With a snarl, Lark lobbed a fireball into the molester’s helm, slapping him head first into the wall beyond the bed. Even as she went after him, sword lifted, he rolled to his feet.
“Stay out of this, Magic Barbie,” Roth snarled. “That kid is mine. I chose him, and I’m taking him. And you don’t have the power to do anything but get gutted.”
Lark was way too pissed to be intimidated. Drawing on the Mageverse’s distant psychic blaze, she hurled a blast at him. An explosion of light detonated in her face with his return shot, barreling into her shield like a truck. To her horror, the barrier began to bow inward, almost as if the spell were eating its way through. Desperately, she fought to reinforce it, drawing more power and feeding it into the shield. Roth’s attack kept coming, and the shield’s glow intensified, first a violent red, then blinding blue, then at last an aching white that made her skull pound with the effort she was expending. Finally, just when she thought it was going to punch right through, the attack faded away sullenly. Lark slumped in relief as her headache faded to a warning throb.
The sorcerer’s grin flashed behind the slotted holes of his visor. “Like I said, I’ve stored up a lot of death magic, bitch. I don’t mind adding yours to my stores. Be more available for fun and games with little Timmy over there.”
“Bastard!” Furious, Lark swung her sword at his head with every bit of strength she had.
He parried the blow easily and shrugged. “Have it your way, Magic Barbie.”
His return strike was so fast she barely had time to parry. Roth powered through her block as if it weren’t there. The point of his weapon bit into the enchanted plate covering her shoulder, lodging deep in flesh and muscle. Pain knifed into her arm. Crying out, Lark almost dropped her sword.
Before she could scramble away, Roth punched her in the face, sending her reeling into the wall.
Through the stars flashing across her vision, she caught sight of his descending sword. Somehow she managed to block it and fire another blast. The sorcerer didn’t even seem to notice as he struck for her ribs. Her parry was too slow. His blade cut into her cuirass and bit between her ribs. Lark wrenched free, sucking in a breath of agony as she scuttled to her left, trying to find room to defend herself.
Oh God, she realized in sick fear as blood rolled down her side, he’s going to kill me.
And once she was dead, the boy wouldn’t have a prayer. She thought of John and Tristan. They’d be so disappointed in her.
Roth smirked behind his visor. Just past his shoulder, Lark could see the boy lying on his bed, deep in the grip of the vampire’s sleep spell. His white-blond hair gleamed in the moonlight over the round, sweet face she’d seen in her vision. He still held that stuffed rabbit.
Roth intended to rape and murder him.
No. Goddamn it, no. Rage splintered her fear, hot and empowering. I may die, but Roth is not touching that child.
Lark drove her blade at his chest, every ounce of her strength behind it. The sorcerer only laughed and parried without any visible effort at all. “Little slow there, Magic Barbie. Blood loss getting to you?”
It seemed she could hear Tristan’s voice in her head. You’re not going to beat him with steel. It has to be magic. Burning sweat rolled into her eyes as Lark summoned another blast and fired it at him. Again, it splashed off his shields.
Dammit, what was he, Superman? Every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion, but he kept right on coming.
His sword arced at her head. She brought up her blade but the weapon bit into her forearm through her gauntlet. Agony ripped a strangled cry from her lips as she retreated. Her back hit solid wood. A bureau. Plastic clattered and fell. She sidestepped and kept retreating, sending a toy skittering away from her booted foot.
“Give it up, Magic Barbie.” Roth rotated his blade and grinned as he stalked her. “You just don’t have it, and your friend’s out getting his ass kicked. You’re going to die, and I’m still going to take the kid.”
Diera’s voice flashed through her mind. The next time you’re in combat, remember the power is there. You just have to let yourself use it.
But just how the hell did she do that? She was giving it everything she had as it was!
Roth swung his sword at her again, and she jumped back, simultaneously reaching for the Mageverse, dragging the power in like a swimmer taking a deep breath. It responded as it always had—but she knew even as the magic poured into her mind that it wasn’t enough. Reaching for more, Lark parried his attack.
