The Crossover
Page 4
Chapter 4 – Bomb Threat
Lodrán woke to a warbling noise. “Mmmf?” Annie rolled over and draped an arm over him, stroking his chest and lower down. “You gonna answer that?”
“Answer what?” At first, Lodrán thought she was talking about what she was doing… and how he was responding. Then the warbling noise came again. “Oh. That thing.” He leaned over the edge of the bed and fumbled through his clothes, remembering something Chuck had said yesterday: These gadgets are pretty cool, yeah. But you don’t own them so much as they own you. He pulled it open, not getting it upside-down only by luck. “Unh?”
“Hey.” Chuck’s tinny voice felt like a sword through Lodrán’s skull. “Where are you?”
“Uh… the hotel. Am I needed?”
“Yeah. It’s almost ten, time for you and Freddy to make that phone call.”
“Oh. That late?”
Annie looked at the clock on the nightstand. “Yuck. Ten till ten. So much for room service.”
“Yeah,” said Chuck. You might wanna shake your silent tail and get on down here.”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes.” He closed the phone and sighed. “Duty calls.”
“I gathered that.” Annie climbed out of bed, keeping Lodrán’s full and undivided attention. “Let’s get some coffee started. It’s no fun to start work with a hangover and no coffee.” A moment later, the device began its chuffing noise and she slipped back into bed with a big smile. “I know what we can do while we’re waiting.”
After a few minutes of contentment to end their time together, Annie nudged him out of bed and pulled some clean clothes from a dresser. “You want my number?” She sounded hopeful.
“I do. But—I hope you don’t think less of me for this—I don’t know how to put it in my phone. I’ve never had one until the day before yesterday.”
“No problem.” Annie grinned and picked up Lodrán’s phone, poking at it for a minute. “Done. Just hit the address book, find my name, and hit the call button.” She showed him what to do, and the phone on her side of the bed began playing music. “All set. I’ll save your number, too.”
“Good. Annie, I really hope we can meet again. But promise me something.”
“Sure.”
“If there was anything you wanted to do away from this place while you’re here, do it today. This afternoon. If you don’t have any plans, make some. For my sake?”
“Why?”
“I can’t talk about it. If we’re successful, there won’t be any problems. But I don’t want to… to take that chance. With you.”
“What’s gonna happen?”
“I hope nothing. But trust me. Please.”
With Annie’s promise, Lodrán breathed easier as he jogged through the portal between the hotel and auditorium.
Freddy was waiting for him near the exhibit hall entrance. “You dog,” he said with a grin. Seeing Lodrán’s puzzled look, he continued, “That’s just something we say when a guy gets lucky.”
“What?”
“You no speak-a de English? Gettin’ lucky is… you know. Gettin’ the girl. Hope you let her know how it is.” Freddy cocked an eyebrow.
“Um, yeah. She let me know how it is too. I think she’s leaving already.”
“Huh. I guess you told her everything then.”
“Not everything.” Lodrán marveled at how well Freddy fell into role-playing. He could be born to the Silent Art as much as Chuck was born with the talent for magic. Or more. What this world has thrown aside, he thought, as they talked about his supposed conquest. Two companions, making the wind, who seemed to not realize they were straying away from the venue itself and into the office area. As for the subject matter, Lodrán thought he himself might have been the conquest.
They continued to chat until others were out of sight and hearing, then turned a corner. “James Isaacson,” Freddy read the nameplate next to the door. “That’s your name for a few minutes.” He tried the door. “Locked. But not for long, right?”
Lodrán did not bother to respond, and got to work on the lock while Freddy stood in front of him and played with his phone. “Got it,” said Lodrán, turning the knob. No alarm sounded, and they slipped inside and closed the door behind them.
“What the hell?” Freddy punched a button on the phone. “Maybe nine to get out? Nothing.”
“What?”
“The phone’s dead. I’m not even getting a dialtone. They wouldn’t make it that hard to call out.”
“What’s—never mind. Let’s try the next office.”
Lodrán opened three offices, and all the phones were dead. “Could the people who left the bomb have done this?” he asked Freddy.
“Yeah. It ain’t that hard to cut a phone line. They put the bomb in the PBX room, and that’s where all the lines go. And it’s the weekend, so when this place comes down, nobody will know they did it.”
“We need to tell Chelinn.”
“We were talkin’ about what if they had someone inside 911 that could keep the call from going through, while you were bringin’ your girlfriend over,” said Freddy. “They said something about the fire alarms.”
“A secondary plan. That sort of thing is second nature to Chelinn.”
“Yeah. We call that a ‘Plan B.’ Let’s go.”
The basement was empty, and Chelinn and Lodrán moved quickly through the hallways. “Here,” said Chelinn, pointing at the sign next to one door. “Records. I thought they would be here.”
“Why?” Lodrán started on the lock.
“It’s much like Ak’koyr, in a way. The records may be needed, but not often enough to justify having them near the workers. So the records room is out of the way. But nearby, in a place with stone walls, since paper burns readily…”
Lodrán opened the door. “Then burn it!”
“I can’t, at the moment.” Chelinn looked at Lodrán. “What would make me angry today?”
“Hundreds of people dying needlessly, when you could have—”
Chelinn’s faced flushed, and fire leaped from his hands. Nozzles in the ceiling began spraying water that turned to steam in the heat of Chelinn’s magical fire. After a long minute, the magical fire died and natural fire took over, burning stacks of paper on the shelves where the water could not reach.
“Here’s the fire alarm,” said Chelinn, noting a red block on the wall outside the records room.
“Pull… to… sound… alarm.” Lodrán puzzled out the words. He pulled down the small lever, then covered his ears. The buzzing noise pierced his aching head regardless.
