Chapter 14: The Exchange: Part One
The day passed far too quickly. There was some discussion, some attempts at planning, but there was only so much we could do with the little info we had.
We didn’t know where the Hunt wanted us to meet them, how they wanted to handle the exchange, or even how they were going to contact us. There was just too much unknown to cook up a decent plan..
In the end, we decided to go together, Joan in her angel form transportinging Kali, Athena and Lancelot in a hard light bubble construct. The problem was that we still didn’t know where to go. Herne had said ‘The farmlands north of the city of Paris’, and that covered a massive area. He hadn’t exactly said when either, so we were forced to hover in the air, each of us looking in a different direction as we tried to spot whatever signal Herne might choose to use.
As it turned out, we couldn’t have missed the signal even if we tried.
At about 3 in the morning, a pillar of yellowish-green flames suddenly roared into being. I had no idea how wide it was, but it must have reached more than a kilometre in height. Despite the colour of the flames the pillar was bright enough to light up the farmlands around for miles, and it was certainly enough to get our attention.
“I’m guessing that’s our cue,” I commented.
“No. I’m sure it’s just someone with a bonfire that’s gone wrong. Nothing to do with us.” Kali’s replied sarcastically.
I guess she was making an effort to lighten the mood, but it sadly fell flat. I could practically feel the tension growing as we descended. Slowly, the site of the pillar came into view, even as the fire faded away. I was thankful for my eyes being better at seeing in the dark since my Awakening because otherwise, I’d have had to waste focus conjuring up some lights or torches, or just fumble around in the dark. As it was, I could see the details as though it were only dusk, the colours were a bit muted, but the details were still clear.
The site the Wild Hunt had chosen was a point where the corners of four huge farm fields met to form a crossroad. These were large main roads, the sorts that big cargo trucks could happily drive along with room to spare as they passed each other. The fields were each different, one was grass, one wheat, one corn and the last being was something I didn’t even recognise, maybe oats or barely. The fire of the pillar had scorched the tarmac of the roads where they crossed, and that spot was still bubbling and hissing. We all came down on one side of the crossroad, and on the other side of the scorched circle, I could see Herne and more of the Hunt.
Herne was mounted on his massive horse, and I could see the kid that the giant bear had turned into slung across the horse behind the Hunter like some oversized pack. There was also a centaur, plenty more of those huge hell hounds, the misshapen ghoul creatures and those slimmer, almost beautiful, figures that somehow radiated cruel contempt. There were new figures as well though, humanoid wolves that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a horror blockbuster. Grey-skinned men with bows who were snakes from the waist down. Small figures barely the size of human infants who carried swords and never seemed to stand still and never gave you a clear view of them. Crouched figures that kept to the shadows and wore caps that seemed to drip some sort of viscous fluid down their faces.
There were others, but I couldn’t make them out properly, all I could tell was that there were a lot of them.
And each and every one of them was touched by the sulphurous green and yellow flames that I was really coming to hate. For some it lit up their eyes, for some it simply was their eyes, others seemed to be lit from within, as though their internal organs were burning, some had it on their skins or fur, tongues of flame that burnt without a source and skittered across them like pets or parasites. Somehow the flames managed to cast just as many shadows as the darkness they dispelled, making the crossroads seem like some eerie otherworld that was trying to encroach onto the farmlands of France.
“I have the boy. Do you have the scabbard?”
Herne broke the silence first, gesturing to the limp form behind him. In response I held up the scabbard, letting the wrappings fall away to reveal the golden artefact beneath.
“Very well,” the Horned Hunter nodded, dismounting and picking up the unconscious demigod as though he were a sleeping kitten. “I shall approach you, you shall approach me. We shall meet in the middle and exchange.”
“No tricks?” I meant it as a statement, but somehow it came out as a question.
“I shall take the scabbard and you shall take this,” Herne held the slumped form out and gave him a small shake. “I have no desire to fight you and your allies again.”
I didn’t like it. I was planning to get the kid back and keep the scabbard, but this was going to make it harder. Still, it would hopefully make things safer for the other demigod.
