-steam Royal Navy, and nothing to sneeze at.

The first shots hit the water to the front and port of the middle ship. Hannover fired moments later, missing as well. Washington got off her two shots, one raising a plume of water into the air, the other hitting her target in a crash of splintering wood. Splinters flew through the air, the shrapnel that could cut down the crews on those ships.

The ships continued to close. The catapults fired on the enemy ships, sending balls of fire at the ironclads. Arrows rose into the air and arched down. The catapult balls hit the armor and slid off, or stuck while they burned, and none did anything to the wood under the armor. Same with the arrows, hitting the hull, or the shields of embarked soldiers.

The guns barked again, and this time New Berlin got a hit, her ball hitting the bow and bursting up through the deck. Hannover missed again, while Washington got a second hit.

"Helm, ninety degrees to port!" yelled out the captain.

The helmsman spun the wheel, turning the starboard side of the ship toward the enemy. The commodore approved of that decision, and looking out of the side panel he saw the ship on that side was doing the same.

The ten guns opened in sequence, sending a broadside into the enemy, walking the balls along into the bow of the opposing vessel. Six shots hit and plowed through the bow, blowing splinters from the deck as they penetrated from front to rear, the classic crossing the T shot. The other ships fired moments later, and both got hits.

A mage-launched fireball came at New Berlin, causing Hauser to cringe as it grew closer, waiting for the explosion of flame that would take out the bridge. He recalled in a fast flashback what mages had done to tanks with the best armor that humanity could make. The fireball hit the mage-erected barrier before it struck, flashing, splashing, and then falling away, though the shield weakened with the strike.

All the ships fired again as they bore, sending their balls out into the enemy vessels. One lost a mast as it cracked off below deck and leaned until it fell over the vessel, creating a drag that pulled the ship around in a circle.

"Ninety degrees to starboard!" shouted the captain, and the helmsman spun the wheel back the other way.

Two of the six ships were starting to list: one was missing two masts, the other one. A couple of fireballs came out to strike the human ships, followed by some catapult balls. The fireballs that made it through the shield burst on the armor and burned for a dozen seconds, failing to penetrate the steel, and Hauser breathed a sigh a relief. The ships fired their forward guns again, then pulled them in and closed their ports, retiring them from this part of the fight.

The enemy ships that were still making way were crowded with crew, lined up around the side with weapons ready, to either board or repel. One got in the way of Hannover, whose ram sliced into the wooden bow of the ship and threw her aside to start sinking. The ironclads fired their broadsides, taking on ships to both sides. Some of the balls flew through the wooden hulls and struck the armored hulls of sister ironclads, merely bouncing away.

As the ships drove through they left three enemy ships sinking in the wake, while the other three were severely damaged.

"Should we keep going, sir?" asked the captain.

"You will come about, Captain. I want those two remaining ships sent to the bottom."

If they were left to their own devices they might make repairs, and there would be cargo ships coming along this route soon after. He didn't intend to leave these raptors behind. It might cost them an hour getting to their target, but that was something he could live with.

*  *  *

The march went on, but no one in the reduced company was as relaxed as they had been. The enemy had proven that they were ready, willing and able to raid at any time, day or night. They had been hitting hard since the army had gotten over the last large river. Dieter's unit had not been hit again, but several other brigades had been struck hard. The army had been forced to pull in the cavalry patrols to reinforce the columns. But the enemy seemed to have learned as well, and it appeared they weren't quite as enthusiastic about attacking the infantry as they had been.

Everyone was now wearing their helmets all through the march, unlike before when comfort was more important. The helmets had been forged by the dwarves from the aluminum of military vehicles and aircraft, covered with a thin layer of high-strength steel, and padded inside with the foam taken from the numerous seats that had come across with military and civilian vehicles. They were shaped more like American football helmets than the original Roman type, and were more likely to allow a sword or arrow to glance off rather than penetrate. The pull-down visors were left up. The other thing different from the original were the shoulder pads, that looked much like the pads worn by football players, with the addition of panels down the upper area of the outer biceps/triceps. The shields were also a composite of Earth made and native materials, lighter than a wooden shield, but much tougher. Sometimes they were carried across the back, but not after the attacks. Now they were strapped to the left arm, and the soldier was able to grab the strap of his web gear and hold it up more easily.

All of the men carried their two and a half meter spears with a meter long section screwed on, giving them a three and a half meter weapon, almost eleven and a half feet in the measurements of the Americans. Straps were attached to the shaft, so that the men could carry them much like a rifle, not quite as handily, but still easier than holding it slanted over the shoulder. Fortunately for the troops, a lot of nylon equipment came over with the people who were carrying them, so every soldier had web gear with pouches for rations and canteens, and attachment points for weapons' sheaths. They were a strange combination of ancient and modern, but they were the best combination the minds of the natives and newcomers could come up with, and it made them the best-equipped infantry on the planet.

"Will you look at that," said Humphrey, turning his head to watch three animals trotting by the side of the road, heading to the front of the army.

"First time you've seen the wolves?" asked Dieter, a smile on his face. Bubbuh wasn't in the column. The big sergeant was again riding in a wagon since his leg wound had reopened, and required more healing.

"I've heard of them," said Humphrey, his eyes locked on the lead wolf, the largest of the group, with white paws rising above the grass as he walked.

There were five wolves in the group: the large male who had to have weighed just under a hundred kilograms, a slightly smaller male, and three that had the gangly looks of almost adult pups. Dieter knew the story behind the beasts. They had been engineered by Dr. Vogel Kreigle, a German geneticist who had been trying to develop a more intelligent variety of canine. The scientist had gone for plains wolf size, an extinct canine, in order to allow for a larger brain cavity and thus, a larger brain. Judging by the bulge of their craniums, it looked like it had succeeded. He had heard that they had been as smart as dolphins on Earth. On Refuge they had exhibited mental abilities beyond those of the most powerful hominids. Now the alliance was on a mission to breed as many of the creatures as they could, considering them a force multiplier.

Well hello there, thought Dieter, who had a modicum of mindspeak himself, though not enough for consideration as a com expert.

The largest wolf stopped and looked his way, followed by the heads of the other four. The sergeant felt a tingle run up his spine, as if the creatures were checking out his mind. Then they turned and were off again.

"And I bet we don't see anything like that today," said Humphrey. "You know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," Dieter said with a smile. At least he could hope that was the most noteworthy thing he would see this day, since most of the noteworthy things on this world could turn out to be horrors.

Half an hour later another noteworthy event happened, one that dropped seeing the wolves down to second place.

"Is that them?" asked Humphrey, who was now in the formation beside the German sergeant, who was in charge of the revamped squad after battle losses.

Six large horses rode along the side of the road. Each had a human riding on it, and all of them had on fine armor. The leading male, a giant with blond hair, wore plate armor, as did the sandy-haired man who was even larger. One of the people was thinner, with black hair, and another was of average height, but was as muscular as the two giants were. There were two tall women riding with them. One with classic features and skin of brown, much lighter than Bubbuh's, though Dieter understood that she came from the American sergeant’s home state. The other was a fair-skinned beauty with sapphire eyes.

The troops started cheering as they saw the sextet, the mightiest warriors in the army. On Earth they would be superbeings, or superheros. Here they were even more powerful, with mental powers as great as any known, unprecedented healing powers, and the same immunity to magic as the protected. They had saved the army’s bacon back at the last bridge when the hell creatures had come.

All of the immortals raised their hands into the air and waved to the soldiers.

"Kurt. Kurt. Kurt," yelled the soldiers. He was one of their own in many ways, from Earth and from a Western country, having lived in modern Europe. But he was different in many ways as well, having fought in a war that had very few survivors, all the rest without the immortal trait taken out by age. Izabella Kozlowski was even older, and the Jewish man, Ismael Levine was the oldest of all. There were several other people riding with them, all priests and mages. And Kurt had been proclaimed the prophesied savior of the people of this planet. Here to rescue them from the evil gods and their worshipers who wanted to subjugate all others.

They were soon out of sight, riding toward the very front of the army. Dieter was sure that would be the last fantastic thing they would see this day, at least one that wasn't trying to kill them.

"It's the bards," yelled out a soldier in the company behind. The four horses rode by, followed by several more that were leading pack mules full of equipment.

The bards had also been instrumental in the bridge battle, the magical quality of their music having caused severe discomfort to the demons.

"Maybe we'll have another concert tonight," said Humphrey, smiling.

"And yes, I know what you mean," said Dieter, cutting him off before he could make his signature pronouncement.

*  *  *

'Well, the soldiers seem to be in fine spirits today," said Kurt, raising a hand and waving to another company. He still had trouble looking at the infantry armor without a short laugh. To him they looked like something from a post-apocalyptic movie on Earth, but it seemed to work.

"You have to enjoy life while you have it," said Jackie, frowning. "They've got to take their pleasure while they can."

"Why so morose today, liebschen?" he asked the woman who was his lover.

"I keep thinking of that poor Ellala priestess," she said, shaking her head. "We took her fiance' off on a quest, and he was the only one of us that didn't come back. I don't think I've ever seen someone hit so hard by the death of a lover."

"And how would you feel if I died?" asked Kurt.

"She would find solace in my arms, my friend," said Gregor Babich in his heavy accent.

Izabella slammed her fist into his shoulder, and he laughed. The two were lovers, and the flare of exasperation colored her eyes.

Kurt laughed, earning a dirty look from Jackie.

"There is no way you're going to die," said Jackie, shaking her head, "unless I'm the one to kill you. And there's no way you're going to die. We're immortal."

"I wish that were true, my dear," said Levine, a frown on his face. "I have met some of our kind through the ages, very few. Some went away and I have no knowledge what happened to them. Perhaps some are on this world, perhaps not. But I know of the deaths of two of our kind. One burned to death, one who starved when she was trapped in an avalanche."

"So as long as we keep from being burned to death, and have a source of nourishment, we are safe?" asked Paul in his rumbling basso voice.

The Brit, the former executive officer of the Sherwood Foresters of the British Army on the Rhine, was the second youngest of the immortals, and the largest. Not the strongest, since age brought on greater strength in their kind, much as it did in crocodiles. Levine was actually the strongest of them, with his two thousand years of life. Izabella at almost three hundred years was about of equal strength to Kurt, despite being two fifths of his mass.

"Those are only the means I know about," Levine said in a cautioning voice. "I can think of other ways we could die. I'm not sure what happens if we lose our heads. The head can't grow another body, even if it could survive without the other organs long term. If the body could grow a new head. It wouldn't be you. And what about drowning, or other means of asphyxiation? Don't ever believe we are truly immortal, my boy. Nothing is eternal, not even the universe."

"Well, that's one way to ruin my mood," said the Brit with a short laugh.

"Well, Leinora" said Kurt, looking back at the Conyastoya priestess who rode with them, an ever youthful woman who had proclaimed that she was over fifteen hundred years old. "Do you think we are truly immortal, from the standpoint of a people who live more than twenty times longer than the general members of my race?"

High Priestess Colonel Glassadora, a powerful healer and the chief medical officer of the first legion, frowned for a moment before speaking. "I can't say that you are," she finally said. "General Levine is not even as old as our eldest leaders, but he has the aura of someone who will live a long long time. I can see no end to his existence in his binding energy, that which holds his life force to his body. The same with you, Lord Kurt. Humans have weak binding energy, dwarves more, and all of the races of elves so much more. None approach your projected lifespan, but can you die? I believe that anything can die, and I have to salute the courage of a being that could possibly live for a million years in putting that life span at risk."

"I wouldn't know what else to do," said Gregor. "I was a soldier of my people. I fought for them, and I will fight for those I am with now."

"And your bloody people started the bloody war that sent us here," growled Paul, glaring back at the Russian. "If not for you, we wouldn't be here."

"I did not fire the first atomic weapon, my friend," said Babich, his eyes narrowing. "That was the fault of your American friends."

"And we did not fire first," said Jackie. "It has always been the policy of the United States to not use nuclear weapons first."

"Hah! Tell that to the Japanese."

"Easy, my friends," said Kurt, motioning downward with his hands. "If there is anyone you should be angry at, it is me and my people, my Russian friend. After all, over thirty million of your people died in my war, and millions of my own."

"That is ancient history, Kurt," said Gregor, shaking his head. "They might be my ancestors, but they are not people I know. Unlike the people in my homeland who were incinerated by NATO warheads."

"It's all ancient history," said Levine, looking from face to face, turning in his saddle to make sure he made eye contact with everyone. "We are no longer on that world, and everyone there, living or dead, is lost to us. Unless they happen to come over, in which case they are in the same fix we find ourselves in. We have an enemy in front of us that requires all of our attention, and we can't afford to fight among ourselves."

"Besides," said Paul with a tight smile. "I didn't launch any of the weapons, and neither did Jackie. And I seriously doubt Gregor pushed any buttons on his side."

"I was an infantryman," said the Russian. "I had control of my company, and all of the weapons we carried, and that was all."

"I think you are all crazy," said the dwarven warpriest Garios na Gonron, looking decidedly uncomfortable on horseback. "Throwing around weapons that can kill millions in one blast, like the two you used here."

"You have to admit, they were to our advantage," said Paul.

"Yes, but at what cost to the soul? They angered the gods."

"Because your gods are jealous children," said Jackie, pointing a finger at the dwarf, "who want to keep all the power in their own hands."

"And yours isn't?" growled the priest. "I have read the holy book of your people, and I would not want to worship that god."

"All of this is bullshit," said the Archmage Colonel James Drake, one of the most brilliant of the newcomers, with graduate work in physics and natural power as a firemage. "None of this matters. What matters is that we have a bastard that wants the souls of all of our people for his own use, and we need to stop him. Nothing else matters."

"I agree," said Kurt, hoping they could get off this subject and back to things that might actually be helpful. This was now their world, now and forever, and they had to work together to make it as hospitable a world as possible for their people, and those who were friendly to them. "We need to talk about what we are going to do in the here and now."

Everyone was silent for almost half an hour, lost in their own thoughts as they rode on. Then Paul opened his mouth again, and the argument was off and running. All Kurt could do this time was keep his mouth shut, hope the time would go by quickly, and they would reach Delgado's headquarters, now up ahead, before several of the immortals tried to prove that there were other ways for them to die.

Chapter Sixteen

"Dragons," called out a voice from the top deck, followed by the clanging of bells.

Commodore Hauser looked up to the ceiling, recalling that he would not be able to see what was going on up there, then ran to the ladder leading to the top deck. That deck was divided into two sections, fore and aft of the stacks. It had a meter-high armored wall along the outside, where troops on deck could shelter from other ships and the shore. Also up here were a number of anti-air weapons, deployed specifically in case of dragon attack. They were being cranked and deployed as the commodore came on deck.

"Sir," called out a young lieutenant. "Are you sure you want to be up here?"

"I want to see how our defenses work, Lieutenant," said Hauser, his eyes scanning the sky, looking for the beasts. Theoretically, they would be able to hurt them if they came in for an attack, possibly even kill them, as long as they weren't dealing with a great wyrm. The armor of those beasts would most likely repel anything they had.

"There they are, sir," the young officer said, pointing up and to the horizon.

There were five of the beasts and they looked big enough in the distance, though nowhere near the size of a great wyrm. Still, this would be the first time an ironclad ran into any kind of dragon, and the outcome was not a sure thing.

The forward upper deck contained a dozen of the single scorpions, like a long narrow crossbow that swiveled easily for aiming. There were an equal number of arrow machines, each containing thirty of the meter and a half long shafts, fired in a volley by the five bow arms. They could penetrate three times as far as any bow-launched arrows. There were also six swinging cannon firing one-kilogram balls, and the numerous archers. The stern deck had half as much armament, as befitting its shorter length. There had been talk of mounting full artillery pieces up here, but the decision had been made to restrict them to the gun deck, since there were not that many of them yet. They would gain greater protection against the type of things the ships were most likely to meet. There were also several mages on the deck, the old remedy for fighting dragons, though often very rough on the mages.

"Get ready, lads," yelled out the voice of one of the chief petty officers. "Here they come."

Hauser looked over at where the petty officer was pointing, seeing the dragons, now lower and heading for the rearmost ship. The alliance had been experimenting with using battlehawks as dive bombers, dropping fifty or eighty-kilogram pieces of metal shaped to have low wind resistance and high penetration value. Obviously, the air warfare specialists of the Ellala Empire hadn't learned that lesson. The dragons were going to come in low and slow, making them perfect targets.

Of course, he was also a pretty good target up here on the top deck and burning to death was not his idea of the best way to go out. But he had come up here, and he couldn't flee below without everyone thinking him a coward. He was up here, so he had to stay. And he had to have faith in his people to kill the attackers.

The stern most vessel, New Hannover, loosed before the dragons got within range of their breath weapons. None of the larger bolts hit, and only one dragon was hit with machine launched arrows, swerving and dipping, but not falling out of the sky.

Three of the dragons were able to get off bursts of flame that covered the rear upper deck. Men screamed and several fell over the side, their bodies on fire. As they flew over, the front two of the dragons released gouts of fire, rolling them across the deck. More screams, more burning men running. A ball of fire rose from the deck and hit the rearmost dragon, blasting it with magical fire, engulfing the rider and shredding one of the wings. The dragon turned over in the air and hit the water in a heavy splash. It wasn't dead, and came back to the surface to try to swim to shore like a lizard.

One of the other dragons intercepted a trio of bolts, followed by a score of meter and a half arrows. That dragon also fell into the water, and this one did not resurface. A rider slumped over another dragon, an arrow through his armored back. The dragon continued on, heading for the second target, the Washington.

Washington was ready, and a swarm of projectiles headed into the dragons. Only one was left, its rider dead, flapping heavily with a bolt through its body. An arrow machine on New Berlin took care of the last beast, dropping it into the water to float like a fallen log.

They hadn't gotten away unscathed. Men had died on the other two ships. He wasn't sure of how many, but it could be a significant number. Nevertheless, the defense had worked, at least against one small half squadron. He wasn't sure how they would have handled a swarm, but there weren't that many left.

A boat was being lowered over the side, half a dozen rowers and four priests aboard. They were sending healers back to the other ships. Possibly some of those burned men would be returned to duty. The dead would be given a river burial.

*  *  *

“Well, this is the next obstacle we face,” said Lt. General Delgado, hitting the pointer on the table.

The army field headquarters was set up in a large clearing, a brigade of infantry encamped to provide security. It was a general purpose large tent provided by the US Army, and the largest they used. Raiders had been hitting the columns regularly, mostly barbarian horsemen, with some groups of Grogatha. They hadn’t done much to the columns, who were capable of fighting them off, but they had taken a toll on the supply convoys, forcing the alliance to send more cavalry back to escort them. Going back and forth over the same stretches of road would be wearing out the cavalry.

[We faced the same thing in Russia,] sent Kurt to Jackie. [The further we got into the territory of the Ivans, the more soldiers we needed to protect our supply lines. And we didn’t have them to spare.]

“There is the River Allasos, in between us and their capital city of A’ataponia. From the drawings I have seen, it looks like this planet’s version of New York City. Maybe not nearly as big, but impressive still. And it’s built right on this river. Now I wasn’t about to try and take the bridge into the city, since its far end fort is the city, and I didn’t want to try and take that from the narrow confines of a bridge. Aerial recon shows that they are starting to demolish the bridge, which really works in our favor, since it removes a pathway into our rear areas during our attack.”

“And just how do you expect to attack them, sir?” asked one of the brigade commanders, Colonel Ellison Standitch.

“I’m so glad you asked, Colonel,” said Delgado in a conspiratorial tone, showing that Standitch was primed to ask the question. “We are going to do an old-fashioned amphibious assault, and take the far shore, then set up on the field on that side of the city. And Colonel Standitch’s brigade will be leading the way, since they haven’t seen much action thus far.”

“Like D-day, sir?” asked another officer, and some of the people in the large tent laughed.

“Well, not quite as big, nor as complicated,” said Delgado with a smile. “I’m thinking more like we ferry a division across to hold the landing zone, and then move another across the next day. We’ll have the ironclads here by then, so we shouldn’t have any worries about the enemy cutting our supply line.”

“And if they decide to use their dragons?” asked Paul Mason-Smythe in his rumbling voice. “They still have them you know, sir.”

“And we have more,” said Delgado, fixing the Brit with a cold stare. “And from what I understand, the ironclads took on a dragon attack, six of them I believe, and splashed all of them. Without losing a ship. If they still have enough to threaten us, I will put every asset we have in the air to interdict them.”

Delgado turned to look around the room. “Believe me, gentlemen and ladies. We are going to press this attack across the river. And then we are going to go all out to take the city before winter closes down the campaigning season.”

Kurt stood there looking at the general. He couldn’t blame the man for wanting to take the enemy capital before winter, so that the army didn’t have to spend four local months out in the weather. But he also recalled Stalingrad, and how they had wanted to capture a city before winter at the end of a long supply line. And had ended fighting well into the winter, until cut off. His unit had been in Army Group Center, so he hadn’t experience the dreadful conditions of Sixth Armee, and he didn’t want to have to experience it here, either.

*  *  *

“We have been communing with our goddess, General,” said the high priest of Arathonia. “And I cannot guarantee that she will send angels to combat the demons if you face them again.”

“That’s not good,” said Taylor, putting down the report he was reading. They weren’t facing as many of the Ellala in the field as before, and intelligence thought they were running short of trained warriors, holding back what they had to the battle of the capital. What they did have were barbarians, mostly eastern nomads, with some western red humans and Grogatha sprinkled in, to keep hitting the supply lines. Two thirds of their supplies were still getting through, but that one third could be the difference between the army making it through the winter or not. The good news was that the cargo steamers would be ready for deployment in three weeks, and then they could ship supplies uninterrupted to the Allasos River, where the enemy would be deployed.

“Does your goddess want us to win this thing or not?” asked Taylor, fixing the priest with a cold stare. “If not, maybe we should just pack it in and retreat back to our valley. Let the bastard have his way with your people while we worry about our own.”

“The goddess would not like that, General Taylor. In fact, she would be very angry with you and yours. She might send you crop failures, plagues or famine.”

“So what you’re saying is that your goddess is no better than the god of the son of a bitch we are fighting. If that’s the case, I think it would be well within our rights to withdraw from her campaign.”

“She…she is not like the one you battle against,” said the high priest, eyes wide in horror. “How dare you say such a thing?”

“From where I sit she looks pretty much the same. If they both deal in plagues and famine, how are they different? And maybe we would be better served to follow the Gods of Law. The dwarves do that, and they seem to do pretty well.”

From the look on the Ellala’s face, he had gotten him with that one. There were four pantheons of gods on this world competing for worshipers, from which they gained their powers. Someone worshiping in one pantheon gained protection from all the others. Limited, sure, and not something guaranteed to protect an individual from the wrath of another, but a nation? They seemed to get along well with one or the other. If Arathonia lost a million worshipers, all of whom switched to the Gods of Law, she would be hurt. Not just emotionally, but in her energy reserve, where it really mattered.

“You don’t understand, General. It is tradition that our Queen not interfere so directly into the affairs of mortals.”

“While Bothar does whatever the hell he wants, sending demons and monsters to help fight his battles?”

“Arathonia gives her servants power.”

“But not as much as Bothar, who allows his to call up demons, or bloodsuckers and shapeshifters. Doesn’t seem like much of a bargain for me.

“Get me one of the dwarven priests,” yelled Taylor from his office, then kicked back to continue to stare at the discomfited Ellala priest.

In minutes, one of the armored priests of the mountain dwarves was in his office, a question on his broad face as he saw the slender Ellala standing there.

“Nosthos,” said Taylor. “Would you be willing to preside over the conversion of the majority of my people to Loristrates?”

The dwarf looked dumbstruck for some moments, and then smiled, while the Ellala continued to scowl.

“The leader of my God’s pantheon would be happy to accept so many of you as worshipers.”

“The priests who convert would lose the healing power of Arathonia,” blurted out the Ellala.

“But Loristrates has healers of his own,” said Nosthos.

“Thank you, Nosthos,” said Taylor, bowing his head to the dwarf. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

The dwarf bowed back, clearly confused, but getting the message.

“I will not order my people to convert. That goes against the freedoms of my land on the other world.”

The Ellala nodded, a look of relief on his face.

“However, if the deity my people serve will not serve them as well, and not to same extent as her enemy, I can see many of them switching religions on their own,” said Taylor, who then gestured for the elf to leave.

The man walked out, a troubled look on his face. Taylor sat back and laughed. He had found the sore spot of the clerics on this world. Just like on Earth, the size of the congregations mattered. And he had given them something to think about.

Chapter Seventeen

Colonel Antwoin McGurk tried to stretch as best he could in his armor, cursing the heavy outerwear as he had never cursed his tank. The horse, a large destrier, snorted under him, and he bit back the curse he was about to level on it. The beast didn't deserve that, and he needed to stay on the good side of it, since it was not only his transportation, but also one of his weapons.

He looked at the men around him. All were without helmets or gauntlets, trying to cool off as much as possible. The colonel knew he should insist on them wearing their full covering at this juncture of the march, when contact with the enemy was imminent. Since he wasn't willing to wear all of it himself, he really couldn't ask them not to do likewise.

The horse snorted again, and he thought it might want water, or maybe food. He had been a tanker, working in armored cavalry in the US Army. A tank was a machine, with gauges that told him when it needed more coolant or fuel. Air conditioned, with a comfortable seat that didn't beat his ass to a pulp. He had ridden on Earth, both at the Point and when he visited his grandmother's ranch in New Mexico, where his father had grown up. He had never been what anyone would call an expert. Now he had ridden thirty times more than he ever had on Earth, and he still wasn't an expert.

"We need to water the animals," said his sergeant major, who as a native of this world was an expert on horses. "According to the map, there should be a stream about two kilometers ahead just off the road.

"I could use a little bit of a rest myself," said McGurk, looking at the map the Ellala man was holding. Sometimes he felt like the Ellala, with their greater life spans, magical natures and physical grace and beauty, resented working under humans who had none of those attributes. Sergeant Major Cannastras seemed to have no resentment for the humans, possibly because of their technical expertise and technological knowhow. And the fact that humans were better suited to heavy cavalry due to their strength.  Cannastras himself was heavier and more muscular than most elves, to the point where he was considered an anomaly, maybe looked down upon himself.

"Let’s get the lead riders watered first, and then we can put them out on sentry while the rest of the regiment is taken care of."

The sergeant major gave a very human nod, something he and many of the peoples of this world had picked up from the newcomers.

"Will do, sir," said the Ellala, closing his eyes and going into mindspeak with the commanders of the lead two troops of the first squadron.

McGurk spurred his horse forward, coughing as the dust of the dry road rose up around him from the horses ahead. Another thing he missed about tanks. They had a filtration system that delivered only fresh breathing air. While here you got whatever happened to be out in the air. All the smoke, all the smells. Including the sickly-sweet stink of dead bodies, another thing he had become much too familiar with on this world.

The stream was where it was supposed to be, and was hard to miss, since the road went over a small stone bridge that crossed it. A couple of troops were already there, the dismounted men letting their horses drink, about two hundred and seventy men and beasts.

"Get those horses downstream of the bridge," yelled McGurk, glaring at one of the troop commanders. "How in the hell do you think we're going to fill our own water bags?"

The troop commander's face reddened, then he started to yell at his own troops, getting them moving. Where horses drank, the water soon became very muddy, and his people didn't like the idea of having grit in their drinking water. The stream was fast flowing, so it wouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to for the upstream area to clear. Meanwhile...

"Regimental staff, to me," shouted McGurk in the command voice he had developed since becoming heavy cavalry, where he could no longer depend on radio.

The twenty or so members of his staff came over, not including his exec, who was further back in the column. The troopers set as security fanned out around him, while the sergeant major and his adjutant, as well as his intelligence officer and the other staff, crowded around.

"Well, that bridge shows that we are here," he said, squatting down with the map on the ground. "I could wish we had a better map, but without aircraft or satellites, this is the best we can do."

Troopers came up to get their horses and water bags to care for both man and beast. The horses moved off with alacrity as they were led to the water.

The Earth soldiers around him smiled, while the natives gave uncomprehending looks. For a hand-drawn map, it was actually pretty good. However, the scale was suspect. McGurk wouldn't have wanted to use it to call in artillery, but since they no longer had that kind of called fire at their command, it wasn't a problem.

"I think we can make it to this point by nightfall, and link up with the light cavalry scouting ahead."

"What about the infantry coming behind us?" asked the sergeant major. "I thought we were supposed to provide cover for them against the enemy."

"Fourth regiment can handle that chore," said the colonel. "We have been tasked with joining our cavalry forces and hitting the barbarians who have been sighted on these grasslands, here."

"How do we know they're going to still be there?" asked Lt. Steiner, the adjutant.

"Well, our dragons spotted them there today, and they had set up horse paddocks while wagons came in with supplies from the evil Ellala bastard. We're pretty sure they're still going to be there tomorrow, but the next day? By then they'll probably be scattered to hell and gone. Which means we have to strike them by tomorrow, and no later. We'll have two other heavy cavalry regiments, along with two of light, which will give us over twelve thousand men and horses. The dragon riders thought there were about twenty thousand of them, so we'll be outnumbered. But we'll have the advantage in quality of arms and armor. We'll hit them hard from three axes, while the light horse cuts off their retreat. If any do get out, they'll be running for a week."

The other staff members were all smiling now. They all knew about the raids that had been launched along the logistics trail of the army. A few times the combat brigades had been hit, but the enemy soon learned that was not the way to success, only to hard knocks. They were still hitting wagons that were coming up from the rear. There were also dragon strikes, not many, but very destructive when they did come. There was nothing the cavalry could do about them, and the alliance dragon corps had made them pay for those hits. Still, every wagon lost was dragging on the army that needed those supplies, and they would do what they could.

"Okay," said McGurk, looking up as troopers brought their horses back from their drinks and distributed water bags. They were soon back on their mounts and headed toward their night camp, where they would prepare for the next day's battle.

*  *  *

"We're ready, sir," said Major Jackson Taylor, the exec of the regiment. "Colonels Patrick and Tonoshi report their regiments are ready to move out on your orders."

McGurk nodded, hanging his water bag back on its hook. He would be the overall leader of this attack. There were some brigadiers of cavalry, one with the rearmost legion, the other in the Refuge valley as the inspector of horse. That left him the ranking cavalry officer on the spot.

"Are the two light regiments ready?"

"Ready, bows notched."

The plan had been changed somewhat during the night. A couple of squadrons worth of horse archers would ride in with the heavy cavalry, which had its own bowmen, just not in the proportions of the scout units. The heavy cavalry was not what someone from Earth would have thought of when they heard the term. They did not wear heavy plate all over their bodies, but rather a combination of chain and plate. They had chain from head to foot, with greaves and boots on their legs, a leather skirt much like that worn by the infantry, and breast and back plates on the body. Their shoulder armor and helmets were very similar as those of the infantry, and there were bands of metal covering the upper arms and wrists. The horses were also armored, with plates on their foreheads and a small target on the chest, and light chain barding over the body. They were still more exposed than their riders, but much more armor would slow them to a walk. They were as protected as they could practically be.

Most of the troopers had heavy lances, about four fifths of them, while officers and standard-bearers did not. And a fifth of the troopers had heavy recurve horsebows that took a strong man or elf to draw, and two quivers of thirty long shafts each.

"Colonel," one of the NCOs called out in a voice that carried, but not too far. "We have visitors."

McGurk turned, wondering what fools he had to put up with now. Someone higher ranking, who would take command and change the plan. Never a good thing this close to an attack. He had learned in the past from his studies how that almost never worked out. In fact, it often resulted in disaster. The Battle of the Crater in the civil war came to mind, when a racist general with doubts that black soldiers could fight switched them out with white units that hadn't been trained for the fight until the last minute. The attack had failed and the attacking forces, black and white, had been slaughtered.

"I would like to know if we can join your attack, Colonel McGurk," said a deep voice in German accented English.

"General," said McGurk in a choked voice as the large blond man on a huge warhorse rode through the brush and into sight. "You are welcome to accompany us."

What else could you say, when the Immortal Lord who was the prophesied savior of the world rode up, his immortal consort with him.

"Would the General like to assume command?"

"No, McGurk. I see no need for that. I trust you have set your forces well. What else would I expect from the man who killed a great wyrm and gained the treasure to finance our kingdom."

The colonel blushed slightly at the praise. He had indeed killed a great wyrm red dragon, the largest anyone in this region had ever seen. His armored cavalry company had been scouting a small valley when a monster the size of Godzilla had crawled out of a cave and killed some of his vehicles. It had armor so thick that no native weapon could even scratch it. However, even those thick scales hadn't been proof against the one hundred twenty millimeter silver bullet penetrators of the Abrams tanks. Three rounds through the head and the dragon had died, and a legendary hoard of treasure, gold, gems and artifacts, had been found. Because of that, the German and American nation in the Refuge valley had been able to buy everything they needed, including mercenary soldiers and dwarven craftsmen. McGurk had been awarded a Silver Star, the highest medal that Taylor was authorized to give, and immediate promotion to major, soon followed by elevation to light colonel.

"Thank you, sir. Will you join my command group for the charge?"

"Thank you, colonel, but myself and Colonel Smith would do better riding in the front ranks. Don't worry about our safety. We're very hard to kill."

But not impossible, was his thought. He considered the hell that would come his way if these two died in an operation he commanded, but he really had no choice. They could join whatever attack they wanted. They could have taken command if they wanted, and considering that Kurt had been fighting wars before Antwoine’s father had been born, he probably would have done at least as good a job.

"The attack is scheduled for nine minutes," said McGurk, looking at the mechanical watch he wore. Several thousand had made it across and were now distributed to those who could use them the most. The battery-powered versions had died within a year, most of them. There was talk about more wind-up watches and clocks, something not beyond the skill of some of the humans. And one being taught to some of the elves, dwarves, and gnomes who would soon be turning out those implements as well. "Do you need a moment to relieve yourselves?"

"I think we're fine," said Kurt, looking over at his consort, who nodded in return.

"Then you can choose your place in the line, and we'll go ahead and get ready."

At three minutes before the attack all of the heavy cavalry were lined up, just inside the forest that bounded the grasslands. McGurk closed his eyes and linked with the mind of a hawk rider, cruising at high altitude. The rider was looking down over the grasslands, at the camp of the nomads. There were horse-lines around the camp, yurt-like tents covering the area within. Hundreds of wagons, driven by Ellala, were at the outside of the camp, and the nomads were unloading food and weapons given them by their employers. The colonel thought they must have believed that they were getting a good deal here, well supplied and with the promise of a lot of loot. They were about to find out that the deal was not as good as they thought.

*  *  *

Captain Ellisara Kellisa, a Conyastoya elf and battlehawk rider, drifted over the grassland, her bird riding the updrafts. She was high enough up that it was unlikely she would be spotted. The cold, high winds blew into her heavy coat, tossing her long braided hair around her head. She shivered from the cold, wishing she could get lower and warmer. But this was her job, and she needed to be on station until the task was through.

Her sharp eyes couldn't make out much detail on the ground. What she could see was the immense camp of the nomads, and the line of another train of wagons coming from the Ellala Empire. The people down there seemed unaware that they were about to come under attack, and Kellisa shook her head at the thought of the lack of discipline among the barbarians. They obviously had riders scattered around the grassland, but had just as obviously ignored the forests around them. To a wood dwelling elf's way of thinking, it was not a smart move.

