"Faster," I whispered to the Anansi's children. "Kill faster."
They didn't understand my word, but they understood my tone. The spiders fed faster, gorging themselves. The stalkers inside the inn boundary convulsed, moaning. There was nothing I could do until the stalkers were dead. Both Sean and Arland had stressed to me that this was my part of the plan and it was essential I killed them all.
Another chunk of armor flew from Arland. The dahaka was carving him out of it, piece by piece.
Where the hell was Sean? Come on. He wouldn't chicken out. He just couldn't.
Arland took another tail hit on the side. His head hung. He shook it slowly, as if dazed.
"Faster," I pushed the spiders. If I moved without them, I'd lose control of the swarm. They would live just long enough to fill the Avalon Subdivision with the lifeless husks of its former inhabitants. "Hurry."
The dahaka spun around the vampire like a bladed whirlwind. Blood drenched Arland's armor. He gasped. The dahaka sliced across the back of his legs. Arland went down on one knee.
The largest of the spiders fell on its side. Its legs jerked spasmodically and became still. I had pushed them too far too fast. Damn it.
The last stalker wailed and died.
I strode across the boundary and the rest of the spiders followed me, intoxicated by my magic. Behind me the last of the stalkers sank softly to the ground, dry shells of their formerly impressive selves.
The dahaka barked a short command. The remaining stalkers charged at me.
The alien swung his blade, aiming for Arland's bowed head.
I ran. The spiders surged forward, heading for the alien, and washed over the remaining stalkers.
Three things happened at once: the dahaka struck, bringing his blade down; Arland spun out of the way; and a lean shadow appeared behind the dahaka as if by magic and sank a sword into his spine.
The alien screamed. Sean sliced at him, cutting and slashing with his swords. The dahaka counterattacked with fast, brutal cuts, but Sean was too fast. The assassin's sword whistled through the air, cutting nothing.
The two spiders by my feet cringed and fell over. One by one, my spider horde began to die.
Arland rose to his feet, suddenly fast and limber, and smashed the dahaka's side with his mace. Together the werewolf and the vampire began pushing the dahaka. The blood mace whirred and struck home and for every blow of Arland's weapon, Sean landed two or three cuts. The dahaka fought back with vicious fury. Blood sprayed, and I no longer could tell whose. They kept pressing him, driving him across the clearing toward me.
He should've been disabled by now. That was the plan. But he danced back and forth, fully mobile. At any moment, he could break away and run, and we would have to chase him. Neither Arland nor I would be fast enough. The dahaka was outnumbered and wounded. He was losing and he knew it. I could feel him teetering on the brink of a decision. If he ran, it would be all over.
I melted my halberd in a bundle of blue filaments. It spiraled around my hands and waist, extending to sink deep into the ground behind me. I sent my magic down through it. My power streamed from me like electric current through the wire and back into the inn, forging a connection.
I cried out. It was a small, scared noise.
The dahaka spun and saw me, standing alone and weaponless outside the inn's boundary, my spiders dead around me. The purple eyes gleamed. In the split second he stared at me, I saw the calculation plain in those alien eyes. Sean pressed him from one side and Arland from the other. I was the only possible exit. He could maim me in passing or grab me and use me as a hostage, and either way the two men would abandon their pursuit and concentrate on helping me. It was a win-win scenario.
The dahaka whipped around and charged at me.
Sean chased him, but the alien moved too fast.
I stood still. My heart was pounding too fast to count. Blood thudded through my head. The air tasted like metal.
The dahaka came toward me, fast, unstoppable, like a train flying off the rails.
I spread my arms and leaned forward, bringing them together, my fingers reaching for him. All of my power, everything that made me an innkeeper, moved with me. Behind me the house creaked, mimicking my movement. Every tree branch, every blade of grass, and every stray root reached forward with me. Wind bathed the dahaka like the breath of a giant clearing his lungs just before he inhaled. The alien realized it was a trap and spun around in a desperate rush to get away. Sean cut at him, but the alien batted him aside. For a second the way to his escape looked clear, and then Arland drove his massive shoulder into the dahaka, knocking him back toward me.
I straightened and pulled the empty air with both hands. The wind roared as the entire inn pulled with me. The dahaka howled, straining to resist the storm made just for him. His feet sank into the soil. He dropped down to all fours, clawing at the dirt, screeching in pure terror.
The house and I pulled, trying to drag him into the inn.
The dahaka slid across the grass, straight to me. Somehow he flipped and leaped straight up at me, claws out, teeth bared. Filaments bristled like narrow javelins and shot from me, piercing him in a dozen places. The dahaka howled, suspended in midair, flailing like a fish on a hook. Behind him, Sean leaped ten feet up and severed the dahaka's head with one precise blow.
It rolled to my feet. The purple fire went out of the alien's eyes.
My knees buckled and I sat on the grass. It reached to me, rubbing against me like a cat arching its back, eager for a stroke.
We'd won.
*** *** ***
Sean sat on the grass next to me. Blood slicked his skin. The dahaka had gotten in a few good cuts.
We watched as Arland searched the dahaka's armor. He found something, examined it closely, and came to sit next to us. In his hands was a vampire's crest. He showed it to me. "I activated it and sent a message. He's coming."
"He?" Sean asked.
"My cousin."
"How did you know?" Sean asked.
"He'd opposed the Pact of Brotherhood. Nothing forceful, just a snide comment here and there, enough to let us know he wasn't happy about it. Orig has poor impulse control. As a child, he got into fights for frivolous reasons. As an adolescent, he had to learn the hard way that women don't enjoy being assaulted. He is at his best when he is set loose on the battlefield in the ranks, but in his mind, he is the Marshal. He spoke at the feast in my aunt's honor after we buried her. It was all outrage and bluster and how we would find those responsible and make them regret ever crawling out of their mother's womb. After the funeral I saw him standing by himself. I was above him on the terrace and he thought he was alone. He was smiling. I thought it was odd at the time. I used your terminal to check with the House. They pulled his flight plans for the past six months. A month before the wedding, he'd taken a trip to Savva. The idiot had charged the House for the fuel. There is one in every family."