“Quickly now!” Chelinn hissed, taking Lodrán’s arm. “I’ve made us hard to see, just hold on to me!” They clattered up the stairs.
• • •
“Where have you two been?” Chuck feigned annoyance at Chelinn and Lodrán. “They’re giving us five minutes to clear out.” He gestured at the hand truck, with two boxes already stacked on it. “Load it up. Freddy, you push the cart. The rest of us will each take a box. Two, if we can carry them.”
Minutes later, they reached the parking lot and loaded boxes in Chuck’s car. Chuck gave the building a wistful look. “This was shaping up to be the best sales year I’ve had at the con,” he sighed. In the distance, they could hear sirens. “Let’s hope things get back to normal, quick.” He saw Chelinn’s look and nodded, then lowered his voice. “I wish we could make sure they find the bomb.”
“If we could call from someone else’s phone, I’d call it in now,” said Freddy. “I wouldn’t even use our go-phones for that, though. I had a drunk friend call 911 from her cell and hung up, and the call didn’t disconnect. They used her cell to figure out where she was and found her. It was a big mess.”
“They have phones in the hotel rooms,” said Lodrán.
“Hell, they have public phones in the restaurant!” Freddy threw his hands in the air. “Should we make the call, or what?”
Lodrán nodded. “Let’s go.” They sprinted across the parkin
g lot, behind the auditorium to the hotel beyond.
“I think there’s a bomb in the auditorium basement,” Lodrán said into the phone. “James Isaacson… I was in the basement Friday night and saw one of our maintenance employees, Sam Gross, down there with three caterers. That was strange, because we don’t have any concessions in the basement. They went into the PBX Room, I checked it this morning. The lines in the offices aren’t working, so I’m calling from the hotel. Now the fire alarms are going off.” He covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Freddy, “That’s all they need, right?”
Freddy nodded. “Yeah, that should do it. The bomb squad’ll be storming the place pretty quick.” He looked at his phone. “Just past eleven. Cutting it awful close.”
“Look, I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to,” Lodrán told the phone. “I’m going to hang up and leave now.” He hung up. “Let’s get something to eat,” he said to Freddy, nodding at the restaurant. “It promises to be a long day.”
“Whoa.” Freddy paused. “How about that salad place, just down the road? They have some kind of Sunday special.”
“That might be good. Any other suggestions?” Lodrán cocked an eyebrow at Freddy and got a small nod in return. Some wind had blown Freddy’s way.
“There’s the seafood buffet, but it’ll be pretty crowded if we don’t get there before twelve-thirty or so.”
“Salad should be good.” They walked to a place out of earshot. “What was it?”
“The guys from the bar,” said Freddy. “They’re in the restaurant.”
Lodrán’s eyebrows shot up. “Did they see you?”
“No.”
“They wanted front-row seats for the show,” said Chuck, looking grim. He watched the fire trucks near the back entrance. “Good thing it’s not the show they’re expecting.”
“I presume the authorities can find this Sam and the others, without any further help from us?” Chelinn looked at Freddy.
“Maybe,” said Freddy. “Their families might hide ‘em. I don’t know if they would for a charge like terrorism, but they might have a place to go. Could be a long time before they get caught.” Two black vans rolled into the parking lot, sirens wailing. “That’s the bomb squad.”
Lodrán shrugged. “If we have to intervene again—”
A voice blared from horns mounted on top of the vans: “This area is hazardous. All non-emergency personnel must proceed to the nearest barricade. This is a mandatory evacuation order.” The voice began repeating itself; around them, people looked puzzled but began moving.
“Chuck, Freddy, perhaps you should follow the crowd,” said Chelinn. “Lodrán and I will see if there is anything further we can do here.”
“I’ve got to see if I can get in to grab another load,” said Chuck. He took the handcart and walked away.
“I’m stayin’ with you,” Freddy told Chelinn. “You need me to ID those assholes.”
Chelinn glared a Freddy for a moment. “Fate is, at best, a capricious bitch. She may have put you in our path to help us. Or the inverse. Or—not all events are arranged by powers high or low. In any case, you will share a great risk with little hope of reward.”
“Whatever. Like I said, I’m tired of pissin’ my life away with stupid shit.”
“That tree.” Lodrán pointed to a large oak just beyond the edge of the pavement. “We can see from there without drawing attention.”
“Speakin’ of ID,” Freddy hissed, “there they are.” He laid a finger on his chest, pointing sideways. The four of them were walking across the parking lot, watching the commotion near the entrances.
“Call to them,” said Chelinn. “I’ll be interested in their reaction.” He and Lodrán crouched behind a car.
Freddy nodded and turned. “Sam! BJ! Terry! Hey, guys!” He gave them a big grin and a wild wave.
The four men stopped and turned toward Freddy, looking uncertain. Several police beyond turned as well. Freddy walked toward them.
“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” he asked. “Me, I got an excuse. Uncle Johnny don’t pay near enough, and one of the vendors needed some help—”
“Who is this?” Hunter asked his companions.
“He works at the bar we went to,” said BJ. “You saw him there. He ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”
Chelinn’s voice came to Freddy, although he could not see him: If I were you, I would keep a car, perhaps two, between them and yourself. I sense some hostile intent.
Freddy slipped a hand behind his back long enough to display a thumbs-up. “I saw you guys and just thought I’d say hey,” he said. “I gotta pack this crap up, some assclowns started a fire in the basement and phoned in a bomb threat, so they ran us all out.”
“Would you like some help?” Hunter asked him, then started walking toward Freddy without waiting for an answer. “I don’t guess you want to be anywhere near here if there’s a bomb threat.”
