Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4)

by Melinda Kucsera

  He pressed his brow to hers. “We have endured everything set before us and more. Have faith. We will endure anything that follows.”

  “I hope you’re right, Urk.”

  “Ahem,” interrupted a new voice. Al and her husband looked down at the source, finding a redcap. The small, human-like creature had a thick white beard, huge hands, and was wearing a soft cap that dripped blood over his scalp. A blue discoloration started near his shoulders and traveled down to his hands, where it turned almost black. Al’rashal recognized it as a symptom that fairies got from prolonged exposure to iron. Most of the Iron Guard had such discoloration on their fingers or palms. “You’re the two, right? Minotaur and centaur that’s been servin’ the baron?”

  “Yes,” Al and Urk agreed.

  “Don’t figure there are many of either of you types workin’ for the baron, let alone a pair together.”

  “Captain Black-Hand?” asked Al.

  “Aye.”

  “Why trouble us, Captain?” asked Urkjorman.

  “Ta give you the baron’s orders. You’ll be with the Iron Guard, protectin’ him durin’ the Ascension Celebration.”

  “That all?” asked Al’rashal.

  “That’s all. Be the last thing the baron asks of you.” The redcap waited a moment longer for further questions, then walked away.

  “Why do I feel like we’re missing something?” asked Al.

  “Because you are afraid,” answered her husband.

  “This doesn’t seem odd to you? Each mission has been worse than the last, and now we’re assigned guard duty?”

  “It is the thing he has most asked of us.”

  The centaur stopped and gestured at the setting sun. “The Twilight Kingdom is the Twilight Kingdom because the Baron of Wings won’t let the sun set. What could threaten such a thing?”

  “Then the task will be easy.”

  “No. If something could threaten a being as powerful as the Baron of Wings, what hope would we have against it?”

  “All of it. Hope would be the only thing we had.”

  Chapter Two

  The Court of Wings

  Security within the hall was a nightmare. The Aerie had been designed to celebrate the baron’s power and aesthetic. It had not been designed for his safety, and the riot of people, animals, and things that had come to the celebration only made that worse. Urkjorman recoiled as someone’s yak released a toxic cloud of flatulence that made his one eye water. “Who brings a yak to a party?”

  “Water carriers,” answered Black-Hand from his right. The stout creature next to him was picking something from his teeth with one of his iron daggers.

  “I thought they revered camels?”

  Black-Hand paused in thought. “Different sects, different beasts?”

  “We should kick them out for the smell,” said Urk with a growl as he lumbered forward.

  “No,” said Black-Hand, halting Urk’s stride with a hand on his thigh. “They’re guests of the baron; he wouldn’t want us ta make a scene.”

  Urk considered arguing, but the air was filled with intense music. The light streaming through the glass ceiling was eclipsed by blazing spheres that shone cones of light onto the hall’s entrance. The music rose to a crescendo, and the Baron of Wings strode through the open doors. Immediately the crowds parted, and people knelt or lowered their heads in supplication.

  The baron was wrapped in layers of white and silver that reflected the light like a mirror. He strode to the center of the room with the kind of grace that only a supernatural creature could possess and bowed to the assembled. “I thank you, all. For attending me on this simplest of occasions.”

  Urk rolled his eyes.

  “On this day, we celebrate my ascension to my rightful position as Auvithia, so it is only right that I celebrate it as I was.” The baron’s speech was accompanied by pixies flitting about his form, who slowly stripped him of his clothing. “Here I am, bereft of my raiment, my glory, my power. I stand before you as I did before I seized the sky, claimed the kingdom, and brought you peace.”

  The baron bowed, wrapped in nothing but his seven wings and light. A cheer sprang from the assembled as the baron rose and the cones of light faded. Servants and visitors lined up to offer the baron thanks, admire his beauty, and heap upon him gifts.

  Urk pulled his gaze from the baron and continued roaming the crowd. He caught the gaze of his wife at the far end of the chamber, and she seemed as bewildered by the whole affair as he. The music about the room shifted into something soft and melodic as the lights dimmed to something more intimate.

