by Sam Ford
"It will be." Malicent walked into the surf. "As soon as I remove the last two obstacles in our path."
Those claws were as sharp as glass and wielded with deadly accuracy, shiny and black in the iridescent glow of the fog. Cale took a few swings, but the Demon just moved aside. He was taller. Cale would drown before the water even reached his torso.
Use fire.
"I've been trying to do that!" Cale wailed.
"Yes, use your holy, cleansing fire within you, oh great Imperial Knight," the Demon mocked.
Cale, focus. Concentrate on what I taught you. It lies within you. I am just a conduit.
"I'm trying! Why doesn't anyone believe me?"
"Oh, I believe you are trying, child. I also believe you are failing."
Cale. Peace. Be still. Focus on me.
The water was up to Cale's armpits now. Nowhere else to go. A few, miserable sparks leapt from Sword's edge, but only enough to make Malicent smile cruelly. Cale knew this wasn't much of a fight.
"This is your great hope for the future, Sword? Pathetic," Malicent asked Sword, staring him down. Cale was an afterthought, easily dealt with.
Demon?
"Hmm? What's this then? Some kind of last request?"
You could say that. Look up.
The Demon looked up, out to sea. Cale turned as well. The fog, the infernal fog which had lingered for days, thinned and parted, vanishing from the sea like breath on a pane of glass. In its place stood the most beautiful thing Cale had ever seen.
"THE SUN!" the Demon screeched.
Give my regards to Daegon. Tell him Sword says hello.
Dawn broke rapidly over Uruk. The fog vanished in the heat of the morning like a dream failed to be remembered in the light of the day. The shadow and mist engulfing the bodies of the Demons burned away, exposing the true horror which dwelt within. Cale watched aghast, unable to fully describe what he was seeing. Pieces of animals that didn't belong, skeletons laced together with hatred and spite. They were eldritch abominations of a forgotten time. Even their very cores started to burn as the Demons writhed and coughed, rushing about for any shade they could locate. It only occurred to Cale to swing at them as the last one vanished into the darkness beneath the pier.
Are you alright, Cale?
Cale felt fine. With Sword augmenting his power, he felt he had the strength of ten men and could run for miles without stopping. He was about to answer the affirmative when a new feeling hit him. The lightness in his chest vanished and Sword became heavy. His legs and arms were heavy too. Everything was heavy. He was so tired he could barely stand up.
He was about to tell Sword about his problem when his knees buckled and he slipped beneath the waves.
Chapter XXVI
Deception in the Dawn
The run back to the apartment stretched into an eternity. Jazreal was in fine shape, used to running for days across plains. But the stitches in her side hurt, threatening to tear even so close to healing. And this city was not the Great Plains. It was cold and damp, covered in soot and fog. Every time she got an opening to put on speed, something or someone would be there, rising out of the darkness and blocking her way. Even at this pre-dawn hour, the city was waking up, beginning its daily routine. The bakers were already hard at work, starting their day not with song, but with cursing. Delivery drivers and horse-drawn wagons filled the street. Mothers and housewives rose early, stoking embers, preparing breakfast or tossing their night soil into the ditches. It was all too much.
Then Vyk took her hand as they sidestepped a homeless man and passed under an arch. Of course he knew the way, Jazreal realized. He lived here. This was nothing new to him. He could guide her way. This was his world.
Jazreal glanced at his profile as they ran. With his face shaved clean and hair slicked back, he no longer appeared as some filthy old man, but as a true warrior. He had more hair on his chest than Jazreal was used to, but she could see the appeal. His eye, so much like her own, was filled with concern and anticipation. It was also the eye of a killer, lest she forget.
"Give me two minutes." Vyk raced up the steps to his apartment. Inside was pitch black, but he navigated without trouble. He walked back to his chambers, opening the chest he stored there.
Jazreal reached for her Sword, drawing it from its scabbard. "I'm ready!"
"You may want to get dressed."
Jazreal looked down at herself and back up. "No, I'm good."
