StoneDragon

by Adrian Cross

  “I always have. Let’s go.”

  Snake tightened his grip on Clay’s arm, a small smile playing around his lips, and Milton the other, silent and disturbing as dirt on a coffin. Together, they brought Clay down the Tower’s stairs.

  It struck him then, breathing in a mouthful of warm smoke-laced air, spiced with blood and steel, that he wouldn’t see StoneDragon Shift again. One way or another, the city would move on without him. After ten years, it was a strange thought.

  Looking back, he saw a handful of archers climbing up the black stone of the Tower like ants, moving onto the lowest row of gargoyles. He recognized Rose’s figure clambering on top of a stone bear, but it was too far to make out her expression. At least she would survive longer than Clay. As long as the Earth gods accepted the bargain.

  He turned back toward the slope. Below the lip of the top level, the dwarves had formed a line. Brock knelt on one knee, axe planted in front of him. With his stern features and pale armor, he looked like some ancient god of war.

  “They will not pass,” Brock called, in a clear echoing tone. “We are rock!”

  “Rock!” The dwarves stomped their axes as one.

  “We are steel!”

  “Steel!”

  “We will not kneel!”

  “Never!”

  A deep-throated roar rose up, axes banging down on rock.

  “They are morons,” Snake muttered. “Of course the Earth gods won’t pass. We’re giving them what they want.”

  Rhino shot Snake an annoyed look, even as one of Evan’s soldiers passed him a white flag. The pole was long and thin, and the fabric showed tear marks. It looked like a vandalized curtain rod. Rhino sighed and shook his head.

  “Be careful,” he said. “And be ready, whatever happens.”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen,” Snake muttered. He looked at Clay, lips curving, and he knew Snake was savoring the thought of what waited for Clay below. Snake had won their little war, and he knew it.

  Clay’s mouth tasted like ash. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that he spend his life well.

  As they continued down the stairs, and Rhino’s men faded away, he noticed Evan’s men settled into the rubble and stone. In one shadowed crack, he saw Evan, the card player’s face serious for once. For a second, their gazes met, then Evan faded, too.

  Clay was leaving all that behind him.

  They continued downward, into the empty stretch of no-man’s land. The blood-stained steps were unclaimed by either force, but signs of recent battle remained. Clay stepped carefully around the body of a pale-faced woman —maybe a vampire, maybe not—lying beside a wolf-warrior.

  Snake’s boot squelched in her blood. He snorted in irritation.

  The wind blew hot and smoky. The white flag cracked above them. They kept going, getting closer to the bottom of the stairs.

  “I hope they know what a white flag means,” Snake muttered.

  Shadows slipped through the rocks on either side. Rat men. A bear man trailing a grey length of chain. Then a pasty-white creature with no eyes and a black tongue that tasted the air like a snake.

  Rhino stopped. They stood near the base, at a point where the stairs leveled and flattened, creating an area big enough to hold a small group. He drove the flag into the ground, between two splintered rocks. “That’s far enough,” he said.

  The Fists released Clay’s arms and stepped back.

  The sea of Earth warriors below parted, and the Earth gods appeared.

  Clay had forgotten how big and inhuman they were. Horan led the way, the steaming sword in his hand, shoulders wide with muscle and antlers bobbing as he climbed. As he drew closer, Clay could see blood still leaking from Horan’s ruined eye, winding down his scorched cheek and matting in the fur of his chest.

  Behind him, Latine followed, white-furred and sinuous, carrying an iron pole topped with a strip of white cloth, undulating in the wind. The pole looked like it had once been a street light in the Club District, torn where it had been pulled loose. The white cloth looked like a blood-stained dress.

  Grok brought up the rear, the smallest but most disturbing of the three. Shadows writhed under his body, and his eyes glowed with hatred.

  They came closer: forty stairs, twenty, ten, their eyes locked on Clay.

  Something flashed out of the sky like a black and red meteor, smashing into the ground between them.

  Both sides reared back, weapons gripped.

  The shape uncurled and straightened, looking at Clay. “You really are a bad influence.” Raol’s fangs gleamed whitely as he grinned. Scarf and collar were gone, his ebony neck bare. His skin had repaired itself, and he looked whole and free. Clay wondered if Raol had killed Candiman.

