by J. P. Rice
Everyone always talked about ‘seeing stars’, but these were more like shooting stars. Or better yet, little silver particles of energy running around an accelerator. I sat up slowly, shaking the cobwebs loose and trying to figure out a better plan.
The king still hadn’t moved. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or just knocked out, preferring the former. I opened my eyes wide and shook my head to regain focus as I approached Alayna. I leaned down and shifted my vision to another dimension so that I could see the makeup of the spell. As I concentrated on the spells and attempted to find a compromised area to exploit, Alayna asked in a raspy tone, “Are you all right?”
My head stayed down and I continued to study the spell as I answered, “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. There’s a battle going on outside, too. The Rosendales and the Red Cap came to your side. Along with the Sphinx, who played a big role too.”
I found a weakness in the spell and adding a small amount of heavy air, blocked it completely. Calling fire to my fingers again, I ran them along the tie around her left wrist. The searing heat shredded right through the fabric and singed the mahogany chair. Alayna lifted her hand from the arm of the chair.
I moved over to her other side. “The dragons showed up again. The Sphinx helped me get the Dragon Horn from inside the castle.”
“How did you do that?” Alayna asked as she fidgeted in the chair, clearly anxious to get the hell out of here.
I found the compromised area in the ward and exploited it with a blocking spell of my own. “I’ll explain that later. Right now, we have to get you out of here before the king gets up.” I shifted my vision back to normal as soon as the defense ward was broken.
My fingers burned away the tie around her other wrist and Alayna stood up from the tiny chair. I wanted her to hug me more than anything in the world. But she didn’t. She gave me a look of thanks and nodded her head slightly, but it was more of a business thank you than anything on a personal level.
What did I expect? I’d delivered her right to the evil King’s doorstep. It could take some time for her to forgive me for this one.
I whisked her over toward the balcony and kicked open the door. A rush of air from the dragons’ wings gusted in through the opening and the awful sounds of battle returned to full volume. Gazing over the battlefield, it appeared that the Rosendales’ warriors were not only holding their own but winning the battle.
The iron in the wine barrels had reduced these incredibly skilled sidhe soldiers into an army of bumbling fools. All that was missing was the Benny Hill music in the background. Their sword strokes were missing wildly and some were falling on their faces without anyone around them and laughing about it.
I watched Pembrooke do a barrel roll and spit orange flames that matched his flesh at a black dragon. The streaking noble dragon spun around to face the castle and his eyes widened. Pembrooke beat his wings rapidly and the resulting gusts of wind blew my hair back. The dragon streaked toward us, his focused eyes never leaving Alayna. Within moments, the orange dragon the size of a school bus hovered near the balcony.
Chapter 30
Pembrooke moved closer and gestured with his head for Alayna to get on. I helped to hold my mentor over the ledge, so that she could ease onto the base of his neck. I pulled the Dragon Horn out of my suit and placed it in her hands as she got on the dragon.
Alayna looked up at me, and said, “Get on, too.”
I heard moaning from behind and spun around to counter a sneak attack. Instead, the king was getting back up to his feet. We made eye contact and he turned and ran into the castle. I couldn’t leave now. I’d put the Rosendales’ and the Red Cap’s lives in danger with the promise that we would take out this king.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to get on this dragon and fly away with Alayna. That was the original reason for this whole adventure. But then I’d seen the utter despair of the city as I’d walked to the Sphinx’s cage. That had caused me to wonder how many more creatures were caged up around the island.
And of course, there were the Blood Hustlers. If a new king and queen could put a stop to that practice, it would be worth laying down my life for that cause alone. I turned to Alayna. “You guys help out here. Escape if you have to. But I’m going after the king. I’m going to liberate the citizens of Sleepy Willow.”
Alayna’s lips appeared to start curling upward, but I turned and ran back into the castle before I could see the smile come to fruition. The King weaved down a serpentine stone hallway. The old man was quite nimble and I tracked him by following the rippling cape that trailed behind him.
I started to catch up as the king hooked a quick left through a door opening. I could hear his husky breathing as I turned the bend and entered an open room. It was a banquet hall, but all the furniture had been pushed into the corners of the expansive room with a thirty-foot high ceiling.
More importantly, the three remaining Wardens stood in the middle of the room. The man who was in charge of the West cracked his knuckles and all three of the men marched toward me to the delight of the king. The Santa Claus lookalike stared at his goons with a crooked smile on his pudgy face. I’d never wanted to blast Ole Saint Nick in the mouth more.
The king chuckled. “Now it seems the tables have turned. The odds have shifted to my favor. You can give yourself up and we will take you to the portal so you can go home and never come back.”
“Is that the only option?”
The king’s wry smile faded and he stared at me blankly. “Death is another. I’m sure my men could oblige that request too.”
I held my open hands in front of me, pretending that they were scales as I weighed my choices. “I think I’ll pass on both. What other options do you have?”
The king shrieked, “This isn’t a supper menu where you choose what you want. Enough of the cute stuff. You’ll live longer that way.”
