Gunz

by William Stacey

  Soon, they'd feed.

  Each manticore weighed four or five times his weight, but as large as they were, they moved with a remarkable grace and near-complete silence, preferring to hunt at dusk and dawn when their orange-red hides became harder to see. By the time the manlings realized their danger, the manticores would be on them, their powerful jaws ripping and tearing, their claws shredding muscle from bone. The true danger, though, lay in their barbed tails, each capable of sending scores of needlelike missiles winging through the air. There were many dangerous beasts on Faerum but few as dangerous as a pack of manticores.

  He slipped through the woods, moving like a wraith. He could still sense the residue of Tlathia's powerful magic, far stronger than he would have thought possible, even for her. It drew him on, like a beacon. Soon, he smelled the bitter stench of the manlings' fire weapons and began to move even more cautiously. With Witch-Bane in hand, he didn't fear Tlathia's magic—even as powerful as she was—but the manling warriors with their wonderful weapons were an entirely different matter. He'd take no chances with them, leaving them for his manticores. If any lived afterward, he'd keep them for questioning—if they weren't too badly damaged.

  At any rate, his beasts would feed well this night.

  One of his manticores rubbed its serpentine head against his thigh and snorted softly. The other two had also stopped and were now standing still, their gazes locked ahead. We're closer than I thought. His fingers trailed over the pouch tied to his belt and the cones it held. When he felt the angry vibration coming from the cones, his flesh tingled with excitement. Slowly, he dropped down on his hands and knees and began to creep closer. Then, not twenty paces away, he saw movement.

  He smiled. The manlings were still here.

  Perfect.

  Slowly, he rolled onto his hip and reached into his pouch and felt the two wax-topped cones. As he withdrew them, the buzzing of the dread hornets grew in intensity.

  They're always angry.

  Now, he picked out several of the manling warriors, each lying on his belly at the edge of the bush-lined cliff, watching the road beneath them. Each warrior wore armor and was dressed all in green, with even their hideous pale skin painted. They held their fire weapons with practiced ease, occasionally peering through the looking-glass devices atop them. He remained in place, holding the dread hornet cones and watching the manlings. Their discipline was impressive, even for lesser species. A huge black-skinned manling, a war leader perhaps, scurried over to whisper to the prone warriors before moving on again, stopping every few feet to speak to another warrior. Some of the warriors, Ulfir hadn't even seen until the chieftain showed him where they were hiding.

  There were at least a dozen of them, all carrying fire weapons.

  But he had yet to find Tlathia.

  Where is she?

  Then the war chieftain stopped beside a manling female, and Ulfir recognized the power coming from her—the same magic he had sensed earlier. It was coming from her, not Tlathia.

  Tlathia wasn't here.

  Ulfir watched as the chieftain spoke to the mage in hushed whispers, pointing farther down the road. He had a reasonably good idea what the warrior was telling the mage: the boggarts and trolls were returning. Ulfir knew this because he had caught up to the fleeing boggarts and ordered them to return at dusk. At first, they had balked, but after his manticores had killed several, they had reconsidered. Now, they were drawing the attention of the manlings, exactly as Ulfir had planned.

  The manling mage had short and hideously yellow hair beneath her hat. She whispered something to the chieftain, who shook his head. She reached out and gripped his arm—that was when Ulfir saw the black leather glove with the dangling silver chains on her arm and realized that the glove, not the mage, was the source of the magic he sensed. It's a … a talisman of some kind.

  How interesting.

  Holding his breath, he very carefully pried the wax covering away from the top of the two cones. Then, before the dread hornets had the opportunity to slip free, he softly tossed both cones forward to fall behind the line of manling warriors.

  Then he waited.

  Dread hornets were smaller than a grain of rice, and each cone held scores of the hateful insects. Their sting was unbearably painful—and dread hornets could sting a foe many times. While he waited, he removed a glass vial from another pouch. Inside was a resin made from a type of mushroom that was toxic to the insects. He wiped the resin over his face and hands. His manticores, with their thick hides, had nothing to fear from the stingers.

