Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5)

Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5) Page 32

I kept my eyes on Anyan, and when he nodded at me I pulled the labrys out of its hiding place. One minute my hands were free and the next I was holding the double-headed ax, its power lighting up the park around me. That said, it was bright, but not too bright.

It doesn’t seem to be going crazy, like it would if Morrigan were around, I thought. But maybe the shield she’s using is that strong.

Once I was holding the ax, Anyan nodded again, holding up one finger, then two, then three. My muscles tensed in anticipation as he nodded one last time, sharply, motioning towards the black dome.

Then I was racing towards it, labrys aloft, as Anyan ran one step behind me, Blondie flanking the barghest. When we were close to the shield I cleaved with the ax, carving out a rough-hewn circle with its power. It cut through the shield like butter, despite all the power that had gone into that inky barrier.

As soon as the hole was cut, I stepped back as in charged Blondie and Anyan, mage balls at the ready. I heard Anyan swear, Blondie sigh, and then I heard the Original shout, “All clear!”

I made my way into the shield, first gesturing into the darkness for Gog, Magog, and Hiral to follow. Our rebel allies were waiting in reserve, ready to pounce if anyone escaped the shield with any relics.

The inside of the shield was eerie, as it looked and felt like a piece of the outdoors had suddenly been roofed in. I also saw that the tomb in question had already been desecrated, its stone covering pushed off. The lid had cracked, lying broken on the ground.

“It’s empty,” Anyan said, before swearing angrily. Blondie had found the source of the shield, a pretty blue rock sitting on top of another gravestone. She touched it, and suddenly we were outside again. But not alone.

Jack Young and Lyman stood right where our entry hole had been, Lyman smiling at us as if we were all about to throw a baby shower. Phil the naga-halfling and Adele were standing on what had been the other side of the shield, blocking us in. Meanwhile, our good friends Gog and Magog were holding a struggling, spitting Hiral. Gog, at least, looked faintly apologetic but Magog was as cool as usual over their betrayal.

“How nice to see you again Anyan and Jane,” said Jack. “And you, Cyntaf.”

We moved into a tight bunch, me keeping a firm grip on the labrys.

“Magog,” said Blondie, her voice tight with emotion. “How could you?”

Magog stood silently as Jack tsked.

“Don’t blame the raven, Original,” said Jack. “Magog’s a good soldier—a good rebel soldier. And I’m the leader of the rebels, as you need to remember. Besides, this is only a friendly visit.”

“Oh yeah?” Blondie asked, her tone dripping sarcasm. Meanwhile, I was suddenly putting together how we’d been kidnapped that time outside the British Museum. We’d been set up then too. My eyes met Hiral’s gaze. He was obviously furious at Magog and Gog from the way he was staring at them, and I felt guilty for having doubted the gwyllion’s loyalty.

“Of course,” Jack said, smiling broadly as he moved towards us. Blondie followed his movements while Anyan and I stayed facing Lyman. We knew who the real threat was, in terms of an actual attack. Lyman, meanwhile, was still smiling politely, just as he had when Anyan and I had been abducted. But I could feel his power lapping at my shields, and it was considerable.

“You folks have been busy,” Jack said, leaning over the tomb to get a look at its lack of contents. “First Borough Market, then Brighton Pier. Now you’ve destroyed the grave of poor…” Jack took a moment to read the side of the tomb, “poor Anna Gibson.”

Jack turned to me, his smile gone.

“You’re a very naughty tourist, Jane True.”

I shrugged. He was right. We had blown up pretty much every place we’d gone, so far.

“What do you want, Jack?” Anyan said, obviously weary of the other man’s games.

“I want some answers, barghest. Like what a dragon was doing flying away from Brighton Pier. Dragons haven’t been seen for centuries, not since the Red and the White flew over the skies of this Island, killing whomever they clapped eyes on. And yet you’re supposed to be stopping those monsters from awakening. So why don’t you explain to me what happened.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know, Jack. I’m sure your little spies have already told you everything,” Blondie said, giving Magog and Gog a disgusted look.

