"Can you climb the wall?"
The wall was only about fifty meters behind him, but it might as well have been five hundred. Besides, a quick glance at the corrugated iron plates confirmed there was no way he'd find any purchase for climbing. "Not going to happen," he told her.
The radio was silent for several seconds, and he could only imagine Erin's anguish. The Aztalans were screaming at one another from cover, readying themselves to surge forward, so he rooted about in the bug-out bag and found the two hand grenades. He pulled the pin on one grenade and tossed it overhead, easily throwing it behind the rocks where the Aztalans were readying themselves. When it detonated a few seconds later with a puff of thick black smoke, it was followed by howls of pain. Casey grinned.
The radio beeped. "Stay alive," Erin said. "Jay's gone to look for a rope. We'll pull you up."
He sighed as he looked over his shoulder at the wall. It was too high; he'd be too exposed. The moment he tried to climb that wall, even with a rope, the enemy would shoot him to pieces. Maybe he could make it as a werewolf—he was almost indestructible as a werewolf—but that wasn't an option. Unlike Tec, his family only changed with the full moon.
He saw dozens of other forms through the smoke, heard the yells as the enemy noncoms took control of their troops. There had to be at least a platoon of soldiers preparing to assault, maybe even a company. They'd rush forward in fire teams, each covering the other, and he wouldn't even slow them down.
The radio chirped. "I said, can you hold?"
He sighed and keyed his radio. "Sure, kiddo, sure. I can hold all day."
Casey set the radio down and shot an Aztalan soldier who had chosen that moment to peer over the rock he was hiding behind. Erin would forgive the lie. She was a good person, the best in the family.
He hoped she and the others made it out of the city.
Rayan surged into the city hall with her soldiers, leaving behind the corpses of a dozen city defenders in their wake. They had the enemy on the run now, trying to save their own lives or the sad, miserable lives of their loved ones, but no one would escape the city. Those that weren't slaughtered outright would end up as sacrifices, their hearts cut out. By now, her mistress must have killed that Ritter woman. Rayan had no idea how she had gained so much power, but no mage, no matter how powerful, could fight a dragon, and certainly not Rayan's mistress Itzpapalotl, the feared Obsidian Butterfly, the last of the great dragons.
At the wide stairs, more soldiers tried to stop her. Their bullets ricocheted from her shade's shield in a shower of sparks. Rayan didn't even bother killing them. Her soldiers shot them down in a hail of assault rifle fire. Several of their bodies rolled down the stairs, trailing blood, and Rayan stepped over them as she continued. She knew where she'd find Wyn Renna. Her spies had kept a constant watchful eye on the elven changeling. Despite all the setbacks, all the difficulties, Rayan was about to achieve everything she had ever wanted.
Her pulse throbbed with excitement. Atop the second floor, a pair of soldiers, Nortenos, she thought, tried to stop her. She hit them with Shockwave, sending both slamming back against the wall. One slid down the wall, trailing blood from her broken skull, like a slug, but the second, little more than a teenage boy, tried to rise and fight, even though he was clearly hurt. A brave boy, she thought as she thrust her pulwar through his eye socket.
"Keep your brave heart," she told the boy’s corpse.
With a platoon of Aztalan soldiers behind her, she stormed toward the chamber that held the city's command post. Sandbagged barriers in front of the double doors protected the soldiers guarding it, and those men fired at her now, but once again, her shade protected her. She cast Shockwave again, knocking down the sandbag barriers and the soldiers hiding behind them. Her surviving soldiers shot the exposed soldiers, killing them. Some her men bayoneted where they lay, stabbing them repeatedly, as if to punish them. Rayan had no time for such nonsense, not now.
She cast Shockwave, blowing the doors off the wall before striding forward, victorious.
There, standing before her, a hexed saber in her hand, was the changeling Wyn Renna. A handful of soldiers were with her, as well as those old fools Marshal and Carter, and another mage, a young woman with a saber in her hand and her head wrapped in bandages who looked as though she could barely stand.