  It took the dread hornets only a handful of moments to escape and begin to sting the manlings. Ulfir tensed when he heard the first of the screams. Despite their discipline, the warriors leaped to their feet, slapping at their exposed skin. To be fair to the manlings, even dwarves would have reacted.

  Time for blood.

  Ulfir hissed sharply, sending his manticores forward. The beasts padded forward silently then raised their barbed tails and sent their missiles flying at the manlings. Those hit by the barbed missiles fell like stones. The manticores fell upon others, driving their fangs into their throats. Ulfir leaped to his feet and charged forward, Witch-Bane at the ready. If he wanted to capture the mage alive, he needed to reach her before his beasts did.

  A manling warrior ran before him, slapping at the insects on his face, his eyes wide with pain. Ulfir rammed the swordlike blade of Witch-Bane through his throat, under the strap that held his helmet in place. The manling fell as Ulfir moved past, seeking the mage.

  He felt the surge of her magic a moment before he saw her. A lightning bolt flashed through the air, burning into one of his manticores, picking the beast up and throwing it dozens of paces to slam against a tree trunk so hard the trunk shattered.

  No!

  His beast was dead. He had heard its bones crack. Even now, flames burned its fur where it lay unmoving. Damn the bitch to the Red Ether!

  She stood before him now, her stance wide, her balance low. The manticore barbs must have missed her, but he didn't understand how she could just ignore the dread hornets. Ulfir sprinted at her. She raised her glove-encased hand at him, and another bright flash lit up the dusk. Just for a moment, fear washed over him, but her lightning bolt fell apart several feet in front of him. He grinned, loving the confusion in her ugly eyes. It was always like that with the mages he hunted. They always believed themselves superior—until their magic failed.

  He swung Witch-Bane, its pole connecting solidly with the side of her head.

  She fell, twitching but unconscious. He stood over her, letting the point of Witch-Bane hover over her spine, desperately wanting to kill her for murdering his manticore.

  He stopped himself, impressed with his own self-control.

  Killing her would have been a mercy.

  He'd make her suffer.

  All the warriors were down, either sleeping from the manticore barbs or ripped apart by their fangs and claws. This fight was over. As the boggarts reached the summit of the cliffs, they cheered and rushed forward, eager to help now that all the fighting was done. Ulfir snorted. If nothing else, they could move the prisoners.

  He dropped down beside the unconscious mage and touched a fingertip to the talisman she wore then yanked it back when magical energy coursed through it, making the hairs on his arm rise. This was something truly special.

  He pulled the glove from her and stuffed it into a pouch.

  Ulfir strolled among the prisoners. Almost all were soldiers, male manlings, but he did find another woman, an overweight older female with spectacles, like those a gnome tinkerer would wear. She was mundane, Ulfir could tell, so why was she with the warriors? He'd find out under the knives.

  He sighed, regretting that Tlathia wasn't here after all… but with a touch of torture, perhaps one of the prisoners would know something of her whereabouts.

  And best of all, he now possessed a talisman of incredible power.

  28

  No
!" screamed Elizabeth, spinning about and staring at Tlathia, who lay on her back, her eyes fluttering weakly, a hole through her chain mail, just above her heart. Blood pooled beneath her. Elizabeth spun about, looking in all directions. The gunshot had echoed over the paintball range and could have come from anywhere.

  Kargin stood over Tlathia, a red-hot ax in each hand. Rage distorted his already fearsome face, and she feared he might lash out at her.

  "Elizabeth!" Paco's voice called out from across the clearing. "Get down!"

  She saw him now, about two hundred paces away, kneeling behind a paintball barrier, her own assault rifle in his hands. Clyde stood beside him, his teeth bared. Then she saw Corinna and Leela, both aiming weapons at Kargin.

  No! God, no! They're here to save me. She slid in front of Kargin, waving her arms. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot! They're friends!" Were they? Maybe, maybe not, but they didn't feel like enemies. Besides, the concern she felt for Tlathia—the only dark elf who wasn't trying to kill her—felt real enough.

  "Elizabeth!" growled Kargin. "Tell them if they come any closer, I'll kill them all."

