His voice trailed off. She wasn’t listening. She stared over his head, into the air, and horror stood on her face.
Then trumpets howled on battlements, and the cathedral bells crashed to life.
“What the nine devils!” Ruori turned on his heel and looked up. The zenith had become quite blue. Lazily over S’ AntOn floated five orca shapes. The new sun glared off a jagged heraldry painted along their flanks. He estimated dizzily that each of them must be three hundred feet long.
Blood-colored things petaled out below them and drifted down upon the city.
“The Sky People!” said a small broken croak behind him. “Sant’sima Marl, pray for us now!”
III
Loklann hit flagstones, rolled over, and bounced to his feet. Beside him a carved horseman presided over fountain waters. For just an instant he admired the stone, almost alive; they had nothing like that in Canyon, Zona, Corado, any of the mountain kingdoms. And the temple facing this plaza was white skywardness.
The square had been busy, farmers and handicrafters setting up their booths for a market day. Most of them scattered in noisy panic. But one big man roared, snatched up a stone hammer, and dashed in his rags to meet Loklann. He was covering the flight of a young woman, probably his wife, who held a baby in her arms. Through the shapeless sack dress Loklann saw that her figure wasn’t bad. She would fetch a price when the Mong slave dealer next visited Canyon. So could her husband, but there wasn’t time now, still encumbered with a chute—Loklann whipped out his pistol and fired. The man fell to one knee, gaped at the blood seeping between fingers clutched to his belly, and collapsed. Loklann flung off his harness. His boots thudded after the woman. She shrieked when fingers closed on her arm and tried to wriggle free, but the brat hampered her. Loklann shoved her toward the temple. Robra was already on its steps.
“Post a guard!” yelled the skipper. “We may as well keep all the prisoners in here, till we’re ready to plunder it.”
An old man in priest’s robes tottered to the door. He held up one of the cross-shaped Meycan josses, as if to bar the way. Robra brained him with an ax blow, kicked the body off the stairs, and urged the woman inside.
It sleeted armed men. Loklann winded his oxhorn bugle, rallying them. A counterattack could be expected any minute. . .
Yes, now.
A troop of Meycan cavalry clanged into view. They were young, proud-looking men in baggy pants, leather breastplate and plumed helmet, blowing cloak, fire-hardened wooden lances but steel sabres. Very much like the yellow nomads of Tekkas, whom they
had fought for centuries. But so had the Sky People. Loklann pounded to the head of his line, where his standard bearer had raised the Lightning Flag. Half the Buffalo’s crew fitted together sections of pike tipped with edged ceramic, grounded the butts, and waited. The charge crested upon them. Their pikes slanted down. Some horses spitted themselves, others reared back screaming. The pikemen jabbed at their riders. The second paratroop line stepped in, ax and sword and hamstringing knife. For a few minutes murder boiled. The Meycans broke. They did not flee, but they retreated in confusion. And then the Canyon bows began to snap.
Presently only dead and hurt cluttered the square. Loklann moved briskly among the latter. Those who weren’t too badly wounded were hustled into the temple. Might as well collect all possible slaves and cull them out later.
From afar he heard a dull boom. “Cannon,” said Robra, joining him. “At the army barracks.”
“Well, let the artillery have its fun, till our boys get in among ‘em,” said Loklann sardonically. –
“Sure, sure.” Robra looked nervous. “I wish they’d let us hear from them, though. Just standing around here isn’t so good.”
“It won’t be long,” predicted Loklann.
Nor was it. A runner with a broken arm staggered to him. “Stormcloud,” he gasped. “The big building you sent us against
full of swordsmen . . . they repulsed us at the door—”
“Huh! I thought it was just the king’s house,” said Loklann. He laughed. “Well, maybe the king was giving a party. Come on, then, I’ll go see for myself. Robra, take over here.” His finger swept out thirty men to accompany him. They jogged down streets empty and silent except for their own bootfalls and weapon-jingle. The housefolk must be huddled terrified behind those blank walls. So much the easier to round them up later, when the fighting was done and the looting began.