“Copy that,” Cara said, forcing her brain back on track.
The heat signatures meant either Alexis or Michael was there casting a cloaking shield, or Patience was using her talent of invisibility to hide the ambush. But as part of prepping for the “us versus them” training run, the winikin had pooled their observations on the magi, and they had come up with a few workarounds that could—maybe, hopefully—help even the playing field. The heat- and infrared-sensitive goggles they were wearing were just one of many tricks they had up their camo-colored sleeves.
Their sniper was another.
“Zane?” she said into her mike. “How does it look?”
All the way up at the ass end of the regular firing range, the ex-marine sharpshooter was nearly a half mile upwind of the proving grounds, well outside the regular battle zone and higher up than even the main pyramid. From there, his telescopic sights showed him almost all of the grid, and would—according to him, anyway—allow him to hit whatever he was aiming at even that far away, using specially designed paint-containing rounds.
“I’ve got a good view,” he answered. “There are two sentries on the ground level of the pyramid, watching the corners, and at least one, maybe two concealed in the temple at the top. There are two more on the tunnel entrance, and there’s a three-man patrol headed west along causeway B.”
She glanced at her wrist display to confirm the positions of her teammates, which were marked on a topo map with tiny locator dots. But although the locators and other toys were nice, it was almost time to turn them off, along with the radios and other electronics, in order to simulate the conditions they would be facing during an actual battle, when the barrier flux would often knock out all electronic communications.
Just as she had the thought, an orange flare hissed up into the sky trailing ochre smoke, signaling that they were two minutes to the hard threshold of the pretend equinox and its communications blackout.
Her stomach knotted and sweat suddenly slicked the grip she held on her machine gun. Don’t freak; you’ve done this before, and for real. She had been out with five different ops teams. She had killed xombis, gunned down makol, and seen blood and ichor fly. Always before, though, she had been on a Nightkeeper-led team, safe behind a magical shield and with someone else giving the orders. Now she was in charge. There was nobody looking out for her, nobody making sure she didn’t screw this up. And that was a hell of a thing.
All too aware of the seven others crouched behind her—Sebastian, Kels, Foohey, Rinna, DD, Nance, and Tooky, all depending on her to get them through this and kick some Nightkeeper ass—she blew out a breath and concentrated on not letting her nerves show.
“Radios off,” she said quietly into her mike. “Stick to the plan if you can; do your best if you can’t. And gods be with us.” She removed her earpiece, then dropped it in her pocket, conscious of the others doing the same behind her. And although the mike and earbud still pinched awkwardly sometimes, she felt naked without them on. Turning back to her teammates, she made herself wink. “It’s almost go time.”
Sebastian glowered, but that was no surprise. A couple of the others, though, exhaled softly and nodded.
Then a red flare went up, signaling the start of the battle.
And the fight was on.
The world accelerated to a blur as Cara burst from behind the wall and pounded toward the target with the others right on her heels. The afternoon sun seemed to slam down on her, heating her to broil within seconds and coating her with sweat, but she didn’t care. Her strides lengthened; her feet flew as she hit the pyramid and headed up the blocky central staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
She was peripherally aware of the pop-pop-popping sounds that burst from the other positions as her teams engaged the enemy, drawing their attention away from the back of the ruin. She hoped.
“On your right!” Sebastian snapped, just as a black-clad figure whipped around the step-sided corner, firing as he came. She spun and threw herself to the side while her brain registered Nate Blackhawk’s formidable bulk.
Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack! Blackhawk opened fire and red paint splattered on DD’s chest and Tooky’s lower body, but then the remaining teammates opened fire. Within seconds, Nate was covered in winikin blue, dead by paintball rules. He looked down at himself, shocked. I’m a mage, his expression seemed to say. A winikin can’t shoot a mage.
But they could, and had. And the kill had a hot ball of emotion—part elation, part horror—jamming Cara’s throat and making it hard to breathe.
The three casualties all sat where they’d been hit. Blackhawk had to wait for ten minutes before he rejoined the fight, mimicking the way most of the Nightkeepers’ enemies could regenerate. The winikin, on the other hand, were out.
