Michael Longcor is an author, songwriter, and performer who lives in an old farmhouse outside of West Lafayette, Indiana. He has a total of seven albums released on CD by Firebird Arts & Music, and wrote a dozen songs for the Mercedes Lackey album, Owlflight, on which he also sings. "Old Order" is his second fiction sale, the first being "True Colors," which appeared in Sun In Glory, an anthology of stories set in Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar universe. Michael grew up in the northern Indiana Amish country, with neighbors who lived happily without electricity or automobiles, and in "Old Order" he draws from boyhood memories, his love of motorcycles, and his years of fighting in the armored tournaments and wars of the Society for Creative Anachronism. He also regrets to say that, try as he might, as a boy he never did find elves on the family farm.
"The Amish kid's got it too good." Kull fumbled another beer from the cooler beside his recliner. He cracked it and looked over his boot toes at the huge screen. The plasma TV looked out of place in the old farmhouse, which was now a clubhouse for the Orkz. The screen showed angry young men and undulating girls. On the walls hung gaudy, chrome-plated swords and homemade shields.
Kull shouted to be heard over the music pumping out of the surrounding speakers. "Deke all but gives him a bike, an' says don't mess with 'im. And the kid somehow manages to get in good with that hottie Jodi. She won't even talk to any of us." He swigged the beer and set it on a scarred side table. "Hell, Deke didn't give none of us bikes. He lets the kid park it out front, too, 'stead of in the barn like us."
"Ask Deke if you can take charge for a while." Kurgan smiled nastily from where he sprawled on the stained sofa. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"I'm not that stupid, Stupid. That puts me first in line for a sword lesson. As long as Deke's payin' the tab, I'll play along. Even Nazgul's okay with doin' what Deke says, and that boy's spooky crazy."
Kurgan sat up and looked out the window. "You wanna moan to Deke, here's your chance."
Kull slapped down the recliner's footrest and stood to look out. A rider cruised the gravel lane running to the farmhouse on a big, rumbling bike that looked to be a customized Harley V-Rod with a black chrome finish and a headlight shaped like a demon's face. The rider was in black and dark-purple leathers, bareheaded and trailing collar-length, white-blond hair. His face was fine-boned, beautiful as a model's, his eyes shielded by wraparound mirror-shades. He parked the bike and stepped onto the porch. Behind him the V-Rod seemed to vibrate, although the motor was off.
"Crap," said Kull.
It was midmorning on the Yoder farm, and the barn smelled of hay mixed with the sweet pungency of horse manure. Asa Yoder, a middle-aged man in dark work clothes, had been busy since sunup. He tightened the wheel, and carefully lowered the buggy with an old iron jack.
"Papa, you don't understand!" said the lanky young man in the doorway. "You live in the past. I'm trying to live now!"
"It may be hard to see, Eli," Asa replied. He pulled the heavy jack from under the buggy's axle and straightened up. "But some things do not change. They are the same for all people and all time."
"Papa, you just don't get it," Eli announced with the lofty sureness of an eighteen-year-old. He turned and stalked out across the barnyard and down the fenced lane to the county road. The day was bright and warm, common for late May in northern Indiana. It would be warmer if he were wearing his usual clothes, a chambray shirt and dark wool trousers, and he wasn't wearing the wide-brimmed hat favored by the Old Order Amish of this area. Instead, he wore combat boots under khaki cargo pants and a faded denim vest over a T-shirt.
They don't understand what I'm feeling, he thought as he walked. This is my time to find out about the world, and people, and . . . things.
At the lane's end a midnight-blue motorcycle leaned on its side stand. The Honda Nighthawk was older than Eli, but could still take off like a scalded cheetah and easily hit a hundred on the pavement. A helmet was secured to the rear of the seat. Eli mounted and fired it up, revved it and let it settle to a deep, soft chuckle. Reluctantly, he pulled the helmet free of the bungee netting and donned it. The clubhouse was only three miles from here, but he wanted to meet Jodi Hughes at the bike shop outside of Nappanee. Town meant a better chance of meeting cops, and a helmet made him less likely to be stopped. He didn't need the cops noticing he didn't have a driver's license.
So why hang out with the daughter of an Elkhart County sheriff's deputy? Eli smiled to himself. Because it's Jodi. That's why. He kicked up the side stand, rolled back the choke, and eased the clutch. When he got to the asphalt he opened it up and let the engine sing through the gears and drank in a heady wine of wind roar and freedom.
Papa would never understand this.
