by Adrian Cross
“What?” Even Bern could see the Earth army was straining Rhino’s defenses, driving closer. Pulling back would collapse what resistance remained, leaving those out there to die.
“You can’t!” Karen said. “You need to give Jonathan and Clay a chance!”
Brock shook his head. “We are not part of this. We don’t need to do anything.”
Clay was down there? With Jonathan? Bern shook her head. “No.”
“You have no say in this. You are not part of our Family. You have passed through darkness.”
“She’s hardly dark,” a soldier said. “She glows.”
What? Bern looked at her arms. Her once-olive skin was porcelain white. Not the bleached-out color of vampires, but rather something different. Different, though, that was the problem. Brock stared at her like he was waiting for a chance to carve his blade through her chest.
“I am part of this Family,” she said quietly. “Regardless of what you think. The dagger burnt out the taint. Clay rescued me. And he is out there trying to save us. I will hold the line. I will protect you,” she said to Karen.
“Thank you,” Karen whispered.
“Don’t do this!” Brock’s voice rasped.
“You have claimed all your life to live by the Code.” Bern was going somewhere she had fought against all her life. But she had to use the weapons she had, when the cause was important enough. “You said you would protect the women of the Clan. Well, that is me, like it or not. I’m not infected. And I’m going out there.”
She strode toward the top of the stairs. She felt the weight of the gaze from the Family all around. Despite Brock’s reaction, she could see a different emotion in some. One of awe. As she moved toward the Earth army, she could feel them shift with her.
“Damn you,” Brock said. But he followed behind, axe in hand.
The lightness Bern felt became more noticeable as she looked down over the battle. Energy filled her, ready to be unleashed. But at the same moment, she saw a change come over the Earth army. For a moment, they all froze, every one of them. Then they howled, shook, and seemed to lose control. The explosion of rage carried the human line back, breaking in places. And front and center, a huge cat-like shape swept up the stairs, brushing back defenders with brutal ease. Latine came for them.
The humans’ defense shuddered in her wake, struggling to reform. She pulled a large slice of Earth warriors behind her. Bern looked back and saw in Karen’s face the truth. The Earth god came for her. Karen stood bravely, however, fists balled and chin raised.
Bern drew a breath. “We will hold here,” she said.
Latine appeared to pick up speed. Bern could feel the tension of those around her. The white-furred Earth god appeared more force of nature than regular combatant. Bodies flew away from the swing of her bar.
Bern felt more than saw Brock step to her shoulder. “Get back,” she told Karen, but the princess stayed where she was, face set. Bern didn’t have the time to push it.
Latine drove toward the topmost stair. Behind her was a field littered with corpses: stiff wolves, sprawled crocs, and blank-eyed rats. Many of the corpses had bolts in their eyes. But not all of the dead were Earth warriors. Bern saw two limp shapes under a half-bull’s corpse, another in a circle of dead rat men, and many stains that showed places where defenders had dragged themselves away, moving into the ragged shelter of the outer wall.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of light. She glanced up and saw the top window of the Tower was filled with fire. A dark winged form flashed past it. Something unexpected was happening up there, but she couldn’t spare the attention to worry about it, not with what charged up the stairs.
“Die, sea-daughter!” Latine roared, pausing before the last thin line of defenders.
Behind the furred Earth god, two other monsters trailed, almost as terrible as her in their own right. One was a lumbering elephant-cross, nearly as tall as Latine and heavier, swinging a tree-like hammer. The other was a lean pale creature, white-skinned and eyeless, that floated forward with menacing grace. Bern watched as a soldier sliced at it and the creature slid under the blow—how it saw the attack coming without eyes, she didn’t know—and sank dark teeth into the soldier’s shoulder. The bitten skin immediately bubbled and blackened, a dark stain racing up the soldier’s neck. He threw his head back, throat bulging, and fell backward, disappearing into the mash of figures. Bern suspected he would never rise again.
Latine jumped forward, swinging her bar. More bodies spun away. She roared.
On either side of Bern, dwarves flowed up into the edges of the line, reinforcing it before it broke.
