Earth's Hope (22 page)

What was the best time to aim for? When she and Rune were still on Dewi’s back would be optimal, but she wasn’t at all sure she could buy herself that many hours. Second best was when she and Rune arrived at their current location and were being transported into this building. Someone had clonked her over the head to make it easy for themselves, which argued against there being more than the two people Rune told her about, and it was likely that the man had no power of his own.

“Rune. Send me an image of when they brought us here.” No matter how impenetrable the wards, telepathic speech was still safer. The vision bloomed before her eyes, and ice chips congealed in her blood. It was Majestron Zalia, but looking far more beleaguered than on the other occasion Aislinn had seen her. Rather than a jeweled gown, she wore skin-tight black trousers and a low-cut black top. Lace-up black boots came to her knees. The mounds of dark, curly hair hadn’t changed, nor had her cold, blue eyes or the harsh line of her perfect jaw.

No wonder she looks so furious. Her master plan to unleash Hell’s denizens went sideways. Maybe Rune and I were a consolation prize, not planned for, but too good to pass up.

She placed a hand on Rune’s broad head. “Once I activate my spell—assuming it works—you’ll see this same scene as if you’re a spectator. Link to the wolf in the scene and run like the wind.”

“What will you be doing?”

“The same thing. We’ll have a few minutes’ grace before Majestron realizes what’s happening. Rewinding time has a built in lag factor.”

Another scene blasted her, thick timber choked with dense undergrowth. “Head this way,” he said. “See the white-barked tree in the middle?”

She nodded. “Does everything outside look like that?”

“Yes, but this is the only tree with light-colored bark. Sometimes their root systems are hollow and create underground hiding places for game.”

Aislinn’s throat tightened, and she hugged her wolf. “I love you. If we don’t manage to get through this, I wanted you to know.”

He wriggled in her grasp. “Victory. Don’t even consider anything else.”

“For Christ’s fucking sake, you sound just like Fionn. I’m not certain Seer magic will do any better negating the warding than teleporting.”

“Desperate times require desperate solutions.”

Marta, the wolf’s last bondmate, had been a highly educated physician and fluent in both Latin and Greek. She’d raised Rune and taught him an enormous amount, including classic quotes like the one he’d just spouted.

Aislinn laid her cheek against the wolf’s head. “Thanks, Ace.”

Rune swiped her face with his tongue and then did it again. If he was offering moral support, it worked, because confidence built in her chest, overshadowing her anxiety. She could be emotional later. Now was the time for action.

Aislinn chanted softly, taking care to deploy each step of the complicated casting. When the walls of her prison shimmered into nothingness, she held herself ready, every muscle tense as a drawn bowstring. For long moments, she looked out at darkness, but she was used to the void that was part of this spell. Time shifted; she felt it in the pit of her stomach. Light flickered and she watched herself being dragged between Majestron and her minion. The dark goddess had her arms, and the man her feet. Rune padded next to her.

“Why didn’t you kill the dog?” the man asked.

“He’s a wolf, and has magic of his own,” Majestron replied. “Shut up. You don’t ask the questions around here.”

Aislinn turned to Rune’s spectral projection and nodded, hoping he’d understand she meant they had to move now. She waited until Rune merged with his earlier self to launch herself into her comatose form. As soon as her astral and physical selves collided, she wrenched herself out of the hands that held her and ran for the white-barked aspen tree. Thick foliage covered her almost immediately and she tried her damnedest to be quiet, but twigs crackled and broke beneath her feet. She heard Rune ahead of her and let herself hope they might make it past this first gauntlet.

How much longer would they have? She held her breath, listening, and dove into the hole Rune had predicted would be beneath the tree. Slithering on her belly, she worked her way underground, following Rune’s tail. In short order, the hole widened enough for her to crawl. While she hunted for a place to wait out the storm that was sure to blow over their heads, she called invisibility with her Mage gift and draped it over herself and her wolf. He curled into a tight ball and she sat next to him. Muted light from the hole filtered into their shelter. Aislinn hated to do it, but she deployed a short blast of power to seal their hiding place. Dirt filled the hole, cutting off the light and filling the air with dust and bits of grit and stone. She’d have to undo her work later—if there was a later.

A fury-filled shout sounded, followed by another.

