Host (26 page)

On the wind, I smelled brimstone. Sulfur. Rot. Darkness was coming.

I
made it to my feet and stretched, hearing the creak of bones. I needed a hot soaking bath, though I wasn't going to get one anytime soon. Closing off the scan, but leaving mage-sight open, I looked up and down the street, checking the town's preparations. Sleet peppered down with a steady shush, settling into ruts and crevices in the ice, making footing treacherous. The temperature was falling. It was a dark night, with a heavy overcast. Not the best fighting conditions. Okay. The worst fighting conditions. But I was pretty sure there were ways to use the cold and the falling ice in battle. If I couldn't find them, Audric could.

My champards were gathered close, bright energy patterns in the night. This was the time when I was supposed to say something significant, something important, some rabble-rousing pep talk. And I had no idea what to say. Not a single one. I stared at the men, bracing my thumbs in my belt, the battle cloak pushed back. I cleared my throat.

One by one they all looked up and came to something like attention. It was almost funny. I was less than five feet tall and maybe ninety pounds dripping wet. What in heck was I supposed to say to them, this bunch of brawny, battle-hardened men, armed to the teeth and waiting on me to lead them. This was stupid.
Stupid!

I opened my mouth and words fell out. “Let's kick some butt.”
Seraph stones. Can I be any more idiotic?

But the guys laughed and seemed to relax, so maybe it wasn't so bad. Audric shook his head with a “What am I going to do with you?” look, a not-quite smile quirking his full lips.

I shrugged back. “Take Cheran back to the jail. Take off the witch-catcher and make sure he's awake. Tie him up but loose enough so he can get free if he tries hard. The iron bars should provide enough metal to protect him from attack.”

I had expected Eli to take the mage and was surprised to see Gloria Stein and her husband kneel beside him. Together, they hoisted Cheran and carried him into the night.

Around us, the sigil brightened, lighting the street, and a downdraft of air spiraled about, smelling of cinnamon and vanilla, fresh-baked bread, mint, and pepper. It was a mélange of scents that set my knees to quivering, and I looked up, into the falling ice. Above the town, seraphs descended and hovered, wings beating slowly. There were six of them, just as in my dream, just as in Rupert's vision, and they drifted high above the street, bright in the blended scan. Though I tensed, expecting to be thrown into mindless mage-heat, it didn't bloom. Maybe when fear and worry reached hurricane levels, they were substitutes for battle-lust. Or maybe the purple snake and its venom had something to do with it. I'd had a lot of contact with the wheels.

Crimson Raziel, purple and lavender Zadkiel, and teal-plumed Cheriour hovered with three strangers, all winged warriors with raven black wings and black armor, and carrying blackened-steel swords sheathed at their waists. Six. Not a common seraphic number. They usually appeared in twos, threes, or in groups of seven. Six was not a goodly portent, but then I was seeing evil omens in everything just now.

“Give the kylen to us,” one of the interchangeable three called, his voice like bells across the night sky.

Okay, this time the evil portent was accurate. They had come to cause trouble. My muscles quivered with panic and my breath came fast.

“He is ours,” another dark-winged seraph said, higher tones pealing.

The three seraphs I knew said nothing, their faces unyielding, giving little away, but it was clear they weren't here to help me. On the wind, the stench of sulfur and brimstone grew, the scents of evil blowing off the Trine. I was running out of time.

I forced down the fear and gripped the visa for advice.
Formality in all things
, it said. Well, duh. Big help there. But maybe…Before I could chicken out, I shouted, “Battle Station Consulate, the only battle station sanctioned by the High Host of the Seraphim, welcomes its first seraphic visitors. My champards, those under
my
protection, welcome you as well.”

“No kylen may live among the mages,” the first night-winged seraph said, answering my claim, his voice ringing like brass gongs, indescribably beautiful.

“Why not?” I challenged, forcing my voice to settle into the tones of debate. “Why may no kylen live among humans or mages? We are all the children of men.”

“Mages and kylen are forbidden to cohabit due to their licentious and dissolute pursuits and the numbers of kylen that are born,” the same seraph said. I named him Raven One. “The earth will no longer support the numbers of beings who once raped the planet. You may not breed indiscriminately. It is forbidden.”

