Valhellions, p.3
Valhellions, page 3
“John, you bastard, don’t leave us here like this!” Chesa’s voice was laced through with panic. I pummeled another skeleton, kicked its (once again) lifeless body away, then turned around.
The team was in a bad way. Gregory d’Jerkface stood a little apart from the others, surrounded by a slowly growing pile of bones. Bolts of fire arced down from the ceiling, guided by Tembo’s hand, keeping the space around him clear, though the lanky mage sported a rash of cuts across his face, and his robes were torn and in disarray. Chesa stood at his side. The silver blades of her crescent swords whirled through the air, but they were better suited to cutting flesh than bone. The shambling tide of skeletons was getting closer and closer to the three of them. There was no sign of Bethany. That wasn’t unusual, she usually disappeared into the shadows in situations like this. The only concerning thing was that between the mists and the press of undead, there really wasn’t anywhere to hide. I put her out of my mind. Bethany could take care of herself.
The team, on the other hand, needed my help.
I flicked my wrist, reconfiguring the magical shield to one of its Doomsday Modes. It formed into a brass disc, resembling the hoplon of Grecian fame. I rolled it like a bowling ball, releasing everything but the hand strap. The shield hit the ground next to Chesa and then spun, unfolding into a miniature wall about six feet high, made of brass discs that linked together with leather straps. The unfolding wall traveled around Chesa and Tembo, circling around until it reached Gregory, then finally returning to me. The skeletons unfortunate enough to be in its path were cut down like chaff, and those trapped inside quickly fell to Gregory’s blade and Tembo’s flames. We stood inside the brass ring, catching our breath and listening to the skeletons try to claw their way through my barricade. Tembo took a deep breath, then turned on me.
“You should not run off like that, Sir John. It is your duty to protect the rest of us,” he said. “Not charge blindly into the night.”
“First rule of killing necromancers,” I said. “The skeletons are just chaff. You’ve got to get to the summoner.”
“You’ve killed a lot of necromancers?” Chesa asked sharply.
“Yes, of course,” I answered. With dice and clever dialogue, I left unsaid. “We can kill as many of these bastards as we like. This isn’t going to end until we put that creepy bastard down.”
“They’ll run out of bones eventually,” Gregory said. He kicked at the pile of bones at his feet. “I thought it was going pretty well.”
“Maybe if we had a healer,” I snapped. “But we don’t. We’re going to bleed a lot more than these guys. So if we move, we need to move as a team.”
“You’re the one who ran off, fella,” Gregory answered. “Leaving me to defend the fair lady on my own.”
“The lady did not need defending, thank you,” Chesa said.
“What makes you think I was talking about you?” Gregory motioned behind him, where the members of the acting troupe cowered on the ground. “We have mundanes to think about.”
Chesa rolled her eyes and was about to answer when Tembo stepped between them.
“Sir John is correct,” he said. “We need to stop the summoner before he turns this whole place into a mortuary. And now that we have our warden, we can proceed.” He tipped his head in my direction. “Sir John? If you would lead the way?”
“If you guys can keep up this time,” I said, adjusting my helmet. “There are a lot of them out there. Hopefully most of the mundanes have cleared out, but watch where you put your sword.” Gregory rolled his eyes, but Chesa gave me a sharp nod. “And that ice bitch is out there somewhere, too. Gonna guess she’s more than just a hype man for the goth lord, so keep your eyes—”
“Just bloody GO!” Gregory shouted. I grimaced at him, then strapped my hand into one of the loops holding the wall together.
“Ready?” I asked. The team sounded off, so I pulled the wall down. The bronze discs collapsed together, piling up and disappearing, until I held a single round shield in my hand. The seething horde of skeletons shambled past. They seemed to be ignoring us for the moment.
We went at them like a wedge. I took point, shield up and sword in a low support. Gregory and Chesa flanked me, with Tembo trailing a little behind. I crashed into the wall of skeletons, scattering them like dry leaves. Gregory cut through the shambling legion in a blur of shining steel and singing blade. The skeletons offered little resistance. Chesa fought a quieter battle. Her crescent blades flashed against weathered bone. The occasional flash of burning fire let me know that Tembo was still with us, though his magic was little needed against our quiet foe.
