Echoes in the Dark (54 page)

Koz
raised his voice. “Faucon, spread the word that all dialogue with Raine should
be telepathic.”

Ayes,
Faucon said.
Battle
is too noisy for anything else.

Raine’s
insides jumbled, then she stiffened her spine.

Looking
at Jikata, Koz said, “You want my backup player?”

She
laughed, shook her head. Her long hair had been bound up in a braid circling
the back of her head. It looked like it might give her extra protection under
her helmet. Her leathers, like Raine’s, were pristine. Not one singe, claw
scrape, or any sort of monster or human blood. Luthan’s white leathers were
perfect, too, though that was expected. Dreeth, of course.

Anyone
who was anyone wore dreeth to battle. Which is why this whole thing was going
down.

“Ttho,”
Jikata was answering Koz. “A multitude of Songs surround me always. And if I
want music…” She opened her mouth and her voice soared in a purity of notes
that reverberated through the hall and through the earbuds and had Raine
staring. Jikata smiled at Raine. “Not the ‘Ride of the Valkyries,’ but
classical. Hildegard Von Bingen.”

It
sounded like something nuns would sing. Well, the woman had just come from an
‘abbey.’ The complete opposite of metal. Raine nodded. “Beautiful.”

Jikata
smiled. “Thank you. I’m working on a battle Song.” Her forehead creased. “I
should have had it for today.”

“These
things can sneak up on you,” Koz said.

“I
hope not,” Faucon said. “Let’s go. Later, Koz.”

Koz
was only allowed one more battle by the healer, Bri. This wasn’t it.

Raine
forced out the Chevalier blessing to Jikata and Luthan, wondered when they were
going to kiss and make up. “Good hunting.”

Another
smile from Jikata, this time almost impish. “And to you. See you at the dying
dreeth.”

“Gotcha,”
Raine murmured, and gave in to Faucon’s tug. They ran down the stairs, all of
them, and out the side door where their volarans waited. Then on the flying
horses and off they went.

To
battle.

39

Battlefield,
Northeast Lladrana

W
hether it was
the harp music with subliminal messages or the fact that she was surrounded by
fifteen seasoned Chevaliers wearing orange and red, Raine was as prepared as
she could be by the time they banished the Distance Magic bubble and flew into
battle. She clutched her sword in her clammy grip, gritted her teeth to keep
from whimpering.

Another
bubble snapped around her—defensive force field, provided by a Shield, a
Chevalier specializing in defensive magic. Raine was still looking around for
Alexa and the Marshall team when Faucon’s voice came to her, to all his people.
Let’s take the small brown one with the yellow spines.
He arrowed to it,
and there was nothing Raine could do but follow.

Heavy
metal thumped into her ears, pounded into her blood, bolstering her
determination. She
would
do this. She was a fighter.

She
found herself screaming with others, a burst of flame came close and Blossom
squealed, dodged. Raine looked up and up and up.

There
it was. A dreeth.

A
little one, only about the size of a bungalow.

The
magical 3D pictures didn’t do it justice.

They
missed the pure evil in its beady eyes, the glee as it snapped its wicked
curved beak with sharp teeth, swiped with the claws at the end of its wings,
aimed its spiny legs to kill.

She
hated it at sight. It was an abomination, a monster with only one purpose—to
kill.

Not
if she killed it first.

Yelling,
with the music thundering in her ears, she raised her sword, checked on Blossom
as she’d been taught, gathered the volaran’s thoughts to her own, infused them
with confidence and resolve.

Aim
for the wings, cripple it. She recalled tips. Go for the belly to rip and kill.

Blossom
outflew others, taking chances they shouldn’t have to kill.

A
small warhawk accompanied them, whistling its battle cry.

The
distended belly. Ayes.

Dodge
the beak, the legs, the spines.

Drop!
Down under the flame!

The
belly, the belly, the belly.

Blossom
was shouting wordless challenge in Raine’s mind.

Faster!
After the warhawk!

Raine
was there, stuck her sword in the belly, ripped. The sword stuck and she lost
it.

Next
to her was a battle scream and a huge beak plunged into the dreeth’s underside.
Bri’s roc.

Horrible
glistening organs pushed through skin, the smell was gaggingly gross. Blossom
and she and Enerin zoomed away, rose above the flailing dreeth. Saw it spinning
out of control.

Faucon
was next to her, sent her a battle grin, eyes wild. Then he and his volaran
dove, slipped under a wing.

Blood
up, Raine followed.

She
and Blossom caught on the wing, sending all three of them tumbling. The world
tossed around Raine, Blossom pulled out of a steep curve. The dreeth screeched
again, a death cry, plummeted to the ground.

Raine
had to kill the dreeth. Had to! Her task. She leapt from Blossom, lit on her
feet. The dreeth thrashed around, but she was nimble, dodging jerky claws,
snapping teeth. Nasty, nasty stink. She ran toward her sword, still sticking
out of its stomach.

Even
as its eyes glazed and it thumped around, with its snakelike neck aiming the
head at Enerin the warhawk, Raine set both hands around her sword and jerked
down.
Next time she’d get a bigger sword.

One.
Last. Horrible. Gurgling. Cry.

The
dreeth was dead and Raine was screaming triumph when Faucon swooped down and
plucked her up and away from a render’s claws.

With
strength and agility, Faucon set her before him, hunched them both low over his
volaran’s neck. Flew to the sidelines of battle, stopped and turned his volaran
to face the carnage.

The
monsters on the ground had no chance against the scything Marshalls, the best
Chevaliers.

Raine
shuddered in Faucon’s arms, panting, crying. Hating the beat in her ears, she
flung off her helmet and pulled out the earbuds.

