by O. J. Lowe
Chydarm and the golems still fought, tried to take them out where they could but the holding action had fallen apart, and they were incoming, swarming the plateau in numbers. Blut had vanished, Wilsin noticed, wasn’t surprised. He didn’t seem like the type who’d risk going down in a blaze of ignominy.
He’d tossed the machetes to Brendan, hefted the kjarnblade and pushed the activation switch down hard, harder than he needed to. The metal felt slick against his sweaty palms. He hadn’t expected the kick as it activated, nearly felt it slip through his grasp. No heat came from the blade, found it heavier than he’d expected, still lighter than the machetes. He gave it a few practice swings, felt it buzz in the air.
“Be careful with that thing,” Brendan said, irritation in his voice. “You could cut someone in half.”
Wilsin looked at him, then at the oncoming rustlers. “That’s the plan.”
Zizou howled, the rustlers around him recoiled, sounds of pain exploding from them as steam started to hiss from them, limbs contorting, melting into misshapes, twisted and burnt. Zizou’s sweat was toxic, almost acidic, and in this heat, he was burning up. His tongue flopped out of his mouth as he leaped up into the air, tackled another rustler.
Behind him, Tiana had released a sandhound, a formidable fighter under the right circumstances. Wilsin had fought them before. Around the kingdoms, the first spirits a lot of callers got were canine-based. Some moved onto wolves and the like, but dogs had a lot of redeeming qualities. They were loyal, a lot had them as pets growing up, they were easy to manipulate and common enough. There’d been a time in the five kingdoms when stray dogs had been a problem. Not any longer. Give enough people summoners and an overabundance of animals became a problem of the past.
He took another look up to the sky, he saw the aeroship coming in closer and closer. Had to be minutes away. The seconds were ticking by and he could already feel them running out. Their time was slipping away.
Nothing to it but to make more. A group of the rustlers had slipped by Zizou, coming towards him and Brendan. They readied their weapons, he took a sideways glance at Brendan and made the choice. He was younger, faster, stronger, he hoped, and he had a better weapon. He rushed them, blade flashing about in his grip, he had to squint through his eyes to avoid the glare. The first swipe cut one in two, pleasant surprise flooded through him at the lack of resistance. They said kjarnblades could hack through most things with ease, to see it proved true was something else. He took another one down, rammed the blade through a third and slashed upwards, cutting the top half of its body into two neat segments. It felt apart like an orange.
Damn, but he could get used to a weapon like this. Though the weight was more than he’d expected, it handled well, the balance exceptional. Wilsin knew weapons and this was a finely crafted implement of death.
He’d seen what it could do in his own hands, he didn’t lack for weapons training, but no wonder they were feared. In the hands of a Vedo, almost supernaturally fast and strong, the average opponent would stand no chance. By comparison, his own efforts were clumsy.
“ETA sixty seconds,” Commander Little shouted through his summoner. “You have air support coming in in three, two, one… Light ‘em up”
His first thought was what the commander had said they had no weapons, not a surprise if he was honest. The Vazarans had become leery as the hells since their secession. They weren’t going to let an armed vehicle into their borders unless they really had to. Then he saw the shapes flying in formation and he understood. From a distance, he hadn’t been able to tell. He’d thought they were drones at first.
They were fierbirds.
Not the biggest, but massively potent, he’d seen them in action. Some Unisco pilots flew with their spirits, used them in situations like this to defend their craft from enemy fire. It wasn’t a conventional situation, but it’d damn well do. Convention had long since gone out the window, seeing them swoop in, beaks screeching open and the fireballs hitting the ground around them was a welcome sight. Fresh heat erupted through the scene, rustlers thrown everywhere by the blasts, bodies blackened and charred.
Damn, but it was good to see. He didn’t know how effective it would be at thinning out their numbers, but the effect was reassuring. Fire always was. Between him, Reeves and Brendan and their combined efforts, it felt like dozens that they’d killed and yet they’d taken the hits, weathered the storm. A couple of fierbirds weren’t going to make a damn bit of difference.
Not with that attitude!
