Finding the even ground between making a gun and making a fancy bomb was the hard part.
“We can try dropping the dosage,” Tethis said, nodding to her fellow goblin.
Meg scowled slightly. “Why don’t we just stick with bombs?”
“What, and just hope every battle we fight takes place with a day’s advanced warning?” Laurentinus asked.
“Grenades, maybe...” Vani muttered, rubbing her chin. She was doing some scratching in the dirt near the floor, her finger drawing the alchemical symbols of her trade. Her eyes looked unfocused.
“With slings?” Laurentinus said. “They don’t hold a candle to a musket. Or a cannon.”
I love how he can say that with so much authority, Liam thought. Considering he’s never bloody seen one.
“Meg,” Liam said aloud. “We do have bombs. And we’re going to use them. But Laurentinus is right – we need weapons that can stop the bad guys at a distance. We’re not going to win in melee combat when we go up against people who walk around in scale armor.”
“You might not,” Meg said, sniffing.
Vani slapped her head. “Of course the magic wouldn’t work,” she said, sounding appalled. “Tethis – the communicative properties of crystal!”
“Of course!” Tethis put her hands over her mouth. “Oh, I’m an idiot.”
“Who in the what now?” Meg asked.
Tethis and Vani started to babble magical terms. Liam tried to parse it out. He was fairly sure that there was something about mixing similar magical materials causing the spell to act as a multiplier of force rather than a redirector of force. But that was just because Tethis finished her spiel off by throwing her arms into the air: “Like putting too much air into a bladder!”
“Boom,” Vani said.
“Well, at least we can make better land mines,” Laurentinus said, rubbing his chin.
“Why not use magic to transform the crystal, rather than trying to redirect the energy?” a female voice suggested.
“If I knew a spell that could change crystal, I’d use it,” Tethis said, waving her hand. She looked at Vani. “Why would you suggest-” Tethis stopped as she saw Vani’s expression of confusion.
She, Vani, Meg, Liam and Laurentinus turned to face the new voice. Sitting in the air, about halfway between the bottom of the bunker and the viewing slit, was a woman. She had bright red hair, cat green eyes, a fine patina of freckles, and a heart shaped face with a button nose. Her eyes had black liner surrounding them and spreading outwards in circles, giving her an almost raccoon-ish look. Her hair was done in a horse tail, long enough to wrap around her belly and rest in her lap. Her legs were crossed in a lotus style, and she simply hovered in the air.
Liam conspicuously didn’t reach for his sword. Instead, he tried to sound like the leader of a city-state as he said: “Who are you?”
The girl scoffed – her voice suddenly coming from behind Liam: “Isn’t it obvious. I- oh, sorry, got distracted.” He turned and he saw that she was standing behind Meg, her hands cupping the other woman’s breasts.
Meg looked completely shocked.
“Oi!” she snarled, grabbing the other girl’s wrists.
“Sorry, that was me being bad,” the woman’s voice said from above Liam. He started as he realized she was standing on his shoulders. Though, he noticed, she weighed less than nothing. He looked up at her, then frowned. “But in my defense...” She sketched an hourglass in the air with her hands and whistled.
Meg, normally a sucker for flattery, didn’t stop glaring.
“Stop that,” Liam said. “And apologize. Now.”
The woman sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry for groping you, Megara.”
Meg nodded.
“There we go,” Liam said, trying to sound authoritative. “Off. Now.”
The woman hopped off his shoulders, her shoes crunching on the earth at the bottom of the ditch. She looked over her shoulder at him and smirked.
“Though, I do notice that no one has congratulated me on my good idea.”
“Do you know what is also a good idea?” Liam asked. “Cold fusion, communism and a Facebook comment section. It doesn’t matter if you have a good idea if you don’t know how to make it work.”
The woman looked irritated. “I follow you via context, but I still feel like I’m missing a really good joke.”
Liam shrugged. “Eh, it’s okay. Now. Who. Are. You?”
