by J A Stone
“Hey!” British chimed from behind the massive counter. Corella had installed a platform running the length of the bar, bringing British eye to eye with the patrons.
“Hey yourself partner,” said Danica warmly. “Love what you’ve done to the place,” she took a stool and Tom, Corella and Howie did the same.
“Thanks,” the pixie dropped her smile to the polished wood. “There is something I want each of you to do.”
“Name it,” Warfell’s eyes dilated.
“First off, Howie, when I tell you, I need you to pick a fight with the man in booth number twelve.”
Howie remembered the floor plan. He nodded.
“The Dwarf?” asked Danica without looking. Of course she had taken in the room.
“Yeah, he looks familiar, been coming in here, something about him. I got Dobra in the back room and Tawnee’s with us so we are good. Corella?”
“Yes Ma’am?”
“I need you to return to the Salt and warn Iris.”
“Of?—“
“No message, listen,” British leaned forward, “return through the tunnel on one of the Danes, fast. I want you to time yourself, take Domino, the big one.” Domino was second to Landreth in size and a hearty runner. Once the Dane Den opened to the passageway, the Huntsman’s Hounds immediately began patrolling the tunnels like clockwork, without being told to do so. The catacombs beneath the mountain now officially belonged to the Danes.
“Right-o Boss,” Cora nodded.
“This is a speed drill, savvy? Iris stops the timer, she’s waiting,” British smiled as Tawnee came behind her with two mugs of froth and two shot glasses of what looked to be warmed red wine.
Tom and Danica threw back the hot pig’s blood as if it was whiskey. Cora and Howie sipped their beers, more to whet the lips than anything.
“What about us?” Tommy asked.
“I need you both to go to a south-side pub called the Sea Cutter and poke around, look for a young man with a Blackbird on his shoulder. He has white hair like you partner—name’s Furtado.”
Warfell knew the name. Furtado was a Gudoshi Assassin on contract with a syndicate in Moor.
“Think he’s in town?”
“I do. Tawnee caught a fast glimpse of him in her meditations. He is way off territory and I want to know why. Locate and follow—capture if you feel skippy.”
“Got it,” said Danica, rising to a proud stand with the Snowman.
Watch the Bird, Tawnee signed with her hands and a concerned gaze.
“Will do, thanks, have fun with your bar fight,” said Tom as he followed Danica like a lost puppy.
“Okay Corella, leave now and get to the Salt as fast as you can. Here,” Fey gave the girl her timepiece. “Start clocking the second you get on Domino’s back, okay?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Go.”
Corella stood and walked behind the bar, casually taking the double doors to the back room and waiving hello to Dobra before hitting the stairs.
“Howie?”
“Yes?”
“What’cha waiting on Son?”
“Oh! Shit! Sorry, um, right, may I?” Howie motioned to the almost full mugs on the counter.
“Absolutely,” British grinned.
Howie grabbed the brews and made his way to the back of the bar. There in booth twelve, sat a very large Dwarven man with blond hair and green eyes. Howie smiled as he approached.
“Hey handsome,” Howie set both mugs to the table and sat across from the stranger.
“Piss on ye little boy,” the Dwarf replied, pushing his empty stein aside and dragging one of the glass mugs towards himself.
“My name is Howard Humphrey Hall,” said the young man.
“Good for ye,” the man drank all of the beer and set the mug down, now pulling the second his way. “State ye affair little boy.”
“Well, I hate midgets so I was thinking about kicking your ass all over this bar,” Howie laughed, “but then I thought it would be pretty cool to poison you instead.”
“What?” the Dwarven man stopped drinking, paused with a shrug, and then continued. “Ye aint never gonna kill one of us that-a-way little boy,” he was correct and Howie knew it. There was no poison anyway.
“Yeah I knew that. What if I called you a stupid motherfucker?”
“Ye aint gonna rile me little—“
Howie spit in the man’s face, but the Dwarf caught the sputum in his mouth like a tossed grape, swallowed it and grinned.
