The entire monastery shook. Gabriel knew the gate had been breached. But by what? No trees to use for battering rams. Maybe the Heirs had their own explosive devices. Didn’t matter how the gate had fallen. He had to check and make sure Thalia was unharmed.
He ran through the central courtyard, shoving his way through the thickly clotting mercenaries as they fought with the monks and the few steppe tribesmen. Everywhere was a jumble of yellow robes and the dark clothing of the Heirs’ hired muscle. Bodies already littered the ground. Gabriel ducked as a mercenary’s fist flew in his direction. He slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s face and sped on, not noticing or caring when the attacker crumpled to the ground.
Men screamed, and several monks and a few brigands flew up and over Gabriel’s head. He didn’t wonder long what had caused them to be thrown into the air. A clay giant steadily and ruthlessly plowed through the monastery’s defenders, knocking men aside as if they were ninepins. There wasn’t any time to goggle at the sight. Gabriel fired at the thing, but, even though he shot it straight between the eyes, the giant didn’t stop or even slow. Bloody Christ, he had known the Heirs wouldn’t play fair, but he had had no idea to what lengths they would go.
Gabriel looked and saw that the pagoda was not only still standing, but that Thalia and Bennett had now trained their rifles away from the outer wall and into the center of the monastery, where they were effectively picking away at the invading mercenaries. He allowed himself only a moment’s relief at her safety before turning and heading back toward the temple. Lan Shun and the kettle needed safeguarding, and the clay giant was clearing a path for the mercenaries.
Gabriel burst through the temple entrance and slammed it shut behind him, ignoring the brigands who had jumped to attention, guns ready. “We’re moving you someplace safer,” he said, whirling around. Lan Shun wouldn’t understand the words themselves, but he could figure out their meaning.
Instead of heeding Gabriel’s command, the head monk was bent over a small lit stove, on top of which was the kettle. He sprinkled several handfuls of dried roots into the kettle, continuously chanting. But the clay giant lumbered closer.
“No time for that now!” Gabriel shouted, but Lan Shun paid him no mind.
Gabriel started forward, then stopped. A heavy smoke poured from the kettle, even more impenetrable than the smoke that had revealed the kettle’s history. Dense white clouds swirled and snaked up to the tall roof of the temple, forming a heavy serpentine shape. The brigands shouted, and retreated against the temple walls. Lan Shun continued to chant.
Smoke congealed, took shape, and danced through the air. A roar came from its huge jaws while its claws scratched at the temple floor. White eyes burned and scales gleamed. Gabriel could scarcely believe it. A dragon. A real, live dragon, made of smoke and cloud, but real, nonetheless. The beast swam through the air and pressed its nose against the cowering brigands before turning its attention to Gabriel.
As the dragon advanced, Gabriel forced himself to stand and face it. Its head was enormous, the size of a wagon, with a mouth that could swallow three men whole. Hot breath puffed from its nose and mouth, smelling of water and herbs, enveloping Gabriel. The dragon shoved its face against Gabriel, nearly toppling him over, but the moment its nose touched the plant necklace at his throat, it moved on. Gabriel let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. If he had not been so battle-trained, he would have pissed himself for certain.
One of the monks attending Lan Shun hurried to the temple door and flung it open. The Smoke Dragon roared again before swimming through the door. Outside, the same pattern repeated itself. The dragon would check each man for the protection of the seed necklace, but if it didn’t find that protection, God help the unfortunate soul. Claws tore, the jaw snapped, and gurgling screams ripped from the throats of the mercenaries.
Over a dozen men met their deaths swiftly from the clean savagery of the dragon. Other men scattered, trying to avoid similar fates. Within moments, the clay giant and the Smoke Dragon faced each other in the cleared space. The dragon didn’t bother checking for the seed at the giant’s throat, recognizing threatening magic immediately. The dragon circled the giant once before descending. They tore into one another, crashing into walls and buildings, sending timber and stone flying. It was something out of a myth, to see such enormous monsters battle, with chaos and death all around.
Myth or no, Gabriel could not stand and marvel at it.
He turned to Altan, who had run into the temple. “I’ll lead some skirmishers. Can you guard Lan Shun and the kettle?”
