Knives in the Night
Page 1
Knives in the Night
Challenger's Call Book 6
Nathan A Thompson
Copyright © 2020 Nathan Thompson
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Art Painter
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1: WHETSTONE
CHAPTER 2: LEARNING THE ROUTE
CHAPTER 3: BACK-UP DAGGERS
CHAPTER 4: MOVING IN GROUPS
CHAPTER 5: TURF WAR
CHAPTER 6: SAFEHOUSES
CHAPTER 7: ESPIONAGE
CHAPTER 8: COUNCIL OF KNIVES
CHAPTER 9: OF ONE ACCORD
CHAPTER 10: CLAIMING TERRITORY
CHAPTER 11: AMBUSHED
CHAPTER 12: COUNTERSTRIKE
CHAPTER 13: FIGHTING DIRTY
CHAPTER 14: NEW GROUND
CHAPTER 15: TAKEDOWN
CHAPTER 16: NEXT MARK
CHAPTER 17: PLAN ON THE MOVE
CHAPTER 18: QUICKLY AND QUIETLY
CHAPTER 19: LOOKOUT DUTY
CHAPTER 20: KNIFE IN THE CROWD
CHAPTER 21: ON THE RUN
CHAPTER 22: SPLITTING UP
CHAPTER 23: CONCEALED WEAPONS
CHAPTER 24: INVESTIGATION
CHAPTER 25: TAUNTING
CHAPTER 26: MAINTAINING COVER
CHAPTER 27: BLADE PRACTICE
CHAPTER 28: TAKING NOTES
CHAPTER 29: LESSON LEARNED
CHAPTER 30: NEW METHODS
CHAPTER 31: NEXT TARGET
CHAPTER 32: DISCUSSING METHODS
CHAPTER 33: DEADLY GRACE
CHAPTER 34: HIDING EVIDENCE
CHAPTER 35: SUCCESS
CHAPTER 36: NEW OPPORTUNITIES
CHAPTER 37: KNIVES IN THE NIGHT
CHAPTER 38: DRAWING THE SECOND BLADE
CHAPTER 39: REAR FLANK
CHAPTER 40: RISE UP AND RAGE. ROUND 6
CHAPTER 41: SHOW HER OFF
CHAPTER 42: RIVAL’S ADVANCE
CHAPTER 43: I WILL BE KING
AFTERWORD
PROLOGUE
Murder, a voice whispered in the dark. He has murdered…
I turned my head to find the speaker, but I was alone in the darkness beyond all my false and fragile skies. Far off in the distant void, a few points sparkled, yet did nothing to brighten the space around them.
Unfortunately, while they were devoid of actual light, they were plentiful in meaningless noise.
Destroyer, the facade of stars accused me. You have gone too far.
“You have already said that dozens of times by now,” I sighed out loud, having grown tired of these visions long ago. “It’s probably the first sentence you assholes learn to say when you’re born.”
You do not understand, the frightened beings twinkled in the distance. You have now slain. You have now killed. There is now blood on your hands.
That was a particularly meaningless thing for them to say, given the figurative trail of corpses already behind me and their endless bitching about that as well. They knew damn well I had been slaughtering their monsters and Hordespawn and Dark Icons for some time. The implication that I had killed for the first time was beyond ridiculous.
But just as I was about to point that out, I remembered that I had just slain a former member of the Stellar Council itself—or I had at least orchestrated his death.
“Wait,” I said aloud. “This is about the Air Tyrant. Peitan. Fragglerock. Whatever his name was.”
The dark sky glittered and hissed at me, the points of light growing smaller, as if they were drifting further away.
You should have stayed low! the voices said. Now look at what you have become! The blood of kings is on your hands!
I laughed, and the act relieved my soul in a hundred different ways.
“You creatures had countless ages to learn what a king was, and you never figured it out. That’s why you never had anything to begin with. As soon as you ran out of people to oppress, as soon as you ran out of Earthborn to actually fix the Expanse for you, your little empires broke apart and burned. All you have left are distant memories, and whatever tiny territories you’ve managed to carve out for yourselves, while a hundred different fires burn away the rest of the wealth you’ve stolen.” I looked below and saw the distant world beneath my feet, where sand drifted in the wake of the Air Tyrant’s death. “I didn’t murder anyone. Fragglerock wasn’t innocent. He was a foreign invader, preying on innocent lives already entrusted to me. You creatures came to this world, invoked your own laws and morals that protected your kind alone, and expected your victims to share your outrage when an actual king came to their defense and began to slay you. So let me be absolutely clear. You aren't a lawful government. You’re not a protected class of society. No one chose to submit under your rule. And I will not stand by and allow a single one of you to murder any more innocents who cry out for me to protect them. I will protect. I will prevail. And I will be king. Now begone,” I said, as Breaker’s hilt appeared in my hand. "I have more of your strongholds to destroy. And more of your victims to liberate and restore.”