Freddy waved and turned, hoping it looked natural. “Nah, I only have two more boxes to load. Besides, we’re all hopin’ it’s a hoax, and we’ll be able to get back to it in a couple hours.”
“No problem at all.” The four followed Freddy, who saw the pistol in Hunter’s hand. “BJ can help you finish up, then we’re going to take a little walk.”
Freddy felt the adrenaline rush at the sight of the gun, but remembered one of Lodrán’s late-night lessons: You cannot outwit an adversary if you panic. “Sure,” he fought down the shake in his voice. “But just to let you know, there’s two of our security goons around here. I’ve seen ‘em in action. If something happens to me, they’ll open up a fifty-five gallon drum of whoop-ass on you.”
“Sure, kid,” said Hunter.
“Hey, Hunter,” said Sam. “We don’t need to drag him into this.”
“Just shut up and get moving. Those cops are gonna be on us if we don’t leave now.” Hunter glared at Freddy. “If anyone comes around, you wave that badge at ‘em if you know what’s good for you. Let’s go. We’re parked at one of the offices down there.”
• • •
“What’s that?” Terry Lewis asked, pointing at something sticking out of the sidewalk ahead.
“Looks like some kind of knife,” said BJ, jogging ahead. He pulled a bronze dagger out of the crack between two slabs. “Wow. Hell of a nice pig-sticker. Not too smart, leavin’ it here.” He ran his thumb over the edge, then jerked it back. “Damn, that’s sharp!” He ran the blade over the back of his beefy arm. “You can shave with this.”
Freddy smiled. “That’s—it belongs to one of the security guys. He’s just letting us know he’s waiting for us, somewhere up ahead.”
“Then he’s stupid,” said Hunter. “Now we’ll be ready for him.”
“You haven’t seen these guys work. I know you won’t believe me, and you won’t even when you’re dying in whatever way they’ve got planned for you.”
“Shut up, or you’ll be the first one dead.” Hunter jabbed the pistol at Freddy, then looked at his companions. “What are you looking at? He’s bluffing. Keep moving.”
Lodrán, a shadow among shadows, watched as the thug marveled at his knife. If I had that crossbow, he thought, I could turn their Hunter into prey. The others would likely run. But no matter; Chelinn was about to make things uncomfortable for them. The two of them could carry out Freddy’s threat, but Chelinn’s way was the bloodless rout or surrender. Lodrán long knew how Chelinn preferred to minimize bloodshed.
Chelinn was magically cloaked, but the enemy was looking everywhere but where he was. Ground wasps—or what Chuck and Freddy called “yellow jackets”—darted back and forth, knowing an intruder was near their nest, but not finding him. He reached out with his mind and spoke to the wasps.
Hunter cursed and nearly dropped his gun, slapping his hand. But the yellow jacket was already circling his head.
Terry Lewis broke and ran. “I’m allergic!” he yelled, dashing ahead. “I’ll see you at the car!” Moments later, two mor
e wasps found their marks: BJ’s left leg, behind the knee; the back of Sam’s neck.
“Move, move!” Hunter snarled, jabbing Freddy with the gun. They all ran, BJ limping, until the wasps were left behind. “We’re almost there. Are you allergic too?”
“No. Just hurts.” BJ rubbed the back of his leg. Sam shook his head.
“Good. Our hostage got lucky, I guess. We’re almost there anyway.”
They turned into an office parking lot. “Where’s Terry?” asked Sam.
“Our tires!” BJ spat a curse and ran to the car. “His friend musta cut ‘em! All four!”
Hunter hooked an arm around Freddy’s neck, then held the gun to his head. “That’s it!” he yelled. “Show yourself, or your friend is dead!”
“Behind you.”
Hunter spun around, using Freddy as a pivot, to face a man taller and broader even than his beefy friends. The sword he carried looked deadly.
“I cede to you the right to shed first blood,” said Chelinn. “But Hell shall take what is left of you soon after.”
“Nice dress-up,” said Hunter. He turned the gun on Chelinn and fired.
Chelinn winced and scowled. “No blood was drawn. But Death does not require the shedding of blood. That is all the warning I give you.”
Hunter released Freddy, but kept the gun on him, and stepped to one side. “For a world where magic is all but stamped out, you’re a rather powerful sorcerer. How did I miss you?”
Chelinn raised one eyebrow, but showed no other sign of surprise, then smirked. “Perhaps you did not.”
“Another world, then? Which? And why are you here?”
“I would rather not say which, until I know your intentions better. As for why? We are here quite by accident. And what of you?”
“I am The Hunter. It is my sworn duty to root out the use of magic, wherever that duty calls me.” He smirked in return. “This posting has been somewhat soft, these last few centuries. But perhaps once I deal with you, I can start on your world.”
“My world has taken its first steps on a path that shall lead to the end we see in this one. With or without you, magic will be but a memory in a millennium. But why involve yourself in such a sordid enterprise? Scheming to kill hundreds of innocents for whom magic is but a fantasy?”
Hunter spat. “Those fools long for the return of magic. If they are left to search unchecked, they may rediscover the door. I put the last true witches to the fire on this world… and a few, I admit, who were not witches, but no matter. As for your world? From the looks of your weapons, you are still mired in the Bronze Age!”
“We can work iron, what little we have. And although the lives of innocents are of no matter to you, is it no matter that while you have one of my people, I have one of yours?”
“I will let this one go. If you surrender yourself to me.”
“Me? I have your oaf. You have my oaf. I would think oaf for oaf would be fair trade, no?”
“My oaf has served his purpose. His fate now matters little to me.”
“Hey!” BJ and Sam said together. “Terry’s our kin, he matters to us!” They both drew pistols, and pointed them at Hunter.
