Silverstone

by C E Johnson

  There’s powerful magic out there, Xena whispered, sending Emily a scent of energy, spells, and force.

  Who do you think it is? Emily asked. She studied the woods just beyond their position, but she couldn’t see the team on the hillside anymore. She felt like someone was watching her, but she couldn’t see any auras. The flash of red was gone.

  I’m not sure, Xena answered in a hushed voice.

  Let’s go inside, Z, Emily urged. The wind was picking up, and the fires just beyond their house were beginning to grow in size and intensity in the gathering breeze.

  Okay, but we need to be watchful, Xena cautioned Emily. Xena raced back gracefully. Her massive and powerful muscles propelled her huge frame easily. Leaping up over the white limestone steps to land unerringly on the concrete, she padded quietly across the remaining distance. Leaning in with her strong body, she rubbed against Emily’s leg.

  So, you think we’re at risk in our home? Emily asked, the words nearly sticking in her dry and irritated throat. She buried her hand in Xena’s coal-black fur as she looked over the fires a last time.

  Hadrian’s right, Xena began. I’m sure someone is going to be coming for us if we stay here. Her tone was urgent. We need to leave this house.

  CHAPTER 3

  Shades

  “Do you see her?” Lyall asked. The monstrous half-dead were-wolf growled his question to Wuldur, while sniffing the air. The wolf-like beast was as large as a lion with muscles that strained against his slate-black fur. Lyall was death and destruction, power and strength. “Because I can definitely smell her.” A devious smile formed on his snout. “The aroma of elf is a most delectable scent.”

  Wuldur chuckled at Lyall’s audacity. “I see her,” he answered while nodding his bald head slowly. Wuldur was a shade half-dead, a twin to his brother Ullr. The twins were both generals in Iscar’s army. Camped on a rocky bluff, Wuldur was using binoculars to study the back perimeter of Emily’s home for remnant Blacksky agents patrolling the grounds. His small squad was positioned several miles from Emily’s home. “She’s down there.” Wuldur pointed toward Emily’s house with a finger that glistened with a metallic tint of silver. “She’s looking in our direction, but there’s no way she can see us if we stay in the underbrush. Even though magic is increasing on this planet, aura identification can only go so far.” The air was thick with smoke, and he squinted while peering down at Emily Dalton with his irises of glimmering sterling. “Her Doberman bondsmate is by a small black iron fence that couldn’t keep out a bird,” he scoffed.

  “Let’s attack now,” Lyall urged. “She’s defenseless.”

  “A few more pieces of the puzzle have to be placed,” Wuldur said softly as he pictured his approaching reinforcements in his mind.

  “How did your meeting with Doeg go?” a female vampire half-dead named Kirbee asked Wuldur. “Was he scared of you?” She smirked as she slid into a half-bend position looking like a ballerina doing an effortless grand plié. She began sharpening a dagger on a small gray whetstone that she took out of a leather pouch on her belt. “I’ve always been fearful of shades,” she teased in a taunting tone while looking Wuldur up and down.

  “It went well, and he wasn’t scared of me,” Wuldur answered with a grin as he thought over humans’ usual fear for anything different. He glanced back at Kirbee while setting down his binoculars.

  “He should be scared of you,” she said softly. She gave Wuldur a small respectful nod before focusing on the blade edge of her dagger which was becoming razor sharp.

  Wuldur studied Kirbee’s good looks. Further outlining her beauty, a ray of light pierced the smoke and lit up her face. Kirbee’s skin was smooth and soft perfection. He shook his head to clear his thoughts before speaking to her. “The earthling is rapidly developing magical skills. Doeg already has an intense blood-red aura.”

  “And his daughter?” Kirbee asked curiously.

  “His daughter, Delores, has a similar aura and similar talents to her father,” Wuldur answered. He continued to study Kirbee intently while she worked. It was hard for him to pull his eyes away from her. She was dragging her steel over her whetstone quickly and efficiently until the metal shone deadly with a wicked gleam. Kirbee had been one of the most skilled of Maaca’s select Black-blade vampire warriors, but she had been reassigned to Wuldur’s command. She was extremely competent, and Wuldur had promoted her to advise him on his small council.

