Master of Darkness (21 page)

She’d thought he’d kill her then, but he’d calmed down. Calmed down, and started to smile. And play with her.

God, she
hated
that smile.

“Miranda.”
It took all her willpower not to start as Justice’s voice spoke in her mind.
“We need to Spirit Link
. Now.
Maeve is here, and she and the witches have a plan. But I need to be in there with you, or it won’t work.”

“
You can’t get through the containment field, and I don’t have any way to open it
,” Miranda told him. Besides, if they linked, he’d only die when she did. Miranda knew she couldn’t survive much longer. Sooner or later, Warlock would get tired of playing with her. Presumably, when he grew bored with watching her fight to survive.

We’re still linked from that attempt we made before
,
Justice insisted
. Maeve said she can help me use your mind as a conduit through Warlock’s shield. Then once I’m in there with you, I’ll kill the fucker. But you have to reach out to me and help me link.

But . . .

Now, Miranda. Or a lot of people are going to die who don’t deserve it.

Every instinct rebelled at the thought of letting Justice risk death this way. But if she died
before
he got through the shield, Warlock would still have more than enough time to sacrifice Arthur and his Knights; they couldn’t wake from their magical sleep until nightfall.

Then all of this would be for nothing. Too many people had fought and suffered—too many people
would
suffer. Even if it meant death for both herself and even Justice, if they could only save the others . . .

All right. Are you ready?

Yes! Miranda, for God’s sake . . .

And she Shifted, reaching for him along the link they’d come so close to completing before. But this time, Warlock’s fear spell wasn’t there to keep them apart.

Maeve
was
there. Miranda felt the Sidhe goddess add her power to Justice’s, helping him ride the forming link between them and slide
through
the shield.

She re-formed from her Shift holding Justice’s clawed hand in her now much smaller human one.

“What the hell is this?” Warlock stared up at the towering Dire Wolf warrior.

Justice only grinned. “Your death, you bastard.”

Roaring in rage, the wizard swung Kingslayer at them both. Justice stepped forward and met the attack with Merlin’s blade, weapon ringing on weapon. A chain-saw snarl ripping his lips, he advanced on Warlock, driving the smaller werewolf back with his greater mass and reach.

Ha
, Miranda thought.
See how
you
like it, Daddy
.

The blades beat together, each ringing impact spilling sparks around the two warriors like a blue rain.

Miranda watched, tensed and ready, the athame in both hands. She only hoped she’d get the opportunity to give him a little taste of his own poison.

Suddenly Warlock’s head snapped back, his jaws gaping in astonished shock as he stared at the sky. “What? No! No, you bitches, you’re not going to get away with this!”

He leaped at Justice, whirling Kingslayer up and across in a savage diagonal arc intended to cut his enemy in two. Justice blocked the blow, chopping downward with Merlin’s Blade, muscling Kingslayer down and trapping Warlock’s axe against the ground.

Miranda saw the chance she’d been waiting for. Stepping between the two men, she slashed the athame downward into the big gemstone embedded between Kingslayer’s double blades. Her sword hit the gem . . .

And shattered it.

The magical blast knocked Miranda flat on her ass and slammed Warlock across the spell circle to slam hard into his own shield. The barrier winked out. His body flared with light. For a moment, Miranda thought he was about to detonate like a bomb . . .

Then the glow faded, and Warlock reeled to his feet like a drunken man, cursing in a vicious roll of Saxon obscenity. The axe was gone, vanished completely, but that wasn’t why Miranda stared at him with her jaw dropping in astonishment.

He was human
.

Warlock stopped swearing, his expression shocked, as if the relatively high-pitched sound of his own voice had penetrated his rage. He looked down at his fully-human hands, and an expression of horror rolled over his face.

“No . . .” Looking up at Miranda, Warlock’s face twisted in a snarl. “You bitch! What did you
do
?”

Oddly, she’d never really thought of her father as having ever been human, probably because she’d never known of him to Shift. Hell, this was probably the first time he’d been anything but a Dire Wolf in centuries.

He was a tall man, surprisingly wiry considering his werewolf bulk, built more like a marathon runner than a Dark Ages swordsman. His white hair was so long, it dragged on the ground behind him.

