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- Herausgeber: Monster House Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
The first three books of the popular Angelbound Lincoln series are now in one ebook collection, including…
DUTY BOUND (Book 1)
As the High Prince of the demon-fighting thrax, Lincoln knows he must marry for political gain. Not that he minds. For all of his eighteen years, Lincoln’s been bound to his duty. Fighting demons is his life, and he’s never given romance a second thought. Instead, the High Prince lives for the days when he leaves his hidden realm to fight demons on Earth. Meet Mister the Prince in this novella before the events of Angelbound!
LINCOLN (Book 2)
When it comes to fighting demons, Prince Lincoln is the greatest warrior in the history of his people, the thrax. Now Lincoln faces his hardest fight yet…and it’s not on a traditional battlefield. Lincoln is falling in love. And the girl is part demon. In Lincoln, you can follow the secret adventures of Lincoln during the events of Angelbound!
TRICKSTER (Book 3)
Aldred, the dreaded Earl of Acca, is at it again. After discovering a new kind of fighting arbor, Aldred rips open a gateway to another world called the Primeval. The earl’s goal? Release the arbor, lock in an easy kill, and show off some supposed prowess as a slayer of unusual big bads. After all, how hard can it be to kill a freaking tree? Super hard, as it turns out.
“I absolutely love Christina Bauer’s style, full of action, intense scenes, and characters that will test one’s imaginations to the max!” – Tome Tender Book Blog
Angelbound Lincoln
The story of Angelbound from Lincoln’s perspective
Duty Bound
2. Lincoln
3. Trickster
4. Baculum
5. Angelfire
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
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LINCOLN BOX SET
BOOKS ONE AND TWO OF THE ANGELBOUND LINCOLN SERIES
CHRISTINA BAUER
COPYRIGHT
Monster House Books
Brighton, MA 02135
ISBN 9781946677419
First Edition
Copyright © 2019 by Monster House Books LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Dedication
DUTY BOUND
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
LINCOLN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
51. Two Weeks Later
TRICKSTER
1. Lincoln
2. Myla
3. Lincoln
4. Myla
5. Lincoln
6. Lincoln
7. Myla
8. Lincoln
9. Myla
10. Lincoln
11. Myla
12. Lincoln
13. Lincoln
14. Lincoln
15. Myla
16. Lincoln
17. Myla
18. Lincoln
19. Myla
20. Myla
21. Lincoln
22. Lincoln
23. Lincoln
24. Lincoln
25. Myla
26. Lincoln
27. Myla
28. Lincoln
29. Lincoln
30. Lincoln
31. Myla
32. Lincoln
33. Myla
34. Lincoln
35. Myla
36. Lincoln
37. Myla
38. Lincoln
39. Myla
40. Lincoln
41. Lincoln
42. Myla
43. Lincoln
44. Myla
45. Lincoln
46. Lincoln
47. Myla
48. Lincoln
49. Myla
50. Lincoln
51. Myla
52. Lincoln
53. Myla
54. Lincoln
55. Lincoln
56. Myla
57. Lincoln
58. Lincoln
59. Myla
60. Lincoln
61. Myla
62. Lincoln
63. Myla
64. Lincoln
65. Myla
66. Lincoln
67. Myla
68. Lincoln
69. Myla
70. Lincoln
71. Myla
72. Lincoln
73. Myla
74. Lincoln
75. Myla
76. Lincoln
77. Lincoln
EPILOGUE
1. Lincoln
2. Myla
3. Lincoln
Description - BACULUM
Also By Christina Bauer
BACULUM
ANGELBOUND
OFFSPRING
FAIRY TALES OF THE MAGICORUM
DIMENSION DRIFT
BEHOLDER
PIXIELAND DIARIES
Appendix
If You Enjoyed This Book…
Collected Works
About Christina Bauer
Complimentary Book
DEDICATION
For All Those Who Kick Ass, Take Names
and Read Books
DUTY BOUND
1
I am Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus, High Prince of the Thrax. My people are renowned as the greatest demon hunters across Heaven, Hell, Earth, Purgatory, and the Dark Lands. At eighteen years old, I’ve killed precisely one thousand four hundred and thirty-seven demons in hand-to-hand combat, more than any other thrax in history. All of which leads to a single inescapable conclusion.
