The dragon’s massive head whipped upward, fanged jaws gaping as his wings spread wide and beat furiously. Kel took to the air, soaring skyward, breathing gouts of fire.
No longer a sword, but a dragon in truth, roaring for rage and vengeance.
Tegid’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted to his clawed feet, wings beating in agitation. Disoriented, he stared around at his cave, looking for the attacker he knew was coming.
But there was no infuriated nephew out for revenge and blood. Around him lay only the familiar curving lines of his cave, bathed in the soothing green glow of his magic. Breathing deep, he scented the waters of his scrying pool, lying peaceful on the main level below his sleeping ledge.
No rage. No blood. No Kel.
Slowly, his fear began to fade. It had been a dream.
No. Realization penetrated his relief with bone-deep certainty. It had been a vision of a potential future. One he must not allow to become reality.
If Kel ever broke the spell, the comfortable life Tegid had built would come crashing down around his ears. Once free, his nephew would stop at nothing to discover who had trapped him for sixteen centuries. He’d follow the broken spell right back to Tegid and challenge his uncle on the spot.
Tegid was not that worried about dueling Kel—how much of a threat could he be, after all those centuries as a chunk of metal? Unfortunately, the political implications would be catastrophic.
Though many might have found it more comfortable to forget Kel existed, his mother hadn’t allowed it. Aegid had been determined to free her son, and she’d sought tirelessly to discover who’d cast the spell that had trapped him. Her fierce maternal loyalty had won her the sympathy and respect of many dragon females. And since it was the females who elected the Dragon Lords, Tegid had been forced to give the appearance of supporting her efforts.
Ironically, his apparent inability to find the spell-caster had ended up damaging Tegid’s standing. Evar had used the weakness to build up his own power base, and so had Soren.
A century ago, Tegid had realized he had to do something radical to stabilize the situation. Something had to be done about Aegid. Luckily, she’d always suspected Evar was behind Kel’s imprisonment, so Tegid made use of that belief. He’d goaded her, carefully, subtly, until she’d challenged the Dragon Lord.
It had been a mad act; she’d been no match for Evar. He’d killed her just as Tegid knew he would. What’s more the females of Evar’s clan had been outraged—again, just as Tegid had intended—and they’d turned on him, electing a male champion who’d killed Evar in turn.
Tegid was seen as a martyr who’d lost his sister to a dragon who had used magic to trap his nephew. The resulting wave of sympathy had enabled him to assume leadership of the Dragon Lords.
Only Soren opposed him now. Soren, who was just as perverted and unnatural as Kel when it came to his fondness for the apes.
But if it was discovered it was Tegid who’d imprisoned Kel in the sword, the clans would realize he’d deliberately thrown suspicion on Evar and manipulated them all. Soren would gleefully destroy him, assuming Kel didn’t kill Tegid in combat to avenge his mother and himself.
Tegid had to make sure Kel never broke that spell.
It was time to look in on the little egg-sucker, find out what he was doing, and put a stop to any aspirations of freedom.
Steadier now, he moved to one of the great stalagmites that supported the roof of his cave and climbed down its rough stone face. Reaching the main level, he moved through the cavernous central chamber all the way to the rear. There, a narrow opening led to the chamber that held the scrying pool, along with the bulk of his treasure. Glittering piles of gems and golden objects surrounded the pool, reaching to the ceiling of the chamber—booty from his raids on the Sidhe kingdoms centuries ago. Like all dragons, Tegid had a taste for the shining and beautiful.
But all his attention was on the pool now. Three dragon-lengths across, it lay deep and still, fed by an ancient spring. When he moved to its side, its calm surface reflected his scaled red muzzle like a mirror. He opened his jaws and breathed a spell over it. A glowing plume of magic rolled across the water, which instantly began to luminesce a brilliant blue.
A moment later, an image formed on the shimmering surface. Kel and Gawain, apparently arguing over a female named Lark. Shuddering in disgust, Tegid settled down to watch.
