Faithless Steel

by J A Stone

  She nodded and Tom took her place across from the Arenthian.

  “This bother you?” British asked Aurora.

  “It seems more fitting but the male Sapient-child cannot defeat Nigel,” the blond beauty replied. “He will be slain.”

  “Tom-Tom can handle him,” British spoke with flawless confidence.

  “So be it.”

  “All right now,” Tommy said to himself, hefting the Epee Foil high and whipping the thin needle side-to-side awkwardly with his left hand—his wrong hand. “Are you ready for this Nigel?”

  “Tis I wot—”

  “Because I gotta watch you closely, you don’t fight fair, you cheat.”

  “These are true words, Barrow of the Snow. Cheating is just making the move faster, commanding surprise,” Nigel grinned wickedly, assuming his combat stance. “Take this complimentarily.”

  “Oh I do,” Tom smiled. “Listen, before we begin, I’m curious—you sneaky prick—ever hast thou heard of a sucker-punch?”

  “Nona—”

  “Good!” Tommy yanked a hidden pistol and cracked a shiny silver slug between Nigel’s black eyes at two paces, spinning the creature about wildly, dashing the raven-haired Arenthian to the marble in a limp tangle—lifeless as the stone he fell upon.

  I cast thee to the polished floor

  You—who I simply cannot contrive

  To see survive anymore.

  British Fey

  It was a psychotic nightmare, a terrible, horrible phantasm.

  “I got ya buddy, I know it hurts,” he remembered hearing Robert’s deep bass voice in the background of the ravaging pain. “Almost there Tommy, I got ya.”

  When he woke, his nose told him where he was first, strange. Tom was at home, at Whiterock. He was about to open his eyes, and then chose not—someone was talking. Tommy lie still, breathing steady, eyes relaxed and shut, he wanted to hear.

  It was Eventine and young Corella.

  “What happened Master?”

  “There was only one way to save him Cora, the High Renth was correct, we had to inject her blood into his system. It contains the same virus Danica was subjected to.”

  “The Lycanthropic Viral Macrophage?”

  “Yes.”

  “He couldn’t just drink it?”

  “No, the injuries were too severe, that thing nearly tore him apart. Had British not—”

  Tommy heard Eve exhale sharp. A long moment passed….

  “Are you okay Master?”

  “I’m fine—I’m okay. I swear I’ve never seen anything like it. Tommy shot Nigel in the face and that gods-be-damned wolf-thing was on him so fast Cora. We all tried, the dogs were there, even the High Renth fought to stop him. Before we knew it British had jumped off to the side, whistling loud and shrill. The beast looked and she taunted him into fighting her. ‘Afraid of a little girl?’ she said over and again—teasing him from twenty feet away. The creature took the bait and charged. Gustav was its name.”

  “And she?”

  “Oh my Gods Corella! She got him three solid times in the chest with the Blunderbuss, had both her blades sunk deep, and the thing kept swinging, growling and snarling insanity, tearing into her defenses.”

  “What hap—?”

  “Oh she took him down with that little Buck Skinner, sinking it into the skull over and again with its fangs deep in her shoulder. She finally found an eye socket and—”

  “Stop!”

  “You asked kiddo.”

  “Wait, how’d Lady Fey survive that?”

  “She kept the talons off her, barely. She also keeps anti-venom in her rucksack, Warfell as well. I was ashamed for my unpreparedness, but yeah, we injected her with the antidote, then she drank the Arenthian blood for the first time. We gave it to the others to drink as well, all three of the Danes too.”

  “Everyone?”

  “All but Danica and Stroke. Warfell had to hold me and force it down my throat. Imagine a seven-foot tall monster of a Great Wolf, nothing but muscle, fangs, and talon, moving with incomprehensible speed. It was absolute chaos. When British finally sacked him, four of us were prying on his shoulders, screaming with our own blades stabbing repeatedly, the Deerhound ravaging its legs. Bigfoot, Tom, Dobra and the Danes were down on deck, Iris too. Even Aurora tried her best to stop it. That thing handled four dogs and eight humans at once—it’s a bloody miracle anybody walked away.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow doesn’t quite cover it. Listen to me—British, Danica and Tawnee seem to gravitate to this stuff and let me tell you it goes way beyond wow.”

