StoneDragon

by Adrian Cross

  Panic welled up, crashing against Clay’s mind, the walls of ice. Not this. This was beyond what he’d struggled with already. He couldn’t let Rose die as well.

  He was unarmed, helpless, overwhelmed. The ice walls crumbled, sliding down in great sheets. The fire beneath roared. His mind burned with pain, fear, outrage. Bern was dead, JP lost, Karen missing. A monstrous army smashed and plundered through StoneDragon, killing civilians and soldiers alike. Blood might run so thick in StoneDragon it would overflow the gutters. And even the vestiges of goodness that remained, the little girl he’d seen raised under Rhino’s protection, was at risk.

  He shifted forward, but Milton’s scythe was at his throat, a cold thread of steel.

  He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stop it. Clay struggled to breathe.

  Snake stepped backward, his gaze on Rose. He drew his knife. His upper eyelid twitched, but he couldn’t use that power without threatening more than just her.

  Rose watched him in turn, her face calm, her position not an accident.

  A knife appeared in Evan’s hand. Its blade danced between finger and thumb. “Picking on girls, Snake?” A sharp grin appeared. “I don’t think that’s really fair. Perhaps I should even up the numbers.”

  He stepped away from the table.

  Milton chuckled, soft and deep. He turned to face Evan.

  The lines were drawn, Rose and Evan, Snake and Milton. Buckland still silent and Rhino without comment. Clay’s heart pounded. The room vibrated on the bloody edge of violence.

  “Enough,” Rhino said. His hands clenched as his hot stare swept around the circle. He didn’t touch the black diamond sword, but Rhino was a force to be reckoned with, with or without a weapon. “Back off.”

  Milton took a step back. Evan’s knife disappeared again.

  Snake and Rose were slower. Snake snarled and stared at Rose for long seconds, before slamming his knife back in its sheath. “You’re the Boss.”

  Which left only Rose. She swiveled toward Rhino, the movement bringing a crossbow to bear on his chest, rock-steady. Her expression was calm, collected. This was a different person from the one Rhino had frightened in his castle.

  “No,” she said quietly.

  Rhino’s face darkened. “I saved your life. I brought you to StoneDragon, gave you a home. I raised you.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Show some respect!”

  Rose’s finger twitched, and a bolt sprouted in the floor between Rhino’s legs, quivering.

  “I did,” Rose said quietly. Her next bolt fell into place with a click. “That’s the only reason you got a warning shot.”

  Tension flared. Milton’s scythe lowered again. Evan raised his palms. He might have been willing to face off against Snake, but Rhino was a completely different story.

  Snake chuckled softly. “Bad mistake, girl. The decision’s made.”

  Rhino’s head whipped around. “No,” he snapped. “It hasn’t! I am still the Boss here. I make the decisions.”

  Snake flinched, cheeks flushing in embarrassment and anger. He dropped his head. “Of course.”

  Rhino turned smoldering eyes back to Rose. “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping you human,” she shot back. “We can’t give up Clay. No matter what you might think, he’s never been anything but loyal to you. And I … won’t let you kill him. Not now.” Her color deepened, but the crossbow didn’t waver.

  Clay was the only link left to Rose’s past, good or evil, he realized. She didn’t intend to lose that without a fight.

  The rage faded from Rhino’s face. He tilted his head. It was a display of almost frightening control. He could go from easy calm to killing rage—or the other way around—quicker than anyone Clay knew.

  “Rose, the Earth gods are ripping our city apart. Their army doesn’t have an end. If we keep fighting them, even if win, thousands will die, tens of thousands. Every trick I have left, my own life, will be at risk. We are wasting a powerful shot that could be better spent on the Last Great War. This isn’t only about Clay, or even StoneDragon. Whether you believe it or not, we will find ourselves facing the Creepers again, in our lifetime, and I intend to tip the balance of that battle. This is bigger than just us. If we bleed our strength now—and trust me, we are bleeding—what hope do we have for that battle?” His eyes were pained, remorseful, but utterly unyielding. “Can’t you see what has to be done?”