“Okay, can you all cover me?” I asked my allies. “If they pull anything, light ‘em up enough that the international space station will see it.”
“Adam! Now you’ve got me hoping that they’ll try something.” Kali grinned, the grin of a crocodile spotting wounded prey.
Hadriel and Joan both nodded, lightning and light gathering in their hands in preparation. Athena’s form blurred then was clad in armour, her spear and famed aegis held ready to fight. She didn’t say a thing, but I’d have had to be blind to miss the fire in her eyes.
Slowly I stepped towards Herne, the Horned Hunter matching me step for step. I already had my halo out, and my wings were spread behind me, ready and waiting. Herne held the boy in one hand and his spear in the other, flames flickered across his skin. I couldn’t see his eyes under the deer’s skull he wore, but I could feel them on me.
As we drew closer the tension between us grew heavier and heavier. Each of us was drawn tense as a bowstring, ready for something, anything. From each other, from our allies, from some sudden third party, it didn’t matter. But as the pressure mounted I couldn’t help but feel a certainty growing in my guts.
Something was wrong.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I just knew that there was something about all this that wasn’t adding up, something just . . . off. I knew it wasn’t anything I’d seen, nothing concrete. It was pure intuition, instincts screaming at me louder and louder as I got closer to Herne.
What was it? What was I missing?!
We stopped only a few feet apart. So close, but with him just out of reach of my wings, and me just out of reach of his spear.
“The scabbard for him.”
It was a statement, one without room for negotiation or disagreement.
‘The scabbard for him.’ ‘The scabbard for him.’ It repeated in my mind as I stared at Herne. There was something off there, something I wasn’t seeing!
Something I wasn’t seeing . . .
My Halo hummed a low note, and without thinking about it I channelled a thread of blackness through it and my core. This was the black of darkness, of shadows so deep that they swallowed the light and let nothing out. I could use that thread of power to make the shadows dance to my will, to blind my enemies, to leap from the ground and act as blades, even to drain the energy from others if I focused hard enough. I didn’t need it for any of those feats though, I just needed something much simpler.
My eyes had already been pretty keen in the dark, but the constantly shifting shadows from all those different flames and bodies had been even harder to see through than the pitch darkness of night-covered fields had been. With that thread of power reaching my eyes it was as though the sun had suddenly been turned back on.
I could see everything with crystal clarity. The shadows were still there, I could just see through them as though they were clear glass, the darkness of the night was gone as well, even the constant shifting of the hunters didn’t seem to matter. I could see clearly.
And then I saw something that made my heart jump into my throat.
At the far back of where the Wild Hunt was grouped up, I saw a figure. I could see him clearly, but at the same time, it was as though I wasn’t seeing him at all. He . . . blurred, his head, his arms, even his skin colour, I couldn’t put a finger on any of them, not with any certainty. I could tell he was tall and buff and was only wearing baggy red trousers, but not too much beyond that, but that wasn’t important. He wasn’t what caused my blood to freeze, it was what lay on the ground beside him.
The same boy that Herne now held out to me.
The world froze around me as my thoughts raced through my head so fast I could almost feel my skull growing tight. Herne . . . he had never identified who he was giving me. He’d just called him ‘the boy’ or ‘him’ or ‘this’. He’d never said ‘your ally’ or ‘the one that aided you’.
Misdirection! He’d never lied, but he’d never confirmed that it was actually the demigod that he was exchanging for the scabbard! He’d just let me believe that this was the demigod I wanted to save! Who was it really? A shapeshifter? A changeling? The fey sometimes swapped children for imposters, was that what I was dealing with? The Wild Hunt was meant to have some ties to the faery realms, if I remembered right.
But none of that mattered! That that mattered was that . . .
“IT’S A TRAP!”
Admiral Ackbar would have been proud.
I didn’t hesitate, not for an instant. My halo sang a single note and a harsh white colour shot through me, one edged in red, blue, yellow and even violet. It was a white that crackled and surged, all motion, all power. The colour of lightning.
