Pixie Noir (Pixie for Hire Book 1)

by Cedar Sanderson

  “Aye. We ken that,” he agreed happily.

  I sighed. “Ok, here’s what I need...”

  I had just finished my briefing and was rubbing my temples to ease the McGregor headache when a more welcome face appeared.

  I held out my hand as the shorter pixie walked up. We clasped forearms.

  “Daffyd, glad you could come.”

  He shrugged, “What the hell? I have a new arrow to try out. And, goblins, man!”

  “You’re nuts, too.” I laughed with him. Daffyd Ap Maple had a longbow, and he was very good with it. It was just an English yew bow, but all his arrows were enchanted. He was also one of the very few in the hall that had spent any time above in the Human realms, and who I could call a true friend.

  “I saw the McGregors flitting about. Now, they’re bughouse nuts,” he pointed out.

  “Tell me about it.” I pointed at the carts. “There’s hot, good food, if you haven’t eaten. I’ll be briefing everyone in the morning, so take some time to meet people and take a rest if you can.”

  “Lom...” he sounded amused. I blinked at him. “It’s morning in about, ah, now?”

  “Oh, wonderful. Time to rally the troops, then.”

  He looked past me. “First, you have one more recruit, looks like.”

  I turned and groaned out loud. Daffyd chuckled behind me. “I’ll line ‘em up while you talk to him.”

  “Thanks.” I growled. Actually, it was be good to have a lieutenant I could delegate to. I was going to need all my patience for the man I was about to tell to go home.

  “Martin.” I greeted him as civilly as I could. He was in his armor and he clanked as he walked toward me. “No horse?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

  “Lom, frivolous as always, m’ lad.” He flipped up his visor, revealing a face lined with more years than I cared to think about. One eye drooped slightly. The grizzled cheeks hadn’t been shaved in a while, but in the gauntlets I couldn’t see the shake of his hands that no doubt was the cause of the stubbly face.

  “Martin, are you mad? You can’t fight in that get-up.”

  He scowled at me. “It’ll keep the little buggers from biting my ankles.”

  I tried to put it as clearly as I could, “I can’t let you fight, Martin.”

  “You can’t stop me,” he growled. “I’ve fought goblins for longer than any of you young pups, and when this old warhorse hears the call, he rides out!”

  “And if you take others down in your ride to Valhalla?” I snapped back at him. “Everyone that goes out there...” I pointed through the ward to the shadowy hall beyond. “Is going to be relying on the ones nearest them for covering fire. Martin,” I gentled my voice and put one hand on his breastplate. “I understand. I don’t want to die alone, myself.”

  “I am not here merely to avoid dying alone. I plan to die in bed with a winsome lass to cuddle me. But what’s a soldier to do when there’s a battle to be fought?”

  I’d lost, that was more than I had time or energy to fight with him over. “Talk to Alger, then. He has his orders for the offensive, already. I must go... Martin.” He had started to turn away, and now stiffly faced me again. I drew myself up, and snapped off a salute.

  He nodded, very slightly, all his helm allowed him, and clanked off. I felt something bump my cheek and startled, catching it quickly. A message spell. I held it in my hand, remembering the banshee’s wail in my ear. Or my mother’s voice. I didn’t know which was worse, honestly. I’d rather go out and face the goblins in my bare skin than her, if someone had told her what was happening this morning. I finally put it to my ear, and closed my eyes as I heard Bella’s voice.

  “I know what’s happening. Joe, Jr. told me. I think he’d rather be down there with you fighting, than up here watching me be social. I have had more visitors... But I won’t bore you with all that. I just wanted to make sure you know I’m not mad at you. The King seems to think... Well, I’m not mad at you. I know you didn’t mean for me to wind up stuck Underhill, and you wouldn’t have pledged to me if you were planning to betray me.” Her voice trembled a little on the last words, but she went on, “I’ve been looking up goblins in the library, Lom, and they are foul. I hope...” her voice choked up, and she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I need to talk to you, so please come back.”

