“The demons?” I asked.
“Worse,” said Sif.
“Svartalfar!” said Meuhlnir with disgust.
“Black elves?”
“Yes, the worst of the non-demons.”
“Disgusting, cannibalistic creatures,” said Yowrnsaxa with a wrinkled nose.
“But they aren’t black,” I muttered. “Why call them black elves?”
“Their souls are as black as pitch,” said Sif.
As we stared at the dark gray figures on the top of the hill, the eerie shrieking noise began again, much louder than it had been before. Other dark humanoids came up the hill and joined the Svartalfar. These new forms had comically short arms and legs, and extremely thin, long torsos. Their heads appeared to rest on their shoulders without need of a neck. It was very hard to see any details due to the distance and elevation, but their faces appeared malformed—though maybe half-formed would be a better description.
They looked like fancy department store mannequins, the kind with a nose, but no eyes and flat plains for cheeks and foreheads. Their mouths weren’t visible, but they were the creatures making the racket. When they reached the Svartalfar, they stopped walking and then they stopped shrieking. They were much shorter, and where the Svartalfar had dark gray skin that at least looked related to human skin, these new things had flat black skin that looked more like the black plastic used to make cheap dashes in American cars.
“What the hell are those things?” I asked.
Meuhlnir turned his horse and looked me in the eye. “I’ve no idea, and unless we want to see them up close, I suggest we move.” He shot a glance up the hill. “Now.”
We turned our horses and gave them the spurs. As the horses cantered across the plain, the creepy squalling started again. I looked over my shoulder, and what I saw sent shards of fear icing through my belly.
“Here they come!” I said.
“Svartalfar or the demons?” asked Meuhlnir in clipped tones.
“Both. Demons in front running fast, elves in the rear at a slower pace. My god, those demons move fast!”
Meuhlnir shot a worried glance behind us and then snapped his head forward again. “Faster!” he called, kicking Sinir to a gallop.
As we raced across the plain, all my attention was occupied with trying to stay on top of the galloping horse. The horse’s hooves were drumming against the grassy ground, making a fast clump-clump clump-clump sound. Each step of the horse jarred me back and forth, each shift in the saddle slammed into my hips like a railroad spike driven by a trip-hammer. Soon, I was panting and then grunting as I rocked back and forth, knees pressed into the horse’s ribs. I clung to the reins with white-knuckled desperation, grimacing at the pain in my knuckles. The horses were blowing breath through flared nostrils.
“How long can the horses keep this pace?”
“Five or six miles,” grunted Mothi. “Not long enough.”
“It’s no matter,” said Meuhlnir. “The trap closes.” He nodded his head to the northeast.
Riders were racing toward us across the plain, intent on cutting off our escape. Men rode the horses—tall, well-built men, a very different sort than the harriers that attacked us first.
“Karls,” said Sif. “Remember to stay close to me, Hank Jensen.”
“I will,” I said.
“This is as good a place as any,” said Meuhlnir. “We stand here. Get what you need from the horses and drive them on.”
We reined the horses in and dismounted. I moved the spare magazines for the Kimber into my back-right pocket and stuffed the HK magazines in the other pocket. I grabbed a box of .45 caliber rounds, ripped the box open and stuffed all fifty bullets into my right pants pocket. Rounds for the HK went into my left pocket. I wouldn’t be moving with anything approaching stealth, but from the number of enemies charging at us across the plain, stealth wouldn’t enter into it much. I swatted Slaypnir on the rump, and the horse swiveled his head around to look at me as if to tell me not to be such an idiot. Then he burst into a gallop to the west along with the other horses.
“How will we get them back?” I muttered.
“Don’t worry,” said Mothi, grinning. “We won’t have to. You will see.”
Sif strapped her shield to her left arm and drew her axe, bouncing it a few times in her hand. She glared at me. “Where will I be?”
“On my left. I will keep an eye out,” I assured her.
“We will see,” she grunted, stepping around me to be on my left side.
“You three deal with the karls as quickly as possible,” said Meuhlnir, all business now. “Yowrnsaxa and I will keep the demons busy.”
