Lily, smoke, blood, other humans. Toby, his wolf-scent so new and surprising. The rose-flesh-and-cinnamon smell of the spawn he’d fought. The acrid sting of gunpowder and the released bowels of death.
Thank God, Lily said, her mind-voice clear and crisp. I killed Shēngwù. Grandmother put everyone to sleep so the Fists wouldn’t kill me. I’m out of ammo. She can’t put the ward back up. I don’t think she can walk. Cynna’s got Diego. Gan’s taken the other kids to Edge. Toby’s asleep. Kongqi and Dick Boy are dueling with the remaining two enemy spawn with huge iron spears that Cynna thinks could break into Reno’s protection, and thirteen Fists are about to attack us.
It was an elegant and terrifying summary, completed by the time he’d lurched to his feet. His body felt stiff, as if whatever the spawn had done to him still clung, but it responded. He shook his head to clear it . . . and slid into certa. A single glance told him everything. That, and what his ears picked up.
They were trying to hold two points, the crossing spot and the gate. And they couldn’t. He opened himself to the moon’s call and threw himself into it. And Changed.
The pain was one crisp bite of agony and over. “Cynna! Bring Diego here! Quickly!”
“No! Gan—the Kanas—”
There was no time to explain. “Run!” he roared at her. He bent and slid his arms beneath Toby’s new form, limp with sleep, and said to Lily, “Get the swords.” The ones he’d seen next to her in that single glance. He lifted Toby. Even in certa his heart ached for his son, catapulted into combat and a new body at the same moment, bereft of memory, knowing only instinct and fear. They fought so hard to keep First Change from being like this!
But both thought and the ache were distant. Acknowledged, like the wounds on his own body, but only one part of the gestalt of this moment.
Cynna had obeyed and was bending to pick up Diego. Lily had the swords. Grandmother was only a few feet away. Near her, two of the Kanas were waking. One sat up. Three seconds passed as he crossed those few feet and laid Toby down next to the woman who sat, face chalky and eyes closed, leaning against the tower as if she’d fall over without its support. He turned and took one of the swords from Lily. He was not skilled with a sword, but he knew the basics. His speed should make up some for his lack of expertise—if he could move quickly. If his body had finished throwing off that cursed spell.
“Grandmother,” he said tersely, moving the unfamiliar sword through a few parries, testing how his body responded. “Can you call the tiger?”
“No.”
Cynna was almost here, the sleeping boy in her arms. The pale woman hadn’t followed her, but stood frowning thoughtfully at the Fists about to reach her—most of whom were now swerving. They’d been aimed for Cynna. For Diego. The boy was the primary target. Did the spawn realize yet that he was the only one of the children still here?
Except for Toby, that ache in his heart whispered. Toby, who had been catapulted out of childhood and into the terrifying shoals of adolescence. Who was no longer vulnerable to having his Gift reft from him, but his life could still be taken.
Cynna slid Diego to the ground and straightened quickly. “Dammit, Rule, I can take out three or four, and Alice said she could get four—”
“Blind them,” he told her and, at her obvious incomprehension, snapped, “Your light spell. The bright one. Blind them.”
A grin of pure elation flashed over her face and she faced the Fists, spoke five quick syllables, and tossed a brilliant light right in the faces of the ones in the lead. They stumbled to a stop, causing most of the others to stop, too, or to swerve. Giving Rule’s party precious seconds.
“Grandmother,” he said, “you and Cynna have to open the gate now.”
“We cannot.” Her voice was thin and flat and certain.
“Then we have a problem,” he said as the first rank of Fists came into view. The ones he’d heard jogging toward them when he slid into certa. The Fists—a full fifty, he judged—led by a man who must be Fist Second Fang.
? ? ?
“GRANDMOTHER,” Rule asked, “can you call the tiger?”
Li Lei gave Rule’s question a small part of her attention and told him no. Most of what focus she could summon remained fixed on the gate, which she studied with her eyes closed.
The gate was damaged.
It had been tied, in part, to the structure of the tower. This was not as foolish as it seemed, for the tower, too, was anchored. But that anchoring involved Earth magic, and that had been badly disrupted when power spilled and caused the earthquake. The tower had been damaged; therefore, the gate was, also. The damage seemed to be limited to the way the gate was tied to the tower. The gate still stood. It might even be usable. She could not tell. She was no expert at gates.
At this moment she was glad for eyelids, which imposed some limit on pain. Her head hurt. It hurt so badly that it almost eclipsed the pain in every other part of her body, which seemed to be circulating fire instead of blood. She had not experienced a backlash this severe since she was seventeen, when she had used mage fire in an attempt to kill an undying being. That act of desperation had not worked out well in the short term, as it had all but killed her as well as wiping out a large portion of a city. The long-term results had been surprisingly wonderful, however.
She was not at all sure the same could be said for today’s act of desperation.
One does not use magic when suffering from backlash. Normally one cannot, so for most people the issue does not arise. But she had seen three swordsmen coming at her granddaughter, who had no more bullets, and Rule had still been affected by the spawn’s spell—an obscenely thorough “freeze” spell, she believed, one which stopped all muscles, including the heart, the diaphragm, and those involved in lifting the rib cage with each breath. Sun knew two similar spells, or possibly three; she had chosen not to learn them. She considered it an unnecessarily cruel way to kill.
When Lily had killed the spawn who was killing Rule, she had cut off the spell’s power. The spell had immediately begun to dissipate, but it had still been present. Rule had not been able to act. And so she had.
Not with a spell. Even she could not shape a spell while suffering backlash. She had told Cynna Weaver that her ability to send sleep was a dragon trick, which was a fair description. Sending sleep was as much a part of her as walking, breathing, or ensorcellment, and so was available to her as long as she was conscious. Her singing had, however, been a working, a way to extend the reach of her sending. Without it, she could send sleep only to those close enough to touch. Such a working was not truly a spell, but it had undoubtedly worsened the backlash.
Li Lei did not approve of desperation. It was quite lowering to find that she could still succumb to it at her age. She could not raise the ward. She could not call the tiger. She was not at all sure she could stand up.
Rule spoke to her again. “Grandmother, you and Cynna have to open the gate now.”
“We cannot,” she told him.