Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (28 page)

She laid him out with a single mighty uppercut.

The Wild Hunt stared incredulously at the fallen giant. Helen smiled, slammed her fist into her knuckles.

The Lost God extracted himself from the wall. He adjusted his helmet and sighed. “So this is your army. These pathetic souls are all you bring to this fight.”

“Seems like we beat the hell out of your army,” said James Eyestabber.

The god nodded. “True enough.”

He pointed at James, whose bones transformed into gelatin. The orc fell in a loosey-goosey pile of grumbling flesh.

“I suppose if you want anything done right, you simply must do it yourself. Shall we have at it then? Sometimes the gods are moved by entertaining displays of mortal courage. Perhaps they'll even give you a hand. I'll even give you first strike, but fair warning—”

Nigel threw his battle-ax. The dragonblood blade spun through the air, leaving a trail of frost behind it. The weapon sailed on target to strike the god, and in that moment Helen wondered if it could kill a god currently in a mortal body. If it could do that, then it could certainly kill the body as well.

The Lost God held up his hand, and the ax stopped in midair, dropped to the ground.

“You didn't let me finish. Fair warning, I cheat.”

The Wild Hunt heedlessly joined a battle they had no chance of winning. Their weapons bounced harmlessly off their foe, and he snapped his fingers, knocking friend and foe away. The entire fight lasted all of two seconds. Only Helen and Achilles managed to stay on their feet.

“If you really are a god in disguise,” said Helen to the three-legged mutt, “now would be the time to show it.”

Achilles pounced.

The Lost God swatted the dog away. Whimpering, Achilles limped to one side.

Helen grunted. “Terrific.”

He pointed at her, and an invisible sledgehammer hit her in the stomach. She staggered but didn't fall. The hammer smashed her across the face, sending a couple of teeth flying from her jaw. It dropped on her shoulders, and she fell to one knee.

“You have spirit,” he said, “even for the heedless fool. If you could wear the helmet, I'd be sorely tempted to change hosts.”

“You can't have him,” she grumbled through her shattered jaw.

He squeezed her hand, shattering its bones. She would've screamed, but she was already in so much pain she barely noticed that this added to it.

The amulet, the sword, the shield, the wand, and the dagger floated off the ground to orbit the Lost God. The ancient runes on the unholy slab glowed to life. The cloudless sky rumbled with the displeasure of the gods.

“Hey, don't get mad at me,” he said. “You're the ones who chose such lousy champions.”

Helen stood.

“You can't have him!” she shouted, though it mostly came out as an unintelligible roar.

“Oh, really? If you insist on dying, then so—”

In the heavens, the gods above would tell the story of Helen's mighty haymaker, the strike that would define mortal defiance in the face of a cruel universe. A blow that broke her other hand and staggered a living god in a way that caught even the Fates by surprise.

The strike knocked the Lost God's helmet off. The cursed object bounced to a rolling stop at Franklin's feet.

Why the gods above decided to act then, Helen didn't know. Perhaps they were inspired by her act of suicidal bravery. Or perhaps seeing the Lost God swayed by sheer determination, they could no longer sit on the sidelines. Or maybe they were just waiting for the opportunity, the momentary distraction.

Helen's fur stood on end as the air crackled with static electricity.

The Lost God snarled at the sky. “Oh, now you're really starting to piss me off.”

She found the strength to jump out of the way as a bolt of cosmic power lanced through Castle Adventure's roof. The Lost God exploded.

Dust choked the air. Helen lay there, ignoring her pain, drawing ragged breaths. When the dust cleared a few minutes later, the Lost God lay not too far from her. His mortal body, Troy's body, was barely marred, but he wasn't moving. He'd been hurt at least.

She dragged herself over to him and looked into his eyes. There was no trace of Troy in there. Only the Lost God, who was quickly shaking off his daze.

Nigel threw the dagger. It landed beside her.

“You have to do it,” he said. “One life against thousands. It sucks, but if the gods won't clean up their own messes, it's up to us.”

She picked up the dagger in a hand barely able to hold it. The Lost God fixed her with his eyes and put a hand on her face. She saw Troy again. Perhaps he was closer to the surface because of the weakened state of the Lost God. Or the god had allowed him loose to play on her sympathies, to make her hesitate.

If so, it worked. She threw the blade away.

