Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King

by Morgan Blayde

  Hahahahahahahahahahaha! The swords laughter pealed inside my head.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” I promised. I sent the sword back to my armory. Fighting numbness in my left arm, I wiggled my fingers and moved the arm from the shoulder, trying to will the weakness away before it spread any further.

  The part of my mind on Angie noted that she was fully wolf now, and growling like a sheep-shagging knuckle-dragging sonuvabitch. Her face swung toward the bowman who’d shot me, and her haunches launched her with claws scrabbling on the rock. The bowman shot too fast, not properly tracking the werewolf. The arrow sped past her ear and hit the floor, skittering away. The shadow warrior snatched up another arrow and fit its notched end to the string.

  Angie leaped the last ten feet. And sailed completely through the fey’s body, doing no damage. She hit and skidding, spinning back around for another charge. She couldn’t touch her prey, but he could touch her. At close quarters, he dropped the bow and pulled out a ten-inch silver knife. The bloodlust in Angie gave way to caution as she went just out of reach. Silver was the only vulnerability wolves had. Wounds made by anything else healed with supernatural speed.

  I left the problem of the knife to Angie, shifting attention to the second bowman. All the time the fighting had raged, he’d kept his ready-stance, but not fired a shot. He wasn’t moving, didn’t seem to be breathing.

  I had an “ah-hah!” moment.

  Needing to be functional again, I pulled a flow of raw, golden magic through my body, into the shoulder wound. I had a sense of resistance, of darkness anchoring itself inside me, refusing to be moved. More than one way to skin and butcher a career politician. I concentrated on my right hand. The blackness deepened on the shadow brand. Dark jags webbed the surrounding air. I slapped that hand against my left shoulder, pouring shadow lightning into the site.

  Darkness met darkness, fused, and became entirely mine. I pulled my hand away and held an arrowhead up to see. Its darkness fumed away to nothing, leaving my hand empty. Blood flowed from the wound. The numbness left and except for mild pain, I was ready to go.

  I summoned one of my PX4 Storms. I removed the semiautomatic’s clip and held it in my right hand, letting black lightning charge the hollow-points. I slid the clip back in place and aimed at the immobile bowman, squeezing off round after round.

  The shadow warrior flickered like a black flame, dropped pixels, graying out. And then—like the illusion he was—he snapped out of existence. The shadowed air in the pavilion thinned, growing clear. The bowman had been a disguised portal, a conduit of power supporting the attackers. With it gone, the fey lost their shadow magic, becoming solid and very vulnerable.

  My dragon family used the distraction I provided to overcome their opponents. Fey warriors fell to the floor and were finished off without pity or hesitation. Fairy strength was no match for dragon-born strength.

  I glanced back to Angie as she lunged in on her opponent. He stabbed, only to find the charge was a feint. Pulling up short, she avoided the strike, biting the hand that held the knife so it couldn’t be turned on her. Smart. Unfortunately for the fey warrior, he couldn’t go shadow. Angie’s teeth spiked into his hand, crunching through bones.

  The warrior wrenched his bloody hand free, stumbling back. The silver knife clattered loudly on the floor. Angie leaped after the bowman. He pulled an arrow from his back quiver and stabbed her in the back as she hit him. Arrow protruding, she forced the fey to the floor. Her jaws snapped on his throat and his scream became a bloody gurgle. Angie wrenched her head and the man’s neck snapped. He went stiff, then limp, and very dead.

  She spent time worrying the body, then—tail wagging in happiness—Angie pranced back to me, eager to be petted. I ruffled her fur and let her lick my face.

  “Yes, that’s my baby. Such a good little bitch.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “Kiss my ass! I’m the king.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I picked up the crystal tie, tucked it under an arm, and walked from the pavilion. I leaped rock to rock over shallow-but-powerful streams coursing toward the edge of the falls. Froth limned the boulders. A water roar accompanied me. Eventually, I reached the far bank, the section of the mountain that roofed my keep. I walked over to a pit. Peering down, I made out a glass skylight. This was the shaft at the back of the kitchen that used noon sunlight to back-light a glass wall. Only I knew that it also served as an emergency exit should the keep ever fall.

