by J A Stone
Warfell boomed in on Rarity, leaping from the saddle, and running into Emili’s arms, hugging her friend tight, breaking down, letting go.
“Honey what happened?” Emili asked, but already knew as she counted the rest of the relief team—Danton was missing. “Oh sweetie, come here,” she held Warfell tight as British came in on the magnificent Snowhorse, followed by the wagon with the giant and the tattooed Assassin, Tawnee.
Torpa ran a circuit with the other Danes as the Knights of Salvos came together in their own circle, linking arms and lowering their heads…
British debriefed them solemnly.
“My good Knights, Father has located Tom Snow deep in the northern reaches. Snow has found the stronghold used by Viggo Frantz and his team. I will ask all of you to follow only if this cause feels just in your hearts…. We lost Danton in Tibor, jumped from behind by a coward, Atria took the head himself. He knows about you Iris, been spying on us for some time.”
British did not elaborate—no need. Everyone remained silent for their fallen Brother.
Viggo’s Stronghold
“Tell me what your name is and what you do exactly for British Fey,” Viggo asked Tom after June struck his jaw again with that fist of his.
“Let the man answer June,” Snow was damn grateful for the break. One more good hit and his battered brain would be jelly anyway.
“I am a Knight of Salvos…answer to the Aequitas…Caelum,” Tom rolled his eyes and collapsed, feigning unconsciousness.
“This dumbass is about tapped, Angles?” June picked Tom up by the neck.
“Put him in with the broken Thief—see what kind of bullshit they can concoct.”
Arjuna nodded and carried the Snowman down a side tunnel, through another, to the face of an iron-barred cell. Inside, Logos Gravari opened his own swollen eyes.
The doors clanged shut and the muscleman walked away. Once gone, Logos carefully crawled to Tom’s side.
“Are you alive Snowman?”
“I hope so,” the meek response. “You can grab your things; I’ve come to take you home, ha ha…heh,” a literal punch-drunk smile and Tom passed out for real.
“I got ya buddy, I got ya,” Logos whispered, gathering what little water he had saved and preparing a place for the tall human to lay flat.
British Fey walked the massive Tiborean Snowhorse next to Danica and Rarity. The mountain pass was low, deep and tight keeping the riders side by side in pairs as they cautiously scanned the surrounding cliffs for any signs of movement.
Torpa squeezed between them, taking the fore position. British smiled.
“He already loves you partner. Are you okay?” she asked, concerned.
“I am. British, it hurts.”
“I know Danica, I know.”
Just ahead, there was a flat clearing, a nook, wind carved into the mountain pass where the incessant howling no longer reached.
“We set camp here,” said Fey, surveying the cliffs above. “I want a two-man watch at all times, one on their back, studying those cliffs—cold camp, no fire.”
“On it,” Danica leaped to the ground and hustled the rest of the Knights inside.
Less than an hour into the Evening equi-fade, the Ghost of Caelum Fey appeared to the mountain travelers.
Snow is alive, Logos as well. They are close. I would advise going on foot from here with the canines. I am searching the bowels of the mountain, looking for an alternate way inside. Give me an hour before you move. If you go to ground, I will be unable to track all of you. Be careful Good Knights.
The Spirit flew into the rock wall, disappearing. British met eyes with her friends.
“Okay, Tawnee, grab a Dane and find that entrance. Warfell, take Torpa and circle around high, find your snipe. The rest of us will wait for Dad, come back quick with good news. Listen if you are spotted, open fire immediately so’s we can at least get a location on you. These guys are not fooling around, so do not take chances.”
Warfell and Shadoweye nodded, bolting away with the two hounds.
“Iris.”
“Aye boss.”
“I know you are fast beneath the sod, how good are you inside rock?”
“Stick with meh, I can feel the north pull, even in tha dark.”
“Weapons?” British held a pistol forward.
“Nah, just meh,” the Arenthian replied with a grin. British patted her shoulder and then motioned for Bigfoot.
“Robert?”
