Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King

by Morgan Blayde

  They were currently being usurped by stranger: a man and woman with the silver weapons strapped onto their elaborately jeweled clothing. They had the ears of the fey, and smelled of fey magic. The man had spade-shaped shoulder pads trimmed in white braid. His hair was cut short, a roiling of reds, browns, and dusky golds—colors stolen from autumn. His suit was bronze and rust silk. Ruffles down his chest tried to give a sense of mass. The truth was, a strong wind could have probably snapped him in half. He wore a ring carved from bone, a bird skull on it instead of a stone. His eyes were half-lidded, barely containing an aura of menace.

  Autumn Court fey, I decided. And not a low-level lackey.

  As Leona looked them over, sniffing delicately, her hackles bristled with threat. A low growl hung in her throat. Our visitor gave no sign of caring.

  I studied the woman. She was what Izumi would call “dark fey”. Her skin was fair, creamy white. Her eyes were a dance of violet and sapphire. Her full lips were pursed, almost pouty. It was her soul that was dark. Her magic. She wore a black opal necklace with red, green, and blue motes adrift in their depths. Her gown was solarized; that slightly oily, headed-for-brown tone you get from frequent sun bleaching—the color of spoiled black. She wore a saber-tooth necklace, over-sized cat teeth strung out on her ample chest. Her hair waved with a life of its own, like kelp stirred by a dark sea current.

  Of the two, she was the dangerous one. A child of fear and terror, a maiden of the Nightmare Courts.

  Now, I finally had faces for two members of the alliance that was out to destroy me. The woman on Izumi’s thrown stood so she could tower over me, staring down in cold fascination. “So, you are what all the fuss is about?”

  I looked past her at the empty throne. “What were you thinking? Izumi’s going to have to get that steam-cleaned now. Tell me, have you bathed this year?”

  The man leaped off my throne. He lifted a single finger like a great orator about to make a telling point to crush me utterly.

  I slanted him a narrow look. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Leona snickered.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Armed, drunk, and feeling no

  pain explains most of my life.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The man shouted, “How dare you!”

  “Quite easily, I assure you.” I held up a palm and said to the lady, “Excuse me, I need a moment.” Staring down at Leona, I said, “Over here.”

  Turning my back, I walked to the edge of the fire pit. This wasn’t as foolish as it seemed. They’d have launched a sneak attack already if they thought they could get away with it. It seemed like there was something else they wanted. Maybe all the assassins they’d thrown at me, which I’d killed, had forced the idea through their tiny minds that a half-dragon could be more of a problem than a full-blooded one. Maybe they were looking for a way to save face while dropping the whole thing. Maybe they wanted to know if I’d let them just walk away. Or more likely, they were here scouting out the place to make better attack plans.

  One thing I did know, they weren’t really on the dais. My dragon enhanced senses hadn’t picked up heartbeats or scents. The man’s Autumn Court magic centered on the process of decay; he was a bit player. For pulling a fast one, my money was on the lady with her Nightmare Court illusions. She was capable of constructing a waking dream and altering perceptions.

  “So what are we going to talk about?” Leona asked. “The weather? Why are we killing them right now?”

  I used a very low voice. “If it looks too good to be true, it is. We could be inside a nightmare that has yet to show its true face. The woman is Nightmare Court. The weakness of her power is she can’t provide sensory input that is outside her experience. The two on the dais are smoke and mirrors. Our real enemy is close, but not too close. I’ll keep everyone’s attention focused on me.”

  “Sure, you’re favorite thing to do.”

  “Just wait here, and slink off when you can. Find them!” I walked back to the two “ghosts” on the dais, smiling as I got closer. I stepped up on the dais and walked straight toward my throne. The man was all blistery, but hopped out of my way, avoiding contact. He apparently didn’t realize that his partner would have provided the sensation of contact. I had the feeling she was very good.

  I sat, crossed my legs, and looked over at the woman. “So, what’s on your mind? And—if you don’t mind telling me—why exactly is it you’re trying to kill me?”

