Iron Elf - A Race Reborn (Book 2)

by Klay Testamark

  Czeleborn strode past us with a smile. He wore his black frock coat with white lace at the front and sleeves. His sword was at his side. Ever the diplomat, he addressed the barbarians with what was surely a salesman’s pitch. He was probably offering free rooms at his casino.

  I motioned the others to stay put. Conrad got in my face. Why are you holding us back, he asked. You think we can’t handle them?

  He doesn’t need you, I said. You’ll get in the way.

  A Northlander went for his sword and Czeleborn cut his hand off. Then he cut off the man’s head. We hadn’t seen him draw. The head spun all the way around, then dropped off the man’s neck.

  Czeleborn was everywhere. His sword was a relic but in one stroke it beat aside two attacks and wounded a man. Wielding it in one hand and sometimes two, my ex-lover drove them back. The one with the scarred face swung an axe but Czeleborn slipped away. The Northlander tried again but the elf grabbed him with one hand and sent him sprawling into Elsa.

  Three humans came at Czeleborn at once. He ducked a flail, sidestepped a falchion, and leaped over a sword swipe. The last was from the man who’d been hanged—he carried a shield as well. Czeleborn kicked the painted wood, parried behind himself, then hopped onto the shield and kicked the man in the face. The axeman came at Czeleborn again. Czeleborn deflected the two-handed weapon and punched the man in the throat. The sword and shield came again and Czeleborn ducked.

  The Northlander with the flails walked in, filling the air with iron. The spiked balls swung in complex arcs and the chains could curve around a guard. Closer and closer they came, closer and closer swung at Czeleborn’s skull. So he tripped the axeman and sent him face-first into a spiked ball. Czeleborn cut off the flail-man’s head before he could recover and both men were dead before their bodies hit the ground. The others redoubled their efforts. Czeleborn fended off a trident thrust and slipped a sword stroke. The swordsman rammed him with his shield and tried to muscle him back but the elf slipped away and cut at his neck. A man swung a falchion with both hands and Czeleborn did a hard block, catching it on his crossguard. The human shoved him and Czeleborn leaped onto a flat rock.

  They paused to take a breath and count their wounds. Everything had happened in silence—I was completely deaf. My friend had a cut on his hand. The lace on that sleeve was spotted with blood. But the humans bled freely, and to their shock their wounds refused to heal. They looked at each other and one word was on their lips: Poison.

  Czeleborn grinned. He always oiled his sword with mistletoe extract. He flourished the blade, letting it flash in the moonlight.

  The man with the trident powered forward, aiming for the legs. Czeleborn knocked the weapon aside and jumped over a sword cut. The falchion man swung his wide, heavy blade. Czeleborn backflipped and put the rock between them. They were fighting next to the pit, three against one, Czeleborn taking the lead. Again the falchion tried to cut him in half. Czeleborn swiped at the swordsman but the Northlander caught the blade on his shield. The sword stuck in the wooden rim and the man twisted the sword away. Czeleborn took away the man’s sword and impaled him through the man’s own shield. Then he got his sword back. The falchion chopped again but only hit the crane. Czeleborn turned aside a lunge from the trident. The sharp prongs kept trying to impale him so he grabbed a rope and swung across the shaft.

  The trident man leaped after. The others ran around the pit.

  Czeleborn landed lightly and sidestepped when the trident hit the ground, hamstringing the man as he did so. The falchion swung his cleaver-sword but hit nothing. Czeleborn wrapped the rope around his neck and kicked him into space. Now the elf was free to focus on a single opponent. Terrified, the trident tried to hold him back, limping all the while. He menaced Czeleborn with the polearm but Czeleborn parried and slashed with murder in his eyes. The sword got caught in the prongs but he pulled back before he was disarmed. The falchion swung back, bellowing. Czeleborn smacked him away without looking, cutting the back of his neck.