“Yes Missus British?” the big man sauntered near, still estimating the cliffs above.
“I have an idea that needs a charging bull or a mountain ram, something unstoppable, barreling in at break-neck rage, are you available my friend?”
“Oh yes Ma’am. You point and I ram, got it,” he smiled a big goofy smile as the two female Danes coursed around him, leaning against the tree trunk legs.
“They like you,” Emili Swift remarked from nearby. British met the former Captain’s green eyes.
“Captain how’s your sharpshooting?”
“Good.”
“Needs to be great, grab Warfell’s second long-barrel and familiarize yourself with its sightings and feel.”
“Aye,” Swift hoisted the sniper rifle and walked away to calibrate the scope.
They settled in to wait for the return of the Aequitas Caelum.
“I’ve got this, dammit!” Tom pulled too hard and the long needle snapped. “Alright mama, come to me,” Snow inserted the broken piece back in the locking mechanism at an angle, pulling back gently, repeating the process like stroking a housecat’s nose, feeling the tiny bumps and forming the mental picture of them in his mind. He tried again—smiling when the mechanism relented with a soft ‘click!’ Tom slowly opened the cage front, and then pulled it back just to the point…
“Alright buddy, let me look at those legs,” Snow carefully examined the short limbs rather the size of a heavy man’s arms.
“Aaaaa” Logos winced, clenching teeth as Tom extended the right leg carefully.
“Okay, the left femur is broken solid my friend, the right? I’m sorry ol’ chum, but the infection has already set in. It’s broken in so many places I can’t tell. You may lose it—worse if we can’t get you out of here to a facility soon,” the Snowman never lied when it came to things like that. He did not have to ask how it happened—he’d already been through interrogations with the Arjuna beast lobbing away at his noggin. But Snow was strong, having been through much worse in his thirty-five years.
“Push comes to shove, I’m gonna hoist you up and run like there is no tomorrow and that is going to hurt, savvy? Just bear down and I promise we’ll make it. You heard the Spirit—they are outside right now Logos.”
“Yeah. I hear ya. It hurts Snowman, bad.”
“I know little buddy, I know. If I get a weapon in my hand, that big son of a bitch is first.”
They clung together and waited for the Knights of Salvos to come.
Danica Warfell and Torpa looked down on the opening; a gouge, seemingly natural, but she could see the footprints leading in and out. Torpa snorted and began sniffing the rock-deck behind Danica. The Dane murmured and she backed up, examining the hidden cleft.
“This is where Snow held out, keeping an eye on that hole down there,” she mused to the dog as he furiously scanned the rock with his nose. “But they caught him—probably with his back turned, but how did they sneak up on the Snowman Torpa, how did they?” Warfell followed the rock back, looking for a path…
Not far away, Tawnee was also examining the lone entrance with a field scope, patting the male Dane as he lay still. She discovered the huge beast would remain quiet and calm if he could lay upon her, or at least lean his body against her. Only then, the canine would take a deep breath and lower its huge maul on her hip. Hey, it worked. “I will call you Landreth, it means seeker,” whispered softy to the amazing Dane, resting at Tawnee’s side. A few moments of peace and the Assassin chirped, rising to a backwards crawl, stan
ding, running back to her fellow Knights with Landreth at her side.
The Aequitas Caelum floated close to his Daughter, addressing everyone.
It is time—I did not find an alternate path inside, Frantz has sealed himself in and fortified. It will be a direct, bloody assault. I advise going in quick. I will be at your side and can lead you to the captives.
British took over from there.
“Okay, follow me. Bigfoot and the lady Danes hold back and go as planned when I whistle. I am going in first. Tawnee and Emili are the rescue. Stay with my Father and evacuate the prisoners. Now listen to me. On the three blast whistle; you hear it, you do it and it’s down to seconds then and I am gonna purge the place with hydrogen flame, savvy? Seconds from the three…alright let’s go, keep it tight.”
No more hiding, no more waiting, British ran from the cover of the trees, passing the entrance at full speed, tossing a shiny steel tube inside and giving the first signal.
