by J A Stone
Silence on the mountainside. He felt a soft kiss on his lips—heard the boss whispering—she dubbed him a Full Knight and his Soul smiled as it left the boy behind on the snowy granite.
“Release the Danes,” Warfell knew the break in gunfire was not good at all—never good—they were up to something.
“Aye Captain, straight behind them?”
“Straight behind Tommy, all or nothing.”
It was time to rush the enemy.
Less than a minute and Torpa, Landreth, Antigua and three other Huntsman’s Hounds came bounding forward, charging out of the tunnel.
“GO-GO-GO!” Danica sprinted beside the dogs, Katana and Chesterborne out. The Knights of Mons Salis Cor followed with screams and shouts.
At the threshold, Warfell slid to a stop, her team bunching up behind her to fill the blackened opening with astounded eyes.
The Mighty Danes formed a circle about the trio in the open snow, baying and yipping like human spectators. Danica and the Knights filtered outside one by one to witness the fight, uncertain how to contribute—the combatants locked in tight.
In the middle of the widening circle, British Fey struck steel with Angus and his Number One. She stood resolute and unmoving over young Raptor’s limp body, her eyes half-closed in a meditative state, arms flailing the weapons as if possessed of their own minds.
Were Annaliese and Angus not magnificent swordsmen, there would be little to see, yet the two worked together, harrowing the little pixie girl from opposing ends as the snow abated. Mighty Ana and a million Stars illuminated the scene with soft ambience and astounding resonance.
Annaliese favored the Tiborean Royal Longsword, as did Angus. British wielded her Coralo and Westbury.
Warfell watched carefully, the rarest of sights as her partner parried the weapons, suddenly opening her eyes wide and full, staring back at Danica with a look of utter sadness, incalculable regret. Then British spun about, accelerating her moves, dashing the twin Longswords harder and harder, faster and faster until her arms were a blur of sparkling metal.
Once into the gut for Angus.
Deep in the chest for Annaliese.
Back to Angus for the final thrust through the neckline and a piercing scream of horror over Raptor—her youngest—her bravest.
She stood panting above the boy’s body, tears flowing down her cheeks. Among the Knights, Dobra stepped forward but Warfell stopped him with a bloody arm across his broad chest, shaking her head no. Even Tawnee knew not to approach British at that moment in time, the feral rage still pumping free of the small lungs, steaming the air with its evil.
On the northern escarpment, the male Arenthian appeared. The handsome creature admired the scene with respectful black eyes, holding aloft a palm of peace. He had no qualms with these people—especially the tiny one in the middle.
On the opposing end of the seventy-foot square landing, the Aequitas Caelum Vindictis materialized.
The Arenthian’s eyes popped wide, his head nodding the recognition.
“Spiritus Enigmatica,” the ancient creature whispered, turning to see Danica there with her Salt Knights. “Saloo Faire Dove!” he waived.
Warfell held a solitary finger aloft like a stupid kid.
“Told you,” said British, turning her back to the love-struck Arenthian and facing her Father, but the Spirit’s gaze was elsewhere.
Shadoweye, you come to me now
“NO!” British cried out too late.
Tawnee collapsed silently to the snow.
The Spectral Fiend disappeared.
*
She could hear the distant voices of her friends, felt the hands on her unconscious form in the fading background.
Tawnee Shadoweye stood tall before a living Caelum Fey on the streets of Moor in an alternate reality.
“I see our ghost trap didn’t work.”
“I learn from my mistakes Shadoweye.”
“As do I.”
“You took advantage of my knowledge.”
“And you gutted an innocent kid. Her name is Tara Shadowfall, and she has placed us here on equal footing—Sir.”
“Do not make me do this Tawnee. Oh how I burn to punish thee.”
“For taking down a mark who had it coming, or beating you at your own game?”
Caelum Fey did not answer. He nodded with a warm smile on his face, producing a Throne of Steel Longsword from behind his robes and twisting the pommel, slow pacing to his right, spinning the crossbars in his grasp.
Shadoweye released her glistening Scimitar, stalking the circle like a cat, finding her angle of approach and swiftly taking it.
To be continued…
Other Books by JA Stone:
Taros Comes Wanting
The Crystal Stone
Daughter of the Corpse King
True Terran Legends
Eye of the Equifade
Think, Laugh, Love, Die
A War Having Fallen
NOTE TO READERS!
If you have fallen in love with Warfell, Fey and Shadoweye as I have, help me to give these girls a voice, (sorry Tawnee). Consider leaving a review on Amazon, and telling others about the brave Salt Knights of Mons Salis Cor. Contact me with questions, comments and inquiries!
[email protected]
Coming very soon: Faithless Steel.