Green Agate Pretender

by Morgan Blade

  The closet fey warriors retreated, hollering back for a battle mage to come and deal with me.

  One came running. His vest and kilt of bone-fingers, and the ceremonial bone knife in his hand, tipped me off to his nature. That and the winged skulls hovering around him. Like the fey mage, the eyes of the skulls were pools of sour yellow light.

  I pointed my sword at him, knowing he hadn’t seen me use it yet. My darkness leaped off the metal and stabbed across the distance. I’d have taken him in the head, but he launched his skulls at me and two of them caught the shadow-strike. They exploded, but blunted the attack, slowing it enough so the mage spun aside, wild eyed, falling to the ground. One last skull flapped parchment wings, jaws wide to bite as it plunged at my face. I let it get close and sliced it three times at dragon-speed before it came apart, spilling the sour yellow fire that had animated it.

  I grew aware of quiet, no stomping of mastodons or lashing red lightning. The Bone Court warriors were eerily silent, clutching swords and axes, white-knuckling them. Archers relaxed their bows in shock, faces pale with fear. The horses stamped nervously and shook their heads in rebellion as they danced backwards. Riders were dumped on their asses.

  The mage wasn’t looking at me. His gaze, like so many others, shot past me, to the river. I shifted my stance to look as well. The wolves had come. They stood in ranks, eyes curious about all the fighting. There were fifty, big, were-wolf big. A normal male wolf might weigh as much as one-hundred-and-forty pounds. A shifter in human form can easily top two-hundred pounds, especially if he works out. Changed to wolf, he will keep his mass and weight. This makes a were wolf scary huge—especially to fey who aren’t used to werewolves, just the normal kind.

  I caught the attention of their Alpha, Angie, my lady lawyer. She’d recently moved her pack to Las Vegas, but still vacationed on the hunting grounds I’d provided here in Fairy. Her coat was particularly fiery.

  I yelled. “Dinner! Come and get it.”

  My sword pointed at the mage. He jumped in place, flinching at the word dinner as his fey magic translated my English into Elven. Most fey didn’t have a problem with outworld languages, used to stealing kids from our world, and going there frequently for mischief.

  My sword launched its shadow. The shadow claw pierced his heart. He died. I pulled the darkness back to me, and he fell over, face in the dirty snow that had been kicked up by horses.

  And then the wolves swept in.

  Back in human form, Colt ran up to me. “Hey, did you see! Those bones aren’t so tough. Cracked ‘em all.”

  “Good job,” I said.

  He tossed me a clump of calcium. I caught it out of the air, listening to the sound of snarling wolves, and shrieking fey. “What’s this?” Even as I asked, the answer came to me through the crown I wore.

  Colt said, “Took it off a fey that was trying to surrender. It’s a tie, right?”

  “Yes. What happened to the fey that had it?”

  “Mom burned out his heart with a lightning bolt. She gets carried away sometimes.”

  I smiled. “Don’t we all.”

  The wolves were respectful of the horses, letting them run free, concentrating on the fey warriors. The battlefield was frenzied, chaotic, and hot spilt blood gave the air a metallic taste. It would be a while before things sorted themselves out, however, I had the feeling that the distant people of Bone Court would sue for peace on any terms I named. Especially since I had their tie.

  I sheathed my katana and pulled the backpack around, loosening the drawstrings. I put the tie inside. It nearly leapt from my hand in its haste to join with the mega-tie. There was an emerald flash of light from within the pack.

  Across the sky, a mission bell rang, announcing the fall of a king.

  “Hey, that’s my backpack,” Colt said.

  “I know. I’ve been using it store the ties in.”

  “But it wasn’t there a second ago, and then it just appeared in your hands like the stuff you get from your armory.”

  “It’s been with me all this time.” I spoke loudly so he could hear me over the death screams and wolf growls. “I marked my original tie with an embedded spell, like the Demon Wings tat on my back.”

  “Oh, I get it. Your You-Don’t-See-Me spell.”

