Valhellions, p.9
Valhellions, page 9
Panels folded out of the side of the shield. One sliced a spear in half as it flew past, sending the shaft clattering across the stage and into Mr. Valhalla’s voluminous chest. He was looking at me with growing concern. The blossoming shield hid him and his majestic smile from my view, as it wrapped around me, quickly enveloping me in a cocoon of solid steel. It even sealed at the top, until I was thoroughly protected from the valkyries’ attack.
The sound of spears shattering against my shield continued for a few moments. I slumped against the inside of my bulwark until the deadly rain subsided, breathing heavily, thankful for the rest.
“Egress in five seconds,” the shield whispered. It never spoke to me at any other time. I had to wonder why it bothered now. I nodded and grabbed the enarme straps that hung from the middle of my steel tomb. “Four . . . three . . . two . . .”
I closed my eyes and braced for impact. On “One!” the panels of the shield blew outward, sending the remnants of the cloud of spears into the crowd and showering the valkyries with the splinters of their own failure. It also only left me with a single panel, a shield slightly smaller than my usual heater and completely drained of its magical power. It was the kind of thing I had to recharge back in my domain, like Matthew’s Brilliance, or Tembo’s flames, or Gregory’s . . . hair care products, I guess?
The crowd sat in stunned silence, staring at me. Splinters and bits of broken spear stuck out of their finely braided hair, and poked through their armor. The panels of the shield had blown far and wide, burying themselves into pillars or the ground. The rest of the Knight Watch team slowly got off the ground. They must have dived for cover when I castled up, familiar as they were with the final form of that transformation. There was a Mr. Valhalla–shaped gap in the debris cloud, and the man himself stood to one side, shaking splinters out of his beard. For the first time since I had met the man, he was not smiling. I laughed.
“Ha! How you like that? Huh? Whatcha think of me now, kids? Not what you were expecting, was it? Was it!” I shouted. From the wings, Aelwulf pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head sadly.
Because it is never wise to taunt valkyries. Especially when they still have around a hundred spears to throw at you, and your magic shield is out of juice.
Let me repeat: one hundred spears. They only needed the first twenty. The rest were for the fun of it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aelwulf stood over me, his face creased in concern. Not, I suspected, concern for me, but rather concern at the inconvenience of having to mop another pool of blood off his precious stage. Matthew knelt beside him, shoving things back into me and tutting quietly to himself. Finally, he flared a cloud of Brilliance. I felt my bones knit back together.
“There we go, big guy,” Saint Matthew said gently. “Good as new.”
He helped me into a sitting position, then grabbed me as I toppled over in the other direction, then braced me again as I simply collapsed in place. He poured another draught of Brilliance into my skin to finish his work. But it did nothing for my pride, or my decency. I was wearing half a sock, which was just enough to preserve my privacy, though that ship had sailed long ago. Happily, the valkyries had not tried to kill me. They had simply humiliated me, then left Knight Watch to clean up the mess.
“You look well enough to walk,” Aelwulf said. “Come. They must continue the competition.”
“So I didn’t win?”
“Most certainly not. Quickly now.”
He led us to a small tent behind the stage, apparently where the competitors prepared their armor before the contest. As soon as we got there, I sat in the middle of the floor, while the rest of Knight Watch paced around or lounged on uncomfortable stools. Maybe Vikings don’t understand comfort? I wondered. Esther sat across from me, her arms folded and a distant look in her eye. Aelwulf stood in the entrance of the tent.
“Is there anything else you will need at the moment?” he asked. “Because I have shield-breaking to arrange, and someone is going to have to slaughter the evening’s boar . . .”
“You’re free to go,” Esther said. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”
Aelwulf disappeared, letting the tent flap fall shut. Esther let out a long sigh.
“Sorry, boss,” I said. “I did my best.”
“Given the circumstances, you performed admirably. Just, in the future . . .”
