Iron and Magic Page 33

  The vampire sitting by the older man jumped up. Sickle claws flashed and ripped him from breastbone to waist. Entrails spilled out, hanging from his body in grotesque garlands. The man screamed, a short guttural sound. Elara didn’t move a muscle.

  No sound came from the wall. They looked on just as she did, bearing silent witness.

  “Do not look away,” Savannah said into the silence.

  “Watch and remember,” Dugas echoed.

  The old man screamed and screamed.

  A second vampire tore the stomach of the Iron Dog, spilling her innards. Irina howled. It was the long ululating howl the Iron Dogs made when they rode in battle. A chorus of howls answered from inside the castle, the Dogs acknowledging their own.

  Hugh turned, finding Yvonne on top of the west gate tower. Their stares connected.

  The archery commander whipped back. Two crossbow bolts ripped the air, glowing with magic. The first took Oscar in the throat. The second sank into the Iron Dog’s chest. The sorcerous bolts buzzed and exploded. Two people next to Yvonne lowered their crossbows. One of them, slight and short, glanced at him, and Hugh recognized Alex Tong.

  The wall stayed silent.

  “His name is Landon Nez,” Elara said, her voice snaking through the crowd.

  A chant rose from the villagers.

  “Landon Nez.”

  “Landon Nez.”

  Emotion poured out of a thousand throats, indignation and anger melded into a furious mix. Even the children chanted. Hugh saw Stoyan on another tower, looking around wild-eyed.

  “We are one,” Elara whispered next to him. “We are the Departed.”

  He felt something rise from the collective chant, something vicious and furious and unimaginably ancient.

  “Landon Nez.”

  A shimmer gathered above the crowd as if the air along the wall had suddenly grown hot. The edge of it brushed him. Ghostly howls echoed in his head and broke into a primitive, savage snarl. He jerked back on instinct.

  “LANDON NEZ.”

  The invisible thing tore free of the wall and hurled itself at the tree line. Trees jerked, as if grasped by an invisible hand. Birds shot out of the woods, screeching. Something thudded, metal whined, and a siren blared. He recognized the sound – it belonged to the People’s Armored Troop Transports.

  Next to him Elara stood, her teeth clenched.

  Okay. First things first. He would win this battle and then he would figure out what the hell she was and what he had gotten himself and his people into.

  “Did you get him?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, her expression hard. “But we rattled his cage.”

  On the field below, vampires became utterly still. Standard protocol as the navigators waited for orders. They only had a few minutes before Nez shook the surprise off.

  A charge was coming.

  “Everyone not in uniform off the wall!” Hugh roared.

  The blast of sound took her by surprise and Elara jerked. The villagers scattered, running down the stairs.

  “You know where to be!” Elara called out. “To your places!”

  In the bailey Savannah and Dugas herded people into the buildings.

  Next to Hugh, Sam put his mouth to the horn and blew a high-pitched note. The Iron Dogs took up positions on the wall, fighting against the current of her people.

  “Artillery, fire at will,” Hugh ordered.

  Sam blew a new note, a harsh war call. The ballistae creaked, the strings of the massive bows twanged, and sorcerous bolts shrieked, tearing the air. A couple of undead jerked, suddenly impaled. Most had dodged, but the emerald green bolt heads exploded with magic, throwing dirt, rocks, and gaunt bodies.

  The vampire wave gathered in the clearing before the trees crested and surged toward Baile. Fear pierced the back of Elara’s neck.

  There were more than fifty. There had to be.

  One of the Iron Dogs on top of the gate tower spun around. Hanzi covered her face, drawn in blue ink. She twisted, flexible and fluid like water, and came to rest on one foot, all her weight on her bent back leg, her right leg bent in front of her at an angle, toes barely touching the ground. Her right arm stretched to the sky, hand horizontal as if she was trying to press it against the clouds. Her left arm, bent at the elbow, guarded her chest.

  The massive catapult on top of the keep whined. A rock the size of a small car streaked over their heads. The undead scattered, making a hole in their ranks. The stone thudded into it.

