Hero's Curse (31 page)

He turned to me with a large grin and smacked his sword hilt against his shield. “Victor Paladin, í bardaga er dýrd
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! Come to your death.”

“Azam-shay.” I stood in my motorcycle leathers, my helmet completely covering my head, my hands empty. Most paladins had just two gifts. The less the Jotunn knew about my weapons the better.

I could hear them murmur around me. “He has no weapons. Jehovah has given him just jacket and boots?”

A joker yelled out, “Be warned Asvald, he kicks!”

To a roar of laughter, I stepped into the holmgang and said, “Gecko.” The easiest way to win a fight is to have your opponent react to you rather than the other way around. The fastest counterattack is one that begins before the attack. Use the correct counterattack and gain control, you’ll win; guess wrong, you’re in deep shit. There are no safe choices when you’re fighting for your life against a bigger, stronger opponent, you have to play the odds. Asvald’s friends were acting like he was really good. I hoped so. My counterattacks would only work on someone who was also skilled enough to play the percentages. I bet my life he was good enough to fall for my bait.

His legs were so long it only took two steps for him to reach me. He smashed into me, shield first. With all his armor, he must have weighed close to five hundred pounds. He didn’t know my boots were glued to the asphalt below me. I tucked my head out of the way and threw my left shoulder into Asvald’s shield.

He slammed to a stop like he’d run into a brick wall. All I felt through my jacket was a light push against my shoulder. I could see why Jehovah’s gifts were valued. Somehow my jacket had absorbed or transferred almost all the kinetic energy of Asvald’s shield rush away from me. While he was still stunned by his unexpected stop, I threw my right palm into his face. Barely in time, he bowed his head and my palm and the tip of my bang stick hit his helmet.

“Gecko.” I ignored the sound of the shotgun shell discharging uselessly against his helmet, and raised my heel to smash it into the top of his right foot.

It’s almost impossible to take out an enemy with one blow. Skilled fighters use combinations of strikes and blocks, like first going for the head and then the foot. Asvald proved he was a great fighter when he blocked my bang stick while still stunned. He proved it again when he began to move his foot out of the way. To keep his balance, he had to move his shield off to the side.

Just as he shifted his weight, before he had his foot off the ground, I threw myself into a feet-first baseball slide between his legs. He was eight feet tall and had legs to match his height; there was enough room.

My leathers helped me slide me further on the asphalt. I ended up on the ground behind him.

He turned to face me off-balance, his right foot still not fully planted on the ground.

“Gecko.” With my feet locked to the ground, I lunged at his left thigh with all my strength.

Just as he was about to fall, despite his weight and size, he leaped gracefully away. He spun in the air so he landed on his feet, facing me—just outside the holmgang.

The Jotunn around us had been screaming and shouting; they suddenly became silent. I saw Asvald realize what he had done. With shock still in his eyes, he stared at the spray painted line on the ground. When he looked up and met my eyes, he had a grin back on his face. “Well done, warrior. Remember my name—Asvald, son of Arni—when you boast of your foes.”

He walked back into the holmgang and knelt in front of me, his sword across his thighs, the grip in his hand. From my utility belt, I grabbed the thin screwdriver I’d used to kill my first troll. Jotunn healed from their wounds unless they’re burned into them.

I lit the lighter I’d used for my cigar and placed the tip of the screwdriver into its flame. “Ake-may e-thay eat-hay ansfer-tray om-fray e-thay ighter-lay ame-flay o-tay e-thay ewdriver-scray enty-tway imes-tay ore-may efficient-ay.” My spell bar showed me it would take a fraction of one percent of my soul. “Akeitso-may.”

Asvald’s face was calm as the tip of my screwdriver started to glow. It took less than a minute for it to become bright red and then white. I heard the snap and crackle of seared flesh when I stabbed the blade into his eye and then twirled it in a wide arc in his brain.

He slumped to the ground. I faced the other Jotunn holding the screwdriver covered with burnt brain. “Who’s next?”

“Hold, Victor Paladin.” Signe walked into the circle. “The holmgang must be cleared.”