  Rose’s eyes blazed. “No!”

  “Yes.”

  The single word brought everything to a stop. It had come from Clay.

  Rose’s head snapped around. “What?”

  The ice walls had melted completely. Pain and flame engulfed him, as if he were burning in some personal hell. But he welcomed the pain, at least partly, because it drove away the fear that threatened to swamp him when he thought about what he was offering.

  “I will give myself up, if the Earth gods agree to settle for me and the Rib. Not Karen.”

  He had messed things up so badly, he had to try to fix them. The consequences didn’t matter. He would feel pain, but it wouldn’t be for forever. All he had to focus on was getting to the trade. Once that happened, he couldn’t change his mind.

  “Rhino is right; enough people have died.”

  He would protect Karen. And Rose. He had to.

  Rose’s arms were around him, squeezing him, her soft hair pressed against his chin. “Please Clay, don’t do this.” Her face tilted up. Tears streaked her cheeks. “For me.”

  It was for her that he had to.

  “I’m sorry.” He put his hands awkwardly on her shoulders and pushed her away. “I have to.” He turned toward Rhino.

  A dark grief shone in the Boss’s eyes.

  Clay realized Rhino didn’t really want to do it. He was a man driven by conviction, a single-minded purpose so intense it shaped everything in his life and bent the lives of those around him, like trees in a storm. But only someone with a deep and powerful moral code could internalize that type of purpose. But in this moment, he was betraying Clay and Rhino knew it. The decision had to be tearing him apart, no matter what he said. But one life instead of thousands was a logical, inescapable, solution, and Rhino was a disciple of harsh realities.

  His gaze met Clay’s. “You know they’ll kill you. Probably worse. Are you sure?”

  Snake barked an acid laugh. “Are you kidding me? Unbelievable.” He shook his head. “Un-freaking-believable!”

  Clay nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Rose drew back as if the words physically cut her.

  Evan bowed, no trace of mockery in his expression. “I will remember, cowboy.”

  Milton wore an expression almost like hunger. His eyes were too bright, but he said nothing.

  Rhino blew out a breath. “All right.” He sheathed the diamond sword. “It’s time to go.”

  As Clay followed out the door, the weight and reality of what he had done hit him.

  Horan would torture Clay, just as in the mining camp, and no one would rescue Clay this time, no hope for escape. Fear flared up, high and wild, threatening to paralyze him. But then he remembered Bern, the blue fire consuming her, and Karen, the haunted look in her eyes when she’d asked for help. Clay forced one clumsy foot forward, then the next, not allowing himself to think any farther ahead. He would do this.

  Whatever came next.

  44

  Hunted by Angels

  The grip around JP’s neck relaxed, and he fell. Cold stone banged his hip, back, and head, the pain waking him again. He gasped in dusty air and pushed his hands underneath him, feeling cold, slick stone. He looked up.

  He was in a large tower room, the upper corner of which had been torn raggedly open, leaving a section exposed to the air. He must be at the top of the Tower, he realized, just under the great rent. It was dark, the interior walls layered with some black material that seemed to suck in the light. The only illumination was the red light of the Wall spilling out of the tear in the ceiling. It cast a long shadow from
the only other object in the room, a narrow translucent column.

  Something was suspended in that column. No, not suspended, transfixed. And “someone,” not “something.”

  JP’s stomach constricted in horror. It was like a crystal stalagmite had grown up from the floor and someone had dropped a man down on it, impaling him through the stomach, the point extending up through the back. The figure hung limply. Surely the man was dead? But then the head moved slightly, a tangle of grey and black curls.

  The head lifted, enough for the man to see JP.

  JP crabbed backward, hand lifted to block his vision. “No, no, no.”

  It wasn’t another man. It was him.

