Seven Devils

by J A Stone

  “Dad?” British whispered.

  Yes British?

  “Once we hit the courtyard, we’ll be visible.”

  I will attack from the far side. The Master Knight is wearing magnetic armor, I cannot get at him

  “Leave him to me,” British grinned evil.

  “Rot-Root,” Master Po nodded, moving a finger across an open palm, mimicking a blade.

  Bigfoot watched from above, using the howitzer to keep the cannon gunners at bay. He told me later how British darted among the soldiers like a wasp, gently touching them on the neck, or the back of the hand with the poison-laced Scimitar and Machete. A hundred or more fell limp to the grass before their comrades turned to see the tiny Devil and her little bald man.

  As well, the regulars in the back were helpless before the Aequitas Caelum. Robby said it was brutal, how the Ghost tore through them—breaking them one by one and howling like a wild animal between kills.

  Where I was born in the southern savannas, at war it is the greatest honor to navigate through the battle and simply touch the enemy’s Commander with the tip of a stick. It is a message to that man: You cannot harm me—I did not kill you on purpose—because you are nothing.

  Rob watched British and the robed Monk plow their way to the very front, to face the Master Knight of Tibor.

  Po scampered up and over the wall like a squirrel as riflemen tried to pin him down; no avail.

  And British Fey?

  She whistled loud and sheer, backing up slowly with Antigua, a big smile, and her middle finger extended as the Primary Wall’s Main Gates swung wide.

  Then she ran—like a little bitch—so I heard.

  A hundred and fifty miles away, I had problems of my own. The Kotare Safehouse was empty—our targets already inside the King’s Tower.

  Tibor, King’s Throne

  “Sweet Ara was a beautiful flower my Lord, too young to rule, yet wise and kind nonetheless,” Warfell spoke humbly to the Boy King.

  “Ara should have stuck closer to the Tower as instructed, but she insisted on riding her stupid Snowhorse,” Aaron was far from humble, bleeding his truths over the white tiles betwixt him and Danica. Even the Danes sensed it—this young man was responsible for the murder of his little Sister.

  Kingslayer? I could tank this asshole right now, Warfell mused, tossing her blues across the assembled Court, landing on the old woman, Dana. What a shame, she added to her mind, and then she saw the dagger secreted in the old Nanny’s sleeve.

  Warfell sighed, scanning the chamber with her peripheral vision—many fighters—she then set her cunning blues on the King, deciding to see what just her mouth could do.

  “A child with a sword, sending his finest away to their deaths,” Warfell spoke with the voice of a scolding parent. “I dub thee Aaron Blackheart—temper your flailing blade, boy—lest I shove it up your ass ‘til you taste the tip on the back of your rotting tongue.”

  Chaos erupted through the chamber. Steel flashed from all directions.

  Aaron was keeping his cool, in fact he chuckled and then laughed outright, poising his palms downward, hastening calm through the Court.

  “Danica Warfell, Captain of the Seven Devils. Six—I heard,” his smile cut through her heart. “You are done here Miss Warfell. If your intent is to ravage me, I would invite such action at this time, otherwise, you are dismissed.”

  Danica turned to leave with the Huntsman’s Hounds.

  “Miss Warfell?” Aaron was addressing her as a civilian. She stopped at the threshold without turning to face the King. “As my Father once declared, you have free roam of this city—but I would advise returning home—they could probably use you right about now.”

  Danica turned slowly to give the impetuous boy the right side of her face. Now she knew for certain.

  “Strange my Lord, the noble truths on sparkling display here. Your Royal Court is vibrant with honesty—I’ll give you that kid,” Warfell pointed a finger. “When the Seven Devils return, it will be to place a Commoner on this coveted Throne…Aaron Blackheart,” Warfell snorted and left, leaving the fourteen-year-old tyrant bursting with hatred.

  “Yeah, we’ll see how that goes for ya,” Aaron whispered, but Warfell heard quite well at twenty paces down the hall.

  Near the first stairwell down, the old woman was there, waiting.

  “Dana is it?” asked Danica, already prepared to rescue her from this place.

