Champions Battle for the Fate of the Future!: The Wild Finale of (Swords Versus Tanks Book 5)

by M Harold Page

  The sorceress slid past and her warmth seemed to pass right through his damp arming jacket. She followed the light to where it played over the shelves. The fingers of her good hand scuttled over the spines, dislodging clouds of dust. She tilted her head sideways, brushed the hair from her eyes and read out. "Fertility Rituals of the Treebrand Islanders Volume Five of Twelve… " She strode off down the aisle.

  Ranulph stooped and caught the Archbishop's wrists with one hand. He hauled the fat cleric to his feet and gave chase. "Make haste, Milady," he hissed.

  "I am… I am. But this is all rubbish. Chicken Divination Techniques of Newark Cattle Herders! Very useful indeed — I do not think." She turned the corner at the end of the aisle. "Oh! Not exactly what one expects in a library."

  Ranulph caught up with her.

  Two red-gold dragon heads grinned down at them, wicked white teeth bared as if to nip at their faces. The effect would have been all the more impressive had not a skin of dusty cobwebs softened their scales.

  Ranulph patted their entwined necks and swept his lantern down the smooth lines of the marooned longship. It was as short-keeled like a river boat and runes frosted every inch of planking. "So, that's what happened to the Dragon Twins."

  "Look!" Maud brushed cobwebs from the face of a shelf. "Earth spells of the Tolmecs… Ebon’s Book of Perilous Summonings and Divers Cantrips of Doubtful Safety."

  "More books than we can carry," said Ranulph.

  Maud hauled the first volume from the shelf and rested it on her injured arm. She thumbed through the pages. "Hmm, I have neither the time nor inclination to build a pyramid, even one that flies." She tossed it on the floor. The spine split and Ranulph recognised the Tolmec Dancing Earth-Fish god on the cover.

  Maud stuffed the second book into her looted shoulder bag. The third joined the first on what became a rapidly growing pile of rejects. "Don’t worry, I shall make all due haste."

  Gunfire echoed down the stairwell.

  "Her lust for the unnatural will doom you," said the Archbishop. "Truly — "

  "We do not have long," said Ranulph loudly to cut him off.

  "Don't you think this is important?" shot back Maud.

  Ranulph took a deep breath. "Two books will suffice. Or three."

  "Really?" She started towards the other shelf. "Then I must consider carefully. Perhaps I should re-examine those books of folk wisdom? Chicken divination might be useful to the cause of Chivalry."

  The Archbishop laughed. "How fickle is woman!"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jasmine barely felt the bump as her tank smashed through a second gate. Twin engines roaring, tracks rattling and squealing on the wet cobbles, it continued its upwards spiral through the Holy Mount complex.

  A column of well-armed White Brothers emerged from the rain, sodden surcoats plastered to breastplates, long spears on the shoulder.

  As the tank overtook them, she switched on the loud hailer. "We've come to help."

  The Archbishop's men bunched then split like a flock of sheep. Several tried to cross the tank’s path and vanished under the hull.

  Jasmine winced. "Repeat. We have come to help."

  More arrows pinged off the armour plating. Jasmine flinched back in her chair. None of them would be magical in this place. She returned to her vision port.

  The monastic buildings formed an artificial canyon, blocking her view of the airship. How long would it take Maud to unleash the sorcery? "Faster."

  The tank cornered and the tracks squealed, then the port turret banged into something. The driver brought them back on course then replied, "Fuck off, Field Marshal!"

  Jasmine laughed. "Sorry. Just do your job."

  The tracks crunched over a third gate. Just one more turn of the helter-skelter road would take the tank to the main entrance of the Holiest House. With no magic to protect them, Ranulph’s men would be dog meat – if Jasmine was in time. She might even be able to persuade the big guy to surrender before Mary Schumacher turned up with reinforcements. After that, things would get messy.

  The tank’s headlights swung across the Lower Courtyard, illuminating the surprised faces of hundreds of the Archbishop's billmen.

  "Halt." Jasmine switched on the loudhailer and repeated her message.

  As if they had not heard her, the white-surcoated men-at-arms fled up the ramp, men pushing and shoving to put the bodies of others between themselves and the tank. Between them they managed to totally block the way.