[What's it look like?] came the mindspeak of the human commanding the cavalry. She enjoyed the mental contact with the intelligent young man, who had done well as a warrior in a strange land.

[They're there, and not ready to repel an attack. Look.] She opened her mind so the human could look through her eyes. It was a very personal process, since it also exposed her surface thoughts to the man, and not everyone could bring themselves to do it. Which made one like her valuable to the army.

[Looks good. We're currently moving out of the forest. Let me know if there's any reaction.]

Kellisa acknowledged as she set her bird into a circling path that took her closer to the forest, then back over the camp. She saw the lines of cavalry come out of the forest, straggling out at first, then lining up into straight lines that would be beyond the abilities of the cavalry of the barbarians to copy. Lined up, the cavalry started off at a walk. They would continue that walk, getting closer to the enemy, until she sent the signal to the commander that the nomads were reacting to them. There was no point in letting the horses run and make the ground rumble, allowing the enemy to detect them well before they came into sight.

Despite their deficits, the people from Earth were much more intelligent in so many subjects than were the natives: farming, building, technology, and, of course, warfare. They were not unbeatable, but they were unlikely to lose to the same tactics twice. One of them had told her about their Romans, who were famous for adapting to the tactics of their enemies. The modern ones seemed just as adaptable to her.

The heavy cavalry advanced like a tide rolling over a beach, something she had never seen, but had heard enough tales of from the newcomers. They rode across kilometers of grassland. The grazing animals that had called it home had been killed or driven off by the nomads, so there were no panicked herds to reveal their presence. She hoped after people were gone from this prairie that the beasts would return. To her people, land was worth nothing without plants and animals.

When the heavy cavalry was within three kilometers, easily visible across the flat land even with their camouflage spell in place, they were spotted. The enemy started to move: grabbing saddles for the horses and getting weapons ready. In such a large camp that took time, and from what she could see it was a race they would not win.

[They see you,] she sent.

[We're moving,] sent back the colonel, and the lines of cavalry increased their advance as they went into a trot.

The hawk rider continued to circle and observe, ready to provide aerial intelligence to the advancing force as needed.

*  *  *

"They've seen us," called out McGurk, still in contact with the hawk rider. "Sound trot."

They were still three kilometers from the edge of the camp, much too far for the heavy horses to run flat out. A trot would move them at fifteen kilometers an hour, and cover the distance in twelve minutes. They would not trot that far, perhaps four minutes to cover a kilometer. The enemy would still be panicking and confused, most yet to have saddled their horses by that time. At two kilometers, the horses went into a canter, twenty kilometers per hour, covering that kilometer in three minutes. By that time, a good number of the enemy would be in their saddles, but still not ready to accept a charge. The camp would get in the way, and many would take quite a few more minutes to get into a line, or try to ride away across the grasslands. As they hit the last kilometer the bugles sounded the charge, and the horses went into a gallop. Rushing in at forty kilometers an hour, they were now less than two minutes from a strike.

The shamans of the nomads, at least the few that had a clear line of sight at the charging cavalry, starting sending their bolts of magic out into the charge. The priests and mages of the cavalry erected magical shields right after the first bolt of lightning struck down half a dozen horses and riders. They then struck back, looping fireballs and lightning bolts into the ranks of the still confused enemy cavalry. Over a hundred dropped to their assault, including some of the dangerous shamans, but they accomplished more by sowing confusion among the panicked nomads.

At four hundred meters the shafts of the nomads started arcing out, while those of the bowman of the heavy horse arced in. There was not much time for an arrow duel, and the heavy horse and riders were the best-protected soldiers on the planet. Some fell from their mounts, some few more horses went down, pulling their riders to the ground with them. They tripped up a few more horses and riders, and two injured men were trampled along the way. Lances lowered, men looked from close behind their shields through visored helmets. Then, with a thunderous crash, the heavy cavalry struck.

The horses of the nomads were out massed by more than double by the heavy beasts. Those struck chest to chest were bowled over. The men sitting in their heavy war kaks had support behind them. The nomads, sometimes taking an attack while they were still sideways on their beasts, did not, and were almost always cleared by the first strike. Metal lance heads penetrated hide-covered small shields, and then into lamellar armor. Not even full plate could stop a lance, and many a barbarian was pierced and killed with massive damage to their torsos.

About half the lance shafts broke at first strike. McGurk took a quick moment to wish that they had something better. Soon they might, but what they had now were wooden shafts, and those kind of poles shattered as often as not. Men that still had a lance after the first strike were now only able to poke them like spears. Sometimes that ended with another kill by way of a spearpoint through throat or face, or into the side of a horse. Often it did not, and frustrated horsemen dropped still intact lances to draw their melee weapons.

The heavy cavalrymen were allowed to select their own favorite weapon for this part of the fight. Most favored bastard swords that could be swung onehanded on horseback, or with two hands on foot. Some used single-bladed heavy axes, others maces, a few the ball and chain known as morning stars. The nomads were limited to short lances that were no match for heavy armor, especially when standing still. Afterward they had bows, not very useful in the developing press, or lighter longswords. Some even carried cavalry sabers that were useful against lightly armored men, but took exceptional skill to strike a heavily armored man.

The battle had turned into a smashing match of men trying to break through the defenses of the enemy. Not every strike by the heavy cavalrymen cut through the armor of the enemy. They had swords to intercept, and the lamellar armor was tough. Still, enemies were falling at an alarming rate, while only a score or less of the heavy soldiers fell for every hundred enemy. Even then, most of the alliance troops were still alive when they fell, and would eventually rejoin the ranks after some healing and rest.

McGurk parried a slender blade with his bastard sword, pushing the other blade away and returning a strike that punched through shoulder armor into the flesh below. The nomad cried out as blood spurted, and his nerveless fingers dropped his blade. The colonel struck again, this time into the neck of the man, cutting deep in and leaving a flopping body on the back of the bucking mount.

Something slammed hard into the back of the colonel, pushing him forward on his saddle. It hit him again and again as he tried to turn in his saddle, but the nomad was dancing his own mount around him. Then the attack ended, and McGurk turned to see a dead nomad raised into the air on the sword-blade of Kurt von Mannerheim.

"Are you okay, Colonel?"

"I'll make it, sir. Thank you."

The immortal gave him a quick salute and spurred back into action, his two-handed sword slicing through the helmet and skull of another nomad with one blow. The female immortal rode up to his side and took out another one, her flaming blade burning as well as cutting through the armor.

McGurk cleared his head and launched back into the fight. It seemed like they would never run out of barbarians. It didn't look like he had lost all that many men, and they were still pushing into the enemy ranks. But many of the nomads were trying to back out so they could run, their nerve gone.

Antwoine let his guard down for a moment as he surveyed the battle, ready to make the decisions needed to complete the rout of this enemy. That was when death came at him for the second time that day in the form of a huge nomad on a larger than normal horse, swinging a massive tulwar into the colonel. The strike dented armor and tossed him from his horse to land hard on the ground. For some reason he retained his grip on his sword and rolled over to see the nomad ride toward him, obviously meaning to trample him under the hooves of the horse. McGurk struggled to get to his feet, his breath still gone, adrenaline fueling him despite the lack of air.

That was when his own warhorse struck, its steel shod hooves striking the ribs of the other mount while its strong teeth nipped into the other beast's neck. The nomad horse screamed in pain and fear, bucking up, its rider holding on for dear life. The warhorse struck again, hooves hard into the ribs of the smaller mount. The nomad couldn't get control of his mount, but he could get control of himself, and he raised his tulwar to strike at the warhorse. He eyed a section of the horse’s neck that was partially uncovered, and then swinging his sword. Only to meet the sword of Colonel Antwoine McGurk as he swung it up in a two-handed grip.

The nomad brought the tulwar up and down again, striking hard into the bastard sword. McGurk felt the jarring strike all the way up to both shoulders, and he tried to get his blade back in line so he could get in the next hit. The nomad, for all his bulk, was quick as a cat. If he wasn't a chief, he was definitely a chief's guard, and he might be too much for the colonel, who had not picked up anything but a West Point ceremonial sword until a couple of years ago. The nomad brought his tulwar up again, a cruel smile on his face.

The warhorse struck again, rearing up on its hind legs and driving its hooves into the chest of the nomad, knocking him from his saddle to land on his back with a huff of air. Now it was his turn to try to get his wind back, but a bruised sternum and broken ribs made that more difficult. He was almost ready to try when an armored figure loomed over him and the point of a sword came down on his throat, making breathing completely impossible.

Antwoine walked up to his horse, which nuzzled him with his nose as he snorted in greeting. He rubbed an armored hand gently over the nose. I'm glad I had you today, and not a tank, he thought. It wouldn't have come to my rescue on its own if I was dismounted.

[Where do we stand,] he transmitted to the hawk rider.

[You troopers have cut more than halfway through the enemy,] sent the rider, showing him the image through her eyes. It looked like most of his cavalry was still mounted, and the enemy was melting away under the onslaught. [The enemy is trying to get away, and the Ellala suppliers are whipping their wagons to retreat.]

McGurk smiled. It was looking like some of the enemy was going to escape, and the servants of the bastard emperor were going to get away with them. But he knew something they did not. He continued to look through the eyes of the rider as she circled lower, no longer worried about being spotted.

The fleeing nomads were riding hell bent for leather across the grasslands, unable to see what was waiting for them. The colonel could see them; two regiments of light cavalry in their six separate squadrons, off their horses, on the ground and holding their mounts down with them. On a signal they were on their feet, pulling the horses up and mounting, then riding toward the enemy. The light cavalry had almost as much armor as the barbarians, similar but more finely made weapons, and powerful horsebows. The nomads were still in a panic, and not well organized, heading into groups of seven hundred or so disciplined troops who knew how to fight as a unit.

In another half hour, it was over. Only a few hundred of the nomads made it into the forest, where other hunters would go to work. None of the wagons or their drovers made it out.

"Good job, Colonel," said Kurt, riding up to the dismounted McGurk. "I don't think we have much to worry about with that group anymore."

"No, sir. And I hope we can get a break after this fight."

"I'm sure you understand we're going to have to keep the cavalry deployed," said Jackie, the other immortal. "Sorry, but we need to have you out there protecting our flanks, and scouting the front. And preparing to take on more of these criminals."

"I understand," said McGurk, not liking it, but understanding it. When he had been an armored cav officer, the same had held true. As long as they had fuel and ammo, they were at work. Their rest and recuperation were secondary to the mission. It was the same here.

"How bad were your losses?" asked Kurt, putting a hand on the colonel's shoulder.

"We lost some good people. But not as many as I would have feared. Maybe four hundred dead, with the same number wounded. We should get most of those back, eventually."

"And you killed over fourteen thousand barbarians," said a surprised Jackie. "Unbelievable."

"Hell, ma'am," said Antwoine, even though the woman was the same rank as he. He had no illusions as to who was the higher ranking in this assembly. "They were good fighters, real warriors. But we're soldiers, and that makes all the difference.”

Chapter Eighteen

The river was wide and deep, but not very fast. The remains of the bridge was ahead, the pylons still rising above the water, jagged at their ends. The fort at their end was still intact, but the entire roadway was gone, and no one would be crossing without boats. Which was something the alliance army was prepared to do. The enemy had truly hurt himself more taking down the bridges, since their troops in the city could sally against the rearward forces on this side of the river.

The enemy had dug in on the banks of the far side, before the walls of the great city. The high walls of the capital blocked fifteen kilometers of the river bank;, the river to the north flowing into the larger had another twenty kilometers of wall. To the south were the cliffs of the mountain range, and any landing below that would be forced to march through the alpine country. That left seven kilometers of bank that could be landed on, and the enemy had fortified that stretch with earthworks and machines, backed by thousands of archers. They might be able to take that part of the bank, though some had argued at making a landing north of the other river. The argument against that was they would still have to cross that river, and two river crossings, followed by moving an army and its supplies, might not be possible.

So the army had boats assembled, brought from up and down the river. There were hundreds of river vessels, canoes, fishing boats, and barges. Enough to carry thousands of men across in an assault wave. Maybe not enough, as the enemy would be launching rocks and arrows at those boats, and would inevitably send many to the bottom along with their armored troops. Their own dragons and hawks could work over those banks, but probably not to the complete extermination of the defenders and their engines. They had already lost nearly a dozen dragons to their defensive weapons.

Dragons were fantastic weapons, but the Earthers had come to the conclusion that they were better for hit and run, or raiding. They were too valuable to risk attacking fortified positions since it took hundreds of years for one to reach a large enough size to be used for war. Any that died could not be replaced for quite some time.

I wonder how those things are going to work, thought Lt. General Walter Delgado, looking at the three smoke spitting vessels that were maneuvering toward the far side of the river. They weren't the only steamships on the river this day. A dozen smaller ships that had been hastily cobbled together were loaded up with soldiers on their side of the river, waiting to cross, faster than the other boats. They would continue to wait until the engines on the other side had been neutralized, lest they sink some of the precious steam-powered ships.

The engines on the other side opened fire first, dropping rocks into the river short of the ships that continued to move toward them. Delgado kept waiting for them to open fire, even though he knew they would wait until they had the range to get consistent hits.

"I wish we could see what's going on," said one of the aides.

Delgado nodded. Unfortunately, they didn't have the angle to see the battle, only the off side of the ships and the parts of the bank they were not blocking was visible. Then the loud hisses of cannon sounded, and they knew he battle was on.

* *  *

The large rock flew into the side of New Berlin, bouncing off the armor with a clang.

Commodore Steffan Hauser watched the bank through his binoculars through the slit of the shutters over the windows. It wasn't a very good view, but the risk of the storm of potential arrows was too great. Even the upper decks were abandoned. If dragons appeared, the machines would be manned. Until then, there was no need to expose those men to arrows.

The seven kilometers of bank that were deemed suitable for a landing had been fortified, to a point. There was no way they could make the entire length of it impassible without using the entire garrison of the city, and there was no way the enemy was going to do that. So they had established a thick earthwork, a number of stakes out in the water to impede a landing, and strong-points every couple of hundred meters.

The strongpoints were the true threat. Mostly earthworks, held in with palisades of logs, each with over a score of machines, catapults and ballistae, and many hundreds of archers, backed up by hundreds more swordsmen. Hauser didn't have to take out all the strongpoints, but he did have to destroy their center.

More rocks bounced from the armor, followed by a couple of mage-launched fireballs that splashed off the Mithril covered armor. It didn't look like the rocks were going to be much of a problem, but enough might do some damage. He would take damage, as long as his ships stayed afloat and could continue to fight.

"We're getting ready to open fire, sir," said the captain over the speaking tube. "We will continue to fire until you order otherwise."

"Very well. Just take out those strongpoints."

They didn't have unlimited ammo. The solid shot was fairly easy to make. The cannon not so much, but once forged they would last forever, or so it was hoped. However, the magic gems couldn’t be produced by just any worker. They had to be made by a combination of Dwarven master forgers and fire mages, and only so many could be made by each pair in a given time.

The first gun fired, the crack of the magical jewel muted through the decks, followed by the deep hiss of steam pushing the shot from the barrel. Within seconds, all ten of the guns had fired, and a wall of steam projected out from the gun ports and rose into the air. Clouds of steam flew out of the ports from the other vessels, until all thirty weapons had fired.

The first ball hit the water in front of the strongpoint and skipped into the mud. The other nine came closer: three hitting the dirt, one flying over the earthworks, and five hitting the strongpoint and flinging dirt into the air. Thirty seconds later the guns spoke again, this time eight of the shot hitting the strongpoint, and the cloud of steam thickened. Another volley, more hits, and this time two of the balls penetrated the parapets and flew into the stockade beyond.

The bombardment went on for ten minutes, the cloud of steam growing and spreading across the water, until they had no view of the shore,

"We need to switch over, Commodore," came the voice through the speaking tube. "The guns are too hot to continue."

"Proceed," said Hauser.

A moment later, he felt the thrum of the engines, the clanking of chains as the anchors were raised, and the movement of the ship as it started to swing around. When it passed a point where the forward guns were bearing, they fired. When the ship was arrayed for a broadside for the starboard guns, the anchors were again dropped and they opened fire.

The bombardment went on for hours, and the ships switched orientations every ten minutes or so. They couldn't get a good look at their targets, and the gunners had no way of knowing how accurate their shooting was. Hauser thought this might be similar to what the wooden ships had experienced, when they put out clouds of smoke they couldn't see through. All they could do was stay set with their pair of anchors and keep pouring fire into where they thought the target was.

"Cease fire," called Hauser over the speaking tube. As far as his calculations were concerned they had gone through almost half of their propellant gems, and he had no idea what they had done so far. "What is your scrying mage seeing?"

There was a moment of silence, while the mage looked through her ball to see what had transpired through the bombardment.

"It looks like those three strongpoints are gone, sir," said the captain.

"Then let’s move on to the next," he ordered.

The ships raised anchors, moved to their next firing point in front of three more strongpoints, and continued their attack.

*  *  *

Captain Ellisara Kellisa looked down from her battlehawk, wheeling over the enemy fortifications. A hawk further up screeched out its war cry, flying overwatch against anything that might try to surprise them from above. Kellisa was able to look over the cloud of steam that was still obscuring the view from the river or the far riverbank.

The six strong points that had been hit looked like complete wrecks. Every machine down there had been hit, multiple times, and many of them had been turned into splinters. Bodies of crew lay around the machines, some still whole, struck through with wood splinters. Others had been pulped or shattered, hit by the balls that flew through the earthworks.

There was still movement below, of people staggering in shock, others hurrying up to reinforce the devastated strongpoints. A couple of archers looked up and pulled back on their bows, and Kellisa pulled the reins of her bird making it claw for altitude. Arrows came up, only to fall back before they reached her. She knew that someone with an enchanted bow might still hit her, but not an ordinary archer with an ordinary weapon.

[They look like they've been hit hard,] she sent over mindspeak. [I think it's time for the landing.]

The acknowledgment came back, with the order that she and her squadron continue to fly over the field, to report back on anything that might cause concern for the landing.

*  *  *

"Go, go," yelled the brigade commander, Colonel Jonathan Wainwright, pulling his own paddle through the water, making the war canoe leap through and across the river. It was almost two kilometers across the river at this point, and the canoes would be among the first to reach the other bank.

The low crack of the artillery on the ironclads sounded across the water. They were going into slow fire mode, a shot a minute, trying to keep the enemy busy and unable to concentrate on the landing that was coming their way.

A dozen steamboats, all capable of holding about a hundred troopers, started churning across the water. Other boats, fishers, river cargo, even pleasure craft, started loading up and moving across under sail. Barges were lined up, waiting for steamboats to come free so they could load up with cavalry and be carried across. Another division was crossing the river forty kilometers downstream at the intact bridge. They would march up to the cross-river and set up on that bank, cutting the city off from that avenue.

The war canoe carried twelve armored men and their shields. One would not have a chance in the assault, but the hundred that were crossing would put twelve hundred men on the other bank. How it went from there was anyone's guess. The steamships throttled back to stay behind the canoes, as did the sailing craft. The canoes would go in first, since they could beach and unload in an instant.

The ironclads came up on either side of the colonel's canoe. The guns fell silent, now as much of a risk to their own as the enemy. The decks of the ships swarmed with archers, all with huge siege quivers. Pulling arrows and sending them on arcing paths to the shore. They couldn't see targets, of course, and their accuracy had to be poor. That was not the point. It was intended to keep the enemy from making a coordinated response to the landing.

"Get ready, boys." The canoe sliced through the steam, men cursing as the hot mist burned their skin. It was diffuse enough that it did not burn deep, only on the surface. A couple of the canoes collided, more cursing and untangling of paddles, but the boats and their crews got it together and continued on.

The first canoe hit the bank, riding up on the sand from its momentum. The first four men in the front jumped out of the canoe, two grabbing the bow to pull it up while the other two covered them with their shields. Six of the men in the boat had crossbows, and they aimed and fired at the most likely targets.

"Form up," the colonel yelled, and everyone bailed from the boat.

One went down with an arrow through the throat while the other ten formed a shield wall, the colonel falling in behind and looking up and down the beach. The earthworks ahead were a mess, in places still intact, in other blown down, the dirt forming ramps.

"Form up," the colonel yelled to the men to either side. They ran over and added to the wall, making it two deep. "Forward," he yelled.

They had to get off the beach and into the enemy rear as fast as they could. He glanced to the north to see another group running toward the ramp in front of them. Arrows came in, mostly bouncing off shields or penetrating and sticking. Several archers went for the lower legs of the legionnaires, and bounced arrows from their greaves. One man took an arrow through the face and fell back. The other troopers ignored the wounded man and forged forward. They would lose more men if they didn't get off the beach, so wounded were left where they fell.

The first four men in the colonel's formation ran up the earth ramp, feet churning in the dirt. Ellala appeared at the top, males in chain, holding small shields, longswords in their hands. The strength of the legion had always been formation fighting, and they hadn't fared well in the past when fighting in the open. They had learned some lessons, and all four of the leading legionnaires ran into their closest opponent and smashed their shield bosses into them. The stronger humans lifted the lighter Ellala off their feet and flung them back, then continued their rush into the next bunch, while the rest of the formation came up behind them.

"Form a line," yelled the colonel as they reached the top, stopping his men from continuing on, TO where they were in danger of being surrounded.

A little under a hundred men formed up, and then the groups to the north and south side stepped to join up with them. Now he had almost three hundred men in a formation three deep, the ends bending around to protect the flanks. This was the danger point, since the enemy had to realize that they needed to break his formation and push his men back into the river if they were to win this fight.

A thousand Ellala and their Grogatha minions charged. The Ellala were no threat to the shield wall, but the massively muscled Grogatha were. The men behind the front line positioned themselves to push back on the front line so that they weren't knocked over. The enemy tried to deploy their swords against the shields, swinging hard, mostly contacting the shields and accomplishing nothing. The Grogatha carried shorter, heavier blades, and they tried to jab. The front rank had the better blades for jabbing, and they worked a slaughter on the front line of the enemy. Not every jab was successful, and many times the tips of the gladius hit the armor and slid away. But the troops kept it up, taking down scores every minute. Some of the enemy killed men on the front, bringing swords down on helmets, or slipping a blade between the shields.

The smell of blood and excrement was almost overwhelming. Slippery entrails underfoot made squelching sounds as armored boots stomped on them. Enemy fell and were trod upon, legionnaires were pulled back as they fell, the men behind them stepping up.

Wainwright did not like this kind of fight. He preferred the long-range battle of his home world. His guts churned with fear as the sound of blades and shields striking each other deafened him. He was sure all of his men were just as afraid, those in front more so, while those in the second rank were worrying about when they would have to step up to the front.

The enemy broke for a moment, running away and taking arrows and javelins in the back.

"Switch off," yelled the colonel, taking advantage of the break.

The front line stepped back, turning sideways to allow the men behind to get by. The men in the rearmost rank moved up and became the front, fresh and rested. They set their shields, just in time to take the next charge. The ranks behind threw their javelins, the pilum taking down scores of the enemy, others getting their shields pierced, the bending shaft of the pilum weighing them down and forcing the enemy troops to drop them on the field.

This time the enemy came on with much greater determination. His men were still killing them three to one, but they outnumbered him six to one. He was starting to wonder if he would have to move back when more soldiers came running up the ramp and reinforced his troops. Moments later, the first of the archers arrived, and immediately began arcing arrows over the ranks and into the mass of the enemy.

"Push out those flanks," yelled the colonel, grabbing and pushing men toward one flank, then the other. If he could extend his flanks, then push back at the enemy, he would have this fight won.

"We have cavalry coming," yelled one of the men set at the top of the earthworks, where they could look over the ranks of the enemy.

"Shit," growled the colonel. As long as the enemy infantry was in the way they were shielded from those horsemen. But if they fell back he would need spearmen at the front. At the moment he had none, his men having left theirs behind to move faster into the assault.

*  *  *

Dieter stood with Buhbuh and Humphrey on the far bank, looking across the river, not that they could see much what with the could of cannon produced steam obscuring the bank. But they could hear, and all three winced at the sound of steel hitting steel, and imagined the sound of blades striking flesh. They had all been there before, and knew it was not a pleasant situation to find oneself.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to make the assault,” said Humphrey, his eyes narrowed as he tried to pierce the steam. “You know what I…”

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Buhbuh, beating him to the chase. “I feel for those poor bastards over there. And I wish I had a pig right about now.”

Dieter had to think about that for a moment before it came to him. A Pig was what the American infantrymen called the M60, the 7.62mm machinegun, slower firing but similar to the G3 used by the German Army. Well, they didn’t have any of them, and never would again. If they could deploy those weapons, and the tanks and artillery, they could have wiped out the enemy guarding that far bank in an instant, without hazarding any of their own soldiers. This was a muscle-powered world, and they would provide the muscle.

“You know we’ll be first up when it comes time to assault the city,” said Dieter, looking at his companions. They had been involved in taking the last bridge, the one where the demons had come down to attack them. They were now in reserve for this attack, while the assault division would gain that rest in the next.

“Don’t remind me,” said Buhbuh, shaking his head. “Those walls look like they’re man killers.”

“No demons,” said Humphrey with a shudder. “At least so far.”

And I pray that there are no more, ever again, thought Dieter. Protected or not, those things were enough to terrify even the bravest of men, which he did not count himself among.

*     *     *

"Signal the squadron to retire to the other bank," said Hauser, talking through the speaking tube to the signal deck.

Their part of the battle was over, at least as far as providing artillery support. They didn't have many magical gems left, maybe enough for three single broadsides from each ship. Now it was time for their secondary role, that of tow ships. There were a number of barges waiting for them, holding horses and their riders, or field artillery.

The ship vibrated as the steam engines engaged, and the ship started to swing away from the shore, canoes and boats frantically trying to move out of the way.

They know better, thought the commodore. The other vessels had been told to stay clear of the ironclads when it was time for them to move. It was up to his helmsmen and spotters to avoid those who didn't do as they were told, but a couple might be hit.

It was a tense several minutes as the ships swung out, and a couple of canoes were struck, sinking and pulling their armored troopers down with them. The ironclads threw life rings over to the men, but they could not stop. It was important that they build up the army on this side of the river, and nothing else took precedence.

The other steamboats moved past, their decks crowded with men, barges on cables behind. Those boats all stayed in their designated lanes, while bringing the people the first brigade needed to hold the landing zone.

"Full speed ahead," the captain yelled from the command bridge below the flag deck.

The thrumming of the ship increased as the steam engines were ramped up to full power. Hauser looked through the now open port with his binoculars, grunting in satisfaction as he saw the already loaded barges waiting for them. Now all his ships had to do was get into place without sinking any of the barges, and then get them back across the river.

*  *  *

"Get your asses moving," yelled the sergeant major as men started down the boarding net over the side of the steamboat, clambering into the small boats below. Other men passed the pikes to the boats, where soldiers grabbed the hafts and lowered their lengths along the centerline.

"They need us, you lugs," yelled the sergeant major, once a first sergeant in the American Army, wondering what in the hell he was doing trying to get spearmen into battle, when he had been in charge of a weapons' company on Earth. The strident mindspeak of the colonel in charge of first brigade was in the back of his mind, demanding he and his men get there to repel a cavalry charge.

The sergeant major looked up to see the first of the boats landing, men jumping into the shallows, grabbing pikes out the craft and running up the earthen ramp leading off the beach. That was one platoon, and another was pulling their way toward the shore. They would need at least a company to withstand any kind of a charge, but he could only get them there as fast as they could disembark. He opened his mouth to yell again, but shut it. The men were going as fast as they could. They knew what was at stake, and pushing them wasn't going to speed them up.

Chapter Nineteen

"They're falling back," yelled out one of the junior officers on the line.

Sure enough, the mass of Ellala and Grogatha were falling back, keeping their shields up until they had backed up about thirty meters, and then running to the side.

[They've got cavalry heading your way, sir,] came the mindspeak call, the identification showing it was a battlehawk rider wheeling overhead, where she could see the oncoming horsemen. "They look like lancers."

"Shit." Wainwright knew that his brigade was not ready for a cavalry charge, not until they got their pikemen here. "Form a tortoise," he yelled, waving his sword in the air to get the attention of the rest of his officers.

The enemy infantry had all scattered to the sides, remaining close enough to run back in once their cavalry had shattered his formation. The thunder of hoof beats resonated through the ground, and the first rank of the lancers came into sight, spurring their horses into a gallop as they lowered the heads of their weapons.

The front rank of the tortoise was forming up, just in time. The first rank put the butts of their shields on the ground, kneeling behind them and putting all of their weight into the wall. The next rank put their shields on top of the front, angling them back, while the third lifted theirs up and overhead. And so it continued back for the next three ranks, every man putting his weight into the one in front, lifted shields interlocked.

The first rank of horsemen struck with a thunderous clang of lance head on shield. Most glanced off, some penetrated, and the front line was pushed back as the horses slammed into them. Men in the shield wall pushed their javelins out through the gaps as spears, into the chests of horses, dropping the beasts to the ground. Archers and crossbowmen fired from behind, while those back there with javelins launched them overhead to drop on the cavalry.

The charge broke through in some places, the mass of moving beasts too much for men on foot to stop. In places, the horses clambered over the shields, stomping on those below as the men struggled to keep them in place. The screaming of men and beasts was almost drowned out by the sounds of weapons hitting shields and armor. There was no cover for the stench of spilled blood and bowels.

Horse archers fired arrows into the legionnaires, getting few hits, but those they did get were mostly kills. Lancers dropped broken hafts and pulled heavy swords from their sheaths, pounding the men under. One moment it looked like the tortoise was going to hold, the next that it was going to break. It was enough to keep both sides in the fight, but more horsemen were pushing through the press, and there was still the infantry waiting to come in on their trail.

The first of the pikemen arrived, the colonel catching sight of a couple score running up, pikes leveled. There was no way to deploy them the way they were supposed to be utilized, so he waved them straight into the action. The men knew what they were about, and they ran for the places where the cavalry was pushing through, leading with the tips of their five meter long spears. The cavalrymen were caught off guard, dealing with the infantry under their feet, and the pikes thrust through them as they came in with the weight of the running men behind them.

The enemy infantry then came rushing in, turning the fight into a general melee. This was the kind of fighting they excelled at, and at which the humans were outmatched. There seemed no way to get into the formation needed to break the enemy.

"You men, with me," yelled the colonel as several hundred more heavy infantry appeared. "Form a wedge."

If he could lead these men on the right path, he might be able to salvage this battle yet.

*  *  *

Hauser watched as the New Berlin's deck crew winched in the cable attached to the barges, making ready to tow them across the river. There were five barges in the string, each thirty meters long by twenty wide. Four of them had as many horses crowded aboard as they could hold, their riders along with them, trying to gentle the confused beasts. The last had artillery aboard, ten of the twelve pounders they used as field guns. The commodore was still a little confused about the nomenclature of the artillery. His boats carried guns designated by the weight of the shells they fired in kilograms, while the field pieces were in pounds. Something to do with the Americans who used them, and something to do with Napoleonic warfare, since that was the weight of the most common field piece of that era.

One of the horses panicked, pushing against the restraining rope, and twisting under them to fall into the river. The beast turned in the water for a few moments, and then struck out for the nearest shore. The men started shouting, and the cavalry officer on that raft started pointing at the horse and yelling for his people to get it back.

"Belay that order," shouted Hauser. "We need to get these people across, now. That beast can come over on another trip."

The crewmen kept winching in the rafts untill they had the first in tight, less than twenty meters from the back of the ship. As soon as the petty officer in charge had signaled the bridge the engines sped up, the screws churning the water and leaving a wake behind that ran up under the barges.

The ship was not moving as fast with the barges in tow, and it would take fifteen minutes to get their loads over to the shore, and probably another fifteen to unload everything, though the swimming horse gave him an idea. Maybe they could release the ropes, push them into the water, and let them swim for it. The armored riders would still have to be landed the old-fashioned way, as would the guns.

*  *  *

The colonel led his men, standing in the front rank of the wedge as they pushed through the left side of the formation. Their shields were tightly locked, their swords held low and thrusting out, while the second rank backed them up with their weight of body and armor. The men three ranks back held pikes, thrusting them over the heads of the two ranks ahead, as men further in had bow, crossbows and javelins, in use to break up larger concentrations of enemy.

It was a classic formation, used by ancient armies and early twentieth century American football teams. It was like a spear point thrust into tender flesh, and they cut down and trampled Ellala after Grogatha after Ellala.

"Watch the rear," the colonel yelled, looking back as they cleared the side of the formation,

The men in the rear turned in place and set up two more lines, looking back and forming the backside protection for the formation. They sliced through the enemy, cutting into the side of the mass, isolating those at the front who suddenly started to panic. The soldiers they were fighting for cheered and pushed forward, bashing faces in with their shields, and thrusting short, wide blades into limbs and abdomens, leaving injured enemy to bleed out behind them.

The men in the wedge were slipping as their boots stomped on entrails, and many would have gone down if not for the soldiers behind them gripping their harness and holding them upright. The stench was horrific, and many men found themselves unable to breathe due to continuous gagging.

The colonel really didn’t like being in the front rank, and he was tiring fast. He was older than any of his men, and this kind of fighting was a young man’s game. But when he had formed the wedge it had seemed to be the right place, one where he could easily slot in the other men. Now he was stuck here.

It was a brutal fight. The day was hot, and sweat was pouring from men who didn't have the time to take a drink from their canteens. Most couldn't even wipe the blood from their faces, or tend to the minor wounds they had taken. Some bled out on their feet, only able to fight or die.

The colonel felt like all of the strength had left his body. It took complete concentration to raise his sword. He should have been in the center of the wedge, but that was not how it had formed, and he was stuck where he was. The enemy was giving ground, but so far they were not breaking. Considering the loss ratio, it would have seemed the smart move to retreat from this killing field. The only thing that could have kept them here was fear of their own commanders.

Magic crackled in the air, balls of fire and bolts of electricity flying back and forth. The men were saying their mantra, the words they had committed to memory that held to raise a resistant field around them. Those who still followed the gods of Earth did not need a mantra, as they were already immune. A soldier here and there was still badly burned, or electrocuted, as some of the magical energy made it through. Their own mages and priests were fighting back, sending their own power into the enemy. Orcs, the least magical of creatures, took the full brunt of it, while some of the elves seemed as immune as the human faithful.

Overhead, flying beasts screeched, dragons and warbirds. Both sides were now trying to support their ground forces, but so far, all it was resulting in was an aerial battle. Farther away, behind enemy lines, a red dragon fell onto its back, dead. A gold flapped over barely able to stay in the air.

A second wedge formed behind the first and struck out to the side, cutting into the enemy force and slicing inward. Several minutes later, another formed and went to the other side. Enemy cavalry charged and tried to overwhelm those wedges, only to meet with a bristling hedge of spear points. The bugles of the alliance cavalry sounded from behind, and the officers ordered the wedges to diverge so they could charge through.

The moment of truth came when bolts and arrows started raining down on the enemy from the southern flank. Ebony-skinned elves in chain mail attacked under the cover of the rain, and the enemy flank collapsed. One moment they were giving ground with fierce reluctance. The next moment the back ranks were in full flight, as it became apparent to the ranks in front that there was no one protecting their rear, more turned and fled.

The infantry was too exhausted to pursue. They left that to the cavalry, which rode with lowered lances to spear the enemy in the back. It was not a chivalrous thing to do, but war was not an act of chivalry. If an enemy could be killed on the run, where they couldn’t strike back, then they were to be killed. As many as possible.