  “Forgive me, but why do you do it Master?”

  “Because of the swell of pride I feel, standing next to these mighty people. I love them more than life itself. It’s crazy I know, but I just can’t see myself anywhere else.”

  Tom felt her touch his foot and his Soul smiled—his thoughts exactly.

  “I pray that one day I shall be worthy enough….”

  Corella’s words trailed away. Tommy heard Stroke mumbling. The loyal Deerhound was right there at his bedside. The Hound seemed restless and then Tommy heard the approaching boot-falls in the hallway, the long strides, it was Danica!

  “How’s he doing?” the words soared through Tom’s heart—her voice!

  “He’s still out. Captain, you need to rest as well, we are watching him carefully,” Eventine spoke like a concerned mother.

  “I’m fine—you know he is awake right?” Danica said the words but Tom kept his eyes shut. How’d she know that? He calmed his breathing slow and deep.

  “You’ve only been gone for an hour,” Tommy heard Corella say.

  “Hey—hey there,” she was tapping on his forehead and Tommy opened his eyes. He was in the Infirmary, and there was Stroke, wagging the stiff scimitar tail, clanging against the adjoining bed. Danica loomed over him with a wide, beautiful smile—so rare to see. Eventine and Corella were at the foot of the bed.

  “Alive…me too,” he smiled.

  “Yes we are. Listen, I said break me, not you dipshit—thirsty?” Danica was hiding something in the folds of her cape.

  “Yeah my frote,” Tommy mimicked a sick child. “Gots rocks in it.”

  “Figured as much, drink,” Warfell extended a small corked wine bottle containing a viscous red and black fluid with floating chunks of what looked to be tripe or vascular tissue.

  “What the fucking Seven is that?”

  “Just drink it Snowman—Atta boy—all of it.”

  Faithless Steel

  Betrayal

  The bastard child of Fear, borne

  Unto the House of Loathe, born

  With steely knife so dear, and sworn

  To its use on shallow oaths.

  The child’s hand is feeble but swift, to

  Stab it deep, to push it deep, to

  Find the heart and gouge a rift, through

  The Soul’s eye blind and the bloody keep.

  Betrayal borne to Loathe by Fear, your

  True Father calls, follow his will, your

  Presence outside with knife so dear, for

  Thy Patron is Evil—the Lord of the Kill.

  British Fey

  Whiterock, two months later

  “Why does she give her such, leeway? I didn’t think Iris even knew what fear really was.”

  “British said it’s a difference like the varieties of birds. Aurora is a High Arenthian and Iris is a Lesser Grey—same way the Kotare Plains Tribes have darker, olive-tone skin and the black hair, right-o? They’re both Arenthians, just different races, breeds or varieties.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I am not the biologist of this family Howie. Iris feels Aurora is superior to her somehow. I know you see the obvious differences betwixt the two, right-o?” Corella answered her friend turned recent lover.

  “Yeah, Aurora is—“Howie blushed in the soft argon lighting of Corella’s sleeping chamber.

  “Super hot?” she cr
ossed her arms beneath her breasts. “A perfect woman?”

  “Your words, Cora,” he pointed, relieved it was said. Truthfully, he was about to say a monster.

  “Like you would kick her off your rack.”

  Howie shuddered, and Corella suddenly realized her boyfriend was actually repulsed by the tall, blond haired green-eyed marvel of evolutionary beauty and grace.

  “If she’s on my rack Cora, I’m already dead,” Howie’s words left no doubt. He knew what the creature named Aurora could do—seen her fight first hand.

  Corella stared at her lover for a lost moment, when a tapping came from the hallway.

  “Cora! Eventine needs you above, second tier tunnel!” it was Captain Warfell. Cora shot a finger to her lips and a sharp eye to Howie, thrusting her shirt back into place.

  “On my way Captain!” she half shouted back as she scrambled out of bed.