“Rather watch the teapot than face that beast,” the bandit chief said.
Wasting no more time, Gabriel gathered a group of brigands and took them out into the seething courtyard in front of the temple. Scores of attackers faced off against monks, and while the holy men’s use of fist and foot was powerful, both throwing foes and spitting them with spears, the mercenaries had firepower. Chi couldn’t stop a bullet. Gabriel rammed his way through the mercenaries. His rifle did him no good in close combat, so he shouldered it and pulled his revolver and knife. Then he plunged into battle.
His movements were practiced, familiar. He knew how to fight, and even months away from his last such combat, his skills did not fail him. When a mercenary’s blade cut across his face, he didn’t feel it. He punched the sword from the man’s hand, sunk his own knife into the mercenary’s chest, then pulled out the blade and moved on. Beside him, three monks went down in a heap of gold cloth and crimson blood as a mercenary shot them at close range. Gabriel ducked a flying fist then brought his attacker down quickly. He fired and reloaded without breaking stride. More mercenaries crumpled.
A loud whooshing, followed by more men’s shouts of pain, made him look up, then shake his head in amused disbelief. Standing on the roof of the blacksmith’s shop were Graves and Hsiung Ming, putting to use another of Graves’s diabolical devices. The mechanical genius held a crimped shotgun barrel, pointing it toward the invaders below, while Hsiung Ming poured a basin of spirits into the rifle’s breach. A lit fuse attached at the opening of the barrel and ignited the liquid as it shot through the rifle, sending out jets of flame. Burning mercenaries howled as they ran in circles, trying in vain to douse the fires on their clothing. The air, rent by the roars of the Smoke Dragon, smelled of smoke, gunpowder, and charred flesh.
Gabriel slammed into the ground as a large mercenary plowed into him. They wrestled, vying for control of Gabriel’s revolver. Pinned to the ground on his back, he tried to lodge a foot in the man’s stomach and shove him off, but the bugger was too heavy and strong. Gabriel gritted his teeth as he attempted to pry the mercenary’s fingers from the gun’s handle. The man reared up, pulling on Gabriel’s arms and his muscles screamed in protest.
Suddenly, the mercenary stiffened as a bullet neatly pierced his chest, and he pitched forward. Gabriel managed to roll out of the way before fifteen stone of dead mercenary collapsed onto him. Getting to his feet, Gabriel followed the trajectory of the bullet and traced it to the pagoda. Thalia nodded at him briefly from a window before returning to her sniping. Pride and gratitude swelled in his chest. Jesus, he loved that woman.
But his admiration turned to horror as the pagoda began to shake and list. Thalia disappeared from the window, knocked to the floor by the quaking. The Smoke Dragon, sensing that the kettle was threatened, had abandoned its attack on the giant and now circled the temple, snatching up in its jaws any mercenaries that neared the temple. With the dragon’s focus diverted, the clay giant, directed by an unseen hand, had turned its attention to the snipers and was trying to topple the pagoda, shoving against its base. Stones from the tower’s circular walls began to fall. The giant would destroy the tower in moments.
“The hell it will,” Gabriel snarled to himself. Even if he couldn’t shoot and kill the creature, he’d draw it away from Thalia.
Gabriel started toward the tottering pagoda. And barreled right into the massive chest of Tsend. Around his neck, the Mongol wore a seed necklace, clearly taken from a monk. The Smoke Dragon tore through the unfortunate monk just behind Tsend before moving on to more mercenaries. No divine intervention would come to Gabriel’s aid. It was might against might.
Thalia crawled to the window. She could just make out Gabriel, Tsend looming over him. She tried to aim for the enormous Mongol, but the shaking of the tower made it impossible. Walls buckled around her, and beams collapsed from the ceiling. The golem did not cease its attack below. And the dragon’s interest lay in guarding the Source.
“You have to get out!” Bennett shouted at her.
“The only exit is down,” she yelled back.
He looked pointedly at the window.
“We can’t jump seven stories, Bennett!”
“It’s not jumping, it’s climbing. And we aren’t. You are.”
“I bloody well won’t without you!”
Bennett sent her a grin. “Captain Huntley has had a disastrous effect on your vocabulary, my dear. Better get out and lend him a hand.” With a wink, he disappeared down the stairs, heading straight for the golem.
