The Dragon Guard (2 page)

“Do you now? And what if I need him alive?”

Jonnard felt the heat of his triumph in his eyes as he looked at his father. “Then I promise that, as well. But get me two. I need two to continue training.” With that, he pivoted away and slipped off through the corner door, with not a look back. His father would obtain the simulations for him. Expensive or not, they could not afford
not
to. Not if he wanted Jason Adrian defeated and helpless in their hands.

THE HURRIEDER
I GO
. . . .

‘
A
LL RIGHT! All right, listen up! One goal to tie, two to win! And that's how we get them, one at a time!” Coach's voice broke over the huddle, carrying to each of them, the soccer ball tucked under his arm. His voice carried over Jason like a wave of sound, shutting off the rest of the world. Coach broke off long enough to toss the ball to a waiting referee, then returned to his time-out speech. “Here's how we're going to do it . . .”

Jason grabbed a spare towel and mopped up his face, feeling the sweat trickle between his eyebrows, preparing to slide down his nose. He rubbed the towel through his hair, and waited. The towel felt damp in his hands, but he managed to scrub up the back of his neck before tossing it toward the benches. A limp banner proclaiming “Go Chargers” waved in the spring breeze.

Todd, their goalie, muttered, “Easier said than done.” Coach grabbed his shoulder and shook him lightly. The agile teen was already beet red from three quarters of a hard-played game, but his face darkened even more and showed through the roots of his black hair. “I know, one step at a time,” the goalie amended quickly as the coach nearly growled.

“Exactly! Now the first step is this . . . I've been using Jason lightly . . .”

Jason looked at his soccer coach in surprise. He'd been running his legs off trying to guard the center, making sure their star forward got as many clear shots as he could, and the sweat plastering his jersey to his body was more than proof of that. Coach Wayne didn't seem to notice his look as he continued. “Jason has been passing to Bradley all day, but I'm gonna cut him loose now. He's up there in right wing on purpose, but the other team has relaxed, they don't know what he can do. So . . . pass the ball to Jason. Let's show ‘em.”

A burst of elation went through Jason, followed by a brief moment of despair. It was all on him . . . all he wanted and yet, all the responsibility. He made a fist and pumped his hand rather than letting the doubt shake him. He could do it. He would! Enthusiasm leaped through him, and with it his Magick awoke, like a lightning flash, though he quickly contained it. No Magick here, just athletic talent, but he might as well have told himself not to breathe. And his Magick called to the others. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his cheering section in the warped and faded wooden bleachers. Bailey, her golden-brown ponytail bouncing in enthusiasm, jumped to her feet and waved. Their quiet friend Ting sat next to her, her hands weaving in a silent cheer. There was a flash of something bright and shiny in her hands, and Jason grinned as he recognized the sparkle of her crystal jewelry. He quickly brought his attention back to the huddle and his teammates. The Wingnuts were already dancing impatiently on the line, as eager to bring the game to a triumphant end as they were.

Bradley gave him a nod. “Watch Karcher, the fullback. He's fast and he's rough.” He considered a moment, then added, “I've been faking their goalie right all day. Might try something different.”

“Gotcha.”

Coach gave them a few more instructions, then ended up with, “Don't pass it to Jason till you know he's in the clear. I don't want to tip our hand too early. Their fullbacks are good, and their goalie is . . . well, he's the reason we're behind. But we won't stay that way!”

A sharp whistle signaled the end of their time, and the boys broke apart, wheeling back onto the field. From the bench, Jason's friend Sammee yelled “Go get ‘em!” and snapped a team towel. Hiding his widening grin, Jason trotted back into his position as right wing and looked down the field for the kick. He took a deep breath. This was it. League semifinals. Chargers against the Wingnuts. This wasn't the school team where nearly everyone who tried out had a position somewhere on one of the strings. No, these players were serious, headed to high school and then college and maybe even the pros in soccer, and the competition was intense. They lost here, and they were out of the tournament. They won, and they went on to the finals. You couldn't get much closer to winning or losing it all than this.

