I alternated that with perfectly physical firepower and steel-jacketed bullets when the Shields were down, taking care to make every shot count. And when the Shields were down, my Hounds took the opportunity to dive into the packed lines of the Othersiders, grab a few, and drag them into our lines, where they got hacked to bits. The Hounds were too agile for the Othersiders to return the favor.
No sign of Drift. No sign of her Psimons. Could Josh have gotten through to them? If he had…
“Shields down!” Kent shouted. The Hounds and I dropped the Shields. I fired stink-bullets. The Hounds dashed into the mob in groups and dragged a trio of unfortunate Othersiders into the range of our edged and pointed weapons. One thing always seemed to work on the Othersiders—iron and steel. Knowing I’d be in the center of the group, I’d equipped myself with a spear with a crossbar just behind the point. Where I came from, it was called a “boar-sticker,” and it was used for hunting wild pigs. The crossbar kept an enraged boar or sow from coming right up the spear to gore you. It did the same for the Naga I impaled when Dusana dragged the damned thing within reach.
“Incoming by air!” Kent reported as the thing squirmed and died. “Winged Hounds up!”
There was a thunder of wings as the flying Hounds went up. As tightly packed together as we were, the most expedient way for them to get airborne was to use us as launching platforms, running up our backs and jumping as high as they could before opening their wings at the peak of their jumps. Dusana patiently let himself be used that way four times, even sitting down to make a ramp out of his back.
When the winged Hounds were safely clear, Kent shouted, “Shields up!” and my Hounds and I went back to holding against the battering of the mob.
Those who had offensive magic joined their Hounds in picking off our airborne attackers: a mix of Harpies, Ketzels, and black feathered things that looked vaguely like oversize ravens. Fluids and body parts began to rain down on the Shields, sliding down the curve and gradually vanishing as they reached the earth.
Our winged attackers weren’t as disciplined—or maybe as controlled—as the ones on the ground. After fruitless attempts to get past the Hounds, one of the Harpies screamed something unintelligible, and they all scattered.
“Shields down!” Kent ordered so the winged Hounds could rejoin us and get their breath back. As soon as they were all tucked in among us, he ordered the Shields back up again.
Everything started to blur together.
How long had we been fighting? It seemed like forever. I was pacing myself, and I was fresh off several days of bed rest (not to mention that healing trick Torcion had done), yet I was tired and wearing out; a glance at the faces nearest me showed me nothing but the set expressions of people fighting through pure exhaustion.
And yet…we were holding our own. Enough that squads of Army skirmishers had now managed to get across the Barrier to join us. Rather than depending on Shields, they were all wearing combat armor, and I was pretty darn sure they were also sporting Psi-shields. They fought their way to us and spread out on either side, giving us flanking wings of firepower.
And finally, the remaining choppers got into the air, thundering overhead to unload a furious barrage of chain-gun fire into the ranks behind the Othersiders we could see. The pressure on us eased a trifle.
Where were the Psimons? That was my big nagging worry. Because if Drift unleashed those on us…
“Joy, I’ve got word from your boy Josh.” That was HQ on my private freq.
“Roger, go for message,” I said breathlessly—because this could be very good, or very bad.
“He says his troops have Drift’s locked down for the duration, and you’ll know what that means. Out.”
A thrill of elation struck me like a Ketzel’s lightning. He’d done it! He’d actually done it! “Kent, update,” I said on the general freq, knowing this would be something everyone would want—no, need—to hear.
“Go for update.”
“PsiCorps is locked down. Repeat, the Psimons are locked down.”
I heard several whoops of glee over the freq, and smiled grimly. This was the first good news we’d gotten since we started this fight. With the Psimons out of the picture, we might actually be able to not just hold our own, but to win this thing.
“Good news. Don’t get cocky.”
I don’t know about anyone else, but “cocky” was the last thing that described my state of mind. Scared bloodless…that was more like it. Grimly determined not to let another friend die? Definitely.
