Valhellions, p.25
Valhellions, page 25
“No, I mean . . . did you learn anything about who they are? The other one was posing as a valkyrie in Valhalla.”
“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” He pushed her over onto her back. I recognized the woman from the audience of the Armor Competition. Just another face in the crowd. Now she stared sightlessly at the sky. “I think they’re all Vikings.”
“Explains how they got into Valhalla without Runa knowing about it. And how they took the valkyries by surprise at the Madhall.” I twisted my sword nervously in my hand. The zombies just stared at us. “I don’t think they’re coming for us.”
There was a strangled yell from the direction of Chesa’s fight, and the third valkyrie limped into the air, one wing trailing blood. Chesa was on the ground, but as soon as the valkyrie got some altitude, Chesa crawled to where her bow had fallen and drew it. Three quick arrows and the valkyrie fell, disappearing among the ranks of restless dead. I ran to her side, with Matthew close behind.
“Thanks for the help,” she said with a grimace as I went to a knee beside her. I slammed open my visor and looked her over. Her comic book T-shirt was soaked in blood, and a deep gash ran from her hip all the way across her belly.
“Hey, you usually yell at me if I try to lend a hand,” I said.
“Because you usually just make things worse,” she said. A cough brought blood to her lips. “Ah, this is bad.”
“You guys just gonna sit there holding hands, or do you want me to heal her?” Matthew asked.
“Sure, right, of course,” I said, standing rapidly to get out of the saint’s way.
Matthew did a quick examination, pulling the shirt back to stare at the wound. I turned away, partly to give Chesa some privacy, and partly because I hated seeing her hurt like this. Plus there were zombies to monitor. They still weren’t getting any closer. I almost wished they’d make their charge and get it over with. The suspense was killing me.
“Decision time,” Matthew said. “I didn’t get a lot of time in my domain. This is going to take the rest of my light. She’ll be in fighting shape, but I’ll be useless to you. Or I can do just enough healing to keep her alive and hold the reserve for when you get mauled.”
“Maybe I don’t get mauled?” I asked.
“Let’s be realistic here, John.”
“Okay, okay. I think I’d rather have her up and fighting,” I said. And as far away from dead as you can manage, I thought but didn’t bother saying. “No amount of healing will get me through this many zombies.”
“No amount of fighting is going to get you through them, either,” Chesa said weakly. “I can stay out of the way. Better keep some Brilliance for when you do something stupid.”
I looked her over. I’d never seen Chesa looking so bad. There was a thick lump in my throat. I shook my head. “No. Get her on her feet. I’m not taking the chance.”
“You’re the boss,” Matthew said. He pressed his palms flat into Chesa’s belly, then turned the color of the sun. I shielded my eyes until the Brilliance passed. Even the zombies murmured and turned aside. When I looked again, Chesa was as right as rain.
Matthew stood up, clapping his hands together.
“Right, that’s the last of my light. I can hang back and provide—” All of a sudden he looked over my shoulder and shouted, “Whoa! Not the face!”
Saint Matthew disappeared in a flash of light, almost like a door opened in the air and someone pushed him through. And from over my shoulder, so close that I felt the wind through my open visor, came a soccer ball. It passed through the place Matthew’s head had been a second earlier, then bounced across the field before rolling to a stop at the feet of one of the zombies. The undead soldier looked down at it numbly, then gave it a lurching kick that passed it to another nearby zombie. Within moments there was a clear space and an impromptu game of soccer, without sides or goals or much organization.
“What the hell just happened?” Chesa asked, staring at the empty air where Matthew had been.
“I have no idea. Less than no idea.” I looked over my shoulder where the ball had come from, but I couldn’t see anything more unusual than an army of zombies. “That was just strange.”
“It’s like he ran out of magic and fell through the world,” Chesa said. “If Valhalla is a strip mall banquet hall, this place might be a soccer field somewhere. Maybe that’s where Matthew went.”
“I guess. Hope he’s alright.”
Chesa stood up, running a hand across her stomach. “He did a great job with this, at least. That really hurt.”
