by J A Stone
“Here we have Jaime Weathers, a local kid from the Proper, calls herself Soulless. She killed three cops after a heist went wrong. She’s a self-proclaimed Assassin and self-imposed disciple of Shadoweye.”
“I can see and hear you ass-wipe,” the girl rose from her bunk and spit at the mirror, flicking her short brown hair away from her pretty, tattooed face.
“Um…continuing,” now Gunther seemed nervous. They moved past to the next cell. “Shadoweye,” he said the name and the girls all raised eyebrows. They knew who the woman was, most people did.
“Wow—how’d you catch her?” British asked, studying the woman with short brown hair and a face tattooed in precisely the same manner as the copycat kid next door.
“She was volunteering at a local food drive for kids in the Proper, snatched by the Master Knight himself off duty, volunteering as well. Two people died during the fistfight and subsequent arrest. She is sentenced to death for three confirmed assassinations in Tibor alone.”
“We’ll see,” British said quietly, lost in thought.
“And this young man is Tom Snow, thirty-two, from Moor, grifter, con-man; he killed a robbery victim here in Tibor by accident and then a Detective on purpose. His sentence was commuted to life but he has asked for execution by public hanging.”
“That’s so he can escape dumbass,” Warfell clearly did not care for Gunther this time around.
“HEY!” the handsome man with salt and pepper hair exclaimed, shooting Warfell a look that said ‘give me a damn break!’
“Oh yeah—we can use him,” Danica said to Gunther with a grin to Tom Snow. British took note, did Warfell know this guy?
“And these are the Gravari Brothers, Ethos, Logos and Pathos,” Gunther motioned to three Dwarves, sleeping in a cell. All remained motionless, opening one eye each in response to Gunther’s oration.
“The Gravari Triplets are sentenced to death for the theft and sale of King Atria’s Blue Emerald Scepter—from the Throne Room. They escaped from custody, and then returned the Wand, but then they made off with the Tiborian Greatsword, a priceless artifact held by Tibor’s Master Knights for centuries. It was never recovered. They were captured at a public bath in White Falls, throwing jewels away, drunk.”
All three Dwarves with long white hair closed eyes and smiled at the same time as if they knew something, because they did.
“Sign them up,” Warfell added. They moved on.
“Last, we have Robert John Stone—known as Bigfoot Bob, forty years old, killed a friend by accident as a young man, recruited to the Tiborean Militia to avoid a jail sentence and killed his drill sergeant, again, by accident. He was discharged and enlisted as an anonymous Executioner for Tibor where he has worked faithfully for two decades until…”
“Yes?” British was piqued, eyeballing the eight-foot tall muscleman.
“Until this spring, he got into a fight in a restaurant and put twenty men in the hospital. Witnesses said it was not his fault, but an outraged tribunal determined he was a danger to the public. Right this moment, he is not charged with a crime—we just don’t know what to do with him, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all, so.”
“So let him go. He can ride with us if he wishes,” said British.
“More like run next to us,” Warfell added, realizing they did not make horses that size.
Open Grasslands, one hundred and twenty miles northeast of Tibor
“What’cha think boss?” Warfell dropped her hand held scope and panned the horizon. The great Northern Mountains were visible as a white, low cloud-like mass to the north. East, Warfell saw dense forests forming a wall of green five miles away. Nothing but grass to the south and west.
“I want to talk to Shadoweye,” British replied.
“I meant about the stronghold,” Warfell reiterated for her partner.
“Well, you’re not gonna like this.”
“Go partner.”
“I bet my life the Gravari Brothers know how to get in from underneath.”
“Yikes, why Shadoweye?” Warfell backtracked, steering clear of calm-disturbing dungeon plans.
“What? Oh, she could probably pull this whole thing off unassisted and I’d like to know exactly how she would do that.”
“You are not doing anything without me,” Warfell faced British. “Do you really think these fellows will even cooperate and not scatter to the wind?”
