The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  Now Angie saw the abandoned remains of airport infrastructure through the fog. A vast colossus, the burned-out remains of a passenger jet, sat to their left. The guns fired again, much closer now, so close the sound of their firing made her bones shake. In the flash of the cannon fire, she saw the silhouette of the guns just ahead, and the shadows of the artillerymen operating them. There was even a large tent complex close to the guns, the ammunition depot.

  This was about to happen. She took a deep breath, readying herself for battle as the elves and hobgoblins spread out.

  Rayan Zar Davi stepped out of the old warehouse hangar that the battle group’s staff were using as a headquarters and stared in confusion at the fog that surrounded the old airfield. She had been within the hangar, overseeing the battle plans, for several hours and her back was stiff from standing, studying the maps or reading battle reports. She stalked toward the pair of sentries standing just outside the open hangar door. At her approach, both men snapped to attention, their gazes leveled straight ahead.

  "How long?" she demanded.

  "Mother," one of the men said, his voice filled with fear. "I ... what..."

  "How long has this fog been here?" she snapped in irritation. "Calm down. It isn't your fault."

  "It began to settle about ten minutes ago, Mother. It came fast, from the north."

  "Not the sea?"

  "No, Mother. From the north."

  From Coronado Island. From Elenaril. What is the elven witch up to? She ran her palm over the hilt of her hexed pulwar, her thoughts racing. "Sound the general alarm," she told the man. "Rouse the quick reaction force. The enemy is attacking."

  The man's eyes widened. "But Mother—"

  Quick bursts of nearby gunfire cut the man off, followed by the screams of dying men. She drew her pulwar, the blade flashing. "Hurry, fool! Before they get away."

  Rayan stared at the muzzle flashes cutting through the fog just to the west. Where the artillery guns sat.

  "Damn," she whispered.

  Angie opened fire on the Aztalan soldiers operating the howitzers only moments after Tec and the others did. The thick fog cover had masked their approach, and they now formed a line facing the six cannons. The man Angie shot had been carrying a 105 mm howitzer shell, and he dropped it when her bullets ripped into him. For a heart-wrenching moment, she feared the shell would detonate, but of course it didn't. The timed fuses wouldn't activate until after the shell had been fired. The shell thudded onto the grassy terrain and rolled away.

  "Forward!" yelled Prince Kilyn, and Angie and the others advanced, shooting as they walked forward in line, moving from one gun to another and clearing it of Aztalan soldiers. It felt like an eternity but was likely only a couple of minutes before they had reached the last 105 mm howitzer and the remaining Aztalan soldiers fled into the fog. Not a single elf or hobgoblin was hurt.

  "Be wary of a counterattack!" Tec warned, but the Phoenix Guard elves were already securing their surroundings, aiming their rifles outward.

  Prince Kilyn sent two sections of men to accompany six of the hobgoblins to the large tent complex a hundred meters behind the guns. The six hobgoblins carried explosive charges, homemade incendiary bombs. At the same time, Tunwak and her other hobgoblins carried identical explosive charges to each of the artillery pieces, placing them in the open breeches at the rear of the weapons.

  "Fire in the hole!" Tunwak yelled as she set the fuse. Sparks flew from the long cord as the fuse burned. Tunwak moved quickly away from the gun. Seconds later, the incendiary charge in the breech flared with a brilliant red glow that was so intense Angie had to cover her eyes and look away. When she could glance back, she saw the metal around the breech was red-hot and dripping.

  "Not using these again anytime soon," Tec said from beside her.

  "We should move," she said. "This is going too well."

  "Don't jinx—"

  Tec's words were cut off by screams of pain from the ammunition tent.

  Angie's head whipped about as the elves and hobgoblins sent to burn the ammunition depot fled, pursued by a dark cloud that seemed alive. "What the hell?" A moment later she understood: it wasn't a cloud but a swarm of insects. "Magic!" she called out.

