by C E Johnson
Abruptly the group stopped. “What are they doing?” Emily asked in a hushed voice. She was still breathless. Although it was summer, she felt a chill in the air. She froze.
“It looks like a meeting.” Dysis continued talking into her phone, “A meeting is now occurring. There is a second group with twelve individuals and I think there’s going to be a transaction.” Concern was clouding her face. “Please tell me we have cameras rolling. I want all satellites in the area trained on this location. Where are my helicopters?” One hand went to her back, and Emily saw her fingers playing with the hilt of her sword. “Get me two more teams. That will be a total of five teams I’m calling in. I need more agents and more vehicles. A deal is going down.” Her mouth was twisted. “These men are likely armed, and there are many civilians in the area. Do not intercept yet. We will need to proceed carefully.”
Hadrian linked in to the conference call. Emily could hear him log in under the code name, Javan. He spoke to Dysis. “Blade, do you have our select fast action team in place?”
“Yes, sir,” Dysis replied quickly. “I have our first team in place. I’ve called for four more teams, but they’re only just arriving. There are over twenty hostile individuals in the game.”
“Good. Well played. Do we need more assets?”
“Yes, all the assets you can rapidly acquire. This could get messy. Both groups appear professional and dangerous.” Dysis addressed the entire group. “I’m labelling their two teams. Team Alpha is led by the older gentleman walking with a limp. Team Bravo is the team he’s interacting with.”
I wonder if one of them is Droth, Xena whispered to Emily. Xena was coming to her; she was in the vehicle with Hadrian and her father.
Emily thought Xena was probably right. She studied the two men, muttering in a hushed voice, “Is one of you named Droth?”
Dysis whirled to face Emily. “How in the world do you know of Droth?”
C H A P T E R 5
Half-deads
Samil was on the Island of Bashan on Acacia sitting at a small midnight-black table that had magestones incorporated in the construction in intricate patterns that only he could fully comprehend. Whenever he found a powerful blackstone, it was added to the structure, and only one such stone had he ever allowed to escape his grasp: that stone was a gift he gave to his finest half-dead creation, his vampire queen, Maaca.
Samil had just finished a conversation with Drogor, the wraith-spirit of his grandfather in Ater. He was drained after traveling to the gray, desolate purgatory world, and he wished he could stop going there so often.
But the allure is insatiable to you, his black, dragon, bondsmate, Skyler whispered.
Samil pursed his lips. You know me too well. He ran his hand over the dark magestones in his table. I find myself continually daydreaming of returning.
It is a place where you’re treated as a god, Skyler spoke in a sad, soft voice.
Samil knew Skyler was right. Perhaps if he completed his ultimate goal of ruling Acacia, someday he would be treated like a god on this world.
Don’t count on it. Skyler answered his thoughts with a warning.
Samil sighed, he knew Skyler was right again. Rising from his table, he paced around the room. His mind was in a dark haze. His breathing was shallow and pained. He staggered to a stairway where he was met by one of his top captains, a yellow magician, Marcus Tate. “Are you ready to let your Mavet raa feed? They’re hungry.” The mage-lights shone in Marcus’ golden eyes, making his pupils burn like a black fire.
“I’m ready.” Samil put a hand on Marcus’ thick shoulder, allowing the man to guide him toward the pens. He studied Marcus’ gaunt face as they walked. “You’re continually going between Acacia and Earth. Are you tiring of the travel?”
“I’m fine.” Marcus licked his pale lips. “The more responsibility you give me, the better I feel.” Marcus stood tall, his coal black beard was perfectly trimmed, glistening with oil. A Barbary lion bondsmate padded at Marcus’ side.
Another minion addicted to power, Skyler snorted.
Samil smiled to himself. He had facilitated the link between Marcus and the lion. The two men descended the many steps to his dungeons in a long silence. Samil’s black aura and arch-mage capabilities made him an expert in talking to dead spirits and creating Mavet raa, a zombie-type creature that could transform into a half-dead if it killed a magician. His half-dead workshop was in the depths of his castle. A guard, a blue magician, stood sentry by a hallway and Samil felt contempt wash over his body when he viewed the hue of his aura. I hate that color. He had to resist the unsettling urge to strike the man.