Aislinn hunkered in the shelter Rune had led them to with her back against one damp wall. A grim smile split her face. They’d made it this far, by God. If they weren’t discovered, she’d teleport them out of here as soon as her power recovered enough.

Doing the best she could to fine-tune the spell that hid them, Aislinn prayed to every deity she could think of to rain plagues down on Majestron Zalia so she’d leave them alone.

Chapter Eighteen

Fionn followed Nidhogg’s instructions to the letter and mixed power into their teleport spell as the dragon guided them to Asgard. It had taken far longer than the half hour he’d allocated to finish off the demons and their minions. He was filthy, his battle leathers singed and torn, and he stank, but he hadn’t wanted to waste any more time cleaning up or changing. Bella had been shaken enough by the proximity of demons, she hadn’t wanted to come with him, so he’d left her cleaning her feathers on one of the manor house balconies.

The golden walls of Valhalla formed before him, followed by the impeccably clean cobblestone streets of Asgard. As would befit a picture-perfect movie set, well-groomed Norsemen and women hurried in various directions, everyone brimming with purpose. Until they saw him and Nidhogg. Then they scuttled away, and the street cleared in record time. Fionn gazed about. The times he’d met with Odin had always been on Celtic territory, so this was his first view of the Norse stronghold. “Is it always this pristine?” he asked Nidhogg.

The dragon didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he trumpeted long and loud. Fionn took a few steps away and inspected the black dragon. Nidhogg looked as ragged as Fionn with scraps of demon flesh impaled on his scales and splashes of blood and ichor decorating his hide like a psychedelic painting gone bad.

Odin burst through Valhalla’s golden door and marched down its wide, golden steps. The Norse god always looked the same. Tall and burly, dressed in battle armor, with twin brass drinking horns crisscrossing over his broad chest. Blond braids fell down his chest, and a full red-blond beard spilled down until it tangled in the leather thongs holding the drinking horns in place. His sharp, blue-eyed gaze swept from Fionn to Nidhogg.

“I take it this isn’t a pleasure call,” he said and switched his attention to Nidhogg. “Let’s see. This is visit number three after centuries of nothingness. What do you want this time?”

Nidhogg planted his powerful rear legs more firmly on the cobblestones, and his green eyes spun faster. “I am the Norse dragon, and worthy of respect, but we’re short on time just now, so I’ll overlook your lack of manners. I brought Fionn MacCumhaill, Celtic god of wisdom, creation, and divination, because he needs your help.”

Fionn bowed, sweeping a hand to one side. Odin rolled his eyes and muttered, “I remember you well enough. You’re an arrogant whelp. Times must be dire indeed for you to seek me out. What could you possibly need from me?”

Fionn bit back a sharp retort. Throwing gasoline on a fire was never wise. He slanted his gaze at the Norse leader and said, “Other than your help when we storm the dark gods’ borderworlds, I seek information.”

“What kind of information?”

Odin narrowed his gaze, and Fionn recalled the Norse deity was an inveterate bargainer.

“Where did the dark gods live afore ye imprisoned them?”

“Humph. Simple enough.” Odin smiled with all the warmth of a cobra and rubbed his hands together. “What’s it worth to you?”

Flame shot from Nidhogg’s mouth, landing just shy of Odin’s leather boot tops. “Answer him,” the dragon thundered, “or the next blast will take out your beard.”

“What?” Odin smirked. “No breaking bread? No sharing a cask of beer or mead?”

“Those dark bastards stole my woman,” Fionn broke in. “We’re fresh from battling demons, and time grows short.”

“You’ve been to Hell?” Odin broke in, leaning forward. “Now there’s a tale worth the telling. And well worth the information you seek.”

Fionn flexed his hands into fists, and exhaled sharply. “There isna time for this. I promise you a full explanation once I get Aislinn back.”

“Odin.” Nidhogg’s voice held compulsion.

The Norse god’s features softened, shifted, almost as if he’d been hypnotized. Fascination filled Fionn. He’d never realized the extent of Nidhogg’s power and suspected it extended far beyond whatever he was doing now.

“Yes, of course,” Odin murmured. “The dark ones built several fortresses in the Americas to avoid us harassing them, like we’d have done if they set up shop in the Old Country. You do realize this was long before the American continents were developed.”

“How many fortresses and where?” Fionn cut in.

