Malachi’s fight with the broadsword bearer took exactly two moves. His opponent aimed a powerful stroke at Malachi’s head. Malachi brought the sword straight up from its low guard position and cut through the man’s wrists. The hands fell to the ground, still clutching the heavy broadsword. Without hesitating, Malachi brought the sword back, stepped in, and crosscut through the man’s neck. The head rolled. Spurting blood caught Malachi across the waist as the body fell.
Russ blocked his opponent’s hatchet once more, this time pulling back on the bat as he did. Wedged under the blade, the tug brought the man off balance. Russ kicked him in the stomach as he fell forward. He let out an empty-sounding whuff! and lost his grip. The hatchet fell to the grass.
Asmodeus clawed and screeched. The man brought his arms up to ward off the falcon and Russ’s bat at the same time. Russ raised the bat and advanced. The man backed up and the point of Malachi’s sword appeared almost magically through his chest. It made a ripping sound as it came through. The sword pulled back and he fell, hands twitching randomly.
It was over. Not ten seconds had gone by. I looked at the blood and bodies and vomited.
Emilio got away.
*
I had to help Russ and Malachi with the bodies. I won’t talk about that, if you don’t mind.
Malachi put the heads on his fence.
“Getting pretty crowded up there,” said Russ. There were now eight heads atop the black spikes.
“There’s plenty more room,” I said heavily. “Besides, the fence goes all the way around the yard.”
Russ put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I’m always this cheerful when I kill people.”
Malachi looked at me. “You didn’t kill anybody, Pete.”
“No. You did.”
“What did you expect?”
I waved him off and turned away. “I don’t know.”
“Was it the blood, Pete?” asked Ariel. “You didn’t expect it to be like that, did you?”
I shook my head.
“Killing isn’t clean,” said Malachi. “You’ve killed before; you should know that.”
“Yeah, I’ve killed before. When I had to. But not like that.”
Malachi stood next to Russ. “Pete. Nobody said swords were bloodless. It’s not lofty and chivalrous. You had this Errol Flynn movie in your head; you never stopped to think that when you cut somebody, he bleeds.” He pulled out his blade and looked at it. He’d cleaned the blood off with a silk rag. “Swords aren’t romantic, glorious things. They’re messy.”
“You like it and you know it.”
“No. I love the artistry in knowing how to use a blade, in being good with one.” He raised an eyebrow. “And yes, there can even be a certain artistry in killing a man with good technique. But I don’t have to like it. And I don’t.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because my sword is what I know. Because I only use it in situations where it’s kill or get killed. Not because I like it. Do you think it’s any less right to kill a man with a sword than with a blowgun, just because one’s bloody and the other isn’t?”
“It makes me sick.”
Russ put a strong hand on my shoulder. “Me, too. You get used to it. You have to.”
I looked at him in disgust. “Get used to it? I never want to have to.”
“You have to,” he repeated firmly, “or you end up like that.” He jerked his head toward the fence.
*
We made preparations to get out of Atlanta. If someone had offered a reward for Ariel’s horn, staying in one place would probably get us killed—Malachi, too. So I cleaned myself up and began packing gear away in my backpack while Ariel kept me company. We went into the living room when I finished packing. Malachi had already sponged the blood off himself and shouldered a backpack of his own. He’d had it ready for years, just in case he had to get out in a hurry. “We all ready?” he asked.
“You shouldn’t come with us,” said Ariel. “We don’t need to cause you more trouble than we already have.”
“Trouble doesn’t bother me. I’m sworn to your service, if you’ll remember.”
“I’d not ask you to endanger yourself when it can be avoided by my leaving.”
“There’ll still be a reward for you, for your horn. People will still look for you.”
“It won’t be so bad,” I said, “if we keep on the move. We’ve never liked to stay in any one place too long; it won’t make that much difference. Except maybe to make life more interesting.”
Malachi’s face was stony. He adjusted a shoulder strap. “Let’s go,” he said.
“I’ll walk with you for a while,” said Russ. “But I’m staying here.” He shrugged. “Atlanta’s my home.”
