Stormfront (The Storm Chronicles Book 9)

by Skye Knizley

  “How am I supposed to stop this thing with just a knife?” Raven muttered.

  She leapt out of the way of another clumsy attack and ran, giving herself room to move. At a normal walk the creature was slow and Raven realized its short legs were only good for bursts of speed, like an alligator.

  “Big, slow, dumb, it’s like fighting my high school wrestling team,” she said.

  She backed up to the edge of the precipice and looked down. The wall below looked like a sheer cliff face made of granite. As before, there was no visible bottom and the far side was so far away as to be unreachable without an aircraft or the world’s longest zip line. It looked like the only option, her blades were like fighting with paperclips, the creature was so big.

  Raven raised her blades and spun them so the tips were down, then started walking forward, back into the creature’s guard. She dodged two clumsy attacks and backpedaled, staying just close enough that the creature kept coming. After several unsuccessful attacks, it gathered itself for a charge. Raven waited until it was moving then started running, hoping she’d timed this right. She reached the precipice mere feet before the creature and jumped off. She spun in mid-air and jammed her blades into the wall. They skittered and sparked before finding purchase in the stone.

  Above her, the creature tried to stop, but was carried over the edge by its weight and momentum. Raven bowed her head to protect her face and held on for dear life as the monster fell past. Its claws snapped at her, ripping open her back as it fell and she lost her grip on one of the knives. It felt with the creature and she was left dangling over the abyss by one hand.

  Far below the monster vanished into the blackness, its cries of fear echoing long after.

  When it was gone, Raven pulled herself over the edge and lay on her side. Her back felt as if it was on fire and she could feel the blood seeping from the wound, less than a torrent, but more than she would be able to heal without assistance.

  You need Claret, Aspen said.

  The real you doesn’t state the obvious so much, Raven replied.

  Sorry… what are we going to do?

  What we always do, survive.

  Raven pulled herself to her feet and sheathed her blade. “Did I pass the test?”

  Water spilled from a crack in the floor, then became a column from which the Lady stepped.

  “You survived and the beast is dead. One worthy of the sword must overcome the odds with, or without, an effective weapon,” she said.

  “Good. Great. Can I have the sword, please?” Raven asked. “Time is important, here.”

  The Lady shook her head. “You have passed, Tempeste. Excalibur is yours, but only until the crisis has passed. There is a stone in the meadow, the blade must be returned, or you will pay dearly.”

  That doesn’t sound good, Ray.

  “I accept,” Raven said.

  The Lady bowed and the floor at her feet opened to allow more water to billow and form a column. Within was a longsword, four feet of polished steel blade with a plain crossguard and what looked like a leather-wrapped hilt. Runes, so old they were almost invisible, were engraved in the blade’s heart and along the pommel stone, which was a plain silver decoration.

  “The blade is yours,” the Lady said.

  Raven hefted the sword, it was lighter than it looked and the blade was razor sharp, as she found when she tapped a nail against the steel.

  The Lady smiled and snapped her fingers. Raven felt pressure in her head, then she was standing at the bottom of the stairs, Excalibur in hand. She climbed the steps and exited into the clearing, where the Nazis were standing in a circle, weapons ready. Storm knelt in the middle, his face ashen, his eyes weak and pale.

  Skorzeny stepped forward and smiled. “Impressive, Frau Storm. Give me the sword!”

  Raven’s senses were still stretched tight. Her thermal vision and sensitive nose detected lycans lurking in the woods just outside normal vampire detection. She could also smell Morgana’s perfume, and the pieces clicked into place like dominos. In her mind’s eye she saw Morgana meet with Lash while she searched for the Viking map. Saw her kill him trying to get the skull then kill the Naga once she tracked them down…it was a double-cross of epic proportions. Astrid must have seen or heard something that got her on Morgana’s hit list as well.

  Raven held onto the blade and looked at Morgana. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  Morgana’s eyes glowed yellow. “Give me the blade!”

