The cannons fired again, and the few remaining members of the automotive vanguard crashed into and over the mangled remains of their comrades.
“Those are German tanks!” Percy shouted in alarm, his fingers tightening painfully on Milo’s shoulder as the other hand pointed at the mobile bulwarks. “They’re German, aren’t they?”
“Yes, A7Vs,” Milo growled, then freed his shoulder with a savage twist. “Now shut up unless you have something useful to say.”
The shades sprang free of bullet-chewed hosts, but there weren’t any spare bodies near at hand. Like salmon swimming upstream, the specters tried to rush across the bridge, but even those who didn’t expend themselves crossing the distance discovered that they found few hosts. It seemed whoever or whatever was guarding the bridge were not soulless.
Some of the freed shades attempted to burrow into the occupied bodies around them, and those that weren’t immediately rebuffed set the bodies to tearing themselves apart. In the space of a few seconds, hundreds had fallen, and the advance stalled.
WITHDRAW
SEEK COVER
RETURN FIRE
The commands rippled out, and the shade-driven struggled to comply. They were packed together, and the limits of flesh were an ill-understood frustration to them. Nearly as many fell in the floundering withdrawal as in the initial onslaught, as Zlydzen’s forces continued to gnaw at his stumbling army. The shade-driven hunkered in whatever cover they could find and opened fire in sporadic pockets with no coordination and little precision. Their shots rattled off the tank armor or kicked up brick dust in the occupied buildings, and Milo was uncertain it would have made any difference.
Looking beyond the tanks, Milo saw the Resonator looming like an ugly mountain glittering with malice. So close, so very close.
“Milo!” cried a voice above him. He was thrown bodily to the ground, Percy coming down on top of him. As the breath was driven from his lungs by the American’s weight, Milo spied the flash of silver-white hair. A second later, a 5.7-centimeter shell blasted through the Qareen horse as though it were offal in a paper sack. Milo raised an arm over his head as gobs of dry, chunked flesh and splinters of old bone rained down around him.
“Get off,” Milo wheezed as he attempted to free his arms from under Percy’s bulk.
“Sorry about that,” Percy replied with a nervous, almost manic chuckle as he clambered off Milo, but he kept low to the ground. A glance showed they’d fallen behind what might have once been a decorative wall. They were screened from lighter arms, but if the tanks shelled the spot, they’d be paste in seconds.
“Move!” Milo snarled as he twisted onto his belly and began to crawl along the wall toward an embankment of debris that must have been the home or business the wall had been attached to. Percy followed, muttering something about his suit as his belly dragged over the cracked and jagged ground.
They reached the pile of apocalyptic detritus as two more cannon shots plowed furrows where they’d lain seconds earlier.
“Keep moving,” Milo shouted over his shoulder as he rose to his feet and ran doubled over to a building that still stood a few feet away.
Machine guns chugged, sending up stinging splashes of broken plaster and stone around them, but somehow Milo and Percy staggered into what looked like the storeroom of a shop. Kicking over broken crates and knocking over shelves, they found another door that opened to the storefront, where they leaped over a counter and hunkered down.
Cannons boomed and machine guns flung a hail of shots at them, but nothing seemed to be striking too close for comfort. Chests heaving and soaked in sweat, both men lay against the store’s counter and caught their breath.
Percy began to inspect his thoroughly ravaged vest, jacket, and slacks, while Milo stretched his mind to his dwindling army.
Between enemy fire and the shades attacking each other, he’d lost nearly a fifth of his forces in the space of a minute, maybe two. Worse, he wasn’t sure he had a way forward with the forces he had left. If he tried to press across the bridge, he’d lose more, and those lost would see their shades inflicting greater casualties.
And the Hiisi hadn’t even come into play yet.
There was the crunch of broken glass under boots, and Milo saw not-Ezekiel stride into the shop through the broken front door. It sported several new wounds across its body and one side of the face had been rent, now just flaps of sickly gray flesh hanging off discolored bone. The exposed teeth made the manic smile even larger and more horrific than before.