“You’ve helped more than enough,” said Ariel. “Thank you.”
We shouldered our packs and went outside. It was near noon and very hot. “So,” I said, “I guess we’re going to just set out and—” I stopped.
Emilio stood at the front gate. There was a large, white bandage across his nose, with a large red blotch in the middle. It looked absurdly like a Japanese flag.
“What the hell?” said Russ, frowning. “You should have killed him when you had the chance.” Asmodeus shrieked. “Quiet, babe.” He patted her claws, gnarled as the stumps of old bonsai trees.
“I wonder what he wants,” said Ariel. “You’d think he’d have learned his—”
“Malachi!” We turned as one when Emilio shouted. “Malachi Lee!”
“You don’t think he wants to take you on again?” I asked.
“One way to find out.” He headed toward the gate.
“No,” said Russ. “Wait. Let him come to us. If he’s got backups, so much the better. We can get them as they come through.”
Malachi scratched the back of his head. “I want to know what kind of game he’s playing.” We stood on the front porch, watching Emilio at the gate. Malachi folded his arms, silent.
“You’re dead,” Emilio yelled. “You’re dead.” He held onto the bars of the fence and laughed.
“I don’t get it,” said Russ. “I don’t see anyone else around.”
Faust had been sitting beside Russ’s leg. Now he stood, the fur on his back bristling. He growled: low, throaty, and threatening. Asmodeus spread her wings and shrieked. Both animals were looking toward the front gate. Malachi glanced back at them, then turned back to where they were looking. There was motion behind Emilio, and what I saw heading toward us made me react—funny I could still remember the sensation—as if I’d stuck my finger in a light socket.
Coming down the road toward Malachi Lee’s house was a griffin.
Nine
Do not confuse “duty” with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different. Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect.
—Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough for Love
My Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary says this about griffins: “griffin n. Also griffon, gryphon. A mythical beast with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion.” The description doesn’t do it justice.
The griffin heading down the road toward us didn’t look anywhere close to mythical to me. It was the size of a tank. A big tank. A man rode on its back in some kind of saddle, weaving from side to side in time with the beast’s odd walk.
It stopped in front of the fence. From the porch I could see the rider’s face clearly; his lips were upturned just the slightest bit, like the hull of a large boat. He nodded; a knowing, calm nod.
Malachi nodded back.
At a command the griffin jumped the fence, sail-like wings flapping four or five times. Its claws dug into the earth when it landed; I imagined the sound of grass ripping. The rider remaine
d in the dark brown saddle.
Malachi started down the porch steps, hand firm on Kaishaku-nin at his hip.
“We can’t let him go out there!” I told Russ.
“You’re right.” Muscles tightened along his jaw. He headed for the steps.
“Are you crazy?” I asked. “We don’t stand a chance.” I’d meant that we should stop Malachi, not join him.
Russ stopped. “What chance does he have without us?” Asmodeus spread her wings, the right one ruffling Russ’s hair. He soothed her gently. “Besides—he’s doing it for you, Pete.” He went down the steps.
I looked at Ariel. Her face was impassive.
Baseball bat in hand, Russ caught up to Malachi. They nodded to one another. They faced the griffin and rider and began walking closer. I looked again at the hellish beast. Its eyes were molten gold. As I watched it opened its arm-long beak and snapped it shut.
“Pete.” Ariel was beside me now. “Help me get this pack off. I can fight better without it.”
Oh, hell—I looked at her, then back to the griffin. The thing was big enough to come bulldozing into the house if we tried to stay inside anyway. “I’m coming, too,” I said, and shrugged off my pack. I untied hers and dropped it onto the porch. I felt better, once the decision was made.
Ariel’s hooves made a clopping sound as she walked down the steps beside me; then we were on the grass.
Malachi and Russ stopped when they heard us coming. We caught up with them. Russ nodded and smiled, tight-lipped. Malachi’s face showed something I couldn’t read.
