The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2)

by Samuel Gately

  “So what’s been going on up here?” Van asked.

  “It’s been quiet,” Owen answered. “Everyone was bummed you missed the victory parade, but they still hung the championship belt on a wagon and marched it up and down the streets and sprayed it with beer. You should have it washed.”

  “Great curiosity accompanied your plunge into the Nether,” Sevendhi said, “but with no action to follow, many titans left after a few days. Some also grew afraid when the gateway to the Nether did not close, but little has been done about it.” He looked up as Captain Jahrom rejoined them. “Perhaps our friend here knows more on the plans of Empire City’s esteemed leadership.”

  Captain Jahrom sat and drained his mug, then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. It took him several moments to realize Sevendhi was talking to him. “Uh, sure. They told us to watch the cemetery. Something comes in or out, tell us right away.” He looked around, nodding as if all questions had been answered, and beckoned the waitress for a refill.

  Owen leaned forward, causing the table he was perched on to creak. “Continue,” he said flatly.

  Jahrom started stammering. “Um, yes, um, and I think, of course, they’ll need to hear about this army, of course, for what it’s worth, as such things go... I just sent word. Certainly will, uh, prompt them into action. We should hear back soon.” He looked around. “Any of you lot fancy a game of darts?”

  The others ignored him and fell into a conversation about which titans remained in Empire City. Van was relieved to learn that the Uplands contingent was long gone. No chance of running into any of his bosses, if that’s what they still were. He didn’t like thinking about home right now, mainly because he wasn’t so sure if it was his home anymore. But if not there, where was?

  As the waitress came by with another round, one of the soldiers slipped in and handed Jahrom a folded piece of paper. Jahrom read it quickly and sighed with relief. He kicked back and took a huge gulp of beer. His eyes watered as he lowered his mug and smiled.

  Van loudly tapped the tabletop and glared at him. “Is that the word you were expecting?”

  Jahrom started to stand unevenly. It didn’t go well. He dropped back into his chair and nodded. “I am to hand command of the situation in its entirety over to you, Van.” His smile widened. “I am now authorized to execute any orders you have. You are now in charge of the defense of Empire City.”

  “What?” Van choked on his beer. “That doesn’t make any sense. I have no experience defending a city.”

  Jahrom scoffed. “Who does?” He looked around at all the angry titans. “Right, me. Well, no, not really. I mean, I suppose you could argue that leading a bunch of soldiers who guard trophies and look pretty at ceremonies might qualify. But organizing soldiers to fight a titan army… sounds to me like a job for a titan.” He took another drink. “You know, the job would ordinarily go to the local titan champion. One of the rarely invoked responsibilities that accompanies tournament representation. But no one has seen Judge Cage since you beat him around the ring like a rented mule.” He sighed. “Some of us do miss having him around.”

  It was Harlan’s turn to lean forward with an angry sneer. He cracked his knuckles ominously.

  “But fuck that guy,” Jahrom said quickly. “Always locking people up. Something deeply wrong with him. So, next in the very legally binding,” he said, squinting at the note in his hand, “statutes, is the most recent Headlock of Destiny champion. As such, I hereby name you, Van the Beer Man, as General Van the Beer Man, leader of the Open Nations standing army.” He muttered to the side, “What little there is of one.” Jahrom squinted at the note again. “By the authority of some asshole named Magistrate Windhelm, or Wilhelm. The writing’s hard to read.” He smiled and looked up at Van. “Maybe by design, huh? The powers-that-be are getting as far away from this as possible.” He hiccupped and took another long drink.

  Owen swiped the paper from Jahrom in one swift motion. He grunted as he tried to smooth out the tiny note with his huge hands. After a long squint, he shrugged. “About what he said. A little more to the point. First line is See if you can make the titan take charge.” He grinned, looking up at Van. “General, sir.”

  “This is a joke,” Van said.

  “It’s an honor, Van!” The Patriot stood again. “Think of the glory! Think of the fame.” His eyes were feverishly bright. “Can I be your second-in-command?”

