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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Chesa caught up with me after a dozen strides. She ran easily alongside me. I mean, I was in full armor, with shield and sword, while she was in jeans and a T-shirt. But still, it was a little embarrassing.

“What the hell do you mean, John?” she shouted over the sound of my laborious breathing and the rattle of my armor.

“What’s the first thing we did when we joined Knight Watch?”

“Failed our roll to Disbelieve.”

“Besides that.” I shouldered aside a German soldier whose face was torn off at the jaw. “To establish our powers, and ensure our place in the Unreal. Think trees.”

“Our domains?” she asked.

“Our domains. And if these aren’t valkyries, but a bunch of wannabe grimdark cosplayers trying to carve out their own place in the Unreal . . . ” I let the implication hang.

“They’ll need to establish a domain. You think that’s why they took ours down?”

“I think that’s something to do with it, but—” I took a gasping breath, then spat to the side. “Look, can we talk about this later? After the running?”

“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll see you at the top!”

She took off, long legs eating up the hill in bounding strides. I groaned and stumbled to a stop. My lungs were on fire, and my heart felt like it was going to punch its way straight out of my chest.

“Don’t make me do the celerity trick again, John,” Matthew said as he trotted past. “You don’t want that kind of sunburn, do you?”

The celerity trick was when he made me superfast to kill some tree-monsters a few months back. Thing was, the air didn’t get out of the way fast enough, and I ended up with a sunburn an inch deep and super-superbright. I groaned again at the memory, but rumbled up the hill after Chesa and the saint.

“Bloody cloth-wearers,” I mumbled to myself. “Always prancing around without a care in the world.”

As we approached the crown of the hill, the circle of valhellions broke and strolled in our direction. They formed a loose line between us and the edgelord. There was a clear area around the top of the hill, kind of like a tree line except . . . with zombies. Shortly after we cleared the zombie-line, I stumbled to a halt. The others were waiting.

We formed a semicircle, facing off with the valkyries. I stood at the center, with Chesa to my right and Matthew hanging back a little. The saint’s glowing skin turned the grass a brilliant shade of emerald. Our two groups stood warily, measuring each other. I saw the two thin valkyries we had just faced, Veldi and Leddi, along with two others, one with soft tan skin and distinctly Asian features, while the other wore her copper hair short, and had so many freckles along her cheeks and exposed arms that she could have been orange. The stout valkyrie stood at their center, apparently recovered from our attack. Her wings were gone, though, and instead of a spear she carried two light hand-axes. She grinned cheerfully as we gathered ourselves.

“They sure look like valkyries to me,” Chesa said, eyeing the skirmish line of winged warriors. “Are you sure about this, John?”

“No. But it’s a good theory,” I said. “And let’s be honest. Either I’m right, and they’re nothing more than a bunch of punks trying to trick their way into the Unreal, or they’re actual valkyries who have gone completely rogue and need to be put down. Either way, we’re the ones who are going to stop them.”

“You are going to try to stop us,” Stout said. “And we are going to try to kill you. What happens, only the gods truly know.”

“Not a fan of destiny, personally!” I shouted across the gap between us. “I’d rather make my own fate.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. All that matters is how you fight, and how you die,” Stout answered. She raised her axes in grim invitation. “So let us see, John Rast. Show us that you are worthy of the new Valhalla!”

“She’s baiting us,” Matthew whispered.

“And I’m taking it,” I said, then rushed forward.

The four flanking valkyries lowered their spears like a Greek phalanx, broad tips pointed at my chest. Engaging the magic of my shield, I folded the buckler out into a Roman scutum, tall and cylindrical. The spears slid off the convex front of the shield, and then I was past the pointy bits and running by their ashen hafts. I heard Stout shout an order, and the spears dropped into the grass. The sound of swords sliding from scabbards filled the air.

Having broken their spear line, I snapped the enarme straps of the shield, transforming the shield all the way down into a buckler, not much larger than my fist. The valkyries stood right in front of me, swords and round shields in hand, ready to butcher me. I shouted, punched at the shield of the copper-haired valkyrie, then spun around to meet Veldi’s attack with the hilt of my sword. Another sword banged off my shoulder, pushing me off-balance. I met another shield with my face, but got my own shield up in time to deflect the follow-up slice that would have cut my skull in half.