  Paco stood up, confusion on his face. He stepped away from the barrier, holding the rifle across his chest. Clyde barked madly, storming forward several paces only to stop and bark some more.

  "Kargin," said Tlathia in a voice that was almost a whisper, "harm no one. These are not … not our enemies. My people have attacked them. They have every reason to fear us."

  Elizabeth dropped beside her and examined the wound. The bullet, she saw, had punched right through the silver mail and leather armor about two inches above her heart—if her heart was in the same place a human's was. She carefully slid her fingers under her back and gently prodding it, immediately finding the much larger hole in the armor where the bullet had exited. Hot blood gushed onto Elizabeth's hands, turning the ground into mud. Tlathia grasped at Elizabeth's hand, her breathing wet as she strained for air. Oh, God, what do I do? I can't heal a wound like that!

  "Help her, Elizabeth," Kargin pleaded.

  Paco approached but stood several feet back, his gaze darting from Elizabeth to Kargin to Tlathia. His face was white, his lips trembling. "I'm … I'm sorry. I thought you were a prisoner."

  Corinna and Leela joined them, with Leela holding onto Clyde's collar. Corinna knelt on the other side of Tlathia and placed her ear over Tlathia's mouth. "I think her lung has collapsed. We should roll her onto her side, the injured lung up. Then we need to get the armor off and look at the wound and seal it to keep out the air."

  Tlathia gasped wetly, pain shuddering through her yellow eyes. She gripped one of Elizabeth's hands with both of her own. Her lips moved, but Elizabeth couldn't make out what she was saying. "Be still, Tlathia. We'll get help," she said, knowing there was no help. She'd bleed out long before then. At best, she would die in minutes.

  Tlathia shook her head then coughed up a mouthful of dark blood. Kargin dropped down and pushed Corinna to the side as he placed his huge ear next to Tlathia's lips. A moment later, he jumped to his feet and ran to the bunker. Still holding Tlathia's hand, Elizabeth caressed the dark elf woman's cheek with her trembling fingers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't heal a wound like this. I'm useless."

  Tlathia's lips moved, but Elizabeth couldn't make the words out. Soon now, she realized. She'll just … slip away, and with her our best hope for stopping the dark elves.

  Then she felt cold metal on her forehead as Kargin slipped one of his crowns onto her. "What—"

  Tlathia kept her grip on her hand, stopping her from rising, and shook her head. Kargin placed a second crown over Tlathia's forehead. The dark elf closed her eyes, and Elizabeth felt her channel.

  Her world abruptly shifted.

  She was still kneeling next to the wounded dark elf, she was still Elizabeth, but she also felt Tlathia … within her, a part of her. She gasped in panic.

  Lizbeth-Chambers, she heard Tlathia's voice reverberate in her head, speaking directly to her without moving her lips. Be calm. I need your help, but you must not fight me—

  "I … what's happening?" Elizabeth asked.

  "She's bleeding out," Corinna said. "We need to roll her over now."

  You do not need to speak, not aloud, she heard Tlathia's voice in her skull. We can communicate much faster if you don't, and every moment matters now. Stop your friends. Trust me.

  "Wait!" said Elizabeth to Corinna, who was about to roll the wounded woman onto her side. Corinna stared at her in confusion but ceased her attempts.

  What's going on? Elizabeth asked Tlathia, thinking her question in a nanosecond.

  We are linked through the dwarven crowns, one of their other uses. Dwarves are mundane, but they are masters at creating magical artifacts. And Kargin is more than a mere technomancer. He is considered a master artisan among his people, almost the equal of his father. Pray my mother or my sisters never discover his crowns.

  What does that mean, "linked"? Elizabeth asked.

  It means that you can draw upon my magic, my experiences, and my skills. We can also share memories. But you must hurry. The moment I lose consciousness, the link will be severed.

  What should I do?

  Cast Grandfather's Blessing. I will aid you.

  What?

  Heal me, Lizbeth-Chambers. I cannot do it myself.