Mothi had both axes in his hands and stood a few paces to my right. Meuhlnir and Yowrnsaxa stood close together, him on the right with his hammer in his right hand, she with her shield and short sword on his left. She bounced on her toes as if she couldn’t wait for the battle to start—and from the look of things, she wouldn’t have long to wait.
I made both pistols ready, holding my Kimber in my right hand and the HK in my left. I let out a gust of a sigh and tried to look in every direction at once.
Mothi looked at me and winked. “Remember not to shoot me.”
“You are no fun at all, Mothi Strongheart,” I said. “Remember not to step in front of the bullets. That’s a better plan, anyway.”
He laughed and then turned to face the karls. “Come meet death,” he yelled into the wind. “No, better yet, come meet my friend Aylootr! Then you will wish for death!” His roaring laughter echoed across the plain.
Then the karls were on us, weapons flashing in the sunlight, their horses’ tackle jingling and rattling, hooves thundering. The Kimber, held low, almost by my hip, bucked twice in my hands, the reports echoing across the plain, and a man with flowing blonde hair and a long, braided beard flew off the back of his horse and crashed to the ground in the path of another charging karl. Hooves thudded into his head and chest, putting an end to any question I might have had about him getting back up. Horses shrieked and shied from the echoing boom of the .45.
Then they were through us and riding away toward the west. None of our party were hurt. Mothi was hopping from foot to foot in excitement, already glimmering with iron skin and swelling upwards like a magical body builder. He motioned to me with one of his axes and then whirled to track the course of the karls.
“Vefa strenki, if you’re going to,” said Sif.
I imagined putting on each piece of the tactical gear I’d wear going on a raid with S.W.A.T. and then muttered, “Hooth ow yowrni.” I felt the warm tightening of my skin and the tingling in the middle of my forehead. “Thanks. Remind me again if I lose it.”
Sif grunted, looking west with narrowed eyes.
I glanced in that direction. The karls were already charging back at us. I brought up both pistols. “Firing,” I yelled. I squeezed off two rounds from each pistol, each aimed at a different rider. The .45 rounds hit a karl high in the chest, and I could see from how he slumped to the ground that I could ignore him from now on. One of the rounds from the HK hit another rider in the left thigh, making him cry out. The other round went through his left shin and slammed into the horse, making it whinny and veer away. The rider slapped a hand down on his thigh and tried to control the horse with his other hand, but the horse was done listening to him. The pair raced off across the plain toward the mountains to the west. Only a dozen or so karls remained to be dealt with.
Mothi bounced closer to me, smiling like a kid playing with his friends. “Leave some for me, Aylootr.” He laughed.
“Firing,” I shouted, not sure anyone could hear me over the caterwauling demons, the battle cries of the karls or the pounding of their horses’ hooves. I fired the Kimber three times in rapid succession, thunderous reports echoing across the plain. Two of the big rounds tore through the chest of a karl bearing down on Yowrnsaxa and Meuhlnir, and the other boring a hole through the face of the man riding next to him—a lucky shot, to
be sure. Both went down, flopping end-over-end like rag dolls. The two horses continued running straight through us and on toward the horizon to the east.
The slide of the .45 locked back, but the karls were too close now to deal with swapping magazines, so I dropped it into the holster and transferred the HK into my right hand. I could shoot ambidextrously, but I was far more accurate with my right hand.
The karls were among us then, horses milling around, snorting and pawing the ground. The karls grinned at each other, thinking they had the battle won. One pointed a hunting bow at me. He released the arrow, and the bow string thrummed. The arrow sped toward my chest. Sif stepped in front of me at the last moment and swatted the arrow with her shield. The arrow deflected up and over my head.
The HK boomed twice, the ejected brass bouncing in the lap of a karl to my right. The bowman sat up straight in the saddle and dropped his bow. He fumbled the reins and mumbled something unintelligible and then slid to his left, falling from his saddle. He had a small, black hole in his cheek and the eye above it was gone.
