Dodge City Knights

by Aaron Crash

  “No fighting!” Uchiko ran to them, kissed Steven, and then kissed Tessa. Watching the two women together, their breasts pressing up against each other, restored Steven’s libido.

  He took Tessa from behind while Uchiko kissed and caressed the barista’s breasts. This time, they didn’t have any agenda, only to make love and refuel.

  Afterwards, they had to stick their feet in the water to get the sand off, and then balance on flat rocks before putting their clothes back on.

  Zoey had kept their breakfast warm, and she gave all three smiles. Then, when her eyes really saw Uchiko for the first time, she let out a surprised shout. It was the sensitive Zoey who first wept with joy.

  Paanga stood back while all the women in Steven’s Escort lavished love on the ninja. Even the Wayne twins came over to give Uchiko hugs.

  When the women parted, Uchiko raised her face to Paanga. “I am Oe Uchiko again.”

  He smiled warmly at her. “You always were, through these long years, you always were. Your heart has been troubled, but it has been strong.” He bowed at the waist. “Konnichiwa, Oe Uchiko.”

  “Konnichiwa, Paanga Komang.”

  Sabina stepped forward. Glittering emerald light sparkled in her eyes. “Savedra and his Willbreakers have reported back to Javier. They say that Dodge City has been abandoned. There are neither humans nor dragons there. Morty Flint is in St. Louis, or that’s what our spies have said. There is a storm coming, high winds, lightning, thunder, maybe tornadoes, but other than that, it seems as if Icharaam’s gift is ours.”

  The Wayne twins exploded with laughter.

  Steven couldn’t blame them. Morty thought to trap them by clearing a path to the very place they wanted to go. It was too perfect. He wasn’t about to be tricked.

  They would have to go, but they would proceed with extreme caution. There was a reason why the last two Dragonknights had survived the Dragon Slayer. They were not to be underestimated.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  MORDRED KNELT NEXT to the bed in the master bedroom of the nondescript Aerie in East St. Louis. It was in a warehouse district. The buildings were all thrashed and decayed, including the rambling structure where Candler had built a hidden palace. The fat Prime might’ve grown stupid and lazy in his later years, but at one time, he had been a true conqueror with forces that stretched across the entire Midwest.

  His East St. Louis Aerie had been a safe house, a posh one. Gold fixtures filled the bathrooms, and polished oak floors sat under Persian carpets and high-end furniture. Like his Galloo Island Aerie, he liked the duplicity of the warehouse turned palace.

  The illusion, however, was short-lived. When he, Zuzanna, and Umbra had come here, there had been food everywhere, moldering pizza boxes, rats, and a surplus of cockroaches. He’d had to cast an Enchantrix spell to permanently fix the mattress in the master bedroom. The bed was a feasting table for roaches: green hot dog buns, shriveled sausages, and other decayed foodstuffs. Mordred had the idea that Candler had lost his mind. That wasn’t a problem any longer.

  Zuzanna, though, Zuzanna was a definite problem.

  She lay in the clean bed, her cough a death rattle. And when she wasn’t coughing, she was wheezing. Her body had lost its fight against time despite the magic he’d given her.

  “Another FleshForge spell, please,” she begged.

  Mordred shook his head. “No. Your time has come. Have you enjoyed your life?”

  Her eyes closed. “Yes. I was given far more than a simple Magician deserved. Perhaps I should’ve been a Warling. They live far longer.” Her cackles turned to coughing. “End me, my love.”

  Mordred stood. He slashed through her throat with IonClaws. The long life of his most trusted wife was over.

  The timing was good. Zuzanna was his past life. Icharaam’s gift, that’s what they were calling it now, was his future. And if he couldn’t have it, no one else would lay their claws on it.

  He and Lancelot had gone to Duchain Hill, and while walking around the hillside, they found a statue of an angel. Well, the locals would’ve seen it as an angel. As for Mordred and his friend, they recognized the Lady of the Lake’s face. Her pointed ears might’ve been hidden by locks of tumbling hair carved into the lichen-covered stone, yet that didn’t fool them for a second.

  They went to break through the cement slab in front of the angel, to unearth whatever secrets lay buried in the ground. The mossy cement held. Both Dragonknights were flung back.

