The Gate of Bones (9 page)

“Good lad.” Gavan swung his horse about to face Renart and Mantor. “Eleanora and FireAnn are down there.” He stared gloomily into the encampment. “You understand, Chieftain Mantor, that they hold hostages of ours.”

“As I am certain you understand that their raids threaten the lives of many people.”

“Winters have never been easy to survive.”

Mantor's horse stomped a hoof as if reflecting his rider's mood. The chieftain looked from Gavan to Renart who stayed remarkably silent now, though his fine brown eyebrows seemed knotted in protest. “All of you—” and Mantor gestured across the band of them and down across the valley fortress. “Are interlopers here, bringing much with you that is new, strange . . . and evil. We sift for the good, as we sift through our grain, sorting the wheat from the chaff. Many have voiced that all of you are alike, but I say . . .” And Mantor paused a moment. He cleared his throat. “I say that you are no different from any men, that you must be judged one at a time.” His six-fingered hand flexed on the reins, and his horse tossed his head. “Renart and I agree in this. It has led to Renart losing his license, and the respect of many. All of you know better than we do, what needs to be faced down there, and what the cost of that will be.” Mantor leveled his gaze at Gavan. “Are you telling me that you will not help us?”

“No.” Gavan shook his head emphatically. “I'm saying, right now, they have a knife to our throat.” He smiled, grimly. “We have to figure out how to blunt the blade before it cuts. But, there is no denying, we intend to fight what we're responsible for, and now we know where they are . . . and what we're facing. Magickers, mark this valley. We'll be back.” He swung up then, and with a sharp kick, sent his mount back down the crag the way they had come, in a rattle of loose pebbles and stones.

Mantor let out a primal sound, but whether of agreement or disgust, no one could be sure. He wheeled his horse about to plunge after Gavan. With a sigh, Renart kicked his horse into a trot. Bailey's horse turned to follow without the slightest tug on the reins from her to signal it, and the boys' mounts did the same. Halfway down the crag, her horse veered off the trail and picked its way to the left, down what she could only describe as a goat's trail. She tugged on the reins, but it swung its head back determinedly, and she finally let it go. At the hill's bottom, though, she could not spot the others, only a faint dust cloud from their passing.

“Uh-oh,” said Bailey quietly. She pulled on the reins and kicked her horse in the flanks, putting it into a trot in what she could only hope was the right direction. A rustling came from the brush behind her, and she turned in the saddle, expecting to see Stefan or Rich trailing.

Something did indeed trail after her. Brush crackled and pebbles flew from its headlong passage. Jaws carried low, hide of black-streaked silver, ears pricked and eyes catching the sun with a glint of green, a wolfjackal ran after her, mouth curled in a vicious snarl. Neither wolf nor jackal but the worst of both, she'd seen enough to fear them. They'd savaged Jason once. He still bore the scars on his left hand, and she hated to count the near escapes she'd had! Bailey leaned low over her horse, and kicked harder. “Where there's one, there's more,” she cried out, urging the animal. “We're in trouble.”

The horse didn't seem to catch the scent of the wolfjackal, but broke into a shambling run as the beast let out a long, quavering howl and was answered by three more close by. The horse let out a shivery whinny of fear muted by the thunder of its hooves. “Big trouble,” shouted Bailey, as she took up the ends of her reins and tried to snap them against her horse's shoulders. Memories of old cowboy movies spurred her, and her shout seemed to inspire the horse. It laid its ears back, stretched out its neck and pushed into a run, sprinting low across the rough countryside. “Faster!”

The tough little horse was built for mountains and walking all day, not running. It had speed but precious little, and she could tell from its panting that it couldn't run much farther or faster.

Bailey grasped her crystal in desperation, and twisted in her saddle. She pulled back on the rein, bringing her horse around in a circle, slowing it. Her crystal warmed in her hand. She had plans in her future, and she wasn't going to let anything or anyone stop her from them.

Time to make a stand!

