Mortal Banshee

by Jonathon Magnus

  “The ‘Hand of Mercy’, eh? You might want to change that to something a little more ... a little less—how about ‘Fist of Mercy’?”

  “That does sound better.”

  A dozen buway lounged around a fire near the lower end of the ramp. The fire reflected off their green scales. They held corroded spears and tridents in their webbed, clawed hands.

  Blaydon gave the order and his archers fired. Then he led the infantry charge. The buway groaned and shouted guttural warnings as they died. It was a quick skirmish against the lethargic lizards. Blaydon didn't pause, setting a brisk pace along the edge of the cove.

  There was a commotion to the rear of the group. A few humans approached from behind and started conversing with Visor. Some were children. Damn, that will complicate things. “Visor! Shut them up!” The waterfall covering the Cove’s lake entrance might mask their sound. And buway had poor vision so they might be able to avoid being spotted. But the buway had a good sense of smell.

  The humans used stalagmites to conceal their movement along the cavern’s edge. Blaydon and his infantry skirted past a group of buway lounging near the docked Ardor Crest. The Ardor Crest was WaterCrescent’s flagship, and it was full of buway. It would be a long fight, and hard for the Fist of Mercy to man the craft. Blaydon led his troops further around the cove. Another group of buway was close to the Luvian. The Luvian was a good choice. It was moored near the exit falls, and easy to sail.

  Blaydon charged the buway. He and his infantry started with the upper hand against the unwary buway, but more were emerging from the Luvian. Where was his archer support?

  Blaydon looked back. His archers were skirmishing with a pair of vardal.

  Visor was escorting the siren and children away from the melee.

  One of the vardal was in full tactical assault plate armor. An arrow struck it, snapping and falling harmlessly to the ground.

  Blaydon said, “Archers on the lizards! Infantry to the plate! Knock him down!”

  The other vardal wore the more common mail armor. That one stood at a distance with a heavy crossbow. He fired a bolt that passed through an archer's chest and sank into a spearman's gut. Damn that vardal metal! Blaydon pointed to the spearman. “Rap! Get him up!”

  Blaydon charged the crossbow-wielding vardal. The vardal dropped the crossbow and drew a short sword. Blaydon had the vardal by fifty pounds and six inches. Blaydon slammed into the vardal, who gave ground but managed to retain his balance.

  The vardal side stepped Blaydon’s subsequent attack and pressed his hands to Blaydon's shoulder and chest. Blaydon felt barbs stick him. This bugger was a vampire.

  A shock of electricity jolted Blaydon’s body. His muscles locked up, and he fell to the ground.

  The vampire leaned down. He pinned Blaydon’s left arm with a knee, then drew his short sword and positioned it for a kill stroke. But the sword fell harmlessly to the ground. The vampire’s hand fell with it.

  Sorana gripped the vampire’s forearm stump. A bloody, serrated dagger protruded from her armguard. She punched the vampire in the face with brass knuckles, knocking him to the ground. She set a boot on the vampire’s chest, leaned down, and dragged the serrated blade across his neck.

  Without pausing, she withdrew a rod from a holster on her thigh. She snapped it outward so that momentum activated a telescoping function, increasing the rod’s length. She swung it in a wide arc, inches above Blaydon’s head. She knocked back a snake. She pinned it with her rod and boot, then cut it in half.

  She executed her attack as one continuous motion, as if it were a dance move she’d practiced hundreds of times before.

  Blaydon recovered his equilibrium and surveyed the scene. The plate armored vardal was staggering. Two spearmen kept him off balance while Thorsius pounded away with his hammer. One of the spearheads snapped off against the vardal armor. Still, his men should be able to finish the vardal eventually.

  Blaydon charged the remaining buway, who were about to overrun the archers.

  Sorana followed him, flinging throwing stars as she closed.

  Blaydon and Sorana efficiently downed the remaining buway.

  Blaydon tallied the damage. One archer and one infantry were dead. Rapture could heal the rest. Now was the time to deal with the tagalongs. “Athian! What are you doing here?”

