The Last Guardian

The dog exited the barn a lot faster than it had come in. Bellico and her magical coterie were more than a little jealous when they saw a soul drift from the canine corpse, smile briefly, then disappear in a blue flash, on its way to the next world.

 

“We don’t need to enter,” said Salton the pirate, sliding the barn door closed. “All we need to do is stop them coming out.”

 

Bellico disagreed. “Our orders are to kill them. We can’t do that from here, can we? And mayhap there’s something in there my host, Juliet, doesn’t know about. Another tunnel, or a hot-air balloon. We go in.”

 

Opal had been very specific when Bellico had presented her with the information about the Khufu.

 

“My host protects the Fowl children,” Bellico had said. “The boy Myles is very inquisitive and followed Artemis to his hilltop workshop. So Juliet followed the boy. There is a sky craft in there, powered by the sun. Perhaps a weapon of some sort.”

 

Opal had paused in her spell casting. “Artemis has no choice but to go for the weapon. Take a team and remove the craft’s battery, then wait for them to enter the workshop.” Opal clasped Bellico’s forearm and squeezed until her nails bit into the flesh. A slug of power crawled from Opal’s heart, along her arm and into Bellico. Bellico felt instantly nauseous and knew that the magic was poison.

 

“This is black magic and will eat into your soul,” said Opal, matter-of-factly. “You should release it as soon as possible. There’s enough there for one bolt. Make it count.”

 

Bellico held her own hand before her face, watching the magic coil around her fingers.

 

One bolt, she thought. Enough to take down the big one.

 

Holly hovered anxiously around Artemis. He was in his thinking trance and hated to be interrupted, but there was bustling under the barn door and shadows crisscrossing in the moonlight, and her soldier sense told her that their refuge was about to be breached.

 

“Artemis,” she said urgently. “Artemis, do you have anything?”

 

Artemis opened his eyes and brushed back a hank of black hair from his forehead.

 

“Nothing. There is no rational plan that will save even one of us if Opal succeeds in opening the second lock.”

 

Holly returned to the window. “Well then, first in gets another warning shot.”

 

Bellico ordered the archers to line up outside the barn’s sliding door.

 

“When the door opens, fire whatever you’re carrying into the machine. Then we rush it. The elf will have time for two shots, no more. And if any of us happens to be killed, well then, that’s our good fortune.”

 

The Chinese warriors could not speak, sealed as their mummified remains were inside enchanted clay sepulchers; but they nodded stiffly and drew their massive bows.

 

“Pirates,” called Bellico, “stand behind the archers.”

 

“We are not pirates,” said Salton Finnacre sulkily, scratching his femur. “We are inhabiting pirates. Isn’t that right, me hearties?”

 

“Arrr, Cap’n,” said the other pirates.

 

“I admit it,” said Finnacre sheepishly. “That sounded fairly piratelike. But it bleeds through. Two more days in this body, and I could sail a brig singlehanded.”

 

“I understand,” said Bellico. “We will be with our ancestors soon. Our duty will be done.”

 

“Woof,” said the remaining hound with feeling, barely resisting his host’s urge to sniff other people’s personal areas. Bellico wrapped Juliet’s fingers around the door handle, testing it for weight.

 

“One more glorious charge, my warriors, and the humans are forever vanquished. Our descendants can forever live in peace.”

 

The moment buzzed with impending violence. Holly could sense the Berserkers psyching themselves up.

 

It’s down to me, she realized. I have to save us.

 

“Okay, Artemis,” she said brusquely. “We climb to the rafters. Perhaps it will take the Berserkers time to find us. Time that you can spend planning.”

 

Artemis peered over her shoulder, through the porthole.

 

“Too late,” he said.

 

The barn door trundled open on oiled casters, and six implacable Chinese clay warriors stood silhouetted in the moonlit rectangle.

 

“Archers,” said Holly. “Lie flat.”

 

Artemis seemed dazed by the utter collapse of his plans. He had acted predictably. When had he become so predictable?

 

Holly saw that her words were not penetrating Artemis’s skull, and she realized that Artemis had two major weaknesses: One, he was physically hamstrung not only by his hamstrings but also by a lack of coordination that would have embarrassed a four-year-old; and two, he was so confident in the superiority of his own intellect that he rarely developed a plan B. If plan A proved to be a dud, there was no fallback.

 

Like now.

 

Holly hurled herself at Artemis, latching on to his torso and knocking him flat in the narrow aisle. A second later, she heard the command from outside.

 

“Fire!”