  Raven shook her head and stepped closer to Morgana. “Sorry, witch, your magik doesn’t work on me. I’ve grown immune to preternatural influence.”

  She turned to Skorzeny and looked him in the eye. “She’s playing you, Igor. You and Archer both. She isn’t in this for you, or the money or Der Fuhrer, she wants the sword.”

  Archer appeared out of the darkness, poppet in hand. “What are you talking about, Raven?”

  “Lash. Morgana killed Lash, the Naga and probably a human named Astrid, I would bet my badge on it,” Raven said.

  She turned back to Morgana. “The burns, I thought there was some kind of Nazi superweapon being used, but it was magik. I smelled it on Lash and at the apartment. Then there is that perfume you wear. When you sweat, it smells like sweaty feet.”

  Morgana looked furious, then her face creased into a smile. “It is so much easier not having to play good little HouseFrau anymore. Thank you, dhampyr. Excalibur, come!”

  Raven’s smirk was replaced with a cry of surprise when the blade flew from her hand and settled in Morgana’s outstretched hands. Morgana raised the sword over her head and yelled, “We have the sword, kill them all!”

  The lycans in the shadows roared and stepped into the light. They wore the remnants of Nazi uniforms and armbands with the Swastika, however they were more stylized, a black symbol on a deeper red field. As one they descended on the clearing, jaws snapping, silver-tipped claws raking through vampires and turning them to ash in the blink of an eye.

  Skorzeny drew his Luger and began firing into the charging creatures while calling for reinforcements. Beside him, Archer dropped the poppet and ran toward Morgana who was striding up the path, Excalibur in hand.

  “We had an agreement, Morgana, how dare you!”

  Morgana whirled. “How dare you? How dare a Master bow to the human filth that is Der Fuhrer? They are animals, sheep, and you allow yourself to be drawn to their level. The Empire is mine, you may bow to me or die!”

  Archer raised his hands. “I will never bow to a Fae!”

  Bolts of yellow energy spilled from his hands and raced toward Morgana, only to be deflected by Excalibur. Archer stared in surprise and Morgana stepped forward to run him through. He exploded into ashes and Morgana turned away.

  Raven ran to Storm’s side and dropped to her knees.

  “Time to go, Pops, are you alright?” Raven asked.

  Storm roused himself, shaking off the effects of Archer’s magik. “Did you get the number of that truck? What’s going on?”

  “Archer’s dead, you’re free and Morgana has Excalibur,” Raven said, yanking at the restraints that held Storm in place. “Can you move?”

  Storm stood and drew his sword. “She can’t get away with Excalibur, we have to stop her!”

  “It’s just a sword, let these idiots kill each other, it’s an island, she can’t get far,” Raven said.

  She scooped up a fallen MP38 and unloaded into a lycan that was getting too close. Storm spun and killed another with an x-shaped swipe of his blade. He, too, picked up a submachine gun, holding it in one hand and Hrunting in the other.

  “Raven, Excalibur isn’t just any sword. If she wields the sword, the Empire is hers. With her magik and the Wehrmacht there will be no stopping her,” Storm said.

  The noise of the battle was suddenly overshadowed by the roar of engines and tornado force win
ds. Raven fell to one knee in the gale and shielded her face from flying ash, trying to see what was happening. A dark shape loomed above them, blocking out the sky and the swirling clouds far above. It was a Zeppelin, painted black and bristling with gun emplacements, so many it was easily the equal of any ocean-going battleship. Running lights came to life along the hull, accompanied by landing lights that searched the area around the battlefield as the giant airship descended through the canopy.

  “There’s something you don’t see every day,” Storm said dryly.

  “That thing is what I heard, how did she hide it?” Raven asked.

  Storm turned. “Morgana is the mistress of enchantment, she hid it with magik. I’ll take care of these clowns, you get to her and get back Excalibur.”

