Gunz (The Dark Elf War Book 2)

by William Stacey

  Paul, feeling as if he was going to vomit, grasped at his phone. "I need to call—"

  Paul didn't see the sky flash green in an ever-spreading wave a moment later.

  He, his analysts, his technicians, his family—every living soul in Ottawa was already gone.

  THE SECRET SERVICE agents burst into the president's bathroom while he was sitting on the toilet. He looked up, and his first thought was to rip these men a new asshole. If this is another stupid drill… When he saw the fear on their faces, he knew it wasn't a drill. Primal terror paralyzed him, and had he not just emptied his bowels, he would have done so now.

  His detachment team leader, a twenty-year veteran of the service, gripped the president by the arm and dragged him from the toilet, his pants and underwear still around his ankles. "Mr. President, the country is under attack. We need to get you to the bunker right now!"

  They dragged him with them. As he stumbled along, he pulled up his pants, holding them in place, unable to even stop and buckle his belt. White House servants jumped aside as they ran through the corridors, a red light flashing overhead.

  This is the aliens. He knew this without having to be told. In truth, he had suspected as much when the initial reports started coming in from law enforcement that patients were disappearing from old-age homes, but he had done nothing other than to order the intelligence weenies to get him more details.

  Clearly, that was a mistake.

  The agents, with drawn weapons, formed a protective circle around him as they hustled him past the terrified servants. "Get my family," he ordered breathlessly. "Find my wife."

  The Secret Service agents didn't answer him. He should have known they wouldn't. Other agents protected his family, and these men wouldn't do anything that delayed getting him to the bunker safely, even reply to him.

  She's fine. She'll be fine.

  The UN Secretary General and his science advisor were all wrong. This isn't some stupid misunderstanding.

  It's war.

  As I soon as I get inside the bunker, I'm authorizing a strike on the alien site in Arizona. Shit, I'm gonna order strikes on all the sites around the world. Screw sovereignty, and screw the UN. Someone has to take action. If I have to, I'll use nuclear weapons! God have mercy on me. I should have listened to that general—what was his name?—McKnight. I was an idiot to trust that science—

  Halfway down a spiral staircase to the main floor with its entrance to the bunker, he ran past a large colonial picture window looking out onto the White House gardens. The sky flashed green.

  Empty clothing and Secret Service gear—pistols, body armor, and radio sets—clattered down the stairs.

  AS THE CULLING CONTINUED, Elizabeth turned to Alex, her mind reeling. "We have to do something, even without the explosives."

  Alex removed the drum of ammo from Swamp Thing's LMG, checked it, and reloaded it. "About three-quarters full," he said softly. "When it's gone, I'll use the rifle magazines on it … a half dozen grenades. Shit, I wish I had another M-72 LAW." He stopped and faced Elizabeth, and she saw the doubt in his eyes. "I don't think I can destroy the machine with grenades and bullets. I … I just don't know what else we can do."

  Kargin coughed then waved Alex and Elizabeth closer. "I do … maybe." He handed Alex the spearhead. "Keep it with you."

  "I can't fight with this. I don't know how."

  "Just take it. Carry it."

  Alex took one of the SCAR slings and tied it around the long blade then hung it over his neck so that it dangled point down on his hip, like a sword. Then, mumbling something about "making sure," he ran to the others and searched them for ammo one last time.

  While he did this, Kargin gripped Elizabeth's wrist and pulled her close to him. "If you stand next to him, the spearhead will protect you as well, but it will also make it impossible for you to cast spells. You'll have to decide for yourself, but if you want to use magic, be at least two paces away. Do you understand?"

  "I think so," she said breathlessly. "But the explosives … the machine…"

  Kargin's expression was one of utter sorrow. "I'm sorry, Lizbeth-Chambers. You're going to have to do what neither Tlathia nor I could do. I think … I know how to destroy the machine. I've had a hunch for some time now, but I … I wanted to avoid trying this method while there was still another way, the bomb. That hope is gone now."

  "Hurry, tell me."

