Faerie Empire: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Vampire's Bane Book 2)

by Marian Maxwell

  One driver has an accident, and the road is out of commission.

  That’s what happened on the ramp. Suri looked to her side and found the other mercenary mage who had yet to cast a spell holding onto a swirling disk of shadows with both hands. She stared at the hell spawn on the ramp with narrowed, hawkish eyes. Timing her spell for maximum effect.

  The seconds ticked past. The hell spawn that survived the fireballs cleared the bodies off the ramp by rolling them over the side. As they pushed the last one into the yawning chasm, the mage released her shadow spell.

  The black disk shot out from her hands, disappeared into the darkness separating the side of the cavern that they were on, and the opposite wall where Suri had chosen to target the hell spawn’s advance.

  Suri gave up looking for the spell and instead turned to the recovering hell spawn on the ramp. The gap between them and the hell spawn still marching toward Raja had widened considerably. It was difficult to make out details because of the distance and the faint, purple light.

  She chanted the words to summon more lightning. Her well of magic was nearing empty. It might be time to stop, she thought. The escape was far from over. Best to keep some magic in reserve for whatever comes next. Just one, last spell.

  The lightning crackled out, zig-zagging through the darkness. It moved faster than the shadow spell. Intercepted, and mixed into the swirling disk a dozen feet away from the hell spawn.

  Suri and the mercenary women shared a glance. They reached out with their magic, directing their individual spells to merge together. The lightning and shadow combined into a flying V-shaped wedge. It crashed into the hell spawn’s ranks, sending them flying over the edge, and more smashing against the rough rock wall.

  The shadow spell continued on, passing through many hell spawn soldiers down through the ranks. Suri did not know what it was doing, but the shadow was infused with her lightning, adding an electric shock to whatever affliction the shadows already carried.

  Devastation. It would take the hell spawn many more minutes to once again clear the ramp. By then, the other two mercenaries would hopefully have more spells ready to throw.

  But a large portion of the hell spawn were already past the point of attack. They lowered their sharp spears and quickened pace. Charging down to where Raja and the others waited.

  28

  Suri’s breath caught in her chest. Raja and the two other mercenaries had split off from the main group. Gone ahead to the corner of the ramp, where two walls of the cavern met.

  It made sense. The position was more easily defendable than where they had been before. They were still on the low ground—there was no helping that—but now they had an advantage that evened out the oncoming battle. For the hell spawn to attack, they first had to go around the corner. Turning, as they moved right into the range of Raja’s sword, and the maces and spear of the two others with him. They were at the perfect distance. Too far back to be reached by the enemy’s spears before they turned the corner, yet close enough to strike when the first hell spawn tried to take control of the strategic position.

  Another blast rang out from Jorgan’s pickaxe. Only his wide back was visible now. Knotted muscles hidden by his leather armor, but large enough that Suri could see them shift and press against the leather every time Jorgan raised the pickaxe for another strike. He was four feet into the cavern wall, and showed no signs of slowing down.

  Suri was growing nervous about Waylan’s plan. The other mercenaries showed no concern at all. Lorace was trimming her fingernails with the sharp edge of one of her one-handed axes. Waylan’s face revealed nothing but focus and determination. He had the look of someone mentally keeping track of five things at once. He stood very straight and very still.

  Perhaps they have been in this situation before. That’s why they aren’t worried.

  Suri would have slapped herself on the forehead if the others weren’t around to see it.

  Of course they have, you dummy! This is Black Gauntlet.

  Their exploits were legendary. A mission like this…Heck, they must have done it a thousand times before. A legion of hell spawn marching down, trapping you in an enemy dungeon? Nothing to get worked up about.

  Suri had yet to come to know any of the Black Gauntlet members, but they were undoubtedly powerful. Problem was that Suri hadn’t actually seen anything other than fighting in the courtyard, the gorilla shifter, and a few spells just now. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be a good thing. While it kept her guessing about what the mercenaries were truly capable of, it also meant that these were gifted who knew how to conserve their energy. If they could make it out of this place without throwing another spell, good on them. That was just plain smart.

