by M. C. Planck
“It’s not my idea.” Christopher defended himself. “I wanted to take the whole army. Marcius told me not to.”
“Good advice even if it didn’t come from a god,” Lalania said, joining the little knot of men. “I have made a study of our legends. Stealth really is the key. An army would attract a plague of demons. And even with machine guns, I think we would lose.”
Christopher grunted. “I wouldn’t be taking jeeps.” It would probably take his merely mortal men several months to master the art of tank warfare, but Christopher would have gladly endured it.
Well, not gladly.
“As am I dismayed,” Cardinal Faren said. “This feels too much like a capstone. With Krellyan restored to us, our world is as it was, only better. This reads like the end of our chapter in your life, and I am shocked to discover I do not want that.”
There was a brief round of smiles at the irascible old man’s confession.
“Yet do not let my words weigh on you.” Faren reached out and took Christopher’s hands in his. “We will finish the work you have begun. Karl’s army will replace the knights. Krellyan’s Vicars will replace the Barons. Your witches will teach us your chemistry. Your smiths will teach us your physics. Your bards . . . well, they will do what they always do, and we will try to ignore it as usual.”
Helga bit her lip through her tears. “You are all talking like he will never come back. He always comes back. I was there, the first time, before any of you. He came back.”
Christopher hugged her and then reached down to pat the child clinging to her dress. “Of course I will. No one else knows how to make a decent bowl of porridge.”
They were ready: Alaine standing in the back of the jeep with her hands lingering over the machine gun, and Richard sitting in the passenger seat. Christopher wore his armor, sword, and cloak. Lalania and Alaine were in their elven chainmail, the elf with the big royal sword over her back and the bard with a rapier at her side. Lalania also had the lyre, which made Christopher a little uncomfortable because technically it belonged to the kingdom. Richard was unarmored, in only the light leather the elves favored. He was not unarmed, however; he carried a short-barreled assault rifle. All of them wore one of the heavy pistols he had brought back. The bullets for the pistols were huge, almost as big around as the rifles that Christopher had made. Richard swore they would stop a buffalo. Christopher, remembering the bull Karl had killed, suspected that Richard had never actually seen a buffalo and certainly not what passed for large herbivores around these parts.
Vicar Rana intercepted him as he made his way to the jeep.
“Do not upbraid me for my superstitions,” she admonished him. “They are the only comfort left to me these days, when my son makes bombs out of water and fire.” Johm’s first attempts at steam engines had a tendency to explode. “Just take this. Once before you marched in impossible danger, and I gave it to you then. Once again I do the same, in the hope of the same outcome.”
She handed him a heavy bronze jar, the magic water bottle that could sprout a firehose indefinitely. It was, as he expected, the one marked with the sigil of Marcius. He had no idea how it would help, but he could hardly say no.
“Thank you,” he said instead, “for everything.”
One last petitioner waited for him: the Witch of the Moors, in a flowing white dress. “I am not entitled to this color,” she admitted. “It is a symbol only. Yet you have won me over. My people will fare better under Krellyan’s reign than mine. I may choose not to renew my sovereignty. At the least I will serve your Saint loyally.”
“I would not go so far, my lady,” Lalania said. “As Christopher has made clear, the realm still requires magic.”
“You know I don’t actually have any idea what you are talking about, right?” Christopher said.
The Witch smiled. “I know. As I also know you are under a spell older than magic. Go with my good wishes, and succeed.”
He nodded, pretending it made sense, and hurried the last few steps to the jeep.
“I call shotgun,” Richard said. “You ride in the back and keep our gunner alive.”
Christopher climbed up to his assigned seat, checking his headroom. If Alaine swung that gun around too vigorously, he would get a knocking.
Lalania started the jeep. Christopher cast the spells that would last all day at his new rank, energy protection and strength. Both of them seemed likely to be helpful enough that he cast them on everyone.
Alaine handed each of the three humans a small potion vial. They unscrewed the tops and swallowed the contents. More of the elven night-vision magic.
