Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  I launched myself off of Rolph and reached the sword half a beat ahead, pulled it against my chest, and rolled.

  Jean-Paul stomped the ground where my head had been and twirled to face me. He crouched in a fighter’s stance, ready for anything I could throw at him.

  Only, I didn’t want to fight him. I wanted him to take the damn sword and get out of our lives, hopefully forever. The conflicting emotions warred in my head, one asking to end this, the other screaming to keep the sword from him, no matter the sacrifice.

  I tried to rise by pushing off with my right hand, and nearly fell on my face. Jean-Paul smiled and offered me his hand.

  “Bite me,” I said, smacking his hand and standing without his help. My right arm hung at my side, twitching. In my left I held the sword, letting the power wash over me like a rising tide.

  “As it shall be,” Jean-Paul said, stepping back, the flames returned to his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll take the sword and keep this plaything.” He stepped toward Katie.

  Katie called out, a guttural choke, her hand reaching for me, but the warning was too late to prevent Rolph’s full-body tackle. The world dimmed for a moment as I hit the ground with him on top of me again. As much time as I’d spent under him, I should demand dinner. At the moment, I’d settle for a breath.

  “I claim the sword,” Rolph bellowed as he swung his right fist into my side.

  Pain blossomed along my ribs and I drew a ragged breath.

  “You forfeit . . .” He flailed at me. “. . . any claim . . .” His voice broke and I could tell he wept. “Unworthy . . . ,” he moaned.

  “Oh, hang them,” Jean-Paul shouted. “Kill them all.”

  Fifty-two

  I BROUGHT MY KNEE UPWARD AND THIS TIME, I CAUGHT ROLPH in the groin. He fell to the side and I pushed away from him. Once I was out of his reach I scrambled to my feet, breathing in gulps.

  Jean-Paul smiled at me, holding Gram in its sheath. Bastard. I ran forward, only to be knocked to the side by a fifteen-foot-tall wall of ugly.

  I landed on my ass, and the giant stumbled with two crossbow bolts in his chest.

  “Leave her,” I shouted.

  My only answer was laughter. Jean-Paul faded back toward the chopper. He had Katie on her feet and was pulling her along by her arm.

  “Katie,” I choked out. She whipped her head around, and they were swallowed in a wall of bodies.

  A wave of huge bodies, each fifteen feet of muscles and bone, ran at me.

  I turned, looking for Qindra.

  “What a mess,” she said, holding her two index fingers together and pointing them like a gun. Lightning leapt forth, swallowing a giant that had swerved toward us.

  “The covenant is broken,” she said, pulling a feather from the charm at her neck and flicking it at me. She vanished in a puff of smoke.

  I tasted stale tequila, if you can believe it, in that moment.

  And the rage in me was freed once again.

  I strode into the battle, a haze of red coloring every image.

  Behind me I heard the distinct sound of crossbows, and several of the giants stumbled in their lumbering gait. Of course, they did not fall.

  “Black Briar!” someone shouted behind me.

  I drew a hammer in each hand and swung the left at a giant that lumbered past me, shattering his elbow. He swung his left fist at me, and I rolled to the side, smashing his ankle with the second hammer.

  He fell, tangling up two others, and I leapt over him, bringing both hammers down in a spray of blood and brains.

  The rest of the giants surged past me only to smash into the Black Briar skirmish line.

  No matter the hours we trained, nor the coolness of our gear, we were just not equipped to handle this type of fight.

  The skirmish line looked good, shields locked, their spears bristling out like a porcupine.

  Several giants fell back when they impacted the wall, but the momentum and weight carried them forward in several places. Once they were through, they decimated the line.

  There were sixty people in that shield wall. Good, strong people I thought of as family. More than my own mother and father.

  Chloe, the hairdresser, died in that next instant, crushed by a maul-like fist. She had done everything right, held her place, shield up. A giantess writhed on the ground in front of the line, Chloe’s spear piercing her huge throat.

  But Bob the accountant hadn’t held. He’d buckled and was crushed beneath the stomping feet of two giants.