Two bolts blasted out from me, one from each hand, the scabbard now tucked into my belt. Magic guided them, kept them from following simple physics, and slammed them into Herne’s massive barrel of a chest. I’d put a lot of power into them, all that I could drag together at short notice. Despite his size, the Horned Hunter was lifted off his feet and sent flying back. I had a moment to be surprised I was able to manage that much, then I was surprised by something else.
The fake kid that Herne had been about to pass to me came awake with a jerk, his head snapping around to face me in a way that should have left that neck broken if he’d been human. Eyes that were opened impossibly wide glared at me, and his pupils contracted horizontally, forming slits as the supposed kid freakin’ hissed at me! Everything about him . . . or rather, it, was inhuman. The way it moved, the way it held itself, its expression, everything seemed to belong in the sorts of horror movies that had you scared to turn off the lights at night for weeks!
The thing leapt at me, still looking like a boy but moving like a puppet operated by the soul of a damned and insane serial killer. Limbs flailing at unnatural angles, spine arched so painfully something should have broken, jaws opened so wide that skin should have split and torn. Before I could react a massive sword swung past me, cleaving the thing in two as though it were nothing more than an oversized cake.
“What happened?”
Joan asked the question as she came up beside me. Across from us the Hunt was reacting, pulling together around Herne and getting ready to fight. Weapons were being drawn, fangs bared, arrows nocked, all in all deeply concerning.
“It’s a double cross!”
That was all I had time to say before the first of the arrows was flying our way, followed by far too many far too fast. I’d managed to get my shield up, so there wasn’t any chance of me getting turned into a pincushion unless things really went sideways, but I shouldn’t have bothered. A ripple passed through the air, an impression of black, red, and violet without any actually showing themselves . . . and then every arrow that had been flying at me just wasn’t there anymore. I would have said they disintegrated, but it went beyond that. Disintegration would have left something behind, like dust or ash. Instead, there was just . . . nothing, the arrows might as well have been deleted from existence.
It was shocking how the crossroads suddenly just went stone quiet. Things had been gearing up for a battle, my heart had been pounding, there’d been growing murmurs coming from the Hunt, the sort that would soon grow into roars and battle cries, the first shots had been fired, literally in this case, and then . . . it all cut off at that demonstration of power.
“Yeah, I am that badass, deal with it.”
Kali strutted past me, her every movement radiating the sort of self-assurance that only came when you held all the cards and knew your opponents had nothing but junk. She then stood just before me, looking back at the assembled Wild Hunt with clear contempt, her left fist resting against her hip while her other right arm dangled carelessly at her side. She was relaxed, even in the face of an immortal force of killers and monsters, utterly confident in her abilities.
“Okay, I was hoping for a good fight, a chance to get the blood burning, maybe even rip some of you guys apart before your magic puts you back together. You know, it’s always stuff like ‘Kali, don’t tear his head off’ or ‘Kali, don’t slaughter that army’. Yeah, I get it. I can go a bit far, but seriously . . . is some fun too much to ask for? I mean, it’s not like you guys can't take it! I should be fine just getting to unload on some enemies for once, right?”
I just stared at her, and I don’t think I was the only one. There was a short pause, and then Kali looked just the tiniest bit bashful.
“Oh . . . right. Went off track a bit there. Okay, what I’m saying is that I’d like a fight, but Adam here’s worried that the kid might end up getting hurt. Yeah, you guys might think it’s a great idea to threaten the kid again to get the scabbard, but really. That’s just plain stupid, understand?”
She started to walk forward again, her steps assured and languid, but with an . . . unstoppableness to them that made her seem like an oncoming glacier, slow, ponderous, and utterly inevitable.
“I’m not going to hold back, understand? You mess with the kid then I’m going full nuclear on your asses. I want a good fight, not another hostage standoff! So, give us the kid and take your chances getting the scabbard with a straight fight, or see what I can do when you really tick me off!”
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There . . . was no response. The Wild Hunt stayed silent, nobody moved to threaten the unconscious demigod, but no one moved to set him free either.
“Okay! Does this mean you’re gonna do this the-”
The next instant there was a blur, a crash, and I was sent stumbling back as sound and pressure slammed into me! I stumbled back, blinking to clear my vision and trying to get a grip on what had just happened.