“Found you,” it called in a thick, syrupy voice, and Milo noticed that something had punctured the body’s throat, from which dark, almost tarry blood now ran.
“Yes, you did,” Percy said, sounding quite put out as he made a feeble and futile attempt to smooth his jacket. “Wasn’t the plan for you to help with the distraction and then return to me?”
The un-man spread his gnawed hands wide and gestured expansively at Percy and then the shop.
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Percy made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and shook his head.
There was another crunch of glass outside and Ambrose came jogging into the store, shouldering roughly past not-Ezekiel, who only giggled.
“We need to do something about those tanks,” he rumbled with a nod at the far wall, beyond which the sounds of battle were evident. “And I think I’ve got an idea.”
Milo looked up at him from his place on the floor, trying not to wince every time he felt a shade abandon its body to the wraith and expire. If things kept up at this rate, it wouldn’t be long before half of his forces were gone.
“I’m all ears,” Milo muttered.
“We’ll need Rihyani and the killer sand,” Ambrose began.
“Si’lat,” Milo replied, but Ambrose waved off the correction.
“Whatever. You’re going to give one to me and one to this thing,” the big man continued, tilting his head at the un-man. “You’ll need to be ready to set them loose as soon as we pop them into the tanks, but once inside, they should make quick work of the men. That should give us a chance of making it across that bridge.”
Milo started shaking his head before Ambrose finished speaking.
“I’ve only got two si’lat,” Milo protested. “You’ve got three tanks.”
“Let me worry about that,” Ambrose growled. “I’m giving you a chance to get your army across the bridge, and you’re going to whine to me about arithmetic?”
Milo met the big man’s eyes and remembered the first thing he’d learned about his bodyguard: Simon Ambrose didn’t need to lie. If he said he could take care of the tanks, then by Heaven and Hell, he would.
“All right.” Milo groaned as he struggled to his feet. “But where’s Rihyani?”
In answer, a feline yowl overlaid across a corvid squawk somewhere above the street outside. Milo and Ambrose rushed to the exploded display window as a thrashing comet came hurtling out of the dark, snow-strewn sky.
Milo had the fleeting impression of enormous black wings and something that was a blur of fangs and talons. The plunging spectacle struck the street with a chorus of crunching bones and an eruption of black feathers. Shrieking black birds of every shape and size rocketed out of the dark cloud, leaving the fey to spin and rake her claws at empty air.
“COWARD!” she screamed after the fleeing corvids, then whirled around to fix Milo with a savage stare.
“The Hiisi are coming.”
Milo looked at Ambrose, who nodded and stepped to Rihyani.
“I’m going to need you to make a little storm for me, mon chéri.”
* * *
“This is going to be fun,” the un-man burbled in the back of its ruined throat.
Ambrose growled as he adjusted his grip around the creature’s narrow waist.
“One more word and I’ll be doing this by myself,” Ambrose growled.
Not one to miss out on such suicidally violent antics, the thing th
at had been Ezekiel Bouche settled for a gurgling titter of laughter before holding out a bony hand to Milo.
“I’m still not sure how this is going to work.” The magus sighed as he handed over an orb while doing his best not to touch the ravaged fingers. “But we don’t have time for another plan.”
“Your confidence in me is inspiring.” Ambrose chuckled as he reached out to take his orb.
They all turned to Rihyani, who’d spent the last few minutes communing with the winds through the Art. High overhead, dark clouds had begun to gather, though not a snowflake had fallen since she’d stepped aside to begin her efforts.
“You two should get inside.” She nodded at Milo and Percy. “This isn’t going to be gentle.”
Not needing a second warning, both men darted into the store as the winds began to pick up once more.
Milo watched from inside, feeling the deteriorating state of the shade-driven like a rough file scraping at the back of his mind. If this didn’t work, they would be caught between the Hiisi and the Zlydzen’s armored praetorians. That would be the end of this push and the beginning of the end for Europe.