Gregory’s sword whirred through a lumbering revenant, severing the beast at ankle, shoulder, and wrist. He ended by plunging his sword into the rattling rib cage. It would have been a mortal blow to a more mundane opponent. The skeleton just dragged itself down the length of the blade, clawing ineffectually at Gregory’s face. The paladin spat in disgust, then punched the creature in its leering grin until it collapsed into component parts. He kicked the bones away and prepared for the next wave.
I heard a strangled gasp and turned around just in time to see Tembo hit the ground. The shadow of a cloaked figure flickered just out of sight.
“He came out of nowhere!” Chesa shouted. Crescent blades shattered the trio of skeletons that faced her, then she went to one knee at Tembo’s side, running her hands over him. “I don’t see a wound . . . wait. Maybe a scratch on his cheek? He’s still breathing.”
“Bastard!” Gregory howled. “Stand and fight like a man, will you!”
“Men fall. Men struggle. Men die.” The wheezy voice came from all around us, and I realized it was the skeletons, speaking in chorus. “I am meant for greater things!”
“You’re a coward!” Gregory answered. Chesa and I were back-to-back, guarding Tembo’s fallen body, but Gregory pushed to the edge of our defensive circle. “Fight me!”
“Gladly.” This time the voice was close. Dark shapes whirled out between the nearest skeletons. The cloaked man formed out of mist, rushing past Gregory, sword down to one side. Gregory saw him and brought his zweihander up. Steel skated across steel, gathering sparks, and then the cloaked figure was past. He disappeared between the shambling ranks and was gone.
“That was hardly a fight. Hardly a fight at all,” Gregory d’Dickhead said. He looked down at his palm. A line of bright blood beaded across the skin. “Barely a scratch.”
He fell in a clatter of armor and glistening hair. Chesa stepped toward him, but I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.
“We can’t get separated. He could be anywhere. We have to keep our eyes—”
I was staring at Chesa when the black cloak appeared behind her. He simply laid the flat of his sword against the naked flesh of her neck. I saw the cut. I saw the blood. She gave a startled gasp, then fell into my arms.
“Ches! Chesa!” I shouted. She tried to say something, but then I felt her skin go cold. Thin laughter rose from the mists. I laid her down as gently as I could. “You’re going to die, you bastard!”
“I thought you were the tatertot king?” He appeared on a slight rise in the distance. The world was changing around him. The ceiling of the convention center was sprinkled with stars, and the distant shapes of trees rose from the displays and along the walls. Even the air tasted different; less sweaty convention, more decrepit mausoleum. “Come, Sir Kartoffel. Meet your heroic end.”
Skeletal arms grabbed at my legs and clattered against the broad face of my tower shield. I plowed through them, breaking bones and cracking skulls, driving toward the shadowy figure of the man in the mask. Bony fingers closed around the wrist of my sword arm, yanking me around. I tried to turn to face my attacker, but dozens of ghostly hands held my shield in place. I bashed the shield forward, flicking my wrist to change the shield’s configuration. The tower folded down to a heater, severing skeletal fingers as its metal panels scissored shut. Free, I whirled on the creature holding my wrist.
A big brute of a man stared at me with dead eyes. Skin hung in tatters from the fingers of his right hand, and a slick of fresh blood from a gash in his throat spilled across a black T-shirt. He was dead, and he was about to beat the living shit out of me. Dumbstruck, I just stood there as he reared back with his other fist and punched me hard in the jaw.
The shock of impact shook me out of my stupor. I punched him once with the rim of my shield, then again when that didn’t seem to faze him at all. He tried to grab at my shield, the blood-slick tatters of his ruined hand sliding off the metal and wood. He was clumsy and slow. I sent a prayer up to George Romero and I brought the shield down again and again on his face. Finally something cracked, and he slumped to the linoleum tiles. I had to peel his fingers away from my wrist. His skin was cold as clay, and the blood that slipped out of his throat was black and stank of the grave.
