by Cory Barclay
Lady Jade waited for Jareth to continue, but he drew his pause longer and longer. Finally, she said, “What will I discuss with these . . . emissaries?”
Jareth showed his smile. “You will discover that when you get there. They have been informed of my plans.”
“And you would keep me in the dark?”
“Not to anger you, my lady, but to protect you.”
Lady Jade snorted. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes at her Overseer. “You would send me away during this dire time, my lord? Do you not wish to have my counsel in these trying days?”
“Oh, I very much value your counsel,” Jareth lied. That was exactly what he was trying to do: get rid of the disruptive widow. He wanted to put her somewhere where she couldn’t be a problem. But he tried to sugarcoat it, saying, “That is why I’m sending you, because I cherish your negotiating skills. There are many deals that need to be brokered on Terrus if we are to create a foothold there for our people. You should take it as a great honor.”
Lady Jade stifled a groan. It was clear she was ready to say what was on her mind: how she thought Overseer Onyx was full of shit. But she held back, instead bowing her head. “I appreciate the privilege.”
“Excellent.” Jareth nodded to the Council members. He said, “Lord Sunstone, you are to raise my scouting regiment. Lord Obsidian is to raise my army—tell him to see me as soon as possible. And Lady Jade, you are to be my eyes and ears on Terrus. Is that all clear, then?”
Lady Jade and Lord Sunstone nodded and dipped their heads forward.
“Very well, then you are both dismissed.”
They shuffled out of the room without another word.
When they were gone, Jareth turned to his wife, who still sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed. Dosira stared at him with an icy look. Jareth hadn’t a clue what she could be angry about. It unnerved him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“If it was your daughter and you think she’d been wronged, would you not go to any length to protect her?” she asked, standing from the bed.
Taken aback, Jareth scratched his cheek. “Er, well, of course I would, my dear. Why do you say?”
“Because that is precisely what the Lees believe is happening to their daughter. You seem unworried about them plotting against you, when they are our neighbors!”
Jareth was on the defensive and it jarred his brain. He said, “What would you have me do, woman?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe take the threat of your enemies seriously. How can you trust that . . . that demon woman to protect your interests on Terrus? Did you see the way she spoke to you? And while I’m on the subject of speaking: when was the last time you’ve spoken to your own daughter? When was the last time you’ve even seen Emilene?” She stormed toward the door.
Jareth had no idea where this sudden wrath was coming from. He felt barraged. He remembered his wife as being cold, detached, and shrill, like he liked her . . .
So why the sudden sympathy and compassion?
As he watched her march past him and open the door, he said, “W-Where are you going?”
She spun on him. “While you play your little war games, I’m going to make sure our children are all right. That Tiberius isn’t doing anything foolish to our prized hostage, and that Emilene doesn’t feel neglected.” She thrust a finger in his direction. “I swear, you men will be the death of everything the Brethren has worked so hard to achieve.”
Jareth watched his wife leave and slam the door behind her. He was left scratching his head. As he shook his head and took a much-needed seat on the bed, he muttered to himself: “She’s not a hostage . . .”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
People arrived at the Lee household throughout the day and into the night. Steve spent his time sitting on a chair with his eyes closed. Only the crackling sound of a hearth fire reached his ears. Geddon and Selestria stood beside him.
Geddon would describe the Mythics Steve needed to reach. Selestria would use her Myth Hunting abilities to pinpoint their location. Steve would dream-leap to those areas—often finding himself in the wrong Mythic’s mind—and traverse the wild, cryptic tunnels of Ethereus. While he swam through a senseless nether, thoughts and memories assaulted him. They were not his thoughts or memories, but the minds of the people he sought.
The minds of the Mythics stuck out like buoys on a wide ocean, bobbing and begging to be reached. They were formless, shapeless things—auditory wavelengths he could run toward or escape from.
The Ethereus buoys dotted the surface of Mythicus. He could travel through the Ethereus plane nearly at lightspeed. He didn’t travel in the normal sense, from point A to point B, but rather through a web of ideas and impressions that rang out to him like a pulse.
