Faithless Steel

by J A Stone

  Warfell snorted as a horse might.

  When they queried the Heads of Staff further, Danica realized that Von Holt must have been there—or he closely knew someone who was. She suddenly burned for Tom Snow, her heart pumping faster in response to her thoughts. And as though British were listening:

  “We could use Tom-Tom on this.”

  “Damn skippy partner,” Danica returned with a sigh.

  “Perfect place to hide,” the Chief of Security added.

  “Come again Sir?” Danica wasn’t paying attention, still thinking about Tom.

  “The abandoned Throne Citadel,” answered the man.

  “It was indeed an important location and time in his life—clearly,” Bronson’s Chef Medical Officer finalized.

  “Thank you for your time gentlemen—we will find this man,” British Fey stood, followed by Bigfoot and Warfell.

  “You are welcome Good Knights, be careful out there,” spoken over distant background screams.

  “Be careful in here,” Warfell observed the ceiling for a brief second as the desperate human howls intensified. She promptly turned to follow her companions through the chamber doors for the exit checkpoints.

  On the road into Oceanport, they camped and rested. Warfell hunted and drank her fill as British and Robert slept.

  Deep within the folds of their restless dreams, Johnstone and Fey each had a visitor.

  British…it’s me, Tawnee’s sweet voice brought a smile to a sleeping Fey’s face. I think I have located Von Holt, on the Northern road, he has killed again. The smile dropped cold and British awakened, sitting up to meet Danica’s eyes across the fire.

  “I know where Von Holt is!” she said the words and Bigfoot bolted upright, shifting his head back and forth from pixie to wraith.

  “I know where the bad guy is!” he exclaimed.

  “We need to go straightaway,” British was already gathering her things, chirping for Snowflake.

  Fifty Miles South of Throne Citadel

  “Easy you guys—I see him,” Tommy slowly drew his shotgun free of the saddle straps and shucked a round into place. There was a man approaching; coming from off the road, looked worn down and haggard like he’d been walking for days.

  “You okay Mister?” Snow asked as they neared—this guy was in rough shape. Snow dismounted, keeping his barrel at waist level.

  “I could do with a bite to eat?” the man answered. He looked about forty, long black hair already beginning to gray. His complexion was pale and he was skinny—this man had been malnourished for a long time. Who was he to judge? Tommy had much bigger problems at that moment.

  “Sure buddy,” he shouldered his rifle and patted the Deerhound, clinging to his side, clearly a little nervous. “This is Stroke.”

  “Why do you call him Stroke?”

  “Because he had a stroke.”

  “Fair-nuff.”

  “Do I know you?” that accent was familiar to Tom.

  “I don’t think so…Larry, Larry Jones. My wife kicked me out…it’s been three weeks.” Von Holt was not about to use his real name.

  “John, Johnny Smith.” Yeah Tommy wasn’t about to toss any Snowmen into the air either. “I heard that—here,” he tossed a small bag of dried jerky and grain the stranger’s way and Larry snatched the tasty prize with lust in his eyes. “Listen Larry, I can’t stop, headed for Salt Mountain, you have a good day now.”

  “Wait!” Larry called out to Tommy’s back at ten paces, “can I hang with you for the night? I haven’t had anyone to talk to for days and I can earn my keep.”

  Snow stared hard at this feeble man standing half-frozen in the snow.

  “Most days I’d say yeah, but right now I am having some problems with a very bad man, in fact—” Tommy abruptly realized that the Arenthian would probably feed on this fellow as soon as they were out of sight. Shit biscuits! He couldn’t leave an unarmed bloke out there with a monster on the loose!

  “Bad men don’t scare me,” the stranger added and Tom relented.

  “This one will. Tell you what, stick with me until the next town up ahead—Pine Valley.”

  “Thank ye boss,” the emaciated traveler responded and they moved on slowly.

  Great, now I have a liability, thought Tom, juuuust great!”