  “I went with Wuldur,” a red magician named Milo boasted while gazing with thinly veiled appreciation at Kirbee’s tight-fitting black leather armor that accentuated her curves. Milo was the third member of Wuldur’s war council, the captain of his magicians. He was a tall man with curly dark brown hair that was long enough to let the ringlets bounce by his neck.

  “A wise arch-mage like you mingling with weak earthlings. I can’t believe it,” Kirbee teased. Milo had been back to Acacia recently and he had organized a council of arch-mages to teach him the skills he desired to develop his powers. Eventually they had allowed him to join their ranks as a newly minted arch-mage.

  “I taught both Doeg and Delores a spell,” Milo bragged, “a fire spell.” His dark eyes danced deadly with flecks of glowing blood red in each of his irises. “They were so pleased when they learned of their magical skills that I think they’ll keep performing their spells until they drop from exhaustion.” Milo whispered an incantation. Three flaming fireballs appeared in his hands. “I’ve been perfecting a variant form of this scintillating incantation just for Emily Dalton.” Kirbee stopped her work to watch him. “I can’t wait to heat Emily up.” Milo’s voice was low and dangerous. He loved fire. He juggled the balls deftly in a circle before making them dance on their own. Kirbee smiled and clapped her hands in appreciation. Milo gave a small bow.

  “Could they really form fire after one session with you?” Kirbee asked. Appearing fascinated by the topic of magic, she was nearly breathless. Half-deads had very little magical abilities.

  “Under my expert tutelage, I could teach any magician to make fire,” Milo said with an arrogant smile. “Doeg and Delores were eager to follow Iscar’s plan once I tempted them with even more magic that they could one day perform.”

  “Will Doeg truly organize an army?” Kirbee asked Milo while standing and sheathing her dagger in a dark leather scabbard on her belt. She also put her whetstone away.

  “You’re all about increasing the size of our forces,” Milo laughed. “I predict Doeg’s army will make you proud.”

  “We’re going to need a larger army for ourselves,” Kirbee retorted without any humor. She spun away from the men and began checking the saddles on their horses making sure the girths and cinches were adjusted correctly.

  “I’m glad we have you to lead our warriors,” Milo said in a hushed voice as he continued to stare in her direction.

  Kirbee was in charge of Wuldur’s half-dead fighters. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a four-strand braid that was inverted to create a wrap-around halo making her look like she had a golden crown on her head. Wuldur was fascinated by the striking difference between her dark eyes and her light hair. Whirling her head around without warning, she caught Wuldur’s stare. She smiled a small satisfied smile and spoke to Wuldur softly, “I’d love to have a few more troops under my own command.” She gave Wuldur a sultry wink and his breath caught as he watched the delicate motion of her long black lashes.

  “You’ll get your army,” Wuldur promised, knowing deep down he would fight to give her whatever else she wanted. What’s going on with me? he wondered. Why am I becoming so infatuated with her? He tried to hide the scowl that was threatening to form on his face as he watched Milo confidently saunter over to help Kirbee with her work.

  “Doeg has already started organizing the strongest citizens of Austin into squads.” Milo was flaunting his new knowledge. “He dreams of forming a legion.”

  “He has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s strong and fearless,” Wuldur added slowly. He
gave a low chuckle as he remembered Doeg talking about his grand plans that included becoming a warlord over all of Texas.

  “What does Iscar want with armies of earthlings?” Lyall grunted a question. His coal-colored eyes were fastened on Wuldur. “I imagine their training will take months.” The were-creature didn’t sound the least bit impressed with fighters from Earth.

  “I’m not sure.” Wuldur shrugged while straightening a sword that hung on his belt. The sword was long and slender with a gentle tapering curve and a golden hilt. Made centuries ago by a master on Earth, the weapon was flawless. The swordmaker was named Goro Masamune and the sword was named Honjo Masamune. The deadly blade was used by Shoguns for generations and was rumored to be the greatest sword ever made. Wuldur’s brother, Ullr, had obtained the sword for him. Wuldur rubbed his thumb over the silverstone that his brother had embedded in the pommel. Maaca had given him the stone. “I only know Iscar wanted me to tell Doeg a portion of what has happened and a portion of what is about to occur,” he began. “Perhaps …”

  “Doeg will be our southern commander,” Milo interrupted Wuldur, again showing off his knowledge to Kirbee. “Iscar wants Doeg to help us to capture Emily Dalton alive.”

