Bitter Night

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  The gathered Shadowblades and Sunspears jumped as if whipped. They scattered and returned with their weapons. Oz went with them. When he returned, he handed Max a .45 and a belt full of clips. Someone nudged Alexander, and he turned. Akemi held out a Redhawk revolver and a box of shells.

  “Thanks,” he said as he took it, shoveling the shells into his front pockets.

  “I want it back,” she said. Then: “Can you really get the sword away from him with your mind?”

  “I will do whatever it takes to buy Max the time she needs with Xaphan.”

  “Would you die for her? For us?”

  He glanced down at her. Her suspicion made her belligerent. His lip curled, his eyes narrowing. She flinched from the malevolence that rolled off him. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked softly, then he fell in behind Oz as they started down toward the angels’ battlefield. As Max and her team split off, he wished for a moment to say something, though if he had been given the moment, he was not sure what it would have been.

  “Mondays suck,” Niko muttered, and someone laughed.

  “Look on the bright side,” Lise said. “This might be our last. Never have to deal with another Monday or Mercury in retrograde or someone leaving the cap off the toothpaste.”

  “Not to mention no more getting Magpie mad and eating charred food for three days straight,” Tyler said.

  “And no more of Max’s workouts,” someone else groaned. “She broke my ribs in twelve places last time.”

  “Don’t forget Montana winters. No more endless fucking winters,” another voice chimed in.

  “I wouldn’t miss Britney Spears. Or American Idol. Or road construction.”

  “What about Microsoft Windows?”

  “Or the IRS?”

  And so it went as they marched into battle against creatures they had no hope of beating. No one mentioned what they would miss. Or whom. But Alexander could not help but think that he had a lot more to lose today than he had a week ago. He was not going to let it go easily.

  The two angels were circling each other again. They were eerily silent except for the metallic clash of Tutresiel’s wings. Flames fell in droplets from Xaphan’s wings, and once again the mountain caught fire. Tutresiel’s sword wove through the smoky air as he prepared to strike.

  Oz stopped and they clustered together. “We have to get him on the ground. We’ll hit him with everything at once. If he drifts low enough, try to pull him down. Watch his wings. They’ll chop you to bits. Get into position. I’ll signal you to fire.” He paused, looking around at each one. “It’s been a pleasure knowng you.” There were nods and murmurs. “Let’s get on with it.”

  They scattered in a ragged semicircle. Oz and Akemi flanked Alexander on his left and right. The Sunspear Prime wasted no time. When all were in place, he pumped his fist in the air.

  The angel was no more than fifty feet in the air. Six RPGs struck and exploded nearly simultaneously. The air shook with the concussion, and heat flashed outward. Tutresiel went careening. Alexander followed at a run. Akemi and Oz clung to his flanks like burrs. She had a crossbow and was firing iron-tipped rowan bolts as fast as she could. Every bolt struck and bounced uselessly away. Now came the rapid popping of gunfire and more explosions.

  Tutresiel tumbled, the sword slashing wildly through the air. Alexander narrowed his attention on the angel’s hands and the hilt of the incandescent sword. Witchlight shouldn’t have bothered his eyes, but looking at it made his eyes hurt and splotches marred his vision. He knew that before long his retinas would burn out and he would not be able to see. Tutresiel floundered, rolling through the air, heading for the ground. At the last moment he seemed to find his bearings, but he couldn’t stop his momentum. He slammed into the ground and tumbled head over heels, his wings chopping gouges out of the rock.

  A moment later, Tutresiel rolled lightly to his feet. Alexander was right behind him. He rushed forward, ducking under the half-furled wing and slamming against the angel’s legs with every ounce of muscle he had. It would have shattered the bones of an ordinary human. Caught unawares, the angel sprawled forward. His wings raked Alexander as he rolled clear, and he felt his flesh part over his shoulders and ribs. Where the feathers sliced deeper, bone split as if cut by a laser. The pain was fierce, and blood ran down Alexander’s back in a stream. He leaped to his feet. His left arm was heavy and lacked strength. He jumped onto Tutresiel’s back between the roots of his wings and ground his knee into the angel’s neck.

  Tutresiel’s hands were invisible inside the brilliant light of the sword. Already he was rearing up to throw off Alexander. Now others swarmed the angel. Alexander felt his fellow warriors as they flung themselves headlong onto Tutresiel. Oz slammed the angel’s head with the butt of his gun.

  Alexander took advantage of the moment. He reached out with mental hands and yanked Tutresiel’s fingers away from the hilt of the sword. The angel clamped down tightly, defying Alexander’s telekinesis. The Shadowblade responded by pressing his palms to the sides of his head and letting go of everything else. He poured all of himself into unlocking Tutresiel’s hands.

  He did not think he would be able to do it. The angel’s strength was greater than he had imagined. He concentrated on the bones of Tutresiel’s hands. They were made of some stuff much harder than ordinary bone. Alexander settled on the knuckles and crushed them one by one. He was quick. This sort of thing he had practiced. A moment later the hands had weakened enough that Alexander could tear them away. He used the last of his strength to send the sword skidding a few feet.

