Iron and Magic

by Ilona Andrews

  He was into his fifth beer and he appeared to be enjoying himself.

  Rufus raised his mug. “Beer me!”

  Make that sixth.

  Irene dipped a pitcher into the barrel of beer, glided over, and refilled the mug.

  “Thanks, sweetness.”

  Irene moved out of his way.

  Elara glanced around the table. The six guardsmen Fortner had sat at their table were a mixed lot. Five men and only one woman. They were drinking, and eating, relaxed.

  “It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” Rufus said.

  Something tugged at Elara’s consciousness.

  “Can’t complain,” Hugh said.

  “We’ve worked a castle once. In Cincinnati,” one of the guardsmen offered.

  “Ah, yes, the Cus.. Ces… What the hell was that fellah’s name?” Rufus wrinkled his forehead.

  “Cousteau,” the lone female guard supplied.

  “That’s right.”

  Here it was again, a faint tug.

  “Excuse me.” Elara rose from the table.

  Hugh caught her hand. “Where are you going, pumpkin?”

  To cast a death spell that will sear your eyes from their sockets. “Somewhere you can’t come with me.” She winked. “To the room down the hallway with the word LADIES on the door.”

  He let go. “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  Elara walked away. Behind her, Rufus said in what he probably thought was his confidential voice, “You’re a lucky man, Preceptor. No offense.”

  “Oh I am,” Hugh said. “I am.”

  She was one hundred percent sure he was watching her backside as she was walking away. Elara put an extra wiggle into it. Eat your heart out.

  In the hallway, she turned left, walked through a door, and ran up the flight of stone stairs to the hidden balcony. Savannah stood in the shadows, watching the room. From the floor this area was practically invisible.

  “What is it?” Savannah asked.

  “I don’t know. Something… I need a minute.”

  Below Hugh clapped Rufus’s shoulder and laughed.

  “D’Ambray plays his role well, doesn’t he?” Savannah observed.

  “Yes. He’s a chameleon. He’ll be whatever the circumstances require him to be.” It’s finding the real man that was the problem.

  “The two of you have been avoiding each other.”

  Hiding things from Savannah was impossible. “I walked through his dreams. He caught me.”

  “Elara!”

  “I know, I know.”

  Dreams were woven from emotions, from the most basic wants, the strongest desires, the sharpest fears. Logic and reason didn’t exist there, except as twisted shadows of themselves. Walking through them was dangerous. She’d stepped into Hugh’s inner world. Elara had trespassed, and he knew it. He would make her pay one way or another.

  “Why?” Savannah shook her head. “Expending your power? Letting him see you?”

  “You weren’t on the wall when he fought the vampires. I was. He used a spell, Savannah. It wasn’t like his normal magic. He pulled it to him and then he altered it, shaping it into something else. He said two words. He was clear across the field by the trees and I felt it all the way on the wall. It wasn’t just powerful, it was precise. He pulled the undead out into the open, but he’d already had his people in the woods and they weren’t affected.”

  “Power words,” Savannah said. “They call Roland the Builder of Towers. Maybe there is a reason for that.”

  “You think this is the language of the Tower of Babylon?”

  “That’s what rumors say. It’s supposed to command the magic itself.”

  “It did. I went into his dreams. I had no choice. I wanted to know what else he was capable of.”

  Elara fell silent. Below Hugh laughed, flashing white teeth.

  “What did you find out?” Savannah asked.

  “He’s a monster. Like me.”

  “We’ve had this talk,” the older witch said quietly.

  “I am what I am. You, of all people, know that.” Elara hugged her shoulders. “You should’ve heard him speak about Roland.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he was his king, his god, his life. He thinks that everything he is comes from Roland.”

  “And since there is no Roland now,” Savannah said, “there is no Hugh.”

  “The exile should’ve broken him. I don’t understand how he survived, but he did. He’s extremely dangerous, Savannah. There are things I saw in his past...”

  “Things?” Savannah asked.

  “Killing is second nature to him. It’s like breathing. Once Hugh decides someone has to die, he does it. There is no doubt.”