  As they walked, Tom studied the man; he seemed so damned familiar and the slight accent was pushing on the Snowman’s mind. Somewhere deep in there, he knew that unusual speech. He found himself wishing he’d spent more time with British studying and learning. The boss was like a library of knowledge and wisdom—she’d recognize the inflections and tones immediately.

  At rest, Tom asked as he administered the mineral oil drops for a grateful Stroke.

  “Larry, your accent, is it from Silver Hills?”

  “Mah Grandparents were from the Shinto Islands,” answered Larry. Tom snapped fingers and pointed with a smile.

  “Okay, now I can hear it,” said Tom. Bullshit, he thought as Stroke darted away, probably to down a quick meal, he’s lying.

  “Where’s ya pooch off to?”

  “Catching his dinner, start a fire and I’ll cut you some strips off,” Tom moved to the brush line and excised a long stick. He then tossed the wood and a small hunting knife to his temporary traveling companion who tells lies. “Carve a good poker and I’ll toss you the strips.”

  “Sure,” Larry was a little confused. He understood fully when the huge canine returned and plopped a stag at his Master’s feet. The man watched intently for several minutes….

  “Wow, and he won’t let you leave?”

  “Yeah! Weird huh?” Tom cut and tossed the meat to Larry as promised.

  “Seems like—as good—a time as any,” Larry said with a mouthful of raw venison.

  “For what?” asked Tom.

  “To steal your horse,” answered Larry-not with an evil grin as he rose and mounted Trillium bareback. “Sorry but I need her more than you do.”

  “Well son of a bitch,” Tommy tried to stand and Stroke forced him back down. “Not a good time buddy!” he said uselessly as the Deerhound held his boots next to the carcass.

  “Later days,” Larry tried to bring Trillium about, but the intelligent mare threw him, shrugging the lightweight rider to the hard snowy ground with a grunt.

  Stroke stopped his meal and lunged for Larry, still on his back, trying to regain his lost wind.

  Tommy leaped up and snatched his shotgun from the gear-pile, leveling his sights on the would-be horse thief’s skull.

  “Okay Mister Jones let’s begin with your real name,” Tom ordered and Stroke growled for emphasis, bringing his bloody maw close enough for Larry to feel the hot hound breath in his face. Larry held the dog’s gaze for a long moment until he finally replied.

  “Surprised ya didn’t recognize me straightaway—it has been fifteen years Second Lieutenant Snow.”

  Tommy’s brain made the final connections—the accent was Kotare—and this was Theoneidon, AKA The One. Tommy surged with sudden rage, remembering the aftermath of the massacre. Their Scout never returned—presumed dead.

  “Where were you when the Wasp was ambushed Theo?”

  “It’s The One to you and I was collecting my gold for selling Warfell’s sweet ass out to the enemy,” answered without hesitation. “Good to see you made it,” he laughed. Tom exhaled sharp in disbelief and shook his head.

  “She made it out too—I work for Warfell,” said Tom while thinking, do I still? Will they take me back?

  “Yeah I know. Most folks know of the Seven Devils, Lieutenant. You and your friends make me sick, poking noses in everyone’s business like you own the moon. I feel sorry for you, answering like a blind moron to those two bitches. Did you ever get a chance to nail her? Warfell?”

  BOOM! the two inch nickel slug erupted through the backside of Theoneidon’s cranium, splashing the snow red and sending Stroke into a frenzy of excitement, barking and howling, leaping about.

  “Nobody n
ails Danica Warfell,” he whispered to the former Kotare Scout, once honored to serve under the immortal Winter Wasp, now reduced to Deerhound chow. Snow sat next to the body and forcefully kicked it towards Stroke.

  “Eat his face off for me buddy,” he asked.

  Stroke did not, and that was okay. He did however, take his fill of muscle and gut as Tommy resumed the tale of young Danica like nothing had happened.

  “Now where was I? Oh yeah, the Senate Chambers, we got there without any further problems. It was a good thing we relocated the Elders too. The Citadel wasn’t safe anymore. And if you are wondering, yes, once and wow, but I was pretty-much just there for the ride….”

  *

  “Snowman,” Warfell greeted her new LT outside of the mess hall, examining him up and down like a slab of moose.

