Spears' Challenge (The White Dragon Series Book 2)

by Bonnie Watts

  It won’t be until this power vampire witch is dead though. That prophesy Siniocor spoke was a true one. You’re going to need everyone you can get to take on that evil bastard.

  How’d you know about the prophesy? You weren’t with me then.

  We’re bonded now. Part of the process was you allowing me into your entire mind, including your memories and your feelings, both good and bad. One of my gifts was as a soul-singer, which means that I test souls for hidden evil. That’s why only six people passed the Gallows test out of the sixty-four who we tested.

  The records said only two passed out of a hundred.

  No, they’re wrong. I remember every one of them, their souls still haunt me. One who passed was like you. She was a Champion Knight Protector who became a White Dragon. She didn’t have as much magic as you though. She didn’t have the nerve to call me evil, either.

  I didn’t know either you or Sir Frederick then. I guess I should change that to harsh in your judgement, how’s that? Still, I don’t understand why you have to judge people, Tor. Weren’t you just teaching us to use the magic quickly instead of going through fifteen years of training?

  Not exactly. You do learn the magic spells. But you also bond with me, which means that you are able to take more hits, build stronger shields, perform stronger spells, never need an outside power source, that sort of thing.

  You’re a battery as well as a spirit conduit!

  Yes, one that is spelled to never run out of power like a mortal battery does because I don’t get tired.

  Now I understand why you are called the Sword of Power, and why so many people kept trying the Gallows test despite how dangerous it was.

  And why so many of them failed my soul-singing. They wanted me because of selfish reasons, or petty reasons, or vain reasons, the list is endless.

  His mind-voice sounded so sad and tired.

  I wanted it for revenge. I shouldn’t have passed that test either.

  Revenge was your surface reason, Jerrie. When I sang into the deeper parts of your soul, I saw what really motivated you to continue this fight. There is something inside you that needs to heal wrongness in this world. Fred has that need as well, so did Surral, my other White Dragon bearer. Every bonded bearer of the Sword of Power has had that need. Like recognizes like, they say.

  But what…

  Our conversation is interrupted by a loud growling. The puppy, who had been happily sniffing and peeing on everything, stops and moves in front of me, blocking me from going any further down the road. It is foggy as usual on the lake path, so I can’t see much, but I instinctively pull on my yellow Knight Protector magic and slam on a battle shield that covers me and the Hellhound like a second skin.

  Whoever is trying to ambush me starts chanting a spell, one that is so full of the darkest magics that I can feel the wrongness of it from where we stand.

  That is a death spell, Jerrie, a bad one! It’s the one that killed Fred!

  Can it get through my shield?

  With seven witches conjuring, it might.

  “Lucifer, kill!”

  At the command, my Hellhound explodes from his position, disappears, then I assume he will reappear where the witches are chanting. I can’t see anything in the heavy mist. Meanwhile I pull an enormous amount of power from Tor, creating a large missile of offensive magic. I am ready to back up Lucifer, running down the path towards where I sense seven people, all witches.

  As we approach the carnage, I see that there’s no need for my magic. I send the missile up in the air like a flare to call Avalon’s guardians, and call Lucifer to me. I check to see if there is anyone still alive who can be healed and questioned, but the Hellhound has been too efficient in protecting me.

  Jerrie, make sure you record a memoryscape of the past few minutes, in case someone tries to accuse you of murdering those witches for no reason.

  Good thought, Tor.

  I perform the spirit healing magic spell for creating the memoryscape, which is like an organic video recording I can then send to anyone’s mind, then I go back to a bench I had passed about fifty feet down the path with Lucifer to sit and wait until the guardians get here.

  Lucifer!

  Master?

  He didn’t call me mama? Interesting.

  He knows he is working. You are acting as his master now.

  Lucifer, bring Jeffrey to me unharmed. Hurry!

  Good Idea. He’s still your legal advocate here.

  I hear the clanking footsteps of men in armor approaching out of the fog. They stop when they reach Lucifer’s handiwork.

