The elf hit the ground beside me with a wet squelch, bleeding from a thousand jagged lacerations, organs shredded, bones shattered, brain skewered. Dead on arrival. His sword, having slipped from his hands, passed harmlessly over my head and landed broadside on the grass.
Knowing the elf’s buddies had already sensed my magic use, I pushed myself up, adjusted the limp Kennedy hanging over my shoulder, and took off into the trees to join Drake, who was already zigzagging through the brush toward the opposite end of the small wood. I tried my best not to ram Kennedy’s lolling head into anything hard, but I felt his face snag on more than a few branches as I wove around tree trunks and densely packed hazel.
Drake and I bolted out of the trees about half a second before a conflagration spell engulfed the woods. A wave of intense heat buffeted my body, spurring me to move faster. I pushed my legs harder and harder until I nudged the upper limit of my natural speed.
To go beyond that speed, I’d have to bolster my body with magic, like I had when fleeing Leonard and Vianu after my disastrous trip to Pettigrew. But I was afraid to do that so soon after using a healing potion. Rapid regeneration left your muscles stiff and your bones more brittle than normal. If I went too far with a speed enhancement, I could run myself to pieces.
Can’t march up to Abarta and give him a piece of my mind if I have no legs to walk on.
“Five o’clock,” warned Drake as he threw a wide force blast behind us.
I glanced back in time to see the blast deck two svartálfar who’d emerged from the inferno wearing shields. One of them caught himself by shoving his sword into the ground, but the other was flung back into the fire, where he slammed into a tree so hard it split in two. The upper half of the flaming tree collapsed on top of the elf’s shield, which broke under the weight. The heavy trunk then smashed into the actual elf, crushed him to a pulp, and finally slammed into the ground with a thunderous boom. The elf’s left arm, sticking out from underneath the burning trunk, flailed for a couple seconds before it went still.
The remaining elf gawked at the puddle of blood spreading out from beneath the tree, then rounded on us, sneering. “Filthy fucking half-bloods. You’ll pay for that!”
I whipped out my gun and fired twice.
The first shot shattered his shield. The second shattered his skull.
He dropped like a rock.
Drake stared at my gun in awe. “Man, those are some sweet bullets.”
“We, uh, made them especially for vampires,” I replied awkwardly.
He didn’t seem offended. “Smart. Vamps heal too fast to justify going easy on them.”
As we dashed around the base of another hill, a sprawling forest of ancient oaks came into view. It stretched the width of the entire plain, the edges brushing the walls of the massive cavern. Like any forest in Tír na nÓg, it gave off an air of mystery, spoke of secrets hiding in the shadows of its canopy.
But there was a stark difference between the forests above and this forest below: Here, the secrets were old and dead, the mysteries long solved or long forgotten, the shadows hiding nothing but answers people had already found and discarded. There were no creatures hiding among those trees. You could feel it. The forest was dark and intimidating, but it was empty.
Not even the ghosts of the Fomorians remained in Maige Itha.
Drake directed us toward the forest. “Hey, uh, you know we passed the boundary of the anti-portal ward around the castle when we reached the edge of those woods, yeah? So shouldn’t we be preparing to portal out of here right about now?”
“No,” I said, “because we aren’t portaling out of here. We can’t bail back to Earth until we sabotage the summoning ritual.”
Drake gawped at me. “You really are insane, aren’t you?”
“If we don’t stop the first part of the summoning, whatever it summons is going to wake up. And rarely do the subjects of ancient sacrificial rituals wake up on the right side of the bed. Even if we manage to thwart the second half of the ritual and prevent the summoned creature from being directed to Earth, there’s no guarantee it won’t go on a rampage through Tír na nÓg instead. Interrupting multistep rituals is almost guaranteed to end in disaster, which is something you should damn well know as a practitioner.”
I shot him a hard look. “In fact, I’m certain that, as a necromancer, you learned that lesson a long time ago.”