Emili took the shot, igniting the canister, sending a whirling plume of flame deep into the tunnel system. The flames died quickly and half a dozen men charged out, guns aloft. Swift opened fire as did Warfell from above, dropping each quickly.
British rallied her Knights, pulling two sticks from her vest, tight, paper-wrapped tubes with fuses emanating from the top. She shoved one at Robert.
“What’s this thing do Missus British?” Bigfoot asked, eyes still trained in the smoking hole big enough for a horse and little else.
“Oh my gods, it’s a mining charge—dynamite, right boss?” Tawnee smiled wide, she knew.
“Yeah, works like this,” British struck the fuse against the abrasive granite wall, igniting the top of the stick like a holiday sparkler. She grinned a diabolical grin and threw the tube deep inside, ducking back quick, holding hands to the side of her beautiful face.
Frantz did not anticipate the use of incendiaries. He actually thought Fey would strike diplomacy first—dead wrong.
Before the smoke cleared, Bigfoot Bob came like a raging bear, cleaving his axe side to side, chopping through the startled mercenaries like flailing sacks of meat, lowering the double blade and peppering the tunnel with scatter-shot, tossing the rifle into the smoke and moving on. His face was covered with cloth, eyes with glass goggles as the behemoth chopped his way forward with abandoned fury, dogs ravaging any able to survive the onslaught.
British dodged between Robert and one of the Danes, running into the opposition, slicing with the Scimitar, ducking, and lacing her way through the startled men and women, deeper into the interior of the catacomb system.
Bigfoot encountered the first of many side passages and forks. Just behind him, the benevolent Spirit guided Tawnee and Swift away, deeper into the system.
British got there first and had to grin at Tom Snow and Logos Gravari—their collective smiles of relief were just downright goofy lookin’.
“Howdy boys!” she tossed each a short-barreled repeater through the bars. “Wow,” she saw Logos’ legs. The little man bit down on a rind of leather as Tom lifted him over his shoulders and effortlessly pushed the steel bars forward to Fey’s raised eyebrows.
“I got skills,” he smiled.
“Yeah you do. Now wait here for Shadoweye—she’s your evac.”
“Wait-what?” both men said together, but British was already gone…
At that very moment, Nico, Dicey, Angles and June all returned fire from the galley. Brooke and Garrett had them pinned down as Robert came in, taking several hits on his armor plating before leaping to safety next to the Tiboreans. Okay, maybe it was the other way around. One of the female Danes yelped and hit the deck.
“NO!” Bigfoot pulled out the stick of dynamite British gave him, staring at the thing, knowing what it would do to the ceiling.
“DON’T BIGFOOT!” Brooke and Garrett screamed, holding palms out together.
“But we got ‘em! It’s a choke point! I can end it now!” he reasoned more with himself than his friends. Thank the mountain gods, British saved them, breeching the threshold and sliding in next to her Knights.
“FRANTZ!” she yelled from behind the bullet-riddled counter. “It’s me, British! Hey when this is over, you wanna grab a goblet dog or maybe go hat shopping?”
She could feel him teeming with rage not twenty paces away—everyone could.
“Tell ya what,” Fey continued, “How’s about you just sod off,” British grabbed the stick from Bigfoot, struck the top on the rock floor and tossed the sparkling tube across the galley. “Go, GO, go-go-go!” she whistled three times, sharp and shrill—they ran like mice in the light, both sides.
Flame can purge a catacomb without bringing the roof down but the mining charges were different. It wasn’t the fireball, which was impressive, no, it was the shock wave penetrating not just the air, but the surrounding rock. This is what started the collapse.
Outside, Nicolai Kenzie somehow made the fresh air first, breathing in full and crisp, setting his face to the fade sky, then catching the nickel slug on his forehead, jerking the Dwarven head back, sending him to the granite, dead.
More followed, but Danica raised the smoking brass plated barrel with a smile as Tom ran outside carrying Logos on his shoulders followed by Tawnee, Emili and Landreth.