  The man with the noose scar had pulled his sword from his guts. He grabbed his dead comrade’s axe and ran roaring around the edge. The trident was holding his own, but somehow he’d gotten turned around. His back was to the pit. Czeleborn caught the trident and hit him in the guts. He planted a boot in the man’s belly and yelled as he kicked the barbarian into empty space. He caught the rope and swung to the other side of the crane, where the falchion was trying to stop bleeding. The Northlander raised his sword and swung mightily but Czeleborn ducked. The axe passed over his head and decapitated the falchion man. Before the scarred axe-wielder could recover Czeleborn cut his feet off. He fell backward, axe flying. Czeleborn dropped his sword, caught the axe, and brought it down across the once-hanged neck.

  The elf dropped the axe. It was over.

  I glanced to either side of me. My companions stood there, wide-eyed. Mina knelt in the snow going Holy shit holy shit holy shit… I hadn’t held them back at the inn because I was afraid they’d hurt him. I’d held them back because he was simply the best swordsman I’d ever heard of.

  CHAPTER 24: MEERWEN

  It might have been over, but nobody had told Elsa. She stood there, alone. Mina had taken away her weapons and Czeleborn her allies but still she was ready to fight. She screamed something. Then she dropped to the ground and convulsed. Her arms stiffened and her head slammed up and down. Spittle foamed out of her mouth. Her legs thrashed bonelessly. Zukaldi moved to help but I tackled him.

  Woman, what is wrong with you, he asked.

  I’ve seen this before, I told him. Can’t you feel the magic drain.

  Humans weren’t known for magic, but Elsa was pulling in the power, concentrating it in her body, storing it up for something massive. I’d seen this before. There was a storm in the woman’s head and something was trying to get out. She shook. Her helmet rolled away. The links of her mail shirt split apart. Her face tore in half, revealing a bewhiskered snout.

  Her transformation wasn’t as extreme as Angrod’s. Her new shape was smaller and basically humanoid. It was eight feet tall, five hundred pounds light, and covered in golden fur. It flexed its hands and popped its two-inch claws. It roared. Even I heard it. You could hear it halfway down the mountain. It was a bloody sound, an ancient sound, a sound that hit you in the racial memory. It Czeleborn got over it first. He stepped in front of her.

  She screamed and leaped. He was in front of the pit and he jumped to the side and let her pass. But she twisted mid-leap and snagged his arm. They fell together.

  “No!” I ran and dove after them. I had time to see that they’d landed in the basket. The elf and the were-lion were fighting, the basket was falling. She dangled from the edge, claws dug into his sword arm. He held onto the basket with his left. The basket was falling.

  I fell faster. I tucked my knees in and rotated forward. I straightened, tensed, and my heels went smack into her head.

  It was like hitting a two-ton side of beef. My head rang and I saw stars. But she loosened her grip and dropped into space. I tried to focus on my flight glyph but something was wrong. I was falling. Czeleborn grabbed my hand. He’d thrown away his sword to catch me. He smiled. Olive juice.

  What? I said.

  Island view, he said.

  Come again? I asked. Olyphant’s shoes?

  My head throbbed. Darkness rose from the shaft. I closed my eyes.

  When I woke up, I was indoors and in the warm. A healer had his hands on my head. I was sitting up in a chair, so I looked around. We were in refectory. My friends were there, as well as others. Angrod, Cruix, and Heronimo were there for some reason.

  Zukaldi waved his hammer at Olympia. “With one cockeyed blow I’m going to cure everybody who’s nauseous!”

  “It’s my mountain,” she said. “You wanna pass gas you can go on home.” She crossed her arms and stuck out her chest. “No hobbit ever better disrespect my mountain.”

  What was going on?

  Mina came over to check o
n me. “I like spastic golden toys?”

  “I think my hearing’s still out of order,” I said. “I can’t seem to understand anybody.”

  “Are you deaf? Boy, I’ll beat you. Ho, we should kick you.”

