Unholy Blue Read online

  Lebor’s grin was a flash of shark’s teeth in dark water. “The Red Boar and his clan are too busy right now fighting for their lives against the rest of our tribe. So all we have to do is keep the bitch and the whelp alive until Lord Cernunnos calls for them.”

  “When will that be?” another Fir Bolg asked. He was dressed entirely in camouflage as if he had done all his shopping from a Cabela’s catalog. His hunting knife was a twin to the weapon sheathed on his right hip.

  “When the shapeshifter has seen to the defeat of the Red Boar and his people.”

  “But the Boar’s home is warded,” Mace pressed. “How can he—”

  “The same way,” Lebor stabbed his weapon at the storage shed, “he helped us get through that bitch’s wards.”

  “Even so, the Boar’s not going down without a fight, you know,” Mace said. “None of them Fey are.”

  Lebor curled his lip. “Coward.” He waved aside Mace’s protests. “Shut up—I’m sick of your whimpering. Hell, that whelp in there is tougher than you all are.”

  Cor. Every molecule in Bann’s body sang at the thought of his son just yards away. He almost burst out of hiding right then and there. A soft hiss from Gideon kept him from doing so.

  “I’m going to go inform Lord Cernunnos that we’ve captured them,” Lebor said. “Keep your heads out of your asses until I get back. I want two of you on guard by that shed at all times. And check on those Fey from time to time. Give them water. To drink only. Got it?” The others nodded. “I better find two prisoners—alive—in that shed when I return.” With that, he turned and loped away west, vanishing into the fog-shrouded trees.

  While two of the creatures walked over to the shed and started unwrapping the chain securing the door, the other two, Mace and Cabela’s, wandered back down the dirt road toward Bann and Gideon’s hiding spot.

  Bann tensed. Not yet. Not until Lebor has cleared the area. That would lessen the number we have to fight. He glanced sideways. Wait, he mouthed to Gideon, who nodded once in understanding.

  “Lebor is full of shit,” Mace snarled, staring at the spot where the leader had disappeared. Bann noticed the Fir Bolg was careful to keep his voice low. Just in case. “Boru is a lot more dangerous than he knows. That Fey almost killed the shapeshifter. And he did kill Sreng—the leader of that other pack of Fir Bolgs.”

  Cabela’s shrugged. “He did us a favor. Cleared the way for us to move into this area.” He glanced about, his gaze pausing at the grove of trees where the Knights hid.

  Bann held his breath, not even blinking when a cold drop landed on his left eyelid. Finally, the Fir Bolg shifted his attention and stared down the road.

  “We needed a new hangout,” Cabela’s continued. “One where our looks wouldn’t draw so much attention. I was getting sick of getting hassled in Utah.”

  “Afraid of the po-po man?” Mace sneered.

  “You know what happens when humans find out what we are? Torches and pitchforks, you dumbsuck. Or worse. No, we need to keep our heads down.” Cabela’s scratched his crotch with the butt of his weapon. “Colorado seems just the place. We can pass as stoners—it’s legal here, you know.” At the sound of the shed door being pulled open, they both turned and looked over.

  Catching the other Knight’s eye, Bann motioned silently at the creatures, then held up two fingers. Two against two.

  With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Gideon shook his head and pulled up a pant leg to reveal a third weapon in a leather ankle sheath. He pointed to himself and held up three fingers, then pointed at Bann and changed the finger count to one.

  In spite of the horror of the last two hours, in spite of feeling like once again, the universe was trying its very utmost to screw him face-first to the wall, Bann shook his head in amusement. Cocky bastard, he mouthed.

  A corner of Gideon’s mouth quirked in agreement. He shrugged, then flashed two fingers, clearly indicating that, fine, he would share.

  They slid their extra weapons free with languid grace. Each armed with two knives, they nodded. Then, without a sound, they charged out of the trees, side-by-side, stride for stride, in spite of Gideon being a scant inch shorter.

  Chanting softly in rhythm with his breathing, Bann caught the Black Hand also singing the Song of their people. A swell of something, like a winter storm pouring up and over the Rockies on its way to pound the hell out of the eastern plains, surged through him.

  “‘A spear on the attack, pouring forth combat,’” they chanted in unison. A corner of Bann’s mind marveled at the fact they had both chosen the same line to sing.