  Athian said, “Sorry—I just saw Thorsius heading down the ramp and we followed. The kids—”

  “You could have gotten us all killed!” Blaydon waved Athian to silence. “Never mind. Get Kaytla and the kids on the Luvian. Go with the Fist of Mercy. Thor, you as well. The rest of you, with me! We're going for the Marigold and Xandrian.”

  Visor said, “Blaydon—”

  Blaydon spun and said, “What!”

  Visor held up his hands. “Good luck.”

  “You said you killed several in the AciesMagus. They are in disarray, weakened, and hunting you. And you did it with just you and the tracker.”

  Visor said, “We could come with you. With all of us—”

  “Make Rap safe. We’ll catch up with you. You’ll probably draw some pursuit away from us anyway. Discussion over. Go before more buway come! K-twelve, with me!” Blaydon headed for the AciesMagus.

 

  Chapter 10

  The Fist of Mercy

  “It's worse than last time.” Rapture cradled her abdomen. She wheezed and sucked in air through clenched teeth.

  Visor knelt and rubbed her shoulders. “I'm sorry.”

  She nodded and clenched her jaw. “It's not you.” She grasped a strap and pulled him closer. “But this helps.”

  “Bearing ten degrees!” Athian adjusted the Luvian’s wheel. His hair was light blond and just touched his shoulders. It was matted to his face by mist that drifted from the waterfall. He was maybe an inch shorter than Rapture, and notably fit. The bard had the most experience sailing.

  Thorsius and Kaytla adjusted their ore strokes. The Luvian now pointed toward the mist section, off to the side of the main falls.

  Athian said, “Straighten out and steady.”

  Visor stroked Rapture's cheek and kissed her forehead.

  She stopped whimpering.

  He didn’t know what to say. “Mercy can probably fix this.”

  Rapture nodded weakly.

  Visor used his cloak to cover her as they passed through the mist of the falls.

  There was a hard cracking sound. The Luvian lurched and Visor crashed against the cabin wall.

  “Whoa crap!” said Thorsius.

  Kaytla cried out.

  Visor crawled to look down at the row deck. There was a crack in the hull and water was spraying in.

  Athian said, “Oh, my goodness!”

  Visor said, “We hit a rock, but shook loose.”

  Athian said, “We're still going to sink!” He turned toward the cabin where the kids hid. “Divin! Holley! Look around in there for something to plug it! And look for a bucket!”

  Visor said, “Yeah, but we have some time. We can't go back. We need to make as much distance as we can.”

  Athian said, “We'll be easy targets on the tundra. It’s days walking to the cover of Skarholt forest.”

  Visor looked east and west. “You're right. We'll have to land at Kalafels. We can make the foothills by nightfall. We can evade them in the peaks and then double back north. We'll take the long way around.”

  Athian said, “Bearing fifteen degrees! Sorana, Visor, grab ores.”

  Visor got into position and pulled his ore. “Even if the vardal are mounted, we might be fine if we can get a few hours head start.”

  Thorsius grunted. “And what about the ogres?”

  Visor said, “They're faster and more adapted to the cold.”

  Thorsius said, “But?”

  “But nothing.”

  ***************

/>   The Fist of Mercy beached the Luvian on the west shore of Keening Lake. They grabbed what supplies they could easily carry and set out for the Kalafels foothills. Divin and Holley were pre-teens, but strong enough to keep a good pace. Holley was at least moderately autistic, but seemed able to focus on and follow Divin. The speed was limited by Rapture. She still cradled her abdomen as they walked.

  Thorsius said, “She's getting weaker.”

  Visor said, “We may have to carry her.”

  “That'll be hard.”

  Visor looked back to the lake. “It’s clear for now.”

  Thorsius said, “Only cavalry could catch us—and ogres.”

  “Yeah but ogres are too lazy to run that far. We have another three hour hike to terrain that will hinder the cavalry. Blaydon, the Naiad Rangers, or someone has given us time.” Visor scanned the terrain ahead for cover. “How would we take down cavalry?”

