The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  Angie came to a jarring stop, pulling Maeve to a halt. Hanging on the wall was a painting of her. There was no mistaking the resemblance. She wore camouflaged fatigues and rode one of the Mares of Diomedes, the silver horse Lampon the Shining. She stared open-eyed at Maeve. "How…"

  "He painted it himself. You should be honored." With that simple explanation, Maeve pulled her along.

  They entered a massive hall dominated by a long firepit with glowing red coals. Here, for the first time, Angie saw other servants. Sprites, nymphs, and elves bustled through the hall, cleaning and tending to duties, stoking the coals, baking. Most of the Fey were nude, making Angie appreciate what little clothing she did have. The servants dropped to their knees, lowering their heads. Me, she realized. They’re bowing to me. A wooden platform at the far end of the hall contained an ornate golden throne. A pair of trolls were carrying a slightly smaller golden throne, carefully placing it beside the larger one.

  "What's going on, Maeve?"

  "They ... we all love you, sleepy-sleepy—I mean, Your Majesty. Everyone loves you and wants you to know that." This time Maeve didn't meet Angela's eyes but hurriedly pulled her along through the hall, leaving the servants behind, their heads still lowered. "We'll love you forever and ever and ever."

  Maeve led her to an entrance way, a massive set of wooden double doors that led outside. Each door was at least ten feet high, a foot thick, and banded in iron with triangular spikes protruding. A pair of ram-horned ogden in gleaming black plate-mail armor stood on either side of the entrance holding long-hafted axes, the sharp heads gleaming in the torchlight. As the satyr and Angie approached, the two guards snapped to attention. Each ogden must have weighed three hundred pounds and could have cut a man in half with a single swing of one of those gargantuan axes. Angie stared at the huge guards. There’s zero chance of fighting these things with a side-sword, but even barefoot, I bet I could outrun them.

  The night was warm and moist, with the smell of flowers and grass hanging in the air. There were more ogden guards patrolling, some with axes, others with polearms. She turned and stared up at the tower. The tower was black, seeming to leech the light around it. Its summit rose high above her, a hundred feet or more. The outer grounds were meticulously landscaped, with gardens and small copses of trees. In the distance, a tall black stone wall ran across the terrain, no doubt surrounding the tower. A half dozen centaurs loped along the wall, lances in hand. A single pack of centaurs had lived in the Fresno Enclave, skittish and shy. They had always avoided her, but she had watched them outrun the old zoo's gazelles. Ogden she might outrun but never centaurs.

  "How many Fey live here?" she asked Maeve as the satyr pulled her toward the maze she had seen from the tower.

  "Here in Wealsglad Vale? Several hundred—guards and servants mostly—but there are often dignitaries from all corners of the Hollows that come to pay their respects or swear loyalty. And hostages. He keeps hostages just to make sure others don’t break promises. He doesn't like it when they break promises. No, no, no. He doesn't like it at all." The satyr shivered.

  A large moth, its wingtips at least a foot across, fluttered toward Angie's face, and she spun away, raising her hands over her face, but the moth veered away. Maeve giggled. "Silly, silly. No time to play."

  Maeve pulled Angie to the hedge maze. She saw no entrance. The vines and leaves were so thickly wound together they might as well have been bricks. Maeve gripped her ram horns, wrapping her fists around the tips, and closed her eyes. Angie felt the flow of magic, and the vines and bushes trembled and then withdrew, opening to expose a three-foot gateway. "Stay close with me," Maeve said, letting go of her horns.

  They entered the maze. Behind them, the vines slid back into position, once again forming an impenetrable barrier. Maeve led Angie through the maze. Sometimes she took turns seemingly at random; other times she used her magic to open another path. Was there an actual path through the maze, or did one need magic? She suspected that without Maeve, she'd never find her way out.

  They came out of the narrow corridors of the maze, stepping into a woodland clearing filled with hundreds of Fey. This must be the heart of the maze.