  The hole that opened split the Black Briar line and Chloe never even saw what killed her.

  Spears were dropped and swords drawn. The SCAdians broke into groups of twos or threes, guarding each other’s backs while fending off the giants.

  I paused at a downed giant, kicked the spear that pierced his chest. He threw his head back, bellowing in pain.

  I crushed his throat.

  Whirling around, I saw that two of our people were hard-pressed by a giant with a telephone-pole-sized club. On his back-swing, I darted in and drove a hammer’s spiked head into his spine.

  As he fell to the ground, my people scrambled forward, hacking and cutting. He would not rise again.

  Gunther leapt over one fallen warrior, Trisha, I think, and swung his great sword, severing a giant arm. He stood over his fallen comrade and screamed like a banshee.

  The giant did not fade, but swung a club around, catching Gunther in the leg, collapsing his knee, driving him to the ground.

  I sprinted forward, racing the swing of the giant’s club. I threw myself at the back of the giant’s legs.

  He fell, startled, blood showering the area with arterial flow from his flailing stump. Gunther rose up on one knee and drove his sword into the giant chest, and I rolled to my feet, hammers at the ready.

  From the haze, Stuart darted forward, grabbing Trisha and Gunther, dragging them both back toward the barn.

  I ran after them apace, ensuring they were not followed.

  Then the ogres hit us.

  One sword shattered against the body of an ogre, and crossbow bolts fell to the ground, splintered and bent.

  I fell upon the closest, striking it in the back, blow after blow, as it staggered forward, trying to turn to face me. It swung its arms around, pinwheeling, but I danced in, hammering. On the fourth blow, a seam appeared. On the sixth blow, the whole shoulder shattered and the ogre fell to the ground, a heap of broken stone.

  We could not stand against their strength, their numbers.

  “Fall back,” I shouted. “Form on me.”

  Two warriors stumbled to my side, shields up. To my left, another group fought toward me.

  “Left flank,” I said, moving to meet the second group. Between us, we slew two trolls and then we were five.

  We battled forward to a giant who was pounding his club down on a fallen SCAdian. I didn’t even recognize them any longer, but those with me pulled the giant down, stabbing it over and over—our cries of anguish and horror rising into the night.

  Several giants rushed the far right flank, nearest the barn.

  One of them snatched up a smallish warrior, maybe Robert, one of the young computer programmers. Whoever it was, he was flung high into the air. The body hit the barn and rolled down to fall on the ground, broken.

  “Right,” I shouted, sprinting toward the giants. Several people stood shoulder to shoulder, spears in hand, but they weren’t warriors, they were the support crew.

  One of ours took a blow just below his shield with a short spear. He went down, keeping his shield up enough to divert the next blow. We rushed forward, swords and glaives catching the troll unaware.

  “Thank the Maker,” Kyle George said, leveraging himself up onto his feet. The leather breeches he wore had absorbed some of the blow, but blood soaked his leg.

  “Get him behind the line,” I bellowed.

  “I’ll take him,” Samantha said, wiping her sword on the rough hide armor of the troll. She sheathed the blade and li
fted Kyle’s arm over her shoulder. While we watched, they lumbered back toward the safety of the barn.

  Or, I thought it was safe. The sound of a shotgun blast erupted from that direction.

  “Who has that?” I yelled.

  Brett, an insurance salesman and damn fine fighter, pointed back at the barn. “Deidre,” he shouted. “She’s in trouble.”

  I turned, torn. The barn was behind our skirmish zone—a safe place for our wounded.

  A second blast erupted and I saw a giant fall to the ground, where the support crew turned it into a pincushion.

  Deidre stood on top of the picnic table, chambering another shell into her shotgun. Helluva woman, I thought.

  “Let’s move, people,” I bellowed. “Troll at two o’clock.”

  My crew surged forward, taking the troll down. Brett took a hard blow to the head, but the others pulled him back, away from the battle. Then we were four.

  Just past the troll that had got a lucky shot in on Brett, we heard chanting.