I can make it through this breakfast with my mother.
At least, I think I can.
“You haven’t touched your eggs, my son.” Mother spears a strawberry off her plate. After many years of maternal encounters, I’ve learned to keep my mouth closed in situations like this one. Mother will bring up her true concerns when she’s good and ready.
In reply, I merely maintain her stare. We’ve an odd relationship, but a close one. We’re both natural schemers, so neither wants to pass up a test of intelligence and charm.
“Perhaps you dislike formal breakfasts,” says Mother as she gestures to my tunic.
“I’m fine with wearing royal garb to meals. Rest assured, all my Batman costumes are safely packed away.” As a child, I fought hard to dress as a human superhero. Unlike demon killing, that was one battle I ultimately lost.
“So you say.” A small smile rounds Mother’s mouth. “Those tunics hide quite a lot.”
“True. I’ve a Bohemian Rhapsody T-shirt on under this thing.”
“I have no idea what that is, but I’m pleased to see you turned out so well.”
This morning, I’m dressed in a velvet tunic, leather pants, and tall boots. Meanwhile, Mother looks regal and lethal in her black velvet gown. She has porcelain skin, delicate features, and an all-knowing glare that reduces hardened warriors to mush.
Needless to say, I’m pleased that her glare has softened. I must remember to work Batman into our conversations more often.
For a few minutes, Mother and I continue our breakfast in silence. It would be pleasant, except for the setting. Our new feasting hall is located in Purgatory.
Yes, Purgatory.
This place combines the worst of a rundown human suburb with the best of a rotting Dumpster. The sky is constantly cloudy with two types of weather: rainy and about to rain. It’s part of the magic of this realm that the weather is always dreary. Plus, the sky never reveals the sun or moon, and even if it did, those celestial bodies follow different patterns than they do in other realms.
Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts return to the glittering caverns of my homeland. As a rule, thrax live underground on Earth in the realm of Antrum. For some reason, the oracle angel, Verus, has demanded the royal family—and our noble entourage—move to Purgatory for a short period of time. This wasn’t a popular idea, but the oracle’s word is law, so we arrived here three months ago. Until Verus sets us loose, our days will be spent in tents and wooden halls like this one.
I scan the empty benches around me and sigh. It’s hard being separated from the bulk of my people. Quiet breakfasts like this only make things worse. Usually our feasting hall is packed with thrax sharing breakfast at communal tables. However, today Mother insisted on having a family-only morning meal, which in this case translates into me, Mother, and a half-dozen terrified workers. Father should arrive any minute now. I can only hope he arrives before Mother’s temper returns.
As if in reply to my thoughts, Mother spears another wilted strawberry with a vengeance. Looks like her temper will resurface before Father does. Bugger.
“You never answered my question,” says Mother “You haven’t touched your food.” She spears a grape with such force the entire table wobbles.
“Careful there,” I say. “You’ll bring down the roof down.”
“One perk of being queen. I can bring down roofs and no one says a thing.”
At those words, the half-dozen servants in the room visibly shiver.
There’s no question about the general topic of Mother’s angst, either. It’s always the same issue: the House of Acca. That tribe is the largest and most troublesome of all thrax.
At this point, problems with Acca could fall into one of two categories.
One, Mother might be worried about my impending marriage contract with Acca’s most eligible noblewoman, Lady Adair. If Mother thinks there are problems on that front, she would be sorely mistaken. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more. I’d regret that, but I’m a prince. I always knew I’d never marry for love.