"Well, at least put on this." Vyk walked from the room and handed her an article of clothing. It was a black, oilskin duster, just like the one he wore, and the other Rangers, as well. But this one was clearly intended for a woman her size.
"How--why do you have this?" She looked up.
"It's a long story." Vyk buckled his silver Ranger saber to his belt, tarnished and old. He also slipped some red rust into his pocket.
"That's not going to kill them." She gestured to his saber.
"No, but it will stop anything that's flesh and blood. Let's go."
It would have been faster to take Horse, but he was checked into the livery stables for the night. Besides, Jazreal doubted riding double with Vyk would have the same effect as with Cale.
The streets were chaos. Screams and cries filled the air as they reached the bathhouse. Guards blocked the streets, pulling people from wrecked wagons while several Rangers stood about, questioning people and looking concerned.
"Let's, uh, let's go this way." Vyk pulled her down a side street.
"Problem?"
"Less people down here. I don't need any questions right now."
The alleyway was still shrouded in darkness, but the sky overhead was shifting to a light gray. Cats scattered everywhere, their rat hunt abandoned. Color seeped back into the world as dawn approached. Jazreal could see the destruction of the town from the side streets. People were screaming and crying, horses lay dying, and at least one cart burned with a black fire of unworldly origin.
"Well, they certainly came this way. Where are they now?" Jazreal's hands tingled as she gripped her Sword hilt. If anything happened to Cale she would never forgive herself.
"I think I know. They look as if they're headed for the docks, where the river meets the bay."
"Wouldn't that mean a dead end?" Jazreal looked at Vyk. Vyk looked back and, understanding her words, put on extra speed.
And just like that, a miracle happened, as it did every single day. The sun rose, and the fog parted for the most beautiful morning Jazreal had ever seen. The docks were a mess, evidence of battle everywhere. Of the Shadow Dwellers there was no sign. Though she could smell their lingering stink in the shadows.
And there, basking in the sun, stood Cale.
Jazreal let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, grinning triumphantly. Vyk also seemed glad to see Cale safe and sound. Breathing heavily from their impromptu run, his bare chest practically glistened in the early morning sun. He smiled at her, and Jazreal suddenly became very aware of how very little she had on, quickly wrapping the duster tightly around herself. It was amazing the difference in perception between night and day. Darkness covered improprieties laid bare in the light.
Scalps, she chided herself. Remember the scalps. He slaughtered my people. Jazreal turned away, looking at Cale instead. Besides, I've got Cale.
Cale slipped beneath the waves.
"Cale!" Jazreal screamed, rushing forward. He wasn't coming up for air.
"What happened?" Vyk was right behind her.
"He must have used too much energy in the fight against the Shadow Dwellers."
The beach was too long and muddy to get good traction. Instead, Jazreal made for the pier, heedless of any Shadow Dwellers still lurking in the shadows. Stripping off her coat and Sword, she dove headlong into the stinking water, aiming for where Cale had gone down. Belatedly, she remembered she could not swim.
She paddled and splashed, trying to keep her head above water. Her toes could just barely touch the muddy bottom.
Water crested her head as Vyk dove in next to her.
"Damn Indians, you sink like rocks."
Vyk wrapped his muscled arms around her chest and heaved. Jazreal went flying toward shore, crashing into the surf. The water was now only waist deep, but she still came up coughing and sputtering. Vyk dove again, this time staying under.
"Vyk?" Jazreal called, wiping the wet hair from her eyes. "Cale?"
Vyk broke through the surface, pulling Cale with him. "He's not breathing."
"What?"
"He needs the kiss of life." Vyk laid him down on the sand, kneeling beside him.
"Move!" Jazreal shoved him aside. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her lips to Cale's and blew. On her third breath Cale sputtered water. "Cale? Cale!"
"Hey, Jazreal." Cale coughed.
"Where'd you learn to do that? I thought only Rangers knew that trick?" Vyk stared at her.
"Surprised?" Jazreal smiled at Cale, wiping a damp lock of hair from his face. "He did the same for me." Cale smiled back.
"Be right back." Vyk stood and walked back into the water.
