“Fair enough,” I said, shaking my head, “but it still makes me feel like I’m one of those goth kids that my father told me to pick on all the time, and that’s weird.”
“Understandable, Master Rhodes,” the man said, and judging by his tone, I figured he agreed with me.
He looked off to the side, like I did whenever I wanted my mindscreen to give me the time.
“I think they’re going to arrive in a few minutes, sir… do you still want to do most of the talking?”
“I still have to do most of the talking,” I corrected the man. “Dad was very clear on that. But it’s not a problem, because he walked me through everything he wanted me to say to that giant Horde thing. Besides, we used to know most of the people he’s bringing through.”
“Yes, sir, Master Rhodes,” Hammill said in a suspiciously neutral tone. “We used to know them.”
I caught his warning. Aegrim’s magic had caused side effects for its users, even back on supposedly mundane Earth. It had only gotten worse here, to the point that we’d had to keep leaving people behind on the weaker worlds, shutting them away where they couldn’t mess things up in an important fight by being too crazy.
But the Horde was fucking creepy by anyone’s standards. I wasn’t looking forward to finding out just how different our old colleagues had become.
Then all the runes in the clearing suddenly flared into existence, signaling that the Horde Pathway was activated.
I inhaled and waited.
And I tried not to reflect on the fact that Dad had chosen me to greet the new arrivals. Did he choose me because I knew most of the people, and every one of the real operatives were busy? Or did he choose me because he was expecting something to go wrong, and he wanted me removed because I was expendable?
Or did he choose me because he suspected I had already turned, and he was providing me with an opportunity to out myself by giving away sensitive information that only I and another guard would have known?
Fuck, I swore at the thought, reminding myself for the thousandth time that I would have to be careful with the information I chose to share with Wes.
Then I had to remind myself not to panic, or people would figure out that I had a reason to be panicking, and that could give me away just as easily. Inhaling slowly, I wrestled my fears under control and made myself project a calm expression.
I was able to do that by getting mad over the fact that I was more worried about what my father thought of me than I was over the chance of getting torn apart by a giant, furry, demon-monster.
Heavy footsteps shook the ground. The Horde ambassador was close.
I watched his massive, horned frame come into view from beyond the shadows of the nearby trees.
And Jesus Christ, that thing was huge.
The monster technically wasn’t more than an inch or so taller than the largest Spawn, somewhere in the nine feet range, not counting his horns. But where the horse-faced freaks were wrinkled and lanky, the Brute had the muscle mass of three linebackers put together.
Adding in the fact that he was also equipped with the heaviest set of plate armor I had ever seen and flaunted a pair of horns that would make the most rabid longhorn bull feel skittish, and it was no wonder every fight-or-flight response in my body had started screaming in my skull.
The thick, flesh-like tabard he was wearing didn’t help things either.
But worst of all, he was quiet.
None of his armor clanked as he moved. I had no idea how he managed that, even when I remembered that he probably oiled it regularly. Even his footsteps had grown quiet, making me think I had only heard them before because he had made them loud on purpose.
Meaning that this thing could probably sneak up on me, and probably any of Dad’s other people, and we’d never know until it was too late.
But as the massive monster caught sight of me, he lowered his armored head in a dignified, gracious manner.
“Volg of the Bloody Sword and Gore-Crusted Pen hereby announces his presence.”
Right, I thought. That was one of the things the army of ooze-worshipping beastmen performed as part of their etiquette. Dad had taught me the proper response.
“Chris Rhodes Warrenson recognizes the ambassador of his allies, and bids him welcome to this grove,” I said in as formal a tone I could manage. Goddamned roleplayers… I muttered angrily in my mind, had to make up a fantasy world that wasn’t any weirder than what was actually out there.
The massive, flesh-clad minotaur knight exhaled in what was clearly relief.
“My request has been honored, then,” the unsettlingly polite monster said, his blood-stained, finger-long teeth flashing from the darkness of his mouth. “I see that I have been honored by the presence of the most veteran enemy of the traitor-prince. I greet thee, Chris Rhodes, tyrant-prince, First Foe of the False Lord Malcolm.”
“Hail the First-Foe of the traitor-prince,” a chorus of voices resounded from the shadows of the trees.
Oh, fuck, I groaned mentally. I get to be a celebrity to these things, too. Can’t wait until I have to sign some fucking autographs.
“Aegrimson’s ambassador hereby presents the bridge between our worlds,” Volg continued, gesturing behind him with a clawed gauntlet, “the healers of your people. The disciples of Aegrim who have accepted our Father’s second blessing, and with it, the heavy burden of defending our knowledge, art, and holiness. The Knights of the Pit.”
