Gunz

by William Stacey

  GUNZ

  BOOK 2 OF THE DARK ELF WAR

  WILLIAM STACEY

  BASTARD SWORD PRESS

  Copyright © 2018 by William Stacey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mirela Barbu Design

  CONTENTS

  William Stacey Starter Library

  I. Attack

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  II. Battle of Taylor Bridge

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  III. Pursuit

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  IV. Mobile Defense

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  V. Counter-Attack

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  William Stacey Starter Library

  About the Author

  WILLIAM STACEY STARTER LIBRARY

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  PART I

  ATTACK

  1

  Tlathia de Talinor, Mage-Master, Mistress of Griffin Peak, and crown princess of the Fae Seelie Empire, clung to her wyvern as it fought its way into the raging storm. She leaned forward in her saddle, ignoring the biting wind and rain, and guided her mount to descend into the much stronger crosswinds below. Most wyverns would have balked at such a dangerous course of action, forcing their riders to resort to a mind-tether spell to bludgeon the winged beasts into obedience, but Tlathia had personally trained this wyvern—an alpha male with a thirty-foot wingspan—and had been a part of its life since the dawn of its hatching. Mind-tether spells were for those too weak to instill loyalty. The wyvern shrieked its rage at the storm and descended into the dark night. It would fight its way through the winds, or it would die trying.

  Behind her, she heard the answering shrieks of the other wyverns carrying her finest dozen Blood Knight escorts, fae seelie warriors and mages sworn to protect her. Where the alpha wyvern led, the others would follow.

  Such was the pack mentality, not unlike her own race.

  Tlathia wore a Sher-cat-hide flying helmet to keep her long white hair from blowing in her face, but the helmet did nothing to mitigate the stinging cold rain that lashed her sensitive purple skin as she scanned the dark ground below. Behind her, her passenger, the dwarf technomancer Kargin Ice-Hand, gripped her more tightly around her waist, burying his bearded face into her back. At the best of times, Kargin hated flying on wyverns. At that moment, a brilliant, eye-searing bolt of ball lightning struck the summit of Dragon's-Fang Mountain to the east, revealing the orderly tent lines on the plains below.

  She smiled in triumph. Three hours of flying in the dark amidst a storm, and still I find Horlastia. But then, what choice did I have?

  She guided her mount into a slow descending arc as she leaned over its long scaled neck, seeking the wyvern enclosure. Wyverns were notoriously bad tempered, and if she were to accidentally land amongst a cohort of boggart soldiers, her mount might rip one or two apart before she could regain control over it.

  Wyverns didn't like boggarts.

  To be fair, neither did she.

  Unsurprisingly, Kargin found the enclosure first. Despite living underground most of their lives, dwarves possessed legendary eyesight—surpassed only by their fighting ability. "There," he yelled, his powerful voice booming despite the howling winds. "The hill on our right."

  She saw the hill and its enclosure, torch-lit and surrounded by a wooden barricade, a moment later. "Hold on tight," she yelled over her shoulder as she guided her wyvern toward it. The beast fought its way through the buffeting winds.

  Now she had a much better view of the orderly tent lines and campfires of her sister's army below her. In the very center of the camp stood a wooden fort surrounded by a tall wooden wall—her goal this night. The army encamped about the fort was considerable. This force, she knew from her mother's war councils, was the largest of thirteen such armies, spread out on the plains around Dragon's-Peak Mountain, awaiting only the final preparations before her mother ordered the invasion.

  This was the largest force the Fae Seelie Empire had ever mounted, even surpassing that fielded during the height of the Secession Wars against the dwarven holdfasts, but such a large force was necessary. The manlings had spread over the Old World—this 'Earth'—in the thousand cycles since the Banishment. Now, they were numerous beyond counting and possessed powerful technology and weapons—technology that rivaled even that of the dwarves. Yet despite their technology, the dwarves are nearly extinct.

  The same fate awaits the manlings.

  Her wyvern spread its vast wings and landed gracefully within the enclosure. A mere storm could not stop such a noble beast.

