"That's for my brother Lewis, you bitch," Rowan said in a cold voice.
And then the egg cracked open, soaking Tec in its fluid. Tec's dragon-mark flared into life as he caught the baby dragon, a golden serpent with wings, covered in feathers.
It was several moments before he realized his injuries were gone, miraculously healed by the fluid within the egg.
The baby dragon cried out.
Just before Angie could take the dragon’s life force, she felt the dragon-mark on her palm throb with energy and stumbled back, falling and landing on her rump, pulling her palm to her chest. She gasped in wonder, feeling the birth of another dragon just as the life slipped away from this one. Then she stared at her wrist. Her family watch was gone, melted. But the metal had scorched the skin, leaving only the backward imprint of the words burned into her like a brand: Pflicht, Familie, Liebe—Duty, Family, Love.
She wasn't a god. No matter how powerful her source magic made her, no matter the bonding with the Shade King, she wasn't a god.
She was a woman.
A part of this new Awakened World, not above it.
YES, the Shade King whispered. BE STRONG, ANGELA. BE STRONG ENOUGH TO LET THE POWER GO.
And she did, releasing it all at once, becoming Angie Ritter once again.
It was enough.
Erin fired her anti-materiel rifle at another of the Aztalan soldiers, cutting his torso in half. She reached for another bullet and realized she was out. At least a platoon of enemy soldiers was getting ready to surge forward and kill Casey.
She cried out in anguish, looking about for another weapon.
There was nothing.
And then two things happened at almost the exact same moment.
Horses burst out of the northern woods—No, not horses, she realized, centaurs—each wearing a vest of scaled armor and carrying a lance. And other creatures burst out of the woods as well: a pride of lions, hundreds of elven warriors, and thousands of other Fey of all kind, including the distinctive beast form of Ephix Lamia as she ran on all fours behind the centaurs.
The Fresno Fey had come after all.
The Aztalan soldiers turned to face their rear just as the centaurs hit them, skewering them on their lances. Ephix Lamia threw herself against the enemy, and even from here, Erin could hear their screams. More Fey appeared, many mounted on horseback, others charging on foot. She saw a ten-foot-tall troll cleave an Aztalan soldier from head to crotch with a massive two-handed ax. Others fired rifles and used bow and arrow with uncanny ability. The Aztalan forces on the north side of the city, at least several brigades, had been caught unprepared, trapped between the Fey and the city walls. Now the Sanwa City defenders fired on the Aztalan soldiers as they were driven against the wall by the attacking Fey.
It was a slaughter.
The second unexpected thing was the sudden arrival of three armored vehicles from the east. The vehicles roared up behind the Aztalan soldiers preparing to assault the crashed helicopter and began firing on them from behind with their turret-mounted guns and grenade launchers, ripping them apart. Erin stared in wonder: they were the armored vehicles from Tec's bunker.
"Are you seeing this?" Casey asked over the radio.
Erin keyed her microphone. "Yes ... but who?"
As the Aztalan soldiers broke and fled, the driver's door of the lead vehicle opened, and a withered old man stuck his head out, hooting with glee and shaking his fist at the retreating enemy. It was the We Clan elder, she realized—what was his name? Earl. At that moment, she'd have French-kissed that gap-toothed old man.
Cheers rose in the city as the enemy broke and fled.
"The dragon's dead," Jay's voice broke over the radio. "I can't believe it, but Angie killed the dragon."
She keyed her radio. "Are ... are you sure?"
"I'm on the southern wall and looking at the dragon's carcass."
"Angie?"
"Well … butt-naked but alive," Jay said in wonder. "She's walking back to the city now. Don't worry. The Azzies are all running from her in terror. Don’t blame them."
Rowan's voice came over the air. "Rayan Zar Davi is dead. So are Wyn Renna and Marshal, but we're alive."
"How's Tavi?" Jay asked in fear.
"She's fine," Rowan answered. He was silent for a few moments and then keyed his radio once more, seeming at a loss for words. "And ... and there's a ...well, a baby dragon. We have a baby dragon."
"A what?" Casey asked.
Erin's smile was euphoric. They weren't going to die today after all. Erin wiped the tears of joy from her face.