Two on one is tough. Five on one is impossible. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone.

A hail of arrows from my right turned the ground into a bristling thicket of fletching, thudding into valkyrie shields and finding at least one target in Leddi’s thick valkyrie thigh. She screamed in pain, then snapped the shaft of the arrow with her sword and charged at Chesa. There was a brief exchange of arrows and insults as Chesa fell back, but finally my ex had to drop her bow and draw the twin crescent blades. All I could hear was a symphony of steel and ladylike grunting. Chesa could handle herself. I had other concerns.

Veldi and the copper valkyrie ran at me, shields up and swords over their heads. The viking sword is incredibly sharp, designed to chop through thick leather, flesh, and bone without breaking stride. Even the ring mail that the hosts of Valhalla wore couldn’t stand up to it. But magically forged steel plate was another matter. I met Veldi’s attack with my shield, but let Copper get past my defenses. Eager, she struck down hard on my shoulder, expecting to slice clean through to my lungs. The steel face of my pauldron turned the blade aside, dimpling with the force of the blow but holding solid. Her arm slipped over mine as she overreached, falling forward until her armpit was flat against my elbow.

“Sorry, lady,” I said, then twisted away from her, bringing my sword through the meat of her underarm. I felt the blade slice through tricep and pectoral. Her arm flopped limp, and her screams reached the sky. I kicked her aside and turned my attention to Veldi.

“The mortal has some bite,” Veldi said. “This is good. I was starting to worry that—”

I punched her with the rim of my shield, blocked her swing with my sword, twisted both blades over my head, and then stabbed down. The tip of my blade caught her in the shoulder, severing ring mail and cracking her shoulder open. She screamed and backpedaled, sword arm hanging limp at her side.

“Too much talking,” I said.

“This is as far as you go, John Rast,” Stout said, stepping between me and the retreating Veldi. “You’ve had a good run. But I have already taken your measure.” She fell into a fighting stance. “This strand of fate is already cut.”

“You’re saying that I’m a frayed knot?” I asked. “See. Afraid not? It’s good, right?”

“You are funny, John. And cute. But that is not going to save your life.”

“Have we . . . have we met?” I asked. I looked from her to the other valkyrie. Neither looked familiar. “I feel like I would remember.”

Stout and Tan stalked toward me, spreading out as they got close. I started to fall back, but then realized I would be exposing Matthew, who wasn’t wasn’t much use in this kind of fight. But if I stayed where I was, the two valkyries would flank me. As good as my armor was, getting stabbed in the back would definitely put a crimp in my plans for staying alive. Triggering the magic in my shield one more time, I expanded the buckler into a kite, giving me some protection for my legs while maximizing maneuverability. I couldn’t just stand here. I had to go on the offensive.

Tan was closer, so I lunged in her direction. Apparently expecting this, she fell back, and I was barely able to spin around and meet Stout’s attack. She spun both axes at me, coming down on my shield in a quick succession of blows that shivered the bones in my shield-arm, the impact traveling through my shoulder into my lungs. I blindly stabbed out with my sword, contacting something hard and impervious. Just then, Tan slammed her shield into my backside. I went to my knees, flailing to one side as I tried to drive Tan back with my sword while still holding off Stout and her flying axes of doom. A solid blow skittered off my helm. Blood filled my mouth, and the sound of funeral bells echoed through my skull. Blindly, I kicked at a pair of muscular legs, then scooted backward. Twin shadows loomed over me.

“You’ve been a good hero, John. But not good enough,” Stout said.

An arrow sprouted from Stout’s shoulder, then another from her forearm. She and Tan whirled to face Chesa, bringing up their shields just in time to catch three more rapidly fired shots. I breathed a sigh of relief. Chesa stood twenty yards away, one foot braced on the unconscious form of Leddi, shooting as fast as she could put arrow to string and draw.

“I’m getting tired of her interruptions. Take care of her, will you?” Stout growled. “See that the elf whelp doesn’t get the better of you. I can take care of this one.”

“See that you do,” Tan answered. Then, huddling behind her shield, she hurried toward Chesa.

“Stand up, Rast. We aren’t done just yet.”

“You know, it bothers me that you and the creepy grimdark dude all seem to know my name, but I have to call you Shorty,” I said, scrambling to my feet.