  Angie ran up, tail wagging, tongue lolling as she panted. I scratched her head. She ignored me, rearing up, paws on Colt’s chest as she licked his face. He laughed, averting his face to take her slobbering on the cheek, not nose and lips. She dropped back to all fours and went back to the party, leaving bloody wolf prints on his hoodie.

  “It’s like I told you in Nightmare, you have to see with all your senses. You may have semi-divine perceptions like your mom, but they aren’t turned on all the time. If you get sloppy, someone can catch you by surprise.”

  “Caine!” Izumi’s yell held urgency.

  Both Colt and I turned to look. She was over by one of the bonfires, with slashes in her clothes from battling the skeletal apes. There were giant clumps of ice behind her with bones imprisoned inside. Past those, a wall of thorn reared up, having emerged from cover of the forest. The thorns were green stemmed, with violet knobs where black thorns bristled. The tangled wood with its black stickers writhed with high energy, weaving a curtain that cut the pool off from the river.

  While we were finishing off the Bone Court, the Thorn Court had made its move. I saw no Thorn Court fey.

  Thy must be hiding in the thorns, feeling pretty safe in there.

  Izumi and Selene joined me. We studied the knotty problem.

  “If we go inside the keep,” Izumi said, “do you think they can break in?”

  “Easily,” Colt answered for me.

  “They’re cutting us off,” Selene said. “Once they’ve entrenched, the direct attack will come.”

  “They’re not hurrying,” I said. “They wanted us to take out the Bone Court for them.”

  Izumi said, “The pixie village!”

  “It will probably get overlooked,” I said, “at least while we’re here to provide entertainment.”

  “Can’t we just burn out the thorns?” Colt asked.

  “We’d lose our own forest.” I turned to Izumi and Colt, putting a hand on their shoulders. “You two, evacuate everyone into the keep. Out of sight of the enemy, open up your portals. Get everyone to the plains of the Dragon’s Eye.”

  “The treehouse,” Colt brightened at the prospect of seeing it again.

  I gave him a hard nod. “Right, there’s a village near there. I want you and your mom to stay there and guard our people. With my luck, the Phantom Court will pop out of the shadows next. Take Angie and the wolves with you.”

  Colt looked away from me, to the looming wall of thorns. “What are you going to do?”

  I shrugged. “Deal with it. That’s what I do.”

  “I’d sure like to see that,” Colt said.

  “Yeah, but you’ve got a job to do.” I stared into his eyes, knowing my eyes were fully dragon and Villager, no longer close to looking human. “I’m depending on you.”

  He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders, not even flinching when the great gate opened with a bang, the few defenders in the keep coming late to the party.

  “I’m on it,” Colt said.

  He ran off with Izumi.

  I watched him go, a core of icy sadness in my heart. How long until thorns of hate wrap his heart and my simple, loving child becomes—complex?

  Selene placed a hand over my heart. She kissed me, the angry red glow of her stare softening. “In some ways, parenting can be far more difficult than conquering the multi-verse.” With that, she strolled after them, gathering wolves as she went.

  As I had all my life, I walked toward the thorns. They were a symbol of all the pain I’d met, and more that lurked in my future. The more you fight thorns, thistles, and strangling vines, the more you’re torn. I knew that well. Pain’s a constant mistress I’d conquered by acceptance. Pain is divided,
given back to its source.

  The thorn-wall waited in stillness as I drew near. An army of thousands could lurk inside, or only a company. With the thorns as soldiers, a lot of fey weren’t really needed. I knew one thing; the lord of the Thorn Court was inside the wall. This part of his kingdom had to be drawing strength from his magic and life to be so vigorous in my domain.

  I called into the tangle. “Come speak to me.”

  A woman answered. “Who calls?”

  “Caine Deathwalker: shadowmancer, demon lord, dragon lord, Consort to the Red Moon, Master of the Dragon’s Eye, and the chosen of the Land to restore her life and strength. To fight me is to fight all hope of life.”

  The thorns swallowed my words and gave back nothing. I waited. Finally, there came a wooden, scraping, a dull grinding, and a tunnel appeared in the thorns, the way a portal might when summoned. From the opening, a woman approached. As she left the thorns, she stopped, the light of bonfires playing over her. She had the poise, the aura, of an ancient fey.

