Starlight (The Dark Elf War Book 1)

by William Stacey

  Standing slightly taller than men, these four-eyed fish things smelled like cold vomit on a hotdog bun. She breathed through her mouth. One of the creatures was staring right at her with its dead black eyes. It sniffed the air like a dog, and Cassie’s fear spiked. But then it looked away again. Cassie and Alex drifted past. She was drenched in sweat, but her spell was working.

  Seconds later, they were past all six of the guards and at the tunnel entrance. The interior of the tunnel was black, completely dark. She almost bolted in fear when she suddenly heard cloven hooves clumping quickly toward her and Alex from the recesses of the tunnel. Had they been detected?

  Alex wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against the wall—just as six more guards marched past, heading out. One of them even brushed against Cassie.

  She reminded herself to breathe.

  The new guards spoke in a language that sounded to her like a series of guttural grunts and hawking noises, as if they were about to spit out boogers. Then, the first six guards turned and entered the tunnel, again walking right past Cassie and Alex.

  Sentry change.

  “Wait,” Alex whispered into her ear.

  He let go of her waist, removed his small pack, and pulled out the block of C4 plastic explosives. Kneeling down beside one of the thick wooden doors, he attached a small device the size of a key fob to the explosives. The block of C4 was much smaller than she would have thought—the size of a paperback novel. Will that be enough?

  She looked up at the metal portcullis above them, at the half-foot-thick black wooden door. Using adhesive, Alex attached the C4 to the bottom of the door between it and the wall. He then covered it with weeds and dirt from the floor while keeping a wary eye on the guards only paces away.

  This is taking too long. She could still see the C4 even though it was covered with dirt. On the other hand, she already knew it was there. If no one thinks to look down, how long will it go unnoticed?

  He activated his MBITR, made sure the guards were too far away to hear him, and then whispered into his mike. “Clara, we’re in. The charge is set. Ten minutes.”

  Cassie heard the single click in her earpiece, acknowledging Clara had heard Alex.

  “Be advised, you’re going to need to go in with night vision. The tunnel and interior of the fort is dark.”

  Once again, there was a single click.

  Alex lowered his GPNVGs into place, waiting while Cassie did the same. When she activated them, she saw clearly down the previously dark tunnel. Alex, looking bizarre with the GPVNGs over his face, raised his M4 back into his shoulder and motioned with his head for her to follow him. She stayed so close she was breathing down his neck.

  They had ten minutes to find McKnight.

  Chapter 52

  Maelhrandia lay on cushions, feeling at ease with herself despite the presence of her guest—her sister Horlastia, who had only just arrived on her wyvern with the dawn. Her mage-warden sister also languished on a pile of cushions, nibbling at her plate of spiced Rosena ants. Horlastia had removed her armor and weapons and now wore only a simple green-silk robe cinched tight around her waist. Maelhrandia had provided the robe, but her sister was obviously too large for it in the shoulders. Neither would mention anything, however; that would be rude.

  Horlastia picked up a small, engraved silver cup filled with Maelhrandia’s finest Talahari ghost-wine and sipped from it, feigning relaxation. Maelhrandia knew that Horlastia, like her, would never truly let down her guard in the presence of another member of the royal family. Everything was an act, an unspoken game of pretend. They’d pretend to love one another; they’d pretend to trust one another—they’d pretend they didn’t plot to kill one another. The ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of Maelhrandia’s lips as she watched her sister. How wonderful it would be to have you, dear sister, as a secret prisoner within my dungeon.

  Maelhrandia sighed and reached for a crisped ant. Her teeth crunched through the carapace, letting the bitter juices run across her tongue. There had been no decent food in the Old World, nothing like in faerum.

  “Mother is pleased, dear sister,” Horlastia said, smiling her fake smile. “The seelie court speaks of nothing but you. Truly, you are the hero of legend we always knew you to be.”

  Maelhrandia inclined her head. “You are far too kind, sister.”

  You are a lying sack of stinking dwarf placenta, dear sister.

