by Jack J. Lee
Time stretched; my heart slowed, my inability to breathe no longer bothered me. My options raced through my mind: arms and hands were trapped by my sides and I was pinned too close to kick him. It dawned on me my head was free, but the angle was wrong to bite him.
I hammered my forehead into his nose. As I pulled back, blood spurted from his nostrils. I remember how surprised he looked.
When I slammed my head into his face the second time, he screamed and fell backwards. I landed on top of him. I don’t know if it was the shock or the fall, but he was out cold. I grabbed him by the hair and pounded his head against the gym floor.
From behind me, an arm wrapped around my face; I bit into the arm until I reached bone. There was a scream and the arm disappeared. That was the last time one of Tommy’s friends tried to get involved.
Even after Tommy stopped squeezing me, I had to struggle to get air into my lungs. I ignored how weak I was getting and went back to pounding Tommy’s head on the floor. It took awhile for the adults to come.
I found out later Tommy had shattered my right fourth rib. When he squeezed me, he drove a bone shard into my chest cavity. It pierced my lung and collapsed it. On the way to the hospital, the ambulance guys put a tube in my chest to keep me breathing. The doctors were surprised I made it to the hospital, and even more surprised that I survived the emergency surgery.
I’d fractured Tommy’s skull. He was in a coma for weeks. He was never the same after that; neither was I. The nuns finally had an excuse to get rid of Tommy, and I haven’t worried about a fight since then. Every time I saw the scar on my chest I was reminded how scared I was while waiting for him in the gym; how I’d given up before the fight even started. It irritated me that as a paladin, I was without blemish and my scar was gone. I’d earned that scar.
I knew this Jotunn had helped kill two paladins and hundreds of Oath Brothers. Right now, he didn’t look like a killer. It sucked to be on the opposite side of a frightened kid.
After Asvald’s body was pulled out of the holmgang, the kid shape shifted. Even in troll form he looked half-grown and gangly. His gear looked more worn than Asvald’s—like he was using hand-me-downs. He had a sword and shield. His shield was round and much smaller than Asvald’s. His chainmail shirt didn’t have sleeves.
He gave a wordless shout and stepped into the ring, shield first. His sword arm was back and raised high and ready to strike. Then he just stood there waiting for my attack. He’d learned the wrong lesson from Asvald’s failed shield rush. Asvald had had tried to take control of the fight from the very start. The only reason he’d failed was because he didn’t know he couldn’t knock me out of the holmgang, and got off-balance when he couldn’t. Even the best will occasionally screw up when they’re surprised—what were the odds that I’d have boots that stuck to the ground?
You go on the defense when you know what your opponent has in mind—when you have a plan for a counterattack. When you have no idea what your opponent is going to do, you try to surprise him, keep him off balance, and deny him the initiative. The easiest way to do that is to attack.
I pointed my left arm at his head used my hand to make a ‘c’mere’ motion. Just as I started bringing my hand back down, I whispered, “Fulgar.” The electrodes shot from my sleeve and struck the kid’s face. As he jerked and began to fall, I jumped toward him.
“Obex.” My spear appeared in my right hand. I nailed him while I was still in the air. My spear went through his helmet and skull like they were made out of cardboard.
“Obex.” My spear disappeared.
I knelt down. The gaping wound in his head had carbonized edges like the wound had been seared from the inside out. I palmed the electrodes from my stun gun from his face as I closed his eyes. The Taser wires and electrodes were hard to see. It was possible the Jotunn hadn’t seen them.
I looked up. Signe was furious. It figured—join God’s army—and you too will have an opportunity to kill women and kids.
“You have three gifts.”
I shrugged.
“You lied.”
My laugh didn’t have any humor in it. “Yeah, right, whatever. We’re wasting time. Who’s next?” I knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it. Signe gave me a long, hard, calculating look. I’d been too contemptuous. I kept my body relaxed. I didn’t want things to escalate. My ass was grass if she didn’t stick to our bargain.
“If you kill me in single combat, you’ll get what I promised. You didn’t ask how many gifts I had. If you had asked, I would have told you; there were no lies. And if you’re lucky you’ll get three gifts.”
