by J A Stone
“This is a friend of mine Istanu. I would like you to meet Murdoc,” the old man backed away two steps and Murdoc stepped in to form a circle of four.
It was a Dwarven Kin, unusually tall at five feet and very stout. Murdoc had long blond hair and the green eyes of a Tiborean pureblood, unheard of among the Dwarven races on Moon Aleutha.
“Murdoc and his Labyrinth Scouts have found a subterranean pathway near Salt Mountain with a passage to the interior. Istanu, they are preparing a sortie. I just had to know if you wanted a piece of this—for old time’s sake.”
“I do,” the young man standing aside the aged Istanu spoke for the first time.
“I knew you would,” Tope nodded solemnly at the strange fellow of thirty seasons with white hair and black eyes. He looked back to the old man. “Istanu? What do you think?”
“But do Fey and her band of idiots even possess any wealth? It is well known that they relinquished all of the artifacts found in the mountain to the Archives Museum below in the city,” Istanu was well informed.
“Aye,” Murdoc spoke in a perfect baritone voice. “Ye forget that they never did find the treasure trove of swords hidden deep by me Second Dynasty cousins.”
“And you can?” Istanu was being bold. He had no idea who—what was standing before him.
“Already have laddie-boy, already have,” Murdoc produced a sword from his back. It was a straight bladed Wakizashi. “A gift for ye people to analyze—put some of ye squints on it and see what they says. This sword was found in tha first chamber’s vestibule, still fisted by the bones of me brethren.”
Istanu was an expert of antiquity. He accepted the ancient weapon, immediately recognizing the Wakizashi as a genuine Second Dynasty artifact.
“You have my full attention Tope. What do you need?”
“Well,” the old man rubbed his palms together like a mad scientist brewing poison, “I need a diversion, a big one too.”
“Negative, the Gudoshi will not be fodder above as you plunder below,” Istanu folded his arms. “What about a combined effort on both sides?”
“Me Scouts don’t breathe that topside air too good—sneakin’ about on a mounty-top would freeze ‘em,” Murdoc replied with his left hand raised. Istanu noticed the shackled wrist and two feet of iron chain dangling, still attached as if the Dwarf were once captured, somehow broke or cut the links and just left it that way—precisely what happened. “Me boys found yon hidey-hole, it be theirs.”
“You know, if you sneak into the beds of the Seven Devils, you will still need to kill them. What makes you so certain you can handle that?” Istanu was not wholly convinced.
“Fought ‘em before, already know what ta do,” Murdoc stared Istanu in the eyes with utter confidence.
“Okay, if you’ve fought them and lived, you must have skills.”
“Tank ye kindly. Me Scouts helped, they have a blood serum—heals the worst of wounds—makes ye strong as a bear too.”
“What about the Spirit, the Aequitas Caelum?” Istanu needed more.
Tope nodded. “My people have learned that the Father and Daughter are now estranged. Something has happened and—they are no longer working together.”
“I have heard this too,” the young man spoke again. His name was Furtado, and he was a very special acquaintance of both Istanu and Tope. “My,” he looked over his left shoulder, “source tells me the Aequitas Caelum Vindictus has left Aleutha, as—” he paused again, listening to a faraway sound, “as the Kotare Assassin named Shadoweye has defeated the Ghost, banishing him to a netherworld abyss.”
“What be the matter with ye Son?” Murdoc pointed to Furtado. “Ye talk like a little Devil sits on ye shoulder.”
Istanu, Tope and Furtado laughed together.
“What?
“Forgive me Master Murdoc,” Tope quelled his humor, “but this young man is a talented Medium, and yes! Yes he does have a little Devil on his shoulder!”
“He is very observant,” Istanu added. “Furtado’s little friend can see from above, through walls, even brief glimpses of the future.”
“Well aint that wipin’ me arse clean,” Murdoc smiled now himself. “Invisible is it?”
“Sometimes,” said Furtado as a bird suddenly appeared on the young man’s shoulder—a Mynah Raven with obsidian plumage and a bright red dot on the wing.
