by J A Stone
Whiterock Stables, base of Salt Mountain
Eight thousand feet below, the mighty Equines heard.
Snowflake rushed past a sleeping Raptor, turned on the hoof, then kicked the bay doors wide.
“WHOA!” the boy shouted, standing on his bunk as Rarity and Dare filtered by. He jumped down and followed the beasts into the crisp air of the fade.
He saw the flashes far above, heard the muffled poom-poom, realizing the explosions must be massive.
“MEN, WAIT!” Raptor grabbed his sword and knife set, a small Competition Saber and a roll of twelve stabbing Dirks. The boy then hefted fur-lined coats for Snowflake, Dare and Rarity, tossing the blanket wraps over each and fastening the ties quickly. He twisted up and over atop Dare and sat motionless for that deciding moment, to learn if the semi-wild beast would have him.
Dare gave him the left eye, blinking his calm to the Rider.
“Good man,” Raptor relaxed. “Listen guys, my Grandpa grew up here in Oceanport, I know an old Donkey trail. It’s carved for Burros—steep, but it’ll get us there quick.”
And as if Dare knew exactly what the young man was saying, the muscled Sand Pony took off, vaulting the corral gate with ease, The Snowhorse and Appaloosa following suit like show horses in a row.
“On the East Face!” Raptor pointed and Dare changed direction across the paved road.
I knew the boy would show us the way, to
My Mistress. Please let her be safe.
For the mountain screams, the words they say, through
The whispered winded wraith.
The Ghost is there, his anger is hot, my
Eyes burn from the fury, borne of the gale.
And he comes for her, he has forgotten, why
Our love becalms the heart so frail…
Snowflake boomed up the sharp, tight Burro pass—more like a goat trail, the behemoth of a horse soon found himself desperately clacking free of the edge and scraping against the wall. It did not take long and the three stallions were at barely a fast walk with little Raptor jogging the lead, urging the massive beasts onward and helping them navigate the tight spots.
Halfway, they heard more explosions, the distant poom—poom-poom sending banks of snow cascading over Snowflake, Raptor, Rarity and Dare.
“STEADY MEN!” Rap shouted, flinging the ice and snow from his thin shoulders and marching on undaunted.
His courage was helping the equines push forward, ascending a terrain as foreign to them as a big city to a Wildcat. Snowflake felt a rush of pride for the young man, knowing well he was taking them to battle.
Enough of this—in a rare gesture, the Snowhorse lowered his left shoulder to the deck, prompting the boy to mount. He did, gingerly, almost afraid, Snowflake could feel the fear. He looked Raptor in the eye—pushing his massive head down—hoping the young Knight would get the message and keep low.
He bounced on the granite and leaped forward, eyes down on the rock, finding his way faster than Rarity or Dare could manage. They left the two behind—they would catch up—the Burro path was widening.
“OH my GODS of SHIT!” the boy shouted when they screeched around a craggy bend, both nearly falling, but he held on, clenching Snowflake’s mane and splaying over him tight. Already, the boy’s right leg was scraped and cut, as was the entire right side of the Snowhorse.
Almost there, at fifty-feet to go Snowflake saw movement and froze in place, pressing tight against the escarpment. He looked the boy in the eye and slowly moved it to the men climbing the mountain some five hundred feet away, nearly to the first landing on the Salt’s east side.
“I see them. Leave them to me, go,” the boy slid down, tamping boots to marble and silently unsheathing the Competition Saber. He gently patted the mighty stallion’s neckline. “Go help British, I got this,” Raptor whispered with an evil glint in his dark brown eyes. Snowflake trusted him. He kept moving.
She walks a path of war and death, my
Mistress dances the metallic air.
She the foal of an Angel’s breath, my
Strength is hers—our Souls ensnared.
She is my only love, the
Drive beneath these striking hooves
For we ride the tempest fury drove, the
Horror no man or god approves…
Little Raptor wasn’t afraid. Something wild sparked in the boy. Perhaps it was his endless training under Eventine Delacroix. Perhaps it was his growing pride and love for the Knights. Only the boy can say—and he’s not talking.