Indeed you do, the Mad Tyrant, the other one that they called Destroyer, said in my mind. Go crown them, and write love on their arms.
And with those words, I thrust Breaker upward, reached down into myself, and pushed.
CHAPTER 1: WHETSTONE
Chris’ Perspective
We stepped through one of our remaining portals. I looked around anxiously, but all I found were more of Dad’s senior operatives, garbed in either robes, cloaks, or heavy plate armor.
“Report,” my father said, as his own magical equipment began to shimmer into existence, obscuring a tunic, trousers, and cloak that supposedly mimicked the nobility’s garb on one of Avalon’s worlds—the Dawnlands, probably. Who, again, all seemed to just dress like people in those elf-ring movies. I didn’t care more than I had to.
I didn’t think Dad did either, but apparently dressing like the locals gave some kind of advantage, so he wore clothing designed like their most expensive ensembles, under the blood-red breastplate, greaves, and bracers that materialized on his body.
“The site is still secure,” Dr. Dalfrey, Wes Malcolm’s former therapist, said in a bored tone as she gestured to the clearing just outside one of our campsites. Her red, low-cut dress, fitted with a large frill in the back, sparkled with the same Malus power covering my father’s clothes and armor.
She looked for all the world like the kind of woman that went around poisoning cartoon princesses, but once again, that sort of fashion was apparently more impressive to people here than it was back on Earth.
It didn’t stop my insides from shivering when she looked at me, though.
“What made you bring the young lad today?” the blonde woman asked as her eyes crawled up and down my physique. “I thought he still wasn’t big enough for these rides.”
“I didn’t think he was either,” my father chuckled, “but then he survived an ambush back on Earth, tracked Malcolm’s friends to the portal they escaped from, and then made his way back in time to help me kill Babbek. So even with
his botched Rite initiations, he’s managed to come through when it counted the most. Good job, son,” my father said, slapping me on the back.
He had reduced the blow to a degree where it wouldn’t hurt me. I knew because the power of the slap still managed to ripple through Every. Single. One. of my internal organs. My capillaries even felt it. But it somehow managed to keep from breaking anything inside, or sending me into shock.
A subtle reminder that he could kill me any time he felt like it.
That was normal, though. He had made discreet threats like that all my life. His praise, however, wasn’t, and I tried not to look too uncomfortable receiving it.
Dalfrey tilted her head and gave me a wide, gleaming smile.
“Well then, I welcome him to the more adult side of things.” The smirking woman shrugged in a way that was probably supposed to make me look at her cleavage. “I guess I’ll be seeing you more now, Chris.”
“Whatever Dad says,” I countered with a shrug of my own. Also, fuck no, my mind retorted firmly.
I had seen how she had tortured Wes, and just how natural it was for her. There was no way in hell I was going to risk anything with this woman.
“We can brag about my son later,” Dad continued. “First, we need to discuss his news, along with everything else that’s happened these last few weeks on Earth. Mistakes have been made,” he growled, causing both Dalfrey and me to flinch in spite of ourselves. “Those mistakes are going to have certain consequences. More importantly, they’re going to require certain solutions. Creative solutions, which demand that we make adjustments to our planning. Where’s Barnes?”
“Handling our guests,” Dalfrey said smoothly, recovering from Dad’s subconscious display of power. “The dignitaries from our...ally have arrived. One of the more senior representatives from the Many-Crowned King.”
Right; that was his title, I thought, still concerned by just how little I knew about the monster that had conquered one of Avalon’s worlds.
“Fine,” Dad said with a grimace. “Any word from our other contact?”
“You mean,” the red-clad woman swallowed nervously, “our... leader?”
“If he still deserves to be called that,” my father retorted darkly, surprising me with the lack of respect. He has gotten bolder, I realized, recalling how he had addressed Babbek back on Earth. What exactly has changed?
“We received a message from him,” Dalfrey said, her face carefully neutral. “But I interpreted his message to mean that he still trusts us to manage the current situation without any further assistance from himself.”
“What were his exact words?” my father demanded, leaning forward just enough to make his shadow loom over his associate.
Dalfrey swallowed again.
“His exact words were ‘Gimme Stell,’ and he ended the transmission spell after repeating the phrase multiple times.”
My father glowered at her for another moment, before smiling suddenly.
“Good,” he announced. “Let’s hope he stays this obsessed for a bit longer. Take me to Barnes and the Horde-things, Dalfrey.”
She nodded and led the way, while a small retinue of elite operatives formed an escort around us, robes swishing and armor clanking as we all moved.
When I realized how tense they were, I became worried.
“Hey, Dad?” I asked quietly. “Do you want me to just sit back and shut up for this meeting, or is there anything I should watch out for?”
“Nope,” my father said confidently, not even turning his head to look at me. “We’ve worked long enough with these folks to know we don’t need to worry about offending them. Just be casual, like you were with Babbek.”