  "Bugger."

  "I could just... you know," said the driver.

  Jasmine shook her head. "Wait."

  The courtyard emptied and the headlamps now shone on the three sets of double doors belonging to the basement of the Holiest House. A signboard returned to her like an old photograph: The Mysterious Black Library Reputed to Contain Works of Evil as Consulted by the Notorious Archbishop Grossi and... She completed aloud, "...the Thrilling Adventure of Entering the Cathedral via the Secret Passage."

  Jasmine ordered, "Pull up against those doors — tight as you can. See if you can bump one open — " More arrows clanged on the hull. " — without making it too obvious."

  Reversing and wheeling, the driver deftly brought the tank at a slight angle alongside the middle entrance. He twitched the throttles in opposite directions and the port turret slammed into the wood. He switched off and, without using the intercom, said, "That should do it, Field Marshal."

  "Get your carbines, folks!" Jasmine unhooked her Stormgun. "We're going in the back." She led the way out of the port turret hatch. The double doors were built to open outwards, but the tank had snapped the big iron lock right out of its housing. It was easy to lever one leaf open and slip inside.

  Raised voices greeted her. A pool of light back-lit — Jasmine blinked — a small Northern dragonship marooned in the middle of the Black Library, which was otherwise as she remembered it, except that books now filled the two great stacks running the length of the Cathedral's undercroft.

  The sound of automatic fire seeped in from somewhere — the sound of GCDs doing their grim work. She frowned. They were supposed to be foolproof, but somebody — Tom? — had to have shown Ranulph's people how to use them.

  More automatic fire.

  The rattle must be echoing down a stairwell connecting the library to the Cathedral proper. The secret passage was already open.

  The voices became distinct.

  "A moment more, damn you!"

  Jasmine's heart leapt. That was Maud.

  "See how the sorceress lacks even the feminine virtue of Meekness and Obedience!"

  That was Archbishop Grossi.

  "God's teeth, now, Milady! Or shall I carry you?" Ranulph's voice, clipped and to the point. Jasmine's mouth went dry. If she got the drop on them, they'd be POWs — better than the alternative. She turned to address her half-dozen Egality tankers. "We..." she began, then realised she was sounding breathless. Could she do it? Ranulph would say that depended on God's Will. Lose the religious garbage, and it came down to — what would happen would happen, there was no point in getting worked up about it.

  Jasmine beckoned them forward. "Stay on my left. Don't shoot unless I do." She led them deeper into the darkened library, putting the longship between them and the arguing couple. The sleek hull was perhaps ten metres long. At the prow, two snub-nosed wooden dragons all but nuzzled the library's back wall. Throw in a velvet rope and a plaque and it could have been a museum exhibit. She levelled her Stormgun and ducked under the carved snouts.

  Sir Ranulph held aloft an oil lantern, which illuminated Maud like a spotlight.

  Clad in a fetching chainmail mini-dress, the red-haired princess danced this way and that, one hand pulling out books at random, alternately dropping them on the floor, or stuffing them into a standard issue kitbag which hung over her shoulder. She held the other hand clutched to her mailed chest. Even at a distance, the fingers looked bloody and bruised. Had anybody thought to clean her up and apply a dressing? Now
Jasmine looked properly, bruises blotched the girl's bare legs. A cold compress would have helped there too, and perhaps a massage to help her relax...

  The knight looked fine, except that his clothes glinted wetly and there was a slight sag to his shoulders. The battle had taken its toll, but he had more life in him than a battalion of Elitist Stormwarriors.

  Had they made love yet? Did they talk about her? Compare notes?

  The Archbishop's gaze met Jasmine's and he raised his eyebrows. He looked like a smug toad, except that his wrists were bound and he had blood trickling from a fresh knife cut on his cheek. How had things gone so badly wrong that this monster was her ally?

  With a mental shrug, jasmine drew breath and barked, "Freeze."

  Sir Ranulph heaved the Archbishop around in front of him. "How good is your shooting, Colonel?"

  Maud's eyes flashed like emeralds. "Hello, Jasmine."

