Ignite the Fire: Incendiary by Karen Chance

 

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

 

A blast of sound hit as soon as we broke through the silence spell, loud enough to snap my head back. It was disorienting and coming in waves, like blows from a fist. It immediately sent me staggering, or perhaps that was Mircea.

A heart wound could be healed by a master, or even by a non-master if he didn’t mind lying in a darkened room for a few months. Mircea, as a first-level master and a Senate member, would likely be back to his old self by tomorrow. But this was today, and we were doing a tipsy dance across the camp, sometimes sideways, sometimes forward, and on occasion, doing the cha-cha back a few paces, before I managed to get us righted.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice. Probably because I’d been wrong—the ammo boxes hadn’t all gone off. Or else the fire was spreading and hitting new ones, causing me to keep flinching as random explosions erupted behind us.

But even so, even with spewing lava and magical detonations and running trees, it remained surreal, just walking out of camp. In the space of a couple minutes, I’d gone from hope to horror to despair to acceptance . . . and now what? I kept looking behind us, as well as I could with one arm around Mircea’s waist and backpacking a goat. But so far, it was working.

We were literally just walking away.

“There!” Someone cried. “There they are!”

Damn it!

But I didn’t miss a step. Make it to the tree line, echoed in my head. Make it to the tree line, and we’ll figure things out from there. Just make it to the freaking tree line, Cassie!

And then the tree line came to us.

My little posse came running out of the night, and if you’ve never seen a herd of trees galloping toward you, you’ve missed out. But this time, they didn’t just surround us. They’d barely reached us before I was snatched off the ground by the hand-like branch of a mighty maple.

And was dropped a second later, when said branch was sheared off by a bright yellow spell that shot by like the whirling blade of a circular saw.

We hit the ground amid a sudden storm of trampling roots and exploding spells. Guess one munitions box made it, after all, I thought, while tugging on Mircea. “Come on! It’s just over there!”

“What’s . . . over there?” he gasped.

“The tree line!”

“And that helps us how?”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. But it was better than being here. “Stop talking and start crawling!”

“A master vampire does not crawl,” he informed me, with a damned good attempt at dignity, all things considered. And then another of those yellow blades came whirling by, sheering off the top of his hair, and he crawled—fast. Because masters are also highly pragmatic.

And so are Pythias, I thought, dragging the goat thing after me.

I didn’t see Arsen in the chaos, or Pritkin, because I couldn’t see much of anything. Except for smoke and colorful explosions and slinging yellow spell blades that were now whirling everywhere, because somebody had figured out that they worked better than the torches. Which meant that, on top of everything else, we had to contend with falling tree limbs.

One almost bonked me in the head, and another, as big around as a tire, flattened a fey. Arrows were also being loosed, but fortunately, the fey couldn’t seem to see any better than I could and were aiming above our heads, where we’d have been if we were still standing. But the arrows remained dangerous, as demonstrated when one slammed into the earth in front of me, having almost taken off the tip of my nose.

But then a lot of what little light there was blanked out, causing me to look around wildly. Only to realize that the roots of the surrounding trees had just knitted together, and closed protectively over our heads. They formed a tunnel with only a few gaps here and there, sending light down onto the ground in smokey beams.

I crawled faster, watching the battle taking place above us in glimpses, and wondered if I’d been channeling Mircea at Gertie’s, with that strange aversion to crawling. Because crawling was awesome. Crawling ruled.

And we were almost there!

The root tunnel let out at the edge of the forest, just at the tree line, and I felt a huge sense of relief wash over me. Which immediately made me paranoid, because relief was a liar. Relief got you killed.

And, right on cue, my eyes caught a flash of light above me, and a sword arcing down, too fast to dodge. But it never completed the stroke. Before I even had time to react, the fey holding the weapon turned gray, shriveled up, and face planted in the dirt, as lifeless as an empty soda can.

From somewhere behind me, Mircea made a gagging noise. “They taste terrible,” he said, and grabbed the guy’s sword.

And then something hit me in the head.

But this was soft, more or less, like somebody had tossed a chunky blanket over me. I fought my way free only to find myself holding an armful of forest material, of the kind that had formed the pathway through the trees that I’d been on earlier. And which I was currently holding the end of, I realized.