  “This is a truce, vampire,” Rhino snarled. “You have no business here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Raol said. “I’m not here to challenge you. Not today.” He turned toward Horan. “Antlered one! God, devil, whatever you are.” His lips pulled back in something that wasn’t a smile. “Come face another monster, a plague on the world. Kill me if you can!” His voice rose, carrying to both armies. “Would-be god, I challenge you!”

  Horan’s face twisted. He strode forward, leaving the others behind.

  Raol drew his red-veined blade.

  Snake hissed. “What’s he doing? He’s going to wreck everything!”

  “Redeeming himself,” Clay said softly. He’d seen it in Raol’s eyes. The warrior had made a choice to step out of the darkness, for a brief moment in time. One way or another, a monster would die today.

  Horan stopped, just out of Raol’s range. The wind ruffled his furred chest and arms. The air shimmered around his huge stone blade, as if distorted by some inner heat.

  Raol looked slick and deadly as ever, a jungle predator.

  For a second, they stood, staring at one another.

  Then violence exploded.

  The massed armies moaned, but they were too far away to see all the details of the battle, its speed and skill. But Clay had an ideal vantage point. He saw the beauty and savagery of the exchanges, the power and skill of the battle. He’d known Raol was fast, but Horan was too, and immensely powerful, stronger even than a vampire.

  Horan attacked in a storm of hacks and slashes, unleashing a rain of blows. Stone shattered and dust rolled out from where Raol had been a heartbeat before. Raol rolled and counterattacked, his sword weaving.

  Horan cornered the vampire, swinging the great stone sword.

  Raol shot straight into the air. Horan’s sword shattered only stone.

  Raol curved up and over the Earth god’s head. As he did, he spun in midair, his blade swiping at Horan’s head.

  Horan ducked, but Raol’s blade caught the point of an antler, splintering it and snapping Horan’s head to the side.

  Raol landed a body’s length away. Smiling.

  Horan bellowed in rage, chunks of antler dropping away, and leaped at the vampire. His stone sword hacked down.

  Raol threw up his own blade, catching the blow. The infected sword flexed, groaned—the enormous force of the blow bent even a vampire’s knees—but held.

  Horan lashed a foot out, crashing it into the vampire’s chest. Bones snapped, and the vampire shot backward, disappearing into the shadows under an outcropping. The sound of rock splintering rolled out.

  Instinctively, Clay tensed to move forward but then stopped himself. What was he planning on doing? He was unarmed. Horan would cut Clay down without looking.

  The Earth god stalked forward.

  Shockingly, Raol burst back out of the darkness, red sword flashing, as if he’d never been hurt.

  Clay shook his head. The vampire was even tougher than Clay had thought.

  He lost track of the exchanges after that. Hack; block; twist. Slice, lunge, lock swords and break loose again. Raol frequently tumbling away. He simply didn’t have the strength to meet Horan head on. But he was fast. He launched himself into the air, cape fluttering like dark w
ings.

  Horan sliced his sword at where Raol’s head would be, lips pulling apart, as if already anticipating his victory.

  Raol’s cape snapped around. Somehow, unbelievably, the vampire altered his direction mid-leap. Or maybe he’d simply used his cape to disguise his actual trajectory. Either way, he came in under Horan’s sword. He hit the ground, rolled, and surged up with his sword extended for Horan’s stomach, the blow packing all the unleashed power of his infected frame.

  Horan snapped a hand down, fingers in the blade.

  The infected sword snapped in half. Metal keened. Raol stared, unbelieving, at the stump of metal in his hand. Blood dripped down his fist.

  Horan wrapped a hand around Raol’s neck, lifted him off the ground. The vampire looked puny in his grip.

  “You may be a monster,” Horan said, “but I am a god.”

  Clay stepped forward, unarmed or not, but Rhino caught Clay’s shoulder, holding him in place.

  Horan’s fingers tightened. Slowly.

  Bones snapped. Raol’s head lolled forward. Horan let the body drop. Then he raised his sword and swept it down against the vampire’s neck, finishing the job.