“And a chaser,” Richard said, producing a six-pack of beer. “It’s traditional for road trips,” he explained, handing them each one.
“It’s warm,” Christopher said after the first sip.
“Like I said, traditional.” Then the man muttered something under his breath that might have been, “Bloody Yanks.”
Lalania drained hers in one go, tossed it over the window, and hit the gas. The jeep lurched until she slammed on the brakes, throwing them all forward.
“Just checking.” She grinned wildly.
Richard stood up, hanging onto the windscreen. He started chanting the gate spell.
Christopher looked around curiously. He hadn’t paid that much attention to the preparations and wasn’t sure what they were going to do for a key. His gaze fell on Major Kennet, who waved to him cheerfully. Christopher smiled and waved back, just in time to see Karl shoot the young man through the head with one of the new automatic pistols.
The boy fell, dead as a doornail, blood and brain spraying out from the blast. Christopher’s mouth went dry. Richard finished his chant and the rift opened, jagged, dark, and foul, a stench blowing in from the plane of the dead. Ahead Christopher could see an entire decaying forest of rotted trees and dead moss. To the side, he could see Krellyan kneeling over the body. The Saint caught his eye and nodded reassuringly.
They had found a volunteer to open the gate. Fortunately, it was temporary duty. Kennet had been brought back so many times, he must be used to it by now.
As Lalania accelerated toward the rift, Richard threw his empty beer can out of the jeep. Christopher gratefully raised his to his lips, no longer concerned about the temperature.
The forest was sparse enough that the jeep could wind through it, crunching over dried leaves and through huge spider webs that stretched from tree to tree. Christopher’s job was navigation; he had cast his compass spell and now held his hand pointing in the direction they should be going, regardless of whatever temporary detours Lalania had to make for the terrain.
Richard hummed a tune, his rifle in his hands and one foot up on the dashboard. “Should have brought some music,” he said.
Alaine was unamused. “As if this vehicle does not announce our presence enough.”
“I got one with the new mufflers.” Richard shrugged. “The smell of horseflesh would be worse.”
Christopher fished around at his feet, trying to find the rest of the six-pack.
“Why don’t we fly?” he asked. He wanted to try the air-walking spell and see whether the jeep’s tires could ride on little puffs of cloud.
“NO,” all three of them said in unison.
“Nothing would attract the bevinget more quickly,” Alaine said.
“That’s our name for the winged demons,” Lalania explained. “The other one, with the chains, is called a kjede. The Wizard of Carrhill’s books were very informative.”
“Oh,” said Richard. “I just don’t like heights.”
“Those are only two out of many,” Alaine said.
“Yes, but they’re among the worst, right?” It was strange hearing Lalania ask for confirmation. And from an elf, no less.
“The bevinget, definitely. Some of the others are less obvious and thus more dangerous for it.”
“I think,” mused Richard, “that mostly we’ll be dealing with the obvious today.”
The land opened up, turning into a dry riverbed free of anything larger than a weed. Christopher felt a little homesick, at least until he looked up. The sky was black and starless but not empty. A dead sun hung overhead, giving off no light; the land was perpetually dark, the night never-ending.
Lalania accelerated, driving faster.
“Watch out for drops,” he said, worried. “Or pot holes.”
“You watch out,” Richard answered. “Seriously. You have a spell for that, right? Can you put it on her?”
“No, that’s me.” Alaine kissed her fingers and then touched Lalania on the top of her head.
The bard immediately swerved, throwing them all up against doors, or in Alaine’s case, the gunnery frame.
Richard put his seat belt on. Christopher did the same. Lalania, quite sensibly, already had hers on.
“Sorry,” Lalania apologized. “I think that was a false alarm.” She swerved again and drove past a gaping hole in the ground that bubbled with some foul substance.
“Um,” Christopher said, his gaze having been directed outward. There was a crowd of skeletal figures, several hundred strong, running along the edge of the riverbank, black and yellow skin flapping from white animated bones.