  The Fey stood about a small hill, atop which towered a single massive oak tree. Torches burned in iron braziers, bathing the assembled Fey in an orange glow. Dozens of the large white moths danced above the flames. The air smelled of animal musk and exotic flowers. Maeve pulled Angie closer to the hill, and at their approach, the Fey whispered among themselves in excitement and then dropped to their knees, once more bowing to Angie. A path lined with small black stones led up the hill. Angie's heart pounded as Maeve led her through the crowd and up the path, keenly aware of hundreds of Fey eyes upon her.

  Maeve encouraged her with a smile. "He awaits." Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Remember. Don’t make him angry."

  At the top of the hill, against the trunk of the oak tree, a blond man lounged in a large wooden chair covered with furs. Lodin, Angie realized. This must be Lord Lodin, the master of the Fey Hunt, the ruler of the Hollows. When she came closer and saw him clearly, a shiver coursed through her as if she had just been dunked in ice-cold water, and she froze in mid-step. It was the same sensation she had felt the first time she had seen him. There was a connection … some arcane force between them. She remained in place, her gaze locked on his. It was like staring at the sun, a golden god of a man.

  He sat with one powerful leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on his thigh, his chin propped up by his palm. He was a huge, powerful, beautiful man, almost painfully handsome. He wore a gleaming black crown set with red rubies the size of her palm but little else, not even a loincloth over his impressive yet flaccid penis. Like all Fey, he was utterly unconcerned about his nudity, but Angie forced her eyes to his face. His skin was smooth, golden brown, and seemed to shine as if he were coated in oils. When he looked on Angie, his smile flashed like fire.

  He slid from the chair, seeming to glide across the ground, moving faster than she would have thought possible. She felt helpless before him, barely aware as Maeve let go of her hand and dropped to a knee. His long blond hair hung past his shoulders like spun gold, matching his strange golden eyes, eyes that seemed to know everything about her. He was clean-shaven, with thin blond eyebrows and a narrow nose. Angie trembled as Lodin loomed over her. His lips parted, and his expression reminded her of a starving wolf. Somehow, she felt like she was the naked one—and more than a bit aroused, she realized, her skin flushing.

  He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it, his lips hot, not warm—hot. A shiver of desire coursed through her, and she swayed in place.

  "Welcome, Angela Ritter," he said in a deep, sonorous voice. "Welcome to the Court of the Hunt Master, King of the Hollows. Welcome to my home. Welcome to your home. I have been waiting for you for an eternity, or so it seems."

  His golden eyes were like large, beautiful pools that she could fall into. His red lips parted, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss them. Then, as if from far away, she heard the voice of the Shade King, almost a whisper: BEWARE.

  Fey magic, Angie realized. She gave her head a shake and yanked her hand free, seeing the flash of anger in his golden eyes. She stepped back a pace and rested a hand atop Nightfall's hilt.

  "Why have you kidnapped me?" she demanded, certain that she had been moments away from throwing herself at this man. But she had grown up around Char and recognized the magic affecting her—Fey charm, the same filthy magic trick Aernyx had used on her in her dream—and she was tired of being played. She forced herself to ignore the sensations coursing through her body; they were a trick not real.

  No matter how perfect this man was.

  "Be calm, Angela," he said, placing his large, warm hands atop her shoulders. She suppressed a shiver of delight at his touch. "You are a guest, not a prisoner. We have too much between us."

  "Where are my friends?"

  "Gone. Back to their own rea
lm. I had no interest in them, nor in Ephix Lamia, despite her treason. The day will come when I punish her for her betrayal but not yet. I care not a whit about that dark, dreary realm in which she hides—other than for the blessing that brought you to me. But—" he paused, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. "She has hidden you from me for too many years now. Her and her druid sister. That is a crime I can never forgive."

  "I had a necklace. I need it. It ... keeps me safe."

  He shook his head. "You no longer need that trinket. Nothing can harm you in my realm, not even in your dreams. I will protect you now."

  "Why? Why me? I ... sense something about you, but I can't explain it."

  He laughed, his smile that of an angel, and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in against him. If she had been turned on before, she practically melted now, an all-too familiar warmth spreading through her.

