Again, the gunstones tore the air, screaming ahead of their own thunder.
This time they passed well overhead.
A moment passed, then smoke blossomed far away on the mountainside behind the army. Boulders crashed down the slope. The priestly blessings no longer seemed to be helping the enemy cannon.
Ranulph shrugged and bellowed, “Onward! Let us see if steel is less fallible than prayer!”
Seven thousand visors slammed shut. The army emitted muffled cheers and surged across the windswept pastureland.
King Edward strode closer, his gilded armour rustling rather than clattering. “If Lady Maud fails then we will all die as we near the river.”
“She will not fail,” said Ranulph.
CHAPTER FOUR
All along the ridge, white-robed priests lay on the ground and wept. Others staggered aimlessly around the silent field guns, blood streaming from ears and noses. Some just stood and grinned at everything and nothing.
Jasmine glanced north.
The tide of steel swept across the bay’s hinterland. The knights would be at the fords in minutes.
Jasmine slid off her tank, barged through her milling staff, and ran over to the nearest artillery piece. She hauled the priest to his feet and slapped him hard across the face.
He looked at her with wide, shocked eyes.
She screamed in his face, "What the fuck happened?"
His face spasmed. "As the gunstone flew away, my soul..." He whimpered and shuddered. "…loosened like a rotten tooth." He dropped to his haunches and hugged his knees.
Hooves thudded behind her. Jasmine whipped around, the Stormgun falling into her hands as she turned.
Ibis-Bear smiled down from the saddle. "Only me, my dear.” She dismounted. “And I am certain I can explain."
"Go on."
"When the priests – " The artillery general held up both hands to make quotation marks. " – 'bless' something, it's just like the !M'Talong Spiritual Practice of..." She saw Jasmine's look, and gabbled faster. "They imbue it with their Second Soul Body. Distance is held to break the bond and return the spirit to the Wisdom-Birthing Woman. But..." She took a deep breath."...what if, my dear, the distance increased faster than the bonds could break?"
“She means,” said Abbot Clunard, appearing from behind the Artillery General’s horse, “that the gunstone tore out his soul. I heard rumours of this resulting from the Emperor’s experiments.”
Jasmine grimaced. She didn’t like the abbot. He reminded her too much of Lowenstein. Even so, he was in charge of the priests assigned to her army and presumably knew best. “So is this going to work at all?”
“When the enemy are closer, yes,” said the Abbot. “Say just beyond the river.”
Ibis-Bear nodded frantically. She sucked in her cheeks. "In fact..."
Jasmine held up her hand. She stood for a moment rearranging her plans and juggling what she had. "Wait until the natives are stuck against the river then try again… What?”
The Abbot was looking past her in the direction of Holy Mount. “Can’t you feel it, Field Marshal? Doesn’t that look wrong to even you?”
Jasmine turned.
The fog bank that covered the Ocean of Thule was extruding a dense finger to precisely cloak the ridge leaving the river bank bare of even a hint of mist.
Her eyes narrowed “Fuck that’s odd!”
“I said as much,” said Ibis-Bear. “My third eye…”
“Odd?” shrilled the Abbot. “That’s necromancy at work.”
“Maud!” blurted Jasmine.
“Yes,” said the Abbot. “The Notorious Witch Maud Clifford.”
“The Nhag R'Shanmash!” gasped General Ibis-Bear
The Abbot and Maud both turned to look at her. When she said nothing, Jasmine rounded on the sinister cleric. “Well you’re the fucking god-botherer. Do something the fuck about it.”
The Abbot’s eyes burned. “I shall take such of my priests who have come to themselves and sweep away this blasphemous miasma.” He made the gridiron gesture. “The girl is a fool! Even a disgraced nun should know that her necromancy cannot overcome us.” He turned and strode out toward the next gun crew where one of the priests was still standing.
“Wait,” said Jasmine.
The Abbot turned. “Field Marshal?”
“I don’t trust mistakes made by clever people. Take some Post Office Security workers with you. And capture her alive - she’s heir to the throne of Westerland.” And because I want her for myself?
“I’m going with them,” said Ibis-Bear. “I simply must. To ensure she’s treated properly.”
