The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(51)
“I don’t think so,” said Jackaby. “The twain wasn’t lying. Or at least he believed what he was saying.”
“Am I lying?” Serif asked.
Jackaby considered her. “Hm. No.”
“There you have it.”
“How did you two get here?” I asked. “If Arawn doesn’t know about the Dire King’s stronghold, then how did you two find it?”
“We followed you, obviously,” said Serif. “We lost your trail briefly in the sewers, but Virgule connected the dots.”
“Ley lines,” Virgule said. “I knew we were close, so I plotted the nearest corresponding ley lines and found an intersection point very nearby.”
“Ley lines?” I asked.
“Seams,” said Jackaby. “A ley line is a seam along the veil wall. Our world has scarcely any functional magic compared to the Annwyn, but magic is always strongest along the seams. Sorcerers and witches throughout the ages have made use of these ley lines to strengthen their own natural gifts. It stands to reason the rend would fall on a ley line. Easier to pop a seam than to cut straight through.”
“Care to explain why you were working with the enemy?” Serif asked. Her grip tightened on the crossbow, but for now she kept it hanging at her side.
“Better the devil you know,” Jackaby answered. He nodded toward Pavel. “He got us closer to the devil we don’t.”
“It seems he outlived his usefulness.” Serif raised an eyebrow. “Are you in the habit of killing all your informants?”
“Only those who are in the habit of trying to kill us,” Jackaby said.
“Madam General,” Virgule interrupted. “We’re not alone.”
The doors to a blocky guardhouse on the far corner of the hold flung open. In the doorway stood a lithe man with white-blond hair, his face shrouded in shadow. He was oddly familiar, but my attention was pulled from him to a pair of bright red imps who exploded past him, tails whipping behind them eagerly. They leapt onto the outer rim of the wall, vaulting the crenellations and chattering like monkeys as they galloped toward us.
Virgule’s sword was out in a flash as he leapt down from the roof onto the wall. “Watch out, General.”
Serif was unfazed. She stood her ground and leveled her crossbow at the nearest galloping imp. The bolt impaled the thing in midleap, sending the little red creature backward over the parapet with a pained squeak and then tumbling down the side of the wall. The second imp chittered angrily and continued forward in leaps and bounds. “If imps are the best they can throw at us—” Serif began.
She was interrupted by a wet groan. The ogres—the ones Pavel had dispatched for us—sat up. They pushed themselves heavily to their feet, their heads still hanging at an unnatural angle to their bodies. Their eyes were glassy like the late Mr. Fairmont’s had been, right before the late Mr. Fairmont tried to eat Charlie and me back in the gardens.
If you are unfamiliar with the sensation of being surrounded by undead ogres, it is akin to the feeling of being lost in the woods. The shapes looming around you are simply too much to take in all at once. The difference, of course, is that trees are less inclined to murder you violently. Also, there is a smell.
The ogre corpses had reached their full height, their necks cracking sickeningly as they looked around to face us. My head barely came up to the largest brute’s waist, my eyes roughly even with its meaty, swaying knuckles. I felt slightly dizzy as I gazed up.
Charlie and I had only barely survived one walking human corpse; I did not like our odds against this massive pair. Perhaps if Pavel had still been alive to help—and if he had not been actively trying to kill us himself—we might have stood half a chance. He had, after all, been strong enough to take on the two brutes by himself. But now—
Pavel sat up. The early morning sunlight washed his pale, scarred face. It was the first time I had ever seen him upright in the daylight. He did not look better for it. His eyes, like the ogres’, were eerily vacant. The creature that had once been Pavel stood up clumsily.
“Lieutenant,” barked Serif. “I’ve got the larger ogre; you see to the lesser. Go. Seer—can I trust you two to attend to your reanimated informant?”
“We’ve got it in hand!” Jackaby said.
Virgule had already advanced on the first ogre, sword drawn. The brute took a swipe at him, which he ducked easily, rising to bury the blade in the ogre’s chest. The sword sank deep. The ogre glanced at the hilt protruding from his torso and then slapped Virgule with a blow that sent him skidding along the castle wall until he rolled to a stop twenty feet away.
Serif grunted as she launched herself against the other ogre, but my attention was quickly drawn to Pavel, who was advancing fast.
Jackaby gripped the wooden stake. “No hard feelings?” he said, and drove it into Pavel’s heart. The forces driving Pavel had clearly changed. The stake sank into his chest, but to no avail. Pavel did not slow, but rather pushed into the attack, catching Jackaby by surprise.
Fortunately for my employer, Pavel appeared to have forgotten that he had no teeth. He buried his gums into Jackaby’s neck. Jackaby cried out in alarm. The two of them were locked together, looking equally distraught for several seconds, until Jackaby came to his senses. He seized Pavel by the arm and flipped him around in an awkward tumble that sent both of them sprawling.