The Dragon Guard (33 page)

“And you smell all over, too.” She came to a stop, ponytail bouncing, and wrinkled her nose.

“That is good all-American sweat.” He straightened. “I think Ting's grandmother used to build pyramids in a former life.” He stretched carefully, muscles aching where he didn't know he had muscles. Even his toes hurt.

Madame Qi smiled. “This one has enough strength left to complain. Tomorrow I should work him harder.” She giggled before ducking her head and retreating back to the canopy which seemed to be their camp. After a few strong steps, her body seemed to cave and she leaned heavily on her cane, as Rebecca came to her aid and helped her.

“I missed a lot. What's going on? And what did she mean when she told me you were trading?”

Bailey shrugged a large sack from off her shoulder. “Trading.” She opened her sack. “We're not alone.”

That hit him harder than anything Qi had instructed him in. He felt it like a kick to his gut. “What?”

“We're not alone. I haven't actually seen anyone yet, but we've been trading things back and forth. I've gotten blankets, food, and these tunic things . . .” She pulled a shirt-tunic out of her sack. “Maps.”

“Let me see that!”

She pulled out a scroll. The paper looked like papyrus of some sort. He unrolled it carefully.

He'd unlocked the Gate to a world. Not just a corner, a small haven, a tiny place where they could be safe, but a world. His breath stuck in his throat for a moment. Why hadn't the dragon told him?

Or had that world existed only from the moment he unlocked the Gate? Numbly, he handed the scroll back to her.

“We can't stay here.”

“Why not? I think it's cool other people are here. Otherwise this would be like, what, I dunno . . .
Gilligan's Island
or something.”

Henry caught up to the two of them, dragging a much larger bundle. He dropped it. “This is supposed to be a tent or something if we can put it together. Bailey tell you?”

“Some of it. See anyone at all?”

“Nothing but squirrels and birds and a few skittery things in the bushes, but those tunics look like they'll fit most of us.” He scratched his chest, and Jason realized Henry had no shirt. “Where is your shirt?”

Henry thumbed at the canopy hanging across several tree branches. “Same place the other guys' shirts are. And I, for one, will be glad to be wearing something.” He took the tunic Bailey was waving about and shrugged into it.

She hid the look on her face a moment. Henry combed his fingers through his hair. “All right, I look like a refugee from a Renaissance Faire, but it's warm and clean.” He glanced at Jason. “And you smell like you've been wrestling in a mud pit.”

“That good, huh?”

“I think even Stef would be offended.”

“Thanks. I think.” He took a tunic Bailey pushed at him. Before the day got any cooler, he'd better go for a swim.

“I'll sit as lookout,” offered Henry. “And then, I want to go home, Jason.”

Jason peeled down to his jockeys. He threw himself into the pond, knowing it would be nearly ice cold, and it was. He came up gasping, and scrubbing at himself. The cleaner, the sooner, the better.

“Home,” he repeated then, as he sank back to his chin for a soak. “Are you sure?”

“Everyone got to say good-bye but me. They've gotta be awful worried.”

“Time is different here.”

“Not different enough.”

“Are you coming back?”

Henry's mouth worked back and forth a bit. “I can bring some food and supplies back. I'm not sure if I should come back and stay, though.”

Jason ducked under, and washed his head as thoroughly as he could with only water. He came back up, spitting. Finally he climbed out and got his jeans back on and the tunic that Bailey had given him, roughly cut and sewn but of a soft, blue-green fabric. He scrubbed his socks out and then trudged back to the campsite with Henry. “You're one of us. You've always been one of us.”

“Oh, it's not that!” Henry shook his head vigorously, sending his glasses sliding down his nose. He caught them before they did a ski jump off his face. “It's just that—”

Whatever it was he was going to say got interrupted by the other boys sliding into camp. Actually, it was Trent who slid, chin down, for he had been riding Stef-cub rodeo style and lost his grip just as they came around the corner. Rich staggered after them laughing so hard he had to hold his ribs, as Stef-cub let out a growling bawl, sat back, and grunted in satisfaction. A ripple and Stefan sat there, grinning ear to ear.