“What’s its name?”
“He likes, ‘My Problem’, don’t ask why,” Istanu answered as the small bird bounced about Furtado’s nape and Murdoc smiled wide. “My Problem has proven himself many times for the Gudoshi. He has also faced the Aequitas Caelum, twice, and survived.”
Istanu turned to his friend of fifty years.
“I think we can work something out Tope,” the two old men clasped palms and shook vigorously.
Whiterock’s Dane Den
Aurora chose the ancient forge as her quarters. Yes the Hounds still frightened her, but she was determined to win them over and conquer that fear once and for all. Besides, she preferred the darker chamber, the hot air and the idea of sharing a living space with the animals. She often considered herself little else.
Her first order of business after befriending the Danes was to clean the chamber thoroughly and then re-pipe the ancient steam conduits to join with the primitive shower assembly, creating a piping hot sauna to be used by all of the esteemed Salt Knights.
“I will be one of those Knights,” she said to no one.
First—clean. Aurora rolled her sleeves up and plopped a rag into a soapy bucket near the furthest corner of the massive chamber. She grabbed a broom and began sweeping meticulously, swearing to sanitize every square inch—even in the cracks.
She sang as she worked and the canines loved it, now comfortable around the strange smelling animal-human. They pulled and pushed ancient steel crates from the walls when they realized she wanted to get behind them with that broom.
It did not take long and low and behold....
“Ello, what have we?” Aurora swept harder at the cracks in the floor, now revealing a chamber door, sealed for perhaps thousands of years.
“Go get your Masters,” the High Renth backed away from the section of granite and looked to Torpa, Antigua and Landreth. The mighty Danes took off running, spanning the forge in seconds, pushing through the double doors and scrambling up the stairwell.
Above, young Corella was helping Eventine drag a section of marble free of the second tier tunnel. Whiterock now had two completed and camouflaged escape paths, with this one soon to be a third.
Both women stood abruptly when they heard the Danes baying a distress call. They leaped for the interior without question, following the sound.
Warfell, Fey and Shadoweye were already in the vaulted common area with the anxious Danes as Cora and Eve ran in.
“What’s up Boss?” Eventine asked.
“Not sure, listen, the boys just left with the Deerhound for Oceanport so it’s just us chicks, gear up tight and follow,” said British as Antigua pulled on her suede cape. “Looks like down below,” the pixie added as Danes and Masters left the room. “Bring that Temporal Blade Corella,” she added with her small back turned.
British knew both women were always armed to the teeth. Corella twisted her palm across the rounded pommel of her family’s sword.
“C’mon sweetie,” said Eventine as the two left for the downward spiral. “Remember your training.”
Iris was already there, now watching Aurora like a hawk as British, Danica and Tawnee examined the portal door. Eventine and Cora approached, patting the massive Danes as the beasts moved anxiously about the chamber.
“What’cha got?” Eventine pushed herself forward to see.
“A portal,” British gleamed with anticipation as she ran the keen edge of her Buck Skinner through the cracks. On the opposing side, Tawnee gave her love a cautious, warning eye.
Warfell leaned in. “Okay, we need a head count and weapons check before we go poking around—“
Danica took a deep breath of frustration as Fey found the latch and pulled.
Hot air hissed and Tawnee joined in, now using a climbing pick to help with the ancient seams, sealed with a pungent evergreen sap.
“Or we’ll do that!” Warfell surveyed the fighters present. Iris and Aurora were strong—Eventine and Corella as well. Garret’s wife Samantha was above with Jimmy and the small staff. By now Garrett, Howie, Dobra, Tom, Robert and Stroke were in the city eight thousand feet below. Half of their muscle was gone—not good.
British and Tawnee pushed the hatch over and down, allowing the metal and wood to fall with a muffled ‘boom’ and a flurry of dust. Stale acrid air flushed through Whiterock’s lowest level, bringing with it a very familiar smell.
Oh this is too cool, British’s cunning mind raced.
Eight weeks without incident, thought Shadoweye.