Thalia made to follow him and provide what assistance she could, but a beam tumbled from the ceiling, blocking the stairs. She had no choice. Shouldering her rifle, Thalia took a breath and straddled the window. The ground looked impossibly far down. She couldn’t tell if her head spun or the pagoda was collapsing. Casting a quick look toward the courtyard, Thalia saw Gabriel grappling with Tsend, the two of them locked in desperate combat. She had to help him however possible.
She gripped the windowsill, then began to lower herself down the side of the pagoda. She found footing, then slipped as the tower shook. Her palms grew damp. Concentrate, she told herself. Slowly, painfully, Thalia worked her way down, a story at a time. She prayed no one on the ground paid her any mind. She made a perfect target, clambering down the tottering pagoda like an awkward spider.
More than halfway there. Thalia risked a glance over her shoulder, but Gabriel and Tsend had disappeared. Damn. She returned her focus to her climb, but then the pagoda leaned sharply, and she lost her grip. The thick air swirled around her as she fell.
Clawing at Tsend’s bruising fingers around his throat, Gabriel watched Thalia tumble from the sky like a fallen angel. Hot ice flooded him. Nearly two stories up. Could she survive that fall? His body shook with rage and fear. It was no use. He couldn’t pretend that she was just another soldier, and he prayed he hadn’t squandered their last moments together with his protective impulses. He had to get to her.
Tsend followed Gabriel’s gaze and laughed. “I hope there’s enough of her left for Lamb. He is not too particular, though.” He released Gabriel’s throat long enough to punch him hard in the ribs. Something cracked. “I will enjoy killing you.”
Burning with fury, Gabriel ignored the pain and wrested himself free of the enormous Mongol. He unslung his rifle and smashed it into Tsend’s grinning face. Blood shot from the Mongol’s nose and gathered in the corners of his mouth. “Now you’re as ugly as your mother,” Gabriel snarled.
Tsend wiped at his face with his sleeve, scowling. Seeing his own blood infuriated him, and he lurched forward. Gabriel leapt out of the way and kicked the small of Tsend’s back. The Mongol shouted in pain and stumbled around. Rage made Tsend clumsy as he swung at Gabriel. But Gabriel’s own wrath and fear for Thalia sharpened him, made him as precise as a blade. He had to beat the Mongol to reach Thalia.
His fists plowed into Tsend, his aim direct. A jab to the throat cut off the Mongol’s breathing. Another blow to his gut bent Tsend over, retching. Gabriel went for his revolver, but Tsend recovered just enough to kick at Gabriel’s leg, causing him to stagger. From his belt, Tsend pulled a long, wicked knife and swung at Gabriel. Gabriel blocked with his own blade. Metal against metal hissed and screeched. Gabriel shoved hard, then lost his balance as a running mercenary knocked into him. Tsend seized the momentary advantage and threw Gabriel to the earth, then ground the heel of his boot into Gabriel’s hand, forcing the hilt of his knife from his fingers. Tsend laughed again and lunged with his own blade, aiming for Gabriel’s eye.
A shot from Gabriel’s trusty revolver stopped the Mongol in his attack. For a moment, Tsend seemed puzzled, as if he couldn’t quite understand how a bullet came to be lodged in his chest. A second shot struck him in the center of his forehead. Then his eyes glazed, his expression slackened, and he fell to earth.
Gabriel did not waste a minute gloating over his kill. He leapt to his feet and headed toward Thalia, praying he wasn’t too late.
For several moments, Thalia could only lie on the ground, staring at the sky, and struggle to regain her breath. She’d tried to take the fall well, rolling as she did when thrown from a horse. But horses weren’t two stories high. Still, she needed to get up quickly and find Gabriel.
A dark shape hovered over her, blocking her view of the sky. “Already on your back for me,” Lamb drawled. “Thank you for saving me time.”
“You’re not welcome,” Thalia growled, pushing to her feet and facing her enemy.
Henry Lamb, slightly dirty and bruised, his fair hair mussed and far from a barber’s attentions, grinned at her. “I don’t mind if you put up a little fight. Makes my job so much more enjoyable.” In his elegant, refined hand, he brandished a knife that glinted in the morning light.