For them, dead was dead.
“Go!” Tooky waved them off. “Kick ass!”
Heart pounding, Cara bolted the rest of the way up the pyramid, leading the charge. Just as she hit the top, she heard a zzzt-thwack followed by a curse, and Lucius reeled out of the boxy temple that crowned the pyramid, clutching his blue-splattered heart. After a couple of soap opera–worthy gasps, he subsided to the stone flat and “died” with a last wheeze of “good luck” in Cara’s direction.
She sent a quick thumbs-up toward Zane’s position, and then slipped quietly into the temple with the others behind her.
At the center of the covered space a dark opening led to stairs leading down into the belly of the pyramid, to the inner tomb where the artifact was being hidden. Instead of bolting straight down, though, she boosted herself up through a hole in the ceiling and onto the roof, which gave her a vantage over the proving grounds.
She scanned the scene, confirming that her teams were all in their places. But her stomach knotted when she saw shadows moving on the far side of the low, blocky building very near where Natalie’s and JT’s groups would meet up for the next stage of plan A. Worse, four more black-clad Nightkeeper warriors were closing in; they disappeared behind a long, low temple just as Lora and the others reached it from the far side.
Oh, shit. Cara’s heart thudded against her ribs as she suddenly realized she was in a hell of a situation. If she gave the signal and the others broke cover on schedule, they were dead. They might be dead either way, if she didn’t warn them there was trouble coming. But that warning would draw attention to her team. Worse, she shouldn’t go with plan B when there were so many enemy fighters right near the pyramid. The others would scatter to relative safety, but she and her team would have a hell of a time making it back to the rendezvous point with the artifact.
So now what? Her breath thinned as it came down to a brutal, bloodthirsty choice: She could go with plan B and potentially save lives… or she could go with plan A and potentially win the game. The girl she had been when she first came to Skywatch never would’ve considered it an option—she had been raised to nurture, was programmed to reach out and help. But the leader she had become knew that the stakes were high, and the ones they would face over the next few months would be even higher.
And part of being in charge was knowing when to make sacrifices.
Her hands shook as she pulled a high-powered LED flashlight from her pocket, pointed it toward the firing range, and flashed the signal. Then she sent a small prayer skyward. Please, gods, don’t let me screw this up.
As if in answer, a brilliant yellow flare arced in the sky: It was Zane’s signal to the others to let rip with plan A. And once it was fired off, there was no going back. She had made her sacrifice; now it was up to her to make sure it counted.
Pulse drumming, she dropped back down to the temple floor and motioned for the others to follow. “Quietly,” she warned in a nearly soundless whisper.
Cool darkness closed around her as she moved down the stairs, and she switched to night vision, which made the outside world seem suddenly very far away. She tried not to imagine the firefight outside, yet at the same time wouldn’t let herself blunt the sha
rp edges by brushing it off as just a game. This could be real, she thought as she led the way across a slick landing to a second set of stairs. It could all be real.
Zzzt-pop! A miniexplosion flashed, momentarily blinding her. She fell back into Sebastian and caromed off the wall as foxfire booby traps flared to life all around them, further overloading the night vision. She ripped down her goggles, brought up her weapon, and signaled for her teammates to follow her, taking high and low positions.
She went low, came around the corner to find Alexis crouched and waiting, and opened fire just as a spell detonated around her. She lived; Alexis “died,” and looked surprised as hell doing it.
Cara didn’t stop to gloat, just waved her teammates past. “Move!” she barked. And they moved.
The next few minutes were a blur of gunfire and magical explosions, and a dizzy high-speed weave through labyrinthine tunnels to the inner chamber. “Grenade!” she snapped, and stepped back as Sebastian lobbed his own personal contribution to their armaments—a paint-filled grenade that atomized the spray so finely that it could penetrate a mage’s shield spell. There was a sharp crack followed by a vicious curse in Michael’s voice.