Then they heard and felt it—like an earthquake. “Shit!” Warfell dropped the rifle, leaping up and racing down the mountain trail, Torpa hot on her heels.
A half-click away, and thirty minutes later, Viggo Frantz emerged onto a windswept cleft. June followed—Dicey didn’t make it.
Frantz fell to his knees. He really did not think she would do that! Exasperated and confused, the battered genius looked up from the snow.
And there she was, beautiful brown hair whipping about in the wind, suede cape popping as it opened wide to the mountain gales. The small beauty spoke with a tongue of utter disgust:
“Did you think I would not find out where the escape hole was? You do not know who I am, so I ask you now Viggo Frantz…do you know who I am?”
“Yes. You are the Daughter of the Aequitas Caelum,” Frantz was simply overwhelmed.
Behind British Fey, Robert John Stone appeared to one side, Danica Warfell to the other. The massive Danes, Landreth and Torpa growled low and deep—they knew these men were the enemy.
Arjuna stepped between his boss Angles and the Knights of Salvos. Bigfoot moved forward as well, hands extended to the side. He turned around, showing Arjuna that he was unarmed.
“YOU AND ME!” Robert barked. No hesitation, June leaped for him, springing through the air like an eight hundred pound Wolf.
Bigfoot drew the hidden pistol-grip shotgun his boss gave him, pulling the trigger just as the wide barrel reached the muscleman’s thick neck. The head flew free but the fists struck Bigfoot several times, autonomic reflexes still fighting. Bigfoot pushed the body away, moving to the side as the flailing torso fell from the mountain, still swinging and grabbing thin air. Bigfoot looked down to the red-dotted snow on deck.
“Boss lady taught me that, it’s called sleight of hand.”
Arjuna Konovo was a frightening man, skull resting in the bloody snow, face looking up at Robert, eyes freakishly open—he blinked.
They watched, all of them, the Dead turned Knights of Salvos. They watched in solemn silence as the Spirit of Caelum Fey swirled in and around Viggo Frantz.
Warfell and Fey stood motionless, Torpa pushing between them.
“He can’t get inside.” British.
“Damned if he isn’t trying.” Danica.
Then it happened, like an electric ‘snap’ Frantz began screaming, eyes bulging-bloodshot, wailing and moaning bloody murder.
“I killed my BROTHER! on a spring equi-fade, I was ten, used a garrote. Killed my combat instructor. Did it for my girlfriend—thought she’d like it but she did NOOOOOOT!”
The Aequitas Caelum finally reached Frantz’s well-hidden, brilliant mind, seizing it like a mad demon, squeezing ever tighter and tig
hter, sinking the crooked talons deep, and then pulling—ripping it apart at the seams with a horrifying howl.
“Are you getting tired Danica?” whispered as the body fell limp to the frozen granite, the raging Spirit still looming over the corpse, screaming at the sky.
Warfell gazed deep into British’s eyes, such sadness in the brown wells, pathways to her tortured Soul. With the weight of a lifetime’s violence pushing down on her heart, she took a deep breath, standing tall on the snowy mountainside.
“Partner I’m just getting started.”
*
The Seven Devils came to me, with
Intent to exact an accord.
They breathed their stench—insanity’s myth.
The fallow of the fool’s wise word.
I held their putrid, yellow eyes, for
There is no haven to hide,
The river of blood belies my gore,
These crimson hands are already inside
The Demesne of the Dammed, I
Am the child they fear,
The progeny who stabs! Fly
Away from here—far away from here.
I awoke to the acrid smell of their speak, it
Scratches at my mind,
I am the Unwanted, the one they Break! To spit
Upon the corpus infanticide…
British Fey
Other books by JA Stone:
Ascensions of Serenity
Taros Comes Wanting
The Crystal Stone
Daughter of the Corpse King
The Author wishes to thank everyone at Kindle and Amazon—helping so many aspiring writers to realize their dreams, and changing the industry forever.