Flurries began to descend in spiraling patterns around the three standing in the middle of the street. The howl of the wind grew until the sounds of the battle were drowned out by its keening. Occasionally, gunfire from a street over intruded with a stray shot zipping past into the night, but soon even those were washed out in rushing torrent of sound that accompanied a descending cyclone of cloud and snow. Milo couldn’t hear anything besides the eardrum-throb of the changing air pressure, but he saw the un-man’s head thrown back in maniacal laughter before the cyclone swallowed the three remaining in the street.
Milo hammered a fist on Percy’s shoulder and shouted words neither of them could hear.
“Come on!”
Together they rushed back to the storeroom, punctured and battered as it was, then crept to the edge of the back doorway to watch the scene at the bridge.
The crackle of rifles and machine guns was a barely perceptible background to the howl of the unnatural weather that seethed overhead. Occasionally the roar of a cannon would punch through, but even that was only a dull, crunching boom. A second later, all of it was muted as the cyclone descended, spraying snow in every direction. For a second, Milo thought the storm had the force to sweep the tanks aside like children’s toys, but the low-slung war machines bore the tearing gales with impunity. One of the walls left standing beside the rightmost behemoth teetered and fell, though it didn’t have the decency to fall on the armored giant.
As quickly as it had descended, the enchanted storm began to rise and dissipate, leaving the far side of the bridge crusted in snow and two of the A7Vs bearing new passengers.
Milo watched as Ambrose scrambled across the snow-slicked surface of the tank. One leg dragged, evidence that his descent had not been gentle, but he managed to reach the access hatch. With an ease that belied the terrifying strength on display, Ambrose tore the door loose and threw the orb in.
At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Milo saw that the un-man had taken a different approach. Limbs moving like a poorly controlled marionette’s, the abomination crawled spider-like along the side of the tank until it reached a machine-gun port. With a wild cackle, it pushed the chattering weapon aside, not caring how the barrel scorched its ruined hands, and shoved the orb inside.
With both orbs delivered, Milo drove forth a spike of focus to release the si’lat. He’d intended to do as he’d done before, asserting control as he set them loose, but this time, he found he couldn’t. His vision blurred and blood gushed from his nose, and it took every ounce of mental energy he could muster to keep control of the shade-driven.
The si’lat were set free, and he could only watch and dare to hope as the tanks began to rock and shiver. Two of the cannons and several machine guns fell silent, but in their absence, a new sound rose on the wind. To the south, Milo heard guttural howls and screams. The Hiisi were coming.
“Now or never.” Milo coughed, tasting more blood.
His eyes fixed on the looming Resonator, Milo wove together the strands of his remaining army around a single lightning rod of a command.
DESTROY
Milo hurled the command with all the entwined cords of control like a thunderbolt at the Resonator. The sudden release of the crushing pressure he’d borne took his breath away, and with a cry that was both pain and ecstatic relief, he sank to his knees.
With a keening moan no human throat could have uttered, the shade-driven sprang up and rushed across the bridge. Their frustration and confusion at being held at bay gave their strides preternatural speed, and though one tank still poured its fury across their flank, the tide could not be stemmed. Like hounds catching the scent, wraiths wearing the skins of men hurtled over the broken and the dead to their target. They reached the quivering tanks and didn’t slow, scuttling over and around them even as one burst into flames
The Resonator would fall; this Milo knew. Now it was a matter of getting out of here alive.
“Fetch your pet,” Milo called over his shoulder to Percy. “I’m going to get my friend.”
He made it two strides before he realized no response had come from the American.
The wizard whirled and found himself alone. Once more, Percy Astor had slipped into the dark. Milo swore savagely and contemplated searching for signs of the slippery provocateur when the bark of a Gewehr drew his attention back to the bridge.
