Blood Challenge

by Eileen Wilks

  She’d armed the woman with a rock, for God’s sake. But Arjenie had never shot a gun, so—

  Arjenie stepped out into the cavern—in a dazzling flash of light.

  Shit. No sneaking for anyone—go for surprise. “Go,” Lily said, slapping Cullen on the back. He shot off at a run. Lily was right behind him, her SIG out and ready.

  The ward flashed again as Cullen crossed it. It was hellish bright, but she thought he’d veered right. Lily ran straight through it, each footfall sending a bolt of pain from arm to brain. And stopped without taking cover.

  She couldn’t shoot straight. She couldn’t fight one-on-one. But she made a damn fine target for spells.

  The plan had already disintegrated. Arjenie jogged toward the blue-haired guard, looking scared and determined. Lily didn’t dare try to shoot him—too much chance of hitting Arjenie. She swung her gaze to the other guard just in time to see him doubled over and Cullen’s locked-together fists landing on his neck. He collapsed. She looked at the node-end of the cavern.

  Magic prickled over her skin, hot and tight like a sunburn.

  Five elves—one in front of the gate, back to the room, arms held out as if embracing the air. His long black hair streamed back as if a wind were blowing. The other four were arrayed on either side of him, two and two. The nearest two knelt, thumping the ground rhythmically. The two closer to the gate stood stock-still, their eyes closed, lips moving.

  Friar was in the gate. He hung there, spread-eagled a good foot off the ground, as if he’d been stuck to the air with superglue. Wavy ripples of distortion flowed over him. Lily couldn’t see his face clearly, but it looked like he’d frozen in midscream.

  Light lanced from the up-thrust hands of the black-haired elf directing the show. Blue light this time. He made a perfect target, standing there motionless with his back to her. She couldn’t accept that invitation. Kill him now and there was no telling what would happen with all the power he was handling.

  A thud-rattle sound came from the barred cell twenty feet or more to her left.

  The two sitting elves stood smoothly, in unison. One pointed off to Lily’s side. One pointed at her.

  She pointed back with her gun. “Freeze!” she yelled, even as a creepy-crawly sort of magic swept over her and she sited . . . squeezed . . .

  Off to her right, Cullen screamed. Her hand jerked the tiniest bit as she snapped off the shot. The blast of sound was ungodly loud. Her target didn’t fall. She darted a glance to her right. Cullen was on the ground, body and face contorted in pain.

  The other elf was still pointing at him. Shoot that bastard, then. Lily moved her arm smoothly. Thirty feet wasn’t all that far. She could do this. She squeezed.

  Hot damn. She hit him. He looked as surprised as she felt as his hand dropped and red bloomed just below his collarbone.

  “Behind you!!” Rule yelled.

  Lily spun. Blue-hair was almost on top of her, with four feet of shiny sword swinging through the air right at her neck.

  She ducked and damned if she didn’t hear that blade swoosh through the air way too close to the top of her head. She backed up fast, bringing up her gun up, but Blue-hair was almost as quick as a lupus, sliding toward her in a loose, slinky way, his sword moving in a blur as—

  Arjenie tackled him from behind.

  He went down face-first, still clutching the sword. Arjenie went down, too, clutching his legs. He must have noticed her finally, because he kicked her off, his foot catching her in the shoulder. Lily darted in and stamped on his sword-hand. Something crunched. She kicked the sword away. He rolled. She aimed. “Freeze, asshole!”

  Faceup now, he pointed at her, muttering something through lips white with pain. That prickly-sunburn magic rolled over her again. She ignored it and kicked him in the ribs. “Back on your belly.”

  His eyes went wide. He stared at her in disbelief.

  Shoot him. But she didn’t. Couldn’t put a bullet in his brain with him staring at her. She swung the muzzle to point at his shoulder, squeezed. That would keep the bastard from pointing at people, anyway.

  She caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and spun.

  The elf she’d missed had raced across the cavern while she dallied with Blue-hair. He bent smoothly as he ran, grabbed the sword from the ground, and spun as he brought it around.

  “Gesundheit!” Cullen yelled.