  Raja lunged forward. Batted aside an enemy spear with his sword and stabbed through the neck of an advancing hell spawn. It happened in the blink of an eye. Then Raja was back on his side of the corner, balanced on the balls of his feet. Ready to lunge with a twitch of his strong legs.

  An explosion came from the hole in the cavern wall that was different from the last. The sound of crumbling stone. A strong, fresh breeze flowed through the opening. It set Suri’s hair flying. She pulled up her hood, and used the string hanging from the bottom to tighten it around her head.

  Waylan went through first, then the gorilla shifter with Weathers draped over his giant shoulder. It was uncertain if he would fit. He had to crouch and turn awkwardly, sidestepping like a crab to make his way through the tunnel. It was Suri’s turn next. She hesitated. Glanced at Raja.

  Staying behind to help will make him angry. Go ahead. He’ll be fine.

  But her heart said something different. It throbbed, yearning to stay behind. Her breathing quickened as a touch of adrenaline coursed through her veins. All of her muscles felt tingly, telling her to stay and fight.

  She had to overpower her instinct. Ignore the gut-wrenching feeling that she was doing something wrong, and command her legs to start going into the tunnel.

  Why do I feel this way? Stupid. You’re being stupid. It’s not about you and him anymore. This is larger than that. You’re part of the Black Gauntlet Guild. Start acting like it.

  But no matter how hard Suri tried to tell herself that she was making the right, rational decision, she could not shake a feeling of guilt. As if she owed Raja. It didn’t make sense, yet there it was: a weird mix of loyalty and love that was confused and mixed up and made Suri question every thought and action. She didn’t know what was going on, only that she felt the way that she felt. It is rare to know why you feel the way you do about certain people. Most of the time it just is, like a force of nature.

  The way back to the dungeon cavern was quickly blocked by the next mercenary coming in behind her. Suri had the sinking feeling that she would never see Raja again.

  It’s too late to turn back.

  She went on, following the giant up a narrow, crumbling set of stairs. In time her thoughts turned to councillor Weathers. How it was his disappearance that was the cause for so much of the mess going on in San Francisco and Lodum. How, if he hadn’t been so debaucherous, he might have been strong enough to defeat the forces that had taken him.

  Weak leaders mean hard times.

  They could still fix everything. Revive Weathers, find out exactly what happened and who was responsible. Return him to San Francisco with the human refugees. Stop Lord Korka before he could do any more damage, and renew the treaty between Earth and Faerie.

  It’s not too late. We can still pull it back together!

  The stairs went on for a few more minutes, then levelled out into a stone hallway. The lines of crushed amethyst were gone. They jogged by the light of two hovering orbs summoned by the mercenary mages.

  The crumbling stairs had not taken them to street level. Lodum remained far above. The hallway went straight in a direction away from the dungeon and Turndour. Away also from the city of Lodum. It was a narrow passage, as if made in secret by the architect for
whoever had originally had the place constructed. The stones on the ceiling and walls reminded Suri of the catacombs. A similar design, likely built in the same era of Lodum’s ancient history. Back when the capital of the Faerie Empire had been much smaller, and resting on foundations forgotten beneath the teeming streets.

  Sunlight. A speck in the distance, straight ahead. Jorgan and the others in front picked up their pace. Suri’s legs burned as she ran to keep up. She didn’t want to be the laggard holding everyone back, making them wait for her to huff and puff her way to the finish line.

  Sweat was dripping down her cheeks by the time she reached Waylan, who was waiting with his back to the sunlight. Suri, and those behind her, squinted and raised their hands. They needed time for their eyes to adjust.

  Suri lowered her hand. Blinked, and saw the bough of a giant tree in the air behind Waylan.

  “We reached the end, lads!” said Waylan, loudly for all the mercenaries to hear. A brief cheer went up in the hallway, quieting quickly to get Waylan’s next orders. “We’re going to make our way over the trees to the nearest lift. Get ourselves back into Lodum, and make straight for HQ. It’s easy sailing from here on out, but let’s not let our guards down, eh? Stick together. Eyes sharp.”

