Snorri attacked. As the unborn’s attention pinned me he leapt forwards, sword in his off hand, and hacked at its narrow waist of bone, dry skin, old gristle. The thing lurched alarmingly, recovered itself, and slapped him away with a lazy backhand that lifted the Norseman from his feet and sent him sprawling, his sword flying past me, lost in the night.
Battles are all about strategy, and strategy pivots on priorities. Since my priorities were Prince Jalan, Prince Jalan, and Prince Jalan, with “looking good” a distant fourth, I took the opportunity to resume running away. I find that the main thing about success is the ability to act in the moment. A hero attacks in the moment; a good coward runs in it. The rest of the world waits for the next moment and ends up as crow food.
I made it ten yards before nearly slicing my foot off on Snorri’s sword, which had ended its trajectory point first. Nine inches of the blade lay buried in the hard earth, the rest jutting up dangerously. Even in my terror I recognized the value in three foot of cold steel and paused to haul it clear. The action spun me around and I could see the unborn looming over Snorri, ghostly in the starlight. Weaponless, he refused to run and held what looked to be a gravestone above him like a shield. The stone shattered beneath the unborn’s descending fist. A thin hand of many bones encircled the Viking’s waist—in another moment he would be gutted or have his head torn off.
Something huge and dark and wailing like a banshee swept towards me from the camp. Rather than be flattened beneath its ground-shaking bulk I ran, selecting the direction I happened to be pointing in. I needed all my speed to keep clear of the massive pounding feet behind me, and screaming, I charged directly at the unborn, desperately trying to find the extra legs to veer to the side.
At the last moment, with pants-wetting haste, I dived left, narrowly missing Snorri, rolled, rolled again, and somehow avoided skewering myself on the sword. I rose to watch in astonishment as Cherri bounced past atop an enraged elephant. The unborn went down with the sound of a hundred wet sticks snapping, ground to pieces beneath blunt feet the size of bucklers. The elephant thundered on into the night, still bearing the girl, and trumpeting loud enough to wake the dead, if any had still been asleep.
Snorri landed close by with a thud that made me wince. He lay without moving for five beats of my heart, then levered himself up on thick arms. I held his sword out to him and he took it.
“My thanks.”
“Least I could do.”
“Not every man would run off to recover a comrade’s weapon, then charge an unborn single-handed.” He got to his feet with a groan and stared off into the night. “Elephant, eh?”
“Yup.”
“And a woman.” He went to the fire and started kicking embers over the unborn’s remains.
“Yup.”
Circus folk were streaming towards us now, dark shapes against the night.
“Think she’ll be all right?”
I considered the matter, having spent some time between her thighs myself. “I’m more worried for the elephant.”
TEN
By first light the circus camp had been half packed away. None of them held any desire to remain, and I expected Dr. Taproot would have to find a new stopover the next time they passed this way.
Cherri returned with the elephant as I waited for Snorri by the field gate. The dwarf had returned to his post and we were both trying to cheat each other at cards. I stood and waved. Cherri must have had to wait for dawn to find her way back. She looked worn out, her face paints smeared, dark streaks around her eyes. A gentleman pretends not to notice these things, and I hastened over to catch her as she slipped from the creature’s back. She felt good enough in my arms to make me regret the need to leave.
“My thanks, lady.” I set her down and backed away from the elephant’s questing trunk. The beast made me seven kinds of nervous and smelled of farms to boot. “Good boy!” I slapped its wrinkled flanks and dodged towards the gate again.
“She’s a girl,” Cherri said. “Nelly.”
“Ah. What else could she be called?” Saved by a dancing girl on a female elephant. I wouldn’t be adding that to the tale of the hero of Aral Pass.
Cherri took the elephant’s halter rope and led her off into the camp, shooting me one last wicked glance that made me wish for another night, at the least.
Snorri arrived moments later. “Hell of a thing.” He shook his head. “Elephants!”
“You could take one home,” I suggested.
“We have mammoths! Even bigger, but in fur coats. I’ve never seen one, but I want to now.” He looked back into the camp. “I paid my respects to the mother. There’s nothing to say at such times, but it’s better to say something than nothing even so.” He slapped an overly familiar hand to my shoulder. “We should go, Jal, our welcome’s worn thin. Unless you wanted to barter for horses?”