  Dragging the ground, her dark green dress winked in waves, beaded with tiny gemstones. Green makeup overshadowed her eyes and streaked the sides of her face like trailing vines. There were black triangles, stylized thorns with bloody tips. Black vines cinched her waist, a belt. More thorn formed bracelets. She wore a crown of thorns she might have stolen from the body of Christ, but probably not. Still, there was a martyr’s feel to her, a shadow of pain in her eyes that might have gone as deep as mine.

  “So, the Thorn Lands have a reigning queen instead of a king.”

  “You didn’t know?” she asked.

  “No. Your part of Fairy has never been close to the parts I’ve traveled, and I can’t say I’ve heard much said about your court.”

  “You are as strange to me,” she said. “How does an outworlder come to hold so much of Fairy in an iron fist?”

  “I’m the victim of a cruel and punishing destiny.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Do we have to fight?” I asked. “I’m just trying to heal the land. How can that not appeal to you? Your thorns are living things.”

  “The land suffers. I feel hurt with every step. I breath its pain along with my own. My breath catches in the thorns. It is wonderful, don’t you think?”

  The sickness of the Land had twisted this ruler.

  Fuck, a masochist!

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Pinning down fey is like

  stabbing Jell-O, difficult but fun.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I’d dated a masochist once. I’d done unspeakable things to her. and had nearly broken my dick off in her ass. In the end, I’d left her because I’d felt myself sliding close to a point of no return.

  Funny, I don’t quite remember why I thought that was a bad thing.

  That gave me insight into masochists: abuse is love, praise and affection are felt as punishment. The worse bastard you are to such a person, the more they like it. The more they want to be hurt, hit, held down and raped by you. Ignoring them makes them want you even more, but then that’s true of most women I pick up in bars.

  I slid my glance past her to the tangle. I frowned a little.

  “What?” she said.

  “Balance seems off. Too much choking stalks, not enough thorn. The thorns are the point, right. The threat. Well, it’s none of my business.” I put a hint of doubt in my voice. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

  She stopped, turned, and stared at her handiwork.

  I turned and walked away like I had better things to do. I got four steps before she realized I was going and called after me.

  “Where are you going?”

  I stopped and turned back. “My people will have been evacuated by now. They’re safe so I don’t need to care about you. I have better things to do.”

  “Wait! I’ll destroy everything you have. I’ll hunt down your people. They will feed my thorns. They will die screaming as the poison stills their hearts. You can’t ignore me.”

  I smiled, turned, and walked over to the dead bodies. Kneeling, I checked belts for coin purses. It would be a shame to bury their money with them, an utter waste. I picked up a fallen dagger and cut one bag free, moving on to the next body. I sensed the queen coming up behind me. She was still alone. No soldiers or attendants were anywhere around. She’d inflicted the pain of loneliness upon herself.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “A stupid question. You’ve got eyes, right?”

  Anyone else would find my rudeness insulting. To her, it would act as a lover’s endearment.

  “I could help you.”

  “You could get me a cup of wine. And it better be damn good or you’ll be drinking my piss.”

  She hurried off.

  I continued to gather purses, happy with their weight. It seemed like the King of the Bone Court had recently paid his troops. I couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity to turn a buck or two. Being an evil bastard of a warlord is expensive. I’d collected a good bit of pocket change by the time the queen returned.

  “Lord Deathwalker?”

  I went to her, crowding her personal space like she was mine to dominate. I glared into her eyes, letting her see the killing beast in me for a brief moment. A pop of fear put into a woman can be mistaken by her for sexual excitement. That can make her more malleable. “You have my wine.”

  She held up her hand. She clutched a black goblet with a purple rim. It had spines radiating off it in four cardinal points. One of the spines entirely pierced her hand. Fresh blood trickled down her palm.

  “For you,” she said.

  A challenge; she was asking me if my tolerance for pain matched hers. She wanted to know if she could respect me as an equal. I pulled the goblet out of her hand, and held it so a different spine stabbed through my palm.