  “Doeg, a weak earthling magician against Emily Dalton, an arch-mage?” Kirbee scoffed at the idea. “Fat chance.” She finished preparing Wuldur’s steed, a jet-black mare. The horse was a mixture of a Percheron draft breed and a graceful Friesian. She brought the swift beast to him and handed him the reins with a saucy smile. Wuldur vaulted onto the back of his warhorse.

  “He won’t be alone. We’ll help him,” Wuldur said. He rubbed the mane of his proud destrier, a warhorse almost as strong as many of the breeds on Acacia. “I have half-dead reinforcements coming into camp soon. I’ll give Doeg several platoons to assist in the instruction of his troops.” He was certain he could defeat Emily with a vast number of warriors at his side no matter how strong a magician she turned out to be.

  “I hope you give Doeg the goblins and trolls,” Kirbee laughed.

  Wuldur chuckled. “I like that thought.” Like Kirbee, he thought the trolls and goblins were the least desirable of their half-deads. “Once we capture Emily, we’re to take her to one of the in-processing centers, preferably the one in New Orleans.”

  “In processing center?” Kirbee arched a brow in question. Placing her head next to the smooth and silky neck of his mare, she stared up at Wuldur. Further highlighting her beauty, her blonde hair stood out in even greater contrast against the raven black color of his horse. Wuldur wondered if she knew just how lovely she was. His breath caught in his chest and he allowed Milo to answer her question.

  “Iscar is forming in-processing centers throughout the world where dragon-oaths from newly-made earthly magicians can be exchanged in return for food and shelter,” Milo explained. He swung into the saddle of a gray stallion, also built to race the wind. The charger danced impatiently, and fighting the beast to maintain his balance, Milo whispered a spell to calm his courser. The incantation took its effect, but the destrier continued to toss his head and paw the rocky soil. “Iscar has prepared for all of this,” Milo informed Kirbee while tugging defiantly on the reins. His lips curled up into a cruel sneer as he dug his heels into the flank of his stallion urging it to move next to Wuldur. Milo came to a halt and he began to massage his own neck and then his shoulder with his right hand while stretching his left arm behind his back.

  “Are you in pain?” Kirbee asked Milo with a frown.

  Milo nodded. “I’m in need of rejuvenation and fighting with a stupid horse doesn’t help in the least.” He glanced back at Kirbee and added in a voice that was filled with obvious flirtation. “Now a deep massage would really help me.” Kirbee laughed and stuck out her tongue at Milo. Milo smiled back as he gingerly adjusted his position in the saddle before continuing to teach Kirbee about Iscar’s plans. “Non-magician Madai can also enlist in Iscar’s armies for similar rewards. The recruits are only trickling in so far, but as the black-out continues, I’m sure a flood of earthlings will be ready to enlist.” Milo relaxed his left arm shaking it out by his side. He appeared to be truly suffering as he turned his stallion in a slow circle. “My muscles are beginning to bunch and knot.”

  “We’ll get you recharged back at camp,” Wuldur promised Milo, feeling some inner satisfaction that the magician wasn’t looking so strong in front of Kirbee right now.

  “Boys are such babies,” Kirbee teased. She gave Wuldur another wink before dashing to a roan filly. She leapt into her own saddle, and the filly reared, her hooves striking defiantly at the air. Kirbee leaned forward clutching the saddle horn with one hand while her horse trumpeted out a challenge.

  “Show-off,” Milo roared.

  Kirbee threw back her head and laughed as her filly came back to earth. “I think this ride back is going to be fun.”

  Milo rolled his eyes painfully at Wuldur, and Wuldur chuckled at his discomfort before turning his reins to the side to wheel his mare down a rocky embankment. He marveled to himself that he now actually enjoyed riding horses. His primary self, pre-Ater, was a Viking who hated horses. He had been a captain of a longboat which raided cities along the northern coasts. His primary form had been killed in a massive storm at sea and cast into Ater. Samil had brought him back with his twin brother as a half-dead. Since his reincarnation, he had killed scores of horsemen assimilating them completely.

