Forged in Fire (44 page)

And Qindra had been in there. The thought hit me like a brick. I ran to the house, but it collapsed before I got close enough. Burning ash and choking fumes washed over me. I fell back, holding up the shield, and the heat was diverted. The shield glowed slightly around the edges, pushing back the night.

“Damn it,” I shouted, watching the house burn. “Qindra?”

“Here,” a voice answered. To the far left, along the back of the burning house, two figures rose from the shadows. I ran forward. It was Stuart and Qindra.

“You were too late,” she said, smiling faintly. “This charming man and your Katie came for me. I’m glad you made it out.”

Stuart lowered her to the ground, breathing in gasps. “Katie was back there,” he said. “I don’t know if she got out.”

I stood, taking a step to the burning house, but Qindra touched me on the leg as I passed. “Hold,” she said. I turned, kneeling down to her. “She lives, but is seeking you. She will find you; do not despair.” She looked around and motioned past me with a trembling hand. “There. Take me there.”

Stuart grunted as he lifted her again, smiling when I helped him stand. “I’m getting too damn old for this,” he groused.

We moved to the back of the house, and I saw the dragon Anezka had built. The metal gleamed menacingly in the glow of the green dragon fire.

“That will do,” she said. We moved forward. I kept Gram clutched tightly, expecting the damn thing to move. It had stalked the grounds right after the spirits had taken over, back when Qindra had first become trapped in the house.

“The necromancer has stripped the spirits from this place, siphoning them off to perform his dark magic,” she said, wearily. “I have an idea. Help me stand.”

Stuart lowered her feet to the ground and steadied her. She leaned forward, grasping the dragon by its great metallic jaws.

“Sarah, if you please?” She held her hand out, grasping mine when I offered it. “Stand here.”

She positioned me to the opposite side, our arms interlinked through the open jaws of the intricate machinery. The gears were intact, and the mechanisms were undamaged.

“I believe,” she said, looking at me with an intensity I’d come to associate with fever or psychosis, “if we pool our resources, we can use this to our cause.”

I nodded, unsure of her choice, but she reached forward, wiping the blood from my forearm and spreading it across the broad snout of the metal dragon. “Your sword?” she said, pointing. I held Gram up and she gripped the end, cutting her palm and adding her own blood atop my own.

“Grip the side of its head,” she said, placing her hands on the metallic housing on her side. “Now, if you can do it, push it with your will. Command it to waken.” She looked at me, grinning. “Think of it like you would when working a piece of metal. You are a maker, Sarah. Use that.”

I concentrated, thinking of the way the metal felt beneath my hands, how I wanted it to waken, like Gram had, I realized.

Qindra pulled back, stumbling a step, but Stuart held her upright. I stepped back as well, and she smiled, lifting her bleeding hand, and spoke several words I did not understand. Light flared from her bleeding hand and my bleeding arm, arcing to the dragon, setting its head in a glowing sphere. Neither of us moved for three beats; then, the dragon lifted its head.

“The necromancer,” she said, straining. “The one who stole your life. He must be stopped.”

The beast turned its head toward her, closing its jaws with a metallic crash.

“And protect our people,” I added.

It swung its head to me and took a step forward. I backed away, and it took another step.

“Go,” Qindra said. “Seek the foul one. Claim your vengeance.”

It took several more lumbering steps, and then its movements became more fluid, like it had found its footing.

“I’ll be damned,” Stuart said, wiping his face.

“Some of the spirits he killed were trapped within,” Qindra said. “They just needed a bit more energy to get moving.”

I ran around to the side of the house and watched the metal dragon running toward the enemy. The green dragon, Trisha, stood between it and Justin.

And she wasn’t passing up the challenge.

“Damn,” I said, running forward. “Not the dragon. Get the necromancer.”

“Sarah, wait,” Stuart called to me, but I had to do something.

I didn’t want her to be killed. Stupid woman. How the hell had she gotten into this mess?

Seventy-seven

K
atie watched the cultists regrouping beyond the shattered house. They fell back to the steep mountain trail, calling up more of the dead and sending them at the Black Briar line in a shambling scrum.

She emerged from the ruins of the smithy. The green dragon had eyed her, blinking several times, but hadn’t attacked. There was a moment there where Katie thought the dragon knew her.

She clutched her short sword in one hand and Qindra’s wand in the other. She should probably make her way to Jimmy and the survivors, but she wanted to go to Sarah, to find her. She didn’t think she was dead. No way. So she was out there, somewhere. Probably up on the plateau, fighting the damn necromancer. Maybe she’d risk that secret song again, see if she could get a clue without passing out.

She slipped her sword back into its sheath, put Qindra’s wand behind her left ear, and took up her guitar. She strummed a few chords, then began the secret song. Immediately, she fell forward, her intestines cramping, and vomited. Scarlet splashed against the churned mud and snow. Okay, maybe not, she decided, heaving again. She tried to rise but only got a couple of steps in before the world spun and she fell, the sound of the last chord echoing in the night.

Seventy-eight

N
either
T
risha nor the metallic dragon fought well. Jean-Paul would’ve eaten them both alive. He’d known how to use the assets he had. As it was, Trisha just batted the mechanical to the side and did not follow up with tail or wings. Really missing a lot of chances. She didn’t want to fight it, I realized. It was a distraction. Something else had her attention. Something I couldn’t sense.

I skirted the edge of the rocky incline, watching as the remaining cultists made their way up the trail, back to Justin and his altar.

Then I heard it.

“Mama!”

It was the cry of a small child. In the midst of the retreating cultists, I saw them. I have no idea where they’d been keeping them hidden. There, being carried by the panicked, retreating bastards, were Jai Li and Frick and Frack.

“Mama,” one of the troll babies called.