Two—and far more worrisome—would be if Mother discovered my ongoing scheme against Aldred, the dreaded Earl of Acca himself. I’ve many issues with the earl, but my largest is how Aldred keeps leading his warriors into ill-planned demon attacks on the Earth’s surface. Thanks to the Earl of Acca, hundreds of good thrax meet bad ends every week. I meet with the families of the fallen, trying to provide comfort as their worlds fall apart. So many tears and ruined lives…and all so the earl can prove his so-called prowess in battle.
It’s outrageous.
Even worse, my parents have forbidden me from doing anything to stop Aldred’s bloodshed. Per some ancient treaty, if I interfere with Aldred’s rights to lead his troops, then the earl has the unmitigated right to execute me on the spot.
And as every royal knows, execution threats and breakfast do not mix well.
Mother narrows her eyes. Like all thrax, she has mismatched irises, one brown and the other blue. “Answer the question, child. Why aren’t you eating?”
I stare at my plate of runny scrambled eggs. “Not hungry.” I’m not much of a foodie on any occasion, but the royal menu has taken a serious nosedive ever since we moved to Purgatory. This realm doesn’t even have cable, let alone the ability to run power lines to our campground. All things considered, the royal chef’s doing wonders with mobile stoves and Bunsen burners.
Mother waves at the roomful of servants. “Leave us.” A half-dozen thrax in traditional medieval garb skitter from the room. The queen is in a mood, and they all know it.
Sadly, I can’t escape so easily.
Mother daintily pats the corners of her mouth with a white linen napkin. “I’m quite concerned about Acca.”
And here it is.
Mother is ready to confront me, and hopefully not about the topic of execution. With a force of will, I keep my features calm. “And what about Acca?”
“You…” She pins me with another withering gaze. Mother can always sense when I’m hiding something.
Unfortunately for me, I am.
“Me…” I say slowly. “You’re about to say how wonderful I am, right? Running the government, fighting demons? You couldn’t wish for a finer prince.” Normally, this reply gets me a half-smile at least.
Not this morning.
Mother leans back on her bench, and I can almost picture the gears of her mind whirring overtime. “You’re an excellent son. That’s not what concerns me.” Her nostrils flare. “You danced with Lady Adair at the ball last night.”
I shrug. “I danced with a number of noblewomen. Adair didn’t receive any special attention.”
“I wish I could believe that. Do you…” Mother inhales a shaky breath. “Do you love her, Lincoln?”
Oh, that.
My parents have always been a united front on the “no love in royal marriage” rule. For my mother’s part, I know it’s because she and father continue to battle over Acca. She sees love as her weakness; it makes her give in to Father on all things Aldred. She’s not wrong, either. That’s why I’ve never fought that particular rule. Nothing like watching years of your parents sparring to convince you to sidestep the love part of “love and marriage.”
Father is a different story. I never have been able to figure out why he’s so dead set against my falling in love. Eventually, after years of trying to suss it out, I’ve given up on the subject. I agree with them both and that’s all that matters.
“So you wish to know if IIove Lady Adair.” I shrug. “How can I? I barely know her. By all accounts, she seems a fine woman, and I’m sure she’ll make a competent queen. We’ll grow to respect each other with time. That’s more than enough.”
This is the mantra I’ve been raised on. Still, saying the words out loud always makes something in my chest tighten. There’s nothing to be done about it, however. It’s not like I’ve met any woman who would tempt me in that regard anyway. Some men simply aren’t built for love.
Mother visibly slumps with relief. “Excellent. Emotion has no place in royal marriages, my child. You know how I adore your father, but when it comes to ruling, love only adds unnecessary levels of complexity.”
“I know, Mother. Believe me.”
I glance toward the door. Speaking of unnecessary levels of complexity, Father is late for breakfast, even by his lax standards. Every morning, my father has an early and extended walk with Aldred. Tension coils up my spine. I can only hope the earl hasn’t discovered my secret plans. Recently, I secretly borrowed a few rather incriminating books from his library. If Aldred finds that out—and shares the news with Father—then my scheme could fall apart. More lives would be lost, including mine.
