"We have every right to that which we have died for at Zeldan's hand," Odras replied. "As for the message . . . perhaps I should make myself more clear—"
Then the fireworks began.
Node power, a tingling, slightly uncomfortable feeling, something like electricity, trickled up Petrus' legs. Odras was building up to one hell of a bolt; he wondered if it were safe to be even this close.
Japhet is still down there . . . when this thing goes, it will probably take him out too. And anything else that's nearby.
Wenlann, you had better be far enough away . . .
It was the last thing he had time to think before the bolt hit; the blinding flash, accompanied by a deafening concussion, threw them both backwards. Feeling nothing, hearing nothing, Petrus lay on the forest floor, contemplating branches of the oak trees towering over them, reaching for the sky.
After a time, Wolf appeared, leaning over him. His lips were moving, but he wasn't saying anything. The human extended a hand and helped him to his feet.
As Petrus' hearing began to return, Wolf said, "I was standing behind you when it hit. You took most of it. Are you okay?" The elf nodded numbly.
"I don't see Wenlann anywhere," Wolf said, having started off in the direction of the blast. Petrus followed. They found a blasted pit, blackened by recent fire.
This was where Nargach had stood, he thought, regarding the smoldering ground with awe. Odras really outdid himself this time.
A twig snapped from within some dense brush a few paces away. Petrus drew his sword, then immediately returned it to its scabbard. Wolf and Wenlann were kissing frantically, as if they were trying to devour each other's faces. Petrus' ears started to burn. Then they stopped, realizing they had an audience.
"Where's Odras?" Wenlann asked.
"I don't know, he's up here, somewhere," Petrus said. Find the mage. See if he's okay. Leave these two alone. "Odras! Where are you?" He returned to the blasted pit, got his bearings, and retraced his steps to the cluster of rocks.
He found Odras lying amid the boulders. The mage looked up feebly, then closed his eyes against an apparent wave of pain.
"Odras?" Petrus said, kneeling down beside him.
"Please, young one, don't speak so loudly," Odras said. "I have a headache that would rival the worst hangover I have ever had."
"Can you get up?" Petrus said softly.
"No, I cannot. I must lie here for a good long time first."
Wenlann and Wolf caught up. "Mage shock?"
Odras nodded, wincing. Even that amount of motion was visibly excruciating.
"Here," she said, kneeling beside the mage. "Let me try this. It's shiatzu for elves."
She leaned over and took the pointed tips of his ears between the forefinger and thumb of each hand, and applied gentle pressure.
"Does that help?" she asked hopefully. "If there's time I'll do a proper healing . . ."
"I'm afraid that what ails me is beyond acupressure," Odras said sadly. "And you don't have time for anything except going after Japhet."
"He got away?" Wenlann said, and clambered to her feet. Odras groaned at the sudden motion and sound. "I thought he was fried in the levin attack!"
"He was too far away," Odras said. "Go find him. Hunt him down. And kill him. We haven't won yet."
Chapter Eighteen
"Oh, bloody hell," Petrus groaned as they reached the top of a thinly wooded hill. "There he is!" Japhet Dhu was making short work of the distance between him and the Gate, his wounded pride oozing from every motion he made. The Indian was still parked on its stand, but the Unseleighe hardly looked at it as he passed it.
Wolf had pulled his knife, and looked ready to throw it, then shook his head. "Damn. Too far away. I couldn't hit a truck at this distance."
The Unseleighe turned and smiled triumphantly from ear to pointed ear before walking into the Gate. White light enveloped him, then he was gone.
"I'm going to kill him," Petrus said in frustration.
"But we have something else to contend with now. The King has arrived."
Great, just great. Just as soon as Japhet gets away—again—the King shows up. He'll probably reduce me by a rank, after this.
Why can't I get this warrior thing right?
Mounted on his 'steed, the King led Niamh, Fion and Scoriath through the narrow trail. Aedham took one long look at the Gate, then at Petrus and Wenlann. Wolf made himself discreet by attending his Indian.
Petrus stepped forward stiffly, feeling like he was going before a firing squad. He forced himself to meet the King's eyes.
"Where's Odras?" The king asked solemnly.
"Recovering from mage shock," Petrus reported dutifully. "Back in the forest, a ways. He took out the Unseleighe mage with a levin-bolt."
"So that's what I heard. And Japhet, I take it he got away, through the Gate?"
Petrus had never felt more miserable. "Yes, Sire."
"Alone?"
"The rest of the clan died in battle. But Japhet, he's escaped, again. F-Forgive me," Petrus stammered. "I failed."
King Aedham walked over to him, with a most surprising expression.
Aedham is . . . smiling?
"Failed me?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Your mission was to locate the enemy, not take out the majority of their forces. And, I take it, with zero losses? Is anyone even injured?"
"Well, uh, no," Petrus said, feeling a bit giddy with relief. "Not really. Except Odras, and he'll be fine, after some rest." His arm was still sore from the sword fight, but that was hardly worth mentioning.