  The woman moved, fast like a whip, snapping into a new pose, and spat a single word.

  The stone pulsed with orange and exploded. Rock shrapnel pelted the undead. Some fell, but more were coming, fast, scurrying forward like ugly twisted lizards.

  The ballistae spat more bolts. The air smelled of sorcerous smoke, crackling with expended magical energy. It felt as if she were caught in some magical storm made of explosions, screams, and war horns. It called on her to do something, to run, to scream, to kill. She glanced at Hugh. He stood next to her, immovable like a rock, his face almost relaxed.

  “Archers, fire at will.”

  The horn howled.

  The first line of vampires jumped into the moat and sank. One by one they dove down, disappearing into the water, while the archers peppered them with bolts and arrows.

  She leaned against the parapet to get a better look. Everything rode on this moment.

  Nothing. Only placid water.

  Hugh leaned forward, his expression impassive.

  A hint of dark red floated to the surface from the moat’s depths. The water boiled, and the color vanished.

  Seconds ticked by, slow and viscous.

  One.

  Two.

  Five.

  Ten.

  She fought with herself to stand still.

  Fifteen.

  The water at the inner edge of the moat swirled. A vampire emerged. It dragged itself forward, its movements sluggish, reached with one long muscular arm, hooked its claws into the wall, and pulled itself up. She watched it climb slowly, each stretch an effort. It was almost directly under her now.

  Elara backed away.

  The undead heaved itself over the wall onto the tower. It landed heavily on the stones. The flesh on its frame sagged, as if it had gone liquid under its hide.

  It worked. It actually worked.

  The vampire swayed.

  Hugh stepped forward, pulling his sword out and striking in a single explosive move. The black blade sliced through the vampire’s torso, cleaving it in two. Black, foul smelling fluid gushed on to the wall. The top half of the undead tumbled back into the moat.

  Hugh grabbed the bottom half by the leg and hurled it over the wall. A splash followed.

  She sidestepped the dark puddle and looked over the wall. All along the moat vampires staggered to the wall, slow and shaking. Some moved faster, others slower.

  Blood red sparks shot out of the trees, a meteorite shower in reverse.

  Hugh grabbed her hand and jerked her down, covering her with his body. A red missile shrieked through the air, landed in the bailey, and exploded. The walls of Baile shuddered. Red fire splashed on the wall to the left of them and an Iron Dog vanished in the glow with a sharp cry. All around them the magic missiles fell with a high-pitched whine, crashing against the stones of Baile.

  Elara wedged herself against the wall, trying to make herself smaller.

  Hugh grinned at her. “Fun!”

  The man was a maniac. She had married a raving lunatic.

  A deep bellow shook the castle, as if some god blew an enormous trumpet.

  Hugh raised his head and she squirmed from under him, trying to see.

  The trees snapped, parting. Something snaked between the crowns, a long dark thing that swung and coiled. It caught a tree and yanked it out of the ground, turning it sideways. Clumps of soil rained down from the root ball. The tree flew aside and through the gap Elara saw a moving darkness. It leaned left, then right, st
ill hidden by the forest. Five-foot wide trunks snapped like toothpicks and crashed aside, carrying branches with them, giving way to something impossibly large. A blunt head emerged, level with the top of the forest canopy and crowned by a mesh of braided golden ropes, each as thick as her wrist. A brilliant blue jewel embedded in the flesh sat in the middle of the forehead, where the net came to a point. Two more heads joined it and a creature emerged into the open. It had three heads, each flanked by wide ears. Six ivory tusks thrust into the air, each large enough to impale and carry off a truck. Its hide was solid black, as if it swallowed the evening sunlight.

  Erawan.

  The colossal elephant took a step forward. The armored cabin on its neck rocked. A huge chain was coiled around his legs. The ground shook. Lightning dashed along Erawan’s hide, spattering in bursts of electric blue, and in the light of those explosions, Elara saw long white scars crossing the elephant’s hide.