Asa put away the jack and the tools he'd used to remount the buggy's wheel. The buggy was a four-seater, with a hard square top and sides. It was black, as all buggies were in this area, its only color the bright orange, red, and white reflective triangle on the rear. It was something Asa could do without, but the state's law required, and its use had reduced accidents from cars rear-ending buggies. Buggies were the most obvious way Old Order Amish lived apart from the outside world. Most did without electricity or telephones. Peaceful and orderly, they had as little to do with the secular authorities as possible.
The screen door announced Asa's entry to the kitchen with a creak and a bang. His wife, Hester, looked up from peeling apples at the big wooden table.
"Has Eli left then, Papa?" Her face showed fine lines at her eyes from laughing and squinting in the sun, and she had filled out a bit from the reed-slim girl he'd married over twenty-five years ago. She was still achingly beautiful to Asa.
Asa took off his hat, pulled out a chair, sat heavily, and sighed. He fingered his gray-shot fringe of dark beard, which covered his face except for his clean-shaven upper lip.
"Eli tries me, Mama. More than John or Matthew did, I think."
"It is part of being young."
"Is it?" Asa leaned back. "I can hardly recall. I was not like that at his age."
"No, Papa." Hester's eyes twinkled and the laugh lines deepened. "You were worse. I remember. Even to the riding of the motorcycles."
Asa snorted. "It is just as well we have the rumschpringen, or we'd have to lock him in the cellar until he turned thirty."
"Has it been so long since your own running-around time?" asked Hester.
"No, no," sighed Asa. "And I do not disagree with rumschpringen. Young people need a time to run around and experiment before deciding about joining the Church. But things were not so much complicated then. We would go out, ride in cars, see picture shows, drink beer. The daring would try marijuana. Now . . ." he waved a hand in the air, "the temptations seem so much the greater, and the dangers, too."
"We have tried to give him what he needs to meet this. Remember the Bible, 'As the twig is bent . . .'"
"So grows the tree," finished Asa. "I only hope we did the bending for Eli and not the world outside."
"Still, the rumschpringen is our way." Hester laid down the paring knife and took his hand. "Perhaps you should pray and ask advice."
"I will do that," said Asa. He rose and went out onto the broad porch. He would take her advice, though Hester likely meant it as a single suggestion, and Asa thought of it as two. He headed for the back pasture and the oak grove.
The grove had been there for two centuries and maybe more, judging from the size and fantastic, gnarled shapes of the seven oak trees clustered around the tiny pond. The pond was evidently spring fed. It was free of moss and algae, and would be pleasantly cool even in the blazing heat of an Indiana summer. Asa had promised his father he would never harm the trees, and his father had promised his grandfather. The trees were here before the Yoders had cleared the land and built the farm five generations ago. He sat on a glacier-smoothed rock and waited.
"Guten tag, Asa Yoder." The voice was pleasant and low-pitched. Asa turned to see his oldest friend, oldest in every sense of the word. The person standing next to him was less than five feet tall, but well proportioned, with piercing blue eyes and a bright smile. He looked about twenty-five, and was dressed in Amish fashion, with the clean-shaven face of an unmarried man. Pointed ear tips just showed out of his sandy hair.
"Guten tag, Gunter Glint," said Asa. "I am still worried about Eli."
Gunter frowned. "I've been checking on him, Asa. Something's odd about that bunch he rides with. It's not just biker-gang wannabes trying to show off."
Now Asa frowned, too. "Wanna bees?" Gunter's tendency to use modern secular slang could be confusing.
"Pretenders. People who want to be."
"Ah." Asa was silent a moment. "Can you help?"
"Possibly. Other than watching, I'm not sure what I can do."
"I thought you had the powers of your kind." Asa felt uncomfortable discussing this, but it was for Eli's sake.
"I am only a squire of the Seleighe Court, Asa, or was, and not much for confrontation." Gunter paused and grimaced slightly as if an old wound ached. "That's why I'm watching a minor Grove, not so much a warrior as a sentry, barking for help rather than fighting. I may have powers, but just the powers of the lesser of my kind, and I have all the weaknesses. I've told you how Cold Iron can harm us, and caffeine can enslave us."
"He is my son," Asa said simply. "Whatever you can do, I thank you for. As you have your bonds, I have mine. My beliefs will not let me offer harm, even to defend my family."
"I'd guess you already strain the ways of your people with our friendship," said Gunter. "I doubt they'd approve your befriending what their triple-great-grandfathers called kobold, if they even believed I existed."
Asa gave only a faint smile in reply. He looked away for a moment, and when he turned back, Gunter was gone, perhaps to that place he spoke of, "Under the Hill."
Eli half leaned, half sat on the Nighthawk's seat in the parking lot next to Radecki's Motorcycle Shop. A few feet away, Jodi mirrored his stance on her own bike, a bright red Yamaha YZF fifteen years newer than Eli's. Like his, it was a good blend of speed and handling.