Epilogue
13 January 2054, 18:00 p.m.
The Bunker atop Mount Laguna
Five months after the battle of Sanwa City
Angie sat atop a large wooden chair at the far end of the aircraft hangar upon a raised wooden platform that placed her high above the assembled crowd. Tec, as had become his norm, stood at her side, holding Lodin's spear for her. The golden-winged serpent—neither she nor Tec had the arrogance to name the dragon—sat upon her lap, resting its small horned head on her knee as it watched the crowd. Is it a he or a she? she wondered.
The chair she sat upon had been handcrafted by We Clan artisans with remarkable skill and was more akin to a throne. She had insisted it was not a throne, merely a chair, and the others had nodded in agreement…and immediately started calling it her throne. She had let it go, particularly after Tec and Sandman had convinced her that the new Angel of Mount Laguna needed a proper chair and a proper audience chamber in which to greet visitors.
And today was such a day. Hundreds of people gathered in the spacious chamber—all keeping away from the now-healed griffin Moonwing. Moonwing came and went as he pleased through the open hangar doors. Today, he was curious and watched the crowd, grooming his feathers.
She wore a silver gown, handcrafted by elven weavers, a gift of Prince Kilyn Star-Sword. He'd be King Kilyn Star-Sword soon, and she was expected at the coronation in New Coronado. Upon her forehead, she wore a small silver circlet with a single ruby glistening in it—a gift from Ephix Lamia. Not a crown, just a circlet, and she only wore it because the others insisted—and because Ephix was one of her visitors today, and to refuse to wear it in her presence would just have been rude.
Most of the crowd were members of the We Clan, but there were also a dozen new mage students as well as a delegation of Fresno Fey who had accompanied Ephix. Jay and Tavi stood off to the side, Jay with his arm around Tavi's waist, her belly already showing the swell of the new baby. Tavi had left the Brujas Fantasmas, taking service as Angie's new fight master. They both lived in the bunker with her and the students. The other Seagraves lived nearby in a log cabin on the mountain but separate from the settlement atop the mountain. Rowan was retired, at least according to Rowan, and Erin now spoke for her brothers. Every month, while the moon was full, Jay and his family disappeared into the wilderness, moving as far as possible from people but never so far that Jay couldn't be back with his new wife after the full moon.
Love had found a way to live with a werewolf. Will the baby carry the gene? she wondered.
"Are you ready, my love?" Tec whispered, smiling with his beautiful green eyes.
She trailed her fingers over the scaled head of the winged serpent. "It's best not to keep one such as her waiting."
Tec lifted the spear and beat the steel-shod bottom of the shaft upon the wooden platform, silencing the crowd. He raised his voice. "The Angel of Mount Laguna bids welcome to her beloved aunt, the Mistress of the Fresno Fey, Ephix Lamia."
The crowd parted, and Ephix Lamia strode forward, once more wearing the form of a young woman. She stopped before the platform, accompanied by a pair of nymphs, including Astris, both wings now completely regrown and buzzing madly. Angie cast a small smile at Astris, who barely wore her short dress, the cleavage exposed to her navel.
Ephix bowed, a slight nod of the head, but a bow of respect between equals. "Greetings, Angela,
daughter of my beloved sister. Greetings to the new Grandmaster Mage and the Angel of Mount Laguna."
"You will always be welcome here, Ephix," Angie told her, and meant it.
Ephix’s eye twitched at the spear Tec held. "Lodin won’t love you for keeping his spear," she told Angie.
Angie sniffed. "He loved it even less when I kneed him in the balls."
"Indeed." For one of the few times ever that Angie could remember, Ephix smiled.
After the Fey had come to the rescue of Sanwa City, a new age had dawned between humanity and Fey. And after Angie had opened her new school of magic on the mountain, accepting all students, both human and Fey, that compromise had spread to other nearby nation-states. Students from as far away as the Western Union had risked their lives traveling across the country to join her school. And every day brought new students, including two Fey, a fairy, and a troll.
The new Awakened World had grown strange indeed.