  I hear the slap of bare feet on the path as someone runs towards us from the other direction. At the same time, Lucifer appears out of the fog in front of me, turning his body to guard position and sits down by my side.

  Jeff is the runner, and he is naked, clutching his clothes in his hands, a towel barely hanging in there as though he’d stepped right out of the shower!

  “Good boy.” I scratch Lucifer’s ears as a reward and his tail bangs against my feet.

  Despite the horror of the bloody dog and the seven torn apart bodies that used to be women only fifty feet up the path, I can’t help admiring the lean muscular body of my selkie. I heal the lacerations on his bare feet from running and he grunts his thanks as he puts on his clothes.

  “That damn dog came into the bathroom, just sent ‘You come now.’ into my mind, grabbed my arm and started pulling me until I came! He didn’t even let me get dressed. I was lucky he let me grab clothes!”

  “Sorry. I needed you here, and I couldn’t leave the scene.”

  “Scene? What scene?”

  I sent him the memoryscape of the attack. At the same time, the head of the Avalon Guardian force, Cuchulainn, walks out of the fog. This late in the evening, he doesn’t look so much like a highland warrior as he had the first time I’d seen him. He is dressed in a simple shirt and breeks this time, but still has his sword strapped in a worn leather harness on his back.

  “Cuchulainn.”

  “Ms. Spears. That Hellhound of yours attacked and killed some citizens of Avalon. I’ve already had some complaints about him chasing people that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, but with everything happening…”

  “We were attacked first, Lainn.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “I took a memoryscape of the entire thing. They were waiting for me on the path, started chanting a death spell that could have gotten through my shields because there were enough of them in the conjure. My only choice was either to kill them with magic and risk hurting innocents who might be out here with the afterspill, or send Lucifer for them. I chose Lucifer. I sent my power as a flare to call your guardians.”

  “Let me see it.”

  I send it into his mind, playing it back as I had done for Jeff.

  “The six victims were witch followers of Morgana’s. I can feel the residue of the death spell they were conjuring. It was a powerful one and really nasty. I haven’t seen the like of it used for a, well, since I was out in the world. It’s going to have to be cleared from the area or the path won’t be safe to walk. It’ll attract dark things to it.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll write that up in my report. I need to get the Council a report of this right now and get this cleaned up. Can you be available if they need to see you about this tomorrow or later?”

  “Of course. For what it’s worth, I didn’t want anyone else to die.”

  “You’re the White Dragon, lass. Evil gets vanquished if they’re stupid enough to try conjuring a death spell in your presence. That conjure was meant to shred your heart and soul apart. Don’t regret sending yon fine beastie to end the witches who would foul the world with such magic.”

  Then Cuchulainn, the half-human son of an Irish god, pats Lucifer on his head, whispering into his ear, Dea Dog! Is féidir leat a mharú witches olc don am ar bith Bán Dragon is mian leat a. He then heads back to his gruesome clean-up duty.

/>   “What did he say?” I ask Jeff.

  “He said ‘Good Dog! You can kill evil witches for the White Dragon anytime you want to.’”

  I shut my mouth that had dropped open in surprise at the Guardian’s words.

  “I think Dragon has been talking to our Irish king.”

  “Lainn was there yesterday when you killed Morgana Le Fey and he saw it all. He’s just as much a supernatural as the rest of us, he just doesn’t like to use magic. And yes, Dragon’s been talking. He’s been letting them down gently about why you aren’t going to become their high priestess.”

  “Good. By the way, Tor knows about the prophesy. He knows everything I know. He’s a soul-singer.”

  “A Singer? There hasn’t been one born in so long that that type of magic is all but forgotten.”

  I was the last one. It was why we decided when I found out I was dying of an incurable wasting disease that I should transfer my essence to this sword. To help keep the Order pure. Fred prophesied that I would be the last Singer born.

  What incurable wasting disease?

  Tor sends me pictures of his memories as Jeff, Lucifer and I walk home.

