Hellgate London: Covenant

by Mel Odom

  “What do you think, mate?” Nathan asked as he shot a Ravager with the Firefield Caster. Flames blazed up around the Ravager, and it howled in dismay.

  Simon caught a leaping Ravager on his shield, bashed it to the ground, then stomped its throat to smash the trachea. He stomped again and put an anchor spike through its brain.

  “If we can get Honeywell up, we can try to go down the cliffs.”

  “The Ravagers can climb.”

  “But the Carnagors can’t.”

  “True.”

  Simon smashed his sword through a Ravager’s skull and dropped another dead body at his feet. But they just kept coming. He called Danielle and the others to him. Bravely, the Templar fought their way through the tide of demons. Nathan and two of the other Templar formed a barrier with their shields, while Danielle and the other Blademaster fought with two swords each. Ravagers died before them and became a growing wall of dead.

  The Carnagors held back. Simon suspected they did so due to the fact limited room to maneuver on the cliff’s edge existed. The narrow expanse afforded them also shut down their chances of successfully tunneling under them. The Carnagors trumpeted in wild bloodlust.

  “You’re going to die, Templar,” the Minion taunted from the shoulders of the Fetid Hulk. “Then I’m going to go back for reinforcements. We’ll seek out those you’ve been protecting out here. We’ll find them, and we’ll kill them.”

  TEN

  W ith Honeywell’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder, Simon set himself to attempt the descent over the side of the cliff when he felt the ground vibrating. Searching the HUD, he found the source of the vibration: three ATVs with sleek black finishes plowed through the snow toward the demons.

  Simon recognized them at once as three units from the redoubt. None of the Templar in London would have sent vehicles out this far from the city.

  The undercarriages of the ATVs rode three feet above the ground normally, but now they had to break through the snowdrifts in places. The five-foot-tall spiked tires churned snow out behind them. Specially designed by the Templar, the ATVs were based on the British military Panther MLV, outfitted in reactive armor, and armed with antiaircraft weapons, missile launchers, heavy XM171 Thermo Cannon, and F-S Grinder Cannon. The Hound’s Eyes, the onboard drones that painted targets for the ATV’s weapons, shot forward and relayed information to the weps officer.

  “Hold fast there, Simon,” a familiar voice said.

  “Wertham,” Nathan quipped happily. “I didn’t know you were still able to stay up this late.”

  Simon felt a little relieved himself. Wertham was one of the old guard, a man who’d helped train Thomas Cross when he’d been a young man. Few of the old Templar remained because most of them had followed Lord Sumerisle to their deaths at St. Paul’s.

  “I made an exception when I found out you people hadn’t returned tonight.”

  “You were also instructed to stay at the redoubt,” Simon said.

  “Was I?” Wertham sounded innocent. “You can’t trust my memory at my age.”

  The ATVs fired without hesitation. With their targets lit up by the Hound’s Eyes drones, there wasn’t much chance of hitting the Templar stranded at the cliff’s edge. Fireballs belched from the ATVs’ cannon, and Palladium sabot rounds dropped smoking, ruined Carnagors in their tracks.

  “Attack!” the Minion screamed at the Carnagors and Ravagers. “Attack!” At his command, the Fetid Hulk turned and loped across the snow-covered countryside in full retreat.

  “Wertham,” Simon called out.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a Fetid Hulk headed east.” Simon fed the coordinates to the ATV’s weps officer through the suit’s AI.

  “We have him, Simon.”

  “He can’t be allowed to run free.”

  The ATV’s cannon swung round and fired. The Thermo Cannon’s rounds fell short of their intended target. The Grinder’s sabot rounds tore through the trees but didn’t come close to the fleeing demons.

  “Can’t get a lock on him,” the weps officer said. “The trees interfere with the Hound’s Eyes.”

  Simon ran forward and used the suit’s strength as he vaulted over the thinning line of attackers. He landed in deep snow, stumbled, and nearly fell. The nearest ATV’s forward gunner blasted two Ravagers that attempted to follow Simon.