  Neither Mordred nor Lancelot was the lost son. Nor were they Merlin’s daughter. They were the supposed villains in the story. Mordred didn’t think that was right. He was simply a Dragonlord, doing what Dragonlords did, for fifty thousand years. Yes, he’d made the grand mistake, and yes, the business with Merlin was tragic, but Mordred had won. That human never got access to the Grail. They’d survived the Dragon Slayer. They never would’ve survived Merlin if he’d had a gift from Icharaam himself. Mordred’s victory was bittersweet, but it was still a victory.

  Umbra was in the kitchen with Lancelot. Outside, cars crept by and ragged humans did whatever ragged humans did. They wouldn’t bother with the warehouse. If they did, they would die.

  Lancelot had used the espresso maker to brew up coffees for them. Umbra had spent hours cleaning up the kitchen and had filled a dumpster. It was better she kept herself busy with Zuzanna dying. Now dead.

  Zuzanna was dead. It didn’t seem real. Did humans have eternal souls? Did Dragonsouls? Mordred thought not, which made his life all the more precious. He’d lost Needles, Clutch, and Cort Calot to the Drokharis child. He would not be so careless with his own life. He could get other vassals. There was always someone who wanted what they shouldn’t have.

  Lancelot gave Mordred a small cup of bitter coffee. Mordred sipped it. The experience was missing cigars. So he lit one. They all stood in silence. No one was going to speak of Zuzanna’s death. Lancelot didn’t care. Umbra cared too much. He’d caught her with tears in her eyes, which she hid from him.

  “Are we ready?” Mordred pointed his cigar, leaking smoke, to the garage, where there was the body as well as the Angel Knife.

  “Oui. It will be good to see him again,” Lancelot said.

  Umbra took off running, headed for the garage, using her speed.

  Mordred cast ShadowStrength and caught her in a strong grip. With her weakened, he wanted to look into her eyes and know that she truly understood his act of mercy. “Do you understand why I had to do what I did?”

  “What?” Umbra asked. Those tears again. This time, she couldn’t hide them. “Kill Zuzanna? Or kill Merlin’s wife?” She didn’t mention Candler and Helge. She didn’t know about Victor Nutgrass or the legions of others that Mordred had ended through violence or subterfuge.

  Mordred had his cigar between his teeth. He breathed smoke into her face. “Guinevere I’ve paid for. Zuzanna was dying. I couldn’t save her. No FleshForge spell for her. No Animus adjustments. Her time had come.”

  “When my time comes will you be as merciful?” she asked, those dark eyes flashing.

  “That is a trick question,” Mordred growled. “You are a Dragonsoul. You’ll live for a long, long time. I healed you after you felt the Mouse bite. I find it very satisfying that a lesser dragon has the famed Slayer Blade. After Merlin died in Oregon, it passed through the hands of many Primes. When it was my turn to own it, I buried the truth of it, I laughed at people who thought it special, and I killed the idea of the sword. You know I can kill things. And you know I can give life. I want to hear you say it.”

  Umbra said what was expected. “I know, Mordred, I understand. I will serve you.”

  “You’d better.” Mordred tightened the grip on her arm.

  Lancelot approached them both. He was far shorter than either of them. “Please, my friends. The death of a vassal is never easy, and Zuzanna was with you a long while. I believe our passions are enflamed. There is death in this place now. Let us bring life.”

  Mordred let
Umbra go, and she dashed away.

  He and Lancelot walked through the living room of the place. In the middle was a pile of hacked-apart dining room furniture stacked on sofas and chairs. They would need fire when it came time to strike.

  They entered the garage bay. A corpse hung from the rafters by heavy chains. They circled his armpits and gave him a puppet-like appearance. His feet were only a couple of inches off the floor. He was naked.

  On a greasy rolling table were three black candles, two lit and one dead. The Angel Knife lay in front of the candles along with some parchment, pens, a few books, and three cans of gasoline.

  Umbra had retreated into the shadows to watch them.

  At first glance, Mordred thought it was Zuzanna, but no, she was gone. A single, sharp feeling of loss surprised him. He’d felt bad about Brunor’s death for a brief moment; that brief moment had passed and rather quickly at that.