He ducked the swipe from one, cut it in two with a slash of his own, the blade sweeping through wooden armour and green flesh, emerald blood burning solid as cauterization took place. The two parts hit the plateau, Wilsin turned to see the huge form of Blut barrelling into him like a runaway mag-rail. He lost his feet, might as well have been insignificant against the power and flew several feet through the air until he met the dirt, coming to an undignified landing. The kjarnblade had been lost somewhere, fallen from his grip. Something hot and wet dripped into his eyes, he could see nothing but red out of one of them. He blinked several times, tried to see around the blood.
“You can’t stand against us, David Wilsin!” the green king howled. “You are few and we are many. Even now, we spread across your kingdoms and grow stronger while you weaken yourself with strife and war of your own making.”
“I didn’t start this war,” Wilsin groaned. “She did. We’re only trying to win it.”
“And doing an admirable job. Fault or blame is not my interest, it does not excuse, and it does not justify. Whoever wins, will lose. I give you the message as a sign of the inevitability of that fact. We cannot be stopped. We cannot be reasoned with or bartered or negotiated. We can only be feared.”
“You can shut the hells up!” Wilsin said, drawing the Tebbit, squeezed off two shots into Blut’s body before the green tore forward like a rampant bull, scooped him up from the ground in one arm and locked fingers around his throat. He could feel his feet dangling off the ground, calling for gravity to lock them down again, could barely breathe with the giant hand around his throat and face. The green king’s skin was like leather and moss, smoothly furred against the stubble on his face. Neither shot had fazed him, a chunk blown out of his shoulder, but it didn’t appear to be aggrieving him any. If he felt pain, he wasn’t showing it. No blood gushed from either wound, the shoulder one or the gaping chasm ripped out of his breast.
“Maybe I should kill you now. You have a part to play in what lies ahead and having you off the board now could be useful. The price of your existence versus the effect you’ll have on the future. A choice indeed.”
The kjarnblade snapped to life, Ben Reeves flung himself into the corner of Wilsin’s vision, weapon in hand. Too late the green king turned and the next thing Wilsin knew, he’d hit the ground, the grip relaxing around his throat as the severed arm bounced off his stomach. Squeamishness didn’t come to him easily, he regardless found the urge to hurl it from him, and he scrambled away from the two combatants. Still Blut had shown no pain, no outward show of discomfort and had pulled a sword from somewhere. It looked like it had been fashioned from dead wood, gnarled and knotted, its colour reminiscent of something struck by lightning. What wasn’t up for dispute was its sharpness, Wilsin thought it looked like it could split atoms in the air with just a touch.
Worse, it didn’t shatter as it touched the kjarnblade, Reeves thrusting in his weapon to test the green king. The Vedo looked like he could barely stand, legs trembling and Wilsin couldn’t see this ending well. Even the normally steady blade trembled in his grasp, Reeves’ eyes unfocused, he couldn’t tell if he was staring at Blut or the landing aeroship.
Holy hells!
His pains forgotten, Wilsin jumped to his feet, Tebbit in his hands. Reeves might not be in any shape to win. He just hoped he lasted a few moments longer.
Wilsin reached Aubemaya first, her and her sandhound barely inches away from Suchiga as they fought against
the waves. She’d found a stick from somewhere… His face lit up into a grin as he realised it wasn’t a stick… was waving it about, clumping any of the rustlers approaching her. Beating an opponent with one of their own severed limbs took more balls than he’d ever seen, her sandhound looked terrible. It wagged its tail at him as he approached, he scratched the beast’s head, saw Aubemaya raise the limb before the comprehension dawned on her face.
“Help me grab him,” Wilsin said, grabbing Suchiga’s upper body. Above them, the two fierbirds had circled back around, thrown off another barrage of blasts. Their aim had been good, cleared a good chunk of ground between them and the Nadine’s Grace. Wilsin’s weapon shouted, tore down the last few as he fired one handed at them, the other supporting Suchiga’s weight as his muscles screamed under the stress.
