The Scarlet Dragon Saga

by J. P. Rice

  “Don’t you worry. I’m not as stupid as I look,” she said with a sorrowful giggle.

  That was good. She didn’t look like the sharpest sword on the battlefield.

  As I stared at her, the memories of my children flooded in. Burnadette and Tenda. Bres had picked their names. I’d had no say in the matter, just as I’d had no say in creating them. When they had poured the lava in our cave dwelling, Burnadette was only ten and Tenda eight. They had killed my babies because of me.

  I’d planned to get my children out of the Red Cavern. I’d thought I was close to finding Lugh’s Spear. And after I secured the item, I’d planned to grab my kids and head for the hills. That night had changed everything. It had stripped me of the one thing that had made me happy since my husband disappeared.

  Even though mothers weren’t allowed to be with their children in the daytime, we slept together every night. When the kids had started to realize they had magical ability, I’d told them I was a powerful witch from Ireland.

  How could I tell them their mother was the most notorious magic thief in the world? In my undercover form, nobody could see my scars. I’d lied to my own children. Even though I’d planned to come clean one day, those memories still burned worse than the lava.

  Because of me, two innocent children had died. I could still see their faces. Every single feature was branded into my memory. Why couldn’t I have had children with my husband? All this nonsense could have been easily avoided if the Gods weren’t so cruel.

  I still needed to find out who’d ratted me out during my last visit. I tried to shift my mind to more positive thoughts. An image took form before my eyes. Sapphire scales covered a big reptilian body with wings. My dragons. My new family. And I wasn’t going to let anyone take them away from me. That was a promise and a threat.

  But first, I had to find the Harp.

  Chapter 15

  “When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and wild heaths. Those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees—a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.

  “But then the barking of dogs fills the air, and the host of wild souls sweeps down, fire flashing from the eyes of the black hounds and the hooves of the black horses.” Kveldulf Hagen Gundarsson

  The wild hunt. It’s meaning had evolved greatly over the years.

  Originally, the hunt passed through the forest on the coldest day of the year. It began as a hunt led by a God or Godess and signified a change in seasons. A majority of the early versions mention Odin as the leader of the hunt, which was more of a celebration that marked the end of winter and the beginning of spring.

  Another early version featured Odin assuming his role as the Norse God of Wind. He streaked through the sky on his eight-legged steed, Sleipnir. Odin and the ghosts of the dead would kick up tremendous wind bursts, accompanied by thunder and lightning. The citizens could also hear pounding hooves and barking dogs coming from the sky. This version was believed to be the precursor of pestilence, war and death.

  Another version had the hunt racing through towns and villages sweeping up unsuspecting citizens and carrying them miles away from their homes.

  Over the years, the mythology of the hunt had changed to suit the geographical region and time period. In the middle ages, the lead huntsman was often King Arthur. Unfortunately, it had since become a generic term for a predatory hunt of any kind. The modern version slightly resembled animal hunting in that the targets weren’t predetermined. The wild hunt was carried out randomly. Usually, just for sadistic pleasure.

  Dweezil—Bruceras’s top assistant—popped into our cave.

  “Greetings.” He nodded to each of us. “I’ve been sent to inform both of you about the wild hunt you will be attending. You leave in two days. It’s an opportunity to prove your worth to the Red Cavern.”

  Dweezil was a cambion. His mother was a succubus and his father a human. It gave me hope that I had a chance to appeal to his human side. He was Bruceras’s right hand man. He acted more like a squire, but he had access to the two items I was searching for.

  He looked like a human, but a hideously haggard human. His skinny face and aquiline nose were covered in warts and his gaunt cheeks sported random tufts of dark hair. It was as if he was awful at shaving. His greasy dark hair hung over half his face and he had to keep up with it, occasionally swiping it behind his ear.

  He had big ears and crooked buckteeth, which led me to believe he wasn’t a hit with the ladies. But then again, this was a demon underworld. Who knew what passed for good looking down here? The devil’s assistant appeared to be a smidge over six-feet tall.