A sensation no doubt associated with the blue magician Emily Dalton, Skyler conveyed through their mind-link.
I hate her. Samil felt pure rage surge through his veins. He reflected on his conflict with Emily and the group of mutinous arch-mage magicians who once served on his ruling council.
She killed your wife, Skyler spoke in a sad, hushed voice.
She sacrificed herself for me. Samil thought over his wife’s self-less actions. She had attacked Emily with an unsuccessful kill-spell. I wish Suci’s spell had worked. Samil had been forced to flee from the council uprising, only returning once he had the added support of his sons and their dragon bondsmates. They scoured the island and beyond looking for Emily, but she had escaped his revenge, at least for now.
We’ll find her, Skyler assured him.
“You’ve been out on the latest patrols, is there any update?” Samil prayed someone had found Emily, but he knew Marcus would have told him that kind of news immediately.
“No, but Medens Force was located and killed.” Marcus fixed Samil with a particularly wicked smile.
He was the last of the council members that defied you, Skyler whispered. Only Emily is left.
“How are the Oath-bound sweeps going?” Samil didn’t like the rasp growing in his words. His voice sounded like shattered glass, it was undergoing a transformation, a side-effect of his repeated trips to Ater. He longed for a large glass of wine to soothe his vocal cords.
“The Oath-bound warriors have combined with your brother’s armies and are searching your conquered lands for any pockets of resistance.” Marcus’ words comforted Samil. With the help of the Oath-bound, he continued to round up magicians who did not support his plans. He placed these enemies under guard in his dungeons. Samil and Marcus walked through the assorted cages in his massive underground prison. He had organized magicians of every color of aura in great stone and steel pens.
“Release me, and I’ll serve you forever,” pleaded an elderly orange magician, sticking a palm out plaintively through his bars.
“You’ll serve me forever as a wyvern,” Samil snarled in the old man’s direction. I’m so tired of all the ceaseless whining I’m faced with everywhere I turn. He ignored the escalating pleas for help.
Samil took his hand off Marcus’ shoulder. “I feel like I’m in Ater listening to the begging of the dead when I come to this place. Everyone clamoring for a release.” He flexed his fingers and stretched his emaciated frame. “However, this pen smells of filth, unlike my wraith-world.” Marcus snorted in mirth at Samil’s comments.
Each magician was chained to the back of a cell and watched by guards. Mage-fields were placed around the enclosures by Samil’s magicians to prevent spells from having any effect, and to prevent the magicians from dream-linking to others. His Oath-bound warriors came to attention as he passed. He could see they acknowledged him as their leader, but he could also see disgust in their eyes. Samil knew they felt pity for the fate of the penned magicians, but luckily his Oath-bound wouldn’t disobey an order. He had found or promised a bondsmate for each of his magician-guards, which would extend their lives. They would never double-cross him.
“Where is Cain?” Samil asked Marcus in his scratchy voice.
Marcus gave Samil a twisted grin as he guided him to a separate pen that housed five newly formed Mavet raa. “Here is Ca
in and the other Mavet raa you recently created. What half-dead will you form with Cain?” Marcus stroked his pointed beard.
“I’ve decided to make Cain a vampire.” Samil approached the pen of the Mavet raa. They moved to him, straining against the bars of the cage to touch him. Samil opened the pen and let them out. He thought about the particularly nasty wraith he had used to create Cain. He pointed to another pen. “I had a powerful black magician brought here to generate Cain’s transformation.” Perhaps Cain will be the one to find Emily, he thought to himself, dreaming of an army of half-deads destroying the young magician.
Make him strong, Skyler advised.