  That was the last thing I’d been expecting. I had done my best to put her in a locked compartment of my mind while we did this, and I should have known she would kick down doors and take names if I did that to her. I formed a message spell carefully, feeling the nausea that magic use brought, and murmured into it as softly as I could. Then I let it go and watched it zip off, blurring out of sight in seconds.

  Chapter 29 - Goblin Battle

  It was time. I checked my own gear, then Dean’s. Olive had selected Beorn to help him with the .50 cal. I had asked Ash to run the other as I had realized I needed to be, well, everywhere, in my commanding role. Dean would take lead when we were done with the guns. Everyone was geared up, all we were waiting on were the pixies.

  Alger dropped the spell, and they flashed out silently into the dark hall. We waited as close to quiet as we could manage with now forty-plus men packed into the broad hall. I didn’t want to put the ward back up, and possibly trap the sprites when they needed to retreat. It was a long couple of moments, with me flinching every time someone coughed, or shifted.

  Then they were back, shrilly laughing as they circled my head, and Alger brought the ward up. I exploded, “What the hell?” at Ewan.

  “Dinna fash yerself!” he came back at me, still chuckling. “Me ‘n t’lads are full of t’joy o’ battle, tis all.”

  “Report, now, then get yourself back to court.” I growled at him, unamused that he might have given away the surprise attack.

  The prisoners were being kept in the great fireplace at the end of the Hall, but they in turn were shielded from us by the throne dais, a vast block of granite. The columns of the Hall would also create shadow effects from the bullets, but we were free to have open fields of fire without harming friendlies. The sprites were vague on details, but insisted that the entire floor of the Great Hall was covered with the seething bodies of goblins, except, of course, where there were ramshackle huts or piles of trash. The trash midden that stood between us, and them, was a big obstacle, but I had a plan in place to deal with that.

  I thanked them, then looked at my men. “Are we ready?”

  A throaty growl of agreement came, and I nodded to Alger, who stood by the wards. He touched wand to the shimmering spell, and it dropped like a falling sheet. He and I waited for Dean to ghost out a few yards, then wave us forward. Alger and I, shoulder to shoulder, walked down the center of the hall. I knew we were vulnerable, but what he was about to do meant no-one could be in front of us, and that included Dean. When we reached the edge of the trash heaps, he fell back behind us, as planned. I took a breath, tried not to choke on the stench, and Alger raised his wand.

  “Go.” I said simply. He threw the spell. I braced against the impact of the backlash. The excavation spell that Bella had used was small, compared to this one. I shook my head to clear the ringing in my ears, and looked at Alger. He was still standing tall, wand at ready. Behind him, Dean had taken a knee, and even further back, I could see the machine gun crews ready for my gesture.

  “Go.” I said again, and imitated Dean, taking a knee against the force of the air pressure that blasted back toward us. This time, when the spell was done, Alger was leaning on my shoulder. “Time to get you back to Court,” I told him, standing and taking his weight more fully. “Can you?”

  He snorted softly, “The day I can’t you might as well leave me in the midden. Lom...” He paused, and looked into my eyes, ignoring the clatter of the guns and men marching around us. “Be careful, boy.”

  “Always. I’ll die as old and mean as you. Now git.” I pushed him upright, and took a step back, so he could transport out. I was moving toward the machine gunners even be
fore he’d blinked out of sight. We had known the two huge spells would leave him exhausted, and he had been up all night preparing the personal protection spells for the rest of the group. We had six hours, he guessed, before they would draw us down to nothing. I told everyone they had four hours from activation to turn it the hell off. I didn’t think any of us were as tough as the old bastard.

  The trash midden was scoured clear, but the floor was still slimy in spots, so we didn’t move quickly forward, just steady. The goblins at the entrance to the great hall seemed to be stunned, not sentries, just unlucky SOB’s that were too close. I unlimbered the shotgun and Daffyd took up the other side of the hall to give the machine guns covering fire close in. Then Ash and Olive opened fire.

  I had known that in the stone hall, the sounds of the guns would be significant. I hadn’t considered quite how loud they would be, and was glad I had issued earplugs and taken the time to explain how they worked. I could see the effect of the sound on the nearest goblins, who cowered, hands to their ears and mouths open in a silent scream. The guns mowed them down like grass. Ash and Olive created overlapping fields of fire, sweeping the hall with six to nine round bursts. They knew better than to get excited and go to continuous fire, risking overheating the barrel of the gun. When they had fired through one belt, I raised the shotgun over my head and bellowed “Charge!”

