Champions Battle for the Fate of the Future!: The Wild Finale of (Swords Versus Tanks Book 5) (6 page)

“God’s teeth!” Ranulph rounded on him. "We are trying to make a good end…"

"Rope ladder you cretin," said Tom, and started to climb. As he rose, he called over his shoulder, “I thought I had to be brave. Now it turns out that sensible will do nicely instead.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bright light blazed through Ranulph’s eye slits and warm air filled his lungs.

"It is safe," said Thorolf. "Let go of the ladder."

Gingerly, Ranulph extended a foot and found decking. He raised an aching arm to flip open his visor. The unnatural illumination forced him to screw up his eyes.

"Northmen," muttered Tom. "On an airship."

Ranulph’s armour pressed down on his shoulders and crunched his back. He held out his hands and let his men remove his helm and gauntlets. The sodden leather inner-gloves dripped water on the deck. It would be good to remove his wet gear.

And Maud grinned at him. A huge bruise marred her brow. Mud caked her red hair. But her green eyes burned with life. “Do you like my new airship?”

“How…?” began Ranulph.

She kissed him and her fire drove off the cold,

"Northmen," repeated Tom. "On an airship."

Ranulph wrapped his arms around Maud and returned the kiss.

She yelped and drew away. "Cracked ribs, I think."

Ranulph made to hold her hands, but the nails and knuckles of her right were bloody and bruised. He rounded on Thorolf. "God’s Teeth! How did this happen?"

Thorolf's mouth twitched. "Your Valkyrie will bear strong sons if she does not first drown in the steel storm."

Maud’s good hand encircled Ranulph’s fingers. "My fault, really. In our next battle, I am resolved to leave combat to those trained in its arts." She tugged him forward towards the Control Car. He squelched after her. The airship differed from the one that took him to the Tolmecs. Coiled rope ladders hung from the ceiling like roosting cave gryphons, each with its own deck hatch. Racks of odd looking guns lined the walls.

"Next battle? I need to rally the army first," said Ranulph. "Where are you taking this vessel?"

"Underway… but no pilot," said Tom. "What. The. Fuck?"

Ranulph pushed past him and leaned on the pilot's chair. Beyond the glass panes of the control car, a familiar rock rose out of the rain. "Holy Mount?"

"Where else?" said Maud.

"But it will be heavily garrisoned. And then there's the army."

"The only garrison belongs to the Archbishop,” said Maud. “Your army must fend for itself — this is the only chance."

"But your magic will not work inside the precinct," he said, and had a familiar sinking feeling, as if his argument were already giving way under him. "Unless you plan to desecrate it…"

"Nothing so terrible." She laughed. "Though the sylph cannot cross its boundary, he can most certainly—” She grinned. “—
hurl
the airship at the correct target."

Ranulph winced. The plan, however, made sense – as long as they were quick. They could be done before any of the army reached the coast road, which was where he would rally it anyway. And it would be good to have some hope to offer.

Tom raised his voice. "Will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"Yes," said King Edward, from the gallery overlooking the Control Car's interior. "Sir Ranulph, explain why we should assault the Holiest House?"

Ranulph took Maud’s arm and turned her around. "Your Grace, that’s where the world’s magic lies imprisoned."

Tom made a throttled sound. "Bullshit!"

"Northmen on an airship," mimicked Maud. "Underway. No pilot."

The lad closed his mouth.

King Edward’s blue eyes never wavered from Lady Maud.

"To wrest some magic from the clutches of the Church, of course, Your Grace," said Maud. "They keep back grimoires from the Rite of Incineration," she added. "At least, I’m sure they do. All the evidence..."

Ranulph put his hand over her mouth. "The church has been stealing magic for centuries, Sire."

"Stealing? How?" asked Tom. "You can’t
steal
an idea..."

Maud became animated and tried to talk through Ranulph's hand. He continued, "The Church can — "

Maud switched tactic and started gnawing his palm, sending unmartial sensations eddying through his arm.

Ranulph swallowed. "When they burn a necromancer, they don’t actually burn the books. The Church passes off looted spells as miracles. The plan is to raid Holy Mount for grimoires, and use them to defeat the Invaders."

"And these grimoires – where are they hidden?" asked the King.