There was a lot in that speech, from sinfulness to overpopulation to the health of the earth, which had been damaged by humans, devastated almost to the point of destruction. Hence the seraphs annihilating nearly six billion people in the plagues of the apocalypse, and plunging the earth into war. And the ice age. The judgment of the Most High. Followed by the attacks of Darkness and planetwide war. Saving the earth from us? Or taking it from us?

I took a deep breath and chanced what I believed, what I hoped, speaking as formally as I could. “Mage-heat no longer runs wild among us.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Sinfulness is controlled by the stone gifted to me by Zadkiel.”
Partial truth.
“There will be no immoral rutting between the kylen and this mage.”
Full truth. I hope.
“There will be no population growth. There will be no danger to the earth.”

I added what I had once garnered from Raziel's obtuse comments in that place of
otherness
where spiritual warfare takes place. “There will be only the joining in battle against the Dark, as the Most High intended, mind to mind, purpose to purpose.”
Assuming that mages were intended at all. How many lies and half lies can a mage tell before seraphs kill her off?

The smells drifting down from the seraphs changed, growing sharper, less sweet. Their scents altered with their emotions, and I had hoped for something a bit more positive, like lots of chocolate and caramel. Instead, I thought of wood smoke, candle smoke, the reek of heated copper, and the salt spray of ocean waves. The new combination of odors slowed the building of mage-heat and that part was good, as long as it didn't also mean I was about to die.

I looked at Zadkiel and fell into the most formal speech pattern I could manage. “You blessed me with the stone, O mighty warrior. You gave me the power to override the heat that would rage between seraph or kylen and mage. Will you not provide more of the stones? Will you not offer that protection to the seraphs with you, that you might all join us in the fight against the evil that comes?”

“The Most High tests you, little mage,” Raven One said.

“The children of men are gathered,” Raven Three said, echoing Jasper's prophecy.

Crap. Frustration filled me like a raging fire. Formality be damned. “And who are you?” I shouted back, pulling the Flame-blessed blade. It sizzled brightly and sang a note of welcome to the sky. The note vibrated my hand and up my arm into my heart. “Who are you who comes to the Battle Station Consulate without proper greetings? Without proper protocol?”

“You draw a weapon against us?” Raven One demanded. “We are messengers from the Most High.”

“We are his peacemakers. The long arm of his holy will,” Raven Two said.

“We bring death and destruction to the human world,” the third Raven said.

“And did the Most High tell you to let humans bleed and die today?” I shouted.

“There is yet no blood,” Raven One said. “No mage in dire.”

“No danger,” Raven Two said.

“We watch,” Zadkiel said. As one, their wings beat and they climbed higher in the sky.

I whirled and found Audric in the night. “They sent six,” I hissed. “Six seraphs. Why six? Not three or seven or some propitious number.”

Eli answered for him. “Because our winged wonder here makes seven. They intended to make up their number with one of us and you threw a monkey wrench into their plans.”

“Eyes sharp. We got company,” Audric said. My champards spread out around me, leaving enough room for blades to swing freely.

From the alleyway on the north side of town, spawn appeared, their stench and chittering carried on the wind, wiping away the smells of holiness and sex. Mage-heat curled up and died. The wind shrieked, piercing cold, its frozen claws throwing back my cloak like Thadd's wings.

I pulled the longsword from its walking-stick sheath, the bloodstone prime amulet that comprised its pommel hot in my palm. The tanto blazed again, as bright as it had in welcome of the seraphs, but now with a note that rang of war, deep and coarse and full of menace, a growl of warning that stirred my blood. The spawn moved in, walking in awkward rows.

“This looks bad,” Lucas said.

He was right. Spawn didn't walk; they swarmed. They raced in like mindless beasts to feast. They ate their own injured while they were still screaming. They were clawed and fanged monsters who healed from almost any wound as long as their friends didn't eat them first.

They didn't come in disciplined rows. They didn't march. They didn't follow orders. They just didn't. Not ever. Yet, these were clearly under the control of someone—some thing.

