by Scott Duff
That was just for show, though. He broke each spell on every rug between us and Harris. Silently and without touching any ambient power, each one was snapped in half and sent flailing back at the casters on both sides. The only evidence of existence was the initial flair of energy and the collapse of the men at that rank. It was like they were marionettes and someone cut their strings. By the time I walked through, it was just a rug and six passed-out men.
“Ehran?” I called, turning in to lead with my left and calling once again for the Crossbow. It was amazing how easy this was becoming to me, just falling into the position I wanted and there the weapon would be as graceful as if I was moving it the entire time. Even the weight felt like it was moving with me.
“Yes, little brother?” said Kieran, just a couple of steps away from a thoroughly flabbergasted Harris.
“Wouldn’t what you just walked through be considered breaking the peace-bond?” I asked, bringing the Crossbow into my shoulder and leaning back on my right foot. “Those were lethal spells, after all.”
“If you recall,” MacNamara said to Harris, “he shot every one of his opponents between the eyes in the first two seconds of his first match with that weapon.”
“You’re just going to stand there and let them intimidate me?” Harris asked in English. Kieran towered over him, even three feet back. Those big, thick arms made his chest seem enormous. Of course, MacNamara towered over all of us, but he wasn’t nearly as imposing as Kieran when he wanted to be. The elf was just scary in general.
“Intimidate you?” asked the elf. “You set the trap, Mr. Harris, and used me as the bait. If I weren’t so interested in what they were going to do next, I would turn your mind into a turnip for that alone.”
“You seem to be overstepping boundaries at every turn, Clifford ol’ pal,” I said from behind Kieran. “And not very smartly. Why don’t you just go ahead and tell us what’s going on behind those beady little eyes of yours.”
“Watch your tongue, boy,” he snapped angrily. “I deserve respect.”
Up to that moment, I had considered the Crossbow and the Quiver to be one tool together. Now, I realized I was wrong in that assumption—the Quiver was older and originally paired to a longbow. The Quiver controlled the return of the Bolts, which is what I needed right then, so I called it up from my cavern to my back. It felt good, slung across my shoulders with the Crossbow crooked into my right.
“Perhaps,” I said, raising the Crossbow and firing one Bolt. “But not from me.” I called to the Bolt through the Quiver to halt its flight before it hit. I’d seen this in movies before, where the bullet hung in mid-flight as the special effects twisted the perspective around to face the hero so he could do some outrageous act to avoid or deflect the bullet. The polished wood of the Bolt rotated silently in the air, piercing Harris’ shield scant millimeters away from his skin. He focused on the fletchings as they turned slowly in front of him.
“I’d say you’ve lost control of this situation,” said Kieran softly. “And once again, to a seventeen-year-old, untrained boy. No offense intended, little brother.”
“None taken,” I said calmly as I stepped forward to retrieve the Bolt. Grasping it lightly with two fingers, it dissolved immediately, returning to the Quiver, which in turn sank back into my cavern to rest against the Stone foundation. Harris visibly relaxed, exhaling loudly.
“You show a much better mastery of those than any of the Black Hand has in centuries, my boy,” said MacNamara. “How long have you had the weapons?”
I thought back over the past few weeks, counting. “I’ve lost track of what day this is,” I said.
“Thursday,” muttered Harris.
“Ten days, then. I got them on a Monday,” I said.
“But you were unconscious for three days recovering from healing me for what he did to me,” offered Kieran, pointing to Harris, “so that would make seven.”
“And how long have you been apprenticed?” MacNamara asked, coyly.
“Technically, the same day,” I answered, “though we couldn’t actually get to anything until this Tuesday. No, wait, you did show me how to see in the garage, so Monday would be right.”
“At least this humiliation was in private,” said MacNamara to Harris, the twin irises of his eyes aglow.
“I will ask only once more,” said Kieran, “why are you after my brother?”
“It’s a matter of National Security,” said Harris, sighing heavily into the last words. He seemed to shrink even more into his fireplug stature. “Your father was poking around into the disappearances of some very disreputable people, people of interest to the United States government. I started watching him as he traveled around, searching. Our world is much smaller than the humans’ world, but we can still get lost in it and show up later with different names. We’ve been doing it for centuries. But Robert McClure was finding bodies and that became disturbing. So we started looking at the who’s and where’s and why’s and we could come to only one decision.
“So, the first task was to find more information,” he went on. “I approached your father in Vienna a year ago and asked him directly why he was searching for these people. I had fifteen cases in front of us with primary evidence to support my claims of his work. And before you make any claims about how I may have conducted myself, do realize that Robert is certainly just as volatile as I am.”
Kieran shrugged at the comment. “Whereas I might have agreed with that statement, Seth would not and he has more recent associations with our father than I. However, let’s just let that river run for now.”
“The one item we didn’t have, to make sense of the fifteen cases, was the similarity,” Harris said. “The only true correlation we could make was that Robert McClure had sought these twelve men and three women and found their remains. They were all magically powerful but not politically. Robert shouldn’t have even known these people.”
“Out of curiosity, Mr. Harris,” I asked, “just how old do you think my father is?”
