Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  “Kurgen’Kahl!” he roared as the ax connected with the head of the meteor in an explosion of light and power. Lightning sundered the head, chain, and spellcaster all at once.

  Time resumed its normal flow, allowing Urkjorman to hear the agonized scream of the spellcaster as his body exploded. The borrowed radiance of his god was bleeding away rapidly, so he marshaled what he had left and seized the storm overhead as he raised his ax once again, and with the voice of thunder, he roared.

  Chapter Ten

  Riddles And Reconciliation

  Eihn couldn’t tell if the minotaur spoke like thunder or if the thunder roared like Urkjorman, but the effect was the same. The roar quaked meat, bone, and stone with equal ferocity and almost knocked the boy to the ground. Silence blanketed the field for a long moment, and soon the raiders pulled away, some edging backward with weapons drawn, others casting blades to the ground and racing between buildings.

  The archers were the only ones who withdrew with anything like dignity, simply pulling out of sight. When there was nothing left of the slavers’ presence but corpses, the minotaur collapsed against the statue, a heap of rent armor, broken meat, and blood. Al’rashal was at his side a moment later, helping him to unsteady feet and showering Urk with kisses once she’d cast her helmet aside.

  “Take me to them,” insisted Muraheim.

  Eihn looked to his master, who himself was covered in fresh injuries. As Al’rashal had expected, the slavers took out their frustrations on the gnome and without the radiance of Mehrindai lending him vigor as it had before, the toll was quite telling. So Eihn half-lead half-lifted the old gnome as they approached their guardians.

  “You look awful,” remarked Urk.

  Muraheim was silent as he looked up at the mass of rent flesh that was the minotaur before seizing with laughter. The gnome was reduced to hacking gasps between gulps of laughter and eventually regained control. “I assure you; I look better than you, Urkjorman.”

  The minotaur responded with a thin smile.

  “Of course, I always did.”

  This time it was the minotaur that responded with a snort of laughter. “My wife disagrees.”

  “Very much so,” added Al with mock anger.

  They all laughed.

  Slowly the mirth faded, and a solemn silence settled upon them all.

  “How many died?” asked Al.

  “Nine already, and two who will likely not survive the night. Eight more badly harmed, but they will recover in time, with Mehrindai’s blessings.”

  Al nodded, and Urk sucked his teeth in consternation.

  “Still, I must thank you,” continued Muraheim. “Our fates would have been much worse were it not for you. The Baron of Wings was wise to assign you to us.”

  “We’re happy things turned out …” began Al but she paused as Muraheim pulled himself from Eihn’s support.

  The old gnome knelt to the earth and prostrated himself to the two. “Urkjorman, Al’rashal I have been unwelcoming and unkind to you. You treated me with honor, and I treated you with venom. All my apologies upon thee.”

  There was a weighty thud as Urkjorman lowered to one knee and lifted the old gnome to his feet. “There has been generations of bad blood between my people and your own, so I do not fault your ignorance. I do celebrate your understanding now. Let there be no bad blood between us.”

  The old gnome took the offered hand, and the two shook.

  “I’m surprised you were able to do that,” remarked Al.

  “Forgive Muraheim?”

  “No, that too, but no. Draw on the lightning; you’ve never done that before.”

  “It was the monument; its power poured into me.”

  Al looked as shocked as he was, so Eihn turned to Muraheim. “Master, I thought it was a monument to Mehrindai?”

  Muraheim looked to the shrine with eyes narrowed in thought. “Maybe not, I think. Maybe it’s not a monument to Mehrindai?”

  “Really Master?” All eyes fell on the old gnome.

  “No,” said Muraheim with the edge of certainty. “I think it is a shrine to her marriage.”

  All eyes fell to the monument now, which seemed to ebb with a gentle warmth.

  Muraheim moved forward and knelt before it. Placing his hands to it, he offered a prayer. He seemed invigorated once again.

  “Come on,” called the gnome to Eihn. “We have much to see to.”