I tried to keep the relief off my face when she said, “Your skull will make a fine drinking vessel.” and then waved at her warband to pull the kid’s body out of the holmgang.
I was watching the Jotunn burn his body when I heard Samson’s voice. Even with my super hearing, it was so faint I could barely make out his words, but it was definitely him.
Chapter 24: Samson
Sven Serpent’s Breath was next up. I hadn’t bothered to remember most of the Jotunn’s names, but his was hard to forget.
He was thin, and at seven and a half feet, half a head shorter than Asvald. His spear was as long as he was tall with a three foot long head that could be used to slash or stab. He had leather chest armor, and metal bracers to protect his forearms. He didn’t wear gloves or a helmet. It looked like Sven preferred speed and ease of movement over protection. He didn’t look at all worried.
He walked into the circle and slowly cocked his head until his neck made a loud crack. He gave me a wiseguy’s smile and made the same ‘c’mere’ motion I’d used on the kid. I got the feeling he knew about my Taser.
I considered calling Sanguinis. On full auto, I could take out Sven quickly. I’d have an insurmountable advantage until the Jotunn figured out they had to close and grapple with me. It’s almost impossible to use a long gun effectively when you’re wrestling someone. The holmgang was only fifteen feet in diameter, and a seven foot Jotunn would reach me in one step. Once the surprise was gone, there was no way I’d be able to kill every single one of them before one finally got close enough to take me down.
Both my bang sticks were expended, and though I still had the tasers and garrote, I couldn’t let the Jotunn get their hands on me; they were just too big and strong and heavy. They’d have too much advantage.
It was best to get Samson involved before I had to use Sanguinis.
“Obex.” I entered the holmgang and immediately ducked below his spear thrust at my neck.
I tried to nail his chest before he could bring his spearhead back. He dropped the butt of his spear shaft down and used it across his body to knock Obex off line. I used the momentum of his block to swing the back end of my spear toward his knee. He stepped back, out of my reach.
Our strikes and blocks came so fast I had to depend on my instincts. I couldn’t think fast enough to keep up with each attack. I tried to close in on him—to get inside the reach of his arms while he tried to keep me so far back I couldn’t touch him. Neither of us completely succeeded.
I wasn’t able to get Obex through his defenses. My pepper spray was supposed to be accurate and effective up to ten feet—that was bullshit. Realistically it was more like six feet. From second to second, move to move, Sven was constantly in and out of range. He never gave me enough time to line him up with my right forearm and trigger my other Taser.
There’s published research that proves to get really good at anything you have to practice it approximately two million times. One reason why athletes who start their training as kids are so good is that they get to two million repetitions earlier than guys who start training later. It was very clear that Sven knew how to use his spear. He had gotten through his two million repetitions a long time ago.
The problem was, I hadn’t. I’ve never trained with a spear before. As part of my martial arts training I’ve worked with bo staffs. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t trained enough
with the staff to quite reach the two million repetition mark, and a staff isn’t the same as a spear.
I felt a tap on my right sleeve and then my left shoulder. If it hadn’t been for my invulnerable jacket, he would have disabled my arms. If I didn’t finish this quick, Sven was going to kill me. It was time to get Samson involved.
I knew what Samson was planning to do; there was only one smart move. He was going to let me kill as many Jotunn as possible until I got killed or mortally wounded. Then he’d attack before the trolls could grab my gifts. My plan was to get a wound that only looked mortal.
I started raising my arms to protect my head and neck instead of my lower body. I did this slowly. I didn’t want Sven or Samson to think I was throwing the fight. My hands were only three inches out of position when he thrust his spear into the right side of my groin, laying my thigh open to the bone. An arc of arterial blood shot from my femoral artery. As I fell, he got me in the other thigh.
I watched from the ground, Obex held high to protect my chest and head. As Sven raised his spear for the killing strike, a flaming arrow took him in the head. He collapsed with a look of triumph on his face. He died happy.
The night sky was full of flaming arrows.