Jasmine gave her a hard stare. “What is a nagger mash?”
Ibis-Bear leaned over from her horse and treated Jasmine to a condescending smile. "The Nhag R'Shanmash. Last of the Sacred Mother Line of Earth Priestesses."
“Maud? Lady Maud Clifford?” asked Jasmine.
"Oh yes!" cried Ibis-Bear, beads rattling as she hopped from foot to foot; a lumbering parody of an excited child. "When the Committee set out to choose a destination date for the Trans-Temporal Liberation, I knew it was my destiny to rescue Her. I... pulled strings. Called in favours. This is as far back as we could come, but it will do."
Jasmine blinked. "You sent us back here? To this time? Where magic works?” Her grip tightened on her Stormgun.
"Marvellous isn't it?" Ibis-Bear nodded. "I even learnt the High Language of the Painted People — Mhaorsh marish socha mhoarsh delibishion!" Her tone became confiding. "But when I led my people to rescue the High Priestess from their dungeons, we found only a trail of carnage. It was as if the Karmic Energy of our coming had released Something Ancient."
Jasmine hardly heard her.
They could have picked a different era… even arrived at the start of the war and used their modern tanks to swing things quickly in the Egality’s favour. Now the plan to beat the Aliens was in jeopardy. Her civilisation was probably doomed. This mess, this mayhem, all the deaths, including Marcel’s, could be laid at the door of Stella Ibis-Bear and her occult dabblings. And the same woman had spread her intellectual cancer through the Artillery Brigade. Jasmine almost brought up her Stormgun. Instead she said “So you want to take Lady Maud alive because she’s the hereditary high priestess of an ancient witch cult?”
“Yes,” said Ibis-Bear.
“OK...” Jasmine thought for a moment. Ibis-Bear’s second-in-command seemed to know what she was doing. “I think you should leave your staff officers in charge, and ride like Hell to get there first and talk to her,” she said.
Once the crazy old woman had gone, Jasmine vaulted back onto her tank. “Mary! Get hold of Colonel Cromwell and tell her to watch out for the priests and detail a couple of tanks to give them back up.”
#
Overhead, a seagull squawked.
Maud shivered and drew in her robe tighter. Her legs were still wet and cold from the long wade ashore. Worse, she could feel the priests rolling back her fog and it was like having unwanted hands walking up her thighs. Her grip tightened on her spear and she grinned. “Let them come.”
Thorolf’s face contorted into one of his disturbing not-smiles. “You do not need the weapon.”
It was just the two of them sharing this bubble of visibility in the midst of the magical fog that cloaked their movements from even the Invader’s airborne spies. They could have been alone in the world, though Maud knew that the longship was drawn up in the shallows behind her, and that somewhere ahead the ridge rose above the beach then extended into the sea to become a headland.
The longship had brought them to little bay that had served as the haven for the monks who had settled Holy Mount at the end of the headland. This put them nicely to the rear of the left flank of the Invader’s position, with the ridge ahead of them.
“They will think it is a wizard’s staff,” said Maud, jiggling it to further hide the winged head in the wet sand. When Thorolf said nothing, she said, "This is a battle. A
spear would seem to be an appropriate accessory." She had a dagger on her belt, but any sort of polearm would be so much more visible from a distance. Nobody was going to think she was a mere spectator. Besides, how hard could it be? All that grunting and stabbing? She’d read the classic works on the subject of War. It had always really depended, not on great warriors, but on having a strategic advantage from the start.
Now the sound of singing escaped the smothering fog bank; dozens of male voices chanting the psalms in close harmony.
Thorolf said, "You are Ranulph's woman. When they come, run for Seasnake.”
Maud shook her head. She let the cloak fall open a little to reveal the scandalously short mailshirt. “Do you think I am scared?”
"No. Not trained," said Thorolf. "Pretty long legs, yes. But in fight, you is seal-bait. You run and we do the killing!"
Maud glared at him.
The grizzled Northman quailed and touched his hammer pendant.
“Those very priests would have executed me,” said Maud. “If I do not have my revenge, you will find that I am your enemy.”
“Rather you than my lord,” said Thorolf.