  The elf sneezed. And sneezed, and sneezed, and sneezed. Lily took aim, but in spite of the paroxysm of sneezes, he kept moving—not all that smoothly anymore, but he wouldn’t hold still. And he kept hold of the sword. He couldn’t see well because his eyes were red and streaming, but he moved too fast for her to risk a shot, and then he was between her and the cage where they’d locked up Rule and the others. And then she couldn’t shoot, dammit.

  Behind her, Cullen cursed. She couldn’t look over her shoulder to see what was wrong, not with elf-boy twirling that sword at her. Sunburn magic prickled over her again and she knew one of the other elves was trying for her. Dammit, weren’t any of them staying up front to help Rethna with his magic?

  She backed up, wanting to get where she could see the other end of the room, but sword-boy came after her, using his blade to steer her. She caught a glimpse of Arjenie a few feet away rising to her knees, clutching her shoulder, tears streaming. Sword-boy kept himself between her and the cage so she couldn’t shoot. He’d figured out guns way too fast.

  Behind him in the cage, Benedict crouched in a miserably bent-over way to avoid the low, low roof—and landed a perfect side-kick where the gate was joined to the bars. Thud-rattle. She realized she’d been hearing that sound repeatedly as she ducked a sword stroke, danced back, and watched Benedict do it again.

  Something snapped. Rule and Paul and Lucas seized the door then, grabbing it and twisting, and the metal shrieked—

  “Lily!” Arjenie screamed.

  She glanced quickly to her right. A yellow-haired elf ran at her with a big knife. She snapped off a quick shot—missed, dammit, but he’d swerved—swung her gun back around to the sword-wielding elf—

  Who collapsed beneath two hundred pounds of snarling wolf, who seized his neck between his jaws and twisted. Blood flew.

  The cage’s gate lay on the ground. Wolves poured out. One—Rule!—it was Rule—launched himself at the yellow-haired elf. The other three raced for the front of the room.

  Cullen’s voice came from behind a tumble of rock. “If they point, get the hell out of the way!”

  Lily stood there and panted, suddenly aware of how winded she was, how much her arm hurt, and how shaky and tired her left arm had grown. She let it fall to her side. Couldn’t shoot now . . . and wouldn’t have to. There was only one elf left, chanting silently in support of Rethna, who still stood with his back to the room. To the wolves racing for him.

  Friar collapsed to the ground and lay motionless.

  The chanting elf’s eyes opened.

  Rethna turned.

  Two wolves leaped for him. He held out both hands as if his palms could halt them.

  They did. The wolves halted in midair—hung there for a split second—then sailed backward several feet to land hard. He waved at the third wolf, a casual flick of his hand. That wolf—she thought it was Benedict—froze as if he’d been turned to a statue.

  Rethna started toward her. He should have been swaying, exhausted from such major magical work. He looked dewy fresh.

  Good news. Now she could shoot the bastard. Lily lifted her weapon.

  Rethna smiled and twiddled his fingers. The metal turned instantly red-hot. Lily cursed and dropped the gun.

  A ball of fire zipped out of a tumbled piled of rocks. Dammit, Cullen, we agreed—but before Lily could finish the thought, Rethna’s upheld palm stopped the fireball in midair. Rethna kept walking. The fireball quivered—then started inching toward him again.

  Rule and the wolf who’d killed Sword-guy streaked toward Rethna, zigzagging unpredictably.


  Rethna continued to hold one palm up to the fireball. His other hand flicked the air in the general direction of Rule-wolf. He froze in midstride. The other wolf leaped.

  Rethna’s one remaining attendant shouted something, his hands flying through some spell. The wolf burst as if he’s swallowed a grenade, blood and gobbets of flesh flying everywhere.

  Rethna looked back at the other elf, frowning. The elf fell to his knees, babbling what had to be an apology. Blood and nasty bits stuck to Rethna’s pretty clothes. Maybe he didn’t like getting dirty. He spoke in that musical language, then glanced at the fireball still creeping closer. He snapped his fingers.

  It vanished.

  Lily’s heart pounded so hard she felt sick. She started toward Rethna.