My eyes followed the flat, blackish substance upward to find that it formed a ragged and very unstable looking path through the trees. Unlike the one I’d been on before, which had mostly been supported by branches, this one had vines underneath it, causing it to sag significantly in between them, because they seemed to be spaced very irregularly. But its swinging support system also allowed it to climb at truly improbably angles, into the heights of a distant and very tall sequoia.

I assumed it kept on going beyond that, but couldn’t tell because a platform high in the tree blocked the view. And, hanging over the edge of said platform, who did I see? Son of a bitch.

I stared upward, feeling my face flush, as Guinn and Rhea waved at me frantically. Damn it all! I’d said to go home. Did nobody listen to me anymore?

Of course, that would imply that anybody ever had.

I couldn’t hear them from there, especially over the din of battle, but the implication of those beckoning arms was obvious. I threw my hands up, and made a few telling gestures of my own. At the derelict state of the path, at the way it swayed alarmingly at every touch, at the sheer improbability of anyone surviving a climb like that, even if they didn’t have an army on their tail!

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I finally yelled, which only caused the beckoning to get more exaggerated. “Yes, yes, I know what you want. You’re just insane!”

“Is this . . . the plan?” Mircea asked, crouching beside me.

“There is no plan.”

“Excuse me?”

I gestured at my pathetic outfit, at my missing patch of hair, and at the general me-ness of the moment. “Do I look like a person with a plan?”

He wisely did not answer that.

“Just go on up,” I told him crossly.

“Go up . . . what?”

“That.”

He looked at the path, which I let go of the end of, and which fell in front of him with a whump. He eyed it without favor. “That?”

“Yes, that, that! This isn’t a perfect rescue!”

“I had noticed.”

“You think you can do better?” I said angrily.

“Obviously not.” He paused to kiss me. “Don’t die.”

“Yeah.” I traded the goat for the sword. And then bit my lip as he and goat boy started the ponderous climb upward, which would have been easier if they didn’t both look like death. And if there were any railings on that thing. And if it wasn’t close to an eighty-degree angle after a short distance, and also full of holes.

But while it wasn’t pretty, it was better than staying here. Anything was better than staying here. But I still needed to find—

Them, I thought, as Arsen and Pritkin stumbled out of the smoke, which had gotten ridiculously thick and was now boiling over the ground like the clouds at the base of the fey capitol. I couldn’t see much at all anymore, just flailing limbs—of both species—and random balls of fuzzy-looking light from exploding spells. But I got the impression that some of the fey were now attacking other fey, which made no damned sense at all.

“A few are loyal to me,” Arsen said, before I could ask. “They are attempting to slow down pursuit, but they can’t hold for long. We have to hurry.”

Yeah, I thought, staring upward.

And then I got to hurrying, because what other choice was there?

It was exactly as much fun as I’d thought. The matting under my hands wasn’t sewn, or fastened together in any way. It reminded me of the material that comes out of palm trees, only not that nice. Instead, it was a thick clump of old, damp, half rotted leaves, threaded through with sticks, moss, vines, ancient insect shells—the latter crunching horribly under my hands—tufts of animal hair, and bark, all of which had been pressed down and felted over time into a kind of . . . stuff . . . that was stronger than it looked, but not quite strong enough.

Because it kept ripping apart under my hands.

Of course, I got the worst of it, as I was bringing up the rear. Since, believe it or not, I was the one still best able to fight. Or I would have been, because Arsen had given me a second sword before throwing Pritkin over his shoulder and scaling up the shaggy highway like a monkey. But my arsenal was in my belt, making me look like Black Jack Cassie, scourge of the seven seas, as I needed both hands to hold on.

And even that wasn’t working out so well.

I could see the others through the spreading limbs up ahead, but I was finding it hard to make much progress of my own. Leaves slapped me in the face, my feet kept plunging through the crappy material, making new holes or falling into old ones, and my hands kept bunching in what felt like solid fistfuls of the stuff, until I tried to pull myself up. Only to find that they came apart in my grip.

If it hadn’t been for borrowed strength, I wouldn’t have been managing at all, and if it wasn’t for Mircea’s speed, allowing me to catch myself when I stumbled, I’d have plunged to my death a dozen times.

And it was still bloody hard!

And that was before fey started jumping at me out of trees.

Some of them must have spotted us heading up, but instead of taking their chances on the rotten old highway, they had scaled some nearby trunks. I spied at least four of them, although there could have been more. There were plenty of places to hide in the heavy tree cover.

Not that they were hiding.

