He held them with the music, weaving an image of what would happen to them if they disobeyed him—dissolution, oblivion. The Nightflyers silently wailed with anger and fear, but the deadly whirlwind of shadows slowed to drift quietly around him.
“Forward, march,” Eric muttered, catching his breath for a moment. His shadow troops floated behind him as he and Kayla started down the corridor toward the stairway.
The anti-terrorist team commander, Captain Brown, tried once again to convince the scientist to go back upstairs, where it was safe, and get out of the area of fire. Warden Blair shook his head, not explaining his real reason for wanting to be so close to the gunfight.
When they die, my children will feast on their death-agonies, he/it thought. There was so much potential here, and all of the futurepaths wove together at this point, screaming “Breakthrough, Breakthrough!” to his alien senses. In the next few minutes, all futurepaths would join into a single one, with no more chance of failure. And his children would sweep out over the city, glorying in the life-energies that were theirs for the taking.
He blinked suddenly, sensing something different. There were others of his kind, very close. He did not understand it—he had not brought them across the veil between worlds, and he knew there were no others of his kind here, except for his first child that now possessed Colonel O’Neill. That had been the easiest solution to the problem of Colonel O’Neill, since direct control by Blair had been very tiring, and dangerous as well.
Ah, that was it, he decided. Though it was risky to reproduce so young, his child must have used the life force of the music-maker and the other human to create others.
One of the other officers reported in to his captain, taking the same time to reload his assault rifle. “They’re still holed up behind the barricade down the hall, sir. We have them covered from both sides, but so far we haven’t managed to advance. No change in status.”
“Tear gas?” the captain asked.
“Didn’t seem to have any effect the first time, sir. We can try it again, if you want.”
The captain shook his head. “No, keep working closer down the hall way. Get close enough to spray the area, and that’ll be it. We don’t need to risk any of our people trying to take these lunatic terrorists alive.”
“Can I go closer to see the action?” Blair asked, trying not to sound too eager.
“No, sir, you cannot. You’re already too close to our operations, and you really should leave the area.” The captain looked up suddenly, down the hallway behind them. “What in the hell is that?”
Nightflyers, drifting toward them. Blair gloried in the sight, knowing that the moment was at hand.
Except…
Except there were two humans walking with his kindred, and one of them was the music-maker. Alive, and playing music that he could feel, even at this distance. He was controlling the Nightflyers, bending them to his will, and Blair could feel the tenuous strains of that music touching the edges of his mind, trying to force him to submit.
He made a snap decision, and ran in the other direction, leaving the humans to deal with the problem for him, From the end of the hallway, he could hear the music-maker’s voice:
“Hi. You have three seconds to get the hell out of our way, or else.”
And the sound of a human’s scream of pain, though Blair could sense no death-agony. Only unconscious, not dead, Then he was among the other human soldiers, trapped between them and the elven warriors behind the barricade, and realized that he had nowhere else to run.
“So far, so good,” Eric murmured, leaving two of his demon army to guard the disarmed captain and his unconscious soldier. Kayla knelt next to the sprawled soldier’s body, one hand on his wrist, then looked up. “He’s okay, Eric.”
“All right, let’s go.” He gave the captain a serious look. “Don’t try to run, okay? If you stay put, my demons will disappear and let you go, after I’ve rescued my friends. Understand?”
“I’m not stupid,” the captain said flatly.
Eric and Kayla half-ran down the hallway, the Nightflyers following behind them. This is going easier than I thought, Eric decided. If we can disarm the rest of the soldiers like that, maybe we will survive all of this… at least until the Big One shakes loose from the faultline. Minutes. All we have is minutes.
* * *
CHAPTER 17:
Anima Urbis: Mount Tam
Lord Dharinel, Magus Major and one-time Warleader of the elven court of Mist-Hold, did not believe in giving up.
However, at the moment, he did not see many alternatives.
They were trapped in this rabbit warren of concrete and Cold Iron, caught between two opposing forces who were armed with the best human weaponry the elven lord had ever seen. After the initial startled clash, where the elven swords had done quite well at close range against the human guns—one rifle, sliced cleanly in half, was still on the floor near his feet—the humans had withdrawn to use their ranged weapons more efficiently. Dharinel had cast magical wards against the gunfire for as long as he had the strength, while young Korendil organized the others into building a barricade out of office equipment that was heavy enough to withstand bullets.
Now they were trapped within it, as the humans hesitated to approach within range of the swords, and the elves could not venture out beyond it, out of fear of the superior firepower. Their own ranged weapons, the bows, were all but useless in these cramped hallways. They required exposing too much of the bearer—and shots clattered uselessly off the walls and ceiling as often as not.
Dharinel fumed, impatient to end this stalemate. He strode to where Korendil crouched near the open edge of the barricade, ignoring the dizziness that made his steps unsteady—an aftereffect of too much magical channeling. “What shall we do now, young knight?” he asked tersely.
