by Scott Baron
It was why the Council fed so much into their captives over the years. Overcharging the hair, knowing there would be power loss, as all cuts caused. But hair freely given suffered no such diminished magic. And as a strand that had never been cut, that lone, golden thread contained more power than many konuses combined.
“You forged a mixed-magic weapon into a tree,” Charlie said.
“Inspired by you.”
“By me?”
“Yes,” Bawb replied, gently carving the far end from the branch, making it a portable size. “It still needs quite a bit of shaping, and I have to be careful to keep the blade from Hunze’s hair, but I have made an experimental weapon out of live wood. I have made what you call a wand.”
Charlie remembered telling him about the fictional tools of the fictional wizards of his world. But now, standing on Earth’s soil, a wand actually existed. And though it still needed finishing, he could feel the power it contained.
Bawb took a strip of leather and wrapped it tightly, protecting Hunze’s golden strand while he whittled the smaller twigs from the branch for easier transit. If his theory was correct, the hair would recharge the wand if it were drained, refilling it endless times as the strand pulled in energy from the sun.
“You know, Charlie, this was only meant as a test to see if it would even work. But now it seems this is our only magical device outside the castle walls. Though we have no idea what it is capable of. Or if it will even work, for that matter.”
“Then you should try it out.”
“Not yet. First it must be shaped, and carefully at that. As you once said, the taper focuses the power, and I wish to be certain nothing interferes with that.”
“Well, I was speaking hypothetically. Magic and wands don’t actually exist on my world.”
“And yet here we are,” Bawb said as he tucked away the unfinished wand and sheathed his knife.
The pair then carefully climbed down the stone face and made their way back to their shelter under cover of night.
Chapter Forty-Two
The slightest crackling of twigs caught the sharp ears of the captain’s aide as he silently walked the woods. Owen had known something was going on out in the trees at night, but had never managed to see for himself. Tonight, he hoped, would be different.
There had been whispers of strange creatures lurking, attacking, and bodies were found as often as they weren’t. He suspected it was just bandits, or even rebel troops holed up and avoiding King Horgund’s men, but there were actual dragons afoot. With that in mind he put his disbelief in the people’s superstitions aside. Nowadays, anything, it seemed, was possible.
He padded through the foliage on silent feet, wearing his softest-soled boots for the night’s excursion. Captain Sheeran had outfitted him with them himself, showing him how best to shift his weight as he walked to avoid making a sound. The Captain had shown him a lot, actually. He’d never had a son of his own, and Owen liked to think the older man had adopted him, in a way, passing along skills to the heir he’d never had.
The feel of the rocks and twigs through the pliable leather was odd at first. But once he had become accustomed to the sensation, he found himself able to walk quite comfortably in the stealthy attire. They wouldn’t do for daily wear, but in the dark of night, they were perfect.
It wasn’t far ahead, where he’d heard the noise. It was probably a deer, or perhaps a wild pig, but it could just as easily be something––or someone––else. He kept his hand on the pommel of his new short sword––a part of his weaponry since King Charlie had arrived––but did not draw the steel.
Another of Sheeran’s teachings, that had been.
“They’ll see the reflections,” he had said, showing the younger man how easily the bright metal could catch the light in even the darkest of locations. “Movement is what draws the eye, and it’s damn near impossible to hold a blade perfectly still unless you’ve got it planted in the ground. But a body in dark clothing, that can move––slowly––and not draw attention.”
Owen had taken the lesson to heart, and was applying it, as well as the myriad others he had learned as he stalked his prey, whatever it may be.
The sound had shifted, he realized. Someone was moving quickly, and away from him, toward the deep woods. If they reached the stream, he’d lose them in the noise of the flowing water.
He picked up his pace as best he could, trying to close the distance without giving himself away. His ears strained to track the path of his quarry, but they were exceptionally stealthy. Ordinary men didn’t move like that, he realized, a little flush of adrenaline surging into his system. Fortunately, he was in the middle of his pursuit, so the flight aspect of his visceral response had no time to kick in.
Faster and faster he went, desperately trying to catch a glimpse, but even his sharp eyes could not pick them out in the dark. The sound of water soon reached his ears. Any moment, he would lose them to the rushing noise of the stream. It wasn’t much, just a small rivulet, really, but for prey as skilled as this, it would be enough. Enough for them to make good on their flight.
He moved quickly, but the adrenaline was wearing off, and the annoying realization that he would be returning empty-handed began to set in. Standing on the muddy bank, he looked for some trace. A footprint, anything. But there was none. He waited, motionless another minute, then, with a frustrated sigh, turned and began the walk back to the castle.
Captain Sheeran wouldn’t be mad, but Owen had hoped to impress him this night. Sadly, it was not meant to be.
Had the lad opted to venture out in the opposite direction that night, things might have taken a much different turn, for at that very moment, just a few miles away, a far noisier group was traipsing through the woods.
The new king’s troops were confident in their demeanor. Cocky. King Horgund had made an example of the former king’s men, and they now had the run of the land. Soon, they would begin the king’s process of new taxation, which always afforded them the opportunity to acquire a few niceties for themselves in the process.