Bitter disgust flooded Thalia’s mouth. “I won’t let you touch me, bastard.”
“Charming. But that decision isn’t up to you.” He surged toward her.
Thalia danced away, but Lamb grabbed her hair and roughly tugged her back. Pain exploded in her eyes as her hand automatically came up, trying to loosen his hold. Lamb gripped her waist, pulling her against him. She almost gagged when she felt his erection pressing into her from behind. He held the knife to her throat while his other hand gripped her breast. As she struggled, the edge of the knife cut into the tender skin. Wetness trickled down her neck.
“This really is marvelous, Thalia,” Lamb panted in her ear. “Exactly what I’d hoped for. I can take my pleasure with you while that dragon exhausts its magic protecting the Source.”
Thalia kicked out behind her, trying to land a blow to his groin. He anticipated this, however, and turned just enough so that her heel only caught on his hip. Then she yelped as the knife cut deeper. She stilled, not wanting to slit her own throat.
“Yes,” Lamb hissed. “A fight is good, but I don’t want to kill you, Thalia. Not for a while. I have such plans for you.”
She made herself go slack against Lamb. He ground into her. The hand on her breast moved, and she felt him reaching for the buttons on his trousers. With his attention diverted, the blade of the knife moved slightly away from her neck.
Thalia reached up and grabbed the blade with her bare hand. She bit down her scream as the knife cut deeply into her palm, and pushed the weapon away. Lamb cursed in his genteel accent, calling her a bitch and a whore, as Thalia twisted in his grasp. As they both grappled for the knife, she thought of Tony Morris, murdered and abandoned, of the Heirs’ greed for empire and dominance, of the threats she and Gabriel had faced many times over. Gabriel, whom she loved ferociously, powerfully. He fought for her. He might die for her. But not if Thalia could do anything about it.
Fueled by anger and love, Thalia pushed harder as she fought with Lamb. The knife slipped in his fingers, and she muscled it around so the blade pointed toward him. Her mind flashed to the wrestlers at the nadaam, their technique. Hooking her feet around one of Lamb’s ankles, Thalia threw him to the ground. He fell, and the knife he held caught him between the ribs. Thalia stumbled backward, staring at the hilt as it pointed up from Lamb’s chest, scarlet staining his expensive waistcoat.
He lay there, pinned and choking, while his hands clawed at the hilt. Blood seeped from his aristocratic mouth. He tried to speak, gasping out unintelligible curses, but then a paroxysm hit him. He gurgled, then fell still, eyes open and staring at the blue Gobi sky. Thalia watched this, her gaze dispassionate, as her own wounds bled into the dust.
A mercenary saw Lamb’s body and shouted. “He’s dead! The English chief is dead!” Other nearby mercenaries turned at this. They met each other’s eyes. No leader meant no payment. There wasn’t a reason to risk their lives any further. Like bleating, terrified sheep, the men pivoted and ran. It wasn’t long before the monastery was emptying out as mercenaries fled in panic.
“Thalia!” She turned at Gabriel’s voice, and there he was, living and whole, racing toward her. Stunned, Thalia let his strong arms enfold her, and she realized with dim shock that Lamb was dead, and she had killed him. Even more surprising, she was glad.
Then she clasped Gabriel tightly. Lamb was dead, but Gabriel was alive. Wetness coursed down her cheeks. “I tried to get to you,” she whispered. “I saw Tsend attack you, but I couldn’t get to you.”
“He’s as dead as Lamb,” Gabriel said, holding her close, cradling her head.
“What about Edgeworth?”
“Gone,” Catullus said. He and Hsiung Ming, both bloodied but largely unhurt, strode toward them. “I saw him sprinkling some dried flowers into a fire, then he dove in and disappeared. Some means of transportation, I believe. But I don’t know exactly where he went.”
“Let him go to the devil,” Gabriel said. She felt him shaking, and held him tighter. She wanted to crawl inside of him just to assure herself that he was real and unharmed. They were all here, all safe, except—
“Oh, God,” Thalia cried. She looked toward the pagoda, which, miraculously, still stood. “Bennett!”