B
AILEY RUBBED her amethyst gem, its answering warmth filling her hands. It wasn't her power, but a focus for it, and she bent her head in concentration to conjure up what she wanted. A Shield of light and energy between her and the enemy.
Think, Bailey, think!
A shimmering leaped into the air and, like a bubble, seemed to settle about them. Her horse whickered anxiously, its golden flanks lathered from the hard run. It stamped in fear as the Shield surrounded it, but it settled under her hold.
Arrooooo! Aroooooo-ah!
Their throats full of noise, the pack of wolfjackals crested the hill and raced toward them. Five in all, from shadow gray to dun to coal-black, their eyes blazed down at her. Their throats swelled with growls and yips. Bailey swallowed. Was she making a mistake trying to put up a Shield here . . . or taking the only chance she had, alone?

She rubbed her crystal a second time, in hopes of sending out a Beacon, a shard of power to alert the others. The Shield dimmed. Her hand shook, and she narrowed her eyes.
Concentrate.
But her mind strayed as the wolfjackals charged at them, their howling broken only by heated snarls, and she dared not look up from her gemstone to see how close they really were. The Shield would hold. Now she needed a Beacon!

She would have dropped her crystal if it had not been cleverly trapped and hanging from its chain. As it was, it bounced out of her grip and dangled for a second before she caught it back up again. Lacey chittered nervously at her from her bodice pocket, and Bailey could only mutter, “Quiet, I'm thinking!” back at the little pack rat.

She clutched her amethyst tightly, feeling its edges bruising her fingers. It felt warm now, but she knew well its cold panes and facets, the geometric precision of its inner secrets. She had trapped herself inside the crystal once, and if Jason had not rescued her . . . an icy shiver ran through Bailey at the thought. She nearly dropped her amethyst again.
Don't think! Don't fear it—just focus!
Her horse shifted under her, putting its ears flat back and baring its teeth, ready to fight. Bailey drew its reins tighter, fearing now that even if she could hold the Shield, the horse might charge through it, breaking the Magick. The way her crystal fought her now, or she fought it, she might not have the strength to put up a new one. Even now, her body shook as though she lifted a tremendous weight.

Bailey bit her lip. Hold on . . . just hold on! Someone was bound to notice the energy surge in this small dell. Someone was bound to notice that her endless chatter had stopped . . . weren't they?

The wolfjackals ranged about her. They began to circle. She could smell the strong odor of their heated bodies. Curved ivory teeth cradled lolling red tongues that dripped with eagerness to taste them. Bailey snugged her legs deep into the saddle's stirrups and wondered if they might yet have to try outrunning the beasts. Her horse had caught its breath, and now stomped defiantly as the lupines circled. One of the wolfjackals bumped another, and they snapped and snarled at each other, their harsh cries shattering in the air. The pack leader turned to face her, head on, eyes glowing, ruff silvery about its neck as it stared boldly, unafraid.

No normal animal meets a human gaze like that.
Bailey hefted her crystal a little higher, and the Shield wall shimmered, growing a bit stronger. Tomaz had worked with a wolfjackal pack, accepted by them somewhat, claiming that they were chaos torn free, but their natures were neutral. They sought Magick's overflow, but Bailey felt here and now that they were evil. Pure, vicious evil. She didn't know how the elder Magicker could think otherwise!

And if anyone doubted her, they could trade places with her
right now,
and watch the wolfjackals grin as they imagined her sliding down their gullets for an afternoon snack!

Her horse shivered as if sharing the same thought. Lacey gave up chittering at her and dove headfirst into the depths of the bodice's pocket, with not even her black tufted tail hanging out. “Coward,” muttered Bailey. Not that she blamed the little creature one bit.

A wolfjackal lunged at them. The Shield exploded in fiery purple-and-red sparks where it hit. It shrieked in fear and pain, rolling away, paws scrambling in the dirt. It cowered low, glaring at her, and then growled deep in its throat. The Shield healed itself immediately, and Bailey let out a low sigh of relief. It had held. It would hold . . . though for how long, she could not be sure.

She could see them thinking. The pack leader paced about her, its legs moving in the easy swinging gait of a wolf, and it touched muzzles with each of its pack, even the injured one. Then a second wolfjackal drew close. It did not charge as the first attacker had but rather swiped a paw.

