Iron and Magic Read online

  “What do you want me to do?” Lamar asked.

  “Your cohort is standing watch tomorrow.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re going to do a repeat of Fort Smith.”

  Lamar blinked. “Okay. How many do you want at the castle?”

  “Give me twenty-five.”

  “Will do.” Lamar grinned. “Bale’s got the graveyard watch. It will kill him.”

  “He’ll survive. That’s all,” Hugh said.

  Lamar nodded, walked to the door, and turned. “Preceptor?”

  “Yes?”

  “If he wants you back, what will you do?”

  To be back in the light of the magic again. Everything forgiven. All the doubts forgotten. To bask in Roland’s approval was like walking into sunshine after an endless cold night. He craved it like a drug.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Lamar nodded and walked out.

  8

  The morning sun shone through the open arches of the breezeway. The short bridge between two towers had a roof, but no windows. Instead large arches were cut into its walls, open to the wind and the sunshine. Elara strolled through it. She liked it here, above the castle, away from work and obligations. And looking down through the arches gave her a slight chill of alarm. She did it now, standing still, looking for a few torturous seconds at the land far below.

  Such a long way down.

  Slowly, deliberately, Elara took a step back to the safety of the breezeway. Familiar relief came to her. She smiled. She needed that after last night. Six hours of research and divination and she had nothing to show for it.

  She did have plenty of time to stew in her hate of all things Hugh d’Ambray. Yesterday at the smithy, he was insufferable. They did learn one useful thing: Radion couldn’t duplicate the pattern of the scale mail and he didn’t know of anyone who could.

  Rook emerged from the other tower, moving quickly.

  “Yes?”

  He reached into a pocket and rolled a glass marble to her. With the magic up, he had no need for paper.

  The marble stopped by her feet and Hugh tore out of it, swinging his sword.

  She jumped back on pure instinct, but not fast enough. The sword passed through her, harmless, and kept going, because it was only Rook’s memory. Hugh twisted like a feral tiger, and struck again and again, fast, sharp, sinking so much strength and speed into his swings, they would’ve cut anyone standing in his way in half. The raw power, tempered by skill, was mesmerizing. He wasn’t wearing his uniform or armor. He wore a T-shirt, dark pants, and boots. He wasn’t actually fighting. This was practice, but it definitely wasn’t routine. Some inner demon saddled Hugh and drove him into a controlled devastating frenzy.

  He was oddly beautiful, the way superior athletes sometimes were, as they pushed their bodies to the limit. Still a touch too lean from starvation, yet a pinnacle of what a human body could do. The way the sun caught the blade of his sword added an almost mystical touch to it, as if it weren’t practice, but a sacrifice of sweat and skill to some vicious war god.

  Sun. Practice? In open air?

  You… you bastard. “Where is he?”

  Rook pointed down. She leaned out of the nearest arch.

  Hugh whirled below, striking and slicing invisible opponents. Beside him about twenty of his people were doing the same thing, some paired off into practice fights, some by themselves, going through the exercises. In the main bailey. Right in front of the gates.

  Rook raised his hand. She looked in the direction of his fingers. Six riders coming up the road. The Pack delegation. They would ride right into the middle of Hugh’s training spree.

  Damn that man.

  Elara turned and ran to the tower.

  She made it out of the tower onto the landing just as the Pack delegates rode to the gates. Dugas was already there, watching.

  Hugh showed no signs of slowing down. He had at least two dozen soldiers and he’d ordered the horses out too. They waited on the side, already saddled and tied to the rail at the wall, Bucky with his silver hair standing out like a sore thumb.

  “What is he doing?” she ground out.

  “Not staying in his room like you told him to,” Dugas said. “I suppose he doesn’t like being grounded.”

  The first rider entered through the gates. He was surprisingly young, maybe eighteen at most, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and shockingly beautiful. He saw Hugh. A red sheen rolled over his eyes.

  She sighed. There was no way to stop it.