“Hey there!” Sam called past Hunter to Chelinn. “Big hombre! If we turn your friend loose, you promise to let my cousin go?”
“Of course.”
“Let him go, Hunter,” said BJ, aiming at Hunter’s head.
Hunter did not turn or even glance back at his former companions. “Your threats are hardly worth dismissing, let alone considering. Leave us.”
BJ pulled the trigger, frowned, then stepped closer and shot again. He scowled and looked at his pistol. “No way I coulda missed!”
Chelinn shook his head. “You are dedicated to the eradication of magic, and yet use magical protection yourself? I believe the word is hypocrisy.”
“Sometimes, one must use the weapons of evil to fight evil.” Hunter turned around. “Go. Take him with you.” He waved the pistol at Freddy in a dismissive gesture. “What any of you do next is not my concern.”
“C’mon, Sam,” said BJ, pistol dangling from his hand, “this just got weirder than I wanna deal with.” He looked at Freddy. “You too, I guess. Can you help us find Terry?”
Freddy nodded and joined them; they ran to the assumed safety of the trees.
“Much better,” Chelinn told Hunter. “One on one.”
“I thought you would prefer it this way.”
Chelinn nodded. “You have that much honor, and I will return honor for honor.” He hefted Gonfanlon, his glowing bronze blade. “Shall I put this away, or do you have a weapon to match it?”
“I have.” Hunter threw his pistol aside then raised his hand skyward. A gigantic silver sword grew from his hand, looking much like an elongated meat cleaver. Electrical discharges crawled across it like frenzied worms, then faded away.
“Lightning Silver?” Chelinn looked impressed.
“Indeed. The greatest weapon to ever be forged by Air magic, it is said.” The air crackled as Hunter swung it in front of him. “But nothing like the weapons forged by the smiths of this world. The bomb we planted would have destroyed the auditorium and part of the adjacent hotel. But these mad fools have created weapons that could wipe away this entire city, and they have thousands. Were they to be used all at once, this entire world would be left a cinder.” Hunter grinned. “Incredible, the power that can be unleashed when we put aside childish things.”
“I believe… I need a drink.” Chelinn fumbled in his jacket for a moment, then withdrew a flask. “Would you like to share a toast?”
“I prefer to fight sober. But do indulge yourself.”
Chelinn nodded and upended the flask, drinking down magic that would give him preternatural strength and speed. “Ah. Better. Shall we dance?”
BJ, Sam, and Freddy reached the trees and turned to see a gigantic sword spring from Hunter’s hand. “Shoot,” said Sam, watching Chelinn upend his flask, “I could use some of that myself.”
“I have no drink,” said Lodrán behind them, “but I’ll offer you a trade. My knife for your friend.”
BJ and Sam gasped and spun around. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“The shadows.” Lodrán stepped back, and disappeared. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah, sure.” BJ lifted the knife from his belt and gave it a gentle toss in the direction of Lodrán’s voice. “Now where’s Terry?”
Lodrán stepped forward, retrieved his knife, and pointed it upward. “As some of your people say, hanging out.” They looked up to find Terry, dangling from a tree limb, bound and gagged but alive and as comfortable as one could be in his position.
“Okay, I’m going!” Chuck flapped a hand at the cops ushering him away from the auditorium. “My car’s over there, okay?”
“Fine. Just get in and drive away.” The cop gave him a final poke in the back. “Don’t dawdle!”
Chuck reached his car and opened the trunk—as far as he could tell, they had packed everything. He collapsed the hand truck and laid it on top of the boxes.
“Where the hell are you guys?” he asked, starting the car. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about Lodrán. His porn-star mustache, his outfit, his knives…
Chelinn took his “ready” stance, and Hunter charged. Lightning Silver crashed into Gonfanlon with a peal of thunder, throwing sparks and tiny bolts of lightning. Above them, clouds began to gather. Chelinn sidestepped, impossibly fast, but his counterstroke was met by an equally swift parry.
“You leave nothing to chance.” Hunter smiled.
“Against an unknown opponent, who should be here no more than I? It would be foolish to do anything else.”
“Indeed. Lightning Silver destroys most weapons at first strike. No matter how well-crafted, that is no inert blade of bronze.”
“Gonfanlon is no legend, but it serves.”
Again, the two blades crashed together.
Lodrán glanced around him, feeling
like he was being watched. If I didn’t know better, he thought, I’d think Chelinn was looking for me. He gasped.
“Freddy,” he said. “Come with me.” They walked toward the street, Lodrán looking for a landmark.
BJ looked at Sam and Terry. “You think they’ll be lookin’ for us?”
“I’d assume so,” said Sam. “If they know about the bomb, they’ll be askin’ all the employees what we saw.” The others nodded and they ran for BJ’s truck.
In his mind, Chuck saw Lodrán standing outside, in front of a brick building. No, a brick office park sign. There was an office park just up the street… “Gotcha!” He jerked the gearshift into Drive; his tires chirped as he roared out of the parking lot.
“If we hadn’t told him to move it, I’d give him a ticket for that,” said one of the cops.
Chelinn considered the situation as he parried another slash. Hunter’s blade was the stronger of the two, but Chelinn had the advantages of stamina and personal strength. Their skills were equally matched otherwise. He would prevail, unless Gonfanlon shattered first. Gonfanlon was sturdy and trustworthy, but he had never crossed blades with a weapon of Lightning Silver’s repute.
Hunter tried to break away for a breather; Chelinn pressed him. An opening is all I need, he thought. Quickly.
Lodrán waved wildly as Chuck screeched to a stop. “What’s going on?” Chuck yelled through an open window.