He was there when Angus and his eleven reached the final platform.
“Hold! State your business here!” Raptor called out unseen from behind a crag.
“That would be to kill the Seven Devils. You be one?” the seasoned War Veteran responded in kind to the flurries of snow. “Find him,” he then whispered to the long-tailed blue jay on his wide shoulder. The intelligent bird hit the air.
“I am their Commander—taught ‘em everything they know,” Raptor was already on the move. A Jaybird flittered by overhead and the boy knew immediately it did not belong at this altitude. He threw a dagger and the bird dodged the missile with ease. Shit biscuits! he thought, eleven left.
Raptor scampered like a crafty rabbit—quickly climbing up to the waiting marble deck—a loose and dangerous idea forming.
Inside:
“HOLD THAT LINE!” shouted Warfell with a pointed finger—good thing for that too as the Knights were all quite deaf.
They were pinned down by a single gunner, tossing grenades, keeping the lone entrance and exit inundated with bullets, shrapnel and flame. Thank the Gods of the Salt, the metamorphic rock strata was holding.
The Spirit never appeared and the singular path to British’s Lab was now decidedly blocked. Danica cursed herself for shopping in the city when there was digging to be done on the mountain—an alternate way out should have been priority one. Fortunately, the tables and fixtures were solid marble and granite. Whiterock’s first common area held many a nook for sheltered defense.
“Armory,” Danica said aloud, dashing from a couch to a chair. Her hearing was returning, muffled but better which meant Iris was certainly healed. “IRIS!” she shouted.
“AYE CAP!” the reply.
“TO ME!” Warfell held a hand up and the shooter somehow clipped Danica’s palm like a duck target at the fair.
“YA!” Danica clenched the right hand tight for a second, then raised it to look through the hole—okay that hurt—so they were dealing with a sharpshooter, wonderful. She watched as her Arenthian friend dodged, leaped, rolled and belly-crawled to her side.
“He got yeh?” asked Iris, wishing she had a firearm for once and welcoming Warfell’s response.
“I’m good—armory, level two—more guns.”
“On it boss,” Iris smiled and kissed Danica on the lips—rough with her mouth wide—didn’t see that coming.
Warfell shoved her away and slapped her—rough and wide with the good hand. Should’ve seen that coming but Iris didn’t care, so certain she was the Ghost was about to kill them all just moments earlier.
“Guns,” Danica ordered, quickly grabbing Iris’ vest and pulling her face to face. “Have you and the Snowman been plotting to get my panties off?”
Iris was at a loss for words—the truth would have to do.
“Yes—ever look in a mirror?”
“Get moving,” Danica shook her silk strands and pushed the horny Knight away; shouting out to her back as the girl miraculously dodged the gunfire. “I am NOT a lesbian!”
“SURE YOU ARE!” Eventine thrust her back to the wall across from Danica with a laugh. The Denga Master turned Knight cracked several shots with a repeater and then gave Warfell a lusty eye and a lascivious grin. “And it’s not the perfect body either boss,” she emptied the pistol—released the clip—smacked another in place. “It’s who you are—we all love who you are so much we just want to kiss you…”
“Okay.”
> “Hold you tight.”
“Right.”
“Squeeze your boobies.”
“OKAY GOT IT!”
Suddenly, thankfully, the incoming fire ceased. A solemn silence creeped into the passageway and common area as the dust began to settle, revealing several layers of clarity. A woman’s voice boomed from the recesses.
“Surrender to me now! Knights of Salvos you have been trounced!”
“And who are you?” Warfell shouted back.
“Annaliese Hope!”
“Anal release hole?” Danica had to say it. She snorted loud. “Sorry, it’s the ringing in my ears.”
“Anal ease ho,” said the Snowman with a laugh and a quick reload—because he also had to.
“Why’d your Mom name you a butt? That’s cruel!” Bigfoot was truly curious, and Annaliese was ready to explode. This was good, because behind the lone wolf gunner who never waited for her back-up team, a huge white figure was moving, blending into the smoky tunnel.