Or tried to.
Between her wounded arm and his sheer strength, his sword powered through her guard and bit into her thigh.
How many wounds was that? She could feel the blood rolling from them, cool and sticky inside her armor. Her hand was growing so slick on the hilt of her sword, it was all she could do to hang onto it.
Roth smirked at her. “That hurt, didn’t it, bitch?” He inhaled. “Smell that blood. Yum. You’re not my type, but maybe I’ll feed on you after I get you down anyway. Be a shame to let it go to waste.”
Fangs gaping, tearing into her throat, draining her life away…. Shut up! Lark told the fear savagely. I do not have time for this!
She had to keep drawing the power.
A stab of pain in her wounded thigh made her stumble, but she gritted her teeth and ignored it, retreating as the vampire stalked her, trying not to get backed into a wall.
Desperately, she fought to draw energy from the Mageverse, sucking it deep. The magic was beginning to burn inside her skull, a warning sizzle of pain that made her want to back off.
Almost, she told herself, extending her shaking left hand. The right still held her sword in blood-slicked fingers. Almost there. Just a little more, and…
BOOM!
The full force of the Mageverse blasted from her hand, searing her fingertips as it roared out, not in a ball, but in a blazing jet. Roth reeled back as the energy poured around him, fell to one knee…
Panting, her very eyes burning, Lark lowered her shaking hand and waited for him to die.
The sorcerer looked up at her. “Wow, Barbie,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Shit.
He rose to his feet. His smile flashed behind his visor. “There’s a lot of magic in sacrificing a kid. That’s why the ancients did so much of it. All that potential and innocence.” For just an instant, his eyes glowed red in the shadows of his visor’s eye slit. “I’ve sacrificed a lot of little brats.”
He charged, lunging past her sluggish guard to grab her by the throat. Her injured thigh gave under her. His weight smashed her to the floor.
Roth jerked off her helm and threw it aside, then raised his visor. His narrow face was contorted with predatory triumph. “Like I said, it’s a shame to waste all that blood. I’ll just have the kid for dessert.”
Jerking his head back, he buried his fangs in her throat. Pain ripped through her flesh with his teeth.
There wasn’t time for panic. Instead of drawing on the Mageverse, Lark threw her consciousness into it. Raw power boiled over her, inundating her in agonizing fire. She ignored it and grabbed Roth’s sweaty head in both hands, sending all that blazing energy roaring into his skull.
He didn’t even have time to shield.
The vampire screamed against her throat and tried to jerk free, but she held on and kept pumping the magical fire through her fingertips. It felt like her very bones were burning, but she didn’t stop, pulling the power in and blowing it out with every bit of will she had. His scream built to a shriek.
And cut off as her hands suddenly met.
Roth’s body hit her chest, the armor melting away as his magic failed. With a cry of revulsion, she pushed him away. Panting, Lark stared at him. And blinked.
His head was gone. His neck was a blackened stump.
“Damn,” she husked. “I won.”
Lark lifted her shaking hands. She was a little surprised to find them
still attached, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to take off her gauntlets. She let her arms fall as black spots rolled over her vision.
She hurt. Everywhere. Especially her throat. Breathing through her mouth, she lay still, grateful she could feel anything at all, even pain.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to lie moaning on her laurels. She had to heal herself and go help Gawain with Edge.
Tears of agony in her eyes, she opened herself to the Mageverse again.
Tail lashing with excitement, Tegid stared into his scrying pool. In its wavering depths, Gawain and Kel did battle with some strange sorcerer.
Tegid had thought for a moment the ape thing must be Sidhe—he knew Magi couldn’t work spells—but probing delicately with his magic, he quickly determined that wasn’t the case. The creature’s power carried the greasy reek of death magic, like that of the Dark Ones who had once victimized Dragonkind.
Normally, Tegid would be glad to see the destruction of anything connected to the Dark Ones. But as he watched the sorcerer fight Gawain, he changed his mind.
