The Dragon Guard (16 page)

“Where did they come from?”

“They were made,” Tomaz answered, “to hunt Magickers down.”

Jason had shivered then, as he shivered now. Jonnard Albrite, too, stood there, a chilling smile across his face, his arms crossed over his chest, as he leaned back against the Iron Gate rails. He lifted one hand slightly, and gestured. “Our battle begins,” he said. “Now.”

He had only a moment to notice the Leucator was dressed in jeans and a shirt, like and unlike him, with cold eyes that seemed to see nothing, yet fixed on him. As Jonnard moved his hand, the thing darted at him.

Jason did the only thing he could think of. He ran. The lakeshore was knotted with scrub grass and loose dirt, and evergreens sprawled and twisted by wind. He took off through them, cupping his hand around his crystal and sending out a call of alarm to any who could hear. At his heels the Leucator slowly caught up, so near he could hear his own breathing, doubled as the other echoed him. He pivoted and cut back, and he could hear the Leucator slip on the loose dirt, go to the ground, roll, and get back up, sprinting after him. Jason grinned. It knew his moves, yes, but . . . it didn't have his heart. If this were happening on a soccer field, he could outrun him, outplay him, out heart him! It would take a pack of Leucators to corner Jason.

He circled around, not eager to let Jonnard out of his sight, not knowing what the other might be up to while the Leucator did his dirty work for him. The Iron Gate sparkled like a rusty jewel in his eyes as he raced back toward it, marred by the dark-clothed figure of Jonnard leaning against it. Although there was no way Jon could get the Gate open, the thought of him that close to it, of the possibility of his using it, made Jason grit his teeth in determination.

Stall.

Stay away from both the Leucator and Jonnard till help could get there. Surely Magickers would arrive at any moment.

A movement in the corner of his eye warned him. The thing reached for him, catching him, running chilled hands down his arm and Jason let out a yelp. It felt as though something cold squeezed his heart. He swerved sharply, out of range, and the Leucator gave a howl of disappointment. Jason dipped his head to run faster, anything, before that thing could touch him again! He felt as if it had tried to tear a hole into him from the inside out and attempted to crawl in—this thing that seemed as loathsome as last week's garbage, foul and slimy.

Get Jonnard and the Leucator out of here, and away from his Gate. Away from Ravenwyng and the sleeping Eleanora. Away from here and now.

Jason tripped over a hummock of tangled grass. The Leucator dove at him, his body brushing past him, and he gasped at the pain of the coldness sweeping through him. He sprang to his feet and dashed the other way, suddenly afraid. What if he couldn't shake it? What if it caught him?

Jonnard straightened, smiling widely, as they ran past, as if reading the expression on his face.

Was he going to allow that? No!

Jason doubled back and sprinted right at the Leucator, then went into a sliding tackle, both feet aimed high at the knees. Dirty soccer. He'd had it done to him, he knew how it hurt. There was a cold shock as they touched, and then the thing tumbled over, hitting the rocky shore of Lake Wannameecha headfirst. It flopped and then lay very quiet. Jason rolled to his feet, catching his breath, after a look at it, realizing it wasn't dead but knocked cold.

He spun about to face Jonnard as the other boy moved forward, still smiling, his hands coming up.

“I never figured it would do my job,” said Jonnard lazily. He attacked.

A blur of punches and kicks drove Jason back. Some hit hard, but he kept dodging, and mostly flesh grazed flesh, although he grunted with the impact. He ground his teeth to Focus, to stay within himself, and do what he knew he could do, despite the fact that Jon was nearly a man grown, taller than Jason, with greater reach and strength.

And another Magicker.

He brought his shield up, a flare of light from the crystal hanging about his neck. It came without his touch, but in mere answer to his thought. Was it his imagination or did Jonnard's expression widen with surprise at that? No time to really think about it. He whirled away from the next assault, and brought a lance of Light into his hand as he did. It flattened into another shield, sizzling as Jonnard connected, and the other let out a yelp of pain and surprise, leaping away.

