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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] Tannim still wasn't certain how he'd pulled that slingshot maneuver off, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to duplicate it. Then again, I devoutly hope I'll never have to. He looked reflexively in the rear-view mirror, not expecting to see anything, but as an automatic reaction-and saw the front end of the Victor filling the rear windscreen, with Conal, helmeted as if he was on the track, grimly clutching the wheel. For one startled moment, it felt as if his earlier thought had summoned the Sidhe. Conal? The Victor was so close he could hear the high-pitched whine of its engine over the brawling thunder of the Mach 1's. Jeez-the radio! If Conal had his helmet on, he might have plugged in his radio-mike. Tannim reached over and flipped on the FM scanner between two four-wheel drifts; it hit two broadcasts too faint to hold, then stuck on- ". . . . Tannim will ye turn yer bloody damned receiver on, I've been . . ." ". . . tryin' t' raise ye fer the past five friggin' minutes, ye demon-blasted muddle-headed excuse fer-" Conal broke off his tirade as Tannim waved frantically. "It's about damned time!" the Sidhe exploded. "Keighvin's bringin' up th' rear-guard; the rest is mostly behind me. I don't s'ppose ye've got a plan?" While waiting for a reply, Conal cursed under his breath, as between the tight suspension and the low ground clearance, the Victor bottomed out for the thousandth time since this desperate run began. He was certain they were leaving a trail of sparks and grooved pavement. Not to mention what this run was doing to the undercarriage of Donal's precious car- Donal. Sweet Danaa. . . . Tannim stuck his hand out the window, miming shooting a gun. Repeatedly. "Ah, blessed Danaa, th' boy thinks he's Mel Gibson now," Conal muttered. " 'Tisn't a plan he's got, 'tis a deathwish." He raised his voice a little. "Yon Sam's wi' Dottie an' her 'steed. You an' I have th' only real metal beasties, an' we're leadin' the pack. They should be on my tail in a trice. An' you're leadin' me b'cause I don't have any bleedin' headlights!" Plan, we need a plan . . . there's going t' be damn-all interference at the airport. Conal thought fast, speaking his thoughts aloud, and watching the mage-sight-enhanced silhouette of the young man ahead of him for any signs of agreement or disagreement. Staying right on Tannim's tail was no easy feat-it was a good thing the Victor had better brakes than the Mustang. "We're goin' t' have t' breach th' mage- shields on their stronghold-an' we're goin' t' have t' break down a fence there too, if I recollect. Now, the shields, they're likely t' be just like any reg'lar Sidhe defenses-an' that's pure Sidhe magery, w'out any human backup. So if you an' me should happen t'hit it wi' all that sheet metal, seems t'me it should go down. . . ." Tannim nodded vigorously, and raised a clenched fist in the air. Conal continued to think aloud. "That still leaves th' fence. But if we put our magics t'gether, you an' meself, an' armored up th' point on yon Mustang- ye think it'll fly, lad?" There was no doubt that Tannim thought it would fly. Conal grinned in savage satisfaction, even though it included a twinge of guilt. The Mustang was Tannim's pride, joy, and precious baby. He was going to have to spend weeks on it as it was, repairing the damage that had already been done to it. Conal hated to ask him to put the Mach 1 on point-but there wasn't much choice. "I know how ye feel 'bout that car, old son. But ye've got 'bout twenty-five thousand worth there, an' I'm pilotin' near half a mil. I promise, ye'll have every tiny atom of magery I got on that nose. So-do we brace for rammin' speed?" In answer, magic energy flared up all over the Mustang, a vivid coruscating aurora of every color Conal could name and some that had no names, as Tannim released more of the energies he had invested in the Mach l's body, adding his own to them. After the initial flare, they settled into a thin skin of light, with a vivid blue-white glow somewhere near the front end. Conal unleashed his own powers, letting them meld with the human's work. He Felt Tannim direct the shape and force of it, as Donal and the young mage had so often when working on the Victor. . . . He choked back a sob, and shook his head to free his eyes of the stinging tears that threatened to obscure his sight. This one's for you, Donal. He let his grief and anger build, containing them within himself until they were too painful, too powerful to hold back any more. And then he added both to the mixture, strengthening it as only emotion could, giving it a wild power no dispassionate, cold, controlled magery could ever hope to rival. Oh aye, my brother, my friend. This one is for you. . . . Tannim triggered the remainder of the Mach l's defenses, letting the energy run wild for a moment before shaping it into a pointed ram over the Mustang's nose. To his mage-sight it outshone the headlights-and when he added in his own, personal power, it flared again with arc-light brilliance. One eye on the tach to keep her from red-lining, one eye on the road-he needed a third eye for the magic- Well, he could manage that by inner eye and feel; he waited for Conal's input, and it came to him, smooth and controlled, from the hand of an expert. And so like Donal that his eyes stung with unexpected grief. Christ. He and Donal had worked so closely together on that vehicle behind him, working complex collaborative magics. The Victor wasn't pretty, not yet; the bodywork was immaculate, but the paint job was hardly more than a promise, and it still had tech-bugs to work out. No, it wasn't pretty. But it was beautiful, a work of pure art and genius, magic on four wheels. A complete whole, in its own way. Even if it didn't have headlights yet. A lump of sorrow threatened to choke him; just before he could swallow it down, he felt another surge of energy coming down the link. This one was pure emotion, and the feelings matched his own. Grief. Rage. A burning need for vengeance. He gave in to his mourning, to his anger, and let his emotions join with Conal's to reinforce the magery they had just created. He rode it like a wave, then wrenched the wave into a coruscating barrier/weapon sheathing the front chrome. Never fight when you're angry. Chinthliss had told him that, over and over. But there was a counter to that. Yes, anger destroyed control, disturbed the ability to think. But it granted a force that no controlled magic could match; and this, if ever, was a situation that called for that extra edge. Deliberately Tannim forgot everything except the road ahead and his memories of Donal and Rob; and of little Tania, somewhere ahead, in mage-forged chains. In the hands of people who tortured and killed children, and filmed it for [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |