Edge of Dawn (19 page)

Richard stared down at her.
She lost her family to this war. She's a paladin. Her life isn't going to be easy or normal, and nothing I do can change that.

And in a flash of insight he realized that the goal of their enemies was probably to capture her. Otherwise that missile would have been launched at the car carrying the paladins. If the Old Ones and their minions could capture a child paladin and twist her, shape her to their own purposes, they would have an enormous advantage. Which meant she could probably shoot at them with impunity.

“You got anything to put in that slingshot?” he asked.

Mosi nodded. “Marbles.”

“Get it!”

She scrambled back over the seats and returned moments later with the slingshot clasped to her wrist and a soft velvet bag clutched in her hand.

“You can't open the windows on this car, but there are weapons slits you can fire through.” He indicated the catch. Mosi nodded, fished out a marble, opened the slit, and fitted the marble into the slingshot. An attacker was approaching. Mosi drew back, took careful aim, and let fly. The marble took the man in the center of his forehead. His head snapped back at the impact, and he collapsed. Richard nodded, rolled over the seats, and crawled over her suitcase in the cargo area to the back hatch. He wrestled it open and jumped out.

The moment his feet hit pavement, he drew the sword. With his free hand, he pulled down the back hatch, though he could feel his wrist creaking and the muscles in his biceps quivering from the weight. The tree fence was enough to block a car, but a man on foot could easily run through them. He couldn't so easily run through the mercenaries. Fortunately, most of them were focused on the marbles flying from the SUV and didn't seem to have noticed his exit from the rear of the vehicle.

One of the mercs had come around to the driver's side and pulled a hammer off his belt. He swung it against the window, and the glass starred. If he succeeded in breaking through and unlocked the doors, he would capture Mosi. Richard spun around to the side of the car and charged the man, point of the sword outstretched. The merc turned and tried to parry with his hammer. Richard turned the rapierlike sword and let the metal of the hammer scrape along the blade, then he drove the sword deep into the man's chest. He wasn't going to rely on a tap and a hope the reaction took the man down.

Blood bubbled from between the man's lips, and he dropped slowly to his knees. Richard pulled the sword free as the man fell forward onto his face.
Thirty-one.
Richard kept the count. He suspected that these men were mercenaries. They had been hired to do a job, and now they were dying without ever knowing they were fighting for monsters.

Hunkering down, he scuttled toward shielding branches of the fallen pines and dove into their painful camouflage. Needles bit at his hands, face, and neck, and he felt sap matting his hair. Richard found a gap and slipped through, eyes flicking in all directions looking for the sorceress, and trying to keep the bowel-loosening terror at bay. She stood, face contorted, body hunched with concentration, panting with exhaustion. She was using an extendable pointer as a focusing device. Not as subtle as Grenier's reading glasses had been. Much more wandlike, implying the woman didn't have as much control over the magic as Grenier.
Or she'd just read too much Harry Potter,
Richard thought. Here was the woman who'd hired the mercs, who was prepared to sell out her own species. Rage killed his fear, and he charged out of the trees.

The sorceress reacted to Richard's footfalls on the asphalt as he made his flanking approach. She whirled and her mouth moved, though Richard couldn't hear. An arc of coiling, lurid red burst from the end of the pointer and raced toward Richard.

Richard made no effort to dodge the spell, just let it hit and wash over him. It accomplished nothing besides a singed stink. The woman threw another blast of pure magic at him. This time Richard casually lifted the sword and parried the incoming spell. The red was swallowed by the deep black of the sword blade. The woman blanched.

Richard's fear retreated a bit and cockiness took its place. This girl clearly was a second-stringer. Richard continued to advance. “That's it? That's all you've got?” Richard yelled, his words echoing weirdly in his ringing ears. “What are you? A moron? Hello, paladin.” He tapped his chest. “Magic can't hurt me.” His anger was growing with each step he took toward her. What kind of monsters would take a little girl and use her—?