It was with this invincible swagger that they found themselves fallen upon by a band of armed men in the dark of night. Men with not just standard weapons, but some armor as well. Not bandits at all, it seemed.
“Rebels!”
It was all the soldier managed to say before taking a cudgel to the throat, effectively silencing him for the rest of his brief life.
The odds were roughly even, a handful of men on either side, all trying to kill one another in the confusion of darkened battle. The newcomers wore their protective armor, but King Charlie’s rebel soldiers were engaging them in an unusual means of combat.
Rather than battling sword-to-sword, as was the norm, the surprisingly nimble men were dodging the heavier blades of their opponents, parrying them aside and slipping beneath the weapon’s arc, attacking the weak points in their armor. The shorter swords the men used were proving most effective, and more than one man found himself bleeding, despite his protective metal shell.
But in the dark of night, and on uncertain footing, the tables turned repeatedly, with both forces incurring injuries and losses. Organized fighting soon devolved into a sharp-bladed brawl. A scramble for their lives, where kicking, stabbing, and everything in between was fair game.
King Charlie had made the point clear in one of his training speeches weeks prior. In melee combat, there is no such thing as honor and fair play. Either you live, or you do not. He strongly suggested they do whatever necessary to achieve the former.
It was seeming as if the rebel forces might actually prevail, King Horgund’s men finding themselves forced to fall back as best they could, when a hooded figure stepped from the shadows. How long he had been there, none could say, he had seemed to simply appear from the woods out of nowhere.
The surviving members of both the king’s troops and rebels paused their fight, unsure which side of the fight this new arrival was on. They needn’t have worried about that, th
ey soon learned, and moments later, all of them found out in the most horrible of ways.
Come morning, their bodies were found by one of the king’s patrols as they searched for the rogue king.
“What the hell?” the highest-ranking soldier said as he surveyed the carnage. “Are those our men?”
“They are. And what appear to be rebel troops, as well,” his lieutenant said.
They moved closer to inspect the men. “It’s Cooper, and that one’s Murphy,” he noted as he turned the bodies over.
All of them, rebel and soldier alike, had one thing in common. All were far cleaner and paler than one would expect, especially given their circumstances. The soldiers leaned closer, examining the gaping wounds in several of their necks. Clean and dry.
“I don’t understand,” the younger man said. “Where’s all of their blood? They’re drained dry.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Charlie was enjoying a moment of quiet meditation in the hovel he was now calling home when a quiet knock roused him from his Zen. Bawb was at the door in a flash. An utterly silent flash that held a wicked blade in its hand.
“It’s me,” a voice said through the wood.
Bawb’s shoulders relaxed. He unbolted the door and opened it a crack.
“Clay, what are you doing here? It’s daytime. Someone might see you.”
“Aye, so let me in.”
The pale man stepped aside and let the massive man enter, glancing out from the shadows to make sure no one had been watching. So far as he could tell, they were unobserved.
“Everyone is off working tha eastern fields today,” Clay said. “No one should be over here.”
“You still have not explained what you’re doing here,” Bawb said. ‘It is of vital importance our presence remain secret.”
“Ease up, Bob. Clay knows that,” Charlie said, stepping in. “So, what’s going on? Obviously something significant if you’re stepping outside our normal procedures.”
The big man shifted, uncomfortably. “I’ve heard from me contact in tha castle again. Tha men are spooked. Something is up in tha woods. Fighting and death.”
“To be expected, given an invasion,” Bawb said, returning to whittling the length of wood in his hands, removing the smallest of slivers with great care.
“Normally. But this ain’t the usual kind we see from bandits and thugs.”
“How so?”
“Mysterious, late night murders. Men are dead. And it’s weird. The way they were killed, it’s not natural.”
“Weird in what way?” Charlie asked.
Clay gulped hard. “Tha men...they were found the next day. Both tha king’s men––sorry, the invader’s men, as well as yours.”
“Rebels still putting up a good fight, I see,” Bawb said with a little smile. “I’m glad they took some of Horgund’s men with them.”
“But that’s tha thing,” Clay said. “They were all dead. No survivors. And they were drained of their blood.”
Charlie flashed a quick glance at Bawb, but the Wampeh maintained his stone-like expression.
“You’re sure of this?”
“Aye. My contact is never wrong.”
“And who is your contact?”
“I can’t say.”
“I’m the king, Clay. And they’re helping us. I think you can tell me,” Charlie said.
“No, Sire. That’s not what I mean. I don’t know who they are. They just leave me messages in the night, hidden behind one o’ tha rocks in tha low wall in the western field.”
“But you have no idea who it is?”
“None. The messages are left at night, long after I’m asleep. Why? Do ye think they may be comin’ for ye?” Clay said, a suddenly panicked look in his eye.
“Clay, they know I’m here. I think if they had ill intentions, we’d have seen troops at the doorstep by now,” Charlie replied. “No, it seems we have a friend in the castle. Now to figure out what this warning means.”