British nodded her head atop the Snowhorse.
“I do, Atria has promised to release them all and erase their records before the training even begins. I trust his judgment, all of their cases have explanations, reasons for why they did what they did, something different than, killing people gives me a boner.”
“Hail that Sister,” Warfell brought Rarity about and set scope to eyes once more, searching. British joined her, facing the forests, east.
“So there could be tunnels anywhere?” Warfell asked.
“Yup! With hidden doors, like that one,” British pointed to a tree stump, the sawed-off remnant of a thick oak that grew in an area where no tree has survived for centuries as a sapling, let alone an adult. Warfell raised her brows when she realized how out of place the stump actually was, barely visible in the tall green grass.
“Fey you got the eyes girl,” she smiled as British logged the location in her notebook, grinning to herself.
“Alright, let’s go talk to our team, shall we?” British shot forward on Snowflake and Danica followed close behind across the expansive savanna—back to Tibor.
They opened the door to the isolation cell holding Shadoweye the Assassin. British entered, taking a seat on the floor against a wall as the iron bars clanged shut.
“Do you know me?” words so often spoken just before a massacre.
“I do, Ghost Daughter, you are much more beautiful in person,” Shadoweye remained motionless on her bunk. She was average height, with short brown hair falling in her tattooed face.
“They offered freedom and clemency?” British followed up.
“Yes.”
“But you do not need or even want that.”
“Correct.”
British examined the famous Assassin across the steel room from her—here was a creature at the top of Aleutha’s food chain, an alpha predator among humans. She knew that Shadoweye was also known for taking out bad guys. High-end Assassins were often critical of the missions they accepted—especially the experienced ones.
“You don’t need money,” Fey stated as fact. Shadoweye laughed, confirming the statement. “Will you help us, please?” British would not ask any nicer.
The hired killer sat up on her bunk and looked warmly at British Fey.
“Of course I will, I am an….admirer,”
British smiled awkwardly; she did not know if it was a compliment or not.
“I, uh, admire you too?” spoken as a true dumbass. “Must I call you Shadoweye? It seems so impersonal.” A hopeful question from the elf.
“I am known to many as the Asset.”
“Whaaa? No man—no Becky? Corinthia?”
“No Ma’am.”
“May I give you a codename for this mission?” British was pushing it.
“Sure, sure—nothing stupid.”
British paused. Behind the tattoos, was a beautiful woman. She had deep brown eyes and almost smiled, some.
“I will call you Tawnee,” British Fey smiled wide at Shadoweye’s expression of surprise. Of course, it was her real name, a beautiful name she had not heard spoken aloud since she was a child. “Forgive me, my Father told me,” British bowed her head low in respect and Tawnee nodded yes, now smiling herself, revealing the beautiful face of a young woman—not a killer.
“Come with me Robert,” Warfell stood at the wide open door to the huge cell.
“Yes Ma’am,” the eight-foot behemoth of a man rose and followed the warrior with black-tipped platinum hair. Outside, Danica watched as the huge man stretched and winked to the bright Sun at mid-day.
“What do you want to do Robert?” Warfell asked plainly.
“I don’t know, go back to work at the gallows?”
“Can’t big fella, in fact after this mission you can never return to Tibor again. But listen, British and I have an idea that we think you may like—how would you like your own home, a place where no one will bother you?”
“I would like that Missus Danica. What would I have to do?”
“Beat up a bunch of assholes for me and the pretty girl.”
Robert John Stone grinned ear to ear. “I am not as stupid as you; I’m pretty stupid so not much gets through to…me. I know what you girls do to people. You’re gonna kill me after I jack everybody up, I’m stupid enough to know about that conspiratatory,” he crossed his arms and nodded, proud of his talkative discourse; complete with a big word for ‘evil plans’.
Warfell looked him in the eyes. How could she convince him?
“Robert, you know that British and I only go after the ones who are truly monsters?”
