E1D

July, three years after the fall of the Legion

Fire.

Bela coughed against the sulfurous wind in her face before she even broke free of the transportation channel.

I have to be crazy, coming here first.

The saner part of her mind urged her to turn around and run right back to the earthy, orderly comfort of Motherhouse Russia, but she’d be damned if she’d let a bunch of fire-spitting Irish bitches send her home with her tail between her legs.

Bela lunged through the final barrier of elemental power separating her from her destination. She barely managed to keep her balance as she stumbled out of the ancient channel of energy onto the large, round platform in the communications chamber deep within Motherhouse Ireland. Her right hand gripped the hilt of her sword before she could see or hear or get her bearings. Her battle leathers felt a size too tight as they reacted to the heat in the big stone chamber, and her heart thumped like ritual drums during a Solstice celebration. She jerked in a ragged breath as her chest expanded in opposition to the crushing pressure of moving through space and time so quickly. The ancient channels of transportation and communication that crisscrossed the earth were effective—but a real bitch for people without lungs the size of Rhode Island.

As Bela’s vision cleared, she caught a last glimpse of the place she had just departed—Motherhouse Russia.

Home.

Or a great place to hide.

Screw it.

The familiar images of brown-robed Russian adepts lingered in the projective mirror, the special piece of elementally treated glass sealing the channel from which Bela had just emerged, but faded a...