Authors: Ilona Andrews
Bayou Moon (56 page)
A single form detached from the pack and sailed over their backs in a mighty leap. It landed next to Kaldar. Nightmarish eyes glared at him from a wolf’s face.
Something was wrong.
Kaldar pushed to the front. The hill on one side, deep swamp on the other. They had to pass through a narrow stretch of ground about twenty feet wide. The ground looked freshly raked. Traps, Kaldar realized. Many, many traps.
“A bet. I need a bet or I can’t make it work.”
The pack growled. A brindled dog moved before him and dropped a dead swamp rat at his feet. Cold sweat broke on his forehead.
“Fresh kill. Good bet.” Kaldar swallowed. He picked up the rat. The tiny body was still warm to the touch. Closing his eyes, Kaldar moved into the path.
He felt the magic coalesce above him. That was his talent, his own personal power. It had pulled him out of many scrapes before, and he counted on it now to lead him through the field of traps.
The shivering current hovered above him and plunged through the top of his head, through his spine, through the rat corpse in his arms, into his feet and the ground beneath him. The surge nipped at his entrails with sharp hot fingers. It guided him to where it wanted him to go and he obeyed.
WILLIAM saw Karmash go down beneath a roiling mass of thoas corpses. The agent had managed to secure the lines before they dragged him down, and the Box hung suspended above the water from the branches of the cypress.
Good time to jump in.
William leapt to his feet and ran along the crest of the hill. The first agent never saw him coming. He slashed the man’s throat, spun about, and sliced the other agent to pieces.
Below him the fight raged. The Hand’s agents had recovered from the initial assault and struck back. He saw Seth’s pink tentacles close about a body and release it a second later, limp and twisted, like a cloth doll chewed by a dog.
William turned and ran to the cypress. If he sank the Box now, they wouldn’t get it out a second time. He had to get down to the cypress and cut above the block and tackle, or the lines would snap and take him with them.
Ten yards to the cypress.
Eight.
Spider burst from the thick of the fighting.
William sprinted.
Spider jumped unnaturally high and scuttled up the cypress, landing on the hill in front of the tree.
William halted, his knife out. “Spider.”
Spider grinned and pulled a curved knife from his sheath. “William.”
William bared his teeth.
“Is this really where you want to die, William? In this awful place?”
“No, but it’s good enough for your grave.”
“Are you working for the Mirror now? It’s nice. We must be winning if the Adrianglians are desperate enough to hire your kind.”
William bared his teeth. “They hired the best.”
Spider smiled. “I see. So tell me, is it business or pleasure? Are you doing it for the girl or for your country?”
“Both. Are we going to finish this or do you want to chitchat some more?”
Spider bowed with an elaborate flourish.
William snarled and charged.
TWENTY-NINE
THE magic jerked, nearly sending Kaldar to his feet. Something was wrong. Kaldar opened his eyes. He was almost to the end of the path. Through the gap in the hill he saw the battleground and clumps of fighters tearing at each other in a chaotic frenzy. To the left and above Aunt Murid stood on the slope, her hands a blur as she spanned her crossbow and fired, sending bolt after bolt into the fray. Above her something shivered on the edge of the greenery. A long pink tentacle snaked out from the brush, rippling with reddish eno fire.
“Murid! Look out! Murid!” Kaldar ran. Something popped under his foot with a dry click. He kept running, too late realizing that he had stepped on a mine, and it had failed to detonate.
The tentacle slivered forward, dragging a thick tangle of appendages free of the bushes. They squirmed like a nest of grotesque snakes. A human torso rode in the midst of it all, topped by a bald head glaring at the world with solid black eyes.
“Murid!”
She kept firing.
Kaldar jerked his shotgun and fired. The shot bit into the creature.
The abomination hovered on the edge of the cliff and plunged down. Murid vanished beneath the squirming mass.
Kaldar screamed.
His legs carried him to the creature, and he hacked into the writhing mass with his knife and kept screaming and screaming as blood and tissue flew in a salty spray from his blade. Tentacles raked his back but he kept slicing, oblivious to the pain. He carved his way to the torso and plunged his blade into the human stomach. Tentacles flailed, and the monster’s human mouth hissed. Kaldar jerked his knife free and stabbed again and again and again . . .
CERISE kicked a body off her blade. All around her the fight raged: reanimated corpses jerky on their feet, huge dogs, the Hand’s freaks, furry, scaled, armored, clawed, fanged, feathered, and the family, all clawing at each other in an insane race to kill. Blood spilled into the sludge, and lives were torn from the still-warm bodies.
She’d killed and killed and killed, slashing again and again. Now she was tired, and the fight wasn’t anywhere near over.
In front of her a scaled clay paused in his killing spree and raised his arm with a shout. She followed his gesture and saw William on the hill.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He clashed with a lean blond man—Spider, she realized. They moved so fast, it took her breath away.
She had to get to that hill.
Cerise dashed forward, slicing at the scaled clay in passing. Her flash-blade severed his thigh, cleaving through the bone. He crashed down. She didn’t pause. Someone else would finish him.
A red-skinned woman broke from a mound of torn thoas corpses and ran toward the cliff and the two men fighting on it. Veisan, Cerise’s memory supplied. Spider’s assassin.