A zombified gamer girl in a Yes, They’re Natural 20s shirt stumbled into me, gnawing at my leather pauldron with teeth that were yellow with decay. I shoved her back into the crowd of skeletons, trying not to hurt her any worse than she was already hurt (which was dead and reanimated, so I’m not sure what good I was doing), and started to fight my way toward the cloaked figure. Ghostly hands, mixed with the fetid flesh of newly minted zombies, grabbed at me from a press of bodies on all sides. It was hard to differentiate between summoned skeletons and the freshly undead. Try as I might to preserve the con-goers, by the end I was hacking at anything that moved, leaving severed arms and broken bones in my wake.
Suddenly I was on him. The skeletons thinned out, and the man in the cloak stood before me. He had changed with the world. Mists seethed beneath his cloak, and the mask glowed with unholy light. The only thing about him that seemed substantial was the sword. It looked heavy, almost unnaturally massive, as though the world bent toward it. Despite that, the man lifted it with one thin arm.
“Your armor will do you no good, fool. Death cuts deeper than steel, deeper than flesh, deeper than—”
“So we play for points. I get it,” I said, and charged forward.
Edgelord swept his sword up in a blow that would have nicked my arm if not for the shield. Fortunately there was no force behind the swing, so the massive sword just skated across steel. I pressed, blinding him with my shield while I swung low at his ankle. My blade cut into leather, and he gave a very un-edgelord yelp and whimper, then pulled back. My next blow sliced a bit of cloak free. He was backpedaling, off-balance. The eyes behind his mask were wide, his mouth set in a desperate snarl. I got cocky. It almost cost me my life.
The valkyrie’s spear pierced shield and sabaton, slicing into my skin. The spear’s barbed head snagged against the enarme straps of my heater, wrenching the shield from my grasp. She rose over me on black wings.
Well, at least I knew why she seemed familiar. The smirking smile that valkyrie had given me still burned in my heart. And my loins. Very much my loins.
“No! This is my fight!” Edgelord yelled. He pushed the valkyrie aside, putting himself between us. She fluttered awkwardly through the air, the weight of my shield upsetting her balance. The shield slid free, clattering to the ground. “You promised!”
“You are not ready—” the valkyrie started. I didn’t let her finish. One step forward and I brought my sword down on the edgelord’s petty little skull.
He collapsed. Well, the cloak collapsed, falling to the floor like a banner from the wall. Inside were nothing but bones. A shiny skull bounced free of the cloak, to roll to the valkyrie’s feet. She looked down at it sadly, then gestured with her free hand.
The cloaked figure reformed in her grasp. She clasped him to her breast like a child. He was wrapped around the gothic sword.
“Not ready, it would seem. Mortals rarely are,” she said, glaring down at the sleeping figure. “Perhaps next time. As for you . . .” She looked up at me. “Be grateful he is so weak. Next time, you shall not be half as lucky.”
She swept into the sky on black wings, spear dangling behind her. Mists swirled in the wake of her flight. I watched her climb higher and higher, until she was just a glimmer of light among the stars.
Then the fluorescents flickered back on, and I was blinded.
CHAPTER FOUR
I stood in the middle of the convention floor, blinking rapidly. Murky shapes moved at the edge of my vision. Hunkering behind my shield, I turned in a slow circle, preparing for an attack that never came. Ghostly moans reached my ears. My feet shuffled through the fallen bones of my assailants, but for now, it didn’t seem like anyone else was going to take a try at biting my face off. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting.
The first thing I noticed was the lack of dead people. Con-goers stood around numbly staring at the destruction. A couple of them were hurt, especially the ones I had . . . ahem . . . interacted with. The big guy in the clever T-shirt had a bloody nose, but there was no sign of the gash in his neck or the ruination of his hand. Natural 20s sat on the floor nearby, spitting bits of leather out of her mouth. Everytime I took a step or turned around, there was a plastic clattering sound at my feet. A pile of plastic skeleton bones covered the floor, wrapped up in a cheap acetate cloak that was frayed at the edges. I went to one knee to stir through Edgelord’s faux remains. The stitching on the cloak was poorly done. The skull was just a volleyball with a cheap child’s Halloween mask stapled to it. I picked it up and stared at the hollow eye sockets, and wondered what had become of my enemy.
