I wondered how my transpar suit had made it through from Atlantis. That was odd…

  “Jake!” Suvorov shouted from below.

  The Russian was running, his military jacket flapping behind him.

  Suvorov reached the base of the ziggurat as I stepped off it. The Pterodactyl Riders lined up behind him, giving us space.

  “It was Philip A-3,” I said.

  Suvorov gave me a look of incomprehension.

  “The obelisk sent me to Tellus, not to Garm,” I said.

  “What’s Tellus like?”

  “A nuclear wasteland full of mutants and killer machines,” I said. “Philip A-3 either knew Omilcar had rigged the teleport system or did it himself somehow.”

  “Who’s this Philip A-3?”

  I nodded. “He’s the Homo habilis who brought me to the Chaunt System once from Earth.”

  “Oh,” Suvorov said. “I do remember hearing about him.”

  “He helped orchestrate the Tsargol Plain massacre. I think there’s a portal deep in the Dark Citadel. He brought Saddoth advisors, dart riflemen, onto Mu through it. He was there on Tellus, waiting for me. He had a grudge to settle.”

  “Chyort voz mi,” Suvorov said.

  I think that meant, Devil take it, a Spetsnaz saying.

  I gripped Suvorov’s shoulder. “How bad is it here?”

  “Sky Island is secure. We’ve had no attacks from any Dark Citadel sky-rafts. But your cities…” He shook his head. “Word of the disaster has reached them. The people are terrified and the city leaders are demanding answers and protection.”

  “How long have I been gone?”

  “Two weeks, two days,” Suvorov said.

  I nodded. The interstellar teleporting system had lags. I’d learned that from Livi after raiding Saddoth from Garm. I hadn’t been gone that long, but that’s how long the trips had taken combined with my stay on Tellus.

  “Do you know what’s happening at Tsargol?” I asked.

  “It’s still under siege, as the enemy host hasn’t broken through the walls. I think the Ophidian priests settled on starving the people out, since thousands of our men made it into the city. I’ve been considering taking Sky Island there, using it as a weapons platform to rain fire-sacks on the horde from above.”

  That was a decent plan, vintage Suvorov. “Hold off on that for the moment.” I shrugged off my backpack, swinging it around, putting it in front of my feet. “I’ve got a possible solution.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Personal defense shields like in the Dune movies,” I said. “They should stop the darts from the Saddoth air-rifles, at least for a time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “They stopped phasor beams, although not for long. The generators are old, and they run out of juice fast. I’m thinking a shield will guard the pterodactyl the rider is on as well, but that will likely consume the energy even faster.”

  Suvorov eyed me, nodding slowly. “You plan to use the shields with your javelin idea.”

  “I do,” I said. We’d talked about maximizing the Pterodactyl Riders before. Ranged combat had seemed wise even back then. “We’ll use Numidian cavalry tactics adapted for the pterodactyls. We’ll train the nine best riders and then fly to Tsargol, seeking and killing the dart riflemen.”

  “Ah,” Suvorov said. “If we kill the dart-men, we could freely rain fire-sacks on the horde outside the city walls. It’s doubtful they could remain there long under those conditions.”

  “And at the same time, we’ll rush a supply train to Tsargol to help feed all those extra soldiers trapped there.”

  “Yes, yes,” Suvorov said. “I’ve been gathering sacks and alcohol for my Sky Island plan. If we combine the ideas, the riders could replenish fire-sacks quickly and easily, making it hell for the reptiles.”

  I rubbed my hands. What a difference having Suvorov on Mu made. It meant two tech-oriented Earthmen instead of just me.

  “I want you to organize a supply train from Zangabal, Kovia and Theros,” I said. “You have to load all the rickshaws you can find with grain, dried meat and whatever else the cities can spare. The train needs to leave within two days from now and reach Tsargol within a week.”

  “That’s a tall order,” Suvorov said. “The cities are already nervous, wondering if they’ll have to sustain a siege. Asking them to send food now—”

  “Tell them if this works—and it will—it will stop Tsargol from falling and keep the reptilian horde from their walls.”