  She snorted delicately. “You weren’t supposed to be such a thorny tangle. I really wish you’d had the decency to die under our attacks.”

  I flushed all of my tattoos with raw magic, a tingle caressing my skin. I wanted all my options ready. I paid a price for that: meat-hooks-tearing-through-your-body kind of pain. Hiding my pain, I only wept on the inside.

  I said, “You didn’t answer the question.”

  She sighed languidly. “No, I didn’t, did I? Well, we all have our reasons. Jehmael, my beloved prince, hates the idea of any outsider holding fey land, ruling among his betters.”

  I knew Jehmael’s name from hours of research. He’d just recently ascended to the throne of the Storm Court at his father’s death.

  The lady went on, “And there is the matter of you killing his little sister after she tried to assassinate you in this very keep.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember that, but I didn’t kill her. She used a Shadow Court charm to destroy herself after I’d cornered her.” Commendable loyalty. Her brother ought to be proud.

  I lifted an eyebrow at woman, “And you?”

  “You spoiled my plans once. You might do so again. That is all the reason I need.”

  “I’d remember if we’d crossed sword before. Maybe you have me confused with some other well-hung demon lord.”

  She laughed. “Oh, no mistake. I had engineered the fall of my rival court…”

  The Dream Court. The case I’d taken down in Sacramento, recovering a stolen relic of great power. Okay, the pieces are falling into place.

  “What’s his story?” I pointed a thumb at the man glowering at me, his arms crossed on his shallow chest. Age is difficult to judge where fey are concerned, but I thought he might not be long out of adolescence. He’d be the best target for getting someone to boil over. He was halfway there already.

  The woman’s gaze flicked to her partner, then returned to me. “You’ve killed various members of his family as they tried to kill you. Makes it personal for him.”

  I nodded in understanding. “That would piss me off, too.” I looked at the fey male. “Hey, ass wipe, are you too afraid to challenge me in person? Got no guts?”

  The fey lord bunched as if he were about to fling himself at me. He suddenly relaxed, but the fire lingered in his eyes. I took this to mean that he hastily remembered he didn’t really have a body on the dais to use in attacking me. I think the nightmare zone of the woman’s power was very real for him. If I shot or stabbed his phantom body, and he believed it, his real body might actually acquire the wounds. They used to say that if you died in a dream, you’d die in your sleep, that snapping awake mid-terror was the mind’s defense mechanism.

  “Round-eared bastard!” the lord muttered.

  I casually glanced past the fire pit, noting that Leona had vanished without drawing attention. Good girl. My focus went back to the woman. “So, you want to tell me your names?”

  She inclined her head in regal allowance. “I am Alyssa, Mistress of Nightmare, and the True Fist of Darkness. A trusted advisor to the queen.” She flicked fingertips at her companion. “That’s Tallow.”

  Tallow said, “Lord Tallowyne, Knight of the Autumn Court.” He drew a deep breath of pride. “It is a name you will one day take to your grave, scoundrel.”

  I had all I figured I’d get: their names, most of their faces, and their motivations. C’mon,

  Leona, find their hiding spot. One quick, surgical strike could end all this and blow the clouds away from my coronation date.

>   “Look,” I said, “I’m not going to get any easier to kill. You might as well call the whole thing off, and let bygones be bygones.” Bygones. Such a weird word. Talking to the fey always screws up my language. I start sounding like them after a while.

  The woman smiled with just a hint of effort. “You know, you just might be right. Quarreling with you hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”

  I smiled back just as insincerely. “Which is why you took personal charge of things.”

  “It’s that obvious?” Her gaze widened. Her body stilled. Her smile wilted. Her breath went very shallow, then stopped altogether as she forgot to maintain that part of her illusion. Three thin, faint scratches materialized on her throat. A couple beads of blood dotted those lines: the marks of Leona’s claws. This threat to the woman was a signal to me that the enemy had been located. Now, if I just knew where that location was…

  The woman reached out slowly, one hand swinging back behind her just a little. She grabbed something I couldn’t see and pulled it in front of her, setting it in her lap. The object filled in, its image materializing: a sauce pan.