Kali was gone. Where before she had been walking forwards with seeming invincibility now she was just gone!
No, that wasn’t right! As my sight cleared I saw a trail smashed into one of the fields, stalks of crops smashed down as though a runaway truck had driven into the field. The next moment there was an outraged shout, and the earth shook as a blast of fire illuminated the darkness.
Okay, Kali was fighting, but someone had managed to take her out of our current standoff.
Not good!
The Hunt surged forward, like a sudden tide breaking through a dam.
Even more not good!
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Lancelot bit back a curse as he swung his sword through the neck of a red-capped hobgoblin. The head flew off and the body slumped, but he knew it would not be so for long.
These were not true hobgoblins, the mischievous cousins of brownies. These were the renegades, the outcasts, the warped reflections that sought out a place to engage in the violence and cruelty they lusted for. Redcaps earned their names by soaking their caps in the blood of their victims, deriving strength and power from the stolen blood. Strength, power, and immortality. It was said that so long as the blood soaking the cap of a redcap stayed fresh then they could not die.
Lancelot had learned the truth of that tale when he had still been mortal, to his regret. His lack of knowledge at the time had cost innocents their lives before he realised his mistake.
In the present, his past was relevant because it seemed that many redcaps had joined the Hunt, and now they all seemed to be targeting him specifically. Perhaps they could somehow tell that he had once slain one of their kind. Perhaps his being a knight of Arthur somehow offended them. Whatever the case six of them had come straight at him as soon as the Wild Hunt moved to attack.
His sword, Arondight, had already taken the heads off three of them, but Lancelot knew it would not be permanent. Even with just their own immortality a redcap could reattach a severed head, unless it was salted and buried on holy ground. With the immortality of the Wild Hunt further empowering them what should have taken hours would be the work of seconds, barely even a full minute!
The problem was that this was all a distraction!
Under other circumstances Lancelot would have relished the chance to fight and slay a group of murderous hobgoblins, but not now. Even as he fought he could see Adam moving away, taking the scabbard with him!
NO! When the fight had begun the Knight of the Lake had felt a surge of relief. Relief that the Excalibur’s sheath would not be exchanged, relief that this was coming down to a fight rather than trickery or bargaining. However, that also meant there was a chance for the scabbard to be lost in battle! And if he wanted to prevent that then he had to stay close to the winged demigod that had the sheath.
And these immortal overgrown and bloodthirsty goblins were in the way!
The remaining three came at him in a pack, one straight on, the other two trying to flank him. Lancelot lashed out at the first but found his sword blocked by a pair of crossed daggers. Compared to his broadsword they were fragile weapons, but the strength behind them was supernatural, enough to hold back the blow this time at least. Another came at him from his left. No weapons, only black claws that looked like they belonged on some sort of animal. Yellowish-green fire wreathed them, giving them the edge that nature would not.
The claws came at him, but Lancelot knew this dance, knew how to lead, and how to drag his partners into his rhythm. His shoulder tilted and instead of taking the claws straight on, they screeched down the side of his armour, leaving scratches but nothing more. The third redcap came lower down, trying to take Lancelot’s legs out with something that looked like a mining pick modified for war. He stamped down with perfect timing, trapping the pick and then kicking the recap in the face.
All of this was done in the space of a couple of seconds, a testament to the training he had undergone to become a knight worthy of the Round Table.
The two daggers shattered as he forced his sword down again, Arondight’s blade cutting into the bulky hobgoblin as though he were made of cake rather than flesh and bone. Wrenching the sword out in one violent movement Lancelot turned it into a swing, decapitating the redcap clawing at him, even as he brought his steel-clad boot down on the face of the third. There was an audible crunch as the skull gave way, and then nothing.
They would be back, far sooner than he would like, but for the moment they were out of the way. Ducking under a swing from a centaur Lancelot slashed a leg open, then stabbed him through the heart as he came crashing down, the entire act performed almost absentmindedly as he looked for Adam.
Seeing his target deeper in the battle the Knight of the Lake started moving to close with the demigod.