When he reached a voice, he would find himself grounded and transported into that person’s mind. His targets often didn’t know he had invaded their mind. He learned the thoughts of many creatures that day: elves, fauns, imps, goblins, and everything in between.
His message to the people he overtook was simple: “The Vagrant Kinship rises again, to fight the Brethren tyrants. Your presence is requested to bolster our army, if you still believe in the dream of liberty. Travel to Constantin and Mariana Lee’s forest estate in Central Soreltris. You will know the way—I’ve imprinted directions in your mind.” From there, Steve would flee to move on to the next subject.
He realized he could use his dream-leaping as an expert tool for subterfuge and reconnaissance. That was not the purpose for his frequent visits, at the moment, but it was something he put aside for later. A few times, he reached the wrong mind and found himself in the midst of a blackguard or Brethren scout. He had to escape before the enemies noticed their minds had been compromised.
As the night dragged on, he grew weary, famished, and exhausted. He exerted tons of energy during his travels. Simply leaping outside of his own mind took some gas out of the tank.
The more he traveled, the more he understood how someone could get lost in this spiritual, makeshift world. The act of dream-leaping sparked his adrenaline and showered his body with endorphins. It was a feeling of extreme elation. When he returned to his own body, a withdrawal of sorts took hold—a dull headache and dehydration.
Every so often, Selestria escaped from the room to beggar refreshments for Steve. Other times, Geddon shifted and placed more logs in the hearth, to keep the room warm and cozy. They stayed by Steve’s side throughout the night. Their hard work paid off.
The first Mythics to arrive at the Lees’ manor were the leaders already en route, Lord Jasper and Lady Amber. They were former Brethren Council members. They were fauns: half-human, half-goat bipedal creatures with hindquarters and hooved feet. The red and gold fabric of the Brethren covered the furry legs of the married couple.
Though they wore the Brethren colors, Lady Moonstone greeted them warmly. She vouched for them, though Steve still had his reservations about her allegiances. It seemed too convenient for a Brethren leader to abandon her cause and turn coats while her husband remained one of Jareth’s confidants.
But Steve’s opinion went unheard and, after a while, he felt his premonition was unjustified. Lady Moonstone had already helped the Vagrant revolution by bringing two more Council members into the fold. With the faun leaders came an army of forest dwellers and woodland creatures.
Lady Moonstone, Lord Jasper, and Lady Amber had some control over the denizens of Central Soreltris.
Moonstone was a powerful sprite, a dryad who conversed with trees and laughed with flowers. She was the consummate hippie. Steve imagined she would be a Deadhead if she traveled to Terrus.
If Moonstone directed the flora, Jasper and Amber had a connection with the fauna. The creatures that arrived with the fauns were the rebuffed citizens of Mythicus. They protected nature. On Terrus, they’d have been eco-friendly advocates, fighting deforestation and climate change. The squirrels and wolves and birds of the forests were the 99% o
f the Mythic realm. The Brethren were the 1%.
Constantin and Mariana noticed they did not have enough floor space to accommodate all the woodland creatures. Nor did they want to bring the natural scents of the outdoors into their house. The fauns were given rooms, but their followers stayed outside, where they were most comfortable.
Jasper and Amber had woodwind instruments they could blow to summon their allies. They could also speak with the animals and gain precious knowledge of what was going on in the woods. News traveled fast between birds and such.
After the fauns and animals came other members of Mythicus’ 99%. A group of incensed imps and goblins showed up. As did a small faction of elves who knew Lord Sunstone had killed their kinsman, Dakathiel. They refused to follow Sunstone to the Brethren side.
Every group of people that arrived had a bone to pick with the Brethren. The Vagrant Kinship 2.0 was off to a good start.
One of the imps, a small woman named Zeta, was the leader of her crew and the most vocal about her disdain for the Brethren.
During a simple dinner of soup and bread, Zeta screeched her contempt.
