by Jim Butcher
Light erupted from Ethniu, lashing out furiously at the ceiling. Where it touched the hanging swaths of fabric, they rotted and flaked away, scorching at the edges and bursting into flame. When it touched the ceiling, there was an enormous concussion, and the dark grey stone of the castle suddenly erupted with cold blue glowing light emanating from previously unseen runes and sigils written on every surface. I could feel a surge of pressure, which might have put out my ears had it been physical, as the castle’s magical defenses pitted themselves against the power of a goddess.
They failed.
Stone shattered to dust, and energy exploded upward through the ceiling, through the upper floor, and through the roof into the summer night. Pure magical energy surged out with it, through the room, into the night, in a wave of such breadth and power that five minutes before, I would have considered it impossible.
Looking back, that was the moment everything started to change.
Magic ran rampant into the air. It howled through the streets and alleys of Chicago. It thundered through tunnels and roadways, a tsunami of raw power.
And wherever it went, the mortal world fell into darkness.
Power stations exploded. Electronic devices screamed and showered sparks. Screens played diabolical images and screeched in demonic voices before dying. Cars died; systems failed; trains went powerless and slowed. I heard later that there were nearly fifteen hundred automobile collisions in that single moment, resulting in scores of deaths.
Chicago fell into total darkness.
I found myself on my knees, sometime after, breathing hard, making pained sounds. Others were making similar noises. The lighting in the great hall hadn’t changed—not when it had been firelight in the first place.
King Corb and the Last Titan were gone.
I found myself staring at Vadderung as he fell heavily back into his chair, his expression stunned.
Chapter
Thirty
A solid quarter minute of stunned silence followed before Gentleman John Marcone hauled himself to his feet, looked around at the destruction and confusion in the hall, and mused, “It would seem we have the Fomor’s answer with regards to the peace process.”
Ebenezar was the next one up. He looked around the room and said, “Is anyone hurt?”
“The dead, it would appear,” Marcone said. He started for the high seat and offered a hand to Molly. She glowered at him but took his hand and rose with a polite nod. He spoke in a low, intent voice that wouldn’t be overheard by most of the room. “Assess Mab, please, Winter Lady.”
Molly stared at him for a second. Then she went over to the hole in the stone wall behind the high seat. She stared for a moment and said, “What’s on the other side of the wall?”
“Storage,” Marcone said.
“On the other side of that,” Molly said, and vanished into the hole.
Etri and his sister stood up together. Voices rose in a babble of confusion and anxiety. Everyone had begun to recover and no one looked like they were happy about what was going on.
My grandfather looked around, eyes searching. He leaned over to Ramirez and muttered something. The Warden nodded and spoke quietly to the rest of the security team.
Carter LaChaise and his ghouls got up and were heading toward the exit.
“LaChaise,” Marcone said in a voice that very much was meant to carry to the rest of the room.
The ghoul looked over his shoulder at Marcone.
“Where are you going, sir?” Marcone asked.
LaChaise pointed a finger at the hole in the rear wall. His voice was a low, rich Louisiana gumbo with some whiskey added in. “You heard that monster. You saw what she did.”
“Yes,” Marcone said, his tone bored. “I also saw your signature at the bottom of the Unseelie Accords, I believe.”
“And?”
Marcone’s voice was mild. “And mutual defense in the case of an aggressor nation is stipulated therein.”
“Mab was the Accords,” LaChaise spat. “You saw what the Titan did to her.”
“And so I did,” Marcone replied.
“If she can do that to Mab, what chance do any of us have?” LaChaise asked. He looked around at the rest of the room. “All of us signed because all of us fear Mab. Do any of you think you can stand up to Corb and Ethniu when even Mab gets swatted down like a fly? Let this mortal throw away his short life if that is his desire. The rest of us were doing business long before these recent Accords, and we can do it again quite comfortably.”
LaChaise turned to leave, trailing half a dozen ghouls in the wake of his massive presence.