  Behind him the second rider saw Hugh and stopped.

  The leading rider said something and started toward Hugh, slowly.

  Dugas turned to her.

  “If I run down there now and dramatically thrust myself between him and Hugh, it will destroy Hugh’s credibility and make me look like an idiot.”

  “Yes,” Dugas said.

  Elara plastered a smile on her face. “Then I will slowly walk. Here is hoping they don’t kill each other.” She crossed her fingers and walked down the steps.

  The boy got there first.

  Hugh finished his swing, wiped the sword with a cloth, thrust it into the weapon rack, and picked up a bucket.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” the boy said.

  “Hello,” Elara said. “I take it you’re Ascanio Ferara. I see you know my husband.”

  “Yes, I do. The last time we met, he tortured me,” Ascanio said.

  He what? Could this get any worse?

  “You’re still alive,” Hugh said. “Clearly my heart wasn’t in it.” He raised the bucket and poured water over his head.

  “He tortured you?” she asked.

  “He was trying to get a friend of mine to come out of a cage, so he could take her to her father,” Ascanio said. “So he would heal me, then break me, then heal me again. I don’t remember it, but I heard such wonderful stories about it. Your husband is a man of many accomplishments.”

  Oh, there was no doubt of that.

  “Let’s see, his people killed the alpha of my clan, he broke the Beast Lord’s legs, he kidnapped the Beast Lord’s mate, dumped her into a shaft filled with water inside her father’s prison, and almost starved her to death. These are just the highlights.” He laughed, an eerie crazy cackle.

  A bouda, Elara realized. A werehyena. They were notoriously quick-tempered and crazy. And Hugh didn’t mention kidnapping Daniels. He’d kept that to himself.

  She couldn’t believe it actually bothered her.

  This had gone far enough, Elara reminded herself. Pulling his feelings out of him was about understanding your enemy, not fueling insecurities.

  Hugh regarded the shapeshifter, his face slightly bored. “Do you want to do something about it?”

  “Mmmm, let me think…” Ascanio leaned forward, his agile face taking on a pondering expression. “I attack you, you kill me, I start a war, shame the Bouda Clan, and my mother will never get to hear the end of it as long as she lives. Not to mention she would be sad. Tempting, but no. I’m here to retrieve the two families and that’s exactly what I will do. The question is, are you going to do something about it?”

  She caught her breath.

  “No,” Hugh said. “Are they ready to go, Elara?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  Hugh looked back at Ascanio. “They were treated well. If more come, they will be treated the same. We’ll keep them safe until you pick them up.”

  The bouda squinted at Hugh. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” Hugh turned his back to Ascanio.

  She felt like sitting down. Instead she smiled at Ascanio. “Do you need any provisions for the road?”

  Hugh stretched his shoulders. The small shapeshifter group was about two-thirds of the way to the tree line. They were moving at a crawl, the possessions of the two families loaded into two large carts. They were planning to catch the leyline by Averdine. At the ley point, they would transfer the furniture and clothes to the shipping platform, board, and let
the magic drag them east. Once they got close enough to Atlanta, they’d likely load the possessions into trucks, but the carts were a prudent move for the road that snaked its way through the forest. Any truck that ran on enchanted water would’ve made enough noise to wake the dead, and Ferara clearly wanted to do this quietly. They had barely twelve miles to go, and on this occasion slow and quiet would win the race.

  A woman from the town had come to get Elara fifteen minutes ago. Something about a child. His cantankerous wife finally decided that he wasn’t going to do anything and left.

  The wagons crept on, slower than molasses. The shapeshifters were sitting ducks out there.

  Perfect.

  Hugh swung into Bucky’s saddle and rode up to the gates. The twenty-five Dogs on horseback formed up into a column behind him.

  Dugas strode up to him. “Interesting kid.”

  “He’ll be the next bouda alpha.”