  Her sister's wyvern handlers—male fae seelie workers, of course—carefully approached from the beast's flank, taking the reins, which Tlathia handed down to them. Behind her, the dozen other wyverns carrying her Blood Knights also landed upon the enclosure, forming a protective ring around Tlathia. Assassinating one's sister was a time-honored tradition within the royal family, the preferred method of advancement. The trick was to avoid being caught in the act. Murder was fine, but detection was clumsy. If Horlastia acted against her and failed, their mother would expect Tlathia to punish her, and flaying the skin from one's enemies, even a sister, was also a time-honored tradition among the fae seelie—or at least it was since the ascendency of the Spider Mother over the Grandfather generations ago. Once, fae seelie customs had been very different.

  Tlathia slipped down from her saddle, thankful to be on her feet once again. She ignored Kargin as he clumsily lowered himself from the saddle, dropping heavily the final few feet. She untied her helmet's chin strap then pulled it free, letting her long white hair loose. With the helmet removed, the howling of the gwyllgi carried over the storm winds. They were hungry, but then, gwyllgi were always hungry. Her mount snorted in derision, tossing its serpentine head. Given the slightest opportunity, a wyvern would rip apart one of the fire-breathing hounds—this mighty beast could take on an entire pack. She ran her fingertips ov
er her mount's horn stubs and leaned in close to its head, placing her lips near its ear-holes and whispering: "You are a king of your kind. Thank you for the joy of flight."

  It probably couldn't hear her over the wind, nor could it understand her words if it did, but it rubbed its scaled head tenderly against her shoulder just the same.

  She turned away, hiding the affection she felt for the beast by adjusting the position of her Ettin-hide cloak and making sure that it wouldn't restrict her if she needed to fight. Despite her natural precaution, Tlathia didn't fear an assassination attempt by Horlastia—not now with the invasion so imminent. Their mother had given Horlastia the honor of leading the main invasion army as well as the most important goal: Horlastia would need to seize the Nexus Star—the key intersection of ley lines on the Old World—then oversee the transportation of the Culling Machine—the doom of all manlings.

  Kargin waited behind her, kneeling, his head lowered, as befitted his slave status. The wind whipped the hood of his flying cloak back, revealing a portion of the grimworm that had burrowed itself into the flesh at the back of his neck. Grimworms, foot-long centipedes that attached themselves to a victim's spinal cord, created a parasitic, dominant link with their victims. Any fae seelie mage could then control the grimworm through a simple mind-tether spell, negating the victim's free will. All surviving dwarves now bore a grimworm as the ultimate slave collar.

  The pain when they burrowed in, she had heard, was excruciating.

  The sudden stiffening in the posture of her Blood Knights was all the warning Tlathia needed to know that her sister had arrived, as Tlathia had known she would. A dozen wyverns landing at once without prior notification could only mean Tlathia or her mother. I wonder which of us she fears more. Mother already sits on the throne, but as the crown princess, I have no need to act against a younger sister—but then, why would I arrive so late—and in the midst of a storm?

  Such concerns likely keep little sisters awake at night.

  Tlathia put a fake smile on her lips and stepped forward to greet her sister Horlastia. Her Blood Knights parted, smoothly stepping aside, but warily glared at the contingent of guards that had accompanied her sister. Despite the rain, Horlastia wore evening clothes, a sheer green gown with a plunging neckline, but she had taken the time to belt a saber to her supple waist. Hanging around her thick neck was a small black crystal on a golden chain. Even from several feet away, Tlathia sensed the magical aura radiating from the crystal—a talisman of some kind. She was powerfully built, her shoulders wide, her arms toned, but then mage-wardens were as much warriors as mages. Just for a moment, fear flitted across Horlastia's yellow eyes, and she hesitated.

  She thinks I'm here to take her place, to steal her glory of leading the invasion.

  Horlastia hid her fear behind a toothy smile. "Dearest sister," she said, carefully moving forward to embrace Tlathia. "You do me too much honor."

  Tlathia returned the hug, thinking of how easily a knife would slide between her sister's ribs. Then, realizing she was just as vulnerable, she pulled away. "The honor is yours, sister—General, I should say. You will achieve a great victory for us in the war to come."

  "It will be barely a skirmish, let alone a war. But I shall honor our mother."

  "Of course."

  Horlastia shivered then motioned toward the gates of the wyvern enclosure leading to the camp below. "Please, sister, shall we retire to a more … civilized locale? I have spiced wine, honeyed Erlander beetles … anything you shall desire—if it is within my power to gift you."

  "In time, sister. But first, duty calls."

  "Duty?"