  “We’ve dealt with killers before,” Savannah said.

  “Not like this.” She wasn’t explaining it well, three fourths of her attention on trying to narrow down the feeling that brought her here. “Hugh has more magic than he lets on and he is very skilled. He’s trained beyond anything I’ve seen.”

  Savannah raised one eyebrow at her.

  “He threw me out of his dreams.”

  Elara had glimpsed something in those dreams. A twisted maelstrom inside Hugh, made of guilt, shame, and pain. He’d torn it open for her to show her his memories.

  Savannah startled. “We shouldn’t have made this alliance.”

  “We had no choice. It doesn’t matter now. The die is cast. Now we just have to make sure he remains on our side. We—"

  Elara, glorious one, shining one, have mercy on me in my hour of need.

  An influx of power flowed into Elara. She jerked as if burned.

  “What is it?” Savannah thrust herself into Elara’s view.

  I’m dying. Hear my plea. Hear my prayer.

  “Elara?”

  She jerked her hand up, silencing Savannah.

  She’d forbade it, but here it was, a prayer, stretching to her like a barely existing lifeline.

  Please save us. Please. I’ll do anything.

  She reached along that lifeline. It led her into the woods into the dark night, where a desperate man ran for his life.

  I beg you, shining one. Please help. Please don’t let them get us.

  Alex. Alex Tong. He was running through the woods, from the north. She saw him, a gently glowing shape, so weak. He was bleeding. He didn’t have long.

  They killed all of us. Everyone is dead.

  A vision hit her, hot and raging. Rows of bodies laid out in the street, nightmarish creatures scuttling, and soldiers in scale armor looking over it all. A hundred people slaughtered. The scent of blood and fear, stark blinding terror that twisted her insides. She jerked away from it before it dragged her under.

  Please help me. I’m scared. They’re coming, and I don’t want to die.

  Alex Tong lived in Redhill, one of the settlements that rejected their offer of wards. Her people had just come from it the day before yesterday.

  Elara snapped back to reality, holding on to the fragile thread of magic with her mind.

  “Redhill was attacked.”

  “When? Who?”

  She shook her head and ran down the stairs. They had very little time. If she went after Alex, she would reach him, but he wouldn’t survive. She had to get Hugh and she had to extract him out of that damn dinner without raising any alarms. They didn’t know what was chasing Alex, although she could make a pretty good guess, and being attacked now would sever their relations with Rufus.

  Elara took a deep breath and forced herself to walk slowly into the hall. The dinner was winding down. She wove her way around the table, came up behind Hugh, and draped herself over him, making sure to mash her breasts against his shoulder.

  “Hi.” Hugh glanced up at her and grinned. It was the kind of grin that would make a professional escort blush.

  She leaned closer and brushed a kiss on his mouth. His lips were hot and dry. His hand reached into her hair. She pulled away sl
ightly. “Do you think I can borrow you for a few minutes?”

  He caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. “I think we can work something out.”

  She smiled at Rufus and the guardsmen. “Excuse us, gentlemen.”

  Hugh winked at Rufus and let her lead him out of the hall by hand. Behind them the Red Guard leader chuckled. “Newlyweds.”

  Elara drew him into the hallway. As soon as they were out of sight, he spun her around. “Who died?”

  “Dying. Redhill was attacked.”

  Hugh’s eyes turned dark. “The scale mail pricks?”

  “Yes. They massacred it. One man escaped. A boy. He used to be Radion’s apprentice, but he liked a girl in Redhill and left with her.”

  Hugh’s eyes turned darker. “Where is he?”

  “Running through the woods toward us. I can find him, but I can’t heal him. He’s barely hanging on. If we wait any longer, he won’t make it.”

  Hugh was already moving to the exit.

  Elara anchored her magic and pulled herself forward, tracing the faint line of Alex’s prayer. He was still whispering to her under his breath, begging, his voice fading. The tree trunks flew at her.