  Van shook his head. “This is a joke, and if it’s not, it should be.”

  Owen nodded, but Sevendhi shook his head and said, “Titans have defended the Open Nations before, Van, and must do so again. The drunk captain is right. It is our responsibility. We have no time to squabble over who is most suited. You won the Headlock. You chased the OverLord down his hidey-hole and brought back news of his army. You have earned this honor and heavy burden.”

  “They must have real generals. Not everyone is…” He gestured to Jahrom, who was miming a toss at the dart board. “Where are the adults? Where’s the actual management here?”

  “We can hope they arrive as word spreads,” Sevendhi continued, “and lend their greater knowledge and experience to the cause. Perhaps your role will be symbolic when they do, Van. But we cannot wait. I have had a disturbing thought.” He pushed his drink aside. “The OverLord has only surfaced with the rising and setting of the sun, accompanied by a bright light streaming forth from the pit. Perhaps it is only then the gate truly opens.”

  Van thought back to the morning when he’d watched the sunrise over the cemetery, had seen that blinding light rise as though the horizon had turned on its side. But he shook his head. “But that’s not when I went in. That was at night. And we just left it in the middle of the day.”

  “But it may be that the rules are different for the OverLord and his ilk. Otherwise why did he not chase you? He gives us time to organize a defense even now. He may be waiting for sunset.”

  Owen pointed towards a dark window. “That had to be at least a half hour ago, Sevendhi.”

  Jahrom chimed in. “We’ve got eyes on the cemetery. I would have heard already if something came up.” His drunken grin lapsed momentarily. “Unless they’re all dead.” He shook his head. “But I probably would have heard about that too. No, I think the cemetery’s quiet for now. But I can verify what the titan says. We always saw the lights when the OverLord came up, and since we started watching, that was always at sunset or sunrise.”

  Van glared at his empty mug and set it on the table. “So we’ve got until sunrise. That’s nothing.” He tried to calculate how many people lived in Empire City, but he couldn’t even imagine. There was so much life here. He felt its vibrancy all around him, its unexpectedness, its refusal to fall in orderly lines. The kid scampering in the graveyard. The waitress arguing with Jahrom. Somewhere out there was the woman Van had dragged from Judge Cage’s clutches, along with her child. How was this his burden? He hadn’t even retrieved his championship belt.

  “Fine.” He wasn’t going to let anyone die if he could stop it. He didn’t have any place else to go anyway. Van set down his beer, dropped his head into the crook of his arm on the table, and said in a muffled voice, “What do we do first, military man?”

  Jahrom gulped down more beer. “Who me?” Seeing everyone’s eyes on him, he grunted. “Yes, okay, well, maybe it won’t be needed, right? Nether gateway’s been around for a week and I haven’t seen any undead titans marching through the streets in force yet, huh? Just the OverLord, and tough as that bastard is, there’s only one of him. You really think this army is coming?”

  Van thought of the OverLord’s story, of the shadowy figures lurking in the valley. He peered out above his elbow, eyes bloodshot, and nodded. “I don’t think he put together that army for nothing. They’re coming. And soon.”

  Plus they had something he wanted, Van thought as he considered the role of the copper urn. If it held some sort of life force for the OverLord, it should be destroyed. But how? Stab it with a sword? Scatter it into t
he ocean? Burn it? It was already ashes. Can you burn ashes even more? Van would need to speak with the valkyrie first.

  “Well, like I said, we’re already watching the pit,” Jahrom said. “Anything moves, my men will let me know. How big’s this army anyway?”

  Van glanced at the Patriot. “We think maybe enough to fill the Coliseum, what, twice? And a lot more than just titans. All sorts of other weird things. I don’t know. I’m no spy.”

  Jahrom looked unimpressed with either Van’s scouting report or the fact that the waitress returned with another round and didn’t place a fresh beer in front of him. “Okay, well, if it’s coming out that pit, we try to plug it. Hard to defend, it being right in the middle of the city. Think that will work?”

