Pyramid of Blood (Swords Versus Tanks Book 3) (7 page)

"My lord?" prompted Lord Obsidian-Death.

"Most impressive," mumbled Ranulph.

Could he
really
make war on Church? Would God let him? True, he had tried to kill the Archbishop, but that had been in the heat of the moment when the fat cleric was trying to engineer the rape and murder of a lady. If only there were some way of knowing the Will of God… some trial by combat.

The duel ended in a wet "
thock!
" The winner raised his axe and just stood in silence, the rain cascading down his face and shoulders.

“Impressive,” said Ranulph.

“My son,” said Lord Obsidian-Death. “But alas he will not be joining us to feast his victory. The Gods granted that we should keep a few choice rites. This one may only be performed by a warrior who has just won five combats." He clapped his hands and gave an order. A boy ran over to the winner and exchanged weapons.

The victorious warrior now clutched an obsidian axe with an odd twisted handle. He squared himself, exchanged nods with Lord Obsidian-Death. Then, pride in his eyes, he braced his legs and whirled the weapon around his head, faster and faster.

The housecarls fell silent.

The warrior stretched out his arms, lowering the orbit of the axe. Ranulph winced. The blade sliced his neck. The head landed in a puddle with a pink splash. Spraying blood, the decapitated body took three steps towards Ranulph and collapsed.

"It seems that my son has picked you to serve him in his quest, Ranulph Dacre," said Lord Obsidian-Death.

A gong boomed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The esoteric Tolmecs and the mystical Northmen of the Rune Isles no doubt enjoyed a blissful communion.

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

#

Jasmine let out a sigh of relief. The airship was still where she had left it, lashed to the altars either side of the steps. Even though they weren’t proper soldiers, the ten barbarians guarding the gangplank were alert – perhaps because of the score of Tolmec warriors who loitered around the altars on the pyramid’s flat top, oblivious to the rain soaking their headdresses.

Sigurd’s gaze flickered over Jasmine’s naked flesh.

She squared her shoulders. The movement opened the perforations between her breasts.

The barbarian’s jaw dropped. "What that?"

She felt herself flush and resisted the urge to cover her shame like a belatedly prim statue of the Bathing Goddess. Anyway, he was just another primitive. Was there
really
anything to choose from between the Tolmecs and the piratical Northmen who would have cheerfully raped and murdered her? "I have firewater." Jasmine indicated the column of slaves climbing the steps behind her.

Sigurd shook his head. "Thorolf say, not come near."

"They are unarmed and unmanned." Jasmine indicated Wisdom-at-Night. "Only this lady will come aboard." She thought for a second then added, "On my honour, Sir Ranulph will have no complaint. He has my parole."

The barbarian nodded. "Ah,
parole
. It is good."

Jasmine looked up at the airship.
Honour
,
parole
– these words had no meaning next to the vessel's aerodynamic hull.

It took a few minutes to organise the slaves into a human chain, pouring jug after jug of the local hooch into the fuel intake.

"Might I see inside?" asked Wisdom-at-Night.

Jasmine hid a grimace. The priestess didn't belong in her world. But, she needed to keep her on side for now. "This way." She led the girl up the gangplank into the Main Deck. The reek of unwashed men hit her like a face-full of stale jockstraps.

"Oh," said Lady Wisdom-at-Night. "I was expecting something more magical."

Jasmine surveyed the battered interior. The fight above Ragnar’s castle had left great gashes in the metalwork, not to mention tears in the canvas ceiling. Abandoned blankets lay scattered around the floor, barely covering the two-week old bloodstains. "Well, we
have
travelled a long way," she said and slipped into the Flight Engineer's station.

Wisdom-at-Night leaned over Jasmine's shoulders. "So many exotic metals!"

Jasmine laughed. "Aluminium for lightness. And don't ask where it comes from – I'm a soldier, not an engineer."

The slaves worked continuously and the fuel gauge crept towards "Full". There was nothing to prevent her from pulling the Emergency Mooring Release and just flying away.

In the distance, a gong sounded. Something made her twist to look down at the gangplank.

The Tolmec warriors hurtled towards the Northmen, shoulder-to-shoulder, obsidian axes raised.

“Ah,” said Lady Wisdom-at-Night. “It seems your friend let slip his religion.”

Jasmine twisted out of her chair and drew her combat knife. "Fucking god-bollocks!"