  Gunfire cut down a handful of the elves running from the swarm as well as several of the hobgoblins. Muzzle flashes flared from the fog opposite the fleeing men, and Angie saw shapes emerge from the darkness, Aztalan soldiers advancing in a line—the enemy counterattack Tec had warned of. Angie, Tec, and the others opened fire, shooting at the muzzle flashes, but it was clear they were badly outnumbered. The air cracked with the passage of bullets, and dirt erupted around them as the rounds hit. The Shade King created another shield in front of Angie, protecting her from a bullet, but the others had no shades to save them, and more of the assault force dropped, cut down by a storm of bullets. The shadows formed into men as scores of Aztalan soldiers rushed forward.

  "Everyone back to the tunnel!" Prince Kilyn yelled. "Move!"

  The assault force pulled back, half firing at the advancing enemy while the other half moved under cover. Even in retreat, the Phoenix Guard discipline was superb, but the enemy pushed forward. Maybe they were angry at the attack on their guns. Maybe they were driven by fear of their commanders. Either way, the orderly retreat fell apart under the intense contact. Angie saw a hobgoblin stumble and fall, his arm torn open by a bullet. Several Aztalan soldiers rushed forward to finish him. Angie took aim at them, but they were too close to the wounded hobgoblin for her to risk a shot. Then, as if rising from the fog, Tunwak appeared among them, cutting at them with her twin fighting knives in a remarkable display of savagery. In moments, two Aztalan soldiers were dead and the others were on the defensive. Two more hobgoblins joined Tunwak and picked up their wounded comrade. All the while, Tunwak kept the enemy back, screaming insults at them. They are dangerous, Angie realized. She and Tec rushed forward to help, emptying their magazines in the direction of the enemy so Tunwak could disengage.

  "We need to move," Tec yelled to Tunwak.

  She turned, her eyes wild, and opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything, a red cord of magical energy flashed out of the darkness and wrapped around her throat. A mage! Before Angie could take a step to help, the mage yanked back on the ribbon of red light, severing Tunwak's head. Her body remained upright for a moment, spewing blood, before it toppled over. A figure stepped out of the fog, the whip of magical energy snapping back. It was a woman, and in her hand, she held a curved sword. Angie froze in fear, remembering feeling that sword being driven through her own chest. It was Rayan Zar Davi.

  When the woman saw Angie, her eyes widened in recognition. She drew back her magical whip and sent it cracking at Angie's neck. Angie cast Shutter and transported herself ten feet to the right. Davi's magical whip cracked over empty air. Angie dropped her assault rifle and drew Nightfall. There was only one way to fight a shaded mage: with a hexed blade. The occult symbols along Nightfall's blue blade glowed with arcane energy.

  Then one of the hobgoblins rushed at Davi, firing a shotgun. The other woman's shade created a shield, protecting her, and before the hobgoblin could fire again, she lashed out with her curved sword, cutting his throat open. More bullets struck at Davi, ricocheting from another shield in a shower of sparks, and Angie saw Tec advancing on her, his rifle in his shoulder. But scores more Aztalan soldiers were coming than she could count, and several of them held bared swords. More mages.

  We can't stay, not even to kill that bitch. Angie cast Shutter again, flashing to appear just to the side of Tec. She gripped his arm with her free hand. "We need to go. Now!"

  His gaze went from her face to Davi’s and then to the approaching soldiers. The other elves and hobgoblins were gone. He glared in hatred at his longtime foe.

  "Stay, Jaguar Knight," Davi called out in a mocking voice. Then she raised her hand, and another swarm of insects raced toward Angie and Tec.

  Tec spun, grabbing Angie'
s wrist and pulling her with him as they ran.

  The first of the insects swept over them, biting and stinging, but a moment later, an explosion tore through the ammunition tents, and Davi's insects turned into drops of blood, falling about Angie and Tec as they ran. In the darkness, she had no idea where she was going, but Tec kept his grip on her wrist, pulling her along with him. Before she even realized where they were, they were back at the open trapdoor, surrounded by the surviving elves and hobgoblins, barely half of the original assault force. Angie's lungs felt as if they would climb out her throat.

  "Hurry," the prince urged.

  Another explosion shook the night, followed by two more as the depot burned, chasing away the fog and the dusk. They dropped into the tunnel and hurried back the way they had come. They had succeeded but at a terrible cost.

  And now Rayan Zar Davi was here.