The grail cradled carefully in his hands, Richard Edge knelt in the center of the pentagram. Sweat rolled down the small of his back, and he licked his lips. If the Magekind ever sensed he had it, he’d be the centerpiece of that Round Table luau he was afraid of, roasted and diced before he knew what hit him. No revenge then—hot, cold, or à la mode.
That was the reason for the pentagram. Richard usually didn’t bother with the physical trappings of spell work, but he wanted to make damn sure his wards around the grail stayed up and running no matter what.
Now, kneeling on the cold, black stone, he stared at the grail, admiring the intricate shapes of men and demons fornicating and killing and dying. Steadying his breathing, Richard opened his consciousness to the cup’s power and let his mind drift.
Somewhere in Washington, D.C., ten of Geirolf ’s former cultists sat in a hotel room arguing over how best to locate the last grail.
Last grail? Looking deeper into the leader’s thoughts, Richard saw the man had woken with a vision that both the other grails had been destroyed, taking with them two thirds of Geirolf ’s followers. Gary Myers was desperate to find the grail that had created him before the Magekind destroyed it, too. He and his followers were considering going to the nearest mall and shooting twenty or so shoppers in order to power a locator spell.
You won’t get through my wards even if you do, asshole, Richard thought, and sent his mind off to find a more practical sacrifice. That group was too large for him to take out by himself.
It was a good thing Geirolf had been so paranoid he hadn’t trusted even his worshipers. The spell the alien had designed to transform them all into vampires had also ensured he could use the grails to locate any sorcerer who had drunk from them. What’s more, he could kill them all by the simple expedient of destroying the cups.
Knowing Geirolf, he’d probably intended to use that threat to keep them all in line.
Unfortunately for Geirolf, however, Arthur and the Magekind were a lot smarter than he’d expected.
One minute Richard had been standing with the other priests, waiting for the moment Geirolf ’s death spell would destroy the Magekind. The next, the alien was dead, and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. Thousands of Magekind warriors had streamed into Geirolf ’s temple, ready to kill everything that moved.
Richard had instantly realized that the better part of valor was to find the grail he’d drunk from and get the hell out. Leading two other priests, he’d fought his way to Geirolf ’s sanctuary where the three cups waited.
It wasn’t hard to tell which was which; Richard felt a kind of mystic connection to his cup that was unmistakable. He’d grabbed it as the others snatched their own.
Before they could decide what to do next, Geirolf ’s lieutenant, Steven Parker, had cast the spell that had distributed Geirolf ’s dying life force to his followers. Even as Edge felt the sudden surge of power, Parker had used the last of it to scatter the sorcerers across Mortal Earth.
Richard found himself standing in the center of an empty city street with the grail in his hand. He’d lost no time using his share of Geirolf ’s powers to create a safe house for himself and wards around his grail.
Good thing, too, because the cultists all promptly went to war over the grails. Every sorcerer and his brother wanted to use the cups to create more vampire followers.
Except Richard. As far as he was concerned, other vampires were more likely to be rivals or liabilities than loyal assets. He’d far rather kill them and absorb their share of Geirolf ’s magic than worry about what they might be up to behind his back.
Now he scanned with the grail, looking for the perfect victim. He needed someone just powerful enough to make good bait, without being strong enough to turn the tables on him. Not that one, definitely not that bunch. That group was too large, and that…
Wait. There. Edge opened his consciousness to the other sorcerer’s mind, probing it with care to avoid being detected by his rival.
Oh, yes. This one would do nicely.
Clayton Roth was a vile little fuck even by Edge’s standards. He liked his meals young—so young he attended Disney movies to spot them. At the moment, he was standing outside the bedroom window of his latest prospect…
Perfect.
Now all Edge needed was the right Maja for a psychic tip, one not quite powerful enough to trace the vision back to him. Luckily, he knew the perfect candidate—Gawain’s little friend. He’d already made contact with her, touched her magic, so he could sense her even against the background buzz of the Mageverse.
Tightening his grip on the grail, he sent his mind questing for hers.
