Silverstone

by C E Johnson

  “As you wish,” Lyall grumbled just above a whisper, and Wuldur had to lean forward to catch his words before the wind stole them away. Lyall didn’t argue often.

  “You’re our strongest defense,” Wuldur said to compliment his were-creature.

  “Very well, General,” Lyall said in a louder tone. Nodding his great head, Lyall loped away to direct a hunting party of his were-creatures to scout the area as they approached the ranch house of the parents of one of Emily’s warriors named Luke.

  “I didn’t think this mission was going to be this hard,” Wuldur mumbled while jerking the reins and turning his black mare to follow a faint path. He was frustrated and disappointed. Too many of his wolf and goblin warriors had been killed by a protective web of Blacksky security agents who had been well entrenched around the Dalton residence. Losing even one half-dead warrior bothered him, but this latest casualty was unacceptable. It suggested he was being lax and careless.

  “I didn’t think Blacksky was going to still be by Emily’s house,” Kirbee grumbled, her mouth twisted in a dismayed scowl. Wuldur could tell she was trying to commiserate with him. She glanced at him with her wide dark eyes. “I thought they’d be unorganized, fleeing home to be with their families.” Polished by the scattered rays coming from the moon, her hair shimmered even in the dusky light of the night.

  Wuldur tried to smother the angry fire writhing in his mind, but it was difficult to put out. He could only hide his disappointment by pulling up the hood of his dark cloak. He took an irritated breath and shook his head. “I didn’t think they’d be there either.” He scowled, reluctant to review his misstep. Eventually they had overwhelmed the enemy, but even that hadn’t led to success. Although they had searched Emily’s home thoroughly, she hadn’t been there. He slowly rubbed the silverstone in the pommel of his longsword.

  “I can’t believe she left her house on the eve of our attack.” Kirbee sighed while frowning in a thoughtful manner.

  “Bad luck,” Wuldur rasped, wanting to leave his initial failure behind. Pressing his heels along his warhorse’s flank, his steed leapt forward eagerly. The whole line of destriers picked up the pace. Even Emily’s parents had been gone. He had spent entirely too much time tracking Emily Dalton down, but he was certain she was now in his grasp.

  “I’m sure it was just blind chance,” Kirbee began. Her voice had become even softer. He knew she was trying her best to soothe him. She kneed her own steed and continued to keep pace at Wuldur’s right side. “I don’t think she knew we were coming for her and I don’t think she knows we are now at her doorstep.”

  Wuldur grunted agreement, but he didn’t say any more words to Kirbee. He knew he was acting like a sullen child, but he felt ashamed of his performance so far. Here he was leading a seasoned squad of half-deads against earthlings and he wasn’t making much progress. He hadn’t shown Kirbee his exceptional skill in battle or even in trapping his quarry. Words weren’t coming easily. The more he thought about his losses, the more his mind became black with anger.

  “I’m amazed the she-devil slipped through our net so easily,” Milo hissed as he rode up to trot alongside Kirbee. Taking a deep breath, Wuldur braced himself for Milo’s next words. The arch-mage certainly wasn’t holding back any criticism, but at least he was still speaking with a teasing edge instead of malice. Milo took a red magestone out of the pocket of his crimson cloak and tossed it high into the air, snatching it easily when it returned to him. “I almost felt as if the Blacksky personnel on guard patrol did know we were coming.” He glanced around dramatically. “Could a half-dead or magician in our squad be a spy?”

  “Impossible,” Kirbee scoffed, but Wuldur could tell she was contemplating Milo’s words. He was certain she would begin an investigation.

  Attempting to alleviate the soreness behind his eyes, Wuldur rubbed his temples. “This has taken much longer than I thought,” he raged. “I want to be out of here before the sun comes up.” He hoped he could take Emily prisoner without too much more effort. The ranch house of Emily’s companion was now visible in the gloom, and Wuldur, pulling on his reins, slowed his mare.

  “Do you think she’s in there?” Coming to a halt so close to Wuldur they were touching arms, Kirbee studied the building. Staring down the hill at the mansion below, she sat with perfect posture on her warhorse. She wore a light black cloak that utilized a dark black fur trim by her neck. There was a faint wisp of silver embroidery on the edges of her cape in the form of ivy. Her cloak was pinned with a silver brooch in the shape of a sword.