  “May I have this dance?” asked the Baron of Wings.

  Urkjorman looked around in terror. “My lord?”

  The baron curtsied, offering a hand. “This dance. I will give you my first.”

  Urk swallowed, casting a pleading gaze to Al, who seemed no more certain than he. “It would be better, in this time of your vulnerability, for me to focus on keeping you safe. Would it not, my lord?”

  “And where would be safer than in your arms, Urkjorman?”

  “If it would please you, my lord.”

  “Very much so.”

  Urk took the offered hand, amazed at just how soft and smooth it felt. He was still luxuriating in the feel of the baron’s fingers when he was dragged onto the dance floor, surprised as much by the baron’s strength as his soft skin.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No, my lord. Just surprised.”

  “At my strength or my beauty?”

  “Must I choose which?”

  The baron laughed, a light, melodic thing that drifted through the air like silk. “Oh, you are smooth for a minotaur. No wonder your wife clings to you so.”

  “Why did you think she does?”

  “I thought it was for more physical reasons,” answered the baron, running fingers along the minotaur’s arms.

  “I’m sure that plays a part.”

  “Perhaps when this eve is over, you can show me what part it plays.”

  “I serve at your pleasure, my lord.”

  “Yes, I believe you will,” purred the baron as the song ended. The Baron of Wings curtsied, Urkjorman responded with a bow, and the baron drifted away to receive more gifts and praise.

  Only now did Urk realize how his heart was hammering.

  “You all right, Urk?” asked Al’rashal. “You’re shaking.”

  It took him long moments to steady his breathing and his heart, and when he did, he took his wife into his arms and kissed her with more passion than he’d felt in years.

  Al laughed. “If you’re going to do that every time you dance with the baron, maybe I should send you back over there.”

  “Do that, and I might not come back.” They laughed, and Urk returned his gaze to the baron. He was talking to the water carriers and their yak. Even from here Urk could tell the smell was offending people, as a perimeter had expanded around the group. One water carrier addressed the baron, with the other four standing at cardinal points about the yak. Each was dressed in desert hues and carried one of their water staffs, long staffs that ended in a loop that could carry liquids, usually water, though Urk had seen water carriers use the loops to transport wine and once collect blood from a bleeding man and feed it back into his body so he wouldn’t die. Unusually, these loops were made of bronze, when water carriers generally used natural materials.

  “Why aren’t they facing the baron?” asked Al.

  Urk saw it now: the other four were facing outward, as though ready to protect themselves. Then he realized the loops gleamed not because they were polished but because they were sharpened. “Al, go! Something’s wrong.”

  Al’rashal sprang forward, bulling guests aside as she raced toward the baron. The baron looked up, an expression of indifference crossing his face as she shouted warnings. Two of the water carriers stabbed the yak with their blades, felling the beast and sending blood pouring from its corpse.

  “Move!” roared Ur
kjorman, magnifying his roar with the Voice of Thunder to send people scattering in fear.

  One of the water carriers-cum-assassins pulled blood from the yak and hurled it at Al. The centaur lifted her shield just in time, and the bolt struck with such force it sent her stumbling to the side. A second assassin hurled an arrow of blood at Al. This one skimmed her shoulder and left a trail of blood behind, but Urk couldn’t tell if it belonged to her or the yak. Two more of the assassins stabbed the yak, sending more blood pouring onto the floor, and the baron… laughed?

  One of the assassins leaped at Urkjorman, swinging his staff in a wide arc that Urk blocked with his ax. The assassin slid to the ground, spun beneath Urk’s return swing, and cut a line of blood from Urk’s stomach to his chest. Urk reached out with his left hand, then tried to kick the assassin, but he was too nimble and danced just out of reach of each strike. But the assassin wasn’t the only one with magic. Urk inhaled, filling his lungs with both air and the radiance of his god. When the assassin sprang forward, the minotaur exhaled, creating a cloud of ice and frost. The assassin flailed at the air, trying to clean the ice from his face. Urk seized the moment and cut the man’s head off.