  Behind her Bucky charged through the forest along a narrow trail. The giant horse shouldn’t have been able to run in the woods in the dark, but Bucky pushed on like he was part deer. A weak radiance sheathed his flanks. He almost glowed silver.

  She paused, waiting for them to catch up. Expending magic that quickly would cost her, but for now only Alex mattered.

  Hugh caught up. She stepped again, then again, moving trunk to trunk.

  The line of the prayer anchoring her to the man faded. She stepped again, fast and desperate, in the direction it had come from. Bushes, rhododendron, thick trunks, forest floor, all steeped in shadow.

  Where was he? He had to be somewhere around here. Before he fell silent, she was almost on top of him.

  “Alex,” she whispered, sending her voice in a wide pulse. It flew through the woods. “I’m here. I’ve heard you. Speak to me…”

  Nothing. Bucky burst out of the bushes next to her and Hugh brought him up short. The big horse turned in a circle, as Hugh surveyed the forest.

  “Speak to me…”

  …

  “…shining one…”

  He was right in front of her. She dove through the patch of rhododendron, forcing her way through the brush, and burst out on the other side. Oaks thrust from the forest floor, too thick to wrap her arms around. The moon shone above and the air between the trees glowed slightly with a bluish haze.

  Alex lay slumped by the roots of the nearest tree. He was always thin, with a slight build, but now he seemed barely a boy, fourteen instead of his eighteen. He didn’t move. His eyes were closed, his head drooped to the side. She dropped to her knees. Blood drenched his clothes, the fabric a solid mass of red.

  Where was the wound? She could barely see him, let alone the injury.

  Hugh knelt by her. A blue glow sheathed him. She’d seen glimpses of it before in the fight, but now it was obvious, a dense, rich blue, almost turquoise, the magic within it alive and strong, like a river. Hugh’s eyes glowed with the same electric blue.

  The glow stretched from Hugh’s hand, sheathing Alex’s body.

  She felt movement and looked up. Shadows moved through the blue haze between the trees. Humanoid shadows.

  They’d massacred Redhill. They’d killed everyone there, men, women, children. Now they were coming after one of hers.

  No.

  “You got it?” Hugh asked.

  “Yeah,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ve got it.”

  She rose and walked through the forest toward the advancing shapes, making no effort to hide. Creatures slipped through the brush on both sides of her.

  A warrior stepped out of the haze twenty-five yards away. As tall as Hugh, he wore scale armor and a helmet that left his face bare. Tattoos marked his cheek. His long red hair spilled in a horse tail through an opening in his helmet and fell down his back.

  He was a distraction. Bait. Elara stared at him, waiting. If he had a bow and fired, she could avoid the arrows. But a crossbow bolt travelled a lot faster and would prove to be a problem.

  A creature darted from the right, impossibly fast. She locked her hand on its throat. It hung in her hand, limp. It used to be human, but now the corruption suffused it, twisting its very essence. It wasn’t the fetid stench of a vampire, reanimated after death. This was a living alteration and it left this beast with a shred of humanity hidden deep inside. Elara locked on the hot spark of magic within its body and swallowed it. It tasted delicious as only a human did. The lifeless sack of bone and muscle fell to the ground.

  There were three warriors now. Same armor, same helmets, same swords in the scabbards on their hips. All three big men, the shortest only three inches or so under Hugh’s height. They watched her, mute. No bows then. All the better.

  Elara smiled, showing them her teeth.

  The creatures burst from the bushes all at once, clawed hands out, ready to rip her apart. The forest came alive with shadows. She dropped the mask she wore and let her magic out. A brush of her fingers, and a creature collapsed. A claw on her shoulder, and its owner crashed to the ground. She ripped the magic from them and fed.

  The ring of bodies around her grew and still they kept coming.

  The final beast collapsed at her feet.

  The three warriors still looked at her.

  Apparently, they were just going to stand there. No worries. She would come to them. Elara picked up her dress, carefully stepped on the corpse of the creature in front of her and walked across two bodies toward the three.

