Green Agate Pretender (Demon Lord Book 9)

by Morgan Blade

  My shadow sword should have been intangible to him since I was still in the Ghost World and Orin wasn’t. But by making a ghost of his sword, he made it real to me, stealing my advantage. With both swords solid to each other, mine should cut cleanly through his rapier, but the magic in his blade was a very high level; no common smith had made this.

  I had to be very careful because on several passes, his sword had gone normal on me, leaving the Ghost World long enough to offer no resistance. Becoming immaterial by becoming material; a hell of a trick. Then his sword would return to the Ghost World, attacking inside my guard. I was forced to do the same thing with my shadow magic in order to teach him caution.

  His skill level equaled mine. The uncanny bastard must have sensed this day approaching, like a shroud of doom, and practiced daily, hours on end, to prepare.

  Can’t just roll over and die. If the Old Man saw this, he’d laugh.

  We circled, more his preference than mine. This brought me around again so I could see Volar. The spirit hovered in the air. Tentacles tore at him, not getting a firm grip. They’d distort his body, then slowly drag through, as if Volar were made of some dense mucus. And he was giving as good as he got. The creature peered down into the black sea, finding those hidden bodies with their monstrous red eyes. Volar’s six smaller eyes were just as red, filled with infernal power. They emitted tight beams of red light like lasers.

  A cut across my bicep reminded me to pay attention to my own fight. Adrenaline reduced the pain, nothing to fuss over. I no longer had to suffer to trigger my magic spells, but a lifetime of such an inconvenience meant I wasn’t thrown by injury. My blade continued the intimate dance as I minded my footwork.

  “I knew meeting you alone would prove a fulfillment of all my desires,” Orin said. “It has been more than a millennium since I have been so challenged by another swordsman. I applaud your skill.”

  “If I have done so much for you, give me your tie. I will leave you to rule here as you always have.” I redirected a slash that might have scratched my Kevlar chest protector. “The dying land needs to be healed. To be made whole. You know it’s true. By fighting me, you do a disservice to the Land and your people.”

  My blade bounced off his, forcing an opening. I lunged in. He retreated, giving ground as he sought a way to recover the momentum of the battle.

  I could have summoned Dragon Fire or a lightning attack. There were many magic spells I could have resorted to, but I found my pride wouldn’t let me. That would be admitting I’d found a better swordsman than myself. I couldn’t live with such an admission. Besides, this was damn fun. I had to take the guy down, sword to sword.

  Sliding to the side, he forced me to change the angle of my attack. He parried a series of probing feints as I looked for a way past his guard. He shrugged with an eloquence of body language that made me wonder if he’d practiced that, too. He said, “All things die, rage as they might, resist as they can. It is the natural order. As a human, you should know this better than we fey who put death off for centuries.”

  “I think you’ve put dying off a little bit too long,” I muttered.

  He laughed, and still our swords clattered and maneuvered. “Are you fighting for glory, for empire? They die, too. Why, I knew a man once on your world, a fellow called Ozymandias. There was an empire builder…”

  Yeah, I’ve read the poem. That’s actually Pharaoh Rameses II. He died in 1213 BC. That would make Orin well over thirty-two hundred years old. Can’t be. Even the very old fey aren’t that old. Maybe he isn’t fey at all. Or he’s blowing smoke up my ass.

  I continued to move with him, waiting until he could see his beloved Volar fighting the tentacle-beasts. I thought that moment of surprise would give me the opening I needed. When he saw my pets, his face fell into shock. His eyes flared wider, his jaw nearly dropped.

  I leaped, dispersing the golden dragon magic that anchored me to the Ghost World. I brought my sword down with all my crushing strength, knowing I was totally open. Reflexively, he took the opening I gave. An electric tingle faded from my body. Color returned to the world. Gravity returned to normal. And his sword ran straight through my heart, poking out my back.

  That’s when the second shock hit him. I didn’t die. By entering the material world, I’d become immaterial to his ghost blade. Taking no harm, I slid down its length, slashing with my katana.