“Chelinn and Hunter are fighting a duel in the parking lot!” Lodrán pointed up the bank.
“That dude’s sword is huge!” Freddy yelled from up the bank, where he could see the fight. “He and Chelinn both have that magic thing going, where guns don’t work on ‘em! And God, they’re fast—I don’t know how we can help!”
The clang and rumble of swords rolled into the street once more. Chuck stomped the gas pedal, tires squealing as he turned into the office park.
Chelinn ducked under Lightning Silver, slashing at Hunter’s legs, but Hunter jumped and both swords whistled as they sliced only air. Both men thought, almost at once, I need to end this soon. Chelinn stood just in time to parry a counterstrike. The clash of swords masked the sound of rubber on pavement.
Hunter’s back was to the parking lot entrance, so it was Chelinn who saw Chuck’s car fishtail up the driveway. Chelinn’s eyes widened, and Hunter grinned at an apparent sign of weakness. He threw himself into a final frenzied attack, slashing wildly—
As the car roared toward them, Chelinn stumbled and fell backwards. Gonfanlon flew from his hand, and Chelinn displaced himself six feet backwards. Hunter, ears no longer overwhelmed by the clangor of their duel, turned to see the car bearing down on him—too late. The bumper took out Hunter’s legs, flinging him into the windshield, then over the roof. Lightning Silver spun away, booming to the pavement. Hunter tumbled through the air and came down on his head, landing with a sickening crack.
• • •
Chuck clambered out of his car, looking everywhere but at Hunter. “Is everyone all right?”
“All but one,” said Chelinn, retrieving Gonfanlon. He crossed the parking lot to where Lightning Silver fell, but a scorch mark was all that remained. “How did you find us?”
“That spell you taught me. I focused on Lodrán, and saw him here.”
“Well done, then.” As Freddy and Lodrán rushed to join them, Chelinn knelt to survey Hunter’s injuries. “Not good,” he said, shaking his head. “His neck and legs are broken, and his skull is crushed. Had he not come down on his head, I could have done something for him.”
“Thank The Hand,” said Lodrán, “When you fell, I thought I’d lost my bet.”
“You placed a wager on our duel?”
“Only with myself. If I’d lost that bet, though, I’d have been stuck here for good.”
“Is that so bad?” asked Freddy.
Lodrán shrugged. “Chuck tells us that we would be considered ‘illegal immigrants’ by the authorities here. I live in the shadows, but there are times when one must walk in the sunlight.”
“That’s no big deal. I know a guy who could forge you a complete identity, put you in the system and everything, for four hundred bucks. The cops could run your ID all day and not find a thing wrong with it.”
“We have more pressing issues,” said Chuck. “I just killed someone with my car.”
“Can they connect you with this, noted Robinson?”
“Yeah. They’ll get DNA samples. I could wash my car, but I’d probably miss a spot and the damage would… would…” Chuck staggered to the curb and vomited into the shrubs and pine straw.
Chelinn grimaced and rifled Hunter’s pockets. He found what he wanted—Hunter’s keys—and walked to the car. Laying a hand on it, he dispelled the illusion that made the tires look flat. “Lodrán, Freddy,” he called, “help me put him in the trunk.”
“How long do you think it’ll be before the authorities inspect this car?” asked Lodrán.
“Could be a few days, maybe a week or more,” said Freddy, taking one of Hunter’s arms. “See that ‘For Lease’ sign up there? That means nobody’s using this office space. He could sit here until the landscapers notice the smell and call the cops.”
“By then, we’ll be gone,” said Chelinn, as they hefted Hunter into the trunk. “And—” he looked at fat drops of rain beginning to splatter on the pavement— “the rain should wash away any blood. Perhaps it will take care of noted Robinson’s car as well.” He dropped the keys on top of Hunter then closed the trunk. “The fate of his friends will have to be decided without our help, I think.”
“We ID’ed Sam as one of them. That should be enough. They might not get picked up right away, but they’ll be on the run.” Freddy sighed and shook his head. “I know those guys. They talked big, but I just can’t believe they’d do something like that.”
“Perhaps they were coerced,” Chelinn suggested. “Hunter may well have used magical means, nudging them down a path they feared to tread.”
“Hey,” said Chuck, spitting into the pine straw one last time, “you think you’ll get a rainbow out of this?” His voice shook, but he seemed otherwise under control.
“Very possible. Is your car fit to drive?”
Chuck knelt in front of the car, peering through the dented grill. “Yeah. I don’t think he punctured the radiator.”
“We’re vendors!” Chuck yelled, waving his pass at the cops behind the barricade. “Are they gonna open the auditorium back up any time soon?” He had left the car behind, where the cops would not see the damage, carrying an umbrella.
“Maybe by tomorrow afternoon, is what I’ve heard,” said one cop, rain drizzling off his bright yellow jacket. “Sorry. They’re takin’ a bomb out now, but they gotta process the crime scene and that’ll take a while. I heard there was an arson, too.” The cop shook his head. “Man. Someone really had it in for you guys. Anyway, you can call the hotline number tomorrow, they’ll know more by then.”
Chuck returned to his car, and they drove away. Chelinn could see little, as the windshield on his side was cracked and crazed where Hunter had hit it. His knees were jammed against the dashboard, making room behind him for Freddy. At least Chuck can see out, he thought. “Where to? Not far, I hope.”
“Back to the store, I guess,” said Chuck. “That’s the only place I can think of.” He said nothing for a while, until the rain began to let up. “Hey, I just had an idea,” he said. “I could get online, and invite the attendees to a party at the shop. Charge admission, call in catering for food… if I come anywhere close to breaking even on that, I’d do pretty good with merchandise sales. And it would give people something to do. Lodrán, call your girlfriend and invite her too. Each employee gets to bring a guest.”