Down on the pyramid's platform, the glass-headed axes descended as one. Shields split. Blood sprayed. The tide of brown-skinned warriors overwhelmed the Northmen, swept away the slaves in a welter of gore, and thundered up the gangplank.

Jasmine grabbed Wisdom-at-Night's wrist and broke into a run.

A spear whirred past and stuck in the deck.

Without breaking stride, Jasmine leapt onto the ruined radar plinth. Broken glass crunched under her bare feet. She launched herself through the tear in the ceiling where Sir Ranulph had made his entrance. The priestess sprang up to join her.

The stench of scalding hot aeronautical glue caught the back of her throat. Gagging, she clambered onto the aluminium catwalk which ran along the narrow angle between the bulging gasbags.

Tolmecs shouted. Sandals drummed on the deck. The airship jounced, but for now the extra lift from the day's heat compensated for their weight.

Wisdom-at-Night coughed. "Is this some magical torture chamber?"

Jasmine chuckled. "The firesilk traps the heat." She crouched beside a rent in the canvas ceiling. She glimpsed Tolmecs unloading the mailshirts. She turned to the priestess. "Why aren’t they coming after us?"

Wisdom-at-Night touched Jasmine's shoulder making her aware of their shared nakedness. "Mere women are beneath the notice of a warrior."

Jasmine felt a spike of lust and flinched away. In the gloom, the tiny priestess was just a dark presence, glistening with rainwater and speckled with jewellery. Jasmine knew what Wisdom-at-Night was, and yet she still desired her. She shook her head.

It was time to start thinking like a soldier.

#

Ranulph sprang to his feet. His head brushed the sodden canopy. Water cascaded down the back of his neck.

Lord Obsidian-Death rose with him. His fist came up, then hammered down, driving a black glass spike towards Ranulph’s chest.

Ranulph caught the old man’s wrist. "What are you doing?"

“Your blood will guide my son’s spirit to our magic,” grated Lord Obsidian-Death. His free hand clawed at Ranulph’s face. “Then we will sail to your country and exact our revenge.”

Sandals splashed towards Ranulph’s exposed back. Keeping his weight low, he pivoted. Without slackening his grip, he hurled the priest over his shoulder.

Screaming, Lord Obsidian-Death crashed feet-first into the face of the on-rushing axeman. His arm made a snapping sound, but Ranulph did not let go. He opened his mouth to make some witty retort, but all that came out was a roar of battle rage.

Thorolf cried, "Sir Ranulph! Lookout!"

Ranulph turned and drew the priest across his body as a shield. A glass-bladed axe sheared into Lord Obsidian-Death’s ribcage. Ranulph heaved aside the dying man. He jammed his elbow into the new opponent’s face, forcing the nose-bone into the brain.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye.

Ranulph threw himself clear. Two obsidian axes crunched against the flagstones. Before the axemen could recover, he stamped on the nearest shaft. As the wood splintered, he pivoted and rammed his open palm down into the face of the small warrior. The head cracked back and the man fell.

The survivor dropped the remnants of his axe and fled.

Ranulph drew his dagger and cast. The heavy blade whirred into the man’s back. He belly-flopped into a puddle.

Ranulph scooped up his weapon and steeled himself to survey the courtyard. Tolmec corpses carpeted the rain-drench flagstones. Better yet, not a single Northman had fallen. “God’s teeth! So much for diplomacy!”

Thorolf kicked a corpse. "Is that all you’ve got, goat-fuckers?"

Four of the housecarls had a live warrior spread-eagled on the ground while Osmund giggled and hacked at the screaming man’s ribcage.

Ranulph exclaimed in Western, "What the Hell are you doing?"

Osmund replied in the same language. "Is Blood Eagle." The ribcage parted and he eased out the man’s steaming lungs. He grinned at Ranulph over his shoulder. "Lungs flap like wings. Funny. Ha! Ha!"

Ranulph’s gorge rose. He swallowed. It was all to easy to forget that, despite their prowess, the Northmen were still barbarians.

The screams cut off.

Ranulph raised his voice. "Gentlemen!" Then quieter. "Why isn’t the entire city attacking us?"

Thorolf spat and replied in his native tongue. "Faction shit, like that time in Ilium."

Ranulph swept his arm over the carnage. "Somehow, I don’t think anybody’s going to believe our version of events." He sheathed his dagger and picked up an obsidian-headed axe. "Gather weapons, gentlemen! Let’s get back to the airship before we have to fight the whole damned Tolmec nation!"

