Princess of Wands

by John Ringo

  Remolus leapt into the air and over the wall at the back, landing on the railing, then leapt again through the air to the far side of the room, smashing through the apparently solid wall and disappearing.

  Barb followed, tripping over sprawled fen as they began to awake from their paralyzed stupor.

  “Out of my way, damnit!” Barb said, kicking one of them in the head, then jumping up to the railing. It was a hell of a jump and, unlike the demon, she had to clamber up onto the walkway. The walkway, however, was also packed with fen. She ended up running down the railing, balancing like a tight-rope walker to avoid the gathered fen. As she reached the far end of the divider the screams started and got louder as Remolus reappeared through the hole he’d smashed in the wall. He was carrying a two-handed sword, a claymore, wielding it one-handed. The blade glowed black.

  Barb leapt off the railing into the center of the evacuating room, landing in a crouch and taking up a guard position.

  “Okay, you wanna dance, let’s dance,” she snarled.

  “When I have killed you, I will take your soul,” Remolus said, striding forward. “One of many to summon my Mother. No heaven for you, White Witch. No heaven for any in this room and Hell will be manifest on earth!”

  “First you’ve got to kill me,” Barb said, sliding forward gracefully. “I’ll take my chances.”

  The demon hammered the sword downwards, slamming into hers and she knew she had a fight on her hands. The beast was incredibly powerful and the blows were so fast she could barely block them. Each blow struck sparks from the blade, flickering away like silver lightning. She backed across the room, her feet searching for solid purchase in the red blood on the floor, but the demon followed her just as fast or faster, raining down blow after blow. He didn’t have much finesse, but with his reach and power he didn’t need it.

  She was being backed into a corner and she knew it. She was more than halfway across the blood-strewn main floor and if she went much farther her back would be to the raised walkway. She also couldn’t do anything about it. The only good news was that the gathered fen had streamed out of the room like a herd of gazelle and the only people left in the room were herself and dead bodies. At the very least, he wasn’t going to be able to gather enough power to summon Tiamat.

  She needed to either circle or get up on the walkway. Neither appeared possible, however. Each time she tried to dodge to either side, she found herself blocked by the demon’s long sword. And clambering up onto the walkway with him behind her… wasn’t an option.

  Suddenly the demon bellowed and turned, clawing at his shoulder which had seemingly grown an arrow.

  Janea was standing in the hole he’d made, a bow in her hand, just nocking another arrow.

  “Freya fill me,” she whispered, pulling back on the string shakily. “Guide my eye and arm and bring to me the power of the gods!” The arrow sprang from the bow and left a trail of white light as it flew unerringly to impact on the demon’s side.

  It was the best opening Barb was going to get. She cut down, slicing the demon’s hamstring, then up, taking off his right hand. The black blade clattered to the floor as the demon stumbled down to one knee, howling in pain and clutching at his wrist, which was spurting glowing black blood.

  “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ,” Barb said, hefting the glowing sword like a batter, “I banish thee back to the Hell which birthed you!”

  Remolus’ head leapt from the spurting stump of his neck and rolled down the stairs. It rolled through the half-finished runes on the floor, smearing them into illegibility and only stopped when it hit the far wall.

  Barbara again felt that disturbing shift in reality and dropped to her knees trying not to retch as it felt as if her insides were being twisted so they were outsides. She propped herself on her sword and closed her eyes, only opening them when the feeling passed. When she opened them, the room was, again, a hotel restaurant. With bodies and body parts scattered around it. The demon was still there as well, but already it had started to fall apart, turning liquid around the bones and then slumping into a putrid, stinking, mass.

  She looked up at the doorway and was amazed to see Don Draxon standing in the door with one arm around Ruby and the other clutching a half empty bottle of scotch.

  “Good Lord,” Draxon said, looking around at the blood-spattered room and the demon deliquescing before his eyes. “Ruby, my dear, I think we should go back to warming ourselves. This looks a bit too warm.”

  But Ruby had fainted dead away.

  Epilogue

  It’s another fine mess you’ve left us to clean up,” Augustus Germaine said, looking out the window.

  “Hmmm,” Barbara said, musingly. “The press are going to be all over it like… smell on poop.” She didn’t seem particularly worried and didn’t quit what she was doing.

  “Mass murderer at science fiction convention,” Augustus said, shaking his head. “News at six.”

  “And the people who saw Remolus?” Barbara asked.

  “It’s amazing what people can ignore,” Augustus replied, turning away from the window. “And do you really think that the news media is going to believe a bunch of science fiction fans who say they saw a demon? Besides, there are ways to make people… forget.”

  “I wish you’d do it for me, then,” Barb said, shaking her head and still not looking up.

  “If I didn’t mention it, you did well,” Augustus said, sitting down across from her. “You and Janea. I had not anticipated a full manifestation.”

  “Demons come, demons go,” Barbara said, still not looking up. “Do you think, with him dispelled, that any of those who died have a chance…”

  “Heaven’s inscrutable about such things,” Augustus said, shrugging. “But… no. Whether their souls are in the service of Hell or not is unsure. But they are not going to be entering Heaven short of the Second Coming. Long may that day be forestalled.”