She was still adjusting to that reality when darkness fell. Fell between one heartbeat and the next, as if someone had turned out the sun like an electric light bulb. Miranda barely noticed, too busy staring at her father as another shocking fact penetrated her consciousness.

There was no sense of magic around him at all.

“I asked you what you did, you little bitch,” Warlock shrieked, jolting toward her, his voice shooting high in helpless fury. “What did you do to my power?”

“I would imagine, you idiot,” Arthur observed, his voice utterly calm, “that when she destroyed your blade, it took your power with it.” As he stepped up behind the wizard, his armor swirled into being around him, apparently thanks to his wife. Gwen stood watching with the other witches, standing in a circle around what had been Warlock’s shield.

Arthur grinned at his foe. “Unfortunately for you, I still have mine.” The vampire’s fangs flashed white in the golden glow Excalibur cast as he raised the great sword.

Warlock whirled to face his enemy, backing away, strain obvious on his face, as if he was trying desperately to Shift. And failing.

Arthur merely smiled, the expression every bit as menacing as the one Warlock had turned on Miranda. She grinned in delight.

“So it’s to be an execution, then?” Warlock snarled. His eyes sought escape with the desperate flicks of a trapped rat.

“An execution is certainly what you deserve for the innocents you’ve slaughtered and the death magic you’ve worked.” One corner of Arthur’s lip lifted, revealing the tip of a fang. “Trouble is, I just don’t want to kill you that fast.” He raised his voice, not taking his eyes away from Warlock. “Give the bastard your sword, Tristan.”

Without a word, the blond knight tossed Warlock his blade.

No!
Miranda jolted forward instinctively.
You don’t know what he’s capable of!

But as she opened her mouth, Justice caught her forearm and gave her a head shake.
He has to, baby
,
he said in the Spirit Link
. These men live by different rules of honor than we do.

Despite the sick anxiety in the pit of her stomach, Miranda knew he was right. With a strangled sob, she subsided to watch the two men square off.

And prayed her father wouldn’t find a way to kill Arthur.

Justice slid an arm around her waist and drew her close. Despite the armor they both wore, she could sense his warm strength, and her fear abated. Despite everything, she and Justice were together—and alive. They could face whatever happened. Even if Arthur lost.

So held in the comforting circle of Justice’s arms, Miranda watched her father battle Arthur Pendragon.

* * *

The two men
tested each other, blade touching blade in faint scrapes, their gazes locked in a test of will and patience.

Warlock suddenly bellowed and disengaged, chopping his sword at Arthur’s head. The vampire parried, took a step forward, and slashed Excalibur across his foe’s chest. The wizard’s eyes flashed to the blood rolling down his torso, widening in shock.

“First blood to me,” Arthur said.

Warlock snarled a Saxon curse, all Germanic consonants. Arthur ignored the obscenity, cool in the face of his foe’s rage.

“I took an oath to Merlin,” Arthur said as casually as if they spoke over drinks. He didn’t even sound winded. “I wonder—did he bother asking the same of you?”

Warlock’s head jerked up, lips peeling off his teeth at the deliberately insulting implication that Merlin wouldn’t have asked for his oath because the alien knew he’d break it. “Yes, I took his bloody oath!”

He lunged, slamming his borrowed sword into Excalibur, before spinning to ram the pommel of his weapon at the vampire’s face. Arthur jerked his head back, avoiding the blow, and drove his knee into Warlock’s gut.

Bent double, the werewolf spun away. He straightened painfully and began to circle his foe again.

“I swore to Merlin that I’d keep you from betraying mankind and becoming a tyrant.” Warlock bared his teeth. “Evidently he expected you to betray your precious oath. And you have, you bastard!”

Arthur laughed in a bark of contempt. “I’m amazed you have the gall to question my honor when you reek with death magic.” He glided closer, Excalibur spilling sparks. Warlock retreated warily.

The former king padded after him, all lethal male grace. “Killing an infant dragon, a dozen little Demi-Sidhe, a troll king, and Maeve’s Cat, simply to gain the power to attack Avalon?” Arthur bared his fangs. “I can well imagine what Merlin would have said.” His eyes narrowed with lethal fury. “Right before he told me to kill you.”