"Aw, the Orkz aren't that bad." Eli popped the top on his Coke can and took a swallow.
"Don't tell me about those guys," Jodi replied. She moved a stray strand of short blond hair out of her face. "I ran role-playing games with some of 'em in junior high. They were okay, just gamer dweebs who liked bikes too. But Deke came along and things changed. They took over the old Miller place, tougher guys showed up, and things got weird. They're always playing with those cheesy swords."
"Deke says the swords are part of the code. It sets us apart from the rest." Eli felt he should defend the Orkz. Deke had provided his Nighthawk, and Eli hoped to become a full club member.
"I thought you didn't want to be apart. That's why you spend less time at home," teased Jodi. Her mischievous smile made her look like a picture of a pixie Eli had seen, all sweet and petite, but much sexier. For Eli, Jodi couldn't be anything else. He frowned.
"It feels sort of like the Amish are apart and underneath the world. The Orkz are more about being apart and on top of it."
"They seem to have the cash for it," said Jodi. "Renting that farmhouse, getting newer bikes, loaning you the Nighthawk. And you mentioned stuff at the clubhouse. Big-screen plasma TVs don't get left for the trash with old sofas and end tables. There's money there, somewhere."
Eli shrugged. "I don't think Deke's worried about money. He pays for stuff when the guys need it."
"Where does the money come from? Have you seen everything in that house and barn?"
"The house is just a house," Eli said with a shrug. "The barn's pretty small. We use it for working on bikes and keeping them out of the rain. There's a big workshop or something back beside the barn I haven't been in, but I think that's just where Nazgul sleeps because he doesn't like hanging out with the rest. He doesn't seem to sleep much, though, and he gets other bikers from outside the club visiting. He said I'm better off not going out there. When the wind's right it stinks, anyway."
Jodi looked up sharply and opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the rumble of an approaching motorcycle, a thumping two cylinder like Deke's V-Rod.
She smiled brightly as an old Harley Sportster rolled into the lot. The short guy riding it made the bike look bigger than it was. He was dressed in faded denim and leather, and wore a dark-brown brain-bucket of a half-helmet.
"It's Gunny!" she said. The newcomer looped the Sportster into a space next to them, set the side stand and killed the engine. Gunny grinned over at her.
"Hello, Jodi," he said. "Still riding that road rocket, I see." He smiled and nodded to Eli. "You know, they're made out of recycled cans and scrap iron."
Jodi stuck her tongue out at him as she walked over. "Whereas yours was probably made by hand on an anvil, back in the Bronze Age."
"Just so," said Gunter Glint. "She's made out of bronze and bone and copper and feathers." Jodi's taunt had come a little too close. His Sportster hadn't come from a normal factory, in Milwaukee or anywhere else. An elf couldn't abide that much iron, and a lesser servant of the Seleighe Court didn't have an elvensteed to carry him in motorcycle guise. His bike was a blend of carbon fiber, aluminum, ceramic, plastic, and, yes, bronze, bone, copper, and feathers. And magic. A southeastern racing company run by the Fair Folk had helped him cobble it together. Gunter's fondness for the Amish didn't mean he didn't also like mortal popular culture and its toys. He'd acquired the bike over ten years ago. In the century and more he'd been guardian of the Grove, he'd also tried everything from bronze roller-skates to playing the accordion (a fortunately short-lived infatuation). Nothing had been as much fun as the motorcycle.
Gunter, Jodi, and Eli talked bikes for a few minutes. Gunny knew more about bike riding than even Jodi, though he claimed to be mechanically inept. Eli had met him at Radecki's shortly after he'd started hanging with the Orkz, and the little guy had introduced him to Jodi. The passion Eli and Jodi shared for motorcycles had been the basis for a deeper friendship between them. Things had yet to go beyond friendship, no matter how Eli might vaguely fantasize.
Gunter cocked his head and sat as if listening.
"Better get going," he said. "I have things to see and people to do." The Harley rumbled to life and he left. His motor noise hadn't faded when it was replaced by the sound of V-twin rumblers mixed with wailing Japanese machines.
Six bikes rolled in and parked. There was one ratty looking Sportster, a gaudy Suzuki cruiser, and four Japanese café racers. The riders were helmetless, a few wearing do-rags. Most wore denim vests with the Orkz colors, and all wore goggles or wraparound shades. Kull was the first to swagger over to Eli and Jodi.
"Hello, kid." His nod to Eli was barely civil. "'Sup, sweet thang."
"Sorry to wilt your fantasy life, Fred," Jodi said coolly, "but I'm not your sweet thang. Wait, I take that back. I'm not sorry."
Kull's smirk went to a frown.
