Chương 165: Chapter 163 – Blue Tide

Cole took first watch, relieved by Heartbreaker close to midnight. He unpacked his woobie and hoped the bugs weren't poisonous as he wrapped himself and leaned his back against the L-ATV. He awoke with the light creeping over the horizon and tried to move, only to feel like his arms and legs were made of lead. Then he looked down and saw that several of the blue-furred goblins had made a pile across his legs and were snoring and twitching. He extricated himself to much grumbling and shook the fur off his woobie.

Hard Tone grinned at him from where she stood with the orc.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Nice and cozy?" Cole crunched his way across the gravel to the bench, where the orc looked out into the sunrise with his hand shading his eyes. Following his gaze, Cole could just make out winged shapes circling in a column in the distance.

"Scavengers?" asked Cole.

"Aye, and no small company. What we find on the wing, twice find we upon the land. Could be another party has taken our quarry in the night. If this be fact, some blood must spill to get you your prize." Sourtooth stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle that roused many of the goblins from their piles. They got up, stumbling blearily toward their vehicles. Cole woke Anne and Heartbreaker, who were curled up in the back of the L-ATV.

As soon as they moved, a gaggle of goblins hauled over a mounted weapon that looked something like a TOW launcher, and before he could say anything, they began drilling bolt holes and latching the thing down in the back of the L-ATV. Cole looked at Hard Tone. She shrugged.

"The goblins make the weapons themselves. If our guns don't do the job, we'll need theirs. Remember, this thing cancels out the Lewis Field. The bigger goblin with the burned knuckles heaved himself up into the back of the L-ATV. His hands were now covered with a pair of thick leather gloves, and he almost fell back out of the vehicle again trying to lever up a heavy sack. Cole helped him with it, and Knuckleburns grinned a wide set of sharp teeth at him.

"Don't worry, boss. I'll show ye how it works." He flexed his arm and squeezed his own muscle.

"I'm the fastest reckless rifle loader there is, so no frettin', yeah?" Cole leaned down and opened the drawstring on the bag, where several oblong canisters were packed in some dried grass—but very much still free and loose. Knuckleburns pulled one of the canisters out and waddled over to the new mounted weapon. He twisted a latch on the side and slid the breech open, then stuffed the round in. He thought for a moment, pulled the round out and turned it the other way around.

Nodding, he closed the breech and locked it down again. He pointed at the handles on the back.

"Here's how you fire it. Smoke'll come from these ports here. Try'n not breathe it."

"Is there a safety?" asked Cole. Knuckleburns raised his hands and wiggled his finger inside his gloves.

"That's what these are for. Don't worry, boss. No more burns. Safety!" Heartbreaker laughed as he moved his equipment around to accommodate the extra storage.

"I'm an ethereal energy caster and Anne is a sword girl. Enhancements and ethereal spells get most of their strength sapped around this thing, so this one's on you and Tone, Cole. Don't fuck up."

"Got it," said Cole. He leaned down and sighted along the tube, somewhat alarmed by the visible bend in the barrel. The convoy began to roll out under Sourtooth's direction, toward the circling birds. It took them until mid-morning to reach the craggy, cracked terrain. Hard tone pulled up to a ridge overlooking the area, and Cole saw a field of carrion birds picking across the remains of dozens of orcs like Sourtooth and saddled antelope-like creatures.

The old orc swore and vaulted over the side of the vehicle, slip-sliding his way down the rise towards the carnage and scattering some of the birds. Cole followed him, hand over his nose and mouth to ward off the foul smell. None of the bodies were in good shape. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Sourtooth rolled one over with his prosthetic and leaned down to pull off a yellow and green band wrapped around the dead orc's upper arm.

"Burnhorn's Squashers," said Sourtooth. He spat on the ground.

"Seasoned hunters, they—yet scattered and trampled. Witnessed I, their taking of a pack of thunder-cleave. They would not easily be bested by beast." A foul tang on the air caught Cole's attention—an almost metallic scent. He moved through the field, spotting a sort of black, sticky goo on one of the orcs. He scraped his knife through it and brought it to his nose, recoiling from it. It smelled like burnt steel and dust. Sourtooth crouched down next to him.