She couldn't do it.

The Lost God pushed her away and stood. “Sentimentality is a weakness I look forward to breeding out of you mortals. But enough of the previews. Let's get on with the main attraction, the headline act, the—”

Troy's features softened, and he was himself. Just like that.

“Hel? What…what's happening?”

Franklin, now wearing the Lost God's helmet, chuckled coldly. “Well, it's not as good as the old one, but it'll do in a pinch.”

His body bulged with muscles. The light filtering through the hole in the ceiling cast a dim spotlight on him. In the twilight the indefinable, impossibly giant form of the gods above streaked toward Earth to begin, if not a war, then at least a divine bar brawl.

Nigel planted his battle-ax in Franklin's back.

The Lost God fell silent. He stumbled a few steps before falling on his face. Without saying so much as a dying curse, both the god and his mortal host perished.

The gods above veered away. The sun lit up a dusk that seemed bright and hopeful.

Troy ran to Helen. She fell into his arms, knocking them both to the ground, pinning him under her limp body. James and Peggy rolled her to one side.

“Helen!” Troy took her hand, and she didn't care that it hurt like hell. “Hel, stay with me!”

She smiled up at him. All her pain vanished as she squeezed his hand tighter.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Waechter supervised a small battalion of NQB agents in the midst of the cleanup operation. Agent Campbell handed him a clipboard as he exited the car. He flipped through the report.

“Is this true, Campbell?”

“As far as we can tell, sir.”

“Imagine that. Gather up the artifacts anyway, just in case. Take a jackhammer to that stone. Maybe it'll take this time.” He gave her the report. “How are our two renegade agents doing?”

“Miss Nicolaides was in bad shape when we arrived, but we gave her and the others some wine and they're recovering. Except for one Franklin Rodriguez, who was pronounced dead on scene.”

“Only one casualty? That's something of a miracle, given the situation.”

“Yes, sir. This operation did go off the rails at the end, didn't it?”

Waechter undid his tie. He'd always hated the damn thing. “Indeed it did, Campbell, but if this job were easy, they'd pay us less.”

She went off to continue supervising, and he found Helen and Troy sitting by an ambulance. Achilles sat in Troy's lap.

“How are you?” asked Waechter. “Feeling better?”

“Still sore,” said Helen, “but I can move. What was in that wine?”

“Enchanted grapes. Should fix you up, good as new, not even leave a scar behind.”

“Thank you,” said Troy.

She mumbled. He nudged her.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said.

“No problem. So you very nearly made quite a mess of things, Miss Nicolaides.”

“Sorry.”

She didn't sound sorry.

“What happens to all the stuff we gathered?” she asked.

“We'll take them back for study, but they're all disenchanted as far as we can tell. They're just MacGuffins anyway, magical bric-a-brac. They have no importance of themselves. It's the act of collecting them that gives them their real power. Now that they've served their purpose, they're harmless.

“It's the same with that stone these idiots dug up. It was indestructible, but now it's just fifteen tons of granite. We'll destroy it now. We always do. It always comes back when the time is right. Though perhaps not this time.”

“What happens to us now?” asked Helen.

Waechter bent down and scratched Achilles. “You go home.”

“But didn't we break the law?”

“It's a funny thing, Miss Nicolaides. You defied logic and good sense and risked everything. In the process, you nearly ended up unleashing untold disaster that could've killed thousands. Hundreds of thousands. You did so for a prize no greater than the life of a friend.

“It could've gone horribly wrong, but it didn't. By some quirk of fate, you even managed to break a cycle that has gone on for eons. The Lost God is dead. He won't be back, and while there are still a thousand other quests out there we have to keep an eye on, there's one less. You might have done something stupid for a stupid reason, but we at the bureau can't argue with the results. If we threw every defiant, headstrong fool in prison, the NQB would be out of agents very quickly.”

Waechter shook their hands.

“Take care of yourselves.”

He walked away, but Troy stopped him. “Agent Waechter, not that I'm complaining, but someone told me that either Helen or I was fated to die because that's how legends go.”

Waechter smiled. “Who says it was your legend?”

The Wild Hunt sat on the sidelines. Nigel spent the majority of that time staring at Franklin's corpse and running his fingers along the blade of his magic ax. The dragonblood steel was cold to the touch, but there was something new. A static charge caused the hair on his knuckles to curl.

