WebMage (15 page)

"First Moric, now Laric," he snarled. "I'm going to eat your liver while it's still steaming."

From Hwyl that wasn't bravado; it was a statement of intent. His broad mouth opened in what might, in a face with fewer sharp, pointy teeth, have been called a smile. His only clothing was a loincloth that left little doubt as to his gender. The rest of his low and massive frame was covered with tawny fur. His long, thick arms ended in pawlike hands. Reflected light scattered from steel-tipped claws as he let out a bellow and raced to close with me. I was pretty shocky, but I wasn't quite ready to fold out of the game.

I yanked my rapier from its sheath and rammed the point of it deep into the charging were's hipbone. Hwyl let out a horrible scream as the area around the wound blackened and charred. The steel blade might not have hurt him, but the silver inlay was another story entirely. He spun away, clutching at the scorched hole in his leg, and tumbled to the ground. I could have finished him then and I probably should have, but I'd already cost my great-aunt two grandsons. I couldn't bear the thought of having a third on my conscience.

"Melchior," I said instead, "Exit Strategy sequence. Execute."

The webgoblin stood and drew a circle on the stone in front of him. It was about thirty inches in diameter, and he'd barely finished when the manhole-sized chunk of rock on which he was drawing dropped away into darkness. With barely a pause, Melchior jumped in after it.

"If you'll excuse me." I bowed to Hwyl. "I need to be going." I raised my sword above my head so I'd be in no danger of landing on it, and stepped into the hole.

It felt like I'd stepped into the top of a dark elevator shaft. That's part of the reason ley links are no longer in common use. I wasn't particularly thrilled about using one myself, but Atropos would have sealed off the higher mweb channels and with them all locus transfer protocol links the second the alarm sounded. It would take longer to get the ley lines closed, because it was a more involved process, but there was no doubt she'd shut them down as well. Fortunately, I'd already be gone.

A brief but immeasurable time later, light appeared below us. A moment later, we dropped out of thin air and fell several feet, hitting the table in the ranger's cabin with a jarring thump. My injured knee buckled, and I landed hard. Then the table collapsed, and we slid the rest of the way to the floor. Miraculously, considering how many sharp blades, claws, and fangs were involved, neither of us took any new injury.

I dragged myself to my feet and picked up my rapier, sheathing it. Then I yanked off my court boots and grabbed for my Salomons. I didn't have much time before pursuit arrived. As soon as I had my boots on, I retrieved the shoulder bag holding my emergency kit from the mountain pack. The rest of my stuff wasn't likely to make an immediate difference in my survival and not having the bulk might.

Meanwhile, Melchior had snapped my blades back into the ski poles, grabbed my hat and gloves, and raced to the doorway, where dancing with impatience, he waited. Outside, it was cloudy and beginning to get dark. In Minnesota in winter, it's always cloudy and beginning to get dark, unless of course it's cloudy and already dark. While
I
stepped into my bindings, Mel climbed into the bag.

"Melchior," I said, kicking off toward the path, "White-out. Execute." He whistled out the long sequence of the spell, then gave me a concerned look.

"Ahh, Boss. In case you haven't noticed, we're miles and miles from civilization. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No, Mel. I'm not. But I think we'll need it."

He shook his head and hunkered deeper into the bag. The wind was already rising in response to the spell, and the first fat flakes of snow were falling. Before we'd gone fifty feet, the snow was thick enough to blur the outline of the cabin. That's probably what saved my life.

The first arrow put a hole in my cloak as it passed, but left me unharmed. I didn't expect to be that lucky twice. If the archer was Dairn, he didn't miss often, and I knew from hard-earned experience that his arrows packed a hell of a punch. Worse, as Moric's brother and Laric's first cousin, he had a very personal reason for wanting to hang my hide over his hearth. I swerved off the trail and into the trees, hoping the dense evergreens would obscure his vision. They certainly did mine. A nearby tree stopped a second arrow, and I picked up the pace as much as possible, which wasn't a lot. If I'd only been able to get a little farther along the trail, nobody on foot could have caught me, bum leg or not. But the undergrowth in the deep woods negated much of the advantage of my skis.