  We’d planned for enough men to create a double line stretching from one side of the hall to the other, but I had also known that it wouldn’t be precise. Unlike a trained fighting unit, we were not choreographed in our movements. But no one ran ahead of the line, either, as we were moving out onto the guts and gore of countless dead goblins. It would be too easy to fall on that floor. I stopped worrying about it too much as a goblin leapt out from behind the first column, wickedly curved sword swinging high. I shot him, and then the next one...

  An outcry to my left caught my attention and I could see young William was in trouble. I veered a little towards him, knowing the man behind me held our line, and switched the shotgun to sling, while pulling my pistol. I shot the goblin that was latched onto his arm with a mouthful of needle-like teeth, blowing his body apart, and William shook off his head, gasping “thanks!” before charging forward again.

  I returned to the gap in the line as best I could, leapfrogging forward of the man who’d taken my place. The goblins were thicker, now, coming out from behind columns and the dais and charging us with no compunctions about the state of the floor. As I watched the wave come on and braced for it, I could see one or two slip and go down, trampled under the feet of their brethren. I also saw a flaming arrow arc over the mob, then burst into impossibly white fire. Daffyd, with one of his special arrows, and if I had to guess quickly, white phosphorus.

  Nasty weapon, that. I fired a round into the oncoming group, and then shouted one more time, “For the King! Charge!” and we hit them hard. Our line splintered, but didn’t break, and goblins died in droves. I found myself suddenly at the foot of the dais, clutching a long blade in one hand, and the pistol in the other. I was covered in goblin ichor, and as I cut open the goblin backed against the stone, I wondered where the sword had come from, but at that instant, a deafening concussion blew me down.

  I struggled back to my feet and looked in the direction of the blast. There was a lull in the onslaught, I guessed because every sentient being in the Hall was doing what I was doing. I couldn’t tell what had happened, but a starburst pattern in dead goblins had cleared the left hand side of the dais, and the ones remaining were severely disoriented, one staggering to the edge and falling off as I watched. I headed for the steps on the right side to dispatch the remainder of them.

  There were only a few, and they didn’t put up much of a fight, so I was able to stop and scan the field with a better vantage point for a quick, comprehensive glance at the carnage. Dean joined me atop the dais. He pointed at the starburst.

  “Young Henry,” he informed me laconically.

  “What the hell? Oh, shit, death curse?” The young fool could have wiped out a number of men on his own side had that been detonated while we were still in the line, instead of him having gotten himself cut off atop the dais.

  “Aye.” He reverted to the tongue of his childhood in stress, I’d noted. “Ye ready?” he pointed the blade he held in his right hand down at the fireplace, and our goal.

  “Let’s do this.” I replied grimly, reloading my pistol with a fresh magazine. The .45 didn’t kick as badly as the .50 I’d wanted, but it cut through goblins just fine. He led the way down, screaming. I followed more calmly, firing as I needed to keep his back safe. The others were sweeping in around the dais, and there were very few monsters left to oppose us as we came to a crashing halt in front of the fireplace.

  Chapter 30 - Prisoners or Food?

  The room was suddenly, shockingly quiet. It wasn’t soundless, there were the groans of the injured, and the occasional wet thunk of a coup de grace being delivered, but there seemed to be no goblins left standing. In front of us... I turned away for a second to catch my breath, and saw Beorn quietly vomiting by the dais. Everyone else looked sick, as well.

  I stepped forward and, using the long blade I’d picked up during the fight, cut the man off the frame. He was very dead, half-butchered already, but still. There has to be some dignity, even after what had been done to him. The pen where the prisoners were was still shut tight. William started to walk toward the gate.

  “Hold.” My voice was hoarse, and I felt like my throat was raw. I rasped, “wait for Melcar. Someone call him up here, and tell him to bring back up. Dean, Daffyd, choose six men and start mopping up. Take more if you think you need it. Ash...”

