by E. G. Foley
“I’m not scared!” Jake said.
Derek scowled over his shoulder. “Somebody go, or I’m going to start throwing you all through the blasted thing!” Then he blocked a resounding blow from a Noxu who took a chop at him with an axe.
Indeed, their protectors were being peeled away one by one, drawn into the battle. Derek began battling two Noxu warriors at once.
“Dame Oriel’s in trouble.” Janos glanced toward them. “Stay alive,” he said, mostly to Isabelle. Then he raced off, donning his full, terrifying vampire appearance as he ran to save the purple-haired Elder.
Thankfully, his back was to them, so the empath couldn’t see his face.
No doubt that was for the best.
Jake had seen him once like that; he shuddered at the memory.
Janos leaped over the battle with a soaring, preternatural bound and landed somewhere on the far end of the field.
Red roared a warning as more enemies headed for their group, drawn by the light of the portal.
“Come on, Jake!” Dani said to him through gritted teeth. “You have to go first, or no one else will follow.” Desperation shone in her big green eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”
Jake tore his stare away from the fight and looked at her in surprise. He suddenly realized how much she needed him to believe in her right now.
“Of course I do, carrot,” he said abruptly. In that moment, with the others waiting for his signal, he felt the full responsibility of being the leader. It cleared his mind with sudden and absolute force.
All conflicting arguments about what he would’ve preferred to do—stay and help the Order win—simply melted away.
He realized if he didn’t go with his friends, they’d have no one to protect them but Nixie with her wand and this Brian kid.
Besides, if he stayed and the Dark Druids managed to capture him—and if there was any truth to this prophecy—then everyone was doomed.
With that, his mind was made up.
“C’mon, you lot,” he said, striding forward. “Let’s get out of here.” When he reached Dani’s side, standing close to her, he looked into her eyes. “You’re sure you know where this thing goes?”
“Trust me,” she said, but Jake knew her too well.
He could see the fear and uncertainty that glimmered in her eyes. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure about this herself.
Oh, perfect.
Jake knew for a fact that she had only done this once before in her entire life.
He had no idea where the tunnel would take him, or if the carrot actually knew what she was doing, but he decided to take a leap of faith.
He owed her that much. Lord knew she had believed in him enough times, had trusted his harebrained schemes.
Besides, if he balked, the others wouldn’t want to risk it either, and it was simply too dangerous for them to stay a moment longer. Isabelle looked weaker by the minute, wilting like a flower. Archie was supporting his sister, but now droplets of blood had begun leaking from her ear. She seemed about to faint.
Stepping up to the bright, watery disk, half sure he was going to end up in Timbuktu (wherever that was), Jake gathered his nerve, only praying that his molecules came back together properly on the other end of this thing.
But before he leaped, he gave their little Lightrider’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then glanced over his shoulder. “C’mon, Red!”
“Becaw!” said the Gryphon.
Jake took a deep breath, then ran at the portal with a whoop, just like Tex had taught them. “Yee-haw!”
Then he leaped.
Dissolving into light, he went whooshing down the tunnel at a thousand miles an hour, headed heaven only knew where.
EPILOGUE
The Devil’s Due
Did you see him, Nathan? Did you see your son? As Wyvern surveyed the battlefield with glowing pride, the devil in his head sounded positively giddy with delight.
“I certainly did, Father.” Wyvern glanced up as the ponderous dirigible floated away, useless. Yes, he had lost his air support, but he had gained so much more here tonight.
Only thirteen, and he crippled The Dream Wraith! Shemrazul enthused. Now, there’s a lad after my own heart.
“Maybe thirteen’s the boy’s lucky number,” Wyvern murmured, though, in truth, he did not see why Shemrazul had to make such a fuss over Jake at the moment.
He was the victor here tonight.
Merlin Hall had not been penetrated in centuries, let alone sacked and pillaged. But he, Wyvern—he alone—had dared to do what the Dark Master himself had never attempted, and it had paid off in spades.
