Terry W. Ervin (45 page)

Although habit urged me to challenge the insult, I chose not to. “Nevertheless, I am here.”

“And what if I simply take the sword from you?” He leaned forward. “Certainly you realize, like the Believer’s weapon, your sword’s powers are impotent against me.”

Fighting the minion of a god, even a fallen one, seemed like a bad idea. I thought back on what Belinda the Cursed, who appeared to be no friend of the fallen angel, named him. I shrugged. “If, as warden of this outpost, it falls within the orders set for you by the Colonel of the West, you may try to take it.” I sloughed off my extra gear and donned my helmet. I heard Roos drop his backpack as well. “I’ve stood to far worse horrors than you.”

This time his laughter was laced with sinister mirth. “Of course. Iceheart, next time remind me of my manners. Why take it when you will simply give it to me, Mercenary.”

With a twisting gesture of his right hand, the room sparked with blinding light. Song, like a thousand-strong choir crying out a piercing note followed. I stood my ground, thrusting and sweeping forward with my spear, trusting that Roos and Lilly would protect my back. I called to them, but the sound echoing in the ballroom drowned out my voice along with any reply they might have made.

Then, in an instant the light disappeared and the sound ended. It took a few seconds for the white spots blocking my vision to disappear, and what I saw disheartened me. Lilly and Roos lay sprawled on the ground thirty feet away, each surrounded by trogs with glowing eyes. I couldn’t tell if my friends were unconscious or dead, but they’d fought hard as three of the trogs had bloody wounds. Even so, their struggle was for nothing. They’d lost the fight, and power of the lamenting souls was quickly healing the wounded trogs.

I glared at the fallen angel resting smugly on his stool. I didn’t know why the trogs hadn’t attacked me. “I’ll not give you the sword.”

“That has yet to be seen.” With a curling finger he signaled to the big trog. “Janice, assist the mercenary to find it in his heart to hand the Blood-Sword over to me.”

“I will not,” I said, stepping back, holding my spear ready. I could fight the trog but my spear wouldn’t help against a lamenting soul, especially if it was intent on possessing me. I couldn’t fight it; maybe I could resist it. I’d held out against the demon contained in the Blood-Sword.

The blue-white soul emerged from the big trog. The gray brute wrapped its arms around its body and wailed in grief while the lamenting soul slowly hovered toward me.

I couldn’t out run it, but resisting it would be my fallback position. While I couldn’t fight it, a departed comrade might. I pulled out Short Two Blades’ talisman from beneath my collar and slipped the bead into my mouth before biting down. The blood it contained mixed with the blood from my cut tongue. I spit the glass and blood out onto the floor and commanded, “Short Two Blades, I call upon you to repay your debt as promised!”

The advancing soul hesitated as mist rose from the blood on the floor. It swirled and grew, and within seconds Short Two Blades’ pale ghost stood before me. “What would you have me do, Flank Hawk?” His voice was weak and hollow, as if he spoke through a long tunnel.

I pointed. “Stop that lamenting soul from possessing me!”

The blue-white light shot around Short Two Blades and into me like a hot blade. Short Two Blades drew his falchion and long hunting knife and leapt forward, into and through me like a biting wind. I spun around to see the mercenary ghost furiously hacking and stabbing at the sparking soul, driving it back. Every time Short Two Blades hit, sparks flew like a smith hammering red-hot steel.

Then the lamenting soul struck back, sending bursts of light into Short Two Blades. The mercenary ghost howled in agony but continued to fight, stabbing with his knife while deflecting several of the light bursts with his falchion.

As the lamenting soul drove Short Two Blades back, his form began to lose shape, returning to mist. Unwilling to give up, Short Two Blades spread his arms and threw himself on the blue-white light. His smoky essence engulfed the soul, trying to smother its light.

I glanced over my shoulder at the fallen angel. He sat on the edge of his stool observing the unearthly struggle.

In a puff, what remained of Short Two Blades was gone. The lamenting soul looked unsteady with much of its light intensity faded. Still, it moved toward me. I gripped my spear with both hands and waited.

