Hugh stretched his shoulders. The small shapeshifter group was about two-thirds of the way to the tree line. They were moving at a crawl, the possessions of the two families loaded into two large carts. They were planning to catch the leyline by Aberdine. At the ley point, they would transfer the furniture and clothes to the shipping platform, board, and let the magic drag them east. Once they got close enough to Atlanta, they’d likely load the possessions into trucks, but the carts were a prudent move for the road that snaked its way through the forest. Any truck that ran on enchanted water would’ve made enough noise to wake the dead, and Ferara clearly wanted to do this quietly. They had barely twelve miles to go, and on this occasion slow and quiet would win the race.
A woman from the town had come to get Elara fifteen minutes ago. Something about a child. His cantankerous wife finally decided that he wasn’t going to do anything and left.
The wagons crept on, slower than molasses. The shapeshifters were sitting ducks out there.
Perfect.
Hugh swung into Bucky’s saddle and rode up to the gates. The twenty-five Dogs on horseback formed up into a column behind him.
Dugas strode up to him. “Interesting kid.”
“He’ll be the next bouda alpha.”
And they would all be worse for it. He remembered the files on Raphael and Andrea Medrano, who ran the clan now. At Ferara’s age and under similar circumstances, Raphael would’ve charged Hugh the moment he saw him. Boudas lost a lot of children to loupism, especially males. They spoiled the surviving boys beyond reason. That Ferara had the presence of mind to set aside pride and personal history to preserve the alliance was nothing short of a miracle. Shrewd.
It would be prudent to kill him now, before he matured.
Dugas stepped closer to him. “What do you think you’re doing? Running him down now, after he thinks he’s in the clear?”
Hugh turned and held the old man’s stare. “Step back.”
Dugas blinked and backed away.
“They’re fifty yards from the trees,” Liz called from the wall.
Far enough.
He pulled the magic to him and leaned forward in the saddle. “Charge.”
Bucky shot through the gates. Behind them the Iron Dogs spilled out of Baile, breaking into a canter.
A horn bellowed from the castle walls, a harsh declaration of war.
Ascanio spun his horse around. Hugh couldn’t hear the words from this distance, but it didn’t take a genius to read the kid’s expression. Ascanio shouted.
They’d either break for the trees on foot, scattering, every shapeshifter for themselves, or they’d make a stand. Either way Hugh would get what he wanted, but the stand would make them easier to contain.
Bucky sped up into a full gallop. Hugh had forgotten this, forgotten the rush of a full charge, but it was coming back. He used to live for this.
The shapeshifters threw the kids into the wagons. Lennart’s tactics. Stand together and live or die together.
Hugh raised his hand. Behind him the column of riders fanned out into a line.
The shapeshifters turned as one, fur and claws and snarling mouths filled with fangs.
The horn screamed from the walls.
Hugh pulled magic to him. He hadn’t tried to do this since he’d been exiled. This wasn’t his native magic; he’d learned it as a child from Roland. He had no idea if the power was still there. He began whispering the incantation, paving the way for the release.
Ascanio raised two curved foot-long knives, his face a meld of hyena and human, eyes blazing. His people crowded around the wagons, shielding the four children inside.
Twenty-five yards to the wagons.
Twenty.
Fifteen.
He angled Bucky. His force split in half, flowing around the wagons like a river. Ferara’s face flashed past him, fanged mouth hanging open in surprise. The trees loomed ahead.
Now. He reached for the smudges of foul magic.
“Ranar kair!”
Power poured out of Hugh, channeled through words of power so old, they shaped the very nature of the magic.
Come before me.
Agony tore through him, so sharp it felt like death, and for a moment Hugh felt a spark of hope that it would kill him. The world wavered and snapped back into focus instead.
The aftershock of the power words tore through the trees. The woods quaked and spat eight undead.
Predictable, Nez. So predictable.
The vampires spun, turning back to the trees, away from the cavalry charge.
Fifty Iron Dogs charged out of the trees, moving in a line, trapping the vampires between the two forces.
The first bloodsucker loomed in front of Hugh, still dazed from the impact of the power words. Hugh tore past, swinging his sword. The undead’s head rolled off its shoulders. The two forces closed in on the vampires like scissors coming together. An eerie cackle rolled through the battlefield – the shapeshifters joining the fight.
Hugh brought Bucky in a wide circle and leapt off his back. Fighting the undead on horseback would only get the stallion killed.
“All teams!” a male voice snapped from among the undead line. “Engage the enemy. Pursue at will. I repeat, pursue at will. Alpha Two, Alpha Three, on me. Contain the Preceptor.”
Three undead broke off and charged him.
Hugh let them come, gripping his sword with both hands in front of him, aiming to impale the front bloodsucker. The undead charged at him, eyes burning with red. The real fight wasn’t here. It was with the man behind the vampire, and that man had drilled Nez’s tactics until they became second nature.
So had Hugh.
At the last moment, the vamp twisted to the left, relying on its superior speed, counting on him to thrust. Had Hugh lunged, the blade of his sword would’ve missed the bloodsucker by an inch, leaving his own left flank completely exposed. Instead he stepped forward with his right foot and turned left, stepping back and driving the blade with all his weight. His sword caught the vamp just above the collar bone, severing the neck. Hugh turned into the spin, raising his blade, and brought his sword straight down, cleaving the second vamp’s head like a ripe melon.
The third undead spun, twisting away from his sword, bounced off the ground, and leapt at him. Hugh dodged. Claws grazed his shoulder. Hugh took the hit and smashed the back of his sword into the base of the vampire’s skull as it tore past him. The undead stumbled forward. Hugh kicked it in the back, stomping hard on the spine. The vamp sprawled on the ground, and Hugh drove his sword straight down, through the back into the heart. Contain this.
The whole thing took less than two seconds.
His heart beat faster. The world turned crystal clear. This – this – was living.
Hugh freed the blade with a sharp tug. All around him battle boiled. The Dogs struck at the vampires. Two boudas locked on one bloodsucker from opposite sides and tore it apart like a blood-filled ragdoll. He flicked the blood off his blade and dove into the slaughter, looking for something to kill.
Hugh surveyed the field. No undead moved. The smears of their magic had faded. Nine serious gashes, two broken limbs, no casualties on their side. His people had the element of surprise and magic on their side. Everything except dead could be fixed.
A blood-stained bouda strode toward him, seven feet tall and corded with muscle under sparse fur. They really did look like shit in warrior form. Part of the reason why Roland detested them, Hugh suspected. The human and animal meld wasn’t graceful. This one, at least, was more cohesive than most.
The bouda unhinged his jaws. “Motherrrrfuckrr,” Ascanio snarled.
Most shapeshifters couldn’t speak in warrior form. Their jaws didn’t fit together correctly. Hugh was right before. It was better to kill the kid now and avoid complications.
“You used us as bait!”
“Shut up,” Hugh told him. “You’re still breathing.”
“How did you know?”