Rayan smiled, her victory finally at hand.
Tec surged up the blood-soaked stairs to the city hall, taking them three at a time, leaping over the corpses of dead soldiers. Rowan had been with him, but he had left the older man far behind.
Angie had her battle. He had his. He had to stop Rayan, but she had gotten too far ahead of him. He was running out of time.
He needed to move faster.
He shifted.
Chapter 49
Angie was shocked that she was still alive.
She fought a great dragon, alone but for the Shade King—and not only was she still alive, she was winning! As with the battle against the demon, the Shade King's mental bond with Angie instantly transmitted the knowledge to cast powerful spells, to bring forth lightning from the sky to batter the dragon, to scour it with gale-force winds. And when the dragon fought back, the Shade King protected her with a spherical shield that surrounded her. With the mana from a hundred Aztalan soldiers coursing through her, she felt as if she could do anything, withstand all attacks.
The dragon fought ferociously with fang and claw, but nothing penetrated the shield. Then the Shade King showed her how to link her attacks, to follow up bolts of lightning with fireballs that battered the dragon mercilessly. Angie sent magical attack after magical attack against this creature that had caused so much misery and suffering. Now she was no longer shocked, no longer afraid. She finally understood the power within her, the same power coveted by the other source mages: Al-Adin, Babi Yagha, and Lodin. There was no limit to the life forces she could consume, the power she could take.
She felt glorious, indestructible… a goddess.
She'd destroy the dragon.
Then she'd take its place.
Itzpapalotl's anger was a white-hot star. She struck at her foe—a human woman wreathed in flames. Not only had this pathetic creature dared to challenge her, but she had also injured the dragon, burning her with bolts of lightning. Itzpapalotl's left wing flared with pain where a bolt had burned all the way through, leaving a gaping black hole that would take years to heal. The wound galled the dragon the most. It was beyond insulting that one as beautiful as she could be injured by one of these short-lived insects. The dragon clawed at the small human again but, as with all her other attacks, a glowing golden sphere of energy protected the woman, and Itzpapalotl was unable to break through. This was impossible!
She drew back her head on her long neck and breathed a torrent of fire on the mage. Nothing could withstand her breath, not even another dragon. Yet when her fiery breath finally petered out, the burning woman was still there, unscathed.
For the first time in centuries, Itzpapalotl felt true fear.
Rayan Zar Davi stepped inside the chamber, her pulwar held mockingly low, a self-satisfied smile on her face as she considered the occupants. Her soldiers fanned out behind her, only a handful left alive now, but others would replace them soon enough. To her very great surprise, Muluc was among those who had accompanied her into the city, his elven longsword bloody. The city was hers. Victory was hers.
The injured young mage placed herself before Marshal and Carter, while Wyn Renna, her own saber held ready, moved to face Rayan with the grace of a master fencer. But it was an act, Rayan knew. The woman had purposely moved to block Rayan's view of something on the table behind her.
"What are you hiding, elf?" she asked, her voice dripping with scorn.
Wyn Renna wore a bulky tactical vest, no doubt covering body armor. Rayan snorted in derision. The only armor that mattered in this room was the coat she herself wore; that was the only armor here that could stop a hexed blade. Rayan stepped to the si
de to see a golden egg a foot tall before Wyn Renna moved in front of her again, blocking her view.
But Rayan had clearly seen an egg, a golden egg.
Rayan gasped in sudden understanding. A dragon egg! Her eyes grew wide, and she stared in wonder at Wyn Renna. "How?"
"You'll die before you touch it," Wyn Renna said and then charged, coming at Rayan with a flurry of attacks.
She was only vaguely aware as Muluc attacked the other mage, the one with the bandaged head.
They fought, dueling one another as the soldiers watched. Their blades flashed and fell and cut and thrust. Her attacks were met by Wyn Renna’s saber and countered with lightning-fast ripostes and countercuts. Wyn Renna was good, every bit as good as the stories had said she was when she had spent all those years pretending to be Constance Morgan, the famed leader of the Brujas Fantasmas. But Rayan had perfected her own swordcraft in the constant internecine wars of her once-home in the Registan desert. It was true that the elf had the advantage in that she was free to try and kill Rayan while Rayan had to capture her, but Rayan had the coat.