“My name doesn’t matter to you. The skalds will know it, once the new Valhalla has been established, and my reign begins.”

“So that’s what this is all about? You don’t like bowing to Runa?” We both knew I was stalling for time, but she didn’t seem to care. I glanced over her shoulder at the edgelord. He was performing some kind of ritual with the potato sword. The air around him crackled with dark lightning, and fog wafted out of the ground. She followed my eyes and laughed.

“It’s not the bowing that gets to me. It’s the drinking. And the dancing. And the endless games of volleyball.”

“Hrapp?” I asked. “No, that can’t be right. He didn’t have a body. Revna? Did you betray your sister?”

“Enough talking. It’s time for you to die. I promise I will be nice, once we raise you from the dead to serve in our infinite army,” she snapped. “I’ve always liked the idea of a perfectly compliant servant.”

She came at me fast, but without the other valkyries to worry about, I felt more confident about my ability to hold her off. She was good with the axes, spinning them around, banging into my shield or taking swings at my exposed legs, arm, and head. I did a lot of circling around, adjusting my shield from kite to tower to heater depending on her attack. At first she fought with reckless glee, but as my defenses held she grew more desperate, less precise. One ax missed, sliding off my shield and into the churned sod of the hillside. She released it, but before she could draw another from her belt, I rushed forward, pinning her remaining weapon between my shield and her chest. She swore in Old Norse, something about testicles and frostbite, then dropped her ax and grabbed the edge of my shield, yanked it to the ground, and pulled me with it. I saw her other arm come free, stubby dagger in hand and pointed at the thin slit in my helmet. I did the only thing that I could: I dropped my shield, but not before willing it into a new shape.

The bottom rim of the shield hit the ground just as the heater transformed into a giant’s tower shield. It wasn’t a very useful configuration for me, considering the steel face of the shield was twelve feet tall, and weighed about as much as a Mack truck loaded with gravel. But it was great for catching confident valkyries off guard. The top of the shield shot up like a magical beanstalk. It clipped Stout right in the wrist. I heard bones crack and saw the dagger tumble from her fingers before the shield rose up between us, a sudden wall of steel and wood. I fell on my butt and sat there for a minute, listening to Stout moan on the other side of the shield, which had dug itself a rut in the ground and seemed to be a now-permanent wall.

“See, that’s what happens when you forget who you’re fighting,” I said, standing off and dusting my hands. “Magic shields aren’t as flashy as fireballs, or as sexy as a glowing sword, but they get the job done.” I strolled around the edge of the shield-wall, sword in hand, ready to finish the job. “All but the killing part. And I think—Solveig?”

There, at the base of my giant shield, in a pile of painted feathers and cradling a broken wrist against her chest, was Solveig the Bashful. Her valkyrie disguise had come apart around her. She stared up at me with tears in her eyes.

“Why couldn’t you have left us alone?” she whispered. “Who are we hurting? A few valkyries? Some mortals? Who cares?”

“I care,” I said. “I’m one of those mortals.”

“You would have been happy dead,” she said. “We would have made a marvelous couple, in my new Valhalla.”

“If I’m following your plan correctly, I would have been a zombie, and the world I knew would have been a smoldering ruin. Or, at least, the magical parts of it would have been.” Regretfully, I raised my sword. Her eyes didn’t flinch.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re already too late.”

I paused, puzzled, then heard the crack of thunder and the rumble of an earthquake. I looked over at the edgelord and his weird sword. He stood at the crown of the hill, which was wreathed in rapidly swirling smoke. Shadows moved in the mists. I glimpsed a door in the darkness, and a path leading up to it. The bastard was forming his domain while Chesa and I talked shit with these fake valkyries.

“Well, ain’t that a bitch,” I muttered.

“It gets worse,” Solveig said, then stabbed me in the stomach with the dagger in her good hand.

The chain-mail skirt between my breastplate and greaves turned the worst of the blow, but it was still enough to knock the wind out of me, and put me on my knees. I grabbed at the wound with both hands, convinced I was going to look down to see my guts spilling onto the grass. But other than a sharp pain and Solveig’s abandoned dagger (how many blades did that girl carry?) there was no blood leaking between the links of my chain mail.

I looked up just in time to see Solveig run past Matthew, slipping through the ranks of the dead, her hand clutched tight to her belly.


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