Balinor had fallen. The Old Yew was dead. The Order had lost its smug superiority. Wyvern smiled at how he had humiliated them.
Best of all, he had impressed his fiery father. He had given the devil his due, and he knew he would soon be rewarded.
With the Black Crown.
I’m coming for you next, Zolond, he thought. But having accomplished his purpose, there was no need to linger. He trusted he had made his point.
After tonight, there would be no more question about who was really in charge of the Dark Druids.
It hadn’t come easy. But he looked around slowly, assessing the scene. It was tempting simply to take over Merlin Hall, but he wasn’t a fool. Attacking old wizards and schoolchildren was one thing. If he attempted to occupy the Order’s headquarters, allied armies would be here by morning.
No, best to strike quickly and retreat to safety, like the serpents his side so admired. Besides, in truth, he was weary. He was covered in sweat from exertion. Dried blood where that wood elf had shot him made his clothes stick to his skin.
No matter. Out of sight in the maze, Wyvern had simply pulled the arrows out of his agonized body and healed his half-dozen savage wounds. Then he had healed Thanatos again. This done, his gaze was drawn skyward.
From his hiding place in an unburned aisle of the labyrinth, he’d had a fine view of his future son wreaking havoc on the sky pirates. It had filled Wyvern’s dark heart with pride when the boy had sent that one useless fellow to his doom.
Oh yes, young Jake would make an excellent addition to the family.
“A good night’s work, Thanatos.”
The manticore hissed in agreement.
Ah, they were not so easily broken, either of them. His loyal pet stood by his side, guarding him with occasional growls.
Nostrils flaring, Wyvern inhaled the gratifying scene of gunpowder and smoke, smiling to see that the Noxu forces had now battled their way past the weary Guardians on the front stairs and had stormed the palace, trampling countless Merlin Hall gnomes underfoot.
Many Noxu had died tonight, but now the survivors collected their well-earned plunder from the rich chambers and salons of the lavish place.
When a burst of elegant laughter drew his attention, Wyvern looked over and saw the Red Queen and four of her beautiful courtiers toying with a terrified Dame Oriel. Wyvern recognized the clairvoyant Elder by her ridiculous purple hair.
“Where are your ghosts? Why will they not help you?” the vampires taunted, shoving the older woman back and forth among them, mocking her and baring their fangs.
She shrieked when a beautiful courtier snapped his jaws at her.
In all fairness, a few palace ghosts did show up to try to aid their medium friend. Summoning all of their poltergeist strength, they formed a ring around her, especially one fat fellow who shouted at the vampires in Italian with the most magnificent spectral voice.
But the spirits could not maintain their force field around her for very long, and the moment they faded away, the vampires moved in again.
This time, in earnest.
At that moment, one of their own bounded into their midst from somewhere on high.
Janos landed among them with his darkling blade in hand and, whirling like a top, lopped off two of the vampires’ heads in one spinning blow.
Wyvern’s eyes widened. Viola cried out in
horror, but the other two vampires retreated slightly, into the shadows.
Janos threw his arm around Dame Oriel’s waist and leaped away with her, removing the clairvoyant to safety on the roof.
Well—relative safety, considering that The Dream Wraith had blown holes in it. To Wyvern’s annoyance, it was no longer burning. Balinor had managed to put out many of the lovely fires he had started up there with the Atlantean cuff.
After the old wizard died, that irksome Sir Peter had continued his work, conjuring torrents of some white powder that had somehow snuffed out the flames. He hadn’t seen the younger wizard since.
In any case, the moment Janos released the purple-haired lady, she rushed into the palace through a rooftop door.
The traitorous double agent turned around, prepared to fend off Viola’s two remaining courtiers as they joined him with massive leaps. The Red Queen herself was crying over her slain followers—and, no doubt, over her favorite son-in-law’s treachery.
I told her, Wyvern thought. She should’ve believed me.
Just then, Archeron Raige came stomping out of the palace with a fearsome long gun under one arm. Sweat had caused his camouflage face paint to smear almost all the way off. His olive-green shirt was in tatters over his massive upper body, but his eyes shone with pleasure at all the fun he’d had tonight.