The cavalry sped into the backs of the enemy, then slowed to a walk as there became too many to trample. Some enemy turned and fought back, and a few cavalrymen fell from their horses, or in some cases with their horses. Within minutes most of the cavalry had lost their lances. Broken, stuck through the bodies of enemy and unable to be retrieved, dropped or knocked out of hands. That was quite okay with the cavalrymen, who drew swords, axes and maces and used them to cut and smash the heads of the enemy.

"Halt," yelled the colonel as loud as he could. It was not as loud as he would have wished, given his shortness of breath. Fortunately, there were flags and horns to make his commands heard. All of the men in the brigade came to a halt, most breathing heavily, some now leaning on their mates from the fatigue of battle or from wounds.

"Form up in your companies and battalions," he called out after getting some breath back himself. He wanted his men to get a break. He also wanted to see what he had left, and he thought that more important at the moment.

The wedges broke up, men looking for the flags of their units, moving slowly toward whatever was left of their command groups. The heavy infantry, the armored swordsmen who held the front lines, moved first into companies, then were led to their battalions. The pikemen formed up behind them, followed by the bowmen.

The colonel felt his heart sink as he looked over his troops, climbing up on a small hill to get a good view. One of the heavy infantry battalions, the first, looked pretty much intact, though one of the companies had only half its complement. The other two battalions had been more than decimated. Third looked to be at only half strength, while second was even more devastated. The pike companies had lost between twenty and forty percent of their manpower. The archers were the least hit, though even there about ten percent of the soldiers were missing. Archers fought from behind the lines, not subject to attack by sword and spearmen unless things went very wrong. However, they were the target of the other side's archers, who were the only ones who could respond in most situations.

There were sure to be some wounded on the field who couldn't join the ranks, but would after some care. Still, his command had been hurt, and badly.

"Set your security," he yelled through the speaking horn that had been brought to him. "Then give your men a rest."

The division or army commander might want him to hurry his men after the cavalry. If so, they could be damned. His men were tired, thirsty and hungry. He was not about to hurry them across the field to another fight. He needn't have worried. The first men of the second brigade started forming up into their heavy infantry companies. Within fifteen minutes an entire battalion started marching across the field, heading for the cavalry.

Colonel Hartz, the commander of the second brigade, walked over. His eyes roamed over the men of first brigade, most sitting on the ground, eating iron rations, guzzling down water, or allowing wounds to be bound.

"Rough fight?" asked the German.

"We damned near lost it," said Wainwright, nodding, and then reaching out a hand to grab the forearm of the other brigade commander in greeting. "We got lucky."

"I doubt that," said Hartz with a smile. "We make our own luck." He looked at the piles of enemy dead laying on the field, at least a division's worth. "And it looks like you did good work. We'll take it from here. But I would like your support as soon as you can."

"Give us a half an hour and I'll move my unit up to your rear," said Wainwright. "Hopefully, Klein will have brought his brigade across before nightfall.”

"I think you can count on that," said Hartz. "The general seemed to be very clear that he wanted the entire division across before nightfall makes the river crossing too hazardous."

And that’s another worry, thought the American. Once night fell, the division would be on its own. The second and third divisions would have to wait until morning, since collisions at night could put a lot of armored men in the water to drown. Fourth division was across the river further downstream, and separated from them by the river to the north. If the enemy attacked them in the dark and broke through their lines, there might be some problems.

"Gentlemen," called out a human in accented German.

A man in chainmail, the flag of France on his surcoat, came walking down the slope, with another score of humans and almost a hundred of the Dark Elves following him.

"Well, that takes care of our nighttime security," said Wainwright, looking at the ebony-skinned elves who had night vision like no other on this world. He felt much better seeing these allies, as he was sure they were happy to see the German and American troops finally across the river.

Chapter Twenty

Emperor Ellandra Mashara looked out and down from one of the gate towers of his outer wall at the army that had gathered to take his capital.

Only two more months, thought the almost undead being, still in the half litch stage. Two more months of work, a couple of hundred more souls to sacrifice to Bothar, the God of Death. He would have absorbed some of that energy, until he had become an immortal, and really all but invulnerable, unless someone happened to find its phylactery. That was something a smart litch would not allow.

The enemy army was arrayed below, tens of thousands of soldiers, all armored in various ways. The heavy infantry all carried the large rectangular shields that made them so fearsome. The Emperor knew that his own swordsmen were superior when it came to melee. Which was why the humans avoided such combat, and instead used disciplined formations that would slice through his troops like they were children. They also had some melee fighters for when they needed them:  other elves, Conyastoya, Ellala and Delkifini. dwarves, the heavy mountain variety with their thick armor and axes, and more cavalry than he had left.

They had built earthworks just out of arrow shot of the walls, layered with thick posts and sharp stakes. Siege engines, devices with much greater range than the standard bows, were set into casements, along with their infernal new engines they called cannon.

Behind those earthworks stood their disciplined ranks, looking like thousands of statues. In oblongs ten men thick by twenty wide, with small spaces between groups. Twelve of those groups line up beside each other in the first layer, lines of pikemen and archers behind them. Two more groups of equal size behind them. The three brigades of the tactical unit they called a legion, or sometimes a division. Then, much further back, two more of the same kind of formation, divisions. Showing the emperor their strength of soldiers. Over thirty thousand infantry, more than twice as many as he had in his entire city. And that didn’t count the artillery, the cavalry, the damnable dwarves and his ebony-skinned cousins. There had to be over fifty thousand in that army, and another of their legions on the lands to the north of the city, beyond that river.

One of the cannon went off as he was thinking, letting out a puff of steam and a hissing boom. The ball hit the gate below to the right of the tower with a loud clang. The humans from the other world had brought this idea with them. They were frighteningly innovative. When their terrible war machines had failed, they had taken a step back and improved on what they had found, and used their own ancient technologies re-imagined. The cannon were powerful, something he wished he had had, but he doubted they would crack the valves of his gates by themselves. So, what else are they thinking?

A trio of objects moved across the field looking like small, short towers, the bore of a pair of cannon thrusting from the front of each. Steam puffed from the stacks on the rear, some kind of engine powered by that substance. He had thought that the gods of the earth had forbidden the use of those engines, but seeing the glint of sunlight on the forward most wheels, he realized it was Mithril, and it was insulating the vehicles from the earth. It was an expensive workaround, and probably why there were not more than three of the things.

I should have approached the humans in friendship when they first came, thought the Emperor. Of course, it would have been a ruse, but what if he could have gotten some of them on his side, working for him? Then taken the rest when their guard was down, or their infernal machines stopped working. Nothing he could do about it now, except call on his gods to get him out of this mess, which would cost soul energy he might have been able to use to complete his transformation. Then again, if it saved his Empire, a little delay to his immortality would be worth it.

"Summon the priests to the balcony of the palace," he ordered, turning away from the view of the enemy and heading for the stairs.

*  *  *

Dieter stood in the front rank of the platoon, which was on the left flank of the company, on the same flank of the battalion. The other battalions of the brigade were lined up to either side, the remaining two brigades behind them in the same formation. He was sure it looked as impressive as hell to the bastards up on that wall. He wasn’t sure if it was doing anything else, or if it was even worth the impression. No one in command had asked his opinion.

No one talked, no one moved. They were at attention, which meant the same thing in their old armies and in this one. All he could do was look straight ahead as he held his shield and spear. The damn gate they were trying to batter in was directly to his front. If that gate fell, they would be going in. He had no illusions as to what that meant. Waves of arrows, rocks, maybe hot oil or sand. He had learned about siege warfare when he was growing up, visiting castles and reading books bought at the fortress bookstores.

Upon entering the gate they would face the unknown. Murder holes in the ceiling? Another gate to get through? A moat on the inside? Then into melee combat in the city beyond, house to house fighting where they might not be able to utilize the formations that made them so mighty.

And of course, they’ll throw us in first, thought the sergeant, saying a prayer in the back of his mind. Since mages would be throwing whatever they had into those confined spaces, it made sense to use the people immune to those destructive forces. But they were not immune to so many other dealers of death.

He could only hope that the dwarves trying to enter from below made it, and they could take the gate. Of course they would also take horrible casualties, and though he had nothing against the short stout people, better them than him, to his way of thinking. Not a very Christian attitude, but he couldn’t help it. A lot of people would die going through that gate and into the city, and he simply didn’t want to be among them.

Why the hell do we have to stand here? We could be sitting and talking, trying to get our courage up. Because if the command was hoping this intimidating display would get the enemy to open the gates for them and surrender, he had news for the command.

*  *  *

"Well, that doesn't seem to be doing anything, dammit," cursed Lt. General Walter Delgado, examining the heavy gate from which the cannon ball had just ricocheted.

The massive siege cannon, a one of a kind weapon, stood in its revetment forty meters to his left. It had just hurled a hundred pound ball into the gate, and the crew was busy preparing it for the next shot. An evolution that would take more than five minutes.

"We may have to storm the walls," said Kurt, standing to one side of the general. "Colonel Jackson?"

Colonel Cliff Jackson had been a division command sergeant major when they had arrived here, but he had a particular specialty. He had a PhD in history, with a specialization in medieval warfare. Therefore, he had become the army's siege-master, setting up the attacks that had taken fortresses, castles and bridges along the line of advance. He frowned up at the city walls: not a good sign.

"Well, let's see," said the grizzled warrior. "We have twenty meter tall walls made out of that damned Dwarven stone that's as hard as steel, with towers ten meters higher. I would estimate we're looking at five-meter thick walls at the base, and probably still two or three thick at the top. With all kinds of engines. And gates made of the strongest metal this world can produce that isn't that damned dwarven mithril."

He stood there shaking his head, then spit on the ground.

"I'm sorry, sirs. But we will lose half our army if we try to storm that thing. Maybe our whole army. Maybe if we still had some working Abrams, or Leopards. Or, better yet, a nuke."

"We have those tanks," said Ismael Levine, pointing at the puffing constructs that were moving up to the front lines.

Kurt looked over at the machines, which he had to admit were an ingenious invention. The former Mercedes engineer who came up with them had definitely earned his pay. However, they weren't even the match of a Panther or Tiger from his military days. Much less, the monsters they had brought with them.

"Those might do very well on the battlefield," said Jackson with a huff. "But if they get too close to the walls, I think those big catapults on the towers are going to smash them."

"What about mining?" asked Jackie, her hand on Kurt's shoulder.

Everyone knew they were lovers, and in the same chain of command, and neither of them really gave a damn who knew. The immortals were a force to themselves, and they did what they would if it suited them, as long as it didn't harm the fighting power of the alliance.

"We might try that," said the siege-master, looking at the ground. "I'll get our engineers to work on it. But I wouldn't be surprised if those walls went down twenty meters or more, or were welded to the bedrock. If the person who designed that monstrosity was as smart as I think, I don't think we're going to find an easy way in. And forget about a paradrop. Anything we drop in there is going to get swallowed up before we can relieve them. And after we take the walls, we still have that fortress up on the high ground by the river. And I'm willing to bet it's even more heavily fortified than these walls."

"Amphibious assault?" asked Delgado.

"Maybe. But we had a hard enough time getting a foothold onto this shore, when all we had were earthworks in front of us. I don't know, General," said the older man. "It's beginning to look like we might have a real siege on our hands. We might have to starve them out, but there's no guarantee we won't starve first. We're already having problems getting everything we need over that logistics pipeline."

"That should get better when we get more steamships in service," said Kurt. "And if they can get a railroad up and running."

That was going to be a problem, one that they had not solved. The steam engines worked on the water because the river and ocean gods had nothing against them, or had been convinced by the Queen of the Gods, Arathonia, to cooperate. However, the God of the Earth, Grimmoire, was part of the Pantheon of Law, and that deity wanted nothing to do with the smelly machines of the newcomers.

The tanks got around the ban by using wheels of Mithril that had been blessed by the Gods of Life. That insulated them from the powers of the God of the Earth. But a railroad needed many more wheels than a tank, or rails, and Mithril was not available in those quantities, not when it was needed for weapons and armor.

"See what your miners can do," ordered Delgado, taking another look at the walls through his binoculars. "If we can even collapse a part of the wall, we might be able to get an assault force in to open a gate."

Or we might just be throwing more people away in a forlorn hope, thought Kurt.

*  *  *

Garios na Gonron screamed out his battle cry, which was also a prayer to his god, swinging his heavy hammer into the Orc warrior that opposed him. The hammer struck with a clap of thunder as the holy power of the priest was transmitted through it, and the Orc was flung back into those behind him, a broken body now a projectile weapon.

Screams and cries went up all through the tunnels the dwarven miners had cut under the wall. It had been planned that they would set up sap that could be burned, collapsing the wall. That had not worked as planned, since they had hit the wall twenty meters down, and bedrock below that. Fortunately, they had found a gap where wall did not meet bedrock. But the wall was so well constructed, of solidified dwarven stone, that there was no way that collapsing the supports, which were supporting nothing, would collapse the wall.

Thus, the warriors and engineers had pressed on, digging further in, angling the tunnel up, hoping to break through the ground and flood the courtyards of the enemy. It would be a hard fight, but if conducted with swiftness and ferocity, it would save many more.

Then the enemy had sunk counter mines into the earth, and met them under the ground. Elves did not fight well in these closed quarters. Orcs could, so they were sent down, to fight the premiere underground warriors on the planet, Mountain Dwarves. The dwarves were slaughtering the Orcs, taking them down five to one or more, but they were still taking casualties of their own, and even dead Orcs were an impairment to getting to the surface.

"Forward," yelled the warrior who was leading the fight, Colion na Gonron, a distant cousin of the priest. The dwarf waved a great ax overhead, lightning flaring from the Mithril of the head. It was a god weapon, one of the great artifacts of a primary deity, one of the most powerful melee weapons on the planet. His Mithril armor reflected the torchlight. Mountain dwarves could see in almost total darkness, and Orcs had night vision almost as good. But they were still blind in complete darkness, and the battle went on by torchlight.

Roars of rage, cries of pain, screams of fear echoed through the tunnels, almost drowned out by the clash of metal on metal. The tunnels reeked of blood and released bladders and bowels. Garios gagged on the foul air, knocking aside a mace with his shield before swinging his hammer into the wielder.

More screams came from down a side tunnel. These were deep, the cries of Dwarves in a panic. That was unusual enough to draw the attention of the priests and the warriors with magical weapons, who fought to disengage so they could make their way to the area where Dwarves were being beat.

Garios waited until a trio of warriors had pushed past him to engage the Orcs to his front, then turned and pushed through the other dwarves until he could reach a side tunnel and move laterally to the other main way.  He wasn't the first priest to make it there, but when he had, and saw the glowing red eyes of the beings they were fighting, he was glad he had gotten there at all.

Damned vampires, he thought, pushing forward through regular dwarves who were trying to get to safety, away from creatures their weapons couldn't harm. The priest could feel the fear the creatures engendered in his body, despite the holy power running through him. His weapon could kill these undead, but they could also take his life. He said a prayer to his God for the protection of his soul, something that worried him more than losing his life. At moments like this, he envied the people who worshiped the Gods of Earth, whose souls were protected. As he felt the divine power flowing into him, he lost that envy.

The hammer glowed with a holy light, a pure flame, dispelling all shadows ahead. The vampires recoiled, holding arms over eyes. Garios ran forward as fast as his short legs would bear him, swinging the hammer back, then forward, into the head of a vampire. The creature let out a screeching scream, then crumbled into dust, most falling to the ground, some puffing up into the air to set the dwarf to coughing. He felt an urge to vomit as he thought about the pieces of the creature he was inhaling.

The dwarf roared out his rage, banishing all fear, swinging the hammer in to crush the side of one vampire, pushing the one next to it into the wall with a smack. Now the vampires were backing up in fear. They were creatures that had been promised eternal existence by the God of Death, Bothar, and now they were seeing their doom coming for them. And their depraved souls were destined to burn in the deepest hell for over a thousand years before rebirth as a mortal.

Suddenly, shadow overwhelmed the light, not dropping the tunnel into pitch darkness, but weakening the divine light to the point where the vampires were again able to push forward. A priest cried out as a taloned hand grabbed him by the throat. Shout turned to gurgle as the beast ripped out the throat of the woman.

The shadow moved forward, blotting out several of the priests, their screams coming from the darkness as the vampires moved in and ended their lives. Garios felt a moment of panic himself as the shadow moved toward him, but his God was with him, and he was no ordinary priest, but rather the personal Warpriest of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. He said a quick prayer, and light again burst forth from his hammer, banishing the shadows within ten meters of where he stood, washing over the heart of the shadow and revealing what had been hidden.

A beautifully evil woman stood revealed, a cruel smile on her face showing the sharp fangs in her mouth. No ordinary vampire, she was arrayed in armor of pure night, a sword dripping shadows as black as night in the lower hells. The Queen of the Vampires, almost a gGoddess herself, and the most powerful undead creature on the planet.

"Are you ready to die, Priest?"

"No," said Garios, a tight smile on his face. All fear was gone. This was his defining battle, the one that would set his name in the annals of his people for all time. "Are you?"

*  *  *

"When the hell are those Dwarves going to break through?" yelled out General Delgado. The cannon were all firing at their fastest rate. Archers were sending waves of arrows up at the walls. The Ellala on the walls were returning fire, and since they held the high ground, their shafts were outranging those of the attackers. Conyastoya and Ellala on the side of the alliance were falling by the scores each minute.

"We could send some of the immortals down to see what's going on," said Kurt, eliciting a laugh from the human general.

"All of you over-tall people will knock yourselves out on the ceilings of those tunnels."

"I'll go," said Jackie. The caramel-skinned immortal was tall for a woman, but was still just under six feet. Gregor Babich stood next to her, and she was a few inches over his squat height. His consort, Izabella Kozlowski, was the smallest of the powerful beings.

"You three get down there then," Kurt ordered, being the acknowledged leader of the group. "Myself, Ismael and Paul will handle whatever they throw at us up here."

Jackie looked at the other two, who nodded to her. Izabella would actually lead down there, being the eldest. But Jackie was the best warrior of the trio, and so had some authority with them. The trio ran off, heading for the entrance to the mines.

The assault teams were ready. Companies of heavy infantry made up of believers in the Earth Gods, wearing the best armor they could find. They would go through the gates once the dwarves pushed them open, and hold them until an entire regiment was through. After that it would become a house-to-house fight through the city. Not anyone's favorite form of warfare.

"What's that bastard doing up there?" asked Delgado, looking through his binoculars at the top of one of the towers.

Kurt focused on where he was looking. His own eyes zoomed in on an even greater focus than the field glasses. He had seen that Ellala before, he remembered the slimy look of the fellow. He seemed to radiate pure evil. He stood there looking down, his lips moving, saying something. A Dark Elf woman was dragged to him. He grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and sliced through her throat with an easy motion. He flung the body over the side of the tower to fall and splat on the ground below. Another woman, this one an Earth human, was dragged to him and he repeated the process. He followed with an Ellala, while a line of sacrifices formed from his position to the stairs.

"He's calling something up," yelled Kurt, looking over at the archers. "Take that bastard out."

Several of the stronger archers sent shafts toward the tower, only to see them stop in the air and fall to the ground. A dark cloud started to form in the air, and the hackles on the back of the German Immortal's neck began to rise as he felt the power build in the air. It was an evil power that the evil Emperor was calling forth. The immortal did not know what the result of the calling would be, but he was sure it was not intended to aid them.

Chapter Twenty-one

The Emperor sliced through another throat, cutting off the screaming of the woman. All of the sacrifices were women, since they were gentler souls, more acceptable to the God of Death, who enjoyed the torment he could inflict on such a soul. But he was getting tired of their screams and cries, and was ready for the whole thing to end.

He flung the body over the edge of the tower using his undead strength. It fell like a limp rag until it splatted on the ground below. Some more arrows came up, and the wizards who were warding him knocked them down.

The next woman in line was dragged to him. She was a large, muscular woman, one of the white-skinned Nords who inhabited the north of the subcontinent. It struck him as strange that the native humans had skin tones that were of a basic color. Pure white for Nords, pure reds for others, or yellow, or pitch black. The Earth humans had more subtle tones, as if they had been intermingling for a much longer time.

The woman almost threw off one of her guards, until the Emperor grabbed her hair and jerked her down, saying a quick prayer to Bothar under his breath. A slice by the knife and she was bleeding out. More importantly, her soul was trying to leave her body, to get away before something ate it. Too late, as the God of Death was near, and the soul was inexorably pulled into his substance. Normally the half litch would partake in some of the energy. Not this time, as this ceremony was too important. He needed to complete the summoning before the Dwarves below broke out and overran the gate, and let the horde of humans inside.

"Another knife," he called out to one of the priests who stood by. Than man grabbed another blade from the table, one that was a duplicate of the one the Emperor held. It was a thirty-centimeter blade of razor sharpness, attached to a hilt ending in the head of a demon.

The Emperor gestured, and another woman was brought forward, this one the light brown tones of an Earth female. Her forehead had been marked with a spell, certifying that this was not a devout follower of the damned Earth Gods. Sacrificing one of them would result in disaster. He was unlikely to survive the rebound of power from the overgod those people worshiped under many guises.

Dark clouds, looking like nothing natural, started to swirl in the sky. Thunder sounded, followed by what seemed like a harsh growling voice. The Emperor shouted out in a similar voice, grabbed the next sacrifice, and added her blood and energy to the pool.

The clouds above continued to swirl, until a hole appeared, leading to a deeper blackness. The growling voices came forth, echoing over the plains outside the city. The Emperor turned his gaze on the enemy warriors, to see many of them staring openmouthed into the sky. If everything worked as planned, most of them were doomed. The believers among them might not be, but they would not be able to win the battle on their own.

Another sacrifice, more power flowing into the God of Death, more power flowing into the portal opening from the realm of demons to this world. Suddenly, the first one was through, a red body four meters long, six-meter wings sweeping out to each side. It looked down and scratched. It was a minor demon, the scout for the horde that was to come. It stayed in the air, looking, studying, looking up into the portal and screeching again.

Like the blink of an eye there were another four demons in the air. They were the same class as the first, scouts, and they flapped to the four winds and looked down at the enemy. A feeling of dread and doom radiated from them. Some of the humans dropped their weapons and ran, their commanders screaming for them to come back. Most stayed where they were, fear radiating from their bodies, but holding enough courage to prepare for battle. The big immortal had pulled his powerful blade from the sheath on his back, and was glaring up at the demons.

That's the one to watch, thought the Emperor as he grabbed the next sacrifice. Of course, the two others standing next to him, if not possessing weapons quite as powerful, were just as dangerous in their persons. He looked up into the air after slitting the throat of the young Conyastoya woman to see that there were dozens of demons in the air, the same variety, but these were armed with infernal weapons that would steal the souls of the ones they killed. He was not sure what would happen when they eventually killed one of the worshipers of the Overgod, but that was their problem, not his. Dozens became scores, until there were over a hundred of the creatures in the air.

Then the next species of demon came through. These were almost twice the size of the original variety, with great horns sweeping two meters from their foreheads. Three, then seven, then twenty, they remained in the sky, staring down with implacable hatred at the enemy of the Emperor, the enemy of their god.

When the total number of demons reached two hundred, the last came through. The priests in the city were all praying at the tops of their lungs, protecting the people of the city from the attentions of creatures that would just as soon eat their souls as look at them. Their mouths all shut with claps as the greater demon came through. A giant of a creature, ten meters in length, wings outstretched to twenty meters on each side. Its mouth was open in a soundless scream, red-hot flame showing through the orifice. It carried a whip of flame that reached twenty meters from the handle, the red head of a fire snake on the end.

There was more panic below, and more of the enemy dropped weapons and shields and ran as fast as they could. Horses reared and threw the riders that were keeping them in place, nothing in their dull minds but survival. Some of the cannon hissed, trying to send balls into the demons. Most failed, a couple hit, but the monsters struck just shook it off and continued to circle.

The greater demon, almost a god himself, roared, a sound that rattled the very stones of the city walls The demon folded it wings and dove to the Earth, its minions following in its wake.

*  *  *

"This isn't good," said Paul Mason-Smythe, looking into the sky as more and more demons dropped from the portal in the clouds and circled the field, like a bunch of raptors waiting for the kill.

"That some more of that British understatement?" Kurt asked, frowning.

"They are going to slaughter us," said Ismael Levine, his brows furrowing as if he were trying to think his way out of this situation.

"At least they won't get a chance to eat our souls," said Paul with a tight smile.

The immortals, from all they had gathered and all the people of this world had told them, had potentially limitless lifespans. But they had no auras, the energy fields that accompanied souls. The conjecture was that they had no souls, and for them the afterlife didn't exist. In a way that was comforting, as they wouldn't have to face any of the fabled hells of so many religions. In another, it was very frightening, as death meant the end of existence.

Kurt looked at the other two immortals, searching for the fear he could feel running up his spine. He saw no sign of it. Both had their weapons out, gripping them in white knuckles, ready to fight against the monsters up above. All composed for the battle that would pit their innate strength against the infernal power of these creatures. He thought he must not be showing his either.

"This is so wrong," he shouted. The other two looked at him, surprise on their faces. "The enemy can call up these monsters, but the gods our people serve can’t reciprocate. Why not?"

The big German looked over forty meters away where the command staff was standing in shock. The Ellala High Priest, Fallandera Lisantrana, what would be considered the Pope of Arathonia in the alliance, stood there with them, holding onto his prayer beads, closing his eyes and mumbling.

Kurt ran over to the man, dodging around the soldiers who stood in shocked silence. He hit a few of them with his body as he tried to edge by, sending them spinning off onto the ground. He didn't bother apologizing. He didn't have time for it if he was to accomplish what needed to be done.

"Your eminence," said Kurt, stopping in front of the Ellala priest. "We need to talk."

"This is not a good time for speech," said the man, opening eyes with pupils so wide there were almost no irises. "I need to call for the protection of our souls, lest these things drag all of us to hell."

"And I have a question for you. Why the hell can't your God, the one you claim is so good and powerful, come to our material aid? If that bastard up there," Kurt said, pointing his two-handed sword up at the tower top where the sacrifices were continuing, "can summon these powerful monsters to slaughter us, why can't Arathonia bring on her own monsters?"

"Arathonia has no demons, my Lord," said the priest, his eyes narrowing, his face flushing in anger.

"What about angels? Doesn't your God have any powerful servants? Or are you saying that Bothar is more powerful than Arathonia?"

"Arathonia is not the weaker of the two," growled the priest. "But she does not work in that way."

"Then maybe she needs to start working in that way. If these things scatter this army, what do you think will happen? If this army is destroyed, there isn't another to take its place. Then this bastard will rule this region for the rest of time, tracking down the worshipers of your God and killing them all. So, if she doesn't want that to happen, she had better get off her ass and do something."

The priest looked at him in shock. Kurt guessed that the Ellala did not know how to handle such blasphemy. But that was the least of their problems at the moment. Something roared in the air followed by a cacophony of screams. He looked up to see the largest demon plunging toward the earth; the others close behind.

*  *  *

Garios bounced from the wall, his head ringing from the contact of his helmeted head on the rock. The wind was knocked out of him, and he struggled to keep a grip on his warhammer.

The Queen of the Vampires laughed and jumped toward him, moving so fast she appeared to be a blur to his sight. The priest struggled to get his shield up and in the way. He was too slow, she too fast, and she batted it aside before he could get it in place. Her clawed hand swung toward his throat, a killing blow. The dwarf was able to bring his chin down in time, and accepted the slash below his lip.

Garios struggled to get free as she grabbed his arms, pulling him close as she opened her jaws to present her fangs. The priest really didn't want to come back as a vampire. He was looking forward to the paradise of his god, not the life of an undead and a term in hell before rebirth.

"Grimmoire," he yelled out in a thunderous voice, the name of his god with all of his faith and devotion behind it. The vampire queen recoiled, releasing her grip. The dwarf pushed away with his shield, the power of his God flowing into his muscles. The vampire flew through the air to strike the wall of the tunnel, grunting as she hit.

"You die now," hissed the vampire, stepping away from the wall.

"You've been trying for minutes now, but I'm still here," said Garios with a short laugh. He was still afraid. He was not afraid of death, but he was terrified of where death at the hands of this creature would lead. The power of his god was feeding him courage, and his anger at the very existence of this creature was also fueling him.

The vampire moved again, but this time he was ready for her. Lightning flared from his hammer, and no matter how fast she was, she couldn't outrun the electricity. The vampire's body arced as the electricity flowed through her. Her hair stood on end all over her body, and her eyes almost bugged from her head. Areas of her flesh smoked and burned, and Garios had hopes that this attack would do her in. As the last sparks flew from her body and the injuries started to knit closed, he knew those hopes were false, but she had been hurt. It showed in her eyes, that now resembled those of a frightened animal looking for an out.

Garios took a quick glance to either side, into the other tunnels this secondary passage connected with. The priests and warriors were winning, and there were very few of the undead left in the battle. That glance was a mistake, and by the time he focused back on the queen she was gone.

"Forward," yelled the dwarven duke who was leading the attack. "Forward. We must break through and take the gate."

*  *  *

The archers were the first to react, sending a wave of shafts up into the diving demons. A cry went up from the soldiers as most of the arrows bounced from hard skins. A few of the magical penetrators, a small percentage of those fired, sank into flesh, but they weren't enough to stop them.

The Demon Lord landed among the artillery, grabbing a pair of cannon in its talons and flinging them toward groups of infantry. A cannon hissed/cracked and sent a ball into the chest of the demon. The ball struck with a flat smack, then bounced away. The demon screamed in pain, then looked at the gun that had shot him and opened his mouth wide. A gout of hot flame jetted from the orifice to wash over the cannon. The crew, caught up in the wash of flame, screamed like the damned. That was probably what they were. Lore said that those killed by demon fire had their souls pulled into the hell that was the home of that monster. From the sounds of the people, Kurt could believe that, and felt sick to his stomach as he thought about the torment those men were now facing, all for battling against evil. The cannon itself softened and melted like wax, and the ready jewels of fire used to shoot exploded out in a wave of flame that took more men into the afterlife. Hopefully, to a cleaner end.

Kurt had never understood this world's hierarchy of afterlife reward and punishment. A person of good heart fighting evil could expect an afterlife of torment if killed by that evil. The courage of people of good heart on this world to continue fighting evil surprised him. If he had been concerned about his soul, he wouldn't have left Earth’s religious traditions for love or money.

The mid-level demons came down among the archers, grabbing and ripping, sending caricatures of humanoid bodies flying through the air. Some of the archers continued to fire, some pulled melee weapons and ran to the attack. Most dropped their weapons and ran. Some of those were grabbed from behind by fiends unwilling to lose their prey. Lore said that the kills of demons fed them power, and the hungry creatures seemed almost frantic to collect all they could.

The small demons landed among the infantry, smacking and grabbing with their talons, or flying overhead to go for the heads and upper bodies of their victims.

The demons did not have it their own way in every instance. Courageous men with magical weapons went on the attack. Here a smaller demon flapped one wing as it spun on the ground, the other severed, ichor spurting from the stump. There one of the large versions continued to attack with a spear through its abdomen, still stomping forward, its life's blood pumping through the wound. But overall, the warriors were being slaughtered by the enemy.

A small demon rushed toward Kurt, small, in relation to the others, but still towering over the tall immortal. It swung a talon, intending to take the head off the man, and met a speeding two-handed sword that glowed white hot as it touched the wrist and sliced through. The talon flew away, and the demon pulled its arm back while screeching its agony. Kurt didn't give it a chance to strike again, reversing his sword blade and pushing it forward like a spear, straight through the breast of the demon. The creature coughed up blood that burned as it hit the immortal in the face. Kurt pulled the blade out in a draw cut, and the demon fell over, muscles twitching as life left its body.

Nearby Paul swung the huge god hammer he had appropriated for his own use, staving in the side of a lesser demon, crumpling the creature up on its side. As it bent, the huge immortal brought the hammer down on its head with a sound like a watermelon falling from a great height and hitting concrete. The light went out of the demon's eyes in an instant, and the limp body crashed to the ground.

Levine fought in a different manner. His age gave him a strength the other immortals would not possess for centuries. His lack of their bulk gave him a speed they couldn't match as well. He was using this speed, and the twin longswords in his hands moved like blurs, part of a dance of death that confused his enemies even while he opened their veins and arteries. Two lesser demons had attacked the elder immortal. One was already dead, a bleeding thrust through its chest showing the means of its end. The other was still circling, clutching at an abdominal wound. Levine was a thruster, pushing his blade into the body of his enemy to cause the most organ damage he could.

The immortals were holding their own, and killing their opponents as they came. But there were over a hundred of them, and the rest of the army was faring so well.

As long as they don't swarm us, thought Kurt, running toward one of the larger demons, screaming at the top of his lungs and swinging his sword. The demon looked up from the body it was eating to give him an infernal grin, gore flowing from its mouth. It spit fire at the immortal that washed over the man as Kurt raised his arm over his eyes. He braced himself for the agony of his flesh catching on fire, and was surprised when all he felt was a gentle warmth. The fire was magical, and his body did not feel the effect of magical forces. A bitch when he needed healing, though his own body normally took care of that, but very useful when one of the magical beings of this world tried to do him in.

The big immortal sprung into the air, rearing back with the sword, covering the twenty-meter distance in an instant. The blade came in in a blur. This was one of the creatures the Paladin's blade had been created to combat, and its flesh burned as the metal of the sword touched. That would have caused the creature great agony. Would have, if it hadn't had had its throat slit by the impossibly sharp edge.

A dragon roared, and Kurt turned to see one of the large creatures, a silver, standing on its pair of legs while it bit down on one of the lesser demons, teeth meeting through the neck. The rider took a shot at another one, a greater demon. The crossbow bolt bounced away, and the demon roared, pointing at the dragon. Kurt got a view of what a swarm of demons looked like, as several greater demons and a dozen of the lesser flew to the dragon and mobbed it. In seconds the rider was torn apart, and the silver roared and let forth gouts of hot flame. The demons returned their own fire at the dragon. One hit the dragon in the head and surrounded it in flames. Silvers were creatures of fire, and the demon fire did little damage. It was not immune to physical damage though, and the supernaturally strong demons ripped into the beautiful creature. It killed two demons, the one it had bitten and another it had crushed with a rear claw, but it didn't have the strength to keep the others from ripping through its scales and opening up its large arteries.

Paul yelled out, and Kurt turned to see another dozen demons swarming onto the big Brit. Paul was very large for a human, over two meters tall and massing more than a hundred and fifty kilos. He looked small compared to even the lesser demons. His enchanted armor was protecting him from the claws, but if enough of them grabbed and pulled, they could tear the immortal apart.

Kurt rushed over the broken ground, leaping over a body, his eyes locked on the monsters who were threatening his friend. Paul was actually holding his own; something Kurt wouldn't have believed given the relative mass of the monsters swarming him. He speared his own blade forward into the back of a demon, punching it through the chest, then pulling it out in a draw cut that sliced through the spine, leaving it to flop on the ground. Paul smashed another one, then went down as two hit him in the chest with taloned hands. Kurt killed another, and Paul got a grip on the throat of one of his attackers and jerked it into the way of the other. In moments, it was over, at least for this one small battle, and the demons were dead. Kurt helped his ichor-covered friend back to his feet, his head turning and taking in the field of battle.