That made sense. I looked at my screwdriver. Should I wipe it clean on Asvald before they pulled his body away? I decided not. He didn’t deserve contempt. Aidan said God’s Will couldn’t be tarnished, so I wiped the blade clean on my jacket and reattached it to my belt.

Signe stood over Asvald and muttered some words in her native tongue. He burst into flames. In a few minutes all trace of him were gone.

I studied the Jotunn while Asvald burned. I had a good idea who was up next. He looked like a kid. He had introduced himself before but I didn’t remember his name. All the others were eying him like he was already dead. Every group of fighters has a hierarchy; his body language told me he was the lowest on the warband’s totem pole. I knew his pride would make him walk into the holmgang. He was trying to hide it, but he was scared.

I was reminded of another kid who felt the same way. I don’t know how it was in other orphanages—in the one I grew up in, there was a constant stream of couples looking for kids to adopt. The younger kids got all the attention. If you were like me—there since infancy and still hadn’t been adopted—you had something that caused couples desperate for children to walk away. It wasn’t unusual for the older kids to have what the nuns called ‘socialization issues.’

Throw enough people with socialization issues together and you get problems. The worst problem at the orphanage was Tommy Hills. At seventeen he was one of the biggest kids there. I found out later that the nuns had been trying to get rid of him for some time. I was trying to read a book, eat a sandwich, and walk out of the cafeteria at the same time. As soon as I ran into his tray, I knew I had made a gigantic mistake. In slow motion, I saw Tommy’s tray, a plate full of food, and glass filled with milk fly up and splatter the front of his shirt and pants. Even then I had good reflexes; I ducked his instinctive swing for my head. All the adults in the cafeteria swarmed on us. Even Tommy wasn’t dumb enough to try anything more right then.

Everyone in the cafeteria knew it wasn’t over. We all knew sooner or later, Tommy was going to kick my ass. I decided I didn’t want to live in fear. I figured the sooner I got beat the better. I was ten years old.

Later that day, I made sure one of Tommy’s friends saw me headed to the gymnasium. I was shooting baskets by myself when he and his gang came into the gym and locked the door. Even though my heart was racing and my palms were clammy with sweat, I was glad to see them. I knew it would be over faster if I didn’t resist.

Tommy was six feet tall and overweight, close to two hundred and fifty pounds. He didn’t say anything; just walked over to me and punched me in the face. I was knocked on my ass. I curled up in a ball as he began kicking me. I must have passed out because I woke up with agonizing pain. Something splintered inside me. I knew in that instant, I was going to die.

Tommy had me in a bear hug and was squeezing hard. I tried to speak, to beg him to stop. I couldn’t make a sound or even take a breath. I looked into his eyes and saw he was enjoying himself. He was just a stupid, vicious kid who was lucky enough to be bigger than me. This idiot was going to kill me for knocking his lunch on his chest. The thing that pissed me off the most was he was going to do it by accident.

Time stretched; my heart slowed, my inability to breathe no longer bothered me. My options raced through my mind: arms and hands were trapped by my sides and I was pinned too close to kick him. It dawned on me my head was free, but the angle was wrong to bite him.

I hammered my forehead into his nose. As I pulled back, blood spurted from his nostrils. I remember how surprised he looked.

When I slammed my head into his face the second time, he screamed and fell backwards. I landed on top of him. I don’t know if it was the shock or the fall, but he was out cold. I grabbed him by the hair and pounded his head against the gym floor.

From behind me, an arm wrapped around my face; I bit into the arm until I reached bone. There was a scream and the arm disappeared. That was the last time one of Tommy’s friends tried to get involved.

Even after Tommy stopped squeezing me, I had to struggle to get air into my lungs. I ignored how weak I was getting and went back to pounding Tommy’s head on the floor. It took awhile for the adults to come.

I found out later Tommy had shattered my right fourth rib. When he squeezed me, he drove a bone shard into my chest cavity. It pierced my lung and collapsed it. On the way to the hospital, the ambulance guys put a tube in my chest to keep me breathing. The doctors were surprised I made it to the hospital, and even more surprised that I survived the emergency surgery.