"Call me Kull, now, Jodi. I don't use 'Fred' anymore."
Jodi smiled archly. "A rose by any other name would still smell, eh?" Kull looked confused, working out if it was a slam.
With a deeper rumble, Deke's V-Rod sailed majestically into the lot.
He must spend hours polishing that bike, thought Eli. There wasn't a smudge on the gleaming black chrome.
Deke came over to the group with a slow saunter that spoke of perfect balance, a dancer's grace, and ego.
"Hello, Eli," said Deke. "How's the bike?"
"Great!" said Eli. "Thanks again." He noticed Kurgan looked disgusted, though not when Deke could see.
"Good. You're welcome." Deke smiled. "By the way, I'd like you to come to the clubhouse tonight. Late. We'll be out and about until then."
"Okay," said Eli. "After what, nine?"
Deke laughed. "Actually, after midnight, more like one o'clock. You can stay out that late, can't you?"
Eli hoped he wasn't blushing.
"Uh, sure. One o'clock. No problem."
"Excellent. I'll see you then." Deke surveyed the Orkz, the undisputed Alpha of the group. "Gentlemen," he said imperiously, "it is time to dine." He swung aboard the V-Rod, which almost seemed to fire up by itself, and left the parking lot in a long wheelie, an impressive stunt on the heavy bike. The Orkz straggled out after him.
"Eli, I don't think going out there is a great idea," said Jodi.
"Why not? Who knows? Maybe they're making me a full member."
"You talk like that's a good thing," she replied.
"Hey, they're okay once you get to know them."
"Maybe you're right." Jodi looked thoughtful. "Maybe I should get to know more about them."
The dim moonlight showed the weathered wooden siding of the workshop. It was a plain building, twenty feet wide and half again that long, sitting behind the Orkz clubhouse next to the barn, and backed by a small, brushy woods.
Jodi edged her way through the brush. She'd taken back roads and tractor trails to within a half mile of the clubhouse, then left the Yamaha and walked the rest of the way in the dark. Her red riding leathers were left at home, and she wore dark jeans and a windbreaker. She moved slowly and as quietly as she could through patches of dead branches and leaves, catching gentle scents of earth and green things.
What do I think I'm doing, channeling Nancy Drew? she thought. No. If there is anything, I want to be sure when I tell Dad. And maybe he won't be as upset when he finds out I'm not at Tanya's party.
The workshop's windows were curtained with dark cloth. Light showed at the window's edge, but there was little chance of seeing much. She had to get a look inside. Jodi waited by the building's back door for a full two minutes, listening. The old door had a new knob and lock, and she turned it slowly, feeling rather than hearing the latch release. She prayed the hinges weren't rusty, but the door inched open silently. A strong smell of ammonia wafted out, spiked with starting fluid and other things. Breathing through her mouth helped some.
The interior was one big room, lit by naked lightbulbs hanging from dusty rafters. A wide wooden shelf ran at table height around the walls, underneath the curtained windows. The place might have been a workshop at one time, perhaps for woodworking. Now the long shelf held a mismatched collection of two-liter soda bottles, flashlight batteries, and plastic tubing. She stepped in cautiously, trying to see in every corner at once.
Nobody home, she thought, but I don't think Goldilocks wants to taste the porridge.
Against one wall were a half-dozen propane tanks like the one on her dad's gas grill. Most were in shadow, but the nearest one caught the light from a bare bulb. Its nozzle fitting showed blue-green stains. The stains came from using the tanks to store stolen anhydrous ammonia. Farmers used the chemical legally as fertilizer, but it was also used to make methamphetamines. This setup definitely wasn't part of a hobby farm. She'd seen enough.
From what I've read and heard from Dad, this place is a poster child for meth labs, she thought. This stuff is pure evil. Time to go.
She turned quickly, and ran into greasy denim that smelled of old sweat. Nazgul's arms were skinny, but his hands were like clamps as they closed on Jodi's elbows.
"If we'd knowed you were comin', we'd have cleaned up for company," he said, grinning through the lanky strands of dark hair that fell across his face. Jodi tried to pull away, but Nazgul's grip tightened painfully.
Behind him, Deke stepped through the door. His white-blond hair gleamed in the harsh light. "At least it's attractive company, Nazgul. Perhaps useful company, too." He smiled without warmth or welcome. His green eyes reminded Jodi of deep pools where she knew it was dangerous to go, but from where she couldn't stay away.
The Nighthawk's headlight picked out the weathered fence posts bordering the gravel drive to the clubhouse. The house showed lights inside as Eli pulled up and parked, even though it was nearly one in the morning. Curiosity and excitement washed out any sleepiness he might have felt.