At least a dozen human-sized shadows stepped out of the gloom just beyond the clearing. Their forms were swathed in the long robes and cloaks favored by the denizens of the Golden Sands.
In fact, their skin tones completely matched that of the Golden Sands locals.
Even the ones with features I could still recognize.
“Please rest assured, Tyrant Prince,” the goddamn talking murder-diplomat said, “they only appear this way because it is needed for them to conceal their true natures. They will walk among the lesser humans and elves, those the Pits recognize as prey, until they are ready to engage the traitor-prince. Then, when he is least expecting and most vulnerable, and unable to expel depravities from his lips, they will unleash upon him the full power of the Pit’s gifts, the same ones that he spurned in favor of pursuing an unsound mind. He will see what he could have had, could have enjoyed, could have become, and then he will know peace and see no more. Because they will have killed the traitor-prince.”
“Kill the traitor-prince,” the voices of people I had once known intoned reverently.
Great. The Pit had messed with their brains after all.
Apparently the Gore-Crusted Poet or whatever his name was noticed my concern, despite not even having a visor on his helmet to see me through, because his armored head tilted as it regarded me.
“Yes,” the Brute said gravely as he looked at me, “it grieves me to say that your concern is merited. Your Earthborn brothers have been changed by us. We did our best to make sure those of Father Aegrim’s world would be the better for it. We tried to give them nothing but power and special gifts. But we failed, Tyrant Prince. They still have much of their old minds, but they have gained some of our emotions, hopes, and fears. When they accepted our gifts and power, they learned just what the traitor-prince had thrown aside—and how deeply our people, our Pits, and even the traitor-prince’s own brother, mourn his loss. They saw King Aegrimson weep with his many heads for the loss of his brother, and the sight has changed them. This is why you have been summoned, Warrenson. This is why I prevailed upon your father to be their welcome.”
“I am afraid I do not understand, honored Volg,” I said deferentially, somehow managing to keep all of the ‘what the fuck’ I was feeling off of my face.
“Oh, it is not that you do not understand, Prince Warrenson,” the armored giant corrected graciously. “It is that the understanding has become so ingrained in you that you do not even notice it. You have witnessed the traitor-prince’s depravity first-hand. Watched it, monitored it.
Warned others of it. And then, with Grandfather Malus Himself as your eternal witness, you attempted to reverse his nature with your own power. To correct his nature to something more natural. You took on such a task when you were no older than he was, like one child seeking to save his brother. You should be commended for such a thing, Tyrant Prince. I wish to Father Aegrim that you had been there that fateful day, when the traitor-prince came upon his first unguarded Pit. Much trauma would have been prevented. Millions of bride-meals would have been unspoiled.”
Stop crawling, I told my skin firmly, but the command lacked conviction.
“But this is why you are so desperately needed, Tyrant Prince,” Volg insisted, his voice becoming passionate instead of remaining dignified. “You have been exposed to the traitor-prince’s depravities the longest. Yet you stand before us with a resistant, undamaged mind. You have continually made the hard choice of confronting those most damaged by the traitor-prince’s insanity, of trying to reason with them when it was often hopeless, and then putting them out of their misery with your own two hands. You have done so with such calm, with such skill, that our people have made a point of asking for you by name when such tasks needed to be done, for though you have always done what was needed, you were able to use reason to save the greatest number of our children.”
Wait, what? I thought, trying to hide my consternation. When the hell did I ever—that was like three times!
Because it really was. There had been maybe three instances when I had managed to bring a nest of Horde under control without killing them all. I couldn’t even remember what I’d said to bring them in line.
But unfortunately, I was still playing diplomat with Mr. Eloquent Murder Horns.
“I am pleased to have been of service,” I lied as casually as possible. “But you must explain further how I can help. What are you now asking of me?”
“You honor us with your willingness to assist, Tyrant Prince,” the Brute said as he bowed his head. “The matter is more dire, but thankfully more simple, than what you have been forced to do in the past. The exalted men behind me are your brothers.” Volg swept his hand back toward the silent group of faux Goldfolk. “Yes, their bodies are different, and yes, they now wield a level of power I hope to one day offer you as well, beloved of Aegrim. But they grieve over a tragedy that you have already mastered. They have come closer to King Aegrimson’s Hallowed Pits, and so they share the Pit’s reluctance to destroy something that had once been so sacred and full of potential. You must understand, Prince Warrenson, that destruction is not our nature. We would rather create something eternal, as Father Aegrim did. Something that exists for eternity, no matter how loudly and how often its prey weeps and screams for release. The Pits still long to recreate the traitor-prince, long to form him into all that he could be in Aegrim’s name. They cannot understand that such a thing is now impossible, and those whom the Pits have knighted now share their sires’ impulse. They need you, the one who has battled Traitor Malcolm the longest, to help them work through that desire.”