  Alexander’s head reeled and his vision was a gray fog. He thought it was Akemi who leapfrogged over him and ran to get the sword. He wanted to warn her not to touch it. But his voice was nothing better than a croak. She bent to grab it. Blue-white light flared like an exploding sun, blinding Alexander completely. A shrill scream rent the night and cut off suddenly.

  He was bucked off the angel. He landed hard on his back, agony chewing at his wounds, and his breath left him in a gust. He lay still, gasping, unable to see. The fighting continued around him. There were screams and grunts, the thud of fists on flesh, the clash of Tutresiel’s wings, gunfire and more explosions. Someone stepped on Alexander’s thigh and someone else tripped over his stomach. He turned on his side, curling up to make himself smaller.

  It was a minute or two before his eyes started to clear. It felt like years. He was helpless to do anything. His returning vision was blurry. He saw moving splotches of color in vague shapes. He shook his head. Every moment sharpened the world around him. He pushed himself to his feet, reeling from side to side. He had lost a lot of blood. His healing spells were trying to close the wounds in his back, but he could feel a wrongness there’an infection of prickling, festering magic from Tutresiel’s wings. His healing spells were fighting hard, but Alexander did not know if they could win.

  He staggered in a circle, assessing the situation. The angel had regained his feet, but not his sword. He crouched on the ground, his wings spread wide. Lumps scattered around him indicated where the Horngate defenders had fallen. Five still stood on their feet, but Alexander could not make out who. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Pain rippled down his back and dug thorny fingers through his ribs. But now he was beginning to see details.

  The sword lay beyond the ragged wall made by the five remaining defenders. Oz was one of them, and Niko. They were bloody. Oz could barely stand on his half-severed leg. His skin was heavily laced with the black tracery of night poisoning. He did not have much longer to live. Tutresiel was not entirely unscathed. Silverywhite blood trickled from several wounds on his head and chest, and his fingers were crooked from where Alexander had broken them. But even as he watched, they were straightening.

  “You fight bravely,” the angel said. “But you cannot truly harm me or Xaphan.”

  Before Oz could retort, Alexander spoke. “We know that.”

  Tutresiel slowly turned. His crimson eyes narrowed. “You spend y
ourselves freely on a war you know you will not win.”

  “We do not need to win.”

  That caught the angel up short. He remained crouched, his wings lifted as if he would launch straight up into the sky. But he was curious now, and that tethered him as surely as any shackles would have. Alexander had counted on it.

  “What do you need?”

  Time. He needed time for Max. Alexander examined Tutresiel. How was he going to buy it?

  He thought he knew what she was going to say to the angels. But it was not his place to speak for her, and he could be wrong. He settled for the tantalizing bit of truth he did know. “My Prime wants to talk to you. To both of you.”

  Tutresiel’s livid eyes widened. “Talk? What could some puny Shadowblade have to say to me? Begging will do no good.”

  “She does not beg,” Alexander snapped, his jaw jutting. “She has something to offer. If you will wait, I believe it will be worth your while.” He bit off each word, his teeth clicking together. “What do you have to lose but a little time?”

  “The question is, what do I have to win?” Tutresiel countered as he stood with inhuman grace. “Anything you have I can take.”

  Alexander shook his head slowly, a deadly smile curving his lips. “Not everything.”

  The angel stared a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. If Xaphan will stay his hand, I will hear what she has to say. It should be entertaining at least. Where is she?”

  Alexander looked across the waste. Max stood in front of Xaphan talking emphatically. He seemed to be listening to her. Then without warning, his wings swept forward and she was engulfed in billowing flames.

  An animal sound ripped from Alexander’s throat and he started running. He forgot about Tutresiel and Horngate. Every part of him was focused on that column of flame burning like a beacon in the night. But even as he ran, he knew he was too late. Max could not survive Xaphan’s battle fire. Alexander’s only thought as he skimmed over the ruined mountainside was that he was going to kill the angel. Somehow he was going to kill the bastard. But there was not enough vengeance to fill the sudden ragged hole that opened up in his chest. This was a pain he did not know if he could survive.

  21

  MAX SPLIT FROM OZ’S TEAM AND HOPED THAT they could stop Tutresiel long enough to let her speak to Xaphan. Now she knew what Scooter had meant when he said she couldn’t beat them, but that she was the answer. Now if she could only convince them her plan was a good one.

  The angels were circling each other. Xaphan’s wings were glorious. They rippled with orange and blue flames. Droplets of fire fell to the blackened stone of the mountain. Where they landed, the rock ignited. Suddenly a loud barrage aimed at Tutresiel began. Max had been waiting for it. Her team shifted and spread out, preparing to fire on Xaphan.

  “No,” she said. “Leave him alone.”

  Beside her Tyler raised his brows. He lowered the RPG launcher from his shoulder. “Seems a bit silly carrying all this firepower around if we aren’t gonna use it.”

  “It’s a smoke screen. I didn’t need the argument,” she said.

  “Which argument was that?”

  “The one that said I’m insane and shouldn’t bother trying this. Oz, Niko, and Alexander would’ve shit heifers and there’s no time.”