“Yeah, leave the taunting to things that aren’t divine beings, especially ones that are famous for holding a grudge. Got it,” I said. “Between Greg’s drowning and Tembo getting his ash kicked, it doesn’t seem like we did a good job.”
“You weren’t supposed to win. All you needed to do was enter and not die,” Esther said. “So one out of two ain’t bad. It was also a good opportunity for the ladies and me to take a look around. Speaking of which . . .” She looked at Chesa and Bethany, her brows raising.
“We looked around,” Bethany said. She poked her fingers together bashfully. “Just . . . maybe not at the things we were supposed to be looking at.”
“Did you find anything while we were playing the fool for the crowds?” I asked. No offense to the Vikings, but I wanted to get out of Valhalla as soon as I could.
“I’m pretty sure the sword is hanging over the throne, along with every other damned blade this side of the river Styx,” Esther said. “Hiding in plain sight, I suppose. But there’s no way of knowing. And too many valkyries around to get a good look.”
“You think it might be a fake?” Chesa asked.
“Or not there at all. You saw that wall. There are a lot of swords up there,” Esther answered. “That’s the first place I want the three of you to look tonight.”
“I have questions about that,” I said. “Are we really just going to walk in there when everyone is asleep and hope no one wakes up?”
“I promise you, no one is going to wake up. They’ll be dead,” Esther answered. “The honored dead fight until nightfall, then spend the night dead and rise again in the morning. The valkyries spend the nights scouring the lands for warriors worthy of Valhalla.”
“Can’t be that many of those on the earth,” Chesa said.
“Mostly they troll the voice comms on various Call of Duty servers,” Esther said. “Point is, they won’t be around to get in our way. You’ll have free rein of the place. I want you to find that sword and steal it.” When Matthew gave her a disapproving look, Esther shrugged. “For safekeeping, of course.”
“Of course. And when we have the sword, what are we supposed to do?”
“Hide it? Or find another way out that doesn’t involve dying. Look, the valkyries won’t be there to bother you, and everyone else will be dead. What could go wrong?”
When someone asks you “What could go wrong?” the answer is always “SO MANY THINGS!” Especially when you’re dealing with valkyries, and necromancer swords, and zombie Vikings. But at the moment I didn’t have any specific examples, or at least none that Esther would accept as evidence. She wouldn’t even leave Matthew behind, just in case things went south and we needed a healer.
“We’ll actually need to get him into his domain,” she said. “You know. In the extremely unlikely event that something does go wrong, we’ll need the healer full of light.”
Which of course was correct, but it also left me alone with an unmagical mage and a swordsman who could barely lift his sword. Did I mention that my particular skill was defending other people? Yeah, and my armor was scattered ten ways to Sunday, my shield was tapped out, and I was dressed in a sheet.
Nothing could go wrong with this.
Esther said our good-byes to Runa, then we marched back to the Naglfr. Mr. Valhalla shouted at us to “GET OUT!” and “COME BACK WITH REAL MEN!,” which felt great. We took off and, as soon as our escort circled back to the mead hall, Esther dove beneath the clouds and dropped the three of us off at the base of the mountain. We hiked back to the little plateau overlooking the great tree and settled in for the night.
“This is a pretty terrible situation,” Gregory said. I was beginning to believe his magic really was connected to his hair care routine, because his locks hung in dreary loops across his forehead, having lost their luster. Somehow that made me feel better. “I can’t believe she just left us here.”
“We are perfectly safe, once night falls,” Tembo said. “Like Esther said, the dead will die, and the valkyries will leave. We should have the beer hall to ourselves.”
“And what do we do once we find the sword?” Greg asked. “Are we really stealing it?”
“If we can get to it, you’d think the bad guys could as well,” I said. “I like the idea of taking it. At least until this whole thing blows over.”
“That would go badly if we’re caught,” Tembo said.
“You think it’s going to go well if we don’t steal the sword and get caught?” I asked. “Way I see it, if we’re going to bring down the wrath of a couple hundred valkyries, we might as well get a magic sword out of it.”