“I have two wishes left with which to protect myself,” said Maud. “I shall act as bait. Do not spring the trap until we have all of them or I shall think of other uses for my wishes.”
Thorolf shrugged then nodded. “You would make good Northwoman.”
He loped off back down the sands and vanished into the fog.
Maud stood alone on the beach. The singing grew louder, the pressure of the holiness more chilling.
The fog parted to reveal the ridge top. Shadowy figures appeared on its edge — dozens of chanting priests with incense swingers and gridiron symbols, plus an escort of soldiers with guns.
Maud’s fingers clenched on the spear. If they started shooting, then she would have to rely on the captive air elemental for protection.
As the figures began negotiating the descent to the beach, a rider burst through the throng. The horse half-slid, half-bounded down the slope on an avalanche of sand and pebbles.
“Run,” hissed Thorolf from behind the wall of fog that still cloaked off the sea.
Maud shook her head. The rider did not look like a priest and she could always use a wish in order to defend herself.
Where the slope met the sand, the horse tripped, rolled and lay there flailing. The rider — an fat old woman in the grey livery of the Invaders — pulled herself clear and, without a backward glance at her crippled mount, bounded toward Maud, beads and amulets forming a halo as they bounced against her great bosoms. She wore a pistol like Tom of Fenland’s in her belt but showed no sign of drawing it.
The old woman slowed down and began an odd chant. It sounded like a spell, though Maud did not feel the accustomed tingle in her spine. The old woman smiled crazily. Her gaze pierced Maud and she declaimed, "Mhrosh Ren Delibishion Nhag R'Shanmash!"
Thorolf’s voice came to her, “Counterspell?”
The old woman repeated, "Mhrosh Ren Delibishion Nhag R'Shanmash!" This time she accompanied the words with an odd hand gesture, twirling a string of beads. Was this a sorcery so powerful that Maud could not feel it? Had the Invaders' magicians chosen this moment to reveal themselves?
Maud reached for her sylph. DEFEND ME.
But the bound air spirit was too diffuse, too spread out through the fog to help right away. Were the woman to draw her gun, it would be an end.
Maud scrabbled for another magical response, and realised, with a lurch, that she had none. What was left of the Book of Elements was safely back in Middleburgh. Even if she had had her grimoire with her, there would have been no time to read out a spell. A proper sorceress would have swatted the old woman using some well-learned cantrip, or an assistant daemon kept around for just such a purpose. But Maud could only use magic the way she had once used Parvian spices to liven up the convent's cuisine. Ranulph was right. She simply wasn’t trained.
"Hurry up," shouted Thorolf. "Kill the old witch!"
Maud nodded. She pulled the spear out of the sand and, screaming, charged her enemy.
The old woman's eyes blazed, filling Maud’s world. The sounds of the battle died away. There was nothing now except for the spear and the enemy sorceress. The Invader opened her arms, as if to cast some appalling spell.
Maud’s weapon took the old woman in the guts. The head squelched in as far as the wings and stuck so that the momentum of the attack pushed her over.
The sudden resistance overbalanced Maud. Her feet skidded. Her left ankle twisted. The ground slammed into her back. Not a trained warrior either.
The woman whimpered and blubbered, clutched her stomach.
And feet thudded on the sand.
A score of grey-liveried soldiers rushed toward Maud. Behind them, the priests negotiated the slope.
Maud struggled to her feet. Her left ankle gave, treating her to a spike of pain. No running for her.
She dropped her cloak and drew her sword, not, she realised now, that it would do her much good. Maybe she could take some of them with her?
The soldiers spread out. A stocky woman barked an order. They slung their guns on their backs and drew long clubs. “Come on now, girly girly,” said the woman. “Put down the sword. We won’t hurt you and clearly you don’t know how to use it.”
Beyond the soldiers, the priests were still too far away.
At any moment, Thorolf would spring the ambush just to save her, and her mission would be a failure.
Maud reached for the sylph and pulled. NOW, she thought. DEFEND ME OR LIE FOREVER UNDER THE EARTH TREE, SUFFERING ITS DEFILING TENDRILS IN YOUR SECRET PLACES.
The soldiers closed in on her. One knocked her sword aside. Another clubbed her in the face.