  He appeared young, but then again, so did I most of the time. He was wearing a black outfit that resembled karate gear. A white belt cinched around his waist held the jacket securely around his big frame.

  “How does the hunt work?” Cheryl asked.

  Dweezil’s dark eyes widened and he explained, “Simple, really. Your chaperone will find a hunting ground for you and set you loose. Your goal is to kill as many humans as you can and bring them back to the chaperone. Whoever bags the most wins the prize.”

  Cheryl asked, “What’s the prize?”

  “It’s a secret.” He placed his calloused index finger over his thin lips and arched an eyebrow.

  “What kind of people are we trying to kill?” I asked.

  “Humans. Old men, pregnant women, babies,” he said, and the firelight reflected off his glossy eyes, creating a sinister look. “That’s who I’d recommend. They don’t get away so easy. Be ready to leave at any time.”

  He nodded and turned for the exit. The devil’s assistant stuffed himself into the passageway, his body snaking upward until the soles of his worn sandals disappeared from the flickering torchlight.

  I couldn’t sound weak in front of Cheryl. From the look in her eyes, she didn’t want to go on a wild hunt either.

  I tried to gauge her. “Well, that’s interesting.”

  “Yeah,” her voice squeaked. “Time to get revenge for all those people who fucked us over.”

  “I’m with you on that,” I agreed with her, but we weren’t killing our old enemies. “What about cops and stuff like that?”

  “I never thought about that,” she said and twisted a few locks of hair with shaky fingers. “Dweezil sounded like all that was already taken care of.”

  “That’s my only concern.” I contemplated the situation. “Are they setting up humans to take the heat off what they are really up to in Pittsburgh?”

  “I don’t want to go to jail,” she said, shaking her head. “I can tell you that.”

  “Me too. And if they catch us on a hunt, we’ll be going away for the rest of our lives.”

  “But if we don’t do it, they’ll probably kick us out of here.” She grabbed her apron from a pile of clothes. “We need to talk to some people today in the kitchen and find out the details on these things.”

  This put me in a tight spot. If I was forced to go on the wild hunt, I couldn’t kill innocent humans. And if I didn’t kill, the demons wouldn’t trust me. I would have to run from the hunt and escape. Then I could call in my favor from Zeus and take the Harp by force.

  I didn’t want to flush all this work down the proverbial toilet though. If I could get into the Gallery where they stored the Harp, I could avoid the hunt altogether. Looked like I had some detective work to do.

  Chapter 16

  “Where is the Glove?” a deep voice boomed, echoing off the underground walls. I knew that voice.

  I’d left the kitchen to go to the bathroom. As I walked down the hallway near Bruceras’s office, I heard murmuring. I moved closer and noticed that the walkway widened. Off to my left, I saw a big stone statue of Bruceras. I tucked my body in between the statue and the wall and eavesdropped.

  Bruceras spoke without emotion, “Wh
at are you talking about? It’s in the Gallery.”

  “I came straight from the Gallery. I can tell you it isn’t there,” said Merlin.

  That son of a bitch. That double-dipping son of a bitch. Lecturing me, motherfooker.

  I shook my head in disgust, and Bruceras said, “Let me page Dweezil and see if he knows. I wasn’t aware someone had taken it out.”

  Whoa! Losing track of the Devil’s Glove was a big honking deal. I hated to agree with Merlin, but how could Bruceras not know if someone took the Glove out?

  “You’d better find it,” Merlin screeched. “I need it. We had a deal, remember. I keep the council from harassing the Red Cavern and you let me use the enchanted items from the Gallery. I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now I want the Glove.”

  “Relax,” Bruceras said calmly. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. What do you need the Glove for?”

  “The only way to kill bad blood is with the baddest blood of them all,” Merlin uttered ominously.

  “What are you talking about, you insane wizard?” Bruceras asked. The fire was noticeably absent in Bruceras’s words. He’d apparently lost his passion for the Red Cavern.

