Lincoln: Angelbound Book 2 with bonus novella, Duty Bound

by Bauer, Christina;

  “Agreed.” I turn to Walker. “Take me back to Antrum.”

  Walker bows slightly at the waist. “As you command.” He winks.

  “Go on,” snarls Aldred. “Enjoy my leniency until your father returns. He’ll talk some sense into you, and I won’t be so forgiving next time!”

  While Walker creates his portal, my thoughts return to my secret plan to thwart Aldred and his demon patrols, once and for all. This chance at training is a stroke of good luck. It could make all the difference when my plan does come to pass. It all hinges on the Earl of Striga, Aldred’s bloated ego, and the Archer’s Moon.

  But for now, there’s nothing to do but wait…and visit more families of the fallen.

  Two hundred warriors lie dead on this battlefield.

  I can’t let that happen again.

  4

  The next morning, I wait for the Acca warriors to arrive on my personal practice grounds. This area is nothing special really: a wide swath of yellowing grass that’s ringed by browning woods. As always, gray skies loom overhead. In that way, Purgatory is a lot like Antrum. You’ll never see even a sliver of blue sky in either place.

  I sense the Acca warriors before I see them. Through my own feet, I feel the slight rhythmic thump of their boots on the ground. Some telltale crinkling of leaves and crackling of branches as they march through the forest. My heart rate quickens.

  Today is a chance I simply can’t pass up. I plan to challenge Aldred to a fight under the Archer’s Moon. If I win, I can claim any boon that I wish. Chances are, Aldred will have me battle one of his commanders instead. I don’t have long to learn their tricks.

  Twenty Acca warriors march out from the tree line in two neat rows. I approach the first commander in line, a hulk of a man that I recognize instantly. “You’re Lothar, correct?”

  “I am Lothar the Fierce.” His deep voice carries the heavy accent of someone who grew up on the outskirts of Acca territory. It’s a cross between the gruff sound of human German combined with an American hillbilly twang. “My Earl trains me. We should not be here.” Lothar glares. “Our house has treaty with yours. You no order me around.”

  “And yet you’re here,” I say. “And on your Earl’s orders, no less.”

  For a moment, Lothar’s lips hang open as he debates what to do next. Then he snaps his mouth shut.

  Smart move.

  I gesture toward the empty practice field. “Why don’t we start training with you, Lothar?”

  “I no need training. I show you.” The hulking man reaches into a thigh pocket and pulls out a dart. “I pick it up and throw it.” With a powerful flick of the wrist, Lothar chucks the dart into the trees. Somewhere in the shadows, a small animal shrieks.

  I lift my brows. “I believe you just killed a cat.”

  “No cat. Squirrel.” Lothar taps his temple. “I know how to fight, get it?”

  This is too rich. “Lobbing darts at squirrels does not equate to prowess in hand-to-hand combat. And close fighting, my dear Lothar, is why you’re here.”

  “You no understand.” Lothar reaches for his pocket again and pulls out another dart. He carefully slips the covering off the needle-like ending. “This one has poison. I hold in my fist and punch you in the face. You die. Hand-to-hand combat is over.”

  I nod, impressed, and store away that fact for the future. “I must admit, that’s one battle tactic I didn’t realize you employed.”

  “Good. We go.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that hand-to-hand combat is a lot more than sneaking out a poisonous needle.” I rest my hand on Lothar’s arm and lower my voice. “You know what happened with the Soul Slasher.”

  A pang of hurt flashes in Lothar’s eyes. “I do.” He recaps the dart and sets it back into a pocket on his training armor.

  Good. He’s listening.

  “How would you stop the next Soul Slasher?” I ask.

  Lothar frowns. “I pick it up and throw it. That’s what my Earl says.” The statement lacks the mindless conviction he spoke with before, though. I consider this major progress.

  “Well, Aldred is not here.“ A rhythmic crunch sounds from the forest line. I don’t need to turn around to know that someone’s stepping onto the practice ground behind me—and this particular someone has a very distinct tread. “Correction, your Earl just decided to join us.” I turn to face him. “Good morning, Aldred.”

