by Alane Adams
Catriona let out a strangled shriek of pain and rage.
“Behold the Sword of Tyrfing,” Howie shouted. “I command my awesome army of Huns to attack.”
Behind Howie, bony apparitions in tattered uniforms clambered to their feet, skeletal men that took form in the light of day. They had been hidden in shallow earth under piles of brush. From the rampart walls, a row of men popped up armed with bows. Immediately, arrows flew over their heads, aimed at the witches’ army. Catapults filled with flaming tar pitch were launched, rocking the ground with the force of their impact.
It was a trap.
Howie had tricked them. Veins pulsing with outrage, Kali-fus spun, intending to erase the scrawny boy, but he was gone.
“Howie! Get back here!” Kalifus shouted, but the little coward had scampered off back to the safety of the castle. Kalifus sent blasts of witchfire after Howie’s back, but they fell short.
The Balfin baboons were running every which way in a panic. Billowing smoke rolled over the fields. A flaming ball of pitch landed in the dirt next to Catriona, sending her flying backward as she was sprayed with burning tar. Kalifus was there to lift her to her feet. The Balfins engaged the army of dead Huns with swords and double-headed axes. The Huns crumbled under the mutant Balfins’ superior strength, but their numbers seemed endless. For every ten knocked down, twenty more Huns appeared. Vena used her whip to stop the Balfins from fleeing the battlefield, urging them to keep fighting.
“Steady,” Catriona called out, grasping her hands into clenched fists. Agathea took a stance to her left. Kalifus joined her at her other side. Next to him, Beatrixe and then Hestera, Lemeria, and the other Tarkana witches lined up.
“On my order, we combine our magic to erase these despicable creatures from the face of the earth,” Catriona bellowed. “Are you ready?”
“Ready,” Agathea said.
Beatrixe grunted in her mute speech.
“I’m ready,” Kalifus said, folding his hands to gather his magic.
“Ready,” Hestera said, cracking her old neck as she took a stance.
And so it went down the line.
The witches stood shoulder to shoulder and blazed the army of the dead with a steady hail of green witchfire.
The Huns kept up the attack, fighting through the Balfin lines to get to the witches. Catriona and her closest allies released a hail of unstoppable magic that wiped out every bloodthirsty Hun skeleton that approached them. Kalifus was enjoying this. Power engulfed his veins as he unleashed with every cylinder he had. It was a rush like nothing else. With this new magic of his, he could take down an entire row of skeletons with just a pass of his hand. But after several long minutes, even Kalifus tired. His arms felt weak, his knees shaking so bad they could barely hold him up.
Next to him, he could see Beatrixe struggling. The mute witch had resorted to spraying the swarming bones with the acid that spouted from her fingertips. Several Huns broke through the Balfin line and swarmed over her. She disintegrated two of them, but one managed to run her through with a sword. Kali-fus blasted it away, but another came. Before he could obliterate them, Beatrixe had five swords in her. She went down screeching in wordless agony under their attack.
“Don’t falter!” Catriona screamed. “Destroy them all.” Catriona appeared tireless, blazing a steady trail that wiped out every skeleton in her path.
The line of witches kept blasting, but one by one they tired, dropping their hands in exhaustion. Lemeria was taken down next, her simpering giggle stopped mid-syllable when a tottering skeleton ran his sword through her throat. Catriona blasted him to bits, too late to save her favorite Tarkana witch.
The skeletons dwindled in numbers, but a fresh batch broke out of the earth, staggering toward them. It was down to Kalifus and Catriona.
They took out the first row, but the next wave was on them so quickly. Hestera cowered behind Kalifus, but he had nothing left to fight with. Even Catriona seemed to have run dry. Her green witchfire sputtered and went out. A Hun charged her, broad sword held high over its head. It was shrieking at her with its dried-up tongue poking out, shouting, “Temstel!”