“Leave the big one for me.” Brock growled.
Bern glanced sideways to see him at her side, axe swinging loosely in one hand. He didn’t look at her, but he was there, putting his life at risk, again.
“Thank you,” she said.
Another form stepped up with them, on Bern’s other side. The big soldier carrying a hammer. “Buckland,” he grunted. “You mind if I join in?”
Bern smiled at him. “Welcome.”
Latine howled, and fear washed over Bern again. She’d learned at that burnt-out mine victory was not inevitable, and the Earth gods were terrible opponents. But she’d also learned she would rather risk death than live in fear. She pushed her jaw out and stepped forward.
“I am Bernetta Brogi,” she shouted, “and I will not kneel.”
Latine surged up, rushing at them like a mountain storm. All three defenders moved as one, forming a line in front of the Tower and Karen, but the Earth god was still terrible in her attack, as fast and strong as anything Bern had ever seen. She slashed her axes, but Latine twisted away. Buckland managed to land a glancing blow on her shoulder that would have shattered the bones of a lesser being, but Latine shrugged it off. Her lamp post snapped out, smashing into the hammer and sending the heavy soldier spinning backward. Brock jumped forward, but Latine launched a second swing that he barely rolled out from under.
Not far behind her, the eyeless creature bounded toward them. A black bolt skittered off the stairs, just missing its head. Bern glanced up to see Rose standing on a bear gargoyle, two crossbows in hand.
Then Bern was moving again, ducking and swinging as Latine came close, feeling the brush of air as the post just missed, exploding sparks on the stones, and one white axe just missing a furred knee in turn.
Brock lunged forward, axe extended, and Latine leaped completely over him, furred body curving and settling back to earth near Buckland, who jumped to the attack.
The elephant-creature arrived, despite three black bolts in its chest. It slammed into Brock, wrapping its arms around his sides, and carried him into a wall. Black stone disintegrated under the impact, and dust billowed out, hiding the struggling fighters.
Bern leaped at Latine, hoping she would be distracted, but the great pole twitched around and the white axes sparked off its length. As Bern staggered back, she was horrified to see Buckland on his knees, the eyeless monster on his back, curved around him like a snake.
With a series of whiffs, black bolts sprouted along the creature’s back, punching in. It opened its mouth wide, releasing the flesh of Buckland’s shoulder. Buckland’s hammer whipped around and smashed in its skull. He staggered up, face drained of color. His left arm was already starting to swell and darken. He looked at Bern, then at Latine.
He roared and charged, hammer raised high.
Latine sank her post through his chest, lifting him fully off the ground. His hammer came down, smashing into her left forearm. This time bones did crack. They both roared.
Latine drove him down into the stone. She raised a foot to finish him, but Bern was already there, axes spinning, and the Earth god was forced to spin away, a red line along the other shoulder. She heaved the pole free as she did, blood spattering.
A black bolt drew another red line across Latine’s throat before splintering on the stones. Latine howled and ducked, pick
ing up a dead soldier. She spun and released, sending the corpse spinning through the air.
It smashed into the bear gargoyle, exploding stone under Rose’s feet. With a grumbling slide, the bear fell apart and fell. Rose cried out and tumbled. Her body landed hard and didn’t move.
“No!” Bern surged forward, anger, fear, and desperation heating her blood. Her pulse pounded in her ears, muffling the sounds around her. She pounded at Latine, blow after blurring blow, letting her rage speed her blows, like a furious rain.
Bern’s attack was too fast, too careless. Latine twisted her pole with smooth grace, catching both axes, and then wrenched them out of Bern’s hands. A white-furred foot lashed out, catching Bern in her armored chest. It still felt like getting slammed by a Blood Bear.
Bern flew backward, empty-handed, sliding across the stone and then scraping to a stop. She shook her head, trying to marshal the strength to get up. She was an idiot. Why hadn’t she been more careful? She made it to her knees. Latine padded past Bern’s axes, and her blood chilled. The Earth god was between Bern and her weapons, and Latine’s lips were pulled back in a snarl of rage. This would end only one way.