“I saw them,” Alaine said. “They won’t catch us.”
Ahead of them, the land began to move. Bushes and dirt rose up, falling off a giant rotting body of something five or six times larger than an elephant. It might have been a dinosaur, once.
Alaine aimed the machine gun but held her fire. Lalania downshifted and turned, spraying sand. She cut around the hulking beast and left it behind.
“I concede,” Alaine frowned. “Horses would have been worse.”
“I know,” Richard said lightly. He had another can of beer in his hands.
“Where’s the other one?” Christopher leaned forward to ask but then had to sit up and point Lalania in the right direction. “Take that fork.”
She hewed around and sent them down a narrower channel. “No choice here,” she said. “Hang on.”
Corpses started popping up out of the ground, grabbing at the jeep as it went past. Most of them slid off or were crushed by the jeep’s solid front bumper. One managed to hang onto the passenger door.
Richard hit it with the butt of his rifle until it fell off. One hand remained clinging to the side mirror, unattached to the rest of the body. Richard kicked it off with his boot.
“This is the little stuff.” He scanned the sky. “We should see something bigger soon.”
“Behind us,” Alaine said. Richard looked over his left shoulder and sat up straight, trying to get a clear line of sight. Christopher had no chance; Alaine was in his way. Behind her he could see three winged creatures bearing down on them. Richard took a shot, the sound loud and sharp in front of Christopher’s face. He watched the brass cartridge fly out, bounce off the windscreen, and fall by the wayside. Alaine shouldered her rifle and began firing, raining brass over the edge of the jeep.
“Slow down,” Richard called over the gun shots. Lalania let the jeep idle down to a lower speed. Now Richard and Alaine had a steadier firing platform. He fired carefully while she blazed away. All three of the winged creatures fell, one after another. Alaine tossed her depleted magazine overboard and shoved a new one into her rifle. Richard scowled, apparently aware that his efforts had been completely unnecessary. Christopher was disturbed to see that none of the flyers had tried to retreat even as their wingmen died in the air.
“So much for unannounced,” Richard needled Alaine.
“I did that for you,” she answered. “The harpies have no interest in me.”
The jeep slowed as it crawled out of the riverbed. Now they were on a long, flat plain. There was no cover here, and Christopher was glad the jeep’s headlights were off. Any light would be seen for miles. Torches would be like fishing lures. At least the gunfire was only temporary.
“There’s our bigger,” Richard said, pointing ahead. Two small figures were drifting through the sky, slowly heading their way.
Alaine frowned. “If you would, Christopher.”
He cast his weapon blessing on her machine gun, expending considerably more spell energy than usual. This one would last for almost an hour.
Looking forward again, he realized the small figures were in fact huge. They had only seemed small because of how far away they had been. They weren’t far away anymore, and they weren’t slow.
Richard was fixing earmuffs over Lalania’s head. Christopher couldn’t get the muffs under his helmet, so he just put his fingers in his ears. Alaine squeezed a dozen rounds from the big gun and then did it twice more.
As the jeep zoomed between the bodies, each the size of a small wagon and slowly turning into smoke, Alaine actually wheedled. “Surely we can stop. It would take only seconds.”
“No,” Richard said.
“Why would we stop?” Christopher asked.
“Those creatures are almost legendary,” Alaine said, staring backward as they vanished in the distance. “A wealth of power unimaginable to mortal man lies on the ground back there, and this wizard of yours drives past it like a cheap taco stand.”
“Stopping to collect loot is how people get killed,” Richard said. “Ell’s stories make that clear, as if common sense and history were not enough. We’re not here to get rich.”
“Says the man who was handed his rank,” grumbled Alaine, but without heat.
“How do you know what a taco stand is?” Christopher asked, amazed.
“You don’t have tacos in your kingdom?” Alaine answered, equally surprised. “Are you sure? I thought I had . . . never mind. It must have been somewhere else.”
