Dodge City Knights

by Aaron Crash

  Tessa had smoked her LeMac down to the filter. Instead of flicking it outside, like a bad smoker, she put it on a little ledge to throw away later. She lit another. “I have a poly friend that says marriage is all boredom, and commitment, and staying when you want to leave. She thinks it’s a trap. I’m not sure I believe that. I’m not sure what I believe.”

  Mouse squinted. “Boredom? Tessa, T, my girl, have you been bored in the past year? Do you think you’ll be bored in the next ten years? We’re going off-world, eventually. We’re going to be going on these goddamn adventures for the foreseeable future. With Steven, there is no boring. And you said it yourself, getting a little strange will never be a problem. And not to pressure you, but it’s going to be weird if we all marry him and you don’t.”

  Tessa laughed. “No pressure there. Is divorce a thing among dragons?” She then caught herself. She’d been there when they’d magicked the ring off Mouse’s finger, ending her relationship with Rhaegen Mulk. “Yes, I can get out of it at any time. I can be free.”

  “I’ve been free, and I’ve been trapped, and I had a choice whether to join you or walk away. And I chose to be with you guys.” Mouse’s eyes filled with tears and she waved a hand in front of her face. “I’ve never been happier. Freedom sounds great. But there’s nothing like home. Marriage and family create homes.”

  Tessa opened her mouth to protest.

  Mouse stopped her. “Yes, I know what your poly friend would say. People can create families of polyamorous lovers that are as good or better than traditional marriages. Don’t go there. This is about us. Be honest with yourself. Can you imagine your life without us?” Mouse took Tessa’s hand. “Don’t answer that. I’m going to hug you. Then I’m going back to bed. For me, and this is only for me, I can’t imagine us without you. What was that derpy thing that Zoey said on Christmas Eve?”

  Tessa remembered instantly. “I can be. But I’m glad we’re a we.”

  Mouse hugged the barista. “I don’t think we can be a we without you.”

  She left Tessa standing there, with a whole lot to think about. Well, sleep was officially off the agenda. She decided to grab the Dragonknight book and do more reading. If anything would put her to sleep, it would be the list of begats of Dragonsoul lineage all the way back to Rahaab, Mathaal, and Icharaam. She made the decision to skip ahead. She was glad she did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MORDRED TOUCHED THE wall, triggering the Enchantrix spell he’d put on the roof of his Galloo Island Aerie. The ceiling shuddered and then disappeared, letting him see the night sky. The rain had stopped. The air was heavy with a wet chill—that was nothing new for the Dragonknight. He’d grown up in Cumberland on the Irish Sea. That damp cold never could penetrate his skin.

  And he wore his American coat, a long duster made from oilcloth lined with seal fur.

  The entire top floor of the Galloo Island’s former lifeboat station had been converted into a single rambling room. It was his study, his laboratory, at times his bedroom. Tables, chairs, bookcases, and counters all held his books, his experiments, his texts, and his magic items. Fires burned on either side of the room. From the outside, the manor looked like a tumble of decaying bricks, a dilapidated structure ready to break apart at any minute. Inside were luxuries and comfort. It was a good enough metaphor for Mordred himself. Onlookers saw an affable Dragonlord, not very ambitious, but strong. Inside? It was a different matter altogether.

  The island lay six miles west of New York mainland and five miles southwest of Canada. Mordred liked his privacy, as he wasn’t forced to put on his party smile for the people.

  Umbra sat on his bed next to the fireplace on the far side of the room. She waited for him with a quilt wrapped around her. Half-covered, her dark skin tempted him to postpone his business. Her staff stood against the wall.

  Mordred was very familiar with her face, that strong Incan blood showing, although she’d left Cuzco right at the beginning of the empire. She’d worked for Mordred, Lancelot, and Bedivere for a long time. The three Dragonknights didn’t mind sharing her, just as she didn’t mind being shared. Yes, it was against the norms of Dragonsoul culture, but Mordred had transcended such petty ideas as marriage, family, and rules. He hadn’t cared, and neither had Bedivere nor Lancelot.

  Umbra had wept over Bedivere at first. Then she sought out Mordred.