  “I’m taking out Junipher.” Merlin paused. “Once and for all,” he stated dramatically.

  “Still obsessed with that?” Bruceras spoke through a slight chuckle. “Look at you. You’re basically foaming at the mouth.”

  “When Brighid and I formed the magic council, we made a hit list,” Merlin hissed, his words dripping in venom. “I’ve crossed out every name on that list except for one. I’m done playing games. I want the Glove to finally kill that bitch.”

  So my mother and Merlin came after me and left the Red Cavern to do as they wished. Perhaps my mother still had feelings for her ex-husband, Bres.

  “You’re not worried about going mad?” Bruceras asked. “Although you already look like you’re halfway there. You should be careful. You know what happens to those who choose to wear the Glove.”

  “I don’t care anymore. I welcome the madness. Besides, we wouldn’t have to deal with any of this if you’d put on the Glove at Machu Picchu,” Merlin chastised the devil.

  After all his high and mighty talk at the Lair of Justice about how he fought against dark magic, I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “If I’d put on that Glove, I wouldn’t be standing here right now,” Bruceras revealed. “And you know that. Think about the track record of its users. I thought Balor could handle it.”

  “Well he couldn’t,” Merlin said, growing increasingly agitated. “It only proved that that bitch is a serious threat and the prophecy may be true.”

  Prophecy?

  I knew it. That was why my mother and Merlin had formed the Supreme Magic Council right after Machu Picchu. It was an excuse to kill me legally. All because I’d made a little joke at Merlin’s expense in front of the Gods. My mother hadn’t needed a reason. She’d hated me my entire life. I still didn’t know why.

  It sounded like I was driving them crazy. Good. After their shenanigans with the death cards, it all made perfect sense. I was that fly that landed on Merlin’s nose, and when he went to smash me, I flew away laughing while blood poured from his nostrils.

  If Merlin got the Glove, he could kill me easily. The Devil’s Glove was made from the flesh of the original Devil and had dark blood running through it.

  In the beginning, there was one God and one Devil. They both started families and little scuffles started to break out, Hatfield and McCoy style. A small disagreement had morphed into a bloody war until God drove the Devil and his following underground.

  The Original God or O.G. knew that the Devil would try to attack again. The O.G. had gone to Mount Olympus first, and found a proper mate to create Kronos.

  Then, the O.G. had traveled the world and found worthy mates to create all the other pantheons we know today. He’d created superpowered beings imbued with magic to walk among the humans and protect his greatest creation. Having the civilizations spread out meant that he could defend the entire earth’s surface against the Devil.

  As for the Devil, he had consumed some poison accidentally, and as he lay on his death bed, he had given his sons directions. He had told them to use his burgundy skin to design a Glove they could wear in battle. Whoever wore the Glove and chanted the Devil’s Words became invincible, impervious to magic attacks.

  I didn’t know the Devil’s Words, but I had a solid hunch that crusty fook known as Merlin did. If he obtained the Glove and found me, my life would be over in an instant.

  A different voice called out, “You called, my lord and savior.”

  Bruceras replied, “Dweezil, do you know of anyone who has taken the Glove out?”

  “You don’t know if someone has taken it out?” Merlin snapped. “What kind of operation are you running?”

  “Silence, old man,” Bruceras screamed. “Let me take care of this issue.”

  “I don’t believe anyone has taken it out, my lord,” Dweezil said weekly. “I believe it should be in its place. You want I should look?”

  “Yes,” Bruceras said.

  “No,” Merlin objected, “Stop. Bruceras, I was just in there. It isn’t there. You must keep that area clear and find out who has the Glove. Why don’t you have the Gallery under control?”

  “We do have the Gallery under control.” Bruceras paused, seemingly choking down his anger. “Only the thirteen and our assistants can get in there. And everyone is accounted for. For good measure, why don’t you make some calls and see if any of the thirteen knows about this?”

  Dweezil responded, “Yes, my lord.” A pair of feet shuffled across the stone floor.

  Merlin said, “I don’t have to be a member of the thirteen to tell you how bad this is. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be a disaster.”