  “You know, although you’re the largest, strongest shade I’ve ever seen, your bulk doesn’t limit you,” Kirbee murmured appreciatively. “Your shoulders are brawny cords of strength.”

  “Flattery will get you anything you desire,” Wuldur teased. “I think I’m going to put extra troops under your command.”

  “You and your mare are fused together,” Kirbee gushed. She rode just behind Wuldur, and he could feel her eyes on his back.

  “I should probably take the magus of a few more riders before I can call myself a true expert,” Wuldur said humbly, but he was basking in Kirbee’s admiration. “I can scarcely comprehend my transformation,” he added quietly while guiding his mare skillfully down another rocky slope lined with loose limestone. His mind was continually evolving into a something wonderful, a fascinating mosaic, and he was no longer the original Wuldur whatsoever. He was now a mixture of every magus he had sucked from the lives he had extinguished. His conscious took its basis from his first life and from his first kill, and they were strong threads in the overall fabric of his awareness, but every subsequent kill added to his essence. Together, the fibers wove into an extremely complex mesh.

  “I also can’t even believe what I’ve become,” Kirbee whispered from behind him in a voice so low he had to strain to hear her. The path leveled out, and Kirbee urged her filly forward to ride at his side. With traces of color in her pale cheeks, she looked almost human. The wind danced through her filly’s mane, and Kirbee absently started to braid several strands of the fluttering filaments of her horse’s hair. Wuldur watched Kirbee’s deft hands. She began speaking in a soft voice as she worked. “I cherish every individual within me, but the elven magus is the most powerful.” She released the mane and grinned at Wuldur with insolent sass. “I wonder what we would become if we were to incorporate the power of that extremely strong half-elf, Emily Dalton, into ourselves.”

  “Iscar wouldn’t like that at all,” Wuldur said automatically. Feeling like a rule-following prude, he glanced at Kirbee to see if she was dismayed with him. Lips pulled up into a pout, she was staring straight ahead. He had the sudden desire to pull her insolent attitude close to him. He was dying to kiss her full lips. “But I do wish we could drink of half-elven magus tonight,” he added in a rush, wondering what the elven blood of an arch-mage would taste like. He had dreamed the night before about the taste of elves. The one time his secondary mind-stream was fully able to penetrate his primary awareness was in his dreams. A half-dead only slept for one to two hours a day, but when in a deep sleep, the brain w
as the victim of a tumultuous battle of unleashed thoughts and desires of a multitude of souls.

  “Our life is formed by our desires,” Kirbee blurted. She flashed Wuldur an excited, wistful look.

  “But before we act, we must ask ourselves if our actions are true and indicated,” Wuldur said with caution. “We must focus on the goal of taking Emily Dalton alive,” he continued with what he hoped would sound like a firm resolve. Kirbee is much too reckless at times, he thought with more than a twinge of admiration for her carefree nature. He wondered if Iscar would put them to death for such insubordination if they were to accidentally kill Emily Dalton.

  “I will heed your words of wisdom,” Kirbee laughed next to him, “but maybe we should break a few rules.” Her filly let out a soft whicker and pranced into a brisk trot.

  Wuldur’s breath caught as he watched loose strands of hair fall from Kirbee’s golden braid as she giggled in a provocative manner. Her chest was heaving as she fairly danced on her mount. “Lovely,” he whispered as the air left his lungs in a rush. He hoped she didn’t hear him because he didn’t want her to know his unguarded thoughts.

  “You look as if your mind fears the advice it’s being given,” Kirbee said with another giggle.

  “We are the sum of all we think,” Wuldur said in a hushed tone to Kirbee’s back. She hadn’t waited to hear his response. Instead, she had put her heels into her mount and was dashing away into the lead. Each subliminal component within him was constantly fighting to bring ideas and directives to his awake consciousness, and when enough of his units agreed, an idea would emerge. Right now, all of his fragments had similar thoughts, and they were much more about improper intentions than his mission. His heart began to race as Kirbee moved further away.

  Without warning, she turned in her saddle, glancing back at him with a mocking smile on her face but with a warmth in her eyes that he didn’t expect from another half-dead. The wind caused the escaping hair from her braid to twist and turn. “I can’t wait for this battle tonight,” she shouted before kicking her horse into a full gallop. “We will finally fight together!”