Only twenty feet between them and the ship was doable. Between him and Aubemaya, they hit it in record time, the door already sliding open. Commander Little wasn’t alone, two other men aboard, already moving to receive Suchiga. In moments, they had him aboard a stretcher, strapping him in for the journey.
“Get aboard!” Wilsin said, looking at her, not removing his gaze until she’d obliged, he put a hand on her back to help her up. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Brendan was closing in fast, huffing and puffing as a man his age might in this heat. He wasn’t the one Wilsin was looking at though as he ran, that honour went to Reeves and Blut, still duelling though it looked as if there’d only be one winner. Blut moved with the grace and dexterity of a practiced swordsman, Reeves had run a long race and he was coming to the end. Every slash looked slow now, almost laboured as his blade cut a lazy arc through the air, bouncing off Blut’s blade. Before, it had been a blur. Now, Wilsin could see it against the afternoon sky, just about read the movements.
He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there, he had no weapon and Blut had already shown himself to be stronger than him. All he knew was something trumped nothing. He wouldn’t live with himself if Reeves died saving his life. Already the first shoots of recovery were starting to take place, the green king’s arm stump starting to repair itself.
Sometimes, it’s not about what you can’t do. It’s about what you can do. Saying those words to Aubemaya felt so long ago, he never thought that they’d feel so apt. He ran, his boots eating up the last few feet and jumped at the same time he saw Reeves stumble, drop to one knee.
Blut let out a triumphant scream, ready to crash his blade onto the Vedo and it was for that one good arm Wilsin aimed, his fingers meeting forearm, his arms locking around it. The green king was still strong, blade still travelling towards Reeves, but his aim had gone and the sword bit into the ground at his side.
His moment of weakness had come and gone, Reeves rose to his feet and buried his kjarnblade into Blut’s chest, the bright blade punching through it like it was nothing, Reeves almost falling forwards into him, blade rammed all the way to the hilt. Blut coughed, the single sign of pain Wilsin had seen so far, a single drop of blood falling from the carved jaws and bounced off Reeves’ face.
“Intriguing,” the green king said. “I imagined that would hurt. I’d forgotten what pain felt like.” No emotion in his voice, just cold, stated fact. A moan escaped him as Reeves withdrew the blade, ducked past him to run. Wilsin needed no invitation to follow, as Blut fell to his knees behind them.
He hoped the wound was fatal, yet he doubted they’d be that lucky.
Brendan awaited them as they hit the aeroship, Reeves almost fell through the doors, the two men had to drag him aboard. Wilsin turned to Brendan, ready to tell him to go first had he not been shoved aboard. Across the plateau, Blut rose to his feet, turning to face them. Wilsin could see the anger across his features, the carvings contorting into fury. His hand was full, his blade lost somewhere on the ground, he pitched his solitary arm back, something flying from his grasp.
Wilsin instinctively ducked down behind the stanchion, saw something hit it with a sharp clunk, metal folding inward under the force. A roar of pain broke out, he almost didn’t hear it under the sounds of the engines. Instinct took over, he saw another one sail wide of the mark. The one out the door looked like a wooden knife. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if it had hit him, instead focusing on pulling Brendan aboard. The door slammed shut behind them and he heard the roar of the engines kick into life. Within seconds, they were in the air, rising higher and higher, the plateau of Cradle Rock slowly turning into a dot below them.
He couldn’t believe it. He knew he was grinning like a lunatic and he just didn’t care. They’d really won a small victory, they’d survived an ordeal like that and he couldn’t believe they’d all made it. He felt like his grin would hit his ears if he let it get any wider. Behind him, Reeves had collapsed into a seat, eyes closed and his breathing slowing.
“Don’… Don’t wake me up,” he murmured, his final words before they slipped into snores. There was plenty of room in the hold, Wilsin thought, looking around. Suchiga was getting some medical attention that looked rudimentary at best but had to be better than nothing. Aubemaya had dropped into a seat next to Reeves, her legs folded up under her chin. She let her head rest against his shoulder, her chest still heaving.