  The magic died. One moment it was there, and the next it vanished like the flame of a candle snuffed out by a breath. Her power vanished, a weak coal smoldering deep inside her instead of a raging fire.

  The three armored men moved forward as one, unsheathing their swords.

  She backed away, circling the bodies.

  The first warrior bore down on her, his pale eyes locked on her with the unblinking focus of a predator.

  A hand landed on her shoulder and jerked her back. Hugh thrust himself into the space she’d occupied half a second ago and drove his sword into the man. The blade sank into the warrior with a screech of metal against metal just under the breastbone.

  The warrior gasped.

  Hugh freed his sword with a brutal jerk, twisting the blade as it came out, and spun out of the way as another tall warrior closed in from the left.

  The injured man dropped to one knee. Blood poured from his mouth.

  The tall warrior charged Hugh, feigning left, but Hugh dodged, spinning, batted aside the third warrior’s sword and backed up, facing her, drawing them away. The two warriors followed him, the taller on Hugh’s right and the shorter on his left.

  She needed a weapon.

  The injured fighter in front of her drew a hoarse breath. Elara grabbed at the sword in his hand. She might as well have tried to pry it from solid stone. He clenched it tighter and swiped at her with his left hand. She jumped out of the way, almost tripping on a rock. Perfect. Elara crouched and wrenched the chunk of sandstone out of the forest floor.

  Behind the injured warrior, Hugh backed away another step. The right fighter thrust with bewildering speed. High blocked the blade and hammered a punch into the man’s face with his left hand. Cartilage crunched just as the other swordsman thrust at Hugh’s ribs. The Preceptor twisted out of the way, but not fast enough. The blade sliced through the leather and came out bloody.

  Hugh didn’t seem surprised. He must’ve known the man would cut him. He’d calculated the whole thing and decided that taking a cut was worth it. She had to help him.

  Elara clenched the rock and smashed it into the injured fighter’s face. He cried out. Blood splattered. She struck his face again and a third time, turning his features into bloody mush. His helmet came off. He dropped the
sword. She let go of the rock and swiped the blade from the ground. It was wet with hot human blood. Elara raised it and brought it down on the fighter’s slumped back. The blade glanced off the metal collar of his armor and bit into his neck. It didn’t cut all the way through, but he collapsed.

  Elara gripped the sword and pulled it free.

  Hugh was on her right, the two fighters on her left. The one closest to her bled from his nose, his eyes swelling into slits. Hugh charged the fighter with the broken nose. Broken Nose cut at him in a fast, wild slash. Hugh leaned back, and Broken Nose’s sword sliced air. Before he could recover, Hugh cut at the fighter’s extended arm. The man let out a short guttural howl. His sword fell to the ground. His right arm hung limp, useless. The warrior grabbed his wounded arm with his left hand and stumbled back. The other fighter slashed at Hugh’s back. The blade connected. Hugh spun about, parrying the next strike, and attacked, driving the shorter man back.

  Elara ran three steps forward and thrust the sword into Broken Nose’s armored back.

  It didn’t penetrate.

  The fighter turned around, swinging his blade. Elara rammed him, throwing all of her weight into him and his bleeding arm. He tripped and sprawled on the ground. She thrust her sword straight down into his chest and threw herself onto it.

  The blade sank a couple of inches, screeching against the armor. The fighter screamed and clawed at the skirt of her dress with his remaining hand. Elara strained, digging her feet into the ground. She wished she still had the rock, so she could hammer the sword into his body.

  The man screamed, staring straight at her. Blood poured from his mouth in a thick red gush. The metallic stench hit her. She had to finish it. Elara strained, summoning every last reserve she had. Something cracked in the man’s chest and the blade slid in. He jerked one last time and lay still.

  Elara straightened. Blood dripped from her hands.

  Hugh and the other man danced between the trees, their swords a blur. Steel clanged. She could barely see the blades. How in the world was Hugh even parrying that?

  The weapons clashed, the two men throwing all their strength and speed into their strikes. The magic was down, but Hugh moved with insane precision: fast, flexible, strong, anticipating his opponent’s movements.