Brock staggered away from the elephant-creature, which was dead, but Bern’s uncle hadn’t escaped unscathed either. He swayed with exhaustion, his armor slick with blood and mud, his chin sunk down to his chest. One arm hung loose, as if broken. Brock shook his head slowly, like a runner at the end of his endurance, and spread his legs.
“Not pass,” he mumbled.
Latine’s laughter was deep and mocking. “I shall, little one, I shall.”
She leaped forward. Brock was almost fast enough. But his broken arm and exhausted muscles betrayed him. The pole knocked his axe aside, and Latine’s injured fist snapped out. Despite the injury, her knuckles connected with his chest with incredible force. He flew through the air, smacking into the Broken Tower’s wall like a bag of sand, and then slid slowly down.
Bern was on her feet. Every nerve in her body shrilled to run away, get away from the rampaging god. But instead, she stepped forward, sluggishly as if through water. Her axes were still on the other side of Latine. Bern was unarmed.
Beside her stood Karen, tears streaking her cheeks. “No, don’t,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do this for me.”
Bern drew a breath. “It’s not for you.”
She stepped in front of Latine.
49
Grok Returns
Clay’s left hand was wet. He looked down. Blood soaked his shirt, his jeans, the inside of his badly mangled coat. His ribs burned where Horan’s swing had cut the scales and driven fragments against skin and muscle. He felt the edge of a particularly large one protruding out of his skin. That probably wasn’t good. He blinked, trying to absorb all that had happened.
Horan lay on the ground. Dead, Clay was pretty sure. Flame wrapped around his body. For long seconds, the only sound he heard was the hungry chewing of the fire. Then, slowly, Clay became aware of the clash of battle still ongoing beyond the ring of vegetation and thorns.
Clay pushed himself to his feet, his pulse slowing. He moved toward the ring of vegetation, looking for the black pistol.
Grok exploded out of the thorn wall, hurtling straight at Clay.
He launched himself to one side. Grok rushed past, close enough that Clay felt the unnatural heat of Grok’s body. The shortest Earth god wasn’t focused on Clay, though. Something clung to his back, something large powerful and squeezing Grok’s throat, with enough pressure to distract Grok from Clay’s presence.
Rhino was alive. And still fighting.
Bark cracked and red blood flowed from the splits. Grok bellowed, his branch-like arms lashing backward, whip like. They slashed Rhino’s back, adding to a welter of cuts. Cloth was stripped away, and the Boss’s muscles looked like bloody meat, but the grey-skinned Boss didn’t loosen his grip. His face was set. His biceps bunched and bark cracked again.
The ring of vegetation heaved and twisted. Serpentine vines of thorns snaked out toward them.
Tokens of power, Clay thought. That was the quickest way to kill a god.
He darted forward and wrapped his hands around Horan’s stone sword. The hilt was cold and misshapen, the weapon incredibly heavy. He heaved upward, the muscles of his arms and legs screaming, ignoring the blade of agony slicing in his injured side. Somehow, he raised the sword overhead.
Grok saw the movement. He turned toward Clay.
Clay plunged the stone blade into Grok’s chest, through flesh and bark, so hard it punched out the other side. Grok’s mouth opened, like some tunnel to hell, and fire belched out and engulfed his body. Flames streamed from both mouth and wound, roaring up around him.
Clay fell backward, rolling away. As he watched, Horan’s blade cracked into pieces, stone chunks falling to the ground. Rhino landed not far from Clay, slapping at feathers of flame that danced around his pants. They were smothered quickly.
Clay’s attention turned back to the dying Earth god. While it looked like flame had ravaged him once, this time the job was finished. Fire raged in fierce waves, until the stump-like body crumbled and sagged, disintegrating. His remains kept burning, even after all life was gone.
Clay crawled until he reached the black pistol. Remembering JP’s warning, he quickly inspected it for broken chambers and then picked it up. Only then did he turn to face Rhino.
The Boss grinned weakly. “Don’t look surprised. I’m tough to kill.”
True enough. He looked more dead than many corpses Clay had seen.