We halted twenty feet from the griffin. It snapped its beak and screeched. My nostrils flared at a smell like hot brass. Liquid gold eyes blazed at Ariel. It lashed out with a leonine claw.
The rider spoke a word softly and the beast calmed somewhat, though with an obvious effort. I kicked myself mentally: shit—I should have brought the crossbow. It was in Ariel’s pack on the front porch. I only had Fred at my side. I gripped the handle firmly, evenly spaced ridges pressing into the calluses which had begun to form on my palm. It would have to do.
Leather creaked with a comfortable, worn sound as the rider leaned forward and patted the beast on the base of the neck—the highest he could reach. “There, there, Shai-tan,” he said. “Be nice.” Plain black T-shirt, black straight-legged pants, scuffed and dusty riding boots—he should have been pouring sweat, but he wasn’t. The cross-shaped handle of a broadsword was on his left side, the side facing away from us. It was thrust through a dark brown leather belt at least four inches wide. There was an indentation where the belt pulled into his stomach on the right side; the sword must have been heavy.
His face was angular, vaguely Germanic. “Shai-tan doesn’t like to be held back,” he said. He looked at Ariel for almost a full minute, then back at us. “Who owns the unicorn?”
Beside me Ariel spoke before the rest of us could answer. “Nobody owns a unicorn.”
Rider and griffin blinked in unison. “So you think.”
I stepped forward. “No one owns this unicorn. Her will is her own.” I hoped the shaking of my hands on my sword handle wasn’t visible.
He smiled at me. “It’s you, then. What do you want for her?”
Malachi spoke up. “Get out of here.” He glared through slitted eyes, his impassiveness discarded.
The rider looked at him as if barely acknowledging his existence. “This is none of your business, Lee,” he said mildly. “I want to settle this reasonably with this young man here.”
“You’re on my property.”
“I’ll leave when I get what I want.” He turned to me. “Now, what do you want for her?”
My bottom lip worked uncontrollably. “Fuck you.”
He sighed theatrically. The griffin grumbled and lowered its head at me. The feathers on the back of its neck ruffled up like the hair on the back of a snarling cat. I stepped back, as if that would do any good. “I’ll have her whether you agree to it or not,” said the rider. He smoothed feathers on the griffin’s neck. “But this would save us both a lot of trouble. You more than me.” He saw my hand clutching Fred’s handle. “How about your sword?” He cocked his head speculatively. “I could make it invincible in your hands.”
“You sure think he sells out cheap,” commented Russ. He’d had to put a hand to Asmodeus’ talons, where they clutched leather on his burly shoulder, to keep her from flying at the griffin. “Or was that just for starters?”
The rider jeered. “You idiot. This isn’t your concern, either. You’re going to die over something stupid.”
Chaffney shrugged, looked at Malachi to his left, Ariel and me to his right. “They’re my friends,” he said. Asmodeus shrieked.
The rider laughed. He said a word I didn’t understand and the griffin turned to face us.
“No matter what you do,” said Ariel, “I won’t go with you. Even if you win.”
“If I win you won’t have a choice.”
“You can’t take me alive.”
“Then I’ll settle for the next best thing. Unless you’d rather Shai-tan held you down while I snapped off your horn. I’m sure my power is as strong as yours.”
Ariel shuddered. I remembered her saying her horn couldn’t be taken while she lived. So … take the horn, and she dies.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked suddenly, struck with a desire to reason with him, to reach some sort of common ground on which to settle this.
“He’s doing it for someone else,” said Malachi. “Aren’t you?” He looked up at the rider.
The sharp-featured man ignored him. “You know,” he said to Ariel, “that I’ll kill them if you fight me.”
“I know you’ll try.” She blinked and looked to her left. “Malachi, Russ—I’m sorry. But I can’t let him take me.”
“We understand,” said Russ. “Nobody expects you to give in to this motherfucker.”
“Pete—” She lowered her voice. “I can’t go with him.”
“You won’t, Ariel. I promise.”
“Enough bullshit,” declared the rider loudly. “Shai-tan.”
