Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode Two) by James Hunter Page A

spriggan guardians lurched into motion, giant wooden feet carrying the monstrosities forward with loping strides, crashing into the gnomes, scattering them like so many bowling pins. The first two or three gnomes went down easy, shock evident on their crude, icy faces. Huge knotted fists smashed into weaker flesh, caving in a skull here, turning an arm to mush there. The gnomes scrambled to react, scattering throughout the chamber, a mad rush to put distance between themselves and their traitorous Summer allies.
    Ben’s face was painted with terror and horror in equal measures, the reaction of one not accustomed to violence. “What did you do,” he whispered, voice trembling.
    “Corrupted the basic guard command—instead of smash anything without the proper access card …”
    “Smash anything,” he said. “If they see through the veil they’ll smash us too.”
    “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t think so. spriggans are Summer—no friggin’ way do they like waiting hand and foot on some Winter goons. I’m guessin’ that they’ll go for the guys with the pointy hats.”
    We fell silent as the carnage unfolded. A pair of gnomes clung to the back of one of the creatures, trying to cleave into its torso with blades of frost. The spriggan spun in response, charging backward and throwing its hulking shoulders against the chamber wall. The unlucky stowaways let out screams as gore—chips of blue flesh and black blood—erupted in a stream on either side of the guardian. The other spriggan picked up a gnome by the head—its hat toppled to the side—and shook its little form in a terrible grip before repeatedly smashing it into the floor. A perfect ad for the gnome version of Don’t Shake a Baby .
    The massive horned gnome lumbered into the brawl, throwing a wrecking ball punch into the spriggan’s face. The Summer Fae stumbled back a step. The gnome advanced—a booted foot flashed out, colliding with a knee, which broke away with a crack . The spriggan crashed to the floor and the room shook and rattled with the impact. The gnome commander hurled his beefy body through the air, a linebacker making a reckless tackle.
    The other Guardian caught the beast midflight, pulling it from the air like a pop fly, tree-root arms snaking around its neck. The gnome struggled, throwing spiny elbows into the spriggan’s center to no effect.
    The downed spriggan reached over and grabbed its amputated leg, pulling it in place while fae power knitted the limb back together, little vines and branches merging and twisting. It stood up, lips drawn back from crude blunt teeth, as it advanced on the brutish gnome. It wrapped wooden hands around the gnome’s horns and pulled. The horns came away, a gout of blue blood spraying into the air, and the gnome howled in anguish. Not for long though, because the spriggan promptly shoved the horns inside the creature’s skull. The howl cut off and the creature twitched for a moment before growing still.
    The last surviving gnome turned and fled back down the hallway, abandoning his dead or dying fellows to their fate. The spriggans weren’t having it, no sir. Dropping the broken body, both shambled down the hall like a friggin’ mudslide, the chamber rumbling with their passing. Bloodied and broken bodies lay around the room, heads crushed, limbs absent, guts burst open and smeared against the walls. Better them than us, but still … brutal.
    “Let’s go,” I said, walking free of the illusion and over to the formally horned gnome commander. I surveyed the fresh corpse from a couple of feet out, one hand over my mouth and nose to block out the stink. Nasty scene, and I wasn’t too keen on rummaging through his blood-soaked pockets if I could help it. Thankfully, I saw the keycard—just a rectangle of hard black plastic with a sigil painted on the back in orange—tucked away in his boot.
    I pilfered the card and walked over to the card reader. “Come on, Ben.” I ushered the other man over.