He jogged in place a moment to loosen his calves up, then froze into position as the others lined up and the refs readied for the kick. Without seeming to, he scanned the faces of the opposite team. Like his own, they were bright with sun and sweat, a little tired, yet eager. They smelled victory in the air. He grinned, showing his teeth almost like a wolf, facing into the late afternoon breeze. He was going to do all he could to prove them wrong!

He looked to Bradley, though, stifling his impulse to look them in the eyes, and stare them down. The center nodded back at him. His would be the stealth attack, and he'd give it away if he challenged them. So he took one last stretch, and straightened, and waited for the whistle and kick.

It all seemed to happen at once, noise, sound, and movement as the teams both surged forward. His body carried him down the field, angling to both protect and take advantage of an opening, without him even thinking of doing it. Stiles, on the other team, buffeted him, and he dropped back, then cut away, leaving the defender far behind. Bradley glanced his way and darted around the defender Karcher, then saw him clear, and passed the ball to him sharply.

The black and white came at him. Jason considered passing it off, but he was close enough to try a goal and no one seemed to be taking him seriously . . . yet. He could angle it as he received it, to the goalie's left. The soccer ball met his insole briskly and caromed off like a shot.

There was a long moment in which he just watched, turning his body to match the geometry of the kick, and the goalie, who had been heading the other way in his nets, saw his look but couldn't cut back in time. The ball went cleanly into the corner of the goal and the team and crowd roared. Bailey and Ting jumped up and down, waving in joy, although their voices were lost in the crowd. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man separate from the bleachers, camera in hand, clicking pictures. He seemed to focus on Bailey and Ting, snapping away. Who wouldn't? Their excitement bubbled everywhere. Bailey's golden-brown hair caught the sun as her ever-present ponytail bobbed with every celebrating bounce. Jason didn't try to hide his ear-to-ear grin.

One more to win.

They gathered for the kickoff. “That was quick,” Allgood muttered. Bradley said, “He had it clear, why wait?”

Allgood grunted, his square face red with effort. “ 'Cause now I've gotta defend again.” He butted his shoulder into Bradley's, with another grunt. “Good pass.”

The center grinned. “And it was a great goal.” He slapped Jason's shoulder. “Now, let's hope they think that was an accident!”

They lined up and kicked off, and there were frantic, jostling, long moments as the Wingnuts drove downfield without mercy and a goal seemed inevitable. Then, suddenly, Allgood had the drive broken and headed down their way. Jason found his way blocked, then when he dodged away, Stiles picked him up, but not close enough to make physical contact. So, they were cautious but not convinced yet. The zone defense still concentrated on Bradley. He let himself run, feeling good, the tiredness feathering away, the afternoon sun slanting across the field. They didn't expect him to try again, and he tried to contain his fierce joy.

The ball went back in the other direction again for a bit and he had a breather as the Chargers defenders moved into position, and held off the challenge. It was long minutes those, before they regained possession and began passing the ball back toward Bradley. He dropped back, fresh and ready, surveying the Wingnuts defenders jostling around the Chargers center.

A long dark shadow fell across the grass. He jerked in reflex, then looked about, seeing nothing. He glanced upward and saw nothing. The moment cost him a step or two against Stiles, so he circled to regain his position. Something blurred at the corner of his eye, and the back of his left hand began to burn, an old scar turning an angry red. Jason rubbed it warily, and circled again, looking. That scar meant many things to him, but mostly it meant trouble.

It meant something was about that should not be, that had no business in his everyday world but to work evil.

He scrubbed the stinging scar again, searching the soccer field as carefully as he might, yet unable to see more than the milling bodies of the other players as the ball shot back and forth, heading toward his end of the field. No distractions! No Magick. And, hopefully, no Dark Hand of Brennard looking for him.