The Hun swung the blade around to bring it down on Catriona. Like a match to dry grass, Kalifus erupted into fury. No way some ancient pile of bones was going to take out his queen. His exhaustion faded away, replaced by a high-octane venom-laced fuel that raced through his veins. Just as he had done back on Asgard, his eyes shot flames out like laser beams that destroyed the skeleton mid-swing. He turned his attention to the oncoming horde and blasted every last Hun zombie that remained.
Kalifus was left shaking and gasping for air as the Balfins grunted and kicked at the skeleton remains on the ground.
“You have proven yourself, Kalifus,” Catriona crowed with pride. “Truly you are my son.”
Kalifus glowed, but he said nothing, tipping his head in acknowledgment.
“We rest for now,” Catriona called to her remaining coven. “We lost dear Beatrixe and Lemeria. Tomorrow, we will take our revenge.”
Vena rode up on her horse. “We cannot withstand another battle like that,” she said, whipping her hair out of her face.
“Too right,” Catriona agreed. “And it’s too risky to just conjure ourselves inside. They could have an even nastier trap waiting.” She turned to Kalifus. “Do you have another way in?”
An idea sprang into his mind. Without a word, he strode away from the walls toward the distant trees. Catriona followed. He whistled sharply three times as they approached the woods.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting us a ride,” he said. They waited under the trees for long minutes until a shadow passed overhead. An Omera settled down in the clearing with a thump. Its black wings arched high before settling down at its side. It bared its fangs at Catriona, but Kalifus ignored the danger and strode over and rubbed his old friend’s nose. “Bring the others,” he whispered. “Bring them all.”
Without a sound, the Omera took flight, winging through the trees.
Chapter Forty-One
The Eifalian armada was a dozen ships strong. Each ship held a hundred skilled archers. The sleek crafts cut through the water cleanly and swiftly. Time was running short. If they didn’t reach Skara Brae before the witches took over, Keely’s journey would have been for nothing. The king’s sacrifice, in vain. The wind was icy as it whipped across the front of the boat. Keely showed her face to the elements. The biting cold kept her from choking with fear over what was to come.
Galatin joined her at the railing. “I never properly thanked you,” he said stiffly, looking out over the water.
“For what?”
“For saving my life. First with the troll hags and then with the Vanir.”
She shrugged. “You would have done the same.”
“All the same, I underestimated you. I thought I would be the one taking care of you.”
“You never did finish what you were going to tell me. Why we left Torf-Einnar in such a rush.”
He laughed ruefully. “I was going to warn you that Rifkin was a traitor. I overheard him having a conversation with a pair of ravens. Didn’t take a genius to figure he was working for the witches. If the king read our auras again, he would have known my suspicions, and we would have never left Ter Glen. Rifkin was the only one who knew the way to the Cave of Shadows. I figured I’d let him lead us to it, and then I would deal with him. I didn’t count on getting beaten by a troll hag and being trussed up by the Vanir.”
Mavery joined them, snuggling up under Keely’s arm. “Are we there yet?”
“We’re passing Pantros,” Keely answered, slipping her arm around the thin shoulders of the witch-girl. Theo took a silent stance next to Mavery, his slender fingers gripping the rail.
They looked out over the water. The moon shone down, reflecting off the sea like a white carpet. In the distance, the dark volcano on Pantros loomed ominously.
“What’s that?” Mavery aske
d, pointing.
In the light of the moon, a thin trail of smoke rose up from the shoreline. The smoke was odd, billowing and then stopping, then starting again.
“It looks like someone is signaling,” Galatin said.
“Who would be signaling from that dark place?” Theo asked.
Dark place. Keely’s pulse jumped. “Stop the ship!” she cried, running back to the helm where Gael stood overseeing their course. “We have to go to Pantros.”
Gael looked up from his navigation charts. “Why in Odin’s name would we go there?”
She grinned. “Because Leo’s signaling us.”
Dawn crept over the horizon with slivers of tangerine and gray, lighting the dark-amber sky and rousing Howie from his slumber. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was still up in the ramparts. The cold stone bit into his hips as he threw back the light blanket that covered him. Teren and Abigail were looking out over the massing Balfins, as they had been doing all night. Howie had stayed with them, until he had fallen asleep on his feet and Sam’s mom had pushed him into the corner and ordered him to get some rest. Lingas cawed at him from her cage, protesting her confinement. Howie tossed her a piece of jerky and then joined Teren at the wall.