Bailey wrinkled her nose. Silently, she pointed at the pond. All three turned around and trudged back.

Jason hung his socks over a tree branch. With any luck, they'd be dry by midday tomorrow. In the meantime, he'd have to suffer cold feet or wear his shoes without, and for right now, with a fire going, he could do without either. He sat down. “Mrs. Landau, whatever that is you're cooking, it smells great.”

“It's stew. Hopefully, it'll be edible although how we're going to eat it, I'm not sure. Bailey traded for a pot, but we've no dishes or utensils.”

“There's always fingers.”

“I suppose. Feeling better?”

“I was.” He grinned. Madame Qi looked to be napping under the canopy although with the others just roaring through, he doubted she actually slept. “I have a new Master and she is tough.”

“Sometimes that's what you need.”

“And sometimes you need all the help you can get.” Jason lapsed into silence and heavy thoughts until everyone had returned. Then he looked up.

“You all felt it. Even Ting felt it. Madame Qi here said she felt it, and insisted Ting bring her.”

Rich nodded. Stef rubbed his nose which looked as if it had been bee stung and it probably had.

“Then why aren't any of the elders here? This is what we were all aiming for, and it's happened . . . and no one's here. Unless one of you has heard, and I don't know?” Jason looked from face to face. Each of them shook his or her head slightly.

“Not a nudge, nothing?” He felt stunned. How could Gavan and the others not know or care? After all he'd gone through. Up until that moment, he'd assumed they'd looked in while he recovered, and made plans to return.

Qi opened one eye. “Clever boys, but not clever enough.” She swung the tip of her cane about, indicating the area. “It is blocked. Use your senses. Nothing in, nothing out.”

“But Ting felt it . . .”

“Ting is one of us,” Bailey protested. “We're like sisters, always connected.”

“It's never been able to block before.” Jason frowned. Trent traded a look with him before surveying the surrounding valley and mountains. Then he nodded in confirmation.

“You're the Gatekeeper here, Jason. That's your magic, all about, except for a tiny sliver of an opening, more like a contact . . .” Trent hesitated, then looked at Henry.

Henry lost all color and bolted to his feet. “I told you I was bad luck! I shouldn't even be here!” He cupped his gemstone with a citrine flare of heat and power.

He was going. Or he was trying, but Jason could feel him bouncing against the walls that
he'd
set up. Only Henry couldn't stop himself. In a dead panic, he flung himself against the blockade a second time, and Jason knew he had to let Henry go through or his friend would kill himself trying.

He let the Gate swing, and Squibb disappeared in a brilliant golden flash.

H
E SHOULDN'T even be here, Gavan thought, as he turned away another attack, a trickle of sweat sliding down his temple and his arm trembling slightly. His beam flared and spit, spinning Isabella away with a sharp cry. She recovered and bared her teeth to face him. He retreated again, his back coming up against the cave wall. His left arm hung all but useless, flesh ripped from a Leucator attack, and worse, chilled to the bone. The cold made it useless. Even the blood that slowly dripped to the floor seemed barely thawed enough to ooze from the wound.

He could not Crystal unless he dropped the remnants of his Shield, but that Shield was all that kept the three Leucators from falling on him. They moaned at the smell of his blood and pain and hung at the edges of their Maker's skirts, waiting for an opportunity to lunge. Isabella's eyes shone with a fierce triumph as she closed in on him.

The only thing he could do was Call, and so he sent it out, knowing that few if any could hear or would answer. FireAnn would not answer, being held to her promise to stay with Eleanora, and he did not even know how powerful a Call for help he could project.

He had one last resort. He could step into his crystal, imprisoning himself. Isabella would not be able to destroy him but neither would she probably ever allow his crystal to see the light of day again with any hope that another Magicker might be able to free him. Eventually, inside the gem, he would go crazy or die.

“One last offer,” Isabella said. “Save yourself and the fair Eleanora, too.”

“My opinion of you has not changed in the past few hours.”