“Too bad, Mercenary.” The fallen angel’s laugh lacked its former bravado. “All you have to do is give the sword to me.”

I realized something barred the fallen angel from simply taking the evil weapon from me. I gritted my teeth. “No.”

Slower than the first time, the lamenting soul entered my body. This time it wasn’t like a hot knife. Instead, a comforting warmth spread from my chest out to my limbs and into my head. I concentrated on my hands. If I didn’t let go of my spear, I couldn’t hand over Prince Reveron’s sword.

The lamenting soul’s drive for control wasn’t as forceful or violent as the Blood-Sword’s demon. At first she tried to lull me into agreeing, promising safety for myself and my friends and explaining the reasonableness of the guardian’s desires. I resisted, repeating my promise to Prince Reveron.

When that failed the soul assaulted me as the Blood-Sword had. Sweat covered my body as I reached out, sending ribbons of healing into my hands, keeping the lamenting soul at bay.

I don’t know how much time passed, but I guessed not much. I felt my concentration weakening, and my ability to separate and direct the ribbons began to falter.

Roos wasn’t here this time to rescue me with his saber. I knew Short Two Blades had weakened the soul, but not enough. Then it struck me that I had a soul too. Instead of fighting with magic I concentrated. I worked more on instinct. Wherever I felt the warmth and pressure of the lamenting soul, I focused on snuffing it out, like Short Two Blades had failed to do.

It didn’t work! Every time I tried to douse the warmth, it cropped up elsewhere. I realized I was writhing on the floor, screaming. I’d dropped my spear and my hands fumbled for the buckle securing the sword to my back. I wondered if light flickered from my mouth as I screamed.

I was going to lose the fight. That didn’t mean the lamenting soul and its master, the fallen angel, had to win.

Reaching with my mind again, I sought out the energy ribbons, directing them into my hands. By then the lamenting soul held the sheathed sword in my hands. My efforts enabled me to negate the possessing soul’s control of my hands. While working to unravel the lashing holding the Blood-Sword in its sheath, I announced my intention through gritted teeth. “You defeated a ghost. Let’s see how you handle the sword’s demon.”

“Don’t,” warned the warm feminine voice. It wasn’t physical but spoke to my mind. “It will destroy you.”

“It’ll destroy you to get to me.” With that, I redirected my efforts, sending a thin ribbon across my skin, forming a barrier to trap the lamenting soul. I was nearly finished unlashing the sword’s guard from the sheath. Foul surging energies caressed my hand as I touched the pommel while working. The lamenting soul’s presence abandoned efforts to control that hand and fled the arm entirely.

The last ribbon’s strength faded, so I again tried to muffle and overpower the lamenting soul just long enough to ensure it was between me and the demon. Let them fight it out. The soul had destroyed my friend and possessed me. If I was going to lose, I’d have my revenge.

The lamenting soul read my thoughts. “No!” it shouted throughout my mind and body, and fled.

The unnatural warmth followed the lamenting soul, leaving a quick-frost chill in my bones. Shivering, I slammed the Blood-Sword back into its sheath. I’d only exposed a tenth of the blade, but that convinced the lamenting soul of my intent.

I lay on the hardwood floor, slick with sweat. The only thing I heard was Belinda the Cursed’s cackling laughter. I held the sword close to my chest. “I’ll not give it to you.”

Whether two minutes or ten passed, I wasn’t sure. I opened my eyes and stared at the chandelier lights. I still had the sheathed Blood-Sword gripped in my hands.

I sat up and looked around. The room was empty except for Roos and Lilly. No fallen angel, lamenting souls, or trogs; only his vacant stool. In the double doorway Belinda Iceheart leaned on her staff. Lilly began stirring.

I was weak from spell casting and the struggle. “Lilly! Lilly, is Roos okay?”

She crawled over to Roos and checked his breathing. “I think so.” She rubbed the back of her head. “They clubbed him just like me.” Her eyes got wide and she scrambled over to me. “How are you? What happened?”

I looked around again. “I’m not sure.”