  His eyebrows rose. “You must be the mate. A sensitive, I’m told.” One of the wolves he’d sent tumbling stirred. Flick. The wolf froze. That left one wolf unfrozen, still lying motionless where he’d fallen. Just to be sure, Rethna aimed a flick at him, too. “Friar wants you. I’ve forgotten your name. What is it?”

  “Call me Dirty Harry’s best friend.” Her SIG lay behind her on the ground. Her clutch piece, though, was in her sling—the snub nose Isen had loaned her. It wasn’t accurate at a distance. She wasn’t accurate at a distance, and the frozen Rule-wolf statue was too close to Rethna for her to take any chance of missing. So she’d get nice and close. She rubbed her right arm as if it hurt—it did—and slid her hand just inside the sling, still rubbing. Now if someone—anyone—was still able to move and distract him—

  A reddish wolf raced out from the tumble of rocks, moving so fast the eye could scarcely track him.

  Rethna glanced that way. Flick. Cullen froze.

  Lily shot the elf lord.

  The black stone on his chest glowed. He kept walking. “You’ve cost me quite a bit. Fortunately, you’re worth quite a bit. Sensitives are—”

  She squeezed the trigger again. Again. The black stone flashed with each shot, and Rethna kept coming. Then her gun flashed hot, crazy hot, and she had to drop it and he was only five feet away now, smiling faintly as if it amused him to be shot at.

  “—extremely rare,” he said, stopping. “Or I may keep you and sell your blood and breed you. Unless she requires you, in which case you will be very unhappy for a long time.”

  Lily glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. She kept looking straight ahead. “Do you know where sensitives come from?”

  “No.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Dragons.” It was Arjenie she’d glimpsed—a grim and battered Arjenie who limped heavily, had one arm hanging down as if disabled, and held a nice, big rock in her other hand. “My grandfather won’t like it if you take me away. I’m studying with him.”

  “You bluff poorly. There’s no dragon who—”

  Arjenie smashed that rock on his head.

  He swayed. Staggered. Saw Arjenie—his eyes widened—and backhanded her. She fell next to a rock the size of a hassock, nearly hitting her head on the stone. And as he struck and Arjenie fell, a tiny woman with purple black skin sprang out from behind that rock and latched onto his leg. And bit him.

  His eyes went big with fear or astonishment. “Dya,” he said. Oh, yes, that was fear in his voice. He said a couple more words in that liquid tongue before his eyes rolled back in his head. His knees buckled. As he sank to the ground the tiny woman—no more than four feet high—clung tightly to his leg with her arms and mouth.

  The last elf still standing shrieked and shrieked again. He started in with the gestures. As he did, reality split sharply into other behind him. Where a wolf had stood frozen, a man—naked and snarling as if he were still wolf—stood.

  But only for a split second. Then Rule leaped at the lone elf and seized his head in a two-handed grip and snapped his neck.

  Lily breathed. Just breathed for a moment, her heartbeat still hasty. A little tremor of nerves ran through her. She looked around and saw wolves starting to stir. With Rethna dead, the freeze thing was . . . no, that was an assumption. Better make sure.

  She knelt beside him. The staring eyes and vacant face said dead, but she laid her fingers on his throat to be sure. No pulse. The little dark-skinned woman—she was naked—finally released his leg. She looked up and smiled at Lily . . . not a human smile, not in that face. Her eyes were huge and lovely, a soft violet, too widely spaced for human. But it was her short muzzle that really tipped her into otherness. And the fangs protruding from it. “You’re Dya,” Lily said.

  Dya nodded—a very human gesture. “Now the Queens will not have to send the hellhounds of the Hunt to kill him. You will be glad of that,” she informed Lily, and turned to check on her sister.

  Hellhounds? Lily shook off that question and looked at Rule. “Who was it he killed?”

  “Paul.” Rule’s voice was harsh, his eyes still way too black, as if he needed to snap more than one neck. He raised his voice. “Change.”

  Here, here, and there, wolves slid into the Mobius-strip spin of Change. Suddenly Lily realized someone was missing. She shoved to her feet and looked at the gate. No white-robed man lay sprawled in front of it now. “Friar,” she said urgently. “We’ve got to catch him.”