A wide-eyed young guard stood at attention by a nearby cage with a great grey owl on his shoulder, his bondsmate. The man wore a black cape with Samil’s black dragon sigil. He shuffled his feet, moving backwards away from the undead. Samil chuckled at the young soldier’s fear, but it was well warranted. He spoke to the Mavet raa, ordering them into five separate pens holding rebel magicians. “Once they’ve drained the magus from these traitors, a half-dead will emerge.” Samil moved to stand next to the young guard. “Don’t get close to the Mavet raa as they enter their pens, or the creatures may attempt to grab you and drain your essence.”
“Would they do that?” The guard held his spear with white-knuckles. His owl swiveled his head to study Samil.
Samil shrugged. “They’re very hungry in their early days, and only respect me, their maker.” Samil stared at the transformation occurring in the pens as half-deads were forming. “The half-deads, though, are much more intelligent.”
“A few of these magicians have bondsmates. What will happen to them?” The guard spoke quietly while watching the process. His hand went to the steely scales on his owl. There was a faint tremor in his voice.
“The majority die during the transformation.” Samil reached out to run his fingers along the feathers of the guard’s owl. He had located this owl and facilitated their bond. “If they survive, the new half-dead will also suck the magus from their bondsmates’ souls.” The Oath-bound guard wouldn’t look Samil in the eyes, but he nodded in understanding.
Minutes later, five naked half-deads came out of the pens: four males–a vampire, a goblin, a shade, and a were-creature–along with one female, a troll. Each told Samil their names. Each wraith he had selected had overpowered the minds of the prisoners. Cain stepped to the front of the group, a foul sneer playing upon his dark lips. “What do you want us to do?”
“Kill.” Samil gave the five a broken smile. Cain and the other half-deads erupted with sinister laughs. Samil ordered his guards to clothe the half-deads in armor, and he stood unmoving until they were dressed to his satisfaction. Cain was clad in a black mail that shimmered in the dungeon mage-lights. A heavy wool cloak was hung from his back in a dark wave, clasped by his neck with a black dragon pin of obsidian. He had a long shoulder sheath that held a two-handed longsword. Samil grunted in satisfaction. To his Oath-bound guards, he commanded. “You may allow them into the cage of one other penned magician each day for seven days. Once they’ve consumed the intelligence and knowledge of seven Acaceans, I want them set free on the Acacean mainland to continue to gain strength. One day soon I hope Cain will lead a special operation force with a mission close to my heart.”
Cain inclined his head to Samil with a wicked look in his eye.
Samil began to ascend the stairs from his dungeons with Marcus at his side. “At least a portion of my plans are going well.” He winked to Marcus as a chorus of screams reverberated from the depths below. Imagining the screams were from Emily Dalton, Samil paused and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of blissful reverie.
C H A P T E R 6
Battle-lines
Emily answered Dysis’ question in a low voice, unable to hide the coldness in her words. “Droth is a man who is intent upon my capture, likely working for his leader, a horrible man named Samil.”
Dysis didn’t appear shocked that Emily knew of her deadly enemies. She put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “That’s not going to happen on my watch.”
Emily gave Dysis a tired half-smile, knowing there wasn’t much that Dysis could do to protect her. She turned her attention to study the older magician with the black aura interact with the leader of the second group of men. Briefcases were exchanged, and the two men shook hands before walking away in opposite directions.
Dysis spoke to her teams, “I want one helicopter to follow Team Bravo. They’re getting into Surburbans by Constitution Ave and 20th Street. I want everyone else to stay with our primary target, Team Alpha, the older gentleman with the limp. He’s walking toward the Ellipse, toward Constitution and 14th Street.” Dysis’ straight black hair shook with concern. The last sun was highlighting her high cheekbones and unblemished skin. “What do you think? Intercept or follow him?”
Emily was impressed that Dysis wanted her advice. Intercept him, Xena advised, but be careful.
Emily knew Xena was right. “We need to catch him. If he walks away, he’ll go where we can’t follow.”
Dysis nodded while barking out commands, “We’re going for an intercept. I will let you know when to proceed.” She gestured toward Emily, and the two began to move down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Their advance toward the magicians appeared to spark some form of awareness in one of the men. Freezing in place, the older magician slowly began to turn.
