Still keeping his presence cloaked, he changed into his human form to check voice mail and text messages, scrolling through them quickly while trucks and cars roared past on the interstate.
There. His vision narrowed. He’d gotten three phone calls from Pia’s iPhone. The first had come in almost two hours ago, and the others had come at intervals of every half hour afterward.
He didn’t bother to listen to any of the messages. Instead he punched speed dial. When a male answered his mate’s phone, his talons sprang out and the growl that came out of him shook the ground.
The male spoke rapidly, ”. . . Is quite well. This is Hugh Monroe. Again, your mate is quite well. Pia sent me out of Lirithriel Wood to tell you that she is fine, and that she thinks the Wood is interfering with your communication with each other. She gave me her cell phone because she wanted to be sure I reached you, sir, and I promise you, that’s the only reason why I’m using her phone right now.”
Monroe. It took Dragos a second to place the name. He was the gargoyle from Pia’s bodyguard team. Dragos took a deep breath and relaxed fractionally. Although he hated the gargoyle’s voice coming from Pia’s phone, he said, “Tell me everything.”
Hugh obliged by telling him about their trip into the Wood, along with every detail of the High Lord’s home, how Pia’s evening had gone last night and how she had sent Hugh with the message within minutes of waking up.
As Dragos listened in silence, he strode south down the shoulder of the interstate while traffic whizzed past, oblivious to his presence. Snow began to fall in fluffy, fat flakes that swirled over the dark gray land. The snowflakes that fell around him hissed as they boiled to nothing before they reached the ground, until a cloak of mist trailed behind him as he walked.
Fifteen more yards. He knew it like he knew the back of his own hand, just as he had known to a penny what had been in his original hoard before he downsized it. He knew to a precise inch the many miles of border that surrounded his demesne.
Monroe fell silent after he described flying away from the High Lord’s home. Dragos asked, “Where are you now?”
“I’m on the north side of the Wood, in the Francis Marion National Forest,” Monroe told him.
“You’ve done what you were told to do,” Dragos said. “Now go back in.”
Ten yards.
“I will certainly give it my best shot,” Monroe said. “But I’m not sure I can. I could feel the Wood close behind me as I left.”
Five.
“Try,” Dragos said. He hung up.
He checked through the rest of his messages, but there was nothing that couldn’t wait. Bayne had texted that Sidhiel had not made an effort to leave town. He sent out a blast message to his sentinels in a brief update and then he turned off his phone.
The thing about laws was, at their essence they were a decision. Before he had met Pia, Dragos had counted law as his finest achievement. Law was the necessary bridge he had needed to build between him and other creatures when the world had become so goddamn crowded.
But at his essence, he was a lawless creature. Other imperatives ran much deeper.
He would not tolerate being separated from Pia, nor would he let this Elven Wood keep his mate from him. If Pia herself was angry or upset with his decision, why then, so be it. They would just have to figure out a way to get past it.
And he would not let any other race dictate his actions.
Not when Numenlaur was involved, and prophecy might be at hand.
As he stepped across the Wyr/Elven border, he changed back into his Wyr form, launched into the air and continued south.
Choosing to copy the gargoyle’s actions, he landed in the Elven Wood’s much larger neighbor, the national forest. Coming to ground about a quarter mile out from his goal, he changed and walked the rest of the way through the new, slender young trees.
He had left the snow behind, but the chill, damp, cloudy day was little better. Even though he did not expect it, he kept his senses sharp in case the Elves chose to send periodic patrols around the Wood’s border.
Despite his wariness he did not encounter any Elves or any hikers either, for that matter. He sensed the Wood well before he came upon it. Then the visible landscape changed as he saw the dark, tangled edge of the old growth forest up ahead, and for the first time he came toe-to-root with Lirithriel Wood.
The Wood was aware of him. He could feel it watching and waiting. He pushed at it gently with Power, and it pushed back. It was wild and wary, and it did not want any part of him inside its borders.
He respected that. He just didn’t accept it.
He walked along the edge of the Wood and studied it. A couple of times he thought he had figured out how slip past its barriers, but when he rose into the air to try to fly inside he felt the Wood turn in on itself, and he lost his sense of direction. When that happened he wheeled immediately to fly away again until he broke clear again of its influence.
Eventually he settled on a wide, flat bluff, his head between his paws as he regarded the dense forest with the patience of a very old predator. It had been successful in keeping him out thus far, but he knew one thing it didn’t. He knew that he would find a way to get inside. He was far older than the Wood, and smarter, and much, much more convoluted. It was only a matter of time.
Sometime midafternoon, a male voice said in his head, Sir, did you still come south after we talked?
He said, Monroe?
Yes, sir. I can’t get back inside.
Various facts moved through Dragos’s thoughts like chess pieces journeying across a black-and-white checked board. Across the chessboard in his head the face of his opponent might vary, but there was always an opponent.
He said, Go to Lirithriel House. Explain to them that you were sent out to deliver a message and ask to stay there while you wait for Pia and the others. It is a reasonable request. I would like to know more about what happens inside that house, especially now.
Yes, sir, Monroe said.
