by James Somers
Redclaw and Oliver bid Brody farewell and watched as the young man produced and passed through a portal envelope, leaving Grim Hope for Tidus.
“Before we go, you should have a bit of dragon stew,” Redclaw said to Oliver.
Oliver laughed. “Dragon stew can be a bit hard on my stomach,” he said. “If you have something lighter, though, I’d be happy to dine before we depart.”
The troll physician turned to them from putting away her bandages and supplies. “I’ll see to it you have something edible,” she said.
No sooner had plans been made than distant screams came to them from outside. Redclaw burst through the door, emerging in the street where he could see women and children running for their lives. Oliver and the physician followed him out in time to witness a horde of goblin soldiers charging through the village wielding swords and spears and even shooting arrows.
“The children!” the physician cried.
Redclaw immediately produced Uriah’s special gun. The weapon transformed from a pistol to a rifle in an instant, bearing a telescopic sight over the barrel. Redclaw aimed the weapon precisely, putting a goblin in the crosshairs. He fired and took down the soldier before he could slay a troll woman and her infant as they tried to flee.
Oliver enveloped himself in an extension and began to hurl lightning at the goblin invaders everywhere he could find them. He was surprised not only by their ability to breach the Veil and enter Grim Hope, but by the numbers they had brought with them.
Goblins were opportunists and raiders. It was unlike them to undertake a military campaign like this, especially against the trolls who were far stronger and better organized. Oliver knew this was somehow another play by Grayson Stone to promote chaos among the Descendant clans.
There was no clear cut leader in the group, and the only strategy he could discern was to raid the village and kill as many as quickly as possible. There was no skirmish line of any kind, only goblins running everywhere.
The trolls had responded by now, each male defending their family. They were disorganized, going after an enemy that had no intention of standing and fighting. The goblins were faster runners, leaving the troll warriors trying to intercept them before they could kill.
Oliver kept control of his lightning strikes, refraining from the use of flame which caused more collateral damage. The goblins ran through the village like they were racing to some unknown finish line. At least until they spotted Oliver.
“Son of Southresh!” one of the goblins cried.
At this point, every goblin within earshot came straight at Oliver. Arrows flashed by him, striking his extension at times, shattering when they made contact. He increased the ferocity of his attacks as they concentrated upon him.
Redclaw continued to shoot goblin soldiers, using the weapon left to him by Uriah’s death. As they concentrated on Oliver, he reduced the weapon to a pistol and came into the fray at close range, blasting away with his hand cannon. In his right he held the gun. In the other hand his large knife cut any goblin that came within reach.
The other troll warriors concentrated on the goblins attacking Oliver. Essentially caught in the crossfire, the goblins fell many and quickly. Oliver could not see the leader, but he heard one of the goblins call for a retreat. Those that were able ran back the same way they had come.
When all was said and done, approximately eighty goblins had been killed. Among the trolls, a total of twenty men had perished, including twelve who had been guarding the Veil. The goblins had even used those bodies in order to keep the Veil permeable while they crossed over. Besides the men, ten women and three children had been murdered by the invaders.
Redclaw’s warriors stood in the street, stamping and spitting on the goblin corpses, roaring out their rage over their lost loved ones. Of the children killed, all of their mothers had perished trying to protect them. A few had even managed to prevent the deaths of their children while sacrificing themselves.
Oliver stood near Redclaw as the troll chieftain stared at his people. He shed tears for them, but he could not comfort them. Like Uriah, Redclaw had never married. Still, he felt for his people as they mourned.
He spat on a goblin corpse at his feet that had been struck with one of Oliver’s lightning bolts. “This outrage will not go unanswered,” he said gravely, his anger barely restrained. “Every goblin inside Thunder Mountain will pay for what they’ve done here today.”
Oliver said nothing. What could he say. Redclaw was completely justified.
“I will go to Laish, Redclaw,” he said. “Your people need you now.”
The troll turned to Oliver. “No,” he said. “I will go with you. This matter will wait for now. As you mentioned, this is part of some greater conspiracy. I want the same answers you seek.”
Oliver nodded. “I would appreciate your company,” he said. “And when the time comes to deal with these murderers, I will stand with you.”
Reunions
Two hunters cannot have the same prey. This was an ideal that most vampires, like Tiberius, lived by. He had gotten wind of this coven haunting the catacombs beneath Paris two days ago. However, this Renee was a slippery fellow.
His band of renegades had evidently been living quietly for years in France, gorging themselves on the blood of socialites and wayward royalty. A small number, like those following Renee, could easily go undetected, amassing the wealth of their victims, blending with the elite. They could indulge themselves like kings without the burdens kings bear.
Tiberius was such a king. He was the leader of the largest group of vampires in the world—a group which had been threatened in London and required another place where they could establish themselves. For the thousands that Tiberius cared for, there was no such thing as quietly living among mortals, blending in order to go undetected. A night of feeding for his people was tantamount to mass murder in the mortal world.
There was no room in Paris for Renee, or his renegade vampires, any longer. Tiberius would not suffer outsiders to remain as a potential threat to his people or his dominion. He was taking over this hunting ground and the old lions would be forced out.
