Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

head.
    I ran.
    Behind me a wail of pure fury tore through the forest and Ghastek’s voice barked, “Secure the creature!”
    Magic exploded with mind-numbing intensity. My eyes watered. The breath in my lungs turned into a clump of ice. The path veered right. As I took the turn at a breakneck speed, I saw the draugr, towering over the trees, a mantle of dark magic streaming from his shoulders as he ripped a vampire in half with his colossal hands.
    “I have your scent,” the giant roared. “You won’t escape!”
    The translucent flood of magic crested the edge of the glade and rolled down, chasing me.
    The forest turned into a blurry smudge of green. I flew, jumping over the roots. Weeds slapped me.
    The harsh stench of rot filled my mouth. Around me the trees groaned, as if pulled upright by an invisible hand. My throat burned.
    I could almost see the road through the shrubs.
    The path turned left and I leaped straight down, praying the old injury to my left knee wouldn’t flare up. The brush snapped under my weight and I tore down the slope, squeezing every last drop of speed out of my body.
    A deep roar shook the ground.
    No way to dodge, no direction to take but down.
    A shadow fell over me. I threw myself forward. I rolled once, twice, catching a glimpse of a colossal clawed hand raking the forest behind me, flipped to my feet, and burst onto the road.
    The pillar loomed to my right. I sprinted to it.
    The air whistled. Something large crashed on the road ahead of me, bounced, and sprung to its feet. Ghastek’s vampire. Deep gashes scoured its flanks, oozing thick undead blood onto the sunblock. It looked like it had gone through a shredder.
    The trees creaked behind me. The draugr had made it onto the road.
    I ran like I’d never run before in my life.
    The vampire froze for a fraction of an instant and galloped to the pillars.
    My feet barely touched the ground. In my head my bad leg snapped like a toothpick.
    The draugr’s magic whipped at me, slashing at my back. I went airborne, rolled, and hit the ground hard. My head swam. I rolled to my feet.
    Taller than the trees, the enormous undead towered above me, his eyes spilling icy green mist. Ragged chain mail hung from his torso. Colossal iron pauldrons guarded his shoulders. Huge chunks of his flesh were missing, and bone glared through the holes.
    Holy shit.
    The draugr raised a foot the size of a car. His magic swirled about him in a stormy cloud.
    Curran in his warrior form shot out of the treetop, flying through the air like a gray blur.
    I stood still, presenting a clear target for Håkon.
    The draugr stomped forward.
    Curran smashed into the back of the undead’s neck. Bone crunched. The draugr spun, and I saw Curran ripping into the space between the neck vertebrae with his claws. Undead gristle flew.
    The draugr roared, trying to swat at the Beast Lord. His head began to droop.
    Two ribbons of green magic snapped backward from the draugr, aiming for Curran.
    Oh no, you don’t.
I opened my mouth and barked a power word.
    “Ossanda.” Kneel, you undead sonovabitch.
    The magic burst from me. It felt like someone had sunk claws into my stomach and tore out the muscle and my innards. The world went black for a tiny moment. I’d sunk a lot of magic into it.
    The horrible creak of bone snapping rolled through the air. The draugr’s bony knees hit the road. The forest quaked.
    I took a running start and sprinted at him.
    The dazed undead raised its huge hands, trying to grab me. I veered left, avoiding the gnarled bone fingers, and scrambled up the giant’s body, climbing the chain mail.
    Above me, Curran snarled.
    The draugr slapped his chest, missing me by a couple of inches.
    I pulled myself onto his shoulder and ran down the iron plateto his neck. Curran was ripping into the gristle. The undead flesh tore under his claws, and snapped back, regenerating.
    I pulled Slayer and chopped at the gap he’d made. My saber smoked from the contact with undead flesh. The gap widened.
    Curran grasped the edge of the two vertebrae and forced them apart. I cut into the cleft, slicing through the connective tissue.
    Cut. Cut. Cut.
    Cartilage crunched.
    Magic stung me, weaving about me in green strands.
    “Wait!” Curran growled.
    I stopped my sword in midstrike. Curran jumped into the gap, his clawed feet on the edge of one vertebra, his hands on the other. He strained, pushing them apart. Steel-hard muscle bulged on his frame, shaking with