by Hondo Jinx
These were troubling questions. And for the first time, Thelia felt a twinge of fear herself.
Don’t be afraid, she told herself, straightening her back. Be vigilant.
Because no matter what, she could not allow Holly’s foolish fears to interfere with the Homecoming and the second rise of the red elves.
This was destiny. And Thelia was the vessel of her people’s destiny—its vessel and, if necessary, its defender.
So she dismissed her handmaids—a thing she had been doing more and more of late—sent Parus off to train his soldiers, and retreated to the solitude of the armory. Locked inside among the ancient weapons and armor, she settled onto the long, wooden bench upon which forgotten ancestors had suited up for war, and cast the spell.
Thelia leaned back, closed her eyes, and saw.
Lily, Briar, and their father were in the keep. Holly and her mother, however, were missing.
Holly’s mother is a grove scholar. She’ll want to see the Tower of Knowledge.
So Thelia raced through the halls, and sure enough, there they were—Holly, her mother, and Tatiana—just entering the dusty old library.
Thelia watched with amusement as Holly’s mother gawked at the books. Then Holly pointed, and Thelia panned around the circular room to see Tatiana barring the door.
Why have Tatiana bar the door, sweet sister? What do you fear?
For a time, mother and daughter chatted.
There was a joy that Thelia had never experienced. Her own mother had been carried off by slavers shortly after Thelia’s birth. But all had been well, thanks to Ahneena, who had taken her in and raised her as her own.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like, talking with her own mother. Sweet but strange, likely, given her transformation. But she wished that she could see for herself. Alas, some things just weren’t destined to happen.
Long sight did not allow her to hear this conversation between mother and daughter, but she could see Holly’s mouth move as she climbed the ladder and pulled a thick book from its shelf. Hedge Math through the Ages, a Second Treatise, the spine of the book read.
From the ancient tome, Holly pulled two sheets of ancient paper.
No. Not just sheets of paper.
Scrolls.
Holly spoke, concern written plainly upon her face, and handed the scrolls to her mother, whose eyes widened slightly as she scanned the magical parchments.
Holly spoke rapidly, shrugged, and gestured toward the book. She started talking again, shut the book, and pointed at her mother.
Her mother nodded, rerolled the scrolls, and tucked them into her cloak.
Thelia didn’t have to be some super-studious grey elf to understand what was going on. Holly had clearly discovered and hidden these scrolls.
Hidden them from me, no doubt. And also from Dan? Why hide them from our husband?
Because she was afraid of what Dan would do with them. That was the only possible explanation.
Holly had been distraught when Dan had given Thelia the ring of spell holding. Which meant…
Those scrolls are sorcerous, Thelia thought, suddenly sure of it.
Anger sparked in her, but she did not feed its flames.
No, there was no sense in getting angry. Holly was working against her, but Holly didn’t understand that she was also working against destiny.
It’s my time now. The time of my people. And first wife or not, Holly can’t stop that.
Unconsciously, Thelia tightened her tiny hands into fists.
I won’t let her. And neither will Parus.
Not that Thelia would tell Parus of this discovery. The general was loyal to her but even more loyal spreading the fire. At times, his talk frightened her.
Whenever he ranted about a second Subjugation, she put him sharply in his place.
Don’t be too hard on him. Loyalty is his only sin.
No one had been more loyal to Dan than Parus. But if Parus suspected that Holly’s family represented a threat to Thelia or the second rise of the red elves…
I mustn’t tell him of the scrolls.
Thelia continued to observe the Tower of Knowledge, but there wasn’t much to see. Holly’s mother was clearly in awe of the dusty old library. She seemed to want to stay longer, but Holly led her out of the tower and took her to the room where Holly’s parents would be staying.
Once inside, Holly’s mother removed the scrolls from her cloak, placed them inside a trunk, and locked the trunk with a heavy padlock.
Hmm, Thelia thought, watching the silent show with a fresh pang of betrayal. They really don’t want me to see those scrolls. So they are likely not only sorcerous but powerful as well.
The question was, what spells did they hold?
Thelia had no clue, but she was going to find out.
24
Barbarians and Politics Don’t Mix
A mistrust of civilized men had long dwelled deep within the bones of Dan Marshall, had dwelled there faintly, truth be told, even in the old world, when so many things made so little sense, and the engines of society seemed arranged to suppress a man’s natural tendencies and to convert his native strengths into liabilities. What good were strength, physical energy, and battle courage if a young man spent his days sitting at a desk, ruled over by the merciless laws of soft people packed together like rats?
Sit down, civilization ordered. Be quiet. Stop fidgeting. Don’t speak out of turn. Don’t say that. Don’t do that. Act like this, like this, like this.
Civilization was no place for a strong man with a free mind.
It was the realm of the weak, the whipped, and the leaden-eyed many who were trapped in place, all of them ultimately serving the rats and snakes who smiled on command, lied prettily, and never hesitated to stab another man in the back.
Dan had always understood this on some level, even back in the old world. But back then, he had felt powerless to change his life.
Here, he had seized life by the horns and fought like Hades to win wives, amass wealth, take a throne, and build an army of glorious savages.
