Deadmen Walking

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Biting her lip, she debated what to do. To attack Gadreyal would be all manner of stupid. Unlike her, the Irin had been born to battle. She had even more experience than Duel did.

  With no better idea, Mara lowered her chin and used her powers to smack Gadreyal with the mast.

  It worked. Tucking her wings down, she stumbled away from Duel with a foul curse.

  Proud of herself, Mara headed for Du, intending to check on him.

  She didn’t make it.

  Something grabbed her from behind and sent her sprawling.…

  Devyl ran as he saw the demon tackle Mara. His heart pounding in fear for her safety, he leapt for them and, while airborne, took the bastard’s head with one stroke of his sword for daring to touch her. He landed on the deck and rolled, making sure to grab Mara and pull her with him out of harm’s way.

  They came to rest at the side of the ship, with her on top of him.

  “Are you all right?” he breathed.

  “Aye. You?”

  He nodded. “Why aren’t you below like I said?”

  “You know I don’t follow your orders worth a damn.”

  Her teasing tone made him smile in spite of the danger they were in and undermined the anger he wanted to feel. He dropped his gaze to her parted lips and wished fervently they weren’t in battle.

  No sooner had that thought gone through his mind than Gadreyal’s troops pulled back.

  Shite! This can’t be good. Dreading the sudden turn of events, he rose gently with Mara in his arms to face whatever hell-storm was coming for them. He kept one arm on her waist while he braced himself.

  In spite of the continued cannon fire, the dragons circled above, spewing fire down at them that Bart and William deflected. Fierce waves rocked against the ship.

  A screeching shriek came out from beneath the waves, letting him know that the Carian Gate wasn’t the one that had broken. Nay, something far, far worse had happened.

  There were three major gates that led to Gehyne, or Azmodea as it was originally known. The land most of his crew would call hell. One was located in the desert. One in Jerusalem.

  The third in the sea.

  Because of the evil they held back from the world—because mankind could never protect themselves from the vile creatures who called that place home—the portals had been set and locked so that they couldn’t be broken.

  Or so they thought.

  And to secure them even more, no one had ever known their exact locations.

  Until now.

  That was what was coming up from below.

  Devyl cursed as he understood what was happening. Through Paden and Cameron, they had access to Michael’s blood. With it, the Cimmerian forces would have had the means to open any portal in any realm. Even those most sacred, secured gates.

  And to think, I handed it to the futtocking bastards.…

  If the world ended, he was the moron to blame.

  Worse, the Sea Witch was currently taking on water and listing to port. The boards creaked around them, letting him know that she was in mortal danger. Afraid for Mara, who wouldn’t be able to stand much more assault, he turned toward her. “Separate yourself.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, woman. For once in your stubborn life, do as I say and be about it quickly. Pull out of the ship completely. Let the bastards have it before they use it to destroy you.”

  To his utter amazement, she did so without any further argument. Which told him exactly how much pain she was in and holding back from him.

  And he knew the moment she pulled her consciousness from the wood. Color returned to her cheeks as her strength flooded back into her body.

  Grateful that at least one of them was recovering from this searing assault, he kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  His gaze went past her, to the very visage of all futtocking hell realms that was rising from the sea and headed straight for them. Mara hadn’t seen it yet, and for that he was truly grateful.

  So he gave her a cocky grin. “Best you not be asking me questions that have answers guaranteed to upset you, me blodwen.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Duel!”

  Mara’s cheeks paled again as she heard Vine’s low growl.

  The ship tilted more, sending half the crew to the edge and some over, into the water.

  “Enough of this.” Devyl felt his eyes change over as he summoned up every last bit of his powers and did the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do.

  But drastic times called for drastic measures. If Vine wanted a battle, let it be on solid ground where they couldn’t drown his men.

  Stepping around Mara, he sent a blast toward Vine and hated that he missed her as she ducked it. “Och now, Vine, you always wanted to be me queen.” He gave her a cold smile. “See you in Alfheim, if you dare it.”

  And with that, he ruptured the very membrane of the human world and opened the door that was guaranteed to get him into all manner of shite later.

  So be it.

  The only thing that mattered to him was keeping everyone safe. He’d gotten his crew into this. By the gods, he’d get them out, whatever it took.

  And if the dragons wanted to follow …

  The Adoni Fey had their own special breed there that would be waiting to swallow them whole.

  Screams filled his ears as his men were sucked through the swirling darkness and carried away from the realm they’d known and into that of his grandfather’s people.

  God help us all.

  Devyl had no idea what kind of reception they’d receive upon arrival. What they would find waiting on the other side. It was forbidden to do what he’d done. He wasn’t technically one of his grandfather’s people anymore, and his mother had brought them all into a war that had caused every one of them to be cursed.

  Aye, this most likely wasn’t going to end well for him.…

  He just hoped he was the only one who suffered for his rash decision.

  Suddenly, he stopped falling and landed hard against a solid surface. With a fierce groan, he opened his eyes to find himself in a strange meadow. All around them was purple wheat that seemed as if it had a mind of its own.

