When offered the chance to do so, he had abandoned his life as a destroyer of the slave camps and their demon masters, worn down by the struggle, weary of the fight, eager to travel a new road. Searching out the gypsy morph was the price of the bargain. Find the morph and protect it, O’olish Amaneh had asked of him. Do this, and you will have your chance to face that old man who killed your family, the Lady had promised.
He had agreed in a heartbeat.
But why had they even bothered asking him? What was it that they expected him to do when for virtually the entire time since he had found the morph they had been separated?
There were no answers to be found, and no point in thinking on it further. He kicked at the earth with one boot, a pointed response to his frustration, and let the matter drop. One day, somewhere down the road, he might better understand what he was doing in this business, what his role was really supposed to be. For now, he would have to accept on faith that he had a purpose to fulfill, whether he saw it clearly or not.
They had walked less than ten miles when Simralin said, “Do you hear something?”
He stopped and listened. “Weapons fire, shouting. There’s a battle being fought, just ahead.”
They continued walking, faster now, their efforts more directed. Logan felt a clutch of fear in his chest at the prospect of what they would find. He had been afraid for some time that he might catch up to the caravan too late, that he might return only to bear witness to its destruction. He had lived in silence with that fear, refusing to admit to it. But now it was full–blown and pressing down on him on like a great weight.
Clouds of dust began to fill the air ahead of them, billowing up from the parched earth to form a broad haze across the horizon. The battle was intense and covered a broad span of ground from north to south. Logan was practically running now, Simralin keeping close.
“Look,” she said, pointing.
Winged forms swept in and out of the haze ahead. Skrails, Logan realized at once. If there were skrails, there were likely once–men and demons close at hand.
Then they crested a long, low rise, and the whole of what was happening ahead was revealed.
The LITTLEST OF THE CHILDREN were already being led across the narrow span of the dam, hands linked together, a long winding chain of tiny forms, when Angel told Helen to move the vehicles into position in front of the crossing point to form a protective barrier. They would have to make a stand here if there were still children who had not gotten safely over by the time the lead elements of the demon army reached them. Helen selected from among the adults those who would act as defenders and began passing out what weapons they had. The engineers and explosives experts went to work laying charges along the perimeter of the battlefield to help defend against the enemy approach. Everything was pandemonium, a barely controlled chaos that Angel and Helen kept in check with close supervision and repeated reassurances.
When the Lizards and Elves and some of the other creatures who had been traveling with them came down to the dam head and offered to help, Angel made a quick decision.
“Helen, give everyone who volunteers weapons to use, and I’ll put them at the barrier with the others.
We need as many defenders as we can manage. No time to get choosy about who we’re using.”
Helen Rice didn’t question her, but handed out what weapons remained, and when those were gone sent the rest of the newcomers down to the dam to help with the children. Angel watched for a few minutes more and then walked up to the barricade of wagons and vehicles and made some last–minute adjustments. Even Logan Tom’s Lightning was pulled into line, its weapons pointed outward, one of the better defenders who’d come up from Los Angeles at the wheel. She wished more than she could say that the other Knight of the Word was there to help. She missed his steady resolve and fierce determination. She found herself wondering anew if she would ever see him again.
Kirisin was there briefly, ashen–faced and edgy amid all the activity, asking finally what they were going to do about Simralin. She had no answer for him. She told him to join the Ghosts and cross to the other side. He was carrying the fate of a nation in the Elfstone tucked in his shirt, and he had to remember that. His sister would tell him the same thing, if she were there. He left with tears in his eyes, unable to look at her.
Helen Rice reappeared. “How are we going to defend when they get here?” she asked.
Angel shook her head. “Send the explosives people down to the dam when they’ve finished with the perimeter. Wire it to explode. Tell them to do the best they can. We’ll slow the attack down, hold the once–men for as long as we can.” She gripped the other woman’s arm. “The truth is, Helen, we’re running out of choices.”
“I know that. I’ve known it for some time.” Helen gave her a brave smile. “But we’re not giving up, Angel. No matter what.”
“No, amiga, we’re not giving up.”
Helen folded her arms and hugged herself. “I’m so afraid.”
Todos tenemos el derecho de sentir miedo, Angel thought. We all have a right to be afraid. She gave the other woman a hug. “Let’s keep working.”
She returned to positioning the armed vehicles and defenders among the haulers and wagons. Some of the latter she ordered overturned to provide better cover. She had the wheels removed from the rest, hoping to prevent the enemy from being able to pull them aside. She was not entirely sure of what else she should do. They relied on her, all of them, Helen included. But she was not the skilled and experienced warrior that Logan Tom was.
She thought momentarily of Johnny, the first time she had done so in days. If he were there, he would know what to do. He would sense instinctively what was needed and see to it that it was done. But her own sense of things paled by comparison and left her feeling inadequate.
The crossing over of the children to the far side of the gorge was almost finished when dust clouds appeared on the horizon and the lead elements of the demon army came into view. Once–men, wild and unkempt, ragged figures numbering first in the hundreds and then in the thousands, crowded forward. They came running across the flats–running! Their makeshift weapons were raised over their heads, and their voices were shrill and frenzied. They made no effort at an organized attack. They simply threw themselves into the fray like animals, their bloodlust driving them.
Thousands of feeders bounded through their midst, gimlet–eyed and hungry for what was about to happen.
“Keep coming,” Angel whispered to herself, ignoring the feeders, concentrating on the once–men, her teeth clenched, the black staff gripped tightly. But there are so many! Too many for us to stop!
The front ranks reached the perimeter of the defensive lines, and the hidden explosives detonated, shredding hundreds of once–men. Screams mingled with clouds of smoke, and body parts flew everywhere. But the assault continued, fresh waves of attackers replacing those that had been decimated. A second set of charges went off, and again the attackers vanished in smoke and screams. This time the assault slowed, and the once–men, fragmented and scattered, struggled to mass anew.
Angel glanced over her shoulder at the dam. The last of the children were crossing, and now the adults who had helped them were beginning to file over as well.
“Fall back!” she shouted to the closest of the defenders, and then started down the line, drawing the attention of the rest. “Get back! Get across the dam!”
They began to withdraw in ones and twos, a too–slow response to her order. Frustrated, she stepped out into the open as the now fully regrouped once–men threw themselves at the defensive lines, and she sent the Word’s fire exploding out of her black staff into the attackers. The front ranks collapsed, but more kept coming. Skrails were diving at her from out of the sky, tearing at her with their claws, trying to distract or disable her. She ignored them, sweeping the fire across the flats and into the enemy hordes that filled them.