The average adult male with a severed femoral artery will pass out from blood loss in thirty seconds, and will be dead in three minutes. I brought up the spells I’d prepared to heal my thighs. My spell bar told me I’d use up two-thirds of my soul. “Akeitso-may.”
Suddenly, there were crows everywhere. “Sanguinis.” I pulled myself up to my knees. I hadn’t seen them change, but they had to be Jotunn.
My arms were shaking and my eyes wouldn’t focus. I ripped through my entire drum of buckshot at the birds in the sky and didn’t hit a single one. I pulled out the first of the energy gel packs I’d stashed in my pockets, bit it open, and sucked it down. Once that one was empty, I bit into the next until they were all gone. The goo tasted like shit but it stopped the shakes.
Even with a shotgun, it’s difficult to hit a bird in flight that’s jinking every few seconds. It’s almost impossible with an arrow. Samson’s men were very good. There were two crows on the ground with flaming arrows through them. I sent my helmet away. The cool night breeze on my face felt like a lover’s kiss. A couple of dozen men in modern looking, metallic full body armor—most of them armed with compound bows came into view. I could hear more men out of sight; my best guess was that Samson had brought close to two hundred Oath Brothers.
“Victor!” Samson’s armor lit up the night. He was as big as he sounded, about six five and built like a comic book super hero. He had same glowing ‘knight in shining armor’ sword and shield Aidan had tried to give me. He sheathed his sword as he walked up to me.
He had Mediterranean coloring, short curly black hair, and bushy eyebrows. He was as good looking as me, but was so hyper-masculine that he could have been a gay porn star. The length of his five o’clock shadow let me hope he needed laser hair treatments on his back. He looked pissed.
I figured that this would be a good time to switch out my empty magazine for a thirty-two round drum of stabilized slugs.
I wasn’t looking forward to what was coming next. I got off the ground, slowly enough that I didn’t get light headed. When I got fully upright, he backhanded me. I was prepared. I twisted my head and upper body away from his hand to decrease the impact. Unfortunately, he was wearing a metal gauntlet; the slap stung like a bitch. I felt my lip split, and the right side of my face go numb. I spit blood, and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.
I met his dark brown eyes. “I deserved that.” I forced myself to play nice and gave my best attempt at an ingratiating smile. “Thanks for coming to help.”
“Victor Paladin, you are a disgrace to your gifts. I call you unworthy of your station and a traitor to Our Lord, Jehovah. I charge you with blasphemy. Michael, I ask for judgment!”
Well, that didn’t sound good. “What are you talking about, Bill, and what’s up with the formal language?”
I heard B’s voice, “Vic, he wants to kill you, but he needs to get permission first. He just asked for permission.”
B walked toward us. He was accompanied by two other angels—they were too pretty to be anything else. One was a couple inches taller than B, and looked like a perfect, living, breathing, blond-haired, blue-eyed Ken doll. The other had brown hair, and was about my size. He looked like a super model who hadn’t been able to take a good dump for weeks. I instinctively thought ‘bean-counter’.
Ken started talking, “William Samson, do you truly believe this man is unworthy? Is there no doubt in your mind?”
“Michael, this man is unworthy and I have no doubt.”
I raised my hand. “Does it matter what I think?”
B replied. “You got two choices—accept Samson’s verdict and let him execute you, or dispute his accusation of blasphemy in a trial by combat.”
“As the challenged party, do I get to choose the weapons? How about Supersoakers or Nerf guns?” Only B grinned. It was a tough crowd.
Michael spoke, “Victor, you will use your gifts, and he will use his.”
I turned to Samson. “Hey man, I understand why you’re angry. You got good reason. But no harm, no foul. Because of me, six Jotunn are dead, and it doesn’t look like you guys took any casualties. We don’t have to do this.”
“You gambled with Jehovah’s gifts, blasphemer. We ARE going to do this.”
“Victor!” It was Mina. The rest of our group was behind her.
“Samael!” Andi made a beeline for the bean counter.