“You don’t recognize me?” the woman said, gesturing to herself. She looked back at the others. Everyone shook their head. She looked back at Liam. She frowned. “That’s just-” She shook her head, then snapped her fingers. A flash of light surrounded her, then faded. Now, a fusion of girl and horse stood before them. Taller, curvier, with an equine snout and a bushy tail sprouting from above her rump. She even had hooves, which made the same clicking sound as her shoes. She put her hands on her hips, grinning saucily at Liam. “Does this help?”
Liam furrowed his brow. “Uh... Resheph?” he asked.
“Resh-” Another snap of the fingers, another shift, back to the redheaded form. “Do I look like a stick in the mud Pesedjeti?”
“Now that she mentions it, no,” Tethis said. “The Pesedjeti don’t make asses of themselves. That’s more of a Dodekatheon trait.”
“I’d be offended if it wasn’t true,” Meg said, though Laurentinus looked annoyed.
The goddess threw up her hands. “Schlepner ring a bell?”
Liam shook his head. “Wait...” He snapped his fingers. “Wait, yes. You’re-”
He sprang backwards, almost knocking Meg over.
“Ding ding ding!” Loki, god of tricksters, shapeshifters, brother of Odin, son of giants, spread her arms. “You got it!”
“But Loki’s a boy,” Liam stammered.
“I’m a shapeshifter, honey,” Loki said, stepping onto the edge of the bunker, pushing aside the earth with ease, letting in some additional fresh air and light. “Sticking with one gender for four thousand seven hundred and eighty nine years is kind of like living in a hot spring without bathing. Yes. You can...” She paused, then continued with exaggerated care: “But why?”
As she started towards the walls of Babylon, Liam looked back at Meg and Tethis.
“This is going to be fun, isn’t it?” Meg muttered.
“Yeah. Fun.” Tethis cracked her knuckles.
“So, fill me in, what has Loki done since being banished to Purgatory?” Liam whispered.
“Stole Zeus’ thunderbolts, then replaced them with copper replicas,” Meg said, quietly as she helped Tethis scramble out of the bunker and into the sunlight.
“Took Ammit for a walk. Without Anubis’ permission,” Tethis whispered. “Said the poor dear was going stir crazy.”
Liam frowned. “So, Loki being Loki. Good to know. Say, the legends say he – er, she – got Balder killed. Is that what happened?”
“Why do you think she’s got those black rings around her eyes?” Tethis muttered.
“Right,” said Liam, “And why she’s here.”
“Oh, no, I’m not here because I’m avoiding my dear brother’s punishments,” Loki said, casually turning around and walking backwards. She smiled, sweetly. “While you were mucking around with cannons and gunpowder and secretive blowjobs-”
Liam coughed loudly and tried to avoid Tethis’ questioning look.
“Brax and Sysminor conquered Thorhielm.”
Despite standing under the baking sun, Liam felt cold.
***
It was funny what a ditch could do.
Livianna of New Sparta, daughter of Aries the God of War, rubbed her finger along her slave collar as she walked the edge of the ditch. Heaped within, piled and studded with javelins and arrows, were several hundred huscrals. Soldiers from Brax’s army stepped among them – dragging the still living to the edge of the ditch where they could be tended. Others were taking armor, weapons. One of them trilled excitedly as they held up a glowing broadax.
“Did you know,” Brax said, his voice coming from above her head and to the right, “I always wanted to own a tavern?”
Liv looked back. Brax the Golden - the title used by his master and his men – did not fit well with the unassuming general. Which, in and of itself, was a touch ironic, considering that Brax looked as if someone had dumped a bunch of molten gold over him at some point. The gold had worked into every crack of every scale and hardened into a smooth sheen that moved with his every move. It kept the fine definition of his muscles, the curve of his shoulders, even the ridges that went from his scalp to the tip of his tail.
He was beautiful.
Not that Liv would ever admit that.
“No,” she said. “But considering I am your slave, I’m going to just assume you’ll bore me with the details.”
“It was never a detailed dream. That’s the nice thing about owning taverns. You just need to make more money than you spend and listen to people’s boring stories and you’re good,” Brax said, shaking his head.