  Chapter 17

  Tec shook Angie awake.

  She stared at his face in confusion for several moments, still half-asleep. Looking about, she saw they were still in the ruins of an Imperial Beach office complex that the elves had turned into a command bunker. It was dark outside, and a single lantern burned weakly atop the large wooden table upon which the elves had piled maps of Imperial Beach. Prince Kilyn stood at the table, softly conversing with a half dozen of his advisers. Other elves moved about the boardroom, waking the others who, like her, had lain down in exhaustion for an hour or so of sleep.

  "What ... what's wrong?" she asked Tec, her words slurred.

  She had been exhausted when she had curled up on this old couch just after midnight. Angie bolted upright, her fingers brushing against the glass rose talisman she wore around her neck. She must have slept, but she remembered nothing, not a single dream, which must mean that the talisman did protect her from Aernyx. Thank you, Elenaril.

  "It's okay," Tec said softly. His green eyes shone in the dim lighting. "We're not in danger, at least not in immediate danger."

  She stood, finding herself swaying for a moment, but she rested her hand on the small of his back, pulling him against her. "Are we going out again, another ambush?" She hoped not. What she really wanted was another three or four hours of sleep. God, she was tired. Had he slept at all? She glanced at her father’s battered old watch. It was just after four twenty a.m.

  He shook his head. "No, but something weird is going on, and I thought maybe you could help."

  More warriors were coming into the boardroom and taking up positions around the large table. Many of the elves wore bloodied bandages over fresh wounds. With the artillery guns destroyed, the elves had begun defending Imperial Beach far more aggressively, making the Aztalans pay a steep price in blood for every foot north they tried to move. They had even used the network of hobgoblin tunnels to strike the enemy’s rear in several key locations, causing confusion among the enemy and stalling the Aztalan advance. She hadn't fought since the raid on the guns but felt as though she had gone days without real sleep.

  "Sure. Give me a second." She plopped back on the couch and bent over, tying the laces on her boots. "I don't suppose there's coffee."

  He sighed. "There's bread and water, maybe some cold porridge."

  She groaned as she stood up, his hand taking her elbow and guiding her to the others around the table. The elves made room for them, even nodding in greeting. Elves were notoriously xenophobic, distrusting even some of the Fey races. Humans they detested—most of the time. But she and Tec had fought beside them all day and had earned their respect. And they had rescued Wyn Renna, the daughter of the queen. That meant much to the elves.

  Prince Kilyn glanced at one of the elves wearing the dark clothing of a scout. "Report."

  "My prince, the same activity has been observed all along the forward edge of the battle area in Imperial Beach. The Aztalans are pulling back, ceding the battlefield to us."

  A palpable thrill went through those standing around the table, including Angie. "We've won?" she asked in disbelief.

  "We don't know," the prince answered. "We have inflicted severe losses on the Aztalans but barely a fraction of what we estimated they had available to send against us."

  "The cowardly humans have no stomach for a real fight," one of the elves said then blanched. "Sorry, daughter of Chararah Succubus, Jaguar Knight. I meant no—"

  Tec cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No apology needed." He turned to the prince. "This makes no sense. The dragon won't care about losses among her human servants. As far as Itzpapalotl is concerned, those Aztalan soldiers are nothing more than tools to be discarded. She wants your sister, and she won't stop until she gets her."

  "I agree," the prince said. "So why are they pulling back? It makes no sense. Even with their losses, even without their cannons, they still have more than enough soldiers. Eventually, we’d have to withdraw. They must know this."

  Angie leaned forward, staring at the map of San Diego. Her finger trailed over the Bay Bridge to the north. "Could they be moving around us, perhaps trying to take the bridge and cut off the civilian retreat?"

  "No, Mistress Ritter," the scout replied. "We'd know. They'd have to move more than fifteen kilometers through the ruins of Chula Vista and National City, and we’d have seen them."

  Prince Kilyn sighed wearily. He reached out and pointed to the land between Chula Vista and National City, resting on the Sweetwater Channel, a wide waterway that separated the two ruins. "I wish they would try to go around us. We've placed explosive charges on the banks of the channel. The Azzies would need to swim home."

