Tithe to Tartarus: The Dark Avenger's Sidekick Book Three (Moth & Cobweb 6)

by John C. Wright

  “You enciphered that in your head just now?”

  “You kidding? I worked on that for hours before you showed up. Anyway, nice talking to you. I gotta go. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Don’t get me in trouble for talking to you.”

  The animal exited through the small round hatch and into the crawlway beyond, where nothing as tall and bipedal as she could follow. Yumiko worked the engine to raise the grate and open the louvers of the spillway leading out. She expanded her glider wings, swooped down through the dry tunnel, and dexterously darted through the metal louvers, and then she was out over the river. The starless cloud-glare of a city night was above her.

  5. Sleepless

  It seemed wiser not to return to the Cobbler’s Club. Yumiko’s delight at having money to spend among the Daylight Men turned sour after the third hotel she attempted turned her away because she could produce no credit card, driver’s license, or identification. Telling the desk clerk that her number was forty-nine, as Elfine once had instructed, did not mend matters.

  She found a hotel that charged by the hour. To judge by the décor and the furtive aspect of its patrons, it was used only by adulterers and their paramours. She doffed her mask. Her snug black leather catsuit attracted stares from the clerk, but not puzzlement, for she was one of the more modestly dressed women in the lobby. She did not like the looks of the place, but at least it seemed safer than sleeping in a bus station.

  Chapter Six: Hastilude

  1. Heraldry

  By noon, all approaches to the Brooklyn Bridge were blocked by cars. Apparently, it was commonplace in New York City these days for traffic jams to turn into mob scenes since the riot police were out in force, wearing heavy gear and lugging large shields. Police barricades occupied all the ramps near the Manhattan entrance to the bridge, and more barricades were placed along South Street, FDR Drive, and even the East River bike path. A line of police boats prevented river traffic from passing under the bridge.

  Yumiko, since dawn, had been perched, invisible and motionless, atop the Manhattan-side bridge tower. Hours passed. She was as patient as a cat watching a mousehole.

  Below her, in the middle of the elevated pedestrian walkway in the middle of the empty bridge, now rose two brightly colored tents or pavilions, roughly two hundred feet apart.

  One was blue and white and displayed the pennant of a swan. The other was red and black. The device on this pennant was a fish with tusks and dorsal spines of gold. A throng of men surrounded one tent, and a pair of figures was at the other.

  When these pavilions were being set up, Yumiko nimbly made her way down one of the suspension cables for a closer view. The wooden fence meant to separate footpath from the bike path had been draped over with colored fabrics. The warhorses were positioned on opposite sides of the opposite ends of this fence. Yumiko knew they were the warhorses because they were taller and larger than the geldings or mules gathered behind each pavilion. The warhorses were armored and caparisoned, one in blue and silver, the other in black and red, adorned and splendid and terrible to the eye. Both horses had cloven hooves like those of a deer, the lashing tail was like a lion’s tail, sinuous and long with a puff of hair only at the end. These were steeds from fairyland. Both were roans. They were as alike in build and height as brothers. Small wonder Yumiko had once confused them.

  Neither knight had mounted as yet.

  Sir Garlot stood by his steed, and his shield and spear and helm were yet in the hands of his squire.

  The shield was black with a blood-red emblem of a tusked sea-monster bent and diving. The upper part of the shield was adorned with a crescent poised with its points upward. Images of this fanged fish were also on his surcoat and steed. A gilded statuette of the same figure peered from the crest of his dark helm, goggle eyes low and staring, tail held high.

  Half-transparent, ghostlike, and baffling to the eye, his wide fog-hued cloak streamed from his broad shoulders, sometimes lifted by the whispering winds of earth and sometimes by silent winds from other realms.

  Yumiko recognized from the Cobbler’s Club the vassals of Garlot standing behind him. The first was a burly dwarfish creature in a black coat and rimless metal cap, armed with a warhammer. The second was a man-at-arms whose coat was gemstones and whose tongue was as bright as a coal of fire. Smoke rose from between his teeth. The third was a ten-foot-tall six-fingered warrior with scarlet hair. He was clad in mail and bore a two-handed sword great enough to hew a horse in twain. She cursed them in her heart as bad tippers.

