The basilisk rushed out into the chamber, paused, and raised his horned head up toward the rafters, stuttering out his primal challenge. Then he turned and ambled toward the sliding doors that led out into the night. Maelhrandia, her small fingers brushing against his scales, walked beside him, still cloaked in magic.
There was no room for Gazekiller to slip through the doors, but before the basilisk could begin smashing itself against them, Maelhrandia pushed a bright-red button mounted on the doors that she had seen one of the manlings use hours earlier after they had moved Gazekiller inside. Instantly, there was a machine roar and a grinding of chains. The doors slid open, and the cool night air brushed her skin.
A manling machine sped toward her with red-and-blue lights flashing. It wasn’t one of their mighty war chariots; this one was made of glass and thin metal. She braced herself, extending both hands in front of her, drawing in as much magic as she could safely hold. Then she cast double bolts of Storm-Tongue into the oncoming chariot, right through the glass where she knew its occupants sat. The vehicle swerved and flipped over with an ear-splitting roar. Just for fun, she put Drake’s-Gift into its interior, setting it ablaze. Perspiration ran down her skin. As gifted a mage as she was, casting this much magic while still maintaining her Shadow-Soul was beginning to tire her.
Turning away from the blazing chariot, she sent a mental command to Gazekiller: Kill.
The basilisk cried out and stormed forward. Maelhrandia turned away. Now that she had caused enough mayhem, her mount would continue the massacre. It was time for her to accomplish her true mission.
* * *
McKnight bolted upright, yanked from sleep by the two-toned shrieking of the base’s alarm. What the hell! That’s the stand-to alarm. He picked up the digital clock beside his bed and stared at it in confusion with eyes still blurry from sleep. It was 2:17 a.m. Why is the stand-to alarm sounding?
The basilisk! Fear and adrenaline rocketed through him, and in a moment, he was out of bed, hopping on one foot as he pulled on his pants. Somehow, the basilisk had gotten free. But how?
He stumbled about in the dark before switching on his bedside lamp. There was a standing quick-response team, he knew—four soldiers in a patrol car. It was their responsibility to be first on the scene. By now, they must already be reacting to the alarm. As he yanked on his boots, shame and responsibility flushed through him. The response team was in a soft-skinned vehicle. Normally, they would have been in an MRAP, but there had only been four MRAPs with the task force. One had been destroyed during the basilisk’s attack, a second was unserviceable, and the other two had gone out with Major Buchanan. Right now, both MRAPs—with their turret-mounted heavy-caliber machine guns—were parked in the same hangar as the basilisk’s cage.
Useless to anyone. That was his fault. He should have insisted that at least one of the vehicles be prepped for use the moment the team had pulled in last night. Instead, he had cut his people some slack, trying to give them a well-deserved break.
If the creature had somehow gotten free of a steel-reinforced crate, nothing they could do was ever going to hold it. He had needed something positive to show Ottawa and Washington, especially after all the deaths, but now Operation Rubicon and Task Force Devil were going to be taken from him—if not outright shut down.
He had been in command when the recon team had been ambushed, when Rubicon’s creatures had somehow breached the Earth and crossed over on their own. Everything was on him.
He inhaled deeply, gripping the sides of his head, forcing himself to concentrate. When he felt in control of his emotions, he reached for his pistol, still in its shoulder holster hanging over the back of his desk chair, and slipped his arms through the harness. He drew the pistol and rushed out of his quarters, down the stairwell, and into the night.
He’d feel sorry for himself later. For the moment, his people needed him. He was still in charge—for now.
* * *
Maelhrandia let more of the manling soldiers rush past her. They were of no importance. Where is the dark-skinned one, the warlord?
* * *
As soon as he was outside, McKnight heard the basilisk’s cry echoing across the base. He had been right—no great surprise there. Somehow, the monster had gotten loose. McKnight had gotten enough people killed; this time he was going to see it put down for good. Screw Ottawa; screw Washington. Screw his career. Louise would be happy about that—she’d have him home.