  And they would all be worse for it. He remembered the files on Raphael and Andrea Medrano, who ran the clan now. At Ferara’s age and under similar circumstances, Raphael would’ve charged Hugh the moment he saw him. Boudas lost a lot of children to loupism, especially males. They spoiled the surviving boys beyond reason. That Ferara had the presence of mind to set aside pride and personal history to preserve the alliance was nothing short of a miracle. Shrewd.

  It would be prudent to kill him now, before he matured.

  Dugas stepped closer to him. “What do you think you’re doing? Running him down now, after he thinks he’s in the clear?”

  Hugh turned and held the old man’s stare. “Step back.”

  Dugas blinked and backed away.

  “They’re fifty yards from the trees,” Liz called from the wall.

  Far enough.

  He pulled the magic to him and leaned forward in the saddle. “Charge.”

  Bucky shot through the gates. Behind them the Iron Dogs spilled out of Baile, breaking into a canter.

  A horn bellowed from the castle walls, a harsh declaration of war.

  Ascanio spun his horse around. Hugh couldn’t hear the words from this distance, but it didn’t take a genius to read the kid’s expression. Ascanio shouted.

  They’d either break for the trees on foot, scattering, every shapeshifter for themselves, or they’d make a stand. Either way Hugh would get what he wanted, but the stand would make them easier to contain.

  Bucky sped up into a full gallop. Hugh had forgotten this, forgotten the rush of a full charge, but it was coming back. He used to live for this.

  The shapeshifters threw the kids into the wagons. Lennart’s tactics. Stand together and live or die together.

  Hugh raised his hand. Behind him the column of riders fanned out into a line.

  The shapeshifters turned as one, fur and claws and snarling mouths filled with fangs.

  The horn screamed from the walls.

  Hugh pulled magic to him. He hadn’t tried to do this since he’d been exiled. This wasn’t his native magic; he’d learned it as a child from Roland. He had no idea if the power was still there. He began whispering the incantation, paving the way for the release.

  Ascanio raised two curved foot-long knives, his face a meld of hyena and human, eyes blazing. His people crowded around the wagons, shielding the four children inside.

  Twenty-five yards to the wagons.

  Twenty.

  Fifteen.

  He angled Bucky. His force split in half, flowing around the wagons like a river. Ferara’s face flashed past him, fanged mouth hanging open in surprise. The trees loomed ahead.

  Now. He reached for the smudges of foul magic.

  “Ranar kair!”

  Power poured out of Hugh, channeled through words of power so old, they shaped the very nature of the magic.

  Come before me.

  Agony tore through him, so sharp it felt like death, and for a moment Hugh felt a spark of hope that it would kill him. The world wavered and snapped back into focus instead.

  The aftershock of the power words tore through the trees. The woods quaked and spat eight undead.

  Predictable, Nez. So predictable.

  The vampires spun, turning back to the trees, away from the cavalry charge.

  Fifty Iron Dogs charged out of the trees, moving in a line, trapping the vampires between the two forces.

  The first bloodsucker loomed in front of Hugh, still dazed from the impact of the power words. Hugh tore past, swinging his sword. The undead’s head rolled off its shoulders. The two forces closed in on the vampires like scissors coming together. An eerie cackle rolled through the battlefield – the shapeshifters joining the fight.

  Hugh brought Bucky in a wide circle and leapt off his back. Fighting the undead on horseback would only get the stallion killed.

  “All teams!” a male voice snapped from among the undead line. “Engage the enemy. Pursue at will. I repeat, pursue at will. Alpha Two, Alpha Three, on me. Contain the Preceptor.”

  Three undead broke off and charged him.

  Hugh let them come, gripping his sword with both hands in front of him, aiming to impale the front bloodsucker. The undead charged at him, eyes burning with red. The real fight wasn’t here. It was with the man behind the vampire, and that man had drilled Nez’s tactics until they became second nature.

  So had Hugh.