Maud squirmed free of Ranulph, leaving a cool wet patch on his palm. "I was thinking we could..." Maud’s teeth flashed in a feral grin. "...question one of the White Brothers."

Ranulph shook his head. "There won’t be time — "

"The Black Library," said Tom.

All turned to look at him.

"The Black Library under the Holiest House." The lad shrugged. "Empty when I visited, but it was... will be quite a tourist attraction."

Maud’s eyes glazed and the vessel shifted course.

"Halt this vessel," said the King. The airship lurched to a stop. Now the only sense of movement came from the structure vibrating and swaying. "Do you propose," he continued, "To unleash Necromancy on my realm?"

Maud's eyebrows rose. "What? You knights have your hermits and your Chivalric Orders. What do you care about the Church?"

Ranulph winced.

The young monarch just laughed and said, "Church be damned — as I am sure most of it is — a monarch has a duty to his people."

"Think of this as yet another trial by combat," said Maud.

"In such affairs, God seems more concerned with Prowess than with Piety, thankfully!" said King Edward. He flashed a smile at Ranulph.

"War is changing, Your Grace" said Ranulph. "Cannon and pikes are on their way. Why not add just one witch to the arsenal?"

"Eddie, I’m out of my depth here," said Tom.

King Edward nodded. "Is it possible, Sir Ranulph? Can we storm Holy Mount?"

Ranulph untangled himself from Maud and tried to clear his mind. "I counted thirty three Housecarls plus two knights and an esquire, against how many White Brothers?"

“We have failed,” said King Edward.

Tom laughed. "No you haven’t!” He waved his arms at the racks of weapons; odd looking guns with circular drums attached to the underside of the stock. "These Jeeseedies are idiot proof."

"Jeeseedies?" asked Ranulph.

"G...C....D... General Combat Defenders." Tom grinned. "They’re like just like your crossbows, only slightly better."

#

Jasmine squinted into the dark and the rain.

Mary Schumacher kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were big and wet, and tasted of fresh lipstick. "You’ve won, Field Marshal!” She added in a squeaking whisper, “Fancy a quicky?"

Jasmine shrugged. She was not sure whether she’d
really
heard the last bit but she did not break the clinch. "I have the field, as they used to say. But the enemy got away."

One of the staff officers said, "But we killed so many of them..."

"We did, didn’t we?" said Jasmine. She resisted the urge to sniff. A Field Marshal wasn’t supposed to look like a puffy-eyed debutante weeping over some fickle beau. She raised her face to the darkening sky and let the ice rain wash away her tears.

Lightning cracked as if a light switch had flicked on and off, leaving her with the image of an airship flying overhead, prow pointed down at Holy Mount.

Mary pulled back. "What?"

"An airship just went by."

"I can’t hear it."

Jasmine cocked an ear. Nothing but the rattle of rain drops on the tank’s hull. Her stomach clenched. The airship was moving under no earthly power, and it was heading straight for Holy Mount, the heart of whatever kept the… use the word…
magic
down. Holy Mount, which she had stripped of its covering force in order to win the battle. "Fuck me!"

Mary dimpled. "Oh goody."

"No. I mean, get on the…" No radio. She leaned over to her staff, "Get out there and direct any mobile units to support me at Holy Mount. Send some runners to Cromwell — she’s nearest. Schumacher? You might as well join them."

Mary rose and saluted. "Yes Field Marshal." She slipped off the tank and into the darkness — and safety.

Jasmine dropped down into the warm cabin and scrambled for the commander’s station. "To Holy Mount, step on it."

CHAPTER NINE

As her tank rattled down the ridge toward Holy Mount, Jasmine leaned back against the open hatch looking up into the rain. The airship sank through the roiling clouds, unperturbed by the thunderstorm, but definitely no longer making headway.

Had Maud’s magic worn out?

The craft dropped to level with the top of Holy Mount then surged forward as if thrown by a giant hand.

"They’re making their assault run. Step on it!"

The twin engines roared, vibrating her ribcage, blurring Holy Mount’s edges and bathing her in the stench of scorched engine oil. Tracks squealing, the tank rocketed downhill. It hit a bump, swerved, veered down the slope then somehow skidded back around onto the dirt road.

Holy Mount dominated Jasmine’s view now, a black silhouette against the grey stormclouds, except for the glowing round window of the Holiest House — the famous
Lost Window of Saints
, a favourite subject for the Romantic Painters.