  Elizabeth, still not quite believing this, placed her palms atop Tlathia's chest and channeled what little healing mana she could, knowing it was next to nothing. But in place of her weak channeling, a sudden rush of intense mana—almost as if she were using Cassie's Brace—coursed through her fingers into the dark elf woman. Tlathia's spine arched, and she cried out, her limbs akimbo. Elizabeth, flush with mana, weaved the damaged tissue, regrowing the ruptured lung, and closed both the entry and much larger exit wounds. Tlathia's lung inflated with air, but Elizabeth kept channeling the healing mana into the dark elf. Tlathia inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling again.

  Thank you, Lizbeth-Chambers, Tlathia thought.

  Tlathia severed the link. A moment later, the mana that had been pouring through her was gone again, and Elizabeth fell onto her side, staring up at the sky turning crimson with sunset through the forest trees.

  Strong hands helped her up. Someone pulled the crown from her forehead. She shook her head and found herself staring into Tlathia's face. The dark elf woman was also sitting up now. She reached out and gripped Elizabeth's shoulder, resting her forehead against Elizabeth's. "I owe you my life, Lizbeth-Chambers," she said.

  Kargin knelt beside Tlathia, an arm around her, his bearded face buried in her neck. "You can't leave me alone on this world, old friend. I won't have it."

  She smiled, sighing. "Give me a few moments."

  "That was amazing," whispered Leela, staring wide-eyed at Elizabeth. "How did you—"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I didn't. She did."

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," said Paco softly. Clyde lay on his belly, resting his head on his paws, his large brown eyes filled with sorrow. "I thought Elizabeth was in danger. I didn't know—"

  Tlathia shook her head. "I shall live, manling—human. Praise to the Grandfather for bringing me through this ordeal. He wanted you to injure me, so Elizabeth and I could bond. Now we are sisters—more sisters than my own blood."

  "What now?" asked Kargin, still holding Tlathia against his chest. He gently pulled a twig and small bits of leaves from her long white hair.

  "Introductions," Tlathia said softly. "The Grandfather has brought us allies."

  "You should sleep," insisted Kargin.

  Tlathia shook her head. "I cannot. We must find the ancient one."

  29

  It was dark by the time they found the corpses. Dozens of the four-armed, fish-faced creatures Tlathia and Kargin called boggarts lay scattered across the Alaskan highway, as well as a trio of giant trolls and several hellhounds. The stench of blood and feces hung in the air. Elizabeth's stomach churned, but with each battle, she fou
nd it easier to force down her revulsion. How many corpses have I seen since the dragon attack?

  Too many.

  "Well," said Paco, "this is where the gunfire came from." He stared up at the cliff face on their left, maybe twenty feet high. "That's a primo ambush site if I've ever seen one. People that did this knew what they were doing, but I think they're long gone. If not, we'd have been challenged or shot up by now."

  "Yes," said Tlathia. "I concur. I'm sure there's no one up there anymore."

  There was a chill in the air this night, and Elizabeth was thankful for the hunter's vest Corinna had given her to wear over Tlathia's sheer tunic, which, in truth, was little more than a too-tight tank top. Clearly, the fae seelie have no issues with modesty. She glanced at Tlathia now. Despite having just been shot then magically healed again, Tlathia had had no difficulty keeping up as Paco led them here, perhaps only two or three kilometers south of the still-burning Taylor Bridge. The northern sky was scarlet from the fires, standing out in stark contrast from the blue-green waves of the northern lights.

  Kargin nudged the fish-head of one of the dead boggarts with his boot then snorted happily. "Guess they finally came up against someone who fought back. Doubt they liked that, but their kind never does."

  Paco knelt down and shined a small penlight on another corpse. "Most of the dead were killed with aimed shots, likely assault rifles, but some of these bullet wounds are too large for 5.56 NATO rounds. I'd guess maybe a 7.62 caliber general-purpose machine gun. The people who did this were professional soldiers—not hunters."

  "This was a single cohort," said Tlathia as she moved about the corpses. "I wonder what they were doing here unsupported by the rest of the army. Skirmishers, perhaps?"

  "That would be my guess," said Kargin.

  "I don't know," said Leela, standing over a dead troll, its torso charred. "But not all of these monsters were killed with gunfire. This one smells of magic."