His righteousness stuttered and died. How was what he was doing any different? His focus and concentration shattered, so he missed the movement when the woman bent and laid the tip of her pointer on the asphalt. And then he was falling as the ground vanished beneath his feet. Magic might not affect him, but gravity sure as hell did.

Richard clawed at the edge of the hole with his right hand. The paving and the ground were rough, as if an invisible monster had taken a bite from the earth. Between his scrabbling feet and his now torn and bloody right hand, he managed to keep from sliding to the bottom of the deep hole, but the tired muscles in his arm were starting to tremble. Maybe he should just drop to the bottom and figure out how to climb back out? He risked a glance over his shoulder. The hole looked to be about ten feet deep, and the same knives that had destroyed the SUV's tires extruded from the soil at the bottom. Even if he controlled his slide to the bottom, he was going to get skewered. He dared not drop the sword, but he needed both hands to pull himself out.

Maybe she would walk over to check her handiwork. Or stomp on his fingers so he'd fall. Then she'd be in range of the sword. But the toes of her boots didn't appear. She was waiting for fatigue and gravity to do their jobs. Maybe not such a second-stringer after all. Richard knew he couldn't hold on much longer. Desperately, he cast about for a solution. He studied the hilt. There was one part of the curving Klein-bottle shape that was thinner than the rest. He raised the hilt to his mouth and closed his teeth around the section. The sword wasn't exactly light, especially when the blade was drawn. Richard clamped down hard and worked his fingers free of the hilt. His teeth felt like they were being pulled from his jaw, but once he released the hilt, the blade vanished and it got a bit lighter. The blood pounded in his ears, his breaths were harsh gasps, and there was a faint sound like the buzzing of an angry bee that he couldn't identify. It formed a counterpoint to his body's desperate efforts to survive.

He grabbed the hilt and thrust it into the holster at the small of his back just as his right hand gave way. Gathering all his strength, Richard pushed up from the wall with his feet and grabbed the edge with his left hand. Got the right hand back in place, pulled himself up, and found a knife blade thrusting at his face. He jerked his head to the side, and fire flared along the side of his head as the knife cut his scalp. Blood was running over his ear and down his neck. She brought the point of the knife down and pierced his right hand. Richard screamed.

Please, Damon, get Mosi away,
he thought as she aimed at his left hand. The angry bee sound was much louder now, and he realized it was the engine of a small plane. It coughed and cut out as the plane came into the area affected by the magic and went into a stall. Richard saw something hurtling down from above. The object wasn't large, but it hit the woman in the back of the head, and she went down like a poleaxed cow. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Richard used his injured hand to pull himself over the lip of the hole.

A box of ammo lay off to one side, top partly off, bullets spilling like silver and gold treasure onto the pavement. There was an indentation in the back of the woman's skull, and blood oozed sluggishly through her hair. Richard rolled onto his back and looked up as the belly of the plane passed overhead, gliding impossibly low. The side door was open, and Richard could see Estevan, shoulders braced against the door to keep it open, one foot resting on the wing, and only the harness to hold him in place.
Of course!
Richard thought.
She knocked down the trees.
Thus allowing his crazy pilot to go into a dive and come barreling down the road. Richard could not imagine the skill required to drop that plane into the narrow opening that had been created. And then Estevan had made the throw of a lifetime and proved that gravity won every time. The engine coughed again, then roared to life and the plane lifted, nearly brushing the tops of the trees farther down the road.

As he lay there, Richard realized it had gone quiet. Mosi! He staggered to his feet. The woman was still breathing. Richard drew the sword and laid it on her back. She went into violent convulsions. Then cradling his wounded hand against his chest, he ran back through the fallen trees. On the right side of the highway, the exploding truck had started a forest fire. Bodies littered the road and the verges to either side. Richard glanced down at an unconscious mercenary, a marble lying nearby. Mosi had definitely given a good account of herself. While he ran, Richard keyed his headset and called the plane.

“Jerry, you crazy bastard. Thank you.”

“It was pretty boss, wasn't it?”

“Hang close for a minute, okay?”