And slammed right up against a rock-hard barrier: the wards around Avalon. They seemed stronger than before. Evidently the witches had reinforced them recently. Fortunately, just holding the grail provided a certain boost, and anyway, he didn’t need much of an opening for what he intended.
Even so, sweat broke out on his forehead and his temples began to pound as he pushed at the shield. Too much force, and they’d detect him, too little and he’d never get through.
Something gave. Yes! He had her now…
TEN
Lark had just picked up her first forkful of eggs when the table in front of her faded away. Suddenly she was sitting beside a bed in a darkened room. A sweet-faced little boy, about eight or so, lay on his side in front of her, deeply asleep. Moonlight streaming in through a window made his pale, tousled hair seem to glow like a halo. A bedraggled stuffed bunny lay in his arms, one ear flopped against his smooth cheek.
Smiling, she looked up.
A face filled the window, twisted with horrific lust. Lark opened her mouth to shout a warning…
And found herself staring at a forkful of eggs. What the hell…oh, God.
A vision. She’d just had a vision. That meant…
“Gawain!” Throwing the fork across the room, she leaped to her feet, called her armor, and ran for the stairs. “Gawain!” she yelled as she took the steps two at a time. “Kel! Armor up, we’ve got trouble!”
The bedroom door flew open as she raced down the hall. Gawain stepped out, already in his armor with Kel in his hand. His handsome face looked grim, yet like the combat veteran he was, he held his big body loose-limbed and ready. “What’s going on?”
“I had a vision,” Lark told him, stopping short to cast a spell. Her will brought a dimensional gate swirling into being in the hallway. Within its depths lay a deceptively serene view of a perfectly ordinary middle-class home in the center of a neatly-kept lawn.
Gawain threw the scene a narrow-eyed glance. “Edge?”
“No, somebody else. He’s about to snatch a child. We’ve got to move now if we’re going to save that boy.” The dimensional gate started to form.
“I don’t want to get caught off-guard again,” Gawain snapped. “Kel…”
“I’ll call Arthur.”
“I don’t think so,” Tegid murmured under his breath, staring intently into the scrying pool, his tail lashing with excitement. This entire situation had real possibilities as something he could manipulate to his advantage. Merely getting Gawain killed would serve his purposes, since Kel would be left to die in the sword.
Sensing his nephew drawing power to call out to Arthur, he cast a spell of his own to block it. Kel’s magic hit his barrier and bounced. Satisfied, Tegid smiled.
Oh, yes. This could work nicely.
Gawain shot a look at Lark. Her face was pale, but her eyes glittered with fierce determination as she started to step through her gate. He grabbed her shoulder.
“We go first.” Lifting Kel and roaring his battle cry, he leaped through the gate. Lark ran after him.
On the other side of the gate, he scanned his surroundings. A small, neat yard populated by oaks and azaleas, a two-story house with white vinyl siding…
And a vampire in scarlet armor standing by one window. The sorcerer spun with a growl, flinging out his hands. His magical blast splashed off Kel’s shields. A fireball flashed past as Lark returned fire. Gawain charged, swinging Kel up for a vicious overhead strike.
The sorcerer ran to meet him, howling a battle cry. “Geirrroooolf!”
“Why do you idiots call that alien’s name?” Gawain parried the blow and swung at his foe’s head. The vampire ducked, agile and blindingly quick. Dammit, this one was more competent than they usually were. “He’s as dead as you’re going to be.”
Fangs flashed white through the slits in the vamp’s visor. “I don’t think so.” He blasted a spell into Gawain’s face, knocking him back a pace. Shaking off the pain, Gawain lifted the Dragon Sword.
Kel’s return shot took the vampire full in the chest, slamming him into the side of the house.
Wood cracked like a rifle shot with the impact, but the sorcerer landed on his feet, undaunted. Okay, so we’ll just have to hit him harder next time, Gawain thought grimly, starting toward his foe.