I hadn't gone far when the trees opened up in front of me, and a long steep slope tumbled away into white emptiness. What I could see of the hill was uneven and covered with brush and deep snow. It was perfect ankle-breaker terrain and all too likely to end in a drop-off. I didn't hesitate. Another arrow passed over my head as I pushed off, but I was too busy watching the ground ahead to pay it any real mind. I had to dodge around two birch saplings and a raspberry bramble in the first few seconds. After that it was clear sailing for forty or fifty feet.

I'd covered perhaps twenty of those when the world grabbed me by the foot and threw me to the ground. My ski, gliding along under the snow, had caught on a root. The fall wasn't too painful. I'd been lucky in that the snag had caught my good leg, but my foot was trapped. I swore. Another arrow slammed into the ground a yard to my right. Looking back up the slope, I couldn't see the archer through the thick curtain of snow. Hell, I couldn't see the birch saplings, which was probably the only reason I was still breathing. Dairn was shooting by ear.

"Mel," I whispered, "see if you can get my leg loose. I'll lay down some covering fire."

This time the arrow whispered by a few feet overhead before vanishing into the snowy haze. I didn't hear it land. The snow muffled sound. I had my .45 half-out of its holster when I realized what a stupid move that would be. I hadn't a chance in the world of hitting Dairn, and the muzzle flash would pinpoint my position. I might just as well put up a please shoot me sign.

A very tense forty or fifty seconds later Mel whispered that I was loose. As gingerly as possible, I got to my feet.

Dairn must have been closer by then, because the next arrow passed between the bones of my left forearm like a hot coal going through a garbage bag. I felt my grip on that ski pole go limp, but the lanyard held, and it dragged behind me as I slid away down the slope.

If any more arrows came my way, I didn't know about it. The blizzard I'd summoned was up to full fury by then, and I couldn't see much beyond the tips of my skis. Fortunately, the slope ended in a solidly frozen small river instead of a drop-off. The ice was covered with six inches of snow. I couldn't have asked for better skiing, and not even Hwyl could have tracked me in such conditions.

Sure, I was lost in a Minnesota whiteout, and I couldn't see my feet, much less my way; but after slipping away from Dairn and Hwyl, outhacking Eris, and besting the crone who holds the shears, I felt I couldn't lose. It's funny how wrong you can be.

* * * *

"Boss?" said Melchior, poking his head out of the bag.

I'd shifted the bag to my left shoulder and was using it as a sort of improvised sling. Mel moved carefully, but the inevitable jarring still hurt.

"What is it, Mel?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"I'm freezing," he said.

"So am I."

I didn't think that I'd ever been so cold. It had been dark for a while, and with the coming of night the temperature plummeted. I was really regretting that I hadn't taken the time to swap my cloak for the parka. The temperature was aggravating the damage to my arm, and it felt like the blood from the wound in my side had frozen. If I'd been human, it would have been game over by that point. As it was, if I stayed on my feet and kept moving, and if it didn't get much colder, I'd probably live through the night. I kept telling myself that. It didn't help as much as I'd have liked.

I'm not a true immortal. I don't age and I'm tough, but I
can
be permanently injured, witness my knee and my fingertip, and I can be killed. And these were prime conditions for killing. It was way below freezing, I was exhausted and lost, and I didn't dare use magic for fear of broadcasting my location to Atropos.

At least it was still snowing. As long as the snow kept falling and the cloud cover stayed, it wouldn't get too cold. Record lows are always set on clear nights when there's nothing between the ground and space to keep the heat in.

"Where are we going?" asked Melchior.

"I'm not sure. I've been so busy worrying about the 'away from' part of running I haven't given much thought to the 'where to' bit. I don't want to try an Up link yet. I'd rather not use any more magic until we're a good long way from the cabin. That's why I haven't had you do anything about my injuries. Our chances for clemency are going to be a whole lot better if the Fates have a chance to see what Eris was doing in the Fate Core before they find us."

"I'd rather they didn't find us at all," replied the webgoblin, morosely. "Atropos will never let us live after this stunt."