“You feeling okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” She stretched her shoulders, then kicked the bow up into her hand and started collecting the quiver of arrows that lay scattered all around her. “I’ve still got a little magic juice left, but not a lot. How about you?”
I tested my shield, switching it from heater to kite with the flick of a wrist. It happened effortlessly. “I’m still pretty well stocked,” I said. “You think we’re going to disappear when we run out of magic?”
“Could be. Quick way out of trouble, I suppose.”
“Yeah, but we wouldn’t have a way of getting back here,” I said. “Maybe that’s why the zombies aren’t getting any closer. Whatever magic is animating them might not be strong enough yet to sustain them up here. Proximity to the altar or something?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Chesa said.
“Either way, it’s probably best to hang on to whatever magic we have,” I said. “We can get by on skill alone.”
“Well, I can. You? Not so sure,” she said. With her quiver reset and her bow in hand, she turned to where the edgelord was still performing his magic trick. “Let’s hope they stay away long enough for us to stop this nerd.”
The soccer ball bounced out of the mob and landed against my foot. The zombies shuffled closer, dozens of them staring longingly at the ball. I sighed, then kicked it back to them. The game resumed with enthusiasm.
“This has gotten weird,” Chesa said.
“Yeah. But that’s all the proof I need that they’ll leave us alone.” I slammed my visor down and marched up the hill. “Let’s beat the shit out of this edgelord.”
The top of the hill looked like it had been cut off with a giant Sawzall, forming a flat circle about thirty yards in diameter that was ringed with standing stones, most of which had long ago settled into the sod, leaning lazily together like drunk college students. The surface of the circle was made of loose gravel the color of gravestones. The edgelord stood in the middle of the circle with his back toward us, arms raised to the sky. The Totenschreck had been thrust into the ground at his feet. Tendrils of smoke corkscrewed out of the ground to surround the bearer and sword, and a low cloud hung overhead, spinning slowly. A sharp wind blew across the hill, pulling at my tabard and turning Chesa’s hair into a maelstrom of dark locks.
“Let’s finish this quick.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and drew an arrow to her cheek.
“There’s no way you make that shot in this wind,” I said.
“There’s no way you make this shot,” she answered. “I’m special.”
Whispering into the arrow, Chesa exhaled a breath of glowing light that twisted into the shaft, then released the bowstring. The arrow danced gracefully through the wind, arcing slowly toward its target with all the inevitability of elven magic.
A bolt of green lightning crackled out of the Totenschreck, striking the arrow and splitting it down the shaft. Splinters flew across the skull-faced warrior’s back. He glanced back at us over his shoulder, then stepped to the side, putting the sword between us.
“I thought I was finished with the pair of you,” he growled. “You’re like stink on warm fish. You end up having to burn down the fish shed, and then the whole village stinks for a while.”
“That’s . . . evocative,” I said. “But you’re not getting rid of us, no matter how many fish sheds you burn to the ground.”
“Can you not see the futility of your efforts? If all the valkyries in Valhalla could not stand against me, who do you think you are to oppose me?”
“I’m the guy who killed a dragon in single combat, stopped an evil wizard with a machine gun, and sleeps comfortably in the middle of a forest of monsters,” I said. “Hell, I rode Fenrir to heaven, slew your precious guardians, and now I’m going to knock your silly skull-helmet off your head and put you back in your place.”
“Back in my place? That is how you boast?” The edgelord thumped his chest, throwing his shoulders back and thrusting his chin at the sky. “Child, I will wear your entrails as a belt, and your skin as boots. I will pick my teeth with your bones. I will wipe my ass with your scalp and use your skull as a piss pot.”
“You do need to work on your threats,” Chesa said to me. “Not that I’m encouraging you to go full pisspot. You’re just sometimes too polite.”
“You wanna give this a try?” I asked.
“I like to keep my arguments short,” she said, then drew three shots in rapid succession and let them fly. Lightning struck down each arrow, spraying splinters all over the enemy.