Goddamned lizards, Warfell’s fleeting calm suddenly appeared after months of absence, the tiny winged Sprite hovered before Danica’s face shaking its little head—then it spit at her, gave her a long middle finger, and shot away with a squeak.
Danica growled.
“Stay close to me Warfell—” Fey paused. “Iris up top, sound the station peal and the exterior battle clarions, maybe the boys will hear down on deck.” British placed her hands on Iris’ slender shoulders. “I need you to assemble what little staff we have and prepare our home for attack. Anything gets past us, you stop it, savvy?”
“Aye Commander, yeh expecting a tussle?” the Grey Renth allowed her hair to flush black.
“No, but I smell that urine—you do too,” the pixie squeezed the upper arms as Iris nodded, “just in case. I need someone powerful up top.”
“Yeh can count on meh boss,” Iris turned, giving Aurora a final glance of trepidation and making for the double doors jackrabbit fast.
“British?” Danica entered her friend’s personal space, looking down like a concerned Mother. “Last time there were dozens of them.”
“I know,” the petite warrior smiled, “but we gotta check it out. I could go it alone first.”
Shadoweye smacked her shoulder and snorted. Then she took the steep steps, shielding her eyes to hasten the adjustments. British followed Tawnee without hesitation.
“Stay here. We are the sortie, you are the front-liners. Nothing alive gets past this opening save Knights and Hounds,” Warfell turned to address Eventine, Corella and Aurora. “Pull the hatch to, but lodge it open. Don’t you let this thing lock.”
“Got it Captain, be careful,” Eve furrowed her brows. As with Warfell, the former Denga Master did not like this situation one bit.
Warfell patted Torpa’s wide neckline and followed him behind Antigua and Landreth, taking the steps with the hounds into the blinding blackness, wishing she still kept those pain pills, knowing they would do nothing for her.
Oceanport
Tom Snow brought Garrett, Robert, Dobra and Howie to the storefront doors and took a deep breath before pulling back on the handle. The small sign above read Highland Outfitters.
“Are we going cliff climbing Sir?” young Dobra asked as the team entered the small warehouse filled with ropes, hooks, picks and gear.
“Yeah, something like that, shush,” Tom approached the counter with his paper list, setting it down aside several rubies.
“Morning boys, out for the stretches?” the Clerk asked like an old friend.
“Just the list, and add a pack of those bioluminescent sticks. Make it two packs,” the Snowman slowly moved his eyes above to see Robert’s intense frown. Yeah—they were going into a dungeon.
“Snowman?” Bigfoot tried.
“Sorry buddy. We got Stroke here and I can see in the dark now, don’t worry,” Tom patted the long wooly neckline and the ten-foot beast mumbled.
“What is going on?” Garrett had to ask.
“I think we’re on mission,” Howie added from the back.
“Mission where, is there a mark? Asked Dobra.
“SHUSH!” Tommy shot his small team a look of anger, turning back to the Clerk and pushing the list across the counter. “You gonna just stare at us or get that climbing shit?”
“Yes Sir!” the man snapped-to, just now realizing these were the Salt Knights.
Boomers Gentleman’s Club, Eastside of Oceanport
“Robert?” Tom Snow pointed to the chains on the doors.
“On it Snowman,” Bigfoot Bob pulled on the small links until they snapped within his massive fist. He pushed the doors wide to the vacant saloon.
“So we own it now?” Garrett asked as the team entered and Dobra closed and locked the entrance behind them.
“Pretty much! Aurora gave us full title and deed. The boss is thinking about reopening the pub and actually running it guys—wants to rename it Stage Three, get it? British tending bar, imagine that,”
“Wouldn’t need a Bouncer,” said Garrett.
“Gods of the Bottle save anyone who shows his ass in here,” Howie spoke the obvious.
“You got that right Son,” Tom laughed as he cast his predator eyes about the expansive barroom, already collecting dust on the tables and chairs. He walked to the long wooden counter bar lining the back wall and signaled his men to gather about.