“John? Are you alright?” Chesa was just standing up. There was a silvery mark on her neck, kind of like frostbite, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. She looked around with a slack look on her face. “What the hell happened?”
“Wish I knew. Captain Tatertot turned into a pile of bones, then the valkyrie flew away with him . . .” I turned to her and pointed at the ceiling. “A VALKYRIE, by the way! I thought we were supposed to have some kind of treaty with the valkyries!”
“Totenschreck,” Tembo said, getting stiffly to his feet. He was staring at his hand, opening and closing his fist. “Terror of the dead, I think. Esther will know.” He took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow whistle. “I saw the end, my friends. I saw what stands beyond the gates of Gravehome.”
“What? You died?”
“I walked the final path, yes,” Tembo said. “I suspect we all did. And yet here we are. Puzzling.”
“Where’d that bastard go?” Gregory d’Hernia kicked up to his feet, the maneuver ruined by the piles of plastic bones that littered the floor. He slid gracelessly back and forth for several heartbeats, then sidestepped into a display table of novelty dice-shaped candles. Gregory planted his fist into a dodecahedron of beeswax and started swearing.
“He’s gone, hero-man,” I said. “Everything’s back to normal.”
“No, it’s not,” Chesa said. “These people are going to need debriefing, and someone’s going to have to file a lot of paperwork. But I think we’re done here. We need to get back to MA”—Mundane Actual, our headquarters—“and talk to Esther. She’ll know what to do.”
“What? We drove off the weird cloaked figure with the skeleton-making sword,” I said. “That feels like a win to me.”
“It feels like we stopped something terrible, yes. But I don’t think it’s over. Not by a long shot.”
“I agree with Chesa,” Tembo said. “A blade that kills with a touch, and skeletons, and zombified mundanes. Our morbid assailant was trying to enter the Unreal, just like your friend Eric. We stopped him for now, but that will not be the end of it. He will try again.”
“So we watch the Actuator. When he makes a run for the gates of reality again, we show up and put him down,” I said. “Straightforward.”
“Hey, we need to talk.” It was the guard from the door, pudgy hands on pudgy hips and a very cross look on his face. “I don’t know how you got fog machines and several hundred plastic skeletons past our rigorous security, but someone’s going to have to pay for all this damage. And those swords need peace knots!”
“I’m sure this will cover the damages,” Bethany said, stepping out of the crowd. She handed the guard a wrinkled stack of dollar bills. “We’re part of an . . . Internet . . . influencer? Consortium?”
“Well, I . . . I think . . .” He stared down at the cash in his hand with confusion. “This is a lot of money.”
“Yes! Very real money, too,” Bethany said with the brightest, fakest smile I had ever seen. She turned to us. “And now I think we really must be going.”
Bethany looped an arm around me and Chesa, then hurried toward the exit. People were definitely staring at us. I leaned down to Bethany’s ear.
“Not real money?”
“No, no, it is. It’s just the money from the till. And maybe his wallet. And a few other wallets from the crowd. Folks were distracted,” she answered. “So we really should hurry.”
“We were fighting skeletons and zombies, and you were looting the bodies?” Gregory asked sharply.
“Rogues gonna rogue,” she said sweetly. “Come on, paladin-boy. A little hop in your step. That pretty smile isn’t going to fool anyone for long.”
I was getting used to the smell of foot cheese. It’s a necessary emotional callus to develop when your main mode of transportation is a flying Viking longboat made of toenail clippings. On hot days, the deck of the Naglfr smelled like a foot-slapping contest. And that’s a contest no one wins. No one.
We were flying high above the endless cornfields that surround Mundane Actual. The boss discovered a long time ago that everywhere in America was within five minutes of a cornfield, at least metaphorically, and actual proximity to the husky starch helped the Actuator tap into the country’s mythical gestalt. It also meant random folks were less likely to stumble across the threshold and contaminate the sensitive anachronisms that ran the operation. But it also meant we lived in a cornfield.
