Thorny was already up and charging again, leaving me nowhere to go but backward. Frantically, I ripped apart the metal behind me and stuffed myself into the crumpled car at my back. I let the car that Flowers had thrown at me absorb the brunt of Thorny’s rush, but it barely kept him off me. Instead, it folded like tin foil under the awesome impact of a rushing troll. Above me, the whole stack of dead autos groaned and swayed, threatening to bury us both in a landslide of yesterday’s transportation.
Even as my hulking foe hefted his hammer to hack at me, I managed to shove myself even deeper into the decaying pile-up. Thorny started smashing his way through the wreckage toward me, the tower of autos swaying above us, and Flowers lurked menacingly in the background just in case I managed to escape. It was already easy to see that, if I gave them long enough, the two trolls would find a way to get to me.
I couldn’t afford that. And there were a lot more people out there that could afford it even less.
I had to even the odds.
I pushed myself to my feet, dead autos screaming all around me as metal under duress tore itself apart. Dead muscles strained, hitting their limits from head to toe, like tight steel cables stressed close to the breaking point. My lips curled reflexively from the sheer effort involved as I rose to my full height. Metal wrenched and tore. And above me, the whole stack—tons upon tons of ruined automotives—came crashing down.
The two trolls winced away and tried to shield themselves from the falling cars, but there was nothing they could do to avoid me burying them in the resounding clash and clamor of a vehicular avalanche. I knew it wasn’t enough; neither of the Fae warriors were going to go down this easily. I leapt from my shattered hiding spot to another stack of compacted cars, then to the ground, free and clear of interfering trolls.
I jogged back the way I’d come for a moment, but I didn’t break into a run. Not just yet. Instead, I waited for Thorny’s big, blunt head to pop out of the tangle of rusty husks and lay its beady red eyes on me. Then I made a face and telegraphed an exaggerated, obscene gesture at him.
If I’d learned anything about foreign languages and cultures, it was that profanity transcended verbal and social barriers. He roared with rage that shook the air, proving me correct. In a sudden frenzy, he waded forward, smashing aside fallen cars and trucks as I taunted him—just like Flowers had back in the storm drain.
Then I ran.
But this time with purpose.
I sprinted back toward the main clearing, careful not to outdistance Thorny but noting we left Flowers well behind, still working his way free of the twenty-car pile-up I’d instigated. Excellent. As soon as the center of the junkyard was in sight with its wide, open arena and towering crane, I poured on the speed, leaving Thorny bellowing in my dust. I rounded a scrap mound, knowing I’d only be out of his eyesight for a moment. I stopped and looked up, peering through the shadows with my dark-piercing eyes and relaxed, concentrating for just an instant.
I disappeared.
With a puff of wafting, smoky shadow, I was suddenly in the darkened cab of the crane, frantically scanning the dirt-and-dust-caked controls. A mass of levers, switches, and lights with little to no context confronted me; I’d been in a crane once before, but that particular take-your-daughter-to-work day had been ages ago and was no help in deciphering the machine. But I didn’t need a miracle or a manual. I didn’t need to puzzle out what every rusted lever did; I didn’t even need it to move.
I just needed it to turn on.
The grating gravel of raised voices and trollish back-and-forth caught my attention from below. Thorny was scouring the clearing for me, making his way slowly across, and I could see Flowers quickly and cautiously closing the distance. I didn’t have long to figure this out. The dingy glass of the cab wouldn’t hide me forever, and Thorny wouldn’t stay in position forever.
Hastily, I scraped layers of disuse and grime from the controls, looking for something I could make sense of. I tried to stay quiet, remembering all too well Flowers’ astounding hearing, but it was only a moment before a triumphant, stony bellow echoed up from below. A single, quick glance revealed a thick rocky arm pointed squarely in my direction. I hadn’t expected him to locate me so quickly, and the ground shuddered with the first heavy steps of Thorny’s thunderous charge.
I wrenched my eyes away from the onrushing troll and stuck them back on the vibrating controls.