With the dragon Itzpapalotl and Rayan Zar Davi dead, the Aztalan army had fallen apart, fleeing back to the relative safety of their own homes far to the south. Word was that the Aztalan Empire was falling apart, turning on itself. Angie regretted the deaths but could do nothing to stop the turmoil. She hadn't started the war; the Tzitzime had. Of the secret cult of dragon worshipers, there was no new intelligence. Most likely, the cult had fallen apart as well.
She and Ephix exchanged more pleasantries, agreeing to an exchange of students and artisans. Then a delegation from Presidente Carter came forward, asking for assistance in rebuilding. Technically, the mountain was within the Norteno territory, but Angie would have helped even if it wasn't. She had the supplies, all stored away by Tec and Quetzalcoatl to rebuild civilization. She might as well put them to the use they had been intended for.
When the last of the delegates had left, she dismissed her staff, insisting she was too worn out to attend to the minutiae of duties, letting others do the work.
She carried the dragon back to the bedchamber she shared with Tec. No sooner had he closed the door than she had set the dragon into a cushioned box and stripped. They made love, finding a seemingly never-ending comfort in one another's arms.
Later, spent, she lay in bed with him, her head on his chest, her thigh draped over his. She twirled his chest hairs with her finger.
"What now, oh mighty Grandmaster Mage, the Angel of Mount Laguna?" he asked with a mischievous smile.
"I'd like to go north along the coast for a visit," she said softly. "New Seattle. There's someone I need to see, and I want you to come with me."
"Your wish is my command."
"And don't you ever forget it," she said, yanking one of his chest hairs free.
He yelped and caught her in his arms, holding her tight against him. Their giggling disturbed the dragon, snoozing in his crate. The creature lifted its horned head and watched them. Then it went back to sleep.
Far away, in a cavern deep below the earth, the lamia Aernyx held a burning torch over the petrified head of the dragon-god Memnog. The stone dragon was easily twice the size of its children. Aernyx trailed his fingers over the cold stone, detecting not a trace of life. He sighed, shaking his head, forcing his anger down. Never had he hated someone as much as he hated Angie Ritter. But he needed her and couldn't move against her, not yet.
But soon. All too soon, he'd come for her.
"We were all wrong," he told the stone dragon, even though it couldn't hear him. His words were slurred. "Everyone was wrong—Rayan Zar Davi, Chararah Succubus, even your foolish children, Tezcatlipoca and Itzpapalotl. Erin Seagrave wasn't the female who was changed, the Haanal X’ib of prophesy, but neither was Wyn Renna. The prophesies of the Golden Dawn, translated from Olmtec into Mayan and then Aztec, had never referred to someone as banal as an elven changeling." He sighed and shook his head. "All that effort for nothing."
He ran his tongue over the remains of his fangs, which had melted when he had tried to drink the blood of Angie Ritter—the woman who had bonded with an ancient entity, the Shade King, and had become something entirely new on this world.
A female who was changed.
The End.
Acknowledgments
Writing a three-book story with so many threads and characters is a daunting task—especially if you want it to be an enjoyable experience for readers. I hope I’ve succeeded and you have had fun.
These were tough books to write. It’s challenging to put yourself—in my case, a fifty-five-year-old man—into the head of a young woman and realistically portray her thoughts, dreams, and heartaches. No doubt, I got much wrong. I’ll do better next time. Writing is like weight lifting; there is no such thing as “maintaining.” You’re either getting stronger or weaker. Hopefully, I’ve gotten stronger as a writer.
I wanted to take this chance to thank the early readers of the William Stacey Street Team for their wonderful support and assistance. Your help matters—a great deal. In particular, I’d like to send a shout out to Allan M. and Mary B. who both went above and beyond in catching so many of those typos that slipped past the copy-editors and proof-readers. You two rock!
In fact, you all rock.
Everybody rocks!
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About the Author
A former intelligence officer and soldier who served in the Canadian army for more than thirty years, William Stacey is a combat nerd who lives to tell stories. He is a black belt in karate and possesses a somewhat disturbing and unhealthy fascination for all things medieval and violent—especially Vikings. With operational tours in Bosnia and Afghanistan, he combines his military experience with his love for martial arts and sharp objects. He is a husband, father, and fitness nut whose best friend is a German Shepherd named (natural) Thor.
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