  "It's Field Marshal now," said Jasmine, addressing Ranulph. But facing the giant knight and the red-haired Princess, she'd didn't even feel like a soldier anymore.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A chill ran over Ranulph's skin. The world shrank to just the muzzle of Jasmine’s fat-barrelled gun. The other soldiers’ weapons would be lethal enough, but this monstrosity could rip off his arm, even had he been wearing runic armour. He forced himself to look her in the eye. "If you let us retreat, I will leave Grossi behind."

  The Archbishop said, "Shoot! I am ready for martyrdom."

  Jasmine cocked her head at her soldiers. "Not until I give the order."

  "If Sir Ranulph falls, so does the lantern," said Maud. She laughed. "Those grimoires will make a fine pyre. Perhaps my fate is foreordained."

  Without looking down, Ranulph nudged his mailed boot against the pile of rejected magic books. He would burn before he bled out. The sorceress had faced a similar death, but how did this give them bargaining power? Was this a hint that he should drop the lantern as a distraction, then attack? The Archbishop would make a fine shield, but a lot of bullets would be flying around. Maud's mail would be no protection and nor would his arrow charm.

  The Archbishop coughed. "This knowledge has been gathered from the Four Quarters of the Earth. Surely you can see it must be preserved?"

  "Preserved or hidden?" asked Maud, sounding like Albrecht when he found some hole in Ranulph’s reasoning like that time…

  The Archbishop twitched against Ranulph's grip

  Ranulph forced himself awake. There would be time to rest later — one way or another.Something was about to happen. He wriggled his toes, coaxing some warmth into his wet feet. He would even out the odds by attacking the Invader’s left flank, putting the soldiers’ bodies between him and Jasmine’s gun. He tensed his legs, then relaxed.

  The broad shouldered woman's gaze flickered down, catching the movement. Her eyes narrowed and she adjusted her aim.

  Ranulph grinned at her and remembered their fierce lovemaking on the airship. But he knew that when he moved, she would be ready. Whatever Maud's scheme was, he could only pray that it was more considered than her occult escapades.

  "Strange," said Maud, her green eyes twinkling uncannily. "Wherever the White Brothers gather knowledge, the magic stops working. It cannot be due to their liberal application of Consecrations, because these fade unless maintained by sincere prayer. For example, the mumblings of bored nuns were not enough to keep me from using my grimoire in a convent — were they, Your Holiness? You remember my grimoire? The one you planted for me to find, so as to gain leverage over my father?" She interrupted herself to breathe.

  Ranulph made little circles with his shoulders. Any moment now.

  "Kill the harlot!" commanded the Archbishop.

  Ranulph's eyes narrowed. Whatever happened, this was one man who would not see another day.

  Jasmine shook her head. "I’d like to know what’s really going on."

  "And, why have a Black Library in the first place?" continued Maud. "No good churchman would want to consult it." She blew on the face of the bookshelf, creating a billow of dust. "And none do. And yet, these books — and a mythical flying ship — all hidden where they cannot work… it seems so similar to the manikin in my invisibility charm, secreted where it cannot be seen."

  "Close your ears, my children!" said the Archbishop. "She ensnares you with enchantment."

  The soldiers exchanged glances.

  "Not on consecrated ground," said Jasmine. "Even I know that much."

  Maud giggled the way she always did before doing something rash. A smile flitted over Ranulph's cold lips. Albrecht had always accused him of having just such a "mad laugh". But, if his acts were invariably foolish, how was it that he had he survived thus far? In truth, he laughed whenever something complicated became as simple as a sword stroke, and because if he did not laugh, he would give way to fear and so fail. Was Maud any different? He would trust her to look after herself.

  "Magic works by metaphor," said Maud. "Burn the manikin and my invisibility spell fails. Burn the library...?"

  "Fuck me," said Jasmine. "This library is what's sitting on the magic."

  Ranulph's temples throbbed. Could it really be so obvious? "That's why he's afraid of fire," he managed.

  The Archbishop raised his head. "Yes. It is this library that keeps Necromancy out of the hands of crazed hedge sorcerers, murderous savages, and every spinster who owns books she should not," he said. He twisted to look over his shoulder at Ranulph. "Is that really such an ignoble purpose, Sir Ranulph?"