It was not going well for the alliance. There were bodies everywhere, limbs and heads ripped off. More and more people were running, the swift demons chasing them down to slaughter them in their helplessness. The priests were fighting back, calling on the powers of their Gods. In places they were driving the demons back. In others, they were being overwhelmed. He caught sight of the high priest and ran over to him, his metabolism accelerating until he was flying over the ground at a hundred kilometers an hour. He couldn't keep himself going at this rate for long, but he needed to as long as possible.

"Where the hell is your goddess?" yelled the immortal as he came to a stop in front of the shocked looking priest. "Why isn't she helping us? That damned bastard in the city seems to be having no problem getting his god to respond. So why not Arathonia?"

"The gods don't work in that way," shouted the priest, his eyes rolling in panic.

"Well, she better get off her ass and do something, or we're meat. These things are going to roll over us. And I'll tell you something else. I'm not running. So unless she wants to find a new champion to take my place when I'm lying dead on this field, she better do something."

"I've tried, my son. I've tried, and she isn't answering."

"Then damn her to hell. I want nothing to do with a goddess that does nothing while her enemy takes a direct hand in killing us."

"That's blasphemy," growled the priest, making a sign with his hands that would probably send a Refuge native into a panic from its implications.

"Blasphemy against something with no power? Don't make me laugh." Kurt looked up to the sky and shouted at the top of his lungs. "If you aren't going to help us, then at least just leave us alone."

With that, he turned and ran back into the battle, heading toward a small group of demons that was killing a cluster of infantry who were fighting their hardest to survive. But not hard enough.

*  *  *

“Let us pray,” yelled out the senior sergeant known to all as the Preacher. Men knelt with folded hands for the most part, though a few knelt and bowed, and some others sat cross-legged on the ground. All were praying in the words of their own faiths, mostly Christian denominations, a preponderance of Catholics and Lutherans, Baptists and Methodists. Some were Muslims, a few Buddhists, even a couple of Jews, but most were from Germany or American, predominantly Christian countries, and beings from their worst nightmares were dropping toward them.

Dieter held one of Bubbuh’s hands in his left, Humphrey’s in his right, as each said the Our Father, trying to call up the protection of the god they believed in. Since coming to this world, they had seen that there were other gods, but they continued to believe that theirs was stronger, and so far he had proven so.

A dozen of the smaller demons headed toward their group with hate filled eyes glaring at them as they led with flaming swords. With a screech of recognition, most of the creatures veered off, seeking more palatable prey. One continued toward them and thrust its sword into a man. The result was spectacular as a gout of energy flowed into the demon, which disintegrated in a burst of white light. It was a blast that should have blown many of the praying men apart, but they were untouched, save the man that had been killed. He slumped to the ground with a smile on his face, his soul saved.

“God has protected us,” shouted Preacher.

While Dieter had to agree with that sentiment, their God was not protecting most of the others on that field, and the demons were diving and killing all around them.

Chapter Twenty-two

"Shit, shit, shit," said Dirk Winslow as the demons appeared. One was as big as the monster they had seen back at the bridge fort. There were many smaller ones, but they were still demons, and he was sure they would rip him and his band-mates to shreds in seconds. That singular monster was truly spectacular in its height and breadth.

"You can say that again," said Peter, standing up from his drum set.

They had not started playing yet. There had seemed no need, since the army was merely bombarding the walls and gates of the city. There was no army to fight, with the exception of some archers. Then the dark clouds had come over, causing Dirk to wonder if they needed to seek the shelter of their tent. But instead of raindrops, fire-red creatures from hell had dropped.

"What the hell are we going to do?" asked Reinhold, who had just picked up his bass, and now looked at it like he wasn't sure what it was. The bassist looked back at the demons as they spread out over the battlefield and went into the attack. "If we start playing, you know a couple of them are going to home in on us. And we can't fight that."

Dirk had to agree with his assessment, yet they couldn't just sit here and let the people on their side be slaughtered. That would be dereliction of duty, holding back their power during a full out fight. But what could they do that wouldn't get them slaughtered in a second?

"What about that thing over there?" asked Peter in an excited voice, pointing at some nearby ruins. "That looks stout enough."

"Good," said Dirk, a feeling of relief coming over him. They really were ruins, of some kind of heavy walled house. It wouldn't stand up to an assault by human sized opponents, with its open doors and windows, but it didn't look like the demons would be able to fit. If they got far enough back in the main room, it could work. It was about a hundred meters from the hill they were occupying, and they had to move not just their instruments, but also the amplification boxes that the dwarves had made for them. "Let's start getting this stuff over. The amps and the drum kit first.”

It took several minutes for each of them to drag a heavy piece of equipment into the ruined house, and all were exhausted when they got them there. The house walls and roof were intact, and made of heavy stone.

"This should be able to stand up to them," said Wolfgang in a voice that indicated that he was not really sure of that. He ran a hand over the stonework, giving a satisfied grunt.

They are demons, after all, thought Dirk, not wanting to spook his friends and have them back out of his plan. We don't know what they can do, but I'm willing to bet that if given enough time they could get through that.

"Okay, second trip," he ordered. "I'll get my guitar and a drum. In fact, everyone get a drum, so poor old Peter won't have to make more trips."

They all laughed at that, trying to buoy up their spirits and courage, until they got outside and the reality of the situation hit them in the face. The demons were still on a rampage. People were fighting back, and as they watched one of the big immortals killed one. But all in all the exchange rate was not one that favored the alliance forces.

"Come on," yelled Dirk, starting back for their instruments, his flesh crawling at the thought of one of the infernal creatures coming for him as he scampered across the ground. He was not one of the protected; he had willingly joined in the worship of the local gods to gain the power they granted. Which could allow his soul to go to some dismal hell if a demon took him.

The other three stood in place, not moving, eyes locked on the battle going on below their position.

"Get your asses moving! We're not going to just stand here when we can help."

The three started after him, their eyes still locked on the demons. The odor of blood and voided bowels was reaching even to here, and the scent of brimstone permeated it all. It was enough to turn their stomachs, and make them wonder what the infantry and artillerymen were going through down there.

Finally, they reached their instruments and ran them back, making haste to get out of view of the demons. It only took another minute to set up and test the sound. Electricity wasn't involved, like on Earth. Magic was their power source, and that came from them and their music itself.

"Okay, everyone ready?"

"What song?" asked Wolfgang, fear showing in his eyes. "Something to buoy the spirits, or something to chase demons."

It was obvious he was hoping the answer would be no song, and Dirk felt for him, but they had to play something.

"I don't think raising spirits is going to help much," said Dirk, shaking his head. "Those who are fighting already have enough motivation, while those who are running aren't going to stop for anything."

He could tell what they were thinking while they were looking at him. They were wondering why they couldn't join those running, but he couldn't let them do that.

"Okay. On three."

The music blasted out from the house, a loud heavy-metal song that would attack the demons to their infernal souls. They played for minutes, and Dirk walked to the entrance while playing his guitar to get a look out and see if they were accomplishing anything.

He was gratified to see that some of the demons seemed to be distressed by the music. Some were holding their ears, and he watched as a platoon of archers took one down that was distracted. Then he saw some of the others, also screeching their displeasure and looking around. One looked directly into his eyes, sending a wave of fear that caused his bladder to release. It waved and screeched some more, then headed his way on widespread wings, a pair falling in behind it. It had seen the source of the pain, and it was coming to snuff it out.

*  *  *

There was more screaming from behind, just when Garios thought they were about to reach the surface.

"What the hell now?" he yelled as he turned and tramped back the way he had come, pushing his way through confused Dwarves, then some that weren't so confused as they ran in terror from whatever was attacking them.

Then what was attacking them was right in front of him, a multi-horned demon, one of those that inhabited the underground regions of the planet, when they weren't in the hells of their god.

Garios felt a shiver of fear as he saw the demons. Not from what they could do, but from what he must do to stop them. His god, and the pantheon he was in, would intervene in the affairs of mortals. Law was not afraid, but there were often consequences of calling such aid. Consequences that involved potential life span.

The first demon looked over at the priest, opening its mouth and letting out a roar that sounded like steam rising from a vent in the earth mixed with bubbling lava. It started toward the priest, who raised his hammer and said a prayer to his god.

He hit the demon in the chest with his hammer, a sound of thunder reverberating through the caverns. The rocky skin of the demon cracked and it stepped back. In seconds the skin, now glowing like fire, set itself, and the demon started forward again.

"I call on you, Grimmoire, God of the Earth and my people. Send me aid against these creatures."

Garios felt lightheaded as he finished the call. The god had taken life force from the body of his priest, the energy needed to open the portal between his dimension and the world. The god, like most, was selfish. He would not give up his energy when there was another source he could tap. The priest felt his vision blur, his knees weaken, and he wondered if the god was going to drain him. Such had happened to others in the past. He was afraid it might happen again, here and now. At least he would end up in the dwarven heaven if his own god killed him.

Garios fell on his butt, watching as the demon stalked forth, five others forming up behind him. There was a priest of one of their enemies before them, and it was time to feast.

*  *  *

Kurt sliced into another of the demons, his sword cutting through the hard skin as if it was nothing but normal flesh. This was what the blade had been made for. It was also good for killing vampires and werebeasts, but demons were its preferred prey. The major demon screamed out and turned, its claws striking at the large human that was small beside its height. Razor sharp claws scraped along his armor, a screeching noise painful to the sensitive ears of the immortal. It struck with the other claw, this time hitting the immortal in the face, knocking him back with a gaping wound on his jaw.

Kurt set himself, feeling the skin already beginning to knit through the force of his peculiar metabolism. He ignored the itching pain and stepped forward, thrusting with his sword like it was a short spear. The infantry the demon had been attacking had at least gotten away. Or so the German had thought, until a dozen of them swarmed the demon, thrusting with their swords. Their blades were not good enough, and the monster threw them away, killing three.

The paladin blade struck the back of the demon, into the root of its wing, halfway cutting it off. The monster turned with murder in its eye to take the blade through its chest. Kurt thrust up, then pulled down, slicing through the diaphragm and abdominal muscles of the beast, spilling its entrails onto the ground. The demon looked up to the sky, its mouth opened in a silent scream. Ichor pumped from the wound while it tried to clamp its hands over the slash. It fell over on its back, its breath rattling from its lungs. With one last shudder, it died and started to melt away.

I don't have time for this, thought Kurt, pulling himself out of his shocked observation of the dying of an infernal creature. It was not the first he had killed this day, but it had been the first he had seen actually crossing back over to its infernal regions. From what he understood, it had not really died, just lost its material sheath in this dimension. It would go back to its hell, there to stay for a long period of time until it had gathered enough energy to be summoned again, if someone tried to do so.

There were still almost a hundred of the demons on the field, despite what the immortals and some of the priests had done. It was almost as if more had come from their infernal regions while they were battling. That was not impossible. Though if it were happening, it meant they had already lost this fight.

The Ellala high priest stood on the top of a small rise, his arms stretched into the air, calling out in a language that Kurt had never heard before. Other priests, glowing with holy light, stood around him, warding him from the demons who were trying, so far unsuccessfully, to penetrate their shield. Everything seemed to be going their way until the chief demon, the one that towered over the field, landed in front of the rise and started to push its way through the holy power, a grim smile on its face.

Kurt wasn't sure what the priest was trying to do. Only that it was meant to help his side in the battle. And if the demon ripped him apart, this fight was over.

Then he noted the large clusters of human soldiers on their knees praying, and the way the demons were avoiding them. That was all very well for those men, but was doing nothing for the rest of the army. With an idea in mind, he sprinted over to the first group.

*  *  *

In the halls of power, the heavenly palace of the Queen of the Gods of Life, Arathonia looked down upon the world. She had the appearance of a beautiful Ellala woman: hair of gold, perfect pale skin, and eyes of glowing blue. She looked that way because her people believed she looked that way. The gold veined marble of the palace existed because of belief. On this world everything divine, infernal or magical was that way because of belief by the mortal beings who inhabited it. They were the real power, and their worship and prayer empowered the gods, made them real. Without that belief, they would not exist.

Arathonia was actually a simple creature. She had her wants and desires, and that was about it. Some thoughts went through the field of energy that was her mind, none of them deep. She did think at times about the beings that the newcomers had brought over the dimensional barrier with them. Were they also merely beings of belief? Then how did they come over, and how did they possess so much power on a world that was not theirs?

A voice started calling, coming from the realm of the mortal, echoing through the chambers of her palace. She recognized the voice, one of her Ellala priests. He sounded frightened. He sounded insistent, and she had to wonder why he was bothering her. With a thought, she was looking down on the earth, to the planet the newcomers called their Refuge. A battle was going on there. Something she normally ignored. Her task was to provide healing energy and the power to fight evil to her priests, and nothing more. However. this battle was different. Her eyes widened as she saw the demons moving across the field slaughtering the mortals, pulling their souls into the hells of their god. The souls that should have been hers, to live in her paradise even while they strengthened her. The immortals, including the one she thought of as her champion, were fighting them, and they were losing. As she watched, a great demon attacked the holy barrier that was protecting the priest. It reached through with a groan of agony and grabbed one of the sub-priests, ripping her apart and flinging the remains across the hilltop.

This I cannot let stand, she thought, calling up her power, calling up her servants. She pointed a finger at the battlefield through the dimensions and shouted a word.

*  *  *

The demons advancing on Garios stopped in their tracks as the floor of the tunnel rippled, then shook. Rock dust fell from the ceiling, the floor rippled again, this time half a dozen spots rising like small domes. They continued to rise, the eyes of the demons following them. The infernal creatures hissed their rage as they recognized their enemies. With the crack of thunder, the creatures erupted out of the ground, their heads scraping the ceiling, their thick fingered hands reaching out.

Earth Daemons, the servants of the God of the Earth. One of them stepped forward with a sound of grinding stone, its large paw reaching out to grasp at one of the demons, their natural enemies through several dimensions. The daemons were larger, more powerful, but were still outnumbered by the demons. There was no fear in either party; the hate was too hot, too deep.

A daemon jumped forward, grabbing one of the demons by the neck, its rock-like hands crushing the throat of the other creature. The demon was not helpless, and its own adamantine claws gouged rifts into the forearms of its attacker. The next instant the earth was shaking as the two forces clashed together, rock hard fists smashing leering faces, claws cutting through limbs. Rock dust and dirt fell from the ceiling and dwarves landed on their backs as they lost their footing. The screeches and screams of the supernatural creatures echoed from the walls, blasting at the eardrums of the mortals.

It was looking like the outnumbered daemons were not going to win this fight, despite their strength. The demons were less massive, and therefore faster. There were not only more of them, but they were getting in two strikes each for every one the daemons landed, but the daemons weren't alone, while the demons were.

"At them," yelled Garios, back on his feet, hammer gripped tightly in two hands. He ran forward and struck the closest demon in the back, his weapon flashing with lightning as the clap of thunder propagated through the body of the creature. It fell slack to the ground, not dead, but seriously injured. The stomp of a daemon's foot crushed down on its head, finishing the job. The demon melted away, its fluids flowing into the ground as a bubbling mess.

The daemon he had aided could now turn its attention to the other demon, smashing both fists together, catching and crushing its head between the massive appendages. The skull was collapsed in an instant, and another of the demons was soon melting into the ground.

Not everything went the way of the Lords of Law. One daemon went down under a swarm of demons, and soon its throat was ripped out in a spray of rock dust. The daemons did not melt. There was almost no moisture in them, and the one just killed crumbled into dry dust.

More demons appeared, coming out of the darkness. They were matched by more of the rock daemons, rising up from the earth and immediately joining battle. The dwarven priests were fully into the battle now. If the daemons lost, they too would be killed, and so they fought with everything they had. Everything included the lives of some that found themselves overwhelmed.

Garios was a powerful priest, the chosen cleric of his king, what would be considered an archbishop in many of the religions of the planet. He was able to channel more of his god's power than most, but even he had his limits. Garios was beginning to feel like he was approaching them. He struck out again with his hammer, hitting another demon. This time the creature shrugged it off, an indication that the energy of the priest was waning. It reached back with a talon, starting to swing it forward in a strike that would rip the priest's throat, and with it, his life.

A heavy rock hand landed on the shoulder of the demon, driving it halfway to its knees, then jerking it back and flinging it into the wall. The daemon died a moment later as three demons swarmed over it, while Garios struck one of them down with a blow to the head. The two remaining demons turned his way, and Garios did not think he would have the strength to fight them off.

*  *  *

Dieter wasn’t sure at first if he liked this idea, but the immortal Kurt had given the order, and they had to obey. A group of almost two hundred of the faithful was on the move, praying as they walked, moving toward part of the battle where demons were overwhelming mortals. He could feel the power building around him as they walked, their god with them.

The demons looked up to see them coming and screeched their anger. A half dozen started for them, and then stopped in the air as if they had hit a wall. Those were soon fleeing, looking for easier prey. As the protected drew nearer, the other demons fled, leaving many dead mortals behind, but more importantly, a large group of those still living, who would now live to fight again.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The immortals had almost unimaginable reserves of strength, but they still had their limits, and Kurt felt like he was nearing his. He had just slain another of the lesser demons, a task that had left him drained and bloody from the wounds it inflicted upon his face and neck. He was healing, quickly, but healing took energy. It would eventually get to the point where he would no longer be able to knit his wounds, or have enough blood to keep himself alive.

It didn't look like the demons were going to give him a chance to recover his strength, as half a dozen of the lesser variety turned his way and started flapping toward him.

Damn you, you unfaithful bitch, he thought, looking up for a moment. He was not sure where the heaven of Arathonia was, but most of her worshipers seemed to think it was up. At least he could try to send his thoughts that way, and hope she picked up on them before he died.

A light from above struck him in the face, blinding him with its brilliance. At first, he thought the sun must have come from behind the clouds that the demons had brought with them. He opened his eyes, gratified that he still had his sight, though it was somewhat blurry, and saw that the dark clouds were still there. But a couple score of beams of light shone through them. The demons caught in that light were all screaming in pain, and scrambling to get back into the shadows.

At first, it seemed as if nothing else was going on except for the light beams shining down, until other bright objects moved down them. The beams of light flashed off, and the beautiful creatures revealed took the breaths away from everyone who saw them. The mortals felt their courage returning, while the demons cried out in rage and terror, and sprung to attack the enemies they rarely engaged.

The angels all looked like beautiful women, or was that men? It was hard to tell with their androgynous good looks. They had smooth bodies, what could be seen under their armor. They were thin and narrow, with none of the curves of women, though the fair faces and shining blue eyes reminded Kurt of some of the gorgeous females of the Nordic countries. The wings protruding from their backs were not covered in feathers like the representations of angels from Earth, but instead were like the flying appendages of bats, covered in the same fair flesh as their faces and hands, with an overcoat of pure white fur. Instead of clawed hands, their manipulating appendages looked very human. Their weapons were the great swords they clasped, glowing with the same holy light as their bodies.

Like the demons they came in two general sizes. The smaller seemed the faster as they started to form a front line. The larger appeared to be much stronger as they swung their huge swords through the air as if testing their balance. Or maybe they simply threatening the enemy.

The demons seemed to get over their alarm quickly. With a flap of wings that sounded like hundreds of sails cracking, they were headed off toward the angels, coming in from all sides at the divine creatures that occupied the sky in the center of the field. It was obviously a fight to the death, though Kurt wasn't sure if death was the right word. They could be destroyed on this plane, but would reconstitute on the plane of their god, ready after a time to be redeployed.

I wonder if they have something like Valhalla? he thought. That would be an interesting concept for the mortals here, and he wondered if Arathonia or some other god might institute it if they heard the idea. If that was something they could do, if not constrained by some other laws.

The first lesser demon to get within range of a lesser angel met its fate as the tip of a glowing sword pushed through its chest. It got one claw into the shining armor of the angel, ripping a gash that leaked a silver liquid that must have been the divine creature's blood. The demon fell out of the sky, screaming its agony as flaming ichor fell from it. By the time it hit the ground, it was merely a blob of liquid bubbling into the dirt and was gone. The angel moved back into the ranks, seeming a little slowed, a little clumsy from the strike.

Infernal fire and a divine light that looked like laser beams flew between the two hosts, striking their opposite numbers and seeming to do little damage. The energies that could destroy mortals seemed to have no effect on the immortal. Only their physical weapons could destroy the other. They struck with those weapons, ripping holes in bodies and slicing wings from backs. Here, a demon tore the head off an angel, and that being exploded into smalls flakes of light that ascended quickly above the clouds. There, a greater angel sliced the head off another demon, sending its stinking liquid into the ground. The sky rumbled with thunder and the Earth shook as the first battle between the hosts of the leaders of Death and Life met in battle.

"What the hell are you looking at?" yelled General Delgado, now on horseback and riding the field. "Form up into your units and get ready for battle."

He saw Kurt, standing on the field, leaning on his sword and catching his breath. The big immortal knew he could fight now if need be, but some rest would be welcome, so that he could again move and strike like a demigod, and not a mere mortal.

"It looks like the queen listened to you," said the general, smiling down from his horse as he reined it to a halt next to Kurt. Levine and Mason-Smythe came walking slowly toward them, looking as fatigued as Kurt felt.

"My curses or the priest's prayers."

"Or maybe both," said Levine with a lopsided smile on his face. "Deities are fickle creatures, after all."

The most ancient of the immortals looked up at the general. "And what are you thinking of doing, Delgado?"

"I'm thinking of taking that city as soon as the dwarves open the gates," snarled the human. "I've lost too many people to these hell spawn to think of retreating. Either those glowing things beat the evil things and we can take the city, or the evil things win, and we have to kill whatever of them that remain. But either way, my army needs to be set and ready."

He looked down at Kurt for a moment. "I seem to have lost two of my division commanders. Could a couple of you gentlemen fill in?" Kurt had been a division commander for most of the march, until Taylor had learned of it and demoted him, not taking his rank, but removing him from command.

"Are you sure Taylor will approve?" asked Paul.

"Taylor isn't here. And as long as he's not giving me orders to the contrary, I don't give a damn what he approves of or not. I'm offering two of you field commissions to major general. Hell, why not all three of you. I probably need another second in command. I think my last one got pulled apart over there," He pointed with his sword to a point on the field where piles of bodies laid.

"I'll take the first," said Paul, looking over at the others.

"You take overall second in command, Ismael," said Kurt. "I'll take the second division."

A clap of thunder sounded over the field, too strong for anyone to hear, too strong for many men to move. All of the party looked in the direction of the thunder, to see an enormous red dragon dropping to the ground, its mouth opened in a roar.

"I didn't think they had any that large," said Delgado, his eyes wide with terror.

"That isn't a dragon," said Levine. "I think we are about to be introduced to one of the lesser gods of the Pantheon of Death."

*  *  *

The band continued to play, sending out waves of sound. There was nothing else they could do. Dirk shook with fear as he kept pounding out the riffs. The feedback from his own music was giving him the strength to keep going, otherwise he would be curled up on the floor shivering like a rabbit cornered by a snake. The other band members were in just as bad a state, though they also kept on, trying to keep up the harmony. At times, it failed them and they could do nothing more than hit random notes, or hit rhythms that had nothing to do with the song.

The reason for their distress was hammering at the stone walls of the ruins and dislodging stones and rock dust. Baleful eyes would look through the windows periodically, and clawed hands would reach in. If they had been the greater demons, they would have easily reached the band members. As it was, they were barely out of reach of the infuriated demons. The walls and roof were holding up, but cracks were showing, and it would not be long.

What else can we do? Dirk wondered as he shuffled back a step to get just a little more distance between him and the talons that could rip him apart in an instant. Where can we go?

There was no place to go. As soon as they stepped out of the structure, they would be pounced on and destroyed. Dirk had no desire to end up in the hell of whatever dark god sent these creatures. Maybe if he prayed to the god he had grown up with he might be saved, but he doubted that god would listen to someone who had turned away due to the convenience the power of the godlings of this world gave. No, they were stuck here, at least until the creatures battered their way in.

Maybe we're doing some good, keeping these things away from the main fight. That might not be the most satisfying result, but it was what it was.

"Dammit," yelled Wolfgang, staring up at the ceiling as another crack appeared, and the middle of the structure took on a decided sag. "We need to get out of here."

"And go where," yelled his brother, Reinhold, back at him. "We're fucked."

"I don't want to die," screamed Wolfgang.

Who does? Dirk thought as he launched into another riff to extend the song. But we might not have a choice here.

His daddy had told him that it mattered how a man died, as much as how he lived. If he had to die, it would be facing his enemy, shouting defiance in its face. How he acted after, when his soul was being dragged down to some slimy hell, would be the question, but while life still existed in his body, he could fight.

A demon hit the roof with a massive strike, and this time the sag became an opening. It wouldn't be long now. A couple of more strikes and it would come down, and they would have the choice of either being buried under the stone or running into the claws of the demons. He knew which he would want to choose, but his body might not react the way he wanted. He was afraid that when the roof came down, he would run like hell, trying to prolong his life for a few more seconds. He wasn't sure what kind of afterlife he would have if he were crushed to death, but if the demons took his life directly, it would not be pleasant.

A demon screeched, then a second, and then suddenly they were all screeching. The sound of flapping wings grew louder, until it became obvious that there were more than three creatures out there. Another cry sounded out, one that was a combination of fury and musical tones.

Dirk walked to the door, his skin crawling the entire way. He could imagine a claw darting through and grabbing him before he could get back. He shook a bit, and then took another step within range of the monsters. He knew that they also spit fire, though they hadn't tried it against the band. Maybe because of the magic of music. Maybe.

Dirk looked up as he got to the doorway, and almost shouted in joy as he saw four of the gloriously beautiful angels in a weaving battle with the three demons. He forced his mouth shut. It would not do to attract the attention of those demons when they were otherwise occupied.

"Pick up the pace, boys," yelled Dirk, stepping back to his position in front of the band. "We have heavenly protectors, and I'm sure they would appreciate some of our energy."

The other members started whooping, and they began weaving a harmony that would discomfit the demons, while hopefully giving strength to the angels. It was definitely giving the band members strength, and courage. Dirk started to sing along to the song that had no words, just musical sounds that moved along with his guitar. Adding more power to the tune.

The screeching of the demons assumed a panicked tone; the song of the angels grew in strength. Something screeched in agony, then another, and then there was silence outside the ruins.

"I'm going to see what's happening," Dirk told the band. "You keep playing."

Dirk fought his feelings, one part wanting him to get out there and find out what happened, the other demanding caution. Haste won out, this time, and he stepped out of the ruins to see a demon lying on the ground, starting to dissolve into a foul smelling goop. He looked to the right and there was another one, off about forty meters away, still alive, for the moment. One of the angels pushed a glowing sword of light into its chest, and it shuddered once and started into the same dissolving act. To his left at the same distance was the form of an angel, no longer glowing, and showing no life. An instant later, it was coming apart, shiny particles rising into the air, heading into the clouds.

"They got them!" he yelled back into the structure.

Flapping sounds came from overhead along with a downdraft. Dirk looked up quickly, fear again alive in his body. It left as soon as he looked at the creature that was coming in for a landing to his front. It was a three-meter tall being with what looked like white robes on its body. With a closer look, it turned out to be its outer covering with a surface of white fur like that of a bat. The wings were not what he had been expecting either. They were also like the wings of a bat, with glowing white fur covering the surface. The face that looked down on him could have been human, or Ellala. The ears were shaped like neither, while the eyes fluctuated between glowing blue and white. The hair on the head was the same white as the body fur. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, or even if such terms made sense for a creature like this.

The angel reached one hand down, palm up. Dirk put his own hand in the larger member, and felt a shiver of energy enter his body. He smiled as it ran through him, a feeling of healing and relaxation and something else. Some kind of strength that he thought might be permanent.

The angel gave a head nod, then jumped into the air, wings stretching out and propelling it upward and outward. Back to the fight. Where Dirk needed to be.

"Help me get the equipment out here," he said to the others as he walked back in with a spring in his step.

"Why can't we just stay here?" asked Peter, leaning on his drum kit.

"Because our side needs us. Now get your asses moving and let's get to it."

The band started moving as soon as the words left his mouth. Uncharacteristic for them. Dirk had to wonder what kind of power the angelic being had given him.

*  *  *

Jackie did not like going underground like this. It felt like the walls were closing in around her, like the ceiling was going to come crashing down on her and bury her alive. She wished she hadn't volunteered for this mission. She could have let Izabella and Gregor handle this while she kept her ass in the sunlight.

"Are you okay?" asked Gregor, looking like he was feeling no discomfort at all being in this tomb. The hammer he held was not the most magical object among the immortals. However, it had enough enchantment that with his great strength it was a deadly weapon.

Izabella had some very good weapons herself: a heavily enchanted bastard sword and a shield of mithril that could bash the life out of someone in her hands. But neither of them had the weapons she did. The twin katanas, what she called Fire and Ice, were not quite god weapons, but they were the next thing to them. Some major magic had been performed on these dwarven-forged blades, and they had let her kill all kinds of powerful creatures.

"I'll make it," she said, shivering a moment, then setting her will to carry her forward.

Dwarves had been streaming past them for minutes now, heading the wrong way. None of the creatures would answer their questions. They all looked down, afraid and ashamed that they were afraid. The sounds of conflict came from ahead, yells and screeches, rock and metal pounding on each other. The smell of brimstone filled the air, along with the iron odor of blood.

The trio turned a corner and there was the battle, but not what any of them were expecting. Giant creatures of rock fought with red demons. Dwavern priests ran around getting in what licks they could. Bodies covered the ground, some in the peaceful aspect of death, many more crushed or torn apart.

"Who do we attack?" asked Izabella, stopping in her tracks as her eyes shifted back and forth over the fight. She looked like she was about to break and run herself, and Jackie wouldn't have blamed her if she had. In fact, she probably would have followed her as quickly as her legs would carry her.

They had a job to do here, to take these tunnels, break through the ground in the courtyard behind the gates, then take those portals. These things stood in their way, so they needed to be killed.

"The red things are demons," she shouted out. "And they're fighting the rock things. So I would say we kill the red things and help the rock things, unless we find out otherwise." Finding out otherwise could be when the rock creatures started pounding on them with those huge fists.

The other two immortals nodded, and then started forward. Jackie picked out a demon that was part of a quartet mobbing one of the rock creatures and ran at it. She plunged Fire, the blade in her right hand, up to its hilt in the back of the demon, while swinging Ice into a wing. The demon exploded into black ichor from the temperature differential of the two blades. Jackie closed her eyes trying to keep the fluid out, but some made it onto her eyeball, burning.

She felt sick for a moment, remembering that the blood of demons was said to be extremely poisonous. She shrugged off the feeling, hoping that her metabolism would protect her from it. With a shake of her head, she focused on the next demon, killing it with her two blades as they slid in within centimeters of each other.

Gregor crushed a demon, then another, turning into a squat dervish of death. Izabella took a more methodical approach, killing one demon, stepping back, killing another.

The dwarven priests disengaged, and Jackie thought for a moment they were going to run, now that they had been delivered from the demons. However, none of them left the area, only standing back, leaning on the walls, catching their breath and regaining their energy. They left it to the immortals and their rock allies for the moment.

Jackie went into overdrive, her blades flashing, each strike causing a major wound. The fire blade sliced like an infinitely sharp razor, though the heat didn't damage the earth demons as much as the immortal expected. Probably due to the fact that they were creatures of the earth, and the heat of the planet. The ice blade froze the flesh and muscles of the creatures when it thrust or sliced in. When the demon tried to move the affected member, the flesh shattered like ice hit by a hammer.

The immortals turned the tide, killing enough of the demons to switch the numbers to the side of the Gods of Law. When it had turned far enough, the priests reentered the battle, wielding their holy power to weaken the demons. Jackie was still swinging when there was nothing left to strike. She was on edge, feeling trapped, and wanting to smash her way out.

"Hey, watch it," yelled one of the dwarves as her blade sliced over his head.

Fire slammed into some unyielding object, jarring her arm, and she looked down to see Izabella leaning into her shield, absorbing her hits. A pair of strong arms slid around her and pinioned her limbs to her sides.

"Calm down," said Gregor into her ear. "It's over. We've won."

"Okay," she said, and the Russian let her go.

Jackie immediately put away her blades in their special sheaths, removing them from the chance of damaging others. She took a couple of breaths, and then shrugged her shoulders.

"It's not over," she said, shaking her head. "We need to bust out of here and take the courtyard. Then the gates."

Nobody seemed to want to move all that quickly, but she wanted to get moving, to get these damned tunnels behind her.

Chapter Twenty-four

The huge red dragon landed, the earth shaking as its great bulk hit the ground. Kurt still could not believe such an animal could actually fly. It couldn't on Earth. Of course, almost none of the lesser dragons or any of the demons could fly on his home world. Flying had little to do with muscle power and air density here, though the gravity was lower and the atmosphere thicker. One of the scientists from Earth had explained that the gravitational constant in this universe was lower than in theirs. The planet was much larger than Earth, over fifty percent more surface area. The sun was almost fifty percent more massive, but because of the constant it only put out slightly more energy than Sol. Refuge was in a further orbit, taking over four hundred of its twenty-four hour days to orbit, and receiving about the same amount of luminosity as his home world at that distance.

Flight here had little to do with physics, and almost everything to do with magic. Dragons, demons, the giant birds, all used magical energy to fly. Their aerodynamic forms allowed them to propel themselves forward and maneuver, which was still amazing.

This dragon was even larger than the great wyrm the armored cavalry had killed in the early days when the newcomers still had their advanced technology. It glared down at the humans and elves while the demons flew to its side, seemingly careful to avoid close proximity. It seemed a wise move some moments later when one of the lesser demons came too close. The long neck of the great beast flung its maw sideways and its jaws closed on the demon that was frantically trying to get away. Its efforts stopped as the teeth met through its body, destroying it. Before it could dissolve, the dragon swallowed the body, its forked tongue licking its lips.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" asked Paul, looking nervously at the monster.

The angels had also gathered, on the opposite side of the battlefield. They looked to be as calm as ever, but Kurt was willing to bet that if they could shit, they would be shitting their armored britches. The equation had shifted fully into the odds of the evil God of Death. It was looking like everything on the side of life was going to be stomped into the dirt.

The dragon shimmered, a red light, and started to shrink, its horns and wings folding into its body, its limbs shortening. Finally, the body shrank to merely massive size and started to take on the aspect of a humanoid. That humanoid continued to shrink, until a handsome Ellala stood where the dragon had.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Paul. "It's an elf."

"I doubt that it’s really an elf," said Levine, shaking his head.

"No," agreed Kurt, feeling the evil radiating off the thing in tangible waves. "I don't think it is."

"My good people," said the man in a voice that carried over the field. "Why are we killing ourselves? What is the purpose of this battle? I doubt all of this death serves any purpose other than death itself."

"Which is what you serve, is it not?" yelled Levine, his own strong lungs amplifying his voice beyond that of a normal human or elf. "Bothar, the God of Death. Isn't that the one you serve?"

"Bothar is not an evil god, no matter what that harridan Arathonia might have told you. Bothar is a father who wants what is best for his people."

Kurt could feel the waves of something hitting him, trying to sooth his mind. Fortunately, his will was stronger than that. He glanced around, seeing the humans, elves and dwarves all staring at the man with rapturous looks on their faces. Some had already dropped their weapons onto the ground. Others held them in limp hands, on the verge of dropping them.

"Don't listen to him," yelled Levine. "He is a liar, and the servant of a liar. Just like Satan on our world."