“Oh, come on!” I yelled, as a silver haired bastard came swinging on a vine at me, like a pointy-eared Tarzan, sweeping me off the path and taking us both into the air.

I saw Arsen look back and pause. “Witch!”

“No!” I yelled. “No, go! I’ve got this!”

He didn’t look convinced, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was drained and they were not, and his element was far below us now. Plus, he couldn’t do anything without dropping Pritkin, which was exactly what they wanted. I knew that because two of the others had just landed on the tattered ladder and were closing in on Arsen and his passenger.

Oh, no, you don’t, I thought, and slammed my elbow back into my captor’s face.

I guessed nobody had told him that he’d grabbed a wildcat, but that was what I felt like because I didn’t have time for anything more refined. A twist in mid-air, a knee to his groin—and this one wasn’t covered in chain mail. Then an uppercut to the chin, knocking his head back, followed by a savage blow to the chest—

And it was over. He fell into darkness, unconscious or worse, and I swung back, striking one of the two fey currently on the path with outstretched legs. I knocked him off, taking his place on the sagging old trail, although he grabbed a nearby vine, saving himself from a hell of a fall. But the other fey had seen me and had started kicking me in the head with a hard soled boot.

The Lord of the Rings lied to me, I thought, as the very un-Elven footwear smashed me in the face, over and over. Until I grabbed the offending foot and jerked, using every ounce of Mircea’s strength. And saw the bastard go flying.

But now the one who’d caught the vine was back, swinging onto the path just below me, and the fourth fey finally made a move, landing up ahead and scurrying after Arsen while the rest of us fought it out. Damn it! There was only one way to fix this in time, but nobody was going to like it.

“Arsen!” I yelled. “Hold on!”

I didn’t know whether he heard me or not, but there was no time to yell again. There was no time for anything except grabbing the fabric of the path and shaking it, although that term is far too soft for what I was doing. I was shaking it, clinging to my vine while what looked like tsunami quality waves formed in the ‘cloth’ and rippled upward.

They caught the fey, right before he reached his target, causing him to slip. Not off the path—I’m not that lucky—but he grabbed a handhold of the material as his body slung outward, and I guessed that was too much for the crappy stuff. Because it tore, causing him to rip a huge piece out of the middle as he fell downward—straight into me.

I lost my footing but somehow held onto the vine, and the fey held onto me. We swung outward, leaving the path again, and it took a moment for me to realize that the fey below me had been knocked off, too, and had grabbed my vine for support. That was good for Arsen, who I spied clinging to the fabric and riding the waves up high. But it was bad for me, as I had another two-on-one fight.

And I was getting tired.

I didn’t know if that was because Mircea’s body was using his power to heal, which the stake had previously prevented, and therefore accidentally restricting the flow, or if I was just running out of steam. But it was suddenly a far more even fight than it should have been. I was socked in the jaw by the first fey, hard enough to make my ears ring, and had my leg jerked on by the second, who was below me.

And who clearly intended to send me flying, as I had his friend.

I kicked him in the head, but I wasn’t sure how hard I’d connected, because I was getting pulverized up here. Blow followed blow until I couldn’t see straight, and it was impossible to return them as I needed two hands just to hold on. So, I head butted the fey instead, which . . . yeah. Did me as much harm as it did him.

But at least the punching stopped, as both of us tried to remember which way was up. I wasn’t doing too good with that, twisting and whirling through the air while fumbling on my belt for a blade. I intended to cut the damned vine and lose one of these bastards, at least, but my fingers didn’t work right and the world was spinning and I was pretty sure I was about to fall off, all on my own.

But then the fey did instead.

The one who had been using my head for a punching bag suddenly wasn’t there anymore. I blinked, unsure of what had just happened, but the only person I saw was the jerk below me, who was still trying to pull me off. I kicked him again, and stared around as we swung back over the path. I was afraid that the punchy fey had jumped for it, intending to go after Arsen—

But that wasn’t what had happened.

I finally spied him, wrapped up in a bunch of vines over by a huge tree. It was the same one that my vine was connected to, only mine was farther out on an overhead limb. The was some species I didn’t recognize, being almost as tall as the sequoias but with rough bark like an oak, and spreading limbs as big around as normal trees that were draped in more vines—very agitated ones.