  “We have limited food here,” Suvorov said. “And won’t you need my help moving Sky Island?”

  Having him here would help, no doubt. Sky Island moved slowly, maybe too slowly to reach Tsargol in time.

  “You’ll go by pterodactyl-back to the cities,” I said. “Logistics is your strength, not mine. Then, once the supply trains are on their way, fly back here and start the island for Tsargol. I’ll likely already be on the way there by then.”

  “I’ll make it happen,” Suvorov said.

  “How many riders and pterodactyls do we have?”

  “Forty-three,” Suvorov said.

  I sucked air. The Saddoth dart riflemen had taken out almost three hundred Pterodactyl Riders and beasts, and that had broken my splendid army. Philip had seen to that, but he was dead. Now, I had to redeem the survivors and defeat the reptilian host with a mere portion of what had been smashed just weeks ago. This wasn’t pushing pieces on a map. This was real live warriors with crushed morale trying to win a war.

  It was a tall order, in other words. Making defeated men fight again and win—

  “Start making your plans,” I told Suvorov.

  He nodded.

  “I have to start rebuilding morale, starting here,” I said, glancing past him at the waiting riders.

  He stiffened like a soldier and saluted.

  I picked up my backpack and stepped past Suvorov to regard the gathered Pterodactyl Riders. They had stayed on Sky Island. In other words, I hadn’t lost them yet. Forkbeard was approaching.

  “Warriors!” I shouted, raising my arms high. “I have returned, and I’ve brought weapons that we’ll use to destroy the riflemen who murdered our friends. We will pay the Ophidians and Draconians back with blood—rivers of blood—as we crush them beneath our heels.”

  I’d hoped for a cheer. Instead, the riders looked at one another and then at me.

  “How can we do this?” a rider asked.

  “I’ll show you and train you!” I shouted. “I went to a war-world and found the answer.” I slapped my backpack. “In here are tools that will allow us to face the riflemen and kill them.”

  They stared at me, clearly not yet convinced. The day the vast bulk of the riders and beasts had fallen dead from the skies had clearly had a profound effect on them.

  “The King has returned!” Forkbeard shouted. “Long live the King!”

  A few riders nodded.

  I clapped my hands so they all turned to look at me again. “We are the Pterodactyl Riders,” I said. “I’ll lead you into battle with these new weapons. I know you don’t understand yet, but you will, this I vow.”

  There were still no cheers, and that was okay. They didn’t boo me. They didn’t hiss. They had stayed. Now, I not only had to train them in new tactics, but make them believe this was possible.

  I had a lot of work to do in a very short time, but now, at least, there was a chance to turn this around.

  -47-

  The next morning, the nine riders I’d selected waited for me. Forkbeard was among them, and he saw me first.

  “Sire,” he said. “We’re ready.”

  “Good,” I said. “Today we start learning a new way to fight for some of you. A few of you have already practiced it, but I’m going to explain the whys.” I walked up to a series of targets—wooden frames with cloth stretched across them, painted with concentric circles. They were positioned at various distances and angles around the training area on Sky Island.

  “The lance has served Pterodactyl Riders well for generations,” I said. “It’s a noble weapon and devastating on a single pass, perfect for striking ground targets. But it has limitations.”

  I picked up one of the javelins I’d had prepared. It was four feet long and fashioned from tem-wood with a small, sharp steel point. Some might have called this a dart. It was slightly flexible, but not as much as the javelins kids threw in high school and college on Earth. It was light enough to throw accurately but heavy enough to punch through leather armor or a scaled hide.

  “The javelin gives us range and the ability to strike more than just once,” I said. “You can carry eight of these in saddlebags. You can throw, bank away, come around and throw again. You can engage from higher up instead of risking a ground pass, although you’ll want to fly close to make sure you strike what you aim at.” I hefted the javelin, feeling its balance. “The Numidians of Earth fought this way on horseback. They were devastating because they could rush in, strike and fade away.”

