Gunz (The Dark Elf War Book 2)

by William Stacey

  "Just… just need to give up smoking," he answered with a weak smile. "Maybe take up jogging."

  "You're pushing yourself too hard," said Leela. She dropped down on her belly to peer at crushed moss on a fallen log. "He's still carrying Elizabeth—or at least he was when he came this way—because of that, his tracks stand out. But the other one… this dark elf woman… she's barely disturbing a leaf." Leela rose again, biting her lip and shaking her head. "She moves through the woods better than we do."

  "No," said Paco, "not better, but she's got some trail craft. I'll give her that. How far ahead, you guess?"

  Leela pursed her lips. "Maybe twenty minutes, maybe less." She glanced up. "A few hours before dusk yet."

  "My guess, too." His breathing was more regular now, and he pushed himself away from the tree. "There's something up ahead—a dirt road, I think. Clyde, dehdzat."

  The dog loped away, his tail straight behind him.

  Hang in there, Elizabeth. We're coming for you.

  Finding Elizabeth was one thing, though. Rescuing her from a dark-elf mage was a completely different matter. How do you fight somebody who can kill you with a thought?

  25

  Horlastia glared at the inferno on the bridge. Her cohorts had advanced as far as the burning bridge, where the intense heat and choking smoke forced them back. The path across the river was closed to them until the flames burned down and the metal cooled. The stench, worse than a dwarf's forge, reeked of chemicals and poison.

  The manlings infest this world, she ruminated.

  A manling industrial complex covered the eastern side of the road. The setting sun painted the myriad of metal domes and pipes crimson, like blood. They're destroying this world. What kind of species destroys the land that gives them life? They aren't even animals; they're a disease. We should have slaughtered them a thousand cycles ago when they were still huddled around fires in caves. Damn the demons for tricking us into leaving!

  And what of the demons?

  She drummed her fingers over the hilt of her saber. How powerful are the demons truly? she wondered. Maelhrandia killed one—albeit with Gaze-Killer's help. Still… if a lowly mage-scout could defeat one… She pictured herself standing before the corpses of demons struck down by her magic and cut apart by her saber. Warmth spread through her core as she imagined the accolades she'd receive… perhaps even her mother's love. Where are they? If they truly protect this world, why haven't they tried to stop us?

  Maybe they're all dead.

  Maybe Maelhrandia killed the last one.

  If so, this world is well rid of them.

  She turned away from the burning bridge. There were a thousand details awaiting her attention. A dozen of her cohort commanders waited a short distance away, their gazes lowered respectfully. Her army filled the terrain behind them, surrounded by an earthen barricade reinforced with wooden beams ripped from the surrounding manling homes. Her army hungered to pursue the manling refugees, but that pursuit would now be delayed by at least a day, perhaps longer. It galled her to admit it, but the manlings had been clever, setting their chariots on fire. In order to drive her weak heretic of a sister out from hiding, she needed to slaughter manling innocents, not sit here waiting for a fire to burn out.

  We need that Shatkur Orb back. Damn you, Tlathia.

  According to her mother's reports, the other twelve armies were on schedule with the construction of their Nexus Receptors, but the manlings were gathering near most of the incursion sites. So far, they only watched… for now. If her mother's spies had the truth of it, no fae seelie army, no matter how strong, could stand in battle against manling technology. The culling must take place before the manlings finally find their courage. If not…

  She ground her teeth so hard, her jaw hurt.

  Damn you, Tlathia! You were the crown princess.

  The battle for this bridge—if you could even call it that—had been almost entirely mundane, but according to her cohort commanders, the manlings did have their own mages. Two of them had fought here. A year ago, her sister Maelhrandia had told her that the only manling mages she had encountered during her scouting mission had been pathetically weak and of no real consequence. Yet the two manling mages that had fought here had been surprisingly capable, actually killing several of her wyvern-mounted mage-wardens—including Nexorastia, who had died on the bridge with her wyvern. Nexorastia's death was particularly galling. She had been an initiate of the Black Circle, a secret society of the most gifted mage-wardens. In truth, Nexorastia had been more of a sister to Horlastia than her own blood. Maelhrandia had been wrong about the threat the manlings posed, a certainty underscored by her sister's own death at their hands.