“Are you a coward, sir?” Marcone asked, his voice deadly quiet.
The ghoul whirled, light and fast for all his bulk, and a low growl bubbled across the room.
“A question, sir,” Marcone said. “Not a statement.”
“Tread carefully, mortal,” LaChaise said. “I would be pleased to use your own entrails to make sausage links.”
“I ask the question,” Marcone said, “because your next actions will show everyone here what you are, LaChaise.”
LaChaise quivered, his face contorting in rage. Actually, it started contorting from human form into something more bestial, uncomfortable crackling sounds coming from the ghoul’s bulky form as his shoulders rounded and hunched and his back kinked.
Marcone’s voice cracked out. “You are a guest, sir. In my house.”
LaChaise’s eyes had already gone hideous and vaguely serpentine. His weight had shifted to take a step toward Marcone, but the words locked him into place as rigidly as bonds of steel. He looked around the room to see the entirety of the leadership of the Accorded nations staring hard at him.
“Baron Marcone is correct,” Etri said. “You are signatories of the Accords, as are we all. You are obligated to come to Mab’s defense. As are we all.”
LaChaise’s jaw had extended slightly, and it made his voice a snarling, gobbling thing. “Your people are bleeding from a tussle with a mere White Court assassin,” the ghoul hissed. “Do you think you can challenge a Titan, Etri?”
“Not alone,” Etri said calmly. He turned to Marcone and nodded firmly. “Svartalfheim does not make commitments lightly. We will stand in defense of this city.”
Marcone returned the nod.
“Fools,” LaChaise said. “This is hopeless. The enemy has been given free reign to prepare. We have mere hours to assemble our own forces, assuming the attack has not already begun. Do you think Corb means to fight fairly?”
“Obviously not,” Marcone said. “Which tends to make me think that he is not invincible—otherwise, he should simply have attacked, without any of this … drama. It is an attempt to destroy the Accords without firing a shot—to divide us, make us easily taken one at a time.”
“And the Titan?” LaChaise demanded. “Did you see what she was wearing?”
“Titanic bronze,” Etri noted. “An alloy beyond the skill of even my people. Only the Hundred-Handed Ones knew its secret.” He looked at Marcone and clarified, “Mere physical force will never stop her. Only the most puissant of powers stands any chance of doing more than annoying her.”
“A problem to be overcome,” Marcone said, and looked at Cristos. “Perhaps our clever friends of the White Council have a solution.”
Cristos looked at Ebenezar. The two of them traded looks with Martha Liberty and Listens-to-Wind, and the Senior Council put their heads together for a brief conference. Listens-to-Wind looked up from it and nodded at Marcone. “Perhaps. And in any case, we will stand with you and summon a complement of Wardens to the city’s defense.”
“Perhaps they can do something,” LaChaise scoffed. He looked around at the rest of the room. “What does this city, this mortal, mean to any of you? I say it’s better to let the Fomor expend their strength on the mortals.”
“Idiot,” snapped Ferrovax, a plume of thick volcanic-smelling smoke rushing from his nostrils. “You know the mortals as well as I do. Once you awaken them
, frighten them, you anger them. They will lash out at any supernatural threat they can find—and may I remind you, LaChaise, that you do not enjoy the safety of dwelling beneath an ocean they have barely explored.”
“The wurm is right,” Vadderung said. He exchanged a nod with Ferrovax. “We must stop Ethniu here and now. If she is allowed to sack a mortal city of this size, there will be no way to contain their rage. Blind and foolish as they are, they are many, and full of the courage of ignorance. None of us will be able to carry on business in the face of that—and Corb and Ethniu will simply sit in their palace under the sea and laugh while the rest of us try to survive.”
“I don’t see how all of us dying in a foolish battle is an improvement,” LaChaise said in an acid tone. “If Ethniu can do that to Mab, what can any of us do against her? What weapon do we have against her?”