  At the sound of pounding feet and the chanting of the dreaded Song—the Song that signaled death by Celt was a-coming—the Fir Bolgs whirled around. Snarling, they pushed apart, giving each other room to fight. Beyond them, Bann spotted the other two by the shed, gawking. The door stood open behind them. Just before he barreled into the enemy, he thought he saw movement in the dark doorway.

  Then, battle.

  Bann ducked under Mace’s wild swing. Lowering his shoulder, he rammed his opponent with every ounce of his two hundred-plus pounds. The Fir Bolg flew backwards and slammed into the ground. Pressing the advantage, Bann stabbed downward. With a hoarse scream, Mace whipped his weapon around just in time to deflect the bronze weapon. The blade snapped off and spun away like an autumn leaf caught in a breeze, the impact zinging along Bann’s arm and up into his shoulder. With a snarl, the Fir Bolg scrambled to his feet and swung again. Dropping the bladeless haft, Bann ducked, then slashed with his other.

  Iron met flesh.

  Flesh lost.

  The Fir Bolg howled. A dark gash ran across his chest, a second mouth. Black blood welled up and over the lips of the wound. In desperation, the creature swung the mace around again in a two-fisted hold.

  Diving to the ground, Bann felt the wind in his hair as the club whistled past. He rolled, just missing getting his skull splattered. Continuing the move, he scrambled to his feet even as Mace lifted his arms over his head for the kill.

  With a cry, Bann darted inside the swing and planted his knife in the Fir Bolg’s gut. Holding the hilt in both hands, he ripped the blade downward, then across.

  The mace tumbled from the creature’s fingers. Pink, glistening intestines bulged out like freed tapeworms. The Fir Bolg sank to his knees with a groan, then collapsed face down. A section of gut squirted out from under his dead body.

  Chest heaving, Bann looked around. A few feet away, Gideon was battling Cabela’s in a four-knife duel. Their blades were a whirling blur of iron and steel and bronze. Sparks flew around their heads. Just as Bann started forward to help, Gideon stumbled and fell to one knee. Cabela’s grinned, his eyes wild with glee at the Knight’s misstep. He lunged forward, both weapons raised.

  Moving almost too fast for Bann’s eyes to follow, the Black Hand suddenly straightened and parried the blades that were seeking new homes in his chest. A flick of his wrists and both of the creature’s weapons spun away. Unarmed, Cabela’s staggered backwards.

  With a roar, Gideon slashed his antler-handled knife across Cabela’s neck. For a moment, the Fir Bolg stared in shock at the Knight, his dark eyes white-rimmed with disbelief. The look remained even when his head tumbled from his shoulders and bounced away. Black blood sprayed out of the stump in a fine mist. The body crumpled to the ground a moment later. Panting, Gideon stepped aside and wiped the sweat, mingled with a bit of Fir Bolg blood, from his face.

  Now for the others, Bann thought. Even as they turned to charge the remaining Fir Bolgs, a form burst through the shed’s open door.

  “Faugh a ballagh!” Holding a three-foot pipe wrench in both hands, Shay leaped out, Cor on her heels. Wielding the wrench like a tennis racket, she swung it at the nearest Fir Bolg. He ducked. Before Shay could bring the tool around for another try, he attacked, his knife aimed at her chest.

  In a move that stopped Bann’s heart and impressed him at the same time, she arched back, curving her spine
in a ninja move like a bow. The blade whistled past. Its tip cut through one of her camisole straps. The delicate fabric sagged, revealing her left breast and a thin red line across the top of it. The Fir Bolg paused, leering at the smooth mound.

  “Hey! Eyes up here.” With a smirk, Shay brought the wrench around a second time, this time with a backhanded swing and follow-through that would have made Serena Williams jealous. His skull exploded, sending brains, a few teeth, and a nose stud or two flying into the air. Chest heaving, she staggered back as the creature fell to the ground at her feet.

  A squeal of fear.

  Too many yards away, Cor was weaving around in a bizarre game of tag with the remaining Fir Bolg, who was trying to grab him. Wide-eyed with desperation, the boy dodged from side to side, slashing at the creature’s hands with his switchblade. Each move took Cor farther and farther away from the shed.