He stood in what he believed must be some sort of sewage treatment station below the city streets. It provided a large chamber where Renee had taken refuge with his remaining vampires over the past two days. Many others of their group had already fled the city or been killed.
Tiberius and his warriors had tracked Renee and his stragglers down here. His Breed were presently combing the intersecting tunnels for them. It is commonly known that when vampires of different groups, or families, come into one another’s hunting grounds there will be war until the weaker of the two is driven out or dead. There was no doubt who the stronger happened to be in this situation. However, Renee had attempted to hide rather than surrendering and leaving—intolerable.
Tiberius sneered at a mortal corpse cast away near one of the dark corners of the chamber where the torchlight could hardly reveal it. “Pathetic,” he observed.
After a few more minutes of solitude in the sewage plant, Tiberius heard the approach of his warriors. As expected, they had captured Renee and the remainder of his group. There were seven including the leader.
His warriors brought them unbound before Tiberius where he scrutinized them for a few moments. Clearly their time fraternizing with the mortals had weakened them. He did not find any fire left in the eyes of these vampires. There was only drunkenness and foolish desire.
He had seen this many times before when vampires intertwined themselves in the affairs of men. They became wanton, living riotously for pleasure and wealth, dining with mortals rather than upon them, feeding only when the blood thirst drove them to it.
“Which one of you is Renee?” Tiberius asked.
The renegades glanced back and forth between one another. Finally, a younger vampire lifted his eyes proudly to Tiberius, meeting his gaze. There was no sign of fear. Tiberius saw inexperience in the man. He wasn’t smart enou
gh to fear him.
“You would rather live like vermin among human refuse, than to leave my city?” Tiberius asked politely.
Renee did not say anything for a moment. When he did, he spoke with a French accent. “We will go,” he said, looking to his fellows to confirm the matter with them. Each of them appeared eager to leave as quickly as possible. “The city is yours.”
“Yes, it is,” Tiberius said matter-of-factly. “However, it’s too late for leaving.”
The eyes of Renee’s ragtag renegades grew wide, each of them anticipating what would quickly follow. Tiberius’s reputation proceeded him. He was well known, but not for mercy.
Tiberius heard the call among his thoughts. This was not unlike the voice he had heard in dreams, but it was more potent now. There was the distinct feeling of an entity present in the chamber with them, though he could not find its whereabouts.
He realized that his warriors had heard the same voice. Their expressions were all the same bewilderment. Even Renee and his stragglers were gazing about, looking for the source of the voice. Tiberius was one of the few who recognized this primal call. The others may not have been old enough to realize its origin, but this was the source of their burning desire, the fount of their bloodlust.
Hageddon was somehow speaking to them all in a way that he had not been able to do for hundreds of years. It began as whispers, but became substantive, increasing both in volume and intensity. “Come to me, my children,” the voice said.
At that moment, Tiberius knew where to find the one who was calling them. The way was mapped in his mind, and he experienced a drawing sensation. A desire to obey was also present. After his defeat at the hands of the pixies, he decided it would be wise to heed that call. Hageddon, if he was indeed in the world somehow, could lead his people to power and glory.
The call subsided, though the desire to go remained. Renee looked at him with pleading eyes. He started to approach him. Tiberius stopped him with a powerful hand on the vampire’s chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“This is our father,” Renee said, “the father of us all.”
“Yes, it is,” Tiberius confirmed.
Renee smiled. “We must go to him, brother. He will empower us and bring our people glory.”
Tiberius nodded to the younger vampire. “Yes, I believe he will.” Then his smile turned dark, glancing at his warriors. “But I’m afraid you will be sitting this one out.”
I was eager to leave Grim Hope—not because of the place or its people, but because I missed Sophia very much. I wrapped myself in a portal envelope and focused upon my destination. My surroundings in Grim Hope, along with Oliver and Redclaw, vanished in a moment. Tidus materialized around me the next moment.
The throne room was full of activity today. Lycans in colorful dress were everywhere. I wondered if there might be a celebration happening. A collective gasp overtook the room at my appearing.
“Brody?”
I turned to find Sophia upon the throne platform. She was wearing a crown of gold befitting a queen. The hands of the one who had just placed it there were only just removing. A coronation had taken place, and here I was arriving right in the middle of it.
My gaze locked instantly with Sophia’s. She was clearly in shock at my sudden arrival. Her mouth was dangling open and tears were quickly welling in her eyes. They escaped down her cheeks as she leaped from the dais, running to embrace me.
I caught her up in my arms, the impact nearly knocking me off of my feet. But I didn’t care. I was so thrilled to see her again and to have her feel the same. She kissed me urgently and then backed away just as suddenly.
Her palm struck the side of my face before I knew what was happening. She looked as pained as I did in that moment. Then that emotion seemed to melt away from her expression, and she kissed me again.
Whatever wrath she had for me, I was sure that I deserved it. So, I endured her anger, knowing the price was worth it for every ounce of her affection I would receive after. A few moments later, I realized that a steady applause had broken out across the room, but we didn’t care. Coronation? What coronation? Nothing else mattered to either of us except coming together again.