A few of the humans started to shake it off, those who still believed in the Earth gods. The others were still under the spell. The angels started to yell at each other, their musical voices sounding through the air. It seemed to have some effect on the mortals who were struggling to get out from under the hypnotic power of the lesser god.

"We need to do something," said Levine, looking at his two comrades.

"What?" asked Paul, his eyes wide, still in shock.

"Kill it," said Kurt, gripping his sword tight and stepping forward. His heart was beating hard in his chest; the sweat was rolling off his face and hands. His sensitive nostrils could smell the fear in his sweat. He wanted to lay down on the ground and shake until this was all over and nothing but a bad dream. But he knew it wasn't a dream. It might have been the nightmare reality of this world, but it was real.

The German had been a soldier back in the second global war of the twentieth century. He had been an officer in a Panzergrenadier regiment, starting the war as a platoon leader, ending as a lt. colonel in charge of a regiment, though the regiment was by that time no larger than an understrength battalion. He had wanted to be in tanks, but someone of his height could not fit in one of the armored monsters.

He had believed in the German cause at first, the cause of the Fuhrer. The honeymoon period had not outlasted the invasion of France. By Poland he had hated the war, and everything the Nazis had promised had been exposed for a lie, but he continued to fight, not for a cause, but for the people around him. He fought his way through Russia, first with the advancing army, then the retreating, until he had surrendered to the Americans, one of the fortunate ones. He had promised himself he would have nothing to do with war for the rest of his life, not even realizing at the time how long that might last.

Here he was in another war, charging at an enemy he could not possibly beat. Again, not for a cause, but for the people around him, that these evil bastards would kill the first chance they got. Fear was not something to be despised. Fear was natural, and its effects on the body could be used. Fear was nothing of which to be ashamed. Succumbing to fear, and not doing one’s duty. That was something of which to be ashamed.

Kurt screamed out the rage that was fueled by the fear as he ran forward, going into the overdrive that his metabolism gave him, eyes locked on the man that wasn't mortal, determined to strike him down. His two friends ran with him while the host of angels flew above them on a course that would get them to the demons just before the immortals got to the lesser god.

That being looked into Kurt's eyes with all the evil and corruption of the world in his gaze and started to shimmer. Before the immortals could reach him, he was again undergoing the change, this time growing back to his draconic form.

*  *  *

Jackie waited impatiently as the dwarves removed the last of the obstructive earth that the Orcs had piled in the way, breaking through to air and the light of day. Only it was the dark of a heavy overcast, as if a storm had come up since she and her companions had gone underground.

As the first dwarves broke through, they came under fire from a host of Ellala archers, standing on the walls of the castle above the city and raining shafts on their heads. Most of the dwarves had very good armor, but many of the arrows coming in had the glowing heads of magical penetrators, more than was expected. They bounced from the armor of the dwarves that had major enchantments on them, but penetrated the protection of lesser or no enchantment at all. As the first group was cut down, the next came up with raised shields, to meet a mass of Orcs which tried to use strength to batter down the shield wall.

"We need to get up there," yelled Jackie to her partners, preparing her swords.

"There's a lot of archers up there," said Izabella, a doubtful expression on her face.

"That's why we have the good armor," said Gregor with a smile.

Jackie nodded. At first, it hadn't seemed fair that they would get the best protection when they were the only ones who could heal just about any wound, almost instantly. Almost all of the other soldiers in the army could only heal if there was a priest with that power nearby, and there were never enough priests.

Kurt had explained it to her. It was like the times when he fought, when there were some very powerful tanks, and some that were not quite so. The best crews were given the behemoths that not only had the most powerful weapons, but the best armor, because they were the killers. The longer they could stay alive, the more they could do for their side. Immortals might be hard to kill, but serious wounds could put them out of action. When they were out of action, others on their side were deprived of their special gifts. In that case battles were lost and people on their side died.

"Just make sure you cover your head," said Jackie, regretting for once that she wasn't wearing a helmet. None of the immortals were, for some reason. She thought that was not very smart now that they were in a situation where helms would come in handy. A head wound could incapacitate one of them faster than anything could. A wound to the brain, while healed by their metabolisms, would still lead to a loss of memories, up to and including destruction of personality. She made a decision to find a good helm at the end of this battle.

"Let's go," she shouted, and went into overdrive, moving faster than the most agile elf ever.

The world seemed to slow down around her; the dwarves slowly raising their shields as shafts came falling in at the speed of snowflakes. Jackie was up among them and pushing through, her blades raised into the air, flashing with flame and ice crystals as she cut down the arrows, protecting herself and the dwarves. Izabella was right beside her, protected by her shield, while her own blade cut through arrows. Gregor occupied the rear, his bulk not moving as fast as their lithe forms, his hammer not a good weapon for knocking arrows out of the air. Still, he did his part, and intercepted some.

Suddenly the arrows hit something and slowed down to the point where even the dwarves could knock them down. Someone had raised an inertial field, something that robbed speeding objects of their force, channeling the energy back into the field to continue slowing down the weapons. Jackie found that her blades were moving just as fast, so the field had to be above them. Where it came from she didn't know, and she wasn't about to spend time and energy worrying about it now.

With the arrows no longer the major concern she concentrated on hitting the Orcs to her front. Every one of the creatures out massed her, but as she had learned in her physics classes, velocity was the more important component of force than mass. She ran into them faster than their eyes could follow, her blades a whirlwind of fire and ice. Orcs to her right side found their blood boiling to steam as the flaming blade penetrated their bodies. Those to her right froze for twenty centimeters around the strike, pieces shattering. She clove the head of one on her right, turning brains to pinkish steam. A strike to the left sliced into the leg of a big Orc, the member shattering and dropping him to the ground.

Izabella moved to her left, smashing her shield into the faces of growling beast men, her sword clearing the area to the extent of its length. Gregor was to her right, his hammer smashing Orcs, collapsing heads and helms. A sideward swing stove in the ribs of a giant Orc, flinging him into his fellows to knock them down like bowling pins.

The Orcs were large, slow and strong. The beings they were being assaulted by were extremely fast and much stronger. Some weapons made it through to clang onto armor that they couldn't penetrate. The immortals protected their heads and necks, really their only vulnerable parts through their heavily enchanted armor. Some of the Ellala had weapons that would penetrate, but the Orcs had not been thought worth the effort.

Gregor cursed as an Orc-ish blade cut the side of his face, turning to bring his hammer down on the creature. The huge warhammer smashed helmet and skull and drove the already dead creature to his knees. The facial wound would have continued to bleed on most people, but on the Russian immortal it closed up almost instantly. In less than a minute, it was a scar. By the end of the day even the scar would be almost unnoticeable. Infection was not an issue, despite the filthy nature of the Orc weapons.

The dwarven warriors pushed to the sides, widening the front, and Jackie slowed her progress so the small, stout warriors could stay with the immortals. They were also more than a match for the Orcs, one of their natural enemies. Some fell to lucky strikes, or to the efforts of particularly skilled warriors, but many more Orcs fell to the axes and hammers of the dwarves.

The fight seemed to go on for hours, but could only have been more than ten minutes or so. A line of bodies stretched behind Jackie, the two score or more Orcs she had slaughtered. Now the ranks of Orcs were thinning, and a line of Ellala warriors were visible ahead. This was a much more dangerous opponent. Not as strong, but much faster and as agile as anything one was likely to meet on this world. With finer armor and very good weapons, these were creatures who could trade blows with the strong but clumsy dwarves and give better than they got. That left it up to the immortals to bring the battle to the Ellala, and teach them they were no longer the best warriors on this world.

*  *  *

The Demon God had not finished his transformation by the time Kurt reached it. None of the other demons tried to interfere. They were too busy fending off the angels that might also try to mob their master. That was the good news. The bad news was that the god had increased in size to just under the mass of an ordinary great wyrm red dragon.

Kurt swung his blade into the first part of the creature he could reach, a massive clawed arm. The sword hit scales that could resist any ordinary blade, any arrow. The Paladin blade was sharp enough to cut through the toughest armor, and it sliced into the arm, through the scales and into the muscle underneath releasing a spurt of hot blood. The dragon let out a deep roar and flung the immortal away, to land on his back a hundred meters from the beast.

The immortal lay there, stunned for some moments, his vision blurred. He tried to move, and the agonizing pain shot through his left side, ribs, arm and leg. He could tell the bones were broken, and if not for his peculiar abilities he would have been out of the battle and in hospital for possibly months. Now he only needed time, which in and of itself would not have been a bad thing, since he really could have used the rest. But his companions couldn't afford to have him out of the fight for long.

Kurt forced himself up, feeling his bones knitting and still in great pain. He raised himself up in time to see Paul getting batted away as well, while Levine was struggling to get out of the other claw that was holding him tight. The demon god looked down on the oldest of the immortals, murder in its eyes. It had reached its full size, and the large man looked like a tiny doll in its claw. The great mouth opened, and it looked like Levine was about to go into the maw and down the gullet. Even his abilities would not save him if that happened. Kurt cried out, unable to do anything else. Fortunately for Levine, the German was not the only aid on the field of battle.

A major angel flew into the maw of the dragon, sword slashing, cutting into its tongue and then the roof of the mouth. Two of the lesser angels flew to the claw that was holding Levine and slashed, one on several digits, the other to the wrist. The dragon roared out, then clamped its jaws shut, its enormous teeth piercing the angel. Before it could swallow, the being coverted to motes of light and was heading upward, into the clouds. The lesser angels kept slashing at its claw until it opened and dropped Levine. The ancient immortal landed on his back, crying out in pain. Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if the other immortal didn't have a broken back and ribs from being crushed in that huge claw and dropped to the ground.

The Dragon God swatted the angels away, and then started to reach down for Levine, who was lying helpless on his back. It had almost reached him when something else caught its attention, and it looked up at the sky. Kurt turned to see what it was looking at, his mouth opening in shock as an enormous gold dragon dropped through the clouds, flapping its enormous wings and landing with a shaking of the earth.

"What the hell is that?" asked Paul, running up to Kurt.

"Melatafolis," said Kurt, staring at the beautiful golden beast. It had horns, much like those of the red, and spines on different parts of its body, but for some reason it looked kinder, and no evil radiated from it.

"Melata-what?"

"Me and Levine met it when we first came here. A messenger of Arathonia, she said, an angel. Though it appears she's a little more than just an angel." Kurt looked over at where Levine was struggling to his feet, still hurt even with his miraculous healing abilities.

"We need to get Levine out of there," said the German to the Brit. "I think we're about to watch a rerun of Godzilla versus King Gidorah. And I don't want our friend underneath."

Paul nodded and followed his leader in a fast run toward the other immortal. Kurt worried that the dragon would notice them and breathe fire on them, and if it was dragonfire, and not the mage thrown magical kind, they would burn, probably to ash. There was no healing from that, but the red only had eyes for the other dragon, his sworn enemy.

"Melatafolis," said the red in a roaring voice. "Arathonia must be worried if she sends you to this mud ball."

"The queen would have no worries if Bothar didn't send his errand boy here," roared the gold. "And how many centuries has it been since Lukutheris had come to the world of mortals?"

"Too long. I had forgotten that there were so many tender morsels, so many pure souls to eat. To pull down to the hells of my master."

"These beings fight for my mistress," said the gold, rearing up and presenting her forward claws to the red. "They are not yours to harvest."

"All are mine to harvest. You will not save these, and perhaps you will not be returning to this world for some centuries yourself."

Kurt and Paul were helping Levine away from the danger zone. The angels and demons were still battling it out, leaving the huge monsters to be taken care of by the monster on their side.

"They mean to kill each other," said Levine, the sweating face showing that he was still in great pain, though his limp was receding. "If they can kill one of their own kind."

"Probably like the demons," shouted Kurt over the roars of the dragons as they first tried intimidation. "They can't really die. But if destroyed on this plane, they're forbidden to return for some time."

"Kind of makes it a not so risky proposition to fight, doesn't it," said Paul, glancing back at the red. "If you lose, the only penalty is a term in prison, and then you're out."

The roars increased, and Kurt turned them around as they reached the top of a small rise, Levine no longer needing support. Both of the great beasts stood on their hind legs, claws flailing the air, wings out. Their mouths were open in their roaring, until the red let out a gout of almost white-hot flame. Melatafolis returned the favor, a stream of white-hot incandescence flowing from her mouth to meet that of her enemy. The flames met, forming a ball that looked like a sun. The immortals all shaded their faces and eyes, feeling the great heat from a hundred meters away. This went on for almost a minute, until both seemed to realize that they were too evenly matched, and were getting nowhere trading their breath weapons. Both stopped as if on a signal, and started running toward each other, still up on their hind legs.

The ground shook like an earthquake when the two multi-thousand ton bodies met, claws grasping and raking. It was indeed like watching two Kaiju from the movies collide. Only this was real, and they were here. Watching a battle that would decide their fates.

*  *  *

[What the hell is going on there, General?] Zachary Taylor asked by mindspeak. Taylor was not very powerful in the telepathy that served so many on this world. He had a com officer skilled in the art with him, taking his transmission and boosting it on, while returning the signal to his commander.

[You're not going to believe this, sir,] said Delgado in return, the near panic coming back through the transmission. [We have a battle between demons and angels. And if that wasn't enough, two of the biggest dragons any of us have ever seen are going into a cage match against each other.]

[You're right, General. I don't believe it.]

[Then see for yourself, sir.]

The image came through the link, as if Taylor were looking through the eyes of his field commander. The sky was filled with winged shapes, red and silver, good and evil, and he didn't need the general officer to tell him which was which. And in the center of that aerial battle two of the largest creatures he had ever seen were clawing and biting at each other. The sound of their fighting came over the link, and though it didn't hurt his ears, since he wasn't actually receiving the sound waves, he could tell that it was deafening.

"My God," he said under his breath, knowing that none of these creatures had anything to do with the god he had grown up believing in. [What happens if the red wins?]

[Then I guess we are all going to die] said Delgado, his fear again coming through the link.

[The hell with that, General. I want you to do whatever you can to attack that red beast. Help the gold.]

[Are you kidding me, sir? We don't have anything that can penetrate that damned thing's hide.]

[And McGurk killed a great wyrm with his armored cav company, Delgado. So don't tell me it can't be done. Do it.]

Taylor killed the transmission so the field commander could take care of business. The supreme commander knew he had given the other officer an impossible order. McGurk had used three of the one hundred twenty millimeter silver bullet penetrators to kill the red wyrm. Delgado had nothing like that in his inventory, but he had to do something other than sit and watch in terror. He didn't think running was an option. If they could distract the red long enough to allow the gold to get in a killing strike, it would be worth the effort. Because if the red won, it looked like he might no longer have a field army.

Chapter Twenty-five

"What the hell is that?" asked Jackie as she fended off the twin blades of a particularly skilled Ellala. "King Kong?"

The ground shook under foot, and deep roars sounded from beyond the walls.

"Kaiju fight," said Gregor in heavily accented English, his hammer beating through the guard of an Ellala and crushing his skull.

Jackie could feel the sweat running down her body as her internal temperature ratcheted up. There was a price to pay for going into overdrive. Cells started to die. Muscle and organ cells could regenerate without problem. Even the nerves could regenerate, but the connections they lost in their brains could not be replaced. All the cells would regenerate and become good as new, but the memories they contained in their connections could be lost forever. She didn't want to lose any of those memories. Memories of her mother and father, quite likely dead. Of uncles and aunts and cousins of her extended family. The first boy she had kissed, and the first she had given herself to in the backseat of a car. The memories lost would be random, she would have no choice over what would stay or go. She might not even realize which ones she was missing, but if she didn't fight at this level, her side would lose.

"What the hell is a kaiju?" she asked through gritted teeth as her swords sped past those of the Ellala. The elf was skilled, and he was graceful, but he could not match her speed. The blades both went into his throat, one just below the chin, the other into the cleft between the sides of the collarbone. The Ellala's eyes took on a brief look of shock before the competing forces of the blades blew his neck apart, flinging his head off his body to strike the elf to his right. The body crumpled to the ground. Jackie took advantage of the distraction to the other Ellala to remove his head from his body with Ice, and prepared for the next one in line.

"Kaiju," said Gregor, accepting a blow to his armored forelimb that slid off. "You know, those movies from Japan about the giant monsters stomping on cities."

Jackie smiled at the image, and then frowned. Whatever it was fighting out there, they sounded about as big as those Japanese monsters, but on this world, they could well be real. And her lover was out there involved in it somehow.

The Ellala to her front hesitated for a moment. They were not cowards, but after seeing scores of their own go down to the three whirlwinds at the front of the line, anyone would hesitate. They were doing better to the sides where the dwarves were fighting with all they had. The small, stout warriors were losing almost two to one against the faster opponents, but there was no give in them. Some of their champions were winning every fight, their strong armor and powerful bodies wreaking havoc among the slighter warriors.

"Look out," yelled Jackie, bringing her swords back to her front.

A line of Ellala archers had stepped to the front. The arrows coming from above were still hitting an inertial field that must have been erected by a powerful mage among the dwarves. Such were rare, but not unheard of, but there was no field to the front and no time to raise one.

The Ellala all pulled and loosed simultaneously, scores of arrows flying in. All of the archers possessed superior accuracy, and most were aiming at the vulnerable areas on their targets, while some aimed for distraction points. Jackie knocked down many of the arrows aimed at her head, but missed the two that came in and struck. One sliced through her cheek, the other transfixed her neck. Izabella was sheltering behind her shield and protected, until she turned in shock to her companion, standing there with blood spurting around the arrow through her neck. She lowered her shield as she reached out to her friend, only to catch an arrow through the side of her face, transfixing both cheeks through her mouth. Gregor brought the broad head of his hammer up to block his face, saving him from serious damage, only taking one arrow through a hand.

Jackie stumbled back, pain and numbness warring at the edge of her sensations. She knew she was bleeding profusely, and that if she didn't get herself together she would be an easy target for any elf that decided to take her head. She wasn't sure if that would kill her, but she would take odds on it doing so.

She let herself fall back as the Ellala drew again. Izabella was sheltering again behind her shield, the arrow still transfixing her cheeks and spilling copious amounts of blood. Gregor still had his hammer in the way as he stomped forward, ready to take the fight to the enemy. Jackie grabbed the shaft of the arrow and broke it in half, pulling the broken end still in her neck through and dropping it to the ground.

"Down," yelled a dwarf, and Jackie let herself fall to the ground, her hands going to both sides of the neck wound and pressing down, concentrating on letting it heal.

A flurry of crossbow bolts hit the Ellala, ripping through armor and dropping many of the archers to the ground. The dwarves were not natural bowmen like the elves, but they were smart enough to know that they might need to match their enemies in long-range fire. Every third dwarf had a powerful cranked crossbow across their backs. The weapons were shorter range than the longbows of the elves, and were slower to fire, but they could punch a bolt through all but the most powerful of enchanted armor.

Jackie could already feel her neck healing, the arteries reattaching, the muscle fibers coming back together. She didn't even think of her cheek. A look over at Izabella showed that she, too, had broken the shaft and pulled the arrow out. The Pole woman had a nasty but still superficial wound for one of their kind, and was ready for action.

I need something else, thought Jackie, sheathing Ice and picking up one of the discarded shields of a slain dwarf. She came back to her feet, still a bit woozy, but realizing that she needed to get back into the fight.

Gregor was already at the Ellala archer line, his hammer sweeping out to take down multiple enemy with each strike. He moved his bulky body faster than the elves, more agile, and they had trouble avoiding him. As long as he stayed in among them, he was safe from arrows since the enemy was more likely to kill their own than the immortal.

Soon he was joined by the two women, now both with shields. They smashed with shields, sliced and thrust with swords, and soon the Ellala line had broken, most lying dead on the ground, the others running for all they were worth.

Now magic entered the fight, a bolt of lightning coming in from above them. The inertial field had no effect on the magic, and it struck directly onto the three immortals. It was enough energy to incinerate a score of beings of human mass. The lightning crackled out from the strike, into the dwarves. A few fell dead, but most of the energy had been expended, and the majority only received a nasty shock from which they soon recovered. But not before the Ellala footmen were again on the move, running for the dwarven line.

*  *  *

"Get those guns around," yelled Lt. General Walter Delgado, standing just behind the big cannon they had been using to try to blow down the gate.

The general could feel the fear coming off the men. He couldn't blame them. His hands were shaking as he spoke, and it was taking major effort to keep the quiver out of his voice. They were trying to fire on a creature of unimaginable size. Either of the dragons could grab a dozen people in a single claw and stuff them all down its maw. They weren't even sure if these cannon would do anything to the creatures.

The red and the gold were chest-to-chest, claws tearing at thick scales, gouging at the flesh underneath. They both struggled to get their teeth into each other, biting at faces with the intent of getting the neck of the other in a crushing grip. Both had large rips in their wings, and as Delgado watched the red ripped four more gashes in the right wing of the gold.

"Hurry up," he yelled, using rage to control his fear. He wouldn't have been surprised if the cannon shot just bounced off and attracted the attention of the monster.

"We're loaded, sir," said the captain who was the battery officer. "Are you sure you want to do this, sir? I can't guarantee these popguns are going to do anything to that red bastard."

Delgado looked at the man, who had been a lieutenant of artillery in the German army. His calling this artillery ‘popguns’ was not far off the mark. They could barely get one of the twenty-kilo rounds up to two hundred meters a second, versus over a thousand MPS for the tank guns they had brought with them.

If only we had the human mages with us, thought the general. They had several, but not the two they really needed; Drake and Heidle. Both were meeting with the Dark Elf mages, learning some of their secrets of using the night as a weapon. Both had been sent for and would be here any moment, or so he thought. Any moment might not be soon enough.

"Aim for the head," growled Delgado.

"I can't guarantee I won't hit the gold, sir. They're just moving too much."

Delgado looked at the man for a second, then at the battle still going on. The angels were beating the demons, but the demon god was looking like it was getting the upper hand on the life god. Their heads were constantly moving as they tried to get the better of the other with massive skulls colliding, horns ripping, and teeth going for the grip that would lead to the kill.

"Then hit it in the body. As soon as it has its back to us, let loose."

"Sir, I can't..."

"I understand that you can't guarantee it will do anything. But we have to do something. So as soon as you get a target, open fire. That's an order."

The captain nodded, looking clearly unhappy. He ran from gun to gun, giving instruction to all six crews in the battery. He stopped at the side, looking at the battling giants, his hand in the air.

The monsters were really going at it. The gold seemed to have the more serious wounds, and as they watched the red got a grip on the neck of its opponent. The gold screeched in agony, struggling, unable to get away, and the red bit down hard. The scales resisted, but the teeth of the other monster were intended to cut through that armor, and blood started flowing from the wounds. But the red had turned its back to the cannons, and Delgado looked over at the battery captain, wondering why the man was waiting.

The man was waiting because the crews of a couple of weapons were still maneuvering their weapons to get a good aim. The two gun captains yelled out when they had a target, and the captain shouted out the command as he lowered his hand.

The six guns went off within seconds of each other. The steam hissed/banged and the balls flew out, slow enough that the naked eye could mark their progress. At first, Delgado was worried that the balls were going to miss, but the officer had aimed them well. All six balls hit hard into the back of the dragon.

"Shit," Delgado yelled as every ball hit and bounced away. He wasn't even sure if it had caused any internal damage. From the way the enormous beast turned and looked at the guns he didn't think so. The monster started to take a step toward them, forgetting its victim for the moment. Which might have been its last mistake, as the gold brought its head up and struck like a snake, its jaws catching the neck, teeth at the throat, biting down with all of the strength in its body.

The red went into a frenzy of motion, realizing that it was in trouble. It attempted to bring its claws into play, but only one set could reach. The other three were underneath it as the gold pressed down. The gold had no such problem, and it raked the red with its hind claws while its front grabbed the neck and held on.

"Great job, Captain," said the general. It had actually gone better than expected. He was hoping that the balls would have caused more damage, but even doing no damage, they had aided their ally enough.

The Demon God was not about to give up. It bucked and twisted, trying to get its neck out of the mouth of the gold, but she had bitten deep and her huge teeth were locked in place, digging deeper every moment. That was when even more of the demons appeared, jumping on the gold and trying to rescue their champion.

*  *  *

Jackie felt the tingle of the electricity flowing through her body. Just a tingle, nothing more, as bolts arced around her. It had to be magical, she thought. Magical energies wouldn't affect her; though real lightning would hit her with the same force it would anyone else. She might not die from the exposure that would kill any other mortal creature, but she would at least be incapacitated.

The first of the Ellala infantry to get to her were surprised that they were still alive. Surprise turned to shock as her blade reached out three times in a second, taking a life with each flick. Paul swung his hammer from the side, sweeping a quartet of Ellala off their feet, two dead as they flew away, the other pair injured. And Izabella thrust with the skill of a sword master, something Jackie knew the woman was, stabbing through throat after throat.

Still, it looked like they were about to be overwhelmed, and the dwarves were struggling to keep fighting. Jackie was thinking of ordering a retreat back to the tunnels, where they could limit the front the Ellala were attacking on, and give most of their troops a rest when a human voice yelled out in French.

"We are here. The day is saved."

Scores of Frenchmen ran up, armored in three quarter plate, long swords and shields in their hands. With them were several hundred of the Dark Elves, all in their fine chain, twin weapons whirling in front of them.

The Dark Elves had the same features as their surface cousins, only their skins were jet black, their hair from snow white to light red. Their eyes were also red, and they squinted in the light. Even though it was overcast with black clouds, the ambient light was still painful to the eyes of the underground dwellers. Many had makeshift sunglasses, some the fine Polaroids brought to this world by the humans. They matched the Ellala in speed and grace, and their two-weapon fighting style presented their enemy with too many blades to deal with.

Over a hundred Ellala were down in the first seconds. They had been moving and fighting for some time, while the French/Dark Elf force was fresh. They had many more mages among their ranks than the dwarves did. Those elves, also clad in chain, though lighter than their warrior brethren, were throwing bolts of power at their enemies in the courtyard and up onto the walls where the Ellala archers were sheltered. Shafts from their fast firing crossbows also rained down on their enemies, and the initial shock threw the Ellala back.

"I don't know how long this is going to last," Jackie shouted, looking over at Gregor.

"Then we should just take advantage of it," the Russian yelled back.

Jackie nodded, falling in beside some of the Dark Elves. This time she didn't push to the front, but held back and let her allies carry the fight. She waited until an Ellala was engaged, then struck, killing the surface elf in an instant. She had both blades out now, depending on the mages and crossbowmen to keep the Ellala on the walls busy. The blades flashed with fiery and icy residue, and in less than a minute she had taken down a score of the enemy. The Dark Elves seemed to appreciate her efforts, and started herding the Ellala toward her. Soon those creatures were trying to avoid her proximity and certain death.

"We're almost there," yelled Gregor, using the same tactic she was, letting the Dark Elves set up his victims and killing them.

Jackie looked ahead and saw the gates, a drawbridge over a moat, with small guard positions on this side. The gates were set in large towers with machines on them, all facing out. On that tower was a figure that radiated power, a major enemy. One that was certainly intent on causing some harm on the field outside the walls where her other friends were; where her lover was. There was a walkway on the outer rim of that wall, a couple of meters higher than the courtyard, looking down on the moat. The moat had something swimming in it. She couldn't make out what it was, but she was sure it wasn't goldfish.

The figure on the tower reached forward with a hand and a rippling ball of energy left the member, streaking out and down toward some target. At that moment, Jackie knew what she had to do. She felt fatigued to the point where she was ready to lay down and sleep for a week, but there was no time for that, and she turned toward the outer wall and took a step forward.

"Clear a path," she yelled, knocking a few of her allies out of the way. The rest seemed to get the point and opened a path, and she sped up as she ran, pushing off at the edge of the ten meter wide moat and flying through the air. She hit the walkway on the other side and bounced from the wall, almost falling into the moat. A great head came to the surface, and a huge crocodile-like reptile looked at her with hunger in its eyes. She was pretty sure that being eaten by that creature would be her end as she balanced on the edge of the walkway for a couple of frightening seconds. She moved back to the center as the crocodilian snapped its jaws shut behind her. Catching her breath for a moment, she started off at a run. She needed to get to the top of that tower and stop the bastard at the top. She was sure that thing was the Emperor, and if she killed him, the war would be all but over.

*  *  *

The Half Litch Emperor Ellandra Mashara looked down on the field from the tower he had just teleported to, a scowl on his face. He had thought that the summoned demons would rout the enemy army, but the bitch Goddess Arathonia had done something unheard of for her and sent her angels to fight them. The angels had been winning, until Bothar sent one of his messenger gods to earth. Arathonia had then unleashed another surprise, and her own messenger appeared.

It still looked good for the side of the God of Death. Lukutheris was of basically equal strength to Melatafolis, and it had seemed that the battle would be a draw, which would still be a loss for Bothar since his demons were losing their fight. The difference between the messengers of the God of Death and that of Arathonia was in their motivations. Lukutheris was a brutal, savage creature who reveled in the slaughter and destruction he could cause. Melatafolis was a gentle being who relished the life and peace around her. She was physically as strong, but not anywhere near as good a fighter.

The demon lord had gotten the other Goddess into a death grip, holding the neck of its enemy in its powerful jaws. That was a grip of death, but not immediately fatal. There were a lot of thick scales and hard muscles between those teeth and the tender structures beneath. However, that grip it would eventually cut into the arteries and airway, and the material body of the lesser goddess would die.

That is until the humans used their infernal war machines, the new ones they had developed since coming to this world, to hit Lukutheris. It didn't seem to damage the demon lord, but it certainly took the attention of the bloodthirsty creature off its prey. It turned away from Melatafolis and fell for her attack, which reversed their positions. In fact, the gold had gotten an even better grip, and now she was on the back of the red and he was helpless to dislodge her.

"No," he said under his breath. If the Messenger God was destroyed, the battle outside the walls was lost. He would only have his palace/castle to protect him, and that could not be allowed.

The Emperor started to access some of the energy he had stored for his transformation to a full litch. Every bit he used would delay his transformation to the immortality of that creature, the most powerful of the undead. Regardless, if he did not stop stop the enemy here and now, his chances of immortality were reduced considerably. In fact, he might end here.

The Emperor had already lived over four thousand years, near the end of the natural life span of an Ellala. Most Ellala were very satisfied to live that long and go to their reward. Ellandra was not like most Ellala. He had lived an evil enough life that he was terrified of the afterlife. He did not intend to see the hells of Bothar, the god he had worshiped throughout most of his life. He would live forever, but if he lost his capital city before he finished the change, he would eventually die. That could not be allowed.

He said a quick prayer to Bothar to give him the power, and then spoke the trigger words of the spell he had memorized. A ball of power formed in his hand, and he went through a throwing motion that arced the globe toward the gold dragon that was his enemy. The globe struck, rippling the scales and flesh of the huge monster as it hit. The monster shook with the violence of the strike, but it continued to press its teeth into its enemy.

Ellandra called up more energy and repeated the spell, sending it into the gold dragon with the same result. Some might have given up at that time since what they had tried had not succeeded. The half litch was not some, and he knew his attack had hurt the material form of the goddess. Each attack was doing something, and if he sent enough of the force balls into her it would break her hold on Lukutheris, and the demon lord would turn on her and rip the life from her body. He called up more power, said another spell, and sent the energy into the enemy dragon. It was only a matter of time, and there was no way an enemy could interrupt him in the position he occupied.

He drew his arm back and went through another throwing motion, sending a ball of energy into the enemy, and again watching as her flesh shook from the hit. It would not take many more, and once Lukutheris was free he would slaughter the humans, dwarves and elves arrayed against him.

*  *  *

The goddess in the form of a gold dragon pushed the god in the form of a red down, her teeth digging in. Kurt was yelling. The angels were routing the demons, and it seemed like this battle was won.

"What the hell is that?" asked Levine, pointing at the left side gate tower.

Kurt zoomed his vision in to see an Ellala in ornate armor looking down, the same one that had sacrificed all of the women, an evil look on his face. He made a throwing motion with his right hand, and a ball of shivering force flew down at Melatafolis. It hit the dragon in the back, forcing a low roaring breath from her body. It was obvious that the ball had hit with some force, if not enough to kill, enough to elicit a pain reaction from the huge beast.

Another ball of shimmering force flew out, hitting Melatafolis again, drawing another hiss of pain through locked jaws. The red roared and struggled. It knew that something was hurting its enemy, and that it might be able to break free from the death grip. A third ball hit the gold, driving her down.

"It's that damned undead thing," growled Paul. "That bastard of an Emperor."

"We need to stop him," yelled Levine, looking to his two companions. "We need to stop him, now."

"But how?" asked Kurt, gripping his sword, and wishing that it was a bow.

[I'm at the tower,] came the voice of Jackie in his head. [I'm going to try to get in and get to the gate mechanism.]

[Get to the top of the left side tower,] sent Kurt, [Stop the son of a bitch up there.] The communique took less than a second, not even interrupting the conversation going on between the three on the outside of the wall. Kurt had told her what he wanted and was sure she would try her best. And that was all he could do.

"I don't know," said Levine. "But we need to try."

The ancient immortal started running toward the gate tower, not waiting to see if anyone was following him. In an instant, Kurt and Paul were on his heels. Levine had two thousand years of life over his younger companions. Two thousand years to grow more powerful. He was up to eighty kilometers an hour in seconds, his full sprinting speed. Kurt could get up to just over sixty KPH, Paul slightly less, but they struggled to go as fast as they could.

Another ball came down on the goddess, smashing into her and driving another cry from between her clenched jaws. The red continued to struggle, and more of the red ichor flowed from between her teeth.

"Stop," yelled Levine.

The Emperor looked down at him, a grin on his face. Kurt looked up into the face of the creature and could see through the illusion to the rotting flesh underneath. It left a sick feeling in his stomach and increased his determination to destroy it. But how? The Emperor was at the top of the tall tower with smooth dwarven-stone walls that looked to be unclimbable.

"We will destroy you, just as it was foretold," yelled Levine, his powerful lungs amplifying his words as he shook his fist at the creature. "You know it. Soon we will be standing over your decaying body."

The Emperor tilted his head back and laughed, and then turned his burning eyes on Kurt, the one foretold to be his destroyer. He pulled his hand back and launched another ball of force, this time aiming it at the German immortal. The shimmering ball slammed into the earth, raising a cloud of dust around Kurt. He covered his eyes from the dust, the only part of the attack that actually did anything to him. At least they had distracted him enough to have him throw some of his energy their way, and not at their dragon ally.

However, they still couldn't figure out how to get to him as he turned his angry eyes back to the gold dragon.

Chapter Twenty-six

Mashara felt a shiver of fear as he looked down on the three immortals, the beings who had what he wanted: eternal life without having to court death, and the one he had recognized from the images he had viewed in the globe, brought forth by his now missing Orc slave. The one that would destroy him before he could complete his transformation.

He reached back and triggered another spell, throwing a ball that could obliterate an elephant at the selected immortal. The shimmering ball struck the ground, blasting earth into the air and seemingly blotting out the immortal. In several seconds, the dust had settled enough that he could see the immortal was still standing there, forearm over his eyes.

He was into the speaking of another spell when a voice spoke in his mind.

[You fool. They are immune to magic. All you are doing is wasting energy. Energy you could be using to rescue my messenger. If you want immortality, destroy Metalafolis, you idiot.]

Mashara felt anger and fear warring within him. He was no one’s fool, not even a god's, but Bothar could carry through on his threat. Without the blessing of Bothar, he would not complete his transformation and live forever.