  The Earl scans the practice grounds. “Where’s Connor?”

  “Did you forget? It’s my parents’ anniversary. They always take a small trip to celebrate.” It’s one of my favorite times of year, actually. I get a lot of schemes completed in their absence.

  “Be that as it may,” huffs the Earl. “I’m here to round up my warriors.”

  Aldred is many things, and predictable is one of them. I knew this was coming, but I feign a small look of surprise. Never let your enemy know you can read them. “But the warriors only just arrived. As you recall, we agreed to a full week of training.”

  “That’s far too long. I don’t remember anything like that.”

  “It seems we have a disagreement of history. Shall I order the Earl of Striga here? He can cast a binding spell and hold us to our respective promises.” I step closer. “The agreement was for a week, Aldred.”

  In truth, I have far better things to do than spend a week with Acca’s commanders. That said, I had to ask for a week. If I had requested a day of training, then Aldred would never shut up until I cut it down to an hour. This way, I ask for a week and get the day I actually want. Win-win.

  I snap my fingers, as if an idea is just forming. “I’ll make you a bargain. How about I release your warriors after one day’s training?”

  “Agreed.”

  “But I have a condition.”

  Aldred waves his hand. “Name it.”

  “I need to make sure your commanders have retained what they’ve learned. I’d like a display of their new skills, right here.”

  Aldred puffs out his jowls. That’s his classic negotiating tell. It means he’s interested but not convinced. “A display, eh?”

  “Surely. I’ll hand out honorary ranks in the royal military for those that pass the tests That way, we can make it a celebration, if you like. I’ll provide the mead and roast meats.”

  Aldred is nothing if not notoriously cheap. “You will?”

  “You have my word.”

  “In that case, yes.”

  “Excellent. The festivities can start on Saturday at sundown.”

  “That’s three days away. Why the wait?”

  “They need time to practice, don’t they?”

  “I suppose.” Aldred purses his lips. “Hard to have a display of prowess in the dark, though.”

  “But better to enjoy mead and food.” And enact my plan, not that I’m sharing that part. “Besides, my parents plan to return from their trip on Saturday night. They’ll able to join us.”

  “Ah, yes. Connor will be back.” Aldred rubs his rounded chin. “Yes, that’s a capital idea. I have a lot to discuss with him, you know.”

  “I do know.” The thought settles on my shoulders like a lead weight. Both my parents will be less than pleased about the incident with the Soul Slasher. “Until then.” I gesture back to the tree line. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  “Of course, my boy.” A sneaky gleam shines in Aldred’s mismatched eyes before he turns off to march back toward the woods. He’ll lurk in the trees and observe us, no question about it. Still, it’s the point of the thing. Lurking is where he belongs.

  I return my attention to the soldiers. “Let’s get to it. We have a lot of work to do in one day.”

  Before me, Lothar finally picks up a practice sword. In my heart, a choir of angels sings to celebrate the moment.

  I pick up my own wooden sword and work hard not to smile. The next stage of my plan is set in motion.

  Battle training is about to begin.

  5

  The day of training p
asses quickly. It seems like only a few hours go by before the skies in Purgatory darken. To be sure, this place is always cloudy, but I’m starting to sense that deeper hue of charcoal that means night is about to fall.

  I do keep my word. Aldred and I agreed to one day of training. I dismiss the commanders. Within seconds, they are marching off the practice grounds in their neat rows. When it comes to projectiles and synchronized marching, no one is better than Acca.

  Once they’re well and gone, I leave the practice grounds myself. After a full day of training the Acca commanders, every muscle in my body has that pleasant ache that only good battle training can deliver.

  I march down the quickest path to return to my cabin. The browning leaves arch overhead, appearing darker against the fading light. There’s something comforting about dusk. I pull a rotted leaf off one of the trees and twist it by the stem in my fingers. Like all things in Purgatory, it’s dying. A latticework of holes has been munched through the leaf by some insect or two. The pattern is intricate, almost beautiful.