  "He's a pompous bastard, but he has a point, Big Guy," said Jasmine, her gun still levelled.

  Ranulph grimaced. He was here to help turn Maud into a proper sorceress, not to usher in a new age of Necromancy. When he made his move, he would hurl the lantern over the heads of the soldiers. If it shattered near the row of doors, the flames might not spread to the books. She could have the magic contained in her selected volumes, but the natural order would survive.

  "Consider also," said Maud, conversationally, "what would happen were some heinous act of desecration to deconsecrate this place."

  Archbishop Grossi yelped, twitched, then sagged to the ground. Maud's dagger projected from the small of his back like a sundial.

  Wooden supports banged on the flagstones and, with a creak, the twin-headed dragonship rose from its chocks to float above the library floor.

  The Invaders turned towards the sudden movement.

  Jasmine eyes flashed in the lamplight and Ranulph remembered them wide and triumphant as her muscular body undulated under him.

  In an instant, he saw how things would be under the Invaders. True, there would be shameless, fearless women who rutted and fought like men, and were all the more magnificent for it, but nobody would embrace Chivalry because the only individuals who would count would be the schemers and smooth talkers like the Archbishop. Yes, the West was already on the path to becoming the grey-liveried Egality.

  Ranulph hurled the lantern directly at the face of the bookshelves.

  Glass shattered, flame whooshed, and heat seared his cheek.

  Something invisible buffeted Jasmine and twisted the great gun out of her hands.

  Ranulph launched himself at his enemies.

  They raised their weapons. Bullets plucked his sleeve, creased his hair, but none struck home — Ragnar's arrow charm now worked.

  Ranulph's target greeted him with a bayonet thrust.

  He slid past the tip, grabbed the hot barrel and slammed his free hand's heel into the soldier's chin.

  A second bayonet slashed Ranulph's right bicep. Even as the pain blazed, he elbowed the gun aside and drove his left fist into the face of the next soldier — a petite blond girl who tumbled like an acrobat.

  Just as an empty-handed Jasmine turned back to the fray, the third levelled his gun.

  Ranulph slid past and palmed the barrel to the side. It went off with a thunderclap. He pivoted in, kneed the soldier in the belly and stepped over the groaning man.

&
nbsp; The last soldier abandoned her weapon and ran.

  Ranulph let her go.

  Jasmine’s hand dropped to her dagger. Behind her, the defeated soldiers crawled or limped away. There was no sign of Maud, but the flames now licked at the stone vault. Books on the fringe of the flames hissed and steamed, and the fire spread.

  "So, you are tough without the tin cans," she said. "Do we have to fight?"

  Ranulph shook his head. "Duty would force me to draw Steelcutter. You would have the honour, but I the victory."

  Jasmine stepped closer, the firelight dancing in her big eyes. She cocked her head at the burning books. "This is going to fuck up your world. Let me have the fire put out."

  Ranulph put his hands on her hips, and remembered the scent of her perspiration-drenched skin. He laughed. Maud must be watching from somewhere. "I have seen your future." The smoke clawed his throat and he coughed. "I prefer mine."

  "But you don’t know what it holds."

  Ranulph laughed. "I trust to God and steel." And Maud.

  She laughed. "Fucking knights!"

  He kissed her on the lips and slipped his hands under her grey liveried tunic to find the soft skin of her waist.

  Jasmine threw her muscular arms around him and clamped her body to his. "I have more people coming," she said.

  He kissed her again. This time she kissed him back and they stood, smoke swirling around, the heat from the burning books warming their bodies.

  A crash reverberated through the library from the doors. The draft from the open doors whipped the flames into an inferno. Shouts and footfalls told Ranulph that reinforcements had arrived. Ragnar's arrow charm would not help if all these new soldiers took the time to aim properly.

  Ranulph disentangled himself. "Go home Jasmine. You cannot win now."

  "I —" She coughed and waved aside the smoke. "Come on Big Guy. Give me your parole. Let me look after Steelcutter."

  "Ranulph — Now!" Maud’s voice, from the Dragon Twins. The legendary longship slid between the shelves of burning books. It picked up speed towards the entrance, pitching and rolling as if wallowing in the shallows of an exposed beach.