  At the last moment, the vamp twisted to the left, relying on its superior speed, counting on him to thrust. Had Hugh lunged, the blade of his sword would’ve missed the bloodsucker by an inch, leaving his own left flank completely exposed. Instead he stepped forward with his right foot and turned left, stepping back and driving the blade with all his weight. His sword caught the vamp just above the collar bone, severing the neck. Hugh turned into the spin, raising his blade, and brought his sword straight down, cleaving the second vamp’s head like a ripe melon.

  The third undead spun, twisting away from his sword, bounced off the ground, and leapt at him. Hugh dodged. Claws grazed his shoulder. Hugh took the hit and smashed the back of his sword into the base of the vampire’s skull as it tore past him. The undead stumbled forward. Hugh kicked it in the back, stomping hard on the spine. The vamp sprawled on the ground, and Hugh drove his sword straight down, through the back into the heart. Contain this.

  The whole thing took less than two seconds.

  His heart beat faster. The world turned crystal clear. This – this – was living.

  Hugh freed the blade with a sharp tug. All around him battle boiled. The Dogs struck at the vampires. Two boudas locked on one bloodsucker from opposite sides and tore it apart like a blood-filled ragdoll. He flicked the blood off his blade and dove into the slaughter, looking for something to kill.

  Hugh surveyed the field. No undead moved. The smears of their magic had faded. Nine serious gashes, two broken limbs, no casualties on their side. His people had the element of surprise and magic on their side. Everything except dead could be fixed.

  A blood-stained bouda strode toward him, seven feet tall and corded with muscle under sparse fur. They really did look like shit in warrior form. Part of the reason why Roland detested them, Hugh suspected. The human and animal meld wasn’t graceful. This one, at least, was more cohesive than most.

  The bouda unhinged his jaws. “Motherrrrfuckrr,” Ascanio snarled.

  Most shapeshifters couldn’t speak in warrior form. Their jaws didn’t fit together correctly. Hugh was right before. It was better to kill the kid now and avoid complications.

  “You used us as bait!”

  “Shut up,” Hugh told him. “You’re still breathing.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I knew because I’ve been a warlord longer than you’ve been alive.” Hugh nodded at a fresh detachment of Dogs riding up to them. “This is your escort to the ley line.”

  “You could’ve told us!”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me. Tell Shrapshire I have no problem with him when you get home.”

  Ascanio towered
over him.

  “Are you going to stand here all day with your dick in your hand? You’re losing the light.”

  The kid turned, snarling orders under his breath.

  He watched the shapeshifter wagons roll past him, the shapeshifters in warrior forms running along the sides, their horses hitched to the back. A little girl, no more than two or three, stared at him from the second wagon, her big dark eyes round and terrified on her brown face.

  She would get where she needed to go. They did that much.

  For some odd reason, that thought brought Hugh satisfaction. He puzzled over it. It shouldn’t have mattered. She was a random child. She didn’t belong to any of his people. They had no connection to each other and he would never see her again.

  “Preceptor,” Lamar said next to him.

  Hugh rested the sword on his shoulder and turned.

  A figure in a green dress stood on the wall of the castle. He couldn’t see her face, but she stood with her feet planted and her arms crossed.

  He growled low in his throat.

  “Do you require backup?” Lamar asked quietly.

  “No.” Elara was his wife. He would handle her himself. For now, he’d let her stew.

  Hugh took his time supervising the loading of the undead bodies on the cart. By that point, a group of Elara’s people had showed up with bags of salt, and jugs of water and gasoline, and set about purging the traces of undead blood. When Hugh truly had nothing left to do, he whistled for Bucky and rode him back to the castle, the Dogs and the wagon loaded with undead right behind him.

  He got there just as Bale came running from within the castle, half-dressed, his hair sticking up.

  “Vampires!” Bale bellowed and pointed behind them. “You fought vampires and I didn’t get to go?”

  The Dogs snickered. Hugh cracked a smile.

  “It was a glorious battle,” Lamar said. “You slept through it all.”

  Bale stared at him, incredulous. “You took Lamar? Lamar instead of me?”