Unholy Blue (26 page)

“I know what you're thinking, Bann. And it's bullshit. You're sitting there beating yourself up over this, but it won't help Cor and it won't help you heal. Guilt's a crappy, useless emotion. Not when there's a better one.”

“Which is?”

“Revenge. Cold, calculating, Celtic revenge. No gods-be-damned monsters mess with us, especially not with our children. So, as your Healer, I order you to focus on getting well, or we Doyles aren't going to leave you any Fir Bolgs to rip apart.”

Holding on to that absolution, as well as the reassuring thought that Shay was with Cor, and that his son was not alone in this latest nightmare, Bann spat to one side.
Now grow some balls, man, and go rescue your family
.

“Tully or Fir Bolg,” he said over a shoulder to Gideon, who was waiting silently. “They will die.”

“That is a given. Come.”

In single file, with Gideon still in the lead, they followed the tracks into the foothills crowding the western edge of the park. The trees thickened, free of competing with the rocks for room. Pausing on the top of a hillock, Bann glanced back. The Garden of the Gods was a massive jumble-tumble of sandstone formations. The pink and cream rocks looked like giant mounds of melting strawberry and vanilla ice cream. To the east, the mid-morning sun was a watery blur beyond the clouds. He turned and followed the other Knight down the other side.

At the bottom of the hill, a dirt and gravel road, running north and south, emerged from the fog. They paused, keeping to the shadows of the trees. Bann
wondered if it was the same dirt road they had followed while hunting the shapeshifter last month.

They crept closer to the road. Gideon tapped Bann on the arm and pointed down at the boot prints heading north. Bann noticed Cor's smaller feet walked side by side with Shay's slender running shoes.
Shay, darlin'. Keep yourself and our son alive. I'm coming as swiftly as I can
.

“Why, they are not even
attempting
to hide their passage. They either be daft,” Gideon said with a hint of cold amusement, “or they do not think you're much of a threat, Bannerman Boru.”

“Not the first to think that, to be sure, Gideon Lir. Shall we go disabuse them of that notion, then?”

Motionless, Bann stood in the shadow of a thick stand of firs, studying the storage shed. Moisture beaded each evergreen needle like a drop of serum on the tip of a syringe. Once in a while, a bead would break loose and land on Bann's head or shoulder, or the leaves on the forest floor, with a soft
plop
. Gideon waited next to him, just as still.
'Tis yer movement that they see
, his master whispered in his memory.
Become the tree. Or the rock. Or the hedge. Let yer breath be the wind
.

And yer arm a spear
.

About ten yards away, figures—
five, I think
—milled around the building, waving their weapons in each other's faces and arguing. Bann tightened his jaw.
The Black Hand was right. Fir Bolgs
. He noticed none of them were armed with spears, their ancient weapon of
choice.
Probably the same reason we switched from spears and swords to knives and daggers—less obvious. It's difficult to explain to a policeman why you're carrying a spear
.

One of the Fir Bolgs, clearly the leader, shouted over the others. Even from a distance, Bann could hear his voice, magnified by the mist.

“Enough of your yammering!” he roared. “Use your brains. For the first time. If Boru had picked up our trail, he would've been here by now. And even if he does show up, there's five of us.”

“What if he's not alone, Lebor?” one of the others asked. He carried an iron mace; its skull-shaped head was studded with metal points and set on a short, heavy wooden shaft. “What if he got some of the Red Boar's clan members to back him up? His female belongs to that clan, remember?”

Bann frowned.
The Red Boar
? Suddenly, the image of the twin boars on the front gate of Hugh's home flashed in his head.
The Red Boar—they're discussing Hugh
. He stole a look at Gideon. The Knight held splayed fingers to his chin in imitation of a beard and nodded in confirmation.

Lebor's grin was a flash of shark's teeth in dark water. “The Red Boar and his clan are too busy right now fighting for their lives against the rest of our tribe. So all we have to do is keep the bitch and the whelp alive until Lord Cernunnos calls for them.”