  “Yes, and no I won’t,” she read Danica’s mind. “I will be here close to him when your people come Captain,” she clasped Warfell’s hand. “Thanks for the pills, I will make them last.”

  “Then I will bring more for you, see you soon,” Danica smiled beautiful and took the steps down like a floating ghost, her silk strands of platinum billowing like a cape as she and the hounds disappeared. The old woman watched her leave with a warm heart.

  Nice kid, she thought, could have done something with a good one like that.

  Dana turned and struck the chest of a tall man; a man named Jarol, a man whose name Dana would never learn—behind him stood a woman, a very strange woman.

  K-Li was a striking presence in any room, far from feminine with bright pink pigtailed hair, a blue sapphire-studded chain-mail miniskirt, and a matching top that barely concealed her flat, muscled chest. She looked like a man in a tiny dress because she in fact was.

  “Nice outfit you’re almost wearing,” the old woman commented rudely, attempting to push her way around the two.

  Jarol’s dagger was fast and keen.

  So was Dana’s.

  Very near, Tawnee Shadoweye applied the makeup thick to her cheeks, concealing her tribal tattoos. Aside her, Eventine Delacroix was donning a stolen set of Tiborean plate-armor, clearly having a difficult time.

  “How do they move around in this stuff?” the Denga Master-turned Knight asked her partner, and Tawnee shrugged her shoulders in response.

  ‘Mission—infiltrate,’ Shadoweye hand signaled, facing Eventine and hoisting her cheeks up and to the side.

  “Looks good,” Delacroix nodded. “Let’s dress you up pretty,” she added.

  Tawnee changed into the slinky evening gown and Eventine tried to avert her eyes for the critical seconds, silently praying the Assassin would not sense her excitement.

  But she looked, damn her horny heart of course she looked, catching her breath at the sight, and finding herself staring like one of the boys—shameless.

  Tawnee snapped her fingers and Delacroix awoke from a vivid dream of she and Tawnee on a beach, swimming nude and giggling.

  More finger snaps with an incredulous smile behind them.

  “Sorry, I’m so better than this,” Eventine bowed her head low. “Please don’t tell the boss?”

  ‘All is known,’ the signaled answer followed by the smile again. Hey, at least she wasn’t pissed!

  Both girls turned to face the wide mirror, adjusting their uniforms. On the bed behind them, lay the comate bodies of a Throne Advisor, his high-end prostitute and their bodyguard.

  “Okay then, and we’re just gonna walk right in?”

  Tawnee nodded sagely—it was a loose and dangerous plan—British would be very proud.

  Aaron Blackheart was so unlike his late Father, Atria. Aaron relished the acts of war, and was a true believer of celebrations in the wake of death.

  The gala was held in the Terrace Room of King’s Tower. The event was the sacking of the Platinum Palace and the elimination of the Seven Devils though none of the distinguished guests were informed of such.

  Tawnee casually accepted a drink from a tray, shaking her head no, when Eventine reached for one.

  “I forget my station, Mistress,” Eventine bowed.

  “And that would be?” a man’s voice came from behind. It was a young Nobleman. “Darius of Trent, and you would be?” the dashing fellow took Tawnee’s hand to kiss it and she blushed as the band played a soft, romantic melody.

  “My Lord Mistress shall not place
language before the weight of affectionate praise—Darius of Tent,” Eventine spoke for Tawnee.

  “I implore forgiveness my beauty, if you will excuse me,” Darius moved away.

  The music continued, when a Sitar began to play a cryptic tune, a familiar song to Shadoweye. She repositioned herself across from Delacroix to see, and sure enough.

  K-Li was among many things, a fantastic musician. Tawnee could not help but smile as the intricate workings of the long stringed instrument filled the chamber.

  When it was done, the attending crowd clapped and smiled as K-Li nodded her gratefulness and segued the next piece. Tawnee motioned her partner to the bar, signing the details with their backs turned to the stage.

