Deepgate Codex 2 Iron Angel by Alan Campbell

Author:Alan Campbell [Campbell, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780553589320
Publisher: Tor
Published: 2008-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

16

DILL

IN DILL’S DREAM he was fighting amid a whole crowd of people. Men and women of all ages jostled him and yelled and brawled with one another. Fists flailed all around him. Boots kicked him in the shins and stomach. Greasy fingers grabbed his hair and yanked him down towards wet red earth. He broke free for an instant and found himself staring up at a featureless grey sky. Then someone stumbled against his wings, and Dill fell back under the crowd. A knee struck him on the temple, driving him deeper into the morass. He clutched at a ragged, sweat-soaked shirt, but its owner tore the shirt away and stamped on the angel’s face. Dill looked beyond the boot up to a grizzled, grinning face, and a broad white chest, muscled like an ox.

Then powerful hands hauled him upright.

“The trick of surviving a portal,” roared a deep voice from behind the angel, “is not to let the other bastards smell your fear. That, and to smash their poxy faces in at any chance you get. Hah!”

A metal gauntlet lashed out across Dill’s left shoulder and punched the grizzled brawler in the face, shattering the big man’s nose.

His rescuer was a huge angel clad in old, battered steel armour. A giant, he towered over everyone else, including the man he’d just struck. Wild grey hair flew about his shoulders as he lifted his now limp quarry and then threw him far into the crowd.

The battle-archon laughed. “We’re all ghosts here, lad, trapped in the same lousy dream. The battle is merely a contest of will. Now watch this! You can find weapons if you use your wits.”

He stooped and grabbed the ankle of an old woman who had fallen. She wasn’t moving. Grinning, the archon swung the woman like a club, smashing a path through the terrified crowd. Spatters of blood flew everywhere. “You see?” he boomed. “Easy as you like.” Then he tossed the old woman’s bloody corpse away like a soiled rag and said, “Aye, aye! There’s a better one.” Now he picked up a soldier dressed in rusty chain mail and proceeded to use him like a mace.

“The armoured ones are best,” the archon yelled. “It nips a bit when you get hit in the face by a body wearing a hauberk.”

Dill paused to catch his breath. “Who are you?”

“Just an old dead god,” he said, “sent to watch your back and make sure you reach Hell in one piece. Look at that fellow! Fancies himself as a pugilist, I reckon.” He pointed to a scrawny man who had one arm wrapped around a young woman’s neck and was desperately beating her in the face. “Think you can manage him on your own?”

Dill’s first punch split the thin man’s lip. His target looked up, dazed, then he saw the two angels, dropped his victim, and tried to force his way back through the crowd. A haggard greybeard with feverish eyes took him down before Dill could get another blow in.

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