“When will that be?” another Fir Bolg asked. He was dressed entirely in camouflage as if he had done all his shopping from a Cabela's catalog. His hunting knife was a twin to the weapon sheathed on his right hip.

“When the shapeshifter has seen to the defeat of the Red Boar and his people.”

“But the Boar's home is warded,” Mace pressed. “How can he—”

“The same way,” Lebor stabbed his weapon at the storage shed, “he helped us get through that bitch's wards.”

“Even so, the Boar's not going down without a fight, you know,” Mace said. “None of them Fey are.”

Lebor curled his lip. “Coward.” He waved aside Mace's protests. “Shut up—I'm sick of your whimpering. Hell, that whelp in there is tougher than you all are.”

Cor
. Every molecule in Bann's body sang at the thought of his son just yards away. He almost burst out of hiding right then and there. A soft hiss from Gideon kept him from doing so.

“I'm going to go inform Lord Cernunnos that we've captured them,” Lebor said. “Keep your heads out of your asses until I get back. I want two of you on guard by that shed at all times. And check on those Fey from time to time. Give them water.
To drink only
. Got it?” The others nodded. “I better find two prisoners—
alive
—in that shed when I return.” With that, he turned and loped away west, vanishing into the fog-shrouded trees.

While two of the creatures walked over to the shed and started unwrapping the chain securing the door, the other two, Mace and Cabela's, wandered back down the dirt road toward Bann and Gideon's hiding spot.

Bann tensed.
Not yet. Not until Lebor has cleared the area. That would lessen the number we have to fight
. He
glanced sideways.
Wait
, he mouthed to Gideon, who nodded once in understanding.

“Lebor is full of shit,” Mace snarled, staring at the spot where the leader had disappeared. Bann noticed the Fir Bolg was careful to keep his voice low. Just in case. “Boru is a lot more dangerous than he knows. That Fey almost killed the shapeshifter. And he
did
kill Sreng—the leader of that other pack of Fir Bolgs.”

Cabela's shrugged. “He did us a favor. Cleared the way for us to move into this area.” He glanced about, his gaze pausing at the grove of trees where the Knights hid.

Bann held his breath, not even blinking when a cold drop landed on his left eyelid. Finally, the Fir Bolg shifted his attention and stared down the road.

“We needed a new hangout,” Cabela's continued. “One where our looks wouldn't draw so much attention. I was getting sick of getting hassled in Utah.”

“Afraid of the po-po man?” Mace sneered.

“You know what happens when humans find out what we are? Torches and pitchforks, you dumbsuck. Or worse. No, we need to keep our heads down.” Cabela's scratched his crotch with the butt of his weapon. “Colorado seems just the place. We can pass as stoners—it's legal here, you know.” At the sound of the shed door being pulled open, they both turned and looked over.

Catching the other Knight's eye, Bann motioned silently at the creatures, then held up two fingers.
Two against two
.

With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Gideon shook his head and pulled up a pant leg to reveal a third weapon in a leather ankle sheath. He pointed to himself and held
up three fingers, then pointed at Bann and changed the finger count to one.

In spite of the horror of the last two hours, in spite of feeling like once again, the universe was trying its very utmost to screw him face-first to the wall, Bann shook his head in amusement.
Cocky bastard
, he mouthed.

A corner of Gideon's mouth quirked in agreement. He shrugged, then flashed two fingers, clearly indicating that, fine, he would share.

They slid their extra weapons free with languid grace. Each armed with two knives, they nodded. Then, without a sound, they charged out of the trees, side-by-side, stride for stride, in spite of Gideon being a scant inch shorter.

Chanting softly in rhythm with his breathing, Bann caught the Black Hand also singing the Song of their people. A swell of
something
, like a winter storm pouring up and over the Rockies on its way to pound the hell out of the eastern plains, surged through him.