“Actually, they haven’t. They’ve been very remiss about reporting in. I haven’t been able to get in touch with either of them, till Magog called me about that unfortunate librarian. Which made me curious as to your progress… or, judging from the state of Brighton Pier, your lack thereof. So I thought I’d pay you a visit, and I asked Magog to text me and let me know where you’d be this evening.”

We processed this information, especially the fact that Magog wasn’t the total turncoat we’d thought her to be. Finally, Blondie spoke.

“You’re right about us being too late. The former Alfar monarch, Morrigan, has become the Red. We figure there wasn’t enough left over for them to remake themselves. But there was enough remaining to possess a vessel.”

Jack paled visibly, but his voice was still under control when he spoke. “So the Red is unleashed. And the White?”

“Still not entirely assembled. That’s what we were doing tonight—trying to head off Morrigan before she could find another piece of her consort,” Blondie said.

“Then the pieces are still out there,” Jack mused, walking towards his brother. He and Lyman met each other’s eyes, and Lyman nodded.

“The pieces are still out there,” Jack repeated, “which means their power is still available.”

Blondie shook her head, her face betraying her contempt.

“That’s not how they work, Jack, and you know it. We can’t use the power of the Red or the White; they use us.”

Jack made a dismissive motion with his hands.

“So we’ve been told, Cyntaf. But such information comes from those we know lie to us, all the time. Maybe they don’t want us to have that power.”

Blondie strode towards Jack, her posture menacing. Jack’s followers moved in, as well, flanking their leader as the Original got up in his face.

“You’re not that dumb, Jack, so stop acting like you are. You’ve read the history. You know what happens when the Red and the White walk the earth. This isn’t some political game.”

“Everything’s a game, Cyntaf. And I like winning,” was Jack’s reply, his politician’s smile unwavering in the face of Blondie’s ire.

“You’ll be used, Jack,” Blondie replied. “Just like they use everyone. I’m sure Morrigan thought she was in charge, too, until she became the Red.”

“But I’m not ‘everyone.’ I lead the rebels. I am the rebels. Morrigan must obviously have been weak, but look at the power she now wields.” Jack said. “And you need to remember your loyalty, Cyntaf. You fight with us; you fight for our cause. Help us get the kind of weapon that will seal our destiny.”

I had to hand it to Jack. His voice oozed sincerity even as his face glowed with an almost messianic belief in his own message. Something whispered to me that Morrigan had probably been as sure of herself, and of her ability to control her new “weapon,” as she cobbled together the Red.

But while I distrusted Jack’s grip on his own reason, I had to give him credit. He remained remarkably calm when a new voice shot through the little cemetery.

“Your destiny is to serve, halfling,” came a bored, Alfar voice from out of the darkness that I recognized from our second kidnapping. It was the Leader’s second, Griffin. I squinted around, trying to get a glimpse, but I saw no one.

“We also do not appreciate such conspiracies taking place under our very noses,” came another voice, this time that of the Leader, Luke, himself.

Then, as if by magic—although I felt nary a tingle of actual power, five tall shapes disattached themselves from the darkness around the cemetery and flowed towards us.

In the lead was a muscular blonde, who would have been ruggedly handsome except for the fact that his countenance was more like that of a mannequin than a man. A step behind him strode a slightly taller, slimmer figure. This man had beautiful fey features and jet-black hair, cut so that it brushed his cheekbones. His features were schooled into a typically vague Alfar expression, but his eyes betrayed him. They were sharp, assessing everything around him.

He must be Griffin, which left the blonde to be the Leader, Luke. Behind the two leaders were three obvious Alfar flunkies. They were dressed in suits, and had a very Secret Service air about them.

“Well if it’s not our glorious Leader,” Jack said, affecting calm. But his body had gone tense, and his people clumped behind him like a bunch of grapes. If grapes could look like they were about to panic, that is.

“Can it, Jack,” said Griffin. Jack looked surprised at such a human expression coming from an Alfar, and I couldn’t blame him. Griffin, meanwhile, looked pleased to have startled the wyvern-halfling.