Lodrán nodded, phone to his ear, from his cramped backseat domain. “I’m talking to her now,” he said.
“Hey, check out the rainbow,” said Freddy, looking out his side window.
“Rainbow?” Chelinn looked where Freddy p
ointed. “Chuck! That way!” Behind Chuck, Lodrán looked up for a moment, nodded, and spoke some more.
“Aren’t rainbows just an optical illusion?” asked Chuck, turning and speeding up.
“Yes, but they are also symbols, and symbols have power,” said Chelinn. He concentrated for a moment. “We’re close enough now. I’ve anchored it. I hope it’s where we won’t attract attention. Speaking of which, how will you explain the damage to your car?”
“Easy. I’ll say I hydroplaned. Happens all the time.”
A few more minutes of driving took them to a city park. Chelinn threw his door open, stumbled out. “Lodrán!” he yelled, opening the trunk and pushing merchandise aside to retrieve his nails. “Quickly!”
“Um… Lodrán pocketed his phone, and looked past Chelinn, to where the rainbow touched down behind some trees. “You go on. I’m staying here.”
“What?”
“I was talking with Annie, and she said I could stay with her for a while.” He grinned. “Freddy says I can get papers that will make me a citizen, too.”
Chelinn shouldered his hundredweight of iron nails with a grunt. “You wouldn’t stay for the sake of a woman. I know you better.”
“Maybe. But this world… it calls to me. It needs people like me. Like us. People who can undo the damage Hunter and his kind have done.”
“And Lightning Silver will turn up sometime,” Chelinn mused. “Such a weapon will not be content until it is in the hands of someone who will use it. Someone who knows what it is should watch for it.” He turned, but looked over his shoulder. “Once I return to Termag, I won’t need a rainbow to find my way back. I’ll be back to visit, and teach Chuck more magic.” He grinned. “Perhaps I will send my sister here some time.”
Lodrán’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t think this world is ready for her.”
“Nor she for it. It would be amusing.” He jogged away, into the trees. He turned and waved a final time, then was gone.
THE END
Common Terms and Phrases
All Points of the Compass—commonly used to refer to a multi-ethnic group. Some folk use it to describe a person whose ancestry is indeterminate.
The All-Seeing Eye of Bula-Bula—a humorous reference to the Eyes of Byula, six scrying-stones said to be the eyes of an ancient idol (perhaps predating Camac That Was). Protectors in the farther reaches of Camac’s domain used them to communicate with the capital. The Eyes were lost in The Madness; if any have been recovered, their owners say not. The name became corrupted over time and is now a humorous way of saying someone is watching carefully.
Bowgnoash—from the goblin-tongue. Its original meaning was “unfit to eat,” but was also used to describe one they wished to disown. Given what is known about dietary and social habits of goblins, anything or anyone considered bowgnoash would be extremely repulsive. Over time, it became a rude insult, with “rotten meat” the polite substitute.
Commander—an officer in command of a battalion, 800–1000 soldiers.
Folk—(Sorcerers) People not of a magical bent. (Folk) People seen and dealt with regularly.
The Godforsaken—a vast desert, taking up most of the eastern interior of the continent. It is ringed by mountains, and much of it is below sea level.
In the time of Camac that Was—the traditional beginning of a child’s story or tale.
Lucky man’s supper—fish, leeks, potatoes. May refer to a “lucky man” bringing home both fish and leeks from the river, thus saving money that would have been spent at the market for food.
Making the wind—idle chatter, equivalent to Earth’s “shooting the breeze.”
Peace and harmony—a formal greeting. Through the early Age of Heroes, rivals or enemies used this greeting to offer a temporary truce. Later, it took on more common usage. The expected response is, And all peace unto you.
Spread—the length between outstretched arms, typically 6 feet or 1.8 meters (or three to four cubits).
Striker—the leader of a “strike,” 10–15 soldiers. Not always a formal rank.
The tide comes in, the tide goes out—acknowledging that events are beyond one’s control. Similar to Earth’s “roll with the changes.”
Wine fortifies the spine—a humorous description of drunken bravery.
Wolds—a nomadic people, living on the plains east of the Gulf of Camac.
Excerpt: Accidental Sorcerers
Eight hundred years after the events depicted in The Crossover…
Invaders just across the river. A powerful spell hidden in a child’s rhyme. When an untrained boy awakens an ice dragon to protect his village, and lives to tell the tale, not even the Conclave of Sorcerers can predict what happens next.
Accidental Sorcerers brings to life an unforgettable tale of love and loyalty in the world of Termag. Feel the magic!
Read on for a brief excerpt…
• • •
The wind carried loose snow and the thud of cannon fire. Two ghost-like figures followed the creek bank, stopping, moving on, stopping again.
“Where’d it go?”
“It’s around here somewhere. I saw it yesterday. It couldn’t have thawed already.”
“Why are we doing this?” The first speaker pulled back a white sheet, revealing a girl’s face. She looked over her shoulder.
“Keep covered!” her companion rasped. “My uncle said the soldiers are close. Some of them might even be around here.”
“Stay cool, Mik. We’d see them first.”
“I’m more than cool enough.”
“So why are we out here?”
“Duh, Robi. The grownups won’t try this. You have to be pure to make an ice dragon and not have it turn on you. Why do you think they let us come out here, instead of making us help pack up to evacuate?”
A string of cannon fire rumbled across the distance, and Robi flipped the sheet back over her hood. “Pure is a pretty big word,” she said. “Is anyone pure? I bet the priest would say no.”
