In a flurry of motion, Mildred was at J.B.’s side, along with Jak, one of his many knives cutting the man loose. Doc stared down at the man cradled in his anns, and the smoking pistol peeking out from his bloody bandages.
“Dead?” Shard asked softly.
“As a doornail,” Ryan replied, jacking in a fresh round. “Good shooting.”
He smiled weakly. “No problem.”
Then a wail came from behind the stack of boxes along the wall.
“Master?” a man asked, walking over to the faceless corpse. The blood on the concrete was spreading into a pool.
“He shot the master,” a woman accused, pointing at the companions.
“Kill them!” another shrieked. “Kill them all!” And the people charged, shooting weapons, a pack of snarling dogs at their heels.
“Take cover!” Ryan shouted, dropping into a crouch. The rest of the companions dived into combat positions, their blasters firing steadily.
THE WESTERN GATE WAS glowing a dull red, sending off waves of heat, and a terrible glare shone from the other side brighter than the sun.
Shielding their faces, the sec men on the battlements fired their blasters blindly between the stone turrets, not willing to risk losing their sight by looking directly at the Beast. Staves were shoved into pry holes, and men strained to tip over vats of boiling coal oil. The fluid sloshed over the rim of the vats and hundreds of gallons rushed down fluted gullies to pour over the war machine below. The heat of the laser cannon ignited the oil and the Beast was engulfed in a fireball. More oil was poured down, while the guards steadily fired their blasters and tossed what few grens and plastique they had.
STANDING ON THE ROOF of the Citadel, a lieutenant grimaced at the sight. It was impossible to see through the flames, but the fact that the gate continued to grow hotter was a strong indication their weapons were having little effect on the predark monster. It was yellow-hot now, glowing like a furnace. Soon it would reach white-hot, then soften and melt.
“Corporal of the guards!” he yelled.
Lowering his binocs, a man hurried over to the officer. “Yes, sir?”
“To hell with waiting. Hit the bastard thing with everything we have!”
“But sir, the deputy ward ordered us-”
“Fuck that jackass, and his bitch sister!” the officer stormed, placing a hand on his holstered blaster. “Hit it now! With everything! And that is a direct order.”
The corporal saluted and raced to obey, but filed away the comments for future consideration.
FROM THE PARAPETS, a bugle sounded a clarion call, and men rushed to obey. It sounded once more, holding the last note for a good while, and as it died, the whole wall jumped as explosive charges removed the hinges of the gate and the sizzling iron portal thunderously dropped to the ground.
The Beast charged out of the inferno, its laser pulsing at anything that moved. A flimsy barricade of overturned wags barred its path, and the tank lumbered forward to crash through when the radar began to beep wildly in warning. But it was too late.
“Fire!” the sergeant screamed, brandishing a torch like a rifle.
The short fuses of the hidden cannon were lit. They weren’t the dainty field guns hidden among the slave cottages, but garrison guns, the bulwark of the yule’s armada. These monsters needed four horses to move them, took a charge of ten full pounds of black powder and fired cold-iron balls so enormous it took two strong men to lift them into the muzzle. When they spoke, the world trembled.
At point-blank range, the titanic cannons roared.
Ragged pieces broke off the angular hull of the Beast with a screech of tortured metal, and the laser winked out.
Victorious cries came from the amassed troops, and again the cannons vomited flame and iron.
Masked by the thick swirling smoke, the fiery daggers of the discharges reached out to starkly silhouette the Beast. The bugle sounded a brief tone, and more troops joined the fight, firing their blasters from the battlements. Wet nimrods were rammed down hot maws to extinguish sparks, barrels were packed to the bursting point and the cannons roared, their carriages leaping from the cobblestones by the force of the discharge. Rockets streaked in from every direction adding to the hellstorm, blasters never stopped, the dull thud of grens mixed with the sharp whomp of plastique and huge arrows from the gigantic arbalests disappeared into the roiling smoke.