  Van shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Well, you give that a try. If that doesn’t work, it’s close-quarters fighting. And we all know who’s best at close-quarters fighting.” He pointed all around him. “I’m surrounded by them.” He began slapping the table to get the waitress’s attention, looking very pleased with himself when she gave him a frustrated nod.

  “So, titans,” Van said, “we need enough titans to match the OverLord’s. Then we hope there’s not enough space for him to bring the rest of the army into play.” As Van glanced around the barroom, he again felt a lack of truly responsible individuals. The Patriot was swinging his board, already fighting the evil hordes in his mind. Owen sipped whiskey and looked bored. Sevendhi smiled at Van like a child on a picnic. Harlan sat still and waited for instructions. Van sighed. Kyle would have known what to do next. Instead, it appeared to fall on him.

  Van stared at Jahrom for a long moment. “Harlan, if you don’t mind, why don’t you help the captain here find his way out of the bar and into wherever his commanding officers are hiding? I think mustering just about every soldier in Empire City around the cemetery in time for the sunrise is a worthwhile move. Even if the OverLord takes a little longer to get his act together, we’ll have an idea of what we’ve got to work with.”

  Harlan nodded grimly. He rose to intercept the waitress, chugged the beer on her tray intended for the captain, and hooked Jahrom under an arm. He raised the protesting man out of his seat and half carried, half dragged him towards the door. They were followed closely by Jahrom’s pair of laughing guards and the worried waitress, who waved a lengthy bill. A gust of warm night air flowed in as they left.

  Van picked up the helm Jahrom had left behind and turned it over in his hand. Then he tossed it over his shoulder to crash to the wooden floor and looked at the remaining titans. “Okay, roll call. Who have we got? And how do we get more?”

  Sevendhi answered quickly. “For titans—you, Owen, Harlan, our new friend the Patriot Jack Hammer, and me. Among those we might call allies, the Wave Rider and Harot have already left Empire City, as has the mighty Panam Manley. I can send word, but their return will take time.”

  Owen stared at his beer. “There are a couple local gyms I know might have some good ten-men. And I can send word to my family.” He looked at Van. “But what we really need is the ONWC. King Thad is still in town, and I’ll bet a bunch of the others are too.”

  Van grunted. No good options there. Zero chance Thad would contribute anything to the fight without getting paid. “Okay, Owen, why don’t you start with the local gyms, then go see how receptive the ONWC is? They’ll probably be less likely to attack you on sight than me, but tread carefully. Sevendhi, I know you’re itching to get word to your queen. Let her know how dire everything looks and see if we can get the support of the valkyrie, this Rain of Spears or whatever it’s called. I’m supposed to be the figurehead, so I’ll try to get in front of Empire City’s leaders and see what kind of large-scale support we can get. Jack, you’re with me.” Van flagged down another waitress. “Last call, everyone. Gonna be a long night.”

  Van stared longingly at what would likely be his last beer of the night as the other titans fell silent. So he was in charge of Empire City’s defenses on the eve of a new Titan War. He was a far cry from the Great General Grand Reffe who had stalled the Nether army and defeated the OverLord generations ago. He was also, he realized, a far cry from sober—a drunk titan, who made a living hauling barrels, and his handful of friends standing against an immortal soul and an army of foul creatures. What could possibly go wrong? He should probably run. But where to?

  For a brief moment, as he’d let the sun hit his face in the cemetery, Van had seen a different future ahead of him. Of Kyle waking, them doing something to destroy the urn, he hadn’t figured that part out yet, and spending a quiet evening together, all threat erased. Instead she had been robbed from him. And he’d been given no respite from the looming presence of the OverLord. He could still feel the evil fucker breathing down his neck.

  Chapter 15.

  Sunrise came and went while Van stared at the pit in the center of the Parkland Cemetery, surrounded by the sad excuse of an army he had been able to assemble. No bright light had emanated from the dark hole; no enemy army crawled from the depths intent on ravaging first Empire City and then the world. Van and his unlikely allies had a few more hours to get ready, assuming they had been right about the rules governing the portal to the Nether.

