Hunter's Oath

by Glynn Stewart

  I felt my ribcage shatter under the impact, and I was flung into the wall without any chance of saving myself. More bones broke with audible snaps as I landed.

  My Power fled me. The Wizard’s gift fell from nerveless fingers as I processed that my right arm was basically shattered. I couldn’t move. The nerveless feeling in my legs was far too familiar.

  I…I had broken my spine.

  Again.

  Lower down this time, I realized as I heard Andrell approach me. I still had feeling in my arms. My right arm was a useless wreck, but my left arm was still working, barely.

  Andrell had scaled down to merely half again human-sized by the time his hand descended on my neck and he lifted me up to look me in the eyes.

  “Your father would be proud,” he told me quietly. “He was the bravest warrior I ever faced. It’s over.”

  “It is,” I agreed—and then rammed the Jericho into his chest and pulled the trigger as fast as I could.

  Forty-five-caliber cold iron rounds hammered into the Fae Lord’s ribcage. Defensive glamors shattered. Bone shattered. Flesh was torn and bullets ground home into bone that managed to withstand the force.

  He dropped me as he suddenly shrank to normal, gasping in pain. I dropped the gun as I fell, my useless legs refusing to even try and stabilize me, but we met each other’s gaze for an eternal second.

  I swear I saw him nod approval.

  And then Lord Karl Andrell, leader of the Masked Lords and Unseelie Lord of Calgary, died.

  33

  I thought that Maria Chernenkov had screamed with inhuman power when I’d rammed a cold iron spike into her shadow. That was only a pale imitation of the scream she unleashed when Andrell died.

  I was barely upright enough to watch her emerge out of the circle of watching fae and charge me. There was no way I could stop her. There were no bullets left in the gun. I’d lost track of the whip stock, and even if I had the Wizard’s gift to hand, I have no Power left to fuel it.

  Fortunately for my exhausted indifference to whether I lived or died, the rest of the Unseelie weren’t as lost to shock as I was. Bands of Force wrapped around the Pouka as she charged, yanking her to the ground as two Nobles emerged from the crowd.

  I didn’t know their names. They’d arrived with Gráinne and Andrell, and if you’d asked me, I would have assumed they were Masked Lords themselves. I would apparently have assumed wrong.

  Their combined Power held Chernenkov down and one of them turned to the rest of the Unseelie.

  “The show’s over, people,” she said harshly. “We can all guess the consequences of this, but they aren’t ours to execute. Go home.”

  The Unseelie Court seemed…rebellious, but that was their core nature. After a moment, they started to drift away, leaving me alone with two Unseelie Nobles, a dead Lord, and a weeping and trapped Pouka Noble.

  “Lord Vassal,” the male Noble greeted me. “I don’t think we were introduced. Ryan Shawnee. Can you stand?”

  I laughed bitterly.

  “Give me a day and a couple of cheeseburgers, sure,” I told him. “Until then, not really.”

  “You were missing. Presumed dead,” Shawnee told me.

  “Presumed with a degree of certainty by our own Court that I found odd,” the woman told me. “Brianna Shaughnessy,” she introduced herself. “Ryan and I worked for Jon Andrews, the Lord of the Unseelie and Power of our people. He sent us into Andrell’s service to see this Court set up efficiently and well.”

  “That went well,” I told her.

  She shook her head.

  “Where’s Gráinne?” Shaughnessy demanded.

  “She would have been why your Court was so sure I was dead,” I replied. “She shoved a cold iron dagger in my chest. It didn’t work out as she planned, but…she was a Masked Lord, too.”

  “Was,” the woman echoed. “And now?”

  “She’s dead. Her body is in a safehouse in a hotel by the airport, under guard of a Valkyrie of the Wild Hunt.”

  “Appropriate,” Shawnee said. “We will need to speak to Andrews, but that is the next step from here. The Hunt must be summoned. This is no longer a matter of Court politics. A Vassal is wounded. A Noble and a Lord dead. This…creature”—he gestured at Chernenkov—“is our prisoner. We will see her delivered to the Hunt when they arrived.”

  “Thank you,” I told the two Nobles.