“Lord Obsidian himself came into our building and killed Krik, our chief officer, in cold blood!” She shook her little fist as she spoke, standing on a chair to make her voice even louder.
The mass of people surrounding the long dining table grumbled and slapped their palms on the wood.
Zeta continued. “All the witnesses from that room have come in support of the Vagrant cause!”
A cheer rose up. Beside her sat a bigger, muscled imp named Pigmar, whose eyes were starry as he watched Zeta. Next to him stood a trembling, skittish imp named Bilboo. Fifteen or so other imps stood behind them, squeezed together like sardines.
Lady Moonstone finished her soup, pushed it aside, and folded her hands on the table. Calmly, she said, “Your support is treasured, Zeta of the imps. Know that we will protect you from the Brethren.”
Zeta scowled. “We don’t need protection, my lady, we need vengeance!”
From the head of the table, Constantin said, “You would rise up against Lord Obsidian, then?”
Zeta and her two comrades nodded.
Constantin mulled that over. He valued the enthusiasm of the imps, but how useful were they in battle? He said, “Your people are renowned for their detective work. But can you fight?”
“Put a spear in my hands and you shall see, Lord Constantin.”
A shadow of a smile played on Constantin’s lips. Yes, these people would do just fine. Their attitude would be a boon to the army’s morale. He said, “I’ve gotten word that Lord Obsidian will be leading Overseer Onyx’s primary army. You do not mind facing an army of dwarves?”
Zeta shook her head. “Not so long as we have allies at our back.”
“Very well,” Constantin said with a nod. “I will place you under Geddon and Selestria’s command. Their force will be the vanguard of our army—the spearhead that will break the walls of the Brethren forces.”
“No!” Zeta cried.
Everyone at the table eyed her curiously.
“With all due respect, Lord Bloodstone, we don’t trust Geddon. We have reason to believe he brought Lord Obsidian to our doorstep and we place Krik’s death at his feet . . .” Zeta trailed off and other imps booed.
Someone nestled deep in the throng of people yelled, “Wouldn’t be the first time!”
“Very well,” Constantin said, trying to regain control from the lapse of grumbles that erupted. “Then you will be placed with Pua Kila when—”
“What is our target?” Steve interrupted from the other end of the table. This was all news to him, as he’d been trapped inside the hearth room for hours. Since sitting at the table, he’d wolfed down two bowls of soup and half a loaf of bread. No one questioned him for it. He’d been the reason so many Mythics had shown up to support the uprising, after all.
Constantin turned to Steve. “Overseer Onyx has stationed himself at his household nearby. That is where we will strike. He has garrisoned and fortified his estate, expecting a bloody battle. We should expect the same.”
Steve nodded. He had had a conversation with Lig earlier in the day, before dream-leaping to the allies. He knew his role, and it wasn’t in the vanguard.
“And we will only have one ‘spearhead,’ as you call it, Lord Bloodstone?” He used Constantin’s honorific to show the crowd of fifty who was boss. Constantin smirked at the identification: earlier that day, Steve had called him “Con.”
“One vanguard, Koa Steve,” Constantin said, returning the favor by using Pua Kila’s title for the man: “warrior.” She had not returned from her journey to retrieve Dale, Scarlet, Shepherd, and Aiden’s gold. She was expected soon. Her Nawao warriors were renowned across the forests.
“But,” Constantin continued, raising a finger, “we’ll have many other points of attack. Once Pua Kila has returned from her mission, I will be placing her in command of the skirmishing arm of our force. They will be our flanking regiment, striking to cause confusion. If we’re lucky, we’ll destroy the Brethren morale and break their ranks.”
Steve put his hands into a steeple. It was clear Constantin had experience with this sort of thing. Probably during his time as an ancient Romanian general or something, Steve figured.