  The shock of that realization washed through his body, making him dizzy. Vomit burned his throat. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

  But it could. Obviously. But what? Was this a clone, or was JP staring at his future? Because the man was older than him, much older. His torso was thin, ribs showing, and his face lined with age and pain. The impalement was no illusion either. Dark blood slid slowly down the stalagmite, streaking it like quarried marble. The man’s only clothing was a wrap around his hips. JP tasted bile again when he realized the man’s legs were charred, as if they had been terribly burned. One foot was completely missing. But, even as JP watched, the blackness around the ankle receded a bit, and it seemed like the bone pushed slightly out of the stump, as if the man’s body were regenerating.

  Infected. He had to be. But no, that didn’t make sense. The vampiric infection didn’t regrow limbs; it made the body more resilient to grievous wounds and boosted the natural repair cycle. He also didn’t see any sign of fangs or blood hunger. The man just looked at JP with a look of mild curiosity. At first, his eyes looked glossy and numb, but then they focused.

  The man rasped in a breath and smiled in dark amusement.

  “It’s poor sport to show me looking even worse than I feel, which must have taken some doing. If you’re going to show me a younger happier me, you might want to make him look like he hasn’t just survived the second apocalypse.”

  Cold horror coursed through JP’s limbs. He could feel himself trembling. Was this how he was going to die? Was this man even dying? How could he still be alive?

  “Are you me?” he asked roughly.

  The man frowned, then slowly his humor drained away. His expression tightened in horror. “Dear God,” he whispered. “Don’t be real. How did you get here?”

  “My name is JackPine. What is yours? Who did this to you?”

  He heard a scrape above, and the light of the Wall went dark. A shape had blocked it.

  The man jerked, as if someone had jolted electricity through his limbs.

  “Run!”

  His hands tightened on the spike, and he tried to drag himself up off of it. Unsuccessfully. Blood poured down from the wound.

  “Get out!”

  All around the room, from the darkness of the walls, dark wings materialized, unfurled, and became human shapes, all at least a head taller than JP. The shapes held slender dark swords. They looked like a ring of fallen angels, ready to war again.

  The prisoner threw out a hand, pointing to a wooden panel in the floor. “Down!” he shouted. “Burn them!” His face knotted with rage. “Burn us all!”

  A winged shape stepped forward, toward JP, but the old man dropped his hand to the stream of blood below him, and then flicked it at the creature. The black angel jumped back, as if the blood were poison.

  JP skidded sideways to the trapdoor the man had indicated, grabbed the ring, and jerked it open. Another room was below, with a platform under the door. JP slid down, his feet thudding on wood, and then slammed the door closed behind him. The underside had a metal bolt to secure it, so JP shot it closed, even as something heavy slammed the door from the other side. Someone screamed, whether it was rage or pain he couldn’t tell, and the door shuddered again.

  Wood splintered and the tip of a black sword appeared.

  The thing above it howled.

  45

  Living Gargoyle

  Rose couldn’t breathe. She had laid her life on the line, for Clay and the mystery of her past, and he had repulsed her. He’d thrown himself to the wolves, thrown his life away. She felt like the walls were squeezing in around her, that the air was short, and everything around her was slightly unreal. What was she supposed to do? She’d defied Rhino. The strain in that relationship had become a chasm, and she had no illusion he would forget.

  Rhino was barking out orders. He told Evan to get a white flag for parley, told Snake and Milton to prepare themselves to meet with the enemy. Buckland got ready to rally the guards, to make sure they knew what was happening.

  Rhino looked at Rose, then away. The silence was telling.

  Her face was stiff as she refused to let any of the emotions churning through her show. She simply watched, rigid as a statue, as Rhino and his Fists walked Clay out the door. Rhino had the Rib and Clay. They would try to make a trade with the chips they had, get Horan to return to his land. Otherwise, battle would resume in earnest.

  A good man was being sacrificed. Someone who’d spared a kind word for a small, scared child. And one who held the mystery of Rose’s past. She felt hollow as she stood alone in the empty white room. What was she supposed to do?

  She drew a breath. What she’d been trained for, she supposed. Kill something.