“Three. One was in the American northwest, maybe ten leagues east from Seattle’s current location. Another was near Mexico City, and the third lay in the Tierra del Fuego.”

“Any idea if they’re still standing?” Nidhogg asked.

Odin grinned broadly. “You always were one for coming up with defining questions. The Mexico City one was wiped out by an earthquake. The one in the Tierra del Fuego got avalanched into nothingness.” He rubbed his hands together. “Best I know, the one in the northwest of what used to be the U.S. still stands.”

Nidhogg averted his gaze, and Odin shook himself. He glared at the dragon. “I did not appreciate that.”

“You didn’t give me much choice. We’ll be on our way.”

“Thank you,” Fionn said.

“You owe me a tale, Celt.”

“Aye, and I’ll make good on it, but not just now.”

Nidhogg was already pulling power and magic sizzled around him, electric to the touch. The fine hairs on the back of Fionn’s head stood at attention and he closed the few feet between him and Nidhogg.

“Ye doona have to go with me—” he began.

“Nay. We’ll see this thing through.”

“I want to come.” Thor catapulted down Valhalla’s steps, battle axe in hand. He looked so much like Odin, they could have been brothers. The only difference was more of a red cast to Thor’s hair—and the lack of drinking horns around his neck.

“Grand idea,” Odin seconded and crossed his arms over the drinking horns. “We’ll both accompany you.”

Fionn hesitated, feeling torn. While it might prove handy to have more firepower, there’d be no hope of stealth. He looked up at Nidhogg. “What do ye think?”

Smoke steamed from the dragon’s open mouth, and a deep, booming laugh shook the ground. “Brilliant. I’d love to have Thor and Odin fighting by my side again. After all, I am the Norse dragon.”

“Our first concern is Aislinn’s safety,” Fionn cautioned, finding it difficult to latch onto Nidhogg’s enthusiasm.

Thor clapped him on the back so hard it was a struggle to maintain his balance. “Celts!” he sputtered. “What a bunch of pussies you always were.”

“Really?” Anger flared red hot, and Fionn felt like he was back on the battlefield outside his house. He reached for magic, intent on wiping the smirk off Thor’s Nordic features.

“Enough,” Nidhogg roared. “We leave now.”

Before Fionn could lodge a protest, the world whirled and dropped away to nothingness. He pulled his ragged emotions into some sort of order. Pounding Thor into the dirt wouldn’t help them find Aislinn, and it would piss Odin off. Time dribbled by. Even with teleporting, it took a while to cover the longer distances, and the journey gave him time to think. Odin and Thor would never agree to follow his orders, but they might follow Nidhogg’s.

He reached for the dragon’s mind and, surprisingly, found it still open to him. “What happens once we get there?”

“We use magic to locate them and do whatever we have to in order to free Aislinn and Rune.”

Fionn swallowed hard. “Do ye believe they’re still alive?”

“Probably.”

“Say more.”

“This is conjecture on my part, but we did a fair job foiling the plan to loose Hell’s minions—once we fell headlong into it.”

“The plan being tricking us into opening a portal into Hell?”

“Exactly. Once whoever was orchestrating things realized we were onto them, and were about to shut the gateway, they scrambled to salvage something. There’d have been no point in bothering with hostages, if they just meant to kill them.”

Understanding rose, dragging hope along with it and Fionn said, “Makes sense. If whoever took Aislinn and Rune was close enough to kidnap them, they could just as easily have killed them.”

“Now that I’ve had a chance to think things through, it’s the same conclusion I came to,” Nidhogg agreed. “I realize I said she might already be dead earlier, but once the words were spoken, they didn’t ring true.”

Fionn didn’t bother mentioning they’d certainly rung true for him, but that was because he was incapable of rational thought when it came to Aislinn. So long as Nidhogg appeared inclined toward conversation, Fionn tackled tricky ground. “Once we get there, will ye take on leadership of the group?”

Dragon laughter nearly deafened Fionn and he shook his head to stop the ringing in his ears.

“Never fear,” the dragon said once he stopped hooting with mirth. “I’ll never tell anyone that you offered me ascendency on the battlefield.” He paused for a beat. “If the unspoken question is whether I can encourage Thor and Odin to be assets, I believe I can. You’ve fought alongside them. For all their stubbornness, they’re skilled fighters, and damn near fearless.”