It was a good thing he’d blocked Kel’s call for help. The enemy ape had potential.
The creature—it called itself Richard Edge—fought with a single-minded viciousness and impressive power. It had initially surrounded itself with an invisibility spell it used to good effect, but Kel had broken that.
Now the two apes fought hand to hand, swinging their long blades in soft, repulsive monkey paws.
Cachamwri’s Breath, but Tegid hated humans. How Kel could have stooped to befriend one of them—it was revolting.
Narrow-eyed, he watched the creatures exchange furious sword blows and blasts of magic, grimly pounding away at each other. Dirt and blood smeared their metal carapaces, but they seemed oblivious to everything except their mutual hate.
Why, the Dark One’s ape despises Gawain almost as much as I do, Tegid realized, intrigued.
Wouldn’t it be convenient if he killed Gawain? Kel would be trapped in that blade, slowly dying a well-deserved death…
Tegid ran his forked tongue across his fangs and leaned closer to watch as the two circled. Slitting his eyes, he stretched his consciousness to sample the probabilities hidden in Cachamwri’s River of Fate.
Feh! Tegid sat back in disgust. Despite his promising viciousness, Edge was going to lose. His magic was running out, and once it did, Kel and his ape would simply cut him apart.
Tegid was almost tempted to reinforce the creature’s magic himself, but the idea of having even that much to do with a human was disgusting.
Still…his tail flicked thoughtfully. What if he did give the ape a little mystical boost? Not much. Just enough to let him kill Kel’s pet.
It would be risky. Tegid huffed out a puff of smoke. Involving oneself in human affairs was strictly taboo.
On the other hand, no one would suspect Tegid if a human destroyed Kel.
He sampled the possibilities again, seeking to determine what would happen if he gave the ape a tiny little flash of extra power…? He grunted in disgust at the results his Sight showed him. It still wouldn’t be enough. He’d need to give the ape a more intense charge than was possible at this distance.
He could bring Edge here, of course…. An ape in his caverns. What a revolting thought.
Still, to rid himself of Kel and eliminate the danger…
It might be worth it.
Gawain circled Edge, watching the sorcerer’s eyes through the narrow slits in his visor. In a distant way, he was aware of the sweat rolling into his own eyes, the ache of his sword arm, the low sizzle of pain from his wounds. But only distantly. His consciousness was focused on his opponent’s every move, watching for that flick of an eye that meant an attack to the head, or the rising magical glitter around the hands that preceded a death spell.
The glitter, to his grim pleasure, was much dimmer. Edge was finally running out of power, just as Gawain had planned.
For the past twenty minutes, he’d been working to wear the sorcerer down, alternately battering at him while Kel shielded against his blasts but threw little magic beyond that. The idea was to conserve Kel’s power while forcing the sorcerer to expend his.
Unfortunately, Edge had quickly caught on. He hadn’t thrown any fireballs in the last five minutes, contenting himself with trying to get his blade through Gawain’s guard.
Judging from the increasing desperation in those cold eyes, he knew he was in trouble. Gawain expected him to either try to gate out or launch some last-ditch magical attack in the next couple of minutes. Edge was out of other options.
What’s Lark doing? Gawain asked Kel. He’d been relieved to hear she’d bested her opponent, especially since at the time, there’d been absolutely nothing he could do to help.
Gawain had tried to go to her when she’d gone down, but Edge had seen his distraction and blasted the hell out of him. By the time he’d fought the little fucker off, Lark had killed her attacker.
Just what she was doing the last six times you asked—healing. No, wait. Here she…Cachamwri’s Breath!
Gawain, glancing past Edge’s shoulder, saw light spill from the child’s darkened bedroom window. For a moment, part of the wall seemed to melt away, and Lark appeared.
He was so startled, he almost let Edge hit him. Then the sorcerer spotted her, and he, too, broke off and scrambled backward in alarm.
