Gruff had probably been waiting for me to use fire magic in battle—the same magic that I had entwined with the power of the Summer Lady two years ago at Arctis Tor. It was the most probable reason why Mab, the most likely suspect for messing with my head, would have taken my blasting rod and my memories of how to use fire magic in battle—to prevent me from inadvertently revealing my position to Summer every time I got into a tussle.
Only now that I had, Eldest Gruff was probably on his way to visit.
And fifth, and last, I realized that I had no way to get off this stupid and creepily familiar island—unless I could get down to the docks and to the boat I’d come in on.
I still burned with the need to strike back at the people who had hurt my friend, but the fact of the matter was that I couldn’t strike back at them and survive—and if they took me down, I’d only be handing them weapons to continue the war Michael had spent a lifetime fighting to end.
My only option was to run. Realistically, even escape wasn’t looking likely—but it was my only chance.
So I slid the Sword back into its scabbard, oriented myself toward the run-down little town where we’d first come ashore, and ran. Fast.
Now, I’m not as strong as those really big guys, like Michael and Sanya. I don’t do swordplay as well as folks like Nicodemus or Shiro. I don’t yet have the magical experience and know-how to outfinesse the really experienced wizards and sorcerers who have been hanging around for centuries, like the Gatekeeper or Thorned Namshiel.
But I’ll take any of those guys in a footrace. Guaranteed. I run—and not so that I’ll be skinny and look good, either. I run so that when something that wants to kill me is chasing me, I’ll be good at running. And when you’ve got legs as long as mine, you’re skinny, and in good shape, you can really move. I hit the woods running like a deer, sticking to the path we’d broken on the way up. The snow made it easy to see the way, and though in another hour or two it would be a sheet of frozen ice, for the moment the footing was excellent.
I was benefiting from the chaos caused by Gard’s entrance. I could hear all kinds of confusion as men shouted in the woods and tried to figure out what was going on, to get the wounded to help, and to follow what were probably conflicting orders thanks to holes ripped in their chain of command by Hendricks and his minigun. Radios clicked and voices buzzed over them, functioning unreliably, as they would in any area so rich with concentrated magical energy.
The fact that most of the men had had their tongues removed probably didn’t help anything, either. Nick should have taken my advice and read that evil-overlord list. Seriously.
Someone a few yards off to my right shouted something at me. It came out as totally mangled gobbledygook. I shouted back at him in similar wordless garbage, pretending that I didn’t have a tongue either, and added a rude gesture to the tirade. I don’t know if it was the perfect charade, or if it just shocked him into stunned silence, but either way it got the same effect. I went on by him without garnering any further reaction whatsoever.
I thought I was home free as I reached the ruins of the little company town and its one main drag along the shoreline.
And then I heard Magog’s bellow coming down the hill behind me—coming fast, too, easily making twice the speed I could manage. That was the damnedest thing about these demonic collaborator types. Even though they didn’t work out and practice, they still got to run faster than we dedicated roadsters who actually sweated and strained for our ability to haul ass. Jerks.
It seemed clear that Magog was coming in pursuit of me, or at least that he was coming down the hill toward the dock and the boat off the island to cut off any chance of escape. I had little time to pick and choose where to go to avoid his notice, and wound up ducking into the long, heavily shadowed, cavernous length of the building that looked as if it had once been a cannery.
The roof had fallen through in several places, and snow covered perhaps a third of the floor,