“Lincoln?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“What were you thinking of just now?”
Damn. My concern must have shown. “Nothing at all, unless you count contemplating how agreeable it is to share breakfast with my dear mother.”
“Bah. I’m being perfectly gruesome, and you know it.” Mother taps her pointer finger against the side of her teacup. “You’re hiding something from me.”
“Everyone needs to have secrets. You taught me that.”
She leans forward. “So you are developing an attachment to Adair.”
This is growing tiresome.
“No, I’m not.”
“How I wish I could be certain.”
Mother and I share yet another long look. We both have the same analytical nature. Together, she and I essentially run Antrum. Most times, the job is fatiguing but manageable…except when Father injects himself into the mix. And Father only does that when the House of Acca is involved. Quite sadly, Acca involves themselves quite a lot.
Here’s the crux of the challenge with Acca. They’re the only house not under the direct rule from the crown. It’s all because my house, Rixa, broke away from Acca and took their throne. At the time, granting Acca some autonomy seemed the gracious thing to do. That was five hundred years ago. Today, that autonomy makes Acca nothing but a pain in my backside. All of which is why a closer alliance with them is necessary. Marrying into Acca will give me more control over that unruly house.
Unfortunately, it won’t allow me to stop the Earl of Acca from leading his warriors to their doom. That’s where my scheming comes into play. In a matter of days, the waning moon rises. Acca calls it the Archer’s Moon. According to my research, there’s a rare Acca tradition associated with that occurrence, and if I work things out correctly, I can use it to break Aldred’s hold on his warriors.
Assuming I don’t die in the process, that is.
And that I make it through this breakfast.
The main door swings open, hitting the wall with a thud. Father bursts into the room, all burly chest, white hair, and jovial manner. A hive of servants buzzes in behind him. Mother’s eyes glitter as her gaze meets his.
Father races up to Mother, pulls her from her bench, and twirls her about. “Morning, Octavia.” He nibbles at her neck; she giggles.
For the umpteenth time, I wonder at how Father can promote Acca until Mother is ready to scream with frustration, and yet the next day he’s able to sidestep the entire issue with a charming good morning. Mother’s ability to forgive is a skill all in itself. For better or worse, it’s one gift that I didn’t inherit.
Most of all, that’s why my marriage will be one of convenience, nothing more. I’ve even started the royal architects on building a new Queen’s Wing for our palace. It will be regal, comfortable, and far away from the King’s Wing. No need to see one’s spouse more often than necessary.
Mother takes Father’s hand; their fingers entwine. Then her eyes narrow as she flips his arm behind his back, pinning him to the wall.
“Got you.”
“Oh, my. Octavia, you beast!”
“Please. That was far too easy.” Mother used to be quite the warrior in her day. Still is. She could kick Father’s ass any time she wanted to.
He laughs. “I’m getting soft, I won’t deny it.” Craning his neck, Father talks over his shoulder at Mother. “You should at least break my arm. Teach me a lesson.”
She chortles. “Maybe next time. We head out on our anniversary trip today. I wouldn’t want you incapacitated.”
Father winks. “How very thoughtful of you.”
This is my chance to leave. If I know these two—and I do—then they’ll be all cute and cuddly with each other for ten more minutes, minimum. That is, until Father drops his latest bomb from Acca. No doubt, after meeting with the earl this morning, Father is ready to launch yet another long list of unreasonable demands. Hopefully that list doesn’t include any sanctions on my secret plans. Some of the books I borrowed cover obscure Acca house laws, including ones that touch on demon patrol. Talk about your red flags. If Aldred discovered those books were missing, they might piece together my true intentions.
All the more reason to exit before the topic arises.
