Last Stand of Dead Men

by Derek Landy

“Me and my big articulate mouth,” he muttered, as a Bride looked up and saw him.

  The alarm went out, the Brides shouting warnings to each other. Valkyrie started to stand.

  “Stay down,” he ordered.

  She stared at him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Something inadvisable,” he said, and ran forward.

  Valkyrie stayed where she was, tucked behind cover, listening to the shouts and the sounds of crackling energy and exploding rock. He was leading them away from her.

  He’s leaving you alone.

  Keeping low, she moved back through the curtain, squinting at the rectangle of unforgiving light that would usher her outside. Where would she go? Where would she hide? She was weak, sunburnt, and probably had heatstroke or something. She wouldn’t get far out there. She wouldn’t get far in here, either. The thought of throwing a punch made her want to cry.

  Footsteps on the other side of the curtain made her dart into the room on her right. She pressed herself back against the wall, careful not to disturb the clay pots. Two voices – no, three – talking quickly. Only one of them spoke English. She didn’t recognise either of the other two languages.

  One of the Brides babbled urgently.

  “Let me,” said the Bride who spoke English.

  More babbling, then—

  “We will.”

  Valkyrie would have scowled if the pain hadn’t stopped her.

  Just our luck that the only one we can understand is a lackey and not a boss.

  She peeked out. Two Brides hurried into the sunshine and disappeared down the steps. Made sense. Their secret pyramid had been breached, after all – they needed to know if there was anyone else out there.

  The third Bride, the one Valkyrie couldn’t see, walked back towards the curtain, and Valkyrie coughed softly. The footsteps stopped. Valkyrie picked up one of the pots. She couldn’t hear anything now, but it was highly unlikely that the Bride was still standing in place. No, if the Bride was anything like Valkyrie, she would already be sneaking to the doorway, ready to lunge in and catch the intruder unawares—

  The Bride lunged into the room and Valkyrie smashed the pot over her head, giving a muffled scream as her sunburn sent claws of stinging pain ripping through her. The Bride stumbled to her knees and Valkyrie stepped back and kicked her in the head.

  Oooh, that felt good.

  Valkyrie looked down at the unconscious Bride while she waited for the pain to fade. An idea came to her, and grew into a plan. It wasn’t a very good plan, but it was a plan, and that’s more than she had a moment ago.

  Valkyrie took off her clothes, folded them neatly and put them on a shelf behind a pot, and dressed herself in the Bride’s outfit.

  Not right, is it? Leaving these wonderful clothes here with all manner of dangers ahead.

  No, it wasn’t right, especially given what she was now wearing. Red silk and a stupid veil and sandals she couldn’t even do up right.

  You look great. You look like a homicidal belly dancer.

  She slipped the Necromancer ring into a small pouch she found beside the knife, then shackled the Bride’s wrists, tied her feet, and used one of Valkyrie’s own socks as a gag. She apologised about that one. Of course the Bride didn’t hear it, but that was hardly the point.

  The only way this was going to work was if no one got too close to her. Then they wouldn’t see the mess she’d made of the sandals or how her hair wasn’t bound right or how, instead of a healthy tan like the others, her skin was glowing painfully red. Also, the Brides walked with a sway that she didn’t have, and they walked lightly, like they were each on individual clouds. Valkyrie was well aware of how she walked. She walked functionally. She was used to wearing trousers and boots.

  Trousers and boots that Ghastly Bespoke made. Doesn’t seem right to abandon them like this.

  Taking a deep breath, Valkyrie left the room and walked through the curtains. The heat made her start to sweat again, and made her sunburn sting like crazy. She walked for the nearest rope bridge. It was surprisingly steady.

  One of the Devoted was ahead. She faltered, then straightened up and walked swiftly by him. He didn’t shout out. Didn’t raise the alarm. This was good. This was going to work. She glanced back. He was right behind her.

  She whirled and he stopped. She waited for him to make a move. He didn’t. He just stood there with his eyes down. She frowned, backed away, turned and walked on. He followed.

  She stopped again and so did he.

  “What do you want?” she asked. If he recognised the difference in accents, he didn’t react to it. But neither did he answer.