  Waylan ran and leapt out of the open end of the hallway. He landed on the bough and started walking towards the tree trunk, to make room for the others. The branch was so wide that it was as easy as taking a stroll down a sidewalk.

  The mercenaries followed one by one until they were all on the tree. Looking back, Suri realized that they had emerged from a tiny opening in Lodum’s cyclopean outer wall. The ground, shrouded from sunlight by the canopy of millions of leaves, lay miles below them. Not risking vertigo, Suri returned her attention to the opening. She waited, letting the mercenaries pass her and make their way to the next branch.

  He isn’t coming.

  There was no sign of Raja or the two others who had stayed behind with him to guard the rear. No sound of running feet, no shadowed figures coming down the long, straight hallway. She turned to tell Waylan, but the lieutenant was gone, leading the way to the lift point.

  Anguish pierced Suri’s heart. Tempered only slightly by the fact that Raja was not confirmed for dead.

  Of course he is far behind, Suri told herself. He has to fight his way down the tunnel and out the hallway. He knows what he’s doing. It will be fine.

  She clung to hope to keep herself from drowning in despair. Lorace appeared at her side. “Come on,” she said. “Waylan is waiting for you.” Her bandana hung from his neck. She furrowed her eyebrows, giving Suri a strange look.

  She isn’t worried at all, Suri thought. And she’s known Raja far longer than I have. She would know when to be worried.

  “The others, who stayed behind. Do you think…”

  Lorace smiled. “I’ve never doubted Raja. That hell son’s got ninety-nine lives. He’s made it out of worse. Trust me, let’s go.”

  Suri glanced one last time at the opening in Lodum’s wall. After a couple of steps following the mercenary, a leafy branch sticking out from the giant tree bough blocked her vision. The opening was lost, and she turned her mind from Raja to councillor Weathers, and all that still had to be accomplished.

  She was on another tree branch, behind Lorace in a long single file line of Black Gauntlet members when a large raven spotted them from the sky, and dove. The members who saw Vestrix stopped at once. They were waiting when she landed next to Waylan, transforming into her cloaked, human form.

  The Lady of Arrows dispensed with greetings and got right to the point. “Lodum is under attack,” she said. “Lord Korka has allied with an arch demon. Hell spawn march through the streets. I fear that he has found Suri, and is coming for her.”

  “The Guild House?” Waylan asked.

  Vestrix nodded. “Safe, for now. The hell spawn have yet to attack it. They are giving it a wide berth, conquering easier targets first and securing key positions in the city. My birds tell me that they already control Browning Hill and the Temple District.”

  “The royal army?”

  Vestrix shook her head. “No sign as of yet. No word from the King, either. I fear that this may be the end.”

  “We’ve got to get back,” said Waylan resolutely. “Did you get eyes on lift thirty-four?”

  “It’s clear,” said Vestrix. “The hell spawn are mostly on the other side of the city, banding together and building their strength. But there are some of them everywhere. Scouts and raiding groups. You are bound to run into them, but they should not pose a threat.”

  “There’s an army in the dungeon.”

  “I saw.”

  “Some of my men are still in there.”

  Vestrix frowned. “How many?”

  “Three. They stayed behind to buy us time.”

  “Death and dust,” Vestrix swore. “Keep going for the lift. I’ll see about getting them out. You may not find me for some time. Secure the Guild House. Rally the defenders. You and Yiali are in charge while I’m away. I need to speak with a great many people.”

  “Understood,” said Waylan. He dipped at the waist in a small bow.

  Vestrix turned, looking at the group of mercenaries. Her eyes found Suri’s. “You,” she said, in an icy tone. “We will speak when I return. Your armor is ready. I suggest that you make use of it.”

  Suri gulped, reminded of the fact that every one of the mercenaries but her wore some type of armor. Her grey training tunic and paints were meant for just that. Training. Not the war that she was now fighting in.