  Another sword caught mine, blocking my attack. I had been so focused on my opponent, I’d missed someone running in to save his lord. I fell sideways, getting clear of the sword in my body before Orin brought it out of the Ghost World, making it solid to me.

  But Orin wasn’t so interested in me anymore. His face red with fury, hard and strained, he drove his savior back with a series of rapid-fire sword blows. Here was deep, killing rage.

  Maintaining his guard, the soldier retreated. Sword rang on sword. “But, my lord, I saved you.”

  “You interfered with my fight. You stole the death I’d earned. Scoundrel! Idiot! You…you…!”

  “Ass-hat?” I offered.

  “You ass-hat!”

  The guard spun away, running for his life. He was not so in love with death as his master, it seemed.

  Too late.

  Orin’s sword pierced the man’s heart from behind. The soldier crumpled and died. Orin pulled his sword out and pointed a ring at the man. The purple light of a Will-o’-the-Wisp rose from the body, not usually an immediate process. This was my first time seeing it. This fey version of a ghost dissolved. Its purple mist absorbed by the ring. One more ghost chained to the Phantom Court.

  Orin turned back to me. “My apology. The victory was clearly yours. Take the tie.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Perhaps a draw was best. The tricks I’d used weren’t going to work again. This might be an undefeatable foe. If so, the best way to conquer him was to take the tie and make him a subject whose honor would disarm him. I walked to the throne and picked the green-white crystal up in my hand. I put it in the backpack. There was a flush of emerald light and the mega-tie became a little larger as the total shape shifted, redefining itself. There remained a hollow pocket, waiting to be filled. I slung the pack back on.

  A mission bell clang filled the sky of Fairy.

  Turning away from the throne, I saw Orin letting off steam, kicking the dead man’s head like a football.

  This guy really holds a grudge.

  My attention went to my shadow-beasts—make that beast. They’d all merged into one body with a single cycloptic eye. It had surfaced from the dark sea and was trying to swallow Volar whole.

  Orin saw this, too, calling out to me. “My lord, Deathwalker, if I might impose upon your generosity. Could you spare my pet? I am fond of it, and really don’t want it consumed.”

  Sure. A small favor, for a price.

  “Your oath of fealty, first,” I said.

  He didn’t bother to kneel. “My lord Deathwalker, I place myself and my kingdom in your hands. I pledge my support and obedience to you as Overlord of Fairy. Now, if you don’t mind…”

  I hurried toward the monsters, shrinking the dark sea on the floor as I went. On this side of the Ghost World, I saw Volar in much less detail. He’d become a black silhouette with six red eyes, and seemed a lot less solid, perhaps a true creature of smoke. He pulled back, as tentacles slid through his body. Those red beams fired out of his eyes, cutting deep into my shadow beast. They were pretty much deadlocked, but not giving up.

  I called out. “Enough, both of you. The fight’s over. Stand down!”

  Volar turned his head my way. His eyes flared with a build-up of red light. They fired. My sword caught most of the beams. Two hit me and burned deep. I angled my body and the beams all missed. I scooped melted Kevlar away from deeper wounds and patted out the flames that fluttered from holes in my muscle tissue.

  Orin called to his pet. “Valor, stop! I called you from the eternal dark and I can send you back.”

  The slobbery beast d
rooled its discontent, but the eyes stopped firing.

  I approached my pet and pointed down into the dark pool. “Time to go, big fella. Now.”

  It wavered, tentacles curling in frustration, and made no move to leave.

  Stubborn.

  “You will obey.” I aimed my sword and filled it with my power. Dark and bright, shadow and lightning jagged off the blade, streamers of magic that slammed into the shadow-beast. Its core belled opened, a ball of emptiness, until I reined in my power. Its darkness rushed back in to fill the hole. Glaring at me, the beast sank into the dark pool. As the last of it dropped under the surface, I closed the pool, pulling the darkness to my feet, and up into my body. I sheathed my sword.

  Valor drifted toward me, red eyes hungry, menacing.

  I shot Orin a look. “He does know he’s not allowed to eat me, right?”