  A shriek filled the chamber as an inky black substance poured from the corpse of the yak and filled the air with the scent of iron. While previously the fairies had been clearing away with something akin to order, now they were in full panic. The assassin nearest the Baron of Wings dipped his staff into the inky pool, and a lance of iron punched through the baron’s abdomen.

  The baron’s face went from horror to rage, and a moment later his delicate fingers tore open the assassin’s skull like ripe fruit. The lance of iron impaling the baron disintegrated, and he stumbled to his left, his hand falling on the shoulder of Black-Hand. “Black-Hand, I need—”

  Black-Hand sank one of his iron daggers into the baron’s side. “Ta die.”

  Before Black-Hand could stab the baron with his opposite dagger, Al’rashal’s hooves collided with the redcap’s face and sent him tumbling along the floor.

  The Baron of Wings fell to one knee just as Urkjorman reached his side. He looked up at the minotaur and vomited blood. “Get me out of here.”

  The baron collapsed into a pool of his own blood, and for the first time in a thousand years, the sun continued to set.

  Chapter Three

  And through the Woods

  The shock of the baron collapsing into his own pool of blood was so much it almost stopped Al’rashal’s swing. The momentary hesitation was enough for the assassin to deflect her sword thrust and sweep at her legs. She rose to her hind legs and kicked the assassin in the face with a forelimb, sending the man tumbling backward to the sound of a shattering jaw. The other assassin launched two more bolts of blood at her. One she ducked, and the other she blocked with her shield, the force of the impact rocking her arm but not slowing her stride. She swept her sword up at the assassin, who rolled aside and beneath her, but before he could capitalize, she stomped her feet. Al heard a grunt of pain, and the assassin rolled clear, holding his shoulder.

  “Stop! Stop!” shouted Black-Hand, picking himself up from the ground where Al had kicked him to. “The deed is done. No need ta fight more.”

  Al kept her weapon readied but let the assassins back away. She cast a glance to Urkjorman, who was kneeling at the baron’s side, finger to his throat. The minotaur shook his head. “He still lives.”

  Black-Hand spat on the floor in disgust. “He’ll be dead soon. Whatever the baron promised you, it ain’t worth ya life. Just put him down and go.”

  “And you’ll just let us walk away?” asked Al incredulously.

  Black-Hand’s eyes were darting about the room as the Iron Guard drew weapons. “I control the guard; I’ll control the kingdom. I can afford ta be gracious. Trust me, you don’t want ta cast ya fate with the baron, especially as—” But his words were cut off by a howl of pain as an arrow sank into his left shoulder.

  “For the baron!” shouted a sprite as he fired another iron-tipped arrow at the redcap. Black-Hand sprang backward and destroyed the incoming arrow with a sweep of his dagger. Emboldened soldiers loyal to the baron charged him, while others supporting the coup tried to intercept.

  “Looks like your hold on the guard and the kingdom isn’t so assured,” said Al with a smile. The remaining water carriers were trying to push through the press of loyalists but were making no progress. Al turned to her husband. “Now what? We could still give them the baron.”

  The Baron of Wings responded with a cough and a ragged gasp of air. “Get me … out.”

  Urk nodded and laid the baron on Al’s back. “Even if we get out, where do we go?”

  “To … to the Mourning Field. Then … then the Old Aerie.”

  Al looked to her husband.

  “Good enough,” replied the minotaur. He turned and charged toward the east wall, caring not whether friend or foe was in his path. Al followed him, hoping the baron retained the strength to hold on. The door ahead was turned into kindling as her husband barreled through it, and in the halls beyond, they found nothing but people fleeing in panic or looking on in horror. She could hear Black-Hand ordering people to follow, but the only signs of pursuit were curses. They made it outside, and Al was struck by how different the world was with the sun continuing past the horizon. The orange rays were turning violet, and stars she’d never seen in the Twilight Kingdom were appearing in the sky above.