Inside, Kurgan and Kull were on the sofa. Nazgul was in the easy chair, smoking a small pipe that gave off a sharp, chemical smell. A bowl of grainy stuff that looked like finely crushed peanut brittle sat next to him on the side table. The big plasma TV featured scantily clad, mud-wrestling women. The room smelled of stale beer and smoke.
"Hi, guys," said Eli. "Deke said to meet him." Kull nodded dully, got up, and went through the room's back door, then returned to flop back on the sofa. Deke came in carrying a paper-wrapped bundle. He gestured to Kull, who picked up a remote and killed the TV's sound.
"Ah, Eli. So glad you could make it."
"What's up, Deke?" Eli tried to sound cool, casual.
"This." Deke tossed the parcel to Eli. "Open it."
Eli pulled away the brown paper and unfolded a denim vest, with embroidery on the back showing a sword-wielding goblin and big, bloodred letters reading ORKZ MC. His eyes widened.
"I'm a full member?"
"Almost," said Deke, smiling. "Nazgul, the chalice, please."
Nazgul rose and gave the little pipe to Deke, who offered it to Eli.
"Here, Eli."
"Is this the initiation?"
"If you want to call it that," said Deke. "The first half, anyway. It's only about giving you things you'll like."
Deke stepped to one side to show Jodi leaning in the doorway. Her jacket was unzipped and pulled back to leave her shoulders bare. The black sports bra underneath showed the tops of her breasts and the taut smooth skin of her midriff. She smiled dreamily at Eli.
"Jodi?" Eli couldn't believe she was here. "You okay?"
Kurgan snickered. "She's just havin' fun with Deke's charm and half a Roofie." His smile erased at a sharp look from Deke.
Eli swung to face Deke. "What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing. We just had a talk, and discussed what she wants," said Deke smoothly. "Right now, she wants you. She's fascinated with you. Isn't that what you want, Eli?"
Eli stared and stood silent for a moment, torn more than he wanted to admit. Behind Deke, Jodi straightened in the doorway and frowned in a sleepy way. Her eyes seemed to focus on Eli for the first time, and she lost some of her dreaming look. Her eyes met Eli's and widened, and she shook her head slowly.
Something clicked in Eli's mind, and several things came clear.
"It is what you want, isn't it?" said Deke, staring at Eli. Behind Deke, Jodi edged to the wall.
Eli offered the vest back to Deke. "Thanks, I appreciate it, but I'm . . . I'm not sure yet. Maybe we should just leave." Everyone was looking at Eli as Jodi moved closer to the wall.
"You really should reconsider," said Deke. There was no velvet in his voice now. "Have a smoke. Think about it." Around Eli, Orkz got unsteadily to their feet. "I insist."
Jodi pulled a shield from the wall and swung it into Deke's back. The blow was clumsy, but still staggered him.
"Run, Eli!" she yelled.
Nazgul pulled a black-and-gray automatic pistol from his vest. Jodi swung the shield down onto his forearm and the gun dropped.
"Go!" shouted Jodi. "Let's go!"
Eli wasted a splintered instant, then spun and sprinted out the door, bowling over Kull as he ran.
Jodi didn't reach the door before Kurgan grabbed her. She heard the Nighthawk fire up and the sound of spraying gravel.
"We can catch 'im!" said Kull, scrambling up.
"You're in no shape to chase anyone," spat Deke. "Besides, from what I know of his people and ways, he won't go to the authorities. He'll be back."
"Well," Kurgan leered at Jodi, "maybe we can have a party until then."
"Later." Deke's flat stare made the Ork drop his eyes. "Take her to the workshop. We'll wait for him to play hero."
Eli opened the screen door carefully, wincing at every tiny creak and pop of the springs. He'd spent his life in this house and needed no lights. The room smelled of apple pie. Moving by touch and memory he glided to the pantry, pulled the old shotgun from where it leaned in the corner, and found its sectioned canvas case and a box of shells on the shelf above. Setting the case and shells on the table, he freed the Winchester's slide and barrel. A quick twist separated the gun into two pieces, which buckled into the case and made a package just over two feet long. A handful of shells went into the pocket of his denim vest.
"It is late for hunting," said Asa, barely above a whisper. Eli jumped and the case's end thumped on the table.
"Don't try to stop me, Papa. They have Jodi. I'm not with the Orkz anymore."
"Eli, this is not . . ." But Eli was already out the door. As Asa reached the yard, Eli's bike snarled to life, and he was off before Asa could take a few steps.
"Something's happening, Asa," said Gunter's voice from the porch shadows. The elf was in denim and leather, and looked nervous. "I'll try to get word to the Court, but I don't know if it will be in time."