  Even as Bann and Gideon raced toward Cor, Shay charged again, the pipe wrench held high. Before she could reach them, the Fir Bolg slapped the switchblade out of the boy’s grasp, scooped him up, and bolted for the woods, Shay on his heels.

  Bann and Gideon sprinted faster, catching up with Shay. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the Black Hand passing his extra knife to Shay, then slowing long enough to scoop up Cor’s fallen switchblade.

  Bann ran, the other two on his heels. Desperation whipped him along. Lungs burning, he tried to chant the Song, then gave up and concentrated on sucking in enough oxygen to power his legs through the rough terrain. Shay appeared on his left, moving along with the effortless stride of a cross-country runner. She wore an expression of dread and fury that matched Bann’s own. Her camisole sagged past her naked breast—an Amazon eager for war.

  Still running, Bann unzipped his jacket, shrugging out of one sleeve, then the other, then passed it to Shay. She slowed briefly to pull it on, then sped up again.

  Even burdened with his captive, and with the terrain climbing steeply westward, the Fir Bolg pulled ahead, using the woods and heavy fog as cover, despite Cor’s screams of fear and anger giving away their position. Each time Bann caught a glimpse of the creature, he could see Cor twisting and kicking, doing everything he could to slow down his captor. Once, he heard his son call for him. The sound tore another chunk out of Bann’s heart and fed it to the beast of despair.

  With a sudden lunge, the Fir Bolg darted behind a heavy stand of pines. A split second later, Cor’s cries were abruptly cut off.

  Even as he and Shay reached the spot where the Fir Bolg disappeared, he saw Gideon veer off into the woods and vanish around the far side of the grove. Dodging around the tree, Bann slapped aside the branches, the pine needles stabbing his hand, then skidded to a stop. Shay halted beside him.

  Panting, the Fir Bolg stood in the middle of a clearing. He held Cor in front of him with a knife at the boy’s throat. His fingers were tangled in Cor’s hair, forcing his head back. Worse yet, other Fir Bolgs, a half-dozen or more, and all armed to their pointy teeth, flanked him. One of them was Lebor. Bann barely caught Shay’s arm in time to keep her from charging the mob.

  Elbowing his way to the front, Lebor sneered. “Does your female always fight your battles for you?”

  “Aye.” Bann could feel Shay’s muscles tighten beneath his fingers. “But only when there is an adversary worthy of her skill.”

  Lebor snorted. “That’s a lot of bullshit for someone outnumbered and with his whelp held captive.”

  Bann made a show of counting the Fir Bolgs. “Outnumbered? No. And my son will be free soon enough. Eh, Cor?” He mourned what this repeat of last month’s horror was doing to his son’s soul. Swallowing his own terror, he locked eyes with him.

  A fierce pride swept through him when Cor managed a weak smile and croaked, “Faugh a ballagh.”

  Lebor spat, scorn curling his lip. “If I hear that dumbass saying one more time out of the mouth of you Fey, I’m going to—”

  “FAUGH A BALLAGH!”

  With a shout as piercing as a war horn, Gideon Lir burst out of the woods behind the Fir Bolgs. The hindmost creature spun around. Too late. Blood fountained from his throat. Before he hit the ground, the Knight slashed the face of the one holding Cor, removing an eye, a nose, and most of the chin. The creature’s scream was cut off when Gideon impaled him through the remaining eye with a savage thrust. The creature went down, spasming from his brain being scrambled. Cor jerked free of the twitching hands.

  “Cor!” Bann charged the front line. With a grunt, he plunged his knife into the nearest Fir Bolg’s chest, the iron blade punching through bone and flesh with a moist pop, and ripped it free, then whipped it around in time to open the throat of another creature.

  The next few moments were a blur to Bann. He stabbed and slashed, desperate to get to his son, fighting the warp spasm as much as the creatures, knowing he couldn’t sink into the luxury of simply losing his shit. On his left, Shay dueled another Fir Bolg, both cursing each other. Screaming, she buried her blade under his chin and up into his skull. Bann risked a look around.

  On the far edge of the clearing, he spotted Gideon, with Cor tucked safe behind him in the trees, fighting off another creature. Each clash of their blades sent sparks into the air, the colors blazing in the gray day. Then Gideon closed in, crowding his opponent. A thrust. The Fir Bolg crumpled to the ground.