  Any exit can also be an entrance.

  I stuck the crystal heart against the inner rock of the shaft and it clung, bonding to the land it controlled. I slid my legs over the edge, my toes feeling for the carved niches that made a kind of ladder. I found them and descended, the tie rolling slowly beside me, a faithful dog keeping pace. We reached the bottom of the shaft and I found the latch to the frosted glass panel that let me swing it opened.

  I stuck my head out enough to see no one was looking my way, and stepped out with the crystal once more tucked under an arm. I closed the panel behind me and strolled nonchalantly down the tunnel-shaped kitchen, smelling roast hen, pheasant, and assorted poultry spices. Hot loaves of bread cooled on a silver wire rack. Kettles of veggies bubbled away on stove tops. And Gloria’s caterers would be bringing over even more delights from the treehouse mansion. The aromas stirred my hunger, making my mouth water.

  Various kitchen fey brought in by Izumi’s mom went silent and came to rigid attention as I passed, momentarily ignoring various catering tasks they’d been assigned.

  I smiled and waved them back to what they were doing. “Don’t mind me. Just checking on the figgy pudding.”

  “Fig-gy pudding, my Lord?” one of the workers echoed.

  Clearly, the term didn’t translate well. “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  A gray-haired woman with dark eyes and steel-wool eyebrows wore a white apron over her clothes. She radiated an air of being in charge as she intercepted me. “My Lord, can I aid you in some way?”

  I stopped. “Got something to drink? Massive slaughter and mayhem makes me thirsty.”

  My inner dragon said, Everything makes you thirsty.

  What’s your point? I thought.

  The woman signaled and a maid went scurrying off to fetch me a flagon of somethin. The gray-haired fey looked back to me. “The battle goes well then, my Lord?”

  “They threw us a few curves, but we rebounded.”

  She blinked at my answer and I figured the colloquial sports references weren’t clearly translating from my English into her fey. I said, “We have stomped them under our heels and thus I come, thirsty and drenched in glory.”

  Her gaze brightened. She smiled, nodding. “Ah, I see. Good news indeed.”

  The maid came running back with a delicate fluted glass of some dark red liquid. “Wine, my Lord?”

  I took the drink from her, guzzled it, and handed the empty glass back to her. “It’s a start. Got a bottle?”

  “Yes, my Lord. One moment.” The maid went flying away again.

  The kitchen manager stared at the large crystal under my arm, her attention caught by the slow pulse of light that matched the rhythm of my heartbeat. “That’s beautiful. What is it?”

  That’s the kind of question it’s best not to answer. Good thing I’m not fey because I enjoy lying and I’m good at it.

  “Just a pretty bauble I found. I’m thinking of starting a rock garden. This place needs a little culture, don’t you think?”

  “It is not my place to say, but if my Lord thinks so, he must be right.”

  My inner dragon said, Damn fine ass-kissing. I like her.

  The maid returned with a corked bottle. I took it in hand. “Thanks. You folks carry on. Don’t let me hold you up.”

  The staff surrounding me took that as a royal command, curtseying and turning back to work as I continued on to the keep’s reception hall. The fire pit contained roaring flames. The area around the double thrones was vacant. El
sewhere in the room, banquet tables had been set up. White and blue silk table clothes covered the long tables. Places were set, but not enough for more than a couple hundred guests. Those that considered themselves the elite would eat here. I imagined the regular rank and file would be entertained elsewhere.

  Once the various coronation guests sorted themselves out and cleaned up, they’d be arriving in droves. I needed to hurry. I went to the quarters here that were mine, shared with Osamu. I wondered how he’d entertained himself through the recent ruckus. I tramped back hallways and reached my suite. The walls were lit by spaced out torches and extra candles. I couldn’t see any shadows at all. Of course, like we found out in the pavilion, very strong shadow magic could make shadow where they weren’t.