“Any luck?” Wyvern asked.
He had instructed the general to make a sweep of the palace to collect any remaining Lightriders he could find for their project in the basement of the Black Fortress.
Raige shook his head and threw the nub of his stinky cigar down on the ground. “Nah. They’ve either fled through the portal or holed up in that blasted library. Can’t get to ’em. Too much magic on that place.” He spat. “We got enough of ’em now anyway, don’t we?”
“We do,” Wyvern admitted with a grimace of distaste. Yes, the general had inhaled a lot of smoke tonight, but that was no excuse for such dreadful manners.
As for the Lightriders, ah well. Though a few more to add to the collection wouldn’t hurt, what Raige said was true. They already had enough to accomplish their aims.
And it wouldn’t be long now before it was time to bring their great, secret project to fruition…
Once more, Wyvern surveyed the fast-moving field.
Viola Sangray had exchanged her tears for fury, rocketed onto the roof, and was now engaged in a deadly dance with Janos along the edge of it, doing her best to destroy him.
Out on the dark lawn, off to Wyvern’s left as he faced the palace, Fionnula was still locked in combat with old Ramona Bradford.
Wyvern wondered if he ought to give his good lady wife a little help or if she’d be insulted by his interference. She could be so touchy, and the last thing he wanted to deal with when they returned to the Black Fortress was one of Fionnula’s sulks.
It was then that Wyvern suddenly spotted a most unlikely participant on the battlefield.
None other than Waldrick Everton was barreling across the grass, his lanky legs pumping at top speed.
Wyvern wrinkled his brow as Jake’s uncle sprinted toward a knot of Guardians still clashing with some of the Noxu.
What on earth is he doing?
Frankly, Wyvern couldn’t believe the lily-livered coward had even ventured out of the Black Fortress. The last Wyvern had seen him, Waldrick had been waving goodbye from the safety of the castle, along with the newly arrived Boris Badgerton.
Yet now here he was, running pell-mell toward some of the Order’s warriors. Wyvern watched, half amused.
Suicide mission? Eh, not him. Wyvern scoffed. He’d never kill his favorite person.
Did the weasel wish to prove his valor now that the battle was almost done and it was safe to come out?
Except…he wasn’t carrying a weapon.
Then, across the distance, Wyvern heard Waldrick shouting. The ex-earl lifted his hands in the air as he raced toward a brawny figure. Squinting, Wyvern recognized him as the Guardian he’d had so much fun torturing a few months back.
Then Waldrick’s words carried to him in a lull of the gunfire.
“Derek, it’s me! It’s Waldrick! Don’t shoot! I surrender, I defect! Please—Jacob’s alive!” Waldrick skidded onto his knees in front of the master Guardian, nearly face-planting on the grass.
Order soldiers instantly surrounded him. Wyvern’s heart welled up with stunned fury.
“Fionnula!” he bellowed.
His future wife turned in surprise at his thunderous tone.
“Forget her!” He pointed. “Kill Waldrick! Now!”
She surely understood. He knows too much!
Unfortunately, all Wyvern’s shout accomplished was to distract his future wife, allowing the Elder witch to slam Fionnula with a mighty magical blow.
She went tumbling across the lawn.
Wyvern fumed. Incompetent.
“Raige!” he bellowed. But the general had just received a skull-cracking head butt from a huge, bald, dark-skinned Guardian who was actually as tall as Raige. That was rare.
Fine. I’ll do it myself, Wyvern thought, stewing with fury.
But just as he started toward the group of Guardians surrounding the traitor, Peter Quince stepped out of the maze behind him and threw a net over Wyvern.
Too late he realized it was a dreaded Entangler’s Net. The blasted thing yanked his feet out from under him and toppled him onto his face in the gravel with an “Oof!”
As its golden latticework sucked in against his body from his head to his knees, the more he struggled, the tighter it got. His arms were bound by his sides; only his six-fingered hands flailed beneath his wrists.