The Shield crackled and spat, sparks flying again, but to a lesser degree. Then, slower than the first time, it healed itself where the wolfjackal had torn an opening.

Bailey blinked. Did they see that, too? Did they sense it or know what it could mean? She'd never seen a crystal's Shield gape open like that, or heal back. In all the times she'd had to use a Shield, it had never, ever, behaved like that. Anything could dart through those tears. Anything. . . .

The wolfjackals pulled back, circled, eyeing her closely. She could feel the strain in her arm as though she held a great weight in her hand, the crystal warm enough to nearly burn. She tried to splinter off a thought to Jason, Gavan, anyone, everyone, but the crystal resisted her as if it needed all her power for the Shield and nothing else mattered. As if it were too weak to channel any other magic. Or as if she were too weak . . .

The wolfjackals sank into a crouch, haunches tensing. Her horse stamped and rolled the bit in its teeth. They were thinking beasts. Had they reasoned out what she feared? Or worse . . . had they somehow
read
her thoughts? She had animal sense. Maybe she could push them away. She settled in her saddle, digging her heels in, bracing herself, and opened her mind to see if she could touch them as she often did Lacey. It wouldn't, couldn't, be pleasant, but she had to try.

For a moment, she felt nothing. She relaxed back on the mountain pony, feeling its flanks heaving under the saddle blanket as it fought both its tiredness and its fear of the beasts crouched before them. She could feel the burn of air in its lungs . . . but no, no, she was touching the horse, not the wolfjackals. Bailey wrenched her thoughts away from the beast she rode to the beasts who faced them.

Her hands shook. She felt tired, so very tired. She didn't know if she could even hold onto her crystal another moment . . . her eyelids fluttered. No! No! She shoved back, and the leader of the pack opened his jaws in a huge, wolfish laugh at her.

She hadn't touched them, but he had touched
her.

Bailey shrank back as if burned and almost threw her crystal with the jolt of her feelings. She clamped a lid down on her fear quickly, and held on with everything she had. A searing caress along the edge of her thoughts, and she almost thought she heard “Magickersssss cubling.” But she couldn't have. Wolfjackals could not speak. Could they?

What was it the one wolfjackal had said to Jason?
You are mine.
Bailey swallowed tightly. She wasn't about to become a shaggy snack if she could help it! She might be here till night fell and hell froze over, but she would keep that Shield up.

Jaws snapping at air, the pack leader slashed a wolfish snarl at her, as if in answer. Heart sinking, Bailey clenched her crystal and felt its angles cut into her skin. Looking down, she saw that its purple color had bleached away to nearly silver white. Fool! Why couldn't she have remembered the Avenha outcamp well enough to Crystal back? She'd never tried Crystaling anything as large as a small horse, but how could that be different from a gaggle of Magickers? But she didn't dare try it without a clear inner picture of her destination, and that she did not have.

What she did have was Ting and her mother, and the bare bones beginning of the Iron Mountain Academy, much farther away. There, there was her haven. Distance shouldn't really matter, the theory of crystal teleportation was merely the folding of distance. But it did matter, at least to one as young and newly trained as she. She knew that. This time, though, it couldn't. Bailey cupped both hands tightly about her amethyst. Home, she thought. Channel all her will to bring them safely home. . . .

The crystal flared in her hands with icy cold light. Not the warmth of power, but a deep cold chill that frightened Bailey to her very bones. She felt a brief touch of Ting, a jolt of surprise and a gut-wrenching kick as if repelled, and then . . . nothing.

The crystal made a noise as if fracturing deep inside.

No! Oh, no, not that! Bailey let her power go, felt it drain immediately as if barely held there, and the Shield shimmered down to mere sparks before restoring itself, slowly. She dropped her eyes to her hands, examined the crystal quickly before leveling her gaze back at the pack. She narrowed her eyes, willing herself to maintain a steely gaze as if that, and that alone, would keep them from her. Her amethyst seemed whole. She had to believe that it would continue to hold her focus. Without that belief, she had no defense left.

Nor enough power left to try it again, last chance or not. No, their last chance would rest on the mortal power of the little horse to try to outrun the pack when it broke through her faltering Shield.