The man in question appeared at the doorway of the now barely standing pagoda, covered in red dust. Slapping at his sleeves and wiping at his face, he walked out, limping a little.
“If any of you ever want to wrestle a golem,” he coughed, “I highly discourage you from doing so. More trouble than a pack of nuns.” Bennett held up the Star of David in his battered hand. “This needs to be returned to whomever it was stolen from, I believe.”
Thalia glanced up at Gabriel and saw him regarding Bennett with a new respect. Yes, Bennett was an incorrigible flirt, but he was a fighter, too. All of them—Gabriel, the Blades, the monks, the bandits, even the tribesmen—were fighters. Including herself. And soon, she would have the scars to prove it.
It was a bloody mess. The monastery courtyard filled with the wounded and monks attending to them, the destroyed buildings, camels and horses wandering around. Altan oversaw the tending of his men as his own wounds were bound. Not much different from the aftermaths of countless battles, but different for so many reasons. Gabriel had never witnessed a Smoke Dragon being corralled back into a tea kettle until this very day. It was a bit trickier than one would have first supposed. He’d seen things he would never have believed just a month ago. A giant of clay. A rifle that could shoot flame.
The woman he wanted to marry having her wounds dressed after she’d fought to the death with a black-hearted son of a bitch.
Thalia submitted patiently and without complaint as Lan Shun applied poultices to the cut on her throat and the deep gash across her palm. Gabriel could barely bring himself to look at her injuries. Every time he saw them, the crusts of her blood on her skin, he wanted to bring Lamb back to life so he could eviscerate that highborn maggot. But Thalia, bless her fierce heart, had already done the job of killing Lamb. Gabriel contented himself with holding Thalia’s uninjured hand as they sat on the floor of the temple. He had no plans to release her any time soon. Like, say, for the next century.
“Will Edgeworth come back with more Heirs?” Thalia asked Graves, who stood nearby, critically examining the crooked earpiece of his spectacles.
“Doubtful. He already knows that the Source won’t be taken without a messy fight; it already cost the life of one Heir. And if he does,” Graves continued, straightening the earpiece, “we know we can best them.”
“The Blades will come back, if they are needed,” Day said to Lan Shun.
The head monk nodded.
“What will happen to the kettle now?” asked Altan.
Lan Shun, finishing dressing Thalia’s wounds, gathered up the kettle and wrapped it in yellow silk. “We shall keep it, as it had been kept for generations, before the khan came.”
“But will it be safe?” Gabriel demanded. He hadn’t risked Thalia’s neck and his own just to have a Source left unguarded for some other greedy fool to stumble across and covet.
“Our lesson was learned the first time it was stolen,” Lan Shun said with a half smile. “Trust me, there will be no breaking the charm we set over our treasure.” He bustled from the temple, with several monks serving as guards for the kettle.
Gabriel muttered to himself, but he had to believe the head monk. It had to be maddening, being a Blade of the Rose, knowing that all over the world were unprotected Sources and being unable to safeguard them all. But how much worse was it, loving a Blade, understanding that he or she would constantly have his or her life in jeopardy.
He glanced over at Thalia, who was contemplating a statue of an equally thoughtful Buddha. She’d grown quiet since the battle, drawn into herself. He tried not to worry overmuch about this. She was exhausted, and had just undergone the nasty experience of warfare, had killed several men that day. It was bound to leave her not quite her usual self. He wasn’t entirely certain, though, why she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Left him more than a little edgy.
The close council of the Blades didn’t sit any easier with him. Graves, Day, and Hsiung Ming were gathered in a corner of the temple, talking lowly amongst themselves and looking at Thalia. When the three men nodded and then began walking toward her, Gabriel got to his feet, placing himself in front of her.
“What the hell are you planning?” he growled at the Blades. He didn’t like the serious looks on their faces one bit. It meant trouble.
None of the men seemed offended by Gabriel’s brazen question. Day actually looked at him with a touch of fondness. “It’s time,” he said simply.
“For what?”
“For what I’ve been waiting for,” Thalia said, standing up and placing herself at Gabriel’s side. “To finally become a Blade of the Rose.” Her bright green eyes glistened, and her pale cheeks flushed. She removed the Compass from her pocket. “To make this mine in truth.”