Another blur of activity followed, fragmented with image memories that burned their way into her retinas: Michael coated from head to toe in blue paint; the surprise—and perhaps reluctant admiration—on his face when she darted in and grabbed the paint-slicked pottery figure that was their goal. Then they were running through the tunnel leading out. She saw blue-splashed bodies, though she didn’t know who had cleared the way, didn’t hear any more pop-popping of paintball fire. But as she burst out into the sunlight and the coast was clear ahead, all she could think was that she had the statue—she freaking had it!—and they were going to win. She was going to win, and everyone would know it.
Triumph flashed through her, bright, shiny, and unfamiliar. The Nightkeepers would see that she could make decisions under fire, that the winikin would obey her and they could fight on their own. She would be a hero. More important, the winikin would have a reason to follow her now. Maybe this was what Zane had been talking about that night: the moment when the balance would tip and the last of the holdouts would accept her. And Sven would see that she could handle— Shit, it didn’t matter what he saw or didn’t see. He was just another mage.
And she wasn’t the winner until they reached the rendezvous point.
Yanking her flare gun free, she blasted a trailing track of blue across the sky to signal the retreat, hoping to hell there were other survivors. She and her five remaining teammates raced to the drop point they had started from, darting into the black-painted circle that said they were in place for a teleporter to pick them up from their so-called op. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted as the seconds ticked by and nobody else showed up.
“Try another flare,” Sebastian said.
She fired again, though it was a dangerous move that pinpointed them too closely. Already the enemy would be headed their way, following the flare trail. “We’ll give them sixty seconds,” she said through gritted teeth as the exhilaration of victory started to wobble.
At T-minus thirty seconds, she headed for the control button that would change the indicator light to amber, indicating that the op was over, that anyone not in the pickup zone had been left behind. Her stomach heaved. Six survivors—herself and five others. Was that all she would come home with? At the fifteen-second mark, she strained to hear footsteps—something, anything that said more were coming.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
Sebastian grabbed her arm. “Look!” There was a flicker of motion and Dez stepped out from a gap opposite them, weapon raised.
Cara clamped her lips on a scream and hit the button. A siren whooped and the light turned amber. And the game was over.
“We did it!” The cry came from Natalie, who burst from a nearby doorway, eyes shining from a red-streaked face. She flung herself on Cara, spinning them both around in a circle. “We won. We won!” Suddenly they were surrounded by winikin, all clamoring and high-fiving, and seeming not to care that they were covered with red paint.
“You’re dead,” Cara said numbly, pulling away from Natalie and staring from one face to the next. “Don’t you get it? You’re all dead. I killed you. I—”
“She was just playing the game.” Zane appeared beside her and dropped a heavy arm over her shoulders. “Right, Cara?”
“I… What?” Her stomach felt like it was gnawing on itself, yet nobody else seemed to be upset by what she’d done. Even Sebastian was nodding, grinning, and accepting a couple of back slaps from his buddies. They weren’t pissed off that she had sacrificed them in exchange for a fake artifact that now weighed heavily in her arms.
“He’s right,” a new voice said. “You played a good game.” She turned to see the king making his way toward her. On the surface, his expression was one of reluctant admiration, as if he’d been surprised by the winikin victory, but was willing to roll with it. His eyes, though, were locked on hers, and seemed to be warning her of something. But what? Zane’s grip on her shoulders increased as Dez came opposite her and the others fell back, leaving her and Zane facing the king together as the Nightkeepers’ leader continued smoothly. “If that was the way you played the patolli, I’m not surprised you bilked Sven out of his allowance nine times out of ten.”
“He told you that?” It was all she could get past the sudden churn of confusion. She glanced around, but for the first time in days didn’t immediately see man or coyote.
“War games are good practice for leadership,” Dez said, which wasn’t really an answer. It drew her attention back to him, though, and she saw the warning again when he said, “Just like training exercises are good practice for battle, without being the real thing.” He held out his hand. “Congratulations.”
There were a couple of hoots from the crowd, a few low cheers, and Zane tugged her into a one-armed hug and murmured in her ear, “Go with it. Give them a reason to believe in you, and they’ll be yours.”