“So we steal the sword, and then what?” Greg asked. “How do we get out of here?”
Silence fell over our little group. I looked to Tembo, hoping he had already worked this out. He had not.
“I might be able to open a portal to my domain,” Tembo said. “If not, then I’m sure Esther will think of something.”
“Or she expects us to get caught after the fact. She just wants us to confirm the sword is safe,” I said, as all hope and joy fled my fragile bosom. “Typical.”
“At least Matthew will be fully charged when we get home,” Greg said. “However we get home.”
I grunted and fell silent. We watched as night slowly fell over Valhalla. The singing from the hall below us slowly died out, until the only sound was the wind brushing through the mountains, and the rustle of golden leaves from the massive tree. After a few moments, the doors to Valhalla opened, and the host of valkyries flooded out in a thunder of wings and laughter. They arced up into the sky, breaking into smaller and smaller groups as they fled toward the horizon, until the air was filled with nothing but stars and the silent, silver face of the moon.
“Okay,” Greg said, standing up from his hiding place and stretching the kinks out of his back. “Let’s get this done.”
We made for a pretty pathetic raiding party. Three men hobbling down the mountainside like lame soldiers coming home to die. Tembo had his magic staff in hand, but instead of using it to cast fireballs or summon protective barriers, he leaned hard against it with each step. Gregory d’Backspasm limped along, doubled over in pain, his face pale and waxy. And as for me, well. I was wearing a sheet.
At least we were armed. Both Greg and I had our swords, though he clutched his zweihander to his chest like it was a baby. I was worried the massive sword would topple him over if he tried to wield it. My shield clattered against my back. I hadn’t tried to do any magic with it since the armor competition, but it felt like there was nothing left. At least it was still good metal.
We reached the grassy plain and paused to catch our breath. I had a cramp in my leg that ran all the way up my hip, into my back, and deep into my soul. Greg stared sightlessly at the ground, breathing hard enough to swallow the sky. Tembo . . . just looked old. After a few moments of quiet suffering, we headed inside.
The silence was eerie. The dead bodies were eerier. The fact that I had to deal with all of this while wearing nothing more than a sheet was simply degrading, and not eerie at all. But it didn’t make things better.
The flickering of flames and our nervous footsteps were the only sounds. Bodies piled on top of bodies covered the benches and slumped onto the rush-covered floor. At least one deceased reveler had toppled into the fire, and was slowly smoldering. I kicked him out of the flames, wrinkling my nose at the smell of burned meat.
“We should probably leave them where they fall,” Greg said. “Don’t want the valkyries knowing we were here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, next time you’re lying facedown in a firepit,” I said.
“Stop bickering,” Tembo said. “We’re here to find the sword.”
We wove our way through the makeshift cairns, trying to find our way back to the throne. The hall was a disorienting place, much larger inside than out, and now that it was filled wall to wall with corpses, it was really hard to navigate.
I kept looking at the bodies as we passed. They could have been asleep, except a lot of them still had their eyes open, and none of them were breathing. But I didn’t see any signs of violence.
“We still don’t have a plan for getting out of here, do we?” Greg asked.
“Let’s worry about that after we’ve found the sword. Speaking of which . . .” Tembo slowed down, ducking behind a mound of glistening muscle and beard. I noticed it was Mr. Valhalla, staring sightlessly at the fire, his hands folded in his lap. Even dead, he was a frightening presence. “Quiet, folks. I think we’re almost there.”
The area around the throne was clear of bodies. I found that a little strange, considering the absolute litter of deceased man-flesh everywhere else, but maybe there was something special about the three seats that even reincarnated Vikings respected. We walked up to the firepit that lay in front of the thrones and looked up.
“We’re supposed to search through all of those? It’s going to take days,” Greg said. “How do we even know it’s here?”
“Because this is where Esther said it would be,” I answered. “Besides, this is supposed to be every blade that killed one of these Vikings. At least one of them must have fallen to this total-shriek thing.”
