Mortal Banshee
Page 1
The Blade of Mercy, Volume 1:
Mortal Banshee
Copyright © 2014 by Jonathon Magnus
All Rights Reserved
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1—Sorana
Chapter 2—Visor
Chapter 3—Mercy
Chapter 4—The Tower of Mercy
Chapter 5—Madness
Chapter 6—The Hand of Mercy
Chapter 7—Rapture
Chapter 8—Trapped
Chapter 9—Blaydon
Chapter 10—The Fist of Mercy
Chapter 11—Kalafels
Chapter 12—Captivity
Chapter 13—Ghost story
Chapter 14—Ogre
Chapter 15—Aura
Chapter 16—Poison
Chapter 17—Abduction
Chapter 18—Talon
Chapter 19—Pixie
Chapter 20—Survival
Chapter 21—Naiad Rangers
Chapter 22—Armaan
Chapter 23—Fracture
Chapter 24—Krafer’s West
Chapter 25—Xandria
Chapter 26—The Blade of Mercy
Chapter 27—Judgment
Chapter 28—Sacrifice
Chapter 29—Eternity
Chapter 30—Understanding
Chapter 31—Liberation
Chapter 32—Truth
Chapter 33—Obsession
Chapter 34—The Mission
Chapter 35—Weapons of Mercy
Chapter 36—Skarholt
Chapter 37—Troll
Chapter 38—Sanctuary
Chapter 39—Finnur
Chapter 40—Into Madness
Chapter 41—Ranie
Chapter 42—McKinsey’s
Chapter 43—Evan
Chapter 44—Ignas
Chapter 45—Engelfire
Chapter 46—Revan’s
Chapter 47—Sister Mary’s Suite
Chapter 48—Talon’s Lair
Chapter 49—Enigma
Chapter 50—Uncreation
Chapter 51—Renaurd
Chapter 52—Serene Knight Gwendolyn
Chapter 53—Virtuosa
Chapter 54—Pale Siren
Chapter 55—All in Your Mind
Chapter 56—Dream Trap
Chapter 57—Linked
Chapter 58—Another Me
Chapter 59—Snakes
Chapter 60—Amaranthine
Chapter 61—Eurydice
Chapter 62—The SaSade Mirror
Chapter 63—Veils of Gray
Chapter 64—Temple of Liesen
Chapter 65—Catalyst
Chapter 66—Empowered
Chapter 67—Touch of Evil
Chapter 68—Running Home
Chapter 69—Despair
Chapter 70—Lies
Chapter 71—Hawks of War
Chapter 72—Say My Name
Chapter 73—Flower of Evil
Chapter 74—Confession
Chapter 75—Asylum
Chapter 76—Possession
Chapter 77—Wounds so Deep
Chapter 78—Meta Realm
Chapter 79—Breath of Life
Chapter 80—End of an Epoch
Chapter 81—Transcendence
Chapter 82—Dawn of Mercy’s War
Thank you
Chapter 1
Sorana
Sorana dismounted, crushing a frosted purple flower under the heel of her snakeskin boot. She tethered Mystique and a spare horse to the outer fence of Augusta’s military stable. She checked that her veil remained securely clipped inside of her helm before approaching the gatehouse.
WaterCrescent, Augusta’s massive fortress, loomed before her. Until a few months ago, it was the bastion of human civilization along their northern frontier. Now it was their prison.
Three blue-skinned ogres guarded the gatehouse. The lazy, witless ogres ….
One of them waddled his nine hundred pound, ten foot body with disproportionately thick legs to meet her. “What’s your business tonight?” His breath formed a putrid fog in the evening air.
Sorana didn't break stride and didn't look up. “Message delivery.” She signed along with speaking. Then she added in sign only, You stupid, lazy pile. She passed them and slowed for a few strides, listening to ogres’ complaints of vardal arrogance. She caressed the cold, metal weapons strapped to her left forearm.
Sorana scanned the courtyard. Mother’s model was accurate enough, though it didn’t reflect some of the damage from the combined ogre-vardal-buway assault.
Sorana circumvented ogre groups camped around bonfires.
Vardal guards on their riding pythons blocked the ramp down to the underground market level. The arrogant, cruel vardal ….
Sorana slipped into the temple and made her way down through its underground catacombs to a crypt. There, she found a concealed entrance to a tunnel, just where Mother said it would be. She negotiated the tunnel, heading deeper underground. She emerged into the storage cellar of a bottlery. She made her way upstairs and slipped through a window into a back alley. She was now in the underground market level, where the captive humans resided. The filthy, selfish humans ….
As she moved down streets and alleys, most of the humans made a wide berth to avoid her. A sizable group of young males did not. She slowed as she passed them, scanning for the human that Mother wanted.
One mumbled, “Vardal.”
Another whispered, “Vampire—she’s alone.”
Sorana searched some dwellings, causing panic when residents were home.
She passed a trio of vardal. One of the men signed a greeting, which she returned in kind. He began following her—conspicuously. A woman shouldn’t be unescorted in the human district.