  Eihn nodded, took a few steps to follow his master, and then turned to look up at Urk. “I figured out the riddle. I think I figured it out before, but now I know I did.”

  “Oh?” asked the minotaur. “What is it?”

  “You,” said Eihn. “Both of you, your marriage, your love. The riddle is about your love.”

  Urkjorman smiled and reached forward with one massive hand to tussle Eihn’s hair. “You’re right, boy. Good job. Now go on and help Muraheim. He’ll need it.”

  Eihn nodded before following after his master.

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Al’rashal leaned against her husband, snuggling into the heat that radiated from him as one of his massive arms held her tightly. “Now what?”

  “After dedication we bring them home.”

  “But they’re staying. Trying to set up a mission, so our job is done?”

  “Technically. We served as asked and may return to ask our next service.”

  She recognized the hesitation in her husband’s voice. “But not all the raiders were killed; they’ll return.”

  “Not our concern.”

  “And whoever they sold slaves to may arrive.”

  “Also not our concern.”

  “So, we should just pack and go, take enough to get back to Waytown?”

  “Yes.”

  “But we’re not going to. Because you hate seeing little people abused by big people and hate seeing children abused by adults.”

  Urkjorman answered with a weary sigh and a tired smile.

  “You know if we keep stopping to do good deeds you’ll never get me pregnant.”

  “Our sons will understand if they’re born a little later.”

  “Hope our daughters do too.” She smiled as she took his head between her hands and leaned into a kiss.

  Al’rashal and Urkjorman have only one mission left. To protect the Baron of Wings when he is most vulnerable. See how well they perform in Volume Two, part of Wayward Magic.

  About the Author

  S. Wallace is an aspiring author who's just hit the scene. Their stories range from the far future to realms of magic and monsters with yet more to come. They look forward to showing you all the great stories they’re producing and sharing the amazing ones they’re reading. See you between the pages!

  For more information about the author, please visit: www.amazon.com/-/e/B0829M14QS to keep up to date on upcoming stories. Don't forget to grab your copy of the next anthology at www.amazon.com/dp/B08274LSJK.

  Spell of Wings & Glass

  Melinda Kucsera

  “Spell of Wings & Glass” is chock-full of hidden magic. To stay alive, wizards and witches, mages, warlocks, and everyday sorcerers have hidden their power for centuries. But they can’t hide anymore. Magic is breaking free in the subterranean cities and the enchanted forests surrounding it.

  Magic won’t be denied. In these perilous times, one thing is certain. It won’t stay hidden for long. But there are dire consequences for the magic-user whose power is exposed, consequences Nulthir and his creature friends must thwart to survive.

  Melinda Kucsera

  Magic might be illegal, but in the maze under Mount Eredren anything could be hiding. So, one warlock on the run turned prison Guard is no big deal, until a baby owl-monkey-cat shows up. Even cuddly monsters deserve a safe haven, and this prison isn’t it.

  But Nulthir is in for the fight of his life to get that fluffy baby—something—to safety when it attracts trouble. Someone's lurking in the shadows of the prison, and that person just m
ight be hunting the very creature he’s trying to save. Or it might be hunting him. Magic is illegal, after all, and spellcasting has deadly consequences for them both. But it’ll take more than magic to survive what’s coming their way.

  Chapter One

  Nulthir sloshed through the puddles under the weeping stalactites while the keys clipped to his utility belt jingled. Behind him, men arrested on a variety of felonies slept the night away inside their cells, snoring loudly. There was no escaping that racket either, not down here where everything was made of gray stone or metal, creating a perfect echo chamber. Those snores chased Nulthir through the tunnel, connecting the cellblock he’d just checked with the next one on his rounds. He couldn’t even stop up his ears while he guarded the snoring prisoners in case a fight broke out or a lock gave in to a pick.

  Nulthir shook his head. It was just another night of guard duty. Or it was until the echoes faded, and a soft 'neep neep' pierced the silence that fell.