“Lord Jasper and Lady Amber will command our reserves. If our skirmishers must fall back, our reserves will sprout up like Mother Nature herself to defend their retreat.” He cleared his throat and turned to Lady Moonstone, who sat beside him. “I have spoken with Lady Moonstone and she has agreed to watch the battle from afar. When she can, she will command her woodland folk to do our bidding. If that doesn’t cause chaos within the Brethren ranks, I don’t know what will.”
“Seems you have this all planned out, mate,” Aiden quipped, sitting across from Steve.
“Not entirely, Aiden O’Shaunessy. We have a fortuitous battlefield. Though it was picked for us, the forest is as good a ground as any, given the makeup of our army. But we still don’t know the plans of Jareth Reynolds and his people.” A few gasps rose at the mention of Overseer Onyx’s birth name, but Constantin ignored the gripes. “I can’t imagine every soldier in his militia will be entirely sold on his undertaking. The folk fighting for Jareth will see our people on the other side of the battlefield and they’ll see neighbors and acquaintances. Will they be able to stand with a tyrant, knowing he leads them to a bloodbath?”
Steve drummed the tabletop. He reached out for his bowl, pouring himself more soup so his hands would have something to do. He hesitated to speak, but clearing his throat drew the attention of the entire table.
Finally, he said, “Can we trust the same thing . . . from our side?”
Muttering voices rose in protest. Steve had questioned the loyalty of every person sitting at the table. His error became immediately apparent.
Constantin flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw. It was all he could do to keep from shouting at Steve from across the table. He rose to his feet.
The vampire tried to speak over the raised, angry voices of the rebels, but it was futile. They waved their hands in dismissal and loudly scoffed. The leaders at the table—who knew Steve’s loyalty—were quiet and observant of the bluster around them.
Constantin pounded the table with his fists like a judge striking a gavel. The boom quieted the crowd.
As the voices died, he said, “You raise a valid question, Steve Remington. But remember, you are human, while your constituents at this table are Mythics. We are full-blooded natives of this world and will not see it overrun by despots and dictators. Am I correct in assuming that?”
A wave of cheers followed, fists banging the tabletop.
Aiden eyed Steve, and when they locked eyes, Steve shrugged. Leaning forward, now that attention was drawn away from him, Steve whispered, “I had to get a feel for the room.”
“That might be true, mate, but did you need to disrespect every man and woman at this table t
o do it?”
Steve said, “If anything, I think I’ve done them a service. Look how pumped up they all are.” His eyes scanned the table and saw Mythics patting each other on the back, smiling and yelling. “We could send them to the Reynolds house right now, surround the place, and likely overthrow the Overseer. All we need is the command.”
Aiden shook his head. “Nay, lad, not with the fortress he’s made. Jareth still has the weight of the Brethren army behind him. He outnumbers us. In comparison, we are a ragtag group of dirt farmers with a lot of heart. It’s not the worse thing, but we’ll be lucky to win.”
Steve frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. He raised his head and said, “Lord Constantin, what will you and your wife’s position be on the battlefield?”
Constantin scratched his cheek and sighed. With great reluctance, he said, “If the battle takes place during the day, I’m afraid we won’t be able to take part in the main attack, due to the sun—”
“Is that when we strike, tomorrow afternoon?” Geddon blurted.
Constantin gave him a woeful eye for interrupting. “No. I would have our army adequately reinforced, so we can understand our numbers and parts in this play. That being said, if the Brethren army strikes tomorrow, we must be ready. If that doesn’t happen, I would like to attack tomorrow evening, when Lady Mariana and myself can command the army. Furthermore, as stragglers arrive here, I have no doubt Onyx sees our army building. He’d be blind not to. We must protect the roadways and paths through the woods, so our people can get here safely. I would like Pua Kila’s skirmishing group to provide that protection, once she makes it—”
One of the many doors to the large dining room thundered open. The guests looked confused as it appeared no one stepped through the door—that it had opened by itself.
Then a few chuckles arose. Lig the house brownie stood in the doorway, his small frame dwarfed by the enormity of the doors and the room. Poor Lig seemed flustered and nervous, his hands fidgeting.