The Wild Hunt

by Thomas Galvin

  Miranda jerked me forward and kicked the back of my knee–gently. I fell down before her, gasping, and looked up at Holda. I should have had Miranda punch me a few times, blacken my eyes to really sell it. Oh well. Notes for next time. “I caught this thing,” Miranda hissed, “trying to escape.” Damn. She certainly had the venomous, entitled royalty thing down. Her voice was absolutely chilling.

  I looked up at Holda and tried to appear miserable, but I was already holding the Thieves’ Key near the shackles’ lock. Holda looked down at me imperiously. “And how did he manage that? Those chains could hold a god.”

  “I believe Brilda’s incompetence had something to do with it,” Miranda said. “I found signs of a struggle, and her healing tools were scattered around his cell.”

  Holda shook her head. “Well, that’s what happens when you trust a dwarf to do something right.” She stood up and stretched, then descended from her bone-white throne. She glided toward me with a ballerina’s grace and stared at me with an executioner’s dead eyes. I rested my manacles on my legs and carefully unlatched the first clasp.

  “I fear,” Holda said, “that this mortal may be more trouble than he is worth. I am sorry, Kára, but I believe I am going to have to do away with your little plaything.”

  Miranda threw down my chains and stood just behind Holda’s right shoulder. “That’s quite all right, my Lady. He showed a surprising lack of stamina.”

  Holda cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Indeed. He wept and cried out for his mother. It was pathetic, really.” I scowled at her, but tried not to break character.

  Holda took three steps forward, close enough to reach down and touch me. “Oh, you poor mortal. Worry not, your suffering will soon be at an end.” She glanced back at the dark elves surrounding her throne. “My sword!”

  A cheer went up and one of the elves came forward, carrying a gracefully curved blade in both hands. Holda held it aloft, examining its edge, then rested in on my shoulder. “Any last words, mortal?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Burn.”

  I slipped the Key into the second shackle. My restraints fell to the ground. Holda’s eyes went wide. Light leapt from my hand, catching Holda right in the face, throwing her to the floor and burning through her glamour. I gathered the Æther around me, constructing my armor as best I could, and prepared another attack.

  Holda looked up at me from the ground. “Kill him!” she growled through her boar’s tusks. “Kill–”

  Miranda knelt down behind her, quickly drew the Exorcist’s Dagger from her belt, and slit Holda’s throat.

  Holda’s blood spilled out onto the cavern floor, running along the walkway and spilling into the haunted waters surrounding her throne. The spirits inhabiting the waters went into a frenzy, dining on the most powerful essence they had ever encountered. Holda stared at me, bewildered, uncomprehending.

  The elves and dwarves looked between her and us, shocked and enraged. The life drained from Holda’s body, sending a tremor through the Æther. Her body began to desiccate, shriveling like a prune. Her muscles wasted away, leaving her skin to hang from her bones. She aged rapidly, the moisture wicking away from her flesh. Her skin became cracked and leathery, and pieces of it quickly crumbled to dust. Soon an emerald flame emerged from within her, flashing over what little was left of her corpse, leaving her nothing but a pile of ashes.

  The Dagger did what it was supposed to do. The Norse demon, the immortal spirit that had plagued Mirrormont, was vulnerable to the enchanted blade, and the wound Miranda made was enough to end her endless life.

  Miranda stared at the remains, then at the Dagger. “Damn right,” she said.

  Around the room, the Valkyries were going into spasms. The girls’ eyes flared with jade fire. They threw their heads back to scream as the Valkyries flew from their bodies. The spirits hovered in the air, writhing like electrocuted fireflies, then burst apart.

  The girls looked around, trying to figure out what, exactly, the hell was going on. “Where are we?” one of the younger girls asked.

  “In a mystical cavern about a mile beneath Tiger Mountain,” I said.

  “Oh.”

  Miranda shot me a dirty look. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re going to take you home.”

  Slowly, the dark elves and dwarves were coming back to their senses … and taking up their weapons. “We might want to hurry on that, actually,” I said, and threw a blue-white light at the nearest elf, taking his head clean off.

  The rest of the supernatural creatures took this as their cue to attack. They roared and surged forward. Miranda grabbed the nearest girl by the hand and jerked her toward the footpath. “Run!”