I’d fractured Tommy’s skull. He was in a coma for weeks. He was never the same after that; neither was I. The nuns finally had an excuse to get rid of Tommy, and I haven’t worried about a fight since then. Every time I saw the scar on my chest I was reminded how scared I was while waiting for him in the gym; how I’d given up before the fight even started. It irritated me that as a paladin, I was without blemish and my scar was gone. I’d earned that scar.

I knew this Jotunn had helped kill two paladins and hundreds of Oath Brothers. Right now, he didn’t look like a killer. It sucked to be on the opposite side of a frightened kid.

After Asvald’s body was pulled out of the holmgang, the kid shape shifted. Even in troll form he looked half-grown and gangly. His gear looked more worn than Asvald’s—like he was using hand-me-downs. He had a sword and shield. His shield was round and much smaller than Asvald’s. His chainmail shirt didn’t have sleeves.

He gave a wordless shout and stepped into the ring, shield first. His sword arm was back and raised high and ready to strike. Then he just stood there waiting for my attack. He’d learned the wrong lesson from Asvald’s failed shield rush. Asvald had had tried to take control of the fight from the very start. The only reason he’d failed was because he didn’t know he couldn’t knock me out of the holmgang, and got off-balance when he couldn’t. Even the best will occasionally screw up when they’re surprised—what were the odds that I’d have boots that stuck to the ground?

You go on the defense when you know what your opponent has in mind—when you have a plan for a counterattack. When you have no idea what your opponent is going to do, you try to surprise him, keep him off balance, and deny him the initiative. The easiest way to do that is to attack. 

I pointed my left arm at his head used my hand to make a ‘c’mere’ motion. Just as I started bringing my hand back down, I whispered, “Fulgar.” The electrodes shot from my sleeve and struck the kid’s face. As he jerked and began to fall, I jumped toward him.

“Obex.” My spear appeared in my right hand. I nailed him while I was still in the air. My spear went through his helmet and skull like they were made out of cardboard.

“Obex.” My spear disappeared.

I knelt down. The gaping wound in his head had carbonized edges like the wound had been seared from the inside out. I palmed the electrodes from my stun gun from his face as I closed his eyes. The Taser wires and electrodes were hard to see. It was possible the Jotunn hadn’t seen them.

I looked up. Signe was furious. It figured—join God’s army—and you too will have an opportunity to kill women and kids.

“You have three gifts.”

I shrugged.

“You lied.”

My laugh didn’t have any humor in it. “Yeah, right, whatever. We’re wasting time. Who’s next?” I knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it. Signe gave me a long, hard, calculating look. I’d been too contemptuous. I kept my body relaxed. I didn’t want things to escalate. My ass was grass if she didn’t stick to our bargain.

“If you kill me in single combat, you’ll get what I promised. You didn’t ask how many gifts I had. If you had asked, I would have told you; there were no lies. And if you’re lucky you’ll get three gifts.”

I tried to keep the relief off my face when she said, “Your skull will make a fine drinking vessel.” and then waved at her warband to pull the kid’s body out of the holmgang.

I was watching the Jotunn burn his body when I heard Samson’s voice. Even with my super hearing, it was so faint I could barely make out his words, but it was definitely him.

Chapter 24: Samson

Sven Serpent’s Breath was next up. I hadn’t bothered to remember most of the Jotunn’s names, but his was hard to forget.

He was thin, and at seven and a half feet, half a head shorter than Asvald. His spear was as long as he was tall with a three foot long head that could be used to slash or stab. He had leather chest armor, and metal bracers to protect his forearms. He didn’t wear gloves or a helmet. It looked like Sven preferred speed and ease of movement over protection. He didn’t look at all worried.

He walked into the circle and slowly cocked his head until his neck made a loud crack. He gave me a wiseguy’s smile and made the same ‘c’mere’ motion I’d used on the kid. I got the feeling he knew about my Taser.