  The thought makes me stop.

  I might actually be starting to like it here.

  All of a sudden, Zachary bounds around a turn in the path ahead. He’s wearing cotton trousers and a black tunic, so the boy isn’t on duty. He stops before me, all knobby knees and panting chest.

  “Your Highness, the Doxy demons are back.”

  “They come back regularly.”

  “But these are Arch Doxies.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, they have red bodies and everything. I was just going to alert my commander when I saw you.”

  Arch Doxies are a Class C demon, mostly because their bites can be incredibly poisonous. “You did well. Please alert your commander.”

  “But I want to go with you.”

  “If you were my son…” I pause, trying to picture what kind of child I’d have with Lady Adair. I don’t know her well, but I do know that house. I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to Zachary. There’s no point thinking negative thoughts about my impending marriage. It’s an arrangement and I shall do my duty. I clear my throat. “Fighting Class C enemies is no place for a young old boy.”

  Zachary’s thin shoulders slump with disappointment. “As you say, Your Highness.”

  “Why don’t you go see Cook? Tell him I said you can try some of those cloud-side desserts he was able to buy. Twinkies, I think they call them.”

  “Really?” Zachary works hard to hide his delight. “I mean, if you’re sure.”

  “Positive. You did well, and one day you’ll be fighting Doxies, I assure you.”

  “All right. Thank you, Your Highness!” He runs off a few steps and pauses. “Maybe you’ll see the girl this time.”

  “The girl?” On reflex, my hand goes to my breastplate. I still keep Zachary’s drawing there.

  “Yes, the one I told you about before. Maybe she’s back.”

  I ignore the way my pulse speeds up. Zachary is a talented artist who drew a lovely mystery girl while under some kind of spell—not that my enchantment breakers have found any signs of magic on him yet. Still, what are the chances that there really is a phenomenal female thrax warrior in the stables right now…and one that I’ve never heard of, let alone Mother. The Queen has a keen interest in developing female warriors, along with a spy network to discover if any actually exist. The fact that one would be running around Purgatory without Mother being aware? Not likely.

  “Understood. Thank you, Zachary.”

  As Zachary runs off, I head toward the stables again.

  No matter what fantasy Zachary drew, the realty is that it’s next to impossible for a female thrax warrior to be anywhere near this compound. And that thought makes me far sadder than it should.

  * * *

  I take my time entering the stables. Night has fallen more deeply, but there’s still enough light to see by the naked eye. It’s not often that I get a chance to take on demons solo. Most of the time, I’m leading a patrol and using the mission as a way to coach other thrax.

  But a chance to kill demons alone and with abandon? I plan to savor this.

  I step inside the dimly lit stables. Immediately, one thing is clear. There are Arch Doxies everywhere. They have the classic look of the breed: wide faces, horned heads, bat wings, and serpentine bodies. Dozens of them fly about the main aisle of the stable. More scurry about the floor.

  The horses are wide eyed and terrified; their marble eyes seem ready to pop out of their heads.

  I stick to the shadows by the main doorway and consider my options. There are too many demons here for a direct assault, especially considering how I’m in training gear versus battle armor. Arch Doxies may be frightening to horses, but they are incredibly poisonous to humans. One too many bites, and I’m done for. So I need some way to group them up and get them out of here. But how?

  Suddenly, I notice a long horse tail moving along the central aisle of the stables, seemingly on its own. Kneeling down, I get a closer look at the item. In fact, it’s actually a lure made from strips of horsehair fabric. Some thrax warrior is drawing the demons away. Clever. Even better, the scent of cinnamon hangs heavy in the air. That particular smell is ambrosia to any kind of Doxy.

  On the opposite side of the stables, a figure moves in the shadows. It’s as Zachary said—this is someone in ghoul robes who certainly isn’t a ghoul.