  Tlathia raised an eyebrow and motioned for her sister to join her, which she did with an uncertain look on her face. Together, they exited the enclosure. The Blood Knights and guards, eyeing each other warily, walked with them, surrounding them.

  Tlathia led the way to the fort she had seen from the air. When Horlastia saw where Tlathia was going, she peered intently at her sister. "I don’t understand. What are we doing?"

  "My dwarf…" She paused, tossing her head at Kargin following along behind. "Is to verify the calibrations. Our mother's wishes—entirely unfounded, I am sure, but I am a dutiful daughter, and I do as I am asked."

  "The machine is ready. You must tell her this."

  "Must I?" said Tlathia, stopping in place, her voice hardening.

  "I … no, of course not. I misspoke. That is all. I simply meant that—"

  "I do not know why Mother wishes the calibrations checked again. Nor do I ask why I must leave my warm home this night and fly for hours through a storm. But I do know that all our hopes rest upon the Culling. Perhaps I should wait in the rain while you contact Mother yourself through your Seeing Stone and ask her to explain herself."

  Now, the fear in Horlastia's eyes grew. She looked like a cornered pixie and shook her head. "No, of course not. Please, forgive me. The hour is late, and I am tired. We are both dutiful daughters."

  "Of course we are," said Tlathia, placing her hand on the small of her sister's back and guiding her toward the fort. "We shall do as our mother wishes, then we will spend time together as two loving sisters. In the years that follow, I shall regale our mother with tales of your courage before the invasion."

  As they walked through the camp, the stench of campfires and unwashed boggarts assaulted Tlathia. The four-armed, fish-faced warriors huddled about their fires, singing in their guttural, barely pronounceable language. Interspersed among the boggarts, towering over their own campfires, were small groups of massive armored trolls. The trolls didn't sing. Rather, they glared hungrily at the boggarts. In the morning, Tlathia knew from long experience, there would be missing boggarts and new fire-blackened bones in the trolls' campfires. But boggarts were plentiful.

  Tlathia and Horlastia walked in silence for a time. Those they passed—whether fae seelie warrior, boggart, gnome worker, or troll—all lowered their gaze respectfully. The clever ones dropped to their knees. They passed rows of brightly colored tents emblazoned with the sigils of various fae seelie noble houses, all called to war by their mother's Blood Lance, the call to arms. Those nobles they passed also bowed their heads in respect when they recognized Tlathia.

  A bone-chilling roar shattered the night, sending a wave of fear coursing down Tlathia's spine. She flinched, spinning in place and staring up into the stormy sky. The camp went silent. Even the animals seemed to hold their breath in fear.

  "Bale-Fire hunts," said Horlastia, her voice soft. "As he does every night."

  Tlathia's pulse raced, but she nodded and resumed her pace, embarrassed by her own fear. "It's a wonder there's anything remaining in these lands large enough to feed him."

  "Soon enough, he'll have a new world to devour," said Horlastia bitterly. "But someday, Mother will need to deal with the wyrm."

  Tlathia shuddered. "No doubt Bale-Fire feels the same way. Thank the Spider Mother he's on our side."

  Horlastia exhaled heavily. "I wouldn’t describe him as being on our side."

  The fort stood before them now, dirt-filled barricades topped by wooden walls, upon which patrolled their mother's elite Storm Guard, her personal warriors. Horlastia might have been commander in this camp, but their mother trusted none of her daughters to keep the machine safe, preferring her Storm Guard.

  As they came closer, Tlathia felt her skin pebble. Her breathing quickened. Such power, she marveled.

  Horlastia glanced at her and smiled. "It's amazing, isn't it? A Nexus Star, the convergence of all ley lines on Faerum."

  "It is amazing," Tlathia admitted. From this site, her mother's mage-scholars would draw upon the magical energy and use it to open thirteen Rift-Rings, thirteen gateways through the Red Ether to different locations on the Old World.

  "Before the manlings can react, we'll be among them, all over their world—our world."

  "You'll be weaker on the Old World," warned Tlathia. "At least at first. There won't be this much magic
to use."

  "More than enough to kill manlings. They're mundane, little different from dwarves."

  Tlathia snorted. "Not all of them. Ask your sister Maelhrandia about underestimating manling mages." Tlathia shook her head in wonder. "Killed in her own fortress, at the height of her greatest victory."