She purposely opened herself up, appearing to have left herself exposed. Wyn Renna took the bait, darting in to thrust at Rayan's chest.
Just as Rayan had known it would, Wyn Renna's blade scraped along the dragon scales, unable to find purchase, and Rayan closed in, hammering Wyn Renna in the side of her head with the jeweled pommel of her pulwar, knocking her senseless.
The elf fell. Rayan had captured the prize, the Haanal X’ib.
"No!" screamed the young female mage with the head injury. She raced at Rayan, clumsily trying to slash at her with her saber. Behind her, Rayan noted with derision the corpse of that ambitious fool Muluc. Bit off more than he could chew with this one.
But Rayan wasn’t Muluc. She beat the injured woman’s blow aside with contemptuous ease and then backhanded her in the face with her free hand, knocking her to the ground. The woman was brave and tried to rise but only made it to her knees, which was as fitting a place to die as any other.
"You, too, can keep your heart."
Rayan drew back her pulwar, intent on driving it through her throat, but just as she struck, a figure darted between them. The impact of her blade driving through Duncan Marshal's frail body came as a surprise to Rayan. The old man, little more than skin draped over bones, stood between her and the mage, her pulwar through his chest, a look of self-satisfied spite on his features.
Idiot!
She yanked her blade free, and the old man fell dead.
At the sound of a zipper opening, Rayan turned to face Wyn Renna. Rayan froze. The elf woman had unzipped her tactical vest, revealing the improvised suicide vest she wore beneath it, one holding a half dozen soup-can-shaped grenades. Thermite grenades, she realized in sudden, horrified understanding—all slaved to a single pin. The elf glared hatred at her, rising on unsteady feet to face Rayan.
"Don't, you fool!" Rayan said, rushing to stop her.
But Wyn Renna wasn't trying to run away. She pulled the pin and launched herself at Rayan.
The vest detonated with a blinding flash. Only Rayan's shade saved her, throwing her back and away from the inferno.
Chapter 50
Angie cast spell after spell at the dragon: bolts of lightning, flame tornadoes, fireballs, tempests that buffeted the mighty creature. All the while, the power sang within her, urging her to do more, to cast even more wonderful spells. Nothing could stop her. Not this dragon, not Lodin, nothing. She was all-powerful. As she battled the dragon, she was aware of thousands of nearby life forms, both friend and foe. What difference to one such as she? With as much effort as taking a breath, she could take all their lives and use their mana to burn the dragon to a cinder.
NO, SOURCE MAGE, the Shade King urged. NOT THAT PATH. NOT YOU TOO.
But the Shade King was not her equal. It was a tool to be used. She was all that mattered, all that ever would matter.
A small part of her remembered the faces of her parents, her brother, Char, and Tec, but she forced those memories down, recognizing them for weakness. She unleashed fire and death on the dragon, wrapping bands of white-hot flame around its wings, crushing it, sending it falling to the earth.
She reveled in her power.
Encased in fire, she descended to the ground to finish the dragon and complete her ascendancy.
When Rayan rose once more, she saw that no one would ever use the blood of Wyn Renna for anything. The elf changeling was gone. All that remained was a blackened, smoking husk.
Rayan had failed.
But then she turned and faced the egg. Monique Carter, the elderly black woman who had once led the Norteno nation, had dragged the injured young mage away and was trying to shield her even now, using her own body, holding the mage's saber in both hands, hands that shook.
"It won't work for you," Rayan said gently. "Even if you were a mage, which you're not, hexed weapons can't hurt me anymore."
"Go to hell, you monster," Carter said, her voice quivering.
"In time, perhaps." She pointed at the egg with her pulwar. "That treasure might yet save my life. Where did it come from?"