The griffin shook its huge eagle’s head and cleared the twenty-foot space between us in two steps. It left clods of earth and torn grass where it had landed after jumping the fence. Malachi and I drew, but the beast knocked us aside with its bulk. Ariel leaped nimbly away. Russ hit it with the bat but the griffin didn’t even blink as it reached out a brown-furred claw and knocked Russ on his back. Asmodeus screamed and flew from his shoulder.
Malachi jumped up and hacked at the beast’s neck. Feathers flew like an exploded pillow, but no blood, no sign of injury. It had a claw on Russ’s chest but wasn’t bearing down. He struggled beneath it.
Instead of hacking, Malachi thrust into the thing’s neck. All his weight went into it but the sword only penetrated a few inches. Whatever the hell was beneath those feathers, it was tough.
I got up and began hacking at the claw that pinned Russ. As if brushing away an annoying fly, the beast casually tossed its head and sent me sprawling. Fred landed blade-up on the grass just before I did. I saw it at the last moment and managed to do a shoulder roll over it. My momentum kept me going as I tried to come up from the roll and I landed on my tailbone hard enough to jar the wind from me. I picked up Fred and struggled to my feet once more.
Ariel and the rider glared at one another. I felt something was going on between those gazes and behind them, some deadlocked struggle for power.
I made it back to the griffin’s huge lion’s leg and began to jab and saw. Something I did made it scream. My lungs filled with hot air, a nauseating, smelting-plant odor. Malachi couldn’t have been making any headway either; the thing felt like concrete beneath black and white feathers and brown fur.
I felt a change in the leg’s pressure: it was bearing down harder on Russ. I looked up. The rider smiled down at Russ’s struggles. “What good are your friends now?”
But Russ couldn’t answer. His face had turned an od
d red, dark and bright at the same time. His mouth made fish-out-of-water movements. His eyes began to film. Giant knuckles popped: Russ’s ribs. Blood flowed from both corners of his mouth.
I screamed in impotence and tried thrusting upward at the underside of the leg joint where it joined the body. It turned its long neck so it could snap at me. I pressed my body against its, feeling hot, matted lion fur against me from the chest down, cool eagle feathers against my cheek. I flinched at the sharp snap at my ear as the halves of the beak slammed together. The foundry smell was strong, and so hot I was sweat-soaked in a matter of seconds. I’d have vomited if I’d had anything left to vomit.
It shrugged its shoulder and I fell onto my side, holding Fred clear. I landed at just the right angle to see what I hope no one else saw: the fierce eagle head lowered to Chaffney’s bloody one. It screeched and put its beak over his face.
Snap.
I turned away. Malachi was sprawled face-down on the grass ten feet from the griffin, unconscious or dead. Kaishaku-nin was still in his right hand. Ariel and the rider remained locked in a kind of battle I couldn’t understand. It looked on the surface like an adolescent staring contest, hard coal eyes versus bright blue ones.
A screech that was not the griffin’s broke the rider’s concentration. He looked up, and a tangle of blood-colored feathers plummeted onto the rider’s face, flapping, tearing, raking. Flailing hands blurred with beating wings. Human screams mixed with falcon shrieks. Bright red blossomed and dripped onto the dark leather saddle. Desperate hands finally gripped the feathered wrath and threw it away. Asmodeus rose to circle high overhead, screaming ferally.
“Shai-tan!” The bellowed command brought the griffin up, powerful wings sending a breeze that chilled my sweat. “Shai-tan!” The rider’s left eye was gouged out. All that remained was a stringy mess lying limply on his cheek. Blood from a deep cut on the left side of his jaw welled down his throat, darkening his black shirt around the shoulder and upper chest. His right eye was crimson with blood but I saw no cut. His hands groped until they found a firm hold on the large saddlehorn. He screamed a harsh word. The griffin took one step, leaped the fence, ran four or five steps along the street, and flapped itself aloft with heavy wingbeats. I watched until it was a dwindling black speck in the clear sky.
Ariel Page 9
