Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 (25 page)

It had to have been the priests' idea, and it left a bad taste in
Dr. Jackson's mouth, which had nothing to do with the smell of
burning wood and hemp and canvas that hung in the gorge. It was
unnecessary. Mindless vandalism. Nobody could have taken these
ships to sea. The Tyrean galleys effectively blocked the harbor
entrance.

"Great," he hissed. "That leaves us in a really strong bargaining
position."

"From their point of view it's a strategic move, Daniel. No
ships, no raids."

"Sure. I just have a feeling that the decision wasn't quite as lucid
as you make it out to be."

Teal'c unhappily contemplated the giant smoke signal. "It would
appear that we have lost the element of surprise."

Daniel fancied he heard a familiar voice growl Ya think? and
pushed it away. Hang in there, Jack.

"If we ever had it." Sam shrugged. "I can't see these folks sitting
around, waiting for the sky to fall. They must have some kind of
advance warning system."

It made sense. Homing pigeons and plenty of lookout points
in the mountains, and the place was perfectly protected. The only
decent route inland was the path beneath them. Which could be
defended by a crew of altar boys armed with Popsicle sticks, even
against the small but exquisitely peeved army marching up the trail
now.

Predictably, their suggestion to ask questions first and shoot
later had met with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm from Lords
Tendao and Fuano. Fuano had launched into the Tyrean equivalent
of fire and brimstone, and Tendao had turned the color of an overripe eggplant and displayed all signs of an imminent cardiovascular event. This despite, or maybe because of, the fact that
Hamilgart had been as good as his word and sat on the fence with
great dexterity, which hadn't exactly endeared him to the priests. It
was to be a show of force, designed to make the Phrygians tremble
before the wrath of Meleq.

Peering down from his aerie, Daniel figured the Tyreans were
eminently more likely to be the ones doing the trembling - before
the wrath of this unit of twenty men that straddled the narrowest
point of the pass. They were outnumbered ten to one, but their
position was unassailable from the path and they weren't altar
boys. They were tall and brawny, and their build and demeanor
made them professional soldiers. They didn't wield Popsicle sticks
either. They had swords and javelins.

Until a few moments ago they'd been sitting tight, waiting for
the first head to poke around the shoulder of rock that shielded
them from below but also obstructed their view of the path and
the harbor. Then one of them had spotted those fingers of smoke
poking into the sky, and they'd obviously guessed what it meant.
Reactions were distinctly on the pissed side.

"What are you going to do?" muttered Daniel.

"Watch and wait," Sam muttered back.

"They'll make mincemeat of the Tyreans!"

"The Tyreans'll get their noses tweaked and then they'll retreat
and think again. It buys us time. This isn't the Phrygians' main
force."

"I concur," came a soft rumble from Teal'c.

"But -

The Jaffa's head snapped round, and Sam's followed suit. Then
Daniel heard it too: a gentle clatter andhiss rising from the shadowy
cleft in the rocks at their six. He recognized the sound. It was made
by wafer-thin layers of slate trodden loose and slithering down the
gully he and Sam and Teal'c had climbed fifteen minutes ago.

"Company?" murmured Daniel. If anyone had followed them
up here, they'd have a lot of explaining to do.

Sam waved him off impatiently. Finally she whispered, "Teal'c.
Check it out."

Quiet as a mouse - a very large mouse - Teal'c crept back to the
edge of the ravine and stood looking and listening for what seemed
like ages. At last he returned.

"It was an animal perhaps. The noise did not repeat itself."

"Okay." Sam visibly relaxed and checked on the Phrygians
again. They were getting ready. She blew out a puff of breath and
said, "Daniel, you're on. Find the guy who's running this show and
talk some sense into him. A white flag would be good. Stay in radio
contact. Teal'c and I'll try to slow down the Tyreans. Good luck!"

"Thanks."

How they were proposing to achieve the slowing-down part was
beyond Dr. Jackson, but he didn't argue. Instead he ducked past a
broken slab of basalt and under the lip of rock that overhung the
ledge and started to sneak towards the inland slope of the crater.

Jack felt like a can of Pedigree Choice Cuts and wanted that toga.
Badly. That was the short version. The long one was unsuitable for
mixed company.