His angry eyes flashed back at the gold dragon, and he brought his hand back, mouthing the words to the spell, determined to use his anger to launch the most powerful ball of force ever.

*  *  *

Jackie stopped and crouched below the short barrier that separated the walkway at the base of the wall from the bridge over the moat. There were small forts, really no more than blocks three meters on a side, with arrow slits giving the people inside the ability to fire over the bridge. She didn't know what was in those forts. Just bowmen, or heavy engines that could send a shaft through even the best armor. Something like that might not kill her, but it could incapacitate her for a considerable amount of time, and even drop her into the moat to feed the crocodilians.

Looking up over the meter and a half barrier, she was able to see the inner side of the block. No door, and no door on the one facing her, so she had to assume they were entered from within the tower. There was a small gate leading onto the inner wall walkway, but going through that gate would put her in front of the forts and whatever weapons they had.

Only one thing for it, she thought, moving to the side and leaping into the air, the bottoms of her feet clearing the top of the fort and landing on the roof. There was no entrance here either. Looking over she could see that the inner gate between the towers was closed, and she doubted she could get through that metal portal. Fire might actually cut into it, but it would take her over an hour to cut enough away for her to get through, and she didn't think that the people in the towers would give her that time, and they didn't have to open the gate to get to her.

[I'm at the tower,] she sent to Kurt, questing for his mind and finding it. [I'm going to try to get in and get to the gate mechanism.]

[Get to the top of the left side tower,] sent her lover, at the same time giving her an image of her target. [Stop the son of a bitch up there.]

Jackie could see the image of the enemy Emperor as he stood on the tower throwing magic at something. She didn't know his target, but from the emotions coming over her lover's link, she knew it was important to stop him from striking at it.

She looked up the side of the tower, only seeing smooth stone with no hand holds, but there was a small balcony with an open door about ten meters up. An Ellala stood on that balcony with a bow, his attention locked on the battle going on between the dwarves, Dark Elves, and his people. Jackie pulled her long dagger and removed the Conyastoya climbing rope from the pouch on her side. The rope was no thicker than string, but stronger than the strongest silk, able to support ten times her weight. But it would only work if she had it anchored to something. She checked her dagger, making sure that the side prongs on their spring ejected mechanisms was ready. The purpose of the blade was to puncture the body of an enemy, then extend the prongs to cause maximum damage when jerked out, but it could work as a grapple if it was stuck into the right object. Such as the Ellala above.

After tying the rope to the handle, she examined the balance again. Satisfied that it was as good as she was going to get, she whistled to get the attention of the Ellala, who leaned over and looked down on her. His eyes widened and he pulled back the arrow notched on his bow. Jackie flung the dagger with all her strength and it whistled through the air, the weighted blade leading. It hit right where she had aimed, into the lower throat of the Ellala, sending him falling back with his life's blood spurting out along the cut. She pulled on the rope a few times, trying to set the blade, satisfied that it was not going to come out, at least not instantly.

She was sure she weighed more than the lightly built elf. She was almost six feet tall and muscular for a woman. Her kind, the immortals, had a greater density of bone and muscle than other humans. She wasn't sure the Ellala wouldn't come over the wall and drop her back to the roof of the small fort. It probably wouldn't harm her, and definitely not permanently, but it would thwart her plan of getting into the tower, and from the urgency of Kurt's transmission, she thought she had to get up there fast.

The immortal crouched down, her eyes locked on the rope. Now she was happy that she didn't have gauntlets, as they would have made it more difficult to grip the rope. With a final thought, she sprung into the air, much as she had done to get to the top of the fort. Her hands reached the rope almost five meters above her launch point. She closed them with a tight grip and scrambled up, hand over hand. She could feel the body of the Ellala sliding up the wall of the balcony, looked up to see part of the body come into sight. She frantically pulled, getting one hand on the balcony wall as the body of the elf came tumbling over. It struck her shoulder on the way down, and she had to pull hard to get her other hand up before she tumbled downward. The body of the elf struck the roof of the fort with a smack, and she was sure the sensitive hearing of the people inside would have heard that.

With a jerk of her arms, she was over the wall and landing on the balcony. Shouting voices came up from below, letting her know that her kill had been discovered. There was no time to look down and see what was going on. She needed to get moving, before the way to the top was barred by something she couldn't slaughter.

She was through the door to the balcony in an instant, the hilts of both blades in her hands. A door to the side of the circular room she found herself in was flung open, a confused Ellala warrior coming out to see what the alarm was about. Ice ended his life in an instant, slicing into his shoulder and crystalizing his internal organs. The man died without a sound other than the crackling of ice. The woman avoided the falling body and stopped to look around, getting her bearings and finding the stairs going up against the far wall of the twenty by twenty meter circular chamber. She could hear movement from above and below, the clanking of chain and high pitched voices. If she had been anything other than an immortal human, she would have been looking for somewhere to hide. Because she was immortal, she decided to attack in the direction she needed to go and leapt to the stairs, going up as fast as she could run.

A quintet of Ellala were coming down, and they shouted when they saw her, weapons thrust ahead. Jackie knocked the first sword point aside with Fire, then thrust Ice into the throat of the elf. The skin crackled to a stiff frozen state, the neck cracked, and the head fell off. There was no blood; every open artery and vein was clogged with ice. Two of the Ellala recoiled back, while the third stormed forward in anger. The recoilers had made the proper decision, as Fire struck down the one who continued the attack.

A blast of lightning came up from below, flowing through her body like a gentle tingle, but the electricity hit the two Ellala ahead of her like the blast of killing energy it was, dropping the two elves to the floor with smoke rising from their armor. Jackie leapt over the bodies and turned in time to knock aside a glowing spear point that was thrust toward her back.

I don't have time for this, she thought, willing herself back into overdrive. Her blades went into a blurring whirl, and the four Ellala coming up from below panicked as the blades, crackling with energies, drove into them. Two, including the spear wielder and the mage, went down to her blades; one on fire, the other shattering as he hit the stone steps. The other three turned tail and ran back down the stairs, not willing to face the killing machine that was coming at them like a demon of their worst nightmares.

Jackie huffed in a breath of relief, allowing her body to slow down, hoping it would cool. She was already having trouble remembering some things about her family, her past, evidence that she had already suffered some neurological damage this day. She didn't like playing with her memories, but others were risking much more.

There were only three more Ellala on the way up, passing through three levels, until she reached a door that she thought must lead to the roof, and a confrontation with probably the most powerful creature on this material world.

She hit the metal door at a run, hoping that it didn't have a locking bar on it. Since it had one on the side of the stairs, not set in its brackets, it seemed a good bet. The door was flung open, and she stopped in her tracks as the people on the roof turned her way. All had shocked expressions on their faces, with the exception of the man in the ornate armor. He turned with an expression of rage on his face. At first, it looked like another of the very young faces of the Ellala. Then under her sight it transformed into a rotting image of something already dead. Or if not dead, right on the verge.

Beyond him was the field of battle. There were bodies everywhere, and smoke rose into the air from countless fires. Demons, akin to what she had seen in the tunnels, were swirling through the air in battle with creatures that had the look of angels. Dominating the field were two of the largest dragons she had ever seen locked in a death struggle. One was red, one was gold, and it didn't take a degree in dragonology to know which was good, and which evil.

"Kill her," yelled the Emperor, turning his back on her again as if she was not important, and there was something else that demanded his attention. Something like the dragon battle going on.

The eight warriors on the tower started for her, weapons ready. These Ellala were not fools. They seemed to realize what she was, and they weren't going to rush in to their deaths. However, their lord and master had ordered that they kill her here and now, so they were committed to do so. Just as she was committed to getting to the Emperor and stopping him from winning this day.

*  *  *

Kurt stooped and picked up a rock, checking the weight and balance in his hand. He looked up at the Emperor as that creature went through another spell casting. He wasn't sure how many more hits the goddess could take before it fell, but he didn't think she could take too many more.

The immortal reared back and put all of his strength into the motion of speeding the rock toward the Emperor. He had always had a good arm with great accuracy, and some of his American friends had commented on how he could have been a baseball pitcher. He had greater strength these days, and the projectile whizzed through the air right on target. Or, since he had aimed for the head, close enough. The rock struck the Emperor in the right shoulder, the hit rocking him back. His left hand flew to his shoulder, and from the expression on his face it had obviously hurt.

Paul and Ismael grabbed stones and threw them with just as much power as the German, without the accuracy, as both missed, but still they accomplished something. The Emperor ducked down and lost his concentration for a moment. He popped back up just before Kurt could throw his next stone, shouting out some words and making a motion with his left hand. Kurt flung the rock at the evil bastard. His eyes narrowed as it hit something and slowed to a crawl, falling as it lost the velocity to continue in a flat trajectory.

"He has an inertial field," yelled Levine, throwing his own rock and watching it do the same thing as Kurt's.

An inertial field lost some energy for every object it stole energy from. If they threw enough rocks, they could eventually overcome it. How many? Probably more than they had time to throw.

It was all up to Jackie now.

*  *  *

"Can't we get through that gate?" screamed Gregor, glaring at the dwarven priest, Garios.

"Eventually," said the priest, rubbing his forehead beneath his helm. "You have to understand. That is the best dwarven steel, probably a foot thick. It's going to take some power to knock it down, unless we can get inside that tower and open it from inside.

That had been the plan, when they saw no easy way to break down the gate on the outside. They hadn't thought that the main tower fort might have an inward facing gate that was just as strong as the outer gate. In retrospect, it made sense. They were defending against a quick strike that might try to take the gate.

"Dammit, Colonel Smith got in there," growled the Russian.

"Through the balcony up there," said Izabella, pointing at the protrusion ten meters up above the small fort. The door up there was now closed, and it looked to be the same material as the gate. Even if they could get up there, they would face the same problem as they did down here.

"Watch out," yelled a dwarf, and arrows zipped down from the slits in the tower, mostly bouncing off hastily raised shields. A long spear sped from one of the small forts, spitting a dwarf, passing through his body and puncturing the one behind him.

"We need to either do something or get the hell off this bridge," said Izabella.

Gregor looked over from where he was crouching to stay out of the line of fire of the engines in the small forts. The woman had been around when Napoleon had gone through her native land, and had been involved on the wrong side of a city sack or two. She had fought the Nazis in the resistance. Besides Levine, she was probably the most knowledgeable one of their kind about military matters. No, he thought, Kurt is probably more knowledgeable. He had, after all, blitzed through Poland and France, and then gone through four years of hell fighting Gregor's own ancestors on the Eastern Front.

"We might have something here," said Garios, crouching down near the immortals. He glanced back to where a quartet of dwarves were struggling to carry a large barrel of something.

"An explosive device?" asked Izabella, an expression of confusion on her face. "I didn't think that explosives worked here."

"It's not really an explosive device. But it is something your engineering wizard came up with, using what we have. And according to what he said, it should be very powerful."

"And how far do we have to be from it when it goes off?" asked Gregor, feeling a bit nervous about being close to a device that might be able to turn him into vapor. He was pretty sure that he would not survive such a disaster, and did not want to find out for sure.

"Will it go off if something hits it before you emplace it?" asked the Polish woman.

"I don't think so," said the dwarf, his brow furrowing. "But I truly don't know."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," said the woman. A cliché, but nonetheless true.

"Let's do it," said Babich. "And then let's get under cover."

*  *  *

I don't have time for this, thought Jackie as she swung both blades in a rhythm into the first two Ellala that came at her. Both blades struck, one a killing stroke, the other glancing from a blade with a shower of icy sparks. That blade continued in and struck her in the left hand, slicing deep, leaving her little finger hanging from a shred of flesh.

Her mouth opened in a scream, but she concentrated on her fight. Ice came around, held in the three fingers of her hand, and took out the throat of the Ellala who had wounded her. A blade thrust in from behind, a magical weapon that penetrated her enchanted chain and pierced a kidney. If the hand had hurt like hell, this wound hurt like the lowest level of the infernal realms. In a normal human, that would have been a killing wound. With her, it was temporarily incapacitating and she couldn't let it stop her.

With a scream of agony she spun around, feeling like she was about to collapse during the spin, and with sheer willpower swung Fire into the elf. The magical blade sliced through an armored arm and into his side, cutting through ribs and into a lung. Blood spurted from his mouth, followed by red steam as the fiery blade vaporized his tissues.

"Get the hell away from me," she yelled, feeling like she could move a little better, though the kidney was still an agonizing distraction. There were three more warriors. There were still the ones below, the group that had fled from her, and she couldn't believe that they hadn't found the resolve to come up here, especially with their leader at risk.

There were looks of confusion on the faces of the Ellala, and Jackie realized she had been yelling at them in English, a tongue none of them could possibly speak. The confusion didn't last long, and they were soon on the way back in,while the evil Emperor raised his hand to send yet another ball of shimmering force into the beleaguered gold dragon.

No you don't, thought Jackie, leaping at the monster, ignoring the three Ellala who were all striking at her. She felt one blade slice into her calf, another magical blade that her armor wasn't proof against. A second weapon, a spear, stabbed into her left shoulder, driving deep into her body. Her forward motion ripped the spear out of the Ellala's hands, and she felt herself blacking out from the pain. But she retained enough strength to slice with Fire into the shoulder of the Emperor, her own blade slicing through armor that was resistant to almost any weapons lesser than a god weapon. Fire was almost that powerful, and swung with the strength of her arm it did penetrate into the flesh underneath, which sizzled and spat from the heat.

Jackie landed on the ground, the spear still in her body, her eyes barely open. The Emperor glared down at her, desperately trying to beat out the flames that were engulfing his overclothes, and possibly his body underneath. He wasn't having any luck, and it was looking like he would meet his end up here on the tower, burned to ash. With a shout and a wave of a hand, he opened a portal to his front and jumped into it, the glowing circle closing behind him. She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, but she had driven off the undead thing. Possibly killed it. At the very least she had kept it from killing the gold dragon. She shifted and fell over onto her back, relieving some of the pressure of the spear. It wouldn't kill her, but the two elves coming at her with drawn weapons and angry eyes might just take care of that.

*  *  *

Kurt could see bits and pieces of the battle going on at the top of the tower. A glimpse of a fast-moving Jackie, the movements of an Ellala. She seemed to be more than holding her own, but still he worried about her up there by herself. Kurt had not had a lover for many decades, after seeing women he cared about getting old while he stayed young. Jackie was the first he had given his heart to in over thirty years, and she was up there in a death fight, while he was down here, unable to do anything for her.

He saw her falling forward with something protruding from her form, to strike the Emperor. He could see the flash of fire as her blade struck, the evil creature catching on fire. A glowing portal appeared, and it was gone. He wasn't sure what had happened to it, but it was no longer on the tower, and no longer throwing energy at their ally.

[You did it,] he sent by mindspeak. Panic rose in his breast as he received no reply but an image of pain, and the sounds of warriors coming closer.

"Yes," yelled Paul as a loud snap sounded across the field.

Kurt turned to see the form of the gold dragon rearing up, the red unmoving beneath her feet. She roared to the sky, the sound of celebration of her violent victory.

"She broke the bastard's neck," said Paul, a smile on his face. "It took her long enough, but she finally weakened him enough to twist the right way."

"And the demons are leaving us," interjected Ismael, pointing to the sky.

Sure enough, the red winged creatures were flying off, the angels in pursuit. With their champion destroyed, they faced certain defeat, and were trying to preserve their chances of returning to the mortal world in the future. An angel struck one down from the rear, it falling out of the sky to dissolve on the way to the ground.

"Looks like the same thing is happening to their big gun," said Levine, walking forward, heading toward the dragons. The red was dissolving away, its hard scales falling under the dissolution of its muscles and flesh. The gold stood over it with a forepaw planted on its neck. She looked to be in rough shape, breathing heavily as she flapped wings that were as much shreds as anything.

[Help,] came a shout through mindspeak that caught and held all of their attentions. [Help me.]

*  *  *

The Emperor Ellandra Mashara stepped out of the portal, still on fire. The damned flames would not go out, and he was in real danger of destruction. The deep pool of water to his front beckoned, and he took some quick steps and flung himself into the liquid. The flames still burned for ten seconds or so until the water quenched them.

Mashara climbed out of the pool, the pain from the burns almost overwhelming him. He concentrated on ignoring the pain, something easier for him than most since he was near to being undead. Unfortunately for him, his body wouldn't heal like that of a normal being, and he would have to enact great magics to recover.

"I am very disappointed in you, Ellandra," spoke a deep voice out of the air, seeming to come from all over the large chamber.

"That human bitch wounded me sorely," complained the Emperor, shifting his shoulder and trying to get it to move in a normal manner. "Those creatures are unnatural. Can't you snuff all of them out?"

"This isn't about me, Ellandra," said the angry god. "And no, I have no power over them. It is for you to destroy them in a mechanical manner with normal weapons. And so far, you have not destroyed a one. Do I have to find another champion?"

"And who can you find besides me, Lord," said the desperate Emperor. If the God decided to pull all of his long accumulated power from him, he could crumble into dust, his spirit awakening to the millennial long torments of Bothar. The very situation he was determined to avoid at all costs.

"There might be another. In fact, one like these you are having so much trouble with. On the Tarakesh continent."

"But, aren't they all the servants of the bitch goddess?"

"They are like others, Ellandra. Some cleave to life, while some are the bringers of death. But I haven't given up on you yet. You are apt to lose the lower city, but you will retain that beyond the secondary wall. And your stronghold. It will be up to you to achieve victory. I will send servants to you to develop new weapons. Do not fail me again."

The presence of the God was gone, and Ellandra shivered as he thought of what the being could have done to him. He was fortunate. He had another chance. Hhe needed to gather all the energy he could to fuel the transformation. If he could complete the ritual, even the God of Death would have no hold over him.

Chapter Twenty-seven

"Let 'er rip," yelled Gregor, crouching behind the stone wall of a house across the cobblestone street from the gate.

Garios said a word of power, pointing a finger at the barrel, then ducking down. A loud bang and the terrific hiss of steam sounded. The wall shook, stone dust fell from the ceiling, and then all was quiet.

Gregor raised his head, looking at the gate. Steam obscured his vision, and he couldn't tell if the bomb had any effect on the gate. It started to clear as the dwarven priest brought up a freshening breeze. He whooped with joy as he saw that one of the portals was gone, the other leaning on its one intact hinge.

"Come on," yelled the Russian. "Our friend needs our help."

He and Izabella were on their feet in an instant, heading for the bridge. Gregor worried that the small forts might have survived, and the engines might take them under fire. However, nothing moved in the forts, and they got to the opening without incident.

Some stunned Ellala were trying to pick themselves off the floor, still shocked. Gregor hit the closest one with his hammer, crushing its skull.

"Follow me," yelled Izabella, giving her companion an angry glare. "Jackie is up there," she screamed when the big Russian didn't move.

"Get the gate open," said Gregor, looking embarrassed that he hadn't thought of their companion first.

A gaggle of dwarves headed to the outer door, which had a mechanism that set heavy bolts into walls, ceiling, and floor. It didn't take them long to figure it out, and they withdrew the bolts, and then swung heavy doors that were perfectly balanced and oiled, opening with ease.

"Get your asses moving," yelled a voice outside the wall.

The big Russian followed his companion up, coming through the doorway at the top just behind the Polish woman. He recognized Jackie immediately, lying on the roof with a spear shaft sticking out of the shoulder gap in her armor. Izabella was being pressed by a particularly skilled Ellala. He didn't worry about her. Skilled or not, that Ellala was a dead man walking against the female immortal. But the other Ellala was raising a sword as he stood over Jackie, measuring his strike so it would take off her head.

Gregor leapt forward, his hammer coming around to strike through the downward swinging sword and into the chest of the Ellala. The breath whooshed from the man and his body went flying through the air until he hit the outer wall of the tower. He lay there for a moment, coughing, then spitting up blood, before the last breath shuddered in his chest and he died.

Jackie also coughed, and blood was dribbling from her lips. She moaned, opened her eyes, and looked up at her rescuer.

"Can you get this damned thing out of me?" she said in a hiss.

"It's going to hurt like hell," said Gregor, squatting down and looking at the spear shaft. If it had been anyone other than their kind, it would have been a mortal wound. Even so, if it wasn't removed the wound wouldn't heal, so it had to come out.

"It already hurts like hell," she said after another cough, "and it's not going to get better where it is."

"Just pull the damned thing out," said Izabella, coming up on the other side of Jackie. Her sword was still in her hand, dripping the blood of the Ellala she had just dispatched.

"Here goes," said Gregor, an anxious look on his face. He was not a cruel man. He would kill an enemy in a moment, but hurting a friend was something that wrung the heart from his chest. He grabbed the spear shaft, made sure that he had a good grip on it, and pulled it swiftly but steadily.

Jackie screamed as the shaft moved, then lost consciousness. Gregor pulled it all of the way out and tossed it aside, then put his hand over the wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. In seconds it had stopped bleeding, something he knew he had had little do with accomplishing.

Gregor stood up, sure that he had done all he could for his companion. He walked to the edge of the wall and looked down on the battlefield below, his breath hissing out as he saw the piles of dead on that field. Smoke rose from many fires, and the men were starting to gather again into organized units. Junior officers and NCOs were hustling their men toward the now open gate. The Russian knew how shocked those men must be. They had to make sure the capture of the gate was a done deal, so it couldn't be recaptured by counter attack.

Then his eye caught the enormous gold dragon on the far west end of the field, three small figures he thought must be the other immortals approaching it. As he watched the dragon started to change, to grow smaller, and he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks with him.

Jackie coughed and he turned away from the vista outside the wall to pay attention to his wounded companion. She was now sitting up, back against the wall, Izabella holding a canteen to her lips. She put down the canteen and looked up at Gregor.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue, kind sir. I think those Ellala were going to make sure I didn't get away with injuring their Emperor."

"You got him, then?" asked the Russian, squatting down so he was more on a level with her.

"I don't think I killed the bastard, no," she said in a weak voice. "I wounded him pretty badly, and when he teleported out of here he was on fire. But I doubt we have seen the last of that son of a bitch."

"Well, you did something, because we ended up winning the battle down there."

"Good. Now, I'm really hungry. Could one of you get me something to eat?"

Gregor was feeling somewhat hungry himself. Their metabolisms burned calories in huge quantities when they were fighting, and Jackie would have to replace damaged tissues and blood. Next thing they knew she was again fast asleep, and she would have to feed on her own body to make repairs for the moment.

*  *  *

Kurt, Ismael and Paul walked up on the goddess slowly, letting her continue her change from dragon to Ellala form. Within minutes, she was a slight Ellala female, supernaturally gorgeous, though now she looked like she had been in a fight. Despite her size and her fatigue, she still radiated divine power, a white glow that dazzled the eyes that looked upon her. Several of the lesser angels flew above her like an honor guard. The others had disappeared, following their enemies back to their homes.

"Thank you," said Kurt, standing in front of the goddess and bowing his head. "If not for your intervention, we would have lost on this field. And I'm afraid that would have led to our defeat in this war."

"Arathonia, my queen, sent me to aid you," she said, a smile on her face while she stretched out an obviously injured arm that was on its way to healing. "I really had little choice, and would have preferred to not have gone through that fight with Lukutheris." The smile grew wider. "But, by the honor of my queen, it felt good to feel his vertebrae crushed beneath my teeth, and see his foul soul flee back to the hells of Bothar. But by Arathonia, he left a foul taste in my mouth."

"And I am sorry about that, my Lady," said Levine, bowing himself. "I thought we would never see you again when you left us in that field on our first day here."

The goddess frowned, though it did not touch her twinkling eyes. "The coming of your people has certainly changed the balance on this world, much to the chagrin of many of the gods. Many did not like seeing you appear here. Fortunately," she said in her musical voice, her frown flipping to a smile, "the most chagrin is from the gods of evil, those of death."

She looked directly into the eyes of Kurt, sending a shiver down the German's spine. "Arathonia is pleased with your efforts on her behalf. However, Kurt von Mannerheim, I would caution you to not call upon her name in vain."

"Will she kill me?" Kurt asked, his own eyes flashing in challenge. He was willing to aid the cause of the goddess. He was no more willing to be a mindless slave to her than he had been to be one to Hitler after he had seen what that man was.

"No. She would not do such to any of you. It is beyond her, since you are not her worshipers. But those of your people who are her subjects? They are under her control, since they worship her, and are subject to her will after death.

"And now I must go," said the Messenger Goddess. With a thought, she started to grow again, this time not into a dragon form, but as a giant hominid. Her form achieved gigantic proportions even as it became less solid, transparent, and then nonexistent.

"I wonder what that meant?" asked Paul, his brow furrowing. "And that veiled threat to our people."

"She probably wants us to champion her pantheon against all others," said Ismael. "I, for one, don't think that a good idea, since most of our dwarven allies worship in the Pantheon of Law."

"I don't intend to let her become the only deity of this world," said Kurt in a forceful voice, setting his jaw. "If I have my way, we will have religious freedom on this world. Arathonia can have her temples, and so can the gods of Law and Chaos both."

"What about Bothar?" asked Paul with a sly look at Kurt.

"That bastard can stay in his hell. If people want to worship him without killing other people, that's fine, but they will not have a house of public worship."

"And if they sacrifice animals?" asked Levine.

"No dogs, cats or horses," said Kurt, crossing his arms over his chest. "If they want to sacrifice animals we already kill for food, have at it, as long as they are quick kills."

"I can go along with all of that," said Levine. "I have sacrificed many animals to Yahweh, but lost my taste for it after living among the bloody-minded Romans."

Kurt studied his friend for a moment. He sometimes forgot how old the man was and what he had seen. It was telling that he wanted nothing to do with ruling these people, even if it would make the most sense due to his age infused wisdom. Maybe he should be refusing the honor as well. He looked over at Paul, and the idea of the huge and impulsive Brit being in charge seemed insane. Perhaps Izabella, he thought. He would talk to her and see if that was something she would accept.

"I think the general is trying to get our attention," said Ismael, gesturing to the hill five hundred meters away, where a number of figures were waving their hands in the air, while flags moved up and down and a trumpet blared.

"Then I guess we should see what he wants," said Kurt with a smile. "Since I'm not king, but only a major general.”

"And when you are king?" asked Paul, putting an arm around the shoulder of his friend.

"Then I'll let you hang everyone who displeases me," said Kurt with a laugh.

His friends laughed with the man they knew would do no such thing.

*  *  *

Jackie sat on top of one of the small forts on the inside of the gate fortress, wolfing down a loaf of bread that had been smeared with honey. She was ravenous, and was thinking about what else she might be able to eat. She had a wine bottle sitting on the roof at her right knee, ready to work again on the thirst that went hand in hand with the hunger.

The enchanted chain that had been pierced in several places during the battle was healing itself. One rent in the thigh area was actually closing as the chain links grew back together. It was not god armor, but whoever had forged it had put some powerful enchantments into its material.

Another unit marched through the gate, six abreast, the most that could comfortably fit through the opening. They were singing an American marching song, making the woman homesick for the Army she had served in before coming here. She knew it was a trick to take the minds of the men off the almost disastrous fight they had just come out of, steadying their nerves. They would join the three companies that had already marched through to set up in the buildings closest to the gate, fortifying the positions against potential counterattack. She didn't know if the enemy had it in them to push an assault this soon, but she knew that was what the American and German armies would do.

They don't seem to be the best when it comes to military matters, she thought of the enemy, which seemed strange since they ruled a military empire. But things seemed to work well the way they were, so why change? Until the strangers who couldn't let things remain the same came along and set everything they thought they knew on its ears.

A rumbling came from below, and a pair of horses came through, towing one of the small field cannons, a twelve pounder, what the Germans called a five and a half kilo. It would be set up just on the other side of the bridge. If they could break through enough of the wall, they would emplace guns in both of the small forts.

They had an entire city to clear before they could completely relax. From what they understood, there were other walls separating the lower city from the upper, and the upper from the palace. They had by no means taken the objective. But they had obtained a foothold. Clearing the lower city would be the job of the elves and dwarves who were better melee fighters than the transplanted humans. There would be other jobs for the Legionnaires when it came time to take those walls.

A large form came over the top and landed with a heavy thump on the roof to the small fort. Jackie looked up and smiled as she recognized her friend, lover, and leader, Kurt von Mannerheim, standing from his landing crouch, and then going down to a knee and to a seat.

"Hey," she said around a mouthful of bread.

"Didn't your mother tell you to not talk while eating?"

"My momma didn't realize that I might be starving because my body healed massive damage in a couple of minutes," she said. She swallowed the bread and pushed the last of the loaf into her mouth.

"Such manners."

"And I'm sure the son of a baron never found himself wolfing down a meal on the Eastern Front," she said around the mouthful, reaching for the wine bottle.

"Oh, never. The Russians were always the most accommodating of hosts. They would never hurry us."

Jackie swallowed the last of the bread, took a swig of wine, and accepted a kiss from her older lover. Thinking about all the ages they had ahead of them. Decades, a hundred years, thousands. She took his face in her hands and extended the kiss. This was a good man, one who was as brave a warrior as ever walked, and one who had been through enough war to last anyone a normal lifetime. He had not allowed himself to love since he had buried several lovers who had died while he remained young. She would not age, she would go on along with him through the ages on a world that saw them as just slightly less exalted than the gods.

"What about Levine?" she asked breaking the kiss, then reaching into his ration bag and pulling out a sausage.

"I heard you were wounded…seriously," said Kurt, ignoring what she had said.

"Nothing serious. I'm not sure we can really be seriously wounded. We either live or we die, and if we live, we go on as if nothing happened."

Kurt nodded, stroking the side of her face with a hand while she took a large bite out of the sausage.

"I worried about you. But we are all thankful for what you did. If Metalafolis had lost the battle, I'm afraid we would have too."

She looked into his eyes for a moment, nodding. "Someone had to do it, and I was on the spot, so it was up to me."

"I would have loved to have you in my command in Russia," said Kurt. "You have as much heart as anyone I have ever commanded."

"You didn't have women in combat back then, right?"

"The Russians did," he said, shaking his head. "So did French Maquis. And you can ask Izabella about the Polish resistance."

Two more guns had come through the gate, and another company of infantry was marching through, along with their archers, Ellala and Conyastoya. They would get into the defensive positions and provide missile fire. Others were already at the tops of both towers. At least a battalion of infantry would be digging in outside the gate fort to provide some depth of fortifications.

"I asked earlier, what about Levine? You hadn't had anyone in your life for decades. Levine hasn't had anyone for centuries. How many did he see die of old age while he continued on?"

"Dozens?" said Kurt, scratching his head. "But now he's on a world where that will no longer hold him back, if he can get past his pain. Hell, he could even marry an elfin girl and look forward to thousands of years."

"She would still die."

"Christ, woman," growled Kurt. "After what we have seen here, do you really think most of us will make it a thousand years or more on this world? I believe that some of us won't make it past this war, and some will be lucky to make it to a couple of centuries."

Jackie felt a shiver go down her spine, as if what Kurt had said had the power of prophecy. She thought about her own future, and a feeling of doom came over her like a pall. She leaned over and put her arms around Kurt.

Kurt held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I want this to be over," she said through her choking cries. "I want us to build a civilization here. I want us to see our people, the people of Earth, thrive in peace." She looked up and into his eyes. "And I want the people of this world to benefit from us coming here. I want the people to live in peace, free."

"We will get rid of slavery as soon as we have won," growled Kurt. "Don't worry about that."

"And if some here decide they still want to have total control over others?"

"Then we will have to teach them. I did not come through that damned mid-twentieth century war, and then this crap, just to see that kind of injustice continue."

Jackie nodded and leaned back into her lover. The people of this world believed in this man. She believed in this man. If anyone could establish a just kingdom on this world, it was Kurt von Mannerheim. And all they had to do was take the rest of this super-fortified city and destroy one of the most powerful beings walking this planet. Easy, right?

*  *  *

“We made it,” exclaimed Bubbuh, as the men of the company dropped their packs onto the floor of the house they had appropriated.

It was a large structure, more a mansion than a house, with rich furnishings, tapestries on the wall, and floor mosaics. Whoever had lived here had abandoned it when the gate was taken, so it had been assigned to the unit. It even had access to a sewer. What it didn’t have was running water, and bearers had been sent to the nearest well to collect some after it was checked out by the priests, of course.

“I was afraid for a moment there that we wouldn’t come through that,” said Humphrey, falling onto the floor and leaning his back against the wall.

“We know what you mean,” said Bubbuh and Dieter simultaneously, beating their friend to his trademark phrase. The three men and several around them started laughing.

“And we didn’t even have to take the walls,” said Dieter, pulling his canteen out and taking a drink.

Many of the men around them were starting to get out of their armor, this unit not slated for guard duty. Most of the men would be able to relax, while about a thousand would stand sentry duty for the army. Dark elves were said to be on scout within the city, while dwarves handled the sewers and other underground areas.

“I would rather have taken the walls than dealt with the things we had to this day,” said another man, sitting against the wall across the room.

Many men nodded, others shook their heads. All here were from among the protected, and the demons had learned early on to leave them alone. Just as they had learned early on that their very presence could scatter concentrations of the infernal creatures.

“What do you think is going to happen now?” asked Humphrey, closing his eyes.

“Now, our esteemed command figures out new ways to get us killed in taking this place,” said Bubbuh.

“And it has to be done,” interjected Dieter, screwing the cap back on his Earth-made canteen.

“Of course it does,” agreed the black man from Alabama. “If we’re ever going to have any peace on this world, we have to get rid of that evil bastard who stood on that tower throwing energy at the gold dragon. While he’s still around, we’ll never have a quiet moment.”

“I hear he eats souls, and is using them to become immortal,” said Humphrey. “But if he eats one of us, that’s the end for him.”

“You volunteering?” asked Bubbuh with a snorting laugh.

“Hell no, Sarge,” said the private. “But if you were to jump in front of him, it might be best to let him have a bite.”

“I would prefer to let our immortal warriors take care of him,” said Dieter, shrugging his shoulders. “The American woman almost took care of him today.”

“My homey,” said Bubbuh with another laugh. “As fine a woman as I’ve ever seen.”

“And her boyfriend could take you apart if you tried to make a move on her,” said Dieter with a short laugh.

“Hell, he’d probably let her take me apart,” said the large man. “I’m just glad they’re on our side.”

“But are all of them?” asked Humphrey.

“Now I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s just this, Sergeant,” said the private, looking serious. “We have some with us, but we’re guessing that people from all over our world came across, right? So who’s to say that there aren’t more of these superpowered SOBs, but without the morals of ours. Who came here and started setting up their own thing? And someday we run into them?”

Dieter sat there and thought about it a moment. It was something that might happen in the future, but it wasn’t something they needed to worry about at the moment. There were enough terrors they did know about to last a lifetime.

Chapter-Twenty-eight

[There are thousands of them,] came the powerful mindspeak over the tight beam. [They have the long spears and the curved sticks that fling the other sharp sticks.]

The creature on the other end had a powerful mind, but it was not a human one. The neo-wolves were genetically engineered creatures of Earth that had come over in much the same way as the humans. Here they had evidenced the same mental powers as most of the transplanted humans. With a difference. They could actually link their minds and become a group intelligence that was capable of much greater mental power than any human was. But they were still wolves, and as such, their mathematical abilities were not on the same level as humans.