  Raol was dead.

  47

  Face Off

  The armies reacted physically to the battle’s conclusion: the Earth army raising muzzles and howling in triumph, the Tower soldiers sagging backward, as if Horan had torn hope from their chests. Milton smiled with dark contentment, an expression that made Clay’s skin crawl. Rhino stood still and impassive, his eyes on the Earth gods as Latine and Grok rejoined Horan.

  Clay felt sick and enraged. Raol hadn’t been a friend, but Clay had understood the vampire and the rage he harbored against Candiman. The head vampire had lied to Raol, used him, then stranded him in a world away from everyone he loved, everything he had sacrificed to protect. Raol’s bargain had been turned into a mockery.

  Flawed as he was, he had deserved better.

  “Tough bastard,” Snake said grudgingly.

  “So are we,” Rhino said. He looked at Clay. “You still in this?”

  Clay’s hands trembled. He wanted to attack Horan, make him pay for killing Raol. But Clay had committed to this exchange. It still seemed the best chance at protecting Karen and others in StoneDragon who were in danger. Mama Brogi, Terina.

  He nodded.

  “Put this in your belt then.” Rhino passed Clay the Rib. “You’re going to be a package deal.”

  He obeyed.

  Rhino walked forward, coming face to face with the Earth gods. Other than the snap of the white parley flags, the silence was almost physical. The wind moaned through the Wall and swept grey smoke around their legs. Rhino laid a hand on the hilt of his black diamond sword. “You’re here to bargain?”

  “That is what the white flag means, doesn’t it?” Horan answered. “Do you have my Rib?” Rhino gestured to Clay, and Horan’s eye found it. He relaxed. “Good.”

  Horan brought his gaze up to Clay’s. Blood rimmed the bottom of the Earth god’s ruined eye. He bared his teeth. “You should have run while you could.”

  Clay could see his death in Horan’s eye. Clay fought the rush of cold fear that threatened to buckle his knees, the swell of rage that blazed up to combat it. He drew ragged breaths in. He’d faced death before, many times, but never without a fight. Never willingly. He clenched his fists. He just had to endure a little while longer.

  A thought struck him. If his death was coming, either way, fast was unquestionably better than slow. And maybe he could make Horan even more motivated to make a partial trade.

  Clay smiled. “Here’s the problem, Horan. You’re like stepping on a dog turd. No matter how fast I run, I can’t get away from the stink.”

  A shocked silence radiated. Horan’s face tightened, his eye blazed. Latine growled and sank lower, preparing to spring. The world sharpened around Clay.

  “No!” Horan’s voice cracked.

  Latine froze in place. Clay exhaled slowly. At least the first part wasn’t going to work.

  “You’re not going to die that easily, warrior,” Horan whispered. “Grok has a few tricks to show you first. You know, I think I’ll make you say ‘please’ before I kill you.”

  Things were going to get very bad, very soon. But Clay met Horan’s gaze steadily, determined not to show fear.

  “We’re here to bargain,” Rhino said abruptly, “not bicker.” He folded his heavy arms over his chest, biceps spreading.

  Clay was shocked to realize Rhino and Horan were almost the same size. Horan was slightly taller, Rhino slightly heavier, but both were giants of bone and muscle, built on a different scale than the rest of humanity.

  “Where is the thief?” Horan asked.

  Rhino ignored the question. “My offer is this: you and your army leave StoneDragon, and we give you Clay and the Rib.”

  “Where is the girl?”

  “If you don’t accept,” Rhino continued, as if Horan hadn’t spoken, “you will have to dig us out of the Tower. Your warriors will die in droves. You will lose more of them than you ever imagined possible, and the minute it looks like you might win, I will take your Rib and snap it in half. I will grind it up and bury it in so many places you’d never find them all.” His voice never changed from a calm easy monotone.

  “You couldn’t,” Horan spat. “You don’t have the power. You are nothing.”

  A rumble built in Rhino’s chest. He leaned forward, his voice growing deeper and rougher, emotion finally blazing in his eyes. “You have no idea what I am, kindergarten god. My body was forged in the Final War, with blood and knives, and I survived all others of my kind. I have killed the Great Enemy, who melt metal with a thought, in such numbers that they would fill the Tower behind me.” His voice rose to a thunder. “I am the last warrior, the dark sword, the final thing you see before the veil of death.”