“Yeah I heard that,” he nodded and then plopped down in the grass with a thud. Warfell sat next to the eight-footer.
“Do you enjoy working as an Executioner Robert?”
“No Missus Danica, but it must be done.”
“I do not enjoy my job either Rob, but the men and women we put down really enjoy theirs and they don’t stop working until we go in and make them. Trust me when I tell you that if we were after you Robert, that little girl would have already blown your head off.”
Bigfoot Bob looked hard at Warfell and smiled again.
“You are being honest with me I can tell. I know what this is, you will kill me when we are done, but I will do it anyway, like I said…nothing gets through this skull Missus Danica.” In the distance, British was approaching with Tawnee at her side. The big man sighed when he saw them. “But what a way to go—she’s sooo pretty Missus Danica.”
“Watch this,” Warfell smiled and waved her partner over. “British! Robert thinks we are going to kill him when this is over.” The tiny woman approached the giant man and spoke in a kind voice.
“We are the good guys. You are one of the good guys now too Bigfoot. If anyone kills you, it’ll be one of the bad guys. Do not let that happen. Did Danica tell you what the King is going to give us? We will need a Canine Steward, ever feed a dog Bigfoot?”
“I know how to feed a dog. I will feed them all before you kill me.”
“Nothing gets by you does it,” British commented.
“Nothing gets through to me, silly,” Robert John Stone smiled at having corrected her. “Nothing.” he added with finality.
“You look good Warfell, damn good, are you aging at all?” the handsome man reclined in his bunk.
“You look good too Tommy, how’d they find out your real name?” Warfell leaned her back against the wall.
“I told them.”
“And your service for the Throne of Steel?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Did not relate those facts, but my name would lead them there if they only looked.”
“Why did you allow yourself to be locked up like this?”
“I got sloppy…” he began.
“No you didn’t,” she finished, making Tom smile.
“Yeah Cappy I did. I really did this time,” he looked at his former Captain and Warfell felt the truth of his words, then she snapped to and grinned a knowing smirk. Of course he was lying. She’d never find out why he was really in a Tiborian prison.
“C’mon Lieutenant Snow. Do this job for me and I won’t ask the Aequitas Caelum to enter your brain and squeeze the truth out. Frankly, I could care less. Oh and stay away from British Fey Snowman, she is an innocent when it comes to—your style of persuasion. If I hear you are talking to her, I’ll kill ya myself, saavy?”
“Sure Cappy. Negative on the hot pixie’s pants, got it.”
“Boys I’m just gonna ask. Will you help us get this guy?” Warfell asked the Gravari triplets as Bigfoot, Shadoweye, Tom Snow and British stood silent at the cell door. A long moment passed…
“None of us has ever taken a life Captain Warfell. What do you want us to do, steal Thaddeus?” Logos spoke for the three as he usually did.
“I am working on a plan that should be right up your alley,” British issued a wicked grin, “and you won’t have to kill anyone, it’s necessary to live.”
“Only bad guys is what my boss means—that’s a good deal for killin’ things,” Robert John Stone leaned in, mostly just proud to call the pretty girl his boss. “Take the deal midget men, or I’ll shove those melons right down into your shoulders then squeeze your little bellies until they pop back up shouting ‘we will, we will!’ the big man giggled and then looked to British. “Get it? They are little toy man dolls.”
“Then I guess we will!” Logos smiled, joined by his Brothers.
On the expansive greens of True Towers’ Equestrian Center, British, Warfell and Emili Swift stood across from the deposed Knights, Erza Brooke, Tholoso Garrett, and Fenton. Warfell began.
“Okay, this morning a lone horse was found on the plains with King Atria’s Brother strapped to its back. Now that the Duke’s death has been confirmed, the Good King has forwarded an offer to all of you—an incentive. Folks, he’s giving us the Platinum Palace to keep and live in as free men and women.”
“A real home,” British added with a blink of her mesmerizing brown orbs.