“You’ve wanted this your whole life,” Gabriel said softly.
She nodded. “Ever since I learned about the Blades. But, Gabriel,” she said, turning to him, “you understand what that means.”
The burning in his throat told him everything he needed to know. “It means that you can be called at any time. Every day brings you close to danger.”
“Not unlike being a soldier, I imagine.” She smiled, bittersweet.
“I’m not a soldier anymore.” His gaze burned down at her. “Something you want to ask me, Thalia?”
She glanced over at Graves, Day, and Hsiung Ming, all of whom promptly began examining the walls of the temple as if they’d never seen something as miraculous as walls before. In Thalia and Gabriel’s small, illusory bubble of privacy, she turned back to him. “Are you going to make me choose? Between the Blades and you?”
It took him a minute before he could speak. “Jesus, Thalia,” Gabriel swore, stunned and a trace angry. “I’m not so small a man that I’d do that. You can’t think I would.”
Relief shone in her eyes. “I did not think so, but I wanted to be sure. There are so many risks.”
“Sweetheart,” he said firmly, taking her chin in his hand, “don’t doubt me. I’ve run all over hell and back, seen things and faced things I never would’ve believed, including the kind of fear I’d never felt before. And I did all of that because I love you. That’s not going to change no matter what you do, whether you’re a Blade or not.”
She blinked, droplets shining in her eyelashes. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Releasing her, Gabriel stalked over to the Blades. Despite the fact that they were supposedly spellbound by the temple’s walls, each man smiled, the eavesdropping buggers. “Me, too,” Gabriel said.
“You, what?” Graves asked.
“I want to become a Blade too. Think I’ve earned it.”
Surprised, Thalia flinched behind him, while Graves, Day, and Hsiung Ming exchanged glances. “Be sure,” Day said, serious. “This isn’t a momentary fancy, Huntley. It’s a lifetime’s responsibility.”
“Don’t lecture me about responsibility, lad,” Gabriel growled. “I know where my priorities lie. With Thalia. Her cause is mine. And I’ll fight for her until there’s not a damned breath left in my body.”
“If you’re certain, then,” Graves said after a moment.
Gritting his teeth, Gabriel said, “I can’t get any more certain. You want me to bleed, I’ll do it.” He pulled the knife from his belt, put it to his forearm, and moved to cut himself as Thalia yelped in alarm.
Day’s hand on the hilt of the knife stopped Gabriel. “Not necessary. Blades don’t require blood oaths.”
“Thank God,” Thalia said, coming forward and wrapping her arm around Gabriel’s waist. She smiled up at him, and in her face he saw everything he ever wanted in life, and more. So much more. “I think we’ve seen enough blood for one day.”
“If you will give us a few minutes,” Hsiung Ming said, “we will prepare for the initiation.” He and the two other Blades quietly excused themselves and slipped away.
Once they had gone, Thalia and Gabriel left the temple. Neither of them asked where they were going. They knew, without speaking, their destination. Together, hands interlaced, they climbed the stairs that led to the parapet. From their vantage, Gabriel and Thalia could see the whole of the monastery, damaged from the siege. The gate had been shattered, the pagoda would need to be demolished and rebuilt, and several other buildings sported cracks in the walls and chips in the masonry. The monastery would be restored and serve to guard the Source for centuries more. But the battle site didn’t hold their attention for long.
They looked out over the Gobi. Afternoon sunlight blazed across the desert, and the sky was a cold blue fire above. With Thalia warm at his side, Gabriel closed his eyes and felt the dry wind sweep over his face, smelled the hard-baked earth. Beneath it all, he could feel, like a pulse, the magic of the Source, not only here, at the monastery, but everywhere in the world. He’d never noticed such things before. It had taken Thalia to open him.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I will marry you.”
He chuckled as he felt a happiness he’d never believed he could experience. Opening his eyes, he brought the back of her hand to his lips. “It was a good wind that blew me to your door,” he said.
“Do you think it was magic that brought us together?” she asked him, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smelled smoke in her hair and, underneath, the sweetness of her skin.
“Warriors such as us don’t need magic,” he said. He turned and clasped her in his arms, looked down into her dusty, tired face, so lovely he ached. “We make our own.”