He went to wipe a sheen of sweat off his face, but only succeeded in leaving wet smears across his dark skin. “It’s not that I don’t agree with you, but Abarta is going to perform the first stage of the ritual, while Vianu is going to lead the second. Out of the two of them, we have a slightly better shot at defeating Vianu, if only because he’s been alive a few centuries less than the literal ancient god.”
He blew air through his teeth. “That and I know a lot of Vianu’s tricks, having grown up as the often-ignored bastard son in his nightmarish household of bloodthirsty monsters.”
“Cut the pity party shit,” I said. “We don’t have time for it today.”
He balked. “I just saved your life. You could be a little nicer to me.”
“Then stop trying to flake halfway through the trade. You exchanged a prison break for my promise to get the fae off your back, which means you still owe me for something: sparing your life that day I had you dead to rights in the lumberyard. My ‘request’ for repayment is that you help me sabotage this ritual before Abarta summons something capable of causing mass casualties in any realm it touches.
“I don’t care if you hate the fae and want them all to burn, you do not get to favor human lives over faerie lives. You do not get to throw the whole of Tír na nÓg to the dogs because you’re more afraid of a Tuatha devil than the devil you know. Understand?”
Drake swallowed. “Kind of sounds like you’re calling me a coward.”
“Are you?”
He cast his gaze at the ground but said firmly, “No, I’m not.”
“Then show me to the staging area for the first half of the ritual.”
“Fine, have it your way.” He pointed at the narrow opening to a path that cut through the forest. “That’ll spit us out at a wheat field near the ruins where Abarta’s got the circle set up.”
“Is there enough varying terrain for us to lie low?”
He nodded. “Circle sits in a shallow valley between a few hills. There are a bunch of old structures dotting the area. Plenty of hiding spots.”
“Good. We’ll pick the place with the best view of the circle, analyze the situation from there, and figure out how to damage the ritual too severely for anyone to fix within that strict timeframe you mentioned.”
“Nice idea,” he said, “but I don’t know enough about the spell to guarantee our sabotage attempt will be effective.”
“I don’t either”—I tugged Kennedy off my shoulder and cradled him in my arms; his face was bleeding from four shallow cuts—“but he does.”
“Will he spill the beans to us?”
“If we phrase the questions the right way.”
I glanced back at the burning trees. The smoke had now risen so high it was billowing across the ceiling of the cavern. You could see it, like a beacon, from anywhere on the plain. Abarta and his crew at the staging area would be on high alert when we arrived. We’d only have one shot at disabling the circle before they were on us.
No pressure, Whelan. No pressure at all.
We reached the opening of the forest path just as a line of redcaps charged out of the flaming woods behind us. On their heels came a horde of dark elves, who, upon finding the remains of their comrades, raised their many pointy weapons and let out battle cries.
I threw Kennedy over my shoulder again and dashed around the first sharp curve of the path, narrowly evading a pike that one of the redcaps hurled at me. The pike sheared straight through five trees before it finally came to a stop with its tip embedded in a dense oak. Two of the damaged trees fell into each other and collapsed in a tangled heap
of branches, completely blocking off the path to the approaching pack of irate goons.
Drake snickered. “Got to love it when your enemies slow themselves down.”
“That won’t delay them long. Redcaps may not be too smart, but svartálfar are a tenacious bunch.”
Advancing deeper into the forest, we moved at a swift but cautious pace. The labyrinthine path was narrow, uneven, and crisscrossed with shadows that hid myriad hazards. Low-hanging branches threatened to poke out our eyes. Exposed roots tried their best to trip us. Poisonous plants that had crept across the path spread deadly pollen at the slightest disturbance. The closer we drew to the midpoint, the tighter a net of primordial power ensnared us, scrambling our senses so much that I felt like I’d slipped underwater.