Across the bar, British and Tawnee jerked heads back in surprise.
“What is he doing?” asked Fey. Shadow shook her head side to side.
At the booth, Howie had no other choice. He abruptly stood, lifting the table up to crash it over.
The powerful Dwarf thrust his muscled arms down, pinning the wooden furniture to the floor.
Howie let go, backed away and pulled his Rapier.
“What be ye problem?” the man asked incredulously, raising his left arm, revealing an iron shackle about the wrist.
British saw it. She leaped the bar and ran with Tawnee behind her.
The Sea Cutter
On the south side of the city, Warfell and Snow pushed through the doors and surveyed the crowded hall of the Cutter, a lower class establishment catering to dock workers—big ones too. At first glance, she was the only white-haired person on the brute-filled premises. She abruptly turned around grabbing Tom’s hand, walking back outside.
“Meet me on the rooftops across the street, love you,” she dashed off to the left. Tommy bounced and bolted right.
Once they were gone, a young man with shoulder length white hair emerged from a thin side alley. He looked to his left and whispered.
“They know we were here,” he said as a Mynah bird materialized on his shoulder.
Time to tell Murdoc, My Problem squawked, two of their strongest are away from the mountain.
“Where is Murdoc now?” asked Furtado, regressing into the shadows again. The bird remained silent with its eyes wide and glazed over for a brief moment.
He is inside a bar, drinking and fighting, the Mynah with obsidian plumage answered faithfully. Wait…he is against two of the Seven Devils and two of their Salt Knights. Murdoc needs help! Run!
“We should stick to the plan and submerge.”
Do you wish to be the only human beneath the city streets with those things? the bird whispered in Furtado’s ear and the young man gulped.
“Good point, where are the Gudoshi right now?”
Camped on the north face of the Salt at six thousand feet, waiting my signal to move.
“And which bar is Murdoc in?”
The old Boomers Gentlemen’s Club. Someone bought it and reopened under the name Stage Three.
“Stupid name. Okay, signal the Gudoshi and meet me at Boomers,” Furtado nodded and the bird disappeared. He rounded a corner—straight into Tom Snow.
The tunnel
Corella had to hold Domino’s neckline and gruff to keep from falling. For once, she was glad to be only a hundred pounds. The Dane was twice her size and incredibly fast; so much so, she had to splay on her stomach, lying on the wide back and praying the beast knew the way. The light was faint, with British yet to install an argon system, but Cora had faith in the Hound. He and his brethren had been running the passage for two weeks now and could do it with their eyes shut.
Eventine and the other Danes had reentered the mountain’s folds to give Corella and Domino a clear path. Even the tireless Aurora took a break from her relentless cleaning and smoothing of the pathway. She left early to hunt in the topside forests.
At the halfway mark, Cora nearly fell when Domino jerked, dodging an obstacle in the dark. She tensed as the massive dog slowed, then bounced and then came to a stop. She slid from the hot torso and fumbled in her vest for a light.
“Damn it all,” she cursed herself, unable to find it. Suddenly her hair stood on end and Domino began to growl. Someone was th
ere. Corella placed a hand on Domino’s neckline and slowly drew her Temporal Blade.
The light was faint. Cora remembered British was waiting for a Dwarven crew to fabricate special copper filament so they could run the argon system. No time—she saw an image, a tall dark image not ten feet away. The young woman took a deep breath and tensed, when the shadow shook a small glow-stick, held it to her face and smiled. It was Aurora.
“You’re early,” the High Arenthian stepped closer.
“They have me running a drill, thirsty?” Corella raised her weapon and brought it down across Domino’s nape, taking the canine’s head clean. “I brought you a drink.”
No reply. Aurora moved fast, grabbing the girl’s leathers, pulling her tight and thrusting her open mouth over her lips. Corella responded with her tongue and a moan of pleasure. They kissed furiously, desperately, until Aurora pushed her human lover away.
“Gods I’ve missed you,” Corella whispered, “these self-righteous people are killing me.”