  Mental note: be aware that defeating the Shadow Court doesn’t mean that they won’t still send stray assassins my way.

  Let them, my inner dragon said. I’ll chew them up and spit them out, keeping their silver of course.

  Of course.

  I opened the door to my suite and stepped in—to darkness. No candles burned, no lamps or lanterns. Just past the threshold, I called out. “Hey, anybody here planning to kill me?”

  “Caine-sama! I’m just finishing up. I will be with you shortly. I heard a slashing sound and knew Osamu was giving his demon sword a work out. The blade could see souls, hungering after them the way my own sword did. In such darkness, my combat butler only had to hang on to the hilt of his weapon and let it do all the work. Or not. Fighting in utter darkness is a skill mastered by the best swordsmen, and he wasn’t an exception. The shadow assassins barging in here had picked the wrong person to surprise.

  I heard a pained grunt and the sound of bodies falling. The darkness thinned, slithering back down whatever extra-dimensional rabbit hole they’d used to get here. A room emerged from the gloom: pine floorboards, tapestry-covered walls, a fully stocked mini-bar, tables, chairs, and doors leading to bedrooms. The chairs were fallen over. A candle had fallen over on the big table, the flame guttering out in its own wax. There were other candles burning, a whole rack of them that produced an amazing amount of light now that the dark magic was gone.

  Three pointy-eared fey lay still in death. Osamu’s demon blade had been effective, even though it couldn’t have fed on shadow souls. His blade blazed red light radiating displeasure. His weapon swung toward me, as if determined to go a soul, any soul. Osamu fought it back, and willed it away to the same armory I use.

  “The sword seems to grow ever more willful.” He moved around, righting furniture, putting things back into order.

  “Nature of the cursed beasts,” I said. “Ever hungry, never sated. Unfortunately, they can’t eat shadow fey souls. My own sword was pissed about that.”

  “Are we doing anything special to the bodies?” he asked. “I noticed your handiwork outside when I first arrived. The eyeless sockets with blood streaked cheeks does send a firm warning.”

  “The escaping fey will tell of this battle, of the modern weapons we used, the variety of magicks, of golden dragons raining lightning; I bet it will be a long time before another army comes this way. The high ranking dead can be dumped in a mass grave with no marker. The lowly foot soldiers are probably just farmers pressed into service. We’ll send their bodies back for burial and put a few pieces of silver in their clothing. We’ll win the respect of the poor, and cause them to hate their own leaders for wasting so many lives.”

  Osamu nodded gravely. “Subversion and bribery. You fight a public relations war as well.”

  “Weakening their will to oppose us, using psychological warfare, will pay off in the long run. Also, when details are chosen to return the dead, we’ll choose our biggest, fiercest demons, no one with wounds. We want to give the impression that we never had to sweat to destroy our enemies.”

  “You want the non-combatants to see demon-kind up close, Caine-sama.”

  “It will give them something to dream about. The Nightmare Court isn’t alone in being able to instill fear.” I put the crystal tie on the table. “I need you to guard this. It’s been attacked once. They may try again.”

  Osamu looked at it. “It is beautiful. I feel a living spirit within the stone.”

  “It’s tied to me. Protecting it, protects me.”

  Osamu bowed. “I will guard it with my life.”

  “Good to hear,” I said.

  I went on to my bedroom, opening the door carefully, peering in to make sure no further surprises were waiting. There was light within from battery-powered lanterns. The closet had no fiends, fey or otherwise. I even looked under the bed. It was not beyond reason that snakes, scorpions, or the assorted hell-beasts might have been dropped off by magical portal.

  Remembering Megan and her gift-box asp, I wasn’t taking chances.

  Satisfying myself, I shed my clothes and went to the closet, sliding hangers around to look over my choices. There would be fey lords and ladies, encrusted in gemstones and silver, wearing fine fabrics, making themselves hyper-beautiful with their natural glamour. It was going to be a red carpet event, or close to it. I wasn’t going to dip into my secret Malibu treasure vault to try to impress them.

  No one needs to know what we got, my inner dragon said.