  Horlastia wouldn't make that same mistake.

  The manlings had only faced a fraction of her forces here, little more than skirmishers marching in advance of the main force. The brunt of her cohorts remained fresh. Nor had she committed her reserve, her kelpie-mounted cavalry. She could commit them now and send them across the river, but she resisted the idea, preferring to keep them hidden for a decisive moment. Often, victory went to she who kept her sharpest knife hidden. Besides, despite the delay, her wyvern-mounted mages winged south across the river, following the fleeing manlings and seeking signs of Tlathia.

  Her cohort commanders formed a half ring about her. Her senior cohort commander, First Lance Tir Underwin, an old campaigner who had proven himself many times during the Secession Wars, stepped forward, his fist across his heart, and bowed stiffly in his black plate and chain-mail cuirass. "My General, we await your pleasure." Underwin moved slowly and walked with a pronounced limp from an old wound, but he was an able commander.

  "We will spend the night here," she said. "In the morning, we will reassess the situation. The manlings cannot escape."

  When she saw the sudden tightening in Underwin's eyes, she spun about, filling herself with magic.

  Ulfir Dunwalker strolled nonchalantly from the woods to the west, Witch-Bane resting across his shoulders. His three foul manticores paced the uneven ground before him, snarling at the assembled cohort commanders. She snorted. Only Ulfir could frighten a man like Underwin. The mage-hunter must have sensed the magic Horlastia held, because he flashed his teeth at her, clearly enjoying the knowledge that she feared him. "Greetings, great General. A lovely day for a war, is it not?"

  "Ulfir," she replied, willing calm into her voice despite the fear twisting her gut. She couldn't afford to show weakness before her cohort commanders. "What can we do for the queen's famous mage-hunter?"

  Ulfir halted a few paces before her. A lopsided smile turned up the corner of his lips as he spun his black spear about and set its haft against the ground as he leaned upon it. "For me? Nothing, I'm sure. But I might be able to help you."

  Damn him to the Red Ether for his insolence! "I have a war to wage, Mage-Hunter. What do you want?"

  Ulfir smirked and raised a single eyebrow as he gazed upon the encamped army behind Horlastia. "Is that what you're doing here? Waging a war?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Only to be of assistance. I've found you another bridge."

  "Another bridge?"

  "A small one and too narrow for your entire army to cross over, but it will support the passage of scouts and skirmishers—not many, perhaps, but enough to continue the pursuit of the manlings, as your mother, my queen, desires."

  Two of his manticores bared their fangs and growled at her commanders, who slid farther back. The third beast flopped down upon the ground, lying upon its massive belly, and began to lick at its long claws.

  "Why haven't my scouts already reported this bridge?"

  Ulfir laughed scornfully. "Perhaps they fly too high. Perhaps they fear the manlings. Perhaps they are… poorly led—not by you, of course, General, but by these sycophants. They've let you down."

  Her commanders, including Underwin, stared silently at their feet. The true insult, though, was to her, the general who commanded.
She choked on her anger, wanting nothing more than to unleash magical death upon him, but it would be her end, not his. He was trying to goad her into a foolish mistake. She fought down her rage, her eyes darting to his black spear. Someday… "Why are you here, Ulfir? You didn't come to tell me of a bridge that my scouts would have found soon enough."

  Ulfir's smile was ice. "Your sister is near."

  "Truly?" She stared at him in suspicion. "Where?"

  "Very close. She killed your fellow mage-warden, your… special one."

  "Tlathia killed Nexorastia?"

  Ulfir snorted, turning his hand over to examine his fingernails. "Hardly a surprise. Tlathia is gifted at defeating inferior mages."

  Her anger flared, and she stepped forward, gasping. "You go too far." The manticore that had been lying on its belly rose and growled menacingly at her, its black mane bristling. Horlastia checked herself, but her anger seethed. "She struck me from behind. I wasn't ready."

  "More fool you, then."

