A Battle of Blood and Stone (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 4)

He was absolutely not a coward.

“Is that really you, Charmeine?” Micah asked, his voice deep but also warped in a way that gave it a staccato sort of beat to his words.

“It’s my spirit,” Pyke replied, his voice coming across the distance clearly but with a ghostly sort of quality he had put to it. Carrick was impressed, even more so when Pyke said, “I managed to collect enough magic to project myself out. So we could talk, Micah.”

The great beast’s head tipped the other way. “You want to talk?”

His tone wasn’t angry, merely incredulous. Not as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him, but rather that she merely wanted to talk after all these millennia.

“I’m lonely,” Pyke said in a forlorn voice. “I want you to release me.”

Carrick had to admit… that was more brilliant than he would have thought Pyke able to come up with on the fly. If he could convince Micah to release Charmeine, that would increase their chances of saving her life.

Micah didn’t reply, merely tipped his head the other way. Carrick wondered if his intellect had devolved along with his form.

Pyke’s gaze moved to the chalice, then back up to Micah’s face. “Put the cup down. Come walk with me, and we’ll talk.”

Carrick held his breath, wondering what Micah would do. After being alone for so long, this had to be jarring for the beast to take in.

Micah’s head dipped, lifting his hand to study the chalice. Carrick could see the red of the Blood Stone, and he was amazed by its brightness against the black of the cup. As if it glowed from within, and he figured it might be the real Charmeine inside doing that.

Head lifting to look back at Pyke, Micah once again asked. “Is that really you, Charmeine?”

And this time, there was no wonder or curiosity in his tone. Carrick tensed as he heard the skepticism.

Before Pyke could answer, Micah bellowed, “Is it really you?”

The roar of his voice was so loud, Pyke actually stumbled back a few feet and more pieces of rock fell upon Carrick and Lucien.

It was a decidedly quick move. Far too quick for Pyke to react.

Micah thrust his arm forward, aiming the chalice and, more importantly, the Blood Stone right at Pyke. For a brief moment, Carrick was terrified it would kill Pyke, but whatever magic Micah threw his way did nothing more than melt his glamour away until there was nothing left but the body of a man.

Again, Micah roared, this time in fury at being fooled, and pulled his arm back—the intent he was going to thrust it toward Pyke and unleash his power clear.

“Shit,” Carrick cursed, leaping from the ledge straight at Micah.

Because of his strength, the push off from the ledge, and his superior agility enabled him to come down right on Micah’s right shoulder. Carrick used his momentum to wrap his arms around Micah’s thick bicep, his trajectory pulling Micah off-balance. The minute his feet hit the sand, Carrick did a half squat, then spun, twirling Micah a hundred and eighty degrees to disorient him. Rather than releasing him, he let the circle of his arms that were wrapped around Micah’s bicep slide down the length of his appendage. With a mighty heave, he yanked the chalice free from the beast’s hand.

Micah whirled on Carrick, bellowing in fury, and caught him in the chest with a vicious backhand. Carrick felt his sternum crack as well as several ribs when he was launched into the air. He came down hard on his back, but kept his grip on the chalice intact, drawing it in close to him as he jumped from the ground.

Advancing on Carrick, Micah’s eyes were red with fury, and his fingertips sparked with what looked like arcs of blue electricity. He made it no more than three steps before Carrick saw Lucien flying through the air, having made his leap from the edge of the mountain. He came down hard with his heavy boots catching the back of Micah’s right leg, which buckled and toppled the beast like a house of cards.

He was slow to get up, but not because he was hurt.

But because his gaze was riveted on Lucien, who had rolled and righted himself gracefully in between Micah and Carrick.

“Lucien,” Micah growled, a long stream of saliva sliding out of the corner of his mouth.

Carrick knew he had but the briefest second to react, because Lucien’s greatest fear was that Micah would go for Charmeine first. He pulled forth in his mind the image of the rip in the veil half a mile down the deadened beach and prepared to bend distance there when the chalice in his hand started vibrating.

The stone started to glow, going from red to white in the blink of an eye. The light was blinding and Carrick had to shield his eyes, but it was abruptly gone.