  Once the troll was dispatched, we moved in that direction. I could hear Stuart’s voice rising above the rest.

  “Black Briar,” he called.

  “Black Briar!” his squad returned.

  “Cut ’em down.”

  “Cut ’em down!”

  A troll fell back, turning and stumbling, blood covering his torso, his armor in shreds.

  Imagine his surprise when we stood between him and freedom.

  I hit him with both hammers—Redondo—each circular blow striking with practiced precision. One hammer caught his left arm, the second hit the same arm, shattering it, forcing him to drop his spear. I stepped forward, letting the third blow strike the head. He fell with a finality that let my squad ignore him and rush the giant that harassed Stuart’s squad.

  Between us, the giant had no chance. Once he fell, our two units met and merged. We paused to breathe, twelve stoic Black Briar clan members, winded but alive.

  “Too many down,” Stuart said, once he’d had a chance to catch his breath. “Too many of them standing.”

  “Aye,” I said, looking across the field. One of the giants had fallen into the bonfire, scattering the logs out into the field, and fires had begun in the surrounding grass.

  “Rally to the barn,” I suggested, clapping Stuart on the shoulder.

  “What about Katie?” he asked.

  I turned and looked across the field. Through the haze and smoke, I could see Katie struggling against Jean-Paul as he dragged her back to one of the choppers. Good girl, I thought, keep fighting the bastard.

  I’d been so swept up in rescuing folks, taking down the next target, that I’d lost the ball. Time to rescue Katie, before it was too late.

  “Save the wounded, protect the barn,” I said to Stuart, and sprinted away from them.

  “Come on, ladies,” Stuart shouted. “Let’s show Gunther what real warriors can do.”

  I glanced back, saw them sprinting back into battle, moving toward another knot of us holding our own against the onslaught.

  “Black Briar’s gonna rock your world,” they sang, cadence and call.

  They would be okay. They had to be.

  Fifty-three

  I’D LOST COUNT OF THE FALLEN, BUT WE WERE NOT THE ONLY ones thinking on the field. Four giants and several trolls had followed our lead and were rallying together. Only this group followed the chaotic path of the remaining ogre. As I sprinted past, I saw them mow through four warriors who had taken a stand.

  “Swords don’t work against him,” I growled. “Come on, people. Use your heads.”

  Of course they couldn’t hear me. Hell, they were likely dead.

  Stuart and his crew had taken down another troll and were dragging some of the wounded back toward the barn when I climbed atop a fallen giant to get my bearings. It was like walking on top of a mattress, but I needed the vantage point.

  Katie was on the ground again, and Jean-Paul kicked her, shouting and waving Gram at her, holding the sheath halfway down the blade.

  Why hadn’t he drawn it?

  As I got closer, I started seeing burning debris from the attack helicopter scattered across the field. Several bodies lay among the wreckage. I guessed one had been the pilot, based on the helmet he wore.

  Jean-Paul looked around, like a hound catching a scent, and turned toward the copter that had delivered the giants. The pilot there had the blades spinning already. That one was earning his pay.

  A sound rose in the distance, a clear high call. I glanced around. There it was again. Horns. Two horns blew, signaling . . . I stopped and looked back. Jimmy, Susan, Maggie, and Brendon thundered across the field, warhorses in full bardic armor, lances lowered and shields locked onto knees.

  The knot of giants and trolls that were following the remaining ogre scattered as the lances ripped through them.

  The four of them split two and two, banking around the crowd. They turned in unison, dropping their shattered lances. Susan and Maggie drew swords, Brendon and Jimmy horsemen’s maces.

  They came around for a second pass, the two men attacking the ogre as they rode by. Susan and Maggie ran down fleeing trolls.

  Stuart’s crew caught up with them and rushed in, cutting down one of the remaining giants. The battle had turned again.

  Smoke covered the field, and the smell of petrol and burning flesh choked me as I ran for the first chopper.

  A troll stepped in front of me, through the smoke. I nearly ran into the long bill-guisarme he’d managed to swing around in my direction. He was as surprised to see me as I him.