On the way out of the cave they'd stopped off at a chamber
that served as an armory. It was devoid of any useful toys, such
as guns or stun grenades or zats or claymores. Instead it housed
the local museum of antiquities. Daniel would have swooned with
bliss. Standard equipment was metal armor, a sword and scabbard,
and a spear. After doing the math Jack had foregone the latter in
favor of a dagger; no chance of him hitting anything that moved
faster than a sloth with one of those pig-stickers. Besides he liked
to have his hands free.

He'd need them free. The armor chafed and doubled as a sweat
lodge, and the scabbard bounced off his thigh with every step. He
was waiting for the magic moment when it'd get caught between
his legs, resulting in one colonel coming into intimate, if abrupt
contact with the landscape.

How the hell had the Romans ever managed to conquer half of
Europe? The other guys' gear must have been worse. Go figure...
He longingly thought of his P90, which safely sat in a bathtub at
Hamilqart's house.

Then he thought Loser!

They were clambering up a damp, claustrophobic gorge littered
with burst tree trunks and moss-covered boulders. There was no
path to speak of, and the going proved difficult. Not helped by those
pesky sandals. The only thing they were good for was scooping up
pebbles at the toe end. Once scooped up, the pebbles would stay
trapped under your feet for as long as they possibly could, before
popping out at the heel just in time to make room for the next lot.

Loser!

Miss Marple would love this. Outmoded means of warfare, bareknuckled man-to-man stuff. Oh yeah. She'd lap it up. Once she'd
finished lapping, she'd yell at him for having got himself involved.
Jack grinned. Well, she'd yell at him anyway, but at least she was
safe for now. According to Flavius, all women and children had
been evacuated from the garrison.

The guy on point, Tullius or Marcellus, hung a sharp left up the
side of the gorge. The last six meters required a couple of pull-ups
and some climbing, and then they emerged on a lightly forested
ridge, perhaps two klicks from where the pass came up from the
harbor. It was obvious why they'd chosen this spot: you could
overlook almost the entire valley and had pretty decent cover while
you were at it.

The village dozed amid fields and outlying olive groves, looking
small and vulnerable. The first thing Jack noticed was that the
battlements seemed as woefully undermanned as they had the day
he'd arrived. His headcount amounted to fifteen men.

"That's it?" he gasped.

Tertius crouched next to him and was doing his Mona Lisa
impression again, which gave the game away. "Do you think we're
fools, Deodatus? Look over there!"

The finger pointed to the left of the V-shaped gap that cradled
the pass. A sunbeam glancing off some shiny surface - a sword or a
shield - helped. Tiny figures were moving across the slope, swiftly
and stealthily fanning out in a broad line. Over on the opposite leg
of the V a mirror image of the move was in progress. There had to
be fifty men hidden either side of the trail. The garrison was the
Judas goat bleating to be raided, and the way there led past those
men.

Cute. Jack gave an appreciative whistle. "How many on the
pass?"

"On the pass?"

"Do you think I'm a fool, Tertius?"

"No." The man laughed softly. "Twenty. The Tyreans will fight
hard to get past, and our men will slowly retreat and lead them
between the main force. They'll be crushed."

Depends, Jack thought. Depends on who's with them... His
Tyrean pals had wasted years trying to ferret out the Phrygians, and
now they'd miraculously succeeded within three days of him and
Kelly being kidnapped? This thing had Carter's paw prints all over
it. And if she was here, so were Daniel and Teal'c. All of which
might prove to be more of a hindrance than a help. Also, people
might get hurt...

Suddenly he noticed the twin columns of smoke peeking over
the gap, realized what they meant. "It cost you."

"I counted on it. We shall take their ships. Besides, this island isn't
our only settlement. But we must hurry now. Come, Deodatus."

"And do what?"

"Spring the trap."

If it hadn't been for the anxiety that pulsed relentlessly under
all the hubbub, this could have been rather fun. One of those longgone Sunday afternoon church picnics, albeit with a dash of interest
added. Dr. Kelly couldn't recall ever having gone spelunking on a
church picnic.