McGurk's cavalry regiment now had half a dozen of the wolves attached to give them increased scouting capability. Two were males from the original pack; animals raised on an experimental farm in Central Germany and came across with their creator, Dr. Vogel Kreigel. The other four were offspring of those pioneers, still not fully grown, but large enough to take to the field. All were male. The females were just as capable, but the alliance needed as many of these creatures as they could get, so all females of age were either pregnant or raising pups. There were now hundreds of the wolves, and in a few more years, they would number in the thousands, giving the humans and their allies on this subcontinent a powerful advantage over potential enemies.

[What kind of horses?] sent McGurk, patting his own mount on the neck to calm her. He only had about nine hundred troopers with him, all armored in a combination of plate and chain, on sturdy horses, the heavy cavalry of the army. If the wolves were correct, he would be outnumbered two or three to one. And maybe more in horse archers, since only a quarter of his troopers were bowmen, and all of them Ellala.

[Shaggy beasts,] sent back the lead wolf, White Paw. [Smaller than your own.]

[Let me see.]

The image through the wolf's eyes came to him, the colors washed out, the image not as clear as it would have been to his own eyes. The wolves had eyes better than their wild brethren, but still not the match for those of the humans or elves. Their sense of smell and hearing were much superior to those of humans, and slightly better than the Conyastoya.

The grassy field was filled with men on horses. The horses were the smaller shaggy beasts of the plains to the east. The men wore lamellar armor, almost as good protection as what McGurk's people had. The faces under the helms were yellow, not in the brownish tint of Asians from Earth, but a real dark yellow. The four human races on this world tended toward primary colors, red, black, yellow and white. Scientists were still trying to explain it, but the magic of the gods seemed the most likely answer, the same magic that had turned Neanderthals into both Orcs and Dwarves.

This barbarian force was heading into the rear of the army, obviously trying to strike at the supply train yet again. They wouldn’t suffer the hard knocks they would get if they hit the combat formations, and could get just as much loot. That was what he was here to prevent, and it had kept him away when the demons had hit the main army, along with their god-dragon. That was a fight he had been glad to miss, especially since hearing that there hadn’t been a manageable horse on that field.

[Can you spook them when needed?]

[We can surely panic these stupid grass eaters,] sent the wolf with a silent laugh.

[Then be prepared to do so, my brother. We will attack from the other flank, while you panic them from that one.]

"Follow me," shouted McGurk. "And no damned bugles," he cautioned, holding up a hand as he glared at his bugler.

Flags went up and down, sending his command to all the troops, telling them to move out after him, and to be as quiet as possible. The colonel's own horse whinnied, and he again patted it on the neck. The animal knew that something was up. Though a well-trained warhorse, it still had the instincts of an herbivore, one of which was to avoid the kind of danger he was going to ride her into.

He still missed his tank, the command vehicle he had used to lead the company of armored cavalry he had transited with to Refuge. While not invulnerable to magic or dragon fire, it was still a much more comforting mount than the horse, which on Earth hadn't been used as a major combat transport in over a century. However, the horse had a mind of its own, and had come to his aid in the past.

"Signal the halt," he ordered his standard-bearer.

That man waved the flag in a predetermined motion, and the companies separated out and arrayed themselves to both sides of the squadron commander. They were on the edge of a woods, in far enough that they wouldn't be easy to spot, but near enough to the grasslands that they could come out in a hurry.

McGurk brought his binoculars up to his eyes. They were the same set he had brought with him from Earth, with optics beyond what the people here could produce, at least for now. He caught sight of the first of the barbarians coming over a rise, close together. He shook his head as he watched. His force would never ride into unknown territory without scouts out ahead and on all sides. But the arrogant bastards had no forward scouts, nor any outriders to the side. He almost felt sorry for them, offered riches to fight for the evil Emperor they had no love for, and very little in common with.

He looked to both sides to see that his lancers had their weapons gripped tightly on the hafts, his bowmen with one arrow notched and three more held in their bow hands. He was sure the nomads would have weapons just as good, at least the bows and lances. He was also sure that the edged and smashing weapons of his men were greatly superior, and their heavy armor was better. Once they got into close melee range, it would be a slaughter, but they could pay a price getting within that range. It was a price they had to pay, since any barbarians that got through could have serious consequences for the infantry and supply trains they might overrun.

The colonel made a last minute check on the pistol in his belt. It was a single shot weapon, but it could come in handy in close combat. All of his officers had one of the still rare weapons. He waited for the day when every one of his people carried multiple of the weapons, and they could replicate the tactics of the early gunpowder era.

[We are ready,] sent White Paw.

[Send it,] ordered McGurk.

*  *  *

The wolves lay low, covered by the high grass. They knew the power of human weapons, having seen those of their own people used in battle. None wanted to be the target of a storm of arrows that they could not possibly dodge. The canny carnivores would not expose their flesh while they used their minds as their weapons.

[Now,] sent White Paw to the other wolves. Their minds were already linked into a collective, and they were also linked to dozens of others of their kind across the Army and even into the Refuge valley where the females and cubs were sheltered. Over fifty minds concentrated on one thing, one image, coming across on all sensory levels. Death, destruction, ripping fangs, the smell of blood, all things that would break through any of the training of the herbivores they were assaulting.

At first, many of the horses let out nervous snorts, which soon turned into terrified screams. Men yelled out in an unknown language as their horses started to kick and buck. To the barbarians there was no cause for their mounts to be acting this way, and many of them tried to whip their horses into submission with their reins. Unfortunately for them, the images of terror running through the minds of the beasts was more than they could handle.

The wolves didn't have the power to panic the entire herd, but they were able to affect the mental state of almost six hundred of the beasts. Those panicking caused the fear to spread to the others. Soon every one of the horses were spooked, and were moving across the grassland on their own, carrying helpless riders with them.

*  *  *

"Bugler," shouted out McGurk. "Now you can blow that damned silly thing. Sound charge."

The bugler, a young German trooper, put the horn to his lips and blew out the tattoo. The other buglers in the squadron took up the tune while the standard-bearers raised their flags up and down, then pointed them at the enemy. That enemy was totally disorganized, their terrified mounts carrying them every which way. The horses wouldn’t be able to tell from what direction the imaginary threat was coming, so they were just striking out wherever it looked like they might have some room to run.

The squadron rode out from under the trees at a trot, all they could risk still in the confines of the woods. They lined up, the troopers set spurs to flanks and the beasts were off. Over seven hundred lancers had their weapons lowered and were aiming at the center of the disorganized mass, while almost two hundred horse archers started speeding arrows into the nearest barbarians.

The barbarian commander tried to get his people organized to take the charge, but the confusion was too great. Some of the archers were able to get off shafts, and a dozen or so of the attackers went down as they or their horses were hit. Men received minor injuries from shafts, unless they happened to get hit in the neck or face. The horses had armor, but also many more vulnerable spots.

It was not the crash of opposing lines when they met, but the staccato clanging of individual jousts. In every instance, the first contact took a nomad from his horse, and less than a minute into the fight the odds were already approaching even. Most of the troopers only got one hit with their lance before it shattered or was lost from their grip. They pulled their long swords or maces and went to work, smashing and cutting the enemy down in their saddles.

McGurk met a large and better armored than average barbarian who had to be a chieftain. The man was a more skilled horseman and much better with a sword than McGurk, and his blade rang several times on the armor of the American. McGurk was heavily muscled, having grown up in a higher gravity field, His weapon of choice this day was a morning star, and ball of spikes on the end of a chain. A weapon that didn't take a lot of skill, but was hard for a swordsman to deal with. His first strike missed the man and hit the horse, the spikes carving deep gashes in its head. Antoine flinched at the injury. He still didn't like injuring and killing animals, though it was now part of his job description. The barbarian smacked McGurk's ready shield with his blade. The return stroke of the mace wrapped the chain around the blade, and the colonel jerked with all of his strength, pulling the sword away and flinging it to the ground. A wind up, a swing, and the morning star came down on the helmet of the chieftain, spikes penetrating as the weight of the ball crushed the metal down. The lifeless body fell out of the saddle, leaving McGurk unengaged for some moments, able to check out the rest of the battle.

The numbers game had definitely switched in his favor. More of his men were still in the saddle, while the many unoccupied horses of the enemy were on the run. Some barbarians were still fighting, several with multiple alliance soldiers swarming them. At one point a barbarian had struck a young American from his mount, and was leaning over to finish the job, when his horse bolted in panic. The wolves were still doing their job, sending blasts of mental energy into any beast whose rider was threatening their hominid friends.

In minutes, the fight was over. McGurk had sustained casualties, around a hundred men, nowhere near the enemy losses of well over a thousand killed and wounded. Several thousand more were trying their best to hang on to panicked beasts that were carrying them to places they did not want to go. Though in the case of some, as long as they were carrying them out of the battle, it was fine with them.

[General,] sent McGurk over mindspeak, using the wolves to boost the signal. [We met the nomad auxiliaries, and routed them, thanks to our four-footed friends.]

[Great news,] sent back Delgado after a couple of moment's delay. The stress of the battle he had just survived came over the link. [Are there any more organized bodies of troops out that way?]

[I don't think so. But as soon as we get our wounded tended and on their way back, I intend to do a sweep up to the Southern mountains.]

[Don't take too many chances,] said the general. [We don't have any more cavalry to send out to support you.]

The colonel looked down at the grinning canine that was trotting up to his mount. Thank God for the man that brought these guys along, he thought. [I wouldn't worry about that too much, general. No one is going to sneak anything past our wolves.]

Epilogue

"Are we ready to launch?" asked Earnst Grueber, walking out of the tent that was his office for this project.

"We are, my Lord," answered one of the Ellala craftsmen who led the others on the work.

Moored to the ground was a thirty-meter long balloon, much in the shape of an old zeppelin. The actual basket touched the ground, and several other baskets were attached to the frame, filled with the densest rocks they could find.

Hydrogen on this world acted much like the gas on Earth, with the power to lift a small mass into the air based on its displacement of heavier gases. Hydrogen also burned with a fury here, just like on Earth. With fire breathing dragons in the sky, it was a risk to put up anything in the air with that kind of flammability.

Helium, on the other hand, was also available, and in larger quantities than on Earth. It was also non-flammable, which made it a no-brainer as far as dragons were concerned. It actually had much greater lifting capacity compared to hydrogen than on Earth, something that made little sense. With the slightly lower gravity, it could actually haul three times more into the sky than on Earth. And in a land of magic, appearances could be deceiving. The human physicists and engineers, working hand in hand with the native-born mages, who had more knowledge of the art than the powerful natural mages that had come from Earth, experimented on various substances. Some were chemical compounds that had never been used here. Others were the Nobel gases: Argon, Neon, Krypton, and Helium. There were some spectacular effects with the heavier gases, lighting and pyrotechnics that rivaled the light of Neon tubes on Earth. With a little bit of magical kick-starting, they absorbed solar rays during the day and provided unending light at night. Krypton, though fairly rare, could actually store energy from the sun and return it as magical power. And then there was helium. When helium was charged with the proper magic, it created a lifting power almost ten times greater than hydrogen. A skilled mage on an airship could control the magic that flowed through that otherwise inert gas, and raise or lower the ship.

Grueber still hoped someday for a train since they could carry much more cargo than any kind of airship. They had worked out a system that would get around the prohibitions of the earth gods for engines of any kind that didn't use wind or muscle. But they didn't have enough Mithril to waste on hundreds or thousands of kilometers of rails. They had experimented with using the Mithril in both rails and wheels. It had worked in the rails on the short piece of test track, but not with wheels. At least not in the proportions they had used. Until they could get enough, or work out a better manner of making the alloy, trains were a bust. The Gods of the Air seemed to have no problem with steam engines. Could that be because the engines used the expansion of water vapor to power them, and that kind of moisture was a major component of the atmosphere? It might, but no matter the reason, the priests seemed to feel that steam engines would work in the air.

Hence, the Hindenburg, the test ship they were putting through the paces today. It was not really a working model. The designers would have to spend a lot more time on it before they had one anyone would trust outside the confines of this valley. It did have a working steam engine, similar to the ones used on the riverboats, though just a bit smaller. It was inside the ship, with stacks leading out and to the sides, and a belt system connected to two small propellers. Everything would be larger on the working models, but Grueber had seen no need to put a lot of effort into something they weren't even sure was going to work.

"Release her," ordered the engineer.

The men on the guide ropes let them loose and the craft started to rise. The steam engine had been fired up and building pressure since the crew had come aboard and the mage had cast his spells. Grueber had wanted to be aboard this test flight, but General Taylor had forbidden it, and stationed enough men at the test site to make sure he didn't set foot on the balloon. Grueber could understand that the general didn't want to risk his engineering wizard, but he had still wanted to be aboard.

The ship rose smoothly into the air, coming to a stop at fifty meters as the mage exerted his will on the lifting gas. A whistle sounded as they let steam through the mechanism, and then the props began to turn as the cylinders were also fed the pressure. With stately majesty the ship started to move forward, picking up speed until it was sailing through the sky at an even fifteen knots. After going forward for a couple of kilometers the rudders on the back swept to port, and the ship executed a perfect turn until it was heading toward them.

"It works," shouted Grueber in joy. He knew that in principle it would. The question was whether some busybody god of this world would interfere. And they hadn't.

"And the purpose of this thing?" asked one of the dwarves on the building crew, arms crossed and a frown across his face.

"We'll be able to move large amounts of cargo through areas with no road nets," said the German engineer, putting his hands on the dwarf's shoulders.

The short humanoid shook his head and walked away. The dwarf had worked on the project because he had been told to, but he typified so many of the people here. If something had worked for generations the way it was, why change it? People from Earth did not think that way, and though some technologies were no longer possible, there were others that the ingenious newcomers would improve on. Like the windmills downrange of the airship, slowly spinning and pumping ground water up to the surface.

The people from Earth were already changing this world in so many ways. Would all of the changes be for the better? That remained to be seen, but one could certainly hope so.

*  *  *

"Is it ready?" asked the Half Litch Emperor, Ellandra Mashara, walking into the subbasement workshop.

The gnome engineers bowed and nodded, as their leader walked forward with his eyes on the floor.

"The first unit is ready, my Emperor," said the gnome in a trembling voice. His people were pragmatic, neither good nor evil. They worshiped the Gods of Law or Chaos equally, rival pantheons that were constantly at war with each other. That normally led to warfare and slaughter between the worshipers, but not with the gnomes. Gods were simply a small part of their lives. There was engineering and construction to keep them interested, and both Law and Chaos had a part in that process.

Mashara followed the engineer into another chamber of the workshop, stopping and staring at the object standing in the middle of the room.

"It certainly looks impressive," said the Emperor, looking up into the roughhewn face of the construct. It was at least four and a half meters tall, its blocky head almost scraping the ceiling. It was almost three meters wide at the shoulders, with a thick body, arms and legs. The skin had a metallic sheen, and wisps of steam rose from the obvious joints in the hard covering.

"It's much stronger than a living being of the same size would be, your Majesty. And the Mithril infused into the alloy of the skin makes it almost invulnerable."

"And you used the steam engine technology of the newcomers as well," stated the Emperor, walking up and putting a hand on one of the joints, withdrawing it quickly after the heat transferred into his hand.

"We were able to incorporate steam cylinders like those of their machines into the internal workings of our golem," said the smiling engineer. He looked up at the Emperor with a twinkle in his eyes. "Would you like to see it in action?"

"Yes," said the Emperor, moving back to the doorway and gesturing for his guards to stand between him and the golem. He doubted they would be able to stop it if something went wrong, but he did believe they would be able to slow it down long enough to get his precious hide to safety.

The gnome said something in his native tongue and the construct came alive. The red jewels that were the eyes glowed with power, more steam puffed from the joints, and it started to move with the screeching creak of metal. It took two steps forward, the floor shaking from its tread, and then came to a stop at another word from the gnome.

The gnome moved back to the side of the construct and pointed at a heavy stone block, made of the native granite of the local mountains. The creature turned, taking clumsy steps toward the block. The Emperor thought it slow and clumsy, and wondered if it was really the war-winning weapon he was hoping for. Then it raised its arms and brought twin fists down on the granite block, which shattered as the hardened alloy came down on it with the power of the steam in its body behind them.

"Amazing," shouted the Emperor, almost passing his guards, then thinking better of it. "And you have more?"

"We have three other units available, your Majesty. Two are prototypes that are not quite as powerful, though serviceable. And one is an exact duplicate of this unit."

The Emperor nodded. His dragon force was almost completely destroyed, and his enemy even surpassed him in magical resources, as well as having warriors who were not affected by magic. These would be the most powerful machines on the battlefield since the demise of the tanks of the newcomers.

"How are they affected by fire?"

"Fire will actually heal any injuries they have, and replenish their energy, your Majesty."

"Perfect," said the Emperor. "And how fast can you deliver more?"

"With our present resources, we can construct about one every week. If we had more resources, more workmen, we could produce a greater number."

"Then I will make sure you have more resources and workers. I want as many of these as you can make. And I want them to be attuned to my voice, so that they will follow me, and those I appoint over them.:

Mashara imagined how these creatures would fight, especially if he had a score of them. He could visualize the infantry of the enemy trying to pour through a gate, and a pair of the Golems crushing them in their tracks. Or wading out in the river to come up under one of their new steamships and hole the hull, sending it to the bottom. Sure, the enemy might come up with a counter to these, especially once they knew they were possible. But that could take months, and he was sure to destroy a good portion of their army in that time. Things were looking bright again.

"Keep me informed," he said, turning and walking from the room. He needed to recharge himself as well, and by this time his priests should have gathered the sacrifices he would need to build back up to where he had been prior to this battle. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Immortality would be his, the most pressing concern, and the golems would give him the time to achieve it.

The End

About the Refuge Series:

Refuge was one of the first series I ever developed, and the third novel I ever wrote was set in this world. It was very long and not very good, so it won’t ever see the light of day.  I restarted the series in 2007 when I wrote Doppelganger, hoping that I could sell it to a publisher and get the series moving again. No luck, and frankly they didn’t seem to get that it was set in an alternate dimension and combined Earth history with that of Refuge. I wrote Refuge: The Arrival in 2010, then split it into two books and self-published it. I thought it would be the breakout series. But no, that was Exodus: Empires at War.

Frankly, I was about to give up on Refuge after book 3, but decided to do book 4. Then it was two years before I decided to go ahead with book 5, at the urging of a couple of fans. Basically, the series doesn’t do well enough to put the time into writing a bunch of books. Sad, because I really love the series, and would like to do more books. In fact, I had planned a series of twenty books at the beginning. Once the litch was gone, the new villain would arise, another immortal. But economics drives this business. I love writing, but I also love the lifestyle that writing brings, being my own boss and not having to go into an office and deal with mundane idiots every day. Both of the Exodus series do much better. So, I can write an Empires at War or Machine War book and make between $15,000 and $20,000 in their first year, or I can write a Refuge and make $3-4,000. Spending the same amount of time writing. Write five Exodus books a year and I live well. Write five Refuge books a year and I’m back in that office.

Here is where I am going to approach the fans. If you really like this series, if you want more books, sell the idea of them to people you know. Talk them up in groups that talk about fantasy. I will be doing one more book, probably by next Christmas. After that, who knows. But that could possible be the last book in the series, and then I will move on to other ideas.

Read the first three chapter of Theocracy: Book 1.

Chapter One

The stench of the battlefield was like all such.  The smell of blood, of bowels loosed by death, of smoke and burnt flesh.  The moans of the wounded, the screams of the dying, grated on the ears of the living, such as there were.  Man and beast lay at unnatural angles, rents in armor, slashes on limbs, spears or arrows sticking into the air.  As in all modern battles there were many whose only wound was a hole in head, chest or abdomen.  On this battlefield there were many more of those holes, most made by weapons more advanced than those employed by the armies who had fought this day.

Patrick O’Hara lay at the edge of that field.  He grimaced in pain as he attempted to keep his intestines from pushing out of his body.  One of the demon dogs, as he thought of them, had ripped him open, after he had sent three of them back to whatever hellish master they served.  One had connected with the swipe of a monstrous claw that had snapped through chain links and flesh alike with equal ease.  He thought for sure one of the remaining pair would take out his throat, until the small furry beast had come to his rescue.  That hadn’t prevented more of the creatures from taking his brother prisoner, to whatever fate awaited him.

What in the hell were those things? he thought as he gritted his teeth against the unmanning pain.  He had never seen anything like them, or heard anything from legend.  They ran on all fours, like large slender hounds.  When they stopped and went to upright posture the paws unfolded into five fingered hands tipped with terrible claws.  Some were totally black, one red, and several striped.  The flying chariots they had come from, now those had been talked about in the legends.  He had seen pictures of their like in books preserved from the time of the ancients.

Something made a noise near to his ear.  Grunting in pain Patrick turned his head, to find himself looking into the large green eyes of the furry beast who had rescued him from the demons.  He knew it from the legends, had seen pictures of such beasts in ancient texts.  Cats, he thought.  The silky black fur rippled in the breeze as a comforting rumbling came from the small creature.

“I wish you hadn’t have saved me,” he whispered to the creature, grimacing as pain spasmed through his guts.  “It would have been a much quicker death if you hadn’t.”

The creature made a mewing sound and moved toward him.  It raised a paw and one sharp claw extended.  He had seen one of those claws kill a demon dog in an instant.  He welcomed the death that it promised.  He was not afraid of death.  He knew he would return to this world, reborn.  But for the pain to cease would be a blessing.

The claw was a slight prick as it entered his neck.  And almost immediately the world faded to darkness as Patrick faded into deep sleep, his mind replaying the events of the last day as it had been trained to do, making the memories a permanent record for his future use.

*     *     *

Brahma was full in the sky in all its ringed spender. Two of the other inner moons were in three quarter phases on either side of the giant, while the sun set on this part of Vasus in the hills to the west.  Patrick stood on a rise admiring those other worlds.  He had watched them before through the telescopes of the scientists, and thrilled at the expanses of blue and green, the wisps of clouds in the sky, which showed they were living worlds much like his own.  Just as the legends had said.

“One day I will go to you,” said Patrick, looking up at the closest of the two worlds.

“Daydreaming again, little brother?” asked a familiar voice.

Patrick felt a smile stretch his face as he looked down the rise at his older brother walking toward him.  Sean was taller and broader than Patrick.  He had a face that reminded Patrick of his mother, what little he could remember of her.  He had only been three when the raiders had killed their parents, and then eleven year old Sean had smuggled three year old Patrick out of danger and to the Monastery that became their home.

“Have some ale,” said Sean, holding out a mug from which spilled amber liquid.

“You know I don’t drink before a battle,” said Patrick, waving the mug away.

“You monks,” said his brother with a laugh, then swigging the last of his mug down and taking a sip off the one he had offered Patrick.  “I’m happy I’m just a warrior.”

“A Captain in the Duke’s guard is not just a warrior,” said Patrick with a grin.  He was proud of his brother, who had become a great warrior, and risen quickly through the ranks of leaders.  Unless Patrick was much mistaken he would soon be ennobled,.

“Still have to bow down to the monks,” said Sean under his breath.

Patrick frowned as he heard his brother’s whisper with his sharp hearing.  He knew Sean still resented not being trained in the ways of the Fae, like his little brother.  Sean had been too old to start the training, whilst Patrick had been the perfect age.  Sean has been trained in the ways of war, and had excelled.  But he couldn’t learn the spiritual and mind control techniques that could be taught the toddler.

“You will never have to bow down to me,” said Patrick, putting his hand on his brother’s broad shoulder.  “Never, do you hear.  And when I am the prelate of the monastery, no one else will either.”

“And when will that be, little brother?” asked Sean with a smile, his eyes glinting in the light from above.  “Will it be after you visit those worlds up there?”

“You heard?”

“Of course,” said Sean with a laugh.  “My body and senses may not be trained like yours, but they are still sharp.  I would join you on your voyage.  How do you intend to proceed?”

“I have no idea, big brother,” said Patrick, clapping Sean on the arm and leading him down the rise back to their camp.  “But the legends say it is possible, so maybe we can do it.”

The appetizing smell of cooking food wafted up from the camp as the brothers approached.  Fires stretched into the distance, the hoots of war mounts sounded from the other side of the camp.  It was the largest force that Patrick had ever seen.  He had heard the estimates of twenty thousand men.  Maybe more.  They passed one fire where a score of men were drinking and eating.  Several cleaned weapons, one a deadly looking flintlock rifle.  The men watched them with wary eyes as they passed.

Several more fires and they arrived at a broad blaze in front of a splendid silk tent.  A regal looking man stood up as they walked into the circle.  Sean stopped and gave a bow to his lord, while Patrick gave the abbreviated head drop one of his station gave to any noble.  The church was subservient to no man, only to God.  The monks might fight for the kingdom, but they only served God.

“My Duke,” said Sean, rising from his bow.

“Are the brothers ready for battle,” said the Duke with a smile.  “The Good God knows we would be doomed were you not.”

“We are ready, Duke Seamus,” said Patrick with a smile.  “I know my brother will lead your men to victory.”

“And how goes my contingent goes the King’s army,” said the Duke, looking over the young monk.  “I am happy to know that the church feels I am valuable enough for a body guard such as a stalwart war monk.”

“You are valuable, my lord,” said Sean, grabbing a mug of ale and raising it to the sky.  “How would the king win without your command of his right wing?”  He brought the  mug to his lips and took a deep gulp.

“All the more reason for the enemy to kill me,” said the Duke with a laugh.  “Unless your younger brother can keep them from me.”

“I will give my life to protect yours, Duke Seamus,” said Patrick, nodding his head.

A large glowering man stood up as soon as the words left Patrick’s mouth.  By his red face he had been drinking.  From the look in his eye it had not improved his disposition.

“How many battles have you fought, Monk,” said the man, pointing a large finger at Patrick.  “How do we know you will not run at the first smell of blood.”

“I have fought before,” said Patrick, feeling a rush of blood to his head, the sign of anger.  He quickly said a silent mantra to calm himself.  “I have killed before.”

“In a battle?” said the man, his voice showing his disbelief.  “A battle is different than a fight.  Total chaos.  And no time to calm yourself, so you show the emotion of a stone wall.”

“Easy, Lord Rory,” said the Duke, putting a hand on the man’s arm.

Rory shrugged the hand off and continued to stare at Patrick.  Patrick looked calmly back, wondering at the loutish behavior of the man.  Not that such was unknown in Eire.  This was a land of free men.  Even a farmer could look the king in the eye and speak his mind, as long as he observed the decorum.  Unlike the folk of the people they fought, who wanted to take that freedom away and subjugate them to darker Gods.

“I believe in my brother,” said Sean, moving toward the loutish lord.  “I will hear no words spoken against him.”

“Shouldn’t he defend himself,” said Rory, pulling his blade from its sheath with a swish of leather.

With a quick move Patrick pulled his long curved sword from its sheath.  The firelight gleamed off its permanently polished perfection.  Men gasp at the beauty of the deadly weapon, like no other they had ever seen.  Brought by Patrick’s own hand from the vault of the elders, through the door that only his touch had been able to open.

“There will be no blood around my fire,” roared the Duke, throwing his mug to the ground.

“I will not battle against that witch weapon,” yelled Rory over the Duke.

Patrick flashed a wolfish grin that would have made most men think twice about challenging him.  Rory was of course too much in his cups to notice.  The Duke did notice, and turned to his vassal.

“Rory, you must not fight him.  I need you on the field on the morrow.”

“And there I will be, my Duke,” said the man, glaring at Patrick.  “He may not be.”

The Duke seemed to think about it a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.  “You are a free man, Rory.  You will do as you must.  But this fight is to be till first blood only.  Not to the death.”

Patrick nodded as he looked at his opponent and a space was cleared around the fire.  He was sure that Rory would go for a killing blow on the first, no matter the orders of the Duke.  So first blood would be him bleeding out on the ground.  He wondered what he had done to offend the man, so that the warrior wanted his blood.

“Put away that witch weapon, boy,” yelled Rory, gesturing at the katana in Patrick’s hand.  “I will not face that unmanly weapon.”

“Will you watch my sword, brother,” said Patrick, sheathing the blade in its special sheath.

“As always, my brother,” said Sean, grasping the offered sheath.  “I wish you wouldn’t fight this man, but if you must, take my sword.”

“I need no weapon,” said Patrick, turning toward Rory and walking forward.  “I spill no blood this night,” he yelled, locking eyes with the man.

“Grab a sword, boy,” said Rory, moving toward Patrick.  “Grab a sword.”

“I need none,” said Patrick, watching the man as he stalked forward.  Gone was all sign of the drunk.  The man moved on the balls of his feet, in perfect balance, sword tip questing ahead.  Obviously the man was not as drunk as he had wanted to appear.  Once again Patrick wondered what the man’s objective was.  To humble a monk, a member of an order that the man saw as arrogant or condescending?  Or something else?

“To first blood only,” yelled the Duke from the circle that surrounded the men.

“There will be no blood, my Duke,” said Patrick, projecting his voice through his Fae as he had been taught, so it was heard over all the talking and murmuring.  “No blood at all.”

“Except yours,” yelled Rory, stomping forward and thrusting with his sword.

Patrick dodged to the side at the same time as he engaged the Fae.

The Fae was the term for the training of mind and body that the monks of the Ariuds order underwent from early childhood.  Many people thought it was magic, and the monks were not inclined to disabuse them.  It looked like magic, for all that it was a natural method of training passed down from the ancients, from which it was rumored to have been given by the Good God.

As soon as he invoked the Fae the world around him seemed to slow.  He knew his reflexes were boosted slightly, though they were already at about their maximum due to his physical training.  The real increase was in the brain, giving him more time to think about the situation he was in, and adjust his physical responses as necessary.

The slender dueling blade slid past.  Patrick wondered why the man had such a blade so ill suited for battle so handy.  Like this had all been planned.

Rory whipped the blade around and slashed.  Patrick ducked under the blade, then jumped back as Rory reversed it.  As soon as the blade passed Patrick jumped in with a right front snap kick, connecting with Rory’s belly and sending the man staggering back.

“I’ll have your heart,” yelled the warrior, bringing the sword overhead to slash down, not a good idea with a dueling blade.  Patrick stepped forward and slapped his hands together overhead, trapping the blade, then delivered another front snap kick to Rory’s gut.  The man grunted, doubled over, and relaxed his grip on his sword.  Patrick jerked the blade away from the older man and flung it away.  He dropped down and swept Rory’s left leg from beneath him.  Rory fell, and Patrick vaulted on top of him, slamming both hands onto the bigger man’s ears.  Rory shrieked.  Patrick stood and looked down at the stricken man.

“Stay down,” he said, pointing a finger at the big man.  “It’s over.  You’ve lost.”

Patrick turned away and started to walk toward his brother, glad that the spectacle was done.  He could sense Rory rising behind him.  He didn’t need the shouted warning from his brother.  With perfect timing he bent at the waist and sent a strong side kick into Rory as the big man staggered forward.  Rory’s course was reversed in a moment and he fell back to the ground with a loud grunt.

Patrick stopped in front of the Duke while Sean handed him his sword.  He gave a short bow to the Duke while he took the sheathed blade.

“As I promised, my Lord,” said Patrick with a smile.  “No blood.”

“You sit back down, Rory,” said the Duke, looking away from Patrick for a moment.  “It’s over.”  He looked back at the monk with a wide smile.  “I’m right glad to have you defending my back, sir Monk.  Very glad indeed.”

Patrick bowed again and turned away, wanting to get away from the camp fire and the men.  He hadn’t wanted to fight the man, and was sure he had made an enemy for life.  He had not only defeated the man, he had embarrassed him as well.  He was sure there would be a price to pay, eventually.

“Wait up, little brother,” called out Sean, running after him.

The smell of cooked meat came with his brother.  Patrick could feel his mouth watering as he spied the joint of meat on the plate in his brother’s hand.

“You have to eat something,” said Sean, passing over the plate, which also had some fresh baked bread alongside the meat.  “Tomorrow’s a battle.  We will all need our strength.”

“Thank you,” said Patrick, feeling his stomach grumble.  “I will be ready.”

“I know you will,” said Sean with a nod.  “Watch yourself, and watch your back.  Now I have to meet with the Duke and the general, so we can go over the plans tomorrow.”

Patrick watched his brother walk away, then turned back to the small rise where he had sat before.  Patrick wolfed down the meal, more hungry than he had thought.  He performed his evening meditations and prayer, his senses always alert for anything that might intrude upon his presence.  Because of that he was surprised when he opened his eyes and found himself looking at something from legend, down the hill and almost obscured by the shadows, green eyes glinting in the distant firelight.

Is that a cat? he thought, meeting the eyes of the beast.  It blinked once, the green fire extinguished for a moment.  It blinked again, then turned and slid into the shadows so smoothly that Patrick almost thought it had disappeared.  More portents and signs, he thought.  There were no cats that he knew of on this world.  It was the world of large reptiles, and few mammals other than humans.  He had seen pictures of cats and other marvelous beasts in the texts that the monastery preserved.  But if they were coming back to the world, did that mean the ancient would also return?  Not soon enough, he thought.  Maybe they can rescue us from the madness of war, the insanity of raids and plunder.  That would be nice, but nothing he had ever thought possible.

Patrick thought about the matter for another couple of hours, sitting on the rise.  The camp was noisy for a few hours, then settled to mostly quiet as the men bedded down.  Sentries continued their rounds.  Every once in a while shouting broke out as soldiers got caught up in a dispute over winning or losing at dice or cards.

Something caught his eye, and Patrick looked up into the night sky dominated by Brahma and her consorts.  There were flashing lights up there, bright pinpoints.  Sometimes a flash of colored light appeared for a moment, to disappear as if it never were.  A battle in heaven, thought the young monk.  Or maybe just some phenomenon we will someday understand.  After a while the lights stopped, and Patrick got up to walk to his tent and get some sleep before the coming dawn.  He thought he saw a shadow moving with him, something small.  The cat?  But he didn’t notice it as he entered the camp, and he put his mind for preparing for the morrow, and his first real battle.

Chapter Two

Alyssa Suarez gazed with her cat green eyes at the screen sitting above her chair.  The door swished open and Derrick McAndrews walked in with a couple of trays in his hands.  He set one down on the side table of Alyssa’s chair and took the seat next to hers.

“What’s our boy up to now?” he asked, buttering a roll, then taking a sip of his beverage.

“Still doing monkish things as far as I can tell,” answered Alyssa to her junior partner.  She looked over at the food and felt her stomach turn.  Not that it was bad.  The auto-kitchen of the small ship turned out surprisingly good meals.  It was just the tension of the day.  Tomorrow they would hopefully make contact with their target, the one they had come four hundred AU to see.

“And how’s Shadow?” asked the other agent, concern in his voice.

Not as concerned as I am, thought Alyssa, glancing up at the forward view port of the control room.  Scores of brightly colored fish were swimming near that port, attracted by the light from within.  “Shadow’s doing fine.  He’s a smart cat.”

“With a smart controller,” said Derrick, lifting the now thoroughly buttered roll in a dark hand to his mouth.

Alyssa threw him a frown, then closed her eyes, looking through her own brain with the entangled senses of the cat.  She was throwing the image on the screen from her implant for her partner’s benefit.

“You are, you know,” continued Derrick’s voice.  “Smart, I mean.  And beautiful.”

“And very, very uninterested,” she said, opening her eyes and looking with a steady gaze on her partner.  “And Shadow is the smart one of this entangled team.  I just give him direction, and he does the rest.”

