A Wizard of the White Council (22 page)

Arran yanked one of the spears from the rack and flipped its switch, lightning dancing around its head. Another bullet smashed into the dashboard, shattering the radio. Arran went to one knee and thrust the spear through the skylight. It plunged into the leg of a winged demon. The wounded demon stumbled and fell off the roof, lighting crackling up its wings. Arran swung the spear and struck another demon in the leg. It too fell, lightning burning into its body. The last demon leveled its gun and fired. The bullet struck the spear’s battery, and the lightning sparked and fizzled out. The winged demon leaned forward, seized the skylight, and wrenched it open. 

Mary and Lithon yelled, raised their pistols, and fired. Their bullets smacked into the demon’s face and chest. It loosed a deafening roar and forced an arm through the skylight, clawing at Mary’s face.

Arran drew his Sacred Blade, the crimson blade burning with white flame. The winged demon tried to flinch away, but Arran's sword point plunged through the demon's mouth and sank deep into its throat. The fire burned through the demon and reduced it to ashes and obsidian bones. The bones and ashes fell into the van, their stink mixing with the smell of smoke and ozone. 

“How much farther?” said Arran, snatching up his Kalashnikov and leveling it at the ruined skylight. “They will overwhelm us if we cannot get away soon.”

“Just a few miles,” said Conmager. “It…”

A crash and the shriek of tearing metal cut him off. A pair of winged demons landed on the back bumper, hammering at the door with crowbars. Arran hurried back, dropped to his knees, and started shooting, Mary at his side. The winged demons snarled and flew away, light glimmering around their wounds. 

The van rocked again. The head and shoulders of a winged demon appeared through the skylight. It roared and reached for Lithon, and the boy fired at it. Two shots slammed into the creature’s chest, but his gun clicked empty. The winged demon lunged for Lithon, its claws tugging at his shirt. Arran turned, fumbling to raise his Sacred Blade.

Conmager struck first. He twisted in his seat and thrust his cane, the handle burning with white light. The blow rocked the winged demon, a pulse of white light shooting through its body. It screamed and tried to reach Conmager. Arran wrapped both hands around his sword’s hilt and stabbed. His blade sheared through the demon’s chest, burning it to smoking ash. 

Arran wiped sweat and soot from his forehead. “We must get away!”

“There!” said Allard, pointing. A long stretch of two-lane highway vanished into the night. “We made it!” He punched the gas, and the black vans began to fall behind him. “We can outrun them now, we’re safe, we made it.”

Conmager leaned forward. “There’s something on the road ahead. Switch to the high beams.”

Allard gave him an incredulous look. “You’re kidding. We’re trying to run…”

“Do it!” 

Allard flipped on the high beams.

A winged demon stood at the edge of the beams’ glow, holding a metal box. It dropped the box and flapped away. 

“What the hell?” said Allard. 

Conmager's eyes widened. “It’s a bomb! They’re trying to blow up the road! Brakes, Allard, brakes…”

Allard slammed the brakes, and the van slowed as the bomb went off.  

A ball of fire ripped a stretch of road to shreds, chunks of pavement raining off the windshield and hood. Allard cursed, and the van skidded to a stop and crashed into the crater. Arran slammed into the back of Conmager’s seat, Mary bouncing off him. Ally thumped against Allard’s seat and lay still.

“Everyone all right?” said Conmager.

“What the hell do you think?” said Mary, disentangling herself from Arran. 

“Jesus.” Allard pumped the gas. The van shuddered, but didn’t move. “We’re stuck.” Hysteria entered his voice. “We’re stuck. They’re going to kill us!”

Conmager undid his seatbelt, his face grim. “It never fails. Every time I come to Chicago, I wind up in a car wreck.” Arran stared out the back windows. The black vans stood parked a dozen feet away. Their doors opened, winged demons and changelings storming out. Conmager staggered into the back of the van, clutching his cane in one hand and an Uzi in the other. “So now it’s come to the last stand. Yet again.”

“What are we going to do?” said Arran, watching the winged demons advance. 

A grimness settled over his mind. He had traveled for years and thousands of miles and now would perish here. 

His hands tightened over his weapons. He would take a few of the winged demons with him. 

Conmager met his gaze. “You know what we have to do.”

Arran nodded. “Lithon. Mary.”

“What? What are you talking about?” said Mary. 