“I am wounded.” Isabella allowed herself a bitter smile. “I offer you my wisdom, Gavan. I struggled for decades for it, while the two of you slept like babes, unworried, unknowing. I can't give her back the time she's lost, but I can show her how to seize another century or two. Living is sweet compared to the alternative.”

“It doesn't appear to have sweetened you.”

She gestured and tried his Shield again. It shuddered but held.

Gavan dug deep for more stamina and taunted her a bit more. “Backing Gregory against Brennard would have avoided all of this.”

She made another noise of disdain. “Two men in a pissing contest. What else could be expected but that they would destroy everything for the rest of us. Stubborn and combative. And you, my dear boy, are showing the same traits.” She lashed out, her power shoving his.

He stumbled. He fell on one knee, and a sharp pain went through it as he did. He glanced down to see a rock piercing his skin, nailed into his kneecap. That was going to hurt even worse later.

Gavan expanded his Shield to protect his suddenly open and vulnerable back. A Leucator hit him from the flanks, hard, and bounced off, but Gavan felt it, deep in every bone as the tackle rattled his teeth and knew, Shield or not, he was about done for.

He could retreat into his crystal or he could explode it. Exploding it might take out most of this cavern and the horrid things that resided within it. It wouldn't touch Isabella, for she had her own Shielding up although most of her energy was aimed at the offensive, at him. He hadn't much of a choice left.

A howling arose. It started thinly, at the edge of his nerves, and he struggled to stand. He made his mind up what he would do, and began to marshal the last of his energies to accomplish it. The keening grew. It came from without the caverns, and Gavan paused. He knew that sound.

Isabella dropped the hem of her gown, turning slightly. Then she let out a string of curses that would make a French stevedore blush. Perhaps even a cabbie. Gavan managed to get his back to the wall again, even as a wind swirled inside the cave and the lanterns in the sconces flickered wildly. Chaos flooded in, with the beasts that always rode it.

Wolfjackals. Drawn by their duel and the Magick unleashed, the beasts would tear them both apart. Gavan did not know if he welcomed the distraction or had simply attracted a new way to die. He dug his heels in as the pack came in, snarling and slavering, and going after the Leucators with savage teeth.

Gavan braced himself for the new battle, then looked up and saw in surprise that Tomaz Crowfeather was riding the lead beast. Tomaz raised one palm, and a clear, blue light from the many turquoise stones on his wrist cut the air. Isabella turned and ran.

At the threshold of the great cavern, Isabella halted. She let out a series of sharp, arcane words, and the shackles on the Leucators shattered. They shook themselves free of the chains with a low groan of eagerness that grew louder and louder. In a great swirl of colorful satin, the Magicker turned and fled, her Leucators in her wake, crying her name as if she promised them life. Only the one he knew as Eleanora hesitated, turning back for one last, longing look at him, before fleeing the caves as the wolfjackals went after them. Amid snarls of attack and hideous screams of the unfortunate few caught behind, Tomaz dismounted and caught Gavan up.

Rainwater nearly fainted as Tomaz took his arm and tucked it inside his shirt, before lifting him onto the back of a wolfjackal. The creature turned its head, hot drool falling from its gleaming fangs, but allowed Gavan to remain. Gavan knotted his hand in the thick-furred ruff, wondering how he was going to manage to stay on.

“Where in hell did you come from?” He looked at his friend.

Tomaz grinned. “I always wanted to be the cavalry come to the rescue.” He swung up on the pack leader. “Let's get you out of here, and then we have much to explain to each other.”

 

Henry landed in his kitchen. He immediately sank to the floor with a sob of relief and happiness at being home, his gemstone dropping from his hand. It rolled around and then lost its faint glow, and came to a stop against his leg. He picked it up and pocketed it, sighing.
Never drop your crystal.

He looked about. The big family-style kitchen lay swathed in darkness. It must be the middle of the night. What night, he wasn't sure. A day or two or three after they'd left. Hopefully not longer. The trouble with Crystaling is that he was never quite sure when he was coming or going.