  He rubbed at tired eyes and blinked in the bright sun. It was already growing hot. His titan allies sat perched on the sturdier of the grave markers. Armored soldiers sat on the grass next to their polearms and smoked an endless supply of cigarettes. Captain Jahrom quietly vomited behind a tombstone. Van waved Owen Grit over.

  “No new recruits?” Van asked quietly.

  Owen shook his head. “Most of them left already. They’re scattered around the Open Nations. The ones who stayed are skeptical. King Thad wants to talk with you face-to-face. He claims all the ONWC titans would follow his decision on the matter, but…” He shook his head again. “The only other large group trains at a gym called Grunt-and-Groan. They said they’d gather their ranks and hear you out tonight.”

  Van scoffed. “That might be too late. The Nether could open at sunset.”

  “I told them that. Like I said, they’re skeptical. They said that was the quickest they could gather everyone up.” He shrugged apologetically. “There are a few more gyms I could try this morning. A bunch were closed last night.”

  Van looked over at the cemetery gates. A small crowd had gathered and was buzzing excitedly as they waited to pester the titans for autographs. They seemed totally uninterested and unworried about the threat of an invading horde from the Nether. In the city behind them, people went about their days as usual.

  “Okay, keep trying.” Van placed a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “I’ll go see Thad. Still in that ridiculous place near the Regal Ballroom?” Owen nodded, and Van turned away. “I’ll see you back here before sunset.”

  Heading towards the gates, Van passed close to Captain Jahrom. He probably should have stopped and issued some more orders or something, but the smell of stale beer and fresh vomit kept Van walking. Van’s wish for some real military minds to arrive had not yet materialized.

  He passed through the gates and ignored the pleas for autographs from the excited and overly loud crowd. Striding quickly down the dusty street, he left them behind. The morning sun beat down on his back as he made his solitary way to King Thad’s complex. The streets were far quieter than they’d been during the Headlock, but the number of faces Van passed was still overwhelming for someone who’d spent pretty much his entire life in a quiet mountain town. He marched steadily on, navigating between vendor carts, stray dogs, and heavily laden wagons which rattled loudly on the cobblestones. He turned down the street where King Thad’s palatial building sat back from the bustle, its gilded columns framing an oak-and-iron front door.

  As Van approached, the door swung open. Venerate Holland, the head of the ONWC, strode out with a scowl on his face, which only deepened as he looked up and saw Van blocking the sun. “You!” he said. He straightened his pinstriped suit coat and sli
cked back his hair. “Shouldn’t you be back in the sticks already?”

  Eagle emerged just behind Venerate, blinking at the bright sunlight. The titan turned sideways to fit his spiked shoulder plates through the door and hustled up next to Venerate protectively. Something about him looked lonesome and incomplete without his partner Creature by his side. Van gave the titan a slow nod and was surprised to receive one in turn.

  Van looked down at Venerate. “Venerate,” he started, “we’ve got a problem bigger than any trouble between you and me.”

  “Ha! Bigger than you, for sure. Not much in this world bigger than me.” Venerate turned to glare at the door. “Despite what others might think.” He continued fussing with his clothes.

  “We need some help—”

  “I already heard it. Owen told Thad, Thad told me. Told me plenty of other stuff too. You’ve created all sorts of problems.” When Van started to reply, Holland waved his hand in the air. “I don’t want to hear it from you.” He gestured to the open door. “You want ONWC titans, then you need to talk to Thad, at least for now. He’s blinded them with gold. Hell, I don’t care. He can keep them fed a couple months. See how quick that dries up his treasury. They’ll be back. I own the Headlock. Everything else is just window dressing.” He spat onto the dirt. “Let’s go, Eagle.”

  He pushed past Van, forcing him to step back despite being twice Holland’s size. Eagle strolled past a little slower, then turned. His voice was low, eyes down. “You seen Creature?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Van said cautiously. “I think he’s with the OverLord now.”

  “Let’s go, Eagle,” Venerate called over his shoulder.