  Miranda herded the girls past me as I threw blasts of fire and light at the monsters set on killing us. When the last girl reached the walkway, Miranda and I both turned to follow, but the girl slipped on Holda’s blood and tumbled toward the deceptively-still waters. Beneath the surface, demonic faces shimmered.

  “No!” Miranda shouted and grabbed the girl’s hand. She yanked her back from the precipice, but one of the dwarves was almost on top of her. The creature raised his weapon, a sledgehammer that looked like it weighted roughly three hundred pounds, and swung it at Miranda’s head.

  “Duck!” I screamed. Miranda shoved the girl out of the way and hit the deck. I sent a column of blue-white light arcing over her head, blasting the Dwarf from behind. He cursed, dropped his hammer, and flailed his arms, trying to maintain his balance. Miranda rolled over and drove her heels into his back, sending him toppling into the water. The demons inside jumped on him like piranha, and the dwarf’s water-muffled screams echoed down the hallway after us.

  We ran as fast as we could. The Norse beings stampeded after us, thirsty for our blood, eager to avenge the death of their god. Arrows flew past us. I fired blasts of light behind us as I ran.

  “They’re gaining on us!” one of the girls screamed. And she was right. The creatures all moved with supernatural power, and we could only move as fast as the slowest human girl in our company.

  I stopped and turned to face the monsters.

  “Caden?” Miranda asked.

  “Keep going,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”

  She looked at me for a moment, then kissed me on the cheek. “Come on,” she said, taking the youngest girl by the hand and leading them all away from Holda’s hordes.

  I cracked my knuckles. “All right, you Viking bastards. I have come here to kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I’m all out of–” An axe with a blade the size of a dinner plate whizzed past my face and embedded in the wall. “Well that’s rude,” I said, and then the battle was upon me.

  The Æther danced around me. Mystical light twisted a dark elf’s head around, and spectral fire hobbled a charging dwarf. I felled five of them before the rush hit me, which was a decent number until I considered the several dozen creatures still coming for my hide.

  I channeled the Æther around my arms, reinforcing my armor and sheathing my hands in ghostly blue flames, and waded into the battle. Fists, blades, and spells ricocheted off my armor. I crushed skulls and caved in ribs with magically enhanced strength, and burned down demons and devils with enchanted light.

  But their numbers were overwhelming and I was starting to tire. Sweat slicked my skin and my heart pounded in my chest. My head was starting to swim, a combination of too much physical exertion and too much Ætheric manipulation. I gathered as much force as I could and concentrated it around my hand, then ducked low and slammed my fist into the floor, sending a ring of force and flame racing out from around me. The spell slammed into dwarves and elves alike, knocking them from their feet and sending them flying back down the cavern. The spell shattered the bones of the creatures closest to me, but the ones further away escaped with only minor damage. They collected themselves, got back to their feet, and searched for their weapons. Soon they would be on me again.

  I threw my hands into the air, unleashing my magic. The Æther
roared and flashed as bright as lightning, hitting the ceiling with thunderous force and carving straight through the rock. The cavern shook, the mountain itself rocked by the spell. I threw more magic, cutting through stone with my light. The mountain groaned, the roof trembled. Debris began to fill the hallway.

  “Hey, guys? Quick question. How many dwarves does it take to dig out of a collapsed mine?”

  “What?” the nearest dwarf asked.

  “Never mind.”

  I turned and ran. The stone hallway collapsed behind me, burying Holda’s creatures deep inside the mountain.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was a long, slow slog up the path that led from Holda’s domain. The adrenaline crash left me weak and jittery, with legs that felt like rubber. And I was still mostly naked. The winter air grew colder the higher I climbed, and by the time I reached the cavern’s entrance, I was hugging myself and shivering. It was going to be a long walk back to Mirrormont.

  Except I wouldn’t be walking. Miranda was waiting for me at the mouth of the cave, wrapped in a heavy rescue blanket and drinking from a steaming mug. The rest of Holda’s captives were in similar states, sitting in the backs of pickup trucks, warming themselves and being checked out by paramedics.