  “You are a broken leaf,” Horan shouted back. “Spit underfoot, waste in a stream. I will teach you respect.”

  Things were disintegrating fast. This meeting was supposed to stop the battle, not start it, regardless of the repercussions for Clay.

  “Enough!” He stepped forward. “Remember why you’re here! Horan, you want the Rib; you’re getting it. Rhino, you want to save your forces for a more important war. Don’t waste your chance. This deal makes sense.”

  Horan looked at Clay and, unexpectedly, smiled. The smile held both humor and pity. “No,” the Earth god said. “It doesn’t. Why should I care about what either of you offers here, when I can take it all myself and then cleanse your rotted city with fire?” He drew in a breath and let out a satisfied sigh. “I will see you all dead. As I told you when we first met, it’s only a question of how fast.”

  Shock washed over Clay. “What?”

  Rhino shook his head in genuine confusion. “So why meet us at all?”

  “Because I wanted to see you die, firsthand. And I want to make sure the one who blinded me wouldn’t get away again. Thank you for that gift.”

  Anger kindled in Rhino’s eyes. He drew his sword and looked from one Earth god to another. “You plan on breaking truce and attacking us? Are you really that stupid?”

  Snake and Milton stepped up, slightly behind Rhino on either side, leaving Clay unattended but also unarmed.

  “Do you think we’re as easy to put down as a deluded vampire? You’re facing three of the toughest fighters in StoneDragon, not even counting Clay. Three of us, three of you. Take your best shot.”

  Horan’s smile never wavered. “You sure you’re counting right?”

  For a single frozen moment in time, his words hung in the air, awkward and disjointed, before they slid into sharp-edged meaning.

  Betrayal.

  Snake had a dagger in his hand. Without thought, Clay tackled the other man, carrying him to the ground.

  Clay heard a thunk. He looked up to see that Milton had driven his scythe into Rhino’s back.

  Rhino staggered but kept his feet. A
t least until Latine lowered her flagpole and drove the jagged point into Rhino’s stomach. He doubled over.

  But Rhino was incredibly tough, even with grievous wounds. He twisted and reached back, catching Milton’s wrist. Rhino jerked the Fist close, until their eyes stared into one another’s. Rhino’s face seemed to hold a question as he stared into Milton’s calm knowing eyes.

  “I couldn’t wait,” Milton whispered.

  “Then go.” Rhino slammed his fist into Milton’s temple, so hard that bone bent and crumpled. The Fist slid to the ground, loose as a broken puppet.

  He was still smiling.

  Snake bucked under Clay, throwing him off. He had almost forgotten Snake. The back of Clay’s head connected with the first stair going up, pain lancing through him. His whole body went numb.

  Snake stalked toward Clay, the Fist’s hands empty. Snake didn’t look at Milton or the Earth gods, at Rhino’s stumbling walk.

  He had been in on it, too.

  Rage and disgust swept through Clay. Rhino had misjudged not one, but two of his Fists. Snake and Milton had betrayed the Boss together. As different as they were, somehow they’d found common treacherous ground. Perhaps it was as simple as someone powerful enough to bring Rhino down.

  Clay tried to push himself to his feet, but his limbs weren’t working right. He got up and to one side, leaning against the wall. He had no weapons, nowhere to run.

  Snake grinned. “Time to die, maggot.” His third eye quivered.

  Clay braced himself, unable to look away.

  The eyelid cracked open, a dark slit appearing. Power flooded out of it, like the headlight of a train spearing through the darkness. Lightning and shadow wrapped up in a single agonizing blade that cut deep into Clay’s mind.

  His muscles convulsed, locking him in place, and his jaw strained to open, to scream. It couldn’t. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. All he could do was stare at that single awful eye.

  Rage flooded him. It shouldn’t end like this, not at this moment. Whatever bargain Milton and Snake had made, most of StoneDragon wouldn’t survive it, not with the death disciple involved. Karen would die. Everyone would die. His sacrifice had been for nothing.