  Her body stiffened with fury, and for several moments, the two glared at one another. But when her gaze flicked to Witch-Bane, a cold tendril of fear gripped her heart, overpowering her blind rage. His time will come. He's only a male. When she composed herself again, speaking very slowly, very softly, Ulfir seemed… disappointed. "How do you know Tlathia killed Nexorastia?"

  "I was on the other side of the river when she killed your mage. I felt her. I might have had her then, but she's using the orb to create localized gateways, to stay one step ahead." He flicked a long lock of his white hair away from his eyes. "What keeps her nearby, do you think? Does she seek a chance to kill you, to finish the job?"

  "You tell me, Ulfir. You're the one with all the answers. Why haven't you taken her head and returned the orb? That was what my mother ordered you to do, was it not?"

  "I will have my prey. Even the best of you females become careless, overconfident."

  "What do you want, then?"

  "Draw her out. Send a cohort of skirmishers across the western bridge, and harry the manlings. Make them suffer. A disciple of the Benevolent Grandfather would have to intervene, would she not?"

  "A single cohort, unsupported by the rest of the army? You'd have me sacrifice my own troops just to set a trap for you?"

  Ulfir sighed, as if he were dealing with a child. His lips curled into a sneer. "You could… ask your mother if a cohort was more important than the culling."

  Her mouth went dry. Such a conversation, she knew, would be her last. She forced a fake smile on her lips and inclined her chin, pretending to give the matter thought. "You are correct, of course, Master Mage-Hunter," she said. "I shall provide the bait you ask for—and gladly. I wish you luck in your hunt."

  A malicious glint danced in his eyes. "Luck is for lovers and fools, General." He spun about and began walking away, his manticores at his heel, whistling a happy tune as he headed back the way he had come.

  I hate you so much, she thought, her emotions a surging storm of revulsion.

  When Ulfir and his manticores disappeared into the trees, Underwin finally found his tongue. "My General, there are prisoners, several score of manlings that the gwyllgi hounds found hiding in the woods."

  "Are any of them mages?"

  "No, my General. All mundane."

  She sighed, making fists of her hands when she stared at the trees into which Ulfir had vanished. "Aren't the gwyllgi hungry?"

  "Yes, my General. Always."

  "Well?"

  26

  Elizabeth stared in confusion at the dwarf. "You speak English?"

  "We do now," said the dwarf, speaking with a deep, gruff voice. "Took longer than I thought, however. Your language is complex… so, well done, you."

  "Kargin," said the dark-elf mage, her voice lyrical and soft in comparison to his hard tone. "Manners. We mean you no harm. We are … friends, I hope."

  "Who are you?"

  "I am named Tlathia de Talinor of the fae seelie."

  The dwarf, his hand still held out for the crown Elizabeth wore, raised a bushy eyebrow inquisitively at her. "You can remove it now. Tlathia has already severed the link."

  She pulled the now-cold crown from her head and handed it to him. He put it with the other two back in his sack. "Link?" Elizabeth asked.

  "We can speak of spells later," the dark-elf mage, Tlathia, said. "How are you named?"

  "Elizabeth. I'm Elizabeth Chambers."

  "Liz-beth Cham-bers," Tlathia repeated slowly, methodically.

  "Close enough," Elizabeth answered. "What's going on? How is it we're speaking? And why?"

  "Lizbeth-Chambers," said Tlathia, her yellow eyes locked onto Elizabeth's. "Please. This is very important. Death has come for your people, but I am no enemy to you. Tell me, where are the ancient ones?"

  Elizabeth stared in confusion. "What's an… ancient one?"

  "She doesn't understand," said the dwarf. "Tell her everything."

  "Tell me what?" asked Elizabeth, her eyes darting from him to her.

  Tlathia sighed and rose from her cross-legged position and stalked across the bunker. "There's no time. We must seek them somewhere else if they're not here."

  The dwarf followed her and gripped her bicep to stop her. "Then tell her what time does allow. We can't search this entire world. We need allies. That's why we came."