Rows of demon spawn scampered slowly along the street, keeping pace with one another, reddish bodies black in the night, eyes the glowing red of Darkness to my mage-vision. In the midst of their ranks walked Dark half-breeds and humans. At the back of the troop strode a Dark mage, his skin pearly bright, but banded, a pattern of snakeskin in mage-sight. I was glad I was wearing the Apache Tear; I didn't want to know the mind of this one, not for a moment.

Along the street, many of the humans had created barricades and fortifications I hadn't noticed, with my attention on champards, Cheran, and the seraphs. The blockades offered protection, but boxed the humans in. Voices tense and shrill, they passed information along the street and through handheld radios. Other humans stood in small groups, loose and rangy, tattered clothes visible even in the night. The EIH. And the newfangled big-ass gun was in the middle of the street, pointing west. There was a new gun pointing the other way, a bigger gun with a longer barrel. It was mounted on an old automobile chassis and had a white tank on one side. It looked like a propane tank, which was really weird.

“They're carrying guns,” Audric said, sending the champards out around me. Heads ducked, bodies crouched, making smaller targets. Spawn were too stupid to fire guns, but their humans and mages could. “I count six rifles,” he said, softer.

Spawn scuttled, moving in jerky, disorderly rows, assuming positions at both ends of the street and at every intersection. They stayed well back of the fortified positions of the humans, and farther away from the EIH. And they didn't attack. Spawn squirmed and shuffled foot to foot, their three-clawed feet clacking on the ice, reddish bodies twitching. Once they found what looked like prearranged positions, they stopped, they waited.

Overhead, the wind was still moving; in mage-sight, I saw it curl, forming a twisting, sinuous snake that ran down the length of Upper Street. It wasn't much in terms of a tornado, but there was no doubt about its shape. As I watched, its tail dropped toward the earth. In arid desert places it would have been a dirt devil; here it was a snow devil. The swirling cone began to pick up speed, gathering falling snow and spewing a reek of sulfur and rot.

The Dragon was here.
Sweet mother of God.
We were in trouble. Guns to cut us down at long range, spawn to attack in close. Until now, they hadn't brought guns into the town to attack, though I had seen them use modern weaponry in the past.

In an instinct as old as the cave, I raised both swords. Every sphincter in my body tightened as thousands of scarlet eyes focused on me. The wind began to howl. I saw the champards adjust weapons, putting some away and checking others. Eli turned a gauge on his handheld flamethrower and slung it around to ride his back. With both hands, he drew handguns and checked the ammo. After holstering them, he pulled a rifle around and sighted along the barrel. I heard him mumbling, something that sounded like, “Come to mama, you big bad ugly.”

Audric put away his wakizashi and swung two katanas, the longswords whispering as they cut the air. Rupert tested the heft of his bastard sword, both hands on the hilt for strength. He looked at Audric and the men held the glance a long moment. A goodbye in their eyes. Which gave me the willies.

Thadd lifted his wings, the feathers ruffling in the wind. His eyes were on the seraph ring on a thong about his neck. It glowed with a faint blue light and the etched and shaped seraph wings seemed to move as if flying, but that was surely just my imagination. He hefted a cutlass and an old Pre-Ap army knife. I hadn't seen him fight with blades, but he handled them as if he knew them well. Two guns were holstered at his waist.

Lucas turned to me. “Take care of Ciana. And remember that I love you.” Without waiting for a reply, he ratcheted a shotgun and strode in front of me, a human shield.

Tears sprang to my eyes and I couldn't force words through my tight throat. Guns. No seraphic help. This was bad. This was very bad. I wiped my face, the tears freezing on my cheeks and cracking away. I had to do something. I could not let them die. I would not. I looked into the sky, seeing a faint blush through the clouds, six spots of pale light—the seraphs, standing watch, far enough away that their own heat wouldn't spike.
Cowards
. I drew a breath and forced panic down.

The seraphs wouldn't help. Not yet, and maybe not ever, no matter what happened. It wouldn't be the first time that holy messengers watched and did nothing as humans died. But maybe…maybe the Watchers would help. Or maybe I could force one to.