  She was about to stride off and leave him there when she saw a Bride and another Devoted walking closer. Cursing under her breath, she retraced her steps back to the rope bridge. The Devoted came after her.

  “Would you stop?” she hissed. “Just stop, all right? Stay!”

  He stopped walking and she hurried, passed the rope bridge and kept walking until she came to a junction. She hid as another Bride passed, a Devoted walking behind her with his head down. Everywhere a Bride walked, there was at least one Devoted trailing in her wake.

  A Bride walking around without a Devoted will probably arouse suspicion.

  Valkyrie headed back to the rope bridge. He was still there.

  “Hello,” she said. “Would you … I need to get to our prison cells, but I have forgotten, uh, how to get there. Take me to them.”

  The Devoted bowed slightly, but didn’t move.

  “Well?” she pressed. “Let’s go.”

  He took a step backwards, bowing as he did so, and she understood. She walked by him and he followed. When she got to the top of the slope, she hesitated, looked back, saw the angle of his shoulders and moved right. It wasn’t the fastest or most effective way to get where she needed to go, but it worked. In one narrow corridor they were forced to pass within arm’s length of another Bride. The Bride nodded to her and she nodded back, and they each continued on. Valkyrie breathed out and relaxed.

  They walked until they came to a giant door. She looked at the Devoted. “This is it?”

  He bowed a little deeper.

  It was locked. Of course it was locked, the day was over. Everything shut down when the day was over. There was no way she was getting through this tonight, not without bringing every Bride down on top of her.

  “I need to sleep,” she said.

  He bowed, stood to one side, and she walked by him. Again, he directed her with the turn of his shoulders until they came to a wide plateau of tents and marquees. Doing her best to keep away from other Brides, Valkyrie chose a tent on the outer edges.

  “Get me food,” she said to the Devoted. “And water. Please. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  The Devoted bowed and walked away, and Valkyrie stepped inside, letting the flap close behind her. The floor was covered in cushions, and she stepped over to the biggest one and sat. She wished she had her phone. She didn’t even know what time it was. She tried to fix her hair back into the golden bands, but abandoned the task before she grew too annoyed.

  A few minutes later, there was movement outside her tent. Resisting the urge to come up in a crouch and prepare for trouble, Valkyrie lay back and feigned sleep. That wasn’t easy with her sunburn. She listened to someone come in and cracked open an eye. A Devoted laid a tray of food down on the small table. The lamplight flickered over his muscles and his bald head – but they all had muscles and bald heads. She waited until she saw his face, until she was sure he was her Devoted, before she sat up.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He said nothing. He went to the entrance and stood there, hands by his sides, head down, like a statue.

  Valkyrie crawled over to the table, filled a goblet with water and lifted the veil to drink it down in one go. There were meats and grapes and fruit piled on to the tray and she ate what she could and left the rest of it.

  She crawled back to the big cushion, piled a few on
top of each other and lay against them, propped up. The curved dagger was digging into her thigh. The arm bracelet was digging into her bicep. Her hair was too loose and her damn sandals had slipped down again. She was anxious. She was anxious and bored. She was anxious and bored and tired, but there was no way she could sleep, not with the enemy all around, not with Skulduggery held captive and—

  She woke. She couldn’t have been sleeping for that long. She was still propped up on the cushions. She hadn’t moved.

  The Devoted had, though. He had laid out small jars of sweet-smelling oils on the ground before her, and beside them was a large pail of water. He stood behind the pail, a cloth in his hands.

  “Uh,” said Valkyrie. “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t. She sat up, almost cried out with the pain and he quickly scooped up one of the jars and knelt by her. He dipped a finger in, then touched it lightly to her arm. That spot, the spot he’d touched, immediately cooled. It didn’t even look as red any more.

  “Well,” she said to the Devoted, “aren’t you full of surprises?”

  orning came and she led the Devoted out of the tent. Her sunburn had become a tan overnight and she could move without pain once again. At her instruction, the Devoted had even fixed her hair into the golden bands and done up the sandals properly. She looked like a Bride of Blood Tears now, and tried to give her hips that extra bit of sway to complete the transformation. She needn’t have bothered. None of the other Brides gave her anything more than a cursory glance as she walked back to the giant doors.

