by Hondo Jinx
As the man ranted, Holly muttered in whispers and twisted her fingers in patterns she’d learned at her father’s knee, as a novice druid.
When she whispered the final word, the man dropped his rant and smiled. “How can I help you, Lady Holly?”
“I’d like you to speak candidly,” Holly said. “What’s your name?”
“Dakkus, my lady.”
“Very well, Dakkus. I want you to tell me everything. I want you to tell me about the Homecoming. I want you tell me what the red elves are doing and saying. What they think of me. Of Thelia, of Parus. And when we’re finished here, I want you to go back to your post, say nothing of our meeting to anyone, and then report back to me secretly each day to report any changes. Okay? You do want to protect me, don’t you, Dakkus?”
“Yes, my lady, of course,” the charmed man said. “More than anything. Where to begin, that’s the question. It’s a great time for us, a glorious time. The Homecoming, the second coming of Mooret…”
20
A Sight for Sore Eye
They ascended the stairs, climbing higher and higher into the heart of the great mountain.
Dan had to grin.
Agatha was practically giddy. She hummed happily as they scaled the seemingly never-ending stairs, a huge smile on her pretty, pink face. She had curled her hair again and looked gorgeous.
“Slow down,” Dan said again. It was a good thing the others had waited at the base of the mountain. He was strong, long-legged, and had grown up as a Ridge Runner in the Endless Mountains, and yet was still having a hard time keeping up with the cyclops. Agatha’s pace would have destroyed the others.
“Oh, sorry,” Agatha laughed, waiting for him. “I’m just so excited to see my family. I haven’t been home in a long, long time.” She swept him into an abrupt hug, pressing his face again into her impressive cleavage. “Thank you so much for bringing me.”
“No problem,” Dan said. “It makes me happy to see you so happy. And if your mother agrees to build that big gun for us, I’m going to be even happier than you are.”
The gun was everything to him now. The Train Killer. That’s how Dan had come to think of the giant howitzer he was hoping to commission.
“I can’t wait for you to meet them,” Agatha said, and a cloud of anxiety passed over her sunny features. “I just wonder whether you will decide to marry my mother or one of my sisters.”
“Hey,” Dan said. “What did I tell you about that bullshit? No more.”
“Sorry,” Agatha said.
“And quit apologizing all the time,” Dan said.
“Sor—I mean… okay.”
They climbed for what seemed like another million miles. Agatha stopped from time to time to deactivate a trap. Dan marveled at these deadly devices, including a heavy grate of razors that would have sliced a party of adventurers into French fry-shaped slabs of meat and bone.
Agatha squealed with delight when they heard the distant clanging of hammers at work. From that point forward, Dan had to ask her to wait up every fifteen feet or so.
At long last, they topped the stairs and entered the heart of the mountain, a massive, high-vaulted chamber that was one-part cavern, one-part blacksmith shop of the gods. The air was almost unbearably hot and reminiscent of Agatha’s forge only writ large with smoke and coal dust and the stench of molten iron.
Agatha breathed deeply, and her eye fluttered shut as if in ecstasy. “Mm,” she sighed. “How I’ve missed that smell.”
Dan could barely breathe but said nothing, not wanting to piss on her happy homecoming.
When Agatha reopened her eye, it glistened with tears of joy. She wiped these and laughed. “Mustn’t let Mother see me crying. She despises weakness.”
“She’ll be overjoyed to see you, even if you’re crying,” Dan said.
“Do you really think so?” Agatha said, and there was something pitiful in her hopefulness that angered Dan. It was more than her insecurity. It was also what those insecurities suggested. Agatha always sang praises of her home and family, but what kind of childhood must she have had to wonder if her own mother would be happy to see her?
The air grew hotter and more choking as they walked toward the sounds of hammering. To their left, racks of equipment stood in ranked formations like soldiers. Thousands upon thousands of swords and armor, hammers and shields, tridents and great helms, every piece a work of mesmerizing perfection.