  “God damn them to hell!”

  “Jerrie! What’s wrong?”

  “Arooooooooo?”

  Jerrie?

  I swear, Torlean, I am going to resurrect those healers from your times and forget I’m supposed to be a stupid White Dragon for a day, and I’m going to torture them. First, they’re too lazy to heal Sir Frederick deeply enough so that all of his injuries return as soon as he dies and he goes to the otherworld, then they tell you that you have an incurable disease that is curable with both a mind and body healer working together! You were the last soul-singer, and instead of thinking outside the box to try to keep you in the world, they condemned you to become a sword a century sooner than you needed to. Damn them!

  “Jeff, remember that wasting disease I told you was given by the Healing Council in the hope I would fail my graduation test?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tor had that when he was in his forties. Sir Frederick prophesied that Tor would be the last soul-singer born, so, instead of the healers getting a mind and body healer working in tandem to heal him, they stuck him in the sword. Plus they didn’t heal Sir Frederick deep enough to the spiritual level, so that when he died, most of his injuries came back for eternity until I healed them! Assholes.”

  “They didn’t know, Jerrie.”

  “They knew, Jeff. I’m sure some of them did that level of healing. The best healers always make sure of it. We’re trained to know. Granted, the wasting disease isn’t completely obvious, but it isn’t that unclear, either.”

  I ask the next question out loud, so Jeff could hear it.

  “Tor, what happened to your body and Sir Frederick’s?”

  They put both of us in the vaults at the old Order Headquarters in Belgium before it got destroyed by the zombie horde of Kelos. We’re in stasis there in the catacombs. Fred died of an exploded heart caused by a death spell that got through his shield. They put him next to me to sleep through eternity.”

  “Your bodies are in stasis, not cremated or buried?”

  “Yes. I see what you are thinking. I’m not sure even you can do that, Jerrie.”

  “Why can’t I?” I look at Jeffrey. “Tor’s body never actually died. His spirit was removed before it ended, then the body was put into magical stasis at the old Order headquarters in Belgium. We don’t know if the same was true of Sir Frederick’s. His heart was exploded by a death spell conjured by the coven of witches led by Kelos the Necromancer. Sir Frederick spoke his Final Glory spell, giving his Order their power, then the remaining Knight Protectors put his body in stasis next to Tor’s in Belgium. He might not have been dead. His spirit might have moved on because his body wasn’t usable any more, but…”

  “That’s an awful large but, Jerry. Should you go on a side mission trying to find their bodies, leaving Avalon to do it, just on that small premise that Sir Frederick’s body might still be alive? Why?”

  “Not Sir Frederick’s body, Jeff. Torlean’s body. He’s the last soul-singer. Remember what they can do!”

  We arrive home and when I enter the house, I call Liam to me.

  “Liam, who’s the oldest creature here in Avalon? Is it Dragon?”

  “Aye, I think so, but that sword you’re wearing, Jerrie, the soul it carries is far older. That elf you’re meeting tomorrow is old, but none of us knows how old he is.”

  “Can you call Dragon to come to see us after the funeral please? Tell him it isn’t an emergency, just more questions about magic.”

  “Aye, lassie, I’ll tell him.”

  I turn back to Jeff. “My father told me that soul-singers used to be the purifiers of the magical world. I realized early on that our enemy started out with a gift a little like mine. In order to do what he does, he had to have spirit healing and necromancy gifts together. But without support, having two opposing gifts like that can break a person’s mind.” I look down at my hands. “It nearly did it to me as a child. Without my family’s support and guidance, it would have.”

  “A soul-singer has a spiritual healing and a wizard mix of magic. They see into a person’s entire mind and soul, check their true motivations and desires, then depending on the purpose of the review, they can heal the madness or kill the person. They purify the spirit one way or the other.”

  “As a sword, Tor is limited in who he can touch this way. Only when his spiritual form is thrust into a person’s spirit body, can he do his thing. He can lightly empower whoever wields him, but not like he does for those who have become bonded by him.”

