Spy, Spy Again

by Mercedes Lackey

  Tory concentrated on nothing more than the next step. He was pretty sure the rest of them were doing the same. Make each step perfect. Don’t trip, don’t misstep, don’t be off-balance, don’t strain. Make each step perfect. Breathe. Breathe. Feel the air, take in the scents of winter, every step bringing them nearer to safety, nearer to home. Each step perfect. Each one a tiny bit of art.

  And imperceptibly, he moved into a place where he was nothing but a body moving through space and time, where nothing mattered but the perfection of movement, and his mind was . . . still.

  In that stillness he was aware that they were all running at exactly the same pace now, feet hitting the trail at exactly the same moment, or so nearly that it made no difference.

  Was Sira working some kind of magic? Was Kee? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the movement. Through space. Through time. Through the sunlight lancing down on them between the mountains. Through the streambed, when, at last, they did have to move into it. Then the dance became a little more intricate, as they had to weave among larger boulders worn smooth by water and time, following the path that the water itself took, moving as smoothly as the water—the poor water, which had been forced away and surged against the rock walls on either side of the cut canyon, splashing in indignation against the stone.

  Then they were out into another valley and back on a path, and he wasn’t even aware when they’d made the transition, only that they had.

  Even hunger didn’t interrupt them, only the need to smoothly reach for waterskins and bottles, smoothly drink, smoothly replace.

  He had never felt like this before during a run.

  He might never again.

  It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the path, the perfection of each step followed by the next and the next and the next. Through time. Through space.

  On and on and on. And the mountains became hills, hills covered with the kind of forests that looked familiar. They could not be far now. Tory refused to consider anything but that; it was familiar, but he needed to keep running.

  But in the back of his mind, he sensed . . . something. Was it magic? It had to be. It felt as though it was coming from Kee. And it had to be magic, magic binding them all together, flushing fatigue out of them, pushing more energy into them, healing weariness, lending strength. A new thing, another new thing from Kee. A wonderful new thing, born of need and desperation and pure, powerful will. The sort of will that, to be honest, he had never imagined that Kee had.

  This was not the Kee he knew and had loved as a brother all his life. And this was wonderful. And this was terrible. Because even as he ran, supported by Kee’s strength, he felt Kee separating from him, step by step, league by league, a little at a time. Pulling away and leaving behind an indentation, a negative of what had been there. Pulling away because Kee had grown too big to fit that mold anymore. And this was right and proper and true. And it was agony.

  And none of that mattered because it was what it was, and it would be what it would be. And whether you liked it or not or were ready for it or not, everything changed. And the important thing was the next step. Always the next step. The next perfect step.

  “I feel it,” Eakkashet said, suddenly. “I feel them! The air spirits, ahead, sensing us, waiting for us to cross, so that they can surround us and watch us and make us go away.”

  Tory let that news put more strength into his steps. That means . . . well, we’re close enough for a powerful earth entity to sense other elemental spirits. I wish I knew how close that was.

  But it couldn’t be that far. This sort of country felt so familiar, it almost felt like home. He increased his pace as the stream curved around a hill, and they followed the path around it.

  And then his strength failed.

  Oh, gods. Not close enough. Tory’s heart dropped into his boots, and he skidded to a halt, knees going weak with fear.

  The way was barred by demons. They blocked the path and stream and ranged up and down the hill on either side, weaving their blocky heads from side to side, hissing and growling. Twenty—thirty? Too many. Behind them, on the right-hand hilltop, Karsite priests in their distinctive robes. At least half a dozen.

  “I thought you said they couldn’t conjure the demons by daylight!” Ahkhan exclaimed.

  “Don’t shout at him, that was what I was always told too,” Sira countered, slowly drawing her sword and longest knife.

  “You might as well not try to hide behind your illusion,” one of the priests called down from the hill. “We know you are there. Our Swords can scent you. Surrender and we’ll be merciful and kill you ourselves. Or fight, and we’ll let our Swords cut you into tiny pieces, slowly.”

  “Swords?” asked Tory, as Halina gathered herself together into her normal form, hissing with anger.

  “That’s what they call the demons. The Swords of Vkandis. Not very original. Back to back, everyone.” Sira put her back to Kee’s even though it meant she couldn’t look directly at the line of demons. But then, she probably didn’t want to. And it wasn’t as if they weren’t going to see far more of the creatures than anyone would like in a moment.

  That left Tory facing the priests and the demons. He and Ahkhan moved into position with the other two; Eakkashet dropped to the ground in front of them, as Vela moved to guard the rear behind them, inflating herself with water from the stream, hissing with anger. Eakkashet bellowed, and—

  —suddenly there was a pillar of fire about twice the height of a man, standing between them and the demons. It was near enough to leave Tory feeling slightly scorched until Eakkashet moved forward.

  This new form was, frankly, almost as terrifying as the demons were. He had to remind himself that this thing was Eakkashet, who had proven himself to be their friend.