To the right, he saw a dizzying array of equally perfect miscellaneous items, some stacked, some freestanding, some gathered together in large bins: arrowheads, plows, cooking pots, metal doors, decorative ironwork, giant reels wrapped in shining chains, and on and on and on.
They passed between a pair of humongous barrels and entered the central workshop. Agatha whimpered joyfully, and her glistening eye shone brightly, catching the light of the stupendous forge, a blindingly bright caldera of bubbling lava, around which three female cyclopes labored, each so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice the visitors.
All three cyclopes were taller and larger than Agatha and strikingly beautiful—though no more beautiful than Agatha, even if she would never take Dan’s word for it.
The two nearer women were clearly Agatha’s sisters, a pair of gigantic, pink-skinned, soot-stained beauties beating away at red-hot metal with hammers so large that Dan wondered if he could even lift them off the ground.
The other woman was Agatha’s mother, then—though she didn’t look much older than Agatha herself. She was larger than her daughters—easily ten feet tall—and gorgeous, with streaks of gray in her thick, mahogany hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail that swayed back and forth as she worked. Her soot-streaked arms rippled with toned muscle and shone with perspiration as she angled a steel blade into a whirling grinding stone, sending a spray of sparks into the smoky air.
It was she who looked up first and spotted her daughter.
“Mother!” Agatha cried happily.
The gigantic cyclops raised one eyebrow and set aside the blade she’d been sharpening. “Agatha.”
The other two cyclopes looked up from their work now, reacting with similar apathy to the sight of their long-lost sister.
Suddenly, Dan was pissed—especially when he noticed that Agatha was still beaming hopefully.
“Yes, Mother,” she said excitedly, “it is I!”
“What are you doing here?” one of the sisters asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be working in the castle?”
“Yeah,” the other sister said, looking Agatha up and down. “And why do look so… ridiculous?”
“It’s so nice to see you, sisters,” Agatha said, plowing ahead as if she hadn’t heard them—though Dan noticed that she touched her curled tresses uncertainly as she spoke. “I’ve missed you all so much. I missed the mountain. The heat and smells of the forge.”
Now her mother was staring at Dan. A new light sparking to life in the huge woman’s eye. Her lips curled upward in a lascivious grin. “And who is this handsome man you have brought us?”
Agatha blushed bright pink. “Mother, this is my new… employer, Dan Marshall, the Warlord of the Wildervast. Dan, meet my mother, the Anvil Goddess, and my sisters, Oceana and Medora.”
Dan nodded to the women in turn, not putting much into it. All three of them were staring hungrily at him now.
Monster girls, he thought.
“We had heard rumors,” the Anvil Goddess said. “A young, strong man. A man who defeated Bannon and was now raising an army to defend the Wildervast against intruders.”
“The rumors are true,” Dan said. He nodded toward Agatha. “Your daughter has been a great help to me.”
“Hmm,” the Anvil Goddess said doubtfully. “Agatha is small and weak.”
Dan wanted to tell the woman to fuck off, but he held back, both for Agatha’s sake and because he really needed the cyclopes’ help. “Agatha slew the Lady Galina, freeing you from the witch’s threats.”
“That is good
news,” the Anvil Goddess said. “So you will be returning to us now, Agatha? We tire of stoking our coal furnaces and cleaning our tools.”
Agatha’s face twisted with concern. “If that is your wish, Mother, I—”
“No,” Dan interrupted. “Agatha stays with me. Bannon and I dueled under the succubus queen’s justice. As the winner, I own his possessions and contracts. Agatha is my blacksmith.”
And you can’t steal her away to do your shit work.
“Blacksmith?” the Anvil Goddess laughed. “Agatha? She has very little forge-craft.”
The sisters, who had leaned together to eye Dan and whisper, nodded at their mother’s words.
Agatha laughed. “It’s true. But that’s why Dan is here, Mother. He needs the strength and skill of my family.”
The Anvil Goddess folded her muscular arms beneath her massive breasts, the tops of which swelled into view, round and gleaming with perspiration, above her apron. She smirked down at Dan. “What do you desire, Dan?”
