Spellbound (17 page)

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Authors: Larry Correia

Tags: #Fantasy, #General, #Fiction, #Urban Life, #Contemporary

BOOK: Spellbound
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The Heavy was wasting his Power on tricks. Toru had yet to display his own Power. The tactical advantage was his. The Heavy would not know what to expect, and would probably be too slow to adapt. The Iron Guard’s stomach lurched as gravity returned, and he landed in a crouch. The atrium was filled with a dusty cloud as the disturbed topsoil fell. Sullivan was coming his way with a determined look on his face. After such displays of magical prowess, it should take the Heavy a moment before he could distort gravity again. Toru activated his magic and felt his physical strength increase tenfold. With a roar, he launched himself out of the garden and across the space. He covered twenty feet in the blink of an eye and lifted the tetsubo overhead as he descended, prepared to crush the Heavy.

Sullivan did not so much as show surprise at the display. Gravity lurched and Sullivan dodged to the side as if he weighed nothing. The steel tetsubo smashed a gigantic hole in the hardwood floor. Gravity betrayed Toru again, and he found himself rolling across the floor.

The Heavy was catching his breath. “So you’re a Brute.”

“Yes.” The Iron Guard rose. “You should not be able to use your Power so quickly.”

“Lots of practice.”

“Know that you face Iron Guard Toru, one of the thousand sons of Okubo Tokugawa!”

“That’s gonna be nine hundred and ninety-nine sons if you don’t get out of my face.”

Toru came in swinging. His weapon was so heavy that most men would have a hard time even lifting it, yet he swung the steel tetsubo faster than most Iron Guard could wield a katana. It covered a vast arc with each movement, and anything it struck would be obliterated. Sullivan moved back, trying to stay ahead of the club. The Heavy had to be making himself lighter, because there was no way a man of that stature could be so quick—

Toru flinched as Sullivan threw a handful of soil into his eyes. Then a big fist caught him square in the nose. Sullivan had stepped inside the swing and actually
hit
him. Toru stepped back, blinking. Sullivan followed, and managed to strike him several more times. Toru’s Power made his tissues incredibly resilient, but he felt each of the blows. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Toru ducked around the next attack. Years of training caused him to react without conscious thought, and he slammed one open palm into Sullivan’s ribs. The shock up his forearm was like hitting a rock.

Sullivan sailed back, but somehow landed on his feet. Toru’s Power-fueled strike should have shattered all of his ribs and pulped most of his internal organs, but the Heavy only grimaced and pressed his hand to his side. Only another Brute or a Massive could have taken such a blow. “Impossible. How do you live?”

“Like I said . . . practice.”

Toru rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to clear his clouded vision. Seeing was very difficult, but no matter, he could see well enough to destroy this obnoxious Heavy. He lifted the tetsubo. This time he would not strike with reckless abandon, but rather he would break the Heavy with precision. Sullivan must have sensed the careful shift in strategy, because he turned and ran for the ambassador’s garden. “Coward!” Toru followed.

But Sullivan was not trying to get away, and once between the trees, he stopped, raised his hands, and waited.

Clever.
The Heavy was trying to neutralize the reach advantage of the tetsubo. However, it would not work. The biggest tree there was only as big around as Toru’s leg. With a burst of Power, Toru cleaved his tetsubo through the growth. Trunks burst into splinters and barely slowed the club. Sullivan retreated as Toru destroyed everything in his path.

The ambassador’s guests had been frightened by the noise and spilled out of the dining room to see what was going on. These men—business leaders and elected officials—were valuable assets for the Chairman’s plans. Having them witness this spectacle was not beneficial at all. And worse, he spotted the other Grimnoir running right into the crowd of guests and yelling crazily at them. Toru could feel the impressive Power from here. “Seize the fat one!”

There was a noise as the glass ceiling of the atrium shattered. Something hit the far wall and coughed golden sparks. Grey smoke hissed out in a pressurized jet.
What?

The distraction cost him. He looked away just as he cleaved a stout maple in half, and branches crashed down, temporarily entangling his tetsubo. Simultaneously, Sullivan surged his Power, and Toru found himself weightless. He had never experienced such a thing before. Surprised, he jerked on the trapped tetsubo to hold himself from floating away, except his Brute strength caused him to overcompensate. His legs flew into the air, then he was upside down and doing everything he could just to hang on.