The large man moved back to the door. “Well, I’d best join tha others before they wonder where I’ve gone off to.”
“Yes, a wise idea,” Bawb agreed. “And, Clay, thank you for your continued help. You’re performing admirably, and it is not unnoticed.”
“Just doing what I can ta help,” he said, blushing slightly.
“Well, keep it up,” Charlie added. “And let us know if you hear anything else.”
“Of course, Sire,” he said, then ducked his head out the low door.
Bawb bolted it behind him and returned to his chair, whittling part of his wand while the Ootaki hair wrapped around it absorbed power from the shaft of light he’d placed his seat in. He was calm, but wore a perplexed look on his face.
“So. Blood sucking fiends are afoot in the kingdom,” Charlie finally said.
“It would appear that way.”
A long silence followed.
“So, uh, you sure you didn’t do it?” Charlie finally asked.
Bawb paused his work, the knife falling still in his hands. “I’m sure, Charlie. I don’t just accidentally suck people dry, you know.”
“I know. I’m sorry I asked, it’s just this is so weird, and––“
“I understand it is weird. But I was with you last night. And besides that, why would I drain a human?”
“You tell me? If my planet’s sun possesses a powerful magical radiation, maybe everyday people absorb it. It’d make a convenient power source.”
“Your people absorb energy much the way people shift pebbles and sand searching for precious metals. Tiny flecks appear from time to time, but not enough to be of any real use. The energy I would acquire from humans would be minimal. And it would be of such low magical potential––even with your sun factoring into the equation––that it would be of no use. There’s just so little energy in your kind.”
“So, you actually can strengthen yourself by drinking from us.”
“Well I could, but it’s not practical. Not sustainable. Simply eating food is a far more reliable energy source. Remember, Charlie, I am accustomed to dining on Emmiks and Vislas. A human, even a dozen of them, would not equal a drop of the power from them.”
Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “You know what this means, Bob.”
“Yes.”
“By all appearances, there’s another vampire out there.”
“Well, not a Wampeh. I am unique in this galaxy. But is there another something? Yes, it would seem.”
“That’s just great. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about. Now there’s someone out there eating up people in the night.”
“Things have just gotten far more interesting, I am afraid. And it is not a good thing.”
Charlie let out a morbid chuckle. “You know, there’s an old curse on my planet. ‘May you live in interesting times.’ Well It looks like we’re right smack in the middle of them.”
Bawb gently shaved a sliver from the wand in his hand. The wood’s tapering end made Charlie think of the classic end for vampires in Earth lore. A stake through the heart. Somehow, he didn’t think a magic wand powered by extra-galactic magic was what they had in mind, though.
“How’s that coming, by the way?” he asked.
“Surprisingly well. Though the outermost layer is dry, the center is still quite vibrant and alive. I’ve been feeding additional charge into it through the sun’s rays, and I’ve sensed absolutely no decay, even though it was severed from its tree a day ago.”
“So, the wand is alive?”
“In a technical sense, yes. It’s not sentient, or enchanted, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t know that was even possible.”
“Here? No. In my world? Oh, yes.”
“May I?” Charlie asked, holding out his hand.
Bawb passed the wand over, and for a brief moment, he felt a tickling hint of the power contained within.
“It had to be the waters. And the Ootaki hair. And maybe even the
konus you put inside of it. I have to wonder, if you keep charging it in the sun, could this thing be immortal?” he asked, then handed the wand back to its owner.
Bawb considered the question a moment, then calmly set back to work, shaping the magical implement. “I don’t know, Charlie. But given our current odds, it may well outlive you and I.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Like a pumpkin.
Or perhaps a watermelon.
Whatever descriptor one would choose for the king’s mistress’ distended belly, enormous would suffice. She was pregnant, and very much, at that.
It had been an uneventful few days, and King Horgund was resting in his chambers with his love, his ear pressed above her navel, listening to his son kick. He was sure it was a boy. Wizardly sooth-saying had assured him as much. And his son would be strong, and one day, King Horgund’s line would be known throughout the stars.
For now, however, a healthy baby would suffice.
The pregnant woman’s appetite was enormous, and Thomas and his kitchen staff worked extra shifts to ensure there was always a variety of foods on hand to satisfy her cravings at all hours of the day or night.
Sweet, savory. Salty or sour. They never knew exactly what she would want, and thus, it had been something of a hectic time in the kitchens since the new king’s arrival. The staff would all be relieved once the child was born and they could return to a more normal schedule. But for now, it was all hands on deck.
Lunchtime greeted them with a request for fresh breads and an assortment of meats from the queen’s lady-in-waiting, a particularly strong woman with dark hair and taut muscles. To get close to the queen, you would have to get past her, and only the king was afforded that privilege.
The kitchen buzzed to life, quickly gathering a wide selection of meats, as well as several loaves of Hunze’s fresh-baked bread. As a finishing touch, Thomas added a tray of cheeses and pickled vegetables, alongside some fresh fruit. He had learned early on, it was better to provide her with many options before she grew cranky and had to ask for them.