“No prob. We're your eyes in the sky.”

Weber was already at the SUV when Richard joined him. Weber threw his arms around Richard, pulling him into a bear hug. “Jesus Christ! That was close,” the ex-cop gasped. “God, your hand.”

“Didn't hit a bone. Hurts like hell, though,” Richard panted. Weber pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wrapped Richard's hand. The blood made a Rorschach pattern on the white cotton.

Mosi pushed open the door and climbed out. The eyebrows were drawn into a fierce frown, and her lips compressed into a thin line. Richard acted without thought. He hugged her close. She stiffened, and he quickly released her.

“Good job, kiddo,” he said, trying to cover the awkward moment.

“Is the
adilgashii
dead?” Her voice was high and shaky, reaction setting in.

Richard knew his expression was as confounded as Weber's. He temporized. “Uh … yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

“Who is
he
?” Mosi thrust a finger at Weber.

“This is Damon. He's been following us, protecting us.”

“Didn't work.”

Weber gave a shout of laughter. “Well, you're not entirely wrong there, but we won and that's what counts.”

“How are we going to get to Albuquerque?” she asked.

Weber looked around at the burning truck, the battered SUV, the massive, fallen Ponderosa pines, enough dropped guns to arm a revolution, and finally the bodies. “And how are we going to explain all this?”

Richard considered. “Attempted kidnapping foiled by my elite bodyguard?” He gave Weber a wan smile.

Weber surveyed the carnage. “I must be one hell of a guy.” The ex-cop sucked on his teeth and stared at the crystal knives protruding from the road. “But what about those?” He pointed again.

“The
adilgashii
made them,” Mosi said with the air of a mother talking to a particularly dim child.

Weber dropped down on one knee in front of the little girl and asked, “Okay, what's an
adilgashii
?”

“You white people say witch. It's much more complicated. It's things and people that disrupt
h
ó
zh
ó
.
” Her stance and expression had changed, and Richard realized she was once again quoting an authority figure. She had an uncanny ability to evoke that other person. “You just have to explain that.”

“Well, we can't tell the cops it was witchcraft.” Weber paused and rubbed a thumb across his forehead. “Even if it was witchcraft.”

“So why can't we tell—”

“Enough, we've got to get Mosi out of here. I don't want her pulled into this,” Richard said. He keyed his headset. “Jerry, can you take Mosi? She's small.”

“We'll wallow a bit, but we'll manage.”

“Good. Can you set down on the road?”

“There's an opening about a half mile ahead. Meet you there?”

“Yes.”

They ran and found the Cessna waiting. The little girl's face was set, her mouth grim as Richard helped her into the cockpit. He gave her hand a squeeze with his uninjured hand. “Don't worry. I'll be there soon. My sister is there. Pamela. She's nice. She'll look after you until I arrive.”

The door closed. Weber and Richard stepped back, and the plane went taxiing away and lifted into the clear August sky.

“
Nice.
That isn't how I'd describe Pamela,” Weber drawled. “She's never been nice to me.”

“She'll be nice to Mosi.” Richard glanced up at his former boss and smiled. “It's just reactionary jackbooted thugs she doesn't like.” He paused. “And me.”

They jogged back toward the scene of the fight. The fire had really taken hold. They weren't going to be able to wait for too long without risking immolation.
Talk about out of the frying pan,
Richard thought. Faint and in the distance they heard the ululating cry of approaching sirens.

“And speaking of reactionary jackbooted thugs … What, exactly, is our story going to be once the cops arrive?” Weber asked.

“I think we go with the kidnapping story. I'm very wealthy. It's plausible,” Richard said between pants. Now that the adrenaline had faded, he felt sick and exhausted. The wounds on his head and his hand hurt like blazes, and the imperfectly healed wound on his side had decided to comment as well.

“And all the shit caused by the magic?”

“We've been cops. You know how we think. We always want the simplest explanation. We'll just say it's some kind of high-tech roadside … device.”

“You know, that was my personal truck,” Weber said.