Nigel Findley - Into the Void

Most of the remaining bodies were obviously and messily dead, but a few still moved and called feebly for help. Nobody aboard the deathspider paid them any attention, and the crew of the Probe was too busy to help them.

There was a cry from the foredeck. One of the attackers, with a sudden burst of fury, had broken through the cordon of hammership crewmen. The man was bleeding profusely from a dozen wounds, but he was still very much alive. His wild, empty eyes fixed on Teldin, and he rushed forward, swinging his notched broadsword.

Desperately, Teldin snatched up the short sword he'd dropped and brought the weapon up to block the mighty cut that would have taken his head off. The blades clashed, and Teldin cried out at the agony that shot through his wrist at the impact. He backpedaled quickly, keeping the sword out before him. Sweat blurred his vision, and the tendons of his forearm burned like fire. The light sword in his hand felt like a bar of lead. He sought within him, desperately, for the calm, the focus he'd felt earlier, but there was no response-either from the cloak or from within himself. Maybe the flare of power had drained all energy from the cloak, or perhaps in his exhausted state he was simply unable to call it forth.

If he'd ever been able to call it. Even at the best of times, the power he'd felt had never been anything he could really depend on.

He blocked another swing, deflecting his opponent's blade so that it clove the air above Teldin's head. While the man was open, Teldin tried to lunge, but his movements were slow and his enemy jumped back in plenty of time. It was all Teldin could do to get his own blade in position to parry the man's cat-quick riposte.

There was no hope that he was going to last, Teldin realized dully. The man he faced was a good swordsman, infinitely more skilled than Teldin, and the man seemed almost fresh, unaffected by the wounds that had turned his clothing burgundy. Teldin had just managed to block his preliminary attacks, but there was no way that would last. If nothing else, the man would be able to wear Teldin down until he couldn't hold his sword up anymore, then the broadsword would end his life.

He had to do something desperate. He backed away again to give himself a few precious moments. With his left hand he drew his belt knife and turned the weapon so he held it by the broad base of the blade. His enemy stepped forward again, readying for another cut.

Teldin yelled-a last-ditch attempt to distract the swordsman-and simultaneously flipped his knife out in an underarm throw. The blade flashed in the flow-light, and sank into the left side of the man's belly. He cried out with pain. Teldin lunged, but his enemy was better than that. Even distracted by the agony of the knife in his guts, he was easily able to bring his sword down and parry Teldin's thrust.

Teldin threw himself back again, barely evading his opponent's riposte. The swordsman stepped forward once more, and Teldin looked into his eyes. They were dull with pain, and with something more than pain. The man was dying; he knew it and Teldin knew it, but the swordsman also knew that he'd have more than enough time for one last kill before he collapsed. Teldin tried to yell, to scream for help, but his throat was too tight. The only sound he could make was a pitiful croak. The man raised his sword for a final strike.

Teldin heard a swish and a meaty truwk. The swordsman lurched forward, the broad head of a spear growing- magically, it seemed-out of his chest. Teldin looked for a moment into uncomprehending eyes, then the eyes closed and the man collapsed.

Teldin saw Aelfred across the forecastle. The big man was still following through after his spear cast. The spear, Teldin realized, was the one that had been buried in the forward turret wall. The warrior bad torn it out and thrown it at the last instant. Aelfred smiled grimly, then drew his sword again and rejoined the fray on the foredeck.

Exhaustion and the aftereffects of terror hit Teldin like a blow. His belly cramped, and it was all he could do to stop himself from retching. His sword arm hung limply by his side. If another enemy came upon him like this, he realized, he wouldn't even be able to move while the other struck him dead.

But there were no other enemies on the forecastle. Vallus stood by the starboard rail, as unruffled as always. He gave Teldin a reassuring smile. Teldin crossed the deck to join him. As he did, the Probe lurched slightly beneath his feet. The helm is operating. Estriss's "voice" was crystal-clear in his mind.

"Vallus, do it!" Aelfred ordered.

The elf mage hadn't waited for the instruction. Once more his hands wove the threads of magic. His voice echoed across the deck. Again the blinding lance of green light shot from his fingertip, this time striking the root of the remaining grappling leg beneath the Probe. Black crystal exploded into dust, and the slender leg sheared off cleanly at its base. The hammership lurched again.

"Get us out of here!" Aelfred bellowed.

Slowly at first, but with ever-increasing speed, the Probe dropped away from the deathspider. With both lower legs gone, there was nothing to hold it from beneath, nothing to prevent its escape. As the hammership drew away, Vallus delivered one final stroke. Multicolored beams of light slashed through the void once more, this time striking directly through the spidership's bow port that had been shattered by an earlier spell.

"I take it the helm is on the bridge?" the elf said dryly. Aelfred smiled broadly. "You take it right." He patted Vallus on the shoulder. "That should slow them down, maybe permanently. Good move."

The hammership accelerated away from the deathspider. It changed course rapidly, just once, to avoid the severed leg that was wheeling slowly through space, then it poured on the speed. The distance between the ships grew rapidly. As if to bear out Aelfred's words, the hideous ship remained stationary, presumably unable to pursue. It would only be minutes before the Probe could accelerate to its full spelljamming speed, then there would be little chance that the neogi could catch them.

Teldin watched the receding spidership. The space around it was littered with debris-fragments from the shattered leg, small chunks of hull, and the small shapes that were the dead and dying. He was glad when the distance was so great that he could no longer see those figures.

When the hammership pulled away from the deathspider, the situation on deck changed drastically. There were half a dozen human attackers and one umber hulk still alive. As soon as it was obvious that the Probe had escaped, most of the humans immediately threw down their weapons and surrendered, begging the hammership's crew for mercy. The others turned on the single remaining hulk, attacking it ferociously. With the full surviving complement of the Probe plus the erstwhile slaves attacking it, the monster didn't last long. Teldin heard its barking shrieks getting fainter and fainter, then the monster was silent.

Teldin looked around the ship. Casualties had been horrendous. Most of the dead were the unarmored and lightly armed slaves from the deathspider, but many of the Probe's crew had fallen as well. Sweor Tobregdan lay on the main deck, coughing out his last breaths in bright blood. Teldin spotted Miggins crumpled against the port rail. The young gnome was still alive-barely-but he clutched the torn ruin of what had been his left arm. Liono, the spear still transfixing his chest, lay on the starboard side of the forecastle. The cloying smell of blood was thick in the air, and Teldin's ears were filled with the moans of the injured and dying. The Probe was like a charnel house.

Teldin slumped down against the forward turret and let the sword slip from his cramped hand. His stomach knotted with nausea. So many dead. He remembered the other battlefields he'd seen and recalled Aelfred's words: To the Nine Hells with the fools who think it's glorious. The big warrior was right. There was no glory in battle, just horror, pain, and death.