  At Alexander’s name, Tyler’s brows went up again, but he was silent on the subject, saying instead, “You don’t think any of the rest of us will argue with whatever it is you have in mind?”

  “Nope,” Max said. “You’ll believe me when I say that this is Horngate’s last chance and if I don’t do it my way, then it won’t work at all. You’ll trust that I know what I’m doing, no matter how stupid it looks.”

  “How stupid is it going to look?” he asked warily.

  “Like I’m out to win this year’s Darwin award. Maybe next year’s while I’m at it.”

  “And we just stand here and watch.”

  “No. You go help the others distract Tutresiel.”

  “Oz will chop my balls off. Niko and Akemi, too.”

  “The good news is that being that you’re a Shadowblade, they’ll grow back. If you survive.”

  A smile flickered and died. His face turned somber. He clearly didn’t like this. But he didn’t fight her either. “Good luck then. I’m buying the beer when this is over.”

  Max smiled. “Moose Drool?”

  “Whatever the lady desires,” he said with an ironic bow. But when he straightened, his expression was somber. “Try to be careful.”

  “I always try,” she said with a little shrug.

  “Not fucking well hard enough,” he said, scowling.

  “Sometimes it pays to go balls to the wall. Like now, for instance.”

  He glanced up at Xaphan, whose attention was fixed on the embattled Tutresiel. “All right. Good luck. See you when I see you.”

  He gave a brash salute and jerked his head at the rest of their team, who followed him reluctantly. They had all heard the exchange and liked leaving Max no more than Tyler did. But Max was Shadowblade Prime, and in the end her word was their law.

  She didn’t watch them go. Instead she looked up at Xaphan.

  “Come down,” she called. “I’ve got something to say to you. That is, if you aren’t too busy destroying my covenstead.”

  His head tilted toward her. His crimson eyes glowed and his skin was fiery with the reflected light of his wings. He dropped to the ground, his flaming black wings extended wide.

  “Ah. I wondered where you were,” he said. “I thought I would see you sooner. I didn’t think you were one to lead from behind.”

  “I’m afraid I was late to the party.” Max glanced over her shoulder. Tutresiel was on the ground. She looked back at Xaphan, raising her brows. “Friend of yours?”

  His lip curled, in anger or pain, Max didn’t know. “Don’t you know?” he said softly. “We are not allowed friends. We exist only to serve.”

  Max thought of Alexander and the way her Shadowblades had staked a claim on her after the Conclave. Friends she had, whether she wanted them or not. More than that’they were her family. Up until a few days ago, that would have made her want to slash the ties with a rusty machete, but today she found she was strangely pleased to be tethered to them.

  “I might be able to help with that,” she said, knowing that Tutresiel could return to the battle at any moment. She had to make this quick. And convincing.

  He frowned. “Help with what?”

  “What if you didn’t have to serve Hekau anymore?”

  He jerked back, then snarled, his crimson eyes narrowing to slits. His wings stretched high, like he would strike her down with them. Max didn’t let herself flinch.

  “You’re a bitch,” he said, his voice guttural with hate and anger. “I will serve her until I die, and I am immortal.”

  “Yeah, right. I know all that chapter and verse. But humor me; what if you didn’t have to? What if you could be bound here to Horngate instead?”

  “I can’t, and why would I want to put my head in the noose of a weak witch when I serve one of the most powerful Guardians?”

  “Giselle won’t live as long as Hekau. And you’re stronger than she is. You’ll gain your freedom eventually.”

  A longing Xaphan couldn’t hide suffused his face. Then his expression twisted with hatred. “Enough games. Is this all you had to say to me?”

  Max stepped forward until she was close enough to touch him. “It isn’t a game. I can do this for you. And Tutresiel, too. I can break your bindings. But only if you bind yourself to Horngate.”

  “It is impossible,” he said through gritted teeth. Then a wild insanity flashed through his eyes. “I will teach you to lie,” he whispered.

  Suddenly his wings snapped forward, curving around Max. Flames exploded around them both, billowing upward in a whirlwind of fire. It didn’t touch her, but her skin began instantly to blacken. Her hair melted. Her eyes cooked and in moments she was blind. Agony swept h
er. She could feel her blood boiling. Stabbing pains lanced through her chest. The air was gone. She could not breathe. All she could do was suffer. Escape was impossible.

  She’d failed.

  But he wasn’t done with her. Xaphan pulled her close against his alabaster chest, his mouth close against the hole in her head that marked where her ear had been. Max had thought her pain could get no worse. She was wrong. His touch chewed through her like a chain saw. She screamed, but was incapable of sound.

  “Why? Why did you do this? I did not think you could be so cruel. I thought you understood.” The words were harsh with a vast anguish that spoke of too many horrors suffered, and too many dreadful deeds committed. Max understood that.

  She needed to make words, but could not. The heat had charred her throat and lungs. She was dying. Her heart fluttered. She felt its uneven beat throb through every screaming nerve. It slowed, and gray erased the edges of her mind. She should have felt relief. Instead she fought to stay alive, to speak.