by James Somers
“Laish and I can certainly work with your own spell casters to make it as secure as possible,” Brody said. “And our Master at Arms, Redclaw, is an excellent strategist. He would be more than happy to coordinate our warriors with your own.”
“The troll?” Brian asked.
Brody nodded. “He’s formidable.”
Brian smiled. “I’m sure he is. I just hate the idea of this coming invasion. If there was only some way we could prevent it—talk sense into Gladstone, or somehow stop his army from coming at all.”
Brody smiled suddenly at the king’s statement.
“What?” Shade asked.
“You’ve just given me an idea, Brian.”
I had decided to return to the quads where the Leprechauns trained for battle, as well as the many other Descendants who called Rockunder their home. Rumor was spreading fast around the city about an imminent attack coming out of England. Gladstone was said to be preparing for war with Ireland, much to the dismay of its bewildered human government as well as the Descendants living here.
Of course, we knew what was really going on, even if the British Prime Minister had his own citizens fooled. Black had managed, whether with Gladstone’s consent or not, to pull of several destructive acts of terrorism. After a decade of renewal, fear and paranoia once again reigned throughout London.
The Crystal Palace, which had only recently been reopened as London’s premiere exhibition center, had been blown to pieces one week ago. Nearly one thousand people had been killed inside. Many others, who had been in Hyde Park that morning, had been injured. The Palace itself had been left as little more than a smoldering crater ringed by its warped and twisted cast iron superstructure.
On this same morning, it had also been reported that one of these so called Irish terrorists had broken into the Kensington home of William Gladstone. The assassin, supposedly sent by Shade, had found the Prime Minister engaged in his breakfast and had gone about shooting up his dining room and, indeed, the Prime Minister also. A pictures of the scene, as well as the hospitalized Gladstone had been front page news in every rag in London. As if this had not been enough, the assassin had also exploded a grenade that blasted away a sizeable portion of the dining room’s western wall.
Just two days ago, someone reported to be Irish, had burst into an emergency session of parliament, gunning down half the politicians in attendance before setting the building in Whitehall ablaze. The fire had been quickly contained before it could spread to adjacent structures, but the gunman had gotten away.
As far as public opinion was concerned, these incidents and the word of England’s wounded prime minister were taken as clear evidence of Irish guilt. Even Ireland’s vigorous denials of any involvement had no effect on the mounting cry for war with the Emerald Isle. And thus it had been declared, following the parliament shootings, from Prime Minister Gladstone’s very own hospital room.
For all these reasons, the quads were more crowded than usual. A total of four such training grounds were located at equidistant positions from the royal palace—two on one wall, the other two opposite. Even citizens who weren’t soldiers in the technical sense could be found in abundance, training side by side with the Shade King’s Leprechaun warriors. If fact, the king had commanded certain of his squad leaders to begin training civilians for combat. Everyone would be needed in the battle that was coming.
This particular quad had become altogether different than when we had toured it a week ago. Swords and bows, fighting staffs and other melee weapons were few and far between. Now, the archery range had been converted. Target mannequins by the hundreds had been placed down range. Lined up opposite were Leprechauns and elves, mostly, shooting firearms.
Lever action rifles, Repeaters, were stacked in abundance, reminding me of the spelled rifle used by Redclaw. In fact, Redclaw was standing fifty spaces down from me, taking aim on a mannequin. He fired off a dozen rounds in rapid succession, hitting his target every time. The rifle itself could take the form of several kinds of firearms and it would never need reloading. A weapon of extraordinary value bequeathed to him by his late brother, Uriah.
I watched the progress of those on the line. Each mannequin had been spelled so that they moved in a threatening manner toward those firing. When they took a dozen hits, showing realistic damage, they returned to station at the wall, all damaged repaired.
The Shade King had obviously kept this cache of firearms for just this sort of eventuality. Apparently, all of his accumulated wealth had not been in vain. With all of his thousands of Leprechaun soldiers, plus those civilians willing to fight, Rockunder could put forth a formidable army.
Still, from what I remembered of my former master, I knew Black would not be ignorant to all of this. He was more cunning than that and he had taught me to be also. A being of shadow like Black knew exactly what the Shade King could muster against an invasion. He would send an army more capable than Britain’s humans.
I felt impatient. We had to know what we were up against. My anger was churning inside me again, remembering the betrayal of Black as Ishbe. I needed to take out some of my aggression. Usually, Sadie would spar with me. She was very good. Enough to be a real challenge when she got her dander up. But she wasn’t here at the moment—off with her mother somewhere.
Many soldiers and citizens were still sparring or learning combat skills that were entirely new to them. I looked for an opportunity. Someone in need of a partner. Though tall for a boy just recently turned eight years old, I was still relatively miniscule to the adults training here. It wasn’t that I couldn’t hold my own, only that most adults wouldn’t bother to spar with a child.
Then my vampire’s eyes found him across the quad. He was young and not so much bigger than me. Maybe a few years older, he reminded me of the prince a little, only less proud and more confident. Even from this distance, I could see it in his stance, in the way that he moved. No wasted motion.