“Take Ally. Do it!” said Arran. Mary helped Ally to her feet. “Take her and run. Go through the front door, and stay away from the road. You’ll know when.” Allard joined them, his face bone-white. But his hands did not shake as he lifted his Uzi. 

“You’re going to kill yourselves, you can’t do this,” said Mary. 

Conmager laughed. “I had this conversation with Simon, years ago. I refuse to have it again. No, Sir Arran and Allard and I are going to charge out these doors and fight the winged ones, and you’re going to run. Understand me? Ally and Lithon must survive. They are more important than me, more important than you.” He turned to Arran. “Ready?”

Arran nodded. 

Arran took a deep breath, kicked the doors open, and jumped out firing. The winged demons and changelings fell back in disarray. A changeling fell, its body riddled with bullets. Arran spun, Sacred Blade flashing, and chopped the head from a winged demon. A half-dozen others took aim. Arran charged towards them, knowing he would feel the bullets pierce his flesh.

Then a dazzling flash of white light lit the night. 

The winged demons howled in agony, reaching for their eyes. Arran caught a glimpse of Conmager striding through the changelings, swinging his cane with vigor. The cane flashed with the white magic. Each blow sent a broken changeling soaring through the air. Allard stood at his side, spraying bullets in all directions. 

Arran reached the winged demons, Sacred Blade burning. He rammed it through a winged demon’s chest, burning it to ashes and gleaming bones. Regret and mad battle fury filled him. He had not found Alastarius on Earth. But he had found Lithon. Perhaps he could gain a few more minutes for Lithon to escape. 

Another flash lit the night, and Conmager's howl of fury rang in the night. The winged demons drew their scimitars and attacked. Arran fought them like a madman, fighting to gain just a few more minutes for King Lithon. 

###

“Run!” said Mary, her arm around Ally’s shoulder. “Come on, Lithon. Run!”

Lithon stared at the battle, his mind a swirl of grief and pain. “I…”

“They’re killing themselves to save us,” said Mary. “Now run!” 

Lithon shook his head. “I don’t know. I...”

A deep voice echoed in Lithon's ears.

“You can’t.” 

His breath caught in his throat.

A ghost stood at the edge of the road, the spectral form of an old man wrapped in a tattered green cloak. The wraith walked towards Lithon, moving unseen and unhindered through the melee. Lithon’s pulse hammered in his ears, the world seeming to move slower and slower. 

The ghost stopped before the van. “Can you see me?” 

Arran battled past him, moving in slow motion, sword blazing and gun spitting. 

Lithon managed to nod. 

The ghost looked at him. “Do you know who I am?” Dark eyes gleamed in the old man’s weathered face. A white robe showed beneath his tattered cloak. 

Lithon shook his head. 

The ghost grunted. “You were too young. But it matters not.” It raised its hand and pointed. “Do you see?”

Lithon saw dozens of winged demons just over the horizon, their eyes gleaming like stars of hellfire, black wings devouring the night. Arran and Conmager and Allard were already overmatched. The flying horde would kill them. 

“They will kill your guardians,” whispered the ghost, “and then they will kill you. Do you want to live, Lithon Scepteris, King of Carlisan?” Lithon nodded. “Then do exactly as I say.” 

Conmager’s cane flashed. A changeling tumbled through the air. 

“What should I do?” said Lithon

“Go to your sister,” said the ghost. “Tell her to release the inner flame and make the sigil of fire. Can you do this?” Lithon nodded. “Then hurry! You do not have much time.” 

The ghost faded into nothingness, and the strange slowness vanished from the world. The sounds of crashing steel and thundering bullets rang in Lithon’s ears.

“Lithon!” screamed Mary. “We have to go! What’s wrong with you?”

Lithon turned and seized Ally’s hand. “Ally! Ally! Look at me.” Ally blinked, her dark eyes focusing on Lithon’s. “Listen to me. You have to release the inner flame and make the sigil of fire.”

Ally frowned. “The…sigil?”

“You’ve lost your mind!” said Mary. 

“You have to focus on the sigil of fire,” said Lithon. “You have to do this, Ally.”

“We have to run, that’s what we have to do…”

“No.” Ally shook away, a fire blazing in her eyes. Her face hardened, and for a moment she seemed much older. “No.” She jumped out the back of the van and strode into the battle. 