Fortunately, the switch I was looking for was clearly marked and obvious; I found it on the fourth frantic try—and without managing to shut the whole thing down or activate the self-destruct sequence. The vibrating hum of active electricity filled the air.
With no time to waste, I bailed out of the crane, probably with a crazy grin plastered across my face. I leapt to the ground well away from the crane, shouting to make sure I had Thorny’s attention. Then I sprinted around the edge of the clearing, barely diving under a powerful sweep of Flowers’ greatsword as the troll ambushed me. I hit the ground, rolled, and kept right on going, willing to pray to whatever might be listening that Thorny was still pissed at me.
Lucky for me that trolls were single minded and held grudges. The dirt shook with the thunder of stony footsteps. I stopped running. Still red-eyed and angry, Thorny covered ground quickly—passing directly under the crane’s massive, powered-up electromagnet as he did.
I grinned wildly.
About twenty feet away, he slowed. At about five, he stopped altogether.
In less potentially lethal circumstances, he’d have looked funny standing there, leaning forward, churning his legs, and straining to move, but going nowhere. Not so far above his head, the electromagnetic disk hummed, angled toward him and the hundreds of pounds of metal armor he wore, trembling on its thick wire. He opened his mouth and I expected him to roar, but all that came out was a creaky, straining grumble. His shoulders grated, rock against rock, tiny pebbles trickling to the ground as he tried to overpower physics with raw muscle.
Across the way, Flowers had proven that while he might have been the smaller of my adversaries, he was also the smarter. He hadn’t rushed blindly into the same trap that his armored accomplice had. Rather, he stalked around the edges of the clearing, sword still in hand, creeping cautiously toward me. I figured from the way his glowing ember eyes scrutinized me, darting back and forth from me to Thorny and the magnet, that he suspected I was up to something.
He was right too.
I waited for him to close in, while a straining Thorny was still stalemated by the power of science. I kept my eyes squarely on Flowers and didn’t move. The smaller troll hesitated, inching his way closer than I’d have liked before committing to an attack.
Flowers rushed forward the last couple of steps, throwing momentum into a sweeping lunge, and I relaxed, reaching for a moment of concentration amid the conflict.
I disappeared before the blade could catch my flesh, skimming the edge Next Door and popping out of Flower’s own shadow. His frozen companion barked a warning, but it was too late. Drawing on the ambient miasma of death that trailed across junkyard, I wrapped my arms around one of Flowers’ legs while he was still regaining his balance from the missed strike and yanked it out from under him, flipping him onto his trolly face. Then I set my feet, lifted, and spun, tossing a living, rocky missile at his tag-team partner in a display of raw Strigoi might.
Troll struck troll, and one went flying. Flowers tumbled defensively across the clearing like a boulder, clutching his sword to his chest, but Thorny wasn’t so lucky. One leg was knocked clear of its grip on the earth, and suddenly he was at the mercy of the crane’s massive magnet. He sailed a short, comical distance through the air, and the four-foot saucer slapped solidly to his back, its power semi-trapping his arms.
Try as he might to dislodge himself, Thorny wiggled and struggled in vain, roaring over and over as he swayed gently back and forth over the junkyard. Further proving that this troll, at least, just didn’t get magnets, he even tried to strike it wi
th his hammer but only managed to get that firmly and uselessly stuck to the side of the disk too. I grinned. One down.
Now what?
Flowers was already up again and coming for me, even more cautiously than before. I realized that he was clever in his own trollish way, and after the stunt I’d just pulled, I knew he’d be even harder to trick.
It looked like this one was going to come down to a fight.
I burst into motion, rushing Flowers with claws bare. I’d already seen evidence that the blood-rusted iron jutting from my fingertips would serve as bane for trolls, but the problem was getting close enough to use it. Flowers swept his great blade in wide arcs, keeping and building momentum, working circles of defensive footwork that kept me at a distance. I was still much faster than he was, but his greater skill, experience, and reach made it hard to—
Shlickt! His sword clipped my shoulder, not managing to break the skin but throwing me off balance. The troll immediately shifted to the offensive, his two-hander’s edge rushing in to cleave my skull. I managed to duck the blade and lunged for him again, but Flowers was already back at work, his large, dangerous blade whistling quickly through the air and forcing me right back on the defensive.