Overnight, the Balfins had fashioned rough catapults out of trees. They were dragging them into position. There were also several long logs with small boulders lashed to the ends. They looked like they would make excellent battering rams. Skara Brae was like a medieval Fort Knox. The walls were more than four feet thick. But the gate was made of iron-reinforced wood. Scant protection against Sam, aka crazy-Kalifus, and his army of ape-men.
“Any sign of our backup team?” Howie asked.
The veteran soldier shook his head. “Something’s not right,” he muttered.
“I agree,” Abigail said, her eyes searching the throngs for her son.
“They’re getting ready. Rouse the men,” Teren ordered, laying out his supply of iron bolts for his crossbow.
Howie put his fingers between his lips and let out a low trill. An answering call sounded down the ramparts, and another farther on. The men were awake and ready.
As the sun crept above the horizon and formed a round orange ball in the sky, the Balfins launched their first missile. It was a boulder the size of a washing machine. It smashed into the corner tower and sent men pinwheeling through the air, splintering the wood.
Abigail created a blue sphere of energy she launched back, disintegrating the first catapult. Howie ran along the ramparts, handing out arrows, refilling crossbows, and shouting words of encouragement. Milligan made a fine lieutenant, marshalling the other farmers to help man the catapults. The walls held as the replacement soldiers did their part to hold the line. One of their own catapults was destroyed by a lucky shot before Abigail blasted the Balfins’ machine to bits. A wave of ape-men braved the arrows and swarmed the wall, carrying a rudimentary ladder. The mutant Balfins began to climb.
“Selina, help me with this,” Howie called, throwing the girl a thick glove and putting one on himself. They each took one handle of a large pot and carefully carried it to the ledge. Hoisting it up, they tipped it over, dropping boiling tar into the face of the first snarling Balfin. He fell back, screaming, taking out a line of Balfins below him. Abigail used her magic to disintegrate the ladder to ashes.
The fight went on for what seemed like an eternity, but it was probably less than an hour before it all went wrong.
The Balfins increased their onslaught of boulders flung at the castle. They mostly crashed harmlessly against the solid wall, but some got through and caused minor damage. Howie was pulling a dazed farmer out from under a fallen beam when it hit him.
Where was Sam?
The witches weren’t down on the battlefield. He dropped the farmer, ignoring his yelp, and turned to warn Teren, but he was too late.
Shadows blanketed the sun. The sound of beating wings filled the air. And then from over the trees of the forest, two dozen Omeras appeared, long forked tails streaming behind them. Their black bodies alone were a fearsome sight, but each Omera carried a trio of witches, all spraying the ground with their nasty green witchfire. They were winging straight for the walls of the Skara Brae stronghold. The Omeras were fast, easily dodging the few arrows that were launched. The witches leaned over the side, sending Teren’s men diving for cover as they blanketed them with witchfire.
They landed in the center of the town square, at the steps of the Great Hall.
Howie peered over the rampart, feeling gutted as he watched Sam jump down from an Omera.
Teren came to kneel by his side. “Stay down,” he whispered, motioning his men to stay out of sight.
The other witches descended from their Omeras and took up position around the square. The Omeras took off, circling overhead.
Catriona strode to the middle of the square. “We have won,” she shouted, spinning in a circle. “Surrender before the clock strikes noon, and we will spare the lives of your citizens. Attack us, and I will burn this city to the ground.”
Howie looked at the clock tower on the Great Hall. They only had a few minutes.
A girl emerged from the armory and ran at Sam, bearing a sword like she wanted to take his head off.
Selina.
Howie lurched up to warn her, but Sam had already seen her. With a wave of his hand, he sent her flying away from him; she crashed into a pile of barrels and lay motionless. Teren yanked Howie back down.