"I will overlook your enthusiastic interpretation of the word reconnaissance," the King said, extending a gauntleted hand, "and congratulate you on a job well done."
Wenlann chose this moment to step forward. "I second that," she said, giving Petrus a big hug.
Wolf, after spending a tactful length of time examining his motorcycle, came over.
"Sire, I would like you to meet someone," Wenlann said.
Good Gods, she's blushing, Petrus thought, nauseated. It's like introducing a new boyfriend to her parents. The quick understanding that this was pretty much what it was stung less than he'd expected.
"This is Wolf," she said and the human stepped forward, bowing slightly as he shook Aedham's offered hand. "He was—"
"He was a tremendous asset to the mission," Petrus interjected. "We would never have accomplished what we did without his help. I have him to thank for my right arm, and probably my life."
"Most noble," the King said, and his eyes met Wolf's; what took place then was the nonverbal communication between mages, one human, one elven. Mutual respect.
"As I have said," The King said, looking at the ground as he spoke. "I know this Japhet. He will not just go away. He will hold a grudge, he will hide somewhere, for a year or a decade, or even a century, building his forces from nothing, and strike Avalon again."
He looked up, now, with mage fire in his eyes.
"Therefore I can't just let him go. Once and for all, we must go after him. Fion and Scoriath. Prepare to Gate. Where's Niamh?"
"Here, Sire!" Niamh said, scrambling forward.
"Find out where that low life rat went," the King said, indicating the Gate. "We're going after him now."
Japhet Dhu stumbled out of the Gate, onto the soft, hot sand. The drop was more than he'd expected, and his foot landed at an angle; the rest of him tumbled onto the desert. Face down, he tasted sand.
Ptoooey, he spat, clearing the grit out of his mouth. He rolled over and got to his feet, regarding the Gate warily; the Seleighe were right behind him, and would probably be coming through any moment.
There was little cover here. Desert, desert and more desert; is that all the humans had? A plateau rose from rust colored rocks, a thick slice of Earth thrusting through the horizon like a scab. Behind the Gate was a long ribbon of asphalt, and off in the distance was a triple strand of a barbed death metal fence. His hopes sank; he had anticipated
some other place than this blasted wasteland.
Yet, I escaped, the Unseleighe reminded himself. I escaped, and I made the Seleighe look like fools all over again.
He set off walking, away from the Gate toward the highway, looking back at the Gate nervously for whoever might be following. My entire clan is dead, he thought morosely. Not that they did me much good anyway. Then his mood brightened: Nargach's dead too. No more worrying about him. The realization brought about a strong feeling of liberation; he was walking among humans now, alone, but with powers they could never match or even begin to understand.
I'm going to be a god, here, he thought eagerly. My father set an excellent example. Perhaps I can get into the drug trade, like he did.
His musings went on unimpeded for a time. The highway stretched out ahead of him, into the horizon, a road to nowhere. Once I have my power base back, I will attack Avalon again!
When his mood was really starting to lift, however, he sensed something dark and powerful behind him.
Oh, bother. Now what, he thought, turning around.
The black cat spirit, Ha-Sowa, was stalking him, and approaching at a good clip. Japhet stopped walking.
The cat came to a stop just before him, now seeming bigger and angrier than ever, and regarded him with red, piercing eyes. The circular claws, razor sharp and as long as Japhet's fingers, extended and retracted. The Unseleighe's throat began to itch; when he tried to speak, he found it had contracted to near uselessness.
"Where is my master?" the cat hissed. "Where is Nargach?"
Somehow, telling the spirit Nargach had been turned into a toasted cinder didn't seem like good strategy.
"What of the human Wolf?" Ha-Sowa continued. "The Master promised me Wolf and another sacrifice."
Japhet's fear turned to inspiration; he relaxed, and considered how best to phrase the lie. "Your Master, Nargach, has told me to inform you that your sacrifices will be along presently," Japhet said. "Beyond, from yon Gate."
Ha-Sowa peered at the Gate, still visible in the distance.
"This had better be so," replied the cat. "Or you will be the sacrifice."
That I don't doubt, Japhet thought to himself, considering ways of enhancing the lie that would allow him to escape.
"Back, to the humans' world," Niamh said, after probing the Gate for its destination. "That is the path the Unseleighe took. But I caution against using this Gate . . ."
"Why?" the King asked, sounding impatient.
"A danger awaits. Spirit . . . a cat spirit?"
Wolf looked up, and away. "Ha-Sowa," he said in apparent aggravation. "That thing just doesn't want to give up."
"We could go in shooting," Wenlann said, "But it would still have the advantage."
"Japhet will know if something's about to come through," Petrus said. "And we have to assume they're working together."
The King scratched his head, and looked into the Gate again, as if it were an oracle. "What is Ha-Sowa?"
"A complication," Petrus said, turning to Wolf. "Perhaps you should explain?"
