Halla stood to my left and Pil stood to my right, both closer to the pigs than me. Whistler was somewhere behind me. I whipped bands around the lead pig’s hind legs and yanked it to a skidding halt that slung chewed-up pieces of pig flesh off its body. The bands would hold it down so long as I didn’t dismiss them—or get killed. Using both hands, Pil manipulated the air, a bit tentatively, but a pig went down and that’s what mattered.
I didn’t know why, but Halla did nothing but stand still with her spear poised like some magnificent, aggravating statue. However, a clay jar sailed from behind me and bounced off the nearest pig’s head, with as much effect as throwing a pillow. From behind me, I heard Bea curse the jar. Then Pil shouted, “Stop! Just you stop, you nasty monster!”
I glanced over at the pig that had fallen and skidded. It was back on its feet, and two friends had joined it. I began pulling bands of power as fast as I could while wondering whether reanimated pigs traveled in herds. No matter how many we killed, more seemed to come running.
By now, seven nasty, greasy-fleshed, mindless pigs charged us. To my right, Pil stopped another pig, which trembled and might have farted mystic gas as it strained against the bindings. I dragged a huge pig over onto its side, and I didn’t pause to appreciate how it bounced.
I kept pulling power like a crazy man, and I dragged down another hell-swine. Pil appeared to be pulling bands for another pig, but she was definitely slow. Halla leaped toward the two pigs on the left side and whipped her spear in a double arc hard enough to smash a barrel. Both pigs exploded in clouds of repulsive air with chewed-up pig bits flying in all directions. Halla staggered backward.
About a plateful of demon-pork flew past me and slapped the side of Pil’s face. She lost her concentration, but the pig she’d been focusing on kept charging. I didn’t have time to haul it down. A clay jar bounced off its skull, and Pil screamed as the pig barreled into her. She flew backward at least ten feet past Whistler, who stood rooted with his sword raised, shaking all over.
I realized only two chewed and semi-digested nightmare-pigs were left to pound us flatter than dirt. One of them was Whistler’s problem now. Halla seemed to have been stunned by a face full of pig gas. I had just enough time to bind that last damned pig, so I stepped back to gain a bit more time. That was the dumbest thing I’d done all day, because I slipped on a dismembered pig snout and fell to one knee. I bobbled away the power I’d been pulling.
I stared into the eyeless face of the monster pig charging me and prepared my awkward ass to roll aside. I wanted to wait until it was too late for the pig to veer after me. Just before the moment arrived, a jar hurtled past from behind me and broke against the pig’s foreleg. I don’t pray to the wicked gods, but I thought about offering Krak a casual thanks that the jar hadn’t hit the back of my head. I rolled to my right, and the pig scraped against my left calf as it passed.
The pig scrambled to turn and rush us again, but Halla sprinted around me and drove her spear all the way through it. The pig exploded into bite-size pieces. Enough for three breakfasts slammed into me like stones. I grabbed my sword and spun toward Whistler just as he landed a ferocious cut on the last pig. When it exploded, he staggered but didn’t fall. He leaned on his sword and panted as if he’d just climbed a mountain.
Halla pointed at Whistler. “Manservant! This fight has not ended. Go find every pig still whole and struggling. Make sure they are all dead. I mean, more dead.”
Whistler grunted and trotted back toward the field of twice-slaughtered swine.
I ran toward Pil. She lay on her back, arms splayed, legs up so that her knees were almost in her face, and both boots knocked off. Bea and I lowered her legs in a slow, smooth arc. Her chest was shattered, and so was the lower half of her face. Both arms appeared broken, and maybe one leg as well. She drew tiny, ragged breaths, but that couldn’t go on much longer. She was probably too far gone to save.
“Hurry, we must find a true oracle.” Halla said it as if I were kneeling over no more than a fallen bird.
“They’re probably never was a damn oracle.” I didn’t glance away from Pil as I said it.
“Perhaps someone here knows. We should find some people and question them.”
I prepared myself to rage and yell at her, to throw some rocks at her or maybe a boot. But that all drained away. There seemed no point in being angry.
A shadow slid over Pil’s face, cast by the thin, young man who had been charging people to look at his lions. He rubbed his hands together. “Excuse me. I need to talk to you.”
“Shut the hell up.” I touched what was left of Pil’s rib cage as gently as possible.
The lion barker said, “I do beg your pardon. I didn’t think all this would happen today. So, I need to talk to you.”
I growled, “Be quiet, or go to perdition, you drooling ass-dragger!” Right in that very moment, I decided to save Pil, just to spite whichever god had burdened me with this annoying