Peggy put a hand on his shoulder. “You did what you had to do.”

He grunted.

“What I don't get is how I killed him at all? He was a god.”

“Avatar of a god,” corrected Peggy.

“Close enough. He was also still affected by the dragon blood. Shouldn't he have regenerated like he did earlier? I mean, I had to try it, but I didn't think it would actually work.”

“Blood against blood,” said Peggy. “Like against like. Dragon blood is powerful stuff, but there's always a loophole with magic. No ordinary weapon could kill him, but your ax isn't ordinary. There's a lot of mojo running through it. Even more now that it has tasted the blood of a near-immortal. Something like that, in the right hands, can destroy anything. Even a god.”

Nigel recalled the words of Thuzia, orc goddess of wisdom. “The hand of a mortal, chosen not by the gods or the Fates, but by his or her own will,” he said.

“Something like that,” said Peggy. “Think of that ax as your Excalibur. A power that builds kingdoms. Or destroys them. Usually both.”

“It's an incredible amount of power for a mortal to have,” said James.

The clear sky rumbled as the gods above voiced their agreement.

“Well then,” said Nigel with a sly grin. “I'll just have to be careful with it, won't I?”

Thunder cracked.

Nigel nodded to the sky. “Oh, shut up.”

The gods above quieted, though they could still be heard rumbling softly from their lofty perch.

“I wonder why Franklin put on the helmet,” Peggy said. “Did it mesmerize him, take control of his weak mind?”

“He put it on because he was an idiot. He was always an idiot.” Nigel scowled at the corpse. “He lived like an idiot. He died like an idiot.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” said James. “Come on, guys. We all know why he did it. He had incredible power in his hands. He had to try it on. Best-case scenario, he would become a living god. Worst case, he gets a snazzy new helmet. Can you honestly say any of us would've done any differently?”

They shared a grin.

Peggy held up her plastic cup with a few drops of enchanted wine left in it. “To Franklin. He might have been an idiot, but he was a hell of an orc, all things considered. May his bones find a place of honor on the heap.”

Nigel and James laughed.

“I'll drink to that.” Nigel nodded to the stars twinkling in the heavens. “Take good care of the little guy.” He tapped his god-killing ax with his knuckles. “Or you'll be hearing from me.”

“Nigel Godkiller isn't someone to be trifled with,” added James.

It was of the old ways for an orc of special achievement to earn a new name, though it wasn't practiced anymore.

“He wasn't a full god,” said Nigel. “And it was a cheap shot.”

“Still counts,” said Peggy.

The agents threw Franklin's body on a stretcher and carried it away. Agent Waechter approached.

“Our research indicates that you're the closest thing he has to family. What do you want us to do with the body?”

“He's an orc, isn't he?” replied Nigel. “Burn it, feed it to wolves, donate it to science. We don't care.”

“That's quite an ax you've got there,” said Waechter. “Dipped in the blood of a dragon and now a mortal god.”

“Two dragons,” corrected Nigel. “It gets the job done.” He wrapped his fingers around the grip. “I suppose you'll want to take it from me.”

“I'll admit the thought occurred to me, but we both know you won't surrender it easily. There's been enough violence today already.”

“More than enough.” Nigel slung the weapon over his shoulder.

“You'll be happy to know most of your friends are recovering from their injuries.”

“Thanks.” Nigel climbed on his motorcycle, started the engine.

“Oh, one more thing, Mr. Skullgnasher,” shouted Waechter. “The South American division has been having a hell of a time with a snake monster prowling the jungles of Bolivia. They tell me it's prophesied to swallow the world. Probably an exaggeration, but the damn thing just won't die. I'm thinking that an ax that has killed a god might be up to the task.”

“The wife's going to kill me if I don't come home soon,” said Nigel.

“The firm has been sending me nasty e-mails,” added Peggy Truthstalker.

“Too bad,” said James Eyestabber. “I've always wanted to see Brazil. We could have stopped along the way.”

“Beautiful country,” said Waechter. “But you have obligations.”

“Maybe we can move some things around,” said Nigel. “We'll get back to you.”

“You do that, Mr. Skullgnasher.” Waechter handed Nigel a card. “We'll be in touch.”

Nigel tucked the card in his jacket pocket. “The name's Godkiller.”