  “The dryads,” groaned the baron.

  “Already they come,” responded Urkjorman as the creatures pulled away from their trees.

  “Stop. I need a moment,” said the baron.

  “I don’t think we have the time,” said Al.

  “I need it.”

  Al nodded to her husband. The minotaur stopped the charge and positioned himself between her and the castle doors. The dryads reached for the baron’s bleeding body, and after he gave a weak smile, she passed him to them. Almost a dozen of them surrounded him. However, they did not look on him with hunger, as they had Borden, but pity and fear.

  “My little girls,” said the baron as one took his hand. “I must ask much of you. Forgive me.”

  Urk grunted as an arrow stabbed into him and another sank into a tree. The dryads looked to one another, seeming to confer silently among themselves, before one nodded. The others looked immensely saddened, and the first clamped her mouth to one of the baron’s open wounds. Al could see the creature’s flesh flush with life, and then see a creeping blackness flow through her skin. She turned blue, then black. Her hair wilted, her skin dried, and finally, her eyes turned stone gray. She remained petrified for a moment and then blew away like ash in the wind.

  The baron sat up. He looked healthier, but there was still a tinge of gray to his flesh. Another dryad opened her mouth, but the baron pushed her away. “No. You have given me enough.”

  They wailed in lament.

  “Give me now your fury. Avenge yourselves upon my pursuers.”

  The remaining dryads rose, some with tears in their eyes. Their fingers grew into long claws, and their mouths opened to reveal rows of sharp teeth. With a hiss, they rushed forward.

  “Come,” said the baron. “They will buy us time, but we must away.”

  “Should we not help them?” asked Urkjorman as he lumbered over.

  The baron shook his head. “They have fury, but the guard have iron. They will fall and die. We must flee while time allows.”

  Al’rashal let the baron climb onto her back. “Which way?”

  He leaned forward, practically draping himself against her to whisper into her ear. His voice sent a shiver rolling down her spine as he answered. “North, out of the valley. There you will find a path. That shall lead us to the Old Aerie.”

  “What’s there?”

  “The origin of my power. A place that may grant me the strength to rid myself of this contamination.”

  A wail of pain split the air as one of the dryads was run t
hrough with a spear.

  “Let us be fast about it, hmm?” cooed the baron.

  The last bit of the sun was finally dipping past the western horizon by the time the trees thinned, and the air cooled. Al’rashal wasn’t certain, but it felt like the sun was setting more slowly than it should have, but it was hard to say what the sun should be doing in the realm of the fairies. The scent of water reached her first, cool and cold like a mountain stream. It made her realize how thirsty she was, and how tired. Even as comfortable as it was to have the baron draped across her, it was still tiring to carry him all this way. Then the sound reached her, the sound of a great river racing over rocks. Her husband swore, and she picked up speed to crest the ridge and see what troubled him.

  She swore too.

  Half a mile or so away was a river that came out of the mountains and crossed their path. It didn’t look too wide, but it was moving fast, and the froth hid depths that could have been one or a dozen feet deep.

  She shrugged, rousing the baron, who had fallen asleep as they pushed on. “You didn’t tell us there was a river!”

  The baron mumbled incoherently before responding. “Apologies, it must have slipped my mind.”

  “How could you forget something like that?”

  The baron lifted his seven wings by way of explanation. “It has never before troubled me.”

  She wanted to punch him in his gorgeous face. “Is there a crossing?”

  “I should think so. There are little shepherd people on one side, and little not-shepherd people that buy their meats and wool on the other.”

  “Which way?”

  The baron peered at the river, propping himself up on her shoulders to get a better vantage point, and used one of his wings to shield his eyes. “Downriver, as it widens. That is where the little people congregate in their little homes.”

  Urkjorman was peering downriver when soft footfalls pulled her ears backward. “Get off me,” Al commanded of the baron.