  Storm gripped her shoulder. “Be careful, she’s lived almost as long as I have.”

  He spun his sword and offered it to Raven, who slipped it into her belt.

  “Fine, just don’t get dead!”

  She fished a pistol out of the ashes swirling around their feet ran after Morgana. The path was slick with ice, ash and blood that made the going treacherous and she slid several times as she made her way out of the clearing and into the forest. No matter how powerful Morgana was, she wasn’t going to fly up to the zeppelin, which meant it had to drop a companionway of some kind. The airship was hovering almost overhead, she couldn’t be far.

  Raven reached the top of the ridge and looked out at the zeppelin. It was bigger even than she’d thought, far bigger even than legendary Hindenburg. It didn’t seem possible the Nazis could have hidden something this big from the public, let alone get it into the air. From here she could see the hull was armored, there were more weapons along the sides similar in design to the cupola on B-17 bombers and there was a small landing platform at the rear that looked capable of carrying a pair of fighter planes. The Allies had nothing that could combat such a thing, not without scrambling dozens of fighters, most of which were overseas. The zeppelin and a few support aircraft could attack the heartland and be almost impossible to stop.

  With a roar of engines, the zeppelin turned, a majestic sight when seen from a distance. Raven saw a hatchway slide open and light spill into the snow atop the next rise. That’s where Morgana was going.

  Raven started running, trying to ignore the pain in her back and arms. It had worsened now the adrenaline had faded and she was struggling. She hadn’t fed, her wounds from the vault were beginning to take a toll on her body. She wanted to rest, put her feet on something warm and let her body heal, but there wasn’t time. She kept going, step by step, her eyes on that patch of light.

  Snarling, two lycans loped out of the forest, their yellow eyes on Raven. Snow and ice caked their flanks and their muzzles were smeared with blood that trailed onto their torsos. Raven leveled the Luger at the closest and squeezed the trigger. To her surprise the hammer fell on an empty chamber and the lycan barreled into her at full speed. They tumbled in a collection of arms and legs that rolled back down the embankment. As she rolled, Raven drew Hrunting. The blade felt odd in her hand, she wasn’t used to holding a blade made from cold iron instead of steel. It was heavy, with a worn leather-wrapped hilt and engravings that glimmered in the darkness.

  She rose to her feet at the bottom and faced off against the lycan, Hrunting held in both hands. The lycan clicked steel-capped claws and circled, looking for an opening. Raven could see the fires of the battle behind her reflected in its eyes, smell the raw meat and blood on its breath. It was a warrior, still hungry for blood.

  “Come on, you Nazi hellhound,” she challenged. “Come on!”

  The lycan roared and feinted forward, but didn’t attack. Raven saw a flicker of motion in its eyes and ducked as the other werewolf rose behind her and swiped the air where she’d been standing. She rolled and swung the blade in an arc that made both lycans dance out of the way. They were immediately back, alternately swiping and kicking out with their hind paws, forcing Raven to backpedal until her back was against the snowbank. She could feel her strength ebbing, feel the weakness in her arms and knew she needed to end this battle before it ended her.

  The lycans growled and charged. Their paws kicked up snow with every step and they became shadows backlit by the fires. Raven backed up the snowbank and leapt into a forward roll over the two lycans. She rolled when she hit the ground, whirled and slashed at the first lycan. Hrunting lopped his head off in a roundhouse cut that sent his skull rolling into the forest and Raven backed up again, her back now to the growing fires around the vault.

  The remaining lycan howled in fury and moved in, claws a silver flash with every attack. Sparks danced along the edge of Hrunting as Raven blocked and riposted, trying to push the lycan back and keep from being disemboweled on the snow. Then, in a two handed blow, the sword was sent spinning from her hands. The lycan stepped in and punched her in the face, driving her to her knees. Raven shook her head to clear the cobwebs and the lycan was on her again, claws ripping into her arms and chest.

