Warrior:. Zoe Archer
big. On the open space of the Mongolian steppe, the torrents of rain that the storm was unleashing could be plainly seen, a gray column that stretched between the clouds and the soaked earth. The storm seemed to be traveling as quickly as a steam engine hurtling straight toward them. At that rate, they would be soaked in thirty minutes.
“The devil,” Huntley cursed.
“No, Captain,” Thalia corrected, grim, “something worse.” She kicked her horse into a gallop, with Huntley and Batu close at her heels.
The wind began to pick up almost at once, turning from a gentle breeze into a punishing gale that tore tears from the eyes. The bright day quickly faded into gloom as the storm raced nearer. Despite how hard they rode the horses, the giant wall of dark clouds advanced on them, taking over the sky and shadowing the ground. Across open pastures they rode, over rocky fields, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the oncoming squall.
Huntley managed a brief look over his shoulder, and pulled automatically on the reins. He nearly caused his horse to rear up before he recollected himself and spurred the animal forward. In all the years he had served, with all the strange weather he had ever lived through, Huntley had never seen anything like the thunderhead that, he could almost swear, chased them now. The clouds were as tall as mountains, black as the grave, roiling and tumbling with unchecked rage.
Just as the edge of the clouds reached over their heads, rain slammed into them. Their clothing was soaked in an instant. Racing through the downpour, it was almost impossible to breathe—water kept pouring off the brim of Huntley’s hat and into his nose and mouth. Squinting, Huntley could barely make out the forms of Thalia and Batu ahead as they, too, struggled against the shredding wind and punishing rain. A thunderclap tore open the air with a report so loud, Huntley would have sworn a cannon had gone off right beside him. His horse did rear up then, and it took all of his strength to control the animal and continue their flight.
They climbed up a hill, trying to seek shelter in a small overhang of rocks. Thalia had already reached it, and Huntley and Batu soon followed. The rocks provided a tiny measure of relief, but not much, as the horses jostled each other in fear while their riders panted and watched the storm.
“We can’t stay here long,” Huntley shouted above the rain. As if to emphasize his words, a tumble of rocks, loosened by the downpour, clattered off the overhang and landed at the already nervous horses’ feet.
“There’s a cave not very far from here, on the other side of a river,” Thalia shouted back. Her dark hair was plastered against her face, which she shoved back with an impatient hand. She snatched off her soggy hat and shoved it into a saddlebag. “We can set out as soon as the horses have gotten their wind.”
Huntley started to answer, but was cut off by a bolt of lightning striking the ground a few hundred yards away. The flash was enormous, and Huntley had to shield his eyes from the glare. Another titanic thunderclap slammed through the air. Huntley felt it through the ground, in the marrow of his bones and recesses of his mind. It was as though he was under bombardment. The edge of the storm was passing overhead, but the dark center drew nearer. He couldn’t believe that any storm could have so much power. Then he saw something which made him doubt his sanity altogether.
There, in the clouds the size of a canyon wall, a man’s face formed. Huntley rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the water from his vision, but no matter how much he pressed at his eyes, the image did not fade, but rather took greater shape and clarity. It was, in fact, the fierce and angry face of a man that appeared within the clouds, and not an ordinary man, but one with a long moustache and braided beard, a Norse helmet atop his head. A Viking. As Huntley watched, incredulous, the clouds also massed into the shape of a huge arm, and held in its fist was a hammer. The Viking opened his mouth with a bellow of thunder and brought the hammer down onto the ground, unleashing another bolt of lightning that struck a small stand of trees. The trees exploded, leaving only charred stumps in the rain. Huntley swore violently.
“What the hell was that?” Huntley demanded, turning to Thalia. Her face was white, her eyes wide, but she did not appear as though she was witnessing something extraordinary. Instead, she looked as though this was something she had anticipated. But that couldn’t be. No one could anticipate the impossible.
“We cannot wait,” she shouted over the roar. “We must ride for the cave now!”
There was no time to press for answers. The storm would be directly overhead in minutes, and surely the rocks would crumble around them when it hit. They broke from the minuscule shelter of the overhang, riding hard over the hills. Huntley spared only a moment to glance behind him, daring his eyes to show him what could not be there. But his sight was either lying, or the impossible was now very real, because the Storm Viking had not vanished. He was still in the clouds, his mouth twisted in rage, his eyes burning, and his arm upraised to strike again. Huntley urged his horse to gallop harder, though the mare needed no encouragement.
Huntley almost said a prayer of thanks when he spotted the river that Thalia had mentioned, with a hill just beyond it, and halfway up the hillside, the welcome dark of a cave. The river’s waters were swollen from the rain, its banks flooded, but it did not look too deep to ford—yet. A few more minutes was all they had.
Huntley led the group as the horses struggled down the bank and into the river. The water surged around them, trying to pull them from their saddles and tearing at the horses’ legs. As they managed to reach the middle of the river, the air was filled with an almighty roar that even obscured the wind and rain. Huntley had been pulling the reins of the pack horse to get the terrified animal to move forward, and he looked up with a vicious oath as the roaring grew even louder.
Hurtling down the river was a wall of water. It moved forward with an unquenchable hunger, tearing up the few trees that grew on the river’s banks and pulling huge rocks from the earth and adding them to its arsenal of water, mud, and debris. But there weren’t only rocks and trees swirling within the flood. Huntley saw beasts, demonic combinations of animals with gaping maws and pointed talons, made of water. As they hurtled down the river, the beasts tore at the land with their claws and teeth, destroying and consuming everything in their path. Already frozen from the rain, Huntley was chilled further when he saw that these water creatures were headed straight toward them.
Thalia managed to get her horse across the river, maneuvering the animal skillfully through the surging water. Huntley’s mare was fighting to reach the riverbank, but the pack horse was too frightened to do anything besides pull on the reins and roll its eyes. The water was rising higher and higher, and now surged up to Huntley and Batu’s thighs as they both pushed and shoved at the fearful animal. The force was so great that some of their bags came loose from their moorings and were quickly pulled into the turbulent water and submerged. Huntley hoped they didn’t contain anything irreplaceable.
“Get to the cave,” Huntley shouted at Batu. “I’ll take care of the horse!”
The manservant shook his head. “I will help,” he yelled back.
Huntley cursed stubborn Mongols, but kept working. They both bullied the pack horse toward the shore, until it finally reached the riverbank, where Thalia grabbed its reins and pulled it behind her as she rode up the hill to the cave, moments ahead of the oncoming wall of water. Huntley was not satisfied until he saw Thalia ride into the mouth of the cave, then turn and wave back to signal her safe arrival.
He had no time to breathe easier as Batu’s horse struggled to reach the muddy bank, its head tossing wildly with fear and exertion. Huntley took hold of its reins and dragged on them hard, his arm burning. The horse was almost to the bank when the wall of water, and the beasts within it, struck.
He felt as though he was being slammed, over and over again, by columns of marble. Water surged all around, and he felt hundreds of claws tearing at him, trying to force him from the saddle. One hand on the saddle horn, and the other desperately gripping the reins of Batu’s horse, Huntley fought to stay mounted. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he knew nothing beyond the rage of the river demons battling to drown him. His thighs ached in agony as he kept them clamped hard around the flanks of his horse. The only hope