Sullivan used the opportunity to nonchalantly pick up an entire fallen tree. The Heavy shouldered it like it was his own tetsubo and then he smashed the trunk into kindling against Toru’s body. The Iron Guard barely had time to flare his Power to protect himself as he sailed across the atrium. He crashed into a support pillar hard enough to shake the entire mansion.

It took him a moment to clear his head. The atrium was filled with noxious smoke. Sullivan was nowhere to be seen, nor was the other Grimnoir. Toru ignored his injuries, knowing that his four Healing kanji would keep up, and surged to his feet. Many of the guests were throwing fits, even struggling against his marines.

An American congressman and a mine owner had wrestled one of his men to the ground and were shouting at the poor confused warrior.

“How dare you Nip bastards rip us off!”

“Take that!” The congressman began choking the marine.

Toru tried to be gentle as he booted the two Americans off. The congressman futilely tried to punch Toru, so Toru slapped some sense into him, then picked him up by the neck. “What is the meaning of this?”

“The Chairman was going to pay us with fake gold!”

Toru tossed the American into the garden. The other Grimnoir must have been a Mouth, and he’d gone right for this type of fool’s biggest weaknesses, greed and fear. He did not have time to sort this out. “Try not to hurt them,” he told the marine. “The magic will wear off soon.”

The Iron Guard took up his tetsubo and ran for the front. The Grimnoir would be trying to escape. He might be able to cut them off. Toru turned to the side, flared his Power, and crashed through a window. The sharp glass slashed his clothing, but was unable to cut his magically toughened skin. He rolled across the lawn, then sprinted for the parking area with speed that only a Brute could muster. Thick smoke filled the entirety of the compound.

Luckily, the knight’s automobile had not left yet. Toru reached it, stuck his hands into the wheel well, surged his Power hard, lifted the huge car and rolled it over onto its roof. They wouldn’t be getting out that way.

“Iron Guard,” a breathless marine ran up to him. “The Grimnoir have climbed over the back wall.”

Another mortar round whistled in. This one hit the roof of the mansion. It must have been an incendiary because fire quickly spread across the shingles.

Toru roared in fury.
Damned Grimnoir!
“Put that fire out. Make sure the ambassador is secure. Lock him away and let no one speak to him. Get the guests under control, but do not hurt them . . .” The furious Iron Guard slammed his tetsubo into the upside-down car. The impact crushed the fender, threw one tire across the compound, and sent the whole vehicle slowly turning. “And retrieve my car!”

 

A blue Chrysler screeched to a halt on the road ahead. Jane had the window down. “Dan! Over here.”

Dan Garrett was huffing and panting. Sullivan had pushed him over the back wall and then the two of them had hightailed it through the forest behind the Imperium’s property. He had never been much for running. In college, he had been the football
announcer
. It was best to leave all that physical stuff to the boys that looked like Sullivan.

But at that moment, Jake wasn’t looking too good either. He kept one hand pressed to his side and his breathing was labored. Dan knew that it had to be bad if
he
was easily outrunning Jake. “Come on. Almost there.” They reached the automobile. “Honey, let me drive. Jake needs your help.”

“Darn right he does. He’s got a punctured lung!”

Sullivan fell into the back, Jane scrambled over the seat, and Dan got behind the wheel. He put it into gear and got them rolling. It would have been nice to keep that monster race car Sullivan had brought as their getaway car, but it was distinctive and would have stood out. It was ten o’clock at night, so there wasn’t much traffic in this rural area—there were a lot more cleared lots than homes—but there would be more cars to blend in with the closer they got to town.

Dan concentrated on the curving country road while his wife took care of Sullivan. The rearview mirror suddenly filled with a squat bearded face. “Hey.”

“Ah! Don’t do that,” Dan said.

“You deliver your message?” Lance asked.

“Sure did. Managed to wreck the place in the process. I convinced all those rich boys that the Chairman was swindling them. They must have had the possibility in the back of their minds because I didn’t even have to push hard.”

“Where’s Sullivan?”

“Down here.” Sullivan was lying on the back seat. “A Brute stomped a mud hole in me and walked it dry.”

