Vikings battle Zeppelins while forbidden desires spark! (Swords Versus Tanks Book 2) (3 page)

"May I?" Without waiting for an answer, Tom eased into the window seat opposite the king. "My name is Tom," he said, in medieval pronunciation. "May I call you Edward?"

Edward snorted. "They say,
A gryphon may look at a king
. Call me what you will. But if you preach at me, I shall take your head."

A tendril of fear clutched Tom’s heart. He pressed back into the seat and let the silence roll on, counting his heartbeat, making himself relax.

The King just sat there.

Tom changed tack. "Edward, can I get you anything?" he asked, leaning forward. "Is there anything you need?"

"A good sword. A mighty host. Or, perhaps, a swift death."

"I’m just trying to make you comfortable."

Edward’s head snapped round. His bloodshot eyes flashed. "Your motives, Sir, are suspect."

Tom flinched. The youth had gone, and in its place was... well... a king. Even in silence, he was commanding.
Like a younger version of Marcel,
said a little voice in the back of his head.

Tom screwed up his eyes, willing away the thought. Persuasion wasn’t going to work, not at first. But as long as he could engage with Edward, then there was the possibility of negotiation. "I will not lie..." He couldn’t quite bring himself to use the lad’s name. "We need your help."

Edward laughed. It was a youth’s laugh, but his words had all the scorn of a man. "
You
seek
my
help?"

"You could tell the peasants to cooperate, the nobles to lay down their arms. Help us bring justice and equality to this land-"

"You bring nothing but ruin and death."

Tom considered for a moment. Then he made a decision. "I said I will not lie. Though we bring peace and justice, we invaded your land because ours is being attacked by sky demons." Now was not the time to explain the Solar System, the Red Planet, telescopes, abductions, canals and rocket ships… let alone Xeno-Elitist Alien Hordes. "We’ve come here not just to escape, but to build up our strength so we can take back our land, should it fall."

Edward’s eyes narrowed. "The old chronicles tell of how our forefathers came to Westerland to flee the Iron Horde," he said. "Like the first Lowthers did, you will do as you must."

"Then you understand?" said Tom. "You’ll help?

"This was the land of the Painted People before us," said the royal youth. "Have you seen any warriors with tattooed faces? You will do to us as we did to them – and I will die before I aid you in this."

All this talk of death. It seemed to Tom that Edward had nothing left to live for. Marcel would have told him to pull himself together; he was young, handsome and vigorous, that he would thrive in any society… well, Marcel would have made the point more tersely, and with more swearing.

Tom smiled. In an odd way, Marcel would never leave him.

Unfortunately, if
Tom
said anything like that, Edward would read it as a ploy. There had to be a way of reminding the lad that life was worth living. "Tell me, Edward," he said. "What do you do for fun?"

The youth straightened somewhat, as if coming back to life. "Swordplay," he replied. His eyes gleamed.

Tom’s scar prickled. There was that raw fear again. He recalled Jasmine’s obsession. "Like Sir Ranulph Dacre?" he said, lightly, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

"That we shall never know — the Best Knight in the West is most certainly slain. But I am told that I am a good man of my hands."

"Well, then," said Tom. He took a deep breath. "I can’t get you that ‘mighty host’. But think I might manage a blunt-" He glanced at Edward’s muscles and amended, "Very blunt sword and access to practice facilities."

CHAPTER THREE

Only the dead watched the knight carry the sleeping sorceress through the carnage. It was she who had rescued him, but working her invisibility charm had been too much. Now she was limp and her long red hair trailed against the blood-splattered plate of Ranulph's armour as he bore her to safety.

Ranulph did not stir. He had had worse dreams, and this was better than being awake.

Once again, they crossed the chess-board that was Cathedral Square, weaving through the wrecked war engines which lay scattered about like so many broken chessmen. The living looked through them and found other places to stand, but the corpses fixed them with unwavering stares.

The sorceress shouted, "Ranulph!"

All eyes turned. Scores of guns swung in their direction.

The blood rushed in Ranulph's ears, sloshing like water on a ship's deck. Was this the true recollection, and the voyage to the Rune Isles no more than the hallucination of a dying man?

"Sir Ranulph!" Maud shook his shoulder.