  “Hey there Captain, I drank the green wine—different this time—is that oak leaves or grass I still taste?” Tommy was being a little sarcastic, though his heart screamed for him to say something suave, ask her something—anything!

  “Come with me Number Two,” she said the words and Snow smiled inside, completely unaware he was already fast in love, only wanting to be near her, involved with her time.

  “Aye, what’s up?” he asked as they walked the grounds of the mountain retreat. Once the estate of a wealthy Throne Baron, the property was gifted to the King, fortified and walled. The Senate Chambers was erected from on-site marble. The massive building served as a bunker and meeting place for the Council of Elders. The Senate Chambers was the hub of the small village tucked away in the mountain pass called Nook Valley.

  They arrived at an unmarked building.

  “Nothing—in here,” Danica passed through the double portico to a deep hallway. As they walked quietly, he noted doors to rooms, numbered with mail slots. These were apartments—bachelor officer’s quarters.

  “And home is where they tell me it is,” Danica sighed as she keyed the lock to room #107. “Some quiet day, I wanna live on the beach—or in a tree—anywhere it’s warm and peaceful.”

  Tom’s eyes floated about the walls adorned with weaponry, antique gear and brass instruments from centuries past. The interior was wood, with nets, harpoons and fishing gear to one side. Another wall held her service medals and Throne of Steel shield, gauntlets and weapons. There was a bar with bottles of rare ales, porters, stouts and expensive black lagers. In the center of the room she had a massive leather couch with an oaken table to the side covered in maps and knives, compasses, and rare polished stones from all over Aleutha.

  He approved, sighed and wished he had a cool flat like this one.

  “Cappy I love your pla—”

  She attacked—shoving him to the padded leather—taking what she wanted.

  Hours later, he stared at the walls as Danica showered in the attached steam room. Of course she had a sauna.

  “SO YOU LIKE?” she shouted over the water. Tommy rose and walked to the threshold of the bath, losing his breath at the sight.

  “What,” he stammered like a fool. “That?” he pointed to her athletic body, “or this amazing flat?” he motioned over a shoulder.

  “That never happened Snowman,” she snatched a towel and covered her lower half as a man would, tucking the fold in tight. “Forget my awesome apartment.”

  “Does this?”

  “NO, this does not.”

  “But what if…”

  “Listen,” she relaxed with a seductive smile. “I like you Snowman okay? But sex and love are things the warrior can only taste of. Heart-fancies must take a seat far in the back, savvy? One day there will be time for these things, but now we are at war and you seemed like…you just seemed…” she trailed away in a distant thought or memory and Tommy sighed, nodding. He understood well enough.

  “Damn right I like. It‘s good—great—amazing, and this place!” he spun about with a true smile, detracting from her depressing noble truths and pointing to a set of marksman’s rifles mounted in a crossing pattern. “Do you snipe?”

  “Little bit,” she was being modest—Tommy noticed the trophies. “You?”

  “Not really,” he approached the set and continued as she slipped into her leathers. “My Gramps was a sharpshooter—he taught me a few things—enough to bag a squirrel in a pinch,” he turned around and they both smiled.

  “You better go Snowman. Tonight, we spar on deck for the Senators.”

  “Who’s on rotation?” Tom asked.

  “You and I—did I not tell you that? I intend to put on a show of skill so you might want to get some rest.”

  Tom was not ready for that—he made for the door quietly.

  “Bring the Thronesword LT. The old men don’t believe needles work.”

  “Got it—I’ll make you proud.”

  “Oh—you already did—that Longsword works great,” she added to his back and he left with the grin of a school kid and sparkly blue eyes.

  That night, the air was cold—the wind bursting in tight gusts across the wooden sparring platform. Seated before a trough of glowing coals, the Elders watched in amusement as Danica Warfell took the decking, approaching the men with a soft countenance and a warm smile.

  “My Lords, you have asked for my opinions. Though I feel it is not my place to speak, I shall oblige you good Sirs. All of you know I think best when fighting, so…” she bowed deeply, holding the position for a brief moment, and then rising to her proud six feet. She studied the Elders, making eye contact with each. At length she spoke.