The moment of surprise gave no advantage. Jonnard dove back in, a dark rippling light now filling his own hands. He closed on Jason and as their shields touched, lightning sparked across them with a nose-burning smell of ozone and a deafening hiss. Both of them sprang apart, shaken.

Jonnard circled him slowly. Jason watched him. “Not as easy as you think,” he said tightly.

“Nothing ever is.” The black shield came up again, reaching out toward him like a razor sharp pincer.

Jason moved with him, dodging and striking back only when the other struck first. The Magicks screamed whenever they touched, an earsplitting howl that kept him flinching. And then Jonnard jumped him, carrying him to the ground. The breath went out of him and he lay, looking into a shower of sparks, light, and darkness all about him. He could feel Jonnard pressing down on him, but Jason held him back and it was easier than he thought. His shield spit in cat-like fury as he sat up and got to his knees, then his feet, Jonnard moving with him, but it was Jon now on the defensive. What could Jason hope to do? Drive him back somewhere . . . but where?

The sky split over them. Gavan roared in wordless fury, his wolfhead cane in his hands like a wizard's staff, sending both boys flying back and into the dirt and grass. Jonnard's shadow-dark light sputtered and went out, even as he reached out and put a hand up.

“Touch me and everyone here dies,” managed Jonnard, his voice stronger than the expression on his face, his chest heaving with exertion.

“No doubt,” said Gavan dryly. “I can feel your father's presence. But is it worth it? You'd be as dead as the rest of us. And your father, too, I wager.” Gavan settled to the ground, cape behind him floating into soft folds about his form, and the crystal ball his wolfhead cane held muted to a steady white glow.

The thing behind them, the being Jason had dropped, stirred then, and made a mewling noise like a small, blind kitten. The Magicker's head snapped around.

“God's blood, a Leucator.” Gavan's eyes narrowed at Jonnard. “You brought that abomination here? I will call an accounting for this—from your hide and your father's!”

“All's fair in love and war,” hissed Jonnard. He stood then, and half-turned, then his booted foot shot out, catching Jason across the chest.

Jason doubled over in searing pain. He looked down and his eyes met those of the Leucator as it crawled toward him, hands gnarled in a greedy reach for him.

Jason rolled back, his shoulder rattling against the framework of the Iron Gate.
Haven
, he thought.
Safety
. And with that thought, the Gate opened and he fell through.

 

Not through, actually, he realized later. Into but not in, up against, but yet not across the threshold. He had no chance as the dragon came roaring out of the gate, Jason cradled against its chest.

Flame licked the air and everyone froze.

The dragon dropped Jason unceremoniously. It picked up the Leucator and tossed it . . . into nothingness. A slit in reality opened up and swallowed it whole, without a yelp or a scrap of cloth to show it had ever existed. Gavan raised his cane defensively, but made no other move, his face gone white as if knowing they had all roused some great, eternal fury.

“You shall not pass. Not again. The Gate is forbidden to you, to all of you!” the dragon thundered. “I am the guard and none shall pass me by. Now this. Your petty fighting, your petty wars will never cross my boundaries!” As it opened its jaws to roar its fiery anger, Jonnard made a pass with his hands and disappeared into his crystal, leaving only Gavan and Jason there.

Flame gouted and the dragon pointed his snout at the sky, painting the heavens with his fury, pouring forth anger in heat and fire until he was quite done, and then, and only then, did he lower his head to look once more at them.

Sadly, it repeated to Jason, “You shall not pass again.”

Then it was through the Iron Gate, with a clank and a roar, and everything went still.

Gavan rocked back on his heels.

“What have you done?”

‘
W
HAT did I do?” Jason repeated, then inhaled sharply at the pain in his side, reeling back against the Iron Gate in an effort to keep standing.

“Aye, what did you do? Jonnard here, and the dragon.” Gavan looked around, his shoulder length hair stirred by a wind caused by the passage of the angry beast, and only now settling down upon his neck. His eyes blazed fiercely crystal blue. “Ravenwyng is warded. Was warded. I threw everything I had into it to protect Eleanora, and the wards are shattered, worthless. It will take me, if I can even do it, quite a bit of effort to rebuild them.”