Sorana turned a corner, jogged to the end of an ally, and slipped into an unoccupied house. She hid under a staircase.
The vardal pursuer entered and searched for her. The aged, wood floor creaked under his feet.
Another creature approached Sorana from above and behind. It had negligible body odor, ambient corporeal temperature, lateral undulation locomotion, and minimal beta wave emission. It was a snake, a favored vardal pet and dietary staple.
Its metabolic activity surged.
Sorana ducked, reached up, and caught the snake mid strike. She shifted her wrist to release a switch-dagger from her armguard. She decapitated the snake.
The vardal heard her movement and approached the stairs. Sorana revealed herself, bowing in greeting. She winced and gripped her shoulder, letting her arm hang awkwardly. She kicked the snake’s body into plain sight.
The vardal glanced at the snake. He held his hands out as if to cradle and inspect her arm.
When he was close enough, Sorana efficiently disabled him and guided his body to the floor. She used the snake’s teeth to put puncture wounds in his wrist.
There was a pulsing pain in her head. She pulled her glove off, wetted a finger and stuck it into a pouch she kept tucked away inside her belt. She licked the thin layer of powder that stuck to her finger, and breathed deeply until the pain subsided.
Now her body craved calories. She ate a few nuts from Mother’s care package.
Time was running out. There�
�d been too many missions in a row. She needed to find the asset, get out, and get home.
The asset was a human male from the southern Raykez region … six foot, average physique, dark brown hair, social and political master, and archery expert. Mother had provided Sorana with holographic images for study.
Back on the street, Sorana found a tavern that smelled like lots of humans. She slipped inside.
Chapter 2
Visor
A hush fell over the Petulant Peacock. Some of the more drunken and oblivious patrons were slower to quiet.
Visor turned to find a vardal female, alone, standing a few steps inside the front door. She was dressed in the typical female vardal uniform—figure-hugging black fabric under a layer of fine mail with snake skin boots and gloves. The mail was highlighted by plates of symphonic metal, a lustrous iron alloy that human forgers were unable to duplicate. The plates were arranged and cut as much for decoration as for protection.
Her armguard was unusual in that it looked more ergonomic and integrated with her armor. She didn’t carry a rapier, the favored weapon for vardal women. She wore more pouches and straps, which could conceal weapons. Her helm had extended cheek guards. She wore a stretched hoodie under the helm. A violet veil covered her face.
She strolled to the bar, unintimidated by the twenty or so humans that would like to see her skinned, hung, and then burned. She was a bit more substantial than some of the other vardal women, albeit less refined in her movement. A lock of hair slipping out from under her coif was peculiar as well. There were some brown undertones rather than the typical silky, solid black of vardal.
She said something to the bartender that was too quiet for Visor to hear.
He prepared a drink.
She adjusted her veil to uncover her eyes. She scanned the room.
Visor could barely make out the slanted eyes of a vardal. The lighting was poor in the underground tavern. Her body was lean and defined.
She caught him staring, as women always did when you admired them.
The bartender brought a drink to the vardal. She picked up the drink awkwardly, half-nodded to the bartender, and walked into the kitchen.
Thorsius, sitting across from Visor, craned his neck to watch her leave. “Banshee Mortel, what was that about? Security check?”
“Not a lone female.” Visor shook his head. “And there’s no need to check. There’s no word on General Presence. And the Naiad Rangers pose little threat—not enough to affect market level security, anyway.”
Thorsius asked, “How many frost ogres does it take to chase down a band of nymph rangers?”
“Sirenic rangers. ‘Nymph’ annoys them. They’re just trying to help free their sisters.”
“What kind of people would torture sirens?”
“Someone so arrogant or desperate that—”
“The vardal are demons, and Nazaire is the worst of ‘em.” Thorsius slammed his fist on the table. He was a thick-framed and muscular blacksmith. He wore a faded green cloak over a black turtleneck. Long dirty blond hair fell over his shoulders, and his beard was braided into two tails that hung down to his chest. “At least they’re letting you see Rap.”
“Just enough so our binding isn’t broken. It seems the vardal don’t want her going through withdrawal, for whatever reason. They’re certainly not too squeamish to watch it. They let other sirens go through it.” Visor rotated his advisor ring round his finger. “They listen in on us to make sure we don’t talk too much. It’s bizarre.”
“Animals. Someday, they’re gonna pay.” Thorsius took a long drink. He grunted and nodded at the front door.
Two vardal were scanning the room. They soon stepped back outside.
Thorsius finished his drink. “I should get out of here. Blaydon's expecting me.”
“I should go too. It's getting late and I need to look something up.” Visor paid for them and walked out.
It was slightly cooler outside the Peacock, but not cold. The market level was protected from the worst of the chill, being fifty feet underground. It was dark, lit only with bioluminescent plants and by mirrors that reflected moonlight through surface vents.
There was a flash of lustrous metal and the veiled vardal girl was on him. “Visor?” Her eyes were amber—not the dark brown typical of vardal.