With maximum stealth, I step toward the door, but Mother releases her captive, blocking my path. “Husband, did you notice your son at the ball last night?”
Father shoots me a look and winks once more. “Not at all, my dear. What do they say cloud-side on Earth?” He sets his hand on his chest and starts to sing. “I only had eyes for yoooooou.” He lumbers over to one of the tables and pulls a honey roll from a stack, which sends a dozen others tumbling to the floor. The host of servants who followed Father inside now race to put the bread back in place.
Father’s wink wasn’t lost on Mother. He’s had a hundred years of marriage with the Queen of the Poker Face, and yet Father still hasn’t learned how to hide a single emotion. Mother purses her lips. “Don’t bother playing games with me.” She frowns. “Lincoln was dancing overmuch with Adair, as you well know.”
Father plunks into a chair and bites into his roll. “I don’t think one dance is overmuch.”
“We should reinforce that emotion has no place in royal marriages.” Mother primly smooths back her hair. “Don’t you agree?”
Father finishes another honey roll and licks the sticky sugar off his fingers. “Please. Our son isn’t some addlebrained fool about to fall in love. That’s right, Lincoln, isn’t it?”
“Obviously.” Once more, I slip my way closer to the exit. “While I appreciate your collective concern for my emotional well-being, I promised Zachary some pointers on how to keep a good watch.”
Father taps his lips. “Zachary?”
“Ormand’s son.” Mother rattles off facts on her fingertips. “The boy’s lineage is three-fourths Rixa, one quarter Gurith. He has the heart of a warrior.” Gurith is Mother’s house. She openly favors anyone with their bloodline.
“Oh, that’s right.” Father rubs his whiskered chin. “The lad is eight now, I believe. A little flighty, isn’t that so? Draws pictures, too.”
I take another step toward the door. Not far now. “Flightiness goes along with being young and new to training.” All thrax warriors start their training at eight. “And a talent for drawing doesn’t mean he won’t be a fine warrior one day, either. If you’ll excuse me.” I wrap my fingers around the wooden handle.
So close.
That’s when Father clears his throat. My chest tightens.
No good conversation ever started with Father clearing his throat.
“One more thing,” says Father.
I slowly turn around. “Yes?”
“Aldred tells me you’ve been snooping around his archives.”
And there it is. The fact that leads to my secret schemes to keep Aldred from killing his own people. Once again, I keep my demeanor calm. “I may become heir to his house; I should get to know its history.”
“Snooping in archives?” Mother straightens her back, and that’s another warning sign if I ever saw one. “My spy network told me no such thing.”
“Even your network has limits, Octavia.” Father returns his attention to me. “You took some books, I hear.”
“On history.” And other things.
“Does that history have anything to do with Aldred and his demon patrols, my boy?”
Damn.
Of course, the books I took cover the topic of demon patrol. I won’t reveal that to Father, though. Demon patrols are a thrax way of life. Each thrax house takes turns policing the Earth’s surface. We ensure that humans are safe and unaware of the many kinds of evil that walk among them. In general, I run all of these missions, except for those led by Acca. Technically, it’s during those patrols that Aldred has the right to send his warriors into unnecessary battle.
For now, he does.
I grip my hands behind my back. “I thought we were discussing my impending marriage to Adair.”
“Nope, I’ve changed topics,” counters Father. “I don’t know what books you stole, but it seems Aldred knows you’re concerned about the warriors who perish on his patrols. He’s the only earl who is allowed to lead his troops personally. That’s a right he’ll protect forever, and it won’t change with any marriage contract.” The lines of Father’s face tighten. “He let me know that if anyone threatens that right—anyone at all—then the law says Aldred can execute them.”
“I’m aware.” And I’m willing to take the risk.
“Please be careful,” says Mother. “Aldred is positively insane when it comes to his rights over demon patrol. Avoid the topic like the plague. We simply can’t lose you.”