  One of the riders shuffled his feet.

  “You have a question?” I asked.

  The rider looked up. “Our lances kill. What can that sliver of wood do?”

  I turned to the nearest target, maybe sixty feet away. “Watch.”

  I took three running steps and hurled the javelin. It flew straight and true, punching through the cloth with a satisfying thunk as the head buried itself in the wooden frame behind.

  “That’s from the ground,” I said, turning back to them. “From a pterodactyl that’s diving, the force will be much greater.” I gestured to the targets. “Over the next three days, you’re going to throw until your arms feel like they’re going to fall off. Then you’re going to throw some more. By the time we fly to Tsargol, this needs to be instinct, not thought.”

  Forkbeard asked, “And these force shields you’ve told us about? When do we practice with those?”

  “We don’t,” I said. “The power cells I brought from Tellus are all we have. We can’t waste any of the charges while training. You’ll activate them for the first time during the actual attack.” I saw the concern on some faces, and it concerned me as well, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that. “I know that’s not ideal. But the shields are simple—one switch and one indicator showing the power level. You activate it and you get thirty seconds, maybe sixty of protection, using that time to close with the riflemen and kill them.”

  “Thirty seconds,” a rider said. “That’s not much time.”

  “It’s enough if you don’t waste it,” I said. “The moment the Saddoth riflemen reveal themselves by firing, you’ll activate it. Then you’ll dive at them, the shields absorbing the darts. At fifty feet, you start throwing. By the time your shield fails, you’re already banking away and they’re dead or dying. That’s the plan.”

  An older rider with gray at his temples spoke up. “And if the shields fail early? If they don’t last as long as you think?”

  “Then you trust your mount’s speed and your own skill to get you through,” I said. “But I tested the shields on Tellus against weapons even more deadly than the darts. They worked. The shield generators will give you the edge you need.”

  They exchanged glances with each other, no doubt weighing the odds. These were the survivors; warriors who had seen their friends fall from the sky in their hundreds. They had every right to be cautious. But if they didn’t believe this was possible, it would never work.

  “This will be dangerous,” I said. “The Saddoth advisors are professional soldiers with superior weapons. They massacred three hundred of our brothers because we didn’t understand what we were facing. But now we do. Now we have the tools and tactics to counter them. And most importantly, now we’re not going in blind.”

  Forkbeard slammed a fist against his chest. “We trust you, Sire. You’ve never led us wrong.”

  That wasn’t true. Tsargol had been a disaster. But I appreciated the sentiment.

  “Then let’s get started,” I said. “I know several of you are familiar with javelins. You’ll help the others. We’re going to work on ground throws first. I want you to get familiar with the javelins and understand their weight and balance. Then we’ll begin mounted throws.”

  For the next several hours, we threw and threw and threw. The ones who’d thrown javelins before did far better, but the others picked it up faster than I’d expected.

  Rack proved to be a natural, his throws consistently hitting center mass on the targets. A rider named Daven approached it methodically, adjusting his technique with each throw until his accuracy improved dramatically.

  By midday, everyone was tired and accuracy was suffering.

  “We’ll break for lunch,” I said. “We’ll practice mounted throws this afternoon.”

  The riders sprawled in the shade, passing around water skins and dried meat. I walked among the targets, examining where the javelins had hit. Many were clustered center mass, which was good. A few wild throws had missed entirely, which was less good but expected for the first-day training.

  “Sire.” A rider named Jarek approached while rotating his throwing shoulder. “How many throws should we focus on during the actual attack?”

  “Probably one or two at most, but one or two good throws are better than four sloppy ones.”

  “What if they have more riflemen than we think?”

  “Then we make several passes and hope the shields last longer than we think. The key is killing the Saddoth advisors. Mu Ophidians won’t be able to use the dart rifles nearly as well as trained soldiers.”