Mik stopped again, searching the bank. “I think it means virgin in this case. So we’re safe. At least I am.” He turned to Robi, grinning a question, then blushed and looked away. “Don’t answer that. I’m doing this anyway.”
“Mik, that’s…” Robi was both annoyed and relieved. She hadn’t done that, of course. But did Piet’s clumsy groping count? Just that once? It didn’t matter. She and Mik had been friends all of their thirteen years, and if he admitted to virginity, she believed him. He’d just started noticing girls anyway.
“There! I think.” Mik’s excited cry startled her out of her thoughts. She followed his finger to the stream’s edge and saw it etched in the ice: skull, part of a spine and tail, a leg, some of it covered by snow. More snow swirled around them, hiding the skeleton for a moment.
“Careful, Mik. Don’t step on it,” as Mik eased down the bank.
“Give me your hand in case I slip.” Hands in heavy gloves clasped, then Mik reached a flat spot and helped Robi down.
“You brought the spider, right?”
Mik gave her a horrified stare for a moment, then laughed. “Of course!” He took a stoppered bottle out of his coat pocket, the bottle he’d shown her yesterday. The frost spider webbed his window for a week of nights, until Mik managed to catch it in the first light of dawn—the only time it could be seen. A piece of paper blundered out at his feet, and Robi stooped to catch it before the wind did.
“Thanks. That’s the needle.” Mik hoped his mother wouldn’t miss it; she’d kill him ice dragon or no.
“We’re here. Now what?”
“What, you don’t remember the rhyme?” He recited:
When winter winds moan,
The ice dragon’s bones
Can be found alongside the river.
The blood of the pure
Shed without fear:
The ice dragon comes to deliver.
The frost spider spins
A white snowy skin
And blood brings the d
ragon awake.
But impure blood burns,
The dragon shall turn,
The bones of the wicked to break.
Robi joined him as he spoke. “Just from other kids. I guess my parents thought it was too scary.”
Mik nodded, then knelt next to the skeleton. He held his bottle over it, then opened the stopper and shook the bottle. They couldn’t see the spider, but it began to knit: slowly at first, then gaining speed.
“It’s not going to be a very big dragon,” said Robi. “It’s what, four feet nose to tail tip?”
“Better than nothing.” He slipped off his gloves and jabbed with the needle. “Missed.” He tried again, then again. “I keep missing!”
“You keep closing your eyes! Here, let me.” She rubbed a little snow on his fingertip and squeezed his finger, turning it red before poking it with the needle.
“Huh. I barely felt that.” He watched his blood drip onto the dragon. “Seven drops should be enough. It’s lucky, anyway.” He thrust his finger into the snow to make the bleeding stop, then donned his gloves. “Look!”
With a crackling noise, the ice dragon pulled itself free of the river ice and clambered onto the bank, facing the children. Its gaze fixed on Mik as he pushed Robi behind him.
Why have you awakened me? The ice dragon’s voice was chattering teeth, cutting wind, crunching of crusty snow. Robi thought it looked a lot bigger than it really was… or was it growing?
“An enemy has invaded our lands,” said Mik. “Will you make them leave?”
The dragon looked down at them now—it was growing, alright. Make them leave? Why not kill them all?
Mik thought a moment. “No. We just want to be left in peace. You don’t have to kill them if they go away.”
Yet some will die.
“Well…” Mik tried to find the right words. “Our own soldiers would have killed more of them. It’s not right to want them dead, but soldiers die in wars.”
The huge head cocked over. Its eye was a ball of ice, fixing them in its glare. I judge you pure of heart. It shall be as you desire. The dragon leaped over them, making them duck, then glided away, gathering more snow to itself. It seemed to grow as huge as winter itself as it departed, playing tricks with perspective.
“You did it,” Robi whispered. “You’re a hero.”
“I hope it’s enough. Huh. I guess pure didn’t mean virgin after all.”
She laughed and nudged him. “I bet you won’t be a virgin by spring, not if you don’t want to be. All the girls will want you.”
Mik stared into the flying snow. “I doubt it. No one will ever believe I summoned an ice dragon.”
But everyone did.
Excerpt: Heroes and Vallenez, by Angela Kulig
Coming February 2013, from Green Envy Press… a gritty urban fantasy for younger readers, by Angela Kulig, author of Skeleton Lake…
Victor Vallenez might not be a villain, but that doesn’t make him a saint. At age 16, Vic could be a career criminal, but instead he spends his time lurking in corners and telling other peoples' secrets—for a price. As a professional snitch, money is the only thing that talks more than he does. Still, as much as Vic hates to admit it, there are some things even blood money won’t buy—mainly Emily. So, when her chivalrous butthead of a boyfriend shows up and asks for his help, there is one very good reason he won’t turn him down—and that’s his angle.
Read on for an excerpt…
• • •
I always say, a punch to the face is a great way to end the day. Alright, I’ve never actually said it, but I think about it every time it happens, and for me that’s a lot. I chalk it up to the hazards of the lifestyle, and buy boxes and boxes of Band-Aids. I hate running out of them too, the guy at Quick Stop always looks at me weird when I have to buy cartoon adhesive bandages because that’s all they have left. He never asks questions, though—maybe he doesn’t speak English—anyway, I keep going back.
The guy that stood in front of me looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t decide if he was the one who paid to find out who his wife was seeing on the side, or the son of that mob boss I accidentally offended last year. How was I supposed to know that horse was his daughter? How was I supposed to know she was anyone’s daughter? Needless to say, he did not find my livestock jokes at all amusing. So I’ve been trying to sell him out ever since then, and I can’t be sure, but I think that only makes him angrier.