  “I know it’s your day off, sorry,” Danica said, already ten paces down the passage, headed for the galley. “Someone’s brewing coffee!” she added at fifteen.

  “Right-o Cappy!” Cora added at normal tone, listening as the boots clacking on the marble faded.

  “Listen, the Snowman is taking some of us down on deck to check out that club for the boss. When we get back,” Howie whispered needlessly, already dressed now himself. He leaped to a stand and held Corella for a brief moment. “Can’t we just tell them all?”

  “Not yet, I test for Knight soon. Eventine says I am ready and I need to be clear in heart—“

  “And mind, yeah I know,” Howie relented, flashing a handsome smile. “Go see what Miss Delacroix needs baby. We’ll hook up later?”

  “I’d like that,” Corella kissed him passionately. “Right-o?”

  “Right-o,” he hugged her tight, broke contact, grabbed his sword and dashed out of there—straight for the room he shared with Dobra to ready for the excursion.

  Whiterock’s lowest level, the Dane Den

  Far below Corella, the newest member of the Salt Knight family, Aurora, calmly entered the expansive chamber that was once a Dwarven Forge. It was very warm down there, British having sparked the boilers and hearths. Luckily, the Second Dynasty Swordmakers stowed massive reserves of their preferred fuel—nitrocellulose and pure alcohol.

  Only ten feet in, and she could see the small pack standing still across the expanse, half crouched and growling low to the floor. Torpa moved forward, placing himself between the High Arenthian and his family.

  “I am not here for that,” the beautiful woman whispered, knowing the beasts could hear, hoping they would interpret her peaceful tone. She walked towards them, keeping her breathing calm and steady, somehow suppressing the urges to turn and run for dear life. The massive dogs fanned out, assuming aggressive postures.

  With ten paces left to the imminent attack, Aurora stopped and calmly sat. Without waiting, the blond beauty began speaking in a comforting tone. The huge canines calmed to her melodic voice, not knowing what to do.

  “The humans believe I possess no fear, yet here I am sitting across from my greatest. Master Torpa?” she gazed into the alpha’s bright blue eyes, now red in the reflective light of the pulsating flames from the ancient hearth. “Will you hear me?”

  The Huntsman’s Hound advanced quickly on the creature, sliding to a stop within striking distance, jowl low to the marble, fangs exposed. Torpa issued a deep vibrant growl, like the rumble of a distant thunderhead. Aurora remained motionless, simply unable to stop her heart from racing. She knew the hounds could sense fight or flight metabolism. She took a deep breath and closing her eyes—she began to sing.

  Masters followed the scarlet tide, to

  Find the lost city of Arenthia deep

  Beneath the ocean of sand…

  Follow me now and never hide, to

  Mind the cost of our lives and keep

  Your hollow heart in hand…

  She paused, opening her eyes to see all the dogs gathered in a half-circle, intently listening.

  “It’s a sad song about when they hunted my people in the tunnels,” she explained. “The humans, they feared us so—”

  She heard boot falls on the descending stairwell and lowered her head as the double doors opened wide. It was British with her head cocked sideways.

  “Was that you?” the small warrior had to ask.

  “Yes, it was, it is—“

  “The Ballad of the Lost Souls. I learned it from my Father. Your voice is beautiful, downright hypnotic. Are you making friends down here?”

  “I hope so,” Aurora looked each magnificent animal in the eyes with a warm smile as British came to her side. Antigua rose to greet her Mistress, and British hugged her wide neckline.

  “I was thinking about running them with the horses down below in a couple of days, wanna come?”

  “Tawnee would not approve.”

  “She’s going too, c’mon, the spring thaw is always a great time to ride.

  “Horses do not care for my touch, but thank you,” Aurora stood slowly and bowed gracefully.

  “Suit yourself. You know Iris rides a Sand Pony named Dare and he loves her to death.”

  “I heard, impressive, and very rare.”

  “Okay, if you change your mind let me know. We often cover great distances to get to a mark.”

  Aurora smiled with a nod and British realized an Arenthian could match time with any animal on the Moon running for days on end, stopping only to eat. She suddenly felt stupid.