“I need a gun,” he said.
“What is a gun?”
“Like a ballista, Mother, only far more powerful,” Agatha explained. “I will show you.” Rushing forward, she bent over a writing slate, describing the inner workings of the Fist as she sketched rapidly.
Dan watched her, blown away by her speed and skill. Meanwhile, her family members eyed him like three starving women might ogle a seven-course meal.
A minute later, Agatha held up a detailed diagram of a Fist—which she had drawn to scale and labeled extensively—all from memory.
“Holy shit, Agatha,” Dan said. “That was amazing!”
Agatha blushed and mumbled thanks, but her mother and sisters merely snorted with derision.
“Very well,” the Anvil Goddess said, barely glancing at the diagram. “We can do this. You will need a strong platform. We will need to suppress recoil with springs and a hydraulic shaft. You’ll need a much larger supply hose—though if what I hear about your other wives is true, I would recommend modifying the machine and powering it with fire magic instead.”
“That’s what I did with the portable Fist,” Agatha chirped. “I removed the—”
“When do you need your gun, Warlord?” the Anvil Goddess interrupted.
“As soon as possible,” Dan said. “We’ll need it up and running before winter breaks.”
The Anvil Goddess nodded. “This is a big job, but my daughters and I will deliver your gun within a month.”
“That works,” Dan said, hedging his enthusiasm. He didn’t doubt the Anvil Goddess’s talent or word, but until they settled on a price, talk meant nothing. “How much?”
The Anvil Goddess laughed. “We have no need for gold, barbarian.” She gestured across the room, toward a glittering pile of golden coins, bars, and items. “Gold, we have. And silver.” Saying this, she gestured to an even larger mound of silver items—then again to a sparkling heap of gemstones. “Gems and jewelry, we have.
“We’re rich as queens,” the Anvil Goddess said, “and yet therein lies the irony of our plight. We have no use for wealth.”
She moved closer and laid one of her big hands lightly on his shoulder. “There comes a point in a woman’s life, Dan, when gold becomes just another metal to work, no more lustrous to her heart than lead, and she can no longer see a gem for more than a dash of color to brighten a pommel. We have all that we need here in this mountain, my daughters and I, all that we need, save one precious commodity.”
Oh shit, Dan thought. Here we go.
Bending so that her huge breasts were inches from his face, the Anvil Goddess gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Agatha stays here,” she said, “assisting her more beautiful and talented sisters, who will manufacture your weapon.”
Agatha looked crestfallen but nodded submissively. Her sisters shared satisfied smirks.
“I, the Anvil Goddess, will return with you to your castle as your blacksmith and wife,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. “You will have your gun and any other item your heart desires, and I will grow lovelier and more talented every day, thanks to your essence.” Finishing, she grinned confidently and gave his shoulder another squeeze.
Agatha smiled bravely, her eye glistening with tears again.
“No deal,” Dan said.
The cyclopes reared with surprise, none more so than Agatha.
“I don’t doubt your skill for a second, Anvil Goddess, and you have a pretty face,” he said, “but you’re an ugly person. I’m talking bloody-hemorrhoid-hanging-out-of-an-ogre’s-asshole ugly. Agatha loves you, loves all three of you, practically worships you, but you treat her like shit, and anybody who’s mean to their kids is a fucking monster.”
Rage twisted the Anvil Goddess’s features, which darkened to blood red. Her hand tightened painfully on his shoulder and hoisted him into the air, bringing his face level with hers. “Big talk for a little man,” she said, her voice rumbling like an avalanche. “What if I just rip off your cock and balls and eat them whole?”
In an instant, Dan had the points of Talon’s three blades a fraction of an inch from the Anvil Goddess’s huge eye.
“Try that, and I’ll fire a blade from Agatha’s One True Forge straight into your eye. I’m not sure if it’ll kill you, but it’ll sure as Hades blind you. Then I’ll shoot the second blade into one of your daughters’ eyes, and the other daughter can face the sword.”