Trisha turned aside, her great head searching for that cry. I knew what I had to do. I ran in, dodging the metallic dragon. Didn’t want to get stepped on. When it rammed into Trisha’s huge bulk, Trisha spun, smashing it with her tail, sending it staggering back a dozen paces. She turned and launched herself into the air. I was buffeted aside by her back draft. I crouched down, my hands over my head, protecting my face from the flying debris. Goggles next time, I thought. Not the coolest, but I needed something to protect my eyes.

I blinked rapidly, trying to find her through watering eyes. She dipped down, buzzed the fleeing bad guys, and smashed several cultists off the trail. Those farther up the trail forged ahead even faster. They had the children. Those farther back on the trail hesitated, unsure whether or not they should move ahead. Trisha banked and swung around for another pass. The lower group separated. Most fled back down toward the lowland, but two ran ahead, ducking low, carrying a body between them.

I had no idea who they were carrying, but if it was important enough to risk their lives against the green dragon, it had to be somebody I didn’t want them to have.

“Back up the trail, Sarah,” I said, breaking into a run.

The dragon wheeled and soared across the plateau, roaring her displeasure. Trisha was pissed. I hoped it was bad news for Justin and his flunkies.

Seventy-nine

O
ur people were down, out of the fray.
I
hazarded a glance back toward the last place I’d seen them, but I couldn’t see anyone. I hoped they were just hunkered down. Jimmy and Stuart would hold them together. I was just stressing about Katie. Girl had cajones. I just wished I could hear her singing.

By the time I got to the trail, the dozen or so cultists below had scattered north, away from the house and the fires.
Good riddance
, I thought. Keep running, fuckers.

I sprinted up the trail. Okay, big-ass dragon; necromancer; a smattering of tired, worn-down cultists; and some kids. I was feeling old and busted myself, but somebody had to stop them. I had a crazy glowing shield, one hammer on my hip, and Gram over my right shoulder. What I needed was a couple of giants or something. My ass was tired, but I was gonna rock Justin’s world … or die trying.

No one stopped me. I made it all the way to the top, running out onto the plateau, before anyone even looked my way.

Justin had Trisha backed up against the mountain, her long neck curved down to rest at his feet. He was chanting something, sending magic flowing into her. She whimpered, her eyes darting to the side. He was holding her there; it was obvious by the way her whole body vibrated.

I followed her gaze and saw that two red-robed cultists held Frick and Frack. The kids were struggling with a fervor only infant trolls could muster. It would’ve been almost comical if they hadn’t been standing near the altar amid the broken bodies.

Their intent was clear enough. They were going to sacrifice the kids. I was seriously outnumbered, but no one had noticed me yet. I had to figure this out. Too many targets, too much that could go wrong.

“It will free you, my dear,” Justin crooned, his voice still strangely amplified. “You do not need these vermin.”

Smoke curled from her jowls and her whimpering grew louder, but she didn’t move. The corded muscles along her neck stood out as she strained.

“Kill Sawyer first,” he said, the strain obvious in the way he stood, like he was trying to hold her down physically.

Wait. Sawyer? So, he was the second dragon. Fuck me.

Two burly men in cloaks jogged to the altar, carrying a limp and bloodied Frederick Sawyer. He looked so small and broken. Nothing like the powerful predator I’d met. The red-robed cultists did not move aside, however. “We kill these first,” one called. “You do not have enough power for the ritual, otherwise.”

Justin rocked to the side as Trisha lurched, raising her head a few feet off the ground. He grunted, holding her head, pouring more magic into his binding. I could see it flaring from him, washing over her.

“Your power ebbs,” the second red-robed cultist called out. “These will bolster you, give you the power you need for your transformation.”

Justin did not turn, just looked into Trisha’s nearest giant eye.

“It is for the best,” he said, pushing once more, flooding the plateau with light. I could see the binds on her, then—glowing ropes that twined around her great bulk. Ropes that ran from her to him in an intricate braid.

He twisted his hands, his physical metaphor tightening the magical bindings. Her movements slowed to a stop. The additional bindings were too much for her to overcome. Justin stepped back, his body shaking. “Quickly,” he said. “She is stronger by far than we anticipated.”

He turned toward the two in red, looking at them with his hands on his thighs, his breath labored. “You are correct. I do not have the strength to take Sawyer’s heart, not properly.” He straightened. “I’ll slay the children myself.” He motioned for them. “Tobin—” a lithe elf stepped toward the altar, holding a struggling Frack. “Dane—” a burly man with rough features had Frick in a vicelike grip. The child’s struggling was much less.

Nu uh,
I thought, running forward, finding my target at last. “Hey, douche bag,” I cried, pulling my second hammer. “Catch!”

To kill them and save the children, I would have to be in two places at once. Instead, I decided to even the odds.

Okay, there comes a point where you realize your life is way beyond anything you’d ever imagined. When things go beyond surreal and enter the sublime. The runes on my scalp pulsed, and I could see the trajectory for the hammer like a heads-up display on a Blackhawk helicopter.

I let the hammer fly.

Justin turned his head toward me as the hammer arced over the plateau. His rage was instant and terrifying. For a moment I saw something deeper in him, a glimpse of his true self, the horror he’d become.

The two goons holding Frederick dropped him and ran at me. I pulled Gram from her nest and bellowed my best war cry as time slipped a few beats. One of them faltered, but his fellow pulled a blade from his belt and let a feral grin creep onto his face.

I ran forward, each step hammering a spike of energy and pain through the runes on my leg, driving the beserker to the fore.

I danced with them, dodging the first, pushing him aside with the shield, and brought Gram up to block the overhand blow from his partner. I spun, brought the shield around sideways, and clipped the second with the edge, breaking his arm. He fell back, cursing. The first turned, swinging his short blade at me.