  “I’d worked with Lord Andrell for twelve years, Kilkenny,” Shawnee said flatly. “I don’t pretend I like where this ended, but I didn’t know he was a Masked Lord.”

  “That was the purpose of the Masks,” I noted. “Can you…take care of him?”

  “We will,” Shaughnessy promised. “And you?”

  “Call Eric,” I said. “He’ll…he’ll know what to do.”

  That was the last thing I remembered saying before darkness overcame me.

  I was at least inside when I woke up. It was dark and I wasn’t entirely sure where I was, but at least I wasn’t lying on the dirty concrete ground of an industrial alley. Instead, I appeared to be lying on a cheap mattress that wasn’t quite long enough for my height. Someone had wrapped a splint around my shattered arm, and I could tell that I’d been positioned carefully to allow my spine to heal.

  It had even started doing so. I had some sensation in my legs. No control yet, but some feeling. From that alone I judged I’d been out for at least an hour.

  “He’s awake,” Inga said aloud. “Eric, get over here.”

  A ball of light flickered into existence above me, and I realized where I was. I was lying in the middle of the main floor of the building Andrell had taken over as the Unseelie Court. Lifting my head ever so slightly, I saw that I was the lucky one.

  The row of tarp-wrapped bodies lying in front of the stage told me how much worse it could have gone for me. I didn’t even want to think about how many of them were my fault. A lot of fae were dead now.

  Eric crossed into my line of view, the stocky gnome looking…terrified. Not tired. Terrified.

  “You found one hell of a beehive to smash up, Jason,” he told me gently.

  “How bad?” I asked.

  “Between the attack on Talus’s office, the hotel safehouse and your semi-accidental assault on the Unseelie Court…” The Keeper shook his head. “We’re at thirty-one dead and eleven seriously wounded, counting you and Talus. Another dozen mortals who worked for Talus are dead, which would have been a lot worse without your intervention.”

  Over forty dead and wounded fae. Half or more of those were the freelancers Chernenkov had brought into the city, but they’d clearly taken their own toll before they’d gone down.

  “And, of course, the biggest headache of all.” He sighed and pointed. At the center of the row of corpses were two that I recognized more due to the glamor still shifting around them. The masks were still on the bodies of Gráinne and Andrell, and the two Unseelie Nobles who’d captured Chernenkov stood guard over the dead Lord.

  “A Fae Lord has died,” Eric half-hissed. “That never goes without question. Worse, a Fae Lord was killed—and that never goes without consequence.”

  “He didn’t leave me much choice,” I said.

  “So I understand,” he confirmed. “As a Vassal acting on the Queen’s orders, you are shielded, to a point. But this…” He shook his head. “I’m guessing this wasn’t the plan.”

  I half-laughed, half-coughed as I looked up at him.

  “Plan was to bring Chernenkov or Gráinne in front of the Lord of the Wild Hunt and put all of the information and events in his hands,” I told Eric. “But Chernenkov ran to Andrell and he…” I sighed.

  “And he was her husband, so he wasn’t willing to let me capture her. Which ended, well…”

  I gestured to the row of corpses.

  “How much trouble am I in?” I asked carefully.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The only time I know of when a Fae Lord died in battle was when Calebrant rode against these same
bastards. No one was questioning what Calebrant had done—not least because he was dead by the time questions were asked.”

  “I didn’t even know the Masked Lords existed until a week or so ago,” I said. “This all came at me fast. Too fast.”

  Eric sighed.

  “And now we get to see the consequences of that,” he told me. “The Queen is on her way. The Wild Hunt are on their way—Ankaris is bringing two full troops of the Hunt. But…” He hesitated, then sighed and continued.

  “Lord Jon Andrews is also on his way,” he warned me. “The Lord of the Unseelie backed Andrell and the creation of this Court specifically, and he is coming here. Vassal or no, if he demands you be punished for killing Andrell, there isn’t much even Mabona can do.”

  “Peace in the High Court is worth more than I am, huh?” I said, closing my eyes again. “I hate my job. Can you get me something to eat?”

  A warm paper bag was shoved into my still-functioning hand.