When Snowflake saw British collapsed on the floor of her lab he cried outright, (yes horses can cry). Despite the cacophony of gunfire and the flashing insanity of the explosions, he somehow found his bravery and opened his powerful senses to the chamber…
She was breathing—he gently nudged her—the soft brown eyes opened.
“Calypso?” she whispered Snowflake’s birth name and the mighty stallion’s heart leaped with joy and fear. He bit down on the collar of her suede cape and dragged her out of there by the nape.
“Before we rides I gotta urinate, heh heh, void the ol’ bladda,” the pixie mumbled near the entrance in a sotted voice—clearly disoriented—barely able to remember grabbing her weapon straps on the floor as she slid free of their new home.
Outside on the east face, Raptor was beginning to think he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Angus took seven men and continued on, leaving three to dispatch the teenage boy with a modicum of skills.
He slashed his Saber left and right, taking advantage of his age and size, naturally prompting the men to fight hesitantly. He clipped an arm with a shout and his attackers changed their minds fast. A crescent-moon Scimitar, a Longsword and a Cutlass picked up the action.
But Raptor was a natural swordsman, able to open his mind wide in the melee, extending his awareness before multiple opponents—just as Eventine had taught him. After a flurry of ringing steel, the boy found his first mark, ripping the thin blade across a belly and swiftly kicking the brute away. The Saber met Scimitar and twisted, tossing the instrument to the wind and crossing over the undefended neck with a rasp of hot air, gracefully whipping around wide and lodging firm in the last man’s chest.
“Wrong mountain dumbass,” he spit in the man’s face as he jerked the blade hard, retracting it to a gush of hot crimson.
Raptor quickly scanned his surroundings with an evil eye and then ran like the mountain wind—straight into a fourth man with a leveled rifle and a fisted knife.
Poor sod never saw it coming—the hooves striking him across the skull—killing him instantly, Rarity having appeared out of nowhere.
“Thanks buddy, he had me dead to rights,” the boy patted Rarity’s shoulder, took a deep breath and kept moving for the lone entrance to the interior with the Appaloosa and Sand Pony just behind—no sign anywhere of the Snowhorse.
A safe distance from the blackened smoky entrance to Whiterock, Snowflake disappeared with his Mistress into the warmth of a second-tier building just as Angus and his team rounded the mountain face fifty feet below.
“Bromil with me. Dago, I want this hole sealed tight, no telling how many others there are. Use the heavy stuff and be ready on my word.”
“Not a problem Angus,” Dago began unpacking more explosives.
“This should go quick enough if Annaliese hasn’t sacked everyone already,” Angus checked his timepiece.
“One of these fades she’s will not be so lucky,” Bromil muttered.
“Dago, you’re the watchdog,” the boss ignored him without missing a beat. “The rest of you search the structures outside. Nothing lives—beasties or bitches—now move!”
Raptor was watching and listening from where the invaders just came.
“Okay men,” he whispered to Rarity and Dare. “You gotta stay here. You’re just too big to creep and crawl around this rock. Wait for my whistle and come, please? Gods I need you to understand me right now.”
To his surprise, the intelligent horses pulled back into the shadows as the boy slowly made his way around to the building where the Snowhorse had stashed British.
Snowflake let him in.
“Miss Fey? Boss? What’s happened to you?” Raptor examined the body—feeling guilty and ashamed for touching her—she seemed fine. Slowly, she opened her eyes and smiled wide.
“Rapper what Choo doing? Me and Snowflake are going for a ride on the mountain,” she was delirious, or drugged. “I mean Snowflake and I, ha!”
“We’re under attack boss. They’re searching these pagodas and we gotta get you outta here right now,” the boy was in a panic. “Can you move?”
“Whaaaat? Rappy, I’m faster than a muddy toad—wait! Is it muddy outside?”
“C’mon boss, time to go,” he helped her to a wobbly stand. She kissed the side of his head.