Ranulph rubbed his eyes and the aches snaked through his over-used muscles. "I beg your pardon, Milady?" The vessel pitched and rolled. Overhead in the night sky, the stars twisted and danced. He closed his eyes. Thanks to a year campaigning with Ragnar, a ship's deck was as good as home. "Shouldn't you be being seasick?"

Lady Maud laughed. "Water does not govern Air." She shook him again. "I have sighted land."

Ranulph groaned. He had slept almost continuously since shoving the fishing boat down the beach at Kinghaven and then rousing Maud long enough for her to work her magic. He had vague memories of waking to check on her, chew hardtack and sip water. Now he did not know what day it was, or where they were. He struggled out of his swaddle of woollen blankets and oilskins. He heaved himself upright and peered into the night.

Maud's captive wind slapped the oilskins to his back. The sail whip-cracked. Ropes squealed. The mast creaked. The commandeered fishing boat reared and mounted a vast swell of oily-black water.

Ahead, two lights shone like a pair of gryphon’s eyes — the beacons of Sheep Isle and Little Thule. High above and between, flickered the fainter beacon of Bloodaxe Keep. As they passed the darkened islands, Ranulph announced, "Harbour Sound." His stomach clenched. "Fresh food. Beer," he said aloud. And Ragnar.

"Is that all you think of?" Her tone was a little like Albrecht at his most whimsical.

Ranulph frowned.
I also think of revenge.
He shook himself. "Well in truth I have been thinking about how…" He drew the sorceress closer and caught her waist. The wet oilskins clung to her like a mermaid’s scales. "…my armour needs cleaning."

Lady Maud shot him a look of outrage and pushed away. "You b-" Her hair escaped her hood and billowed forward. She clawed it back in just as the boat lunged under them and fell into a trough. With nothing to hang onto, she tumbled towards the bows, cursing, long limbs flailing.

Still holding the mast one-handed, Ranulph snatched her wrist. He yanked her back. This was all wrong. The waters were supposed to be calm here. "God’s Teeth! Your demon is trying to kill us."

"Preposterous!" She pushed her hair back under her hood. "Why would it wait three days?"

"Well, order it to slow down!"

"I cannot amend the wish," she said, sounding almost pleased.

They heaved upwards.

"And the exact wording was?"

"I did rather conk out." She grinned. "Magic does that to me." She raised her voice over the crash of water. "Something like,
Deliver us and this vessel as close as possible to the castle of King Ragnar of the Rune Isles with all possible haste, without sinking the vessel
." Her teeth flashed. "More or less, I think."

"God's teeth!" said Ranulph. "It would not take a lawyer to find loopholes in that. How many wishes do you have left?"

The boat reached the crest. All around, a moonlit hell of churning foam piled endlessly against jagged rocks.

“Two,” said Maud.

Beyond the bows rose the black crags of Great Thule. The castle's beacon gleamed like a ruby on black velvet.

"Bloodaxe Keep," said Ranulph over the din. "Sits on a headland. The closest your spirit can take us just happens to be a cliff face."

Lady Maud gestured at the stern. "Well, you’ve sailed with the Northmen. Take the helm, Sir!"

"Why do you think…"

They plunged. The sorceress whooped like a huntress. The boat slapped into a trough and reverberated like a wooden drum. Black water walled off the world.

"…it was the only remaining boat?" yelled Ranulph. She really hadn’t noticed, even though it had been the only oceangoing vessel left on Kinghaven beach. "There is no rudder! Use another wish!"

She shook her head. “Impossible until this one is complete.” Her eyes narrowed. “
You
must know some mariners’ trick."

Ranulph drew his dagger and slashed the sail's stays, then quickly sheathed the priceless weapon. The wind tore the canvas free, whipping it into the night. The boat, however, showed no sign of slowing.

Something crunched along the rail, staving in the planking. The sorceress screamed.

The fishing boat heaved and listed like a whale twisting as it breached. Icy water swirled around Ranulph’s knees and down to the stern. He drew the girl closer and prayed his armour was as well lashed down as he remembered. He did not know much of magic, but he was sure that if he lost the Dacre Wargear at sea, it would be out of reach of the Earth King and gone forever. "Can you swim?" asked Ranulph.

She shook her head.

Ranulph grimaced. It probably made no difference. The base of the crags was a mess of stone shards. Nobody, no matter how strong a swimmer, could survive
that
in a high sea. Mind you, if the Air spirit was forced to stick to its instructions… "Hold on tight, Maud." He dropped to all fours and clambered in the direction of the up rising bows.