"Ha-Sowa is a demon, which has been haunting my people for centuries. Our tribe was founded in part by your folk, the elven-folk, long ago. Nargach enslaved a demon to pursue my tribe. That's what's on the other side of the Gate."
The King stared at him, looking completely lost.
Then Wolf added, "Also, it wouldn't give me much time to turn into a Wolf."
Aedham rubbed his temples, wincing at an apparent headache, then started massaging the tips of his ears with forefinger and thumb. Relief came over him immediately.
"I see," the King said, although it was clear he really didn't. "You can fill me in on the details of your family tree later. Right now, I need a bottom line to work with. Is this demon a threat or not?"
"Yes," Petrus, Wenlann and Wolf said in unison.
"Now that we have that established," the King said, turning to Niamh. "We should avoid using this portal and Gate to the adjacent area using our own resources. Niamh, could you construct the appropriate passage for us?"
Niamh nodded eagerly. "Consider it done, Sire."
The contrast between Underhill and this vast, wide open space overwhelmed Petrus all over again; they found themselves at the mouth of a deep canyon, through which ran a shallow creek, lined on either side with the scrubby trees which never seemed to grow to maturity. A small brown lizard shot across the pebble-strewn ground.
Once Petrus and Wenlann had found their 'steeds, grazing lazily in the grove where they'd left them, preparations for the mission had gone smoothly. Wolf arrived safely with his motorbike, along with Fion and Scoriath, who carried not one but four different swords, of various sizes, on his 'steed. Seven total, with mounts.
"Glamories," the King said, once everyone was through Niamh's impromptu Gate. "I don't want to shut the Gate down yet, but I don't want it to be visible, either. And we can't be strolling around the desert in our standard attire."
"Aie," Niamh said, and in turn glanced over at the party that had just Gated to this dry, dusty destination. "Invisibility, or something else?"
"Invisibility would be the quickest solution," the King said, and Petrus agreed. Converting their original party to motorbikes had required great skill from Odras, who was currently recovering in the Castle. Niamh was an adequate mage, and shared many abilities with Odras; kenning bikes from Wolf's death metal beast was not among them. But these matters did not seem to concern the King as he moved ahead of the group a bit and took in the alien landscape. Petrus felt the glamorie ease into place, like a sheet of silk gracefully falling over them.
Presently the King turned to his party of six.
"Japhet is nearby," he announced. "The Gate is that way, through the canyon. I also feel negative magic of another sort, which seems to be tied to this land." The king dismounted.
"I can't follow you down there," Wolf said reluctantly. "This bike, it's for roads, not rocks."
"Perhaps you can aid us by riding around the flank then," Aedham suggested. "It wouldn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes back there."
"I may have my hands too full to be of much help," Wolf said, looking past them to the flat desert on either side of the canyon. "Ha-Sowa wants me. She's my problem."
"Take them both on together?" Petrus suggested.
"If possible, but I suspect we'll be in slightly different worlds before too long. Let's cross that bridge when we get there," he said, starting up the bike. With a brief, longing glance at Wenlann, he rode off to the right of the canyon. He became a dust cloud on the horizon, the Indian's roar fading with him.
As they followed the creek through the canyon, Petrus heard the rumble of thunder. Behind them a thunderstorm was building, in a sky that had been clear when they arrived. Weird weather the humans get to deal with, he thought, shrugging the concern away. Fion and Scoriath glanced nervously back at it, then turned their attention forward. No storms in Underhill were this big.
The creek wound down into a steep-sided section of canyon. The group took a higher path over it which didn't quite reach the canyon's top. A cool, wet wind blew in behind them, followed by the false darkness of clouds blocking the sun. A flash of lightning, then thunder, much closer now.
The King had gone several horse lengths ahead when a sheet of lightning ripped from the sky, striking the ground to the right of him. Moonremere reared up with the rest of the 'steeds, screaming in protest; Aedham fell on the ground. He lay there without moving, and once Petrus and the others had safely calmed their 'steeds he rushed over to the King.
Wolf didn't dare look back at Wenlann, lest he lose his determination to fight this creature alone. Thunder rolled across the desert, an unfriendly, dangerous sound. With storms, which here were sudden and torrential, came the certainty of flash flooding, particularly in the rocky gorges where creeks turned to rivers in less than a minute.
Like the canyon they just went into, he thought, now concerned for the elves, for other reasons. A flood coul
d wash them right into the enemy, if it didn't drown them first. They won't know about floods, he realized, as even humans who were not native to the area seldom understood the ferocity of floodwaters resulting from even the mildest of storms. And the storm looming over his shoulder looked like a double whammy.
I've got to warn them. Slowing the bike, he made a wide U-turn. But once he negotiated it he became aware of a strange feeling, unusual but not unknown; he'd felt this way when he had been handcuffed on the floor of the adobe. On his arms and hands, hair started to grow wildly.
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