“Our best guess has him at about one hundred sixty,” he said.
“Curious,” I said. “MacNamara? How many times has my father won at your games?”
“In various forms, six,” the elf said, poking at the nearest prone man with his foot, still grinning.
“More than we knew about, then,” I said, kicking my estimation of my father’s abilities up once more. “So Mr. Harris, with that little bit of information, would it seem likely that your estimate of my father’s age is off?”
“I don’t see how this is germane to this discussion,” said Harris.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. “You didn’t say to what conclusion you and your fellows came.”
Harris stood there and stared at me.
“This is where you fill in the blank and say what your conclusion was,” I said, hefting the Crossbow slightly.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see this is a prelude to war,” Harris said angrily. That caught MacNamara’s attention and he stopped prodding the unconscious body, turning his attention to us again.
“A war?” asked Kieran. “Against whom? By whom, Mr. Harris?”
“That was Robert’s secret, wasn’t it?” said Harris. “He had all the answers and he wasn’t telling anybody anything. We assumed that either Seth could lead us to more information or we could lure Robert and Olivia out of hiding using him as bait. Either way, we needed him as much as we needed Robert.”
“So in the name of National Security,” Kieran said, getting a mite testy. “And the time honored tradition of the end justifying the means, you set dogs on a teenager. And at every turn, instead of admitting your obvious mistakes, you have blustered and bullied him, attacked us nearly fatally, and finally only told some fraction of the truth—and only a fraction—because three people far more powerful than you are finger twitches away from killing you.” Kieran was nearly yelling at the end. MacNamara twiddled his fingers over Kieran’s shoulders at Harris as he
said that last part, emphasizing “finger-twitches” quite nicely. He didn’t like Harris either, apparently.
“You see a prelude to war?” Kieran continued, more quietly. “You’ve caused one, you idiot. You are using your government to attack me and my family. Gratuitously. Call your handlers, Cliff. Explain to them that the McClures are bigger than they are, that they need to leave us alone. Now! If they don’t, they will have a war and they will definitely know the who’s and the why’s.”
Kieran turned and stormed past me to the door. I could see the anger roiling through his aura, emanating from the center outward. I kept quiet and followed—Momma didn’t raise no fool! Not that I thought he’d actually do anything to me, but, like he said earlier, let’s just let that river run. He was too happy a man to let the anger ride him for too long.
Behind us, MacNamara said, “Ehran sucked all of the drama out of my question, so I’ll have to wait. Still, his questions were much better than mine anyway. You have a short time before your bout with Ferrin, so you may wish to prepare now.”
“That’s not fair to me…” Harris started to complain.
“Not fair?” MacNamara interrupted him. “You just broke the peace six times in front of me! Me! Fair would be McClure challenging that and me tossing you into oblivion. Fair would be McClure answering that challenge and tossing you into oblivion himself. Fair would be Seth filling you full of holes with that magnificent weapon he’s carrying.” He paused in his tirade. “Besides, they rattled Ferrin, too, so I’d say the two of you are on an even keel in that regard. Of course, ultimately, they did rescind their promise to kill him on sight, whereas I didn’t hear them do the same for you here, so maybe it isn’t quite even. Good luck.”
The outer door opened as MacNamara joined us. I sent the Crossbow and Day Sword home before leaving the room. Initially, I had thought the Crossbow and Quiver would be the least useful of all, but I was definitely wrong on that score. The mass extermination during our first battle and the pure finesse of the encounter with Harris proved how effective the duo could be. I don’t think that there is a “least” among these five. MacNamara was right: magnificent weapons.
We followed MacNamara back through the tunnels to the entrance to the field. As we exited, we found ourselves on the opposite side of the stadium, turning right in the aisle. Two gates down and we were at our balcony.
“I must admit, dear Ehran,” said MacNamara, turning around just past our gate, “how positively fascinating it is to watch two completely different castes of man, each powerful in their own right, be totally and absolutely cowed by someone who appears to be no more than a mannequin.”
Kieran laughed heartily at that. It didn’t drive away all the anger and he drove the laugh a little more than he felt it. That was all obvious from the emotional flow in his aura, the heat flow in his body, and the way they blended together. Not that I was going to narc on him or anything.
“Now that you’ve rattled both their cages, it should be quite an interesting campaign,” the elf said.
“Maybe,” said Kieran. “Ferrin locked up his last fight pretty quick, though.”
“Surely Harris will be better prepared,” argued MacNamara.
“Oh,” Kieran said with mock surprise, “were we not seeing him at his best just now? When his life was at risk seven ways from Sunday? Truly? Had I not been expecting his stupidity, there would have been six dead men in that room. The looped feedback from the power they were weaving would have fried their brains when I cut the linkages. As it is they will be unconscious for several days and suffer sporadic and severe headaches for the rest of their lives.”
He paused, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes tightly. That was his anger talking. This was really bothering him.
When he spoke again, it was in an older Elven dialect, one with several levels of political situations or castes. He spoke as a diplomat of an outside people pleading with an Elven king. It was a high praise.
“Lord MacNamara, I do apologize most profusely for allowing my anger at another person color any discussion with you,” Kieran said. “I did not intend at any time to show any animosity toward you or yours.”