  I grit my teeth. She probably hadn’t really said that. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bad lip-reader.”

  “If you’re in danger and outsized, count on me.”

  My father patted me on the arm. “Quit sneaking off and punching little orphaned barbarians. The sugar fountain fairy swore so hard.”

  I stared.

  Olympia asked him something. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m the magic man at the magic school.”

  Angrod and his two friends talked among themselves. “My life is a macaroni dream,” Angrod said.

  “Who do you think would win in a bear fight in the night?” Heronimo asked.

  Cruix shook his head. “If I bit you, your arm wouldn’t defend you.” He looked at Angrod. “Dreaming I could strangle you, it felt so wonderful.”

  Heronimo nodded. “I hate gorillas.”

  I was going insane. That was it.

  Czeleborn walked up. He’d changed clothes. “I got a fluffy shirt.”

  “She was crazy,” Mina told him. “So damaged, so sick.” She turned to me. “There. Just face it, men judge us.”

  “The world’s fastest girl might be wrong,” he said. He leaned close and touched my arm. “Let’s creep in the frozen aisle and think warm thoughts. Let’s creep in the large office and make friction after we eat lunch.”

  “Do it silly lady,” she said. “Save a boar. Do that whole fiesta food dance.”

  “I’m fighting with ninja gloves,” he assured me.

  “… and the genie never got me off,” Angrod said. His dead friend Dinendal had joined him. Now I knew I was hallucinating. Dinendal waved. “I kicked your monkey then I used your goat.”

  “I kiss down really low,” Czeleborn whispered.

  “A midget said speak with an accent,” Angrod said. “So I did, just so I could steal his horse while he was tied to a stake.”

  “Romance is deception. Romance is a parody,” Father told Olympia. “It’s how we get you cuddly and naughty.”

  “Oof!” she said. “That’s rough. I’ll get dumb and bang a wizard.”

  Conrad grinned. “Damn boy, if she heard you right the first time she could be riding the tiger.”

  Cruix cut in. “I saw your friends drowning in blood, and I sold the wine to you.”

  Mina faced Heronimo. “I thought we could change and make you tame. I love you but you’re bad and you’re foreign.”

  “We can shoot a unicorn, girl,” Czeleborn said. “Unzip the windflap and love and you can’t go wrong.”

  A tall elf bowed nodded to me. “I’m body-snatching you and then I’ll change your diaper”.

  And all the while Angrod had been rolling around the floor. “I love my champagne! I’m flo-o-o-oating.”

  “… zzzip!” the healer said. “… zzzip!”

  I was still doubting my hearing when I realized I couldn’t see his lips. He said it again: “… zzzip!”

  “Do you have relatives in Drystone?” I asked.

  “Indeed. My family is from there. My brother still lives in the merchant quarter.”

  “Don’t get him started,” Czeleborn said. “Alfredi is my good friend and physician but he’ll talk your ear off about his ancestors.”

  “Is it wrong to be proud of your roots?” Alfredi wondered. “There was bleeding in the brain, milord. She’d sustained at least two concussions and could have died. I have reversed the damage but she ought to have two weeks’ bed rest.”

  “I’ll sleep when we’re done.” I stood up and the room spun. “Whoah. Gravity.”

  Czeleborn moved to support me. I waved him away. “Have the others brought you up to date?”

  He nodded. “But there’s a problem.”

  We found Father arguing with the tall elf.

  “… and as the highest-ranking representative of His Majesty’s Royal Guard I’m afraid I must refuse your lordship’s requests for further assistance.”

  “Damnation! For what have I brought you and your men, if not to fight for Brandish?”

  The elf sneered. “We can certainly do that, my lord. However, you’re asking us to invade the Northlands. And we are the soldiers of the crown. I’m sure that would be interpreted as an act of war.”

  “It’s only a sortie, Thurim!”