Marcone stared at LaChaise as if the ghoul were a simpleton. “Courage, sir,” the robber baron of Chicago said. “Skill. And will.” He turned to Vadderung and said, “I wish to hire the entirety of the available Einherjaren for a night.”
“I can have five hundred here in the next few hours,” Vadderung said.
Marcone nodded. “Etri?”
The King of the Svartalves folded his fingers into a steeple. “My people are artisans, not warriors. We will fight—but our assistance in establishing defenses and providing appropriate equipment will prove a greater boon. Our armories are open to you, Baron.”
Marcone nodded and regarded Ferrovax. “Sir?”
“My contribution to the defenses must be subtle,” Ferrovax said. “To do otherwise would be to risk destroying more of the city than I save.” He nodded thoughtfully. “With Etri’s counsel and consent, I will close the underworld to them, prevent them from moving through or beneath the earth. One-Eye?”
Vadderung nodded slowly, evidently tracking Ferrovax’s line of thought. “I will close all the Ways to them within the city itself. Given who they are, that will leave them only one viable avenue of approach.”
“The water?” Marcone asked.
“Aye,” Vadderung said. “Their power is greater beneath the water. They’ll be able to bore through the defenses beneath the lake.”
“Then we’ll be able to deploy our forces against an attack from the lake,” Marcone said. “I will bring the full strength of my own organization here.”
There was a polite cough. Or it would have been a polite cough if a human had been making it. Considering it came out of River Shoulders’s chest, it sounded more like a small cannon going off. The Sasquatch straightened his bow tie, stepped forward, and pushed his wire-rim spectacles up higher on his broad nose. “My people,” he rumbled, “are not signatories of the Accords. Not yet. But if I understand things correctly, what is happening here has the potential to bring them harm. I will stand with you.”
“Hah,” said Listens-to-Wind. His worn teeth showed in a broad smile. “Be good to work with you again, River.”
River Shoulders looked toward Listens-to-Wind and winked. I was impressed. River wasn’t the kind to rush into things—and offhand, I couldn’t remember going up against anything more dangerous than one of the Forest People who meant business.
“What of the White Court?” Ebenezar asked. “Where is Ms. Raith?”
At that, there was a murmur of confusion and then all eyes fell onto the White Court’s sitting area, where only Riley was there to speak. “Ms. Raith had matters of state to attend to,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll need her authorization before engaging, but I’ve already sent a runner with orders to bring her local forces to combat readiness—a hundred guns, plus whichever members of the house are in residence at the château.”
“Communications, transportation,” Marcone said. “If that hex Ethniu threw was anything like what I’ve seen from others, and is as effective at destroying technology, we’re going to have difficulty reaching everyone and bringing them together in the proper place.”
There was a cough from the far end of the hall, where the Summer Lady had been sitting quietly with her security team, including the Summer Knight, gathered around her. Sarissa’s hair had become a cloud of silken white tresses over a dress that had been leaf green before I had drunk the blending potion. She … looked a scary amount like Molly, honestly. Or maybe Molly looked more like her.
Sarissa rose, looking intensely uncomfortable, and said, “I can help with communications. The Little Folk are well suited for such tasks. I would recommend the roof of this castle, I think, for a command center, for easy access.”
There was a rustle and then Molly slid out of the hole behind the high seat. “I’ve been handling transport for Winter troops for some time now. I can bring more of them in, as long as I know where they will be needed.”
“Excellent,” Marcone said. “Communications are, I think, the place to begin.”
“As well as a centralized collection of our military assets,” came a ragged voice.
Mab came out of the hole in the wall. She was … broken. Literally. Half her body had been crushed and mangled as if in some kind of industrial accident. She came through the hole in the wall with jerky, too-quick motions, once more the queen in purple and white, though coated with stone dust, her skin dimpled in dozens of places, as if it had been made of some kind of mostly rigid material that showed some hail damage. As I watched, there was a hideous crackling sound, and her broken shoulder snapped unnaturally in its socket and then resolved into its normal pale perfection.
She looked around the room, slowly. LaChaise avoided her gaze and looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor.