  "I told you my father believed ancient-one magic could destroy a Shatkur Orb. After watching you and the others do battle, the helicopter, the dragon, I've become certain of it."

  "But there are no more ancient ones, at least none we can find in time. Besides, Horlastia has the only orb she needs. It wouldn't matter if I destroyed this one."

  "No, Lizbeth-Chambers, there is this." He lifted her hand before them, the hand wearing the oversized Brace. "This talisman is ancient-one magic, perhaps all that remains of those mysterious entities. It must have survived for a reason. Destiny."

  She stared at it, confusion swirling through her. "I…"

  "By itself, it won't destroy the machine, but if you hold the Shatkur Orb in the same hand that wears the talisman and focus your magic through the orb—lightning, I think, would work nicely—the orb will magnify the magic a thousandfold, a hundred thousandfold—maybe more."

  "Will that be enough?"

  "With the machine already in operation, the life force flowing into it and through the gateway to the queen's fortress … I think, yes. That energy already strains the machine to its critical tolerances. Use the talisman through the orb, and focus that power into the orb atop the machine. You recall I said the machine and the orb in the queen's fortress create a feedback loop?"

  "Yes."

  "Overload the feedback loop. Send a wave of unimaginably destructive energy through the gateway to the receptor on Faerum. Destroy the queen and all her servants in one blow."

  "Will that … reverse what's happened?"

  "Lizbeth-Chambers," said Kargin sadly, "there's … there's no…"

  "There's no way to reverse it," she said in a small voice, the horror of the situation a hammer blow to her soul.

  "You can still save your people, but you must strike soon, before they are all culled."

  "Okay," said Alex, joining them. "I'm as ready as I'm going to be. I brought you a SCAR, Elizabeth, but there's only a few magazines."

  He held one of the rifles out to her, but she shook her head. "I won't need a rifle."

  Kargin released Elizabeth's wrist. "I do not know what will happen when you overload the feedback loop, but it's most likely to be … overwhelming. I think it unlikely either of you will survive. Are you prepared to do this thing, Lizbeth-Chambers?"

  She met his gaze, her heart pounding wildly. "I am."

  Alex ran his hand down his face then sighed. "So we're back to being a suicide mission after all. On the bus, off the bus. Fine. I'm in."

  Kargin looked at Alex then at the spearhead that dangled near his waist. "My father would be proud to know you carry his weapon in a noble cause, Alex. I have one last request, although I doubt either of you will survive the day to fulfill it."

  "Go ahead," said Alex with a resigned smile. "We manlings may surprise you yet."

  "I now trust you with our greatest secret, one only Tlathia and I knew—not all my people were culled. A single dwarven city, Deep Terlingas, survives."

  "What? How?" asked Elizabeth.

  "The city lies buried deep beneath the surface of Faerum near a … special mineral deposit. It was shielded from the Culling Wave. But if the enemy discovers it, it truly shall be the end of the dwarven people."

  "But … why are you telling us this?" Alex asked.

  "Because you are both noble warriors and I need help. If you survive, find a way to save my people. Bring them here—away from the fae seelie. Give them a chance to survive on another world. Please, promise me." Kargin coughed up blood and spit but wiped his mouth and reached a hand out to Alex. "Please. I've n
ever asked nor begged anyone for anything, but I—"

  "You don’t ever need to beg," said Alex, gripping Kargin's forearm tightly. "I promise. If it is within my power, I will save your people."

  Standing back, watching the two of them, Elizabeth found it startling how, despite their differences, they were so similar—two warriors making a solemn promise.

  WITH ALEX WATCHING, Elizabeth and Kargin sat facing one another. Kargin held the dwarven crown Leela had been wearing in his lap. "Are you ready to link, Lizbeth-Chambers? To see where you must create the gateway?"

  Her skin flushed, her heart pounding, she nodded. "Hurry, please."

  Kargin placed the crown atop his head. "Link us, then."

  She channeled a trickle of mana into the stones on their crowns and felt a momentary wave of dizziness, followed by the near-instantaneous establishment of a mental link between her and Kargin.