  He glanced about to make sure everyone was here. While most of them had regained their feet, there were a couple who’d been wounded and had decided that sprawled flat upon the ground was more their suited style at present. Their repose was punctuated by unctuous moans and complaints—mainly against him and their concerns about his current mental state. Even more about the state of his parents’ marriage at the time of his birth.

  Not that he blamed them. First, he was beginning to doubt his own reasoning skills. Because, face it, he was the one what brought them here.

  Secondly, he’d like to stretch out himself. Damn for being captain and having to set an example. Times like this, he was tempted to promote Death or Meers to his position.

  If only he could follow orders.

  And speaking of those incapable of listening to others, Mara approached him with a stern countenance he was sure had terrified lesser men. It was so fierce, it even shriveled a bit of his own personal anatomy. “You’ve brought us to Alfheim? Are you mad? Answer me honestly, is there any semblance of sanity left inside you at all? Or did that knock on the head from Gadreyal spill it all out?”

  “I thought it the safest place from your sister.”

  “And what about the ship?”

  No doubt it was at the bottom of the ocean by now. He just hoped Santiago and his crew didn’t follow it down to the locker. Hopefully, they’d seen enough to know to stay back, and as far away as possible. Since Devyl hadn’t seen even so much as a sail from them during the fighting, he was praying it meant that Rafe’s mother’s magick had kept his crew shielded from all the hell that had rained down on them.

  “Warned you to separate yourself from it.”

  “Aye,” she said with a note of hysteria in her voic

e. “That you did. Had I known it was for this bit of lunacy, however, I’d have refrained. Just to…”

  Her voice trailed off as she glanced over his shoulder to see something in the distance. The color washed out of her face as her eyes widened.

  What the bloody hell now?

  More than a bit irritated, Devyl turned to face whatever fresh pandemonium was heading for them. And it was pandemonium indeed.

  He winced the moment he saw the approaching horsemen and the standards that adorned them. Though in theory they weren’t demons, there wasn’t much difference between the two breeds. In fact, he’d rather deal with a demon than these particular cod dangles.

  The irony that they still used his mother’s family symbol of a tree and bird, white on black, wasn’t lost on him.

  With hair as white as snow and darker skin that fair glistened in the mystical sunlight of the realm, they were more beautiful than any creature ever spat out of the universal abyss.

  And more loathsome and corrupt.

  These were the Adoni. Known as fair elves to much of the world, they were the bane of Devyl’s existence, as was evidenced by the male’s name, which said it all about not only the Adoni, but the character of this particular bastard’s family.…

  Flaithrí Álfljótrsson.

  Álfljótr, meaning “ugly elf” or “horrible” or “treacherous.” That had been his father’s name, hence the “-sson” added to the end of it. The mere fact a mother had given such a moniker to her child also spoke volumes about their family dynamics and why Devyl was such a bastard himself, given that the same blood flowed through his veins.

  Devyl stepped past Mara to greet them away from his men. They slowed the instant they saw him. At first, he wasn’t sure he was recognized.

  Not until Flaithrí’s gaze swept over his body and his eyes widened. He held his gloved hand up to stay the ten Adoni warriors who were with him.

  William and Bart moved to stand at Devyl’s back.

  “Friend or foe, Captain?” William asked.

  Devyl scratched at his chin as he considered how to answer. “Not sure.” He narrowed his gaze on the riders. “So what’s it to be, cousin Flowery? Are we friends?”

  His nostrils flared. “Flah-ree,” he ground out between clenched teeth in the lyrical accent that marked all of their race.

  “As I said, Florian—”

  “FLAH-ree!” he growled even louder.

  William laughed. “Well then, nice to know I’m not the only one you antagonize in such a manner.”

  Devyl cut a menacing glare to him.

  He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not questioning your cantankerous nature, Captain. Far be it from me.”

  Crossing his arms, he returned his attention to the matter at hand. “So, cousin Flowery, what’s it to be? Blood or wine?”

  “I hate you, Dón-Dueli. Your mother should have drowned you the moment she went to wash the afterbirth from you.”

  “And yours should have fed you to her hounds.”

  Bart cleared his throat suddenly. “Um, Captain? Not questioning you in any way, sir. But is it wise to antagonize them so, given what’s likely to show any second and renew what we just left?”

  He passed an irritated smirk at Bart. “Given that I be the rightful king of the throne Flowery’s father currently parks his arse upon, aye. I dare them to question me.” He turned back to his cousin. “That not right, Flowery? Or have you finally found the bullocks to behead your father and come for me?”

  He stiffened visibly in his saddle. “What would you have of me … Majesty?” The word was more insult than title of honor.

  Ignoring the slight, Devyl glanced over his shoulder as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

  Gadreyal was about to pierce the veil and come after them. He could feel it like a tangible touch on his skin.

  “You might want to gather up some troops.”

  Flaithrí arched his brow. “Might I inquire as to why?”

  No sooner had he asked the question than Devyl’s enemies brought down the shield and found their way into his grandfather’s realm.