  She trailed after the others, along the stone corridor and out the great archway, lined with Rhino’s guards. As she left the door, the stain of red light, sting of smoke, and rumble of low voices washed over her. Rhino’s soldiers, for all their training and experience, looked pale and worried, although the whisper of what was coming gradually changed those expressions, bringing back hope and—in some—the tinge of regret. But none raised their voices to stop Rhino’s march.

  She saw the Boss stop briefly to talk to Buckland, and then they both looked back at her.

  She walked the other way, heading back toward the Tower. She wanted to reach higher ground. She also wanted to get away from their eyes.

  She reached the Broken Tower and climbed its exterior, using the pits in the old stone, as well as the curls of the lowest gargoyles. She pulled herself onto the back of a rearing bear, maybe twenty feet up, and settled on its shoulder, the stone cool under her legs.

  She lay the case of bolts beside her and unlimbered the long-distance crossbow from her back. If something went wrong and the Earth Warriors attacked, it would be her first weapon used. She’d fall back on the shorter and shorter range weapons, until it came to blades. The bolts would disappear faster than she wanted, she suspected.

  Buckland had left. Rhino headed down the stairs with Snake and Milton following, Clay gripped between them, despite his stated willingness to make the exchange.

  Rose’s gaze continued on past them, to the force arrayed beyond, and her heart chilled, like a torch thrust into the ocean. The outcome of any prolonged battle wouldn’t be in doubt, she fully understood for the first time. Horan had the numbers of an entire world.

  The Earth army spread all the way from the bottom of the Tower stairs to the distant Wall, a vast shifting ocean of furred backs, grey steel, and swaying fury. The dark stain of combatants stretched from the bottom of the Tower’s stairs to where the great trees still held the tear in the Wall open, flame rippling around their branches. Beneath them, an unending stream of Earth warriors continued.

  Rose felt grittiness in her eyes, a heat in her cheeks. She didn’t know what to hope for. She couldn’t bear for Clay to be sacrificed, but if the exchange wasn’t successful, StoneDragon could well be overrun.

  A thought struck her. It was the sixth night. StoneDragon shifted at midnight the following day. The city would leave this world and—hopefully—its gods behind. She wondered, though, how many of StoneDragon’s original inhabitants would be alive to travel with it. Or even if, as rumors suggested had happened once before, the city would be left empty and life
less, devastated by a vengeful god.

  Her past was dying tonight as well. Marching down the stairs was the only link to it she had left. The person she had trusted most was betraying him and her both, although looking at the dark mass aligned against them, she wasn’t sure she fully blamed him.

  Something twigged her instincts, sharpening her attention back on the small group descending the stairs. Something didn’t seem right. The orientation of the group shifted as they neared the enemy forces. Her gut tightened and she frowned. Something was happening. Something new.

  She lifted the long-range bow and narrowed her eyes, trying to see.

  46

  Some Cold Hard Truths

  Clay felt numb as they left the Broken Tower’s archway, walking through a double line of Rhino’s warriors. They looked stern and determined. Below, the stain of the Earth army spread like a dark disease on the city. He locked his jaw. If he could buy Karen’s safety with his own sacrifice and save the city, then there wasn’t much of a choice. Not that fear didn’t drift up and down, like a coldness in his blood as he thought of what waited for him.

  Rhino stopped, holding a hand to Snake and Milton, on either side of Clay. He motioned Buckland close and kept his voice low, but Clay could still hear the rumble of the words.

  “Watch her back,” he said.

  Buckland nodded wordlessly, and they both looked back at Rose. She turned and headed away, her slender back straight and stiff.

  Rhino smiled wryly. “Like it or not, I’ve raised her to be strong. Now she just has to decide which side she’s on.”

  Buckland faded away, and Rhino looked at Clay. The Boss’s eyes burned in the dim light, like a live coal in the ashes. He was huge and forbidding, an intimidating figure.

  Clay knew he should feel anger, hatred, maybe fear. This was the man who would give Clay over to the enemy. But all he felt was sadness. “Look after her,” he said.