  You wouldn’t think that would be the case, but history proved that. The African Zulus who had defeated a British army in the 1800s with their national weapons, a short spear, and picked up the fallen rifles had used them at Rorke’s Drift to small or negligible effect a short time later. I doubted the Saddoth Ophidians had shared their dart-rifles with the barbarian Ophidians. That would reduce their uniqueness for one thing. Still, I didn’t know this, just reasonably hoped it was the case.

  Jarek looked at me.

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going to slaughter them. We’re the Pterodactyl Riders, Mu’s greatest warriors.”

  After a moment, he nodded and headed back to the others.

  I sighed, hoping I was right about all this. Just how good could my riders become with javelins in a few days? Four of them really knew what they were doing with the javelins, and me, I guess. Five riders who really understood this, and the other half—

  I sighed again. It was too bad I hadn’t been able to keep the pulse rifle. But I had what I had, and that was it.

  -48-

  After the break, I climbed into my pterodactyl’s saddle, the great beast shifting its weight beneath me. The familiar leather straps, the wheel controlling the reins, the saddlebags now filled with practice javelins—it all felt right.

  “The key is timing,” I shouted to the others as they mounted. “Your pterodactyl is moving and the target is stationary. You need to lead your throw, and compensate for your forward motion.”

  These were Pterodactyl Riders, warriors familiar with the concept at least. This wasn’t all new to them, as many of them had flown in combat for years. They knew about leading when dropping fire-sacks.

  I lifted off, my pterodactyl’s powerful wings catching the air. I was flying with the wind in my face and Sky Island spread out below me. This was the same and also very different from using an anti-gravity belt.

  I circled wide, gaining altitude and then angled toward the training ground. At a hundred feet up, I began my approach run. The targets grew larger. I pulled a javelin from the saddlebag, feeling its weight and judging the distance.

  At fifty feet, I stood in my stirrups, drawing back the javelin. At thirty feet, I threw, putting my whole body into it, compensating for my forward speed.

  The javelin streaked down and punched through the leftmost target, maybe a foot off center. Not perfect, but serviceable for the example.

  I pulled up and banked away, circling back around.

  “Now it’s your turn!” I shouted.

  One by one, they made their passes. Forkbeard’s first throw went wide, his massive strength working against him as the javelin sailed over the target. Rack’s hit low but still struck the frame. A rider named Krom Sharp-Eye, despite having only one eye, put his javelin through the center ring on his first try.

  We flew and threw for hours. Some throws hit. Many missed. But gradually, slowly, I could see them getting better. They were learning to judge speed and distance, learning how to throw from a moving platform, learning to trust their instincts.

  By late afternoon, Forkbeard managed to hit three targets in a row on consecutive passes, drawing cheers from the others.

  Arms were burning now with exhaustion setting in, but no one complained. They’d all been at Tsargol. They’d all watched friends die, hundreds of them. None wanted that to happen again.

  As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, I finally called a halt.

  “That’s good work for today,” I said as we landed.

  Later, Forkbeard approached as the others headed for the dining hall. “They’re good, Sire. Better than I expected for first-day training.”

  “Fear and anger are powerful teachers,” I said.

  “And you? How are you?”

  I looked at the giant warrior, my closest friend on this world after Suvorov. “I’m tired, and I’m angry at myself for Tsargol. And I’m determined to make sure it never happens again.”

  Forkbeard nodded before heading off to rest.

  We continued practicing the next day. It was more of the same, like shooting free throws hour after hour after hour. It would have been better to practice this for months.

  Four of the riders really understood this. Unsurprisingly, it was the four who had already taken up javelin throwing from pterodactyl back some time ago.

  I wondered about that. The Pareto Principle said that roughly eighty percent of the results came from twenty percent of the causes. I’d read somewhere before that it included fighter pilots and their kills. Maybe it would be better to take five shield generators and give them to the best five. I’d let those five do all the work. Fifty percent wasn’t twenty, but maybe that would be better than hoping the worst fifty percent could do much of anything.