They were suddenly waving around angrily, like the tentacles of some great beast. Some of them were almost as big around as me, but even the smaller ones were woody and strong, like the ones that had grabbed the fey by all four limbs. And, as I watched in stunned disbelief, ripped him apart.

I swung through the middle of a rain of warm blood, utterly horrified, and I guessed I wasn’t the only one. Because, suddenly, the attack from below stopped. I looked down to see the remaining fey abruptly drop further down the vine and then leap to a nearby tree, before heading for the ground as fast as he could. He looked up only once, at the dismembered parts of his friend waving in the air, before dropping out of sight.

I just wished I could do the same. Instead, I was dry heaving as I swung back and forth, blood dripping off my hair, smearing my face, and coating my desperately clinging hands. My head was still swimmy from the blows I’d absorbed, which even Mircea’s power had only cushioned so much, and my whole body felt numb.

But there was only one way out, and it wasn’t swinging around down here.

So, the next time I passed the path, I grabbed it, my bloody hands working hard for a grip. I found one, and a few little tendrils from the vine pushed at my foot, as if trying to help steady me. I tried not to shudder as I felt them, sliding coolly against my naked sole.

I failed.

Stop thinking and just climb! I thought savagely. So, I did, while the vines pushed at me and the dismembered parts of the fey wafted around nearby, as if watching me. I wondered what I’d be doing right now, if I was a normal person. Watching T.V? Folding some laundry? Cleaning my bathroom?

Because cleaning my bathroom suddenly sounded really, really appealing. Or buying groceries or running errands—basically anything that did not involve an endless climb upward with bleeding palms and a swelling face and a head that felt like it might have a crack in it. Of course, that must have already been true, I thought savagely. Or I wouldn’t be in Faerie.

I wanted to know how the others were doing, but I couldn’t tell, even when I blinked the blood out of my eyes. There were only leaves ahead, a thick, dark canopy. And only smoke behind, along with . . .

The smell of burning?

The camp was far behind us now, and the wind was mostly blowing the other way. Yet, all of a sudden, the smell of a campfire was getting closer. I looked around, craning my neck, but couldn’t see anything.

But not because it was dark.

But because it was too light.

I jumped upward, vampire fast, and managed to avoid the burning ball of spell fire headed toward me from the ground. The path I was on, which was more like a bad ladder at the moment because of all the holes, wasn’t so lucky. The part of it just below my feet vanished from existence in a puff of black dust when the spell hit, not being substantial enough to explode. And sent the remaining material, and the three or four fey currently trying to scale it, falling back down to the forest floor.

That should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. Because the stuff I was holding was basically compacted tinder, and it started burning—fast. Leaving me being chased upward again, this time by fire.

And, suddenly, I was making headway, after all. I was making a lot of headway. Not because I was any better of a climber, but because I was sucking at it faster. I caught up to Arsen and pushed on that pretty ass, because we had to move.

“What are you—” he looked behind us. And then said something that didn’t translate.

“If that meant fuck, then I agree,” I said breathlessly. “Go!”

He went. And, as it turned out, he could practically fly when he wanted, even without his mount. Because I was suddenly having a hard time keeping up, even with vamp speed. I watched Pritkin’s head bounce against Arsen’s broad back, his eyes open but unseeing, and only blinking about a tenth as much as they should have.

It worried me, but not as much as the spells, like shooting comets, suddenly flying everywhere. Or that some of them were coming so close, that I was able to feel the heat as they passed by. Or the fact that our ‘ladder’ was rapidly disintegrating beneath us.

I spied Rhea, leaning over the platform above, her wand out, sending spells to throw the fey’s fireballs off course. I saw Guinn, a hand outstretched, commanding the vines that were wrapping up pursuing fey in the trees. I witnessed Mircea reach back to grab the knife from Arsen’s belt and whip it at a fey I hadn’t seen, creeping up the trees beside me.

But in the end, it wasn’t cooperation that saved us, or skill, or even luck. It was Aeslinn. I heard him bellowing from below, loudly enough to cut through everything else. “No! No! I want them alive! Alive, do you hear?”

The barrage abruptly cut out. But the fire it had started did not, and the whole ladder was now going up. I saw Mircea throw the goat guy over the edge of the platform, and pull himself up after it. I saw Arsen jump the last few yards with Pritkin thrown over his shoulder, as if he had springs on his feet. I saw the rest of the tinder-like surface go up in flames—

And then I fell.

 

 

 

The story continues in Ignite the Fire: Inferno