The red aura sheathing Bale flared brighter. Muscles rose on his frame, monstrous, swelling, growing larger. His arms thickened, muscles building, turning him into a hulking human monstrosity.
The beasts hesitated. They were closer to animals than to humans, and their instincts told them here was a primal force not to be fucked with. They knew a better beast when they saw him.
“What the hell is that?” Bishop whispered.
“Battle warp,” Hugh told him.
The berserker’s eyes bulged, his face contorted by rage in a grotesque mask. Bale roared.
The first mrog lunged at the berserker. Bale brained it with one swing. Blood and brains sprayed. The second mrog charged in. The first swing broke its shoulder; the second crushed its skull like an eggshell. Blood sprayed.
Bale bellowed something that didn’t belong to any language a human used.
The mrogs charged. The furry dark mass smashed into Bale and broke on his mace like a storm tide upon a wave breaker. The berserker howled, snarling like a rabid animal, and pounded them with his mace, cracking bones, crushing skulls, smashing flesh. Bodies flew and smashed against the buildings.
The fog flooded in, but Bale’s red glow fought through it like a beacon of rage. The street in front of it churned with bodies. Shrieks and yowls rose in a din. Along the periphery, flashes of weapons cut at the fog – Bale’s berserkers carving at the edges of the horde while they focused on Bale.
In the east two mrogs jumped out of the fog and climbed up Dollar General’s wall. The archers peppered them with arrows, but the mrogs kept climbing. They reached the roof. Four Iron Dogs stepped forward and drove their blades into the mrogs. Two furry bodies fell to the street. Three more jumped out of the fog, climbing up, then another two. Bishop raised his crossbow, sighted, and fired. A sorcerous bolt whined, slicing through the air, and bit into the back of the center mrog. The bolt flashed green and exploded, taking three other mrogs with it. The building quaked but stood.
Stoyan slid off the roof and down the ladder. The fog gulped him, and he vanished.
Fighting broke out here and there as individual teams saw their chance and stabbed at the passing mrogs in the fog. A human shriek sliced the fog from the left, then another, followed by eerie howling and yelps of pain. Another ragged scream, from the north this time, followed by more cries.
The four lines of fighters remained where they were.
“What are they waiting for?” Bishop asked.
“They’re used to relying on mrogs to do most of the fighting,” Hugh said. “We cut them off from their hounds, so they are waiting for them to bleed us. Once we’re injured enough, they will move in for the kill.”
The slaughter raged. Bishop kept firing, choosing his targets carefully, sometimes with sorcerous bolts, sometimes plain. Hugh smelled blood now, rising from the streets. It lashed at him, pushing him to fight, to act, to do something. Instead he waited.
Elara hugged her shoulders. She stood on the balcony in her quarters. In front of her the land stretched, the forest rolling into the distance, the isolated knobs silhouetted against the evening sky. By now the enemy would have attacked Aberdine.
By now Hugh would be fighting.
The worry gnawed on her. A part of her hated him for it. She wanted him back, alive, in one piece.
When she’d thought of her future husband, which she hadn’t done often, she’d always defaulted to this vague idea of a nice man. He would be kind, and calm, and he would treat her with respect, and their relationship would be peaceful and without any sharp edges. Instead she got this asshole, who made her see red at least once a day. Hugh d’Ambray was as far from nice as you could get and still remain human.
And if she could, she would sprout wings and fly to damn Aberdine to make sure he didn’t die some stupid death.
Ugh. UGH.
The familiar sound of light feet made her turn. Johanna walked into the room.
“What is it?”
“There is a problem with the pumps.”
“There can’t be a problem with the pumps.” Elara marched out of the room.
A gust of wind pulled at Hugh’s hair. The wind was rising. The fog below thinned. He could see faint outlines of the streets and Dugas and his druids below. Dugas had traded his staff for a spear. His apprentices, two men and two women, held blades, flanking him and the cauldron.
On the field the mrog troops split. Two front lines peeled off with the commander in the lead, moving east at a fast march. The remaining two lines swung toward the western gate, reforming as they moved.
A young brown-skinned girl came running out of the fog, her eyes wide. Three mrogs loped after her.
Stoyan stepped out of the fog and sliced at the mrogs. The beasts screeched, raking at him with their claws. The centurion carved at them with methodical precision, sinking his blade into flesh. Blood poured.
Hugh ignored the snarls, concentrating on the troop movement. The eastern force reformed into a rectangle, eight soldiers wide, five rows deep.
Stoyan climbed the ladder and landed next to him, splattered with blood.
The western formation swung north, closing in on the other gate. The eastern formation advanced. He didn’t expect the split. No matter. He could adjust.
The archers fired from the rooftops at the eastern formation. As one, the soldiers snapped their shields up and to the front, covering themselves like a turtle. A testudo.
The arrows glanced off the shields. On the Wells Fargo rooftop, Renata Rover barked out a short command. “Stop firing. Save your arrows.”
“A shield wall,” Stoyan said softly. “You were right. East or West?”
“East,” Hugh told him.
Stoyan nodded, slid down the ladder, and disappeared into the firehouse.