  A knock sounded through the room. That would be Zuzanna with his allies.

  “Yes, bring them in.” Mordred gripped the Angel Knife in his right hand, hidden in his coat. Umbra, on the bed, was on high alert. She knew what was coming.

  The old woman shuffled in behind Candler and Helge. The latter was unharmed, but the former had a layer of pink burns covering his head and face. The Cura spells had fixed most of the damage, but those burns had marked the fat man. Steven Drokharis’s dragon fire might’ve destroyed the man’s looks, but it had left his appetite intact. Pizza grease marked Candler’s lips. Powdered sugar dotted his dark suit.

  Helge scowled. “It’s suicide, Morty, fucking suicide. Uh, sorry, not Morty, Mordred. Anyway, that woman, that witch, that bitch, she took out three tanks by herself and then fucking flew up to fight us in the air. I ain’t never seen anything like it. Then some big white dickhead of a dragon hurt Candler something awful. We tried to fight them, but they’re too strong.”

  “Is Drokharis alive?” Mordred was used to pretending he knew far less than he did.

  “We don’t know,” Candler said. “It wasn’t a black male, but white, but that might have been the snow. We couldn’t see as much as we wanted. Tessa Ross is alive, though, and the Wayne twins are as well.”

  Helge took over. “It seems a lot of his wives survived whatever happened in Wyoming.”

  “But no sign of Steven,” Mordred said to close that conversation. He knew the rest. And he was in contact with Bob Stains, who had US satellites on the region, tracking the three vehicles. As long as they continued east, Mordred could relax for a bit.

  If they turned south to take on Ugly Ellis, his Inferno Dogs, the Gris-Gris, and the Sounders, then Mordred might have to rethink his tactics.

  “We’re sorry,” Candler said. “We tried. But we figured it was better to run than die there. I mean, it was only his women.”

  “Only his women,” Mordred repeated. How little did these fools know.

  “It wasn’t the women, it was that one witch,” Helge complained.

  “Do you two still want to help me?” Morty asked. “Or has the game gotten too rough for you. Now, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your willingness to go along with my plans, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  Helge glanced at Candler. “Well, we don’t want to go Ronin if that’s what you mean. Yeah, we retreated, but we want to keep on helping you.”

  Candler nodded his pink burned head. The fat on his neck wobbled. “Yeah, but I was thinking, maybe you could help me with the burns.” He motioned to his head.

  Mordred walked up. He kept his hands in his pockets.

  Candler was clueless. He looked eager to be healed.

  Helge, though, kept his eyes on the Dragonknight.

  Mordred removed his left hand and touched the fat man’s scalp. The Dragonknight closed his eyes, felt the cells and scar tissue, and then felt the Animus spinning in Candler’s core. Matter and energy, two sides of the same coin. He adjusted the skin, bringing it back, but didn’t stop. He grew the hair until Candler was whole again, and in need of a haircut.

  Candler grinned. “Thanks, my Prime.”

  Mordred touched the fat man’s face. “Yes, yes. It’s the least I can do.”

  Helge glanced at Zuzanna, who stood to the right by the fireplace, motionless. “If you can fix the burns, why don’t you help out that old lady? You could make her young again, couldn’t you?”

  “Time is our ultimate enemy,” Mordred said. “Her cells decay. And yet, I do what I can to take away her pains. She is only human.”

  “Why keep
her around anyway?” Helge asked.

  Mordred turned on him and told him a fairy tale. “I trust Zuzanna. I will mourn her when she finally dies. I will enjoy her while she’s here. But I don’t want to talk about her. I want to talk about Merlin. I’ve been thinking about him often these days. The drama of the past is replaying itself in the present.”

  “Merlin? Like the Magician?” Helge walked over and sat down in an easy chair at the center of the room. Cold cuts, cheeses, wine, and whisky lay on a coffee table. Helge grabbed the whisky and drank a big swallow directly from the bottle. “That means he was human.”

  “Very.” Mordred motioned for Candler to sit. “Yet Merlin went beyond what humans could do. When I met him, he was already ten thousand years old, and Guinevere must’ve been half that. To think, a human, extending her life that much.”