Mothi was a whirling dervish, dancing around the mounted karls, chopping viciously at their legs and feet, often leaving long, gaping wounds in the sides of their horses as well. Sif stayed to my left. She dismounted three karls by sweeping her axe from side to side under the bottom edge of her shield, thudding the glinting edge into the legs of the karl’s horses.
I glanced over my shoulder. Meuhlnir and Yowrnsaxa stood ready, but the demons and black elves were not close enough to attack. They seemed to be holding back, waiting to see whether the karls would succeed before they risked their own skins.
“Eyes forward, Aylootr,” panted Sif.
I snapped my gaze back to the karls in front of us. There were only seven karls still on horseback, only three of them were uninjured by Mothi’s attacks, and three standing on their own two feet next to their fallen horses. Two of the dismounted karls were circling Sif and me in opposite directions, trying to open a flank. Mothi saw this and lifted both axes over his shoulders as he ran at the one circling to my right. He stepped up behind the karl, axes high and crashed them down into the man’s shoulders. Both axe blades broke the karl’s collarbones and came to rest in his upper chest. One of the mounted karls spurred his horse hard, intent on riding Mothi down while his back was turned.
“Duck!” I yelled at Mothi. He let go of his axes, and the karl he had just killed fell to his knees at Mothi’s feet. Mothi dove to his right and I squeezed off four rounds, two into the karl, and two into his horse’s broad chest. The reports boomed like thunder, and before the sound died, the mounted karl was sliding from the saddle, and his horse pitched forward, front legs buckling.
Mothi came back to the corpse he had just made and put his foot on the man’s back and jerked his axes clear. He winked at me and then whirled back into the karls.
I turned to my left, but Sif was not there. She stood about ten paces away, exchanging blows in rapid succession with the other karl who had been trying to flank us. She caught his blows on her shield, and he did the same. They were circling each other, grimacing and snarling, neither seeming able to break the other’s guard. I had no shot from where I was standing, so I moved toward Sif in a quick, shuffling trot, dodging left and then right, trying to find a clear shot.
Meuhlnir’s hammer whistled past me to my right. The warhammer caught the karl low in the right side, and I heard ribs snapping like dry twigs before the hammer fell to the ground. “Aftur,” shouted Meuhlnir, and his hammer jerked into the air and flew to his hand.
The karl facing Sif was panting now, his right arm clamped to his side and his face a grimace of pain. His movements were slow but was still able to catch Sif’s attacks on his shield. Sif snarled and barged into him, trapping his shield between them. She chopped underneath the shield’s rim, crashing her axe blade into his thigh. The blow was savage, crippling. Blood splattered the ground as the karl pushed her away. As she stumbled, my sight lines opened, and I snapped the HK into position and fired twice. The karl jerked to his left as the .40 caliber slugs ripped into the right side of his torso.
Sif recovered from her stumble and punched at the man as he tried to lurch out of her range. The iron rim of her shield thudded into his face, and bones snapped. The karl was wheezing and gasping, likely already dead without knowing it, but he looked at Sif with hatred. She followed the punch with a whistling, overhead blow of her axe. She chopped it into the side of his head, and the light left his eyes. He stood still for a moment, then melted to the ground. Sif gave me a brisk nod.
Only the three uninjured karls were still mounted. The others were limping and stumbling around in a circle, surrounding Mothi, doing their best to keep him off balance despite the wounds to their legs. The mounted karls looked ready to flee.
I glanced at Sif. “Your son needs you, skyuldur vidnukona,” I said.
She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “I have range; I have mobility. Mothi needs you more than I do right now. Go!” She looked torn between her promise to me and her duty to her son. “Go now!” I shouted.
She jumped and then ran toward the circle of men surrounding her son, screaming her battle cry.
I judged the distance between me and the mounted karls. It was less than fifty yards, but the shots were complicated by the karls milling around my friends. I didn’t want to risk shots like that with a weapon I wasn’t that familiar with. I pointed the HK up in the air and fired it until the slide locked back. Three loud booms swept across the plain and as the remaining horses reared and danced, I dropped the pistol to the ground at my feet.