  “Count of three?” asked Eventine to Tawnee’s nod. They turned about, but the band was no longer playing, K-Li was moving through the crowd, greeting the Nobles and Elders as they praised her musicianship. Close to her, Shadoweye spotted Jarol, also mingling with the crowd. Something was not right—he was limping, wounded?

  Too late, they were coming straight for them. Tawnee touched Eventine’s forearm to relay the message, ‘be calm.’

  “Well hellooo there, visit the royal balls much?” K-Li spoke confidently, catching her former student completely off guard. Shadoweye opened her mouth to say something, realizing she could not.

  “What’s the matter—Jeff got your tongue?” K-Li laughed loud and full, knowing her enemy wouldn’t dare make a move in the open like this. Not with King Aaron so close in a room filled with armed men. The purple-haired woman-man scoffed at the Salvos Knight.

  She just did not know Tawnee.

  Fort Salvos

  British Fey was the last to disappear inside Tower Main as the Master Knight and some three hundred men gave chase.

  At twenty paces out, the double doors reopened wide. Magnus and Dobra were there with the wall-mount machine guns, ripping through the crowd and stopping them cold. The small army hit the deck to return fire, when the Primary Wall gates imploded with a loud BOOM! Most turned to see, only to hear the palace doors slam shut.

  “OPEN FIRE!” the Master Knight screamed as thousands of bullets dinged and dented the titanium doors.

  Inside:

  “Down below everyone! Gather the civilians and go! Don’t look back, my EVAC is topside!” British directed her Knights to the descending stairwells as she ran for the War Tower. “C’mon, c’mon!” she chastised herself, taking the steps three and four at a time, praying to whatever god would listen, that she’d make it in time before…

  She felt and heard the front doors give way below—the enemy was in her house.

  She bounced the final steps to take the War Deck, moving immediately to a series of gauges, noting the seismic readings—her people underground, riding fast out of there. They needed a few more minutes to get clear. British opened a cabinet, and took a deep breath to the sight of twelve mounted toggles with the words hydrogen purge written on a small placard beneath the deadly switches.

  Three years seemed like a wonderful lifetime at Fort Salvos. British loved her adoptive home and she did not want to lose it.

  Her memories were interrupted by a deep voice. It was the Master Knight walking out on deck with an outstretched palm of peace and far too much confidence in his situation.

  “No place to run honey—it’s over Miss Fey.”

  British flicked all twelve toggles three at a time and closed the cabinet hatch tight without batting an eye.

  “Ya got that right buddy,” she spoke calmly, moving to one of the open bay windows. She gazed down to see Snowflake on the green grasses, pawing the air with his fore-hooves. The Aequitas Caelum Vindictus materialized next to the Snowhorse. The Spirit smiled, motioning his Daughter to jump. “Ever see an elf fly Master Knight?” British looked back but the man was shaking his head no.

  “Don’t do it girl, don’t kill yourself, there is no shame here,” he pleaded.

  “Clearly, you do not know who I am,” she said and jumped.

  Tibor, King’s Tower, Terrace Room

  “Hold her down!” Aaron snatched Tawnee by the cheeks. He spit on her face and then rubbed some of the makeup away, exposing the unique tattoos. “She’s one of the Devils, chain her in my quarters and call for Jenna, it’s their leader’s girlfriend.” Now Aaron turned his green eyes to Delacroix. “You I do not recognize. That was a pretty bold move back there, I can respect the blood, just not at my victory party,” the boy king motioned for his men.

  “Bring her out on the grasses and paint them red. Make sure people see it,” Aaron clapped his hands and Delacroix was carried away. “And get—whatever you call this shit—cleaned up,” he pointed to the bodies of his two highly paid Assassins, clipped cold not twenty feet from his side. He felt the twinge of nervousness, knowing the infamous Tawnee Shadoweye got that close to him. He grabbed a trusted Advisor by the sleeve.

  “I want a report on the Platinum Palace right now—you need to make that happen.”

  “Aye my Lord,” the old man scurried away to find the answer for his King, or flee for his life.

  Below on the grass, three men shoved Eventine against a wall and drew pistols.

  “Take it like a man, lady,” said one, a Lieutenant.