“Will you stop doing that?” he complained, wiping broken arrows off his chest. “This matter will be settled with steel, or it won’t be settled at all.”
“How does he keep doing that?” she muttered.
“Rules of the realm, maybe? This place is becoming his domain. If his mythic ideal is dying in glorious battle, I doubt taking an arrow in the eye will be part of that.”
Still mumbling to herself, Chesa tossed the bow to the ground and dropped her quiver, then drew the twin crescent blades. He nodded approval.
“Very good. But as much as I would like to tarry in this place, I am called to someplace better. A new heaven, for a new god.” He grasped the handle of the Totenschreck. Sickly green static danced between his hand and the hilt, crackling over his bracers as he took the blade. A shock of electricity rolled across the hill, washing over us harmlessly.
The spot where the sword had been yawned open. A pillar of stone rose out of the ground, twisting open like a flower to sprout a staircase. It rose into the cloud overhead, its top disappearing in the swirling storm. The edgelord put one foot on the first step, then saluted us.
“One more thing before I go,” he said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
About ten feet in front of us, the gravel started to shake and rattle. Two mounds formed among the stones, quickly pushing up like stony fountains. A hand erupted from one of the eruptions, pale and dusty, followed by an arm, a shoulder, a body. The second mound followed suit, producing a more petite form, delicate compared to the first. Though I would never call her delicate to her face.
Sir Gregory d’Hotpants was clearly a zombie. His face hung slack, and his shoulders were twisted under the shiny steel of his pauldrons. The armor of his left leg was crooked, the foot on that side pointing in the wrong direction. Bethany stood next to him, her typically wry smile even more wry (wryer?), and her clawed hands grasped bony daggers close to her chest. A thin pink ribbon hung loosely around their shoulders, waists, and one leg each, running between them half a dozen times.
“Have fun killing your friends,” the edgelord said, then ascended the stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Zombie Gregory groaned quietly. Even in death, his oiled curls shone glamorously in the sun’s steady light. This was offset by the sickly green tint of his flesh, and the way his skeleton didn’t seem to be fully attached to his muscles. Pale bone protruded from his fingertips, and every time he moved, his whole body twitched spasmodically. I sheathed my sword, then held up my free hand and waved it in his face.
“Hey, buddy,” I said soothingly. “How ya feeling? Feel like taking a nap, maybe?”
“Hhhhhiiiiiiiiii.” His voice sounded like an engine that hadn’t been oiled since the Paleozoic period. His breath was of a similar vintage. I gagged and stepped back. “Buuuhhhdddiieeeeeeee.”
“Buddy, right. Remember that we’re buddies?” I glanced from Gregory over to Bee. Our young assassin wasn’t moving all that much. Her shadow-woven cloak was fringed with mildew, and a thin milky glaze hung over her eyes. Bethany had always been quiet, but this was unnerving. “Bethany, you remember we’re friends, don’t you?”
There was a rattle of steel. When I looked back, Gregory had unlimbered the massive zweihander sword from his back, and was staring at it with curious detachment. I took another step back, resting my hand on my sheathed sword. I didn’t want to provoke a confrontation if I didn’t have to, and I wasn’t sure how much of Greg and Bee were still in these bodies. If they had the same amount of agency as Percy apparently did, then it wouldn’t do to start cutting them when a little talking might do the trick.
“You probably don’t need that, Sir Greg,” I said. “You can just put that away and—” I jumped back as he gave it a practice swing. Behind me, I heard the creak of Chesa’s bow. She had Bee’s attention. The assassin was staring (almost literal) daggers over my shoulder in Chesa’s direction. “I’m trying to de-escalate here, Ches. Maybe hold back on filling them full of iron?”
“And I’m trying to not get killed,” she answered. “So until they prove—”
Bethany let out a snarling roar and leapt toward Chesa. There was some magic in her movement, her body flickering into shadow as she jumped, bone-white daggers drawn back to strike. She got about four feet before the thin pink ribbon tying her to Gregory snapped tight. Her snarl turned into choked frustration as her feet flew out from under her. Gregory twisted in her direction, stumbling a few steps but staying upright as Bee smacked into the ground. She was on her feet in a flash, straining against the tether, slowly dragging Greg forward.