"I don't know about that. If I'm fast enough on my feet when it comes time to explain things, we might be all right. After all, it won't look very good if she keeps crying for my head once she finds out I saved the Fate Core from the Goddess of Discord."

"You don't actually believe that, do you?" His voice was incredulous.

I'd thought about it quite a bit as I skied along on the frozen streambed. "No, I suppose I don't. But if they decide to cut my thread, there's nothing I can do about it except spit in Hades's eye when I get to the far bank of the Styx. Besides, I need something to keep my mind off the fact that I'm slowly freezing to death."

"I have a better way to do that, Boss," said Melchior, standing up in the bag.

The movement hurt my arm, and my response came out sharp and harsh. "What's that?" I snapped.

"There's light off that way," said Melchior, pointing.

I followed the line of his finger. Between the trees on my left, there was a very faint glow. The whirling snow hid details, and it looked like someone shining a flashlight through a cotton ball, but it was there. I turned off the stream and headed toward it. As I got closer, the light grew steadily brighter. I still couldn't make out details, but I had a pretty good idea of what it must be. I'd been able to see the lights through a blizzard from something like a half mile away, and the only places on Earth with that much light are used-car dealerships.

About fifty yards out, I came to an eight-foot chain-link fence with a strip of barbed wire on top. There were endless rows of "previously owned" sport utility vehicles on the other side. The fence extended out of sight in both directions, so I stopped and, one-handed, undipped my skis from my boots and tossed them over. Holding my poles carefully, I jumped after them. I didn't land well. My bum knee might be all right for everyday use or even skiing, but it didn't like long drops at all. No sooner had my feet touched than it felt like someone had decided to use my knee as a golf tee, someone who had a problem with divots. Fortunately, the snow cushioned my collapse. It also muffled my scream. Little bits of floating light danced in front of my eyes while I clung to the edges of consciousness. I didn't particularly like being aware just then, but passing out facedown in a snowbank seemed like a good way to take a permanent rest.

After a while, I decided to get up. Using a slightly battered Ford Bronco as a crutch, I dragged myself into a standing position. When I felt I could deal with a new shipment of pain, I tried putting weight on my right leg. The knee held, but complained loudly. If I took things gently, I'd probably be able to stay upright, but I sure as hell wasn't going to do any more skiing. I was just trying to figure out what to do next when Melchior chimed gently. He popped his head out of the bag, jarring my arm again.

"You've got an incoming visual from Cerice."

"I do? Well then, put her through," I replied.

His eyes and mouth lit in the primary colors of light, and Cerice sprang into being on the snow in front of me. She was wearing a golden silk kimono patterned with red phoenixes. Her white skin was even paler than usual, and her nose was red. She looked as though she'd been crying. That worried me. Cerice never cries.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, Ravirn, they're going to kill you. How could you? I didn't even know that was possible."

"They are," I said. Then, "How could I what?" And, "What's possible?" I was confused.

She shook her head. "Don't think I'm an idiot. I'm talking about the virus in the Fate Core. I've heard the whole story. Clotho and Lachesis were there and everything. They tried to cut your thread." A look of bafflement crossed her face. "How did you do that? They're furious."

"Do what?" I was scared and confused. The killing me bit I could understand. That was pretty damned straightforward. Just "snip" and game over. It was the rest of it I didn't get. Like the part where I was still vertical. "Cerice, what are you talking about?"

"It's not going to save you, you know. As soon as they found out your thread had been erased, they sent the Furies after you." She lowered her head sadly. "I can't believe you killed Laric. I thought he was your friend. Chaos and Discord. I'm having a hard time believing any of it, but the evidence is awfully damning." She closed her eyes, and her voice became a whisper. "And to think I've been falling for you." There was a pleading note in her voice as she said this last, as though she wanted me to give her some reason to believe I wasn't responsible for whatever it was I'd been accused of.

"Cerice," I said, as firmly as possible. "Hush."

I was utterly baffled. Only about one word in three of what she was saying made any sense. She seemed to be speaking in some kind of code. I didn't know what Cerice thought had happened, or why she was so upset with me, but I strongly suspected my time was running out.