  Armed people emerged from the woods, ants next to a giant, and trotted toward the castle. Above him, a rain cloud boiled, just large enough to cover the hill. It ended abruptly, and beyond it the sky was the clear beautiful blue of early evening.

  “Elara,” Hugh called.

  She felt Erawan’s mind, dark and turbulent like a storm cloud. It called to her.

  “Elara!”

  She reached out and brushed the edge of the storm with a wisp of her power. Agony exploded in her mind, images bursting one after another: blood on the tusks, bodies under feet, the trumpet screams, flesh and bone collapsing under the immense weight, forehead smashing a house wall and emerging streaked with concrete dust, blood and rain, buildings, shredded and destroyed, people, tossed and trampled, pain, chains, and blood, the stench, the feel, the vivid red of human blood.

  “Honey!” Hugh snarled in her ear.

  She jerked, breaking the contact, and clamped her hand over her mouth. The horror of it stained her.

  Hugh gripped her shoulder, turning her toward him. “That is a big ass distraction. Nez is going to milk it for all it’s got. He wouldn’t have deployed it, if the digging crew weren’t closing in. I need you in the tunnels.”

  “He’s divine.”

  “What?”

  “Erawan. He is divine.”

  “Yes, I know. Tunnels, Elara.”

  “You can’t kill him.”

  Hugh patted her shoulder. “Of course, I can. I can and I will.”

  “No!” she grabbed his hand, desperate. “He’s enslaved. He’s suffering. You can’t kill him.”

  He stared at her. “Elara, you’re killing me. It’s a giant fucking elephant, who is going to knock down our walls in about five minutes.”

  “It’s not his fault!”

  Hugh squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment.

  “Promise me you won’t kill him. Promise me, Hugh, and I’ll go into the tunnels. Please!”

  Hugh opened his eyes, clenched his fist, unclenched it, and said, “Okay.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” he ground out. “Now, please go to the tunnels.”

  She ran down the steps. Behind her, Hugh roared. “Find Dugas! Get me that fucking druid!”

  Elara hurried down the stairs. The winding stone stairway curved, burrowing lower and lower, and finally came to an end in a heavy wood and metal door. It stood wide open. Elara walked through it. A round chamber waited, walls and floor stone. Torches and fey lanterns glowed on the wall, flooding the space with so much light, they put electric bulbs to shame. Four arched doorways punctured the wall at even intervals, leading from the chamber into a circular hallway ringing the chamber in a semicircle.

  In the middle of the floor a twelve-year-old blond girl sat cross-legged, holding on to a teddy bear. Johanna stood next to her.

  Elara joined them. “Anything?”

  “Three.” Magdalena raised three fingers. “One here.” She pointed directly ahead. “One there.” The finger moved slightly to the right. “And one there.” Far right.

  Above them something thudded. Elara looked up.

  “What’s going on?” Johanna signed.

  “Elephant,” Elara explained and crouched by Magdalena. “How far are they, honey?”

  Magdalena hugged her bear, concentrating. “Getting closer. They’re fast. Very fast.”

  Vampires. Had to be. Killing vampires required an effort. It wasn’t as easy as ripping out a human soul. She could kill mrogs by simple touch. She would have to concentrate on the undead. Elara took a deep breath. She’d never had to kill them in bulk.

  Another thud. A puff of dust broke off the ceiling.

  “They broke into a hallway,” Magdalena said. “They are still far, but they’re coming faster now. There.” She pointed to the far right.

  Elara looked at Johanna. “Take her out and bar the door.”

  Johanna shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes. We might need your power. If they get through me, you are the last line of defense.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Johanna, nothing about today has anything to do with want. Your power is vital. We will use it as a last resort only.” “Go,” she said for emphasis.

  Quick steps echoed through the stairs behind them. Bale ran into the chamber, carrying his mace. Four Iron Dogs followed him, two men and two women. The best of the berserkers.

  “What are you doing here?” Elara asked.

  “We are your support,” Bale said.

  Hugh had sent backup.

  “Leave,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, we can’t do that. We will obey your orders, but we have to stay,” Bale said.