  Do you hear my thoughts? Kargin asked her.

  I do. Show me.

  She saw through Kargin's eyes, into his memories. A flurry of images flashed before her: a battle within a wooden fort on an alien world, a fiery gateway through which she saw pristine northern forest, the boggart and troll soldiers of the dark elf army rampaging through the streets of Fort St. John. Then she saw the Culling Machine—knowing it for what it was in a moment. Coils of copper wires and crystal tubes were built around a gleaming golden tower with giant cylinders that reminded her of fuel tanks. Green mist pooled around the base of the machine, and metal steps led up to a platform built against the base of the tower. The machine stood upon a well-maintained grass field with thick woods in the background—a park, she suddenly realized. Dozens of dark-elf mages and warriors stood guard around the park, the sunlight reflecting from their naked weapons.

  She knew that park.

  Her vision drew back, revealing a residential street, school buildings, and homes. She saw Tlathia, kneeling behind the curtains of a large picture window, peering at the Culling Machine across the street. Elizabeth gasped. For the first time since the night of Clara's death, she felt God's hand guiding her.

  Elizabeth sat back, staring now at Kargin.

  Did you see it well enough? he asked.

  I see it—I know it. But how do I make the gateway?

  Picture the place, then channel mana into the orb. Best to hold it in a different hand from the one wearing the Brace—at least until it's time.

  I understand.

  Kargin pulled the crown from his head, his face crestfallen. "It… it has been my very great honor to fight beside you, Lizbeth-Chambers. We will not get drunk together after all, I think."

  "Thank … thank you," she answered, her voice breaking with the surge of emotions.

  "Elizabeth, are you okay?" Alex asked softly.

  "Get ready, Alex," she said, forcing conviction into her voice. "We're going into battle." Be brave, she told herself. It's time.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, grasping her arm and stopping her.

  "I'm fine." She pulled away, pulling the too-large Brace back up her forearm. She drew the Shatkur Orb from her pocket, making sure to hold it in her right hand, the one without the Brace. She stared at the miniature flashes of lightning within it, a violent storm within the palm of her hand.

  Strangely, she was at peace.

  "May your God watch over you," Kargin said sadly. "Goodbye, Lizbeth-Chambers. Goodbye, Alex the warrior."

  "Goodbye, Kargin Ice-Hand."

  She closed her eyes, picturing where she wanted to go, then channeled mana into the orb. She opened her eyes to see a fiery ring ten feet in diameter appear in the air before her. On the other side of the gateway was the living room where Kargin and Tlathia had spied upon the Culling Machine. She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for what was to come. "Go," she said to Alex.

  He stepped through first, his LMG at his shoulder, ready to fire.

  Elizabeth followed him…

  Stepping into the living room of the house she had grown up in.

  Her mother was wrong.

  She had come home again.

  55

  Elizabeth stood in her family's living room, feeling disconnected, like in a dream. Alex, with no way of understanding what she was going through, rushed to the edge of the large bay windows, peered out onto the street, and stared across the road at the North Peace Secondary School and the dwarven Culling Machine erected upon the park that surrounded it. Dark elf soldiers and mages stood guard around the machine, but they were barely in her thoughts as she stared at her home. The window was shattered, and the soft August wind blew through, rustling the red-brown rose-patterned curtains her mother had loved.

  "You did it, Elizabeth," Alex whispered in wonder. "We're right on target."

  She didn't answer.

  Someone—boggarts, she imagined—had ransacked her home. A leather couch lay tipped over, the thin fabric on the back ripped open to expose the coils and springs. Bright couch pillows had been shredded, their plush contents thrown about. Toys—Stephen's, she knew—were scattered about, all broken, clearly purposely crushed beneath boots … or hooves … whatever boggarts had. Most items in the living room had been callously destroyed. Even two of the legs of the hardwood coffee table had been snapped off so that the once-sturdy table—before which she had done so much homework—now sat lopsided, the coasters piled up on the floor where they had slid off. The huge plasma television screen—once her father's pride and joy—had been ripped from its mounts and now lay facedown, its expensive screen shattered, the glass shards lying about the floor.