The good thing was that our pursuers would be equally affected by the forest’s power. The bad thing was that if someone was lying in wait for an ambush, we wouldn’t be able to see or hear them until they were right on top of us. And the path was so cramped, the bordering trees so dense, that a close-quarters fight would quickly devolve into a brawl whose victor would be whoever was better at throwing magic-powered punches. Of all the times to have left Odette behind…
Drake tapped my shoulder, and when I peeled my eyes off the shadowy stretch of path ahead of me, he asked, “You sure you don’t want to portal out of here? We could grab some backup on Earth and make a round trip, come at Abarta’s crew with bigger numbers and a few power players. Those sídhe soldiers, maybe, and some of your best Watchdog practitioners.”
“You have no clue how much I’d love to do exactly that,” I said, “but I’m afraid we don’t have time to trawl through Kinsale and round everybody up before Abarta completes the first step of the summoning. The Watchdogs are bound to be in disarray after the bombings, with our top combat specialists dead or hurt or still regrouping after the RTP evacuation.”
“What about the sídhe soldiers?”
“Well, McCullough, having realized that some of his own soldiers defied him to helped the Watchdogs undertake the raid operation, will probably be so obsessed with grilling them to find the rebels that he’ll refuse to listen to reason. Hell, the guy will barely listen to me on a good day. After I went behind his back with the help of his own people? He’s more likely to kill me than he is to help me.”
I sighed. “Of course, I wouldn’t have had to go behind his back if he’d just fessed up to the real reason he didn’t want us to launch the raid operation, instead of hiding behind petty half-truths and prejudice.”
“Wait, he advised you against raiding the rigged buildings?” Drake hopped over a thick root. “And you did it anyway?”
“Unlike McCullough, I didn’t know that those buildings were likely to be booby-trapped.”
“How’d McCullough know?”
I told him about the report.
“So that’s where Vianu got those pictures of your plans,” he said. “I thought he had a spy in your ranks or something.”
“You knew he had our organizational plans, and you didn’t tell me?”
Drake sighed. “Whelan, how many times do I have to remind you? Vianu’s always known that I hate his guts. He’s been waiting for me to step on his toes for years. If I’d leaked a bunch of intel about the coven to you before I fulfilled my last debt and freed myself from the binding spell, I’d be six feet under right now. Or, given Vianu’s usual style, you’d have found my severed head nailed to your front door. And then I wouldn’t have been able to pop in and save your ass today, or any other day when the combined intellect of an elder vampire and an ancient god inevitably kneed you in the balls.”
“That’s, uh, fair. I guess.”
“Damn right it is.”
I stooped under a wide branch. “Wasn’t fair of McCullough though.”
“Oh no. That dickhead did you wrong.”
Our friendly chat died off as we both noticed danger not far ahead. Beyond the end of the path, a group of dark elves were crouched in a field of tall golden wheat that, like the forest, stretched the width of the cavern. Their washed-out features and glinting swords had given them away to us before we’d drawn close enough to the tree line to reveal ourselves to them.
We hung back and conversed too softly for them to hear. After a bit of negotiating, I agreed to let Drake attempt what he called a “decoy aura.” Which turned out to be a humanoid construct made of magic energy that reminded me of the one I’d fought in the medial space of Abarta’s anti-portal ward in Hel.
This construct, however, wasn’t as complex as Abarta’s, and couldn’t make any decisions on its own. Drake controlled it like a puppet, making it crawl on its hands and knees to the end of the path. Then he set it to run in a straight line through the field. It took off at a surprising speed, moving on all fours like a dog.
Spotting what appeared to be a man with a magic aura, all but three of the elves gave chase. Drake waited until the runners banked around a low hill and lost their view of the forest—before he attacked the remaining elves with brutal efficiency.
Drake wasn’t a master of combat magic, but with dhampir abilities added to the mix, he was more than a match for three unsuspecting svartálfar. He threw a charmed knife at one of the elves, and the blade sliced cleanly through her shield and impaled her in the throat, severing her spine. The second elf fell to a fire spell that started in the wheat around him; by the time he realized he was trapped in a circle of flame, the fire had already turned into a swirling vortex. The vortex contracted in the blink of an eye and swallowed the elf whole.