She stiffened as it sank in.
Was this what it was going to take? Was she going to have to pretend she’d been treating the exercise like a game? Her inner self rebelled, saying, Hell, no. They need to know that was a real decision, and that they shouldn’t trust me to lead if I’m going to pull shit like that. Except that Zane and Dez thought otherwise, as if having a leader who would sacrifice eighty percent of her army to win a single battle was better than letting the winikin continue their infighting. And who knew, maybe they were right. She didn’t know, but it didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel right.
She looked around again for Sven, then told herself to knock it off. It didn’t matter what he thought; it was her decision. Besides, for all she knew, he had disappeared again.
Breathing through the pang brought by that thought, she handed Dez the paint-smeared statuette. Then, meeting the king’s eyes, she said, “Thank you, sire. I’m just grateful the gamble paid off.” And with that, she bought into the fiction, and hoped to the gods she was doing the right thing.
CHAPTER NINE
Later that afternoon, Sven found Dez in the last place he would’ve expected: the game room.
When the survivors had first reunited, the big room on the first floor of the mansion had been the go-to spot for their downtime. The magi had sacked out in the comfort of the home theater at one end of the long, narrow space; played endless hours of Viking Warrior and Grand Theft Auto on the two dedicated gaming consoles at the other; huddled over the pinball machine, billiard table, and foosball set up in the middle; and stocked the built-in shelves with every grown-up toy known to mankind, along with a few that were pure magic. With its wood paneling, neon bar signs, and random collection of laughably bad art, the game room was where they had gotten to know one another, testing strengths and weaknesses and forming the bonds of a team that would—gods willing—see them through the end-time war.
Over time, though, things had c
hanged. Mates had paired off, the threat level had ratcheted up, and there had been less and less time and inclination for playing around. Less need too, as the Nightkeepers knew and trusted one another by that point, and had more important things to do. Sven had been one of the last holdouts, hanging out by himself, sometimes using the games to burn off his restlessness, other times watching too much boob tube in an effort to stop his mind from racing, not realizing until almost too late that the magic had been preparing him for Mac’s arrival. Because from the day he and his familiar finally bonded, he hadn’t needed video games or TV anymore; he’d needed action.
Since it had been a good ten months since he’d really spent any time in the game room, he shouldn’t have been startled to see some changes. One of the pinball machines had been replaced by a full VR setup complete with couch, goggles, gloves, and shit; a Wii station had appeared in place of the Skee-Ball; and the questionable art had undergone a renaissance of sorts, and now trended toward black-and-white photos of the Denver cityscape, though the poker-playing dogs and Led Zeppelin posters remained.
“Wow,” he said, letting the door bump his ass on the way shut. “This is different.”
Dez had been leaning over the billiard table, shooting a solo game of nine-ball. Now he straightened and turned, shifting the pool cue to hold it like a baseball bat, as if violence were his first reflex. Which it pretty much was.
Relaxing when he saw who it was, the king flashed his teeth. “Couple of upgrades, that’s all. Reese and I like to come in and unwind when we’re here.”
“Don’t blame you,” Sven acknowledged. But he wasn’t tempted like he used to be. He was just there for info. “Got a minute?”
“You have something for me?”
In the end Sven had agreed to spy for the king, but he’d used Mac, a couple of bugs, and some old-fashioned skulking to do it rather than leaning on Carlos and Cara. He’d gotten their forgiveness, though it had taken him a couple of days to talk to Carlos. The winikin had made it too easy for him, even claiming it wasn’t necessary. It was, though, and he had a feeling they wouldn’t be so quick to forgive if they found out he’d been using them to get to the winikin, so he’d found other options. Besides, he’d needed to keep his distance from Cara, for sanity’s sake… but that had backfired, because while he’d been staying on the outskirts, it seemed that something must’ve been going on inside her head. The Cara he knew never would’ve knowingly sacrificed her people like that, game or not. That hadn’t been collateral damage; it’d been a massacre.
Magic Unchained Page 11