by E. G. Foley
So she could walk the graceful promenades with Janos.
* * *
“Hey, vampire!” someone rudely called the moment Janos landed on the ground in human form.
He’d come back briefly from his spying mission, not because there was anything essential to report, but he figured Derek might find the information about Wyvern’s escaped dragon useful.
Circling in bat form overhead, he had witnessed the commotion around the open drawbridge of the Fortress a short while ago, the Noxu fleeing the castle in terror. Intrigued, he’d flown closer. A few darting passes had gained him a discreet peek into the great hall, where he’d seen Wyvern bring the vicious beast back under control.
Thank God it didn’t get out.
He had met the dragon before in his past dealings with Wyvern, but its presence inside the Fortress had slipped his mind. Rather an important detail, that.
Leaving Balinor’s owl to keep watch, Janos had returned to warn Derek they had a bloody dragon in there, just in case the Guardians were considering storming the Fortress, since, for once, they knew where it was.
Of course, Janos personally thought such a move would be madness, but no one ever listened to him.
He was the black sheep of the Order, its prodigal son, and rude tones of voice were all he ever got around here.
Especially from Maddox St. Trinian.
“Janos!”
Striving for patience, he paused on his way to the entrance of Merlin Hall, then turned in the graveled courtyard and waited for the seventeen-year-old Maddox to close the distance between them.
The tall, black-haired lad marched toward him, all brooding intensity, as usual, though blood-flecked and looking a little beaten up after the battle.
Janos schooled his face into a nonchalant smile but fully expected another tedious confrontation.
“Maddox,” he said, refraining from using his favorite nickname for the serious young Guardian. After all, the boy deserved his respect. He had fought well in the battle, made his mama proud—though Ravyn, for her part, had probably killed more than either of them tonight.
“What can I do for you?” Janos asked as he joined Maddox.
“I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
The lad was never much for talking, but instead of spitting his question out, he floundered, staring at Janos almost in distress for a second.
“What’s the matter?” Janos asked.
Maddox looked away with a huff, dragged his hand through his hair impatiently, and scowled at the ground.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry, if you don’t mind. Still in the middle of a mission here—”
“It’s Isabelle!” he blurted out.
The boy suddenly had Janos’s full attention. “What about her?” he asked quietly.
Maddox grew even more tongue-tied, his cheeks coloring by the light of the maze’s still-simmering fires. “I, um, I know you have some sort of bizarre…telepathic ability to communicate with her, and I just…um…I wondered…”
Janos lifted his brows, rather enjoying this. “Yes?”
“I just want to know if she’s all right. Have you, er, talked to her? Mentally or whatever?”
“No, I have not,” said Janos.
Maddox looked flabbergasted at this reply. “Why not? Don’t you care if she’s safe?”
“She’s safe.”
“But you just said you didn’t—”
“Use your Guardian instincts, man.” Janos clapped Maddox on the shoulder. “Mine would be going mad if she were in danger. What do yours tell you?”
Maddox frowned. “Well, that she’s…safe, I guess. But can’t you just ask her where she is?”
“I don’t go prying into the girl’s head unless it’s an emergency.”
“This is an emergency, Janos. I want to know where she is!”
“And why is that?”
“Don’t you?” Maddox retorted.
Janos narrowed his eyes. “We don’t need to control her, Maddox,” he said slowly. Idiot kid. You really know nothing about females, do you?
“I’m not trying to control her!” Maddox scoffed, but his face flushed bright. “I just want to know if she’s in a safe place. What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, for one thing, we weren’t supposed to know Jake’s location for security’s sake, remember? Until the danger had passed. The Dark Druids are after him.”
“Yes, but—”
“Secondly, you saw the condition she was in before they went through the portal. Her powers were already taxed beyond her ability to bear. For that reason alone, I would not seek to make contact. I would not risk hurting her just to put my mind at ease. She needs time to recover. I can wait until the time is right for her.”