The vampire whirled Excalibur up into a smooth, supremely controlled attack that forced Warlock to scramble away, his sword flying to parry the great blade. “The humans starve and wallow in their brother’s blood, while you sit in your fortress city and do nothing!” Warlock charged, only to spin aside at the last instant and slash at the vampire’s left thigh, trying to cut his hamstrings.

Arthur twisted, blocking low, then swung Excalibur up again in a hard diagonal slash. The great blade sliced across Warlock’s throat, just enough to spill the werewolf’s blood. A fraction deeper, and the sorcerer would have bled out in minutes.

Warlock leaped back, his face paling at the close call. “You could have guided the humans to an era of peace and prosperity,” he shouted, “but you don’t have the balls!”

Arthur beat aside the werewolf’s furious swing at his right arm, entangled the point of his foe’s blade with the guard of his own, and drove it downward to rake over the cobblestones. His left fist shot out, punching Warlock in the face with a short, hard left.

“I swore an oath, you Saxon bastard,” Arthur snarled. He rammed Excalibar’s jeweled pommel into the werewolf’s mouth. Warlock reeled. “I looked into Merlin’s eyes and swore to respect the right of humanity to find its way.”

The wizard spat a tooth and wheeled, panting, his eyes wide and wild. Blood streamed from his mouth and broken nose. His voice sounded slurred and congested when he spoke. “Oh, spare me the sanctimony, you son of a bitch.”

Arthur ignored that and circled him. “I pledged to keep humanity from destroying themselves, and that’s exactly what we’ve done. No more, no less.”

Warlock charged, blade swinging hard at his foe’s gut. Arthur went for the block, but the werewolf suddenly reversed the arc of his swing, driving his sword point at the underside of the vampire’s jaw.

Arthur threw himself backward, his body arcing into a somersault. Warlock missed by inches. The vampire landed on his feet and instantly launched into a whirling attack, forcing Warlock into frantic retreat, parrying desperately as Excalibur flicked around his face, spilling sparks down his chest.

“I never violated the oath I swore, even as I cursed human greed, stupidity, and cruelty,” Arthur told Warlock as the werewolf retreated so fast, he almost tripped over his own feet. “You
did
. You misused every gift Merlin ever gave you.”

“You’re such a bloody hero,” Warlock snarled, kicking out to catch the back of Arthur’s ankle with a foot, jerking it out from under him. The vampire went down, and Warlock swung up his blade with a wild cry of victory . . .

Arthur launched himself upward, driving Excalibur into the werewolf’s unprotected belly with one hand as he caught Warlock’s descending wrists with the other.

Convulsing fingers lost their grip on the borrowed sword, and it tumbled from Warlock’s grasp. He stared down at the great blade buried in his gut, eyes wide with disbelief. “No. That’s not what’s supposed to happen.”

Arthur kicked him off Excalibur. Warlock fell hard as the vampire regained his feet with liquid grace. “You broke your oath to Merlin, Warlock of the Direkind,” the vampire said in an icy voice. “You sacrificed innocents in acts of death magic, and you struck Avalon during the day to make war on our women.” He flicked his eyes to the small group that watched from the edge of the crowd of witches. “What say you, wolves?”

The Magekind parted, revealing a group of Dire Wolves stripped of their armor and weapons, surrounded by a group of witches and vampires who had obviously taken them captive. Smoke and his wife Eva stood close, watching the prisoners with grim attention.

A hulking Dire Wolf stepped forward, his dark fur shot with silver. Beads, feathers, and silver charms clicked in his braided mane. No aristocrat, he had the broad features of a descendent of the Bitten; werewolves who, like Justice, had been transformed by a bite. “Warlock led us here promising revenge for our fallen—like my brother, dead in the last battle.” The wolf stared at the wizard with utter loathing on his face. “He didn’t say we were to slay sleeping men and the wives who sought to protect them.”

“But I . . .” Warlock began.

The wolf spat a thick glob that struck him in the face. The sorcerer flinched. “I grew up hearing ballads of your heroism, Warlock,” the big werewolf growled. “From what I’ve seen today, they were nothing but lies.”

Arthur scanned the other captives, one black brow climbing. “Do you hope to gain mercy from me by forswearing your leader?”

A wiry red-furred wolf spoke from behind his evident leader. “You’d be a fool to grant it, after the way we’ve dishonored ourselves. Hell, I wouldn’t trust us either.”