“You see, you threaten me with death, but I’ve already died. I’ve already been to hell. And now I’m back and angrier than ever. Who wants to die first?” I asked and waved my index finger at the Wardens.
“Oh, hell no. Fuck this. I can hear what’s going on outside.” The Warden of the South pointed at the king. “And I’m not dying for this smug bastard over here. Not me. I saw what this kid did to our friend from the East. I shall be leaving.”
The Warden of the South walked by me and headed for the exit, but I had to remain alert that he wasn’t setting up a sneak attack. I wouldn’t put anything past the king. I listened as the warden’s boots sounded like they were stomping down the hallway. Still, that could be a decoy.
The hot room gave off a musty smell, not that of an old library but more of a sweaty old sock that had sat in the corner of your room for months. The kind of stank that you could almost taste. I kept moving back and forth because the floor was sticky, stained with copious amounts of wine from the last party.
I held my nose. “Would it kill you turdburners to run a mop over the floor every once in a while? You ever heard of bleach? Mr. Clean? Come on, you’re a king for fuck sake. Have some pride.”
King Ballistar stared at me, his chest and big belly ballooning with his snarling. His eyes never left me as he moved off to the side and stroked his beard. An evil grin formed on his face and I wondered what had spurred it. Now I had to be wary of him or the other wardens pulling a sneak attack.
The two wardens were similar in size and stature, tall and muscular. They were both wearing leather hunting outfits similar to that of Native Americans. The main difference I spotted was that the Warden of the West had red hair and his counterpart from the North had long dark hair tied in a ponytail.
Both men removed their jackets and tossed them aside. The man with the short auburn hair cracked his neck and turned to his associate. “You want me to go first?”
“Be my guest.”
The king screeched from the sidelines, “Nooo. Both together. Don’t let him survive.”
The two men shrugged
at each other, unsure of how to proceed. I remembered that the Warden of the East had a strange code of ethics in which honor in battle topped the list. Every man—sidhe or human—was an individual as I’d seen with the warden who’d stomped out of the room. So I couldn’t be sure how the king’s guards would act.
The king’s encouragement emboldened the men to set aside their normal battle customs where they would fight an opponent one on one. They had a ritual similar to chivalrous medieval battle. I realized they didn’t always follow the custom as the two men crouched into battle mode and started creeping toward me.
With my magic begging to be released from within my body—from within my soul—I manipulated the air to form a large hand, like one of those foam fingers. Then I added elements to make it a hard metal. With the wardens still stalking me, I mentally tucked the fingers into a fist.
Using telekinesis, I moved the fist into position near the Warden of the West’s face. As I positioned the invisible object to adjust to their movement, I kept moving backward to remain well out of the reach of the two men.
I went to unleash the punch when the king screamed in warning to his guards. The two men yanked their heads to the left, but they still couldn’t see the fist. Without any time to adjust, I sent the hand flying toward the first warden and it cracked him square in the nose. The size of the fist almost covered his entire face.
I moved the fist back and sent it flying toward the other warden. It whistled through the air and the unsuspecting warden took a straight right jab to the chin. I watched as his eyes rolled back into his head and his rubbery knees gave way. His dead weight fell and his forehead smacked against the sticky stone floor.
My confidence brimmed as I realized that the wardens weren’t very strong with magic. The king could see the fist I had formed but his wardens were unable to see it. The Warden of the West had droplets of sweat forming above his red eyebrows. He backed away with his hands up.
I stalked toward him, jerking my neck to look over my right shoulder at the king. The terror glued to the king’s face and his trembling lips told me his confidence in his closest protectors was waning rapidly. I figured I’d make quick work of the warden and then take out the king to liberate his oppressed citizens.
As I marched toward the Warden of the West, he squinted and an awkward smiled began to form. I got up on my toes and shifted my vision to a higher dimension to detect any invisible objects like the one I’d used on him. That street could go both ways.
I took one step closer, still undecided on which attack to use, and a fiery feeling hit me in the back. It was like a hundred knives plunging into me at the same time. I dropped to my knees, helpless from the cruel form of magical acupuncture.
As I gagged on the musty air, searching for fresh breath to provide some relief, I heard the king’s laugh. Even his laugh sounded cruel. A snickering cackle that would make a stereotypical witch blush. My head hit the ground and the stubble on my cheek mingled with the stale booze.
Closer to the ground, through my husky breathing, the foul odor shifted to a stale yeasty smell. The hallmark of a hundred parties. The pain in my back relented and I went to get up but my body wouldn’t acquiesce. My arms and legs weren’t working. A rush of panic started in my chest and ran down to my belly, causing it to swirl.
The king squealed, “Get him. Kill him before he gets up again.”
“But it won’t be honorable,” the warden objected.
“Honorable is what your king says is honorable. Do it or you’ll be shoveling pigshit if I decide to let you live, that is.”
The reticent warden’s boots gave off a suction cup sound as he lifted them from the sticky floor and moved toward me. The sounds of a sword being removed from a sheath rang in my ears. It was the worst song I’d ever heard. I didn’t like requiems, especially those designated for me.