  “What do you fear, Bale?” she asked him.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “You will fear after today,” she said.

  The berserker gripped his mace. “We have our orders.”

  “What did he say?” Johanna asked.

  “Hugh sent him to guard me.”

  “They’re coming,” Magdalena said. “They are close.”

  “Take her out now,” Elara signed to Johanna. “Bar the door. Do this for me. Please.”

  The witch took Magdalena by the hand and led her outside. The door shut, and the heavy metal bar thudded into place.

  “Stand against the wall,” Elara said. “Do not move. Do not speak.”

  Bale opened his mouth.

  “My husband told you to obey my orders. Obey.”

  The Iron Dogs flattened themselves against the wall on both sides of the door. Elara straightened. Her magic uncoiled within her.

  The first vampire dashed sideways behind the doorway, a grotesque shadow, silent like a ghost.

  She pulled the bracelet off her left wrist and dropped it to the floor. The metal sometimes interfered.

  More undead crowded into the hallway.

  Her fingers paused over her wedding ring. She grasped it, slipped it off, and held it out to Bale. The berserker held his palm out. She dropped the ring into it. “Keep it safe for me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The leading vampire stepped forward. Its maw gaped open and a precise male voice came through. “There is no need for senseless bloodshed. We have the superior numbers.”

  She knew how she looked to them. A single human woman, dressed in white, not particularly large or imposing. An easy target.

  “Turn around.” Elara pulled the metal clasp out of her hair and it tumbled to her shoulders. “Leave and your minds will survive.”

  “Team three,” the vampire said. “Engage hostiles.”

  Elara pulled on her magic and punched the floor with it, drenching the chamber in her power. Tendrils of ethereal smoke curled from the stones, glowing with white. The walls shook. The hem of her white gown melted into the curls of magic, merging with it, as she acknowledged the power that was ancient before humans had named it.

  It was part of her. But she would never let herself become part of it.

  The first undead lunged at her. She caught it in
midleap. It hung there, its throat in her hand, its navigator stunned. Then she opened her mouth and showed it her real teeth, and the human behind the vampire’s mind screamed, the echo of his voice pouring out of the undead’s throat.

  The red ball of sorcerous fire splashed over the keep’s wall and exploded, sizzling down. Hugh held his hands out, channeling the magic into the second of four blistered bodies lying in front of him. The blue glow bathed the closest Iron Dog. Ken Gamble, taking short desperate breaths, his dark skin blistered and torn.

  Third degree burns, posterior neck, upper back, left upper chest, left lower back, and dorsal side of both upper and lower extremities… He sank the magic in, repairing the cooked tissues.

  Nez had resumed the bombardment. Erawan’s bulk hampered the ballistae set on top of his Matadors somewhat, but they must’ve fanned out to shoot around him. The elephant was moving at a crawl. Nez was trying to buy time.

  Elara would handle it. Bale would help.

  Hugh had lost the engine and half of her crew on the north flanking tower. The other half moaned on the ground in front of him.

  Another cluster of explosions drowned the gate towers. Hugh craned his neck to check the artillery. Both catapults still survived.

  The Iron Dog’s breathing evened, as his skin sloughed off, revealing a new healthy layer. Hugh moved on to Iris, who was next down the line. Ken pushed upright.

  “Reinforce the gate crews,” Hugh told him.

  The Iron Dog rolled to his feet, grabbed his sword, and took off for the gate.

  Second degree burns, face, neck, upper chest…

  His arm “hummed”, the magic vibrating through him. Hugh squeezed his fist to get the blood pumping and concentrated on healing.

  Another blast. Dugas dashed along the wall and dropped down next to Hugh. “Where do you want it?”

  “On the walls, directly across from where he will hit us.”

  “Some of those are poisonous.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Dugas nodded and waved his arm. People ran along the wall, carrying sacks and plastic bags.

  The ground trembled. Erawan was close.

  Iris rolled to her feet. He grabbed the two remaining Iron Dogs by their shoulders, pouring the magic in, healing in twin streams.