“Thanks for the help,” Rhino rumbled.
“You’re welcome.”
“Especially after I tried giving you to the bastards.” He spat at Milton’s remains. “I should have known better than to trust them.”
Clay shrugged. The subject was still too raw to think about. He moved to Jonathan’s side and checked his pulse. It was there, but weak. He rasped as he breathed. He needed medical help, and in a hurry.
Clay sighed. Jonathan wasn’t likely to get it. They were still in the middle of a war, vastly outnumbered. Clay had harbored hope that the death of Horan might break whatever magic propelled them at the Tower, but so far, it only seemed to have enraged them. He wondered if killing all three of the Earth gods would do it. Possibly. Only Latine remained. Or maybe the Earth army was like a pack of animals, relying on its instincts, and they would continue attacking simply because they saw weakness, even without their leaders. In which case, killing the Earth gods would only be early vengeance for the slaughter still to come. The army continued to stream through the hole in the Wall.
Over the rumble of battle, a higher, more powerful sound rose. The scream of Latine, her voice raised in fury. A human voice crying out, familiar. Rose. And then a voice he thought he wouldn’t hear again in this life.
Bern.
Blood thundered in his ears. Clay forgot his injuries and jumped toward the wall, clawing his way up, ignoring the pain in his hands. When he reached the top, he stood, high over the streaming Earth army, flowing like a dark and demonic sea. He stared up at the Tower, where the final battle raged. The figures were small but visible.
Clay’s heart clenched. Bern was alive. But she was in trouble. Her small figure stood between Latine and Karen. The soldiers were managing to hold the line behind Latine, but barely. Brock was battling an elephant-like warrior against the wall. And Clay couldn’t see Rose.
His stomach clenched. He was too far away. His pistol couldn’t make that shot. Not even JP’s new one.
“Clay!” Rhino barked.
Clay realized he was standing, exposed and alone, in clear view of a hostile army. Earth warriors stared up at him. A roar rose from a thousand throats, the noise shaking the wall of thorns. He’d been noticed.
Rhino had dragged Jonathan to the wall and stood in front of him, holding the diamond sword, his back to the green wall. But he swayed. Clay had no idea how the huge warrior was still on his feet, much les
s able to fight.
Of course, the same could be said about Clay. His side burned, his legs shook, and the pistol trembled in his hand. He was at the end of his physical limits. Only willpower held him on his feet—will and an all-consuming fear.
He simply couldn’t fail again.
“They’re coming.” Rhino growled.
Through the gap Grok had opened, Clay saw Earth warriors sweep in, like dark water pouring through a dam.
Near their head was a hunched, blood-covered figure. It like a walking corpse that had been sliced too many times, staggering on willpower alone. As the figure passed Horan’s body, it fell, as if unable to go farther. Then one hand stretched out and gripped the Rib that protruded from Horan’s eye.
Fear thrilled through Clay. No.
The figure’s head tilted up, revealing familiar features. Mendonia. The Spartan vampire smiled, fangs curving up from his lower lip. He dragged the Rib loose.
Clay snapped his pistol up, but it was too late. A wave of Earth warriors washed around the Spartan leader. He disappeared into their midst, carrying the token that had twisted him.
Damn. How was it possible? He’d fought Ripper. But obviously survived.
The Earth army rushed on, giving Clay little time to dwell on it.
“Watch out.”
An axe-wielding gorilla was clambering up the wall. Clay dropped it with an icicle in its eye.
The wall of Earth warriors had nearly reached Rhino. The massive Boss stepped forward and roared. The sound echoed through the small space, deafening and intimidating. Rhino looked like a vision of terror, made somehow worse by his wounds, flayed, but still huge and defiant, shoulders wide and head low, steam drifting from his nostrils.
The attackers hesitated. Then they came on. Came on and died, like wheat before a thresher. Sheer weight of numbers pressed Rhino back though, and Clay could tell the Boss’s injuries were affecting him. He was slower and clumsier, and blood slicked the stones beneath him. Much of it was his, sapping his incredible vitality.