Reeling, Maud raised her hand to protect herself. Her forearm blazed. Somebody punched her in the stomach and she buckled over, fighting for breath.
The air howled. The soldiers went down like wheat in a gale. Screaming, they rolled and tumbled along the beach leaving behind a flotsam of weapons.
The priests, meanwhile, had assembled themselves. Now they approached as a body, chanting in unison, blasting out their icy purity.
The sylph recoiled on Maud. It clung to her like a frightened cat — tore at her hair, frost-clawed her bare legs and she was glad of the weight of her mailshirt.
Here and there, soldiers struggled to their feet, or got onto their hands and knees and retched.
The priests, meanwhile, advanced down the beach, a glacier of white robes. Their prayers enfolded Maud like a snowstorm and she knew herself to be what she was,a demon-tainted harlot.
Maud shivered. The weight of self-loathing pressed on her shoulders. She hugged her knees,… felt herself surrender to repentance and penance and…
Two-score javelins whirred overhead to thwack into the heads and chests of the priests. With a thunderclap yell of “Odin!”, the Northmen burst out of the concealing fog and charged past Maud up the beach.
The priests left off their psalms and scattered like great flapping chickens.
Whooping, the Northmen slammed into them. Swords and axes whirled. Crimson gore splashed onto over the well-laundered cassocks. Here and there a priest broke from the slaughter, managed a few paces, then went down with a thrown axe in his back.
Maud pulled the spear from the dying old woman and, fighting the drag of her mailshirt, levered herself to her feet. The guilt and self-loathing had evaporated when the priests stopped praying.
Thorolf and a few of the older Northmen strode around the fallen priests, methodically slicing throats. The younger warriors, however, had a screaming priest face down on the sand and were laughing as they hacked away at his spine.
Maud smiled. A rare chance to see the Blood Eagle being performed and on a very appropriate subject.
Something moved up on the ridge. Two of the Invaders’ boxy war engines emerged from the mist. A figure perched half out of the roof of each.
&nb
sp; Maud’s gorge rose. She yelled, “Watch out!”
Nobody heard her.
Maud reached for the sylph but could not find the strength to exact the last of her three wishes.
There was the sound of tearing fabric. Two glittering streams lanced out and swept the beach, splashed off mail coats, swept away legs.
Thorolf roared an order in Northern. Dragging their wounded, the surviving Northmen bunched up and jogged down the sand.
Maud turned and limped toward the water.
Ahead, the fog rolled back to reveal the dragon-prowed longship bobbing in the shallows. One wish left.
As the waves lapped her ankles, something howled overhead. Water fountained. The Sea Serpent rolled and wallowed.
The Northmen caught up with her. Thorolf shouted an order and somebody threw her over his shoulder. His mailed back was cold and rough on her cheek. She raised her head to look.
One of the tanks lurched forward and — squealing and clattering — crashed down the steep slope shedding bits of wooden cladding that for now covered its metal armour. That wood would stop the blade runes. Ranulph needed to know about this…
The tank bumped onto the sand, coughed and went still. It roared once, twice then trundled forward over the still-thrashing horse.
Maud remembered watching the tanks use their guns like melee weapons. As long as they aimed properly, they couldn’t miss despite whatever runes the target might boast.
“God’s teeth! Run,” screamed Maud.
Her bearer bundled her over the side of the longship. She fell awkwardly headfirst. She glimpsed a sea chest, then everything went black.
CHAPTER FIVE
The grey clouds were darkening when Mary Schumacher said, “Field Marshal, you’re not going to like this.”
“You’re going to tell me where the fuck my priests are?”
Schumacher blushed as if she had never heard bad language before. “Colonel Cromwell says they are all dead.”
“Shit. Give me the headset.” It took a moment to get the commander of her left flank onto the radio. “Sheila, what the fuck went wrong?”
“Sorry, Jasmine,” crackled Colonel Cromwell’s voice, “The Post Office Security team wouldn’t wait while we started our engines. By the time we caught up it was a total kill. Ibis-Bear bought it too.”
Champions Battle for the Fate of the Future!: The Wild Finale of (Swords Versus Tanks Book 5) Page 3