  Thorsius looked around. “We couldn't. Well, we would go for the mount—wound it with range weapons or break its legs. Then we’d try to knock the vardal down. Damn vardal are agile though. And most of our weapons won't pierce the plate, if it’s heavy cavalry.”

  Visor asked, “What kind of weapon would we need?”

  Thorsius considered a moment. “A ballista or other siege weapon would pierce it.”

  “With what we got off the Luvian.”

  “With a hand weapon, you have to have a lot of metal. My hammer will ring up the vardal inside, but the metal doesn’t bend much.”

  “It’s the shockwave. And the flanged mace?”

  “Sort of. You’d have to be pretty strong. Your sword just becomes a grab and stab. No way you slash a gap.”

  “What about your hammer’s back spike for piercing?”

  Thorsius shook his head. “Good against our plate, not theirs.”

  Visor said, “Their melodic metal is just that much harder than our steel?”

  Thorsius said, “It's way better. Our steel—we pound it out, mix, pound, heat. They just make a current, melt it and bang—perfect steel.”

  “Any desired balance of hardness and resilience.”

  “Then to make the suit, they just arc a perfect weld. We have to measure, mark, punch, and set rivets. Then we still have weak points at the seams.”

  “They’ve got to have gaps. They have to move.”

  “They’re smaller.”

  Visor said, “What if they’re wearing the symphonic plates, like the females usually do?”

  Thorsius said, “Yeah, the symphonic metal isn’t as hard as the melodic stuff. Sometimes we can pierce it.”

  Visor said, “They wear it for the decoration.”

  Thorsius readjusted his back pack. “The harmonic metal is the best stuff. It’s strong like melodic, but lighter. You can’t work it—our forge doesn’t soften it. It doesn’t get hot enough. But then I never got a chance to try it, myself.”

  Visor said, “Yeah, that’s because it's a different base metal, not iron.”

  Thorsius looked at him sideways. “You’ve never worked in a forge.”

  “I read a book. I was just wondering how accurate it was. Do you know how vardal smelt the metals?”

  “A little bit.”

  Visor said, “Vardal smelt and forge metal with electric currents, as you said. They work in teams and the combined electrical currents sync up to make patterns of colors. Remember the vardal smiths are dark—almost pitch black, not just dim like ours—and they see an extra color beyond red that we don’t.”

  “Yeah—I never got that.”

  “It’s invisible to us. Anyway, during the process, the electrical impulses are timed in such a way that they make a ‘melody of lights’. That’s where the melodic metal got its name. Symphonic metal uses a mix of different metals, so it uses a lot more currents and takes longer. The forging process looks more like a symphony so that’s where its name came from. Symphonic metal was initially used in construction of tools and plumbing applications since it is resistant to corrosion. But nobles started using it in their decorative armor. The lustrous quality became a sign of prosperity. Eventually, it became a fashion to include some symphonic metal on all female armor.”

  Thorsius asked, “You got that from a book?”

  Visor said, “It was detailed book.”

  “Well, I don’t know about everything you said. Sounds like it could be right.”

  “Operatic metal is so named because of the intense concentration required. It requires even more heat than harmonic does. They have to time the currents just right so that the mettle hardens but doesn’t become brittle. But done right, Operatic metal is so hard that only a diamond can scratch it. It's heavy, though. That’s why they use if for ammunition, not armor.”

  Thorsius asked, “From a book? Who would know all that?”

  Visor said, “I suppose a master vardal blacksmith—”

  “Heiliger Mond! Gah!” Rapture screamed and fell to the ground. She curled up and clutched her abdomen.

  Visor ran to her.

  Her face was flushed—her teeth clenched. Tears leaked from her eyes.

  “Rap. What is it? What can I do?”

  She cried and writhed on the ground.

  Visor said, “It's the armor! Help me get it off!”

  Rapture said, “Don't touch me!”

  Visor knelt over her.

  She was looking at something.

  He followed her eyes to a snow leopard crouching on a snow drift several yards away. The bright blue eyes stood out against a background of white fur with black spots in front of a wall of snow and shadow. It was maybe seventy pounds. That made it a juvenile or small adult.