  “I thought Guinevere was Arthur’s bitch,” Helge spat.

  “Hardly. Like in so much, the humans got it wrong.” Mordred stood with his hands on his hips, thinking. “Guinevere was only one of her names. When you live long enough, you collect different names. As you know, I myself currently have several. As did Merlin. He loved Guinevere for five thousand years, and both might have lived forever, if not for some very unfortunate circumstances. I assure you, both are long dead. I survived, but I will never have that much power. Merlin was the single greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen.”

  Both Zuzanna and Umbra were silent. They’d heard this story before. Zuzanna told him she wanted to live as long as Guinevere, and he told her he simply didn’t have the magic. Her time was running out. Perhaps with the Grail, Mordred might be able to change that. It was a very nice and very unlikely dream.

  Candler grabbed meats and cheeses and stacked them on his thigh. The grease would stain his slacks, but it was obvious he didn’t care. He started the act of shoveling the food into his mouth. Helge drank.

  Mordred retrieved a cigar. “Do you two care for a smoke?”

  “No, we’re good,” Helge answered for them both.

  Mordred clipped off the end and then breathed out a line of fire to light the stick. He sucked the smoke into his mouth and then let it drift away. He sat down with the two men. He relaxed back and looked up at the stars. “Merlin learned the initial spells easily, every skill on every branch of the skill tree. Then he spent thousands of years perfecting them. Mathaal was so proud of him. The two, along with Arthur, created the Americos Chambers, the Ever-Seeing Eyes. Bedivere, Lancelot, and I used their magic to expel Drokharis for a bit.”

  “That didn’t work,” Candler said stupidly with his mouth full. “Good try though.”

  Mordred leaned forward, gripping the cigar in his hand. The Angel Knife weighed down his pocket. He’d get to it, eventually. “That plan failed,” Mordred said. “Which brings us to plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?” Candler asked between mouthfuls of ham.

  “Do we want to know?” Helge asked a bit nervously.

  Mordred shrugged. “Perhaps not. It involves the Holy Grail. No one could find it, not for a long time, and better Dragonsouls than me have tried. Attur Dro and Mynn Lyrr. Arthur and Merlin. The Grail would change everything. Merlin knew that. He came the closest. That human.”

  Mordred spit out the words. That human. And what would Merlin have done if he’d found it? That had been the question he, Bedivere, and Lancelot had obsessed over. A human with that much power? They agreed they could not let that happen. They’d left Brunor, Mordred’s son, out of their secret conversations. They thought it was safer. After Mordred’s Grand Mistake, no one was safe.

  Candler leaned forward. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, the governor of Kansas along with the senators have agreed to start the evacuation. They’re calling it an apex tornado event. That doesn’t mean anything, but the local news people are using the term. Sounds bad, doesn’t it? It’ll scare off the skittish people, and the humans who stay will either be killed, or we’ll wipe their minds.”

  Mordred hid his annoyance. It was obvious Candler hadn’t been listening. However, Mordred did like creating stories for humans to hide Dragonsoul events. He himself had coined the phrase Great Chicago Fire for the conflagration in 1871. Kakar Kosonovich had tried to overthrow Mordred, and their battle destroyed half the city.

  Candler continued. “It’s only a matter of time before western Kansas will be empty of a lot of people. The storm in Nebraska is helping our cause.”

  Mordred played his part by grinning and nodding. “Good thing you were the Prime there for such a long time. Those are good contacts.”

  Helge sighed. “Larry, you can’t just spit out information at random times. Morty here, I mean, Mordred, was right in the middle of the story.”

  Mordred gave them a casual shrug. “No, I’m just an old dragon who likes to hear myself talk. I could go on for hours. The bottom line is this—no one can find the Holy Grail. The Drokharis child had the best chance, but he is dead. His Escort will join him presently. Once Ugly Ellis unleashes hell on the West, they’ll be pulled into the fight, and they’ll be killed.”

  The opposite was what Mordred really wanted. Let Steven and his Escort wipe out the last of the US Dragonlords. It would be less work for Mordred once the Holy Grail was under his control.