MacNamara answered in English with big smile, “Now you’re just showing off.”
I thought he was working the elf, personally. Seemed to be doing the trick, too. Those sparks of orange and red in his aura shrank and wafted to nothingness. I’ve seen my dad do this to people, be all diplomatic and stuff. Now Kieran was doing it. You’d think there was a genetic predisposition for it. Seemed to skip my generation, though.
“I have accepted an invitation to view the final bout with the United States coalition,” said MacNamara. “Considering your current animosity toward their champion, perhaps it is best that I not extend that invitation to you as well.”
“Just so,” answered Kieran placidly, bowing his head slightly.
“A regent will come for your team an hour before noon then. Good luck, McClure. This should be most interesting,” MacNamara said, then turned quickly and walked down the aisle, disappearing quickly into a throng of people that didn’t seem to be there before. Kieran reached over the gate, unlatched it, and walked in with me following in his wake.
“Peter!” Kieran called as we walked into the apartment. The anger in his aura was still rolling through him.
“Coming,” Peter called from our room. He came out wearing just his pants and drying his hair with a towel. “Yes, sir?” he asked.
“When we get home,” Kieran said, “I want to hire attorneys, several of them, as high powered as I can get. Business managers to handle our money issues. Computer specialists to get us tied in to the world at large. Then I want us hooked in to the magical world. I want protections on our attorneys and other employees. We will need to send someone to Father’s Savannah home and Colbert’s Atlanta compound and investigate them both. And we’ll need to do it from Ireland. Can you get that started?”
Peter shrugged through the towel now around his neck. “If you’ve got the money, yeah,” he said.
“Money will not be an issue,” answered Kieran. He was calming down now, finally. Peter was watching him with curiosity.
“Harris really got to him,” I said, chuckling a little, plopping down on the couch while Kieran paced with nervous energy.
“Idiots in authority usually do,” Kieran muttered, then dropped to the couch opposite me, sighing heavily. “He’s right, though. It does look like a prelude to war.”
“Against whom?” asked Ethan from the doorway to his and Kieran’s room. He was dripping wet and buck-naked. Peter threw his towel across the room to him. He started drying off with it.
“At the moment, the only ones I’m certain that are left,” Kieran answered ominously, “are Seth and Olivia.”
The Pact. He meant a war against the Pact.
Damn.
Chapter 27
“Remember that there are still many ears here,” Kieran said, telling me not to blurt out anything.
“But he didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know, did he?” I asked. It seemed like a reasonable question to me.
“No, not really,” admitted Kieran.
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“While this trip has been quite successful in a number of ways,” Kieran said, “we are still just shouting in the darkness. That could have cost Olivia her life and it may yet cost Father his. We need more information and we need it faster than we are currently getting it.”
“Well,” said Peter, sitting down on the couch and pulling on his shoes, “I can get us started on the list you gave me, but you do have another, quite underused resource in information gathering.”
“What?” I asked.
Peter pointed over his shoulder with his thumb at the food bar. I turned and saw Shrank hovering above a small plate of raspberries. He seemed to be having a hard time deciding which one he was going to gorge himself on.
“Shrank?” I asked. I wouldn’t l
ast very long as a fish. I took the bait too easily.
“Yes, Master Seth?” Shrank asked, flying over to me, abandoning his search for the perfect fruit.
“Peter just said you were an ‘underused resource in information gathering’,” I said. “Do you know what he means by that?”
“Not exactly, sir,” he trilled. “But it would not bother me in the least to be given more work to do, to be more useful.”
“Okay, we’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “So what did you mean, Peter?”
Peter grinned and said, “He’s the perfect spy! He can go just about anywhere, hide in plain sight, learn technology, to some degree anyway. He can fascinate mundane humans in a heartbeat and neutralize security cameras by twiddling his thumbs. I’m tellin’ ya, he’s a perfect spy.”
I looked at Kieran, who looked at me. The idea had some promise.
“I don’t know about that,” I drawled out slowly. “That sounds awfully dangerous and he’s awfully small.”
“I can take care of myself,” argued Shrank, hands on hips and wings fluttering behind him.
“I’m not saying you can’t, Shrank,” I said defensively, “but spying is a dangerous business. People tend to kill first and ask questions later in that profession.”
“Let’s just table the idea for now,” said Kieran. “The idea has merit, but I agree with Seth about not putting Shrank at unnecessary risk.”
Ethan came back into the room, dressed this time. “You two should change and eat something. The final solo bout is going to start soon and ours is right after that. Then we can get out of this place.”
Kieran and I both went to shower without a word. I felt Peter start to draw in power from the room as I left, then Ethan pulled farther out, channeling more into the room. I didn’t see what they were doing, but I checked my batteries to see where they stood on power levels. Both were still fairly full but could be topped off. I started a slight pull as I showered, not wanting to take anything away from whatever they were doing. I stopped before I got out of the shower when the batteries neared the top of my comfort zone. When I came out into the main room, the others were already out on the balcony. I fixed a plate from the food bars, complete with the nasty Esteleum that was so good for you but you had to be threatened with your life to eat it.