I pulled my trusty Kimber, ejected the empty magazine and slapped a full one home. I released the slide and brought the gun up, pointing it at one of the mounted karls struggling to control the scared beast under him. I fired twice and saw bullets strike the karl’s torso. He fell off the back of his horse, and the horse bolted forward, straight at the ring of circling karls, barging one of them to the ground and trampling him.
The other two mounted karls looked at me with frightened eyes. They were very young—boys, really—though I had no idea how to judge their age on Osgarthr. They looked scared and inexperienced, no matter what their age. I waved at them to run and then pointed the Kimber at the one on the left. He got the message and turned his horse, kicking the beast into a full gallop toward the western mountains. The other was already running when I pointed the pistol in his direction.
That left only the four remaining karls circling Mothi and Sif. I brought the pistol to bear on one of those limping karls, and something slammed into my back—hard. As I fell, the Kimber thundered, but the shot went wide. I slammed into the ground on my right side, barely keeping my grip on the pistol. Something smelly and quite heavy was on top of me—the last of the three karls Sif had forced to dismount. I’d forgotten him.
He grunted, spraying the side of my face with spit. His sword was trapped between us, and he had let go of it and was fishing for something at his right side.
“You’ll not be killing anyone else with your vile, magic pipe,” he snarled. His right hand came up holding a long dagger.
I struggled to twist around to my back to free my right arm, but he was straddling me now, trapping me with his legs. He rocked his weight back, coming up on his knees, and swept the dagger high above his head in both hands.
I twisted my wrist as far as I could and pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang in my ears and grass and dirt puffed into the air from the muzzle flash. The round took him high in his inner thigh. He made a kind of yelping scream, and his eyes popped open wide, but then they narrowed to slits, and he brought the dagger down.
It seemed to be falling toward me like a feather falling through honey. I had time to see the mottled texture of the steel and the gleaming cutting edges on both sides of the blade. Sweat was running down his face in rivulets. He snarled in slow motion, spit falling through the air toward me. Then his weight was gone, an
d he was no longer sitting on my stomach and hip.
I looked around in time to see Sif’s axe thud into the man’s neck again, and blood from the killing blow sprayed across me. “Ok?” she asked, her eyes darting across my body, looking for injuries. I nodded, and she leapt over me and sprinted back toward Mothi. He was whirling in the center of three circling men, with a dead man on the ground at his feet. His axes flashed in broad, sweeping slashes, keeping the three karls at bay.
I got to my knees and steadied my right hand on my knee, pointing the pistol at the man circling behind him. Before I could shoot, however, Mothi leapt into the air and whirled like a ballet dancer, axes glittering in the sun. The karl’s head slid from his neck and blood splattered down into the grass. I twisted my gun to one of the others, but Sif obscured my shot as she barged into one of them at a full sprint. Both skyuldur vidnukona and karl went down on the grassy plain, with a sound like a car wreck ringing through the air.
“They come!” yelled Yowrnsaxa.
I twisted around to look behind me and saw the demons sprinting at Meuhlnir and Yowrnsaxa, eerie in their silence. I slapped the Kimber into my holster and fished through the grass for the HK. I reloaded the gun and chambered a round. I pulled the Kimber with my right and got to my feet.
I turned my back on Sif and Mothi, knowing that between them the last two karls were doomed. Walking forward, both guns held ready, I yelled, “Get down!” Meuhlnir and Yowrnsaxa dropped into crouches, and I started squeezing off rounds from each pistol.
Thunder boomed as bullets from both guns smashed into the line of running demons, flipping their misshapen forms this way and that. When both guns were empty, I dumped the magazines and shifted my .45 to my left hand, holding both guns by their slides. With my right, I slammed fresh magazines into each pistol and then took the Kimber in my right. Both slides snapped shut with a metallic snick, and I was firing again.
By the time the magazines had emptied again, the demons were in retreat, running away from us as fast as their weird legs could carry them. Bodies of eighteen demons lay twitching and bleeding on the ground. Their blood was chartreuse in color and stank like a perverse mixture of skunk, blood, and bile.
Blood of the Isir Omnibus Page 32