And that was when Drift made her move.
SUDDENLY, NONE OF US could move. I was literally paralyzed; I couldn’t even twitch, I could barely breathe, and I was so overcome with confusion it was hard to think. Through blurring vision, it looked like everyone else was struck at the same time.
Thanks be to all the gods big and small, whoever was in command of the army units noticed this immediately. And just as my Shields went down, the Othersiders were moving from flanking us to surrounding us. The Hounds were not affected; they kept up their Shields, and the few who had magic-based weapons, like my Alebrijes fire, went on the offense. The choppers came in with close air support, chain guns pouring bullets into the mob, using incendiaries as the ammo most likely to do damage.
We were aided by the fact that some of the Othersiders had gotten locked down too. That put a wall of immobile meat between us and the rest. Confused by this, some of them turned on their frozen fellows and ripped them apart.
But it was horrible. All I could do was breathe and watch those soldiers try to protect us…and watch some of them die. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I couldn’t even scream! Despair and fury filled me until I thought I was going to explode.
We were going to die. We were all going to die. Because one of our own kind was so ambitious she was willing to kill us, willing to kill anyone, so long as she could be top dog.
Still, I struggled, and I know the others were fighting her too.
That was when the Drakken and Gogs and Magogs arrived, each one protected from the artillery barrage by a Shield cast by a Folk Mage striding along next to it. One Folk Mage for every single one of the Drakken and Gogs and Magogs. Two dozen at least.
The ranks of Othersiders surrounding us pulled back, so we could get a good view of our doom.
Because there was no doubt: we could not take that many giants and Drakken on. Even if the army could launch Hellfires, they’d just dissipate fruitlessly on the heavy Shields that shimmered around them. And our Shields were not going to be able to hold for long against the purely physical pounding that Gogs and Magogs and Drakken could dish out. Behind them was a single figure in a suit of Psimon armor, also with a Folk Mage at her side.
Drift. Come to watch the fun. And on her other side, a glistening golden creature standing in midair with his arms crossed over his chest in a posture of relaxed satisfaction.
We were about to be squashed like bugs.
Then Drift, the sadistic bitch, let us go. So she could get a good look at us fighting and dying, I guess.
My heart stopped. I went cold all over, and…“the blackness of despair” does not even begin to describe how I felt at that moment. Even Hold and Strike whimpered.
Things went very, very quiet.
The monsters stared at us. They were gloating; you could see it in their faces. They knew they’d won. The Folk Mages all wore the same identical expression of smug superiority. You couldn’t see Drift’s face because of the helmet, but the Folk Lord had a nasty smirk, like a spoiled child that has gotten its way.
Somberly, we all looked at each other, nodded, turned back to the enemy, and braced for the attack. No one looked anything but determined. No one ran, or even looked as if they wanted to. I know I was petrified, and probably so was everyone else. But we were Hunters. This was what we did, and this was how we would die. Defending the Cits. Saving people. We weren’t going to give up now, not even in the face of certain defe
at.
Silence. The Othersiders didn’t move. I sensed they were hoping for us to break—or maybe they were just enjoying their moment of triumph.
I kind of expected something, some short speech from Kent. That was the sort of thing he did, after all—that was what made him such a brilliant leader, knowing the right thing to say at a time like this. But that wasn’t who spoke.
Open the Way, Bya said urgently into my head. Open the Way!
I looked at him in confusion at first, and then with a sudden feeling of complete betrayal. You want to escape? I asked him dispiritedly.
NO! he shouted. I winced. Open the Way!
So I did. Swiftly, I cast the Glyphs, threw them to the ground, and opened the Way. The Portal appeared just outside our Shields, and the Othersiders nearest it looked suddenly bewildered by a Portal appearing in their midst.
Now! Tell us, Pack Friend, Sister to the Alebrijes. Tell us you need help. This is your right, to call the Great Hunt. Tell us all!