“Ally!” said Mary, running after her. “Ally!” 

###

“Ally!” 

Arran parried a black scimitar, twisted his wrist, and scored a blow on the winged demon’s leg. 

His Sacred Blade trembled, the white fire burning brighter. The winged demon backed away, snarling, its eyes focused on something behind him. Arran risked a glance over his shoulder and froze.

Ally strode towards him, face determined. 

“Ally!” yelled Arran. “Run. Damn you, run!” 

Ally drew herself up, eyes blazing. She began to trace a pattern in the air with her fingers, the air thrumming with power. The battle came to a halt, all eyes on Ally. 

Conmager lowered his cane, staring at Ally with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. 

“What in blazes?” said Arran.

Ally’s eyes narrowed, sweat beading on her brow as she began to mutter under her breath.

“She’s casting a spell!” called Conmager. 

At once the changelings charged at her, and the winged demons pointed their guns at her. Arran saw dozens more winged demons in the sky, and panic rose in his chest. They would bombard the area with grenades, or sweep it with their Kalashnikovs, killing Ally and Lithon…

Ally shouted a final word and clapped her hands.

And a column of white light blazed up around her and shot into the sky. 

The winged demons froze, gaping at the light. The changelings gibbered in fear and pain, clawing at the ground. The column of light pulsed, cords of writhing white fire crackling around its length.

Ally clenched her fists.

The cords of fire lashed out and struck the winged demons. Five of them vanished in clouds of ash, and the others turned and fled. The changelings fled on all fours, howling in agony. More cords of white fire lanced out from the glowing column, striking demon after demon. The winged demons fled in all directions, the changelings scattering across the countryside. 

Soon the road fell silent, the night illuminated by the column of light rising from Ally. 

“Oh my God,” said Mary, moving towards Ally in small steps. “Oh my God. What…what did you do?” 

Ally shook her head. “I…I don’t know.”

“What is it?” said Arran.

“I know not,” said Conmager, shaking his head. “It is a spell of the white magic. But one of such great power. Even if I honed my skill for a thousand years I could never hope to cast such a spell. Even Alastarius would have been hard-pressed to use such a spell…”

The column vanished. A spark of white fire glimmered in the air. The spark brightened, widened, and became the spectral form of an old man wrapped in a battered green cloak. 

Conmager dropped his cane, his mouth working. 

“What?” said Allard, staring at the ghost. “What the hell is it?” 

Conmager fell to one knee. “Master.”

“Master.” Arran looked at the ghost, at Conmager, and back at the ghost. “You mean…Alastarius? This is Alastarius?”

“Listen well to me,” said the spirit, its voice resonant and powerful. “I was Alastarius of Carlisan, Master of the White Council. I perished at Castle Bastion, slain at the hand of Goth-Mar-Dan.” 

“Why have you come?” said Conmager. 

Alastarius pointed at Ally, who stared at him with a terrified expression. “By her power I have been summoned to the mortal realm, for my powers passed to her on my death. She is my heir and successor.” 

Conmager looked at her with new awe. “What would you have of me, Master? What is your will?”

The spirit smiled. “My old friend. Guard her and Lithon Scepteris. Train her in the ways of the white magic. Show her the way she must go, for her path shall be a hard one. Listen, for there is much I must tell…” 

Ally trembled and topped to the ground. 

The spirit vanished. 

Arran hurried to her side and picked her up. He understood now, for the first time. He thought he had been looking for Alastarius.

But he had really been looking for her all along. 

“Sir Arran,” said Conmager, climbing to his feet with a groan. Allard handed him his cane. “Put her in the van. Allard. Help me get the van out of that crater. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

###

Marugon shrieked. Hot needles of pain plunged into skull, piercing deep into his brain. The voices rose in insane screams of torment. Marugon growled and pressed his hands against his temples, willing away the pain, willing the voices to silence. 

Goth stared at him. “Lord?”

Marugon saw a faint white light glimmering over the horizon. “The white magic. Someone has cast a spell of the white magic.” 

Goth grabbed his headset. “Lord. My kin…they flee.”

“What?” said Marugon. A pair of winged demons soared past, flying as fast as their wings could carry them. 

“It is as you have said,” said Goth. “The girl, Ally Wester. She cast a spell of the white magic. The changelings have fled. And my kin. They cannot stand against such power.”