Cerise sprinted across the muddy ground. Veisan squeezed out a burst of speed, but Cerise was closer to the cliff. She reached the pond and spun about it.
Veisan saw her. Her hands balanced two wide curved blades, thin and sharpened to razor precision. They would slice a limb in a single strike. A grimace raked Veisan’s face. Her mouth gaped, her eyes turned wide.
She was afraid for Spider.
Cerise rubbed the ground with her foot to gauge the slickness.
Veisan looked at her.
“No,” Cerise told her.
Veisan flipped her blades and charged.
SOMETHING steel-hard clamped onto Kaldar’s leg and pulled. He fell forward into the bloody mass. The force dragged him away from the body. He clawed at the slick ground, but the thing that held his leg was too strong. It pulled him free. Kaldar squirmed onto his back and found dog jaws on his leg. Erian loomed in the rain.
“They’re dead,” Erian said. His voice was dull. Pain contorted his face. “They’re both dead.”
He turned and hurled himself at the nearest freak. Kaldar sat up. A tangled mass of flesh lay on the hillside. The rain diluted the blood spilling from the severed tentacles, and it spread in a pale red across the sludge. Kaldar rushed to his feet and dove at the gory mess, hurling the severed pieces of flesh out of the way. He dug in through the corpse until a human arm emerged. He grabbed it and pulled, slid on the mud, fell clumsily, scrambled to his feet, and pulled again. The twisted mound of flesh shifted and Murid’s shoulder and then her head came free. He grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her out.
Murid stared at the sky. The raindrops fell into her eyes and bounced off her bloodless cheeks.
Kaldar shook her. He clasped her shoulders and shook, sending her black braid flapping, willing her to live. “Don’t. Don’t!”
She lay limp in his arms.
He shook her one more time and then set her gently down on the ground. His knife lay in the mud a few inches away. It was still sharp and there were still freaks to kill.
VEISAN cried out, spinning wildly, her blades a glittering whirlwind of metal.
Strike, strike, strike, strike.
Strike, strike, strike, strike.
Cerise swayed from the first, dodged the second. The third caught her on the shoulder, slicing through the sleeve and skin. She parried the fourth with her sword. Veisan kept striking, leaving no openings, backing her to the pond.
Cerise sank into the rhythm. Time slowed to a ponderous crawl. She saw Veisan with crystal clarity: the white knuckles of her fingers straining as she gripped her knives, the panicked expression on her face, the cords of veins bulging in her neck, as she advanced, her dreadlocks flying.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
Cerise moved with the blow, sweeping past Veisan. The line of magic slid along her blade, pulling the last of her reserves from her body. Cerise struck.
Blood spatter flew. The red-skinned woman kept moving, her body not realizing that she was already dead. Veisan whirled to deliver another blow and halted. Blood gushed from a hairline cut on her neck.
Her mouth opened.
Veisan dropped her swords. Her hands went to her neck, trying to stem the gush of life from her neck. She grabbed at her neck. Her head slid off her shoulders and fell into the mud.
For a long second the body stood frozen and then it, too, toppled over like a log.
Cerise turned to the cliff.
WILLIAM parried a barrage of blows and ducked. Spider’s knife swept above his head and severed a sapling to his right. The wood slowed Spider’s speed by a fraction. William lunged through Spider’s defenses and slashed at Spider’s midsection. The blade grazed Spider’s chest, and he smashed his elbow into William’s back. Pain burst in his spine.
William lunged to the side and rolled clear. Spider’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. He sucked air into his lungs and charged again. William parried, counter-attacked in a flash. His blade sliced Spider’s thigh, as hot metal whisked along his left arm. He withdrew again.
He was getting tired.
William gritted his teeth. He had to stay calm now. Spider was too good, and if he let his fury take over, Spider would kill him.
Spider bled from a dozen minor wounds. So did he. Neither of them could keep this up for long.
If he lost, Cerise would be the next one to die. Spider would never pass on the chance to kill her.
He had to end it now. Whatever it took.
WILLIAM faltered. Cerise gasped, her heart caught in her throat. Spider lunged, but William recovered within the same breath, hammered a vicious kick into Spider’s midsection, and leapt away. They ripped and clawed at each other, kicked, elbowed, sliced. She’d never seen anything like it.
William lunged. He was slowing down. He had to be tired. Spider parried with quick short strokes and hammered his knee into William’s leg. William jumped and the kick missed.
They were both bleeding. William’s eyes shone. Spider bared his teeth. He seemed barely human.
William thrust, trying to sink his blade into Spider’s stomach. The Hand’s agent parried, knocking William’s blade to the right, in the direction of William’s swing. Without a pause, William slashed back in a vicious riposte, the tip of his sword drawing a bloody line across Spider’s chest.
Too wide!
Cerise almost screamed.
Too wide, William.
Cerise almost screamed.
Too wide, William.
Spider swayed and lunged into the gap in William’s defense. His blade dived for William’s left armpit and William stepped into it.
The curved knife sliced like a metal claw.
Cerise choked on her scream.
William’s arm clamped down Spider’s blade. Spider jerked at it in disbelief, but the curve of the blade held it in place. The knife was wedged in William’s armpit.
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