The battle outside of Thorheilm shouldn’t have happened.
The city was defended. They had walls – not as fine as some cities, but still formidable. But the general leading their defense had seen the preparations for the attack and decided to end it with overwhelming force. Liv wasn’t sure if it had been arrogance, or if it had been a desire to save people from the privations of a long siege. Either way, they had marched and ridden out into one of the most lopsided victories Liv had ever seen.
The ditch that Brax’s army had dug was broad and wide and just deep enough to be a chore to get into and out of. Splitting the army to go around it would have left the Aesir troops exposed to counter attack. And so, the infantry had marched forward into the ditch, planning to climb out and attack Brax’s line of infantry. Cavalry had gone around for the flanking attacks. There, Brax’s heavy cavalry had smashed into the Aesir’s. Bronze armor had split, horses had been gored by the raptors that the lizardfolk rode, and the infantry had found the ditch had been enchanted. Water from the river had flowed into the mud from every angle – not enough to drown, but more than enough to mire the huscrals in suddenly uneven ground.
Arrows.
Spears.
Mud.
Blood.
The Aesir had broken and fled – and then the raptors had been on them.
“A tavern huh?” Liv asked. Her voice was hollow.
The two of them walked to where the survivors were being gathered. The first generation of lizardmen sorcerers had been crude beings, crafted by Sysminor by hand. He had literally fused crystal foci into their bodies with his touch, leaving them hideous, warped, and according to Brax, slightly mad. Liv wouldn’t have been able to attest to that, she had never met one that she hadn’t immediately killed before now.
The second generation had been born after the Codec. The Codec had done something to the lizardfolk, and it had given Sysminor the ability to create people like Fizit.
Fizit was the most beautiful lizardwoman that Liv had met and the fact Fizit knew she was beautiful - by any standards - just made it worse. She was dressed in a tall headdress and furred shoulders, straps crossing across her chest, cupping and spreading her breasts slightly, while her hips were adorned with a pair of raptor skulls shaped into skirts, complete with feathers and tufts of colored fur to add to the fearsome coloration. She held out her palm as a geometric pattern surrounded her palm, flashing and cracking as one of the wounded Aesir warriors gasped in pain.
“There,” Fizit said, dropping her arm. “The bone’s set and fixed. Take him back for questioning.”
The Aesir looked conflicted as he was hauled to his feet. Since there had been a rather chunk of bone sticking out of his thigh, barely missing one of his major veins, Liv could see why he was glad to be hale. But she also could sympathize with the look of utter loathing he shot at the two lizardmen who dragged him off.
“How many survivors?” Brax asked.
“Two hundred and thirty eight,” Fizit said, turning to face him. “They say that Thor’s currently with Odin and Sif in Wotan. My spies have them there, and we’ve already started to count their gathering armies.” She grinned, fiercely. “Better news, though, from the City of the Dead Gods-”
“Babylon,” Brax said. Liv looked at him sidelong.
Fizit coughed. “Yes, Babylon.” She shook her head. “Whatever they call it, they can’t seem to produce anything more than a big bang with this gunpowder of theirs.”
Brax nodded. “Very good. Any luck on assassins?”
Fizit shook her head. “The Cross Guard are being directed by Laurentinus. He’s...” She paused. “Adequate. Good enough to catch anyone not an expert and, unfortunately, our talent pool when it comes to infiltration is relatively shallow. Assassins don’t live long, and our spies are more useful where they are. And I don’t want to trust an assassin off the street for killing Liam Godkiller. Trying to kill him and failing is worse than not trying at all.”
Brax grinned toothily. “And that has nothing to do with the fact you rode him in that orgy you threw?”
Fizit’s nares – the edges of her elongated muzzle – turned bright red. She coughed loudly. “Magic was, ah, involved. Anyway!” She waved her hands. “Liam is not our real threat at this point. The danger is that Athena and Sobek are both heading to Olimurias. That’s three pantheons. If they come to the aid of the Aesir...”
Liv snorted. “Listen, lady, you stick Athena and Sobek in the same room for a single night of debate, they’re going to be killing each other before the sun kindles.”
