The Maelstrom

belching fires from the smokestacks. He focused on the nearest one’s central eye, so huge and luminescent it might have been the moon. Gripping the gae bolga, Max stood tall in the stirrups and reared back to strike as Scathach had taught him.

The impact was like a bomb.

Max and YaYa were thrown back with inconceivable force. They crashed into what remained of Trench Nineteen’s embankment, careening over rocks and sharpened stakes until they rolled down into the trench itself. Clawing blindly at the wet earth, Max sensed the gae bolga’s searing heat and seized hold of it. Coming to his senses, he glanced about and saw YaYa lying on her side in a small crater. Great waves of steam rose off her, as though the ki-rin were a meteor that had fallen to earth. One of the embankment stakes had impaled her shoulder, while a sickening shard of bone protruded from her foreleg.

Dirt rained down upon them as the creatures continued to advance. Scrambling to his feet, Max saw that the one he’d struck was stumbling. Half its knotted, pulpy head was missing as though it had detonated. Fire and smoke gushed from the gaping wound. Listing sideways, it flailed its tentacles in an attempt to balance, but its momentum was too great. Its legs gave out and the monster toppled like a falling skyscraper.

A savage elation overcame Max. The Morrigan was right; he was invincible. He was the son of Lugh Lamfhada, High King and greatest of the Tuatha De Danaan. And the weapon Max wielded was no mere sword or spear. The gae bolga was a conduit—it was a living tether to the war goddess herself. Together they could destroy the dreadnoughts. Together, they could destroy everything.…

Twelve creatures remained, advancing steadily in a line like a convoy of battleships. Scrambling out of the trench, Max glared up at them as energy from the gae bolga flooded into him, the Morrigan’s power mingling, multiplying with his own. He ran at the colossal things with blind, berserk rage. The nearest loomed above him, its bulk blotting out the sky. Raising the gae bolga high, Max plunged its point deep into the ground.

The instant it pierced the earth, the spear made a hideous scream and split the battlefield asunder. The shock wave sent Max flying backward, tumbling head over heels until he crashed against an overturned wagon. His leg slammed against its heavy axle, cracking his shinbone down the center. Ignoring the pain, Max focused on the battlefield. The very terrain where the gae bolga had struck seemed to be dying, rotting away and collapsing to form a great fissure that spread swiftly beneath the attackers. With a roar, the fissure became a yawning chasm as the surrounding earth sheared away in a flurry of avalanches and rock-slides.

Three of the dreadnoughts vanished from view as they plunged down into the gulf. There was an appalling crash as they struck water far below. Seconds later, jets of steam shot from the fissure like geysers, arcing high into the night and dissipating on the wind.

Gasping for breath, Max watched the geysers plume and drift. He could do little else as the remaining dreadnoughts steadied themselves with their tentacles and continued over the chasm as though nothing had happened. Once across, they began to pick up speed, charging now like Hannibal’s war elephants. The entire battlefield was shaking, but there was nothing Max could do. The Morrigan had grown silent and his own powers were spent.

Boom boom boom boom!

Through gaps between the dreadnoughts, Max glimpsed Prusias’s palanquin and his remaining troops approaching over the dark fields. Dozens of lightning bolts lanced the dreadnoughts from Rowan’s casting towers with no apparent effect. The creatures were running now, their ropy tentacles slapping at the ground while torrents of smoke billowed from their crowning backs.

They strode over Trench Nineteen, stampeding over the remaining terrain. Max was certain one would crush him, grind him into a red smear. He almost wished they would. He had no desire to witness Rowan’s destruction, to see its people murdered or enslaved as Prusias’s army swept in. Everything around him was blinding light and deafening sound and violent, terrifying tremors.

He gazed up, awestruck, as a dreadnought stepped over him, utterly heedless of his presence. There was a rending crack as the first reached the citadel. Twisting about, Max saw one of the monsters rear up on its hind legs to seize one of the casting towers with its tentacles. With a savage wrench, the creature heaved the entire structure off its foundation, ripping it free as though it were no more than a sapling. Others slammed into the wall, rearing up like great spiders to tear frantically at the battlements and masonry.

An overwhelming sense of anger and shame came over Max. Scathach was likely dead. YaYa too. By dawn, thousands more would join them. All of his efforts had been for naught; he had summoned every ounce of Old Magic in him and still the Enemy was grinding Rowan to rubble. Gazing out, Max saw Prusias’s forces halting at the chasm he had made. Already vyes were loping along its ledges, scouting for the narrowest gaps where they might devise a way to cross.

At this range, Max could see Prusias with his naked eye. The demon was standing at the palanquin’s threshold like some barbarian chieftain come to view the sack of Rome. Max’s anger kindled to blind rage. He had never wanted to destroy another being so badly in his life. If he could just get up, rise once more on this broken leg …

And then a dangerous, intoxicating thought occurred to him.

Astaroth!

Clutching the wagon’s wheel, Max twisted farther about so he could see Northgate. It had not yet fallen, but one of the dreadnoughts was lumbering toward it. There might still be a chance to save Rowan if only he spoke those words and called the Demon to him. Astaroth had promised to destroy Prusias’s army and protect Rowan if Max summoned him. And Astaroth never lied! He had the power to do so this instant … all Max had to do in exchange was slay Elias Bram. At the mere thought of the Archmage, Max gritted his teeth.

Damn Bram to hell!

The Archmage had not lifted a finger to help Rowan. For all his clever arguments, he had abandoned them. What would Bram know about aiding his friends, about helping those he loved? Marley Augur had been Bram’s closest companion, and look how he was treated! Bram was a snake; he was a loathsome, self-important snake and deserved to die a thousand times over. Max did not have to do it alone; the Morrigan would help him. Once Bram was gone and Rowan was restored, peace would follow; they would work with Astaroth to create something better, something beautiful and lasting. Wasn’t that what the Demon truly wanted? And Astaroth never lied.…

Something settled on Max’s hand. Glancing down, he saw a brown gypsy moth scuttling over his fingers, twitching its wings and feelers. Was it real? Taking flight again, the moth circled twice about Max’s head and then flew toward Northgate. Max followed its progress until his gaze settled on a pale, translucent figure gliding toward him.

It was Astaroth.

The Demon was in his spectral form, no more than a pale apparition walking across the battlefield amid all the destruction. He was smiling, but there was no mockery or amusement in those angelic features. There was only love; there was only compassion and understanding. Cradling the Book of Thoth, the Demon extended a hand and silently urged Max to speak the words that would summon him.

“Noble Astaroth,” Max whispered. “Pray favor thy petitioner with wisdom from under hill, beyond the stars. …”

As the words tumbled forth, the Demon’s smile widened.

He nodded at Max to finish, beckoned eagerly with a terrible gleam in his merry black eyes. But Max trailed off, blinking instead at a tiny figure that came hurtling out from Northgate even as the dreadnought reared up to demolish it.

The figure was David Menlo.

Max glanced back at Astaroth, but the apparition was already fading. Its smile was gone; its features blank and masklike as it disappeared into the night.

Utterly perplexed, Max pulled himself higher and stared in disbelief at his friend.

David was now directly beneath the dreadnought, screaming in terror and running in staggering zigzags as he sought to avoid the monstrosity’s stamping, shuffling feet and keep his balance on the shaking ground. On several occasions he stumbled and fell, but each time he righted himself and hobbled on with crazed determination.

He was making for Max, calling his friend’s name as though he could possibly be heard above the din. The sorcerer practically collapsed when he reached the wagon. Yelling for Max to take firm hold of the gae