Grace of Small Magics(3)
Author: Ilona Andrews

She chewed on that “others”. Normal, non-magical people. He said it in the way one might refer to foreigners.

“Arbitration by game is a big event. By last count, representatives often clans have shown up for the fun. Two weeks were allowed to each clan who so wished to dump whatever hazards they could manage into this space. It’s full of things that go bump in the night.”

“The other clans don’t like you,” she said.

“None of the clans like each other. We compete for territory and business. We have wars and bloody battles. And it will be up to you and me to help us avoid such a war this time.” He touched the photograph. “Somewhere in the zone the arbitraries have hidden a small flag. Two teams will enter the game zone to retrieve the flag, while the rest of the clansmen will bet on the outcome and enjoy their popcorn. Whoever touches the flag first will win and be ported out of the zone. Whether the flag is retrieved or not, in three days’ time the wards will constrict, sweeping anything magic from the area into its centre. The pyromancers will destroy it in a preternaturally hot bonfire, while the locals blissfully sleep.”

“Are we one of the teams?”

“Yes.”

Now she understood. Mother was almost fifty and overweight. She wouldn’t be able to move fast enough. They needed someone younger and she fitted the bill. “Will the rival team try to kill us?”

Another light smile touched his lips. “Most definitely.”

“I don’t have any offensive magic.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “You’re entirely too polite for that.”

It took her a moment to catch the pun. “I’m a dud. I sense magic and I can do small insignificant things, but I can’t foretell the future like my mother and I haven’t been trained as a fighter like Gerald. For all practical purposes, I’m the ‘other’, a completely ordinary person. I’ve never fired a gun, I’m not exceptionally athletic, and my strength and reflexes are average.”

“I understand.”

“Then why do you need—” Magic stabbed her, cold and sharp, wrenching a startled gasp from her. Her eyes watered from pain.

“Lilian!” Nassar barked.

“Go!” The chauffeur mashed a square button on her dashboard.

The roof of the vehicle slid aside. A dark sheath coated Nassar.

The pain pierced Grace’s ribs, slicing its way inside.

Nassar jerked her to him. She collided with the hard wall of his chest, unable to breathe.

The dark sheath flared from him, filling the vehicle in long protrusions, shaping into a multitude of pale feathers.

“Hold on,” Nassar snarled.

Grace threw her arms around his neck and they shot straight up, into the sky. Wind rushed at her. The pain vanished. She looked down and almost screamed — the car was far below.

“Don’t panic.”

The flesh of Nassar’s neck crawled under her fingers, growing thicker. She turned to him and saw a sea of feathers and, high above, huge raptor jaws armed with crocodile teeth. Her arms shook with the strain of her dead weight.

“It’s OK,” the monster reassured her in Nassar’s voice.

Her hold gave. For a precious second, Grace clung to the feathers, but her fingers slipped. She dropped like a stone. Her throat constricted. She cried out and choked as a huge claw snapped closed about her stomach.

“Grace?” The feathered monster bent his neck. A round green eye glared at her.

She sucked the air into her lungs and finally breathed. “Your definition of OK has problems.” The wind muffled her voice.

“What?” he bellowed.

“I said, your definition of OK has problems!” The ground rolled past them, impossibly far. She clenched her hands on the enormous scaly talons gripping her. “Is there any chance that this could be a dream?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Her heart hammered so hard, she was worried it would jump out of her chest. “What was it?”

“Clan Roar – our opponents in the game. Or one of their agents, to be exact. They’re not dumb enough to attack you directly. Once the game is scheduled, all hostilities between the participants must cease. Interference of this sort is forbidden.”

“What about Lilian?”

“She can take care of herself.”

Grace shivered. “Why would they be attacking me in the first place?”

“You’re my defence. If they kill you, I’ll have to withdraw from the game.”

“That sounds ridiculous! You’re the revenant and I can’t even defend myself.”

“I’ll explain everything later. We’re beyond their range now and we’ll arrive soon. Try to relax.”

She was clutched in the talons of a monstrous creature, who was really a man trying to rescue her from a magical attack by flying hundreds of feet above solid ground. Relax. Right. “I serve a madman,” she muttered.

Far beyond the fields, an empty piece of the horizon shimmered and drained down, revealing a dark spire. Tower Dreoch, Uncle Gerald had called it. He’d said the Dreochs lived in a castle. She thought he’d exaggerated.

Nassar careened, turning, and headed to the tower.

They circled the tower once before Nassar dived to a balcony and dropped her into a waiting group of people below. Hands caught her and she was gently lowered to the ground.

In the overcast sky, Nassar swung upwards and swooped down. The group parted. A dark-skinned woman grasped Grace by her waist and pulled her aside with the ease one picks up a child.

Nassar dived down. His huge talons skidded on the balcony and he tumbled into the room beyond. Feathers swirled. He staggered up. “Leave us.”

People fled past her. In a moment the room was empty.

Grace hugged herself. Up there, in the evening sky, the cold air had chilled her so thoroughly, even her bones felt iced over. Her teeth still chattered. She stepped to the double doors and shut them, blocking off the balcony and the draught with it.

The large rectangular room was simply but elegantly furnished: a table with some chairs, a wide bed with a gauzy blue canopy, a bookcase, some old, solidly built chairs before the fireplace. A couple of electric table lamps radiated soft yellow light. An oriental silk rug covered the floor.

Nassar slumped in front of the fireplace. Bright orange flames threw highlights on his feathers, making them almost golden in the front. His feathers seemed shorter. His jaws no longer protruded quite as much.

Grace crossed the carpet and stood before the fire, soaking in the warmth. It all seemed so dreamlike. Unreal.