#

Jasmine settled back on her haunches and took stock the way Marcel had taught her. Threats? Fifty or so Tolmec warriors on the pyramid, perhaps twelve on board at any time. Assets? Her lips quirked. One naked priestess of unknown martial ability. One similarly dressed Egality soldier, demon with gun or bayonet, but armed only with a combat dagger. Reinforcements? Ranulph and about a score hairy-arsed barbarians – useless without their weapons and armour which however now lay stacked on the top of the pyramid and guarded by Tolmec warriors.

The catwalk ran between the gasbags for the length of the hull, with openings branching off port and starboard to engine rooms and missile stations. The forward end sloped up to the nacelle gun turret. Perhaps Jasmine could dismount one of the machine guns? She shook her head; too heavy.

There was a crash from the Main Deck.

Jasmine peered through the hole in the canvas. Below, Tolmec warriors yanked at levers and hacked at consoles. Every so often, something snapped off and the warriors cheered. "What the fuck are they doing?"

"Rather than take the ship, they are looting its components." Wisdom-at-Night harrumphed. "Idiots."

One of the Tolmecs pushed past the shattered Radar Console and made for the Engineer's Station.

Jasmine tightened her grip on the combat knife. "Shit," she said. "He could vent all the hydrogen... or worse."

He grunted and swung his obsidian axe. The impact bent the levers.

Jasmine edged forward. If she dropped on him, she might just get him before his friends noticed her. But she couldn't kill them all.

He put down his axe and grabbed one of the levers in two hands...

Jasmine screwed her eyes shut.

A great
clunk!
reverberated through the airship. The deck pressed on Jasmine's soles.

"What's happening?" asked the priestess.

"We're weighing off. The fucker pulled the Emergency Mooring Release."

Yells and shouts came from below. The access ladder clanged.

Wisdom-at-Night half-rose then froze. "They think we did it. They're coming for us!"

A feathered headdress emerged from the hatch.

"Follow me!" Jasmine grabbed the priestess's hand and fled towards the prow. The catwalk met the nose cone's slope, and turned into steps. She hauled Wisdom-at-Night up the inclined tunnel and out of the nose hatch.

The scalding dry of the airship’s hull gave way to a suffocating humidity that embraced her like a wet flannel. Thunder rumbled and warm rain hissed on her skin.

Like a bridge to nowhere, the gantry projected a good five metres from the firesilk skin to end in a Flexiglass bubble.

Jasmine put a hand on both rails and crept along the aluminium structure. Each step set the gantry swaying and bouncing.

On the pyramid's summit, diminutive Tolmec warriors experimented with the mailshirts. One of them blundered around, dragging a train of steel rings, while his comrades whooped and laughed. Sheltering her eyes with her hand, Jasmine scanned the wide avenue between the temples. A lot of people were moving about, but curtains of rain hid the details. Sir Ranulph could be on his way. Or dead.

Jasmine swung open the turret hatch. She glanced at Wisdom-at-Night. "No room in here," she said. "Just hang onto the rail."

The rain turned the Flexiglas bubble into a tin drum. Jasmine struggled into the gunner’s seat, the leather squeaking on her damp skin, then shut herself in.

The gantry gave the two 10mm machine guns a good all-round field of fire, the ball turret being able to engage any target outside a cone encompassing the airship. Jasmine swung the machine guns down to point at the pyramid top.

The guns roared — without her helmet it was like being continuously clapped around the ears — and the barrels spat two streams of tracer bullets. The jolting recoil vibrated Jasmine’s flesh and set the gantry quivering.

On the pyramid's summit, masonry turned to dust. Chunks flew from the altars. The bullets tore off heads and limbs, and shredded torsos. She smiled — no Anomaly here, then.

The westerly breeze caught Airship 01. It spun slowly up and away from the pyramid, nose slightly down but still airborne.

Jasmine whooped.

On the platform, the Tolmec warriors recovered and hurled axes at the airship. One cracked into the turret's dome, scuffing a pane of Flexiglass.

Jasmine kicked, rolling the turret around so that her guns again pasted the pyramid top. A handful of survivors dropped their weapons and threw themselves over the edge.

At the other end of the gantry, the hatch burst open. A dozen Tolmec warriors jostled over the narrow threshold and advanced on the turret, the aluminium mesh sinking under their weight.