  “Lord grant that in the end of all things they may find peace,” Barb replied, sighing. “I would that I’d been more able. No soul should be lost to that… thing. Can he… come back?”

  “When he was banished, he lost all the power he had gained,” Augustus said, thoughtfully. “The moonstone vest was shattered, so all of that power was lost as well. Pity, I’d have liked to find out what spell they used. If it was not entirely bound by evil it might come in handy. And I’d love to know where Krake found it.”

  “Apparently he was a pretty serious researcher,” Barbara said. “But I think it might have something to do with Timson.”

  “Timson?” Augustus asked.

  “He was the first person that Krake killed here,” Barb replied, shrugging. “Janea said that he was extremely knowledgeable. And Duncan said that he’d been collaborating with Krake on research. I think, if there’s anything to find, it’s going to be in Timson’s notes. If you can find them.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Augustus said, smiling slightly. “How much longer are you going to polish that?”

  “I’m not polishing it,” Barbara said, running the silk cloth down the length of the Murasaki blade. “I’m sharpening it.”

  * * *

  Barb set her bag down by the door to the garage and took a deep breath. Home.

  “Mom!” Brandon yelled, charging down the hallway followed by Brook.

  She hugged her two younger children and looked around for Allison. She was probably pouting in her room.

  After greeting the kids she walked through the kitchen and looked in the family room. Mark was installed in front of the big-screen, watching a replay series on ESPN.

  “Hello, dear,” she said, smiling. “Miss me?”

  “Yeah,” Mark said, not looking away from the TV. “How was your conference or whatever?”

  “Enlightening,” Barb replied, her eyes dark with memories.

  “Great. What’s for supper?”

  BOOK THREE

  BROKEN SABBATH

  Chapter One

&nb
sp; Keep your eye on the ball, Allison!” Barb screamed as her daughter swung and missed. “That was way to the outside!”

  “You really get into this,” Cindy Hudson said, grinning at the overwrought mother. Her own daughter had just struck out to a mild “Better luck next time, honey.”

  Cindy was as short and dark as her friend was tall and fair. They knew they made an odd couple but up until the last winter they had spent most of their free time together, their families even taking combined vacations. But since Barbara’s trip down to the bayou and her car accident, Cindy had noticed a change in her friend. Sometimes she’d shiver as if from more than cold and get a distant look that was strange and hard. Something more than a car accident had happened on that trip but Cindy had never found it in her to ask what. She was afraid her friend had been raped, but there were simply things that nice Episcopal women, close friends though they were, didn’t ask.

  The two were dressed in light coats against the early spring cold and surrounded by similarly dressed parents, grandparents, friends and siblings of the players. The clothing of the group ranged from the designer labeled jackets and jeans of Barb and Cindy to oil-stained jackets labeled only with their owners’ names, but on the stands the parents were one group, united in the belief that only their girls were in the running for the Redwater County Spring Season trophy.

  “Anything you do should be done to the best of your ability,” Barbara said, taking a deep breath to control her anger. “Allison knows better than that. She’s letting the pitcher spook her.”

  “They’re winning,” Cindy said in exasperation.

  “Only because Charlotte’s kept the Panthers from hitting,” Barb said, taking a breath again. “Don’t tense up, Allison! Just watch the ball and do the job!”

  The blond teenager didn’t appear to notice her mother screaming at her from the stands. She waggled the softball bat then settled into position. The pitches were full-up and the pitcher chose to send a fast ball straight in over the base. Allison swung and… missed.

  “Strike three!”

  * * *

  “Just what was that all about?” Coach Sherman shouted as the girls gathered in the dugout. “If Charlotte hadn’t struck out most of their batters, we’d have been looking at the tail end of the season! If you girls can’t do better than that I’ll get a team of FIFTH graders and win! There’s an additional practice scheduled for Saturday…”

  “But, coach…” Sandy Adams started to protest.

  “I don’t want to hear about it!” the coach shouted. “I don’t want to hear about dates or dances or any of the rest. Eight PM at the West Park field. Tell your parents we’ll be playing late and I don’t want them there. This is about playing ball, not making faces for your moms and dads! We are going to take the tournament this season or there will be Hell to pay! Do you girls understand me?”

  * * *

  “Wasn’t the spring dance scheduled for this Saturday?” Barbara asked as her dejected daughter got in the Expedition.

  “It’s not fair,” Allison complained. “I already had a date and everything…”

  “Your batting really was bad,” Barb answered, tartly. “Were you thinking more about the dance than the game?”

  “I don’t know,” Allison whined. “I just had a hard time concentrating. Mom, I don’t want to play anymore. I don’t like Coach Sherman. He’s not like Coach Foss.”

  “Maybe that’s good,” Barbara said, finally getting out of the traffic of the parking lot and onto the one-lane access road. Despite the double line she passed a turtle-slow minivan ahead of her, whipping in and out of the lanes with the Expedition rocking on its springs. “Coach Foss was a very nice man, but he didn’t have the sort of winning record of Coach Sherman. We’re lucky he moved up here.”