Fuck.
“Got it,” I said, facing forward myself, and still wondering why he was feeling so confident. It wasn’t fake; I knew him well enough to tell that. But it didn’t explain where all of his sudden boldness had come from.
If nothing else, I knew it wasn’t coming from any of us, based on the uncertainty radiating from Dalfrey and our honor guard.
I didn’t speak again as we walked out of the clearing toward the dark, arched trees ahead. The landscape twisted further, winding through the gloomy wood until we reached the entrance to the cavern which housed the local Horde Pit.
Here, the ground was completely bare of any plant life, not because of the Pit’s corruption, but because Father’s people had stripped it of vegetation and overlaid it with paved stones that glowed with Script magic. Cavus had deigned to teach us the skill just before he went and turned himself into a one-nightmare hunting pack, hellbent on catching the nerd-girl demigoddess that had been running the resistance to our fifty-year operation.
Each stone held enough power to blast apart a Mongrel-class Hordebeast with a single step, and an empowered one at that. Anything stronger than that could survive, but it would have to seriously inconvenience itself to walk through the terrain, which, theoretically, would be enough for our own operatives to finish them off.
Judging by the conversations I had caught from the guards, none of them felt like that was remotely enough protection in the case that our allies decided to betray us.
That was probably because the Pit in the nearby cave wasn’t just a normal Pit. It was a former Pathway, one that the Steward of Avalon had sealed with some kind of nigh-irreversible magic—some kind of desperate ritual that had cost her greatly, and one that she had apparently only been able to do once, as far as we could tell.
That was the real root of her problem now, actually, from what I gathered. Well, aside from the fact that she now had to deal with a small army of evil Earthborn that could resurrect, advance in power just like Challengers, and quickly teleport across her planets until very recently, in addition to an indomitable abomination obsessively tracking her every step. Both of those problems could defeat her and her worlds on their own, and had both already come close.
But an open Pathway to the Lost Deeps meant that she could have another Horde invasion at any time. It also meant that the onslaught wouldn’t end until someone entered the Lost Deeps and obliterated every Horde Pit, as well as the being that all the Pits were devoted to.
From what I had seen, if that had been even remotely possible for Wes’ little nerd-girl, she would have attempted that at least once in the last thousand years or so, instead of just sealing the infested world on her doorstep. We had undone only a small fraction of the seal, enabling a strictly controlled amount of Horde to exit. Even that minimal contingent was enough to let us wage six world wars at once, with a force that either matched or outnumbered the combined armies of each respective world—especially when they began to establish Pits. The worlds’ heroes, rulers, and Icons were forced to combine all of their strength in order to face the monsters’ sudden emergence, in the midst of dealing with the loss of their Challenger, the disrupted communication from their Steward, the unrelated Trials and Tumults occurring at roughly the same time, and Malus Earthborn strike teams teleporting to key locations and sabotaging their efforts.
All things considered, it was kind of embarrassing that the Starsown and her people had managed to hold on for as many decades as they had.
But it also revealed to us just what we were dealing with in our Horde allies. I didn’t think Dad’s people had any idea regarding the inhabitants of the Lost Deeps, but I felt certain that they had been led to believe that the Horde was going to be a cheap, easily constructed, fully customizable asset that would serve as the ultimate fodder for any military exercise—one that could grow stronger over time, and provide a host of secondary benefits, such as empowering individuals that the Pits favored.
That last aspect was true, at least for the newly formed Pits. However, the Pits in the Lost Deeps had apparently been around long enough to form their own hierarchy, and all of them were united behind the being who had brought them victory in their last war. A being raised directly from the Pits themselves, and one anointed by the very creature lurking deep within my ow
n planet.
Volagro Aegrim-Son, they called him. The Many-Crowned King.
He had been sealed along with his armies and conquered kingdom. Somehow, Cavus and Dad’s people had been able to undo the lock.
But when they opened the door to peek inside, they promptly resealed it.
According to their report, the dragon of the Lost Deeps had enough armies, resources, and Icons of his own to overrun all of Avalon’s worlds without any outside assistance at all.
My father didn’t believe it, of course. If that was true, he’d argued, they would have found a way to undo the seal on their own, or they would have already overwhelmed us. Warren Rhodes refused to believe that someone powerful enough to defeat the military and magical power of every single neighbor would be stopped by something as simple as a complex lock, magical properties notwithstanding.
At any rate, his people decided to only undo a portion of the seal’s power, allowing for the release of Horde in controlled bursts, and the Many-Crowned King hadn’t complained, as far as I knew. In fact, the only time their leadership had truly pushed back had been over the disposal of Wes Malcolm, fueled by their disbelief in the fact that we were ever going to kill their traitor-prince and produce his corpse. That had led to some uncomfortable negotiations, but as far as I knew, the disagreement hadn’t spread beyond the occasional Hordebeast going rogue and needing to be put down.