  Oh no. Nulthir stopped and glanced around for the source of those ‘neeps,’ but there was only him and a hell of a lot of rocks in this part of the subterranean complex. He must have hallucinated them. Green Block wasn’t going to check itself, so he’d better secure it before his superiors caught him lollygagging, or they might dock his pay again. Nulthir ducked under a long stalactite, and there it was again.

  “Neep. Neep, neep.”

  What the hell? Nulthir turned on his heel. He regarded the wispy mist weaving through the cells under the dim blue glow of a lumir crystal that lit the cell-filled cavern behind him until a loud snort echoed through the tunnel.

  “Neep. Neep, neep!”

  Those insistent ‘neeps’ were loud enough now to cut through the snores. Damn, he wasn’t imagining them. “This can’t be happening,” Nulthir said and received a series of happy neeps in reply.

  Nulthir groaned. Only one creature made that sound. Or rather, only one he knew of, and that creature had better not be somewhere in this prison. “Furball?” he whispered still unable to believe his ears. That little ball of fur and innocence couldn’t be somewhere in this prison.

  “Neep!” Furball confirmed, but that was impossible. Furball couldn’t be making that excited racket because…

  “You’re supposed to be asleep in my flat, not wandering around a damp prison.” Nulthir turned toward the fading echo of that imperious neep. He probably shouldn’t have said that last bit aloud, but Furball was sawing on his last nerve.

  “Neep neep?” Furball asked as if he didn’t understand. Nice try.

  “Don’t you pull that with me. I know you understand me.” Nulthir looked behind another stalagmite. Damn it. There was nothing but shadows back there. “How did you get down here all by yourself?”

  “Neeeeeep?” Furball stretched the word out.

  Nulthir scrubbed both hands over his face. “Why me?” His best creature-friend, Thing, would be crazy with worry when Thing realized Furball was missing. Maybe Thing wouldn’t notice until Nulthir could return the little guy to his flat. Please, Fate, you owe me one.

  “Neeeep?” Furball asked in genuine confusion.

  “Never mind, just stay where you are. I’ll find you.” It was safer that way. Furball was small and easily squashed. The little critter also blended into the shadows because of his dark coloring, which made him hard to spot in the ever-present gloom down here. “Alright, where are you, you little puff ball?”

  “Neep. Neep,” Furball complained, not liking that ‘puff ball’ comment even though it was an accurate description.

  But those aggrieved sounds gave Nulthir a direction, right, toward the next cave of cells, the one he hadn’t checked on his rounds yet or secured. Just great, Furball would show up near the most violent offenders. That was just his luck. Fate had no sense of proportion. “Keep talking—er—neeping, so I can find you.”

  “Neep.”

  Confirmation. Good, at least Furball was still listening to him. Hopefully, he would continue to do so. After all, Furball was just a baby—um—thing? ‘Owl-monkey-cat’ was probably the most apt description of the creature.

  ‘Gryphons’ were the closest relatives to Furball and his extended family, but gryphons were more eagle and lion, and his little friend was definitely more kitten with a bit of owl and monkey thrown in for fun. His creature friends were also a lot smaller than gryphons were purported to be.

  If Furball and his family had a name for their species, they’d never mentioned it. Nor had Nulthir the time to look it up since he was technically in hiding here, hence the prison guard gig. So ‘owl-monkey-cat’ they were, even if that compound name was cumbersome to say. Not that it mattered. They were his friends, and their littlest member would be in a heap of trouble if he didn’t find that furry kit.

  Nulthir followed a string of “neeps” to another shadowy corner. Maybe they were Furball’s way of explaining how in the hell he’d gotten down here in the first place, but Nulthir would need a translator to understand that. He squatted and ran his hand through the mist, but there was no furry creature there. “Where are you?”

  “Neep, neep.” Now, it sounded like Furball was across the way on the other side of this damned tunnel.

  “I told you not to move.”

  “Neep. Neep. Neep,” Furball said, and a sharp rap followed that. The little fella must have stamped his tiny foot to make his point.