Two armed soldiers rushed past him, sprinting toward the hangar. Even from here, he could see that a fire burned out of control next to the large building, illuminating its walls in orange flame. The patrol car.
His heart sinking, McKnight broke into a run behind the two soldiers. This time, that goddamned thing was going to die; this time he’d—
Night turned to day. A blue-white bolt of lightning arced between the two soldiers ahead of him with the force of an explosion. The blast picked McKnight up and tossed him like a doll. He landed with a bone-jarring thud, stunned and blind, a burning stench in the air. What?
It was impossible to concentrate, to make sense of what was happening, but at some point, the spots of light in his vision began to clear. He had to be hallucinating, he knew, because he saw a woman just… appear in front of him. He stared at her in confusion. She wasn’t right: diminutive and thin, she was more like a child than a woman, yet he was certain she was no child. Her skin was dark, not black like his, but… purple. Her eyes, almond-shaped and yellow, were far too large—impossibly large. She wore a dark cloak with a hood pulled up, but he could make out her long white hair beneath it—hair the color of crushed ice. She squatted down in front of him, examining him, tilting her head to the side and regarding him with those alien eyes. Up close, he saw she wore finely crafted black leather: armor of some type. Intricate silver threads had been woven throughout the armor, creating a magnificent patchwork of bizarre-looking geometric markings.
And in that moment, he realized where she came from—and began to understand how wrong they had all been.
He tried to rise, to push himself up, but the shock of the electrical blast had paralyzed him. His muscles wouldn’t respond. She leaned in closer, a look of profound sadness on her features. She spoke, but McKnight didn’t understand her. Then he saw she held something that wriggled and thrashed in her hand. Heart-shuddering fear washed over him when he saw it more clearly: a huge alien insect, at least six inches long, like a dark, furry caterpillar with quivering long antennae and horns. It twisted and writhed in her grip, but she held it by the back of its head so it couldn’t turn and bite her hand—although it tried. He stared at it in horror and revulsion as she brought it closer to his face.
“Please, no,” he whispered.
She flipped him over onto his side, exposing his back. He felt something soft and furry brushing the back of his neck.
“No, please don’t!” He was too terrified to feel shame as warm urine spread out from his crotch.
The pain when it bit into the back of his skull was almost beyond description, like a white-hot bolt of fire driven right between his eyes—only far, far worse.
* * *
The manling warlord writhed and moaned on the ground before Maelhrandia as the Ashtori grimworm buried itself into the back of his neck. She looked about, making sure they remained alone while the grimworm took control of his body. He thrashed about for some time—as they all did—but then began to slow, to quietly whimper and pound his heels against the ground. When she was certain the grimworm had fully attached itself, she established a mind-tether with it. Rise, she ordered.
The grimworm-controlled manling slowly climbed to his feet, his eyes reflecting his horror. He was no longer in control of his body—the grimworm was and, through it, Maelhrandia. He could see and hear and feel pain but could do nothing without her expressed command.
She considered her options. Exhausted from near-constant magic use, she knew she would not be able to maintain another Shadow-So
ul spell. But with the manling prisoner, she had just accomplished her mission and could now use the Shatkur Orb to return home, which was its true purpose. All she need do was find Gazekiller again, and then she could activate the orb.
But she wasn’t going to. Not yet. She faced the manling. Where is the talisman you took from the Ancient One? she asked him through the grimworm.
He stared at her in confusion. What? His mind flashed back to her.
Annoyed, she sent pain flashing through the grimworm, and he screamed and fell to the ground, curling into a ball. Then, she saw a mental image of it in his unshielded thoughts, saw him locking it within a steel box.
The Ancient One’s talisman, the most powerful weapon she had ever seen.
Take me to it, she ordered, now smiling, thinking of her sisters.