"I don't think much time we have," said Asa. "As a last resort I would call the sheriff, but there is no telephone here. Please, Gunter, help him. He is my son, and he needs an angel."
Gunter seemed to sag, then took a sharp breath and straightened.
"And we are friends, Asa. Though I be an unlikely angel." He vanished into the shadows.
Asa went back into the kitchen to find Hester standing in her nightgown.
"Is Eli in trouble?" she asked.
"I'm afraid so, Mama," said Asa. "But we have a friend to help him."
"Will not the little man be in danger, too?" said Hester. It took a second for Asa to grasp her words.
"You know about Gunter? How?"
Hester smiled gently. "I have lived most of my life with you, Asa. A husband can keep few secrets from his wife after so long. I again ask, is Gunter in danger?"
Asa looked down.
"Gunter can fight, where I may not." In the long moment of silence, Asa heard the kitchen's clock ticking.
"This is not an easy question," Hester said quietly, "but does having another fight for you make it a better thing?"
Asa raised his eyes to meet his wife's gaze. He reached out and gently touched her cheek.
"No, Mama, this time it does not." He turned and headed for the barn.
Eli kept the Nighthawk's revs low, and coasted to a stop a quarter-mile from the clubhouse. He rolled the bike into the roadside brush, and it was a minute's work to assemble the shotgun and load five rounds. He stowed the gun's case in one of the big pockets inside his Levi's vest, picked up the gun, and started walking.
I've got to get her out, he thought. I should have fought. I thought she was behind me. But when I saw she wasn't, I still ran.
The house showed lights, but no other signs of life. The barn appeared dark and empty. Gripping the shotgun tightly, Eli headed to the workshop. He'd hunted, but never at night, and he set his feet down slowly, trying to feel twigs before they snapped. The workshop's door stood open, with harsh yellow light streaming across the packed earth and weeds outside. Eli could see Jodi, slumped in an old captain's chair, her wrists and ankles secured to the chair's arms and legs with silver duct tape. Kull dozed on a folding chair nearby. A workbench was crowded with jars, bottles, and tubing. Something stank of ammonia. Standing at the workbench, their backs to Eli, were Deke and Nazgul.
Just outside the door Eli raised the shotgun and racked the slide to chamber a round. The kiklock-kack! sound seemed very loud, and the Orkz stopped moving. They turned around, and Nazgul's eyes went wide. His hand darted under his denim vest, but Deke grabbed Nazgul's arm with a snake's speed.
"No," said Deke. "Let's see what Mr. Yoder wants." Nazgul glared, then dropped his hand.
"I'm just here for Jodi." Eli had to consciously keep a quaver from his voice. "Then we're leaving, and I'm done with you."
Deke simply smiled and raised his hands in front of his face. He clapped once, sharply.
Eli heard a footstep to his left, and lights exploded in his head as the stick connected. He clutched the gun as he fell, and it went off in his hands with a roar. There was shouting, and the shotgun was wrenched away from him. They hauled Eli up roughly and pushed him through the doorway into the shed. He lost his footing and sprawled full length at Deke's feet. The room swam around him.
"Nazgul, put that thrice-damned weapon outside! Kurgan, hand me that towel!" Deke's voice was pained and angry. Eli's vision cleared slightly as he was pulled to his feet, Nazgul on one side of him, Kurgan on the other. Deke had a grimy towel clamped to his left thigh, his face drawn in pain. Judging by the shattered and leaking bottles, the shotgun blast had grazed Deke. Deke removed the towel with a grimace. The fancy leathers were torn, but the exposed leg itself looked scorched rather than shot, and Deke had been too far away for powder burns.
Deke grimaced as he pressed the towel to his thigh. "This burns too much to be lead. Who told you to load that firelock with Cold Iron? Tell me!"
Eli never saw Deke's backhand coming, and the blow rocked his head. He tasted blood.
Cold Iron? No, now it was, what?
"Steel shot." Eli mumbled through swelling lips. "Jus' steel hunting shot. Better for the birds."
"Well, it's bad for you," said Nazgul. He pushed the muzzle of his pistol to Eli's face.
"Not now, Nazgul," said Deke.
Nazgul looked like a three-year-old who'd been told he couldn't eat the candy off the supermarket shelf. He gestured at the stinking mess on the workbench.
"Look what he done to my setup!"
"Not now, and not here." The elf smiled coldly. "Later, somewhere else."
"No, Deakar Conarc," the deep voice carried like a herald's trumpet, "Knight of the Unseleighe Court, if Knight you still are." Gunter Glint stepped through the front door. Still in denim and leather, he gripped a sword half as long as he was. The blade shone with faint blue light. "Not later. Not elsewhere. I issue Challenge here and now."