Lark floated toward them like a ghost, bare toes a yard from the ground. Her armor was gone, replaced by a filmy gown that whipped around her long legs. Her hair streamed back from her head as if in a strong wind, and her eyes glowed like burning torches.
“Shit,” Gawain whispered. The last time he’d seen a display like that, it had been a new Maja gone mad from the power of the Mageverse.
“Edge,” Lark whispered. Her voice seemed to reverberate in his bones as she lifted slim hands that blazed with magic. “It’s time for you to die.”
“Uh, no.” Edge whirled and ran.
With a shout, Gawain shot after him as a dimensional gate formed a few yards away. The sorcerer dove for the opening before it was completely dilated…
Only to sail through empty air as the gate abruptly winked out.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Lark said in that thundering whisper. “Except hell.”
Edge hit the ground and rolled, coming up with his sword in his hand. “Fuck you, witch. I’ll suck the magic from your…”
Before he could get the threat out of his mouth, a hole opened in the air over his head. He looked up, startled—and yowled as he was sucked off his feet and through the opening. The gate disappeared with an audible pop.
“What the fuck was that?” Gawain, about to charge after him, stopped dead in surprise. He looked over his shoulder at Lark. “Did you do that?”
“No.” The magic glow around her vanished, and she sank to the ground. Her knees gave.
Gawain sheathed Kel and ran to her as she crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. Fear cold in his heart, he knelt beside her and scooped her off the grass. Her eyes were closed, her face pale as milk.
Is she okay? he demanded.
Uninjured, but badly drained. I’d say that little show she just put on was an elaborate bluff.
Her eyes fluttered open to look up at him. “Sorry. Lost him.” Her voice sounded very faint.
“We’ll worry about that later. What the hell was that all about? I thought you’d gotten Mageverse Fever for a minute there.”
“Hardly,” Kel told him. “Majae either get the Fever when they first change or not at all.”
She let her eyes drift close. “Just trying to distract Edge…for you.”
Gawain gave her a dry smile. “Good plan—or it would have been, if you hadn’t shocked me as badly as Edge.”
Lark opened her eyes a crack. “Where’d he…go?”
Gawain frowned and stood, cradling her in his arms. “Good question. He looked as startled as I was.”
“It wasn’t any of the
Magekind,” Kel said from his scabbard. “Actually, the remnants of the spell taste like dragon.”
Gawain looked over his shoulder at his partner. “Didn’t you say you thought a dragon blocked your call to Arthur?”
“The spell did have that smell.”
“But why?” Lark asked. Her voice, thankfully, sounded stronger now.
“Most dragons want nothing to do with humans,” Gawain agreed. “Why would one of them try to help Edge, of all people?”
“That,” Kel said, “is a very good question.”
Richard Edge hit the ground so hard he felt the impact even through his armor. Rolling to his feet, he fell into a crouch, his heart pounding as he warily scanned his surroundings.
He was in some kind of cavernous stone room with a ceiling that towered three stories overhead. At first he thought he must be in another sorcerer’s temple, but the architecture was too alien for that. The walls curved into ceiling and floor, which in turn curved up to form irregularly spaced columns. The results were profoundly inhuman, an effect enhanced by shimmering green lighting.
Something moved—a whispering, sliding sound, like a massive object being dragged over stone. Richard whirled toward it. His heart seemed to simply stop.
The dragon stood looking down at him, its eyes shining like coals. Its head, topped by curving horns, was the length of his body on the end of a long, snaking neck. Great wings lay furled as it sat back on powerfully muscled haunches.
As if in slow motion, he watched the beast’s fanged jaws gape open. The massive head lowered—and breathed. Cursing, he threw up a magical shield and tried to duck.
Too late.
The spell hit the barrier and punched through as if it weren’t even there, rolling over his head like a wave of acid. Cursing, he clawed at his face. The dragon hissed.
And the hissing became words. “…understand me now, ape?”
“What?” Disoriented, Richard looked around at his massive captor. “What was that?”
The dragon lifted its head, its expression somehow satisfied. “The spell worked.”
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