This didn’t make any sense but…I opened my mind and tried to speak to every Hound that could hear me, not just mine.
I am the Pack Friend, Sister to the Alebrijes, and I beg you, if you can bring us help, then call it now! Please, I entreat you, call the Great Hunt.
Then Bya raised his nose to the sky and…sang. I call it singing because it wasn’t a howl—it was like a horn call. Then Dusana joined him, and Shinje, and then all of my Alebrijes, in a beautiful, many-voiced, silver-throated chorus. Then Hold and Strike, with real howls, and Myrrdhin and Gwalchmai, and then all the other Hunters’ Hounds, in dozens and dozens of harmonic notes and voices, as the Othersiders stared at us, confused and baffled. The chorus swelled and grew until the air itself vibrated with all the notes contained in it. I lost my fear. It melted away in that amazing sound. For no damn good reason at all, my heart lifted and my spirits rose into the sky with that music. I would not have been the least bit surprised to see—well, even a Christer angel, at that point.
Then the Portal began to grow.
I wasn’t doing anything, but as the Hounds called, the Portal expanded and widened—scaring the heck out of the Othersiders, who began backing away from it—until you could have fit a Drakken through there.
And then they came, charging through the Portal. Our salvation.
Alebrijes, first. Two, ten, dozens…including one that was easily the size of a Drakken and was such a crazy quilt of patterns and spikes and knobs and horns in eye-blinding colors that it was painful to look at. It was as if the toy boxes of an entire village of children had spilled out their contents through the Portal; there were more shapes and colors and sizes of creatures flinging themselves across the threshold than I could ever have envisioned in dream or nightmare. Then a pause, and I thought that was all—but more, more Hounds of every possible shape and size and type, by tens and twenties, a river, a flood of Hounds followed them, spreading themselves out between us and the Othersiders.
We had an army. An army of Hounds. Thousands of them. And now the Othersiders, even the Gogs and Magogs, looked paralyzed and afraid.
The Drakken-size Alebrije bent its long, long neck down until he was face-to-face with me. He had a head like a deer, complete with antlers and big flexible ears. The bright blue head, at least, was free of pattern; his antlers were pink, matching the insides of his ears. His eyes were the size of Bya and were like opals, with black, black pupils. I saw myself reflected in them—disheveled, bloody, and bruised like everyone else.
You have summoned the Great Hunt, little Sister, he said into my head, a voice that boomed and echoed inside my skull. What is it that we Hunt for you?
There was absolute silence. I couldn’t even hear my fellow Hunters breathing—I think they were afraid to. It flashed into my head that this was one of those times my Masters had warned me about—when words were critically important, and the wrong ones would unleash dreadful, unintended consequences.
Like, if I said “Hunt the Folk,” what if Torcion was out there? I had gotten nothing but help from him, and if what he’d told me was true, if he died, there would be yet another population of humans that would now be helpless against the Folk who only wanted to kill them.
And that would leave so many Othersiders still perfectly prepared to pound us into paste. Drift was still out there too.
So I considered my words, took a careful breath, and said aloud, “Please, of a courtesy, Hunt those on this field who would harm me, my fellow Hunters and Hounds, my fellow warriors, and all those in the city behind us who I am sworn to protect.”
The thing grinned. I have never seen so many big, sharp teeth in my life, not even in the mouth of an Othersider. Wise choice, little Sister. So let it be done.
Then the creature flung its head into the air and bellowed, and all the Hounds on the field charged. The huge one went straight for the nearest Gog and tore through the Shield like it was made of paper. A second later it had sunk all those long, sharp teeth into the Gog’s throat and was shaking it like a terrier with a rat. But because of the mass of both of them, the movements were nightmarishly slow, and every detail as it ripped the Gog’s throat out clearly visible….
And then it turned on the nearest Drakken.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Hounds engaged the Othersiders like…well, I had never seen anything to compare with it. There were so many of them, they could actually swarm individual monsters, immobilize them by sheer numbers, and tear them to pieces.