The king urged, “Do it. What are you waiting for?”
“Do you want to do it?” the warden asked.
The king answered, “I don’t care. If you want to be sent to the pig farms, step aside.”
Lying on the side of my head, I peered up out of my peripheral and saw a blurry silver object rising in the air. My heart stopped. It joined my arms and legs. I flailed around mentally, but physically, I lay motionless on the floor, the fruit flies flying up my nostrils.
If anything could get me to move it would be this uncomfortable feeling, but I awaited my fate. My eyes watered, and I focused back on the ground level. Straight ahead, I noticed a pair of knee high black boots with red laces.
The fluttering sound of wings grabbed my attention and led me to believe that a thousand bats had escaped from cracks in the castle walls. Then my scrambled brain put it together. The Morrigan’s boots.
I regained movement and jumped up as a rush of relief bounced around my chest like a pinball of hope. A murder of crows flooded into the room and attacked the Warden of the West. The birds of death knocked his sword from his hand. One group went after the warden, quickly overwhelming him with their vast numbers.
I also noticed that another division had surrounded the sword lying on the floor. Utilizing their feet, the crows lifted the weapon off the ground and raised it to about chest level. The sword hovered in front of the warden. The crows surrounding him positioned his arms behind his back and flew away from his chest and midsection.
With the sword located about seven feet in front of the warden, the crows’ wings began to beat ferociously. The Morrigan whistled, and her crows took off like a shot. The silver gleam had a whole new look in my eyes now. As they neared the warden, one by one, the crows let go of the blade. It started at the point and flowed back toward the hilt in a wave of avian darkness.
The final crow let go its hold on the blade, only leaving behind the ones carrying the hilt as the point entered the warden’s chest. His eyes widened in horror as the demons of death danced in his soul. He could fight it, but resistance against the Morrigan was futile.
The man fell and spasmed for almost a minute before succumbing to the stillness of death. The entire murder of crows attacked the body, plucking away at it and seemingly bringing it back to life. The warden jumped up to his feet and fought against the crows.
I peered down and noticed the faint adumbration of the warden’s body on the ground. His soul was fighting against being taken by the Morrigan. I turned to the corner of the room and there she stood, tapping one of her Death Cards. Interesting. I knew she had them for humans, but I had no idea she could use them on the immortal supernatural beings.
She mouthed the words, “We’re even.”
She ran across the room and through an exit as her crows followed her with the warden, who was kicking and screaming in protest. A sin was normally shunned by the Gods, not celebrated. But my lie for the Morrigan that I’d told back at Clara Spiritus showed the complex situation of the pantheons.
It was almost like that Billy Madison, “Man, I’m glad I called that guy” moment.
I’d almost forgotten the king and my eyes shifted to the purple smear in my peripheral. Frozen by fear, the old man stood in place, panting with his mouth agape, showing his white tongue. The other warden, off to my left, started to stir.
I took two steps back to avoid a quick attack and kept an eye on both the warden and the king. The Warden of the North rubbed his temple and opened his eyes wide. Without saying a word, he walked casually past the king and toward the exit door.
The king screeched, “Where are you going? We have to finish this. I am your king, damn it.”
Any king or leader who had to remind people of his stature was no ruler at all.
“Finish it yourself. I saw what happened to our friend from the West. He’s friends with the Morrigan. He’s like the fucking chosen one.”
Chapter 31
The king’s chickens had come home to roost. Treating people like shit kept people in check, but it made it much easier for them to walk away from you when the opportunity presented itself. Eve
n a king who controlled all the riches in the land could fall prey to this tactic.
That was why I had tried to be nice to the beings I’d encountered in hell. I’d kind of strained those relationships during my rotunda run with Darkwing, but it had paid off handsomely in Sleepy Willow with the Sphinx, the Rosendales and the Red Cap.
I told him, “Give it up, King Ballistar. You submit yourself and I’ll make sure you are taken to an other world where you can live out the rest of your days. Your help is gone. You don’t stand a chance.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He added casually, “More than twelve hundred years.”
“Excuse me?”
“I took over as king twelve hundred years ago. Nobody thought I could win the crown. But I did. And all that is over now. Do what you must.” He held his arms up in the air.
That was easier than I’d anticipated. I approached him carefully. A burst of wind hit my face, blowing the stink around and making me wonder where it had come from. I caught a glimpse of a blurry brown object on my left.
I turned at the last second as one of the tables from the corner of the room flew in my direction. I ducked and threw my left arm up in defense. The table slammed into my arm and the rest of the weight of the table followed, hitting my head and hip simultaneously. It knocked me down, but I felt little pain and jumped back up.
The Sphinx needed to bottle and sell those kisses because my left arm should have been throbbing, yet I felt almost no pain. As I got back to my feet, the king had tables and chairs flying at me through telekinesis of his own.
I bounced left and right avoiding the wooden assault. The relentless attack picked up in intensity and soon I couldn’t avoid a chair. I held up my arms and the chair rammed into my arm, busting into small pieces and falling harmlessly to the floor.