  They stood open. One of the Devoted waited to one side, his head down. A sentry?

  Kill him. Snap his neck. Cut his throat.

  Valkyrie passed him warily. His eyes stayed downcast. Her own Devoted stopped beside him. Obviously, they weren’t allowed any further. That suited Valkyrie just fine. She gave one last admiring glance to the bald man with the big muscles and hurried on, following the tunnel round to another set of large doors. They stood slightly open, warm firelight seeping through the crack. She slowed, and approached in silence. She heard voices, and took a peek.

  A stone cavern, lit by a single torch on the wall. A Bride with skin the colour of chocolate walked slowly round a circle of linked asymmetrical shapes carved into the ground. Within the borders of those shapes, sigils had been etched. It looked to be an exact match to the necklace the Bride wore. Valkyrie had seen that kind of thing before, and she knew that to break the necklace was to break the circle. Within the circle stood Skulduggery and Fletcher. Fletcher appeared unharmed, though Skulduggery seemed to have lost his hat.

  He loved that hat.

  Valkyrie slipped her Necromancer ring on to her finger. She called in the shadows to mask her, and crept through the doors, blending immediately into the gloom around the edges of the room. The Bride was saying something about not getting comfortable.

  “I honestly don’t see us staying here for much longer,” Skulduggery responded. “Could I ask a question, though, before you continue on what I’m sure will be a delightful monologue? Charivari, the scamp, is making all sorts of threatening movements and whatnot. Does he still believe that Department X is responsible for the deaths of his people?”

  “You think I would know?” the Bride asked.

  “You’ve been in contact with him, Ajuoga. We know you have.”

  “Maybe,” Ajuoga said, and laughed. She had a pretty laugh. “Very well. Yes, we have been in contact with him, as you say. A most impressive man. When he left, he spoke with many people, enquiring about this mysterious mortal agency that had been killing his Warlocks. As did we. But now it is plain, Department X is nothing but a rumour. How embarrassing for us all.”

  “And what are Charivari’s plans now?”

  “I’m sorry, I do not understand. His plans are what they have always been. Find the ones responsible and make them pay.”

  “How will he do that?”

  “The Warlocks are powerful, and Charivari is no simple-minded barbarian. Our true enemy tried to provoke us into attacking the mortals. Only sorcerers who hate mortals would do such a thing. And they are easy to find.”

  “And if he finds them?”

  “If? Oh, dear, no. You misunderstand. He has already found them. All this trouble emanated from your Sanctuary, Mr Pleasant. That is where the Children of the Spider have congregated, is it not? That is where the Torment lived. We know of his involvement.”

  “The Torment is dead,” Fletcher said.

  “But his brethren live, and they plot against us and our kind. Your Sanctuary will fall, make no mistake. I have to say, however, we like what we hear about this Accelerator. Is it truly as powerful as they say? That will be quite something. I am looking forward to that.”

  “You’ve joined with the Warlocks, then,” Skulduggery said.

  “Of course. We are witches. They are Warlocks. We practise the true magic. Your kind despises us.”

  “I’m a living skeleton,” said Skulduggery. “I have no kind.”

  Ajuoga sounded amused. Beneath her veil, she was surely smiling. “A living skeleton, indeed. We have all heard so many stories about you, Mr Pleasant. Your legend permeates even here, where we care little for your Sanctuaries or your petty squabbles. And yet I must admit to feeling slightly underwhelmed. Subduing you was tragically simple.”

  “Have you ever heard of being lulled into a false sense of security?” Skulduggery asked.

  Ajuoga opened her arms. “Then where is the surprise attack? Where are your reinforcements?”

  “I’m not sure,” Skulduggery admitted. “They’re probably lulling you into a false sense of security, too. I’m not sure it works if everyone is lulling, to be honest – then there’s no one left to do anything. We may have to work on our strategy for the future.”

  “The future?” Ajuoga echoed. “Maybe you would have a future if you had been captured by the Maidens of the New Dawn or the Crones of the Cold Embrace – although I doubt it. But you are among the Brides of Blood Tears, the most fearsome of all witches, and you, Detective, don’t have much of a future to worry about.”