"Are you alright? What happened?" Jazreal took Cale's hand.
"Demons hate the light. I stalled them just long enough for the sun to rise."
"But how did you know the fog would part?"
"I didn't." Cale closed his eyes. "Sword did. I just had faith in him."
"Here, kid." Vyk tossed him a sopping wet towel. "Figured you wouldn't want to be skinny-dipping in front of your girlfriend."
Cale looked down from pure reflex, as did Jazreal. Both looked away quickly, and Cale covered himself, red from head-to-toe. Sword landed next to Cale's head as Vyk walked past, driving him into the sand.
"You went back for Sword?" asked Jazreal.
"I had to." Vyk knelt beside them. "That Sword is going to save all our lives."
"No." Jazreal looked back at the young man before her. "Cale is."
The trio sat on the beach, watching the sun rise on a clear, fogless morning. The city had survived the infiltration of Shadow Dwellers. Cale had lived to see another day. Overall, it was a pretty good start for the morning, even if they all needed another bath now.
What could possibly happen next?
"Cale Tannor?"
Three men in black dusters and silver sabers approached, followed by two dozen guards and maybe half a hundred angry townspeople.
"Yes?" Cale answered hesitantly, sitting up with Jazreal's help.
"You and your friends are under arrest for murder, destruction of property and causing mass panic."
"What's going on here?" Vyk stepped between them.
"Stand down, Draco." The Ranger tried to walk around him. "Your friend is a revolutionary who terrorized the city."
"That's Ranger Vyk Draco." Vyk stood in his path.
"Actually, it isn't. And it's Master Ranger Joheim to you, former Ranger Vyk Draco.
"Wait, you mean you're not a Ranger?" Cale actually sounded heartbroken.
"Sorry, kid. I was going to tell you. But then you looked at me with those big puppy-dog eyes, and explanations just sort of got away from me." Vyk glanced at Jazreal while the guards manhandled him, binding his hands in manacles. "You know how it is."
"I know." Jazreal was pulled to her feet, given the same rough treatment as Vyk. "He has that effect on everyone, I think."
Jazreal and her friends were taken away in chains, hauled off to the guardhouse inside Ranger headquarters. Jazreal took one last look out to sea.
It really was a beautiful sunrise.
Chapter XXVII
Shades in the Shadows
The Rangers rode out on white destriers, bridles jingling as their brilliant silver sabers clacked against their hips. There were five of them, Galway saw. Though he knew none of them personally, he knew their type. City Rangers, grown fat on the toil of others, more concerned about cooking than crime, their focus drawn to diplomacy rather than danger. Weakness bred contempt, and these Rangers thought themselves superior to everyone else.
He heard this morning what had happened from Malicent when the three Phantoms returned, slinking back with their infernal tails between their legs. Their wounds were so fresh their bodies still smoldered. Galway was unsure how they’d even made it back alive.
Galway needed to prepare. When he'd met with the Rangers yesterday evening, he’d laid out his plans very clearly. He was after the boy and only the boy, with sword in tow. No one else needed to get hurt. He had arranged for Rangers to apprehend him outside the bathhouse while the Phantoms flushed him out, providing backup. Instead, the Rangers had sent the city guard, deeming this task too far beneath them for one mere boy. They appeared to be taking Galway more credibly now, but not enough to send a full complement of Rangers.
"City Rangers." Galway spat and went back to shaving.
His face hurt. The stitches strained against the tight skin. There would be a scar no matter what, but stress from this mission would only make it worse. He slid the knife along his face, careful only to shave away the stubble. He gave the area a quick splash of alcohol and a suppressed scream, gripping the basin with white knuckles.
Galway set up base camp west of town, farther away from the crowds and pollution. The river was still fresh enough to drink here without having to worry about disease or bother with aquifers. The lean-to was set against a large pine, with a circle of stones for his fire pit. He moved camp from beneath the reservoir, not wanting to walk so many miles every time he needed to talk. The Rangers had been good enough to sign out some supplies for him. They had, of course, offered to let him stay in the city, but Galway refused. He preferred sleeping beneath the stars, no matter how far from childhood he grew.