Chapter 41
Cassie had been so deeply asleep that it took the base’s alarm some minutes to finally wake her up. She tried pulling the blankets up over her head, but it didn’t do any good, and the discordant screeching reverberated within her skull, driving her to an unthinking rage. Confused and angry, she gave up, reached over, and switched on the lamp beside her bed. She sat there, staring about herself, so tired she wanted to cry… or smash something.
“What the hell is it now?” Vaguely, she became aware that Clyde was whining in terror from beneath her bed.
Then she heard the gunfire, followed a moment later by the stuttering roar of the basilisk. Her heart hammered in her chest, and a cold sweat drenched her skin. She needed to be awake—now!
Tossing the covers off, she jumped from the bed and stumbled to her window. Flames poured from a burning vehicle near the hangar, casting an orange glow. The alarm, so loud within the barracks that it hurt her ears, was screeching nonstop. Shadows moved in the darkness outside—soldiers, with rifles, sprinting for the hangar. And then she saw the basilisk, outlined in the glow of the vehicle fire, its horned head raised to the sky in challenge.
It’s free? Of course it’s free!
At that moment, a giant ball of fire erupted on the other side of the base, and Cassie immediately felt the presence of someone channeling mana. What the hell—
She almost jumped out of her skin when someone began pounding on her door. For a moment, she stared in terror at it, unable to think clearly. Idiot, she finally told herself. No enemy is going to knock. She opened the door to find Elizabeth standing there in pajamas, her hand raised to pound on the door again, her eyes wide, her hair disheveled.
“Do you feel it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Someone’s channeling.”
“Whoever it is, they’re so strong.”
A long burst of rifle fire cut across the night. A moment later, Cassie felt the distinctive channeling of the basilisk using its petrification gaze. The gunfire ceased.
Elizabeth’s face went white. “Was that…?”
Cassie swayed in place, feeling overwhelmed. “It just killed someone.” She saw Clyde’s tail sticking out from beneath her bed, vibrating in terror. Clyde understood. Clyde got it. Her senses screamed at her to run away, to go hide somewhere until it was all over. Instead, she surprised herself with her own stupidity. “We should go help.”
Elizabeth swallowed nervously and then nodded. “God help us.”
“Someone has to,” Cassie said as she ran past the other woman and out into the hallway.
Elizabeth was right behind her, and moments later, they were outside, still in their pajamas, running toward the sounds of combat. Cassie was pretty sure they should have been running away.
* * *
The manling warlord led Maelhrandia to a two-story structure with glass windows. A sentry stood in front of its entrance, confusion on his features as the manling approached, followed by Maelhrandia, her cloak thrown over her head. His confusion lasted only a second before Maelhrandia set him on fire, his shrieks adding to the discord rampant within the manling camp.
The manling warlord’s face reflected his horror, his pain. Please, his mind begged.
Bring me to the talisman, now!
The manling entered the building, and she followed. It was deserted, almost dark. He led her up a flight of stairs, down a corridor, to a spacious, comfortable chamber, obviously his private work quarters. He paused before a metal box that sat beside a wooden desk.
Open it now! she ordered him through the mind-link.
He knelt down before it and turned a dial first one way, then another, and finally a third way. He cranked a lever, and the door clicked open. She pushed him aside, knocking him to the carpeted floor in her haste.
Yes! There it is. The Ancient One’s talisman.
The moment her fingers touched the glove-like object, she felt a current of magic throb through her like nothing she had ever experienced before.
Such power! Far more than she had thought possible.
She pulled it over her hand. It was far too large and kept sliding down, and she had to keep pulling it back up, but her entire body throbbed with arcane energy.
Smiling, she turned away. Time to test it.
* * *
Alex, wearing only combat pants, running shoes, and his GPNVGs, sprinted for the vehicle hangar, his M4 held across his chest. On his way out of his room, he’d had the foresight to pause and grab his night-vision glasses, so at least he could now see how everything had gone completely to shit.
The basilisk charged about in front of the hangar, crushing anyone unfortunate or foolish enough to get near it—just like he was trying to do. All was chaos—soldiers ran to fight the basilisk; technicians ran to get away. Bodies and parts of bodies lay strewn about. The flash of gunfire lit up the night as someone opened fire.