And woe betide any who got in his way.
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Skliros snarled in frustration as he saw a fellow centaur go down, but spared it no great attention as he focused on his foe.
Athena was known to him, though they had never crossed paths before. A small part of him was intimidated to face a true Olympian god, another part felt viciously joyous!
Finally, a chance to spill the blood of those self-important and self-righteous inbred bastards! For his entire life, Skliros had been looked down upon by them, scorned, judged and dismissed. It did not matter that he was the son of wise Chiron, and so technically Athena’s cousin, since they shared a grandfather. It did not matter that he was immortal, and trained by his father. No! All that mattered was that he had chosen the warrior’s path, that he had been more ‘savage’ than his father, that he had not measured up to the image of perfection left by Chiron the Wise!
Treated as just another centaur marauder, was it any wonder he had grown bitter under the rule of Olympus? In the end, he fled the Greek lands, taking his small band of followers and seeking far-off lands in which to be free. His travels had led him to encounter the Wild Hunt, and he had eagerly joined them, his immortality giving them power, even as he gained more.
“Haahhh!”
He let out a war cry as he swung his axe down at the Greek war goddess. She was taller than most mortals, but he still towered over her and tremendously out massed her. His horse-body had let him charge in, packing all his weight and force behind his attack, but even so, the shield that intercepted his attack held, and Athena only took a single step back.
The spear of the goddess shot out, a stabbing silver flash, seeking to stab into his chest, ripping his heart apart and coring Skliros like an apple. He did not try to evade, at least not completely. Instead, he swayed slightly to the side, the spear going through a lung and missing his heart. To any being, even an immortal, it would have been fatal or even debilitating, but he could already feel the flames of the Hunt searing at the wound within him, burning his pain, keeping him fighting! Before the weapon could be withdrawn he lashed out with the Roman gladius in his other hand, cutting at Athena’s face.
The goddess was caught off guard by the sheer speed of his retaliation, especially with most of a spear still running through his chest. She was able to react in time though, tilting her head so the blade struck her helmet, rather than her face, and was deflected in a shower of sparks. In the next instant, she had charged forward, slamming her shield into him and sending his larger form stumbling back, her spear being pulled from his body with a bloody ripping sound. Almost immediately the centaur felt his wound closing, the familiar burn of the Hunt fire flaring and fading as it completed its task.
For a moment they both paused, assessing each other. The moment was interrupted as a vampire, pale and sleek in his black leather armour, emerged from the shadows to try and stab the goddess in the back. Without even turning to look at the bloodsucker Athena swung the butt of her spear behind her, the wooden shaft striking with enough force to fold the vampire over it like an empty sack. Bones crackled as they gave way in droves, the blow ended and sent him flying back into the shadows. Never did her gaze waver, remaining fixed on Skliros.
He felt a savage smile split his face. Well, now at least he had her attention.
A flash of white to his left almost broke his concentration, but he remained focused on the goddess before him. The demigod Herne had been trying to trick, the winged one that held the scabbard, seemed to be forcing his way through to save the other demigod.
In truth, Skliros and Herne had been unhappy with the deception that Ravananaer had suggested. However, the thought of gaining possession of both the scabbard and the demigod they had hunted had appealed too much to the rest of the Hunt. Herne might have been the leader but even he was not immune to the desire that swept through them all. In the end, they had chosen to use a changeling, and it had failed.
The mighty centaur let out an ululating bellow of bloodlust and charged at Athena once more. Perhaps things had gone awry, perhaps the plan had failed, but at that moment he did not care!
He would do his duty and keep the powerful and skilled goddess occupied. He would give his allies the opportunity to succeed.
And if that meant he also got the chance to shed some of that precious Olympian blood . . . well that was merely a happy happenstance.
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The wind whipped around me, answering my call and keeping me from being dogpiled by things from a nightmare.
Okay, maybe charging straight into the Wild Hunt hadn’t been my best idea. Though to be fair, it had seemed like a good one at the time. I’d had a bead on the kid they were holding, Herne hadn’t been able to regain his feet yet, and I’d thought that I could make it before the Hunt could pull out all the stops.