Nazgul's pistol swung to cover Gunter, but Deakar waved off the gaunt biker.
"No. Watch Eli and the girl. Leave this one to me." Deakar turned back to Gunter and struck a ramrod-straight pose.
"Who are you, to Challenge a Knight of the Unseleighe Court," Deakar's mouth curled in a crooked smile. "Shorty?"
Gunter did not rise to the taunt. "I am Gunter Glint, Squire to Sir Timbrel, who was Standard Bearer of the Elfhame of the Inland Seas and Champion of the Middle Reaches of the Seleighe Court."
"Ah, Timbrel. I seem to recall something about the late, great Timbrel. Something about how he died defending a squire who, shall we say, was fonder of chocolate and Coke than of fighting."
Gunter moved not a muscle, but his face went pale. He raised his sword to point at Deakar.
"Whatever I was then, I am now the one put here to stop you, Deakar Conarc."
Deakar's smile widened to show predator's teeth; his eyes were cold and hard.
"Whatever you were then, or are now, you are not worthy to challenge a Knight of the Unseleighe Court."
Gunter's answering smile was as hard as Deakar's.
"Are you still then a Knight? Even on my side of the line, one hears interesting stories."
Deakar's face was a snarling mask. Instead of his leathers, he now wore glittering black mail and plate armor, with a long, cross-hilted sword in his hands. He launched himself at Gunter. Gunter's sword came up to meet Deakar's in a flash of sparks as the shorter elf pivoted on one foot and Deakar shot past. Deakar spun to face Gunter, and Gunter noticed a patch on the Deakar's left thigh where the mail was tattered, the armor creased.
"You beat me to first blood, Eli," said Gunter, keeping his eyes locked on Deakar. He lunged at the black figure, and Deakar swirled to his right, evading the attack. They traded blows and parries, with Deakar trying to stay back and let his sword's longer reach attack Gunter, and Gunter trying to close with his shorter sword. Weapons rang as the fight swirled and brawled around the workshop's interior. A missed swing from Deakar's sword shattered and scattered more bottles on the workbench, and the chemical stink became even stronger. Eli wanted to help Gunny, but his head still rang from the blows, and Nazgul's pistol was leveled at Eli's chest. Jodi pulled against the tape. Both fighters breathed hard from exertion and concentration. Eli noticed that Deke's, or Deakar's, ears now appeared pointed.
Keeping his distance from Gunter's shorter sword, Deakar took a step back, slipped on a piece of bottle and overbalanced back onto the shelf. Gunter drove in, swinging at Deakar's ribs. The blow connected with a thud, forcing a grunt from Deakar, but his armor turned the sword's edge. Deakar surged back into Gunter, trapping Gunter's sword arm under his own mail-clad left arm. Deakar's right fist came up and the long sword's hilt hammered into Gunter's temple. The smaller elf sprawled backward, his sword ringing away on the concrete floor. Eli looked to see if he could somehow jump Nazgul. He still stared into the muzzle of Nazgul's gun.
"I should have just tried this from the beginning," panted Deakar. "The boy was only a way to get at the Grove, a way back to powers greater than simple glamourie. Now I can remove the Guardian. So much simpler. So much quicker."
Gunter lay with closed eyes. Deakar bared his teeth, and his sword came up for a two-handed killing blow.
The front window next to Deakar exploded inward as twenty pounds of hurtling iron buggy jack slammed into him and punched him away from Gunter. He sprawled and scrambled backward on the floor through broken glass, his sword gone, his black armor crumpled and torn, hugging his left arm to his side. His face, bleeding from small cuts, showed a mix of pain, surprise, and fury.
Harsh neighing came from the woodlot, and the back door splintered and crashed open. The head and forequarters of a horselike something pushed into the room. Its coat looked more like black chromed scales than hair. Strangest of all, a crystal demon's face shone from its forehead above the eyes.
The reptile-horse bent its head and seized a fold of Deakar's mail in teeth more like a wolf's than a horse's, jerking him to his feet and back out the door. Unnaturally fast hoof beats drummed and faded away. The Orkz, Eli, and Jodi all stared at the open doorway.
The sound of a shotgun racking a round froze the room. Asa Yoder stood framed in the front doorway, the Winchester leveled at the remaining Orkz. Its 16-gauge muzzle gaped almost as much as the mouths of the three bikers.
"Please drop your weapon, friend," Asa said gently. Nazgul's pistol clattered on the floor. "I would not for the world wish to hurt you, but you are standing where I am about to shoot. Please go away."
The Orkz were out the back door almost before Asa finished speaking.