  On at least three occasions, Maelhrandia’s spies had brought proof of Horlastia plotting against her. Once, her sister had even tried to kill her.

  Horlastia’s dark eyes shone in the flickering candlelight. “Our mother would move quickly.”

  “Really? Our mother moves in haste?”

  Horlastia waved her hand. “Oh, she pretends that the Old World is unimportant, but those of us who know her best know better. She is excited.”

  “I don’t think our mother has ever been excited.”

  Horlastia sipped her wine. “You forget House Tlathlandis. She was excited then.”

  Maelhrandia inclined her head. When their mother had finally brought down House Tlathlandis, she had ordered their ancient matriarch skinned alive by the royal torturers, along with all thirty-seven of the matriarch’s daughters and sons. A magnificent, if chilling, lesson for others who would dare to rise above their station.

  “Our mother has no need to move quickly, dear sister,” Maelhrandia said in a chastising voice. “One must be patient, careful.”

  “Until it’s time to be bold.”

  “Indeed.”

  Maelhrandia wanted to kill Horlastia, but she didn’t truly hate her. Horlastia was an older sister, ahead of Maelhrandia in the line of secession. But their mother lived a remarkably long life—thanks to the Culling. The only sure way to gain power was to remove those ahead of you and, when necessary, those coming up too quickly behind you as well. Sisters were expected to murder one another. Maelhrandia herself had killed three of her siblings.

  “Has Mother dispatched the Blood Lance to the other houses yet?” Maelhrandia asked.

  “No. But soon, I think. Much will depend on your prisoner.”

  “Our mother’s prisoner, you mean. I am but a loyal servant of the court. I do everything for her glory.” Maelhrandia raised one delicate hand and examined her nails closely, as if this conversation bored her.

  “Of course, dear sister.” Horlastia wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “The prisoner will know—”

  Someone channeled within her keep, activating one of the wards placed near the main entrance. There’s a mage in my keep. An assassin!

  Maelhrandia’s gaze darted to her sister. Her fingers brushed against the blade she had concealed in the small of her back. Was this her sister’s treachery? Horlastia gave no indication anything was wrong. It had only been a trickle of magic, just enough to activate the ward, and Horlastia would not be attuned to Maelhrandia’s personal ward.

  Horlastia, perhaps noting something in Maelhrandia’s face, watched her with suspicious eyes. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  Maelhrandia sat up, pulled her knees against her chest, and wrapped her arms around them, considering her sister. She had just successfully completed a glorious mission—she’d been the first of the fae seelie to return to the Old World since the Banishment. At the moment, her honor was unmatched. But she had also made herself a target. Would one of her sisters dare strike her now, before their mother could reward her? Was Horlastia that bold, entering her keep at the same time as her assassin? If the assassin failed, she must know she’d be vulnerable. Horlastia was arrogant, though, and always had been. If she was behind this, she’d die here, in chains, deep beneath the keep. Her mother would let Maelhrandia have her—especially if she had proof of Horlastia’s betrayal. But she needed that proof, and she’d get it. The intruding mage was clumsy, inept. She’d capture the mage and obtain a confession.

  Then it would be Horlastia’s turn in chains.

  Mael
hrandia watched her sister. “When will you return to the court?”

  “This evening, I think. Once the sun sets. A shame to fly all this way and not spend time with my beloved sister, the hero who shall bring us glory, who defeated one of the ancient demons.”

  “You flatter me, sister. I only did my duty as you would have.” Slowly, as if she had not a care in the world, Maelhrandia set her wineglass down and climbed to her feet. She stretched like a burr-cat, both arms above her head, groaning with pretend fatigue. “Oh, my dear sister,” she purred. “I would dearly love to spend more time with you. I love you so much, but my mission has tired me so, and I must sleep.”

  Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, my love. I am the rude one, keeping you awake after all you have done for us—having just returned from the field of battle.”