Turned out that I’d been half right, my bull rush had caught them by surprise, but they’d been able to react faster than I’d thought they would manage. It made a horrible kind of sense, some small part of my mind noted. They didn’t have to fear death, so they didn’t need to hesitate like mortals would. They could just throw themselves at a threat, no need for thoughts, no need for a plan, no need to worry if anyone else was going to do the same thing.
That was why I’d suddenly found myself in danger of being buried under the bodies of those throwing themselves at me. For a moment I’d thought to hold them off with a shield, but then I’d gone with the wind instead. A shield could hold them off, but I’d end up buried if I wasn’t careful. Wind, on the other hand . . .
My halo hummed, and white and grey flowed through me as I hovered at the centre of my own personal hurricane!
It was barely thirty feet across, only a bit more than my wingspan, but it spun with brutal force, the winds screaming through the air so fast it almost sounded like the wail of some enraged ghost. It didn’t matter who tried to get through, goblins naga, even centaurs, all of them got thrown away as though hit by an invisible giant.
As far as defences went it was the among best that I’d managed to cook up so far. My shield might be more solid, able to defend against more damage, but this tempest around me didn’t just block attacks, it sent those that attacked me flying. It probably wouldn’t work on something as big as Etienne or the bear form of the kid, but for multiple smaller enemies, it worked just great.
There were problems though. The hurricane had a sort of weight to it, I had to drag it along with me. The closest I could come to describing it would be like I was at the bottom of a pool, with good traction and no need to breathe. I had some ropes strapped to my back, and they were attached to something big and heavy floating on the surface of the pool. I could move it, but it was difficult, and once I got it moving, steering was really hard.
My rush had slowed to a plod, as though I was walking upriver against a forceful current. Each step was a slow and hard task, but I was making progress. I’d also managed to keep up the thread of darkness to my eyes, keeping my strange shadow vision, all that practice with dual-energy manipulation had proven its worth. Because of that, I could still see the kid I was aiming for, clear as day.
I saw when the shirtless guy reached down to pick the kid up, and I knew I’d run out of time.
Using the hurricane had been a mistake! It’d kept me safe, but speed had been my main asset, and by slowing down I’d let the Hunt take the initiative. If they took the kid . . . then what? Would they try to negotiate again? Would they just call it quits and sell him to the highest bidder?
No more time, I just acted.
I dropped the tempest, the winds exploding outwards as they left my control, then dying down almost immediately. The burst of winds forced back the hunters that had been crowding around me and gave me a brief opening, one that I used for all it was worth.
I loved flying, but I’d never really pushed it as hard as I could. I knew I could fly fast, but on my flight to the forest where I faced Etienne, I’d been more focused on my freedom from the Hallowed Sanctuary and dealing with my lingering problem with heights. I hadn’t pushed my speed though, not even in my fight with Etienne, or later with Herne. Speed could have been a factor, but it wasn’t something I was too familiar with. Instead, I’d focused on my magic, shields, attacks, area control, that kind of thing. Things I felt comfortable with, things I felt I was good at.
Speed, fighting up close and personal, those . . . well, it wasn’t like I was scared of them, or completely useless. Joan and Hadriel had hammered the use of my strength and bladed wings in enough that I could actually not embarrass myself using them. It was just that I liked using magic more. There was always so much I could do, and so much more that I hadn’t unlocked yet. Telekinesis, elemental manipulation, weather control, all of that was just the first layer, I was sure of it. After that, the deeper stuff, I was sure that it was going to be awesome. That was why I’d fallen a bit behind on some aspects of my physical powers.
So, what happened next caught me completely by surprise.
My eyes were focused on the indistinct man picking the kid up, and on the narrow and brief path to him that had opened up by the explosion of my hurricane. It was there, a clear path between us, one that would get blocked as soon as the rest of the Hunt started moving again, but right then I could see it! I had to get as close as I could as fast as I could! I had to use that path for all it was worth! So, as the grey and white of wind faded away I focused not on a colour of magic, but on one single and simple concept.
My flight.