Must get a photo for Rosetta
.

And the assault airship zoomed towards it like an arrow to an archery target.

Then again, maybe not.

#

Archbishop Grossi knelt before the Great Altar and made the Five Recognitions. Behind him, the harmony rose to the gilded rafters. He surveyed the procession of martyrs on the Window of Saints. Given his achievements, it seemed reasonable that his likeness should be added to the ranks of the Most Holy during his own lifetime. He would protest, of course, but the Chapter of the White Brothers would
insist
that he take his place next to Saint Ignatius. Poor barbarous Saint Guthrum of the Rune Isles would just have to make space.

The voices ceased. The echoes died away, leaving behind perfect tranquillity. Slowly, basking in the moment, the Archbishop lifted the Holy Chalice and —

The great stained-glass burst inward like a drum skin. Flaps of glass and lead fell from the frame to crash on the altar. A translucent ball mounted on a latticework spar emerged further into the flickering light, behind it a fabric covered cone — the distinctive prow of one of the Invaders' airships. The storm licked into the church’s cavernous interior, snuffing candles or making them gutter wildly. Dozens of Northmen ran out along the spar, whooping and laughing.

The Archbishop stumbled back. Somebody screamed and for some reason his throat hurt. His guts turned to water. He tried to turn and run, but some foul enchantment made the flagstones suck at his feet.

The Northmen dropped onto the altar — knotwork shields slapping their jingling mailcoats — and jumped to the flagstones. Their eyes blazed from behind the spectacled faceguards of conical helmets. The ancient scourge of Mother Church had finally violated the Holiest House.

Worse, each Northman brandished what could only be a weapon of Invader manufacture – an evil looking gun with a fat metal drum mounted on the underside behind the forward grip.

Had the Harlot Klimt betrayed the treaty? It was no matter. Archbishop Grossi was ready for martyrdom! He dropped to his knees but somehow landed in a reeking puddle with his back to the heathens. Just to escape the foul liquid – and certainly not because he was scared or had fouled himself — he crawled away from the desecrated altar.

Further down the nave, the White Brothers drew their swords. A hundred men charged to meet the heathen raiders.

The Archbishop opened his mouth to bless them.

A demonic clatter assailed his ears. Swordsmen fell over their own feet and a pungent egg smell overlaid the incense.

Wet footfalls came from the direction of the altar. "God’s Teeth! This is not war as I know it!"

The Archbishop recognised the voice and rose to confront the monster. Mud coated the knight’s armour, but he had the temerity to hold himself as if he were not an condemned heretic. "Ranulph Dacre!” declared the Archbishop. “Only you would commit such an atrocity."

"This from a traitor," said King Edward beside the ogre-like knight.

"Sodomite," shot back the Archbishop.

Maud Clifford stepped out from behind Dacre, looking as if one of her demons had turned on her. Over her shoulder hung an ugly grey sack of the kind the Invaders used to carry their wargear. "Show us to the Black Library!"

Now he understood. The Archbishop drew himself up. "Never!"

CHAPTER TEN

Forked lightning danced across the clouds. It left Jasmine with the afterimage of the airship wedged halfway through the Holiest House’s Great Window like a malformed shell jamming a howitzer breach. Maud must have a clear idea of what the Church was using to neutralise the worst of the magic. With any luck, her scheme would require some sort of lengthy ritual. If not — well Jasmine was already too late and all the fighting and killing had been in vain. The Medievals would destroy the Egality colony, and — back in the Present — the Aliens would destroy a civilisation created at the cost of millions of lives.

As her night vision returned, Jasmine saw that two winking lanterns marked Holy Mount’s Land Gate.

The intercom crackled. "
The front door is closed, Field Marshal.
"

"Halt here." Jasmine ducked into the conning tower and reached for the loudhailer mike. Her words reverberated outside the tank's hull. "The airship is rogue. Open the gates so we can help repel the attack." She gave them thirty seconds then ordered her driver, "Go ahead and knock!"

The tank rumbled down towards the ancient gates then, with a great crack, slammed to a halt.

Jasmine’s heart skipped a beat. Was Ranulph waiting there with his sword? Would the timber cladding make a difference? Did she have the energy – the will – to face him in hand-to-hand combat? If Maud was controlling the airship, then would Ranulph be at her side?