The
battlefield noise overwhelmed her and she wept more.

Faucon
waved a bright clean orange handkerchief and she took it, wiped her runny nose,
blew, used a corner for her eyes.

“I
did it,” she moaned as she panted.

“Ayes.”
His strong arm around her middle tightened. “You could make a Chevalier.” He
paused. “Not a good Chevalier, you have battle impulsiveness.”

She
didn’t know what that was, didn’t care to. “I’m a shipbuilder. I’ll stick to
that.”

“Ayes.”
His breath was a long sigh as if he’d thought she’d want to do this again. Not
in this or any other lifetime.

Except
for that last battle. The Dark’s Nest.

She
scanned the fight. “Where’s Jikata? Does she have her dreeth yet?”

“Ttho.”
Faucon pointed with his gauntleted hand. Up to the sky.

T
he noise was
incredible. Cacophony. Jikata shut it out with the Power of her own Song, of
Hope’s, of Luthan’s. He was there, his arm swinging to kill monsters before
they reached her.

He
was so close that their Songs were mingling, and she knew he was determined to
protect her and prepared to die doing so. All her feelings for him came rushing
back, overcoming her heartache. Now was
not
the time. Put it away.

Now
was showtime.

Hovering
in the air, Jikata stared at the buff-colored dreeth, then found a quiet place
within herself and
listened
for its sound signature. As it pulsed in
slimy, staccato, minor key sharps, she clenched her jaw and learned to
anticipate its movement. That squeal, there, it would dive. It did.

She’d
been holding back, watching, learning, legs clamped around Hope’s barrel. Calli
and her husband Marrec, Shield and Sword, were with her, as was Luthan. He’d
vowed to protect her with his life and was honoring that.

She heard
a triumphant roar and glanced to her left, where Raine was ripping the guts out
of her brown dreeth like a warrior woman. Then Faucon grabbed her, took her off
the field, as was the plan…that Raine had obviously forgotten during the
excitement of battle.

Chevaliers
wearing orange and red streamed toward Jikata.

Luthan
smiled.
You’ll be wonderful,
he repeated the words Faucon had said to a
nervous Raine, packed them with the same sincere and confident punch.

Jikata
blinked, inclined her head. Took a deep breath, focused on “her” dreeth. It
would be…right
there
…in a minute. Short-term prophecy. A good skill in
battle. Did Luthan…

Now!

She
whipped out her sword, Sang the spell Marian—the other fire Exotique—had taught
her to make it flame, made sure she and Hope were of one mind, and flew.

Just
think of something you’d like to kill,
Calli said.

Jikata
had just the person in mind. The sleazy promoter who’d wanted sex for favors.
She’d barely escaped and it had taken two years to work around him. Soon she would
have had enough power to ruin
his
career.

The
dreeth’s eyes had Bobby’s meanness. Big skanky flying dinosaur, little weaselly
promoter. No problem.

“Fire!”
she shouted and flame shot from her sword. Hit its left wing claw.

Howling,
the beast flapped away, fanning the flames that ate at its wing. Jikata grinned
in satisfaction. Too bad it wasn’t Bobby’s dick.

Then
she was surrounded by Faucon’s Chevaliers. The outer Chevaliers dealt with the
ground horrors—the renders and slayers and soulsuckers.

Luthan
flew just ahead of her. Yes, he was anticipating the next move of the dreeth
and would be there when it—

He
took an axe and cleaved its head. It went down. Still on fire.

Jikata
dimly recalled what she was supposed to do. Follow Luthan down to the ground. She
did.

Leave
Hope with a Chevalier Shield. Done.

Walk
to where the dazed dreeth lay.

She
ran, puffing, heart beating too fast, Song not steady, agitated. Who the hell
cared?

Six
big men held the writhing neck. Luthan had already started the cut.

Eeeeeew.
No, no, no. Jikata skidded to a stop.

Luthan
held out a hand, eyes blazing.
You
must
do this. To be protected.

She
was shaking her head.

Thinking
too much,
Calli said from beside her. Set a hand on Jikata’s lower back, urging her
forward.
Think of that skank Bobby.

Bobby!

She’d
needed protection from him, hadn’t had anything but her wits to save her. And
she wasn’t the first he’d preyed on, or the last. He’d destroyed dreams,
shattered lives. He should
pay.

Jikata
stared into the dreeth’s eye. It hated. Hated her for no reason. Opened its
beak.

Defensive
bubbles layered around her, protecting her from the short, searing flame. The
Shields, who’d kept her safe, including Calli, stumbled into others’ arms.

Jikata
was endangering them!

She
jumped the last few steps to Luthan, took the axe from him and went to work.

It
was foul. Green blood spurted, brown sinews parted as she hacked.

Around
her the battle ended and still she labored.

Luthan
and Bastien stepped forward to cut the bone, and Jikata averted her head.

Then
back to work and she was singing “Sixteen Tons,” pounding, didn’t know whether
to be sick or laugh. Finally there was one last ropy blood vessel and she
severed it and watched blood spurt and droplets fly and pump and pump and pulse
and…die. She sank to her knees, axe dropping from her limp grasp.

This
had been awful.

Luthan
was at her back, lifting her by her elbows. He turned her, looked into her
face, his expression stern, except his eyes, which held compassion. For her? Or
for the hideous creature she had ended that had been bred to hate and kill?

This
situation was no good for anyone. Anything.

The
sooner they destroyed the Dark, the better. It warped everything it
touched—monsters, Master of its horrors, humans, Amee,
all.

A world
out of balance. Amee was a place where evil had more sway than good.

Luthan
held her and she liked his grasp. She shut her eyes and strove to listen to the
land, where seeds lay, waiting for the evil to be gone so they could grow.