Our Hounds joined in the fray with sheer homicidal joy. I felt that bloodthirsty elation from mine, and I am sure the others felt it as well.
“Hold your fire! All stations, all units, hold your fire!” Kent screamed over the general freq. “Friendlies on the field, friendlies on the field! Hold your fire!”
The Folk Mages with the giant monsters were the first to react…and they fled, opening Portals and vanishing, leaving their underlings to fend for themselves. Without any direction, the monsters panicked, as well they should have, trying to escape in every possible direction, some of them actually running into the Barrier and committing suicide on it rather than face the Hounds. The enormous Alebrije, deprived of equal-size prey when the remaining giants and Drakken fled, loped off into the distance. Meanwhile the smaller ones—and believe me, “smaller” often still meant things the size of a cottage—tore through everything in sight.
And what did we do?
You might have thought that after all we’d been through, we’d have been falling down on the spot. A couple of us, badly hurt, did. But the rest of us went charging out after our Hounds—except for me. Poor Kent was flat on his back in the dirt with his eyes closed, and didn’t look in any shape to take charge.
“Is anyone hurt?” I asked over the general freq.
“We could use a half dozen medics,” the reply came. “You?”
I was startled to find a slash down one arm I hadn’t felt, and looking over the soldiers I could actually see, there were a lot of injuries. “Yeah, I think it’s safe for the medics—and evac choppers,” I replied. And then I went out into the chaos on the field, looking for Drift and Lord Laetrenier.
It was sheer chaos out there; Bya, Dusana, and Shinje loped up to join me, but the rest were somewhere deep in the free-for-all. Initially, we Shielded to protect ourselves, but it became apparent that we needn’t bother. Occasionally, when I saw one of the Hounds had taken on something too big for it, I sent a few bullets into the fray, but mostly we four concentrated on getting to where we had last seen Drift and Lord Laetrenier, and not getting caught up in the snarls of combat.
I didn’t realize how much I had let my guard down as we hunted for those two enemies, until a flash of gold materialized next to me, grabbed me, and we bamphed away.
I fought myself free of him as we landed, stumbling over the harrowed rows of another field, and realized I was surrounded by Manticores. And facing me: my kidnapper, Lord Laetrenier.
I Shielded immediately, so pumped full of magic by
my Hounds that the thing popped up as strong and sturdy as anything Hammer could have made. The Folk Lord and I stared at each other—he glaring death at me, and me…well, I hoped I managed to keep my expression from giving anything away.
“You did this!” he spat. “You, you puling, weak little worm, you did this!” I said nothing, but I did trigger the Psi-shield. If Drift was here too, I wasn’t going to get taken by her again. He had caught me unguarded and brought me here—which could not be far from the combat since bamphs couldn’t take you that far. It wouldn’t be long until my Hounds found me, and I knew they would bring the others with them.
“Is there something you want, Lord Laetrenier?” I said politely as I examined every detail about him. He started as I spoke his name.
He was slightly the worse for wear; something must have gotten through to him before he retreated and summoned this bodyguard of Manticores. His hair was mussed, there was a smudge along one perfect cheek, one of his fancy sleeves had been ripped off, and he wasn’t floating.
“I want my victory, you mud-born ape!” he snarled.
I needed to stall. Right now, it was just me. But there was one sure way to make certain he did not sic those Manticores on me…or sic Drift on me, for that matter.
“If you want a victory, you must take it, Lord Laetrenier,” I replied, and bowed. “I see you, Magician. I call right of challenge on you.”
His pupils dilated. He had not seen that coming.
“Who has told you these things, ape?” he snarled as his face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated rage.
“No one told me these things, Magician,” I replied, bracing myself. “Your ways are not so secret as you think. Now,” I continued, making sure my voice was very calm, “I have called challenge on you. Will you accept? Or will you take the name of coward and flee? You have only those two choices.”
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