“Patience, do you want some? I would recommend it for the fight to come,” Aurora pushed back a sleeve and cut her skin with a fingernail.
Cora latched on like a starving calf.
“Save the dog for Murdoc’s Labyrinth Scouts. Come with me,” the Arenthian pulled Corella’s head away from her arm by the hair a moment later and pushed her mouth against hers again, both tongues flailing, probing, searching for the anxious ecstasy.
Whiterock
Bigfoot Bob and Iris were back in the galley, no baking this time. She sat on a stool as her friend drank water from a wine bottle, seemingly lost in thought, staring at the wall.
“What’s theh matter?” she asked.
“Iris?”
“Yes?”
Now Robert was nervous, so rare to see when not alone, in the dark or confronted with big scary words.
“Tell meh anything partner,” she reassured with a small hand atop his.
“Something is not right,” Robert met her eyes.
“Yeh fell it too? Aurora sets meh wrong.”
“What?” Robert relaxed. “I was gonna ask if I’m just too big and ugly for someone as pretty as you, but this is better.”
“What?” now Iris tensed, her grey eyes popping wide, realizing that Robert just made an overture—a romantic one. To punctuate, Samantha and Garret walked by an open portal, holding hands. Seems everyone was pairing up, Danica and Tom, British and Tawnee, Corella and Howie.
“I was right,” Bigfoot’s shoulders slumped.
“No-no-no Robert, no,” Iris smiled. “I do like yeh. I thought yeh knew this!” she hopped to the counter, sitting across from Robert, scooting in to face him. She kissed him on the lips, (first time ever!) and Robert John Stone’s heart began to pound like a sledgehammer in his massive chest.
“I was being—“
“A good Knight?” Iris interrupted with a warm smile.
“Yeah, um whaaaaa?” Robert looked down to the traveling foot as Iris fondled him rudely.
Stage Three
“YOU!” British barked, sliding to a stop next to Howie.
“Who?” asked Murdoc with open palms as Tawnee came to Howie’s other side.
“How in THE FUCK are you breathing air?” asked the pixie, remembering Shadoweye’s Scimitar protruding from the Dwarf’s sternum beneath Fort Salvos one year past.
“I eat good, drink plenty of nog,” Murdoc leaned back with a handsome grin. “I aint here to ruffle ye little panties. I know this here be your cave. I come with a message for ye.”
“Which would be?” British was seconds away from killing him, again, on principle alone.
“We know where the hidden steel is beneath the mountain. Ye should have put more stock in the pride of the Dwarven Clans ye wee little tender bottom.”
British’s blood boiled to the sounds of those words. Murdoc continued.
“The bloodlines run deep and have mixed with ye own over the centuries. Mark my words—the Second Dynasty will have its revenge on ye for steppin’ on their bones, and the desecration of their wares.”
As he spoke, Tawnee remembered the fading words of the Aequitas Caelum just months ago. The blood, follow the blood, he said. As Tawnee’s mind raced to make the connections, young Dobra screamed from the back room.
City Streets of Oceanport
That very moment, Tom Snow was sprawled on his back on the cobble, staring at the sky, wondering just how a skinny man half his age put him on the ground so fast. Then he remembered—there was a bird. It flew at, and then through him! He remembered the cold shudder, feeling the knuckles on his jaw and the flash of light.
“Danica’s gonna kill me,” he mumbled, rising to his elbows to see her standing five feet away, tapping a boot with arms crossed beneath breasts.
“Found him I assume?” she asked.
“Yup!”
“Get up Snowman. I know exactly where he’s going.”
“How so?”
“Just a guess,” Danica offered a hand and a smile, staring at the name Stage 3 scrawled in ink on Tommy’s forehead.
Stage Three, back room
Enthralled, Dobra was watching the confrontation at booth twelve through the cracked double-doors when scaly, clawed hands snatched his neck like a vise.