  She nodded, keeping strong eye contact with her aunt to let her know that she was serious.

  Vestrix glared. “One more thing. Never—”

  She was interrupted by a strong gust of wind. The giant branch swayed beneath them. The leaves hissed and shook, bending this way and that as the source of the gust drew closer.

  “No…” Vestrix breathed.

  A shadow fell over the band of mercenaries. The leathery flap of wings sounded from above. Suri looked up and watched, frozen in fear, as a dragon landed on the treetop ahead of Waylan, blocking their path forward. Its long, scaly tail wrapped possessively around the branches where he perched. It folded its wings against its body. The massive branches swayed under the dragon’s weight, then settled as it fully landed and stopped moving.

  The dragon yawned, and laid its head down on a pillow of leaves for a nap.

  There was something moving on its back. A solitary figure walking boldly along the dragon’s spine. Between its wings, up to the crust of its head, then down its snout and face. From there, levitating down to the branch where the Black Gauntlet Guild waited.

  A deep voice rang out from inside the man’s black metal helm. “Lady of Arrows, I am your death.”

  29

  Vestrix chanted a spell. Wooden tendrils grew out from the branch that Lord Korka was standing on, twisting around his armored legs, catching his blood red cape and tearing it.

  Korka paid it no mind. The wood squeezed against his armor, and shattered.

  Vestrix hands flashed in a pattern. One hundred crystal shards appeared in the air above her head. She pointed at Lord Korka and the shards released in a volley.

  This time the renegade warlock took action. He raised a gauntlet, palm facing out.

  “Acto.”

  The ice shards shattered before they reached him, showering onto Vestrix and the guild members. Little pieces of crystal scratched Suri’s face, drawing blood.

  Lord Korka’s arm remained raised. He curved his fingers into a claw.

  Vestrix’s face went pale. She coughed, gasped for air. Began choking.

  In one motion, Waylan drew the thin sword at his hip. He moved with magically enhanced speed. A blur to Suri’s eyes, until Lord Korka backhanded him across the jaw.

  Waylan’s head twisted to the side. Blood spattered onto nearby leaves. The force of the blow pushed him off the bough. He disappeared from sight, lost in
the many branches and leaves below.

  Lord Korka dropped his arm. Vestrix fell into a limp pile, looking small under her bundle of feathered robes.

  An unfamiliar pain twisted through Suri’s body. Wrenched inside her chest and made it hollow. A part of her soul died that, until that moment, she never knew existed.

  Spidery, slithering black magic words flew off her tongue. Filled with rage and venom. Soaked with malice, and wishing the pain and destruction of a thousand years war. It came out from her pores, an oily black ink that ran together into snakes with wide, open jaws and long fangs. They slithered to Lord Korka, leaving inky residue and the foul stench of brimstone in their wake.

  Suri collapsed, the very depths of her magic spent. Watched the snakes bite into Lord Korka’s armor, and dissolve into formlessness. Ink running over the side of the bough, dripping down to the forest floor.

  Vestrix still wasn’t moving. Two mercenaries knelt by her side, administering white magic, cradling her head. The others were frozen like deer in headlights.

  Why aren’t they throwing spells? Why am I the only trying to do something?

  The answer was fear. These men and women who had only an hour past stormed into a dungeon and remained stoic against a legion of hell spawn now murmured prayers, gestured symbols across their chests, and lost color in their faces. They knew far more than Suri what was happening in Lodum—in all of Faerie—and who they now faced on the branches of the Golden Forest, on the fringe separating the civilized world of the Faerie King, and the Wilder territory of Lord Korka.

  Suri did not know the depth of their hopelessness. She was shaken by the fact that the most powerful spell she had ever casted did absolutely nothing to Lord Korka. But then, neither was she a Master mage. Rationally, it was to be expected.

  Suri did not know the depth of Lord Korka’s reputation, and the evils that he had done. And so she was able to speak out, brash and loud. Not caring, or understanding why the others meekly cowered.