  Her home was destroyed, an assault upon her as well.

  But why bring me here?

  What are you trying to show me?

  She wandered into the living room, giving no regard to who might see her through the window, strolled among the refuse of a childhood, and stopped before the fireplace mantel. She stared at the collection of framed photos of her and her family. Perhaps the boggarts had missed the mantel, because the photographs all remained upright, showing a montage of happy, smiling faces.

  An epiphany swept through her, almost flooring her—I was happy here. Despite the drinking, despite the arguments, I had a joyful childhood.

  And I loved my family.

  Certainly, her parents' drinking had created problems, driving Elizabeth to become a much harder person than she might have been, less tolerant of others, less forgiving and Christian than she should have been. But Clara had saved her from herself, from her own self-pity and misery, her own growing cruelty.

  She picked up a faded picture of her in a white gown—her First Communion. Her mother stood beside her in the photo, holding her hand. Her mother's eyes sparkled with love and pride. I've never really looked at this photo before; never saw the love—why not? It was always here, always on display.

  What else did I miss?

  Elizabeth smiled, feeling warmth flow through her. "I love you, Mom," she whispered. "And I forgive you."

  "Elizabeth!" Alex hissed. "Get down."

  He needn't have worried. God didn't bring her here only to stop her before her mission was done. It was stupid of her, but she knew the dark elves wouldn't see her—not yet. She placed the photo back, now seeing that one photo was lying face up among the others, as if it had been purposely set that way—a picture of her and Stephen, taken just before she left home to go to the Northern Lights College in Dawson Creek. Stephen had been seven at the time and devastated by her going away. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, refusing to let go when the taxi arrived. Her fingers hovered over the framed photograph. Something lay beneath it, causing it to lie at an angle.

  "There's a school across the street," Alex whispered, peering past the edge of the window. "I count a dozen dark elf guards, spears, swords, and some who are female—mages, I suspect. No trolls, nor any of those four-armed, fish-faced creatures they use as foot soldiers."

  "Boggarts," she said softly. "And the school is North Peace Secondary. The street
outside is Ninety-Third Avenue."

  Alex stared at her. "I … what's going on, Elizabeth?"

  An orange-brown cat padded softly into the living room and walked around the debris, going straight for her. It rubbed against her legs, softly purring. She bent down, picked Cookie up, and cradled her. Cookie purred, rubbing her head against Elizabeth's chin. With Alex still staring at her, his mouth open, she reached over and raised the framed photo of her and Stephen.

  A small white envelope lay underneath, with her name printed on it in Stephen's awkward handwriting.

  "Elizabeth?"

  Still cradling Cookie with one arm, she lifted the envelope, feeling paper sliding within it. Her skin tingling with anticipation, she tore the envelope open and pulled out a single folded piece of paper, which she opened. Elizabeth, her brother had written hastily, the secret place.

  Alex scurried over to stand behind her. "Elizabeth, I don’t understand what's happening, but if we're going to do this, it has to be now."

  Her eyes darted from the note to Alex. "Please, just one more thing. One more thing, then we'll go. It's why God brought us here."

  Still holding Cookie in her arm, she slipped away from the living room, moving down the hallway to the ransacked kitchen and its door to the basement. Alex trailed behind her, clearly lost.

  "Please," she said as she handed the squirming cat to Alex.

  Frowning, he held the cat in one hand and his LMG in the other, confusion on his features. She ran to the pantry, rooted about in the mess the boggarts had left, then found what she had been looking for—an unopened package of dry cat treats. She poured its contents onto the floor, and Cookie meowed loudly and leaped from Alex's arm to land upon the kitchen floor. She began to eat hungrily.

  "Don't make yourself sick," she softly told the cat. "That might be your last meal."

  Elizabeth opened the door to the basement and slipped down the stairs. With no other choice, Alex followed wordlessly. The basement was as bad as the rest of the house, with everything thrown about or broken. She ignored the mess, going straight to the old drying machine then grabbing its sides and rocking it back, exposing several inches of space behind it.