  Yumiko saw no men at Sir Gilberec’s tent, but she did see dogs. At least two dozen mutts and strays of various stages of unkempt savagery were seated in a semicircle on their hunches behind him. None was small. None wore collars.

  In addition, strange sounds from his tent hinted that living things were swarming there, but from above, she could not glimpse them.

  Sir Gilberec himself was standing at the lists. He was in blue and white, and his helm was adorned with swan wings. His cloak was blue. The sign of the swan was on his shield, surcoat, and crest. His armor was silver, and adorned with diamonds, and was like white fire were the sun touched it.

  He had no retinue, save for one figure with him no taller than a child. This one was dressed like a pageboy in a tabard adorned with the device of a white swan. His throat was hidden by a wide ruffed collar. In one hand was a trumpet. His gloves and boots were green, and a wide-brimmed cavalier’s hat with a white plume hid his face from Yumiko, who was above him. But when he raised his voice, she recognized the scratchy, growling voice of Ruff the dog. How he contrived to stand on his hind legs or carry a trumpet, Yumiko was not sure.

  “…and do you also swear to use no unknightly ploy nor devising, nor spell, chant, charm, trick, or unworthy sleight to gain any advantage? That you allow the fallen opponent gentle right to rise again and if he be unhorsed, also to dismount and continue the melee afoot?”

  “In no wise,” called Garlot. Yumiko heard him clearly. His voice was like deep music, and the magic of the elfs was in it. “I denounce yon fool as a half-breed, a Moth, common and a sure dastard, born of nothing: his titles and dignities are lies. No knight he! Neither gentleness nor courtesy use I. I will slaughter him as I would a swine or a slave, by fair means or foul as please me. Here is mine oath!” and he spat on the deck of the walkway.

  Gil was armed, with shield and spear in hand, and his head was hidden in his helm. This helmet was sleek and strange to see, not like the heavy helm with a pointed visor the squire of Garlot held. Gil’s voice seemed harsh and commonplace after the eerie baritone of Garlot. But his words were dignified: “Wise not to speak false oaths in my ear, Sir Knight. I will offer you the gentle courtesies you denounce, that my victory be more worshipful.”

  “Swagger and preen, my cockahoop!” sneered Garlot. “Is your half-mortal strength fit to fight an immortal? What is Twilight? Dying Dusk surrenders ever to Night!”

  “As does Night to Dawn,” said Gil. “Weary my ears with no more boasts. Arms, not words, shall decide.”

  And he used his spear like a pole to vaunt into the high-backed saddle in a strong and fluid leap, without releasing spear or shield from hand, as lightly as if he did not bear forty or fifty pounds of war harness on his frame. The great red horse reared and curveted, and Sir Gilberec flourished his lance on high. Sir Garlot’s men murmured their applause until Sir Garlot turned and scowled at them with dark brows.

  Yumiko did not fully understand why Sir Gilberec’s effortless leap into the saddle was so impressive until she saw Sir Garlot mount up, his motion ponderous in his heavy armor. In his hands he took up the reins and also a stout cord to tie himself in the saddle. Only after he was ahorse did he don his helm and then take up the lance and shield.

  The two men moved as if on parade, horses stepping with high gait and slow dignity down the lists. The two saluted as they passed each other by lifting their lances. Then, at the far end, each man near the tent of his foe, they turned. The
horses stomped and fretted, snorting. In the distance, honking horns from the endless traffic jams clearing the great bridge had caused were like the voices of geese far away.

  2. Tilt

  Ruff stood near a rack on which several lances were propped. He lifted his trumpet, and so did the lizard-eyed Eft. A braying note that split the air issued from the bell of Ruff’s trumpet; a louder note and a gush of flame came from the other.

  The warsteeds were like arrows seen flying from the bow before the singing of the string is heard. Like falcons in flight was their swiftness. Their skirts rippled like white-capped sea-waves in a gale, snapping in the wind of their speed, and the barding clanged and rang.

  The hooves of the red steed of Gil cast up divots of wood out of the walkway, and the detonation of noise was a jackhammer. The uproar of clatter from the steed of Garlot was no less, but as his steed flew, the cloak of Garlot left a trail of fog in the air behind him and spread left and right like the wings of a storm spreading.