  “Lir!” Bann roared. “Take Cor and flee!” At that moment, Shay stumbled against him, still slashing at the enemy even as she fell to the ground.

  A movement out of the corner of his eye.

  His head exploded in a burst of color. It reminded him of the sparks flying from the Black Hand’s warring blade.

  Then, blackness.

  21

  GASPING, COR TRIED TO ignore the stitch under his ribs as he flailed through the woods in Gideon’s wake. It seemed like forever since the Knight had dragged him into the sheltering trees. Cor had managed to get one last glimpse of his father and Shay fighting side by side before the Knight had shoved Cor in front of him and ordered him to “run, boyo!” Every molecule in his heart had screamed at him to stay with his dad.

  He ran anyway.

  Clambering over a fallen log, he jerked free from the snag that had caught his pant leg, then landed on the other side, only to discover that his muscles had decided to take a break. He fell to his knees. A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him upright.

  “Up you get.” Gideon scanned the area, his head cocked. Listening. Distant yelling drifted through the forest still wrapped in a cold fog. “You can rest when we’ve reached safety.”

  “Is Dad coming soon?”

  Gideon hesitated, then answered. “As soon as he and the Healer are able. For now, best foot forward.”

  “I want to go back,” Cor said even as they jogged deeper into the woods. The damp cold penetrated Shay’s T-shirt and fleece and mingled with his sweat, making him shiver. Or was it the fear of what might happen to his father and Shay?

  The Knight didn’t answer. Instead, he continued along, taking a winding course. The minutes passed in silence. It seemed to Cor that they hiked and jogged and went uphill and downhill too many times to count. He licked his dry lips, aware of a raging thirst. “Um…Mr. Lir?”

  “A simple Gideon is fine with me.”

  “How much farther?”

  “Oh, a way and a bit.”

  The way and a bit turned out to be another hour. Cor found himself stumbling every other step. Tears prickled his eyelids when he tripped over a root again, this time sprawling on his hands and knees. White-hot pain lanced through one of his palms. “Son of a…” Choking down the rest of the curse—in case he tells Dad I said a bad word—as well as a sob, he sat back on his heels. Blood welled up along his palm from a stinging scrape. He blinked back hot tears, determined not to cry in front of the Black Hand.

  Gideon squatted beside him. “Let me see.” He examined the cut, then pulled out a handkerchief. Folding it on the diagonal, he wrapped it around Cor’s hand
and tied it in place. “Bit of a battle wound, eh, lad?”

  Cor nodded. With Gideon’s hand on his elbow, he pulled himself to his feet and fell in behind the Knight. Their flight continued. It seemed like Cor had been walking through this stupid forest all his life. The fleece jacket was soon sodden and cold from the fog. Watching the Knight’s boot heels, he found his eyelids drooping as he stumped along. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face. Grit scratched his cheeks. Wincing, he glanced down, then frowned at the well-used footpath beneath his shoes. Where did this trail come from? He opened his mouth to ask when he noticed the sound of traffic—invisible engines and wheels. I wonder where we are? Without warning, Gideon halted. Unable to stop in time, Cor bumped into him.

  “Why did we—”

  “Wait here. Keep still. Keep silent.” He motioned for Cor to crouch behind a large boulder, then slipped into the mist.

  Hunkering down, Cor remembered his dad explaining to him once that newborn fawns survived in the woods because of their ability to stay quiet and motionless when their dams left them hidden in a thicket. I am the fawn in the woods. A voice, his own, but older, spoke the words in his head. For some reason, it made him feel…not better, but less afraid. “I am the fawn in the woods,” he whispered to himself.

  Sighing, Cor tugged the collar up over his cold nose, then pulled his hands inside the sleeves of Shay’s jacket. I bet Shay’s cold. I hope Dad gave her his jacket. His eyelids drooped. He burrowed deeper, wishing the fleece wasn’t so wet, and closed his eyes.

  He dreamed that he was floating. Gravity pulled at his clothes as he rose, his feet dangling. It was the best dream ever. He floated higher and began flying along in a rhythmic up and down movement, the ground slipping along beneath him. Then the dream faded into a sweeter one of nothing.

  A jolt. He blinked awake.

  Gideon was carrying him, cradling him against his chest with Cor’s legs wrapped loosely around the Knight’s waist. Cor raised his head. Something delicate, but cold, touched his face. Snow.