  "Maybe they weren't expecting such a vigorous defense," an elf said.

  "A tactical pullback," another added. "Just long enough to reorganize and try again."

  "If so, then it's a welcome development," the prince said thoughtfully.

  "I don't think so," said Tec. "This is something new." He glanced at Angie. "Any thoughts?"

  She pursed her lips, staring at the map. The Aztalan forces had been held south of Imperial Beach Boulevard running east to west, a kilometer or more south of the Silver Strand and the main elvish defensive positions. "And we’re certain they're ceding the city?" she asked. "Pulling back south?"

  The scout nodded. "Yes, mistress. Throughout all of Imperial Beach."

  A heavy weight settled in Angie’s gut. This didn't feel like victory. "They're up to something."

  "Magic of some type?" Tec asked.

  She sighed. "I know two spells, neither of which would be of any use here. The Tzitzime all know more spells than I do." She looked at the prince. "So do your mages. If you don't have any idea, neither do I."

  Tec leaned forward as he examined the map. "Something is going to happen, something we aren't going to like."

  Angie met the prince's eyes. "You wanted my advice, so here it is. Pull your forces out of Imperial Beach. Draw back to your defensive positions along the Silver Strand."

  The faces of the elves reflected their unease. A chorus of angry mutters swept around the table. The prince raised his hand, cutting them off. "Pull back? Cede the ruins? We've fought so hard to keep the Aztalans out. Why give up our advantage now?"

  "Because it isn't an advantage," Angie said. "They don't care about Imperial Beach and never have. Nor do they care about Coronado Island."

  "What then?" Prince Kilyn asked.

  "Your sister." She stared into his too-large and oddly shaped purple eyes. "They're not going to stop until they get her back. They're not going away. They haven't been beaten. And if you're certain they're not trying to go around us, then assume they have other plans. Whatever those plans are, they want us here—in these ruins. Why?"

  "I ... I don't know," the prince answered unhappily. "My people have fought so hard to hold them back."

  "Angie's right," Tec said. "Whatever they're doing, if they want us here, then this is the last place we should be."

  "Pull back," Angie said. "Do it now while you still can."

  She felt their angry eyes on her and knew the
mood among the elves was turning ugly, but she was certain they couldn't stay here anymore. But Prince Kilyn was never going to cede the ruins his people had fought so hard for.

  What are they planning?

  Cloaked in night, Itzpapalotl flew low over the white-tipped waves of the Pacific Ocean. She had left her lair in Baja California hours earlier, flying west over the ocean before turning north so that she could come at her enemies from the sea, where they wouldn’t be expecting a threat. If any of the other great dragons still lived, leaving her lair would have been dangerous, even for her, but Quetzalcoatl had been the last, and she certainly didn't fear elves. What did worry her was that some might escape her wrath.

  Itzpapalotl was in a mood for slaughter.

  She turned east, seeing the high cape of land that had once been called Point Loma. She flashed past the cape and the lighthouse that still stood on its summit. Coronado Island sat just ahead, and she began to beat her powerful wings, gaining speed as she headed for her target. When she saw Elenaril's palace, she dove, the air whistling past. At a hundred meters out, she breathed fire, flash incinerating the gardens and setting the palace aflame. The heat was majestic as she soared past, smoke and fire trailing behind her. She beat her wings to gain altitude and come around again. As she dove on the burning palace, she heard the screams of elves like music in the night. She breathed fire on those trying to flee, setting the woods near the palace on fire.

  What joy! She had missed battle.

  The fires glowed against her black scales as she soared over the burning palace. Was Elenaril burning? She hoped so. She saw movement to her right as an entire flock of rocs took to the air.

  Finally, some sport.

  She went after the birds. The rocs—stupid creatures—flew in formation, traveling no faster than the slowest bird. They’re making this too easy. She breathed fire on them from behind, setting at least half of them on fire before they even realized their mistake. Now the survivors broke apart, attempting to flee in different directions, but it was far too late for such a tactic. She used her clawed talons to catch and rip the individual birds to pieces, enjoying their shrieks of pain. Several she caught in her jaws, ripping into them with her swordlike teeth, tasting blood and feathers.