  Both men, at first, rested the butt of the lance on thigh, and the small pennants near the sharpened blade fluttered gaily. Closer they thundered. Each was in precise control of his steed; each man’s kneecap was only an inch away from the wood of the fence separating the steeds. Both now raised their shields, one blue as heaven with a shining swan midmost, the other black with a blood-red sea-monster writhing on its surface. Closer yet, and as one their spears dipped gracefully and ominously, tips weaving and ducking lightly like the tips of fencing epees, but with force of man and horse in full career behind the threatening blow.

  Each held the heavy spear in his prone palm, resting the weight on forearm and clamping the shaft against body with elbow. Garlot held his dark shield high, as if to protect his head; and Gilberec held his bright shield low, as if to protect his thigh. Both leaned forward in the saddle, stiffening their legs and clamping knees firmly to the heaving sides of their mounts.

  Just before the shock, each knight lifted the lance from beneath his arm and brought the tip up. The mist from his cloak exploded silently from the shoulders of Garlot, and he was hidden from view.

  The shock of the crash was deafening.

  Yumiko could still see Garlot. He had taken on the strange wrongness of perspective ghosts displayed. He and his horse were monochromatic, like a black and white photo. The spears shattered into flinders as they passed, and each man now held merely the truncheon in his hand. Both were reeling in their high saddles like stunned drunks.

  It had happened almost too quickly to see. Garlot had driven his invisible lance blade directly toward the helm of the Swan Knight, who, even though blind to his foe, raised his shield and parried the blow.

  Meanwhile, Gil, without seeing his target, had raised his lance in a feint toward Garlot’s eyes, who straightened in the saddle. This brought the eyeslit of Garlot’s heavy jousting helm up out of harm’s way but also blocked his vision. He raised his shield as well. But Gil in the same motion dropped the tip again, struck his foe glancingly along the leg, and drove the spearhead under the rim of the shield and into Garlot’s midriff. The blow was of such force that the spear shaft bent in a half circle before exploding into fragments.

  Garlot’s steed ran on. Garlot was slumped in the saddle. Now Yumiko saw Garlot was stained with a black fluid coming from his side. She realized that this was blood but that the mist had robbed it of the appearance of color.

  Gilberec’s steed galloped past, headed toward the far end of the lists. Although the Swan Knight was still far off, Ruff was holding up a fresh spear, proffering it butt-first toward Gilberec.

  Yumiko noted that the squire of Garlot was not making any move to hand his master a new spear. At first, she thought the reason was that the squire could not see the unseen man. But then she saw a wonder. The broken lance of Sir Garlot was burning with many tiny sparks. It was healing, growing, mending itself. Yumiko wondered if this were the same magic Malen had once used to mend a torn robe, something from a dream world were lifetimes could pass in an earthly hour.

  Gilberec was also swaying, jarred by the shock, but he kept his saddle. Garlot recovered himself first, straightened in the saddle, and now turned his horse sharply. Like a steeplechaser, Garlot leaped over the cloth and wood barrier separating the horses, and charged toward Gilberec, whose back was to him. Gilberec had only the broken fragment of a spear in hand.

  All of a sudden, the two dozen dogs sitting in a semicircle at the blue and white tent now began barking. A black cloud issued from the tent flap. It was a flock of bats, strange to see by day, flapping and chattering.

  Gilberec stirred himself at the clamor. He did not turn but called out, “Steed from Erlkoenig, sired of Arion, your master disgraces you! Throw him!”

  The horse of Sir Garlot must have heard and understood, for the beast now reared and bucked. More black blood spread across the belly and legs of Garlot. The Red Knight drove his spurs into his steed and sang a strange, loud, deep note, as a song from the roots of the world heard echoing in a dry well. His voice brought his beast back under control.

  The bats were circling Garlot’s position, and their chirping and shrieking became a shrill frenzy.

  Meanwhile, the feral dogs ran down the lists. Some had their noses to the deck; others had their muzzled raised, baying. But the dogs by scent closed in toward the unseen Sir Garlot.

  Sir Gilberec did not continue toward the end of the lists where Ruff was barking excitedly and waving the spear butt in the air. Instead, he cast the broken shard of spear from him and drew his sword. Angular letters in a language unknown to Yumiko blazed in the blade, and pale fire, half-invisible in the sun, radiated from the edges and tip. Gilberec stood in his stirrups, elbow high, sword outstretched before him, and he charged toward a foe he could not see: a foe who had a whole spear in hand and could slay any swordsman before ever he would be close enough to strike.