They plummeted towards the ice-veined ocean. Ranulph wrapped his arms around a bench. The prow plunged beneath the surface, then burst free, wreathed in kelp. Icey water washed over him, seeped through his clothing and clawed his flesh. The boat picked up speed and skipped over the breaking waves towards certain destruction.

Ranulph's numb fingers found the anchor. Shivering now, he rose out of the water. He squinted into the dark, trying to visualise the approach to the harbour by daylight. A foam-flecked stone needle loomed, then passed to starboard – it could only be Thorgrim's Lovetool. He grinned. Maud's Air spirit couldn't merely dash them on the first handy rock, it had to smash the boat beneath Ragnar's ramparts.

The headland was almost on them now, cleaving the white breakers like the bows of a great ship. Ranulph cast about. There it was, coming up about ten yards to port, a surging mound of froth covering the cleft rock that the Islanders called Helga's Paps. With a roar of "For Dacre!" Ranulph whirled the anchor twice around his head then hurled it into the middle of the foam. It caught in the stone cleavage.

Ranulph braced against the rail and gripped the rope. It went taut, almost jerking him out of the boat. The vessel swung round the rocks like a flail head, rotating as it went. Lady Maud gave a yell, more of a battle cry than scream. She was wrapped around the mast, tendrils of sodden hair snaking in the wind.

Now the headland swept past the stern. Ranulph let out the slack. The next wave carried the boat beyond the headland and into Harbour Bay. Mouthing a prayer, he unsheathed the dagger and slashed the anchor rope. A wave took the vessel, spun it, picked it up and hurled it sideways.

The vessel rolled. Maud screamed. Ranulph lost his grip and collided with wet pebbles. The wind died, as if somebody had closed a window.

"Ho Toy Knight!" boomed a familiar voice. Footfalls crunched closer. A blond giant hauled Ranulph to his feet and wrapped him in a bear hug, crushing his face to his fur-clad chest. He uncurled one massive arm and pointed at a beached dragon-prowed longship. "You try wreck Ragnar's pretty little pleasure boat?"

Ranulph returned the hug. He could almost smell freshly cut grass and hear the cheering crowd. It was easy back then. Gasping for breath, he answered in Northern. "Since when did
Seasnake
become a mere pleasure boat?"

"Since I became king," replied the Northman in his native tongue. He released Ranulph and rested his great paws on his shoulders. "You must think me worse than a coward for not coming to your aid."

Ranulph shook his head. "I refused it, you overgrown troll!
Princely duty comes before friendship
."

"So do you come to me as friend or the Earl of Dacre?"

Could Ranulph really ask Ragnar to break five hundred years of royal policy and unleash the Greater Runes? "Both," he said. The day he had to play courtier to Ragnar would be the day their friendship died. "Kinghaven has fallen-"

"I know." Ragnar swept his arm inland. "The runes spoke of the death of a great warrior, then these came out of the sky and I feared the worst."

Ranulph followed the gesture.

A dozen mailed housecarls waited on the pebbles, each holding aloft a blazing torch. In front stood two grey-liveried Invaders: a white-haired elder and a broad-shouldered woman — Colonel Jasmine Klimt — looking as wide-eyed as if she had seen a ghost.

The Invaders had arrived here first.

CHAPTER FOUR

O! How I yearn for Thule, vulgarly known as the "Rune Isles", where once in times of yore, Philosopher Kings ruled over wise Magi!

— Stella Ibis-Bear, "The Path of Enlightenment" (Kinghaven Theosophical Society, 1917)

#

Jasmine stared into her drinking horn and said to nobody in particular, "How the Hell did he survive being run over by a tank?"

Ragnar's hall was stuffed with feasting barbarians, but nobody answered her question.

"Here's to you old friend." The mead hit the back of her throat like burning peat. Marcel would have enjoyed the sight of Sir Ranulph striding up the cliff path arm-in-arm with King Ragnar. With his sodden hose plastered to his muscular thighs, the knight had looked like an oversized ballet dancer. He'd moved like one too, weight shifting smoothly with each precise pace or step.

Jasmine set down the drinking horn on its gilded legs. Perhaps the alcohol wasn’t really helping.