"Twas the nymph. Its blood stains black your knife. Foul creature—and not far gone, for that discharge is fresh."

"I don't see any tracks," said Cole.

"Nor should you wish them. At birth and maturity, do they take wingless flight. In middle years only, are they bound to the ground in mockery of a natural beast. If saw we tracks, would be time to call the stars down."

"Call the stars down?" asked Cole. Sourtooth slapped his shoulder with a hand that felt like aged, oiled hardwood.

"Worry you not. They are not truly stars."

"Oh," said Cole.

"Merely ten orcs' weight in iron, placed in the sky by Apollo."

"Ah," said Cole, absolutely not even beginning to decipher the orc's bizarre speech.

"Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?" Still, the orc seemed troubled as they moved back to the vehicles and continued following the trail of blood deeper into the rocky hills. The terrain started to become treacherous, forcing them to slow their progress. The vehicles crawled along, crunching gravel beneath their tires. Sourtooth leaned forward over the windscreen, sniffing the air. He pointed north, towards a hill at their nine-o'clock.

Cole moved, quickly and quietly as he could, and pulled his rifle around. With a little shake to wake the ravenous gun, he shouldered it and leveled the muzzle towards the hillside Sourtooth was watching. Magnifying membranes emerged from its spine and Cole watched a few pebbles roll down from the ridge. The hoots and hollers of the convoy went silent, leaving only the uneven drones of the goblin engines. The wind shifted, cooling the sweat that had begun to bead on the back of Cole's neck.

The scrubby brush at the top of the hill started to shake. Cole caught a hint of movement behind and centered his rifle on the brief glint of sunlight off black, faceted carapace. Hard Tone swapped with Heartbreaker, the mage taking the wheel while Tone prepped her own weapon—a shoulder-mounted launcher with a top-fed magazine. A black, scythe-like claw appeared at the crest, then another about five meters away.

Between them, a lop-sided shape began to bulge up, revealing a flat, back crest atop a quivering mouth full of what looked like jagged glass. The low rumble of its growl rolled down the hill, vibrating the gravel as it swept its head back and forth. This thing was a nymph? It was the size of a killer whale! And he couldn't even see the whole thing!" What's it looking for?" whispered Cole." Magic," said Knuckleburns.

He had his own rifle up, but the muzzled wavered as the goblin shook with barely-contained excitement. Heartbreaker cranked the wheel to the right, tires twisting with a soft grinding noise." Wait til I've got a clear shot," said Hard Tone. Apparently one of the other vehicles didn't get the message, because a pair of rocket motors ignited somewhere behind them, sending two burning streaks racing toward the top of the hill. One hit the hill itself, sending a column of dirt and smoke skyward.

The other skipped off the top of the nymph's crest and exploded in the air somewhere behind it. Every goblin in the convoy fired after that, and Cole put a dozen rounds through the ravenous rifle right alongside Knuckleburns cranking his lever-action in the nymph's general direction. A hail of contrails filled the air, and dozens of shots thudded into the creature, sparking off its claws and carapace. The thing roared and surged over the ridge, slithering through the air.

The bulk of its bulbous body hovered, though it dug with its claws to fling itself forward like a black, chitinous missile. Heartbreaker hit the gas, and the L-ATV peeled out with a spray of gravel, turning down the hill away from the nymph. The rest of the goblins scattered as well, but not before the null devil nymph caught the offending buggy between its mantis-like claws, cleaving the vehicle into three pieces and scattering screaming goblins in all directions."

Tis more grown than reported," Sourtooth shouted over the cacophony of guns and rockets and engines." You think?!" shouted Cole. He turned to face the old orc, who, much to his distress, was grinning." Oh, aye. Feels as though the Stampede marches on! There is blood yet in these withered veins!" Knuckleburns tugged at Cole's sleeve and pointed at the recoilless rifle. Hell, Cole could barely keep himself in the back of the vehicle.

But somehow, he maneuvered enough to pull the locking pin from the pintle mount and swing the barrel—or at least the warped muzzle of it—toward the creature currently turning another goblin vehicle into scrap metal. Time to see what these goblin guns could do.