Korendil looked up, his eyes bright. “An excellent question, my lord. Perhaps if one of us charged them, to draw them out into the open…“
“I would not wager good odds for that first warrior’s survival,” Dharinel said thoughtfully. “No, we are not ready for a move that desperate yet. Korendil, go attend your human friends. I will watch for any further attacks of poisoned smoke, and deflect them from us.”
“My lord.” Korendil bowed slightly, and went to where the two human women were seated near the wall, very close to each other.
Thatwas something Dharinel still could not understand—he enjoyed living in the human world, for many reasons, but he could not understand how Korendil had woven his life so thoroughly with humans. Humans were so… fragile. Such as the human woman with pale skin and dark red hair, who even now shuddered and cried from the effects of some incomprehensible human illness. Claustrophobia, that was the word that the dark-skinned woman had said, but the word meant nothing to him.
Still, it was Korendil’s life, and however he wished to spend his time was his business. Though Dharinel privately wondered how much time any of them had left now, with the bullets singing overhead every few seconds.
He turned back to watch their enemies, around a corner of the barricade, and his eyes widened.
The human guards were walking around the corner, hands raised in the air. He recognized that as a common gesture of surrender from all the movies young Arvin had shown him. Behind them was a roiling mass of darkness, moving toward them.
What…It was herding them. None of them wanted to touch it. It wasn’t more poisoned smoke, for it moved with purpose.
Then he saw the individual shapes within the darkness, and he realized in surprised horror that it was an army of shadow-demons.
And beside them, playing music, a faint Irish melody that he now heard over the clattering of arms, was the Bard.
“The Bard!” Dharinel shouted elatedly, then was momentarily annoyed at himself for that display of unseemly emotion. The other elven warriors gathered around the barricade, and Korendil and the two human women joined them, peering around the pile of overturned desks and cabine
ts.
“The Bard, the Bard!”
The Bard saw them and smiled, though he continued to concentrate on playing the melody. The dark-haired human child walked beside him for a moment, then dashed past, heading toward the others at the barricade. The older human woman caught up the child in a hug, pausing only to wipe tears from her eyes.
Dharinel also saw someone else, and it was a sight that heated his blood with quick anger. Warden Blair, described to him by the human scientist and seen in the memories of young Korendil, walking with the other captured human guards. Warden Blair, the man who was responsible for all of this.
Warden Blair, who alone of his contemporary humans had captured and held an elf—and who might come to realize what he had done. Warden Blair, the most dangerous human to elves to walk the waking earth.
With a start, Dharinel realized that Blair was the target of the Bard’s melody-magic, that Eric was using his music to keep the Nightflyer-possessed human under his control.
Not bad, the elven lord thought grudgingly. Perhaps this Bard is all that Korendil has said he could be, not merely a powerful child gifted with too much magic for his own good. He seems to have overcome this situation easily enough.
Perhaps one of the captured human guards had that same thought at the same moment. Because, before the Bard could react, the human guard broke from the ranks of captured soldiers and leaped at him. Startled, the Bard turned too quickly, and the guard’s closed fist connected with a large darkened bruise on the Bard’s temple.
The Bard fell like a poleaxed horse. A moment later, his flute clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop several feet away.
A stunned silence descended upon the corridor. Dharinel saw the guard blink in surprise at his unexpected success, then turn toward the shadow-demons, as if suddenly realizing that the Bard had been the only one preventing the monsters from harming him.
The demons surged forward, and that guard was the first casualty, caught for a brief moment with his mouth open in a silent scream as the monsters descended upon him.
Dharinel brought up magical wards an instant later, though he knew that he could only hold them for a few minutes. Fighting against a single demon, he might give himself even odds in that kind of battle—against a horde of them, he knew they had no chance. And what of the others? Some of them had only the thinnest of defenses. Had the crisis foretold in all the visions begun?
The demons rose slowiy, leaving nothing behind from their first victim, ignoring Warden Blair and the other guards to drift toward the unconscious Bard.
Of course, Dharinel thought, even as he fought to bring up a ward over the Bard’s body as well. The Bard, the only one who can control and banish them, he will be their main target. Only then will they turn to feed upon us.
The Bard braced himself with one hand, painfully levering himself up to glare at the demons.
No wards, no shieldings. Nothing between him and the horde.
“Get lost,” the young man said hoarsely, and Dharinel felt the rush of magic pouring from the human. His jaw dropped in disbelief, and he did not even try to close his mouth.
Like standing in the full desert sun—or beneath a pounding waterfall—now his shields were shunting some of that incredible power away, rather than warding against the demons, He noticed out of the comer of his eye that some of the lesser mages had ducked down behind the barricade to avoid being overwhelmed by the profligate strength of the young human’s magic.
The Bard hadn’t used the crutch of music this time, only focusing his will upon the creatures; his will, and the power that he now controlled, Dharinel sensed, with a sure if heavy-handed touch.
Silently, the mass of demons faded from view.
The young man slumped back against the floor, not moving.
Dharinel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The other human soldiers, as if recognizing how narrowly they had just escaped death, looked at one another, saw no officers among them, and took off running in the other direction, quickly disappearing around the corner.