  My smile widened. The kitchen! Thanks Leona. I owe you one.

  The woman fell back, spinning. The male warrior’s face was slashed apart. Bone showed through deep gouges as his head twisted violently. His scream came from the distance. The woman slid to the floor and vanished along with her boy-toy—a cut connection. I heard shouts and the clatter of weapons echoing.

  I pushed out of my throne, alone on the dais, and ran to its edge. I jumped down and ran toward the back of the hall, toward the kitchen. My thoughts reached out as I passed an arch, pulling my PX4 Storm semi-automatics from my world, from my Malibu armory. The handguns filled my hands as I ran with great, bounding leaps, drawing on my dragon half for strength. I could feel my muscles swelling, straining my clothes, ripping many of the seams. Leona was fighting alone against an unknown quantity of enemies. She’d taken out one of the leaders of the party, the male fey. I guessed she’d left the woman scared but mostly unharmed so the guards would have to commit a large number to shielding her. Tying up some of the bad guys meant we didn’t have all of them to deal with at once. Leona was a bloodthirsty killer, but she could also fight strategically.

  I burst into the kitchen, seeing what I expected: a high-arched space lined with red brick. The floor was all sand-colored flagstone. A far wall had a window panel of frosted glass that brightened that end of the hall. A shaft lay behind it that allowed noonday sun to contribute light. This was an emergency exit. I hoped it wasn’t hoe the enemy had broken in. I like my secrets to stay mine.

  Four fey soldiers in violet-black armor, held swords, crowding the woman toward that back section of hall. The male lord was beyond help. He sprawled on the floor, his face a bloody ruin, his eyes wide, staring, empty.

  Dead.

  The ceiling supported two black bands that swung on chains. Candles—like pale, thin fingers—were supported by the iron bands. Several of them tumbled off. I didn’t see Leona, but from the agitation of the chandeliers, I knew she’d jumped from one to the other.

  An enemy with a double crossbow fired both bolts up there, hoping to get lucky. He had three other warriors with him. They slashed at empty air, hoping to keep the spirit leopard off them. Unlike the other guards, these ones wore chainmail so they’d be lighter on foot—not that it seemed to be helping. Their surcoats were storm-cloud gray, edged in lightning-yellow: Storm Court soldiers.

  I heard a grunt which helped me place my invisible ally as she landed on the floor.

  “I got these guys,” I yelled. “Go after the rest.”

  Leona’s soft padding feet were just a whisper of fading sound as she obeyed. Of course, it was probably what she wanted to do anyway. Cats aren’t good about following orders.

  The guards that had been fighting her, realigned on me, forming a half circle so they could hit me at once from many sides. On the left, one of them followed a very long worktable, accidentally kicking a fallen pot on the flagstones. I moved to the right, toward four square pillars that boxed in a massive oven and stove. In that area, racks were suspended up high with all kinds of pots and pans dangling from them. I moved so that I had one of those four-foot pillars at my back.

  The four guards moved their half circle to keep me its focus. They stayed about three feet apart from each other. I figured they’d lunge in from just out of sword range. One of the middle two, a smooth-faced warrior with a winged helm and golden hair hanging down his back, grinned evilly, his eyes flashing with joy. “It’s the runt,” he said, “the one with that huge bounty on his head.”

  That piqued my interest. “Just how much am I worth?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, they lunged in unison—swords stabbing—like they’d choreographed and practiced the move for hours. Too bad for them, I’d anticipated the strike, launching my response before their muscles shifted to betray their intensions. My dragon-born strength shoved against the flagstones. Two of them cracked. I jumped, sailing higher than their blades, moving forward.

  I spun in the air and planted a knee in Winged-helm’s face, crumpling his nose, sending him reeling back. Before he could get out of range, I straightened my bent leg, kicking off him, careening toward the second inside man. He was leaning into his original strike and didn’t have the balance to turn and bring his sword between us. I spun once more and brought a heel crashing against the side of his head. It caved in.