  “I think she is,” Wuldur answered in a low voice while frowning as he surveyed the house intently for any movement. He was somewhat distracted by the electricity dancing off his arm, and by the sweet smell of spice in Kirbee’s perfume. Smoke was rising from two chimneys that poked from the roof of the house, which was as large as a small castle.

  All muscle and brawny strength, Lyall returned from his exploration. There was a dark smirk on his face as he rumbled a laconic report. “There are definitely humans inside.”

  “Emily?” Wuldur blurted his question, straightening his shoulders.

  Lyall shifted his weight on his front paws uneasily. “I caught a whiff of her and her mongrel bondsmate. She’s surely been here recently.”

  “Is she here now?” Milo demanded while concentrating on his magestone that he continued to bounce in his hand. “Your words are always so cryptic, Lyall.” Rolling his eyes at Kirbee, Milo gave a great, weary yawn.

  Lyall regarded Milo with a frown of disapproval. His deep voice was rough and hoarse. “I believe she’s in the building with her family and friends, but I haven’t obtained visual proof.” He spun his great head to regard Wuldur. “We can wait until morning for visual verification if you desire, General.” He sat on his haunches stiffly.

  Wuldur glanced behind him at the squad of goblins fingering their scabbarded swords. They were talking in low voices. Wuldur could sense their disquiet. Although they were angry that Blacksky had killed a score of their number, they would follow his orders without question, never doubting his command for an instant. Wuldur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was also uneasy. Earth clouded his thoughts. His mare moved defiantly against the restraint of his reins. Swirling the smoke that rose from the chimneys, the wind began to gust. Perhaps waiting would be the wise choice, he thought to himself.

  Kirbee broke the silence. “It’s been a long time since we had a battle on a wide plain.” She gestured toward the open area below them before wheeling her horse around so she could face Wuldur. She had one hand on her hip with the other on her saddlehorn. “I’ve missed bloodshed in this manner.” Her yellow hair appeared soft as wheat on her hard armor. “We will crush them.”

  Wuldur managed to award Kirbee with a wry grin. “I take it my battle commander wants to attack tonight?”

  Kirbee nodded her head fervently. “Our warriors are ready. Nothing will stand in our way.”

  Wuldur tugged again at the reins of his mare who moved toward Kirbee with a dancing side-step. “Move into battle formation, Kirbee,” he ordered, licking his dry lips. His heart began to pound. He did love battles and war. The anger in his mind finally went away in a rush like smoke rising too high in the air.

  “With pleasure, sir.” Kirbee smiled proudly, inclining her head to Wuldur before turning to organize the warriors. As she gestured wordlessly toward the troops, they began to separate.

  Wuldur watched the organized process with building pride. He would lead the first squad himself. The shades and were-creatures were massing behind him. The shades were to be on horseback in this battle. His brethren shades were forming up with inhuman synchrony, they sat ramrod straight on their steeds. They had chosen quarter-staves for this melee.

  Kirbee organized the second squad, which was positioned to Wuldur’s right. She would branch away from him with these troops, arcing to intercept any who attempted to flee, when the battle began. Countenance determined, she sat on her prancing
horse at the front of a column of mounted vampires. The vampires were her cavalry and they wore their dark black armor without a buckle out of place. The shadows of the evening were dappled, and they cast streaks on their spotless breastplates. Longswords at their sides and sharp daggers in their belts, the mounted soldiers were well armed. “Form up,” she called to her goblins. Dismounting and walking to a nearby cluster of trees, her goblins tied their horses to the branches and moved into rows to form Kirbee’s ground-infantry. They performed much better as foot soldiers than mounted troops. They would follow the vampire cavalry at a run. Wearing an iron-gray ringmail that covered their bodies and extended up their necks as a coif, these goblin half-deads appeared ready for any further command Kirbee might give them. Although Wuldur knew they were eager to discuss battle strategies with their mates, they filed into rows without speaking, staring straight ahead. Halfhelms, with a projecting bar angling down from the center of the steel to cover their noses, sat on their ugly heads. Pieces of a dark material, fabric that served as a lining to keep the helmets securely fit on their heads, peaked out under their helms.