She opened my waterskin and put it to my lips. “You still have your sword.”

I swallowed, took a deep breath and exhaled. Lilly helped me to my feet. She retrieved my spear while I lashed and returned the Blood-Sword to its familiar place on my back. “Take care of Roos.”

“I’m going with you!”

I took hold of my spear. “Roos needs you more than I do.”

She didn’t let go of the spear. “Flank Hawk, you look terrible. We should stick together.”

“We haven’t made any friends here. I need to contact the Colonel of the West as soon as possible.”

We walked over to Roos. Lilly knelt down next to him and checked his head. A small coating of blood covered her fingertips. “I don’t think it’s too bad.” Lilly looked beyond me and sneered.

Belinda strode across the room. “Check his eyes. Are the pupils the same size?”

Lilly checked and nodded.

“Did they get smaller when you looked at them?”

She nodded again. “A little.”

Belinda moved her fingers and mumbled a spell, then tossed Lilly a chunk of ice. “Put this on the wound.” Belinda noted my raised eyebrows. “It was good to see someone else putting that arrogant son-of-a-bitch warden in his place.”

She pointed her staff at the spot of blood and glass on the floor. “Spit on that before it dries and tell your mercenary friend he fulfilled your demand.” Before I asked why, she said, “If you don’t his ghost will be tied to this place.”

I couldn’t blame Short Two Blades. He freely gave me his talisman and fought hard when I called. I spit on the blood. “Short Two Blades, your skill and sacrifice enabled me to resist the lamenting soul. Your debt is repaid. Thank you.”

Half the blood on the floor faded.

I waved to Lilly tending to Roos before following Belinda out of the ballroom, wondering, but thankful, that she helped Lilly with Roos and instructed me how to release Short Two Blades. The fallen angel would have made his ghost suffer, that I knew.

I lost track of how many stair levels we climbed. Still weak, I had to rest twice. Belinda remained silent. When we reached the top, she produced a flat key that opened a metal door with a narrow window imbedded with a wire mesh. She led me down a hall lined with dozens of doors. She stopped near one, opened it, and directed me to enter. Inside sat a long wooden table supporting several black boxes with weird knobs and cables rising into the ceiling. I pulled the scroll case from behind my breastplate and looked at the meticulously drawn diagram.

I flipped a switch up and found the right knob and spun it, watching red numbers flicker and change in a small window. When the numbers and symbols matched what was on the scroll, I pushed the square button and spoke into the metal stick. “This is Flank Hawk, mercenary in the service of Prince Reveron of Keesee. I seek to barter on his behalf with the Colonel of the West.”

I let go of the button and waited. A few seconds later a cracking voice replied. “Receiving Outpost 4. Who is your escort?” I’d heard seers could communicate like this through crystals.

I pushed the button. “Belinda Iceheart.”

“Standby.”

I waited five long minutes, staring at the metal stick. After all we’d gone through, they couldn’t say no.

“Proposal accepted, Outpost 4. Will arrive for pickup and transport, parking garage rooftop heliport. ETA eighteen hours fifteen minutes. Please acknowledge.”

I looked to Belinda. “Where is the rooftop heliport? Can we make it there in twelve hours?”

She nodded once, so I pushed the button. “We’ll be there.”

“Acknowledged, Outpost 4. Mountain Base 1, out.”

I flipped the switch down, causing the red numbers to fade. “Where do we need to be?”

Belinda walked over to a window and pointed down. I looked out. It was like sitting on an aloft dragon’s back without movement or wind. “A machine like a Stuka will arrive and land on that white cross.” She smiled wickedly. “You are correct. You’ve made no friends here, Mercenary. Better you, the werebeast, and the Crusader wait there for the pickup.”

2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

Mushroom clouds expanded above incinerated cities with the inevitable result of scattering radioactive fallout across the globe. The bioengineered plague, spreading like wildfire, was destined to surpass the nuclear devastation’s death count in a matter of days.

Even as the pair of manmade catastrophes altered and threatened to end life on earth, their influence would be minimal when compared with what was to follow.