  “It’s the blood that draws it. Don’t worry. I can banish him with a command word if he gets overly friendly.”

  “Nice to know.”

  My bicep no longer bled, but blood was still on me.

  “Care to join me for dinner,” Orin asked. “I’d love to hear how you learned to access the realm of ghosts. Even we in the Phantom Courts have not managed such a thing.”

  “Perhaps another time. I left comrades fighting your spectral army. I need to get back before all your ghosts are destroyed.”

  “What? That is not conceivable.”

  “There is one who is Mistress to the Ghost World of Earth. You have taken her ghosts and enslaved them. You will be fortunate if she does not break your entire court with her fury.”

  That was laying it on thick, even for me, but when the enemy ghosts pulled themselves together, they’d be telling tall tales. Rather than admit they were weak, they’d turn Grace into a monster. And what Orin would hear of Tukka would be staggering. A new fey legend would be born: Beauty and her Beast.

  “The bell has rung,” Orin said. “All my people know a change of power has occurred. My army will be recalling the ghosts, entrenching, waiting to hear what has happened.”

  I nodded. “Let’s go tell them. Got a stable around here?”

  “Where did you leave your friends? What direction did you come in from?”

  I explained about the burned down ghost cabin, giving the direction in miles.

  Orin nodded, finally putting his sword away. It was as if his hand loved the feel of the hilt and found it hard to put the sword aside. He came up to me, waving Valor away. “I know the place. I’ll open up a portal and take us there.”

  He made a few passes with his hand, staring at a point in space that glowed silver-blue. The star became a disk swelling ever bigger. He stabilized the portal when we could walk inside, side by side. Another wave and the middle opened up, showing us a view of grass and hedge.

  He went first. I followed. The way back closed. Several more steps took us out, miles away from the Phantom Court. The light collapsed behind us. I turned around and found the ghost house. Grace sat on the porch, holding a cup as several uniformed officers argued over who’d pour her wine. Tukka lay on the ground, huffing, keeping his good eye on Grace.

  No wounds. Good.

  A large mass of soldiers attended horses off to the side. They saw Orin and straightened, remembering their military discipline. The officers with Grace saw us and leaped to attention. Grace caught a wine bottle before it hit the ground.

  Great reflexes.

  Orin bellowed. “Hear me. Let word go forth. This is Caine Deathwalker, of the Dragon Lands. He is our new Overlord, and graciously permits me to serve him, continuing to rule here in his name.”

  “You did it!” Grace said. “You got the tie.”

  “I did. How did it go for you two?”

  Tukka huffed. Tukka fought against thousands, mighty in prowess, crushing in his strength.

  “It was quite a workout,” Grace said. “After the first couple hundred, it all became a blur. You owe me big for this.”

  “I’m already giving you a record deal, a place to stay, an entire management team. What else do you want?”

  “Artistic control. I want to do my own music, not someone else’s crap. And if you want to buy me a pink convertible, I won’t say no.” She got up and came over to join me. Her gaze went up into the air. “Uh-oh. Incoming.”

  I looked. There was a winged leopard heading our way. It swooped and pulled up, returning to the clouds. A roll of parchment—sealed with a red ribbon and a blot of wax—fell at my feet. I reached down and picked it up.

  Tukka growled at the flying cat. Better run!

  “That’s one of the beasts from the Wildlands,” Orin said. “What does it want?”

  I broke the seal and unrolled the document. The message was from Izumi, under duress:

  The Wild Hunt have my mother and Colt. They want you and the ties. If Selene interferes, they say they will kill Colt. If you do not go to them, alone, they will kill both prisoners. I leave this in your hands. Don’t fuck up.

  —Izumi

  Orin read over my shoulder. Apparently, English held no mystery for him. “Tough break. What are you going to do?”

  “They have my son. What do you think I’m going to do? Unleash such hell upon them they will never dare such a thing again.”

  Grace took the roll and read it next. “How awful. Poor kid. Tukka, you got a little more fight in you?”

  The lummox rolled to his feet. Tukka ready.

