Page 82 of Twisted Magic

Cillian Harahel had turned out to be more useful in a pitched battle than a librarian ought to be. From his encyclopedic memory, he recalled several enchantments that anyone with sufficient magic could cast, and he deployed those to good effect—freezing groups of hunters in place to be chopped apart or miring them in the plentiful mud with similar results.

The El-Adrel wizards deployed their best devices, discovering that the favored weapon of their burrowing darts didn’t affect the hunters they way they did living creatures—no pain, no real effect on their ability to keep going—but that flying disks with serrated edges served well to sever their front and hind legs.

The mundane fighters had to be wary of the snapping jaws and sharp-edged fangs, but they could then follow in a second wave and at least chop the hunters into smaller, less-threatening sections.

Seliah, of course, was a one-woman killing machine, handling the hunters Cillian couldn’t immobilize, and he guarded her flank, holding his own with Mr. Machete and such devices as he was able to activate on the fly.

And it still wasn’t enough.

The hunters kept coming, mounding around them in twitching, taunting, and writhing piles of rotten malevolence. In places they formed walls that afforded some protection from the onslaught, though one had to be careful of coming too close to claws that swiped of their own accord or disembodied slashing fangs.

Everyone was tiring. The wizards without familiars had pretty well emptied their reserves, retreating gray-faced to manually defend the core of their most vulnerable, which included Gabriel’s parents. Those with familiars hung in there, but the familiars were starting to run low. And physical bodies could only sustain so much. They were wearying, hungry, and thirsty. It showed, too, more hunters getting through the outer ring of their defenses, more people crying out in shocked pain as fangs and claws slashed through to injure them.

“Phel had better do whatever splashy magic he has in mind,” Jadren gritted out to Seliah during a rare break in the constant effort. “We can’t hold out much longer.”

As if summoned, Quinn arrived in falcon form, bearing another message. “This better be the news we’re looking for. Cover me,” Jadren told Seliah, able to smile a little in memory of the first time the pair of them had fought a horde of hunters. Her jaw fell open in a feline grin, clearly remembering, too, how he’d told her to cover him—having no idea what that actually meant—and then run willy-nilly into the fight. They’d come a long way since then.

Tail lashing, Seliah turned her back, ready to defend him against all comers while he read the disheartening news. “Phel can’t unleash anything devastating on the hunters with us in the middle of them. He’s picking off the edges, but the moon silver isn’t working to melt them—we knew that—so it’s slow going. Good news is they’ve evacuated everyone they needed to, but we’re at a stalemate. He wants to know how long we can hold out.” He laughed bleakly. “Or if we can extract ourselves from the line of fire.”

He looked around, as if their situation might have changed. “Extract how and to where? No, Lord Phel, we can’t.”

Quinn took wing, though he hadn’t meant for that to be his reply. Still, it was the definitive answer. Seliah dismembered a hunter, then looked over her shoulder at him with a bloody mouth. “Yeah,” he told her. “It’s time for the desperation move. Let’s just hope this works.”

She came to him and he brought her back to human form, the effort surprisingly easy. Which was good, as he was running low on magic. They’d made that deliberate decision, for her to remain in alternate form as long as possible, to reserve her potent reservoir of magic for the desperation move, figuring it would likely come to this. Seliah spat a bloody gobbet of spit to the ground, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“There’s my lovely Lady El-Adrel,” he drawled.

She made a face at him. “That stuff tastes foul. You have no idea.”

He chuckled at the old joke and took her hand, fishing the widget out from under his shirt. “Your folks likely witnessed that transformation,” he warned her, wishing they’d had time to ease them into the concept of their daughter becoming one of the ferocious wild cats that haunted the western marshes.

“I think they knew already. Mom seemed to, anyway.”

“Interesting. You would be a good mother,” he observed.

“Then this better work,” she replied with a cheeky grin, “as I’d love a bumper crop of El-Adrel babies.”

“Am I to live with farmer metaphors all my life?” he complained.

“You love it. You love me.”

“I do, it’s true.” He paused, gazing at her with all the love in his heart. “If this doesn’t work, it’s been a real privilege, Seliah.”

“Yes. I wouldn’t trade any of this.” She leaned in to kiss him.

“With that mouth?” he exclaimed, rearing back.

“Hey, I rinsed, but fine.” She gave him a black scowl, then gasped as he dragged her to him and kissed her as if it might be the last time.

“Delicious,” he told her in all sincerity. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s do this.”

~27~

Gabriel paced the porch, full of magic for their final strike and impotent to use it. A few of the faithful remained with them. Han, who’d returned after seeing the non-combatants safely away, Wolfgang, Costa, and a very stubborn trio of Sage, Quinn and Iliana. Everyone else had made it safely out the back. Jadren, Seliah, and the others had done a great job of drawing the hunter horde to them.

Too good of a job, as the group on the porch of the manse could only stand by helplessly and watch the thronging mass of unnatural creatures surge and heave over the diminishing group of their rescuers. The once beautiful lake roiled with mud, thrashing hunters, and broken automatons, the dome of the arcanium—ironically and miraculously still intact—barely peeked above the surface now as water continued to pour in, no longer with his assistance. He’d sacrifice the arcanium in a heartbeat to help their people on the other side of the lake, those heroic rescuers who’d arrived in the nick of time, likely sacrificing themselves in the effort.

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