Whoever he was, he was training alone. Being still a child himself, probably no one had wanted to spar with him either. If they had seen in him what I saw, they would have had a different reason altogether not to tangle with him. He was that good. And that intrigued me.
I found myself walking across the quad without thinking about it. Here was a challenge, a way to let go of some of my frustration. My mother had often warned me not to allow the feral side of my vampire nature to take control. Instinct unleashed could turn deadly very quickly. Because of my elf father, I had never had to suffer the bloodlust vampires feel. But it was still there, deep down—a yearning to kill that wanted to be free. Fighting was just a good way to keep that desire at bay.
Before I ever got close, the boy spotted me. He didn’t do anything overt. But I could sense the quickening of his pulse from here. A slight rise in body temperature. A tension that had not been there a moment ago, despite his training with one of the mannequins.
Clearly he had been frustrated with not having a real partner to spar with. A training mannequin—even a spelled one—could not compare to a living breathing thinking individual. Though vampires can sense fear keenly, I felt none in him. He wanted me to approach. Without any visible indication, I knew he was just as anxious as I was.
Only when I entered his training quad did he look at me directly. He stood still, breathing efficiently rather than heavily. His muscles tensed even though he was forcing himself to relax.
“You look like you could use a sparring partner,” I said.
He didn’t smile. “If you like,” he said. “Do you prefer bare hands, or weapons?”
I couldn’t help smiling a little. “Bare hands for now would be fine.”
I set my feet in a ready stance, one widely used in Kalandra. It was a difficult combat art. I was several inches shorter and not quite so muscular, but I wanted him to understand that I was well trained. He didn’t have to hold back for the sake of my younger age. I wanted whatever he could dish out—a real challenge.
Quick as a cat, he was on me. I had
expected him to be uneasy. After all, I was a stranger. However he was as ready for this, as I was.
Lightning fast punches came first. I was forced to block them. There was hardly time for anything else. He was boxing me in, keeping me on defense, wearing me down. The blows were hard, like being his with a club over and over. Had I not been a vampire, I would have succumbed already.
But I was a vampire and I was enjoying this. My hunger for action was on fire, my senses alive. I shifted my body, sidestepping a blow from his right hand, stepping outside of the space this boy had allowed me. I had waited until he was committed to the punch so that his momentum would force him to follow through.
His fist was halfway to me when I moved. Suddenly a blur, I dodged. The boy missed. I could sense that he hadn’t expected me to be so fast. Maybe he had never fought a vampire before.
With his right arm extended, I had an opening straight to his ribs. He also knew he was exposed. Still, I wasn’t going to do the obvious. I sent a jab to his ribs, just enough to let him know I was in the fight. By the time he winced at the blow, I had already spun around him.
But the boy was fast and my strike hadn’t hurt him. I had only annoyed him. That was all I had intended, so I was smiling when my elbow crashed into the small of his back. A roundhouse with his left came around for me, I had anticipated this. I blocked the meaty fist, but used the force of it to throw me away.
When I whipped around, I found the boy coming after me, smiling. He had been waiting for this fight. I grinned also, moving into a series of Kalandra kicks and sweeps that took our fight to the ground. His feet hopped over my legs sweeps, then a somersault. When he came down, he was standing in a similar Kalandra defensive stance.
I was impressed. So, he was more than just a brawler. I had wondered if all he had was boxing moves. I kipped back to my feet, not wasting time with a follow-up flip. That would have been showier, but an opponent like this could have made use of it against me. He wouldn’t be impressed by exposition anyway.
He came at me, launching into a flying flurry of kicks. It was a bit unexpected. This was no leap. He was maintaining actual flight. I blocked, dodged and rolled beneath him, then sprang into a reverse roundhouse kick as he landed.
The boy blocked and then caught hold of my leg. His elbow came up to pound it down across my knee—a move that could have ended the fight quickly for me. I wasn’t going to allow it. Instead, I shifted my weight, curling at the waist to throw him off balance. He had such a tight hold that my maneuver caused him to flip onto his back.
He landed heavily, the stunning blow causing him to release my leg. I jerked it away, rolled backward and came to my feet again. He was already on his feet, having mimicked my earlier kip-up.
We were both breathing harder by now, but grinning at each other. “You’re very good,” I said, complimenting him.
He nodded. “You’re not bad either. Better than I had hoped when you first walked over.”
“My name is Cole,” I offered, since we hadn’t bothered with introductions earlier.
He paused, but then mumbled, “Adolf.”
I straightened, dropping my fighting stance. He stopped breathing a moment as I walked closer. “Are you him?” I asked conspiratorially. “The one who put the prince in the infirmary a week ago?”
Adolf looked like he might bolt at any moment. His mouth opened. He thought better of speaking and shut it again. Then he launched into the sky, just as he had done to Liam’s guards a week ago. They had lost him. I had no intention of doing so.
I leaped into the air, becoming a raven in flight. He hadn’t even looked back, apparently forgetting that most vampires took winged animal forms. Adolf was heading for the other side of the city located on the opposite wall of the massive cavern where Rockunder had been built.