  “Look behind you,” replied Eventine.

  “Yeah, right,” he didn’t dare, then he thought for a second.

  “Timone, what’s behind us?” asked the LT. Silence answered. “Tim?” he spoke again with eyes shut hard as Danica’s long barreled Chesterborne nudged his mandible from behind.

  “Drop that piece Lieutenant,” Warfell sounded like someone’s Mom. He complied. “And the manacles.”

  “They got Shadoweye boss,” Eventine said moments later as she knocked her last guard unconscious.

  “Then let’s go in and get her,” Danica was already moving.

  “Walk right back in there? Is that everyone’s plan?”

  “Always a good plan when you’re one of us, ‘sides, Aaron is a big boy now, he can handle it.”

  “He told them to chain her in his quarters and get someone named Jenna.”

  Warfell stopped. Jenna, she thought for a brief second. She jogged, then ran then sprinted as fast as she could. Rob mentioned a Jenna once, Tibor’s Executioner!

  King Aaron’s Sleeping Chambers

  Captured? Again? Shadoweye thought as she careened her cunning browns about.

  Jenna was already there, naked, watching as her young King approached the new toy.

  “Okay, Tawnee Shadoweye. Jenna’s been instructed to defile you, she likes her hammer, so good luck with that, really,” Aaron laughed. “But I cannot watch, I’m too young,” more laughter. “No, no, my Advisors say I have to leave after the bold threat your Captain made, I’m sure you know about that. As well, intel is back: your home is destroyed—no survivors—but then you knew that too, didn’t you?”

  Tawnee held eye contact with the kid.

  “You don’t talk much,” he turned to leave, addressing his Executioner on the way out. “Jenna, if the alarms sound, you pull that thing out and kill her straightaway. You hear me? Playtime will be over and I need you down below at the Detention Facility.”

  “I’m gonna kill her first boss-man,” Jenna answered, gripping a ballpeen hammer with both hands and twisting her knuckles white over the long handle.

  Aaron turned at the door and furrowed his brows with surprise and worry across his handsome face. He was a pretty sick guy, no shame there. Jenna taught him everything he knew, every perverted distortion of sanity imaginable—except for that.

  “Ask her where they keep their treasure, we will need to search the ruins,” he added and left, taking the threshold guards with him.

  “You heard him, start talking,” Jenna closed the distance and shoved the cruel hammer into the abdomen, doubling the Salvos Knight over.

  Tawnee closed her eyes and prayed to the only Spiritual Entity she knew actually existed.

  Mister Fey, if yo
u can hear me, I need you really-really bad here, I’ll do anything Sir—anything.

  She did not want to die—she thought of British as Jenna’s knee struck her face with a flash of light and sudden blackness…

  *

  Tawnee’s dream eyes opened to the sound of an all too familiar voice. She was walking on a sidewalk. British’s Father was there next to her.

  “I’m compressing this into a matter of seconds, so pay attention and do just as I say Shadoweye.”

  “Where are we Sir?”

  “Earth again. Her name is Tawana, and she is going to be a problem.”

  “Problem Sir?”

  Caelum Fey stopped on the sidewalk to face her.

  “All the skills you possess are but a fraction of this woman’s. Tawana’s prowess as a killer can be seen through her adversaries, and right now, she is at war with Brayton Faye, the most powerful incarnation of British I have encountered to date.”

  “Really,” Tawnee mused.

  “Bitter enemies. Brayton killed her Husband, Tawana killed Brayton’s little boy.”

  “She had a child?” Tawnee flushed with inappropriate jealousy.

  “Yes and no. The boy was rescued and adopted by Brayton.”

  Somehow, that made Shadoweye feel much better.

  “So what’s the plan Sir?”

  “We weaponize and attack. Tawana is not far from here, stay with me,” Caelum Fey suddenly jogged down an alley.

  Earth, 2078, U.S. Occupied Mexico

  “She’s beautiful—she has boobs,” said Tawnee when she saw Brayton through the field scope.

  “Here women can have that surgery, wait for it—okay there is Tawana.”