Michael acknowledged them with a quietly off-hand, “Be still, mortals!” They all froze in place. Only their eyes could move. Mina’s eyes didn’t look happy. He then turned to me. “There is a valid dispute. Trial by combat is approved.”
“Do I have time to put my helmet back on? What are the rules?”
“Ready yourself Paladin. The trial by combat does not end until one of you has slain the other. The rules are simple: do what you will to defend yourself. I will tell you when to begin.”
I’d hoped for a different outcome. I’d manipulated Samson—put my gifts at risk and insulted him to get him to do what I wanted. Despite the way I treated him, the more I learned about the guy, the more I respected him. You can judge a leader by the quality of his men. His men were impressive; the ambush against the Jotunn had gone perfectly.
I’d hoped that he wasn’t like me, but evidence proved otherwise. I wouldn’t let someone who’d blackmailed me live either. I didn’t want to fight Samson, but I wasn’t surprised I had to.
I called my helmet back and walked out into the middle of the street. I turned to face Samson, Sanguinis ready in my hands.
Samson unsheathed his sword as he walked toward me. He stopped ten feet away.
Michael’s voice was calm, “Begin.”
The Boise Paladin had his sword in his right hand. We both moved at the same time. I dropped down into a squat and fired a three round burst at his left foot. Like I’d hoped, he made a straight arm lunge leading with his right foot. It was basically the same opening move that Sven had used. Hand-to-hand is a lot like chess; there aren’t that many good opening moves.
If I hadn’t dropped, his sword would have gone through my head. His left foot didn’t move. All three of my rounds were on target and punched through his armor, pulping his foot and ankle.
I jumped out of his way as he fell, and then took a few steps back. Samson was on the ground trying to crouch behind his invulnerable shield. The shield wasn’t big enough to cover all of him. I aimed for his head, and when he raised his shield, I blew a hole in his right ankle.
Bill Samson spent his entire life mastering the sword and shield. Against any opponent with traditional edged weapons, I’m sure he was death on two legs. Unfortunately for him, he’d brought a blade to a gun fight.
He couldn’t get to me, but I could get to him. Whenever he covered his head, he lef
t his lower body open, and vice-versa. Samson was quick and he never panicked. I had to fire nineteen times—as fast as I could aim and pull the trigger—until he stopped moving.
In the end, Samson made the best of a bad deal. He would have lived longer if he hadn’t sent his gifts away, but only a little longer. As soon as he did, I put three rounds through the center of his breastplate. I would have been disappointed in him if he’d left me his sword and shield. Though his slug-riddled body looked peaceful, I knew from personal experience that paladins could be healed of horrendous wounds. It would be foolish to give him a second chance. A short burst on full auto reduced his head to a bloody smear.
I switched out my magazine—another drum of stabilized slugs, and studied the Boise Oath Brothers surrounding me. They weren’t pleased. I didn’t think they’d attack; Samson had died in a heavenly sanctioned duel, but it couldn’t hurt to have Sanguinis fully loaded and ready to go.
I willed my helmet back into storage. I knew it was just in my head, but with it off I felt like I could finally breathe. I turned to Michael. He looked like a football fan whose team had lost the Super Bowl. “What now?”
“Go back to Salt Lake City, Victor Paladin. Your fate awaits you.”
“Victor!” It was Mina. She was running toward me. When I turned back, Michael was gone—leaving B and Samael behind.
Mina came up and her hand hovered over the swollen side of my face. “Are you okay?” My face hadn’t hurt until she asked; now it hurt like hell. I checked my soul bar to see what it would take to heal myself. It was another five percent of my soul. “Akeitso-may.”
Mina still wasn’t used to magic. I saw her eyes widen as the swelling on my face went down. She smiled, “That’s a useful talent.” She turned to look at Samson’s body. Again she asked, “Are you okay?”
Before I could respond, I felt a pat on my shoulder. It was B. “Vic, I got to hand it to you. You got a knack for ending friends and influencing people. You’re now on two archangel’s shit lists.” He turned to Mina and offered his hand. “Hi! I’m B, Vic’s guardian angel. You’re Mina. I know so much about you.”