  "Manlings are not the allies we came for." Tlathia stared at Elizabeth for several moments but then acquiesced and nodded at him. "Fine. Fine. We'll talk." He released her arm, and she leaned back against a wooden support beam, considering Elizabeth. "As I said, my name is Tlathia de Talinor, but more correctly, I am Princess Tlathia de Talinor. I am the eldest daughter of the fae seelie queen, Tuatha de Talinor, the woman who seeks your destruction."

  The dwarf surged forward, and Elizabeth's chest stuttered in alarm as he came at her, but then he stopped and held his large hand out with a half grimace-half smile on his ruddy face. When Elizabeth reached to take it, he gripped her forearm instead, holding it tightly. His arm felt like steel cables. "Greetings, Lizbeth-Chambers. I am Kargin Ice-Hand, of the line of Deniker Ice-Hand, son of Kulm Ice-Hand. I am a technomancer."

  "Hello… Kargin. I'm a … a mag-sens, what you would call a mage, I guess." She turned her gaze to Tlathia. "You say you're royalty, a princess?"

  "More than that. Two days ago, I was the crown princess, next in the line of secession to my mother, heir to the Fae Seelie Empire. Now, by my own hand, I am a fugitive. I freely make this choice, because what my mother intends is evil and against our old ways."

  "I've heard those words before," said Elizabeth. "Fae Seelie. I thought they were Irish, something to do with the little folk, the fairies or gnomes."

  "I do not know what 'Irish' is, but my people are painfully prideful and would be deeply offended if they thought you compared us to redcaps or other gnomes."

  "I meant no offense."

  "None taken," Tlathia said, waving her hand. "But I'm not surprised you've heard of us—even if we're only a memory now. A thousand years past, the mystical pathways—the ley lines that crossed the Red Ether, the space between this world and Faerum—lay open and were much more easily traversed with magic. In that time, gateways between worlds were common, often left open—magical beasts wandered freely through the portals, living on both worlds. Basilisks, banshees, chimeras, even dragons were once common here, or… if not common, perhaps less rare."

  At the mention of the dragon, a chill swept through her core. She looked away. "So… so, you've been here before?"

  "Not I, nor any of my race. Not for a thousand cycles of seasons—until last year."

  "The other one, the woman who attacked us with her basilisk?"

  "One of my many younger sisters, Maelhrandia, a mage-scout. The basilisk was Gaze-Killer, an ill-tempered monster even among his own kind."

  Elizabeth's chest tightened with fear. Tlathia must have seen her alarm because she quickly continued: "Fear not, Lizbeth-Chambers. I am not like
my sisters, particularly Horlastia, who commands the army here. I do not hold a grudge against your people for killing Maelhrandia, nor do I seek revenge. I'd have killed her myself. My sisters worship the Spider Mother and are evil—evil beyond redemption."

  "I don't know what to say to you about that. I didn't kill your sister, but I did kill … Gaze-Killer."

  "Did you indeed?" asked Kargin, his dark eyes lighting up with approval. "Good job, Lizbeth-Chambers. You and I must get drunk together some day. You can tell me all about it. We'll compose a song."

  Tlathia rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twisted up into a half smile. "Another time, warrior. But we're off topic. We were discussing the past. Once, Lizbeth-Chambers, both our races shared this world, or perhaps share is not the right word. My people do not share. Let us say instead that both manlings and fae seelie lived together … for a time. At any rate, other entities also coexisted on this world, creatures of pure magic that were here long before either manling or fae seelie. My people call them demons, but you may know them as 'the ancient ones.' I seek those beings now."

  "I … what?" Elizabeth stared, moving her gaze from the elf woman to the dwarf in confusion. "We have no magical creatures on this world, and even if we did, why are you looking for them?"

  "Because we need their protection. Their magic is strong, perhaps strong enough to stand against my mother and her army. It was the ancient ones who tricked my people into abandoning this world and hiding the path back through the Red Ether. I need them to hide something once more."

  "I don't know what a Red Ether is."

  "No, it would seem there remains much we do not understand about one another. Know this, then—for a thousand years, the way back to this world has been hidden from us. All that changed when your people reopened a gate to Faerum. When you opened a path to our world, you left a trail that my mother's mage-scholars could follow. You have facilitated our return."