“They’re planning to hit us from both gates,” Bishop said. “Like pincers.”
“Yes, they are.”
The shield wall crawled forward.
In the west, the second testudo approached the gate.
The western gate exploded into flames. The wood went up instantly, as if it were tissue paper thrown into a bonfire. The metal holding the thick boards together melted. Their magic packed a hell of a wallop.
Bishop swore.
The eastern gate went up in a flash of crimson fire.
So that was the end game. Burn them from both ends, pushing the defenders toward the center of town, where they would be crushed between two walls of steel. One flaw in that plan. The mrog soldiers still thought they were facing farmers.
The remnants of the western gate collapsed onto the street, breaking apart. The testudo moved forward, through the fire, boots grinding the embers into the pavement. The shield wall crawled forward and stopped. Someone barked a guttural command and the rectangular formation split, revealing the commander and two officers flanking him. He towered over them by at least half a foot.
Big bastard.
The officers sucked in a lungful of air and spat torrents of fire at the Dollar General and the bank across the street.
They spat napalm-grade fire. Perfect. Just perfect.
“There he is,” Oscar said.
Elara took a step forward. A gaunt shape crouched atop the pump station at the edge of the lake. A vampire. She felt no others in the area.
They hadn’t warded the pump station. They should have. It was set up in a hurry, and now they paid the price for it. The undead could’ve killed Oscar. The older mechanic was supposed to keep an eye on the pump station. That was a death she could’ve prevented. She would kill the undead and correct the oversight before Hugh came back.
The undead watched her with glowing red eyes. In the twilight, its grotesque form looked even more eerie. It sat on top of the pump station, emanating magic that felt like a fetid smear, like someone had taken a rotting piece of greasy meat and rubbed it all over the station’s roof.
“You have some nerve,” she said.
The undead straightened. His mout
h stretched open and a clear male voice came through. “Ms. Harper. I’ve come to discuss business.”
“You and I have no business to discuss. And it’s Mrs. Mrs. d’Ambray.”
“But I think we do. My name is Landon Nez. I have a proposition for you.”
Oscar raised his crossbow. “Would you like me to shoot him?”
Even the best navigators only had a range of several miles. That meant Nez was close. Nez came “in person.” There was no good reason for him to be here unless he was planning something. She had to find out what it was.
“Oscar,” she said. “Give us some privacy.”
Oscar backed away about fifty yards. That was as far as he would be willing to go.
“We both know that this marriage is a sham,” Nez said. “I understand why you agreed to it. At the time it must’ve seemed like the right strategic move. But now you’ve had a chance to live with d’Ambray under the same roof. The man is violent and unstable.”
Nez paused. She didn’t say anything. If you kept quiet, the other person usually kept talking to fill the silence.
“I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. D’Ambray has one purpose and one purpose only: to destroy. When Roland wanted to take over a location, he would use Hugh as a bulldozer to level the existing power structure. By the time d’Ambray was done and Roland entered, the people hailed him as a savior.”
“Does your employer know how you talk about him to outsiders?”
“I’m giving you the courtesy of frank exchange, Ms. Harper. D’Ambray cannot build; he can only wreck. He has been doing it longer than you’ve been alive.”
Hugh had built the Iron Dogs. She had watched him work with them every day. But rushing to Hugh’s defense wasn’t in her best interests. Not if she wanted to keep Nez talking.
“The man isn’t without guile,” Nez continued. “He can be shrewd and hard to kill, but in the end, he always reverts to his true nature. Do you know what he was doing before he came to you with his marriage proposal? He was drinking himself to death. He bounced from one hellhole to the next, earning just enough to get drunk. I personally have seen him stagger out of a bar reeking of urine and vomit and fall asleep in a ditch. With nothing left to demolish, he dedicated his talents to destroying himself.”
And yet, you fear him enough to personally keep an eye on him.
“D’Ambray is an animal. If you allow him to nest under your roof, he will eventually destroy everything you’ve built.”
“Is there an offer on the table or are we just discussing my husband’s finer points?”
The vampire shifted. “Abandon d’Ambray to his fate and I will leave Baile in peace.”
She laughed. “Just like that? You’ve been trying to run us off this land for months and now suddenly you changed your mind?”
“Hugh d’Ambray is a higher priority target. I’m willing to let go of your castle if it means I get d’Ambray.”
“Why do you want my castle?”
“That’s not important. I’m offering you a way to keep your people safe from me at a price you not only can afford but would welcome. I suggest you take it.”
“And I would trust you why?”
“Unlike d’Ambray, I’m a man of my word. Of course, I’m willing to formalize this arrangement via contract. A peace treaty of sorts, if you will.”
“And how do I know this peace treaty is binding? Nothing prevents you from attacking us the moment you find it convenient.”
“Fair point. In addition to the formal agreement, I’m offering an additional incentive. The town of Aberdine has overextended itself. They borrowed, quite heavily, to build their wall and clinic and they’ve put up their municipal land as collateral. I’ve bought their debt. In simple terms, I own Aberdine. I’m willing to sell it to you for a nominal sum. Let’s say, a dollar.”