  Mordred picked up the Angel Knife. It vibrated with the life energy of Candler.

  Lancelot lit two of the candles with a puff of his Inferno Exhalant. He gave him a rundown of information Mordred already knew, but Lancelot liked to talk when he was nervous. “We have reports that Drokharis’s vassals are still in Burlington, holding onto Colorado, as a last desperate attempt to protect Steven’s very human mother. As for our forces, we have some in place there on the border to make a show of an invasion. In reality, our forces, are...elsewhere. There is a storm, oui, but we have fought in storms before. My Gris-Gris will make sure Tessa Ross’s shield spells never work. Ugly Ellis and his Inferno Dogs will gun her down. I do enjoy those Warlings. Monsieur Stains has provided us with a few more tanks from Fort Riley. That is in Kansas and not too far away. After our Magicians and soldiers reduce Merlin’s daughter to ashes, we have Juice Juice and his Sounders to clean up the rest of the wives. As for you, me, and Bedivere, we shall kill Steven Drokharis. Finally.”

  “Finally,” Mordred whispered. He walked around the body of Sir Bedivere. They’d kept the corpse intact by using a combination of shield spells and Enchantrix. It had taken a toll on them, but the naked form of the Dragonknight hadn’t rotted away. His heart had been ruined by Merlin’s daughter, but the rest of him was whole. His eyelids were open, showing the diamonds there. He’d lost his eyes in that initial fight against Merlin. They’d been lucky then. They didn’t need luck now.

  Mordred gripped the Angel Knife. It was slippery with his sweat. He was anxious. That was laughable. “We wait. When Steven gains access to Icharaam’s gift, then we strike and take it from him.”

  Lancelot chuckled. He lit a cigarette stuck onto the end of his ivory holder. “Zut alors, it is a funny thing, no? It is the same plan we used to find this Duchain Hill. We will do the same thing. Steven will not wait.”

  “No, he won’t.” Mordred called to Umbra. “You. Go pour gasoline on the furniture in the living room. I want us completely ready.”

  Fire. Fire was good. Because once they reached Dodge City, he assumed it would get very cold, very fast.

  Chapter Thirty

  STEVEN DROPPED FROM the sky and flew over the empty streets of Dodge City. The place seemed abandoned. The sky above was black with clouds, but there was no wind. Yet.

  A few fat raindrops splattered onto the sidewalk in wide silver-dollar explosions. There were some cars, but they looked abandoned; the gas stations and all the stores were closed, shuttered in tight.

  In the distance, off a lone stretch of asphalt, was a hill rising from the landscape. At the top was a tall tree, and underneath, a scattering of tombstones that stretched down it and encircled it.

  That wasn’t the legendary Boot Hill. Those corpses had been moved a long time ago to a place called Maple Grove. A school had been built on the ground, and students used to find bones during recess. There was the Boot Hill Museum there now. Tessa had been on her phone researching Dodge City graveyards.

  Duchain Hill was actually the biggest, oldest cemetery in Kansas. Few knew how ancient it really was.

  Steven came floating down out of the sky to land on the asphalt. A few ridges had snow on their northern sides, but mostly it was green with spring. The temperature wasn’t cold enough for snow; rain and chaos storms filled the bruised and blackened clouds to the west. Was there a green tint to the sky? It seemed so. Which meant they might be facing a tornado.

  They could’ve waited to explore Icharaam’s tomb, but Steven wanted to end this sooner rather than later. He didn’t like Mordred’s sword hanging over his family. It was clear the evil Dragonknight wanted to take Denver. Steven could imagine a hostage situation where Mordred bargained Steven’s mother for Icharaam’s gift. That was not going to happen.

  Steven shifted into a Homo Draconis and unsheathed Samael’s Lash. He was an eight-foot-tall dragon man with a sword walking down Kansas asphalt to Duchain Hill. So far, Tessa hadn’t made a “get out of Dodge” joke but it was just a matter of time.

  He pushed the creaking gate open and walked by the tombstones. Some had visible names and dates on them. Others had been wiped clean by the elements.

  A voice spoke.

  Steven Drokharis.

  His name was on the wind, the whispered words as ghostly as the bodies around him. It was Quinnestri.

  “I’m here,” he growled.