Rosy had insisted she squeeze through a nearly invisible
tunnel mouth, overgrown with brambles and hardly bigger
than a crawlspace. After a dozen yards the tunnel had widened
dramatically and finally opened out into an enormous shaft. A few
thousand years ago it must have been a lava duct up the flank of the
main volcano. The round open space at its centre was about seventy
yards in diameter, covered in gravel and a smattering of stubborn
creeper plants. It was bisected by a small creek that gushed from
a jagged hole in the rocks at one end of the shadowy arena and
dropped into a dark fissure at the other, to go on and feed some
subterranean body of water. Clammy air, fragrant with moss, told her that sunlight never quite reached this place.

Children gambolled over the pebbles and splashed through
the creek, squealing and impervious to the coolness. One group
stood facing a rock wall, playing some version of Grandmother's
Footsteps that involved a dunking for anyone caught moving. Their
mothers didn't seem to mind. Most of the women were flitting
about under an overhang that sheltered a number of fireplaces
where a communal cook-out was being staged. To the best of
Kelly's knowledge noone had been carrying foodstuffs or bedding
on the trek up here, so some of those caves yawning under the
overhang had to be larders and sleeping quarters. Quite a refuge,
and superbly organised to boot. Unfortunately, the chances of
anyone ever finding her here were next to nil.

She hadn't been asked to help, either because they didn't expect
her to - after all, she was supposed to be a `guest' - or because
they assumed it would be futile. If the latter was the case, they
were perfectly correct in their assumptions. Professor Kelly felt no
desire at all to facilitate their task of keeping her prisoner. Besides,
she was busy. She was observing, and the observations were much
to her satisfaction. These good people believed that nobody could
possibly be deluded enough to want to leave this alpine pleasure
dome of their own free will. There were no guards by the tunnel that
connected the sanctuary to the outside world. Logic dictated that
there couldn't be any at the other end either. Armed men guarding a
patch of brambles surely would rouse suspicion, wouldn't they?

Stretching leisurely, Kelly rose from the slab of rock where
Rosy had deposited her and started ambling in the general direction
of the tunnel, smiling at toothless, half-blind veterans and gingerly
circumnavigating the odd child tumbling before her feet. Every
now and again, she stole a veiled glance at Rosy. If Rosy caught
on to what was happening, she was guaranteed to make more
noise than all the geese of the Capitol rolled into one. But no. She
stood by a cauldron, her broad back to Kelly, arguing with another
woman, probably about the merits of borage in goat stew or some
such momentous issue. If the argument continued for the next ten
yards, Kelly would be home free.

"Lady Siobhan!"

She froze, her back stiff as a poker. A quick scan of reactions
around her revealed that noone was paying attention, neither to
her nor to the boy. She hadn't been paying attention either, and she
should have. He was uncommonly clever for a brat. A while ago
she'd seen him talk to the two older Tyrean lads, the ones who, like
Luli, had refused to be hoodwinked by Roman bribery. She'd relied
on the fact that the conversation would keep him occupied.

"What?" she hissed, turning around and wearing a look designed
to make the Vice Chancellor of the University of Oxford quail.

The boy stood three feet away from her, a scowl on his face.
How had he ever got so close without her noticing? Lots of practice
playing Grandmother's Footsteps? Sneaky things, children.

"You said I could stay with you!"

There! That's why she hated talking to brats. Did they have to
take everything so literally?

"It's too dangerous. Once it's all over, I'll come back for you."

"I am not frightened. I know where you are going. If you do not
take me with you, I shall tell her!" A skinny little forefinger pointed
at Round Rosy, nattering and oblivious. So far.

Kelly grabbed the finger and pulled it down. Outmanoeuvred by
a child. It was all she could do not to splutter with rage. "Alright!
But be quiet. Chop-chop!"

Moments later she and Luli were crawling along the exit
tunnel.

Daniel lay sprawled on his belly, peering down on half a battalion
of Phrygians and trying to hide in the lee of a rock that somehow
seemed desperately small.

Find the guy who's running this show

Easier said than done. Problem being that he couldn't see
anyone who even remotely looked like the alpha male. The men on
the slope beneath had carried out a nice, slick maneuver, just the
way they'd been drilled. The orders were delivered by a couple of
centurions - NCOs, in other words. So where were the officers?