Shadows Before the Sun

body came at Sachâth talons first, his muscled legs outstretched, talons curved like razor-sharp scythes. He slammed into the creature, claws sinking deep into the chest. The force sent them tumbling. It was quick and vicious. Sachâth’s shadows snapped and stabbed and constricted. Pen bit and ravaged with fangs and talons. Hank surged forward as Sachâth righted itself, floating above the ground. Pen went tumbling across the grass and struck one of the outer monoliths. The glow in the center trilithon went weaker, but power surged through the other stones and brightened where Pen had landed, filling him up again. The dragon’s eyes popped open. He righted himself, crouched, and let out an angry roar.

Shadows sliced and jabbed around Hank, but he was preternaturally quick. He would’ve made an awesome Disciple, I thought in a weird moment of observation. And then Pen was back in the fray, and the siren and the dragon faced off against Death as I kept my focus on the darkness.

If I could wound it again . . .

But then in a burst of clarity, I had another idea. I sent an order to the darkness. I’d strike a nonlethal blow, and the darkness would attach itself, ride with my power straight into Sachâth’s body. Hank’s power was already trying to fulfill its destructive purpose. With the Charbydon energy also inside . . . They’d blow Sachâth sky high. Hopefully.

A shadow pierced Hank’s thigh, through the front and straight out the back. He faltered, going down on one knee as another sliver rose up to take his head. Pen struck, using his tail to knock Hank out of the way. The shadow redirected, slicing through Pen’s wing. The roar that followed . . . I blanched, knowing Pen was seriously wounded.

Sweat rolled down my back as I gave everything I had to growing the divine power inside me and keeping the darkness attacking Sachâth. Hank forced himself up, but Sachâth was quick. It used its shadows like thin razor-sharp slivers and pierced Hank’s body in multiple places, pinning him into the grass.

No!

In instant reaction, I threw everything I had at the creature. Sachâth’s head came up as my power slammed into its shoulder. A tendril of darkness shot through with my power, entering Sachâth’s wound like a rocket.

Enraged, Sachâth released Hank and advanced, determined to kill me. It stumbled, but kept moving. It was being eaten from the inside out and yet it fought; its power staggering.

Well, fuck it. I was enraged, too.

It screamed at me and I screamed back, moving toward it. But arms enveloped me and lifted me off my feet. “No, Charlie. Don’t.” Leander.

“Get off me, you coward!”

“Coward.” He laughed. “I’d like nothing better than to fight, but this kill belongs to another.” He held me so tightly I couldn’t breathe. “Just watch.”

Sachâth’s steps slowed. It turned its head away from me as though sensing something. Leander released me. And I swear to fucking God a knight walked into the circle. No, not a knight. A Disciple. “We must move quickly,” Leander said.

The Disciple intercepted Sachâth, and what I’d seen in my vision was ten times more stunning in reality. The speed and precision was . . . unbelievable. “Charlie!” Leander hissed.

I turned as Leander shoved the lid off a long agate box. Power swamped me like a wave and continued on through the circle, dissipating as it went. A quick glance told me that Sachâth felt it, too. It started for us, but the Disciple intercepted again.

Leander bent down and pulled a divine sword from the box. He was touching a divine sword, hand wrapped around the hilt, the blade pointing down. And he wasn’t dying. I didn’t have much time to digest that when he started for me, tossing me the blade. Heart in my throat, I caught it on instinct. Heat seared my skin and shot through my arm, my symbols flaring bright, so bright they were no longer blue but white. My power ignited, wrapping around the weapon, joining.

Leander grabbed me by both shoulders and turned me toward the battle. “Sachâth is wounded. Get close. As soon as it falters, give the sword to the Disciple, he’ll know what to do.”

Hank was back up fighting, but he was wounded and his energy would soon wane. He’d used the Destruction Source Word. He wouldn’t last long before he was completely depleted.

“Do it. Or we all die.”

With each step, calm settled over me. Sachâth’s head whipped up. It was eager to meet me, to get the job done. I was its target, not the Disciple.

Sachâth sent Hank flying. He crashed into one of the trilithons. The Disciple’s head turned toward me, a golden flash in his eyes barely visible from the slit in his visor.

As I strode, I gathered momentum, using it to lift the heavy sword off the ground and on my last step, I swung with all my might.

Shadows blocked my strike. A sliver snaked out and pierced my side. The Disciple pressed. Just wound it, get it on the ground. I did my best, giving in to the strange sense of urging from my power. To fight. To move. Block. And strike. Like it knew how to dance this dance.

Shadows pierced me as I spun; one jabbed into my hip, the other into my shoulder. I screamed and swung out in a wide arc, slicing through its torso, and kept going until I was back around again, facing it and about to shove the sword into its gut, when the Disciple’s armored hand clamped down on my wrist.

His eyes met mine through the visor. Hard. Unreadable. And yet calm, like he had long ago accepted his fate. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the sword.

He couldn’t grab the sword or he’d die. What the hell’s he doing? But I already knew. He’d hold it long enough.

He shoved me back as a shadow pierced through his neck and came out the other side. The hand that held the sword began to burn, the armor turning red and hot. A deep bellow echoed from him as he hefted the sword, and spun, shoving the sword into Sachâth’s heart.

I fell to my knees, cushioned by the soft grass, and grabbed my side. But it was my hip that made my stomach turn; the shadow had hit bone . . .

Sachâth didn’t scream. In fact, it went eerily silent. Its writhing, deadly shadows stilled. The Disciple didn’t let go of the sword. Let go.

Together, the Disciple and Death fell backward. Sachâth landed on its back, the shadows evaporating, leaving behind the First One, the female I’d seen in Ahkneri’s vision—the one who had killed the Sachâth before her. The Disciple landed partway on top of her. His hand was already gone, along with half of his forearm, the divine power eating away at him. Despite the pain I knew he felt, he rose up and ripped his helmet off with his other hand.

Golden hair, long to his shoulders. He turned, nodded gravely to a point over my shoulder. Leander stood there, his face stony as he nodded back. He radiated power, emotion, even though there was none to be seen on his face.

The Disciple turned back to the First One. No one had to tell me. I knew now that he was her Disciple. That he’d been the one taken to safety by Ahkneri when the First One killed Sachâth. And now he had his revenge.

He touched her face as she blinked up at him. His shoulder was gone now, eaten up by divine flame, and yet he didn’t cry out, determined to see her, to make her see him. Jesus. My throat thickened.

She lifted her hand, smiled, and cupped his cheek, and then the fire consumed his neck and head, and he was gone as her hand flopped to the ground and her head fell to the side.

Time seemed to pause for that one unbelievable moment. And then her body jerked, arcing as power shot from her, screaming out and exploding. It hit me before I could blink.

* * *

I came awake to a blurry vision looming above me. My throat was so dry it was hard to work my mouth, to speak. A hand smacked my cheek, none too gently.

Leander’s face came into focus.

He moved away and I watched as he retrieved the sword lying by the broken altar stone and took it back to the agate box. With extreme effort, I rolled to my side, took a breather, and then sat up, my back against a chunk of broken stone. Hank. Where was Hank?