“And she’ll face my hammer as well,” Agatha said, unslinging the great, silver hammer from her back.
The Anvil Goddess glowered mightily but lowered Dan gently to the ground and released him. “I am disappointed in you, Agatha,” she said. “I never imagined that my own daughter would betray me—and as for you, Dan, I wouldn’t make your gun now for all the money in the world, even if it was slathered in your noxious seed!”
“Fine by me,” Dan said, sliding a hand around Agatha’s waist. She was trembling badly but scowled up bravely at her mother, hammer in hand. “My blacksmith will make it for me. Agatha is brave and beautiful and loyal. She might not have your skill yet, but she will soon, because I’m going to pump her full of essence every morning, noon, and night until she is the Anvil Goddess.”
21
The Wedding Party
“Lily!” Holly cried, throwing her arms around her sister in a crushing embrace. She buried her nose in her sister’s silver dreadlocks and breathed deep the smells of home. Pine, oak, and a faint whisper of taleef, the grey elf curry favored by her family. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”
“Well, hello to you, too,” Lily laughed, returning her embrace. “I was going to say that I hoped you didn’t mind us just showing up like this, but I can see it’s not a problem. You okay, sis?” Lily leaned back, studying Holly with searching eyes.
“No,” Holly said. “I’m not.”
But I certainly am doing a world better than I was before you showed up.
Holly had been feeding the purple worms, worrying what would become of them if the red elves revolted, when Freckles had barged into the keep with the fantastic news that sentries had spotted a large number of griffons approaching.
“But we will talk of these matters later, in private,” Holly said. She gestured to her bodyguard. “I expect you remember Tatiana?”
Lily smiled at Tatiana, who, true to her word, hadn’t left Holly’s side since pledging to protect Holly with her life. “Of course,” Lily said, and gave Tatiana a hug. “How could I ever forget a beautiful, kick-ass panther lady?”
“Hello, Holly,” their mother said flatly, scanning the great throne room. Grey elves were flooding in from the balcony, where griffons clamored along the entire railing. “We have come for the wedding.”
“What a wonderful surprise,” Holly said. With each passing day—each passing hour—she had grown more frightened. But she was alone no more. The grove had come to see Dan and Lily wed. Her heart sang to see the Iron Druid towering above the throng.
“What th
e Hades are we supposed to do with our griffons?” Briar shouted, entering the throne room. “My scouts tell me the eyrie is occupied.”
“Yes,” Thelia said, entering the room with her entourage of handmaidens and, of course, Parus. “The giant eagles have returned.”
Tatiana gripped the staff of smiting in both hands, eying the red elves warily.
Even now, surrounded by family, Holly withered with fear, seeing the red elf general in black plate. She was convinced that the arms and armor of Mooret had possessed Dan’s friend. Nothing remained of Parus, save for the section of his face visible within the helm—and even that had changed. Especially the eyes.
Whoever he was now, Parus had stirred the red elves into a frenzy. Each day, he assembled the troops and gave rousing speeches full of fire and destiny and the Homecoming of their race.
Red elves from beyond the Wildervast were reportedly hurrying this way, marching under the zealous assumptions that Thelia was the True Matriarch, Parus was the second coming of Mooret, and the red elves’ moment of destiny was at hand.
Thelia and Parus weren’t spreading the fire. They were gathering it. Drawing it all together here in the place of power, where they planned to create an inferno of historic proportions.
But every fire needs fuel.
What were Thelia and Parus planning to feed theirs?
As Parus strode into the room, grey elves froze in shock. Eyes widened in horror. Hands went to pommels.
“What the Hades is this?” Briar said, staring at Parus. “Some kind of joke?”
“Not a joke,” Parus said, smiling darkly. “Far from it.” He spread his arms wide. “Behold the armor of Mooret.”
Grey elves gasped. Even Holly’s mother raised a brow.
Moro shouted, “How dare you speak that cursed name in Teel Elan?”
“Cursed?” Parus said, turning toward the young grey elf soldier. He started to say more, but before he could continue, Thelia spoke up.