  Sorana crept near it, baton and monkey’s fist at the ready.

  The cat pinned its ears back and veered away from Sorana.

  Rapture lay her right arm out on the ground, hand extended, reaching for the cat.

  The cat slunk to Rapture, still wary of Sorana’s following.

  Visor placed his fist on the ground so that his arm protected Rapture's neck, careful not to touch her.

  The cat placed its muzzle in Rapture's hand. It licked her palm and moved in closer.

  Rapture lifted her hand to the cat's neck and stroked its fur.

  The cat moved up to her and lay against her abdomen. It purred.

  She cradled the cat as if it were a child. She pressed her hands against the cat’s body. Rapture’s face relaxed. She rolled to lie on her back.

  The cat put its front paws across her chest and sat patiently, licking its paws.

  Visor cradled her head. “Rap. What ….”

  Rapture said, “I don't know, Don. But the pain is gone ... mostly.”

  “A ship! It's the Ardor Crest!” Athian looked through a scope. “They have vardal cavalry—at least three. And some ogres.”

  Chapter 11

  Kalafels

  The Fist of Mercy evaded their pursuers, stopping only when it became too dark to safely move. It was getting dark again, after a short night and long day on the run. It was colder tonight and they needed more substantial shelter, particularly for Rapture and Holley. They’d followed human tracks to a cave.

  A human archer sat up in a perch above the cave entrance. He was, perhaps, eighteen. He wore a lined cloak over some home-made light leather armor. He pointed a knocked arrow at Visor. “How do I know you're not Talon’s Gauntlet?”

  Visor held his hands up and out, stepping within conversation range. That was pretty close because of the approaching winter storm. “I don't know who Talon is. I have an advisor ring of the late Lord Mourning. I’m Mourning's brother, in fact.” Visor held up his hand to show the ring. “That’s how I got the job.”

  The archer said, “That could be fake, or stolen”

  Visor said, “Do we look like thieves? And the seal is too hard to fake. You'd have to look closer though.”

&nbs
p; The archer frowned.

  Visor said, “I'll take that to mean you don't know what the seal looks like. Then tell me—who is Talon?”

  The archer said, “A bounty hunter. He's paid by the Raykez merchants to capture and return us.”

  “We have kids with us.”

  “So do we. That doesn’t prove anything.”

  Visor said, “I have a siren.”

  The archer’s demeanor changed. “You have a siren?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Show her.”

  Visor said, “Unknock your arrow.”

  The archer lowered his bow.

  Visor signaled Thorsius, who walked closer to the perch, empty hands in plain view.

  Rapture limped behind him. When he stopped, she stepped partially out from behind Thorsius and pulled back her hood.

  The archer dropped his bow. He gripped the edge of the perch and hung his body down. He dropped a couple of feet to the ground. He never took his eyes off of Rapture. He stumbled up a steep incline from the mouth of the cave. He slowed while passing Visor, then took a few more steps and knelt awkwardly. “Bitte, Engel Godiva. I'm Liefer, of Raykez. My uncle is dying. He's in the cave. Please help us.”

  **************

  Liefer stoked the fire. “The merchant guilds are becoming more aggressive. They joined together to establish the Com—the Trade Commission. It is a tool for destroying competition. They have levied taxes without the consent of the Symphonic Knights or the sheriff. Their thugs raid non-Com guilds and take whatever they want.”

  Visor asked, “Why don’t the Symphonic Knights intervene?”

  Liefer said, “The Knights are weak right now. A lot are off with General Presence. Others have abandoned to defend their homes against marauding ogre bands.”

  Athian said, “There are some internal political struggles as well.”

  Liefer said, “Then there is the threat of the Dodelige cult.”

  Visor asked, “The Dodelige?”

  Liefer said, “Yeah, people thought it was dead. Now they’re back, saying the end of the world is near.”

  Athian said, “The Dodelige, some people think, is a satanic cult. Rumor is that they are actually trying to bring about the end of the world. They are being blamed for much of the chaos taking place in Raykez.”