Maddox heaved an impatient sigh.
“Relax,” Janos said. “She’s got Jake, Red, Nixie with her—and let us not forget the formidable Dani O’Dell. I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine, wherever she is. Anywhere is safer than here at the moment. The Black Fortress hasn’t left yet. On that note, I need to speak to Derek. Have you seen him?”
With a sulky look, Maddox nodded toward the entrance of the palace. “He’s coming out now. Guess he’s looking for you, too.”
Janos glanced over his shoulder and saw the master Guardian prowling out of the charred doorway with Ravyn Vambrace a step behind. “Er, no, mate. I think he’s looking for you.” He turned back to Maddox with a rueful half-smile. “You disobeyed orders, remember?”
Maddox cursed under his breath as he, too, realized it was time to answer for ignoring Derek’s command to stay with the group.
“Just think…” Janos said in a low tone as the two Guardians spotted them and headed their way. “If you had done as you were told, you’d be with Izzy right now. But you had to go and be a hero, eh? Just like your birth father.”
Maddox gave him a withering look.
“Maddox!” Derek boomed.
Having been, himself, on the receiving end of Stone’s rebukes more times than he could count, Janos relented on the matter of Isabelle. “If she reaches out to me, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
“Thanks,” Maddox mumbled, then visibly braced himself for a scolding.
Poor kid. Janos suppressed a chuckle. Not only did Derek have his sternest glower on, but Ravyn’s coal-black eyes could’ve drilled holes into her son. The warrior woman had been proud of the fighting skills Maddox had displayed tonight, but apparently, she had just found out that he had disobeyed a direct order.
Now poor Stick had to deal with the both of them.
“Tsk, tsk,” Janos said in amusement as they approached.
“Shut up,” Maddox muttered.
“Whatever you do, don’t talk back. Trust me on that.”
“I don’t need advice from you,” Maddox said under his breath.
Janos shrugged, then turned to face his former team leader and fierce female colleague.
“St. Trinian! Inside,” Derek clipped out.
“Yes, sir.” Maddox dropped his gaze and marched grimly into the palace. Ravyn stared at him with icy disapproval as he passed, then she followed him in.
He really has my sympathies, Janos mused, then snapped back to attention. “Derek! I have news.” Janos strode over to the brawny, brown-haired Guardian and quickly explained about the dragon. “Just thought you should know. I’d better get back there.”
“Good work.” Derek started to turn away, then paused. “Er, Janos? Any word from Isabelle and the kids?”
“No.” Janos shook his head and prayed Derek didn’t ask him to try to make contact with her. “No news is good news.”
“Is it?” the rugged warrior asked.
“Yes.” Janos nodded firmly. “If there was a problem, she’d tell me.”
“Understood. If that situation arises, get a Lightrider and go. I’ll tell Tex to stand by, just in case. Take as many men as you need. Whatever happens, Jake must not be captured.”
>
Janos nodded, then returned to his mission.
A moment later, he was winging his way back up into the night sky and across the sprawling grounds of Merlin Hall.
He could see the Black Fortress still sitting where he’d left it, on top of Aelfric. The chalk giant had calmed down; Janos wondered if they’d put a spell on him.
Probably.
Halfway across the dark landscape, he briefly pondered his sense of relief that Derek had not ordered him to contact Isabelle. There was more to Janos’s reluctance to do so than the excuses he had given Maddox—though all of them were true.
His unspoken reason was actually cowardice.
His darling Isabelle, his light, the one pure thing in this foul, ugly world, had glimpsed him in his true vampire form for the first time tonight before he’d sprinted off to join the battle, and Janos wasn’t quite sure how to face her after that.
He’d had no choice. He was strongest in that form, and his former vampire acquaintances had been closing in on old Dame Oriel for the kill.
Well, he had saved the clairvoyant Elder. But he still wished Isabelle had looked away.