“Totenschreck,” Tembo grumbled. “And I don’t think we’re going to have to look too far.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
Tembo pointed up at the wall. There, among the hand axes, chipped-stone daggers, Celtic swords, Norman swords, Roman swords, Rus swords, scimitars, arrow points, and at least one bullet hole, was a blank space. Something had been there. The stump-end of one of the piled logs still bore the mark of a thrust blade, and the wood beneath it was stained with blood.
Totenschreck was already gone. We were too late.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I stared at the jagged gap in the wall of swords. Surely Esther would have noticed that earlier? Or Runa? Which meant the thief had taken the sword sometime after the valkyries left for their evening of scouring Call of Duty servers for worthy knights. Which meant . . .
“We have to get out of here,” I said. “Like, now.”
“Not without that sword,” Gregory said. “We made a promise to Esther.”
“I don’t remember making a promise,” I said. “I remember getting dumped in Valhalla without my pants, while the girls skipped out. We looked for the sword. It’s not here. Time to scram.”
“They are still saying ‘scram’?” Tembo asked. “Fascinating. I would have thought that phrase had passed into obscurity by now.”
“It has,” Gregory said. “Sir John is just a nerd.”
“Okay, okay, whatever. We’re all playing dress-up at the end of the world, but I’m the nerd. Whatever.” I rubbed my face, then looked around the throne. “The point is that the sword isn’t here. So I think we pivot to the escape plan. What do you say?”
“I say we might have to take a detour in our plan,” Tembo said. He was facing away from the wall of swords. “We are not alone.”
“Of course we’re alone. The Viking-bois are dead and the valkyries are doing a girls-night-out thing. Who else is there?” I asked.
“I was going to ask you the same question.” The edgelord from the Ren faire stepped out from behind the slumped bulk of Mr. Valhalla. His armor had gone through an upgrade. Glossy black gauntlets and shoulder guards riveted directly to a Victorian-style leather longcoat, worn over Viking-style leather armor. The visor of his helm was forged to look like a face, impassive and pale, eyes and mouth grotesquely large to allow the wearer to breathe and see. Behind the mask I could see red-rimmed sockets and a mouth clenched in a rictus of pain or rage or both. As he walked, the edgelord limped slightly.
He was carrying Totenschreck. The version he bore in the Mickleville Community Center was just a prop made to look like the monstrosity he now wielded. The scabbard was black leather with silver at locket and chape, and the finial at the tip of the scabbard was a spike that looked like it could put Dracula in the ground. The sword belt hung in loose loops in his other hand. All I could see of the sword itself was the hilt, handle, and pommel, but they looked like weathered ivory. Tembo made a hissing sound at the sight of it. My own reaction was more violent.
“Playtime’s over, you creep!” I stepped boldly forward, drawing my sword from the makeshift scabbard at my hip and swinging my shield onto my arm. “I don’t know how you got in here, or what you think you’re going to do with that sword, but Knight Watch is here! And we’re going to stop you!”
“You are?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Oh, well then. I surrender.”
“You do?”
“Yes, of course. Knight Watch. A very intimidating prospect. And there are three of you,” he said. “The warden, whose magical shield I will certainly never get past. And the mage. Why, I’m surprised my skin isn’t already burned to a crisp, with the likes of Tembo on hand. And finally, the knight, with his mighty sword. A pity it couldn’t have been Clarence. That would have been some kind of poetic justice.” He gestured magnanimously. “Three of you, and only one of me. I am surely defeated. Why resist?”
“Well. Good. We accept your surrender,” I said, though I noticed he hadn’t really moved.
“Except! Except for one thing. You aren’t really the warden right now, are you?” With a song of steel and leather, he drew Totenschreck and pointed it at me, tip unwavering as it drew a line to my heart. The blade was made of some kind of sickly green metal, and glowed with inner fire. “The magic of your shield is used up, isn’t it? And I suspect the reason Tembo has not already burned me to cinders is simply that he is out of gas. Aren’t you, mage?”