  “Nevertheless, I am disinclined to participate further. Furthermore, Lord Elanesse, I must insist you address me by the proper form.”

  Czeleborn stepped in. “Excuse me, Lord Governor, but Lissesul is right. He can’t go through the portal without causing an incident.”

  Thurim Lissesul smirked. He had sharp features, even for an elf, and he sharpened them further with powder and lipstick. His dark hair was in ringlets. “Thank you, Czeleborn. I am delighted that you agree.”

  Czeleborn suppressed a shudder. “What’s more, if anything’s guaranteed to cause an incident, it’s that outfit. I mean, is this what Mithenians are wearing these days?”

  Where Czeleborn used lace in moderation, Thurim used it like he was terrified of looking poor. Red lace hung from his wrists and cascaded from his neck. His red velvet coat was trimmed in gold.

  His hand dropped to his rapier. “Sir! You dare disparage the colours of the royal house? Were your scabbard not empty I would challenge you for that insult.”

  “I have a spare sword in my luggage if you feel that strongly.”

  “We don’t have time,” Father said. “Czeleborn, are your troops also royal guard?”

  “They’re city guard, as it happens. Loyal men, all of them.”

  “So our forces are merely halved.”

  I looked at my friends. Conrad nodded.

  “Less than half, Father. My people will finish what we started.”

  “Some of my sisters will also be joining us,” Olympia said. “And you’re forgetting yourself, Findecano. Are you not the equal of any army?”

  My father beamed. “Lissesul, you have the honour and the glory of securing the temple. Leave the heroics to us.”

  Thurim scowled. He hadn’t thought of that.

  The crane was not to be trusted. Fortunately, we didn’t need it. We dropped the entire way.

  We’d lined up around the pit and leaped for the centre, linking hands as we fell. Plunging into darkness we became a many-pointed star. Down, down, and down. The rushing wind made it impossible to hear. It was too dark to see until my father conjured a fireball in the middle of us. Down, down, down. Even with the light there was little to see. The sides of the shaft were perfectly smooth, the surface nigh-unbreakable. No mortal climber could ascend them.

  Czeleborn was to my right. He smiled, looking devilish and lean in the unsteady glow. Mina, to my left, stared straight down as if determined to get through this. She’d experienced freefall before.

  It had been less than a minute. We were almost there. Our light shot ahead, exploding in a knot of Northlanders. We slowed and settled upon a heap of bodies. The fall was over.

  We faced into the gloom. Points of light—human eyes—glittered all around. I sent up a flare. Yang threw a handful of glowing seeds. Even Czeleborn managed a wisp of fire. Father made every Northlander light up like deep-sea fish. There were dozens of them.

  “Hey!” Borlog said. “I’m blue inside!”

  Yang pointed. “Hey Czeleborn, there’s your sword!”

  “Huh. Thanks.”

  The enemy humans charged. We settled our feet and prepared for a long battle.

  “They’re wearing a lot of metal, aren’t they?” Father wondered aloud. He snapped his fingers and shrank their armour several sizes. It was like an invisible hand crushing a steel goblet. There was a clap like thunder. Breastplates and helmets crumpled inward, spraying blood and liquefied flesh.

  Sandy stepped to one side and vomited. It made no difference to th
e smell.

  “His… his stomach is inside his helmet!” Zukaldi said. “His guts is broken!”

  Sandy vomited some more. Others joined her.

  “I just changed this shirt,” Czeleborn said.

  Father clapped his hands and the worst vanished from our clothes and faces. “Forgive me.”

  “Mother taught you that,” I said.

  “I’ve been practicing.”

  “My beard!” Zukaldi said. “Someone has stolen my beautiful beard!”

  We knew they’d be waiting when we teleported. We arrived with swords up, hammers cocked, death spells ready to fly. We weren’t ready for the spells to fizzle, for the glyphs to fade, for the enchantments to go dead. Mina almost dropped her axe. “My strength! What happened to my strength?”