  “Forgive me—carry on, your voice is amazing!” British kissed Antigua on the nose and left before she embarrassed herself any further.

  Aurora turned to face the noble Danes and sat back down.

  “Should I start over? Yes?” she took a deep breath and began again as the Danes settled in to listen, enthralled.

  The melody filtered upwards through the ventilation tubes, touching all of the Knights if ever so slight.

  In the galley, Robert was listening, reading a recipe book covered in flour and dough, attempting and failing to make a pastry.

  “Why won’t you fold over?” he asked the dough, mixed wrong and all gummy-sticky. It was stuck to each fingertip and further sticking to everything else. Robert felt as if he were caught in a miniature tar pit.

  “Add flour!” said Iris, sitting at a barstool drinking cold hemoglobin from an old wine bottle and giggling at everything Bigfoot did. Robert tried to pick up the flour cup and Iris nearly choked when he realized it was stuck to his meaty hand. The gentle giant tried to fling it away, dashing white dust over half the pantry like a cloud of smoke. She clapped and Robert gave the small woman an evil glint, still trying to shake the measuring cup free.

  “You are enjoying this?” he asked when the cup finally broke loose and flew across the galley.

  “Aye, I love watchin’ yeh work,” she smiled wide and Robert had to laugh himself.

  By the end of winter, Iris had become fast friends with the giant who simply could bake nothing sans mediocre biscuits. They were inseparable. Romantically? No, the two simply shared synchronous personalities, linked thoughts and ideas that drew them together, much as Warfell and Fey. They were now partners and proud of it.

  Danica approached from the common area, noting the galley’s kitchen was all a-shamble. “Morning, baking something?” she asked with a grin.

  “Heh’s trying to make a pastreh,” Iris hefted her bottle to the tall white haired Captain.

  “Sure,” Danica accepted and took a meager pull, twisting her face to the taste of the stuff. Though she still preferred her blood hot, out of practicality Danica was forcing herself to down the cold blend of goat’s blood and anti-coagulants that British prepared for Iris. It did the job, but the kicking critters outside still worked better for her. “Ayaya—ya,” she blurted to the involuntary shake as if it were rotgut alcohol.

  “That’s so cool to see, after all the times you made me drink tree bark and grass,” Tom Snow said, having entered the galley in tot
al silence with his Deerhound, Stroke padding silently aside. Snow had come to love his new metabolism, now a Human/Arenthian hybrid just like Danica. He was much stronger, faster, and his senses were sharper—very much so. The bottle was passed and he took several long pulls.

  Howie often mused that the Knights were becoming a vampire coven. Aurora, and Iris were the purebloods with Warfell and Snow the two half-breed underlings. He said it aloud once and Corella slapped him—hard!

  British as well, noted once that if the Knights continued to heal critical injuries using Arenthian blood, it was only a matter of time.

  City of Moor, Warehouse District, two days later

  The building was abandoned, the concrete floors cool and sweaty from the condensations of the pre-dawn equifade. In the center of the empty warehouse, three cloaked men came together and clasped hands in turn.

  “Thanks for coming,” said the oldest, a shriveled man named Tope, the leader of the largest crime syndicate in Moor.

  “Why did you call for us Tope, are you okay?” replied the second man, Istanu, a hardened warlord Chief from the eastern faction of the Gudoshi Assassin’s Guild. The third, a young fellow, remained decidedly silent.

  “Better than. I have come across a special job with a tremendous payoff,” Tope grinned.

  “We are not pursuing the Seven Devils,” Istanu answered the obvious.

  “But you have not—“

  “All respect old friend, but my Guild must remain neutral to those people. My Agents in Oceanport have confirmed that British Fey has two Arenthians working with her now.”

  “And this does not alarm you Istanu?”

  “To my very core! What would you have me do? Mount an assault on the volcano?” Istanu was a wise man indeed.

  “Not quite,” now Tope’s eyes were sparkling evil. He extended a palm to his left.

  The darkened shadow of a stocky man walked forth into the poor light of the distant sunrise through the windows overhead.