  The priests did not seem impressed—but suddenly there was a distortion in the air around the priests, just as Eakkashet flung what looked like a ball made of fire straight at them.

  It hit the distortion, as if there had been an invisible wall between them and it; the fire splashed like water, sending droplets into the dry grass around the priests, sparking tiny fires around them. The fireball hadn’t impressed them—but the fires at their feet certainly did. Three of them moved forward to stamp the fires out. Eakkashet roared again and flung another fireball, but this time aiming for the ground in front of them. Fire sprang up all along that line of distortion, filling the air with smoke, which drifted past the shield—for it must have been a shield—and making them cough and choke before one of them invoked water to put it out.

  And then the demons charged. Tory braced himself, his heart racing, and his hands clenching on the hilt of his sword and dagger.

  Within moments they were surrounded by snapping jaws and clawing talons—

  —that strangely, slipped and slid off a similar distortion surrounding them. Tory glanced over at Kee, to see his face contorted with concentration. Was he doing that, or was he aiding Sira? A look at Sira didn’t tell him anything; her face was a blank.

  Tory tried to cut at the demons and realized something else as his sword hit a slightly yielding surface but didn’t get anywhere near the demon. The demons couldn’t reach them—but they couldn’t fight the demons either. They were at an impasse. And it was utterly terrifying to be in the middle of a circle of these ravening things. The growling sent cold down his spine, the mere sight of all those teeth made him sweat, and the stink of their breath alone was enough to choke a vulture. And he had no idea if they actually could claw or bite their way through that arcane protection.

  And the shield—it must have been a shield like the one Abi had described in the story about the fight against the Mages Remp had hired—couldn’t be kept up forever either. Magic, like Mind-magic, depended on the strength and energy of the caster, and eventually Sira or Kee was going to get tired. If they weren’t already! They’d been running all day, and
it was nearly sundown.

  But before he could say anything, the situation changed again. Vela and Eakkashet each hit the part of the mob nearest Ahkhan with a double roar, knocking the demons away from the shield and forming a two-sided layer of protection of their own. Then they did it again, and again, forcing the demons back a good double cartlength. Then Eakkashet and Vela took up a double guard on Ahkhan’s side of their circle as the demons surged back.

  “Drop the shield!” Ahkhan screamed and turned to face forward, squeezing in next to Tory. “We can’t do anything if we can’t hit them!”

  In answer, for a moment, the protection bulged in the direction away from Eakkashet and Vela, driving the demons further away for a second time, giving them room to swing their swords.

  Then it vanished, and the wave of demons crashed down on them.

  For the next several moments, Tory was much too busy to be aware of anything other than his own weapons and the demons he was hacking at. Sweat poured down his face and back, and every nerve felt on fire with terror. This was a lot different from all that practice he’d done back at Haven . . . there was no time to think ahead or plan the next move, only last-second reactions to something coming straight for his face. Usually teeth.

  He was on the side where Vela was; she used splashes of water to blind the things, and somehow she managed to make those sharp teeth of hers solid enough to sink into demonic flesh, while he hacked at anything that got within range of his sword. Sometimes he managed to lop off a claw or slice into an eye. Mostly, his sword skidded on leathery hide and bone and made shallow cuts that didn’t seem to inconvenience the demons in the least. Heat on his other side told him Eakkashet was doing something, but he couldn’t tell what.

  Was there no end to the things? Or were they dropping out of sight after he hacked off limbs and split heads, to crawl out of the way and heal again? He couldn’t tell much from the cacophony around them. The demons shrieked and growled whether they were hurt or not, and Vela and Eakkashet had reverted to fighting silently.

  He panted with effort, his sword feeling as heavy as lead, and his sleeves shredded by the many near-misses he’d had just in the last several moments. So far he was otherwise untouched. And that was mainly because the demons fought with no coordination with each other and no thought, just dumb animal slashing and biting. He knew he was lucky. And that the luck couldn’t last. The only reason they hadn’t gotten hurt yet was because the demons were so incredibly stupid they were hindering each other and getting in each others’ way so much that even the bites and slashes that reached the humans were weak and ineffective. That was probably because the priests couldn’t see into the mob well enough to direct them.

  Ahkhan swore, and he almost turned, but then he realized why the Sleepgiver had cursed. The demons were pulling back.

  Most of them. About five, reacting to the room they’d just been granted by the withdrawal of the others, fell on the humans with renewed fury.

  He was using street-fighting techniques designed for working in close quarters; unfortunately those techniques depended on facing foes who didn’t have armored hides and heads the size of a draft horse’s, full of dagger-long teeth. Short, brutal blows, rather than full swings were all he could manage, and he couldn’t use punches to the throat or dagger thrusts at all without risking losing a hand. The demons were doing better now that there were only five of them. His arms already stung from claw grazes, and there had been tugs at his back where his pack and cloak were; if one of those things got in a full, ripping tear, he’d be on the ground and bleeding out even from an arm wound.