For all he knew, she might never speak to him again, telepathically or otherwise. She might be too repulsed.
After all, he was quite the nightmare under that appearance: fangs, claws, the whole, hideous bit.
Not quite the stuff of young ladies’ infatuations, to put it mildly.
In short, if his one true friend in this godforsaken world was horrified by him now, he was in no hurry to find out.
CHAPTER 6
Joining Forces
Zolond finished his brief candle-call with Master Nagai concerning his grandson’s security, then it was time to hurry to Merlin Hall before Wyvern caused any more mayhem.
That Nephilim upstart was not going to get away with this.
The Dark Master promptly called in his trusty troop of elite reptilians to explain the situation to them.
At least their loyalty was sure, he thought, appreciatively watching his half-dozen bodyguards come trotting in in single file. Each about seven feet tall, with crocodile heads and powerful humanoid bodies, dressed in ancient Egyptian style garb, Druk and the rest of the royal reptilians lined up before him and stood at attention.
“We must leave at once,” Zolond informed them. “It seems Lord Wyvern thinks he can make a play for my throne.”
Low gasps escaped the lizard men. They glanced around at each other in shock, and some started hissing and growling.
“Tut-tut, boys, never fear,” Zolond said with a wave of his hand. “He will be freed from this delusion shortly. I trust I can rely on your full cooperation?”
The reptilians bowed.
Druk, their captain, stepped forward. “We serve the sorcerer-king only. Do with us as you will, Your Majesty.”
Zolond gave his elite bodyguards a wan smile. “Thank you, boys. Knew I could count on you. Very well. Gird yourselves for battle and follow me outside. We must away.”
The reptilians grabbed their weapons from the corner of the cave, then marched after Zolond, who walked outside, idly swinging his walking stick.
As all six reptilians joined him outside in the chilly night, he gestured to them to line up on the flat, grassy area in front of the cave, where his sedan chair sat.
“Swift travel is needed,” he explained, and as he walked down the line of them, murmuring incantations under his breath, each tall lizard warrior bowed down, accepting a light tap on the forehead from Zolond’s walking stick/wand.
One by one, they began transforming into the shape their master required—still reptilian in nature, but larger.
Much larger.
Unlike Wyvern, Zolond was not a true dragon lord, but it was well within his power to turn his bodyguards into towering, winged beasts.
Druk roared, welcoming his new form. Now a great, olive-green dragon with amber eyes, Zolond’s head bodyguard let out a blast of fire from his mouth and stretched out his wings, then flapped up out of the clearing to make room for his brethren, who were all undergoing the same change.
Zolond smiled, looking up at his terrifying troop. “Magnificent.”
Then Zolond transformed his sedan chair into a proper chariot while his bodyguards took a moment to adjust to their imposing new shapes.
It was hardly the first time he had changed them into dragons, but it had been a while.
When they were ready, he sent Bhisk and Etah off to guard Shadowedge Manor, but the other four, he kept for himself.
Then he waved his walking stick once more, magically hitching them to all four sides of the chariot.
They made quite a sight with their leathery wings, ivory teeth, and baleful golden eyes.
He wryly hoped Ramona was impressed when she saw the sorcerer-king of the Dark Druids arrive in his royal state coach.
Probably not. His lips quirked. She was a tough old bird.
Climbing up into the vehicle, Zolond sat down and collected the reins. “I want all of the traitors arrested and destroyed,” he announced. “The Red Queen. General Raige. Fionnula Coralbroom, the sea-witch. The shapeshifter lord, Boris Badgerton. And”—Zolond sighed—“I regret to say, Duradel.”
“Even the prophet, sire? Is he not the favored of Shemrazul?” Druk rumbled, his voice mighty in his huge dragon form.
“It does not signify,” Zolond said in a hard tone. “We must make examples of them all. But leave Wyvern to me. No one questions my power,” he uttered into the night. “None dare challenge my throne. Wyvern must be made to pay. I don’t care if he is Shemrazul’s son. I will not tolerate such defiance. Now, fly!”
