“In that case, why bargain with me at all?”
Nez sighed. “Vampires are expensive, Ms. Harper. Make no mistake, I will take Baile. Water and walls are not a barrier to the undead. However, the People would sustain a significant financial loss, and nothing inside your castle is valuable enough to offset it.”
If she had nothing valuable, then why did he keep trying to force her out before Hugh showed up?
“Suppose I say yes. How exactly do you envision this happening? I can divorce d’Ambray, but there’s the small matter of three hundred trained killers who won’t like being put out on the street.”
“Three hundred trained killers who depend on you for their rations, water, and shelter.”
He wanted her to poison the Iron Dogs. Elara smiled. “I need to think about your proposal. Do you have anything in writing?”
A large envelope hit the ground next to her. She picked it up. How much time could she ask for? The more time she bought, the better prepared they would be, but asking for too much would show her hand. He would simply push the timeline forward.
“I’ll need at least two weeks,” she told him. “My legal council needs to review the documents and we’ll have to make some inquiries in Aberdine. Until then, I don’t want to see you anywhere near Baile. Do not interfere with the operation of the pumps. My husband is difficult when he’s agitated.”
“Two weeks from now,” Nez said. “Same time, same place. You’re a smart woman, Ms. Harper. Make the right choice for your people.”
The undead leapt away and took off into the night. She walked back to Oscar. The mechanic looked at her.
“Have you ever noticed, Oscar, that when people say, ‘You’re a smart woman,’ what they really mean to say is ‘But I am smarter?’”
Oscar smiled at her.
“Weren’t there some Iron Dogs guarding the station?”
“There were. Two of them fellahs. They’re sleeping under that oak over there.”
Elara sighed. “Oscar…”
“You know how I like the quiet. Evening, that’s me time.”
“They were supposed to be here for your protection.”
“I know, I know. They looked tired anyway.”
“You better wake them up. And don’t magic them back to sleep either.”
Oscar sighed. “What do I do if that undead shitweasel comes back?”
“Shoot him and let the ‘fellahs’ do the rest. These pumps must keep working, do you understand me, Oscar? Keep the water flowing.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Elara thought of fussing at him about the “my lady” bit, but she had bigger fish to fry. It was only her imagination, but the envelope in her hands was too heavy and she couldn’t wait to put it down.
The concrete wall of Dollar General began to sag. The archers on the roof shied back, trying to escape the heat.
The eastern gate collapsed.
“What do we do?” Bishop was looking at him, wild-eyed. “They’re going to burn us alive.”
The eastern shield wall crawled up Main Street. The archers from the rooftops fired a few arrows, but the missiles just glanced off the shields. As expected. Attacking them head on would do no good either.
The testudo kept moving, unstoppable behind its wall of steel. In the west, the two lieutenants spat more fire, hosing the buildings down.
“What do we do?” Bishop repeated.
“Ring the bell,” Hugh told him.
Bishop stared at him.
“We have a fire,” Hugh told him. “Ring the fire bell.”
The police chief swore, turned to the roof tower, and rang the bell. It tolled, a surprisingly high note. The doors of the firehouse snapped open. The snarl of an enchanted engine pealed like thunder. A firetruck sped out of the firehouse with Stoyan at the wheel, turned left, and hurtled down the street, picking up speed. The eastern shield wall had no place to go. The truck rammed into them at fifty miles an hour, scattering armored men like pinballs. Stoyan punched through the center of the formation, reversed, and doubled back, mowing them down.
Welcome to the 21st century.
The Iron Dogs streamed from the side streets onto the broken formation. Fighting broke out, as they jumped the enemy three, four to one.
The western shield wall started forward.
Perfect. That’s what he’d been waiting for. He had to check them now. It needed to be quick and brutal. Take the head, and the body should run.
Hugh slid down the ladder and walked into the street. The war drums rose, followed by howling horns. Behind him the street turned black as the Iron Dogs emerged from the streets and houses.
The two front lines of mrog soldiers dropped to their knees, revealing the commander and two officers.
The commander watched him approach from behind two lines of his troops, his face impassive. Thicker armor, long heavy sword, twenty-seven-inch blade, double edged. Simple but effective.
Cutting through that armor would be a bitch. He’d need an edge. A blood edge. Too bad he couldn’t make one anymore. Blood swords and blood wards were behind him. Hugh unsheathed his sword and swung it, warming up his wrist.
The two officers turned to him, their faces emotionless. Their mouths gaped open. Two streams of fire shot at him.
His body reacted before his mind did. Hugh sliced the back of his left arm and threw the blood in an arc in front of him, sending his magic through it.
What the fuck am I doing?
The blood sparked. The blood ward flared in front of him in an arched screen, a wall of translucent red. The fire smashed into it and glanced off, shooting at an angle to the side. The torrents died.
How the hell…
Hugh groped for the connection to Roland but it was still gone.
He didn’t have time to puzzle over it. He pulled the magic to him, building his reserve and kept moving. Darkness curled from him, pulsing from the ground with his every step. The arcane currents built within him, familiar, strong, obedient.
Without a blood edge, he would be fucked.
The blood ward worked. Why not the blood sword?
The pair of golden-shouldered assholes sucked in air. Round two. Fire tore toward him. He threw up another blood ward, let the inferno die trying to break it, and kept moving.
The magic vibrated inside him like a firehose under the full pressure of a hydrant. Blue sparks pierced the darkness rising from him, lighting it from within.
He was only ten yards from the front line.
The commander opened his mouth. His eyes sparked with bright fiery amber. A torrent of fire shot out of his mouth, white-hot, and met the wall of Hugh’s third blood ward. The spell took the full brunt of the impact. The fire raged, pounding on the translucent wall of red. Hairline cracks formed in the ward.
If it shattered, he would never know.
The fire torrent raged.
Now or never. Hugh drew the full length of his blade over the cut, soaking the flat of his sword in his blood. He reached for the power in his blood. For a terrifying half second, nothing was there, and then he found it, a bright spark of hot magic. He fed it and it burst into an inferno. Magic dashed down Hugh’s blade, like fire along a detonation cord. A bright red edge overlaid the sword.
The fire died.
Hugh dismissed the ward with a wave of his hand.
“Is that all? My turn.” His magic saturated him to the brim, threatening to boil over. All he had to do was aim it. “Karsaran.”
Darkness shot out of him, exploding, streaked with blue lightning. It clutched at the two front lines, jerking the armored men off their feet into the air. They hung three feet above the pavement. He moved through the gap he made, as their skeletons snapped, contorting, the staccato of their breaking bones crunching like broken glass under his feet.
An officer spun into his way. Hugh sidestepped, letting the man’s momentum carry him by, and sliced across the officer’s neck. The blood sword cut through solid metal like it was butter. The officer’s head rolled off his shoulders.
Ha. It still worked.