  Miranda held out a mug. “About time you showed up. Cocoa?”

  “God yes. Is there a spare blanket somewhere?”

  Miranda leered at me. “But you look so good without it.”

  I gave her a dirty look. “I’ll look a lot worse after I lose a couple of limbs to frostbite.”

  “Spoil sport.”

  Sheriff Skerrit finished giving directions to one of the volunteer firefighters and walked over to us. “Mr. Lyndsey.”

  “Sheriff.”

  “I assume you’re responsible for getting these girls out?”

  I shrugged. “It was Miranda’s plan. I’m just the dumb muscle.” An EMT wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. “Hey, how did you get here?”

  The sheriff scowled. “Little green girl showed up at my office, said you all were out here. And I figured if a little green girl is gonna stop by, that’s either something worth checking out or a damn good reason to retire.”

  “Could be both,” I said.

  “Damn right,” the sheriff muttered, and wandered away.

  Miranda put a hand on my back, led to me a pickup truck, and had me sit in the bed. I folded my bare feet beneath myself and wrapped them in the blanket as best I could.

  A couple of the girls were suffering from mild hypothermia, but there were no other injuries. That was good, especially because the resources available from Mirrormont were pretty limited. The ambulances hadn’t even made it into the forest, so everyone piled into the backs of trucks as we started to head back to town.

  Miranda sat up as we rolled through the streets. “Hey, who’s that?” A man was walking down the road, shambling aimlessly. “Mr. Taber? Ed?” Miranda pounded on the pickup’s window. “Hey, pull over real quick.”

  The truck pulled to the side of the road and Miranda hopped out of the bed. I followed her, a weird, uneasy feeling in my gut. Ed Taber, the guy who had almost been overcome by Sandra’s first attack against the B&B, was shuffling down the road, staring into the trees. He was dressed in a navy blue pea coat, and his head was covered with a matching cap. He clutched a black cane in his right hand, supporting a portion of his weight.

  “Mr. Taber? Are you all right?” Miranda asked.

  He didn’t look at her. “Have you seen my wife?”

  “Carol? No. Is she missing, Mr. Taber? When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been five days, I think.”

  Miranda blanched. “But … Mr. Taber, why didn’t you tell someone? Does she have a cell phone? Or does her car have OnStar or something?”

  “The stars,” Ed Taber said. “It’s a fine night to ride.” From the shadows of the forest, a raven crowed.

  “Miranda,” I said. “Miranda, get back in the truck.”

  Ed Taber turned around. His left eye had been gouged out, and blood ran down his face. “Why, you’ve been with my wife, haven’t you? I can feel her aura all around you.” His remaining eye narrowed, then flashed red. “Her blood is all over your hands.”

  I grabbed Miranda by the arm and hauled her away. “Get in the truck!” I shouted.

  I jumped into the bed and slammed the gate. “Hit the gas!” I screamed at the driver. I turned my attention to the guy riding shotgun. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it working yet?”

  He fumbled the device out of his jacket. “Um, yeah, two bars.”

  “Get the sheriff on the phone, tell him to clear the streets. And you! Why aren’t you driving yet?”

  The driver blinked. “Hold on!” he said and slammed on the accelerator. The truck lurched forward, and the four of us–Miranda, two other girls, and me–tumbled toward the tail gate.

  Ed Taber stood behind us, in the middle of the road, watching us depart. Twin ravens descended from the sky and alit on his shoulders. A pair of gray dogs slunk out of the forest and crouched at his feet.

  Thunder rolled in the darkness overhead. Ed Taber threw back his head and raised his hands toward the heavens. Lightning split the sky, impossibly bright and unbearably loud, and struck the old man, veiling him in impenetrable light. The truck’s engine roared, bearing us away from the tempest.

  The maelstrom passed and Ed Taber stood transformed. He was clothed in a swirling black cloak lined with the pelts of frost giants, and was shod in thick boots made from the skins of those he had slain. His cane had become a great oaken spear, so heavy that a grown man could scarcely lift it, carved with ancient sigils and tipped with a blade of the purest gold. A Warrior’s Knot hung from his neck, held in place by a thick golden chain, and a heavy golden ring adorned his right hand. His head was crowned with a helmet carved of bone, and two great antlers protruded from either side. The hollow of his taken eye was filled with a brilliant ruby. The hounds that had lain at his feet had become twin wolves, ravenous and feral.