He spun and broke the hold, bashing the arms away to see the ten-foot lizard-like creature before him. No time for shock, with his Claymore sheathed, the muscled brute catapulted his fists repeatedly, strafing them across the jawline and skull until the beast fell limp into his arms. Dobra shoved the Therian away only to see three more approaching from the wide-open stairwell. The young Knight howled at the top of his lungs, forcefully snatched the two-handed sword from his back and charged.
One hundred feet away in the barroom, Murdoc exploded into action, hefting the thick wooden table like a toy and throwing it at Howie, British and Tawnee. British leaped free, the heavy wood crashing into Howie and Shadoweye sending both to the floor with muffled grunts beneath splintered wood.
The tall Dwarf picked up a short handled doubled-bladed axe and spun the implement above his head, now taking two steps out to square off with the intrepid British Fey.
“This is all she wrote for you buddy,” the pixie warrior drew the Westbury Scimitar and the Coralo Machete, taking two leaping bounds and engaging the maniacally laughing Dwarven Kin head-on.
Sparks flashed with each contact as ax and chain met Fey’s blades. British remembered to watch out for the left hook and did so repeatedly as the insanely well-muscled arms thrust out over and again. She ducked, dodged, rolled and leaped, jabbing and stabbing with every motion taken. Within seconds, the two adversaries were destroying the bar as little British would climb atop tables and leap away, Murdoc’s axe shattering the wood with astounding force.
Beneath booth twelve, Tawnee opened her eyes to see Howie’s blank stare—his neck disjointed at an uncanny angle. She closed the young Knight’s eyes with two fingers and rose to a shaky stand. She heard Dobra fighting in the back, saw British playing tag with the mad Dwarf, and made her choice.
The Tunnel
They waited patiently, pressed against the walls as the huge Therian Scouts entered the tunnel through the secret entrance Aurora had so carefully camouflaged. The lizard men began lumbering towards the Salt.
“Shouldn’t we be heading for the mountain with them?” asked Corella.
“No, the strongest Devils are still in the city, with me, the Gudoshi will handle Bigfoot, Iris and Eventine. Murdoc is already in the bar with five of his Scouts.”
Booth twelve, Cora thought, clever.
Aurora kissed the girl roughly one last time, bounced, and took off running, keeping her pace purposefully slow to accommodate the weaker Sapient. With fresh, hot Arenthian blood flowing through her system, the human traitor matched stride easily as the two shot through the near dark. Sprinting with that incredible energy coursing through her, the question burned its way from Corella’s black heart to her cold
lips.
“When it’s over—will you—will you do it to me?”
“I will,” the blond-haired beauty issued her hollow promise. “I will make you like me Corella and keep you forever.”
Whiterock’s Dane Den
Eventine Delacroix mingled with the pack of noble Hounds for a while. Stroke was there, the Deerhound bouncing about and playing with the others like a pup. It took months to train Stroke to eat with the pack away from Tom Snow his beloved Master, and the ten-foot long beast was finally living a more social life with the rest of the canines.
Antigua yelped near the doorway to the upper levels and Eventine remembered, so transfixed she was with the humor of the gentle beasts.
“Thanks sweetie,” the former Denga Master pushed her way to the steps and left the canines to eat, play and relax. Corella should be on her way by now and she had to get Iris.
At the galley threshold, Eve stopped, frozen in place.
“I EAT BREAKFAST ON THAT SURFACE!” she exclaimed and Iris leaped away from Robert like a startled cat.
“SORRY!” Robert yelled back, fumbling with his pants, still fully clothed but fully grown as well. He turned his back like a kid and closed his eyes tight.
“Weh were just—” Iris tried.
“Skip it girl, you should to be downstairs, the drill with Cora?” Eve crossed her arms tight beneath her breasts as Warfell so often did. The embarrassed Grey Arenthian bolted for the threshold, paused to waive bye to Robert with two fingers, and disappeared.
Eventine stared at Bigfoot Bob’s back as a stern mother might.
“Really Robert?”
“She kissed me Missus Delacroix,” the giant turned and smiled wildly, closing his eyes tight again to remember the moment forever. “On my mouth!”
Across from Robert, Eve could not help but grin herself.