  I am as well. A light flashed on the far side. The storm was creeping in on a light breeze, but that breeze was a lie.

  His claws churned up grass and mud as he made his way to the light on the northern side of the cemetery.

  Rounding the hill, he saw a statue of an angel standing over a slab of concrete with a little chain gate surrounding it. The chains were rusted; lichen and moss, in a symbiotic relationship, colored the cement yellow and green. Nonetheless, that concrete was incredibly new compared to the grave it covered. Quinnestri must’ve found a way to create the gravesite before the humans planted their dead around the ancient tomb. She was alive...somewhere. Probably behind the Eagle Door on top of the St. Vrain Aerie.

  You have enemies waiting for you, Steven Drokharis. They are watching even now, with their technology. Satellites.

  “I know,” he said out loud. “But I thought you were done...that you’d fulfilled your promise to Icharaam. Did I miss something?”

  I find you and your cause intriguing.

  “I’m not intriguing. I’m just bait.” A raindrop struck his face and rolled down off the scales of his chin. “Can you give us all a light show?”

  A show of light? I do not understand.

  Steven had to smile. “Just make it look like all is well, that I’m worthy, and that I can get my hands on Icharaam’s gift. I’ll do the rest.”

  Very well. Perhaps someday we will meet. Perhaps. You have a long road still in front of you, and while you have done well against the descendants of the Alpheros, you have yet to test your mettle against the Zothoric. Farewell. I shall be watching.

  The angel statue turned into the Lady of the Lake, the same work of art they’d seen time and time again over the past few days. The rusted chains surrounding the concrete slab blazed with light as the concrete crumbled away to reveal steps leading down into darkness.

  The smell of smoke struck Steven, followed by the crackle of flames.

  Hurricane winds swept down. He saw a spinning ring of fire appear on all four sides of the hill—four portals opening to unleash an army on him.

  A hundred yards from where he stood, a big armored boar thundered out of the north gate. That was Juice Juice, and behind him were hundreds of Morphlings, ready to come pouring through.

  Out of the west fire gate rushed men and women in battle gear, the runes on their Kevlar vests glowing orange. They didn’t have guns or swords, but each raised hands, gleaming with all different colors. These were the Gris-Gris, pulled from the front. Those were Lancelot’s sorcerers, of all shapes, colors, and sizes.

  To the south of the hill, a spinning ring vomited out other people, also in Kevlar, but these had big assault rifles,
pistols, even a few RPGs. Tanks rumbled toward them as well. And running among them was a dark green dragon with dark blue highlights. A scraggly beard hung from his chin, so he was a male. A scar cut across his face. Ugly Ellis was ugly all right.

  Four Homo Draconi emerged from the eastern portal: Mordred, Lancelot, Umbra, and a tall, lean dragon man whose eyes gleamed like diamonds.

  Bedivere. Sir Bedivere, back from the dead. Steven had almost forgotten that Umbra had stolen the Angel Knife from the Infinity Ranch. She’d given the magical dagger to Mordred so he could bring the fallen Dragonknight back to life.

  Mordred and his cronies showed their desperation by casting Magica Porta spells. Steven had guessed their ploy when he’d first heard that Dodge City had been deserted.

  Steven was the bait.

  His Escort was the trap.

  “Incanto!” Tessa appeared from where she’d been hidden, using a derivation of a Defensio spell that only she could cast. She snapped closed the Gris-Gris doorway on the north side.

  Sabina and Paanga Komang came streaking down from their hiding place in the clouds. Only a single tank came careening out of the portal before it snapped closed. That was from Sabina, her green eyes gleaming.

  Paanga Komang came swooping down, a flash of yellow and green. “Incanto!” The flames of the Sounders’ portal spun away into nothing, the magic disrupted.

  Only a handful of Mordred’s armies made it through. Yet in the distance, coming in from the east, was a storm of dragons.

  Riding on the winds out of the west were just as many. Javier Jones, Savedra, and every wing they could muster. Steven didn’t know which side would hit first, but the storm beat them both. It swept into them, bringing torrential rains and hail. The ice balls bounced off the ground and smacked into Steven’s head.

  The Gris-Gris all turned on Tessa and hit her with spells, but not Impetim spells; no, they covered her in Incanto spells.