  "I felt it, too, Angela," he said as he guided her to his high wooden chair and set her atop it, stepping back and nodding in appreciation. "That is where you belong, on a throne. The moment you entered the Hollows, I felt your presence and understood the deception that kept you from me. Those two traitors, Chararah Succubus and Ephix Lamia, hid you for years." He turned to face the assembled Fey. "See? Did I not tell you she'd make such a queen?"

  The Fey cheered, their cries washing over Angie. She stared in confusion, her pulse throbbing in her skull. "Tell me what's going on?" Her voice broke as her emotions surged.

  "The connection you feel, Angela Ritter," Lodin told her, "is like to like, the same way stars cluster into constellations."

  "I don't understand."

  "You will." He spun away and raised his voice. "Bring forth the traitor."

  The crowd parted, an angry murmur rising from it as two ogden guards approached, hauling a green-skinned figure between them, a troll. Iron chains hung between the troll’s ankles and wrists: Garaka Dun, Angie realized, the troll chieftain who had helped them escape Coronado Island. The guards threw the troll to land on his belly in front of Lodin. Other ogden guards shoved more chained trolls forward, females and children, at least a dozen of them, their eyes glazed with fear.

  Lodin stepped closer, stopping before the prostrated troll. "Beg for my mercy, chieftain of the Binyakka tribe. You do not deserve it, but I am in a giving mood."

  The troll chieftain raised his head and glared balefully at Lodin. Dried blood coated the side of his head. "I ... will not beg, master of nothing. I go to my ancestors with my honor intact. In death, I will be free of your tyranny, and someday, so will my people."

  "Such hubris," said Lodin sadly. "Such a waste of bravery. You could have been a warlord, a leader of your people."

  "I am a leader of my people."

  "No, you are an example." Lodin dropped to a knee and placed his palms on either side of the troll's head. Garaka Dun's eyes widened, and his body stiffened. A wail of anguish rose from the troll prisoners.

  Angie gasped, recognizing the sudden flow of energy as it passed from the troll into Lodin. The troll was dead before Lodin stood. Now Lodin's body practically glowed with stolen life force. He looked over his shoulder and met Angie's eyes, and understanding passed between them. "Now do you see, Angela?"

  And she did. Lodin was a source mage.

  Just like her.

  Chapter 23

  Tec trudged wearily through the southern California wildlands, following Ephix, Prince Kilyn, and the hundred or so warriors who had survived Lodin's ambush. Lodin might have killed them all, but the ambush had been little more than a feint. Angie had been the target.

  And Tec had failed her.

  He had been too busy fighting to recognize the true threat—the Fey Mermen waiting beneath the piers. By the time anyone realized what had happened, the Mermen had taken Angie beneath the water. In the desperate hand-to-hand fighting that followed, Ephix opened another portal, and the survivors fled back to Earth, dragging a distraught Tec with them.

  He had begged Ephix to send him back, but she had refused. Lodin, she claimed, was far more dangerous than she was and could kill with a touch—even a were-jaguar. To even attempt a rescue would be certain death. No, she had said sadly, she and her sister had kept Angie hidden from Lodin all her life, but now he finally had her.

  Tec couldn't accept that.

  He'd never accept that; the pain of losing Angie was worse than the heartbreak he had felt the day his master Quetzalcoatl had died. For so many decades now, he had been alone, a warrior in service to a dragon master. Now to find someone to share his life with and then lose her again... He made fists of his hands.

  No. He'd find a way to go back for her, no matter what.

  But for now, the others needed him, needed his help to survive. They were in the wilderness of the post-Awakened world, with the dangerous ruins of Los Angeles to their north, an Aztalan army to their south, and uncertainty all about. They needed to reach the elven refugees who had escaped Coronado Island before the dragon attack.

  They marched all day, skirting the ruins of Los Angeles. They would have made better time, but the wounded—and there were many wounded now—slowed their pace. The main Aztalan army was still far behind them, but Ephix feared they might run into scouts, so she kept to the sparse vegetation and trees to conceal their movement. Even wounded and exhausted, the elves moved with remarkable skill, barely disturbing a leaf.