  “Shit,” Rule said. “He’s got a radio transmitter that will set off explosives at Clanhome. Benedict—”

  “S’okay,” Arjenie said fuzzily. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small metal box. “I picked his pocket. After he told you that, I followed him and picked his pocket. Took out the batteries, too, to be safe.”

  Relief swamped Lily. She felt dizzy, giddy, exhausted. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Cynna was going to Find the explosives, but best if they don’t get triggered. No telling how long it might be taking her and Cody to get them removed.”

  “Rule.” That was Cullen’s voice, strained. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “What?”

  Cullen was crouched, magnificently naked, where he’d fallen as wolf, staring at the vague distortion that marked the gate. “The gate. Rethna tampered with it for his ritual. He didn’t get it put back right. Almost, but not quite. It’s . . . ah, shit.” He sprang to his feet. “We’ve got to get out. We’ve got to get out now.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  “LUCAS,” Rule snapped, “get Brian.” He came for Lily.

  Benedict ran to Arjenie. Dya ran away—to the other end of the cavern. Lucas raced back into the cell. Rule scooped up Lily. “Shut up,” he said before she could protest. “I’m faster.”

  “Dya!” Arjenie called as Benedict lifted her into his arms. “Dya, we have to get out!”

  “The tears!” The little woman’s voice was high, childlike. “They’re here, they’re here!” She skidded to a halt by one of the chests and began trying frantically to open it. The lid didn’t budge.

  Benedict handed Arjenie to José and ran to the other end of the room. Cullen dashed up to Rethna’s body, bent, and seized the black stone that had flashed every time Lily shot Rethna. He jerked it free, snapping the chain. Lucas emerged from the cell carrying a brown-haired man who seemed to be unconscious.

  “Go!” Benedict shouted as he reached the frantic Dya. He pushed her small hands away. “Go, dammit!”

  That’s all Lily saw. Rule took off. Behind him streamed the rest—José carrying Arjenie, Lucas carrying Brian, Cullen and Sammy on their own.

  “Light!” Rule snapped as they entered the dark maw of the tunnel, and Cullen obliged with a mage light, far brighter than he’d used on their way in. They ran.

  The slope was steep. Even Rule must have felt the strain of racing up it carrying Lily. For her part, she held on with one arm and grimly ignored the jolts of pain in her bad arm and listened desperately for footsteps coming up from behind.

  She could hear nothing but their own party. She couldn’t force herself to ask if Rule heard him. But unless Benedict was much closer than she thought, he’d be coming up in the dark. “Cullen�
��can you set a mage light back there for—”

  “I’ll try. They follow the caster,” Cullen said. “But I’ve set one behind me a couple hundred yards. He’ll see it. He can’t be too far behind.”

  Rule asked, “What exactly is it we’re running from?”

  “Gate energy’s oscillating, out of sync.” Unburdened and faster than the rest anyway, Cullen could have easily pulled ahead. He stayed beside Rule. “It’s going to blow. That will release a hellish amount of energy. I don’t know what will happen. Earthquake, maybe. Or suck half the mountain into the other realm, or shove matter from that realm here, or do some goddamn thing I’ve never heard of.”

  “Friar,” Lily said suddenly. “I don’t know if he had a gun.”

  “We should have seen him,” Rule said, “if he came this way, but . . . Sammy. Take rear guard. Cullen, pull ahead and deal with him if you see him.”

  Cullen nodded and put on more speed. His mage light bobbled, but stayed with them even as Cullen vanished into the darkness ahead.

  They ran. And ran.

  The first part of the tunnel was either natural or had been dug much longer ago, and not by modern equipment. They reached the part Friar had added to join it to his house without seeing Friar, Friar’s body, or Cullen. Without seeing or hearing Benedict, either.

  Rule was breathing hard and streaming with sweat when they reached the end, where a simple wooden ladder led up to the trapdoor. He set Lily down. She swayed—no, it was the earth that swayed. Quake, tremor, call it what you like—

  “Go!”

  She didn’t waste time arguing about who went first, but climbed as fast as she could. Cullen’s face appeared in the square of light at the top. “No one here,” he said. “Hurry.”

  She did. He hauled her up as she reached the top, set her on her feet outside the broom closet, and gave her a shove. “Keep going, dammit, you can’t do a thing to help.”