“Now to claim our prize we are considering an attack on two frontlines,” Warfell moved on undaunted. “Captain Swift will be leading a ground force, British and I will enter the Palace from…from underground.”
“Captain?” It was Erza.
“Yes?” Warfell.
“I’m familiar with the Platinum Palace. That castle cannot be taken from the ground, two hundred foot steel beam reinforced walls, igneous lava-mold interior…” British held a palm up for silence and stepped forward.
“My Father was a scientist, a physicist as well as an engineer. He has already shown me several ways to breech those walls Miss Brooke, I ask for your experience and training. If done correctly, you guys will enter the main tower before us. Listen to me people—Atria has just given us all one of the largest houses on the planet. All we gotta do is go and take it—simple as that.”
Tholoso Garrett spoke up. “Live there under your control, or the government of Tibor? No thank you Ma’am.”
“No Nation on this planet dictates to me. I am the Daughter of the Justice from Heaven—I live apart from this world. If you choose to stay with me and call it your home, you will be expected to earn your keep whether it is tending the stables, fighting to protect the grounds or raising a child of your own—do you understand me Sir?”
“When it’s over, I can really walk away and leave?” Garrett just couldn’t grasp the too good to be true deal.
“Clemency has already been granted, you can leave now, I was offering you a home, something to fight for and be proud of.”
“He’ll do it, we all will.” Fenton stepped forward and spoke for all three of the deposed Knights of the Northern Realm.
British Fey opened the cell door and entered with Emili. Across the room, Tai bolted upright in his bunk and sat there with his legs crossed.
“Can you understand me at all?” British tried—no reaction, no subtle facial changes belying subterfuge, no dilations in the beautiful black irises. “Okay, something different,” Fey gave the military hand signal for ‘guard’ – ‘protect,’ then motioned to the girl next to her.
“What?” Emili furrowed her brows. “Protect me?”
She said the words and the handsome young man with long straight black hair nodded his head, yes. Everyone smiled.
“Okay…” British signed a different dialect, a language used by the deaf. She signed ‘do you know me? Do you trust me?’
The young man signed right back, the motions and gestures for ‘yes, Spirit and pretty.’
“Oh my Gods, h
e’s just deaf! These cretins didn’t even go that far to check.” British placed a hand on Emili Swift’s shoulder and signed the phrases for ‘she is yours to protect and love. Keep her safe no matter what!’
Tai signed ‘I will—on my life.’
British tilted her head to the door and the girls left with the handsome young man right behind the teenage Equestrian Captain, already scanning the hallway for bad guys.
“Meet your new Lackey, send him to your quarters to stay,” Fey said to Swift as they approached the cell of Jaime Weathers, AKA Soulless.
“What? No,” Emili looked back to the man with a stupid smile.
“OPEN!” British called out, turning to her. The door clacked loose. “Communication would be a problem—he cannot serve on this mission—I just wanted to get him the Seven Hells out of this place. Set him free later if you wish.”
“C’mon Jaime, up top, I want you to explain a few things for me.”
“Fuck you, where’s Shadoweye, what have you done to her?”
British paused, giving the young woman a hard look. “Grab your stuff and come with us. You are free to go.”
“Your sweet candy ass I am—take me to Shadoweye.”
Not another word, British jabbed the girl three times on the chest and she fell backward into Tai’s arms.
“Stick her in a crate with holes, water bottles and dried meat. Send her to Silvercrest, and then set her free.” Emili motioned for Tai to carry the girl and follow her. “One last loose end, I’ll see you guys topside,” British whispered to Emili as she approached the cell door of Alorica, the suspected spy. “OPEN!” she hailed and entered the steel room.
Alorica was drop-dead gorgeous with long curly-blond locks that fell down in waves and bright blue eyes that sparkled. Her inviting heir of intense sexual energy and open invitation was downright lethal, taking in most any man or woman. British was no exception, she took a seat on the small metal desk and stared in wonder at the beauty.