Alyssa turned her attention back to the screen, at the image of the shaven headed man.  He was a bit thin, as befitted someone from a light gravity world.  Vasus only had about point five three standard gravities.  Alyssa was from a much larger and denser world, with one tenth of a gee over standard.  She still wondered where that standard had come from.  Somewhere from the dim past, she was sure.  But the face of the young monk was pleasant to look at, freckled and intelligent.  She was sure he would have had the deep red hair of his brother as well.

The ship shook for a moment, passing the vibrations of the tremor up from the sea bottom.  This was a minor one.  They had already experienced far too many in the three days they had been on the surface of the world.  I know it’s still ten years away, she thought as the tremor subsided.  But I don’t want to be here when this world hits the Roche limit of its primary.  Then the tremor was over and she could concentrate on the target again.

“Did you see the way he moved?” she asked in a quiet voice.  “When he was fighting that big barbarian.”

“Yeah,” said Derrick in a harsh voice.  “Very impressive.  But he wouldn’t last a second against a Marine.  And they’re all barbarians, remember.”

“Just like we were, seven hundred years ago,” she replied, her attention focused on the young man walking back to the camp, as Shadow lived up to his name.

“But we crawled a little further than they did,” said Derrick with a frown.  “We’re in space, and they’re still barbs.”

“They had a little harder time of it than we did, Derrick,” said Alyssa, standing up and looking down at the man.  She could feel her face burning with anger.  So many of her fellow citizens looked down on anyone who hadn’t risen from the ashes as fast as they had.

“We all got knocked down,” said Derrick, wiping his chin with a napkin and looking up at her.  “Just saying they haven’t done as well.”

“They got hit with something really big,” said Alyssa, hands going to her hips.  “It pushed them out of stable orbit, and they’re about to pay for it big time, a thousand years later.  And what about those big damned beasts they’ve had to live with.  I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up around them.”

Alyssa turned away with a huff and plopped back down in her seat, her eyes going to the screen where the monk could be seen getting into a small tent.  “I think they’ve done very well.  This is an exciting time for them.”

“Until they break up a decade from now, you mean,” said Derrick.

Alyssa felt her rage rise as she looked back at the man.

“Just saying,” he said, holding up his hands.  “Just saying.  There’s not much we can do about it unless we get some of that ancient tech.  And maybe this guy will be the key, to not just helping us.”

Alyssa closed her eyes for a moment and sent the order to Shadow to bed down for the night.  It was no use risking the valuable animal.  Who was also her soul mate if truth be told.  It would be a disaster if some idiot wandered up on the cat at night and took a shot at it.  She didn’t want to think of the possibility.  She received from the cat the transmission that he had found a nice little cave, too small for many of the local beasts to get in to.  Safe for the night.

“You sure he’s the one,” said Derrick, looking at a replay of the monk on the screen just before the fight.  “I mean, it could be his brother that we’re looking for.”

“Look at that sword,” said Alyssa as the blade was revealed, then shoved back into its sheath.  “That’s ancient tech alright.  And my sources say he was the one to open the vault.”

“But the brother has a breast plate of the same tech,” said Derrick.

“Fine,” said Alyssa, shrugging her shoulders.  “Then we’ll take both of them tomorrow.  If we get a chance.”

“Worried about the fight in space?”

“Of course,” said Alyssa with a frown.  “We’re outnumbered, after all.  And Admiral Eubanks is not the genius that damned Theocrat Admiral is.”

“Maybe Murphy will come in on our side,” said Derrick, getting up from his seat and grabbing his tray.  “I’m going to work out a bit, then hit the rack.”

“I’m going to stay up a while longer,” said Alyssa, watching the replay of the short fight.  “And Marine?”

“No longer,” said Derrick with a smile.

“I think he would kick your ass in a fair fight,” she said, gesturing toward the screen.

“But only an idiot would get involved in a fair fight,” said Derrick, walking out of the control room.

*     *     *

Admiral Tadrick Krishnamurta cursed under his breath as the flag bridge shook to another hit.  He quickly checked the ship’s status through his implant, another curse coming to his lips as he noted the hull breach that had taken out one of the missile accelerator tubes.

“Heineman has been hit again,” came the voice of the bridge callout officer, keeping tabs on the fleet action.

The Admiral looked up into the repeater holo in the front of the bridge.  The bright circle of a fusion warhead explosion took up a good portion of the holo as it focused in on a single vessel.  The bright circle started to fade, revealing the long, thin form of the battle cruiser in question.  She was as long as the Murtaw, the flag battleship, so she would have a similar length of acceleration tubes.  But she was a third less in thickness, with thinner armor.  As the fusion warhead explosion faded the effect of having that thinner armor became apparent, as the entire vessel disappeared in a great blast.  The fusion reactors ruptured and the entire vessel converted to bright plasma that filled the screen.  When it faded there was nothing left.

Over six hundred men and women, thought the Admiral as the ship disintegrated into plasma.  Added to all the rest.

“Sir,” yelled out the caller.  “Captain Jackson is asking for instructions.”

The great battleship shuddered again from another impact, this from a KE round.  The Admiral did a quick rundown of the ship’s injuries and stopped for a second on the casualty figures.  A quarter of the crew, over two hundred and fifty personnel, killed or seriously wounded.  One half of his command destroyed or disabled.  An enemy that had outnumbered him slightly under two to one, now with three to one odds in his favor.  There hadn’t been any other choice.  The rules of engagement were to attack the enemy wherever encountered.  And the only way to save the people of this world was to engage, no matter how slight the odds of victory.  Now it was run or lose everything, and the enemy would still have the presence in this moon system to do what they wanted.  Which they would also have if he stood and fought to the last ship.

“All ships, break off,” he ordered over the com.  “All ships, break off.  Rendezvous at point Delta.  Repeat, point Delta.”

The Admiral felt himself pushed back in his couch by the heavy hand of gravity, as the battleship rotated and fired its engines.  Two gravities, then three, four, settling down at five.  He could hardly breathe, despite the augmented musculature of a spaceman working his intercostals and diaphragm.  One of the fleet’s cruisers exploded into plasma before it could break free.  Another battleship took a hit, but kept thrusting away, above the plane of the moon system.

“Do you think they’ll follow?” asked the Captain over the com.

“No,” said the Admiral, wincing as he saw that less than half the ships he had brought to the battle were leaving.  Much less.  “They have what they want.”

*      *      *

“Shall we give chase, your eminence?” asked the Captain of the Theocracy battleship The Elder Thomas DeRutter.

“What do you think, Colonel Chung?’ asked the Admiral Bishop Jon Gruber, looking over at his subordinate, and the man the mission revolved around.

Nathan Chung looked down his long nose at the Captain, then turned to the Admiral with a slight bow of his two meter height.  He ran a hand through the blond stubble on his head and gave back the look from his superior with his ice blue eyes.  Of course, as a son of the reigning Patriarch, he felt that no man was his superior, not deep down.  And that attitude showed to all.

“I think, Admiral, that we need to concentrate on what we came here for,” rumbled the Colonel.  “There is another Republic force on the way, well before our own reinforcements arrive,” he continued, flashing a glare at the Captain to keep the man from saying anything.  “I would like to take the target and be gone before they can interfere.”

“I think the original plan is scrapped,” said the Admiral, nodding his head as his hands played with the blood stained prayer beads around his neck.  “You will not be going down to his camp and taking him, I think.”

“Their camp is already getting ready for the day,” agreed Chung, gesturing toward the holo tank, which was now showing the surface of the world and the stirring military camp of the barbarians.  “I think it best if we use force to take what we want.”  The holo switched view, to show a barbarian warrior in mail, with a shimmering breastplate of some advanced substance, yelling to his under officers.

“And you are sure of your target?” asked the Admiral, leaning forward to study the features of the warrior.

“As sure as I can be,” said the Colonel with a shrug of his shoulders.  “Based on what my operatives on the moon have learned, I would say almost ninety percent certainty.”

“Just keep your dogs under control,” said the Captain in a whiny voice.

Chung walked toward the man, his boots sticking to the carpet for a moment on each step.  Chung was the same titular rank as the ship’s Captain.  His posting to Church Intelligence actually gave him the same power as a commodore, while his lineage gave him as much power as the in place fleet commander.  He stopped and glared down at the Captain, a vein throbbing in his temple.

“My Maurids are much more intelligent than many of the humans manning this fleet,” he said in a hissing voice.  “Probably more so that many of the officers as well.”  He pointed a large finger at the Captain’s face, then turned and walked away.  He was feeling rage at the bigoted attitudes of the fools he was saddled with.  Fools who thought that non-human meant stupid.  The Maurids, found on a small continent of one of the worlds the Theocracy had subjugated, had taken over that continent to the detriment of the humans who had been there.  To him that was proof that they were a match for humans.

“Bring me your tasking order in no more than an hour, Colonel,” called the Admiral after him.

Chung turned on his heels and rendered a picture perfect salute.  “I will have an operation plan for you within a half an hour.”

“Nothing too complicated, I hope,” said the Captain with a sneer.

“Nothing complicated,” agreed Chung with a nod.  “Just hit them hard and knock the hell out of them.”

Chapter Three

Vasus had set just before the sun had risen.  The planet had trembled again as the bright orb of the day star had broached the horizon.  The men were used to it, even though the frequency was increasing.  It caused some concern, not that there was anything they could do about it but leave it in the hands of the Good God.  Camp was struck as breakfast was wolfed down.  Soon all of the tentage was aboard wagons.  This camp was no longer needed.  If they won this day they would be in pursuit of their barbarous opponents.  If they lost they would be on the run from the enemy’s pursuit.  Either way, this ground would be of no use.

Patrick looked with curiosity over the ground where the battle was to be fought.  As far as he could tell the troops were expertly placed to receive an attack, emplaced on the slopes looking down into the river valley.  The enemy would have to ford that stream and make their way upward into the face of the Eirish soldiers.  But maybe not so well placed for an attack, he thought.  That river and the opposite slope would have the same effect on the friendly troops.  But the Hyrkanians were known for their fierceness in the attack, and the plan was to let them come on in their habitual way.  Today Patrick hoped that it was true.

Patrick heard his brother’s voice shouting out over the din.  He looked down and to his right, where Sean was arranging his soldiers.  Several hundred pikemen were to the front, their long spears waving in the air.  Behind them were a hundred or so musketeers, setting up their fork supports and readying their matchlocks.  They were the right flank of the army proper.  There were some skirmishers beyond them, a few hundred men with javelins, spears and bows, who would screen them from any surprises.

Further out was one of the flanking cavalry detachments, about five hundred men seated on the backs of their feathered raptors.  The raptors had been unmuzzled, and were screeching their displeasure to the morning while they revealed their alarming array of teeth.  Patrick knew from experience that the foul tempered and intelligent mounts, about six times the mass of their riders, carried their deadliest weapons on their feet.  The armored riders carried long lances, swords and wheel lock pistols, but were not the threat that their mounts were.  Patrick would just as soon fight on foot as have to handle one of the beasts, who were known to take chunks out of riders or anyone else standing about.

The young monk let his eye wander further inward, where the King and his body guard looked over the field.  Cannon were placed further up the slope, where they could plunge fire into the enemy struggling up the steep embankment.  Above them, almost at the crest of the hill, stood the larger raptors of the royal knights.  These beasts were as tall as two men, and massed more than twelve.  Their riders sat back on their saddles and talked among themselves, every once in awhile slapping their mounts on nose or back of head to keep them from attacking each other.

Patrick looked back down to the King and met the eye of one of the monks in the monarch’s bodyguard.  All carried large shields as well as blades, and all looked alert and ready.  About fifty yards from the king stood a hundred monks, a contingent of supreme warriors who were the King’s personal reserve.  Patrick saw Master Killian at the head of that grouping, looking calm and composed as he held his short, broad bladed spear.

“Are we ready, sir Monk?” asked the Duke, striding up to take his place in the formation.

“I am ready, Lord,” said Patrick with a head nod.  His magical sword was in its sheath, but Patrick held a shield made of the same metal on his arm.  “And my Fae shield is ready as well.”

“Hopefully you won't need it,” said the Duke, gesturing the rest of his personal retinue to their places.  He stopped for a moment and looked closely at the shield.

“From the vaults, my lord,” said Patrick, twirling the shield.  “My Master said he had a vision that I would have need of it.”

“The vault that you opened, young Monk?” asked the Duke with a smile.  “I have heard the tale.  How nothing known could get through the door, until you touched it with your good right hand.”

“I don’t know why it opened for me, Milord,” said Patrick, his face reddening with embarrassment.  “There was nothing special about my right hand.”

“The Good God must have disagreed,” said the Duke with a laugh.  “Since you were the one that opened it, and released the wonderful artifacts within.”

“Witch weapons are what they are,” said a slightly less drunken looking Rory.

Patrick looked over at the man, who returned a glare.  Patrick was not sure why the man hated him so.  Does he have an agenda I don’t know about?  Patrick made it a point to keep an eye on the man, come the battle, when it would be too easy to lose the focus on any one soldier.

“Here the bastards come,” shouted a voice from below.

Patrick looked down at the pikemen to the front, where the call had come.  Several were pointing to the other ridge, and he let his eyes naturally follow those gestures.  And there the bastards did come.  Hundreds of them at first, all cavalry, chain mail glittering in the sun as they walked their large raptors forward, pennants fluttering from lance heads.  Patrick looked back at the royal knights, then at the approaching enemy, and judged that the raptors they rode were of a size with the ones behind his lines.  Their feather patterns were a different color was all, stripped orange and black, instead of the blue and gold of his side’s.  A different race.  And the men riding those war beasts were also of a different color, a deep dark brown that reminded Patrick of shoe leather.  But they are still children of the Good God, he thought, shading his eyes from the sunlight.  Even if they choose to worship the Evil One.

More and more raptors came over the hills.  He had heard that the Hyperborean Army was mostly a cavalry army, though there was said to be some infantry among the vassals.  Just as he was thinking it some of that infantry came marching over the rise.

Patrick pulled out a small telescope he had been gifted by the great scientist Liam Nelson.  It was a wonderful instrument, though not as powerful as that used by Nelson to scan the night skies.  But much more practical on the battlefield.  Patrick focused in on the infantry and grunted in surprise.  The faces of the men carrying the three meter long broad bladed spears were darker than those of their Hyperborean masters.  They wore flowing robes, so it was impossible to tell what kind of body armor they wore, though Patrick thought by the way they moved it couldn’t have been much.  They did wear small helms on their heads, and were in good order as they made their way down the slopes.  The only way to tell how good they were in combat was to watch them as they fought.  And that would come soon enough.

A shattering roar sounded from behind the ridge, followed by a dozen more.  A huge head appeared, much broader than a raptor’s and filled with an alarming array of teeth.  They were similar to the large carnosaurs that had inhabited Eire prior to being hunted out.  A hundred times more massive than a large man, they were creatures of nightmare.  A dozen had appeared over the ridge and were making their way to the down slope, while dozens more heads poked over the ridge.

“May the Good God have mercy on us,” called out a nearby voice.

“We will defeat them,” called out the Duke, trying to change the mood before it turned into panic.  “They can die, just like the local lizards did, a century ago.”

Patrick focused in on one of the great beasts with his telescope.  The creatures all advanced with head forward and counterbalancing tails swishing back and forth.  There was a large basket on the back of each of the beasts, with a half dozen musket armed men in residence, as well as the mahout.  The snout of a cannon poked offset to the side.

The cannon of the Army of Eire opened fire at that moment.  Patrick cringed for just a moment as the iron balls flew overhead.  Despite all of his training, one of those balls would smash him in an instant were it fired too low.  All of the balls went safely over the troops, into the valley, and splashed into the central stream, over a hundred yards short of the nearest enemy.

“Cease Fire,” yelled a voice up slope.  “Wait until you can actually accomplish something.”

The cannon fire ceased and the enemy shook out into a loose formation on the opposite slope.  Raptors hissed and were answered by the ones on the Eire side.  Carnosaurs roared and the enemy infantry stood unmoving.  On the Eire side the infantry was milling a bit, but Patrick was sure they would tighten their ranks as the enemy came closer.  That enemy seemed to be content with holding its ground at the moment though.  A half hour passed, then an hour, while the soldiers sweated in the sun.  The King of Eire was determined to fight from the defensive against this opponent, so his side waited.  It seemed the enemy commander was not so set in what he would do.  As the sun approached an overhead position he seemed to make up his mind.  Horns blared and the enemy began to move.

The cavalry trotted down the slope, at the speed of a sprinting man.  The carnosaurs jockeyed to the front, their full speed much less than that of the raptors.  Infantry ran behind the cavalry, spears held over shoulders.  More of the enemy cavalry spread out to the flanks.  It was an obvious tactic even to Patrick’s untrained eyes.  The enemy was going to try to smash through the Eire infantry with the carnosaurs, then push through the holes with their raptor cavalry, while the infantry pinned the pikemen to the sides.  Just because it was obvious didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.  A glance at the soldiers around him, the expressions on their faces, told him that they were worried as well.  Then the enemy hit the stream, splashing across the shallow water, and the army knew they were within range.

“Fire,” came the command from the King’s area.  The command echoed up and down the lines, relayed by officers.  The cannon roared.  Muskets barked.  Round shot hit the waters of the stream and sent high splashes into the air.  Red also splashed, as a few of the shot found targets, knocking down raptors and their riders.  One of the large carnosaurs roared as a heavy shot struck it on the right leg.  Roared and went down, to the cheers of the Eirish pikemen.

The air was filling with the smoke of gunfire, and visibility on both slopes was becoming a problem.  The air was still clear enough down in the valley, especially on the river, which meant the targets of the Eirish artillery were still visible, and the artillerymen and musketeers worked their weapons with the speed of training.  The cannon were swabbed, powder was pushed into the barrel and packed down, followed by the shot.  Sweating and swearing men moved into position away from the recoil while the gunner applied the match.  Cannon roared while fire flew from their muzzles, smoke billowed, and the guns reared back on their carriages.  One ball bounced from the water and flew through a formation of infantry, knocking down a half dozen in a mist of red.

Musketeers fired, dropped butts to ground and went through the process of pouring powder, shot, and ramming all home.  They pulled their weapons back to their shoulders, adjusted their matches, and fired.  Most shots were unaimed, the smoothbore weapons lacking the accuracy to hit a specific target.  They killed in their numbers, sending hundreds of balls into the enemy ranks to achieve a few score hits.  There was talk of much more accurate rifled weapons reaching the battlefields of the future, but so far they had not materialized.

Individual cavalrymen were going down as well as their mounts, targets of muskets and grapeshot.  The cannons and musketeers adjusted their fire as the enemy came on, galling them, but not really slowing the assault.  Another large carnosaur went down, then their cannons started to respond.

Cannon were not very accurate.  They were intended for use in a stationary position, against an almost stationary foe.  Fired from the back of a charging monster they were even less accurate.  But accurate enough that some of the balls struck a target as large as a deployed army.  Dozens of pikemen were bowled over by the heavy balls.  Being professionals the soldiers closed ranks without hesitation.  Pikes were lowered, their heads seeking toward the enemy, as they prepared to receive the charge.

The roaring and hissing of raptors caught the monk’s attention.  He looked over to the flank, where the two army’s outlying formations struck.  The larger enemy raptors had the advantage of size and larger jaws, the smaller speed and maneuverability.  The Eirish raptors launched themselves from the height of the slopes into the enemy, dew claws struck, lances thrust and pistols fired.  The action devolved into a swirl of blood and death, and it looked like the enemy was checked for the moment.

“Get ready,” yelled the Duke, drawing his sword from its sheath.  All the men around him armed themselves and prepared for whatever made it through the pikes.  Musketeers worked quickly at reloading, attempting to get off one more volley before the wall of pikes was assailed.

Patrick steadied his shield on his left arm as he reached over his back and gripped the hilt of his sword.  He pulled it smoothly from its special sheath, the one constructed so the edge would not contact any material on the way out.  He brought the sword down and to the front, watching as the thundering line of enemy reached for the pikes.

Several things happened at once as the enemy met the line.  The cannons above them fired a volley, plunging fire into the cavalry ranks behind the front, knocking men from beasts and beasts from life.  The Musketeers got off a volley that knocked scores of beasts and men from the battle.  And the lances of the cavalry and the points of the pikes tangled in a deafening crash.

In most cases the cavalry lost that clash.  The pikes had longer range.  The raptors might be willing to charge the wall, but once a lance pierced their flesh they were just as ready to back off.  Some pike points took riders out of their saddles.  Some lances pierced pikemen in the front ranks.  The cavalry charge would probably have failed with greater loss to cavalry than infantry, if not for the carnosaurs.

The big beasts lumbered up to the wall, not charging, but looking and picking.  They swiped with their arm claws and snapped with their jaws.  One carnosaur got hold of one of the officer’s by the head and lifted him away.  The pikemen thrust at the monsters, wounding them, galling them.  Several of the carnosaurs were pierced enough to fall to the ground, dying.  Even in the act of dying they still caused havoc and deaths.  One moved into the line at an angle and pushed a gap open, which the raptor cavalry moved to exploit.  One carnosaur leapt at the line.  It was hit in mid-leap with a cannon ball, mortally wounding the beast.  It fell into the pike line sideways, legs twitching and tail swishing, knocking aside Eirish warriors like nine pins in an alley.

The raptor riders and infantry saw the gaps developing and swept into them, widening the openings.  Patrick had to admit that they were brave, to the point of recklessness.  He was quickly coming to the opinion that this kind of bravery won battles, even if it was hard on the individual soldier.  He pulled himself away from that thinking as the enemy got closer, and he realized he needed all his concentration for the here and now, were he to live to philosophize in the future.

He caught sight of the Hyperborean at the last moment, aiming a musket at the Duke.  He doubted the man, sitting on the basket of a carnosaur, even knew who he was aiming at.  But from the burnished armor of the Duke, and the rich surcoat over his torso, the warrior must have known it was a man of some importance.  As the match descended Patrick threw out his arm and brought his shield in front of the Duke.  The matchlock puffed out its smoke, the bullet flew at the Duke and hit the shield, careening off in a shower of sparks.  All the sparks were products of the lead ball.  The shield was untouched, as always.  A couple of other muskets fired at the Duke, or maybe at Patrick.  With the lighting reflexes of the Fae he intercepted them all.

The enemy cavalry and infantry widened the hole, and Duke Seamus waved his sword in the air and led the aristocratic footmen into the gap, trying to plug it.  Patrick kept the shield at the ready, but was soon having other worries, like keeping himself in one piece.

The first man Patrick faced in the swirling confusion was a footman, thrusting and slicing with his broad bladed spear.  The monk took the spear on his shield, then slashed with his own sword.  The wondrous blade hit the spear on the metal head, and moved through it as if it were made of air.  Half the head fell away, the Hyperborean yelled in surprise, and the yelling stopped as his head leapt from his neck.  Patrick pushed the body aside, where it fell against a raptor that snapped at the dead man.

The raptor was the next target.  Patrick noted that the rider’s attention was on another Eirish warrior.  He thrust his lance forward, the head sliding from the Eirish man’s shield.  But this was battle, and there were no considerations for fair play.  So Patrick thrust his sword through the leg of the Hyperborean and into the body of the raptor.  The man stiffened and yelled while the raptor hissed.  Patrick pulled his blade back with a draw cut that severed the man’s leg and sliced into the torso of the beast.  The raptor fell, to its other side, pinning the rider’s leg.  The man squirmed and screamed, until the Monk allowed his blade to slice through helm and skull and bring the man some slight mercy.

Patrick looked around, trying to catch a view of the Duke.  He found him, in a knot of Eirish men who were battling Hyperborean infantry, while the pikemen around them thrust at the cavalry, trying to keep them away.  Patrick cursed under his breath as he tried to fight his way back to the Duke.  It had been his job to guard the right wing commander.  In the excitement of battle he had allowed himself to be moved away.  There was no excuse for that.  Patrick did everything he could to get back to his charge.  But it seemed that the battle kept throwing more obstacles in front of him.

Patrick sliced through the arm of a cavalryman, then took out his raptor’s throat with a back slash.  Next he cut through the spear of an infantryman, then through his abdomen with an upward back hand.  The sword of the ancients sliced through everything with equal ease.  No material could stand before it.  In the hands of the skilled monk it was death incarnate.

A lumbering carnosaur stumbled into the way.  Patrick raised his shield just in time to block a musket ball fired from the creature’s back.  That was followed by a pair of arrows and a long spear, all deflected by the shield of ancient metal.  Patrick ducked through the creature’s legs, swinging his blade at the thick right ankle as he passed.  Flesh and bone parted as easily as wood and steel.  The big carnosaur bellowed as its foot was cut from its leg.  Patrick took two more quick steps and did the same to the left leg, then ran away from the carnosaur as it started its heavy fall to the ground.  He glanced back and saw that the fall was in his direction.  The other troops involved in the battle seemed aware that tons of dinosaur were about to fall on them as well, and scrambled to get away.

Patrick swung his sword back and forth, taking out Hyperborean after Hyperborean.  He almost cut down a Eirish warrior, pulling the sword to the side at the last moment.  The more he fought, the greater the press between him and the Duke.  The Duke seemed to be holding his own, though, supported by the warriors around him.  Then one of those warriors turned his back on the action, shielded by a pair of retainers, and approached the Duke from the rear, his blade held down and to the side.  Patrick didn’t like the look of that, especially when he recognized the man.  Rory.

“My Duke,” he yelled out in a carrying voice.  Normally a single man wouldn’t be heard over the din of battle, as thousands of men chopped and slashed, grunted and screamed, while cannon and guns fired.  Patrick was trained in using the Fae to amplify his voice, giving it a quality that would be noticed.  Hundreds of eyes turned his way.  The Duke looked up, puzzlement on his face.  Patrick tried to wave the Duke’s attention to his rear, while blocking the blows of a raptor rider who was pressing him.  The Duke looked around for a moment, still puzzled.  Then the expression changed to one of complete surprise, turning to agony, as Rory plunged his sword into the lower back of the Duke, in the gap between breastplate and armor skirting.

Patrick screamed out in surprise and anger.  The Duke had been assassinated, something the King had been concerned enough about, following rumors from his spies, to have a monk assigned to him in battle.  And Patrick had allowed himself to get distracted enough to be pulled away from the Duke’s side.  But you won't live to spend whatever you were paid, thought Patrick as he glared at the assassin.  He started forward again, cutting his way through the press with his magic blade.

The first explosion occurred on the opposite slope, among the second wave of the enemy.  A bright flash, followed by gouting dirt into the air, mixed with bodies and pieces of bodies.  The shock wave traveled down the slope, knocking man and beast to the ground.  And then the flying terrors descended from the sky.

Buy Theocracy: Book 1 at Amazon.

Get it in the UK here.

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over thirty self-published books on Amazon, including the very successful, Exodus: Empires at War series, the Refuge techno-fantasy series, The Deep Dark Well Trilogy, as well as numerous standalone science fiction and fantasy novels.  In a five year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold well over two hundred thousand eBooks, paperbacks and audio books.  He has amassed over 5,000 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.6 star average, and a similar number of ratings on Goodreads with a 4.12 star average. He served in the US Army as an infantryman, as well as several years in the Florida National Guard in the same MOS.  Doug, who holds degrees from Florida State University and the University of Alabama, lives with his five cats in Tallahassee Florida.  He is a sports enthusiast and a self-proclaimed amateur military historian.

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Reviews, ratings and comments on Amazon about this novel are much appreciated.  If you liked the story please leave a review that will help others to discover this novel.  If you have comments about mistakes I might have made, posting them in a review will tell me what I need to do to grow as a writer and put a quality product out on the net.  If you want to see these characters again (at least the ones that survived) a review will let me know I should consider writing in this particular Universe again.

I read all the reviews of my books and love to hear what my readers have to say.  If you have a moment I would be grateful for your time.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Science Fiction

The Deep Dark Well Trilogy

The Deep Dark Well:  An Adventure 40,000 years in the making.  Pandora Latham was a Kuiper Belt Miner from Alabama.  She’s used to landing on her feet, even when the next surface is through a wormhole, halfway across the Galaxy and 46,000 years in the Future.  Pandora must discover the secret behind the end of civilization, and the enigma of the Immortal Watcher, the last survivor of the Empire that once ruled the stars.  Her decisions will set the path for Galactic recovery, or a continuation down the roads of Barbarism.

To Well and Back:  Pandora Latham is back, working Watcher’s plan to restore Galactic Civilization.  But first she has to deal with the Xenophobes of the Nation of Humanity, back in the Supersystem with their sights set on making the Galaxy their own.  Pandora is angry at the hyper religious Nation, and you don’t want to make a woman from Alabama angry.

Deeper and Darker:  Pandora Latham is on the warpath.  Watcher, her lover, and the only man who can once again unite the Galaxy, is a prisoner of the Totalitarian government of the New Galactic Empire.  The Empire thinks they have the upper hand, but they have never faced someone like Pandi, and the peoples of the Galaxy that she has rallied to her cause.

Theocracy:   A young gunpowder era monk becomes the only hope for his doomed world as he is caught up in the game of empire between two more advanced cultures.

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1:  The introduction to the Exodus Universe.  Two thousand years prior mankind fled from the Predatory Ca’cadasans, traveling a thousand years and ten thousand light years to a new home.  Now the greatest power of their sector of space, things seem to be going well for the New Terran Empire.  Until the enemy appears once again at the gates.  And the years have not softened the aliens’ stance toward Humanity.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2:  The saga continues.  The Ca’cadasans attack at the moment when the government of the Empire is at its most chaotic.  There are other enemies as well, waiting for their chance to fall on the overwhelmed humans.  And a young man with no ambition for power finds himself in the position he most dreads.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3:  Sean is rescued, but he is not about to go back to the safety of the capital without striking back at the Ca’cadasans who have invaded his Empire.  But will his decision put the lives of thousands at risk, as well as risking the safety of his own Empire, by depriving it of its leader.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4:  Sean is crowned Emperor, and attempts to organize the Empire for war against the Ca’cadasans.  But he finds that planning battles and winning battles are two different things. Defeat follows defeat.  Can anyone snatch victory from the jaws of defeat?  Or will the new Emperor fail before his reign even really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger:  Cornelius Walbroski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the most deadly planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will  promising career end before it really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle:  Sean and the Empire need a victory before human morale goes completely into the black hole.  He develops a plan to bring the Ca’cadasans into battle in space of his choosing.  But the Cacas are not an easy opponent, and they have plans of their own, for the Donut.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:  The Empire has weathered the Ca’cadasan onslaught, and now it’s the time to strike back with an offensive of their own.  A victory could win the war.  But will it?

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers:  The Cacas have been ejected from Imperial space, for the moment.  But millions of citizens of New Moscow are still held captive in death camps in their former empire, processed for rations for the large aliens.  Sean is determined to save as many as he can, and the Fleet and Army are prepared to carry out his directive; free the prisoners at all costs.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 9: Second Front:  The exploration mission sent around the edge of the Ca’cadasan Empire has found the other Empire at war with the large aliens.  They are not as expected, and Sean must order his military to perform actions that could vilify him in the eyes of his new allies.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 10: Search & Destroy:  The Fenri, all but beaten, have not given up, and their new plan promises random death and destruction in the Empire.  The Cacas have launched a new offensive against the Klavarta, and their new commander is much more intelligent than the last.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy:  The Cacas have a plan to end the war by taking out the capital system and the Donut at the same time.  Only the bravery of the Imperial military can prevent a disaster from which the Empire can’t recover.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 12: Time Strike: The Cacas have launched another invasion, and Sean had been approached with the idea of hitting them where it hurts, back in time.  But messing with the time stream is never a good idea.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 13: Retaliation: The Caca offensive has been turned back, and now it’s the time for the Empire to get some payback. But desperation will often breed deadly reactions, and this time is no different.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:  Three novelettes concerning Exploration Command, the arm of the Fleet tasked with pushing back the boundaries of the Empire, and discovering the technology needed to win the war.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Beasts of the Frontier:  Three novelettes and three short stories about the dangers of the frontiers of the Empire.  The Cacas are not the only threat.  Sometime the danger is the wild, at other times, other humans.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 1: Supernova:  When a civilization is discovered that has a special ability that would be of tremendous benefit to the Empire, great excitement is generated.  When it is found that a nearby blue giant star is due to supernova in less than a year, destroying that world, excitement turns to a frantic race to save as much of that species as possible.  And enemies from the past, lurking in space, bring forth a new war to the embattled Empire.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole:  The Machine Intelligences are back, with a vengeance.  While the Empire is busy fighting a war of survival against the Cacas, the murderous killing machines they had created hundreds of years prior are now ready to strike back.  And the Imperial stronghold of Bolthole is in their sights.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above:  The Machines are on the move, and their great planet killers have the Bolthole system in their sights.  Only the courage and ingenuity of the organic defenders can save the only system that stands between the machine intelligences and the life forms of the sector.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution: The Empire goes on the offensive against the Machines, using their superior technology to take out system after system. And finding out along the way that they have a bigger problem than they thought.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand:  When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened.  The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob.  There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love.  The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion:  The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist.  Kestral McMann had been in on the kill.  Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States.  McMann is the only man who can stop him.  But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse:  Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages.  It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension.  Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife:  What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions?  And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want?  And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality?  What would you do?  Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

We Are Death, Come For You:  When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way.  They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology?  The aliens are death worshippers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent.  There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time?  Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1:  A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy.  The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality.  But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge.  The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2:  The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians.  And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function.  So it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance.  Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods.  And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy.  But will it be enough?

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions:  The human invaders are now without their technologies, at least those using explosives and internal combustion engines.  But they still have knowledge of many other techs, especially the arts of warfare as practiced by the greatest infantry of the ancient world.  Will it be enough to stand up to the half lich Emperor and his magical forces.

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:  When the evil half lich Emperor sends his minions on a mission to find the Crown of the Lost Gods, an artifact which can control the minds of millions, it is up to Kurt von Mannerheim to stop them.  Along with his fellow immortal, Jackie Smith, the human Physicist/Mage James Drake, the Ellala Ranger Fenris and the Grimakan Priest Garios, they must head to the frozen north to foil the plan, and ensure that the evil artifact never sees the light of day.

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim.  The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology.  And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger:  Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life.  Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire.  When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her.  The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath.  But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon:  A Steampunk Fantasy.  The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years.  Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth.  But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp.  It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura:  Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner.  Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage.  Aiden has a less than normal Aura, and is destined to be a soldier or laborer.  While Arlen has no Aura at all, and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras.  Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

Books with other Authors:

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:  Novellas by New York Times Bestsellers Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole, along with Prometheus Award Winner Dani and Eytan Kollin, Baen Author Sarah A. Hoyt, and Exodus Empires at War Author Doug Dandridge, make this a must have book for the military science fiction aficionado.

A Fistfull of Credits: Fourteen authors write fourteen short stories set in the Revelations Cycle Universe.  Doug Dandridge, Mark Wandrey, Chris Kennedy, Chris Nuttall, Brad Torgerson, Jason Cordova, Kevin Ikenberry, Jon Del Arroz and others.

Lockdown: A Collection of Ten Terror-filled Zombie stories:  The name says it all.

Apocalypse: Fiction River: A number of tales in which the world ends, from the whimsical to the horrifying.

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Table of Contents

- Dedication
- Cast of Characters
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Te,
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-one
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-four
- Chapter Twenty-five
- Chapter Twenty-six
- Chapter Twenty-seven
- Chapter-Twenty-eight
- Epilogue
- The End
- About the Refuge Series:
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- About the Author
- The Favor of a review.