“And you won’t lose me. Ever.” Behind my back, I tighten my grip on the handle so hard I’m surprised I don’t yank it off the door. “Is there nothing else?”
Mother gives me another classic from her collection of soul-searing looks. “There is, but I’ll have to suss it out on my own, it seems.” She reseats herself at the table and lifts her teacup.
“Good day to you both.” With that, I quickly leave the feasting hall without any further interruptions.
Thank Heaven.
Walking at full speed, I rush off to meet young Zachary in the stables. With every step across the yellowing grasses, my resolve hardens.
Avoid it like the plague, indeed.
Dozens of thrax perish every week due to Aldred’s incompetence.
I’m fighting him with everything I’ve got.
2
Here in Purgatory, the stables are arguably the finest building in the thrax compound. Mostly, thrax life in Purgatory takes place in a network of small and rustic cabins. Not so for our horses. Our stables in Purgatory are a long, low, and rectangular structure made from solid oak. A grassy fields leads up to the building’s front gates. Behind the structure, there stretches a relatively lush forest. Even the stable’s arched roof is lined with carved filigree.
We thrax love our horses.
I steal across the grounds to the main entrance, careful to open the gated doors without making a sound. Young Zachary is supposed to be on watch up in the hayloft. We’ve seen some minor demonic activity here, so cadets like Zachary have been placed on watch. It makes for a good training exercise.
Moving silently, I close the gates behind me. Zachary makes no sound, either, which means he’s either silently peering at me through the slats of wood above my head or he’s taking a nap.
Light snores sound from above me.
Taking a nap it is.
I don’t blame him for falling asleep. We put our lads through a tough training schedule. When you’re eight years old, it isn’t easy to focus for six minutes, let alone stay on watch for six hours. But the shifts are necessary parts of their training. One day, this boy will be a man who fights demons. We set high standards to keep him alive. This is one of the main differences between Acca and Rixa.
I move to stand at the ladder leading up to the loft and clear my throat. The snoring continues. Cupping my hand by my mouth, I state in a loud voice: “Report out, warrior.”
That gets a far different reaction.
A chorus of gasps and shuffles come from the hayloft. Within seconds, Zachary has scaled down the ladder and stands before me. He’s a tiny and lanky kid in his light leather body armor. All I see are knees, elbows, and big mismatched eyes. He’s panting with panic.
“My prince, I’m so sorry. About four hours ago, there were Doxy demons in the stable.”
“What class?”
“Green bodies, big heads, and spiky bat wings. These are minor Doxies, so they’re a…” Zachary screws up his tongue as he thinks things through. “Class F?”
“Quite right.” We thrax rank our demons by letter. Class A’s are the toughest. “And what did you do?”
“Since it was Class F, I just observed.”
“Right again.” So long these are only Class F demons, then we’ve asked the boys not to fight or send out an alarm. Their mission is merely to observe. You don’t get to know your enemy if you kill them within minutes of seeing them. Observing demons is an important part of training, so long as they aren’t a threat. Even then, thrax don’t kill an enemy unless directly attacked. “What did you do then?”
“I watched them, just like the commander told me to. Plus, I drew some pictures of what I saw. I got so excited and then, I just fell asleep. I’m so, so sorry. You can punish me now.” He scrubs his oversize hands down his thin face. This boy will be a tall one someday. “I should never have fallen asleep.”
The child is doing such a great job at beating himself up, I can’t add in to the mix. “You fell asleep because of the adrenaline crash. It’s natural.”
“No, it’s not natural. It’s me. I’m not like the other kids. The watch is really hard for me.”
I know what Zachary is talking about. The child is a bundle of energy when he’s awake, the kind of kid whose attention flits from one thing to the next. “Some things are harder for you. I understand.”
“There’s no way I can stand still. I want to be a fighter.” His voice cracks when he says this part. “It’s not in me, though.”
In my army, there’s always a place for this kind of passion for service, and I know just how to explain it to this child. I kneel down so I can look him straight on. “When I was your age, do you know what was hard for me?”