But his scar burned even more fiercely, telling him otherwise. A cold chill passed across the back of his neck. Jason spun about. A black splinter fell across the field and then, as he stared, it elongated and then widened into a figure. A figure through which he could still see goalposts and net and players wheeling about, a dark ghostly presence. His scar gave one last warning, burning pulse as he looked at the figure of Jonnard Albrite.

“Salutations, Jason. Did you think me gone for good?”

Jason had little time to look at the nearly man-sized boy who faced him, as the fullback Karcher came running at him, and he realized that Bradley had the ball, about to pass it to him. The dark apparition stood between them, wavered as Karcher tore through his presence, re-formed, and smiled. Jason dodged and turned about, trying to stay in his zone and trying to keep from being pulled offside. He frowned.

“I've been training,” said the deceitful son of the Dark Hand. “I'm waiting for you.”

Jason caught the pass and aimed it right back at Bradley, playing for both time and position. A look of surprise shot over the center's face, but he took the pass and dribbled it downfield, toward the goal and the Wingnuts' incredibly tough goalie.

Jason moved after, but as he approached the black ghost of Jonnard, he felt a pressure and an unyielding wall. He could not pass!

He moved to his right, but Jonnard moved that way, too, smoothly, laughing in a chill voice that no one but himself could hear. Unless, perhaps, Bailey and Ting . . .

Jason tossed a glance over his shoulder at the bleachers and saw the girls watching him, but neither seemed to sense what he faced. He was alone out here, with something that ought not to be and was, and used Magick to do it. The dark side of the Magick he loved, but Magick nonetheless.

He faked to his right and then moved left. Behind him, Karcher gave an exasperated grunt and Jason realized he'd thrown off both Dark Hand and Wingnut pursuers. He bolted into the clear. Bradley saw it and the ball came hurtling his way again.

Iciness ran across his back and down his shoulder, into his arm, a cold that brought a gripping pain with it.

“You'll not get away from me that easily,” Jonnard hissed into his ear, and a freezing darkness blew across the back of his neck, ruffling his short hair.

Jason put his chin down with a sprint of speed, forcing his body across the soccer field with a tremendous effort, meeting Bradley's pass and intercepting the ball. His fingers had gone numb, but it wasn't his hands he needed, it was his legs and feet! He zigged away from Karcher and the other Wingnut defender, driving toward the goal and its nets, his jaw clenched in determination.

He could feel a dark cloud descending over him, shading his eyes, sucking away the air he needed to breathe. Jason had the goal in sight though, he knew where it was and just how the kick should be made. He faked the goalie to the left, and watched the other react, heading to the wrong end of the nets. As the aching cold sank through him, into him, through his torso and down into his legs, stealing warmth, breath, and movement, he drew his foot back and sliced his kick to the right.

The Wingnuts goalie caught the change of momentum. With a midair twist, he threw himself, full body length, at the soccer ball, hands out in a desperate catch.

Jason stumbled to a halt, unable to move, let alone run, as the cold took him. The spinning black-and-white ball went through the goalie's fingertips and solidly into the deep corner of the nets, and a shout went up.

Then, and only then, did he fumble at the throat of his Chargers jersey and wrap his fingers about the crystal hanging tucked inside. It flared as he encircled the cage of wire holding it, and with that touch, all cold left him, that quickly.

A low laugh at the back of his neck, and Jason turned.

Jonnard gave a salute. “I will be seeing you soon enough. And when I do . . . all the crystals in the world won't be able to save you!” Still laughing, a black flame enveloped him, and then both were gone.

The game-ending whistle shrieked through the air a second before his teammates found him, and Jason collapsed under their weight as they threw themselves on him, and he should have laughed with the victory, but he could not.

The Dark Hand was reaching for him once again. He had a feeling the real game was just beginning.

B
AILEY kept standing and watched as the boys trampled from the field, grinning as she turned to Ting. “They did it!”

“Did you doubt they would?” Ting swung her long dark hair from her shoulders as she tucked her crystal necklace back under the curve of her neckline, the second crystal winking from its charm holder on her bracelet.