What else did he buy? “What am I supposed to do with Aberdine?”
“Oh come on now, Ms. Harper. No need to demur. The town has been problematic for you and they control the only access to the ley line passable by truck. All of your shipping goes through them. You can hold the threat of bankruptcy over their heads and have the town council be your willing slaves. You can turn the town into a cash cow and collect the loan payments, which come with significant interest. You can move your people into Aberdine and expand. You can force them to move and turn the main street into a parking lot. It is entirely up to you. Whichever course you choose, Aberdine will no longer be a problem.”
She would do none of it. “It’s a tempting offer.”
“It is.”
“However, I married d’Ambray. You’re asking me to go back on my word.”
The vampire smiled. The sight was enough to give most people nightmares. “It would hardly be the first time for you.”
Bastard. “Still, there are contracts. What happens if I say no?”
“I’ll assault Baile directly and kill every living thing I find in its walls.”
He said it so casually, as if it had already happened.
“In that case, why bargain with me at all?”
Nez sighed. “Vampires are expensive, Ms. Harper. Make no mistake, I will take Baile. Water and walls are not a barrier to the undead. However, the People would sustain a significant financial loss, and nothing inside your castle is valuable enough to offset it.”
If she had nothing valuable, then why did he keep trying to force her out before Hugh showed up?
“Suppose I say yes. How exactly do you envision this happening? I can divorce d’Ambray, but there’s the small matter of three hundred trained killers who won’t like being put out on the street.”
“Three hundred trained killers who depend on you for their rations, water, and shelter.”
He wanted her to poison the Iron Dogs. Elara smiled. “I need to think about your proposal. Do you have anything in writing?”
A large envelope hit the ground next to her. She picked it up. How much time could she ask for? The more time she bought, the better prepared they would be, but asking for too much would show her hand. He would simply push the timeline forward.
“I’ll need at least two weeks,” she told him. “My legal council needs to review the documents and we’ll have to make some inquiries in Aberdine. Until then, I don’t want to see you anywhere near Baile. Do not interfere with the operation of the pumps. My husband is difficult when he’s agitated.”
“Two weeks from now,” Nez said. “Same time, same place. You’re a smart woman, Ms. Harper. Make the right choice for your people.”
The undead leapt away and took off into the night. She walked back to Oscar. The mechanic looked at her.
“Have you ever noticed, Oscar, that when people say, ‘You’re a smart woman,’ what they really mean to say is ‘But I am smarter?’”
Oscar smiled at her.
“Weren’t there some Iron Dogs guarding the station?”
“There were. Two of them fellahs. They’re sleeping under that oak over there.”
Elara sighed. “Oscar…”
“You know how I like the quiet. Evening, that’s me time.”
“They were supposed to be here for your protection.”
“I know, I know. They looked tired anyway.”
“You better wake them up. And don’t magic them back to sleep either.”
Oscar sighed. “What do I do if that undead shitweasel comes back?”
“Shoot him and let the ‘fellahs’ do the rest. These pumps must keep working, do you understand me, Oscar? Keep the water flowing.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Elara thought of fussing at him about the “my lady” bit, but she had bigger fish to fry. It was only her imagination, but the envelope in her hands was too heavy and she couldn’t wait to put it down.
The concrete wall of Dollar General began to sag. The archers on the roof shied back, trying to escape the heat.
The eastern gate collapsed.
“What do we do?” Bishop was lookin
g at him, wild-eyed. “They’re going to burn us alive.”
The eastern shield wall crawled up Main Street. The archers from the rooftops fired a few arrows, but the missiles just glanced off the shields. As expected. Attacking them head on would do no good either.
The testudo kept moving, unstoppable behind its wall of steel. In the west, the two lieutenants spat more fire, hosing the buildings down.
“What do we do?” Bishop repeated.
“Ring the bell,” Hugh told him.
Bishop stared at him.
“We have a fire,” Hugh told him. “Ring the fire bell.”
The police chief swore, turned to the roof tower, and rang the bell. It tolled, a surprisingly high note. The doors of the firehouse snapped open. The snarl of an enchanted engine pealed like thunder. A firetruck sped out of the firehouse with Stoyan at the wheel, turned left, and hurtled down the street, picking up speed. The eastern shield wall had no place to go. The truck rammed into them at fifty miles an hour, scattering armored men like pinballs. Stoyan punched through the center of the formation, reversed, and doubled back, mowing them down.
Welcome to the 21st century.
The Iron Dogs streamed from the side streets onto the broken formation. Fighting broke out, as they jumped the enemy three, four to one.
The western shield wall started forward.
Perfect. That’s what he’d been waiting for. He had to check them now. It needed to be quick and brutal. Take the head, and the body should run.
Hugh slid down the ladder and walked into the street. The war drums rose, followed by howling horns. Behind him the street turned black as the Iron Dogs emerged from the streets and houses.
The two front lines of mrog soldiers dropped to their knees, revealing the commander and two officers.
The commander watched him approach from behind two lines of his troops, his face impassive. Thicker armor, long heavy sword, twenty-seven-inch blade, double edged. Simple but effective.