“Uh oh,” Emily whispered. Her heart began to sputter. His ki must have warned him I’m approaching.
Be ready to cast a shield spell, Xena was watching everything through Emily’s eyes.
Turning in near synchrony, the younger magician with the red aura stared in Emily’s general position and roared to the older man, “Droth, get out of here!”
Droth locked eyes with Emily before muttering to the team of ten soldiers surrounding him. They began to crouch while scanning the crowds in her direction.
“Dysis, he sees me.” Emily was horrified that he had seen though her camouflage and visualized her aura. “Did you hear that his name is Droth?” Her hands balled into white-knuckles. Her heart was hammering in her chest.
Your shield spell! Xena roared. Reflexively, Emily cast her spell. A wind picked up from nowhere, rushing through her hair which danced and fluttered about her face.
“I did.” Dysis was open-mouthed, she shook her head in confusion. “How did they identify us?” Her confidence somehow remained, but she was astonished. “What am I dealing with here?” Droth began to flee, breaking into a shuffling run. Dysis kept moving while advising her teams, “I’ve been spotted. I want an intercept. Now!” Trying to stay in visual range of the group, Dysis and Emily sprinted down the last steps. Once on level ground, they no longer had a height advantage for viewing their targets. Droth and his mercenaries were harder to identify through tourists blocking their view. Without warning, the sound of gunfire and screaming echoed across the Mall.
Emily and Dysis stooped slightly, but remained in motion while the tourists in their vicinity flattened on the ground. Now Emily could again visualize the scene over the prone, panicked crowd. Blacksky agents were approaching the mercenaries from all sides, but the mercenaries weren’t about to surrender. Instead, they were exposing machine guns, which they began to fire on the Blacksky agents.
Dysis’ expression narrowed, and she spoke with an icy calm into her phone, “They have machine guns, SAR 21’s. They’re firing, Javan.” Emily could tell Dysis wasn’t about to back down, she thrived on conflict. “One of them is Droth.” She spoke with a hardened tenacity; her eyes were glimmering.
“Return fire!” Hadrian roared. “Blade, I know what you’re going to do. Be careful.”
“Snipers, select targets at will.” Emily could hear the intensity rising in Dysis’ voice. Warriors on both sides began falling to the ground. As two Blacksky agents approached the magician with the red aura, Emily watched several missiles fly from his fingertips like small throwing stars, lodging in th
e necks of his enemies. Magic was in use.
“What weapon was that?” Dysis gasped in an angry rumble. “Stay here,” she gestured protectively to Emily. “I’m going to help my agents.”
Emily debated giving assistance. Should I use an offensive spell in front of so many people? She wanted to scream with frustration. She was dying to help capture Droth.
Save your magus for your shield, Xena warned. Emily tried to track Droth who continued his shuffling run toward a line of cars waiting for him.
Dysis reached the periphery of the conflict. Gracefully, she reached her hand to her back and she slid her sword from its hidden scabbard, revealing a small two to three-foot-long sword that had been concealed under her clothes. She entered the fray with a massive leap. Emily watched in fascination as she spun once before delivering a roundhouse kick that sent a mercenary flying backwards from the force of the attack. Dysis then dodged a stream of bullets shot at close range from her next adversary while performing a series of acrobatic moves and completing her repertoire by crushing the hilt of her sword into the firing mercenary’s skull.
Despite the mercenaries disabled by the snipers and rendered unconscious by Dysis, the Blacksky and FBI agents weren’t making a significant dent in Droth’s forces. More heavily armed mercenaries were flowing out of a line of black vans, and Dysis and her team had to dodge for cover. Flanked by their new reinforcements, the escaping magicians entered separate waiting vehicles and systematically their entourage began to flee, weaving away in an intricate pattern.
Sheathing her sword in a fluid motion, Dysis came running back to Emily’s position. “Can you tell which car they’re in?” There was a frantic look in her eyes.