Update me when you have a chance.
He could think of no possible good reason for those at the house to deny hospitality to the gargoyle. That might prove useful. And if they did turn Monroe away, Dragos would be most interested in learning why.
Once he had settled that matter, his attention drifted back to the Wood. He was not surprised at its stubborn rejection of his presence. It was, after all, a creation of the Elves. And it was impossible to reason with something that had no language.
Night slipped slyly across the sky, a stealthy assassin that murdered the bleak, lonesome day. The more the Wood resisted, the angrier Dragos became until his rage burned as a feral fire deep in the pit of his chest.
He could break it. He could splinter it to pieces and tear his way in. He was not only older, smarter and more convoluted. He was much stronger as well.
But Pia thought this tangled, obstinate piece of real estate was beautiful, and he supposed that counted for something, so he would hold on to his temper for a little while longer.
Then Monroe said, Sir, I’m at the house, and they’ve agreed to give me a room.
Very good, he said, for the first time pleased with how something had gone that day. Contact me if you notice anything out of the ordinary.
With that he launched into the air and flew east toward the coast, following the Wood’s border.
By now there were twenty-eight contestants and only two more days of the Games. He expected that all five of his sentinels would have made it through to the semifinal round, and he suspected that the elegantly fighting, disingenuous Quentin Caeravorn would have too. He was also very interested in finding out if Elysias had won through.
That was when a part of him noticed a small but entirely logical curiosity.
When he stopped pushing against the Wood, it stopp
ed resisting him. That was all, and it was a remarkably simple fact, yet instinct had him changing his course minutely while he kept the main focus of his attention on the events in New York.
Then he slid into the Elven Wood obliquely, as if by accident, and he allowed himself a slight, predatory smile.
In the next instant, he lost his smile. Now that he was past the border, he could scent on a billow of wind the acrid bite of wood smoke and the dark taste of a chaotic Power that was so familiar to him even though the last time he had sensed it had been so long ago.
The Power came from one of the Deus Machinae. Someone was wielding one of the God Machines.
The damned fools were doing it again.
Pia.
He flung himself forward, hurtling through the sullen, deadly night.
• • •
“Are you saying we can’t break through the fire?” Eva demanded as she stared at Miguel.
“That’s what it looks like,” he said. “Leaving the building shouldn’t be an issue. All the exits are useable. The problem is leaving the area. That blaze is going like gangbusters and it doesn’t seem to matter that the forest is damp. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s been burning a while, couple days at least. That blaze looks mature.”
“So we hit the river below the falls,” Eva said. “And swim past the line of fire.”
“Not a good option,” Miguel said. “Some fuckers on the other side of the river are shooting at the swimmers, and we don’t have time to send someone to take them out.”
Linwe sobbed softly and covered her face with both hands, and James started swearing, a low vicious litany.
Pia said, “That leaves only one way to go, unless it’s blocked off too. The crossover passageway.”
She knew just exactly how Dragos would spell ballistic. It began with a capital I’m going to kill somebody so fucking dead for this, and well, after that point, it didn’t matter if you spelled the rest of the word right.
Eva snapped out several swear words as she drew her sword. “This smells like a setup, but it doesn’t sound like we have any choice and the fire can’t last forever. We make for the passageway, and we keep Pia surrounded. Johnny, take point, and James and Andrea, take either side. Miguel and I will bring up the rear.”
Pia took Linwe by the arm. The Elf looked at her blankly. She had gone into shock. Pia told her firmly, “You’re coming with us.”
“I should do something to help,” Linwe said.
“Right now, staying alive is what helps,” Pia told her.
“Enough,” Eva snapped. “Move, everybody. And don’t engage with anyone if you don’t have to.”
The smell of smoke grew more intense as soon as Johnny opened the door. They slipped out of the apartment and worked their way through the building. Pia kept her grip on Linwe’s arm, carrying her crossbow one handed.
Elves ran down the halls, shouting to each other. James pressed against Pia’s shoulder, forcing her and Linwe against the wall, but nobody paid any attention to their group. They worked their way down a flight of stairs and the sound of fighting grew louder. When they pushed outside, it was like stepping into a scene from hell.
Towering golden red flames crackled and roared in the Wood, throwing great swirling spires of glowing sparks into the sky, and acrid smoke blanketed the scene in swathes of hazy white that blurred details and gave the scene a nightmarish quality. Heat throbbed against Pia’s skin. The fire would reach the building soon.
She could see a patch of the river, which looked blacker than ever, its surface covered with dancing red light. The heads of a couple of swimmers speared the surface until crossbow bolts took them. More Elves ran past them, and clusters of people dotted the clearing, fighting savagely.
Just as Linwe and Johnny said, they were fighting each other. Pia couldn’t make sense of it, and she saw the same incomprehension on the faces of the others.
With a sharp gesture, Johnny led them to the path that would take them to the crossover passageway. Pia’s grip on Linwe’s arm slipped away as they jogged, but she saw that the Elf had come out of her shock somewhat and stayed with the group.