  “Shield up!” Sira yelled, and suddenly the creatures were shoved away from them by that invisible force. That left Vela—and especially Eakkashet—to wade into them. The demons didn’t seem able to harm Vela at all; slashes to her watery sides just healed up immediately. But she seemed to have given up biting for head-butting charges, which sent the demons she connected with sailing but didn’t seem to cause them any injury. Halina had immobilized one somehow—was she choking it by denying it air? But she could only manage one.

  Eakkashet was having more luck. He charged the creatures too, but when he caught them, he enveloped them in flame, and although the tone and timbre of the demonic screams didn’t change, when Eakkashet let the thing he’d been holding go, there wasn’t anything left but a shapeless mass of char.

  Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any fewer of them.

  “They’re just calling up more as we cut them down!” Sira moaned.

  Tory wracked his brain for an answer. If he or Kee had just had some real Mind-magic powers—the priests wouldn’t have any defenses against something like that! But they didn’t. And they couldn’t get at the priests physically, not with all the demons in the way.

  “They can’t keep it up forever!” Ahkhan growled. “There has to be a point when they run out of things to conjure.”

  “Are you ready to surrender?” the lead priest called mockingly, from up on the hill. “We can keep this up much longer than you can.”

  With a roar, Eakkashet took that challenge, flared to a white heat, and charged up the hill toward the priests, aiming to take on their tormentors directly—only to be completely enveloped in demons.

  Sira cried out as he vanished under a heap of the creatures, and cried out again as fire erupted from the middle of the heap, flinging some back and incinerating the rest.

  And more sprang up to take their place, pushing Eakkashet back down the hill and to their side again, perfectly willing to turn into cinders as long as they turned his charge into a retreat. Because, apparently, there were more, many, many more, where their fallen comrades had come from.

  And now the demons turned their attention, not to them, but to the barrier that protected them, turning their fury on it with redoubled fervor. Tory took a moment to spare a glance at Sira and Kee, and what he saw made his heart nearly stop. Sweat poured down their brows, their faces were contorted with effort, it was clear that they could not keep this up much longer. They were about to break. And when they did—none of them were in any shape to fend off the horde again.

  A rumble, like distant thunder, but continuous, erupted from behind him, and he felt the ground tremble under his feet. Terror engulfed him as he realized that it was not just growing louder; whatever was making it was coming nearer, and at a breakneck pace. Now what?

  He had only enough time to register utter and complete despair as the rumble came from under them, nearly shaking them off their feet.

  And the entire hillside between them and the priests erupted in a column of sand as big around as a barn, and tall as the tower on the Palace, a column that ended in a gigantic snake head.

  The priests gaped at it. The demons froze in place as their masters lost control of them for a moment.

  And the column crashed down on them all in an avalanche of sand.

  And then there was silence.

  Tory’s cheers died in his throat, for moving lumps in it proved that the priests’ shields had held, and the demons were still active, though stunned, and it would be mere moments before they emerged again. This was not a rescue. This was merely an interruption.

  And that was when two swift, familiar shapes of blinding white came over the top of the hill, leaped the sand, and landed beside them.

  And his heart leaped again. This was rescue!

  Neither Tory nor Kee hesitated. They dropped their weapons and hauled themselves up onto the backs of the two Companions that had so miraculously appeared. Kee grabbed Sira’s arm and pulled her up behind him; Tory did the same for Ahkhan, as both Sleepgivers dropped their daggers to give themselves a free hand to hold on with.

  And then they were off, with the four afrinn moving at top speed beside them, heading for the Border.

  Tory looked over his shoulder and wished he hadn’t.

  Already the
demons and priests had shaken themselves free of the sand of what must have been an earth afrinn, and were in hot pursuit. The priests were actually riding six of their demons, like children playing horsey with a parent, if the parent was a sickly mustard color, had a head out of a nightmare, and was knuckle-galloping over obstacles as if they didn’t exist.

  Ahkhan shouted in his ear. “What happens when we get to the Border? Is there some kind of shield there? Because if there isn’t, I don’t think the staring of a bunch of air spirits is going to stop these things.”

  “I don’t know!” he shouted back.

  The Companions streaked along the valleys between the hills, still following the stream. Was that so that Vela and Atheser could keep up? He looked back again. The two water afrinns streaked down the surface of the stream right on the tail of his Companion, while Eakkashet flew in his firehawk form ahead, side by side with Halina.

  How far to the Border? And what do we do when we get there? Ahkhan is right, there’s no magic barrier keeping these bastards on their side, so what—

  And then they broke out into a flat space and saw it.

  A line of glorious blue mixed with white.

  An entire troop of the hardened fighters of the Border Guard Cavalry and three Heralds.

  The line parted for them, and they burst through it, only skidding to a stop on the other side.

  “Fire!” roared the Captain of the Guard, and all along the line, archers raised bows with fire-arrows and let them fly, setting the ground alight for hundreds of lengths on the other side of the Border. Smoke and flames erupted from the tinder-dry grasses and brush, sending up a curtain of fire that spread only slowly in the still air.