Wilsin’s hand drifted to his side, he pushed the ‘recall’ buttons on his summoner, felt the link between Chydarm and Zizou and himself vanish. They’d cease to exist now, until he next called on them.
He wondered if Brendan had done the same, looked across at him. Their eyes met, and the acting-director’s expression turned to sorrow. Wilsin saw the dribbles of blood running out his mouth and his eyes, saw that the straps on the ceiling were the only thing holding Brendan up, legs bent awkwardly beneath him. Even now, he could no longer support himself, his wrist slid out the strap and he dropped, fell forward onto his face.
No!
Two of Blut’s wooden knives stood proudly out of his back, blood gushing around them, a sticky puddle forming underneath him. Wilsin was next to him in a heartbeat.
“Damnit, Brendan,” he said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. He could feel the life draining out of Brendan King as he lay bleeding out, killed by another foe none of them could ever understand. “You bloody better not die on me here!”
Defiance would take a man far. This was a step too much for it. Even as Brendan raised his head, neck trembling, Wilsin could see the light going out of his eyes. The final breath slipped out of him, rattling through his lungs, slipping out through teeth.
“David,” he wheezed, a cough slipped out and crimson sprayed Wilsin’s trousers, fine droplets spattering across him. “Don’t let them win, never stop fighting.”
“I won’t,” Wilsin said, meaning to keep it as best he could. He didn’t know who the ‘them’ was, he could take a guess. There were quite a few notable threats out there, he could have meant any of them. “Come on Brendan, you can’t die! Hold on! We’re a fast ship, we can hit a hospital in no time.”
“We all have our time to go,” he laughed, his voice cracking. “Never give up. Be the best of us all.”
Those were his final words, Wilsin realised as the head of iron grey dropped and didn’t rise again. The great man was no more, truly lost to the world. Even the knowledge that his golems were probably already trying to tear Jeremiah Blut to pieces didn’t give him much solace. His chest felt heavy, like he’d been ripped open and pieces shredded. Feelings he didn’t know existed. Across the recent weeks, he’d felt like he’d gotten to know him, all for naught.
“Divines take you with them,” Wilsin said as he stood up. “Father Gilgarus, give this man the respect he deserves, Mother Melarius, treat him with the kindness his actions warranted in life. Enemy Ferros, spare him your wrath. For all that is just and true, let his rest be the one that he earned. Divines hear me.”
It had been years since he’d prayed, since he’d felt the need to ask anything of the Divines. Now though, that moment felt apt and he
hoped that they’d listen to him on this once.
“Rest in peace, old bastard,” he said, more out of affection than enmity. “Give them hells in the next life as well.”
Chapter Twenty-Four. Shock Above the Sands.
“Sir, we have a message from Commander Little of the Nadine’s Grace… He got them. Strike Team Alpha-Ten have been pulled out of Vazara. He’s also promising us we’re not going to believe the story he’s got to tell us after.”
Unisco mission controller to flight command.
The returning flight across the desert untouched by the Green had been a silent one, Wilsin noticed. None of them had felt like talking, Reeves hadn’t woken yet and he wondered if he would. He’d never seen so much exhaustion on the face of one individual, he might get through it and he might not. The sleep would come, it clearly was needed and hopefully the Vedo would make a full recovery. He was surprised, now he thought about it, by how good friends the two of them had become, hadn’t seen it coming back at the start of the mission. When they got back to civilisation, he might ask that Reeves become his partner full-time. They made quite a good team. Having a Vedo at your back was undoubtedly a great way to stay alive. He trusted Reeves. Couldn’t say that for too many people these days.
Aubemaya had woken up at least, they had to have been flying for hours now. No wonder it had taken Little a while to get here, as swift as the Nadine’s Grace flew. He’d gone to the cockpit on arrival, introduced himself to the commander and his two assistants, Tim Welsh and Allen Boyle. Neither of them looked shaken at the way they’d pulled off the rescue. Maybe facing plant things was all in a day’s work for them. Wilsin hoped so. It’d make things easier if someone out there had experience of what to expect. After all, he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. Those things had been everywhere, he was under no illusions that if Little had shown up, they’d be dead by now.