Sam stood by Catriona, searching the deserted ramparts as he shouted for Howie. “Great Protector, get down here before I blast this girl to ashes!” He held a ball of his nasty witch magic over his hand.
“Tick, tock,” Catriona said. “Listen,” she put a hand to her ear. A loud banging noise echoed in the square. “Soon your gate will be in pieces, and then even I won’t be able to stop those brutes from destroying everyone in this city.”
Teren turned to Howie. “Howie, can you go down there and distract Sam? We must defend the gates.”
Howie blinked at him. Distract the psycho witch who was my best friend? “Sure, Teren. I can do that.”
Teren nodded, gripping his shoulder before shouting at the men, “To the gate, lads,” Heppner and Speria led a group of men along the rampart toward the battering noises.
Abigail turned to head down the stairs to where Sam waited, but Teren grabbed her arm. “My lady, we need you at the gate. We’ll never hold off that horrid army without magic.”
Her eyes were hollow. “Not this time, Teren. I will speak with my son.”
Teren pleaded. “Abigail, I beg you. None of us will survive the horde out there if they breach our walls. The people of Skara Brae need you more than Sam. There is still a chance that our allies will arrive in time, but it won’t matter if we’re all dead.”
The banging on the gates intensified, shaking the ground under their feet. Teren’s men continued to fire on the ape-men who approached the wall.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Abigail,” Howie said, gripping his golden sword, “I got this. I’m not afraid of Sam.”
Abigail cast one last lingering glance at her son’s figure below, then reluctantly let Teren drag her away. “Buy me some time to seal the gate,” she called over her shoulder. “I can get through to him.”
Howie waited until they were gone, and then he stood at the railing that faced the square. Lingas squawked forlornly at him from her cage. He rubbed her head with his knuckles. The way he figured it, Keely should have been here by now if she was coming. The only thing standing between Skara Brae and total destruction was Howie. His hand went to the Sword of Tyrfing at his side. If it came to it, he would do what had to be done.
Howie forced his trademark grin. “Chillax, Sam, I’m right here.” He slowly climbed down the steps.
Chapter Forty-Two
As Howie ambled across the open square, Kalifus sent a blast of blazing fire at the boy’s feet, making Howie stumble and fall back on his rear. “You traitorous worm, you
think you’re so clever. Who’s going to save you now, Howie? Where’s your zombie army now?”
Undeterred, Howie pushed himself up to face his friend, clenching his fists. “Doesn’t matter, dork-face, because you’re the one who needs saving.”
Kalifus snorted. “From who?”
“Me.” Howie’s face tightened, and his hand went to his sword, clearly intending to run his old friend through with it, but when he reached for his hilt, it was empty.
“Looking for this?” Catriona held the Sword of Tyrfing. It glinted in her hands. She ran one finger along the blade. “This blade took the life of my father. It is only fitting that you, Kali-fus, should use it to take the head of Odin’s chosen hero.”
Kalifus took the sword, holding it out before him. It was a thing of beauty. The hasp was encrusted with rubies and emeralds. The blade itself was long and unscratched, glinting with a sharpness that left no doubt it could cleave a man’s head.
Agathea swooped in, chucking her fingers under Howie’s chin. “Cut him in pieces and we can feed him to my sneevils,” she cooed. “They hunger outside the walls.”
Kalifus nodded, ignoring the pleading look in Howie’s eyes. He gripped the sword in both hands, raising it over his head.
“Don’t do it, Sam,” Howie begged, trying to step backward, but a wall of witches moved in behind him, blocking his way. “I’m still your best friend.”
“Best friend? You were going to kill me!” Kalifus blasted back. His arms trembled with rage. His friend didn’t look brave anymore, just scared, and terribly hurt, like a light had gone out in his eyes. A ripple of doubt made him pause. He shook his head to rid himself of it, then doubled his grip on the sword. He could do this. It would be his final test to himself, to prove who he really was. He shut his eyes, to block out Howie’s face. Then, taking a deep breath, he raised the sword high, prepared to swing the blade with all his might.