  Maelhrandia cocked her hip to the side, placed a hand on it, and arched an eyebrow. “Hardly battle, sister. The manlings are little better than dwarves, ripe for the Culling.”

  “To the Culling,” said her sister, saluting her with her wineglass. “Sleep soundly, hero of the seelie court. I shall bring our mother your love as well as your prisoner.”

  Maelhrandia forced herself to move slowly, as if turning her back to her sister was of no concern at all. She sauntered to the door, half expecting a knife in her back. But Horlastia did nothing, and Maelhrandia slipped out and onto the landing. Softly closing the door behind her, she turned and faced the spiraling stairs of her tower.

  Time to hunt an assassin.

  Chapter 53

  Cassie followed Alex through the darkened corridors of the stone fort, a feeling of dread hovering over her. This couldn’t possibly work, but… so far, it kind of had. She heard the odd language of the four-armed guard creatures ahead. Sure enough, the tunnel led past a large chamber on their right that looked like a guard barracks, filled with tables and beds. At least a dozen of the guards sat around, talking amongst themselves or sleeping or playing some sort of dice game—and there was another of those huge trolls. It sat alone in a corner, staring at nothing, spit running down its chin.

  Alex pulled her quickly past the chamber and then farther on into the fort. The corridors were wide, large enough for the basilisk. After only a few minutes, she realized the fort was actually much bigger than it appeared from the outside. Guttering candles burned in wall sconces, creating pools of light in the darkness, but the light didn’t travel far; the walls, built entirely from black stone, seemed to leach the glow of the flames. Letting her fingers trace the walls, she considered their construction. They were smooth as glass but without a hint of a reflection and cut so perfectly they left barely a trace of a seam; moving past them was like walking down a dark dream. There were no windows, no ambient light, not even an arrow slit. And other than the guards and the troll they had seen in the barracks, they had yet to see another living creature.

  The corridors led on, mazelike. Alex paused, stopping at an intersection. He keyed his MBITR and whispered into it. She heard his radio communication, but there was no other response. He tried again several more times then shook his head. “The walls must be blocking the radio waves.” He stared way down the intersecting tunnels. “Which way?”

  “I have no idea,” Cassie whispered, perhaps a tad sharply.

  “You all right?”

  “Getting tired. I’m been holding this shield for too long. It’s starting to get to me even with it tied off.”

  “So, let it go.”

  “Are you crazy? We’ll be seen.”

  “We’re already in. If we see someone, we hide.”

  “And what if that doesn’t work?”

  “I’ll kill them.”

  She stared at him for a moment, realizing he wasn’t joking. She exhaled then let go of the spell. Instantly, a feeling of vertigo swept through her, and she stumbled back into him. He grabbed her shoulders, holding her while the vertigo passed.

  “Better?”

  She nodded and leaned into his shoulder. “You actually do this for a living?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Nobody does this for a living.” He indicated the corridor on their right. “Let’s try this way. Keep your eyes open for stairs leading down.”

  “Why down?”

  “Down is where dungeons are. That’s where you keep prisoners in a castle, right?”

  “I guess.”

  Minutes later, they came to another intersection. Once again, Alex led them to the right. But this time, no sooner had they started moving down the corridor than they heard movement ahead of them. Someone was coming.

  He grabbed her arm, dragging her back the way they had come and into a nearby storeroom filled with stacks of wooden crates and barrels and smelling of mold. They ducked behind several large crates just before a small gaggle of the four-armed fish creatures hurried past, chattering to themselves. Unlike the previous group, these were unarmed and wore only tunics and short pants, making Cassie wonder if they were servants rather than guards.

  The two of them remained hidden within the storeroom for another minute. Then Alex moved to the doorway and peered around it in the direction the creatures had gone. After only a moment, he motioned for her to follow, and they continued on. Soon, they came to yet another intersection, and once again, Alex led her to the right. They passed more rooms, most with thick black doors, but saw no other servants and heard no one else.