What a disaster. How had it gotten free? And how many of his friends were dead?
He threw himself down in the grass, going prone and acquiring the basilisk through his rifle’s scope. Just in front of the monster, several other soldiers were also firing at it. The basilisk roared in fury and spun in place toward them. Its eyes flared with light, and the soldiers froze. The basilisk charged forward, shattering their bodies.
Goddamn it! Alex fired shot after shot, certain he was hitting it, but it was moving so fast he had to aim for its center of mass, not the more vulnerable head or unprotected underbelly. Still, wherever he was hitting it, the rounds were getting past the scales, because the beast raised its head and howled in agony.
Good, you ugly bastard. I hope it hurts. Then, the basilisk turned to face him. Surprisingly, he was calm as he realized he was about to be turned to stone. Will it hurt?
But then a ball of fire the size of a basketball smashed into its horned head, sending flames cascading over it. Shrieking in pain, it turned away from Alex, seeking the source of this new threat.
“Run!” Cassie screamed, standing twenty feet away, near the corner of a building, her hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders. Elizabeth was already channeling another ball of fire.
Alex jumped to his feet and sprinted for the women. As he ran, Elizabeth let loose again, and the fireball flashed past Alex. He felt the heat of its passing but couldn’t tell if it hit the monster or not. Moments later, he reached the women, spun in place, and fired several half-assed wild shots.
Cassie had a look of intense concentration on her face. That concentration was mirrored on Elizabeth’s face, as well, as she channeled another ball of fire. The monster scuttled backward as flames burned across its torso. Seeing his chance, Alex dropped to one knee and aimed for its head. Let’s see you shrug off a 5.56mm round through the brainpan, lizard. He exhaled, letting his aiming point drop down onto the target—right between the basilisk’s bulbous eyes—then held his breath as he slowly squeezed the trigger.
The night lit up in a flash, completely washing out his vision. Pain lanced his body as he flew through the air, convulsing. He hit the ground hard. His GPNVGs were gone; he tried to rise but couldn’t move. Had he just been electrocuted? How?
The basilisk screamed. He k
new he had to move, had to react—but he couldn’t. Even breathing was agony. All his muscles twitched violently. As he lay on his side, his vision began to return although everything was still blurry. Cassie and Elizabeth lay nearby, and his heart rose in his throat. Were they still alive? All around him, the air reeked of a foul burnt-egg smell.
Get up! Do something. But he couldn’t. His limbs wouldn’t obey his commands. Any moment now, the basilisk was going to rush forward and finish them.
But it didn’t. Instead, it turned and ambled away, with its weird eight-legged gait, to join a small figure walking toward it. Alex shook his head, trying to understand what he was seeing. It appeared to be a small woman with dark skin, dressed all in black. Glowing arcs of electricity danced along her arm. The basilisk stopped beside her, lowering itself so she could climb up onto its back.
And Colonel McKnight was with her.
* * *
Wracked with pain, Cassie lay on her side, watching the basilisk turn away from them and approach the strange woman who had just channeled the lightning bolt that had missed them and hit the wall just beside them instead. Her body still vibrated from the impact, though, and her teeth chattered against one another. The small woman was next to Colonel McKnight—who stood like a statue. She threw back her hood, revealing skin so purple it blended into the night. Her hair was long and pure white, reaching the small of her back. The basilisk lowered itself to the ground for her, and with one smooth motion, she leapt up onto its back and sat astride it, perfectly at ease. She pointed behind her, and McKnight clumsily climbed onto the beast’s back as well, gripping the woman around her waist.
The basilisk turned away from them and began walking away with its ungainly eight-legged gait, its long tail whipping back and forth behind it. The woman, still astride the beast, lifted both arms up into the air, holding aloft an object—a glowing globe just larger than her hand.
Starlight (The Dark Elf War Book 1) Page 33