  Either he did not know his enemy was armed, or else Gilberec was insane.

  Yumiko raised her bow and shot three arrows in rapid succession into Sir Garlot. These were not her red arrows, whose iron heads were poisonous to elfs. These were bodkin heads, meant to pierce armor. None did; all glanced off without penetrating. Her fourth arrow was one of the red ones. It struck Sir Garlot in the thigh, penetrated the metal cuisse, flesh and blood, and pinned his leg to the saddle.

  Sir Garlot’s men, when they saw Gilberec releasing hounds onto the field, ran to their riding horses to mount up, all except the Eft. The dragon-eyed Eft tossed his helmet aside, ran forward, and breathed out an arching gout of fire of prodigious length. This reached many yards down the lists, falling among the dogs, and causing Sir Gilberec’s horse to rear up and whinny in anger. Yumiko shot the Eft in the open mouth, and the arrow head emerged from this back of his skull in a spray of blood that caught fire when it touched air.

  The Eft crumpled and fell, and the fire from his wounds spread as a pool spreads.

  Sir Garlot cried out in a loud voice. His squire blew a trumpet blast. Sir Garlot and his men turned and fled the field. He had had enough.

  Garlot threw his enchanted lance aside. He cut the straps of his heavy shield with a misericorde, and this let him clench his forearm to his belly to block the bleeding wound with his forearm.

  Yumiko shot her wirepoon grapnel into the deck and slid down it, using her bowstaff to hang from it. She mounted up on the riding horse of the Eft, which was startled by the weight of an unseen rider. This horse, seeing all its fellows fleeing and scenting their panic, whinnied and chased after them.

  A great wall of fog erupted from the shoulders of the Red Knight as he swirled his cloak and cast it over his men. They faded from view and lost all colors. The pack horses and mules followed after Garlot as he ran.

  So did the horse to whose neck Yumiko clung.

  3. Flight and Fog

  Down the bridge they galloped, with Sir Gilberec, alone, in pursuit, one youth chasing three armed men and a squire.

  But Sir Gilber
ec shouted, calling on the horses to halt. The riding mounts of Garlot’s men became ungovernable, rearing and plunging. The two dozen dogs and more entered the foggy cloud hiding the invisible Sir Garlot and his unseen retinue, sniffing and baying, coming closer.

  Through the fog, clinging to the neck of her rearing horse, Yumiko could see the bright silhouette of Sir Gilberec on his strong, swift steed, calling out the names of King Arthur and Saint Michael the Archangel. The light from his flaming sword made a rainbow in the foggy mists around him.

  Yumiko realized that Gilberec was not insane, but had a clear advantage over any mounted foe if the mount could hear and understand the word of the Son of Adam and know them to be true.

  But it did not serve her purposes that Sir Garlot be slain this day.

  With a swift motion of her hand, she fitted half a dozen microgrenades into the slot on one of her folding boomerangs and threw it. The whirling metal weapon became visible when it left the cloud of fog, spinning toward Sir Gilberec. He raised his shield and deflected it into the deck, where it skipped along like a lopsided wheel, exploding into stabbing flashes of light, tear gas, and dense clouds.

  The second boomerang he did not see until it rebounded from his helmet, which rang like a gong. Both boomerangs looked like miniature crop-dusting planes doing tailspins, putting out smoke to blind his eyes, pepper spray to pain the noses of his dogs. The delay of even a moment allowed Garlot and his vassals to open a lead.

  4. Into the Night World

  Over the police cars barricading the bridge entrance, the elf-steeds of Garlot and his men leaped as lightly as deer. For about a hundred yards, no more than that, the horses picked their way among the motionless and honking cars gridlocked about the entrance ramp. Garlot raised his hand and sang. A flurry of sparks flew up from his fingers and spread like ripples in a pond. All the humans on the street slowly sank down and slept, the car engines sputtered and died, and the lights of traffic signals went out. The silent cavalcade raced on. Yumiko did not see whether they trampled any slumbering men, women, or children trapped in their spell, for the fugitives were fleeing with all haste, and the calls of Gilberec were behind them as they fled, and all four winced and cursed when he said the name of Christ.