  I agreed. Instead, I’d go the other direction for stark contrast. First came black slacks, shirt, and vest. I added a black jacket with the only color showing a line of crimson from the breast pocket handkerchief and a matching tie. I wasn’t fey and I wasn’t dressing like one. They’d accept me for the outlander I was, or I’d destroy them. Simple. Meanwhile, I’d rub their noses in my otherness.

  I turned as the door opened. Gloria came in, a twenty-five-hundred-year old vampire princess passing for sixteen. Her petite frame and sizable tits were well-defined by a gown that might have come from a period historical drama, from some ballroom scene. The silk pieces were pink and silver with many fluffy petticoats. There were puffy sleeves, and the corset couldn’t have left room for her to breath. Good thing she didn’t need to.

  Her eyes were a dull red, still cooling toward black after the recent excitement of bloody slaughter. Her hair piled high was held in a column by jewel-headed pins, blue diamonds. Her current hair color was silver with pale, sea-foam green streaks. Her lipstick matched the green. Part of me wanted to laugh at the elaborate getup, but I wasn’t stupid and didn’t want her to pull my nuts off.

  She swept up to me and adjusted my tie, smiling, showing full fang.

  “Having fun?” I asked.

  “Hell of a pre-game show,” she said. “Reminds me of Cleopatra’s triumphant entry into Rome.”

  “You were there?”

  “Well—just between you and me—yes. “As a beauty, that bitch was highly overrated, but she sure could work what she had.” Gloria stepped back to give me a searching glance. “Going against the grain, I see. Smart. You’ll stand out even more. Not going out there armed? The enemy is sure to have infiltrated, replacing a guest on the list. It’s what I would do.”

  “My weapons are a thought away. Besides, you’ll be around.”

  I heard a scream of fury from the other room. “Mother! I know you came in here. Are you with that demon scum again?”

  Gloria and I went into the outer chamber. Osamu had his back to the crystal heart. His demon blade was in his hand and pointed at Adrian. The ignorant vampire clod was dressed identically to me, but I made it all work better than the poser. Seeing his mom, his eyes widened. “I don’t know what kind of hold he has on you, but this needs to stop.”

  “Hey,” I said, “do I tell you who to fuck?”

  He foamed at the mouth. What sounds escaped weren’t decipherable.

  I turned to Gloria. “You need to take him some place and dress him funny. He’s stolen my look.”

  Adrian’s red eyes burned. “Your look. Black is Goth and Goth is vampire to the bone. You go change, freak.”

  “Fuck. I don’t have time for this shit.” My thought reached to
my armory. A moment later, a Super-soaker filled with holy water appeared in my hands. Gloria put a hand on the barrel and forced it down.

  “He’s my son. I will deal with this. You go on. You have guests waiting.”

  I let the water rifle return to my armory, and patted an empty pocket. “Sure. I’ll give your panties back to you later.”

  Gloria glowered at me. “Oh, you’re so wicked.”

  “Takes one to know one.” But I was talking to myself, for with a burst of vampire speed, she’d strong-armed Adrian out of the room, vanishing in a blur.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “Second chances need to be

  paid for. I don’t do ‘free.’”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  About to step into the keep’s Great Hall, I sent golden magic into the ink of my Dragon Sight tattoo, heating the surrounding skin, tingling the nerves. The activating magic exacted its penalty of pain: a sensation that razor wire coiling around my colon, about to burst out my ass.

  The psychic impression thinned to nothing.

  I drew a deep breath and went in. The great space was filling from the far side. I walked forward past the double thrones and moved right around the fire pit. Several of my higher ranking demon captains nodded a greeting. We’d never stood on formalities. That was more a vamp or fey thing. Speaking of which…

  Izumi and her mother were sipping red wine from flutes, occupying a knot of fey gentry. Izumi wore a white silk gown with diamonds winking in her styled hair. A silver snowflake necklace glittered on the generous slope of her breasts. Matching earrings hung from her earlobes. Her laugh was easy and musical, as if the recent carnage she’d participated in couldn’t touch her.