  At the ATV, Simon laid Honeywell in front of the prow. “Get her inside,” he commanded. “She needs medical attention now.”

  The ATV lumbered forward and shielded the fallen Templar with its body. Simon knew they would haul Honeywell aboard through the emergency access panel underneath the fighting vehicle.

  Slogging through the snow, Simon reached the ATV that Wertham commanded. He leaped aboard the skirt and knelt. Studying the HUD, he watched as a Thermo Cannon burst blew a knot of Ravagers over the cliff’s edge and sabot rounds exploded Carnagors.

  Nathan and Danielle already led the Templar toward the ATVs and safety.

  “Everything’s in good hands here, Wertham,” Simon said. “Take me to that Fetid Hulk and its rider.”

  “On our way.”

  Simon held on to the ATV. He banged harshly against the vehicle’s armor as it got under way. The right-side tires stayed locked in position as the left side chewed through the snow and earth. Then they bounded across the rough terrain in pursuit of the fleeing demons.

  “We lost a few, didn’t we?” Wertham’s voice didn’t hold the bluster it had earlier. He was connected to Simon on a private frequency.

  “We did,” Simon admitted. “It was my fault.”

  “Weren’t no fault of yours.”

  “I got too lax. I should have brought more people to station scouts.”

  “More people would have drawn more attention,” Wertham told him. “You and I both know that. Small units travel fastest and less noticeably.”

  Simon silently agreed. Safety and stealth had always been the harsh balance he’d fought whenever he’d put hunting parties into the field. If they’d been able to sustain themselves within the redoubt, no one would have ever had to leave.

  But then you wouldn’t be able to save the stragglers that continue to find their way out of London, Simon chided himself.

  “We can’t become an island,” Wertham said. “You and I and the other Templar discussed that at length when we first set up the redoubt. We all agreed that we couldn’t turn our backs on those that we could save.”

  “I know.”

  “Not like the others.”

  “I know.” The Templar in the Underground chose to wait out the demon invasion. The leaders of the Houses staged the massacre at St. Paul’s to convince the demons that the Templar were all dead. They planned to train in secret and grow a new generation before attempting to fight back against the demons.

  Simon hadn’t agreed with that. The Burn scoured London. He felt that if they waited there would be nothing left to save before the Templar decided they had the army they needed.

  In the beginning, only a few other Templar had felt the same way he did. When he’d first returned to London and subsequently fought with Terrence Booth, the High Seat of the House of Rorke, Simon had been banished from Templar rank. His privileges had been taken from him. But he hadn’t walked out of the Underground alone. Over the past four years, especially since the other Templar had discovered that Booth had taken Simon captive under a flag of truce, more had come.

  Am I just leading them to die? Simon asked himself bitterly. Things hadn’t gone well at the redoubt. Booth and some of the other Templar that had chosen to remain inb the Underground called him a pariah and claimed that he foolishly caused Templar to leave the safety of the Underground just to perish at the hands of demons.

  He shook the dark thoughts from his mind, realizing that they came too easily these days, and focused on the fleeing demons.

  The Minion had to die.

  Simon clung grimly to the ATV as it tore across the uneven terrain. The pointed p
row crested snowdrifts and exploded them into the air. Flakes landed on Simon’s cracked faceplate and melted immediately as the suit fought to keep his vision clear. Water droplets formed inside the faceplate, oozing through the cracks left by the winged demon.

  Twice the ATV went airborne and landed with jarring thumps. Simon knelt on one knee and felt hammered against the armor.

  “Still with us?” Wertham asked.

  “Yes,” Simon replied.

  “Can’t go through the forest after the demon.”

  “I know.” Simon peered through the tight cluster of trees. Thankfully the patchy forest allowed visual contact. The openings limited the demon in the areas he could attempt to hide. “Just get me close.”

  The ATV skirted the forest. Small saplings and brush went down under the fighting vehicle’s massive tires. The constant crashing and snapping filled Simon’s audio.