  Wuldur looked to his left. Milo sat on his gray stallion, his eyes glittering with excitement and bloodlust. The massive charger he rode pawed the ground eagerly. Behind Milo assembled the third squad, consisting of trolls and ogres. Both races of these half-deads were the strongest of creatures. The ogres were nine to ten feet tall. They had long jet-black hair that was either in dreadlocks or in waxy braids that were twisted in intricate patterns along with shaggy dark beards. They had dark brown skin with muscles that bulged obscenely as they moved. They had wide-spaced eyes and impressive long white teeth. The trolls were smaller than the ogres in size, but still much larger than the goblins. Like the ogres, they had similar protruding muscles under patchy body hair. Even so, they appeared more adapted to caves rather than the sun, often squinting in bright light. Their skin was either a light sand shade or a faint gray color and their eyes were a bleached beige. The trolls all shaved the hair very short on the sides of their heads while leaving a strip on the top in a spiked-up appearance like a well-oiled mohawk.

  Milo whipped his head toward Wuldur, giving him a proud sidelong grin while raising up a gauntleted fist. Milo has always loved to kill, Wuldur thought to himself with a chuckle while returning a salute with his own raised fist to the confident red magician. Milo pointed to a position behind Wuldur and gave a thumbs-up sign. Wuldur swiveled his head to follow the direction of Milo’s gesture and saw the magician’s brothers-in-arms forming on the hilltop. Guarded by a platoon of archers, the magic-users were grinning arrogantly and talking to each other boastfully. Only their magician commander named Abbott, a tall thin man with bushy white hair and bushier eyebrows, appeared concerned as he paced nervously back and forth in front of his talented group. He was just under Milo in the hierarchy of the magicians, not yet an arch-mage.

  The lieutenant squad leader of the mages noticed the direction of Wuldur’s gaze, and he sprinted over to talk. “General Wuldur, we will only be able to shield one of your three attacking squads. The distance between your forces will be too great.” Frowning, he looked to his feet as a flush inched its way up his neck. “We plan to blanket your own squad with a coat of magical protection that we hope will block all bullets aimed in your direction, my liege.” The man was a powerful blue magician and his aura was faintly visible even to Wuldur’s eyes. Fibers of devotion and trust were inherent in the man’s character, but Wuldur wasn’t sure where his loyalties were aligned.

  “I understand, magician Abbott,” Wuldur replied in a strained voice as he struggled to contain the anger that flashed into his chest. He wished he had more magicians available to himself so he could completely guard his other two squads, but he hadn’t had enough horses for more of his magic users. While continuing to speak to the blue magician, Wuldur glanced toward Milo and continued in a hushed voice that Milo wouldn’t be able to hear, “If you find you have enough magus, I also want you to shield Kirbee’s group.”

  The magician coughed uncomfortably. “Shouldn’t we cloak arch-mage Milo with protection?”

  “No,” Wuldur answered firmly. “Kirbee’s group is to be shielded after mine. She will be my second in command if I am to fall.” Wuldur peered at his archers standing next to the magicians guarding them. The blue magician followed the direction of Wuldur’s gaze. The archers were formed from a variety of half-dead ranks. There were no humans guarding the magicians. “My half-dead warriors will guard your magicians faithfully, guaranteeing their safety if you continue to follow my orders without question,” Wuldur said to Abbott, letting the unveiled threat hang in the air. The half-dead warriors around the magicians were humming a war-song in an eerie synchrony while stringing their bows and testing their strings.

  The mage swallowed hard and nodded. “If we have enough energy, sir, Kirbee’s group will be shielded second.”

  Pursing his lips to hide a smile, Wuldur brightened. “I will make sure the archers keep you safe.” He waved dismissively toward Abbott. “Shield us well, lieutenant. Save your magus until I give you the signal to invoke your incantation.” The magician walked stiffly back to his position, turning in an expert military drill movement once he arrived by his brethren to face forward again. Wuldur lifted his own fist, and every one of the magicians and archers spread out on their ridge raised their fists in a similar gesture, even the blue mage.