While I was still trying to figure out a way to get close with a minimum of harmful chopping, Flowers changed the tempo of our dance, and I just couldn't catch up. A short step closed the distance between us on his terms, and the hardened pommel of his sword met my face with a staggering crunch. As my vision blurred and my head snapped back, he rolled his shoulders and swung the blade around, slamming a mighty blow into my torso like he was scything wheat.
I didn’t fall in two separate pieces, but the home run he’d struck sent me flying across the clearing, only coming to a stop when I crashed into the base of the crane’s treads. For a horrified instant, I worried that he’d slashed across my hips and destroyed one of the items concealed there, an action that also would have destroyed any chance I had of success against Salvatore. Something shifted inside me as I stood, and I felt at my side, a rib displacing under the pressure I applied.
Oh, good. And here I thought it was something bad.
Flowers didn’t charge in for a follow-up strike; he’d learned his lesson.
So had I. I hadn’t been a match for the troll in an epic one-on-one when we’d first met, and I wasn’t now either. At least not as things stood. I needed to change the rules of engagement while there was still enough of me intact to take advantage of it.
I turned and jogged into the scrap maze, running from a troll for the third time in my life. But this time, it wasn’t about trying to escape Flowers. My goal was just to keep a good lead and keep my eyes open. The troll obediently followed along behind, often just out of sight, steadfastly refusing to rush me—but fortunately not deciding to try a completely different tactic, like stopping to dismantle the crane back in the clearing. Instead the ground thumped rhythmically and regularly behind me as the troll kept steady pace.
I worked my way back along the more familiar trails nearby, ignoring the intermittent mid-air braying of Thorny, still dangling impotently back at the crane. I paused long enough to scoop up a length of heavy chain with a hook on the end, one suitable piece of what I needed. A little bit further in, I found the rest of what I needed, tearing a half-exposed, bare-bones engine block out of the wreckage holding it prisoner. It was big and heavily rusted, with large bore holes in it for the rest of its long-missing parts. I looped the thick chain through one of the holes, securely hooking the chain back onto itself. Then, as Flowers drew near, I ripped the door off what looked like an old Buick, grabbing it by the door handle like a shield.
Garbage Knight had come to play.
Poor Flowers didn’t know what to make of me and paused at the sight of me all geared up and ready to rumble. But he understood better when I clanged chain on makeshift shield in challenge. He rumbled an approving response, the sound pouring from his throat like rocks rolling down a mountain, and slapped his sword and bracer together in a whap of challenge returned. Then he rushed me again.
The sudden dash caught me by surprise, and I raised my Buick door to intercept as the troll’s two-handed weapon arced in. It kind of worked. The blade ate into my “shield,” crunching deep into the exterior metal, and the door handle twisted in my hand. Awkwardly, I pushed back, digging my heels into the dirt and bracing myself as my massive foe bore down with all of his greater weight and considerable strength. We held that position, both of us straining and defiant, as my arm trembled and Flowers began to puff out heavier, exerted breaths—until my arm snapped.
The broken bone in my forearm finally gave once more under the substantial pressure, compromising my defiant stance and my grip. The shield twisted and ripped itself from my grasp, the handle tearing free of my fingers, and Flowers’ enormous sword slapped me sharply in the face, edge first. I stumbled, tasting my own gross blood, the slicey-cutty part of his weapon having narrowly missed my eyes. Flowers followed through, his sword rising overhead, towering above me with a headsman’s blow at the ready.
Before it could fall, I whipped the engine block into his exposed knee, like a giant, rusty junkyard flail.
Flowers gave voice to a swelling roar of pain at the impact, filling the air around us with his agony as his rocky joint melted like butter from the force of the strike. Howling, Flowers toppled back, momentum gone and assault abandoned. He leapt away clumsily on his one good leg, giving me plenty of space as I yanked my massive iron flail back to me, then swung it in another threatening arc.