  She wasn’t sure how long they had been wandering about, but they had to be running out of time. They came to an elaborate stone entranceway, an arch, that led into a dark open area—a courtyard of some type, filled with bizarre plants and glowing mushrooms that shone brightly through the night-vision devices. Alex peered around the stone archway. “There’s a tower in there in the center. It looks like it rises up all the way to the covered ceiling and goes right through it. Maybe it’s important.”

  She peered around his shoulder. “Someone in that tower just channeled,” she whispered.

  A moment later, her heart almost stopped when she saw the basilisk step out from behind the thick vegetation, spin about, and then plop down, lying on its belly on the stones of the courtyard.

  Moving very, very slowly, Alex drew back around the archway, pulling her with him away from the covered courtyard, the tower, and the basilisk. Some moments passed before she realized she was holding her breath. She started breathing normally again.

  “Let’s keep looking for stairs down,” he whispered. “If McKnight is in that tower, we’ll never get past the basilisk.”

  “I can try to cast another invisibility shield.”

  He shook his head. “We don’t know how well it smells or hears or any other senses it may have. If we don’t find McKnight in time, we’ll let the assault team take it on.”

  She sighed and followed him as he led her on. They had been incredibly lucky so far, but how long could they push their luck? Then, just when she thought she was going to start screaming, they came to yet another intersection. This time, when they peered around it, they saw a curved archway with stone steps leading down. Was Alex’s dungeon that way?

  Two of the four-armed guards stood on either side of the archway. Each held a massive two-handed sword, the curved and barbed blades resting against their shoulders. There was no way they could slip past them.

  “What now?” she whispered. “The shield?”

  Alex looked at his watch and shook his head. “We’re out of time.” Holding his M4 under his arm, he reached within a pocket of his load-bearing vest, removed something, and held it up for her to see: a grenade!

  Oh, shit. She turned away and covered her ears.

  * * *

  Maelhrandia stalked through the corridors of her keep. Four of her best boggart guardsmen accompanied her. She probably didn’t need them, but she didn’t like to take chances, not when her own life was at risk. This assassin was here to kill her. Boggarts weren’t clever, but they were capable fighters—and hers would die for her. Unfortunately, thu
s far, the assassin had eluded her. Whoever it was, she or he had stopped using magic, forcing Maelhrandia to search throughout her keep. And that was taking time. She didn’t want to sound an alarm and risk alerting the assassin.

  She needed a confession, needed to know who was trying to kill her. She was certain the trail would lead back to the Royal Family. Perhaps even to her darling sister Horlastia.

  Need drove her on, gave purpose to her stride. She rounded a corner, her guards on her heels. Ahead, two of her boggart guards stood watch on the stairs leading to the dungeon. Her prisoner was down there, awaiting transportation to her mother.

  Stopping in midstep, she stared at the two boggart guards. Something felt… wrong. Without knowing why, she stepped back around the corner. Cold fingers of fear brushed her spine—intuition. She hadn’t survived this long without trusting her instincts. Yes. Something was very wrong here.

  “Go,” she whispered to her boggarts.

  They slipped past her, wordlessly approaching the stairs and the other guards, who turned, clearly puzzled by their sudden presence. At that moment, something metal clinked as it bounced along the stone floor, skidding to a stop near the cloven hooves of her guards. They stood in place, staring at it. One of them actually bent over to pick it up. Not one of them bothered to look in the direction it had come from, where Maelhrandia saw a furtive movement of someone darting back around the wall.

  “No!” she screamed, but it was too late.

  A thunderclap rocked the closed confines of the corridor, knocking her down with the force of its concussion. She lay on the stones, her ears ringing, spots of light dancing before her eyes.

  What was that—Drake’s-Gift? But it was so loud—impossibly loud.

  She gritted her teeth and shook her head. If she didn’t move now—right now—she’d die here on the floor of her own keep. She forced herself up; on hands and knees, she peered around the corner again. Impossibly, all six of her boggart guards were down. Some lay unmoving, dead, while others—much like her—tried to get up but failed.