  “My new Lieutenant has proven to be quite the Swordsman. This equifade we shall demonstrate with the mighty Thronesword. My Lords I give you Lieutenant Thomas Barrow Snow.”

  Tommy took the stage, bowing low and deep.

  They began slow as Danica spoke from behind her weapon.

  “General Hamstead cannot be trusted,” she parried a thrust, expertly reposting sharp and strong. “He has proven this time and again.” Tom kept the pace steady, meeting his Commander’s weapon faithfully as she continued.

  “Personally, I would bring our forces to bear on the grasslands, cut the supply wagons from the southwestern passes and cripple them,” Warfell said the words and the old men murmured amongst themselves.

  “Negotiations for peace must be conducted from a superior vantage point,” now Danica accelerated her moves, winking at Tom before issuing a flurry of strikes.

  Shit biscuits! Thought the Snowman as he suddenly struggled to keep up his defenses and not get cut.

  “The Governor of Moor has lost sight of his people,” Warfell slowed her attack, relaxing the melee. “Any man or woman, so easily baited by idle rumor and offhand comments, has no place in the,” she struck hard from above.

  “Political,” again, harder.

  “Atmosphere,” fast from the side.

  “Of this Good Aleutha,” Danica clipped Snow’s crossbars and slid the pommels together, drawing the two combatants face to face. She abruptly pushed Tommy away and faced the Elders, placing the tip of her Thronesword on the wooden planking, again meeting each person’s gaze solemnly. Tom took stance behind her and to the left, waiting patiently as she spoke to the old men like a mother.

  “This is our home—not just these grand mountains, but all of Aleutha. We cannot sit idly aloof when tyrants run unchecked. My Mom was born in Moor; many of you have family there as well…”

  *

  “They loved her like a Daughter. She spoke the truth you guys—you think they would have listened better,” Tom leaned over what was left of Theoneidon. Stroke was rubbing his mouth in a snow-pack, cleaning his face of the blood, Trillium was close, listening to Tom’s warm voice, occasionally tamping the ground.

  “Half a day to Pine Valley and screw it, I’m getting’ a room with a shower,” Snow hoisted the saddlery, realizing he would always be a saddle-man. He gently tightened the tack, mounted and walked Trillium to the road.

  Tom stopped cold on the path—the Arenthian was there—standing silently not fif
ty-feet away—blocking his way home.

  Oceanport, Base of Salt Mountain

  British Fey cantered her Tiborean Snowhorse down a cobbled path. Warfell and Bigfoot were ascending the Salt to gather provisions, extra weapons and maybe another Knight or two.

  Fey was on a quick side-mission to find Iris. She had an idea.

  Above, far above, the cable-lift finally reached the first level and Rob and Danica made straight for Whiterock’s common area deep within the Salt—they needed to appraise the Knights.

  “Eventine, will you sound the mission peal?”

  “Aye Captain,” the Denga Master bolted away.

  Moments later, Delacroix returned with Garrett, Dobra, Howie, Tawnee, Magnus, Corella and a handful of Staff. They gathered about faithfully…

  “I need one more Knight, the hunt is on for Tommy and the Arenthian. We all know how powerful this creature can be…in fact give me two.”

  Tawnee and Eventine stepped forward without hesitation.

  “Okay Garrett, you are in charge. Boys? Take care of our home. Listen to Garrett and Master Magnus.”

  Dobra and Howie nodded solemnly.

  “Yes Ma’am,” they said together. Danica grew unexpectedly worried—the Knights were spreading thin already. “Corella, I am counting on you to step up.”

  “Right-o Captain,” she replied.

  Jimmy was there with his small galley staff and the remnants of their construction crew. He and Garret’s wife Samantha conducted most of Whiterock’s house business from food to linens. Following the subduction and loss of Fort Salvos, only a handful of the civilians stayed on, (who could blame them?) and several of those remained behind at Fey Mansion with Mrs. Donabrook and Master Po. The Salt Knights were vulnerable like this.