  They spent an uneasy night in the open, and the next day, they followed the old Highway 5 through the mountains and reached the southern end of the San Joaquin Valley to find a camp filled with thousands of elves, all that remained of the Coronado Enclave. The sight of the camp encouraged the weary warriors, and they rushed forward to embrace loved ones. Tec saw Prince Kilyn holding the tall Wyn Renna, speaking softly to her, passing on the news of their mother's death. Wyn Renna’s face betrayed her stormy emotions, but she was the heir now and would need to be strong for her people.

  They spent another day with the refugees, readying themselves for the trek north. It was more than a hundred kilometers to Sanwa City and another hundred to the Fresno Enclave. It would take days just to reach Sanwa City where, according to Ephix, Marshal had promised help. Many of Ephix's Fey were already here with horses and wagons to help move the refugees. Tec even saw human Home Guard patrols on horseback, providing flank security for the refugees. Some humans even moved among the elves, helping distribute food and water, with medics tending those badly hurt.

  Tec was both surprised and impressed. He never would have expected humans to help Fey. Perhaps First Councilor Marshal was a better man than he had realized, or maybe Marshal was more frightened of the coming Aztalan army. Refugees were an enormous burden. Most likely, Marshal just wanted to speed their passage through his territory.

  With Fey and human help, the elven refugees trudged wearily north through the San Joaquin Valley. At sunset, two days later, they came within view of the walls of Sanwa City. Thousands of Nortenos had flocked to refugee camps set up on the outskirts of the city, including the remnants of the Norteno military that Marshal had wisely brought into service, joining them with his Home Guard. But with so many people, there was no room for elves. There can't possibly be enough food for so many. People were going to starve soon, and then panic would start. No, he realized sadly, they won’t. The Aztalans will get here before anyone starves.

  Itzpapalotl and Rayan Zar Davi still needed Wyn Renna, the Haanal X'ib whose blood they believed held the key to freeing the petrified dragon, Memnog. Tec wasn't entirely sure he believed the ancient Olmtec prophesy, but that didn't matter; Itzpapalotl and Rayan Zar Davi believed it. The Aztalans would come north. They’d come for conquest, and they’d come for Wyn Renna. With his master Quetzalcoatl dead, there were no other great dragons to stop them.

  Something was happening just ahead; vehicles were approaching from Sanwa City. Two HMM-V vehicles accompanied a pair of armored sedans. Tec hurried to join Ephix, Prince Kilyn, and Wyn Renna.

  The vehicles e
ased to a stop, with Home Guard soldiers manning the heavy machine guns atop the HMM-Vs. The guns were pointed outward, guarding their flanks, but that hardly set Tec at ease. Humans hated and distrusted Fey, and despite Marshal's promises of safe passage, so many refugees must be freaking out the citizens, especially with all the Norteno refugees already putting so much strain on limited resources.

  Soldiers disembarked from the vehicles, forming a security cordon. The doors of the sedans opened, and a man in his seventies—stoop-shouldered, bald, and eyes lined with exhaustion—climbed wearily out, his gaze going to Ephix. He approached her, walking stiffly with a cane but with strength of purpose in his tired face: First Councilor Duncan Quentin Marshal. It had been many years since Tec had last seen the former naval officer, and he was shocked at the changes those years had brought. Marshal wore a combat uniform, but it was so large he could swim in it. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes dark, and he was clearly in pain. He's sick, Tec realized, and then corrected himself a moment later. No, he's dying. Even from here, Tec could smell the cancer.

  The passage of time, as always, settled heavy on Tec’s shoulders. He had always rather liked Marshal, finding in him a warrior kinship. Marshal had been one of the few human leaders Quetzalcoatl had enlisted to help rebuild the world, even going so far as to trust him with the truth of their plans to break the Fey Sleep—to break the world in order to save it. Unlike the others, the dragon hadn’t even dominated Marshal’s mind, trusting him instead to do the right thing. His master had always had a wonderful sense of character.

  Others climbed out of the sedans, and Tec smiled when he saw the middle-aged black woman with horn-rimmed glasses and hair tightly tied in cornrows: Monique Carter, the Presidente of the Democratic Republica Mexicana Del Norte. Carter returned his smile and made her way to him, her hand outstretched.