  Mordred liked it when he could win either way, which was why he’d orchestrated the Kansas attack in the first place. He had several endgames in place, and each one culminated in his ultimate victory.

  “What is the Holy Grail?” Helge asked.

  “A weapon.” Standing, Mordred motioned to the door. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen, I have a bit more work to be done.”

  Candler and Helge stood.

  Candler went over and stuck out a hand. “Thanks, Morty, for understanding about us having to retreat. Tiano, here, thought you might be mad.”

  “Yeah. I did.” Helge took a step toward the door, keeping some space between him and Mordred.

  Candler smiled. “You handled it well, though, Morty—”

  “My name is Mordred.” The Dragonknight whipped the dagger out of his pocket and rammed it into the gut of the fat man.

  “Bull fuck is this shit?!” Helge ripped out of his clothes. IonClaws tipped his hands as he turned into his partial form.

  But only for a second.

  Umbra, blurry with speed, struck his left knee with her staff, blowing the joint to bits. The ends of the stick glowed orange, and when she spun it, she left trails of light around her. Helge shuddered and went down onto his remaining leg. She then struck his head, nearly knocking his skull off his spine. He collapsed forward, head bashed in, neck nerves severed.

  Mordred pushed his face into Candler’s. Blood dribbled from the fat man’s lips. “You might never have betrayed me, Larry, but Helge would’ve eventually. Besides, your Animus will serve me far better than your incompetence.”

  “But...we ate together...we were friends.” The light was going out in Candler’s eyes as his Animus poured into the dagger.

  “No,” Mordred hissed. “Never friends. You were never worthy. I had twelve friends at one time. Now I only have one. For the time being.”

  Candler died with food on his lips—a fitting end.

  Umbra wrapped the Angel Knife in a black piece of silk and took it from Mordred. She laid it carefully on a table where two black candles gleamed. The third candle was out, but soon, soon, its light would flicker as well.

  Zuzanna came away from the fireplace. “I will have our vassals clean up the mess. We can throw away the carpet.”

  “Yes, yes you can.” Mordred agreed.

  The naked Umbra came up to him and slipped her small arms around him. “If your business is done for the night, I wish to be your pleasure.”

  Mordred laughed and crushed the slim woman to him. “Of course, Umbra, of course.”

  “Can I watch?” Zuzanna asked.

  The answer was yes. The corpses could wait.

  Mordred pushed Umbra to the bed, where she spread h
er legs. He threw his coat down and shoved his pants off, but didn’t bother to take off his shirt or socks. The Incan woman knew what he liked, and he wouldn’t last long. Then he could get back to work. So much to do. So many variables.

  The old woman watched from the shadows, her cold eyes twinkling like the frigid stars above.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THAT MORNING IN KEARNEY, the Nebraska Department of Transportation opened the highway. Steven and his Escort raced away, heading east. While they traveled, they searched for the possible location of the lake Steven had seen in his vision in the Bali waterfall temple.

  He and Sabina both cast Divinatio spells and both were given the hint the Elf Queen had given him in the vision: The Cross of Rock to the west, the Cold Ocean to the east. In the land of the songbird, capped in black.

  Tessa Googled black-capped songbirds, and that gave them their best clue. The black-capped chickadee was Maine’s state bird. Steven had seen a lot of trees around the lake, so that made sense; Maine had two nicknames that mentioned either pine trees or lumber.

  Twenty-six hours from Kearney, Nebraska, to Portland, Maine. They drove it straight through pretending to be nine simple humans on the road in three cars. They took turns driving, sleeping, listening to music, eating road food, and taking in the scenery. When I-80 jogged around in the Chicago area to become I-90, Steven considered reaching out to Morty Flint, but it didn’t feel right. He didn’t want any Dragonlord treachery to get in his way. And now that they were on the move, he wanted to keep it that way.

  Steven was amazed at how quickly they fell into the rhythm of it all. The jokes, the songs, the camaraderie. Uchiko had to ditch her motorcycle in Nebraska, but she bought a new one in Omaha. She buzzed ahead or lingered behind, keeping all three vehicles in view. It was like a sheepdog shepherding them to stay together.