  “They still have to cast the spell,” Bruceras reminded him. “Unless you’ve been blabbing away to your stupid God friends, we should be fine.”

  “Should be?” Merlin asked, flabbergasted. “How can you be so relaxed? You’d better start an investigation immediately.”

  “Wait until Dweezil gets back before you lose your mind. I don’t whip myself into a frenzy until I know there’s a problem,” Bruceras said.

  Merlin and Bruceras bickered for a few minutes, when a breathless Dweezil returned.

  Huffing and puffing, he said, “Sir. My lord. No one seems to know why the Glove isn’t in the Gallery. Several threatened me with physical violence, I should say. Happy, they are not, my lord.”

  “Stop looking at me with that stupid smirk, wizard. Are you happy about this?” Bruceras asked.

  “Not at all,” said Merlin. I could hear the smugness attached to his words. The wizard continued, “I was sounding the alarm while you were ignoring it.”

  “My lord. Sorry to interrupt. But how should you like us to proceed?” Dweezil asked.

  “Get the investigators up here,” Bruceras instructed. “Gather fingerprints and any evidence they can from the Gallery. I want to know who has my Glove.”

  Merlin mocked the devil, “I thought you had a protection spell set on the Glove, Bruceras.”

  “There should have been one set,” Bruceras admitted.

  A short paused ensued.

  “If you can’t say that without absolute certainty, then we are already lost,” said an incredulous Merlin. “Anyone could have it.”

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this immediately and the Glove will be back in no time,” Bruceras said, but I could hear the concern in his voice. “Why don’t you just take another one of our enchanted items?”

  “Because I need the most powerful one, you fool,” Merlin exploded. “I want to be done with this bitch. Just when I start to forget about her, Brighid starts nagging me about it again.”

  I’d always wondered if Merlin and my mother had an amorous relationship. I knew Merlin was in love with her and would jump at the chance. I also knew my mother was a vindictive
she-bitch who would use his feelings to manipulate the ancient wizard.

  Merlin said, “I’ll be back in five days. If the glove isn’t here, it will be open season on the Red Cavern. From all councils. From all pantheons.”

  “Don’t start a war you cannot win, wizard,” Bruceras warned him.

  “I have the backing of seven pantheons behind me,” Merlin roared. “Look around here at this mom and pop operation. All these years and this is what you have to show. Your only worth was in that Gallery. Besides, I could tell them all how to get here tomorrow. Your threats mean nothing. I’m the one doing you a favor. Never forget that.”

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t let you leave alive?” Bruceras asked.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Merlin countered, but I heard a touch of worry in his voice.

  Bruceras said, “I’m not. Nobody knows you’re here. I’m being very generous, wizard. I cannot give you what I don’t have. You’ve been chasing that bitch for over a century. Five days, the Glove will be back.”

  “It best be,” Merlin screeched. “We are in this situation because of your failures. Not wearing the glove at Machu Picchu. Then, after we told you about Junipher, you couldn’t even kill her. You and your stupid lava attack. Find the Glove, Bres.”

  Angry footsteps hustled away as the wizard muttered to himself under his breath. So my mother and Merlin were behind the lava bath. I should have known. My mother had known I was here. She’d told Merlin, who had relayed the message to Bres. Who else could it have been? That still didn’t excuse Bres from ordering the attempt.

  Skittering footsteps drew near, and an out-of-breath Dweezil said, “My lord, I’ve alerted the investigators. They are gathering supplies now and will inspect the Gallery soon.”

  “Good. Damn that Merlin. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him on the spot. You know that, Dweezil?” Bruceras asked rhetorically.

  “I hate to sound stupid, and I would never question your judgment, but why did you allow him to leave, my lord?” Dweezil questioned.

  Bruceras sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, he does protect us. If the Gods appointed a new leader to the Supreme Magic Council, we would fall under heavy scrutiny as their main targets. I hate to put up with that curmudgeony wizard, but he does serve a valuable purpose.”