  Raven screamed in pain and rose, throwing the lycan off. It fell back and she followed, her rage building. When the lycan came in again, she grabbed his arm and snapped it over her knee, causing the lycan to wail in agony. Before it could recover she sank her fangs into its wrist and drank deep. Its blood tasted like battery acid mixed with old wash-water, but it was better than letting the lycan kill her. She could feel the lycan’s power coursing through her, feel the pain as her bones began to knit, her skin began to heal. It was only a few seconds, but it was enough.

  When the lycan pulled free, Raven pressed her advantage, kicking and punching from within its guard. When he fell again, Raven drew her remaining knife and rammed it up through the lycan’s jaw. It slid cleanly through flesh and bone until it lodged against the roof of the werewolf’s skull. Blood poured down her arm and the lycan twitched, then shifted into his human shape before beginning to burn.

  Raven kicked him free, retrieved Hrunting from where it had fallen and continued up the hill. Time was running out, the Zeppelin was in place over the hilltop and a small crowd was gathering around Morgana. Raven could see her holding Excalibur, her long hair streaming in the wind. Even at this distance, she looked like a haughty bitch.

  On she ran, through the snow and down the next rise. Her boots splashed in a partially frozen stream at the bottom and she felt the cold water against her ankle, but she didn’t slow. The path continued up the next rise in an arc covered with snow and ice. Raven used Hrunting as a walking pole to help her up the path and soon she saw the group of soldiers at the top. Morgana was surrounded SS Death Troopers wearing stylized black uniforms, spiked helmets and Morgana’s own version of the Swastika on their shoulders. They were watching the zeppelin more than the path, which gave Raven an edge. She was tired, weak and covered in drying blood that was sapping the heat from her body, but she still had fight in her. She blinked and the world went shades of blue and red. The snow glittered in her vampire sight, a silvery sparkle that glowed as bright as the early morning sun.

  The first soldiers never saw Raven coming. She rose from the snow and slipped between them, a shadow of death. To her, they were moving in slow motion, like monsters from an old Harry Hausen film. Hrunting was swift justice, cutting a wide swath through them before they knew what was happening. Six fell to the sword before Raven’s power faded and she was left, sweaty and tired, between Morgana and the Zeppelin.

  “Sorry, lady, that sword belongs to me,” she said. “And you’re under arrest.”

  Morgana was unfazed. She raised Excalibur and held it at the ready. “I was fighting knights when your father was but a folk hero fighting for meals, girl. You are no match for me!”

  Raven smiled, hoping there was more bravado than she felt. “Try me.”

  Ray, in your list of really bad ideas, fighting her is near the top, Aspen said.

  Either help or shut up, Ra
ven shot back.

  Morgana attacked, swinging Excalibur in a blurring arc of silver. Raven raised Hrunting and the blades clashed, sending sparks into the snow. Through the X of blades, Morgana smiled.

  “This is going to be fun, I’ve never killed a Master before.”

  Raven smirked. “Odd, I kill them all the time.”

  She spun, switching Hrunting to a one-handed grip. The blades clashed again and then again, ringing out like bad special effects with every mighty swing. Morgana moved with grace and a style like Raven had never seen before. Where Raven used forceful swings and quick thrusts, Morgana moved very little, deflecting Raven’s blows or dodging them entirely. In moments, Raven was winded, yet Morgana seemed unaffected by the battle.

  “You cannot best me, dhampyr,” Morgana said. “Surrender and you will live to see the rise of a new preternatural empire.”

  Raven swung and brought her sword body to body with Morgana. “Why is it everyone always says that? Like I would suddenly toss all my morals out the window just to save my own ass?”

  She pushed Morgana back and flipped away in a maneuver that brought her sword to bare as Morgana pressed her advantage. The tip of Hrunting opened a gash in Morgana’s arm and she gasped in pain and fury.

  “I actually have morals, that’s why I’m the good guy,” Raven quipped.