“Tell the men to take the stores they can from the city. Post guards and recruit from the population – use the control charms to ensure loyalty,” Brax said. “And then tell the rest of the army we’re marching for Woden.”
Liv frowned.
Brax had brought her with him as part of a plan. She knew that he hated Sysminor. He wanted to ruin whatever plan Aries had for Purgatory. But for all that, Brax was still fighting the war against the Aesir with terrifying skill and efficiency. She felt her gut churn as she looked back at the ditch, at the place where Thorheilm’s forces had been broken.
“Come,” Brax said. His voice was authoritative but Liv felt no urge to follow him, no compulsion to walk after.
Her finger went to the slave collar again. It was inert. It had been inert for days, ever since Brax had gotten his hands on a touchkey.
She turned to follow him. Together, they mounted the raptors that were waiting for them. The sleek beasts were fierce. Predators, not herbivores. They didn’t need to be trained for war – though training did turn them from merely dangerous to utterly lethal. Riding one was like riding a horse, though, and Liv had been quite an equestrian for most of her life. It came in handy when one’s job was to put sharpened pieces of bronze through other people. She took hold of the reins and rode after Brax as he started towards where the army was gathering.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his face.
It was more than just the different facial structures. She had played cards with one Brax’s bodyguards, Vazt. He had been just as expressive, just as easily read, as Liam. But Brax?
Brax had an amazing poker face.
For some reason, that give Liv hope.
The army got ready to move with amazing speed. Part of that, Liv saw, came from their kit. Rather than relying on heavy armor, the lizardfolk seemed to delight in going into battle wearing nothing but their loincloths, some adornments, and bearing shields. They had two kinds of shields, one that they carried on their person, and others that were heaped on the beasts of burden that the sorcerers controlled. The alternate shields were heavy wooden ones, designed to reflect and absorb the impact of massed arrow volleys, or to be used when facing heavy infantry. The lighter shields were made simply to help block and redirect attacks.
In veteran hands, these shields and their bronze swords were more than enough to handle the enemy, and they let the lizardfolk lope
along at a ground chewing pace. And Brax pushed them hard – hard enough that even Liv’s semi-godly body was feeling the strain. But Brax didn’t seem to think he was exhausting his troops.
The reason why became clear over the next day.
Liv emerged from one of the simple lean-tos that Brax used for his resting place, carrying a chamber pot. As her fiction of being his slave, she had to do some slave work. There were spies more loyal to Sysminor than to Brax, and she wanted to put on a good show for them. But as she made her way into the jungle beside the road that the army had jogged through, she noticed one of the other lizardmen urinating against a tree. Brax had strict orders about not shitting and pissing in the camp, and his men and women followed those orders.
There was something utterly arrogant about the lizardman as he noticed her watching him piss. The look on his face was: Yeah, I’m hung. Deal with it.
But Liv wasn’t noticing his dick – which actually wasn’t a match for Brax's cock, let alone Liam’s. Not that she was noticing... Rather, she was looking at his coloration. Elves were evolved predators, born to notice details and patterns. And she had seen him being dragged out of the nasty melee that had swirled between the cavalry of both armies, his arm almost torn off. It was still in a sling, but that was just it. It should have been missing. Hell, he should have been dead.
Sysminor was many things, but he did not produce the healing magics that gods were famous for. And even the healing of Apollo would have had a hard time with that.
“Want a chance at a common soldier’s cock, huh?” he asked, wiggling to get a few droplets off his prick. Liv snorted and dumped her chamber pot, to show him what she thought of the suggestion.
The lizardman growled and stepped forward, grabbing her wrist hard.
“Listen, you little knife-eared bitch, we folk are going to be running Purgatory soon-”
His hand hit the ground. Blood misted across Liv’s face, breasts, shoulders. Both she and the soldier turned to look at the shadow that had emerged from the jungles, now lit only by the bio-luminescent shimmer of flowers and the faint throbbing of a few crystal outcroppings.
The Blood Groove (Purgatory Wars Book 4) Page 2
