Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) Read Online Free PDF Page A

had nothing to spare to make a strike.
    I felt his frustration mingle with mine as the ritual built to a throbbing crescendo. “Five heartbeats, zharkat,” he said through gritted teeth. Cursing, I desperately sought a solution.
Four.
I had my not-a-Glock, but that wouldn’t be enough to even put a ripple in it. It would be like using paintballs to try and stop a charging crack addict.
    Three.
Beside me Mzatal trembled with the stress of holding the shield. Beyond the diagram Rhyzkahl bared his teeth in a triumphant smile, lifted his blade and gave Mzatal a mocking salute.
    That was it. I
knew
a way to exploit the weakness.
    Two.
The rings flared, and there was no time left to consult with Mzatal. With his attention so intensely focused on holding Idris, he’d never be able to read my intention in time to respond.
    I slammed closed my connection to the grove, jerked my hand into the air and called Szerain’s essence blade to me.
    Vsuhl coalesced in my hand for the first time since I’d nearly caused a second cataclysm during its retrieval. During that ritual my grove power had melded with the blade’s with no ill effect, but the addition of
rakkuhr
—the foul potency utilized by the Mraztur—had catalyzed the other two powers into an uncontrollable force that had nearly ripped the world apart.
    I really didn’t want to repeat that experience, hence the decision to cut myself off from the grove before calling the blade. Safety first, and all that.
    The blade’s potency flooded me, sharp and fierce, but I had no time to revel in it. I tightened my grip on the hilt and united its power with that of Mzatal’s blade.
    Mzatal faltered in shocked surprise, entire body jerking as if he’d brushed a live wire. Yet his loss of focus lasted only an instant, and he quickly recovered to weave the combined blade potencies into the strike. I focused on the weak spot in the rings, but instead of sending potency directly toward the ritual, he simply thrust his hand palm down toward the ground.
    Nothing happened.
    One.
    Even Jesral shot us a look of
What the fuck?
His eyes came to rest on Vsuhl, and his hands ceased to work the potency. Hunger and desire and avarice flowed from him. Holy shit did he ever want this blade.
    Zero.
I sucked in a breath as I felt it, and in the next instant Mzatal’s strike burst from the ground in a blinding flash beneath the weak spot of the rings.
    The cylinder turned into a seething vortex of potency. Katashi screamed as a surge threw him from the center to land in a crumpled heap almost twenty feet left of the perimeter. Idris cried out in pain, then hunched in on himself as if clinging to the center.
    I held Vsuhl, focused the power as I sought a way to extract him from the still active ritual. As soon as the vortex dropped, anyone still in that center would go to Earth. And with the ritual damaged, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be a fun experience.
    “Idris,” I breathed, and in that moment I was right beside him—part of the vortex, yet untouched by it. “Idris.”
    He looked up at the vortex—at me—tortured desperation in his eyes as he clutched the ritual strands together, repaired them. “Kara . . . no,” he choked out. “I need to go.
Have
to let them send me. Please. Stop.”
    He’s been manipulated
, I thought with sick rage. An extension of the mind reading ability of the lords, manipulation involved altering memories, attitudes, motivations, or damn near anything else an inventive lord could dream up. In a summoner, such tampering drastically decreased their effectiveness, yet I couldn’t come up with any other explanation for why he resisted our help. Mzatal continued his efforts to unwind the diagram, but with Idris holding the ritual from the center, I didn’t see how we could extract him without damaging him profoundly.
    “It’s going to be all right,” I told Idris.
    Closing his eyes, he shook his head, then pulled the strands and was gone.
    I yelled a curse and