The dragons roared in unison, sending bone-chilling echoes across the mountains. Then they began to gallop, stretching out their wings.
Reaching the side of the mountain, they leaped into the air, and the gilded chariot took flight.
Zolond felt his stomach lurch until the vehicle straightened out. In truth, this was not his favorite way to travel, but sometimes a chap had to make the proper sort of entrance.
Gaining altitude, the dragon coach flew at top speed. The racing wind threatened to whisk away his bowler hat, so Zolond tugged it forward with a low incantation and caused it to reveal one of its other forms: not the dramatic but impractical Black Crown that he wore for ceremonial occasions, but the simple iron circlet that he liked to refer to as his war crown.
This, at least, wouldn’t blow away.
That small wardrobe change also helped to put him more in the mood for the task before him. It had been a long time since he’d had a proper fight. He quite believed he was looking forward to it.
The Balefire Mountains sped by far beneath them in all their bleak beauty. But there was too much ground to cover without some magical assistance. For a lesser warlock, this might’ve been a problem, but he was the Dark Master.
Lifting his hand in a fist, Zolond aimed the Master’s Ring at the sky over the front dragon’s head. The team continued flying in formation.
“Steady!” Zolond clenched his jaw, concentrating.
With a heave of mental effort and a mighty blast of power flashing forth from his ring, he caused a square opening to appear in the night sky ahead.
It ripped open with a violent tearing sound. The edges of the rift were the blue-black of night, but the realm beyond was filled with a swirling gray fog.
The forced opening through the reaches of time and space offered Zolond a quick but temporary shortcut through the ethers.
This would take him to Merlin Hall in moments—before Wyvern could fire up the infernal mechanism and jump the Black Fortress to some unknown location far away.
Zolond urged his dragons onward, and, bravely, the reptilians flew straight into the rift.
As the carriage entered the thick, cloudy mists of this formless place, Zolond knew they were not alone in the ethers. He could feel the presence of many faceless spirits of gigantic size.
The creatures who dwelled on t
his plane of existence were every bit as ancient and evil as Shemrazul; whether they were as powerful as the Horned One remained to be seen.
Mankind had long known them as the principalities and powers of the air.
Wyvern might have the favor of his father, Shemrazul, but Zolond also had allies of his own among their kind. Even now, the towering spirits granted him passage.
He raised a hand in salute as he drove by.
Unlike Shemrazul, chained down in his fiery chasm, the demons of the air could move with the winds, tainting the layers of atmosphere surrounding the earth.
Though their force of will was great, their bodies were as formless as wisps, transparent, with no more substance than swirling puffs of cloud.
One of the crystalline air demons nodded to Zolond, then obliged him on his way by grasping the vast miles of space and drawing them together to shorten the distance of his travel.
Zolond wasn’t really sure how it worked. The how and why of it were mortal questions, anyway. These creatures inhabited another dimension, another plane of reality.
For them, it was a small matter to manipulate space and time in this formless realm.
The crystalline devil—a cloud giant who obviously recognized him—reached toward the south and grasped the horizon as though it were a vast gray tablecloth, then pulled the fabric closer.
Though Zolond and his dragons seemed to move for a moment in slow motion, floating weightlessly, the beasts pumping their leathery wings, while time hung suspended, it was mere seconds before the far end of the rift opened up before them.
In the blink of an eye, they flew out the other side of the square hole in the sky directly over Merlin Hall.
It was jarring, the return to normal speed and the inky darkness of the night sky.
Below them, however, Zolond saw the fires still burning in the maze beneath Merlin Hall’s greatly weakened dome. Even he was shocked to see the Old Father Yew in flames. The wise old tree had lived for thousands of years.
At that moment, Zolond knew he was witnessing the end of an age. The realization shook him. It was so unsettling that it took him a moment to get his bearings.