  Moonlight occasionally exposed the fleeing demons through the trees. The Minion had obviously spotted the ATV and was making a concerted effort to stay as far away from it as possible.

  “Stop here,” Simon said, then flung himself from the ATV.

  Even though the ATV sped at almost forty miles an hour across the uncertain landscape when Simon took his leave, the armor’s gyros helped him stay upright. His trajectory still wasn’t completely controllable, though. He caromed off a tree, shredding bark and taking off branches over two inches in diameter.

  He hit the ground and rolled. The sword and shield across his back made it awkward, but he’d practiced such maneuvers for years. When he got to his feet, he gripped the sword in his hand.

  He ran through the forest like a deer, leaping and bounding over fallen trees. The HUD showed him that Wertham had halted the ATV just outside the forest’s edge. Three other Templar had deployed and ran in full pursuit.

  As Simon closed on the demons, the Minion slid from the Fetid Hulk’s back. Immediately, the large demon turned to face Simon. It lumbered through the forest awkwardly, ill matched to the terrain.

  Sliding his shield around, Simon held it before him and used it to meet the Fetid Hulk’s massive fists. The powerful impacts drove Simon back for a moment, then he stepped to the right, bashed the shield’s edge against the outside of the demon’s knee, and listened to it shatter.

  The Fetid Hulk growled in pain as it collapsed to one knee. It flailed at Simon with a big fist but missed by inches.

  “Take it,” Simon ordered the pursuing Templar.

  The three Templar mercilessly closed on the Fetid Hulk. The demon spat a huge splash of toxin from its throat sac, but one of the Templar held up his Domination Shield. Formed of spectral energy, the shield glowed and appeared translucent till struck. Then it grew more opaque, depending on how hard the blow struck. The shield took the brunt of the toxin as the other two Templar attacked.

  Simon watched the battle in his HUD while he pursued the Minion. The demon leaped up, caught a thick tree branch in one cybernetic hand, and swung itself up. While taking cover behind the tree trunk, it slid a blaster hand onto its other wrist.

  “You’re stubborn, Templar,” the demon taunted. “Coming all this way to die.”

  “I’m not going to be the one who dies,” Simon said.

  Lithe as a monkey, the Minion dropped to the branch below, caught it in its cybernetic hand, and fired the blaster as it swung. Caught off-guard, Simon fell backward as the energy smashed against his helmet. His faceplate shattered more.

  “Warning,” the suit AI said. “Primary defenses at eighteen percent. Other Templar presence detected. Shift to defensive mode only.”

  Hurting and near exhaustion, Simon forced himself to his feet. He tracked the demon as it moved through the trees. The three Templar still engaged the Fetid Hulk. He couldn’t allow the Minion to get away.

  The Minion tried to duplicate its attack, but Simon was prepared for the move this time. When it dropped and brought the hand weapon to bear, Simon raised his shield and blocked the energy blast.

  Retreating quickly, obviously expecting Simon to retaliate, the Minion climbed through the branches. Simon slid the shield off, caught the edge in his hand, and turned to profile the tree. Back when he’d been involved with extreme sports, he’d thrown a lot of Frisbees to help develop hand/eye coordination. There had also been beaches and girls in bikinis involved. With the armor, the shield felt incredibly light.

  As the Minion settled on a branch well out of reach, Simon whipped the shield forward. At nearly three feet across, the shield weighed close to forty pounds. The shield crashed through tree limbs and plowed into the Minion’s head.

  Almost decapitated from the blow, the demon dropped from the tree like a stone. By the time it hit the ground, Simon reached it with his sword in his hand.

  Even with half of its head shorn away by the shield’s edge, the demon still lived. It gazed at Simon with its malevolent black eyes. Convulsions wracked it as it tried to get up. Then it lay back.

  “It seems I’m forced to accept my fate today, Templar,” the Minion said.

  “And you never earned a Name for yourself,” Simon taunted. “Too bad.”

  “Maybe I’ll make it back from the Well of Midnight,” the demon said.