  “Okay, fine, you didn’t move. My mistake.” Nulthir scanned the ground and saw only shadows, but none were moving. He snagged the leather cord hanging around his neck and lifted the dawn rune to the level of his eyes. Its metallic curves were cold against his cheek, but it warmed as the magic stored inside it glowed brighter, enough to reveal more gray walls, puddles, and stalactites, but no fuzzy creatures. Damn it. “Furball? Where the hell are you?”

  Nulthir swept the glow of his fist-sized pendant over every inch of the tunnel, especially the puddle he was standing in. He wasn’t sure if Furball could swim, or if the tiny thing would even float, nor did he want to find out, not when his best creature-friend was the little fella’s grandsire.

  Furball’s neeps seemed to come from everywhere now thanks to the stone walls bouncing those neeps all over this tunnel, so not helpful. Maybe he should ask Furball to jump up and down? Would that help? Furball was only about six inches tall and just as wide. “Talk to me, Furball. Tell me where you are.” Though, that might be asking too much of a creature who could make only one sound.

  “Neep neep neep!” Furball said. His annoyed neeps seemed to come from below, but there was nothing under the prison. It occupied part of the lowest subterranean level of this mountain stronghold.

  Still, Nulthir had to check in case Furball had fallen down a hole he couldn’t see. That would be just his luck tonight. Nulthir dropped into a crouch and scanned the floor for holes or cracks large enough for Furball to get through, but he didn't see any. He crouch-walked halfway to the next cavern before finding a crack in the stone wall, and there was Furball hopping up and down in excitement.

  “How the hell did you get down here? That crack’s too small for even you to crawl through.” Nulthir let go of the dawn rune, so he could run his hands through his hair, and his pendant dropped back into place over his heart. It still glowed a soft blue.

  Furball just neeped unhelpfully. There was no way Furball could have gotten this deep into the prison without running into trouble unless the little kit had used magic, but that was impossible.

  Nulthir put that scary thought out of mind. He removed his gauntlet and tucked it into his utility belt. Then he carefully scooped up the noisy little fuzzball and checked him over for any signs of injury. “Well, however you got here didn’t hurt you in any way I can see. You are okay, right? Nothing hurts?”

  Furball shook his whole body. Nulthir took that as a no, and the little furry ball hopped up and down on his palm. His tiny hands and feet tickled Nulthir’s palm as he tried not to drop the squirming owl-monkey-cat, but Furball's rotund b
ody and excessive amount of fur made it hard to get a good grip on him. “Okay, okay, I’m excited to see you too. Quit squirming around. I don’t want to drop you.”

  Furball was a handful, but an adorable one that nuzzled his hand. He looked like his name implied—a ball of fur with owlish eyes and cat ears. But most of that girth was soft fur that stood perpetually on end, as if the little critter had been struck by lightning. Furball hadn’t been. That was just how he looked. Somewhere under all that fur, Furball had a set of stubby wings. Nulthir felt them brush against his palm as his passenger shifted positions, but they were well-hidden by Furball’s rather impressive amount of fur.

  Nulthir raised his hand until he could look Furball in the eyes. He needed a truthful answer to one very important question. “Does my friend, Thing, know where you are?”

  For that matter, did any of Thing’s extended family know? Because that was a disaster waiting to happen. Thankfully, he’d found the little kit before anyone else had. Nulthir shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t. “Well, does he?” Nulthir pressed.

  Furball’s fur rippled as he shrugged. “Neep, neep?”

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Nulthir suppressed a groan. That wasn’t good. Thing or one of his kids would notice they were short a child and come looking for Furball. Would they know to come here? And what the hell could Nulthir do if they did?

  Possessing magic or magical creatures was an offense punishable by death. If any of the other Guards saw Furball or his relatives when they eventually showed up, Nulthir would be a dead man, and Furball and his family would be hunted down and killed too. Worst of all, there was nothing Nulthir could do to stop any of that from happening because the Guards were short-handed tonight, thanks to a recent food riot.