He looked up in time to see Ambrose hurled bodily off the remaining A7V while Zlydzen in his ogre form loomed over the tank, which had begun to smoke and shudder. Zlydzen didn’t seem to notice the tank’s distress as one massive hand hefted a hammer as tall as a man. His enraged glare was fixed on Ambrose as he shakily rose to his knees.
Milo was moving before he realized what was happening, summoning witchfire through the cane as he leaped over the mounded dead.
We don’t have the strength for this, Imrah protested.
“We don’t have a choice.” Milo panted as he leaned into the biting wind, his eyes fixed on the dwarrow’s hammer, which rose for a smashing strike.
Milo punched out with the cane, launching a spear of emerald fire. After arcing through the air, it struck the dwarrow in the shoulder and raced over his uplifted arm. Bellowing like a wounded bull, Zlydzen let the hammer tumble from his grip as he threw himself on the ground. The snow hissed and a cloud of steam rose, but the fire was quenched. Zlydzen heaved himself to his feet with a snarl.
Milo had used the reprieve to reach Ambrose, who was staggering to his feet. He threw an arm under the big man in time for them to race for cover as the smoldering A7V brought a pair of machine guns to bear. A hail of bullets chewed up the ground at their heels as they dove for the shelter behind piled remains of the wall that had collapsed during the storm.
“You all right?” Milo shouted over the hammering of the automatic fire.
Ambrose’s green eyes struggled to focus for a second, but then his gaze locked onto Milo’s face. A smile spread beneath his mustache, and he nodded as he chambered another round in his rifle.
“Never better,” he shouted back and spared a glance over his shoulder. “Give it a minute.”
Between ripping bullets and fragments of masonry flying in every direction, Milo saw the dwarrow’s back receding behind the smoke-belching tank. Zlydzen seemed to think he could still save his creation. Milo couldn’t risk that he was right.
“We don’t have a minute,” Milo called and looked across the bridge.
Was it his imagination, or were those hungry red eyes moving between the buildings across the river?
The tank behind them gave a series of heavy clanks, then its engine stalled and its guns fell silent. Its hatch blew open with a screaming eruption of flame and shrapnel. Ammunition cooked off in a series of staggered detonations that forced both men to hunker down to avoid the discharging shells and bullets that flew in all directions.
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“You young folks.” Ambrose chuckled as he lurched to his feet. “Always in a hurry.”
Shaking his head, Milo joined Ambrose on his feet, and they skirted around the burning wreck. Expecting to race after the retreating dwarrow, both staggered to stop when they saw that Zlydzen had not been so lucky when the tank exploded. Pitched over on his side, Zlydzen leaked his brazen blood from a dozen bullet wounds across his broad back, while one leg must have taken a cannon shell. The foot was still attached but only just, most of the calf having been reduced to a dangling curtain of shredded meat.
One hand clawed for the hammer he’d dropped, but swooping down like a bird of prey, Rihyani raked talons across his outstretched hand. The dwarrow swatted at her, but the fey easily dodged the clumsy swing.
“I’ll crush you,” he raved and swung again.
He missed again, but he twisted as he did and fell flat on his stomach, his head turned to Milo and Ambrose as they advanced.
“It’s over, Zlydzen,” Milo called, letting witchfire play across the head of his cane. “The Resonator is being reduced to scrap as we speak, and what’s left of your army is mine.”
“Nothing’s over,” the dwarrow snarled, trying to raise himself before collapsing onto his side with a groan.
“You don’t look so good,” Ambrose remarked dryly as he sighted down his Gewehr.
“I’m not done,” Zlydzen growled, hands curling into frustrated claws.
“Yes, you are,” Milo said and raised his cane as an ear-sundering howl rent the air.
Milo reeled, his concentration shivering to pieces as he raised his hands to his ears.
He staggered a step back as the sound receded, looking around dazedly, ears ringing.
A pair of huge red eyes set in long lupine face shone from the shadow of a collapsing alley.
World's First Wizard Complete Series Boxed Set Page 88