  “Takeout from the Manor,” Eric told me. “Cheeseburger should still be warm, though the fries are probably a write-off by now.”

  “You are a god among fae, my friend.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said quietly. “Three of those will be here within a couple of hours. You’ll be better off if you can stand at that point.”

  34

  It was for the best, from what Eric had said, that Mabona was the first to arrive. The Queen of Light and Darkness, Mistress of all Fae and my own personal overlord stepped out of Between in a flurry of shadows that felt, for a moment, like an entire flock of birds had been released into the open space of the Court.

  I was propped up at this point so I could eat, but I was still broken. There was no way I could stand on my own two feet, but I gave her as solid of a bow as I could. I may not have enjoyed everything my Queen had laid upon me, but she had earned my respect.

  “This won’t do,” she said crisply as she surveyed me. It felt like she could see clean through me, assessing injuries with a glance. She probably could, actually. “I know you can’t stand, but you’re a mess.”

  “I’ve had better days and weeks,” I agreed. Before I could say more, shadows and wind swept over me. The whip handle MacDonald had given me had been nearby, though I hadn’t seen it. Now it was back in its holster, as was my Jericho. The mostly fitting clothes I’d taken from the safehouse disappeared, vanishing in a burst of her Power as new clothes replaced them.

  With a thought and a gesture, my Queen had transformed me from an unarmed cripple in tattered clothing to an armed servant of the Queen of the Fae dressed in a perfectly fitted business suit.

  Of course, I was still crippled. I knew it was within her capacity to heal my injuries, but I could guess her point in leaving me broken for now.

  “I did not plan for this, my Queen,” I told her.

  “Somehow, I suspected that,” she agreed genially. “I didn’t think that even my Hunter’s changeling was going to pick a fight with a Fae Lord. Where is Gráinne? And Chernenkov?”

  “Gráinne’s over there.” I gestured at the row of bodies. “One of the ones in masks. Chernenkov should be held captive around here somewhere, waiting for Andrews’s judgment.”

  “Her presence alone will help him reach the correct conclusions,” she agreed. She turned to the two Irish Nobles guarding Andrell’s body. “Shawnee, Shaughnessy, where is the Pouka?”

  “In the cells Andrell built into the Court,” Shawnee replied. “Under guard by three Gentry and bound by iron and magic.”

  Mabona sighed.

  “Eric?”

  “My Queen,” the gnome replied, seeming to reappear out of nowhere.

  “Check on the Pouka,” she ordered. “I doubt that Chernenkov is done giving us headaches.”

  Eric nodded and marched out of the room while Mabona surveyed the space.

  “Lot of work,” she noted. “Shame, really.”

  “My Queen?” Shawnee asked.

  “Do you really think any other Unseelie Lord is going to want to touch this city now?” Mabona asked conversationally. “After the clusterfuck Andrell has created?”

  The Unseelie Noble sighed.

  “Can I get a plane ticket back to Ireland, at least?” he asked plaintively.

  The thundercrack of a new arrival from Between, as flashy as Mabona’s but much, much louder, interrupted the further conversation, and a tall black man, towering even for a Fae Lord, stalked out of Between, followed by four Noble guards.

  Shawnee and Shaughnessy were kneeling in an instant.

  “Lord Andrews,” the two Nobles greeted him in chorus.

  “I sent you to keep Andrell safe,” Jon Andrews noted, his voice the grinding of granite in a thunderstorm.

  Time and exposure had inured me somewhat to the sheer presence of the Queen. I had no such immunity to the Lord of the Unseelie. Power coiled around him, both physical and magical. Like MacDonald and Mabona, Jon Andrews was a Power, a sliver of divinity given flesh and form.

  “Show me him,” he ordered.

  “Wait,” Mabona snapped. “This is not a matter for merely our eyes. Ankaris is coming. Let him stand witness, as neither of us are neutral here.”

  “Your Vassal killed a Lord of the Unseelie,” Andrews replied. “This cannot pass without punishment.”

  “Your Lord was one of the Masked bastards who killed Calebrant, Alisha, Brigette and Connor,” Mabona told him without heat. “I’d say that if someone deserved punishment here…that punishment was delivered by my Vassal.”

