“Shouldn’t we make the watches a bit stronger?” Christine suggested. “We have the numbers with us. We’ll want enough of us awake and alert when Lord Berith shows up that they can delay him while the rest of us get organized, no?”
Gardener shook her head. “We’ll be fine. Four is plenty to delay the demon until the rest of us are ready to take the fight to him. I want as many of us rested as absolutely possible.”
Altair thought that Christine was going to push harder, but for some reason, she didn’t. He frowned at that, wondering why not. That wasn’t like her, not like the Christine he knew.
Except you didn’t really know her, now, did you? You thought you did, but you didn’t. She’s not the person you’ve been spending time with.
Standing up, Altair filed outside with the other three witches named to first watch. They divvied themselves up into the four corners and spread out, watching the slowly brightening sky around them for any signs of movement or magic.
Eager as Altair had been to get out of the close quarters of the Outpost’s main building, he found his anger wasn’t dissipating at all.
Because as much as he longed to be away from Christine, to try and put her in the past, he was finding it harder and harder to ignore the pull of his dragon, of that other side of him. It was tugging him back to her, like a magnet to its opposite pole. On some level, he still wanted her. Badly.
Snarling and not caring who heard it, Altair stormed off another dozen paces into the forest that sealed off this end of the little valley in which the portal and the Outpost sat. Maybe increased physical distance would help, he figured.
It didn’t.
Turning, he paced back the way he’d come. His eyes were drawn to a shape glittering in the air behind the Outpost, back toward the cliffs that formed the opposite end of the valley. A tiny little oblong shape, it hovered six feet from the ground, doing nothing at all.
Of course, it didn’t have to do anything to give Altair nightmares, to remind him of what lay on the other side.
A notion tickled at his mind as he watched the portal, something that he was missing. Something important. He tried to focus on it, to pull it from the tip of his tongue into full awareness, but it was fighting him. It didn’t want to be known.
Steeling himself, Altair tried to relax. He took in a deep breath, slowly exhaling, freeing his mind, pushing out all the negative thoughts, all the stress he was currently under.
Think.
A tingle ran up his neck, lifting the hairs on end.
Spinning, he gaped in surprise as the very air itself tore apart, a jagged rip in reality. A blackened hand with fingers as long as his legs pushed through and pulled it apart while the owner stepped through.
It stood nearly thirty feet tall. Blackened armor coated most of its body, with flesh the color of fire and lava exposed only when it moved. Two wickedly curved horns added another five feet to its height, streams of flame spinning between them, lending a terrifying aspect to the already imposing figure.
A maul with spikes the length of his arm and wider around rested easily on the beast’s shoulders. Behind the helmet of blackened armor, two eyes burned like circular fires as they focused on the surroundings.
Snow sizzled and evaporated into steam as its very presence generated enough heat to melt a circle forty feet wide around it, right down to the earth itself, which also began to blacken and die.
Lord Berith had arrived.
Chapter Thirty-One
Christine
EVERYONE FELT IT. SOMETHING had changed.
She stood up, looking around at her fellow witches as they too recognized it. The stifling presence of something extremely powerful, its magic so strong it was practically tangible, choking their senses, making it hard for them to concentrate.
A moment later, she heard Altair’s bellow from outside. It was followed shortly by several other shouts. There was no mistaking what the clamor was about. A second later, the entire ground shook, and a horrible roar washed over them, driving many of the witches to one knee as it assaulted their senses.
The enemy they had trained to fight was here. It hadn’t taken more than thirty minutes for Lord Berith to arrive, and now the demon had shown its face.
Christine spun around, looking at Madison, waiting for the other witch to start barking orders, to organize the witches and deploy the response team.
Outside, she heard the sound of magic being cast, and another mighty roar from the throat of a dragon as Altair struck. A moment later, the thunderclap washed over the Outpost, confirming her suspicion. The quartet of witches would delay Berith as long as they could, but they weren’t strong enough to stop him. They needed the rest of the team.
“Gardener!” she snarled. “We must go to them. We need to help out.”
“Can’t go out there,” the other woman stammered. “Can’t you feel it?”
Christine’s mouth dropped open. What had happened to Madison? She was no coward, not one to be overwhelmed by this. What sort of magic was holding her prisoner?
Frustration boiled over and Christine stopped reacting and started acting. She grabbed Madison by the collar, shook the woman violently and slapped her across the face.
“Pull yourself together, now. You are a witch of Winterspell, and you are not going to cower inside like this. You are a badass bitch. Remember that!”
She turned to see the others looking at her
“Well what are you waiting for!” she snapped as the building shook again, and something else roared. “It’s a good day to die!”
The witches snapped out of their trance as her cry hit them, and they raced for the door.
They emerged into a warzone. Flame and fire billowed everywhere. The world was blackened and dying. Above them, clouds rolled in, blocking the sun, turning the valley into a zone of