Gravity pulled from one direction until we reached a threshold about halfway across the expanse of the cavern. Then gravity reversed. We hurtled back toward the street ahead.
Adolf touched down, looking back toward where he thought he had left me. My wing beats, slowing my descent to land, caught his immediate attention. His eyes narrowed on me as I became a boy again beside him.
Unexpectedly, he attacked. Punches and kicks, even more furious than before, came my way. I blocked them all, but did not return the attack.
“Will you stop?” I asked. “I just asked a question. I’m not turning you in!”
Adolf paused, huffing and puffing. “You’re not?”
I lowered my arms slightly, looking into his eyes. “Of course not,” I said. “I would sooner shake your hand for beating some of the pride out of Liam Shade than turn you in.”
Adolf lowered his fists. I did the same. We were drawing attention to ourselves. He glanced around then back to me, stepping closer. “Why?” he asked.
“In my estimation, you did nothing wrong,” I replied. “Didn’t he challenge you?”
“He did,” Adolf confirmed.
“And you beat the stuffing out of him,” I said. “Sounds like a fair fight to me.”
He smiled broadly now. “Right,” he said. “I even warned him what would happen before we fought, and he still wouldn’t drop it.”
“I’ve had my own share of problems with Prince Liam,” I said. “For some reason—I still haven’t figured out why—he hates me. I’ve tried to be nice to him, but it does no good.”
“You should try breaking his ribs,” Adolf said, grinning.
I laughed. “I don’t think that’s going to help our relationship any.”
Adolf clapped a hand on my shoulder, smiling. “No, but it would make you feel better.”
Blockade
Black, still wearing the physical form of Ishbe, hovered in the air nearly five hundred feet above the island of Ireland. He looked down upon it with disdain. His enemies were down there. However, he was forbidden by the Almighty to touch them directly.
The fact that he had been able to kill Donatus still shocked him. But he knew how matters worked. Sometimes the protective hand removed because it was simply that person’s time to die. Since Donatus had been protected before, he could only assumed that this was the case. Even though one of His holy angels had prevented the deathblow, Black had known Donatus couldn’t possibly survive.
Why do you waste time staring at them, when they are beyond our reach? the cherubim interrupted his thoughts. These days, it was unusual for them to bother.
“I want to destroy them,” Black said.
We will empower the army that destroys them, as planned.
“Some of them might escape that army,” Black said, feeling frustrated. “They have escaped before. Even setting you free did not kill them.”
We can create a barrier to prevent them escaping.
“And if they teleport?” Black asked. “What then?”
In order to teleport from this island they would have to pass along the spiritual plane where our forms reside and rule. This would be more dangerous than fighting Gladstone’s army.
Black grinned. “True,” he said. “And the nature of this barrier?”
An energy barrier capable of repelling any force exerted against it should suffice.
Black grinned as he looked down upon Ireland. “Very well,” he said. “Make it so.”
The S.S. Blackstone, a large fishing trolley, working nets off the coast of Northern Ireland, maintained its steady course out into the North Channel between the Emerald Isle and Scotland. Donner, the captain of the Blackstone watched from the bridge as the sea churned ahead, lifting the bow high then dipping low.
The tempestuous nature of the channel today was not normal. A dark thunderhead stretched over them as far as the eye could see. Lightning flashed every few seconds, many times striking the sea.
Donner watched as his brother, Michael, weaved back and forth across the deck, coming from the bow where he had been attempting to ascertain the nature of the storm. Michael happened to be an accomplished spell caster, though Donner had neve
r been. Both men were Leprechauns. They were also private business men in Ireland, as many Leprechauns were. The Blackstone was the flagship of their fishing fleet, which consisted of nearly twenty vessels.
The number of Leprechauns that were mingled into the society and government of Ireland would have shocked most Descendants—even those who were used to such doings. Even the Shade King was known by humans here, although they knew him as Prime Minister. The Leprechauns had managed to integrate with mortals so completely that even some humans had knowledge of and access to the Leprechaun capital of Rockunder.
Still, caution had not been completely thrown to the wind. If these privileged few ever decided to reveal what they knew, an oath spell they had accepted would wipe their memory clean. And not just of the matters pertaining to Leprechauns and their magnificent city, either. They would lose all of their memories. The very few times this oath had been broken by a human, the unfortunate souls had forgotten even how to walk and talk. They now lived out their lives in sanitariums.
Michael caught hold of the ladder and climbed steadily toward the upper deck and the bridge. The heavy rain pelted him continuously, stinging his face and hands, all that was visible outside the confines of his canvas jacket. When he reached the door, he flung it open and marched in, dripping water across the metal floor.
“What the devil is going on out there?” Donner called over the din of the storm which had invaded the relative quiet of the bridge.
“I’ve no idea,” Michael said, slamming the door back into place and latching it tight. He pushed the hood of his jacket back from his head, giving his brother a grim look. “Near as I can tell, it ain’t natural though.”
Already, Donner had ordered the dozen members of their crew below deck to ride out the storm. They were humans. None of them realized the true nature of their Leprechaun employers.
Donner peered through the glass at the raging monster the sea had become. “Who could possibly cause this?”