  The false tail winds down the main aisle. A heartbeat later, all the Arch Doxies flock to the lure, locking their clawed feet into the fabric while their wide mouths gnaw on it with gusto. The lure won’t last long at this rate, but it will still get the Arch Doxies outside. From there, the demons will be easier to fight than in a cramped space.

  Another gate swings open at the opposite end of the stables; the fighter must be leading them outside.

  Damn, I wish I’d thought of that.

  An image pops into my mind. It’s the girl from Zachary’s drawing. What if she really is here and a warrior to boot? Wishful thinking. Aside from Mother, the desire to fight has left this generation of thrax ladies.

  No point getting overly excited about this. It’s definitely a thrax man.

  The thrax warrior gives the tail lure a flick, as if trying to shake the Arch Doxies off. They respond by clinging on even more tightly. Smart. After that, the warrior races out of the back of the stables, trailing the lure behind. The lure is almost gone, but the plan has worked. Dozens of Doxy demons stream out of the stables to follow the fighter into the darkness.

  After hours of training noble Acca commanders on the basics of swordplay, this warrior intrigues me. I can’t wait to see how he ends these Arch Doxies.

  I take off after the fighter at a run.

  6

  The warrior speeds through the darkened forest. I follow along, careful to stay hidden. The Arch Doxies give up on the lure and instead cluster around the fighter. Bat-like shrieks fill the air. My insides twist with worry. Arch Doxies only make that noise when chomping into their prey… And every bite is laced with deadly poison.

  My breath catches. With that many Arch Doxies? That fighter doesn’t have long to live.

  The warrior takes off at a run, the cloud of Arch Doxies following along. My throat constricts with concern. I push myself harder, trying to catch up. As I race along, I pull out my baculum from their holster.

  Whatever I can do to help, I’m ready.

  Suddenly, the sound of a great splash breaks the night air. There’s a lake nearby; the fighter must have jumped into it. Perhaps he was out of his mind with pain and poison.

  My heart sinks. I can’t lose another warrior.

  I break through the line of trees and scan the lake proper. A coppery tang fills the air. Blood. A trail of crimson drops leads up to the water’s edge. But is the blood Doxy or thrax?

  Please, let it be Doxy.

  I step up to the water’s edge. The lake’s surface stays unnaturally calm. That can’t be right. There was definitely a splash
.

  Could the warrior have drowned? With that much poison in his system, it wouldn’t have taken much to push him over the edge.

  I scan the lake. It’s still. No bubbles. A weight of sadness settles into my soul. It must be as I feared. Another thrax warrior is dead. And we can’t afford to lose any fighter, let alone one with such knowledge of demon lore.

  I cup my hand by my mouth. “Hello?”

  No one answers.

  “Anyone here?”

  My only reply is the chittering of nearby insects.

  I rub my neck and sigh. I’ll need to find the Earl of Striga. He has charms and spells that can levitate a dead body from the water.

  What a waste.

  All of a sudden, the warrior pops out of the water. It’s a girl. And not just any girl, the exact one from Zachary’s drawing. Although I thought she looked lovely in the image, now she’s even more beautiful in person. The mystery maiden is covered in demons and laughing.

  My eyes widen. That’s right. It’s a little-known fact in demon lore, but water weakens all classes of Doxies, as well as nullifying their poison. How could I have forgotten? Leaping into the lake is not just clever, it’s brilliant. Who knew there was a thrax woman with such knowledge of demonic lore?

  Now she takes after the Doxies. Her limbs are a ballet of movement as she crushes the demons with her bare hands.

  I’ve never seen anyone like this before. She’s beautiful inside and out, and a fine warrior to boot. An electric sensation courses through my soul. How can someone like this exist, and I haven’t known about her?

  The girl flips around, and I can see her eyes gleam red in the darkness as she laughs. Her tail lashes behind her. The thing is covered in dragonscales. She’s not a thrax then; she’s a demon.

  And I thought her beautiful.

  Demons kill my people. I just saw a Soul Slasher take down a hundred of my warriors. What would their loved ones think if they knew that I’d ogled a she-demon?