  Wuldur’s mare stomped the earth, imitating Milo’s stallion. “I’m hoping we can pull this off while they sleep,” Wuldur said as he began his pre-battle speech. His words were spoken in a low voice, but they rang out to his warriors who were cloaked in silence. He pulled his sword with the silver magestone out of its sheath. “My brother made me this weapon with a silverstone for luck on this mission. The silverstone was given to us by Maaca herself.” He held the stone and sword high over his head. “We will have victory.” The stone caught the moonlight and glistened with a metallic sheen in the night. “Lead us to the door, my battle commander,” Wuldur called to Kirbee.

  Lashing the black night air as if attacking an enemy, Kirbee’s filly reared and screamed out a defiant trumpet of anger. Kirbee flashed Wuldur a flicker of a smile as she kneed her mount, urging her horse forward. “With pleasure!”

  Wuldur spurred his own steed toward the house and his three groups separated wheeling their way down the small slope. Without warning a flash appeared from the roof of the home, and a shot rang out. A troll tottered and fell to the ground behind Milo. “Shield spell,” Wuldur roared with steel in his voice. “They must have seen us. They know we’re coming!” Without missing a beat, Wuldur made a signal to one of his warriors to blow his warhorn. Surprise was lost. Now was the time to instill fear into his enemy. Brrrooo wailed the instrument. Welcoming the deep notes of the horn, Wuldur felt a soothing of the unrest in his mind. Warriors on horseback instantly surrounded Wuldur protecting him. The wind began to blow and swirl catching in the cloaks of his warriors. Staring at the dark cloth that was streaming back to cover the rumps of the galloping warhorses, Wuldur almost became lost in the beauty of the moment.

  All too soon, the air became thick with gunshots as more rifles were added to the defense. Glancing back, Wuldur made a signal to the commander of his archers. “Nock!” roared the commander. As one, the bowmen prepared their arrows. “Pull!” he bellowed. “Loose!” There was a whisper of death as the volley of missiles was unleashed. Hissing like dragons, they passed just over Wuldur’s head, flying swiftly through the black night. Arcing through the gloom, the arrows threaded dangerously through the air. As they dropped toward the ranch, they were still faintly murmuring their collective sigh of doom. Even from his distance, Wuldur could hear the man on the roof groan as the arrows descended into him and around him with rewarding thuds. Thankfully, no more shots rang out from that position.

  Wuldur reined his mare to a halt on a small rise close to the main ranch house. Dismounting to direct the conflict, he ha
nded off his mare to a goblin groomsman. Instantly, his shades also leapt from their horses. They branched out around him in a protective circle.

  Thundering toward Wuldur on a pale white horse, a vampire scout appeared from out of the gloom. “Lyall is entering the building,” the vampire sergeant reported with a breathless thrill in his voice while pointing downhill. Wuldur followed the direction indicated by his warrior. They both studied the were-creature who was easily the first to reach the home. Plunging through the window with his brethren, they shattered the glass effortlessly. Screams erupted from inside the home, and Wuldur could picture the snarling and snapping of jaws. By the time his cavalry of horses surrounded the house, the were-creatures, their muzzles dripping with blood, were already exiting. Wuldur was puzzled by the lack of magic coming from the defenders. He had pictured fireballs and lightning coming from Emily.

  All at once Lyall appeared, loping back to give his report. “What did you find, Lyall?” Wuldur asked his were-commander. “Do we have her?”

  “We killed them all,” Lyall answered with a deep-throated roar. “Emily wasn’t inside.” Lyall licked the blood dripping from his long snout. “I assimilated the surface thoughts of her parents,” Lyall continued. “Emily rode out on horseback with a small group of her friends not long ago.”

  “By the dragons!” Wuldur balled his hands into fists. “How do we keep missing her?” Overwhelming anger roared through his veins. “Burn it!” he roared as fury overcame logic.

  “Are you certain?” Lyall growled. “The energy expenditure will take a toll on our magicians. This isn’t Acacia.”

  “Light it up,” Wuldur exploded sharply. “If she’s close, the fire will bring her back.” Fury nearly clouded his vision. “She’ll be vulnerable with her friends and family dead. She’ll be out of control.”