  I looked around, and belatedly realized my pistol was still in my hand. I holstered it, and beckoned Ash to me. The sword I just held in my left hand, I didn’t have anyplace to put it, and it had served me well, I wasn’t going to just drop it on the floor. “Ash... casualty check, please. Have Olive organize the pull-back of everyone who doesn’t need to be right here, right now.” I realized I hadn’t seen Martin, the one man I’d like to have with me for the next part of this battle. I asked, “Martin?”

  Ash shook his head, his leaves and hair too matted with ichor to even move. “I’m sorry, Lom.”

  I felt my throat constrict. “Damn,” was all I could get out as I choked up. At least he had gone out like he would have wanted. “Go, then. I need to get this finished.”

  Melcar, two of his apprentices in tow, walked around the corner of the dais. I felt some of my tension release at his arrival.

  “Ready?” I asked him, “I don’t want them to wait any longer.”

  He nodded, his face pale. I didn’t blame him, mine was probably pale under the green slime. I walked to the gate and undid the latch, then swung it wide. No-one was in sight.

  “Shit...” I wriggled through the small opening, and found them, huddled into the furthest corner. Covered in dirt and rags, and utterly silent. They were too afraid to even scream. “You can come out. The goblins are dead. C’mon...” I beckoned to them, my heart sinking. They were too far gone to even understand me.

  Then, one of the men who was trying to cover a child with his body sat up. He looked at me, silently, for a long moment, and I met his stare without moving. He slowly stood up, and I still didn’t move, and I could see the moment when my non-threatening posture, and likely, gobs of green flesh and blood sticking to me, sank into his mind, and his face softened, just a little. He gibbered at me, and something about his appearance sank in. I backed through the gate, beckoning him onward, and called over my shoulder for Melcar. The man flinched at the raised voice, but kept coming. He paused again at the gate, and then slipped through it. He was skin and bones, so he fit easily.

  Outside the fireplace pen, he looked around him at the carnage and my standing warriors with wide eyes. Then he fell to the floor at my feet, on his knees, embracing my waist and sobbing aloud. I tried to peel him off.


  “Melcar! They’re Asian, not sure which culture, but doesn’t the Oriental Court speak mostly Mandarin? Do we have a translator? Can you get this guy off me?”

  He was blubbering now, his face covered in tears and snot. No-one else had yet ventured out of the pen, although I could see movement in the shadows. Melcar put his head in and spoke in what sounded like Mandarin. One of his apprentices helped the man let go of me and led him off to the stairs, which were mostly clear of bodies and gore, and had him sit there. I noticed the body we had cut off the frame, and even the frame, were gone.

  That had been quick thinking on someone’s part. I wondered who I needed to thank, and then noticed Joe standing to one side of the fireplace. Of course. I hobbled over to him. Somewhere along the mad rush, I’d pulled a muscle. There were no doubt other things wrong with me, but that one was hurting like a bitch right now.

  “Are we done?” I asked him, tired beyond expression. “I’d like a shower, and food, and sleep, not necessarily in that order, and only once my men are taken care of.”

  “We’re already getting everyone up to Court, five at a time. I’ve got a clean-up crew coming here to evacuate the prisoners, and then we will deflagrate the Great Hall before sealing it off. I’d set up another crew to handle debriefing and clean-up for your men. The King wanted me to tell you ‘well done’ now, and that he will talk to you tomorrow once you are rested.”

  I nodded, my head feeling so heavy it might fall off. “I will be the last one out, then. I need to find Ash...” I didn’t see him here behind the Dais.

  “He’s out in the main Hall. I’ll come get you when it’s your time.”

  I think I grunted a response before shambling off, but I’m not sure. Ash was standing still, looking at a tableau out of a bard’s saga. I came and stood beside him, feeling a fresh wash of grief over my soul, knowing that I would be swamped with it, if that kept happening. Martin stood tall before us, his armor battered and smeared with blood and ichors, slowly puddling together into a muddy palette that illustrated the tale of the valiant knight’s last stand. They had piled on him, literally, until in death he was unable to fall. Only his head sagged forward slightly, as though he were thinking about some unfathomable question.