Magic Claims by Ilona Andrews

Power slammed into my sword. Suddenly it was impossibly heavy. Gripping it in both hands, I strained and slashed. A wave of golden light tore from Sarrat and shot above the grass, shredding the dark smoke like tissue paper.

One of my aunt’s favorite spells. Nice and short. Easy to remember.

My arms felt like I had tried to lift a car.

I kept walking. On top of the tower, the Pale Queen gripped the parapet. I wasn’t close enough to see her face, but her body language was clear enough. It was the Ice Age version of WTF.

Ahead of me, the ragged line of our shapeshifters broke into pairs and collided with the enemy. Blood flew. Howls and snarls rent the air.

The Pale Queen waved her arms. Her magic shifted in response and I focused on it, trying to gauge the direction of the flow.

The first shapeshifter to slip through our line sprinted toward me. Huge, gray-furred, he charged me at full speed, counting on his bulk and power to knock me down.

Owen let him get within ten feet of us, stepped into his path, and swung his war hammer. Bone crunched, and the enemy shapeshifter flew to the left and landed hard on his back. Owen jabbed the hammer at him. “Stay down!”

We kept moving. The currents of magic built around the tower, roiling above it like storm clouds.

That’s a lot of magic you pulled from the land. What are you doing with it?

The second shapeshifter lunged at me. Rimush disemboweled her with a single swing, stabbed her right lung, and slashed across her spine as she collapsed.

On the tower, small magic explosions popped like firecrackers. Boulders shot up into the air, spinning and expanding. The priest-mages had launched their first salvo.

Were they aiming for me or the archers? I glanced over my shoulder. Conlan and Heather’s people were twenty-five yards away. Too vulnerable.

“To me!”

The archers sprinted toward me, Conlan in the lead and Darin right behind him.

Where the hell was Isaac? He wasn’t in the shapeshifter charge. He wasn’t with the archers either.

Magic crested at the tower. I looked back.

The Pale Queen thrust her arms up, toward the mass of magic gathered above her head and brought them down in a sharp motion. The storm cloud of her power plunged down and sank into the soil.

Got it.

“Gis Addir, ar arryt…”

Understanding flared in Rimush’s eyes.

The ground quaked.

“…leru skar…”

The archers reached us.

“Bunch up!” Rimush ordered. “Lock your arms together!”

“…us gytam…”

The first boulder hurtled at us like a pebble launched from a giant’s slingshot. It whistled over our heads and crashed into the dirt with a boom. The ground shook.

Ahead, the hill swelled and rolled forward, as if a giant ball sped at us just underneath the turf.

Rimush grabbed Owen and locked his hand around my left arm.

“… sar udurum!”

The grassy field under my feet burst open. My magic snapped in place, and we landed on a glowing bridge fifty yards long. A thirty-foot-deep pit gaped under us, magic swirling at its bottom. The bridge barely spanned it. If I had miscalculated by a few feet, we’d be buried alive right now. Someone behind me screamed.

“You’re fine. Don’t panic!” Heather called out. Her voice shook.

The bridge was only seven feet wide. I hadn’t made any rails. There wasn’t time for anything fancy or complicated. I had made a giant magical board that rested on the edges of the pit, and we were right in the middle of it.

“Two by two,” I ordered. “Don’t run.”

We started across the bridge toward the fortress and the fight raging by its walls. The magic gave a little under my feet but held.

The second boulder smashed to our left and rolled into the pit. If one of these hit dead center, we’d have a problem.

“Conlan! The Shield of Mush Azebtu!” I glanced over my shoulder.

He looked at me, his eyes wide and freaked out.

“Show me what Grandfather taught you!”

Conlan thrust his hands in front of him as if trying to block an invisible attacker with his palms. The language of Shinar spilled out of him, words moving and twisting his magic.

A shaggy brown shapeshifter broke away from the fight and sprinted toward us. I was in front, with Rimush and Owen behind me.

“Don’t do it!” I warned.

The shapeshifter leaped onto the bridge, her shoulders hunched, her ursine muzzle gaping open, her eyes locked on me.

I ran at her, light on my feet.

We met in a split second, her claws against my sword. Her talons found empty air. Sarrat found her throat. Her body fell to the left, and her head flew to the right, into the pit.

A few more feet and I landed on solid ground. Rimush and Owen were a step behind me. Conlan and Darin were next, my son still chanting.

A boulder smashed into the ground directly in front of us and rolled down, bouncing, crushing two enemy shapeshifters in its path.

Conlan’s chant faltered. The magic was there, prepped and ready. I could feel it. It just needed that final push, and he must have forgotten that crucial last word.

A second boulder dropped behind the first. There was no place to go. The archers were still on the bridge, and the rocks would smash directly into them.

“The words are yours,” Jushur intoned, his voice calm and reassuring. “They will obey.”