Battle Ground (The Dresden Files #17) - Jim Butcher Page 0,126
things happen her way for so long, she was not used to coping with opposition, had grown rigid in her habit of victory. She never needed the reflexes to deal with an agile opponent, with adversity, with unpredictability. She reacted to them the way a child would, confronting such obstacles for the very first time.
She spent precious seconds throwing a tantrum.
And hope rekindled and flickered to life.
Just this little light inside. That made everything matter again.
That reminded me that I had a job to do.
“Heh,” I cackled. “Heh. Heh, heh, heh, heheheheheheh.” My voice came out creaky and cracking, but genuinely amused. “You noob.”
Ethniu glared at me, and my heart skipped a little beat. Because fear was a thing again, too. Fear that I might still lose this fight.
Because I knew that I could still win.
Marcone’s shot had evidently been the signal to charge. The Baron of Chicago and his forces broke into a run, their voices rising in fury as they came, the earth trembling, white-shrouded vampires leaping as if on wires through the tide of light and resolution flooding from the Summer Lady’s beacon, the unseen battle of minds and wills being waged every bit as viciously as the physical conflict unfolding before me.
If the newly arrived allied force hit the Fomor legions before order had been brought upon them, Marcone’s charge would shatter them.
“Don’t let her get to the Fomor!” I shouted.
Ethniu swept the spear at the earth between her and Butters, and another bolt of lightning howled from it—not at Butters, but at the ground itself, rending the earth between us and sending a truckload of torn ground flying at Butters and me. I covered my head with my arms and felt glad I was wearing the spellbound coat. It meant I had just collected a new round of bruises instead of broken bones. By the time I lowered my arms, Ethniu was on the last few degrees of arc on a fifty-yard leap that had carried her to the rear of the Fomor army, where she slammed the haft of her stolen spear into the ground and instantly arrested the attention of the surrounding Fomor troops. Her will flared out to enfold all of those around her, and they turned at once in lockstep, hundreds of the heavily armored warriors of the Fomor turning to face the Baron’s charge.
The return to myself had meant the return of input from my own banner. I had one hundred and eighty-seven people still in the fight, most of them wounded.
And, from the battered ruin of the earthworks around the auditorium, there was a sudden flood of light, as Esperacchius appeared on the walls, along with a sudden ragged roar of defiance, and I realized with a start that when I had swamped Listen and his troops, I had also taken the pressure off the fortress.
I shoved myself to my feet, found my staff, and shouted, “Butters!”
“Here,” came his voice, panting and pained but game.
The white-shrouded forms bounded through the air in graceful arcs and suddenly blurred in all directions as the Baron’s army closed with the enemy, a dizzying display as the two masses crushed together.
“Come on!” I shouted.
“Where?”
I pointed at the clashing armies.
“What!?”
“Marcone gave us a shot,” I said. “But if she kills him, his banner falls, and the people behind him will scatter. Then it’s an army of them against a few of us. Then we all die.” I gripped his shoulder and felt myself giving him the crazy grin, the one I know I get sometimes.
And with my other hand, I grabbed the handle of the knife.
It was time.
The heartbeat of the city, panicked and furious, flooded through me.
Butters’s eyes got a little whiter.
I pointed at the army and said, “Cut me a way through there.”
Butters looked at me. Then at the armies clashing. Then at me again.
“Yeah,” he said. “Why not?”
We didn’t charge into the fray so much as aggressively shamble.
But into the fray we went.
Chapter
Thirty-two
What came next was . . .
Look. I’ve been in a few fights. I even did my bit in a war.
None of it was like this.
What I remember most was how unsteady the ground was. The earth had been torn to dirt by the forces brought to bear upon it, and then doused in rain so dense it needed a new word to describe it. Then thousands of beings started fighting to the death on top of it.
The ground was a mixture of terrain so slippery you couldn’t get