  The two men I’d hit were down, maybe dead. I shot them both simultaneously to be sure.

  The last two warriors lunged at me as I hit the ground and rolled, keeping my momentum going so wouldn’t waste the energy. I barrel-rolled through the legs of one warrior, delivering a pistol-whipping to his family jewels. He crashed to the floor, clutching between his legs. From my spot behind him, I came up on one knee, snapping off a pair of shots. He and the last guard caught my bullets with their heads and toppled over, dead.

  I jumped up and ran after the ones Leona was chasing, wondering if she’d leave me a prisoner to interrogate. Hauling ass toward the far end of the kitchen, I caught dark blurs as Leona would become visible for moments at a time, snarling, flashing fangs, her eyes baleful yellow stars of fury in her head. I could tell she was really having fun.

  The armored guards were harder for her to deal with. She did manage to careen of one after another, using her jumps to send them crashing every which way. It looked like she was saving the woman for last. A tragic mistake. The woman had been scared out of her tiny mind, but I saw she was focused now, a dark crystal in her hand that burnt the air, filling it with unfolding swirls of black mist.

  The air all around her grew dim, shadowed. Violet sheens betrayed motion as the wall behind her grew into a vortex. The funnel obliterated the space where the window should have been, but nothing shattered. No debris flew. The window and wall were just gone. She’d reached into an altered space, into nightmare itself, and something huge and terrible was stomping toward us, small only because it was charging from a distance.

  I skidded to a stop, sending my guns away, calling my demon sword to me. I yelled, “Leona, out of the way!”

  She vanished. I heard her growl off to the side and knew she was safe.

  My black sword was edged with a demon-red glow. Its hunger slammed into my body like

  a mammoth fist. Its voice shrieked in my head. Feed me!

  I switched the blade, left then right. Two fey fell with riven armor, dead before the hit the floor. They dropped their weapons, having no more use for them. Their liberated souls hung in the air, streamers of lifeforce that my sword slurped down. The swords were eaten by my blade, their screams echoing off the steel, filling my own head. A backwash of raw energy flowed from the demon sword, adding to my power—a side effect of using cursed steel.

  My sword didn’t wait for me to move it. Levitating, it almost wrenched out of my grip, plunging its point into another warrior’s guts, spinning, cutting free
once more to intercept the last guard’s sword as it tried to sever my arm.

  I pumped my sword against the guard’s, deflecting it aside just enough for my point to stab in and flick across the man’s throat. He grabbed his throat and gurgled as he slid off his feet. He landed dead. His soul hung in the air a moment until my sword sucked it in. My sword said Yum as one more screaming voice now joined its chorus. More lifeforce spilled from the hilt, into my hand, into body, which wasn’t a bad thing, because a real bad thing was chittering down in the black funnel.

  I saw a scuttling, six-legged monster whose single-horned head should have overbalanced it, but didn’t. It emerged into fey space scraping the red-brick ceiling high above. Its glossy black body was a chitinous armor streaked with fluorescent green and red. Defying the insect motif, its curly tusks were wicked yellow hooks. Worst of all, an infernal red light beamed from its eyes, superheating the air like a wind from hell.

  Since Leona was invisible, the monstrosity locked on me.

  The woman pointed at me, as if the monster needed help. “Kill him!”

  The monster smiled, rippling bristles inside its wide-gapping maw.

  I hate it when they do that.

  EIGHTEEN

  “I hate it when I have to

  clean up my own messes.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The creature summoned from Nightmare probably didn’t have a soul. It wasn’t true life, just a killing illusion. Knowing this meant fighting it was a huge waste of time which only an idiot would attempt.

  “What are you waiting for?” Leona cried out. “Hit it right between the eyes!”

  I shifted my grip so my sword hung in my left hand as I angled my body. My right hand swung up toward the woman who still chanted lovingly to her black crystal. If she’d had half an ounce of caution, she’d have ducked down that vortex already and escaped. My PX4 Storm popped into my hand. I squeezed the trigger, as the hell-beetle’s death-ray gaze caused my coat to burst into flames.