  “As a fully functioning soul-singer, Tor can use his power more freely with line of sight, I think, right, Tor?”

  The sword turns green in agreement.

  “Another thing he can do, Jeff, is trap this guy so I can cure him of his madness. If he soul-sings him, he can release the magic the guy has trapped inside himself, can’t you?”

  Now the sword turns blue.

  “He says possibly, because it’s never been done, but with he and I working together, it should be possible.”

  “This is all going to be if we get to his body, and if it is revivable, and if you’re able to heal it and put him back into it.”

  “Right.”

  “That is a damn lot of ifs, Jerrie. Especially since you can’t leave Avalon or the enemy will be on you again like he was before.”

  “There is that.”

  “You’re exhausted and running on nerves now. Let’s sleep on it and talk it over with Dragon after the funeral, okay? We also need to talk about what happened tonight with him.”

  I yawn, I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open.

  -2-

  I awoke to a horrible racket sounding like sneezing hick-ups, only more screechy. Hurrying out of my bedroom to see what was going on, I almost bump into Jeff, wearing only pajama bottoms, as he stands at the back door looking outside with a huge grin on his face.

  “What in God’s name is going on?” I ask him, looking over his shoulder. I realize the noises I’m hearing are in another language.

  “I don’t think God has anything to do with this situation.” He starts laughing, but I know he understands ancient Welsh, since he has a PhD in Archeology and Celtic languages are both part of his selkie heritage and his education.

  All of the ten male Avalon brownies are in our backyard trying to give Lucifer a bath. From the pungent sounds of the (I assumed it was Welsh, since our brownies speak that language.) swear words and the condition of Team Brownie at this point in the skirmish, it looks like the score is Hellhound - ten, brownies - one. He has the small feys inundated in suds and mud, and he’s obviously having a blast with this new game and all of his new friends.

  I scope out our primary house brownie in the thick of it and open the door.

  “Liam!”

  He looks over at us, blushes crimson, disappears, the
n reappears in front of us. He still has some muddy suds in his hair, but otherwise doesn’t look too bad after the bath war.

  “Why did you try to give him a bath?”

  “I heard that the Houndmaster is coming to see him today, and he had all that blood on him. And he smelled so bad in the first place, I don’t want to make a bad impression on no seeley high court fey, even a banished one.”

  “I see. You’re right. He saved my life last night, but he was a mess afterwards. What with the investigation and everything, I didn’t think about cleaning him up, and I should have. You’ve done our house proud. I’ll calm him down for you.”

  Lucifer, let the brownies wash you. A Houndmaster is coming to meet you today and you want to look nice, don’t you?

  Houndmaster?

  I can feel the dog’s fear, and I sooth him as well as I can, explaining that it isn’t the type of houndmaster he’s used to. By the time I am done soothing his fears, the brownies are finished rinsing him off and magically drying him. He does look a lot better post-bath.

  He smells better too. No more fire and brimstone nastiness. Why do demons always live in places that smell like fire and brimstone?

  We both jump into the showers and grab breakfast, not talking about my idea from last night by mutual consent. We need to speak with Dragon and Sir Frederick before we go any further on it. Now we have an elf Houndmaster to meet and greet.

  There is a knock on the front door. Liam, all duded up in his best miniature suit, answers it and lets the elf in. He is tall and blonde like most of the seeley court elves. They also all look like they smell something bad, with their cold Nordic faces and better-than-thou attitudes. This one is paler than most because he is starting to fade. It is their way of committing suicide when their immortal lives have become unbearable. His blue eyes are pale like ice, what I’ve heard described as a killer’s eyes. Normally those pale orbs might be rather unnerving. In this one, my empathy can tell the paleness is a symptom of the fading, resulting from the terrible aching loneliness I pick up from him. He reminds me of Dragon, for some reason.

  “My name is Lord Cirwin of Granger, former Houndmaster to the seeley Court. I understand you have one of the bytheiaid uffern that needs training?”