The last elf was the victim of Drake’s small fangs. Drake deftly dodged a wide swing from the elf’s sword and sank his fangs into the man’s carotid artery. A sound like tearing fabric carried over the breeze as Drake ripped a chunk of flesh out of the elf’s throat. Blood sprayed across the field, dyeing the wheat red. The elf went down choking on his own blood.
Drake skidded to a stop, briefly looked the direction the rest of the elves had run, and gave me a signal to go the other way. I raced out of the woods, Kennedy bouncing hard on my shoulder, and cut a sharp left, which took me down a shallow decline, at the base of which sat a stream. Drake rejoined me, his face covered in a thick layer of blood, which he either didn’t notice or didn’t care to wipe away.
Guess you get used to that sort of thing when you grow up around vampires.
“You don’t need that to survive, right?” I asked as we hopped the stream.
“Blood, you mean?” He shifted our heading toward a patch of loose stones at the base of a grassy hill rising up from the edge of the wheat field. “No, I can subsist entirely on regular food. But I get a considerable power boost if I consume at least half a liter of blood. Makes me stronger and faster. Gives me more stamina. Improves my healing factor. Doesn’t put me on par with a vampire, obviously, but it gives me an edge when fighting other paranormals. I downed a bottle about an hour before I portaled here, but the effects wear off over time. It’s a use it or lose it sort of deal.”
“Don’t suppose you brought an extra bottle to top up?”
“As a matter of fact”—he yanked something from a clip on the back of his belt and held it up to reveal a plastic water bottle filled with dark liquid—“I did. But I was planning to save it for an emergency. You know, like a sudden desperate need to flee, with great speed and agility, from a rogue member of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“Good idea.” I paused to gulp in a breath. “You’re definitely going to need that.”
“Do you want me to take a turn with your luggage?” He indicated Kennedy.
“Depends. How much farther is it to the staging area?”
“Not far.” He pointed straight ahead. “When we get to the next hill over, we’ll run into some of those old buildings I told you about. We should be able to slip into any of them unnoticed and take some time to figure out what’s what in the valley before we charge in like maniacs.”
“What about the goons behind us?”
We both looked back at my question, but found no signs of pursuit.
“We should have a few more minutes before my decoy burns out,” he said.
“Awesome.” I smacked Kennedy’s back. “Let’s use those minutes wisely.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The slaughter had already begun.
From our vantage point among the ruins, Drake and I observed the harrowing scene in the valley below. Svartálfar with weapons drawn encircled the perimeter of the staging area. Inside this defensive circle sat a formation of ancient, weathered stones, not dissimilar to Stonehenge. At the center of the stone formation was a raised altar that I imagined the Fomorians had once used for important cultural rituals. Abarta had stomped all over that culture and utilized the altar solely for ritual sacrifice.
The twenty-four humans Vianu had “shipped” him from Earth, using Drake as the courier, had been lined up fifteen feet away from the altar, on the edge of a large and complex magic circle burned into the grass. The humans weren’t bound, but with a row of menacing redcaps standing behind them, there was nothing they could do to help themselves.
So they sat on their knees and wept as Abarta hoisted them up, one at a time, and dragged them over to the altar. Where he proceeded to butcher them with the same degree of compassion you would use to clean and gut a fish you planned to serve for dinner. And the worst part of it all was that the murder process wasn’t quick. It was a long, ordered series of mutilations, likely required for the ritual’s construction, that added up to a slow and agonizing death.
Screams carried across the valley, razors in my ears, as a fresh stream of blood soaked the altar and ran in rivulets down its sides to the stained earth below. Abarta casually tossed his knife from his right hand to his left, and with a quick flick of his wrist, drew the blade across the screaming man’s neck. The scream abruptly cut out as the man’s throat flooded with blood. He writhed in a panic atop the altar for the better part of thirty seconds, until his oxygen-starved brain could no longer keep him conscious.
What Dawn Demands Page 18