“Thank the gods Lalania can’t hear this,” Richard said. “We had burritos while we waited for the jeep to be brought up out of armory parking. She loved them.”
“Now I know you’re putting me on,” Christopher said. “You can’t get Mexican food in London.”
“Listen, mate, it’s a cultural haven. The most multicultural city in the world.”
Christopher had to stop arguing so he could tap Lalania on the shoulder. He pointed vigorously, following the instruction of his direction-finding spell, and she swerved again.
Richard muttered an oath. He leaned over and flipped on the jeep’s headlights. Then he cast the anti-magic spell and the world went dark, save for the cone of light cut out by the halogen beams.
Now Lalania drove through the night on merely mortal terms. She slowed instinctively, no longer guided by the trap-finding spell, but still driving faster than Christopher would have dared. He didn’t say anything, however, because she couldn’t hear him. Alaine was using the machine gun again.
The battle was not completely invisible. Columns of fire struck at the jeep, incinerating the decayed vegetation outside the sphere of protection. Waves of dark energy and at one point a giant hailstorm of mixed ice and flaming meteorites lashed around them. Christopher saw several of the huge winged demon forms pass overhead, and Lalania had to swerve around one that fell in front of the jeep while the machine gun tore into it.
A twelve-foot-long spear smashed through the windscreen and into Richard’s chest. The iron tip came out the back of his chair, impaling Christopher’s right calf.
“Dismiss the field,” Christopher shouted desperately, struggling to remove the spear. He pulled his calf off it, ignoring the blood and pain, put both gauntleted hands together on the spear head, and pushed.
Richard gurgled, blood spilling out of his mouth. He must have said the right words because the darkness went away. Lalania stepped on the gas. Christopher finally got the spear out of the man and quickly cast. He kept his hand on Richard, letting the healing power flow as he watched an invisible meter in his head winding down his spell power.
“You see why ninth rank would have been insufficient,” Alaine shouted in between bursts of gunfire.
The spear would have killed the lower ranked Lalania instantly.
> “Nonsense,” Richard argued. “He would have revived me. With less than a minute’s death, I wouldn’t have even lost my prepared spells.”
The wizard leaned back and put his face close to Christopher to ensure that his words were heard. Christopher thought he was going to say thank you.
Instead, he said, “Your turn.”
Cryptic, but Christopher understood. He cast his anti-magic sphere. Lalania cursed loudly at the return of darkness but was drowned out by the shattering roar of a hailstorm. Ice in chunks the size of watermelons smoked as it fell and exploded when it hit the ground. The ground outside of the protected sphere was torn and broken.
Some of that damage landed in front of the jeep. When the wheels hit the rough ground, the jeep bounced high. If Christopher had not been strapped in, he would have been thrown out. Another giant spear slammed into the jeep and passed through his thigh, sticking into the floor. If he had not been temporarily airborne, it would have gutted him and severed his spine. He hung onto it for support until they reached flat ground again. Then he pulled it out and tossed it aside, tael binding his wound before he bled more than a gallon or two.
The next spear was aimed at the jeep. It impaled the hood. The engine started coughing.
“Okay, now we stop,” Richard shouted between machine gun blasts. “Here—no, there.”
Lalania locked up the brakes, and the jeep started sliding. Richard pointed at Christopher and gestured imperiously.
Christopher did the bravest thing he had ever done. He unbuckled his seat belt and fell out of the jeep. It plowed on, without him, and then the engine died. The lights went out, all sound went away, and Christopher was alone in the dark surrounded by monsters. And without magic. The anti-magic sphere was centered on him.
He decided to stay on the ground and play dead. Maybe nothing would notice him. This did not work. A horse-sized, fanged, cat-like creature, although its mouth seemed to be triangular in shape instead of the traditional arrangement, came bounding up. He rolled over, his sword held out between him and the beast, but it was only a bit of steel at the moment. The creature ignored it and put one huge paw on his chest to hold him down while it bit off his head.