“I’m happy to help in any way,” I asserted in a slow, and deliberate tone, my stomach twisting with the continued lie, “but I need to advise you that I probably won’t be able to accompany your strike force to the Golden Sands. Father usually has me assist him with other tasks. And I haven’t battled Malcolm since his escape from Avalon. I have no idea what powers he currently might have.”
“That is not needed,” the armored, hide-clad giant said as he shook his horned head. “Power is the one thing we have in abundance, and we have learned from the ghost of every Hordebeing which the false prince has slain. But our knights will need your help, your counsel, in letting their hatred drive them to do what they must do. To kill the traitor-prince.”
“Kill the traitor-prince,” the dozen or so men behind Volg echoed in unison.
But this time, I caught it.
It wasn’t the impassioned mantra of the brain-washed.
It was a mantra adopted by those trying to preserve something. Like those recitations people made in our old church back on Earth, to help them keep to their faith.
Because they were afraid of losing it.
That was even scarier to me.
But it was still something I could work with.
“In that case,” I said loudly, looking at each of the eleven figures in front of me. “You were right in asking for me. I see now why my father sent me here in his stead. Because there are, if nothing else, two things I excel at: doing whatever is necessary to survive, and hating Wes Malcolm. Leave your men with me, Ambassador Volg, and I promise to help them hate our enemy with every fiber of their beings. Just as I learned to do years ago.”
Wes’ Perspective
Hey, Teeth said in my mind, I think you need to wake up.
Ugh, I said as my own consciousness struggled its way back into existence, why?
Because, the New Guy said in a grating tone, number one: my senses are fully awake right now, unlike yours. Two: there is an attractive, human-sized, female fairy bumping up against us. And three: I am really, really, REALLY tired of being good right now.
I blinked reluctantly, and something pink and spiky almost stabbed me right in the eye. That’s Breena’s hair, my alert brain cells said to my still-sleeping ones. It’s usually not that dangerous.
Because she’s usually not very big.
Which means…
Goddamnit.
I finished blinking away, and yes, once again, a pink-haired, five-foot-tall woman was snugly curled up next to me, wingless, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts that were far too small on her to leave anything to my imagination.
This time, she hadn’t forced me nearly off the mattress, but that was because our bed had been placed up against the wall, so I couldn’t go any further.
In effect, I was caught between a wall and a very soft place.
At least she didn’t steal all the blankets this time, I told myself as I reluctantly cleared my throat.
“Breena,” I groaned, as my conscience struggled to overpower my overtaxed sex drive.
“Mmmm,” the short woman mumbled as she pushed further against me.
“Breena, it’s time to get up.”
“Nuh-uh,” the five-foot fairy said, wiggling into my side as she pulled the blankets tighter around the both of us, “no can do. Too warm and snug.”
“Breena!” I growled, Teeth’s frustrations nearly overpowering us both. “We need to get up now!”
“Ack!” the fairy-woman squeak-shouted as she heard my tone. She bounced out of the bed, eyes wide with comprehension.
Guys-guys-guys! Breena sent through the mindlink. Wes’ dragon just came out! I heard it! We’re all about to be under attack!
Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized that her wings had disappeared, or that she had already tangled herself up in blankets. She tumbled out of the bed before I could either catch her or admonish her for giving the whole retinue entirely the wrong idea.
“Ack!” she sputtered as she tried to wrestle herself free of the blanket. “Berry-blast it, there’s a lot to deal with in here! Somebody help me!”
I felt tense silence radiate from the rest of the mindlink.
Stand down, everyone, I said as I gingerly sat up in the bed. False alarm.
The herb it is! Breena shot back through the group mindlink angrily. I know all the warning signs for your monster mode by now! You never let that thing out unless things are really urgent! Besides, you’re the one who woke me up, so you’re the one who has to stand down here!
Got it, Breyn, Gabin, and Karim said in unison over the mindlink. Signing off now.
Why? I heard Salima ask in a baffled voice. Are we really under attack? What is happening? How does the Lord Earthborn restrain a dragon when he sleeps?
Umm… I heard Weylin began, but Val cut him off.
I’ll explain to her, she said firmly, and the blond elf sighed in relief.
Petalbell and Eadric stayed completely s
ilent the whole time, which meant that Breena’s niece was being purposefully tactful, and Eadric was snickering and knew that I knew he was doing so.
“Breena,” I said in as patient of a tone as I could manage, “please stop talking through the mindlink. We need to have another private conversation.”
Knives in the Night Page 11