“Chesa! You’re making this worse!”
Two arrows sang through the air, the first skimming off Bethany’s leg, the second snagging her cloak and pinning it to the ground. That first arrow ricocheted into Gregory’s chest, startling him. He roared his displeasure and charged.
“Damn it!” I intercepted Gregory, taking the full brunt of his charge on my shield, sending us both stumbling away. Bethany turned her attention to me, slashing mindlessly at me with her daggers. They bounced off the steel plate of my thigh, then traveled up hip and into my ribs. There was a brief moment when I felt the blade press against the chain-mail seam between hip and belly, but Bethany continued up my side rather than plunging the dagger home.
I battered her aside with my shield and fell back. Chesa was already on the retreat, dancing backward while drawing and firing her bow with enviable grace. Arrows stitched the ground around Bethany, slowing her attack and occasionally striking a glancing blow to limb or shoulder. At least Chesa hadn’t gone full murder hobo on our wayward team members just yet.
As for Gregory, once the cobwebs had cleared and his attention was drawn, he had decided to go full murderous sword fight. He came at me like a maniac, swinging that sword with all his strength. The zweihander is a ridiculous weapon, nearly five feet long with a wave-pattern blade designed to trap blades and leave gruesome wounds. It always struck me as funny to watch Greg wrestle that much steel around the battlefield. I no longer found it funny. The blade whistled through the air, steel in constant motion as Gregory advanced. It was so well balanced that he could change direction with a shift of his shoulders, even altering his attack into a thrust or counterswing. I kept my shield in heater form just so I could see where the strike was coming from. The blade cut hunks off my shield, and I kept having to tap into my magical reserves to reconstitute the steel and bolster my defense.
The only thing saving me was Bethany and her single-minded fury at Chesa and her buzzing arrows. Bee kept pulling Gregory off-balance, sending his sword thudding into the gravel and shedding sparks, or yanking him back just as he charged at me. Eventually, Gregory gave a furious roar and swiped at the ribbon.
Whatever those Nordic dwarves used to make that ribbon, it was truly miraculous stuff. The zweihander’s razor-sharp edge tangled in the thin pink loops, jerking Bethany back. When Gregory tried to slice the ribbon, he only managed to tighten the bond between himself and Bethany. She turned on him and yelled in Undead. He yelled back.
In the brief break this gave me, I signaled to Chesa.
“This might be our only chance. Keep her attention while I work on Greg. If we can get them—” I wasn’t able to finish my thought, because some random loop of the ribbon slipped free, and the two zombies stumbled away from each other. Immediately, Gregory turned and rushed me. I barely got my shield up in time, and had to bash a pommel-strike aside with the forte of my blade, twisting my wrist awkwardly.
Fortunately, Chesa didn’t need further instruction. She wheeled around the perimeter of the gravel circle, putting arrows into Bethany’s cloak and at her feet. Bee gave Gregory one last miserable glare, then pranced off after Ches. The length of ribbon between them was troublingly lax. I suppose it had to be long enough to bind Fenrir, but that wasn’t doing much to keep Gregory off me.
The big knight lurched closer, thrusting experimentally with the blade. I caught the attack with my sword, then punched his blade away with my shield and rushed closer. The zweihander rattled along the face of my shield, traveling down to the point of the heater, almost low enough to slip free and strike my legs. I countered with my sword, but that left me with nothing to strike with as I got closer. I tried to force him back with my shield, but Gregory was a big guy, combined with whatever strength undeath gave him, making him impossible to shift. He simply laid the pommel of his sword into the middle of my shield and thrust, sending me flying backward. Gregory followed up with a transition strike, striking down from an overhead position. The blow rattled my bones and drove me to one knee.
Fortunately, that was as far as Gregory could press. Straining against the ribbon, he waved his blade over my head, growling in frustration. I scrambled backward, resuming my guard and glaring at him. I spared a glance in Chesa’s direction.