"Eli, help the young woman," said Asa, coming through the door. "Quickly!" He knelt and got Gunter awkwardly up over his shoulders. By the time Asa reached the doorway, Eli had ripped the tape holding Jodi to the chair and helped her up.
"Come," said Asa. "It is time to go home, I think. Before they find their courage or that thing returns."
After the workshop's chemical-plant stink the fresh air outside revived Eli and Jodi. They reached the drive and the buggy when there was a hoarse shout behind them.
Nazgul stood framed in the workshop's doorway, pistol raised.
"Hey, you stupid Amish! Welcome to the twenty-first century!" The pistol's echoing discharge made a fireball in the dark and a slug cracked past Asa's head.
The workshop erupted with a whump of shocked air and blue fire as the volatile fumes of the meth lab ignited. Nazgul flew from the workshop's front door and landed rolling on the yard, howling and beating at small flames on his clothes and hair. The workshop burned behind him.
"Come, Eli!" said Asa. "He is not badly hurt, I think." He dropped the shotgun onto the buggy's rear floorboards and loaded Gunter into the front passenger seat as Eli helped Jodi into the back. The standardbred gelding snorted and danced, but stayed tethered. Eli was barely in when the horse and buggy lurched away. The gelding was retired harness-racing stock, and could really move at need.
"Papa," said Eli, looking through the buggy's tiny rear window, "what if they chase us?"
"That they cannot do until they notice the gas cocks on their motorcycles are shut off and the spark-plug wires are pulled," said Asa simply. They reached the county road at a fast trot, the wooden wheels bumping up onto the asphalt.
Ahead on the highway sirens swelled, and Asa drove onto the shoulder and stopped. A pumper engine from the township's volunteer fire department whipped past, followed by two brown-and-tan sheriff's cars wailing and flashing their warnings. Asa drove the horse back onto the highway, one hand steadying Gunter beside him.
"I think the sheriff will be interested in your playmates," Gunter muttered weakly.
"Ach, so you are not yet dead, my friend," said Asa with a dry smile.
"Happily, no," replied the elf. "Thanks to you, Asa." He grimaced. "Though I fear I have mending to do."
Jodi pulled herself straighter in the seat. "Gunny, is that you?" She blinked. "I never noticed your ears before."
Eli's eyes widened. "Your ears do look . . . different, Gunny, and you know Papa?"
"It's a long story, Eli," said Gunter. "One you shall hear later. For now, you might want to keep your hands low and put away the shotgun."
"I hadn't thought of that," said Asa. "Eli, if you would?"
Eli pulled the gun's canvas cover from his vest pocket, took the shotgun from the buggy's floor, and started to unload it. He stared at the gun's empty magazine where four rounds were supposed to be.
"Papa, the shotgun's empty! I know I loaded it before I went to the clubhouse."
"You did," replied Asa, "and I unloaded it. I have tonight done things I must account for, but God be thanked pointing a loaded weapon at my fellow man is not among them."
"You faced down an Unseleighe Knight and his minions with a buggy jack and an unloaded shotgun?" said Gunter. "You are a brave man, Asa Yoder."
"Only a man of faith," replied Asa, "and a farmer."
"Much the same thing, I think," chuckled Gunter.
"I have much to answer for," sighed Asa, "but I do not think helping a friend and my son are included."
Eli slid the shotgun's pieces back into its case.
"But, Papa, the Orkz will scatter. If the sheriff finds them, they'll blame Deke. If they do tell the police what they saw, the cops will think they were on drugs. No one will know you did anything."
"I will know," said Asa quietly. "And God will know. Becoming a man means making choices and taking responsibility for them. That's the reason for rumschpringen, so that you may learn from it and make an informed choice." They rode for a bit in silence except for the hypnotic clop-clop-clop of steel-shod hooves on asphalt.
"I've learned a lot tonight," sighed Eli. "I've learned I'm a fool, and the world is not a simple place."
Asa laughed. "Then you are wiser than I was at your age."
Gunter chuckled too. "Aye, Eli, it's true. I remember."
"You remember Papa at eighteen? But that's . . ."
"Another part of that long story you're going to hear," said Gunter.
Eli looked perplexed, and decided to let it go. "It doesn't mean I'm going to join the Church, Papa. I haven't made that decision yet."
"I know, Eli," said Asa. "The point of rumschpringen is to help you decide. Whatever I may wish for you, not everyone chooses to live a Plain life, within our ways. It takes faith and courage to live as a people apart.
"Aye, that do I know well," said Gunter. He grinned. "But sometimes it doesn't hurt to also have a buggy jack."
Asa gave the elf a pained look and whistled the horse to a faster gait. Ahead the sun broke the horizon proud and full of color, touching the neat farms of the Old Order with pink-and-gold glory.