“You spy on me and the Tawn when we’re doin’ it…boop!” she poked his nose with a ridiculous grin. “Is all righty—I likes it—she don’t.”
“I’m thirteen,” he said.
“Yeah I’m thirsty too—wanna get a beer? Wait—how old are you?”
Snowflake nudged him. Someone was coming. No time! Raptor lunged for the wall aside the open doorway with a Dirk in each fist.
“CHECK THAT BUILDING—I got this one,” a deep voice boomed from the threshold.
Rap’s first pig sticker snapped in two on the man’s chest plate. The second found a useless home deep in the folds of a rucksack at his side.
“Okay, this is not good,” spoken to the wide barrel of a shotgun shoved in the boy’s surprised face.
“You’re not a Devil,” the burly man retorted. “Where are the others?”
“Below in the city, I’m robbing this place,” Rap gave it his best shot.
“Yeah, right kid,” the mercenary shucked his shotgun.
BOOM! The Blunderbuss called out—evaporating the cranium point blank—British having appeared out of nowhere. From behind the pommeled grip, Fey was staring a deep brown death-hole through young Raptor’s now nervous eyes. She spoke as a stern Mother.
“You missed with both Dirks? Really Raptor? Tomorrow we set that Saber down and re-do knives from the ground up, savvy?”
“Yes Ma’am. Thank the gods of whatever you’re okay boss.”
British was somewhat shocked, surprised, taken aback. There was nothing wrong with her…
“Wait a damned minute; did you just make a slutty move on me?” Fey remembered something trashy being said in the gap of time lost—otherwise—she was together. “Wait another damned minute,” she didn’t give the boy time to speak. “Dad did something to me. He—he blacked me out!”
“Ma’am, I have no idea whatso—”
“Doesn’t matter, Thanks!” Now British was sharp and focused and the young Knight’s Soul-heart leaped for joy.
Fey caressed her brave stallion’s neck for a brief moment of pure bliss that Raptor could feel in his heart. The beautiful girl with the long brown ponytail eased her Buck Skinner and Machete free—moving slowly with predatory precision past the archway and into the darkening fade.
Raptor gripped his Saber tight, pulling his fourth Dirk out and following, ready for anything….
“STOP BEING A BUTTHOLE!” Robert shouted past the latest exchange of nickel and lead. “Because her name is anal-something,” he explained needlessly for Iris, crouched next to him with an armful of reloads. She was sliding ammo cartridges across the marble to her comrades in the four corners, now hefting a repeater rifle herself.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Danica released her clip for a new one, pocketing two more.
“Surrender now and you will not be given quarter,” Annaliese laughed aloud. “I swear it, oh hello Angus. OKAY MY BOSS IS HERE—Should’ve surrendered!” Aside from a heavy belt and a pack with lots of little boom-boom sticks, Annaliese carried plenty of confidence.
“Situation?” Asked Angus calmly as bullets zinged overhead.
“The enemy is inside this passage,” she spoke the obvious, pointing into the tunnel.
The hardened War Chief listened carefully to the reports, reverb and echoes of the gunfire, calculating. Annaliese had about a dozen pinned down.
“Okay, they must not have an exit strategy. Fall back, we’re imploding the entrance,” Angus patted her shoulder and the two regressed towards the fresh air outside.
Between the mouth of the tunnel and the canine shack, British and Raptor met with an unexpected challenge.
Dago was skilled, using a triple-section-staff made of lightweight titanium, lashing the shining rods about like lightning and actually keeping British at bay, so foreign it was to her, fighting such a weapon. Two others surrounded the little Elf-girl.
The boy was amazing—beyond reproach—standing aside British Fey in open combat brought strength to the young man’s heart, gifting to him a veritable invincibility beyond comprehension...
No—it did not happen that way at all—but he kept swinging. The young Thief turned Salt Knight Squire deflected the weapons faithfully, even when a sword plunged through his side. He heard British scream and felt the next blade sink in his chest deep.
It burned, it burned bad. Raptor saw British’s Blunderbuss flashing over and again in the back of his mind though he did not hear it at all, like a faraway dream.