A younger member of the council spoke without securing recognition from all. “But what is it?”
The other members of the Council of Thought stood and turned their backs on him in punishment. He walked from the chamber, head bowed in embarrassment. Once the door closed on him, the others turned back to one another. Unndhl lifted a finger and waited to see if Whazu would yield the floor.
Whazu nodded and sank slowly back into his chair.
Unndhl gestured toward the image in the white light. “It appears to be a human form, but one with animal traits. Could this be an image the queens have taken from their dead, an image of one of the…Otherness?”
Whazu lifted a finger and rose to hunch over the table. Once recognized, he spoke. “I believe this is so. Those we’ve created and bred below the earth have been corrupted with religion. Whether demon or god, they now fear a winged man, a lord of fire. I fear, there is no help for it, but to abandon our work here, and give this place back to the barbarians.”
Ghunta lifted a finger to test the wind and was allowed to express a thought. “We expected not to be in dimension #3354609921 for at least a few more millennia. Shall we proceed early to the next project?”
Whazu took over again. “Most of us can do so. I, however, would like to propose an exploration of the alternate realities. I would like to find this Otherness and extract elements from it to study. It is certainly worth considering.”
He sat down, letting the debate gently rage around the table. In the end, he thought they would agree. He tapped the table in front of him, giving great thought to how he would proceed in his hunt for this alien warlord.
COMING CHRISTMAS OF 2017:
THE GREEN AGATE PRETENDER
By
MORGAN BLAYDE
EXCERPT:
Tired from all the climbing and plodding through heavy snow, I walked into the royal palace, reaching the Winter Court Throne Room with an escort of silver-clad fey fore and aft.
I wore winter gear from Earth. Thermal underwear warmed me under my jeans. My hiking boots were fur-lined as well as my hooded parka. A black backpack dangled from my hand by straps. Under my unbuttoned coat, I had my shoulder rig and my Px4 Storm semi-automatics in reach, even though this was a friendly visit. No one ever died from habitual caution.
Neither the Queen nor Izumi were present. A large thug-looking fey sat on the throne like it was his proper place to be. He had a green agate crown on his head, a sneer on his lips, and a tan that wasn’t natural to the winter court.
“And what do we have here?” he asked.
“Caine Deathwalker, Lord of the Dragon’s Eye, heir to the Dragon Throne, and Demon Lord from Earth. Where’s my wife, the Princess Izumi?”
The man on the throne slowly shaped his face into an expression of profound loss. “I fear she has wandered to a lost place in the heart of Underhill where none may recover her, a place of ancient terrors and ever-breaking magic. I doubt you will see her again.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you are about to die.” He nodded and flicked some fingers.
And the escort around me drew their swords. I whipped out my handguns and held them out to my sides. Spinning, I fired until the clips were empty and all my spent casings bounced on the polished floor. Gun smoke harshened the cold air I breathed.
The fey warriors wore magic-reinforced silver chainmail, but the ammo I’d used was magic as well. It had exploded into them and left bloody craters. They lay fallen, a few groaning with lingering life.
I holstered the empty handguns and mentally called a machine pistol to me through the ether from my Malibu armory on Earth. It materialized in my hands, a comforting weight.
The man on the throne was standing now, mouth open, staring. I expected him to call for additional guards. Instead, he scurried toward a side door, hauling ass.
Only slightly stupid. He can’t really believe I’m going to let him get away?
I ran at him, yelling. “Get back here, ass-wipe, and grovel like a man.”
He went through the door and slammed it shut behind him. Approaching, I fired heavily. Reaching the door, I swung a foot and kicked with full dragon-strength. The wood splintered inward. Boards flew free, but part of the door stayed with the hinges. I flung myself through the ragged gap, poking ahead with the muzzle of the pistol. Its green laser sent a thin beam probing for a target.
The gloom-choked room was full of fey guards. They lay scattered on the floor, senseless. I checked one of them. Asleep. Probably a spell. These were probably loyal to their missing queen. I wondered if she too were lost in a place of ancient terrors and ever-breaking magic.
A door opened off to the side. Light flooded in. I saw the crowned man silhouetted a moment, then he was gone. I leaped after him, wondering how such a heavy-foot, softy could hold such a pace. There was only one explanation: Fear. He must have a good idea of what I intended to do to him.
Moonstone Shifter (Demon Lord Book 8) Page 30