Oestus the merchant, who had tried to trap him, had been a civilized man, as had the Duke of Harrisburg, who had sent an assassin in ambassador’s clothing.
Now Dan stood at the edge of his gorgeous wilderness at the head of his monster army, staring out into the Interior Sea, where another civilized man—the Duke of Pittsburgh—waited with an armada of war ships.
And Dan’s mistrust of civilization, which had been but a faint whisper in the old world, thundered like a war drum with every beat of his wild and fiery heart.
He said as much in his note to the succubus queen, when Agatha obliterated and rewrote the inscription that directed the golem to rape him with all the finesse of a Shop Vac.
Whatever they wrote would reprogram the golem, sending her off on a new mission. He and Agatha had debated the new inscription for a time.
Agatha wanted to reprogram the powerful golem to protect Dan.
Dan saw the sense in that, but more than an additional bodyguard, he wanted to deliver a message to Illandria. So they gave the golem her orders, handed her a note, and sent her back to the succubus queen.
Dan and Agatha had also debated what message to send back to Illandria.
Agatha suggested an ass-kissing request that begged the succubus queen to leave Dan unmolested.
Dan proposed something shorter and more straightforward: Fuck off.
Ultimately, they met in the middle.
With respect to the great and glorious Illandria, Creator and Queen of the Wildervast, long may she live.
Please leave me to my business. I am trying to stop an army from invading our home. They want to civilize the Wildervast.
I’m worth more as a friend than an enemy.
Dan Marshall of the Free, Warlord of the Wildervast
Agatha insisted that he delete I’m worth more as a friend than an enemy, suggesting it was too aggressive and cocky, but Dan ref
used. He would show Illandria respect, but he wasn’t going to be a punk-ass bitch about it.
Agatha also suggested trimming Warlord of the Wildervast down to just warlord, but he called bullshit on that, too, and they sent the golem on her way.
To their surprise, the clay woman only walked a dozen steps before a dark, swirling cloud suffused with crackling blue lightning popped into existence, swallowed the golem whole, and vanished—all in the space of a single second.
“Crom,” Dan had breathed, and shuddered with revulsion.
Turning to the lovely cyclops, he had considered giving her what she wanted, there and then, and in the same way relieving the throbbing pressure in his balls. But he still wanted to make this gentle girl’s first time special—certainly more special than a quick, hammering rut atop the hillside scrub brush—and he mistrusted the clamoring of his balls. That need for release had nothing to do with Agatha, for whom he had developed genuine affection.
No, he would form their bond later, under more appropriate conditions—if he lived that long.
That was a thing very much in question, he now realized, sitting atop Granite, staring out at the vast armada the Duke of Pittsburgh had brought to the shores of Freedom Valley.
It was a sobering sight. A hundred ships, maybe more—probably more—rigged for war, anchored at the edge of Dan’s territory.
Who brings that many war ships to a meeting?
Someone who wants to intimidate. Or someone who plans to attack.
Which was the Duke of Pittsburgh?
And how the Hades had the ships even gotten here? The Interior Sea was just that, an interior sea. It sat at the heart of the Wildervast, like the hub of a wheel, and did not connect with the outside world.
Dan didn’t know the answers to these mysteries, but he had learned enough from his dealings with civilized men that he would not go blindly into this meeting.
Behind him, his army bellowed, barbaric as fuck. The various chieftains surrounded Dan, shouting their mistrust and howling for blood. The most common suggestion was to pound the biggest boat—surely the personal galley of the Duke of Pittsburgh—with the Fist of Fury.
Dan’s savages loved the Fist. And not just the recent conscripts. Those newborn savages he’d brought from the fortress regarded the Fist with nothing short of awe as well.
Hades, even he loved the fucking thing.
But his troops—and none more than those who had faced the gun’s wrath—worshipped the Fist’s sound and power, the way it unzipped whole lines of troops in a single pass, spilling guts as it pang-pang-pang-ed another enemy into a heap of steaming corpses.
Dan got it. But he rejected their suggestions with a growl.
He would love nothing more than to drag this duke and every other civilized duke out onto the open ground and carve them to pieces with Talon, along with their sniveling merchants and conniving wizards.
But he had learned to mistrust not only the clever calculations of the civilized but also the blundering boldness of the barbaric. To survive, to rule, he needed to be more than one thing.
While he needed to do what he could to avoid a two-front war, he also would never again walk blindly into a negotiation—especially with a civilized man.
So Dan observed the armada and told his wives and chieftains what to do. By the time he approached the shoreline under his fluttering standard and climbed into the rowboat that would carry him to meet with the duke, Dan had arranged certain precautions.
Two sailors dragged the boat ashore, and the remaining passenger, a brightly clad emissary, stepped from the ship and bowed low.
Remembering Blivet, Dan remained wary.
But this man was all pomp and praise, celebrating Dan’s reputation and the might of his monster army and begging Dan to come with him to hold talks with the Duke of Pittsburgh, who waited on his war galley.
Stepping aboard the small boat, Dan felt a wave of dread. But he had to make a pact with the duke. Otherwise, the two dukes would crush him like a pincer.
Especially now that he wouldn’t be getting his howitzer for Christmas.