“‘A spear on the attack, pouring forth combat,'” they chanted in unison. A corner of Bann's mind marveled at the fact they had both chosen the same line to sing.

At the sound of pounding feet and the chanting of the dreaded Song—the Song that signaled death by Celt was a-coming—the Fir Bolgs whirled around. Snarling, they pushed apart, giving each other room to fight. Beyond them, Bann spotted the other two by the shed, gawking. The door stood open behind them. Just before he barreled into the enemy, he thought he saw movement in the dark doorway.

Then, battle.

Bann ducked under Mace's wild swing. Lowering his shoulder, he rammed his opponent with every ounce of his two hundred-plus pounds. The Fir Bolg flew backwards and slammed into the ground. Pressing the advantage, Bann stabbed downward. With a hoarse scream, Mace whipped his weapon around just in time to deflect the bronze weapon. The blade snapped off and spun away like an autumn leaf caught in a breeze, the impact zinging along Bann's arm and up into his shoulder. With a snarl, the Fir Bolg scrambled to his feet and swung again. Dropping the bladeless haft, Bann ducked, then slashed with his other.

Iron met flesh.

Flesh lost.

The Fir Bolg howled. A dark gash ran across his chest, a second mouth. Black blood welled up and over the lips of the wound. In desperation, the creature swung the mace around again in a two-fisted hold.

Diving to the ground, Bann felt the wind in his hair as the club whistled past. He rolled, just missing getting his skull splattered. Continuing the move, he scrambled to his feet even as Mace lifted his arms over his head for the kill.

With a cry, Bann darted inside the swing and planted his knife in the Fir Bolg's gut. Holding the hilt in both hands, he ripped the blade downward, then across.

The mace tumbled from the creature's fingers. Pink, glistening intestines bulged out like freed tapeworms. The Fir Bolg sank to his knees with a groan, then collapsed face down. A section of gut squirted out from under his dead body.

Chest heaving, Bann looked around. A few feet away, Gideon was battling Cabela's in a four-knife duel. Their blades were a whirling blur of iron and steel and bronze. Sparks flew around their heads. Just as Bann started forward to help, Gideon stumbled and fell to one knee. Cabela's grinned, his eyes wild with glee at the Knight's misstep. He lunged forward, both weapons raised.

Moving almost too fast for Bann's eyes to follow, the Black Hand suddenly straightened and parried the blades that were seeking new homes in his chest. A flick of his wrists and both of the creature's weapons spun away. Unarmed, Cabela's staggered backwards.

With a roar, Gideon slashed his antler-handled knife across Cabela's neck. For a moment, the Fir Bolg stared in shock at the Knight, his dark eyes white-rimmed with disbelief. The look remained even when his head tumbled from his shoulders and bounced away. Black blood sprayed out of the stump in a fine mist. The body crumpled to the ground a moment later. Panting, Gideon stepped aside and wiped the sweat, mingled with a bit of Fir Bolg blood, from his face.

Now for the others
, Bann thought. Even as they turned to charge the remaining Fir Bolgs, a form burst through the shed's open door.

“
Faugh a ballagh!
” Holding a three-foot pipe wrench in both hands, Shay leaped out, Cor on her heels. Wielding the wrench like a tennis racket, she swung it at the nearest Fir Bolg. He ducked. Before Shay could bring the tool around for another try, he attacked, his knife aimed at her chest.

In a move that stopped Bann's heart and impressed him at the same time, she arched back, curving her spine in a ninja move like a bow. The blade whistled past. Its tip cut through one of her camisole straps. The delicate fabric sagged, revealing her left breast and a thin red line across the top of it. The Fir Bolg paused, leering at the smooth mound.

“Hey! Eyes up here.” With a smirk, Shay brought the wrench around a second time, this time with a backhanded swing and follow-through that would have made Serena Williams jealous. His skull exploded, sending brains, a few teeth, and a nose stud or two flying into the air. Chest heaving, she staggered back as the creature fell to the ground at her feet.