“Queen Mab,” Marcone said. “It would be good to know what forces the Winter Court intends to commit to the city’s defense.”
Mab stared at Marcone for a moment in silence, before she said, “I am informed by my second that as of one hour past, all of the forces of Winter are urgently required elsewhere. The Gates are under intense attack.”
I felt my stomach lurch at that. The Outer Gates were … the ultimate boundaries of reality, way out in the far reaches of the Nevernever. Beyond them was elemental chaos, the Outside of creation, filled with the beings known as Outsiders, who eternally hungered to break in and devour all of reality, mortal and otherwise. If the Outer Gates were suddenly being attacked, it meant that there was no way the timing of Ethniu’s actions could be a coincidence.
It meant that the Last Titan was in league with the Outsiders.
It meant that more than a few powerful entities had evidently decided that the Accorded nations had to go, and they were making their intentions known in no uncertain terms.
Not everyone in the room got what was happening, but I could see who had the information to translate what Mab had said, very clearly. One-Eye and Ferrovax, the Senior Council, River Shoulders, Etri, and a few others suddenly went as pale as I felt. They understood just as well as I did what would happen if that battle was lost.
Mab looked across the hall at Fix, the Summer Knight, a wiry little guy with a shock of white hair, the knobby hands of a mechanic, and hard eyes that were green whenever I wasn’t viewing the world in monochrome. “Sir Knight. I believe Queen Titania should be informed of the situation immediately.”
“Then why don’t you do it?” Fix asked in a very polite, mild tone. “Your Majesty.”
“She is unwilling to … take my calls,” Mab said. “She will do as she will—but she should be informed. It is her right.”
Fix frowned, but Sarissa lifted a finger and said, “She’s right. Go now.” The Summer Knight nodded, bowed to her, and immediately withdrew. I was impressed with that. He’d been unwilling to expose the previous Summer Lady to danger, to a paranoid degree. Sarissa had evidently established a different dynamic to their relationship.
“Queen Mab,” came Ebenezar’s voice. The old man sounded calm but respectful. Mab didn’t react well to aggression, and even worse to weakness. “If I may ask … where is the Winter Knight?”
“He was last seen consorting with Ms. Raith,” Mab said in an offhand voice. She glanced in my direction, and her eyes suddenly became bright green and very cold. “Rest assured he will participate in the defense of the city as soon as he has concluded his business.”
Ebenezar’s jaw hardened. “Ma’am, with respect. I will need to coordinate with him. The sooner the better.”
“I will send him to you,” Mab said, turning a cool gaze to the old man.
Ebenezar met her eyes for a moment and then nodded a stiff-necked acceptance.
Great. Now I had this to explain.
“Very well, then,” Marcone said. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you could each send someone with executive decision-making capability with me, we will establish a command center for the city’s defense… .”
The room stirred, generally speaking, voices rising as people started moving, and I took Mab’s hint. I also had business to conclude. The evening had gone completely sideways, sure—but whatever the result of the battle, if Etri was still around afterward, he’d be after my brother. Right now, the only thing keeping him from hunting down and killing Thomas was Ethniu’s major distraction, and the fact that no one had yet realized that Thomas had escaped. It had just become even more urgent that I get him clear.
There was only one place that I could do that, and there was little time to do it in. Mab’s instructions had been crystalline, even to me—get it done and get back.
I headed for the door through a sea of worried monochrome faces, and hit the night running.
Chapter
Thirty-one
Being the Winter Knight mostly sucks, but it comes with a few perks that can be damned handy.
First, I’m strong. Not like Spider-Man strong, but I’m about as strong as someone built like me can be, and I’m not exactly a tiny guy. I’d gotten myself mostly dead as part of the deal, and by the time I’d gotten back to the world of the living, my body had wasted down to nothing. Part of recovery had been physical training—a whole hell of a lot of it. And since the constant primal pressure of the mantle could be safely eased through intense exercise, I’d kept it up.