Visor shrugged. “I am an advisor.”
“Burke Donovan Mourning, advisor to the Mourning Court.” She grabbed his hand and felt his advisor ring. She released his hand and shook hers as if slinging off something filthy.
Visor leaned toward her subtly. He had seven inches and sixty pounds on her.
She did not give ground, though she wrinkled her nose and held her breath. “You will come with me.” She turned and walked, slowing to allow him to catch up.
Visor fell in step with her. They were approaching the ramp up to the courtyard. “If we're going to the surface, can I stop and get a cloak?”
“No.” The girl veered away from the ramp to head toward the bottlery. They entered the empty building. It had been ransacked by the ogres multiple times and now was devoid of anything drinkable. She led him to the basement’s concealed tunnel, a passage few knew of.
Visor asked, “Come here often?”
“No.”
He followed her a few steps then held out his hand. “I can't see.”
She made a disgusted scoff and grabbed his hand.
He followed her, skimming the wall with his free hand. The crypts and catacombs were too dark for him, but the surface temple’s antechamber was illuminated by moonlight. Still, he held and even massaged her hand until she realized he could see and jerked it away.
They came to an open robe closet. He stopped and reached in. “I'm just going to grab a cloak. You want one?”
“Walk. And do not speak.”
Visor slid on a lined, fur cloak as they passed the altar. She opened a rear door and they stepped out into WaterCrescent’s courtyard. The cool air was invigorating. It was just a light breeze, which was fortunate. Located on the cliff overlooking Keening Lake, WaterCrescent was subject to significant gusts.
The ogres had built a bonfire in the school yard. Three ogres were just off their path ahead, and one moved to intercept the couple. The brute was huge—maybe ten feet tall and approaching a thousand pounds. He carried a human sized poleax lightly in one hand. He pointed it at them. “Where’re you going?”
The vardal gave a dismissive wave. “Prisoner transfer. Vampiric interrogation.” She didn’t break stride. Visor trailed by a few steps.
The ogre waved his axe. “You’re all alone.”
The vardal stopped and cocked her head. She swiveled to face the ogre.
Another ogre approached.
The vardal moved differently now. She was prowling—goading this ogre with her body language. She moved within his reach.
His hand could grip half of her waist. He could pick her up and crush her in an instant.
She spoke calmly. “I am. Is that a problem?” She glided sideways, giving the second ogre her blind flank.
The ogres exchanged looks. One waved his hands defensively. “Whatever.”
She pressed him. “I need a mount. Where is the outer stable keeper?”
“He’s at the camp, this way.” He pointed.
The other ogre pointed a different direction and said, “No, that way.” They looked at each other in confusion.
The vardal girl scoffed and hissed something in vardal, simultaneously signing something that looked rude. She turned and strode off. “Keep up!” She led Visor to a gaping hole in WaterCrescent’s outer wall.
Visor slowed his pace. “Wait.”
She stopped.
He said, “We’re leaving, and you’re not taking me for interrogation.”
“So?”
“I’m responsible for someone's safety.
I can't just leave if there's a chance of getting her out. We have to get to the AciesMagus.”
“No.”
“If you help me, I will do whatever you want—no resistance.”
“You will keep up, or I will shatter your legs and drag you.”
She was right. It was one thing for her to grab him off the street, but Rapture was being held in the AciesMagus, an underground fortress deeper than the market level. The vardal girl had planned out this mission precisely. No good would come of their being killed or captured during an impromptu rescue attempt. Nothing more was said as the two made their way to the outer stable.
She picked horses for them, and the two mounted.
Her mount, a gray Holstein, recognized her.
“Keep up”. She started off at a trot.
He pulled alongside her. The sky was especially clear and the Aurora lights were bright.
She said, “They probably won't kill Raptured.”
“It’s ‘Rapture’.”
“The Duchess of Augusta—Natalia.”
“Either way, why do you say that?”
“Why would vardal kill a captive siren?”
“Maybe because they are vicious murderers?”
She pushed her mount to a canter. “Keep up!”
Chapter 3
Mercy
Visor and his captor pushed their mounts, riding through the night and into the dawn. Reassuringly, they headed east across the frosted tundra, away from Jortal, the home of Khatagin’s ogre tribe.
They were both skilled riders, but she had the stronger mount and lighter load. He would not be able to outrun her to escape.
It was dusk again before they found shelter at the edge of Skarholt Forest and stopped to rest.
She did not restrain him, even when she closed her eyes for the night. Nor did she speak with him, other than to provide instructions for eating and sleeping. She did remove her stretch hoodie on occasion. She appeared to be a human-vardal half breed, something that Visor had never seen before. Some doctors had concluded that human-vardal cross breeding was not possible.
They skirted the northern edge of Skarholt and entered at its northeastern edge. They wandered for a time, seemingly lost. In the shaded forest, he lost track of time and direction. They came across a thicket of trees that initially appeared impregnable. However, as they approached it, an opening became apparent.