The Rangers rode up, Master Ranger Joheim in the lead. They stopped and dismounted, looking none too happy. The travel trunk behind Galway shifted, hissing deeply.
"Easy boys," Galway cautioned. "Master Ranger Joheim. Good morning!"
"And what is good about it? I have half a mind to have you executed on the spot, Galway!" Joheim yelled. One of the Rangers kicked over a stack of trunks containing supplies.
Fool, Galway thought. They're your supplies.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"Trouble? Trouble?!" Joheim turned red. He was a short, portly man with a bulbous nose. Though he was a good decade younger than Galway, he struggled to draw breath when dismounting a horse. He had achieved his position though appointment of the Council of Thirteen, at the behest of Chief Ranger Josiah, his father. "Galway, you set monsters loose in my city. Monsters!"
"I did inform you of the plan."
"Yes, but I was expecting, I don't know, rabid hounds or something. Not those, those, those devils!"
"I admit, they can be a touch unruly." A touch? Galway quipped. I have to fear for my life every time they're around.
"Unruly?! They killed four citizens last night. Four! Not to mention the precious trade and cargo they destroyed."
"You want four citizens? There." Galway pointed to the crowd outside the city. "There are forty thousand, with more coming every day. Take your pick or be glad for four less mouths to feed."
"Of course you know I don't care about the citizens, Galway. But they complain! They screech in terror. Oh, how you should have heard them."
"Well, if you had been ready and had stuck with the plan, none of this would have happened. Your Rangers never even left the garrison. You farmed it out to some city guards, thinking that would be enough. Why should you be bothered?"
Joheim did not like that statement one bit. His tiny moustache twitched and his big belly quavered. Drawing himself up to his full height, he bumped chests with Galway. The other Rangers inched closer, their hands ready on sword hilts. Galway didn't flinch.
"If it were not for our orders, I would see you executed myself. But not to worry, we shall prevail. The boy, Cale Tannor, is now in our custody. Given the damage you caused last night, we have decided to keep him and orchestrate a ransom to th
e Thirteen ourselves."
"Given your disastrous performance, it's a marvel you can orchestrate anything."
Cale Tannor. So that was the boy's name. Galway had wondered. It was not a name with which he was familiar, but it sounded northern. That Joheim wanted to ransom the boy himself meant he was still alive and in good condition. But more importantly, did they have the sword? Galway had intentionally underplayed the value of the sword. Now he just needed to see what would happen.
"You should also know we apprehended two of the boy's compatriots--an Indian girl calling herself Jazreal Bloodmoon and a treacherous ex-Ranger by the name of Vyk Draco. He has been a thorn in our side for some time. I am sure you are familiar with him."
Galway's fists clenched and he saw red. He ground his teeth, praying to every god and goddess he knew that he did not kill this man on the spot.
"Did you want something, or did you just come to gloat?"
"Mainly just to gloat." Joheim smirked.
"Well," Galway bowed his head. "I commend you for your honesty. Now let me give you my verdict."
"Verdict? Who are you to judge--"
"I wasn't finished!" Galway shouted. "I came to you, against my better judgment, with respect for your position, your city and your authority. You threw that all away in a petty bid for control. So now it's my turn. You have twenty-four hours to bring me the boy, the girl and this ex-Ranger. If you do not, you won't have a city in which you may preside over. Consider last night a preview. I will rain down hellfire and destruction until every one of you are dead and there is not one stone left standing."
"And how, pray tell, do you plan to accomplish this heavenly feat?"
"Oh, I'm not. He will." Galway pointed.
Five Rangers looked up. Clinging to the underside of the pavilion hung Malicent. At a word of invitation, he dropped to the ground, hissing and snarling. He kept to the shadows mostly, but the smoke and stink were still incredible.
Joheim pulled back, recoiling in disgust. The horses all went nuts, screaming in terror. One of the guards lunged too close and Malicent caught him. Five sabers lashed out, stabbing the creature, but to no avail. The blades pierced its hide and flesh and bone with no effect whatsoever.