“Hush while I work, Jake,” Jane ordered. “Good thing you’ve got that Healing spell on you or you’d be drowning in your own blood right now . . . Wait . . .
More
spells? Whatever have you been up to?”

Before Sullivan could answer, Lance shouted, “You got company!” Dan couldn’t see anything. “Car is going to catch you at the next intersection. Turn it around.” Lance must have grabbed an owl.

“You sure it’s Imperium?”

“There’s a guy riding on the running board with a machine gun. I don’t recall Virginians being
that
inhospitable.”

“Shoot,” Dan hit the brakes. There was a ditch on one side and trees on the other. There was no good spot to turn around. He shifted into reverse. “Hang on.”

“That Iron Guard didn’t strike me as a quitter,” Sullivan said.

Dan backed into the tree line, cranked the wheel, and then got them going back the way they came. He gunned it, but it would take a minute to get up to speed. There were headlights in the side mirror. “Here they come.” He watched the speedometer climb too slowly and found himself wishing that they’d kept that Hyperion.

The back window shattered. The Imperium had opened fire. Dan took them around a long curve and out of view. The shooting let up momentarily. His wife reached over and picked up the Thompson that had been occupying the passenger seat. Dan’s throat was tight. He had to get them out of here. He had to keep Jane safe.

The road straightened back out. The Imperium would be able to see them again. The Japanese machine gun opened up with a ponderous rate of fire. Red tracers flew past, and then another round hit. Stuffing flew from the passenger seat. Then the glass in front cracked. Jane answered and let the Thompson rip. The headlights behind them swerved side to side, but the flashes from that machine gun kept up. Then the side mirror exploded and Dan couldn’t watch anymore.

“There’s a fork ahead,” Lance shouted through the magical link. “Bear left.”

“That’s the wrong way,” Dan said.

“Do it!”

The road split into a
Y
. Dan swore and went left, which was taking them further out into the country, and even worse, into open farmland where they wouldn’t be able to shake their pursuers. “You better know what you’re doing, Lance!”

 

Iron Guard Toru pulled the spent magazine from the top of the Type-70 light machine gun and let it clatter down the road behind them. The marine in the passenger seat handed him another magazine of 8mm ammunition through the window. Toru rocked it into place and yanked back the bolt.

The car swerved as the Grimnoir returned fire. A normal man probably would have been thrown from the side, but all it did to Toru was upset his aim. That, the bumpy road, and the insects hitting him in the face were making this a challenge. “Hold steady!” Toru ordered.

The lights of the Grimnoir auto veered to the left, so he rested the Type-70 across the edge of the roof and squeezed the trigger, trying to walk the tracers into the moving target. One of the red taillights went out and his magically augmented hearing recorded the metallic clangs of puncturing metal.

The Grimnoir were fools. He had scouted the surrounding countryside during the construction of the ambassador’s home. There was nowhere for them to hide in this direction. He would cut them to ribbons.

The Type-70 only had a 30-round magazine, and he burned through it in seconds. He tossed that mag and stuck his hand in the window for another. He’d barely finished reloading when he looked up to see a large black cow running into the road. It stopped, silhouetted in their headlights. He could have sworn that the cow looked right at them and
winked
.

The driver hit the brakes and tried to turn, but he was too late. They hit the cow at nearly sixty miles an hour. The front of their car crashed into the solid animal. Toru flared his Power to hold on, but the aluminum handrail he’d latched onto tore through the sheet metal like paper.

He hit the road nearly eighty feet away, traveling fast, and smashed against the asphalt, bounced a few times, then rolled. The Power draw was intense, and he did his best to keep it up, but there were limits to even Brute toughness and he felt bones break and muscles tear as he gradually flopped to a stop.

It took Toru nearly ten seconds to collect himself. His four Healing kanji were all burning Power, desperately trying to fix his ruined body. He groaned and got to his feet. The machine gun was gone. The Grimnoir’s remaining taillight disappeared in the distance.

Toru muttered an oath that was far beneath the station of an Iron Guard.

Leaving a trail of blood from several deep lacerations, Toru weaved back to the wreck. One marine had been thrown through the window and into a field, and the driver had broken his skull against the steering wheel. Fluids were pouring from the engine. Their car was not going anywhere.

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