“Okay, listen up,” Tommy made eye contact with all four men, even Stroke. “British believes that the underground facility beneath us connects with Salt Mountain. She and the Shadow have come across a rough Second Dynasty map of a tunnel. As it happens, this Club rests on the foundation of Oceanport’s oldest building and correlates precisely to the map which we now have,” Tommy unrolled a tube and spread the parchment flat on the bar. “We are going to explore this possibility and secure this structure as Whiterock’s first Annex, understood?”
Robert, Garrett, Dobra and Howie all placed hands on the wood with heads down.
“Can we have one of those first?” Garrett pointed to a whiskey bottle on the back wall as Tom secured the parchment and stuffed it into his vest.
“Sorry Chief,” Snow retorted, leaping the bar and pulling another set of doors open.
“Let’s do this,” Bigfoot raised his head and followed suit with no more questions needed. Tom was issuing British’s orders—nothing else mattered, regardless of the environment.
“Set to,” Garrett leaped the wood.
Dobra and Howie followed, the young muscleman snatching Howie’s hand away from one of the bottles as they passed through the portico.
“Celebrate later,” he whispered to his good friend.
Whiterock Dane Den
Eventine Delacroix paced back and forth tirelessly as Corella and Aurora mingled among the remaining Danes, three hearty males.
“It has only been an hour Master,” Corella tried to soothe Eve’s growing angst.
“I know Cora, and do not call me Master.”
“But—“
“Nonsense, you have excelled with that Temporal Blade. You are a natural Corella. To my eyes, you are already a Salt Knight,” Eventine stopped her pacing and gave her young disciple a curt nod. Corella blushed in the faint glow of the ancient forge.
“You are moved,” Aurora touched Corella’s cheek and the girl recoiled from her contact. The Arenthian stood tall and smiled. “There is nothing to fear from me young Sapient,” she spoke in her melodic voice and something cracked inside Corella’s mind.
She could feel it. Corella could simply feel something was not right.
“Well now aren’t you astute,” the beautiful woman with long blond curly hair cast the human a knowing smile.
Time stood still as Eventine and Corella tensed, followed by the three male Danes. Slow steps were taken—predators positioning themselves for the imminent attack. Despite the adrenaline charged air, the High Arenthian stood resolute and motionless.
An eternity passed….
“Stop this,” Aurora finally broke the silence. “I am not your enemy!”
And by the grace of the
Salt, British’s words returned to Eve and Cora’s minds.
The boss trusts her, both women thought simultaneously.
“Forgive my anxiety. I fear for them, always, it never abates, and I am sorry Aurora,” Eventine bowed with her eyes closed.
“I understand good Knight,” the blond beauty bowed deeply as well.
Above in Whiterock’s galley, Iris spoke in depth with her small team. She had Samantha, Jimmy and a young couple, Roue and her husband Bollo—both former Denga Students from Oceanport.
Bollo fit his name—big. Iris approved with a sigh.
“Weh must hold theh fortress, from attack within,” the Lesser Grey stood behind the counter, addressing her four.
A moment of silence….
“We are with you Iris,” Samantha began outfitting a small weapons array on the same flat Robert was just rolling sticky dough on, now spotless. “What do we have? Jimmy, gather our steel, raid the cabins of the Knights if need be,” Samantha knew what to do. Her Husband was Chief of Security for the sake of the Gods.
Jimmy bolted away.
“And guns!” Iris added to his back.
“Damned right!” they heard his reply from the passageway.
Iris turned to Samantha and gave the woman a piercing stare. She was about to ask the question, the burning question—are you ready to die fighting?
“Yes,” Sam answered sharp. “I love these people just as you.”
“If it gets—“Iris whispered.
“Stop please,” Samantha retorted with a shake of her head.
“I’m sworn to yeh life, as Kin to theh Knights,” she added on the tail of a shallow breath.
Samantha realized what Iris was saying. The others did not matter. Iris would protect her alone as Garrett’s wife, now blood-bonded to the Salt Knights.
“Bullshit!” Samantha met eyes with Roue and Bollo. “Then I now swear fealty to these two, on my life, before mighty Ana, the searching Sea, and the noble Salt.”