Privilege
Hummingbirds dashed through the air, flitting here and there as Laish wandered through the undergrowth, scouring the ground for medicinal roots. His robe was matted with briars and wayward spider webs, some of which still held their tenants. The elf wizard rarely bothered to clean it. An occasional shaking out was good enough.
It had been months since his last paying customer, and he was feeling a bit bored of late. His encounter with the Lycan usurper, Kron, had been delightful. Not that he cared for politics, or for Kron himself, but the challenge of a complex conjuring still held a thrill for him.
Merging plant matter with Lycan flesh had been especially interesting. He’d never had the opportunity to do something like that before. Kron’s life threatening injuries had been just what he needed to lift his spirits that day.
But, since that highpoint in his career, he had settled back into his mundane routine: searching for interesting insects to catalog and exotic plant specimens. He knew every inch of this wood by now. His only friends were forest animals, who quite enjoyed his company, and a very few people he wasn’t even sure were still alive.
Laish sighed and left the tree line for the well-worn path back to his cottage. He carried a knap sack half-filled with items he didn’t need: a praying mantis in a little box and a particularly venomous rattlesnake out in the sack itself.
Being an elf, he was too quick for the snake, even at his age. He hadn’t planned on bringing it home with him. However, he could milk it for venom, which was quite useful and then have the snake for dinner.
To his surprise, a man was standing on the path between him and his home. Twilight had become darkness already with a waning moon and sparse clouds, but his elf’s eyes could easily make out the features on the young man’s face. He knew enough about what was happening between the clans to realize who had come to visit.
“Why are you here, son of Lucifer?” Laish asked. Grayson’s reputation preceded him, and Laish knew to stay out of reach.
“You don’t look pleased to see me,” Grayson observed.
“I don’t look pleased to see anyone,” Laish replied smartly. “I’m an old elf living out in a forest.”
“I should think the rare visitor would pique your interest, wizard,” he said. “I’ve heard your skills are exceptional. That matter with Kron, reproducing an arm and leg for a dying man, was impressive. You earned a king’s ransom for that, didn’t you?”
“So you’ve come to do business then?” Laish asked. The snake was still squirming in his knap sack.
“Of a sort,” Grayson replied. “I have come to bestow a great honor upon you, Laish.”
“I’ve no need of honors.”
“I realize you’ve probably not kept up with current events living out here all alone, but the Descendants are well on their way to taking the mortal world by storm,” Grayson explained. “I want you to be a part of the coming glory. Samiel has chosen you to be his vessel.”
Laish’s eyes widened in surprise. If he’d been given three guesses as to what Grayson Stone was doing out here in the Briar Wood, he never would have guessed this. His gaze narrowed on Stone.
“Impossible. He’s been consigned to Tartarus.”
“My father has found a way to release him,” Grayson said.
“Why me?” Laish asked.
“You are one of the Sons of Anarchy,” Grayson said.
“True,” Laish admitted, “but I’m not a fool.”
“A fool?”
“I have no desire to give my will over to another,” he said. “Least of all to my father. There is no controlling the Fallen.”
“I’ve had no problems,” Grayson said.
“Then it’s because you’ve given Lucifer everything already,” Laish
argued. “Otherwise, you would be at war within your own mind.”
“I did not come here to argue with you,” Grayson said.
“Fine, then it’s been a lovely visit. I’m sure you know the way out of here.”
“Samiel has chosen you,” Grayson continued, his gaze turning dark. “There is no refusing.”
Laish stood very still, sensing a vortex of power welling within Grayson Stone. His options were terribly limited. Since Grayson was indwelt by an angel, his power would be a hundred fold. However, a mortal host also meant limitations to an angel’s power. The body could only channel so much before it died.
Despite Lucifer’s great power, he could not read Laish’s thoughts. So, he began to call his only allies.
“We could discuss the matter further,” Laish offered. He rummaged in his sack. “I’ve brought something home. You should stay for dinner.”
Laish pulled the snake from his sack and hurled it through the air toward Grayson. A quick, complex gesture and discharge of power transformed the viper into a beast one hundred times its original size. Stone had appeared unperturbed, even amused, before. Now, he had to deal with what had been thrown his way.
Laish didn’t wait to see what he would do with the giant rattlesnake. Instead, he tossed the little box out of his knap sack, conjuring the same spell upon the praying mantis within. His only hope was to distract Stone with as many obstacles as possible. With Lucifer inside him, Laish knew he had no hope of killing the young man. He just had to escape somehow.
The praying mantis exploded out of the box, becoming a hundred times its normal size. It went for Grayson, whipping one of its huge forelegs at him while he was dodging a strike from the rattlesnake. He blasted the snake with lightning and then knocked the insect’s foreleg away. The serpent writhed on the ground, a tangled mess of agony.
Grayson attempted the same strategy on the praying mantis, but the lightning had little effect, discharging over the exoskeleton instead of traveling through its body. Laish took his opportunity, weaving a portal envelope around himself like a cloak. It dissipated just as quickly. Interference from Lucifer, no doubt.