Old engine blocks contain a lot of cast iron.
I stuck my claws through the driver’s side door of an old ambulance, wrenching it free for use as another shield, leaving it affixed to my claws instead of grasping its handle like an idiot. Round two, Flowers.
The troll respected me a lot more now that I’d walloped him with my improvised flail, his rough, rocky leg still smoking from the damage the iron weapon had done and refusing to properly support his weight. That gave me plenty of time to build momentum of my own, swinging the length of weighted chain in circles and uncomplicated figure eights around myself. Then I went on the offensive.
Flowers’ reach advantage had been a deal breaker before, but now I lay claim to that advantage myself. I lashed the rusted hunk of metal at him, whipping it at him over and over from every angle I could think of. My opponent was still far more skilled, but the comparative lethality of my simple engine block over his fancy sword shifted the struggle ridiculously in my favor. While I might only land one hit out of every ten or twenty, the ones that did strike home did a terrifying amount of damage as I whittled away at my Fae opponent’s body.
As his breath came heavier and the desperation in those beady red eyes mounted, he tried to counterattack. But Flowers’ leg was smoking and twisted, his body already bashed and burnt by contact with iron. It was easy enough to aggressively squash every attempt he made to put me back on the defensive, rushing him with my ambulance door and blocking the blows before they could pick up any momentum. My new shield dented and deformed, but with it transfixed on my claws, it couldn’t slip from my grasp and betray me.
It was only a matter of time before Flowers’ real enemy, fatigue, tore his victory away. He slipped and stumbled, and my flail crashed into his knee like a meteor striking the earth, complete with the sound of rending rock and the cracking of stony plates. Trollish bone crumpled as the cast iron ate into his body, leaving the edges of his rocky flesh red and charred, as if hot to the touch. The earth beneath us shuddered sharply as his leg gave way, knee slamming to the ground with all of his weight behind it. I flashed my fangs in triumph, circling him now that his mobility was gone, along with his chances of victory.
Discarding my warped shield and grasping the junk-flail in both hands, I rained down blows on the hapless troll. His back, his ribs, and his shoulders all took hits, each iron impact tearing away another bit of troll flesh. A massive strike to one of his
upper arms left it crippled with Flowers only able to grasp his large blade in a single working hand.
In a final, last ditch effort to hold me off, the troll managed to get his sword up in a block that caused my chain to wrap itself around his blade, tangled and ineffective. But his strength and stance were long gone, and with them, his ability to contest my own undead might.
I ripped the greatsword from his hand.
“I yield!” The massive, crippled Fae roared.
I stopped, stunned, as Flowers bellowed his surrender in harsh, accented English, guttural voice laced with pain like splintering stone.
“Whuh?” I blurted gracelessly. “You can talk?”
“I. Yield.” He stated again, more clearly. “You...must finish me. End...my life.”
I blinked and took a step back. “Wait, what? Why? And since when can you talk?”
I could have sworn he rolled his beady troll eyes at me. “You must finish me. Or I must continue to fight, to finish what I was summoned to do.”
I stepped back again, disentangling my chain from his sword’s thick blade. “Uh, no?”
“Then I must continue.” Flowers tried to rise, but I could clearly hear the grating and grinding of his other knee as it also gave way on him, thumping him to the unforgiving earth once more. I winced as he gave a gruff, ragged trollish gasp of pain.
“Look,” I rasped. “A friend told me that trolls are kind of like freelance mercenaries. You don’t deserve death just because some asshole summoned you into this mess, and you can’t win. Just give up, and I won’t have to kill you.”
“I cannot.” Flowers shifted, pushing himself up with his one good arm. “I owe the other vampire a life debt for sparing me. I am in his service.”
I thought about what I’d learned from my unstrangling sessions with Hershel. “And if I spare you too, right here and now?”
The troll pondered it for a moment with his ally’s now-desperate bleating as background noise in the distance. “Then the debts are equal, and I can no longer turn my hand against you, no matter his wishes.”
Blood Red Ashes (Dying Ashes Book 2) Page 26