“I’ll kill you for this!”
“Yes, yes. You are certainly welcome to try.” Casual leather shoes strolled into view right beside his head.
Wyvern cocked his eyes up to the side and saw the bespectacled wizard smiling down at him, hands in pockets.
The smile did not reach Sir Peter’s eyes. “You’ve been a real problem this evening, do you know that?”
Wyvern cursed at him, writhing and wriggling like a snake in his determination to break free. He knew this was impossible, of course.
Entangler’s Nets were exceedingly rare and almost impossible to escape without help. If only he realized the Order had one! But, blast it, he couldn’t think of everything all by himself.
Fortunately, the general was only just now climbing to his feet after the head butt. He glanced over at Wyvern.
“Fall back!” Raige roared toward the palace, and the Noxu quickly started to obey.
Good, Wyvern thought as the tusked mercenaries began pouring out of the palace, carrying their loot. As much as the brutes enjoyed raiding, to defy one of the general’s orders meant a very nasty death.
Raige pointed them toward Wyvern.
Fionnula was on her way, thankfully, though she looked a little dazed. She wasn’t quite running straight in her high-heeled shoes. Ramona Bradford strode after her, disheveled and out for blood.
For his part, helpless for the moment, his hands secured at his sides, Wyvern could just make out Derek Stone and a couple of other Guardians hustling Waldrick out of view across the distant lawn.
He wanted to scream with frustration, but he refused to give Peter Quince the satisfaction. The irritating fellow smiled again.
“Night, night, Wyvern.” This time, the chancellor blasted him with a white-hot orb that flashed from his wand, knocking Wyvern nearly senseless.
The night buckled; the world turned double before his eyes. He smelled burning human hair and feared that it was his. The boom of Quince’s spell reverberated in his ears, dizzying him.
Then, much to his chagrin, Wyvern lost consciousness…
When he eventually came to, Quince was gone, and a bloodied Fionnula was on her knees beside him, anxiously tapping his cheek. “Nathan, wake up! We’ve got to get out of here!”
Double images of her false, lovely face rotated before Wyvern�
�s eyes.
Raige was also bent over him, peering down skeptically into his face. No wonder Wyvern smelled cigar smoke.
Viola kicked Wyvern in the leg. “Get up! We’re done here,” the vampire queen said in disgust. “I trust we’ve made our point. Let’s quit while we’re ahead.”
Wyvern nodded, still dazed.
Fionnula pulled him to his feet. “Come along, dear,” she said through gritted teeth.
Raige straightened up and turned to his troops. “Back to the Fortress! Double-time it!”
A steady stream of grunting Noxu continued flowing out of the ransacked palace, jogging back toward Badgerton’s tunnel, their hands laden with all they could steal. Some carried jewels, others sacks of gold. Still more had stolen the magical paintings off the walls, but one Noxu with a ring in his snout had carried off a schoolchild.
The tot kicked the half-troll in the spleen and ran for its life as soon as the warrior dropped it. The Greenfolk trying to save the maze quickly took the child under their protection.
Still a little dazed, Wyvern looked around, wondering what had happened while he was out.
His gaze homed in on Ramona Bradford standing on the top step of the palace entrance, wand in hand.
Something in her stare made him realize the Elder witch must’ve had something to do with his allies’ eagerness to leave. What the devil had she done to them while he was out?
It didn’t matter, he quickly decided, in no mood to test her wrath, now that his allies had got him out of the Entangler’s Net. He’d accomplished his purpose here. The palace had been looted, the sculpted grounds savaged.
He’d taught the Order its place.
Of course, that witless Waldrick Everton’s defection to the other side boded ill, but even Shemrazul knew there were few unmixed victories in life.
The important thing was that the show of strength Wyvern had carried out here would solidify his position and seal his followers’ loyalty.
All that was left now would be to take care of Zolond and claim the Black Crown.
“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered to his allies. He grabbed Viola’s arm, while Fionnula caught hold of Raige, then they both performed transport spells, whisking themselves back to the safety of the Black Fortress.