  The Well of Midnight was the spawning place of the Shadow and the demons. Simon had heard the stories about it all his life. Even after years of trying to imagine it, he hadn’t been able to think of a place that horrid.

  “You have no soul, demon,” Simon said. “When you die, you’re destroyed. There’s nothing left of you after this place.”

  The demon laughed defiantly. “Do you truly think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re a fool. The Well of Midnight will succor me back into its embrace and make of me what it wishes. If I am strong enough, if I have followed the way of the Shadow truly enough, I will be back.” The Minion wheezed as it labored to breathe. “If not, the Well of Midnight will still reclaim my essence and use me to make more demons.”

  The thought chilled Simon. How can anyone face an inexhaustible army?

  “Your world will fall, Templar,” the demon whispered. “All worlds before this one have fallen.”

  “Not this one,” Simon said. “Our destiny is greater than yours.”

  The demon laughed. “Who told you that?”

  “It has been written.” Even the Goetia manuscript alluded to that. “It is the truth given by the Creator.”

  Something in what Simon said caused fear in the Minion. He saw the apprehension in the demon’s widened eyes.

  “The Truths,” the demon whispered, “shall never again be—” Then it shivered and went still. The pupils of the eyes relaxed, then grew and became black pools.

  Simon stared down at the creature and wondered what he’d said that had caused such a reaction. Did the demon say “truth” or “truths”? He wasn’t sure.

  “Is it dead, Lord Cross?”

  At the mention of his hereditary title, Simon looked up at the three approaching Templar. Even though the Templar at the redoubt had been in the habit of calling him Lord Cross for the past few months, Simon still wasn’t used to it. Lord Cross had been his father, and even Thomas Cross hadn’t often gone by that.

  “Yes,” Simon said. “It’s dead.” He took his shield from the Templar who had gone to retrieve it, then knelt and washed away the demon’s blood with a handful of snow.

  “Sergeant Wertham would like to be away as soon as possible,” another Templar said.

  “Especially in light of the fact that you weren’t supposed to be here tonight,” Simon said, “I can understand how he’d want to feel that way.”

  “We’re sorry about that, Lord Cross.”

  These faceplates totally suck when it comes to humor and sarcasm, Simon thought. He turned his faceplate translucent to show the Templar his smile.

  Their faceplates cleared as well, and their youth astonished him. He’d trained all of them himself, and had even helped two of them forge th
eir armor.

  “It was a joke,” Simon explained.

  “Oh.” But none of them relaxed enough to smile or grin with any real enthusiasm.

  Simon led the way out of the forest. A quick check of the HUD showed that the other two ATVs had rolled in the direction of the deer they’d taken. Tonight wouldn’t be a complete loss.

  Except that there was no way to replace the three Templar that had gotten killed. Every one of those lives was precious.

  With a heavy heart, Simon trudged through the snow, hoping for at least a few hours’ respite before he was thrown once more into the fray. His thoughts strayed to Leah, and he wondered how she fared. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

  That was just as well, he decided. She had her secrets, such as who she actually was and what she represented, and he had his. Since he’d last seen her, Macomber had made considerable advances on translating the Goetia manuscript. He would hate lying to her about that, but he knew he would.

  At least until he was certain their agendas matched more closely.

  ELEVEN

  T hey’re not going to welcome us with open arms.”

  Studying the men hiding behind trees and brush before them, Warren knew that Naomi’s words spoke the truth. People who lived outside London or managed to escape the metropolitan area weren’t going to want to trust anyone coming down these roads.

  The zombies made that trust even less likely.

  “I didn’t expect them to welcome us,” Warren replied. In truth, he hadn’t wanted to meet anyone while following Lilith’s directions.

  Only a short distance farther one, when no mistake could be made about the direction they took, a man stepped out of the shadows and stood near a copse of trees. He was gaunt and tense. Warren saw that in the man’s aura. Of course, that tension was also easy to tell because the man pointed a shotgun at them.

  “That’s about far enough,” the man shouted.

  “We come in peace.” Warren never broke stride, though Naomi fell back a couple of steps.