All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [263]
But this bravado was another lie. The truth was, he was scared.
It wasn’t like when he had Fiona had fought Beelzebub. The Lord of All That Flies had been holding back because he’d wanted to take them alive. And he’d trounced them . . . up until Fiona had decapitated him with his own necklace.
This was entirely different: an Infernal Lord ready to battle, not holding anything back, with the full strength of an army at his back and drawing upon all the power of his lands in Hell.
Something inside Eliot wanted to curl up and hide.
He glanced at Fiona and Robert. They stood nearby onstage. Maybe they all wanted to be close before the battle started. Of maybe it was because the stage had the best view. Or maybe it was because Fiona wanted to be far from the Queen. (He had a feeling that if his sister wasn’t about to fight Mephistopheles, she’d be going at it with Sealiah.)
Fiona talked strategy with Robert—well, actually, they argued about the hows and whys of the upcoming war like it was another gym match.
Eliot stroked Lady Dawn, his fingers magnetically drawn to her strings . . . feather touches that make the lightest of notes. That steadied his nerves, and he got a weird feeling it calmed Lady Dawn as well.
He took off his glasses and carefully put them away.
“Hey, man . . .”
Eliot turned. The guitarist Sealiah had called Kurt nodded through his long hair at Lady Dawn. “That was cool, but you better plug in.” He hitched his thumb at the wall of amplifiers behind him.
Eliot shook his head.
Kurt looked confused; then he glanced at Lady Dawn and this gaze wandered over her polished wood and brass fittings. “Got it,” he whispered. “You’re the man. We’ll jump in as soon as you go.”
“Thanks,” Eliot replied.
Kurt went back to the guy on bass, Sid, and the one with the bagpipe, Bon. They murmured to one another, Sid looked at Eliot and then Lady Dawn, and his upper lip curled in a half snarl and he nodded appreciatively.
Meanwhile, the singers, James and Janis, sauntered up to the microphones on either side of Eliot. James took off his shirt, tapped the mic, and said, “Do your thing with the Lizard King.” Janis smiled at Eliot and mouthed, It’s cool, baby.
He smiled back at him, but inside his stomach churned.
How was he supposed to play with these people when he had a hard enough time just controlling his own music?
Fiona came to him, sparing a few uncertain glances at Eliot’s band.
“Here’s the plan,” she whispered, all business. “Robert and I are going to try a blitz to get to the rear of their lines after the initial clash. There should be enough confusion for us to move quickly.”
Eliot imagined his sister and Robert strolling casually past the thousands that would be trying to hack one another to bits.
“That’s crazy,” he told her.
“Sure it is,” she replied, and frowned. “But I’m betting this is like any other gym match.”
Eliot gave her that special you’ve hit your head look that he saved for occasions like this. (Okay, there had never been an occasion like this before . . . but he gave her that look anyway.)
“I mean, there’s a goal,” Fiona said, exasperated that she had to spell it out for him. She nodded at the towering clouds that shrouded Mephistopheles.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Eliot said.
“We take him out and we’re betting his army falls apart. It’s simple.”
“Okay, that makes a microscopic amount of sense,” he told his sister. “If you don’t consider that Mephistopheles is probably a bazillion times as powerful as Beelzebub was, has an army . . . and that we almost lost to Beelzebub back in Del Sombra.”
Fiona crossed her arms and frowned. “Got a better plan? I’m listening.”
Eliot thought about it. Yeah, sure, if Robert or Fiona could stop Mephistopheles, his army would scatter, scared by anything that could kill their Lord and Master. So it was a fine plan . . . provided they had a small tactical nuclear weapon with which to take out the Infernal.
But Eliot finally said, “I guess we