The vamp was a wiry little bastard inside that scarlet armor, but probably stronger than he looked. A lowered visor hid his face, eyes glittering from behind its snarling demon mask. At Gawain’s approach, he retreated, a glowing ball of mystical force gathering around his hand. It stunk of death magic. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Gawain, knight of the Round Table.” The name alone had been known to shake opponents.
The sorcerer made a mocking half-bow. “Clayton Roth, your killer.”
Gawain bared his teeth. “You’ve got an active fantasy life, Clayton.”
Roth laughed and lifted his sword. “Oh, my fantasies would terrify you.” His gaze flicked to Lark, who was circling around behind him like a cat creeping up on a canary. “And what’s your name, Magic Barbie? Morgana Le Fay, perhaps?”
“How’d you guess?” Her eyes were cool and fearless behind her visor, and her sword was steady in her hand.
“You wish. You don’t have that much power.” He shot a spell at her head. It splashed off her shields in a showy burst of sparks.
Lark didn’t even hesitate as she retaliated, lobbing blast after blast at him until he was forced to take cover behind a tree.
Good for you, Gawain thought. The girl might be green and lacking in self-confidence, but she was no coward.
Where’s Arthur? he asked Kel in their link while Lark and Roth fired at each other. I thought you called for backup.
I did. Something blocked me.
Roth?
More juice than that. Almost felt like a dragon, but that makes no sense. I have no idea what’s going on.
Oh, great. Just great. With a growl of frustration, Gawain charged in. Roth retreated, shooting a trio of fireballs at him. Gawain ignored them as they pelted Kel’s shields, looking for an opening in the vampire’s guard. What’s he done to the child’s family? Somebody should have run outside to investigate by now, considering the noise they were making.
He’s got them under a sleep spell. Want me to break it, tell the parents to grab the kid and run? It’s going to take some effort. Roth has a lot of juice.
Which means he’s been killing a lot of kids. Go ahead and—
Suddenly a voice purred in his ear. “Remember me?”
Pain exploded in Gawain’s throat as his feet flew out from under him. His back slammed into the ground so hard he saw stars.
“Gawain!” Lark cried out.
Unable to answer, unable even to breathe, he gagged helplessly. You took a neck blow, Kel snapped. Your gorget is dented.
Magic rolled over his skin as he struggled for breath. Air rushed into his lungs as the obstruction abruptly
vanished. The dragon had magically repaired his dented throat guard.
Coughing, Gawain rolled to his feet to find Lark and Roth exchanging a furious barrage, circling each other as they hurled blast after blast. Each glowing fireball lit up the night, throwing dancing shadows across the lawn. The night breeze carried the carnal stench of Roth’s spells warring with the sweeter scent of Lark’s.
Magic boiled from the tip of his own sword, only to splash off something approaching fast from Gawain’s left. It looked like a spell shield, yet it seemed to surround empty air. What the hell?
Invisibility spell, Kel said. It’s Edge.
So that was the voice he’d heard. Where the hell did he come from? Gawain retreated, bringing up his sword.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lark swing toward him, obviously realizing they had a new player. She staggered as a blast from their unseen attacker slammed into her shields.
Another blast lit up Kel’s shields. Break that damned invisiblity spell!
Working on it, Kel retorted grimly.
Gawain sensed more than saw an attack coming, tried to parry. Missed. The invisible blade rang on his armored ribs. He jumped back, staggered, managed to catch himself.
Kel, I need to see this asshole!
I know, dammit!
“Who the hell is that?” Lark tried to get closer as Gawain circled his new foe.
“Edge!” He staggered and shook his head hard, as if his invisible foe had landed a blow.
“Oh, hell.” She started composing a spell to make their latest enemy visible, then froze with a jolt of unease.
What had happened to Roth?
She glanced around. No suit of scarlet armor. She instantly realized where he’d gone. “Shit!”
Gawain was going to have to fend for himself. Changing direction, Lark charged toward the boy’s house and vaulted through the open window where the vampire had been standing.
A figure in scarlet armor bent over the child, about to snatch him from his bed.
Master of Swords Page 15