  Wotan.

  The Lord of the Hunt raised a stierhorn to his mouth and trumpeted a great blast, the sound echoing off the mountains and reverberating in our bones. The night itself held its breath, waiting.

  “What the fuck is that thing?” the guy riding shotgun asked.

  “Did you get the sheriff on the phone?” I hollered back.

  “Yeah, he wants to know what the problem is!”

  “That is the problem!” I shouted, jabbing a finger behind us. The man gulped and got back on his cell phone.

  A gray steed emerged from the shadows, an impossible beast with eight legs and hooves of iron. Wotan climbed astride and urged his stallion forward. Sparks flew as ferrous hooves struck the earth. The driver crushed the gas pedal to the floor, causing the engine to buck and roar, but Sleipnir was overtaking us with ease.

  “How far are we from your house?” I shouted at Miranda.

  “A block or two!”

  I pounded on the truck’s window. “Take us to her house! Miranda! Tell them where to go!”

  I began to gather my energies as I watched Wotan gaining on us. The Lord of the Hunt let out a terrible cry, raised his stierhorn once more, and sounded another trumpet blast.

  From the distance came a sound like thunder. They emerged from the shadows and materialized from smoke. On fierce black stallions they rode, great stags which shook the very earth in their passing. Fire burned in their eyes and smoke trailed from their mouths. The hounds of hell ran alongside, with wiry fur as black as pitch and slavering fangs like great knives flashing. They howled and barked and growled, a sound to terrify the soul. A congress of ravens accompanied them, drifting along on the bitter wind, the eyes and ears of the Huntsmen, their shrill cries drawing the fell troop inexorably toward their prey.

  They were dressed in heavy furs, and wooden masks carved in the visage of terrible creat
ures hid their faces. In their hands they carried corroded sickles flecked with dried blood, or spears with shafts of mistletoe and tips of iron. Some bore longbows, the staves made of yew and the strings woven from the sinews of those overtaken. Rusted chains dragged the ground behind them, rattling and clanging, a tumult to wake the dead. The demons fell into formation behind the Rider of the Storm and bore down on us, their quarry.

  Wotan drove his heels into the sides of his beast, urging it forward. Sparks flew and smoke billowed as the steed surged ahead. Wotan’s dark Riders came forward, trying to overtake us, raising corroded blades to the sky.

  “Can you throw up a ward?” I shouted.

  “I think so!” Miranda called back.

  “Leave me outside of it!” I hollered. “I need to be able to attack!”

  She braced herself inside the truck bed and closed her eyes. An invisible force settled down around the girls, moving along with the racing vehicle. In hindsight, the ability to raise a ward on the move was impressive, but I had more urgent matters to deal with.

  Light burst forth from my outstretched hand, slamming into the closest Rider. It struck him full in the chest, knocking him back and free from his mount. He tumbled from his saddle and struck the ground. He started climbing to his feet, but began crumbling to dust. He stretched out an arm, only to see it molder away. He rose to one knee and tried to rise up, but his leg disintegrated beneath his weight. With the magic of the Hunt no longer sustaining him, preserving him, time was once again his enemy and his great age came to claim him. He tried to drag himself forward with his remaining arm, but his fingers became sand and his arm withered to nothingness. His body collapsed and the wind blew his dust away.

  One of his demonic compatriots hurled a spear at the truck, but it glanced off of Miranda’s ward and clattered away into the night. I threw blue-white light at him, knocking him from his steed and giving him over to the rapid decay of a thousand unpaid-for years.

  The Riders were overtaking us, creeping up on our sides. I fired light from both hands, knocking two more Riders from their mounts, but a third came alongside and slashed with his scythe. He didn’t aim for us–he realized Miranda’s ward protected the people inside the vehicle–but cut a deep gash in the rear tire, blowing it out. The truck bucked and skidded, nearly overturning. The men inside the cab cursed, and the girls behind to me began to cry. Miranda wrapped her arms around them, and I felt her pour more energy into her shield.