Carter's startled gaze was the only warning Rayan had before the massive all-black were-jaguar launched himself at her soldiers, scattering them. The black were-jaguar tore them apart in splashes of blood. The survivors fled, and the were-jaguar snarled at her.
"Come, Jaguar Knight," she taunted, preparing her most powerful spells. "One last dance after all."
Tec launched himself at his hated foe, Rayan Zar Davi. A magical red tendril wrapped around him, arresting his attack and sending him flying back through the air to crash through a wall, shattering it. Debris and dust settled around him in his were-jaguar form as he rose, snarling hatred, and came at her again. Again, she caught him in a ribbon of blood and again sent him flying through another wall. Once more he rose and attacked. She sent clouds of biting blood insects against him. He ignored them, reaching her this time. He lashed out at her with his huge claws, intent on ripping her head from her body. Her shade protected her, blocking his attack, and she lashed at him with her pulwar, cutting huge gashes in his black fur. Hot blood coursed down his body, and he felt himself weakening. Her shade. He couldn't penetrate her shade.
He snarled and launched himself again. This time she cast Shutter, transporting herself just behind him and cutting into his back and spine with her sword. Tec fell, unable to move his legs anymore. As a red fog settled over his vision, he began to change back into a man again.
He was dying.
As his vision grew dim, he saw Rayan approach the golden egg. He had failed. After all these years, he had failed his one chance to kill her. Now she had the egg, the last dragon egg.
Chapter 51
On bare feet, Angie settled to the ground next to the dying dragon. The dragon's body was savaged, burned and scorched. Her wings were charred ruins of scale, sinew, and bone. The dragon's breath rasped and wheezed with fluid. Yet the hatred in her serpentine eyes remained strong as she glared at Angie.
The fire that had covered Angie vanished, winking out of existence, leaving her unscathed without even a singed hair. Tendrils of smoke rose from her body as she stepped closer to the dying dragon, clothed only in unimaginable power. She was the most powerful being on the planet. What have I become?
"What ... what are you?" Itzpapalotl rasped, parroting Angie's thoughts.
"Death, I suppose."
Smoke rose from the dragon's nostrils. One of its mighty horns had melted away, leaving only a smoldering stump of bone. The stench was oddly invigorating, and the sound that came from the dragon's ruined throat resembled a chuckle. "I understand now," the dragon rumbled, smoke drifting from her throat. "The prophesy never referred to Quetzalcoatl but … another feathered serpent. The egg, it all seems so … clear now." Again came the strange laughter-like noise.
"Sure," Angie said. "Why not?" She had no idea what the dragon was talking about, but it
didn’t matter.
"For a thousand years, your kind worshipped me as a god."
"You're no god," Angie said softly.
"No. And now, I … I never will be."
"No, but I will."
Angie placed her hand on the dragon's head, just below one of her eyes, and prepared to take her life force. What would she become with a dragon’s life force?
Somehow Tec rose, even though his legs wouldn’t hold him. He managed only two or three shaky steps, but it was just enough. As Rayan bent over the golden egg, Tec slammed into her from behind. Her shade protected her again, but off balance, she fell forward, knocking the egg from the table. As the egg fell, Tec threw himself under it, catching it. As his back hit the floor, he felt the egg crack. No!
Rayan rose, fury in her face as she advanced on him, her pulwar in hand. "You just won't die, will you?"
"Soon enough ... I imagine." He held the egg against his chest.
His vision was going dim as Rowan Seagrave burst into the chamber, holding the obsidian-edged macahuitl with both hands. Rayan turned, tried to parry Rowan's attack, but Rowan wasn't a swordfighter, wasn't trying to fence Rayan. Instead, he used all his considerable werewolf strength to swing a giant two-handed bat at her. He smashed her hexed pulwar aside, and the razor-sharp edges of the obsidian-lined macahuitl tore through Rayan’s neck—just above the collar of her jacket. Rowan spun with the effort, almost falling over.
Rayan's head flew away to thud and roll across the floor.
Her body remained upright for another few moments, her silk scarves drenched in blood. Then it toppled as if pushed.
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