  Devyl smiled coldly at Flaithrí. “No particular reason, other than if you don’t, you’re going to have something a lot worse than me to worry about.”

  19

  Devyl’s men scrambled to their positions as the Iri broke through and spilled into the meadow behind them.

  “Bloody hell,” Flaithrí cursed as he stood in his stirrups to get a better look. Then he cast a hate-filled grimace down to Devyl. “Did you bring the whole lot of those fetid mongrels here?”

  Unsheathing his sword, Devyl shrugged. “Left a few of the smaller ones behind. No need in being greedy.”

  Flaithrí began a rush of epithets for Devyl as he used his powers to summon his enchanted armor. He turned to his companion on the right. “Get to my father and summon the watch force. Tell him what we’ve got. Let’s send these bastards back to where they crawled from.”

  His companion’s dappling horse stretched out wings from its side. He backed the horse up and launched him into flight.

  Devyl summoned his own armor. Now that they were out of the human realm, the rules of engagement were entirely different.

  And they were entirely his.

  “All right, me hearties! Let’s show these futtocking bastards what we Deadmen be made of.” He added fire to his own sword and made ready for battle.

  Time for holding back was gone. They were on dry land and in the realm of his grandfather’s people. If Vine and Gadreyal wanted a fight, he was more than ready to give it.…

  With the full ferocity of his entire lineage burning deep within his heart and gullet. One thing about the Aesir, they caved to none, and nothing lit their fuses brighter than the promise of a good, coming brawl.

  Mara grasped his arm as he started past her. “Duel?”

  Pausing by her side, he waited for her to take him to task for his warring ways.

  Instead, she offered him a winsome smile. “Kick their tossling arses. Don’t get hurt.”

  He lifted the visor of his helm so that he could give her a quick kiss. He should probably show restraint before the others, especially given the amount of shocked gasps he heard, but in the event this was his last moment with her, he didn’t want to die again with another regret.

  Let his men know that he and Mara had finally put the past behind them and come to terms that were agreeable to them both.

  Nay, they were better than agreeable. Better than anything he’d ever hoped to have.

  And if he must die this day, he wanted to go back to his hell with the taste and feel of her lips fresh in his memory. Aye, with that, he could die in peace and be all right.

  Mara fisted her hand in Duel’s hauberk. It took everything she had to make herself let go, knowing he was about to face the Cimmerian army again. How strange that she’d once hated that enchanted black armor—had thought it the ugliest, most vile thing she’d ever laid eyes to. Now, she wished it were thicker and even more enchanted. Anything to keep him safe from harm.

  So she added her own spell to it.

  Please come back to me. Keeping herself together right now was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Especially when what she really wanted was to take on her tree form and wrap herself around him until she was an impenetrable cage that no one would break to get to him.

  If only he’d allow it.…

  His gaze scorched her as he pulled away and gently kissed her hand, then let go. It felt as if he ripped her heart out and carried it with him. Never had anything burned so badly.

  Or cut so deep.

  Without a word, he went toward Sallie.

  “Ready to free your fighting soul, Mr. Lucas?”

  “Be it safe here, Captain?”

  “Indeed. If it wreaks havoc in this realm before, during, or after the battle, more’s the merrier.”

  Sallie cracked a happy grin. “All right, then. Here’s to me blessed mum and to all things what come of good rum!” He uncorked his bottle, and when he did, a fierce, shrieking wind tore out of it. One that quelled and captivated every Deadman near them.

  Better still, it spooked Flaithrí’s and his companions’ horses and dumped an arrogant Flaithrí straight on his arse. And when he rose, he came up cursing everything about Devyl.

  And his men.

  In virtual unison, their jaws dropped as the wind encircled Sallie, transforming him like a jinn into a huge, muscled berserker—complete with long braids and a double-headed axe. One he flexed over his head as he growled in grave invitation of the blood he planned to feed to his weapon this day.

  “God’s pointed bodikin…” Bart turned to Devyl. “You knew about this, Captain?”

  Devyl flashed a wicked grin. “’Course. Captain knows everything about his ship and crew. It’s why I kept telling the lot of you to leave the man’s soul alone afore one of you foolishly let loose the beast in the bottle.”

  Bart choked as he watched Sallie grow to stand even taller than he, and take on the youth that had cruelly been stripped from him when his soul had been savagely severed from his body without his permission.

  Zumari scowled. “I don’t understand.”

  With a knowing grin, Devyl shrugged. “’Twas a curse placed upon him when he came up short a sorcerer years ago. He can only let his soul out when he’s on the battlefield. You don’t want to know what happens when it’s released during peace.”

  “Let them learn it once, Captain,” Sallie said with his own grin. “They’ll never forget it thereafter.”

  “Duly noted.” Bart cleared his throat as he respectfully gave Sallie a bit more room to maneuver. “One more thing, Captain … any pointers on how we’re to win this?”

  “Don’t die. Be the last man standing.”

  “Good to know. Pointers on how to kill them, then?”

  “Cut off the head. If that doesn’t work? Run like hell, preferably faster than the poor bloke beside you. Might want to consider tripping him if he proves to be faster.”

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