So he swallowed his dread and left shore, taking solace in the fact that he wouldn’t be so alone as he seemed.
His people waved from the shoreline. Except for Tolla, who kept both hands on the Fist.
They crossed the choppy water to the largest of the ships, where they scaled a rope ladder up and up and up to the main deck of the massive war galley, where a gaunt man in an officer’s uniform gave Dan a hand over the rail and introduced himself as Captain Gables. “The admiral awaits you, Sir,” Gables said with a bow.
“Admiral?” Dan said. “I thought he was a duke.”
“A duke, an admiral, a hero,” Gables said, dismissing the sailors and leading Dan into the galley. “Admiral Manrose is the most famous pirate hunter that ever lived. A fine man, much loved by the people.”
Dan grunted at that. He’d learned that the skulls of civilized men were packed with orc shit.
At any rate, it sounded like the Duke of Pittsburgh, unlike the Duke of Harrisburg, was a legit fighting man. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. It could help them form an alliance—combat vets often hit it off quickly—but if it didn’t, the Duke of Pittsburgh, with an armada at his disposal and the experience to command that armada effectively, could prove a formidable opponent indeed.
Gables led Dan through finely upholstered corridors into the interior of the ship, which was more akin to the inner architecture of a fine, old mansion than the guts of a war galley. He hoped that everything would be all right, deep within these labyrinthine confines, so far from the open air. Finally, they reached a broad set of ornate doors carved of red hardwood, before which stood a pair of crisply uniformed sailors with sabers at their hips.
Gables ordered the men to step aside. He led Dan through the doors and into a plush and purple parlor. Within, the air heavy was with the smell of roses. Against one wall rested a small cart set for room service. Further along, a silken purple tapestry undulated softly.
Dan’s eyes widened at the sight of that undulation, but when Gables said nothing, Dan relaxed. Apparently, the fabric was normally unsteady.
Gables stood at attention and piped loudly, “Dan Marshall of the Free, the Warlord of the Wildervast to see you, Sir!”
A low voice answered murkily from beyond the undulating curtain.
Gables bowed, held open the silken barrier, and gestured Dan inside, announcing, “Mr. Marshall, it is my inestimable privilege to present you to the legendary and honorable Admiral Sir Theobroma Manrose, Duke of Pittsburgh, the personification of justice and unparalleled terror to piratical scum the world over.”
That’s one Hades of an introduction, Dan thought.
Then he stepped into the chamber—and grunted with surprise.
25
Destiny’s Defender
Moving stealthily, Thelia slipped inside the once again empty chamber of Holly’s parents.
Her heart pounded in her chest. If she got caught…
She crossed the room and crouched before the trunk. Unfortunately, the padlock was just as sturdy as it had looked through long sight.
The trunk was too heavy to lift, and besides, she obviously couldn’t risk getting caught lugging the thing down the hall.
If only she possessed Nadia’s lock-picking skills. She didn’t. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t open the lock.
Reaching out and nearly touching the padlock, she summoned fire. Not long ago, she’d had no real control. It had been sparks or inferno, nothing in between.
Now, fire bent to her will.
A tendril of bright red heat licked out from her finger and wrapped around the lock’s shackle like a prehensile tail. She intensified the fiery coil, making it hotter but larger, and her nostrils soon filled with the intoxicating smell of melting iron.
The lock cracked open. Thelia knocked it to the floor then opened the trunk, pawed through books and clothing, and fo
und the scrolls.
As she read the scrolls, her mouth fell open with disbelief. The inscribed spells were indeed sorcerous in nature. Sorcerous and powerful. Very powerful.
Six were sixth-level spells: anti-magic dome, crumble, repel, and death cloud, and two inscriptions of amnesia.
The remaining seven spells were eighth-level: strike blind, magic symbol, hilarity, and two inscriptions each of monster beckoning VI and Bargle’s Phantom Fist.
Thelia was stunned. It was all she could do not to burst into laughter. With these spells—
But her intuition, which had become so strong since Dan filled her with fire, slashed through her triumph like a flaming sword.
Whipping her head to the side, she saw what she had somehow failed to see when entering the room. A figure hiding in the shadows.
Thelia’s heart leapt in her chest.
“Lady Thelia,” a girl’s voice stammered nervously. “So nice to see you.”
“Who are you?” Thelia demanded, her voice cracking with emotion. “Were you spying on me?”
“I meant no harm, my lady,” the shadowy figure said, stepping forward and letting her hood fall back to reveal a pretty face twisted with apprehension.
“Freckles,” Thelia said. Her mind raced.
This was bad. So bad. Yes, she had considered the risks and moved forward with her plan despite them. But now those concerns had gone from being risks to an actual liability, a concrete threat against Thelia, her people, and their destiny.
“Yes,” Freckles said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “I apologize if I startled you.”
Glancing down at one of the scrolls, Thelia started mumbling.
Freckles smiled uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, my lady. I can’t understand what you’re saying. But—”
Thelia pronounced the final word of the incantation.
The half-elf spy stopped in mid-sentence. Her pretty mouth fell open, her eyes glazed over, and her voice died in her throat.