  At that moment, I’d have bought him all the chocolate in the world. “They’ll be watching. I need to go alone. But once things are all stirred up, if you want to sneak in…”

  Orin grinned. “Sounds fun. My sword is at your service.”

  I looked at Grace. Tukka can carry you to Earth, right?”

  “Yeah, by way of the Dream Lands.”

  I gave her my phone. I had a lot of important numbers on speed dial. “Go to L.A. and call Imari, the First Sword of my demon clan. I need all forces armed, mobile, and ready for war. Call Gloria, too. She can get a hold of the were-kitties. Come back here, get Orin’s forces, and let him guide everyone to the Wildlands. I shouldn’t be hard to find. I never am in mid rampage.”

  She touched my half-melted chest protector. “Okay, Caine, but will you really be all right by yourself?”

  “I’m going to look up three shades I know. Since I’m doing all this for the Land, the Land can damn well do a few things for me.”

  THIRTY

  “No one takes what’s mine,

  without choking on my fist.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Dragon wings extended, otherwise human, I descended toward the center islet in the subterranean archipelago. There was no wash of green radiance this time to guide me, but the air still tasted of fried wiring and burnt newspapers. I dropped onto crunching white gravel amid the ancient ruins. Gravity felt normal, no need for games this time.

  The pitted, broken edges of the roofs gave roosting to the wisps. I wondered why they gathered here, what they had to talk about. Whatever it was, they were keeping it to themselves.

  I reached the exact center of the islet where the stone coliseum waited. I went through the gap, past the seating, and crossed the round gravel field. Large boulders of green tourmaline shone in the light of day from the great rift in the cavern roof. The space in the middle, where the Heart Stone fragments had been, was empty. Here was the last place I’d seen the three shades together. Here was where I hoped to find them again, in this sacred site. The fact that I had the Heart Stone with me, almost all of the pieces restored, ought to bring them out.

  I stood there and charged my sword with golden energy. Driving it point-first into the ground, I increased the magic flow so the sword was lost in the golden light. This was my version of a bat-signal. I waited as the light faded out.

  Beyond my sword, three-dimensional shadows of hunter green sprouted from the gravel. The central figure had creamy jade eyes. This was the enigmatic one, the poetess, the embodiment
of mystery. Her sister, the healing crone, had snake hair. I wouldn’t have trusted her to put a Band-Aid on me. Half of her vipers slept. She stared with mad eyes of cadmium yellow. Withered, frail, she looked as starved as ever, leaning on her gnarled staff. The third sister grinned in a friendly fashion. She gripped her smith’s hammer and studied me with pearlescent, powder-red eyes with yellow flames for irises.

  This meeting felt surreal, but wasn’t déjà vu since I actually had seen this before.

  The Poetess said: “You called?”

  “I did. I need your help.”

  The snakes hissed. The crone said, “And you were so sure you could gather all the ties.”

  I nodded. “I have all but two. One is pledged, I just have to go to the Phoenix Court for it. The one in the Wildlands is the problem. I need you for that.”

  “What do you require of us?” the Smith asked.

  “The tie in the Wildlands, it’s not claimed, otherwise the lands there would be patterned, not wild, right?”

  The smith inclined her head. “It is so, but you still need the tie to complete the Heart Stone.”

  “The hollow in the stone suggests that more than two ties are missing. And I’ve added in the fragments from the Storm Court already.”

  “Haven’t you figured it out, yet?” the crone asked. “The crown you wear was our personal tie before I gave it to my dear Reggie.” She laughed, a mad cackle that sent her coughing with her next breath. “The crown goes into the Heart Stone last, bonding it to whoever places that last piece within.”

  “I had suspected as much. “That explains why it’s bonded so well to the other ties. And why Reggie wants it back so badly.”

  The old crone scowled. “Where is my dear Reggie. He hasn’t come to visit me for the longest time.”

  That was a question that didn’t need answering. I looked to the poetess. “The Wild Hunt has my son and mother-in-law, demanding the Heart Stone, or they will kill the hostages. I’m almost finished with what you set me to do, but at this point, you need to get your hands dirty, too.”