He gazed into the sky as if he could see Brennard in front of him as well. “And what brought Brennard? I doubt if he needed to protect Jon. What were you meddling with? Had you opened a Gate that did all this?” He gestured wildly, then took a deep breath and folded both hands over the wolfhead of his cane, set it to ground and leaned on it, the emotion in his face slowly coming under control.

“How could I break a ward?” Uncomprehending, Jason stared, first at Gavan's face, then around him, as if he could see the shattered Magick lying about them, like splinters from a broken crystal. He could see nothing, of course, but he had almost expected to. “Gavan, I didn't try to do anything, except bring Bailey here for safety. We've come here before, the wards pass us by.”

“Not this time. No one should have passed lightly, or without alerting me.” Gavan took a deep breath as if still gathering himself, and rubbed his eyes wearily. “With FireAnn's help, I repaired the two immediately over Eleanora, but the others . . .” he shook his head.

“I'll help. Me, Bailey, Henry, Ting, we'll all help.” Too late, he realized he'd left out Trent, but it didn't matter, Gavan gestured him away, dismissing his offer. Jason felt his jaw tighten. It was as if none of them were of any real use to the adult Magickers, nothing but a burden.

“Building a ward is a difficult task, Jason. It's a layering of Magicks, one over the other, and requires precision—”

“How would I know that? How would any of us? Have you taught us that yet? Do you let us work with you?” Words tumbled out of him, hot and angry. “Do you ever let us help? There are things we can do, you know, if you'd only let us try. And you keep things from us all the time, so how can we even know what we're capable of? You won't let us!”

They stared at each other, jaws clenched, angry, almost toe to toe. Then Gavan rocked back on his heels. “Magick is newly come to you, lad,” he said slowly, as if trying to force a calm he did not feel. “A little patience would help.”

“I don't think any of us have time for that.” Jason caught a breath and forced it down, feeling almost shaky with spent anger.

“You're right, we don't.” Gavan spun on one heel. He rubbed the wolfhead of his cane, and the crystal it held in its jaws flared with light. “Khalil. Isabella. I want you here,
now
.”

And before Jason could say another word or take another breath, he stood with Gavan in the Gathering Hall of Camp Ravenwyng, with Isabella and Khalil both appearing at his heels.

Isabella gathered up the sweeping hem of a red satin skirt, glaring at Gavan. “Rainwater, your youth is exceeded only by your extreme rudeness. What is the meaning of this?”

Khalil still held an orange in one hand, and a small knife in the other, a neat ribbon of orange peel hanging down from the ripe orange fruit. He pocketed both objects in his robes and looked about, eyes narrowing. “Have you no sense, Gavan? This place is barely protected. What's happened to the wardings?” He pulled up a chair at the conference table, and sat down, staring at Gavan.

“I just quelled an altercation,” Gavan answered, both hands wrapped tightly about his cane as if he'd rather they were wrapped about Isabella's neck.

“You don't summon me for an altercation.” The elegant woman stretched her neck where her pulse ticked angrily as she put her chin up in disdain.

“This is the height of arrogance, to pull me through whether I wish it or not. Surely you could handle a petty argument on your own.”

Rainwater looked at her. He opened his mouth as if to retort, but Khalil interrupted him. “Quiet down, Isabella. You know better than that, and although it's obvious you had plans for the evening—” Khalil gestured a hand at her fancy gown and attire—“it's just as apparent something here has gone wrong. I suggest we listen a moment.”

She looked daggers at Khalil then, and even raked her angry gaze over Jason who took a step back in reaction. “You have about two minutes and then I am leaving.”

“I'll have as much time as it takes,” Gavan answered her. “The attack was on Jason, by Jon and Brennard, and Leucators were brought to the Iron Gate. Less than a handful of us can create a Leucator and I've two of them standing in front of me.” He looked from Isabella to Khalil and then back to Isabella. “I want to know why someone is working with the enemy.”

“Strong words if true,” Khalil murmured, but Isabella's face paled and she seemed at a sudden loss for words.

She groped for a chair, sitting down heavily. “He wouldn't have been so stupid.”