Warden Blair stood alone, glancing from the unconscious body of the Bard to the elven warriors behind the barricade.
Korendil was the first over the barricade, vaulting over an overturned desk with a sword in hand.
Blair moved quickly, and even as Korendil ran toward him, placed one hand on the Bard’s unconscious body. Korendil skidded to a halt, sensing that there was more here than met the eye, and poised, sword ready, but posture betraying uncertainty.
“Harm me,” a voice hissed from the human’s mouth, a voice that had the lifeless tones of the demon within it, no longer even pretending to be human, “and I will eat his soul before I die.”
Can’t we ever do something like this according to plan? Beth Kentraine asked herself, still not quite understanding how they’d gotten themselves into this situation.
She was still unsteady on her feet, shaking from the claustrophobia attack. Elizabet had managed to stave off part of it, but just walking down the hallways of this place had brought back all of the living nightmares. Just remembering that the decompression chamber was here, several floors below her…
I’m not going to lose it now. I’m not.
She heard the shouts of “The Bard!” and fought her way to her feet—saw Eric leading an army of the shadow-things, and let out a cry of her own. She staggered to the barrier, but by the time she got to the barricade the situation had changed.
The thing in Blair’s body—she didn’t know how she recognized that he wasn’t the same scum she had faced, but she knew it with complete certainty—held Eric’s life beneath his hand. Kory faced him, sword in hand, but too far away to strike before the thing killed Eric. If anyone else moved, she had no doubt that the creature would strike.
Stalemate.
Suddenly she knew what she could do, what only she could do. She was the only one with the contacts, the training, and most importantly, the knowledge. She was the only one that Blair would not see as a threat, because he had already reduced her to nothing. And she greatly doubted that he would understand what she was doing.
The demon within Warden Blair was going to kill Eric in another few seconds, unless she did something, unless she…
…reached out to the impromptu coven of witches and psychics, reaching for the mind and heart of the woman she related to best: Marge Bailey, who had been made impromptu leader of the circle on Mount Tam.
They were singing and holding hands, those crazy thirteen people— Marge and Chuck and their son, Jeff and Sister Ruth, a wild long-haired singer who was into more political and religious fringe groups than Beth could count, seven more who Beth only knew as casual acquaintances but who had come through when they were needed. Even Jeff, who was pouring everything he had into this—even Sister Ruth, who was calling up a tower of light and fire. And Beth heard a faint echo of the words, something about Mount Tam, and all of this like being back in Viet Nam, with the battle coming soon…
…reached further, to the circle of power that they had been building for the last hour, and caught hold of it. The magical energy coiled down to her, making her skin tingle.
Unbelievable. Intoxicating. Riding the whirlwind, roping the lightning.
She wanted to laugh, half-drunk with the power of it, but fought for a last measure of self-control. This must be how Eric feels, when he’s controlling that unwieldy but ridiculously powerful Bardic talent of his. She struggled with it; after a moment it seemed to recognize her and came tamely to her hand, the wild stallion willing to bear her because it pleased him.
She pushed her way past the elves, walking slowly toward Warden Blair. Permitting him to see what a tasty little chocolate eclair of Power she was—but not permitting him to see the trap behind the bait.
“Beth!” Kory called, and she glanced back at him.
He looks terrified. I bet he’s afraid that I’m trying to commit suicide.
Am I?
Good question. Wish I knew
the answer.
Something cold pressed against the back of Eric’s neck, a touch of ice. The cold sensation dragged him up from a tangled web of pain and exhaustion, as effective as a sharp slap in the face.
Oh, please, I don’t want anybody else to hit me in the face again today, he thought blearily. I can still taste blood from the last time… can’t I just go back to sleep now?
He took a deep breath, about to open his eyes… and froze, all senses gone to red-alert.
There was a Nightflyer right next to him. An uncontrolled, full-grown, very hungry—he could sense that without even opening his eyes—and very deadly Nightflyer, not even six inches away from him.
He knew he was closer to death than he had ever been in his life. In fact, he should have been dead, but the thing wasn’t doing anything, other than keeping one hand (hand?) on the back of his neck. That was what he had felt—a human hand with a Nightflyer on the other end, going through that hand to touch… something of his. The source of my magic? My soul? Whatever it was, it made him want to scream, that icy touch that cut through him to his most private self. Warden Blair, he realized a split-second later.
Warden Blair, and whatever is inside of him.
Calmly, calmly, he thought. Don’t want the thing to sense that I’m awake, or that I’m going to blast it into Eternity if I get half a chance…
Oh bravado.
The problem was that if he gathered any of his Bardic magic, that thing would know it in the same instant, and probably kill him a second later. He knew how fast it could strike, having seen too many Nightflyer killings in his own memory and through Beth’s. Maybe it was only fate, justice, that this be how he died—after having caused so many other deaths, to be served up as the Blue Plate Special to a hungry alien monster.
“Hungry, are you?” someone said, not far away from him. Eric nearly replied, No, it’s the beastie that’s hungry, not me! when he recognized Beth’s voice, strained and tired.
Summoned to Tourney Page 27