  The air in the Court tore again. And again. Wider and wider until the air itself fogged up with the chill of Between in a way I’d never felt in the normal world.

  Sixteen Hunters led the way, nine women and seven men. They were unmounted today, but there was no question of who and what they were. Eight were true Hunters, able to open the paths Between. The other eight were “merely” regular Gentry who’d joined the Hunt.

  All were armed, the silver swords of the Wild Hunt and sleek black automatic rifles I’d never seen before. Silently, they moved out to surround the room as the second troop followed them through.

  These were equally armed, also only half true Hunters. Of their non-Hunters, however, four were Noble and four were Gentry.

  The entire building shivered with the presence of the last one out of Between, who closed the path with a gentle snap of his fingers. Lord Ankaris was of merely average height for the fae, matching my own not-quite six feet, with long dark hair and sharp features.

  Hauntingly familiar sharp features, in fact. There was something about the man that made me swear I knew him, that I’d met him before.

  Which was impossible. Ankaris might not be a full Power, but he was a member of the High Court, the Lord of the Wild Hunt. He was as far beyond a regular Fae Lord as a Fae Lord was beyond me, the status and power of a lesser member of the High Court still unique in our people.

  “So,” he greeted the hall with a softly lilting Irish accent that reminded me of Andrell. “My Queen. My dear cousin. We are here. My people will guarantee the security of this Court while we discuss affairs.”

  He strode down the center of the room, approaching the two masked bodies without hesitation.

  “Let us begin.”

  It was funny. There was no question in anyone’s mind that Lord Ankaris was the junior member of the High Court, the only one of the Nine not a full Power in his own right. At that moment, though, both Mabona and Andrews fell in behind him like obedient children.

  The thirty-odd armed Greater Fae and Gentry now guarding the exterior of the room probably didn’t hurt, though I think the key point was simple: out of the three of them, Ankaris was the only one who would have had the authority to execute Andrell on his own.

  The High Court as an entity could proscribe any fae, order any execution or punishment they wished and the Fae Lords were not exempt from that power. The Wild Hunt’s master, however, was charged to enforce the Covenants on the Lords.
/>   He was the judge and executioner for men like Andrell. That was why we’d intended to bring Chernenkov to him—he could have proscribed the Unseelie Court under his own authority.

  Instead, well, Chernenkov had brought me to Andrell and that had ended…messily.

  “I see two Masks,” Ankaris concluded as he studied the bodies. “I know who I am told is under them, but I think some certainty is required. You two.” He pointed at the two Nobles who’d guarded Andrell’s body. “Have these bodies left your sight?”

  “This one has not,” Shawnee confirmed, pointing at the one I guessed was Andrell. He then pointed at the other glamored corpse. “This one was delivered to us by the Valkyrie Inga Strand.”

  “Ah. Hunter Strand, attend!”

  My bed had been turned so I could watch, though this show wasn’t for me. And it was a show. Melodrama runs in our blood…but I suspected that everyone had already decided how this was going to end.

  Inga stepped from where she’d been adjusting my bed and crossed over to her former employer.

  “Lord Ankaris,” she greeted him.

  “You’re supposed to be retired,” he noted. “What brought you here?”

  “Our Queen asked me to train the Hunter’s changeling in our skills and Gifts,” Inga told him. “The evidence suggests I did quite well.”

  From the way Andrews coughed, the Lord of the Unseelie had just swallowed a laugh he couldn’t show tonight.

  “So it would seem,” Ankaris said calmly. “And why, Hunter Strand, was I not informed of a Hunter’s changeling?”

  That…was a shock to me. What did he mean, he hadn’t known I’d existed?

  “Her Majesty asked me not to,” Inga told him. “I am no longer bound by Fealty, so the decision to honor her request was mine.”

  The Lord of the Wild Hunt didn’t look pleased, but he nodded and turned back to the bodies.

  “Lord Andrews, I suggest we have your people remove the masks,” he told the Lord of the Unseelie. “I would prefer this be without question or hesitation, wouldn’t you?”