The kobold blanched, but he didn’t get drawn into conversation as I’d hoped. My clever scheme to get him talking failed miserably, because he was unfortunately reminded that there was someone nearby that he could toss around easily—namely, the swearing truck driver, who hadn’t shut up or even noticed that I was ignoring him.
Kohleherz’s inky fingers shot out towards the man, and he said “Move!” again, but this time his gesture was very specific instead of a careless swipe. He brought his arm over his head and the hapless man arced up into the sky, a high-pitched scream gurgling incongruously out of him, and then the kobold’s fingers pointed directly at me. So I could move out of the way and let the man splat head-first into the pavement, or I could catch him. There wasn’t a binding I could whip up in time to save him magically, and in any case my juice was dangerously low. I chose to catch him.
I was hoping he’d thank me for saving his life, but that’s not the way he was wired. He already thought I was some sort of sexual deviant, so finding himself forcibly thrown into my arms and rolling around the parking lot with me was possibly the most horrific turn of events he could imagine. His teeth were stained brown, his breath foul, and his throat made hoarse panicky noises as he began punching and slapping at me in an effort to extricate himself. I tired of that instantly and hit him back harder than was strictly necessary. He slumped unconscious and I looked around wildly to locate Kohleherz.
He was edging backward to the quarry but involved in a running fight with the gnomes, who’d finally drawn within range to bring their own magic to bear. In the visible spectrum, all anyone would see were five of Santa’s elves walking briskly and waving their arms about somewhat spastically. In the magical spectrum, though, I saw that they were trying to bind the kobold and he was deflecting every attempt. He didn’t counterattack—he didn’t have time to muster a response under the relentless assault of the gnomes—but neither was there a need to as long as he could keep making progress toward the quarry.
I had nothing I could contribute magically at this point. My last dregs of power were needed to keep Oberon camouflaged; I couldn’t have him be seen unleashed and unattended at a mall. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough left to cast it on myself, and I sorely needed it now that other shoppers, drawn by the unconscious man’s screams and the running elves, were paying attention to our little imbroglio. I needed to get out of there and reconnect with the earth—and help the gnomes while I was at it.
Gasps and cries and an outraged “Hey! What are you doing?” reached me from various parts of the parking lot as I rolled the man over, looking for anything that might help me in a fight. I was hoping for a pocket knife, but had no luck. However, a bulging, telltale ring on the back pocket of his jeans suggested that he owed his brown teeth to chewing tobacco. I fished the round can out of there, satisfyingly heavy in my hand, and then streaked east toward the quarry (in both senses of the word).
Indignant cries chased me. They probably thought I’d taken the man’s wallet. If they pursued me in earnest they’d risk getting themselves drawn into the fight between the gnomes and the kobold. The sooner this was over, the safer everyone would be.
I scooted along the northernmost edge of the lot, which would allow me to pass the duelists with perhaps the grace of three or four yards. As I drew even with the gnomes, I contributed to their cause by chucking the can o’ tobacky directly at the kobold. He saw me and the flash of the can in the light of the lot and desperately whipped a deflection spell at it, thinking it was perhaps a throwing star or some other kind of weapon. It was nothing more than distraction.
It served to open a fissure in the wall of the kobold’s defense, allowing one of the gnomes’ binding spells to squirt through and knock him down. The steel thermos clattered loudly on the ground a couple of times before rolling away. Now that the breach was made, other spells piled on. Kohleherz screeched a nerve-shredding chalkboard scream, knowing that his death was imminent and there was nothing he could do about it. I kept running east and left the gnomes to it as they rushed in to make the kobold render them personal, physical restitution; Kohleherz’s cries cut off abruptly with a wet noise, and when they did the sense of wrong I’d felt as a subtext ever since his arrival dissipated.
Sirens approached as my feet found the sandy soil of the quarry. Relief flooded through me as I drew energy up through my tattoos and camouflaged myself. Once I’d topped off the magical tank, I strolled back to make sure Kohleherz was truly dead.
He was. Nothing remained but an oily, oozing patch of asphalt and a group of savagely pleased gnomes. I felt sure they would keep my presence here a secret, and the faery would be telling no tales, since his ashes were scattering in the wind. Goibhniu had come and gone without ever seeing me, so I concluded, as I wished to, that it was safe to stay in Tempe for a while longer. The Rathskellers retrieved the steel thermos, and that was for the best; whatever Goibhniu had brewed, it was not intended for humans. They saw me passing by, my camouflage providing no concealment to their magical vision, and they bowed briefly. I nodded back, acknowledging that I’d done them a favor and someday, if occasion arose, they’d return it.
The smokeless tobacco guy would be getting an ambulance soon, judging by the sirens and the few people clustered around him holding cell phones, so I walked back to where I’d left my dog and got dressed so I could walk in plain sight again.
Oberon said when I returned. Famished, eh? That’s a pretty big word for a dog to use.
That’s tragic.
Santa leaves gifts for Christmas, Oberon, not a Druid’s holidays.
Okay, just in case. I’m sure you’re on his list of very good dogs.
Read more of Atticus O’Sullivan’s adventures in The Iron Druid Chronicles, coming in 2011!
Book one in the series, Hounded, comes out on April 19, followed shortly thereafter by Hexed in May and Hammered in June!
Visit author Kevin Hearne at www.kevinhearne.com.
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Kevin Hearne, Clan Rathskeller
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