  “The spines could be a little sharper,” I murmured. “I took a drink. As expected, I tasted poison, after all, she had a responsibility to her people to stop me. She couldn’t know that having been sexually enslaved in a naga harem once, profoundly poisoned by snake-women, my body had developed an immunity to most lethal substances. I finished the cup and dropped it. “Not enough poison, but I imagine that was the best you could do.” I patted her head in a condescending manner and walked off to gather more coins.

  I gathered up all the coins bags I’d liberated and bundled them into the royal flag of the Bone Court. It would make a nice souvenir. With the bundle in hand, I infused it with a bit of my lifeforce and triggered my armory spell, sending the coins into storage.

  By then, I felt deep, lightless shadow approaching. Facing the thorn wall, I saw the ground under it turn black. I had called to Nightmare for my personal horrors to come to me, and here they were, submerged, waiting for instruction. The shadow sea stretched throughout the forests, letting me feel the surface. The thorns weren’t rooted; they grew on top of the soil, not in it.

  I slid my gaze to the fey queen who simply waited. My attention rewarded her patience. A small smile of pleasure teased her lips. I wiggled a finger, a silent command. She hurried closer.

  As if to punish her for not coming fast enough, I looked away. “You didn’t tell me your name.” I said it with a mild, flat tone. “I know I introduced myself to you.”

  “Q-queen Ammarellis.”

  I stripped the honorific off, “Ammarellis, turn around and look at your thorns.”

  She did.

  I sent a mental command to my dark pets: Eat it all.

  The darkness flowed up, coating her tangle, turning it all black. Tentacles intertwined with the brambles. Here and there, great black faces rose into view, red cycloptic eyes burning with bottomless hunger. The nameless ones pulled the thorns into their sea of darkness, taking it all.

  Ammarellis staggered, suddenly weak. A lot of her strength and power had been in the tangle. Now it was gone, devoured. I caught her, keeping her from falling. I crushed her against me. “You are mine. You and your peo
ple. You will call me Master. Do you understand?”

  She stared into nothing, unfocused. “My thorns…”

  I gave her a sharp slap across the face. This had a restorative effect. Her gaze discovered my face. “So strong. I didn’t suspect...”

  I pushed her to her knees. “This is how you show respect for your Overlord. Fail again, and I will take your kingdom from you and give it to another.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  I thrust my palm out. The wound had closed, but there remained a smear of blood. “Lick my injury clean, bitch, and swear eternal loyalty to me.”

  She seized my hand with both of hers. Her tongue laved my palm and flicked over the closed wound. I let her do this for a full minute, and pulled my hand back. “Your oath, quick now.”

  “I, Ammarellis, Queen of the Thorn Lands, do pledge myself and my people to Lord Caine Deathwalker, Overlord of Fairy.”

  “To be used as he wills,” I said.

  “To be used as he wills.”

  I held out my hand. “I will let you rule as always, but I require your tie.”

  She hesitated a moment, but cupped her hands together. Yellow, violet, and green bands of magic filled her palms, twining, growing, then hardening into a crystal growth. I plucked the stone from her hands and added it to the backpack.

  “Ammarellis, you hesitated on a lawful command from your lord.”

  Her head turned down. “Yes, Master.”

  “You need to be punished so you can forgive yourself.”

  “Yes, Master. Whatever my lord requires.”

  “Putting all the work on me, eh? Oh, no. You are going to kneel in contemplation until I return. You are to consider the best punishment I can give you, and if what you come up with is good enough, you’ll receive it at that time. If I don’t like what you come up with, you will be punished even more. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  I left her there, and went past a bonfire and a mini-glacier filled with frozen monkeys. I took the bone bridge across the pool to the woods beyond. I found more frozen monkey skeletons. Izumi had been busy.

  I stopped by a tree that need watering and unzipped. Leaning against the base of the trunk, I saw a decapitated monkey skull. It stared up at me with yellow fire eyes that were dimming out. Weakly, it clomped its teeth, attempting a threat. I drained my trouser-snake on the skull. The light in its eyes died. I put my dick away and went back across the pool.