  “Have you ever talked to Coach Sherman?” Allison asked.

  “Not directly,” Barb admitted. “Why?”

  “He’s… weird,” Allison said, pouting. “He makes me feel creepy.”

  Barbara paused for a moment at that. Sexual predators came in all sorts of guises, but positions of relative power and influence, like coaches, were one that all parents had to keep an eye on. The flip side was that Allison was more than capable of using her mother’s rather strong protective streak to get out of something she wasn’t enjoying anymore. And since she’d steadfastly refused to take martial arts this year, she only had cheerleading and gym besides softball to keep her in shape.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Barb said. “And I’ll admit that it makes the practice this Saturday questionable. But you’re going anyway. Since there are questions, you know the drill.”

  “Don’t be alone with the adult,” Allison said, sighing. “If they ask for a private meeting, insist that another girl or adult female be there. File any questionable action or statement and report it afterwards.”

  “And everything should be fine,” Barbara said, trying not to keep the worry out of her tone. Lately she’d gotten a crash course in how unfine things could be.

  * * *

  Barb, as usual, picked up her daughter from the late practice. Allison seemed to have enjoyed it since she was smiling as she walked to the SUV.

  The practice field was on the edge of Hernando State Forest on some land that the county had purchased from the state government to make a local park. Most of the county park was woodland with trails cut through it and a small lake. It was an out-of-the-way park, built in anticipation of continued growth and thus the practice field was almost always available.

  “How was practice?” Barbara asked as the fourteen-year-old got in the van.

  “Interesting,” Allison said, distantly. “Mostly it was about mental conditioning and focus. We hardly swung a bat.”

  “Oh,” Barb said, frowning. Mental conditioning was all well and good, but it could have been done anywhere; it didn’t have to be in this out-of-the-way place.

  “I was wrong about Coach Sherman, Mom,” Allison said as if reading her mom’s mind. “He’s pretty interesting. He’s got a different way of looking at things. I understand, now, why his teams won so much.”

  “Okay,” Barbara replied, still frowning. Allison had been extremely changeable since she hit puberty, but rarely this fast. Barb had nearly had to pull her out of the house kicking and screaming. Two hours had made a pretty big change.

  * * *

  “Mark?” Barbara said as they were preparing for bed. Mark had spent most of the evening on the couch watching ESPN and she had the unChristian thought that her husband could do with a bit of dieting and exercise rather than munching chips in front of the games.

  “Uh?” Mark replied, sitting down on the bed and pulling his shirt off to drop on the floor.

  “What did you say about Coach Sherman?” Barb asked, rubbing lip gloss on to keep her lips from chapping overnight. She also hoped Mark would take the hint for a change. Lately the “magic,” a nice euphemism for sex, had started to fade from the marriage. She wasn’t sure if it was something she was doing or if Mark was just falling off with age. But it was simple fact that they’d slowed down from just about every night to no more than once a week.

  “Allison’s coach?” Mark asked, tossing the rest of his clothes, excepting underwear, on the pile. “Bob Ruckert said he’d been the big thing down around Mobile. His teams got the county championship three or four years running and even took state one time.”

  “So why’d he move?” Barbara asked, lying back on the pillow and arranging her hair fetchingly.

  “I dunno,” Mark said, crawling in bed and settling in. “Got a new job? They don’t work for their coaching pay, you know.”

  “I guess that’s it,” Barb said, rolling over to look at her husband and leaning up on one elbow so her breasts created a very nice view of cleavage under her low-cut nightgown. “Mark?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Does this make you think of anything?” Barbara asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Mark rolled over and look
ed at her for a moment and clearly reconsidered his plans for the rest of the night. On the other hand, Barb could see the struggle on his face.

  “I guess not,” Barbara said, lying back and crossing her hands on her stomach.

  “Honey, you look great…” Mark said, rolling back over. “But I’m really tired.”

  “I understand,” Barb said, calmly. “Good night, dear.”

  “Good night.”

  * * *

  “Another Saturday night practice?” Barbara asked, incredulously.

  “Coach Sherman says that there’s no such thing as too much preparation,” Allison said as she climbed in the SUV. The team had gotten another win, with Barb had to admit much better batting this time. “And it’s not really a practice. Coach calls it a team-building exercise. We’re supposed to wear walking stuff; we’re going to go on a hike in the woods.”

  “At night?” Barbara asked, curiously.

  “That’s part of the team building,” Allison said. “He said that you have to know the dark in yourself to bring out the light. So we’re going on a night hike to get accustomed to looking at the dark.”

  “O-kay,” Barb said, shaking her head. “I guess if it helps you win…”

  * * *

  Allison was not nearly as chipper when Barbara picked her up at the darkened field the next Saturday. In fact, she looked as if she had been crying.

  “Are you okay?” Barb asked, worriedly.

  “I’m fine,” Allison said, getting in the front seat and keeping her head down.

  “Team building was kind of tough?” Barbara asked, pulling out of the parking lot. The night was dark and overcast but the half moon was struggling to shine through the clouds.