The path twisted and suddenly they came upon a large group of Elves engaged in an intense battle. A clash of Power swirled dizzyingly in her mind like fierce lights and glistening black. Pia glimpsed Calondir in the thickest part of the fight, wielding a bright silver sword, his expression stern and deadly. Blood streamed down one side of his face.
Johnny spun and pushed at her. “Turn around,” he said. “Go!”
“There’s nowhere else to go,” Pia told him, even as Eva and Miguel pressed up behind her, urging her forward.
The fire advanced behind them all, driving them to the clearing. The forest on either side of the path was dense with shadow and hellish light, and for a moment the group was all in a tangle. Somebody struck her ribs with an elbow, knocking her crossbow out of her hand. She had no idea where Linwe had gone.
Because Johnny was facing her, Pia saw the battle spill toward them before he could. She called out a sharp warning, and Johnny pivoted, and then he engaged in a sudden sharp flurry of movement. James lunged forward too, and the world turned into a grunting, churning mess of a melee that she couldn’t track . . . goddammit, she was no good at any of this war shit. . . .
Eva grabbed her from behind and bodily yanked her back from the fighting. Beside them, Miguel flung out a hand, fingers splayed, and he said, “Lux.”
Power flew out with the word, and the area filled with brilliant light. For a few moments everything was clearly illuminated. They were much closer to the passageway than Pia had thought. Not only did she see Calondir, but she saw Ferion too. And Beluviel stood in the group that faced them, her eyes great hollows of darkness in her perfect face, her hair bound back and a sword in one hand.
Wait. Was Beluviel fighting with Calondir and Ferion, or against them?
With the flare of light, the battle paused. It resumed with redoubled fury, and chaos spun around them like a hurricane.
Johnny said, “Shit.”
Through some trick of timing Pia heard him distinctly over the sounds of battle, even though he didn’t shout or even speak loudly. He went to his knees, and James roared and fought even harder, and Andrea and Miguel lunged forward too.
Eva shoved Pia roughly behind her and said, “Stay back, goddammit.”
Pia stared at the other woman incredulously; like she was so crazy that she would leap into that battle. Then the captain did just that as she leaped forward, and the Wyr clicked into a seamless fighting unit. They were a hell of a sight to see, she supposed, as they formed a protective barrier around her and Johnny, but she didn’t bother to pause and admire their prowess. Instead she fell on her knees beside Johnny who had sagged forward.
“Hey,” she said stupidly to him.
His head turned slightly toward her. She blocked out all the chaos and noise and put an arm around him, and he fell against her. Trusting the others to do their job, she eased Johnny to the ground, and in the fading light of the spell Miguel cast, she saw the profuse cascade of blood down his front. Oh shit.
She tore his clothing open, and it was bad, very bad. As a Wyr, Johnny had a strong aptitude for self-healing, but this, oh shit, he wasn’t going to get over this.
And there wasn’t time for any fucking thing, let alone time to stew over a decision when she couldn’t think straight anyway, not with that horrible, unending scream in her head, so she took her knife, slit her palm and let a trickle of her blood flow over poor Johnny’s torn-up chest. Power flowed out along with her blood, but probably no one would notice because the entire world had gone insane, and everybody else was busy making too much noise to pay any attention to anything she did anyway.
Right?
Eva knelt on the other side
of Johnny and grabbed her wrist. What the fuck are you doing? she hissed in Pia’s head.
Pia yanked her wrist out of the other woman’s grasp. I will HURT YOU SO BAD before I kill you if you say anything about this.
Eva didn’t bother to answer, but instead tore off some of Johnny’s shirt to put pressure on wounds that Pia knew were already closing under all that blood. I have healing potions in my pack. Dig in the left pocket—
Johnny coughed, sat up and said, “Oh man, that sucked.”
Eva’s eyes rounded. She yanked Johnny’s shirt open wider and ran a hand down his lean torso, searching for a wound that was no longer there. “Princess, you got some kind of bitch-goddess mojo I ain’t never seen before.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Pia said desperately to Johnny. “Quit whining and get up.” She stuck a finger under Eva’s nose. “And you shut the fuck up.”
The rest of the world snapped back into focus. She jumped up and Eva helped Johnny to his feet just as the last of Miguel’s spell faded, leaving the clearing washed in a hot hellish red again.
At the same time the screaming in her head reached a crescendo. For a moment it was so loud she couldn’t see straight. Then with a snap it broke off into silence.
What did that mean? Had the spirit of the Wood died?
Something had happened when she wasn’t looking. The chaotic Power had vanished, and the fighting had come to an end, although all of the psychos stood braced and ready. Suddenly Elves surrounded them.
“Lady,” Ferion said as he shouldered between two Elves and came to an abrupt halt in front of the business end of James and Miguel’s swords. Ferion wore leggings and a loose tunic, and he was blood streaked too. “You need to join us.”
Pia coughed, looking beyond Ferion for Beluviel, but she was no longer in sight. Pia could still see Calondir. He stood partially turned away as he shouted and gestured to someone. Her voice hoarse from smoke inhalation, she said, “This is where you tell me what the fuck, and you do it quickly, Ferion.”
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