  Valkyrie crouched slightly. Ajuoga was nearing.

  “I see,” said Skulduggery. “And what do you want with young Mr Renn here, may I ask?”

  “He’s a Teleporter,” said Ajuoga. “He’s a natural. We want his blood.”

  “I don’t think so,” snarled Fletcher.

  “We want his genes.”

  “That one’s a bit more vague …”

  “We want him to breed with us.”

  “I reckon I’ll be OK here on my own,” Fletcher said to Skulduggery.

  Skulduggery ignored him. “And when you’re done breeding with him, what will you do then? Kill him?”

  “We’ll never be done breeding with him.”

  “I’ll hold them off,” Fletcher said. “You save yourself.”

  “I’m not leaving you here, Fletcher.”

  “Ah, go on.”

  Valkyrie burst from the shadows, but Ajuoga spun and her hand flashed and Valkyrie ducked and stumbled as the wall behind her exploded in shards of rock. She threw a fistful of shadows as a distraction and then went low, her shoulder slamming into Ajuoga’s stomach while she grabbed the back of her legs. She tried to lift, but the woman was already shooting her legs back, adjusting her balance.

  This one could be trouble.

  An elbow dropped sharply between Valkyrie’s shoulder blades and she barely turned her head fast enough to avoid taking the knee square in the face. Stars burst behind her eyes. Ajuoga moved round her, an arm encircling her throat, hauling her up straight.

  This one knows what she’s doing. This one has experience.

  Before the choke could come on, Valkyrie turned and slammed an elbow into her nose. Ajuoga released her, the red veil already darkening as blood soaked the material. Valkyrie snapped her palm straight and the air rippled, and Ajuoga went tumbling head over heels.

&n
bsp; “Finish her,” Skulduggery said from inside the circle. “Don’t give her time to—”

  But Ajuoga had already recovered. Her hand flashed white and Valkyrie threw herself sideways. The energy stream sizzled past her bare skin. Shadows crashed into Ajuoga’s back, making the second shot go wide, but now the curved dagger was in the woman’s hand and slashing across Valkyrie’s arm. Blood flew. Fletcher yelled out frantic warnings as the dagger slashed again and Valkyrie jerked back and Ajuoga came forward, slashing and drawing more blood.

  “Don’t retreat,” Skulduggery instructed calmly, as if they were in practice, as if she wasn’t fighting for her life. “Every step backwards you take gives her more room to work. Meet her. Get in close. Guard, Valkyrie. Where’s your guard?”

  Valkyrie held her arms in front, turned her palms facing in. Ajuoga circled her. Valkyrie dropped her guard slightly, giving her a gap, and Ajuoga saw it and slashed, and Valkyrie sprang into her.

  “Good girl,” Skulduggery said.

  Valkyrie blocked and grabbed the knife arm in one movement, held it tight to her side while she threw palm shots into Ajuoga’s face. The veil tore away. Beneath it, Ajuoga was bloody but beautiful. Valkyrie stepped into her, hip to hip, and flipped her in an old-fashioned judo throw. Ajuoga spun in a whirl of cape and dress and crunched to the ground, the dagger dropping. Valkyrie lost her balance, stumbled over her, Ajuoga pulling her down. They clawed and raked and punched and snarled and hissed and bit. Valkyrie got on top, but Ajuoga’s legs flashed up, trapping Valkyrie’s head and one arm between her thighs.

  Triangle choke.

  Valkyrie could put it on, but she had no idea how to get out of it. She clicked her fingers, tried summoning a flame, but Ajuoga arched her back, lifted her hips off the ground, tightening the squeeze. Valkyrie’s own arm pressed against her throat, cutting off the blood supply to the brain. Her eyes bulged.

  Let me out and I’ll help.

  Fletcher was shouting curses and Skulduggery was issuing instructions, but she couldn’t hear either of them. Her head was fuzzy. Tears blurred her vision. Her face was red. She knew her face was red. She probably looked ridiculous. She hated it when her face got red.