  I smashed his weapon to the side, and the hooked bill snagged in the sleeve of my chain, ripping a gash into my arm and pulling me off balance. Instead of stepping back to catch my balance, I lunged forward, spinning to the outside. I brought a hammer up under the shaft, flipping it upward and out of his hands. The momentum brought me around for a solid strike, allowing me a chance to smash his right shoulder with my hammer.

  He lumbered to the side, tripping over the pole arm, and sprawled facedown in the trampled grass of the field.

  I leapt forward, smashing his right hip with my left hammer, and dropping onto his back with my knee, bringing the second hammer onto the back of his head.

  Trolls have very thick heads, it seems, and spines that don’t actually follow expected rules of physics.

  I hurt him, there was no doubt by the way he shrieked, but he rolled aside, flipping me onto the ground, and was nearly upon me before I pulled my knees up and launched both feet into his chest.

  Heavy mother, I thought, as I lifted him off the ground and deposited him to the left side, away from my right hammer. The left one lay on the ground five feet beyond our skirmish.

  We were both on our feet at the same time, but he had taken more wounds. He dove forward biting at me, much to my surprise. I brought the hammer up, smashing the side of his face, and he fell.

  I didn’t have time to bother checking him. I limped over to my other hammer, picked it up, and hobbled after Jean-Paul, holding my side as breathing became more of an exercise in pain.

  The breeze carried a thick waft of smoke away and I saw Jean-Paul punch Katie. She fell like a sack of flour.

  “Katie!” I yelled, lurching forward.

  Jean-Paul bent over and grabbed her in a fireman’s carry. He glanced back at me and lumbered to the chopper. She didn’t move.

  Don’t let her be dead, I prayed as I ran.

  The chopper hovered just off the ground. The pilot had the blades spinning at full torque. Jean-Paul leaned against the frame, dropping Katie unceremoniously into the open bay. He slid the sword across the chopper floor, planted both hands on the edge of the door, and jumped in after her, shouting for them to go.

  I wasn’t going to make it.

  He slid the door shut, watching me as I ran toward them.

  They were barely off the ground when I caught up to them, but the chopper hovered fifteen feet in the air. I couldn’t reach t
hem.

  I looked around, thinking I could climb on something and jump, when the sound of the chopper faded. It’s not like sound stopped, it just faded back, the battle cries and the heavy beat of the dual blades. Instead, cutting through it all I heard the quiet chanting of Qindra once again. I could not see her in the smoke and chaos, but her voice sang in my head. “You know what to do, sister. Follow your heart.”

  The runes along my left calf flared to life, burning into me with the intensity of an acetylene torch. I buckled with the pain, dropping to my hands and knees for a moment.

  A shard of metal lay on the ground near my hand. I snatched it, ignoring the blistering heat, and twisted around. I used the shard to split my left pant leg open, revealing the glowing runes. Here was my answer.

  Using the metal shard, I was able to cut my hand, drawing a line of fire across my palm from thumb to pinkie. Not too deep, but blood welled up quick and dark. I bent, dragging the bloody hand down the length of my calf, feeding the runes with my lifeblood. Power surged into me. I rose, taking three loping strides, and launched the hammer into the air.

  The chopper had swung around and was picking up speed when the hammer smashed against the rear rotor housing.

  Smoke billowed from the rear motors, and the chopper twisted in the air, seeking stability.

  I raised my bloody hand and wiped it across my brow. The painful clarity of all my mistakes, my near misses and could-have-beens, flashed through me. I did not need strength, I surmised. I needed accuracy.

  I let fly the second hammer. This one arced high into the sky, only to fall back and strike the rising chopper near the front. I watched with held breath as the hammer smashed into the cockpit, shattering the window with a thunderclap. The echoing explosion blasted outward, knocking me to the ground, and flashing across the battlefield, leveling anyone lucky enough to be on their feet. Lightning exploded from the cockpit. I had to pray that somehow the chopper wouldn’t completely fall apart. That I could somehow get to Katie in time.