I’d gone fast before, but I’d never pushed myself to go from dead still to flat out as fast as I could. I hadn’t needed to and there’d been other stuff I had to focus on. As it turned out, that might have been more than I could handle.
I was physically better in every way since I’d Awakened. My strength, my stamina, my durability, all of that had come up in training. My senses, my balance, my ability to deal with heights, that had been a bit more subtle, but I’d noticed it, after some time anyway. My reflexes, my timing, all of that had also improved, and it was a damned good thing they had.
I took off like a rocket had just shot by me and snagged me as it went. There was no grace, no elegance, no form. Sure, I didn’t have too much of that under normal circumstances, but I had managed to take off and land without making a fool out of myself. This . . . this was my flight just launching me in the direction I wanted to go, with all the finesse of me being fired out of a cannon.
The world narrowed to a tunnel, me at one end, my target at the other, and the only thing letting me even slightly control it was the ungodly amount of adrenalin that was suddenly flooding my system. I didn’t tackle the shirtless man, it was more like I crashed into him as I came in, barely managing to keep my head up, rather than just pinwheeling uncontrollably.
The three of us all went down at the same time, me, the kid, and the shirtless guy, hitting the road’s tarmac, then rolling into the tall grass of a field. I could feel the long blades bending and breaking under my weight, slapping at my face and slowing my roll.
It wasn’t just them though, I’d folded my wings in instinctively as I hit the shirtless guy and the kid, but even so, then slowed my roll, and brought me to a stop faster. I was the first to regain my balance, the first back on my feet. That let me get a good look at the hunter before he was fully recovered.
The first thing that came to mind on seeing him was jealousy. The guy getting to his feet had to be in his mid-twenties at most and eye-catching as hell. He had the Indian features of a Bollywood star, and his every muscle was clear and carved out as though he’d lived his whole life in a training gym. His face was handsome, his eyes piercing, his jaw slightly stubbled and his hair artfully messy in that way that needed an hour with a team of hair care experts to achieve. It took me a moment to remember that I wasn’t the same old Adam that I’d been anymore, but the fact that I forgot for a second just went to show how striking this guy looked.
I only had a couple of seconds lead on him though, he moved like liquid, seeming to flow back to his feet with easy grace. He’d lost his grip on the demigod he’d been holding though, and I could see most of the kid’s unconscious form lying in the grass between us. The grass was tall, easily coming up to our waists, but our tumble into it had left a flattened swathe that we were now standing in. The boy’s legs were visible, but most of his upper body was lost in the grass, at least from where I was standing.
Behind us, I could hear the sound of fighting, but for a moment there was silence here, as the shirtless guy and I sized each other up.
“The kid’s coming with me!” I declared, my wings spreading behind me and energy gathering around my fists as I went for a deliberate show of force.
“If you want the boy, then leave the scabbard.”
He had a definite Hindi accent to his words, but his English was perfectly clear. His voice matched his appearance, smooth and low.
“Not going to happen,” I replied. “The scabbard’s going back to its owner.”
“Greedy,” he observed. “Do not think everything shall go as you wish.”
There was a golden glow in his hands and then each of them was holding a large golden weapon. For a moment I thought they were sceptres, but the way he held them implied they were weapons. They were . . . clubs? No! I remembered this from some Bollywood film I’d watched a year ago, those were Indian maces, there was a proper name for them, but I couldn’t remember it.
“I am Ravananaer, son of Ravana. Do you still wish to face me?”
For a moment I thought about returning the boast and revealing I was a Legacy of Shiva, but then I dismissed the idea. I knew who Ravana was, a powerful demon king and the principal foe of Rama, one of the most beloved heroes of Indian mythology. If this guy was his son then this could be bad. No time for more wordplay, I had to go hard and fast if I wanted to get out of here with the kid, the scabbard and my life!
“Yes,” I spoke the single word as I blasted him with a couple of powerful TK blasts, even as I moved to get closer to the kid.
Ravananaer didn’t reply, he just swung one mace, smashing the blasts away as though he was playing baseball and I’d just sent some pitches at him.
This was going to be tough.
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