It doesn’t really matter if this guy’s the scorned lover, or the horse girl’s brother, because he currently stood between me and my only escape route. Well, my only escape route, apart from the ten foot tall metal fence I was backed up against. It had metal barbed wire, and signs reading “Warning! Keep out!” in about a dozen languages.
I eyed the rusted wire and wondered how much skin I’d lose if I had to depart that way.
The man was even closer to me then, and he was wailing on about something or another. It’s always the same thing from these people. They pay for my good information. It’s not my fault that they don’t always like what they hear, and it’s not my fault that sometimes other people would also pay for the same thing. It’s just business, and I am good at my job. Anything you want to know, anything at all, I can find out for you. But don’t shoot the messenger, or in this case, beat him up in a dark alley.
Some people just have a hard time letting go. Oh look at that, I thought. He’s making demands now. Unreasonable demands. Isn’t that cute?
It’s probably just a part of the grieving process, the mourning over a woman, possessions, their control over the situation, anything really.
This is just your typical dark alley, off a typical dark street, and trust me I’ve seen a few in my life—but if I had listened to my mother I wouldn’t be here now. You know, I used to be a good kid. But things change.
The guy was right on top of me then. His blonde hair flattened with perpetration, his angry eyes were dull and unfocused.
“You’re gonna pay, Vallenez.” he slurred.
And if I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I’d still have made far less money than spilling all my dirty little secrets, or usually, other peoples secrets.
I had already realized this man, in his present state, was capable of far less damage than the barbed wire. He had no knife, no gun, and no sword. He was just an angry mortal man, and bruises are always easier to hide than potential stitches. Just a little tip from me to you.
It’s not like I don’t understand this guy’s anger, I get that. I’ve had all kinds of unpleasant things happen to me in life, though, and only the recent ones were brought on by myself.
Most people in the world aren’t really good or evil. It’s not just me, no matter what you think. Not everyone is a hero or a villain. Some people are, and trust me I’ve met and pissed off a few of both kinds. But for the most part, the lines are blurred, and people on either side love me, and then hate my guts. Whatever. I don’t like them very much, either. It’s just a paycheck.
I looked away from the blonde and waited for a blow that never came. I hadn’t had my eyes closed but I have this habit of strategically mentally escaping unpleasant things. I’ve got this shirt right, that says I’m not here right now I’m in Tahiti. I’ve never been there, but I like to think I’d go one day. Or you know, maybe just clip out some nice pictures from a travel brochure.
Right then I was blocking out the guy in front of me. I’m pretty sure he had been shouting that he was going to kill me, but they always say that. Tough guy talk involves saying a lot of stupid crap loudly, thinking that you mean it, but they never do. And I’m too smart to wander around the guys that do mean it.
The blonde’s eyes suddenly looked semi-coherent, but his mouth puckered into a big stupid shocked expression. He was standing so close, I couldn’t see why. When people are about to pound you into the cement, you usually aren’t looking behind them, and I’m an expert at looking over peoples shoulders.
Someone ha
d pinned the blonde’s right arm against his sweaty back, and I recognized that face instantly. Short brown hair, dark eyes, and a dark complexion. The one hero in the world I want to see the absolute least. Not that I really want to see any of them at all, but Richard Roca and I have a history, and not for any of the usual reasons.
Let’s just say girls always want the hero, and leave it at that. If you thought barbed wire and bruises hurt, it’s nothing compared to what this guy did to me, and he did it all without even raising a finger. And last time I checked, the feeling was mutual. So I had no idea why Richard was saving my hide in a dark alley in the middle of the night. Frankly, I was pretty sure that it was past the golden boy’s bedtime.
Rich, and he hates it when I call him Rich, he belongs to an order of heroes, The Order of the Golden―something. Eggs? Was there a beanstalk involved? Or maybe it was shield? No, I think that’s an insurance company. Oh heck. it doesn’t matter. What does matter is, that even among the good guys, they are the good guys. So good, they should probably all be off being bishops somewhere, not saving a gray hat like me on the bad side of town.
Oh yeah, it was The Golden Cross. I remember now.
As good and noble as they typically are, however, by the time Richard had found me in the alley, that good-natured spirit no longer applied to me. The heroes in his order treated murderers better than me, and I know why, but that wasn’t really my fault.
I’ve done a lot of terrible things. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, and I never lie. So believe me when I tell you: I go out of my way to avoid those particular heroes. Besides, of all the horrible things I have done, there are many things I have not done. I’ve never stolen from people who couldn’t afford it, and I’d never killed anyone. Not directly anyway.
I can’t be held responsible for what people do with my information once I deliver it to them. It’s like trying to nix the Internet because some idiot looked up how to make bombs online. Watch your kids people, seriously, and don’t blame me.
Richard spun the blonde around, and deposited him lightly on the mucked up ground. It really stunk; I hadn’t really realized it until that moment. Richard patted the angry and shocked man on the back, and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. I couldn’t hear him over the sound of the street at three a.m., but that’s what it’s like here. It never stops.
Richard wore an expression I couldn’t read, but he looked miserable. That made me feel a lot better about myself. He should be miserable. But he didn’t look particularly angry, so what gives?
About the Author
Larry Kollar lives in north Georgia, surrounded by kudzu, trees, and in-laws. His day job involves writing user manuals—some of which may have been fiction, but not by intent. He has had short fictional works published in the Hogglepot Journal, the Were-Traveler, and the anthology Best of Friday Flash, Vol. 2. Longer works include White Pickups, his first novel, and the Accidental Sorcerers series. For more of his strange fiction, and even stranger reality, visit his blog at https://farmanor.blogspot.com/
• • •
Copyright © 2013 Larry Kollar. All rights reserved. All wrongs avenged.
For republishing permission, please contact the author at lkollar@gmail.com.