Zachary’s eyes widen. “Something was hard for you?”
“Surely. For me, it was moving quickly in battle.”
“But they say you’re so fast, you could catch lighting.”
My heart goes out to the lad. About ten years ago, I stood in a stable not so different from this one and had a similar conversation with my father.
“I may be the fastest now, but not when I was your age.”
“What did you do?”
“I worked harder and longer until I became as good as anyone else. And then I worked even harder until I got better than all of them. We all have gifts and deficits. The only thing we control is how hard we work. I bet you’ll stick to it when it comes to watch. In the end, I wouldn’t be surprised if you became the best watchman in your crew.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Well, are you willing to work long and hard? I’m talking years and years now.”
“Yes, my prince.”
“Then I truly believe that it will come to pass.” I straighten myself to stand upright again. “Now, I’d like to see those pictures you drew of the Doxies.”
“Well, I didn’t draw the Doxies.” He winces. “I drew the warrior.”
“Who?”
“The one who came in and led all the demons away.”
My brows lift. Leading a pack of Doxies away? That would be a rather clever trick. Not many thrax would know enough arcane demon lore to pull that one off. “Do you know who it was?”
Zachary keeps shuffling his feet. “I think it was a girl.”
“A girl thrax warrior?” The house of Gurith has some young girls who may go into training someday, but other than that, we don’t have any active female warriors in Purgatory. It’s a point of major frustration for Mother. And for me as well, as a matter of fact. I sometimes wonder if I’d take more interest in the opposite sex if some of them knew how to fight.
And now, Zachary has seen a girl warrior in the stables.
I eye him carefully. “Are you sure?”
“She was wearing ghoul robes, so it was hard to tell.”
Purgatory is ruled by ghouls, all of whom are extraordinarily tall and wear long black robes. Around here, it’s easy enough to get your hands on a set of ghoul robes, and it would be hard to tell anyone’s identity while they were wearing some. Zachary could easily mistake a boy for a girl. Or a ghoul for a thrax, for that matter. “Are you certain this warrior wasn’t ghoul-kind?”
“No, she was way too short.”
Again, he seems to be convinced the fighter was a girl. “What did she look like?”
“It was too dark to see much, but I saw a little bit. I drew a picture, too.”
“May I see it?”
Zachary pulls a scrap of paper from under his leather breastplate. I take it from his hands, unfold it, and see an image that takes my breath away. It’s a gorgeous girl, about my age, I’d guess. She wears ghoul robes, but the hood has partly fallen away. I can see her intelligent eyes, even features, and sly smile. Long locks of wavy hair frame her face. Something in my chest tightens.
My breath turns short.
The entire stables take on a hazy look, like I’ve just stepped into a dream.
I tilt my head. Am I under some kind of magic spell? Not possible. I’m scanned for enchantments regularly. No, this feeling must be a sour stomach from that ill-cooked breakfast. People don’t simply glance at a fantasy drawing of a pretend girl from an eight-year-old boy and start having feelings for her. I start handing Zachary back the image. “Thank you,” I say. “You’re relieved from your post now. You did well.”
Zachary starts to take the picture and stops. “You can keep it if you want.” He lowers his voice. “I saw how you looked at her. She’s really pretty.”
I stare at the image in my hand. Perhaps I will keep the drawing, but not because the girl is gorgeous and makes my heart palpitate. More for training purposes only. “Thank you, Zachary. You’ve a very bright imagination.”
His mouth thins. “I didn’t make her up. I swear.”
I slip the paper under my own tunic and smile. Why am I grinning? Stomach problems don’t cause smiles. Perhaps I should go and get rechecked for enchantments. “I’m sure you didn’t.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. There are no beautiful thrax female warriors running around stables and posing for eight-year-old artists. An idea occurs. Perhaps the boy is the one who got enchanted. Some of the young wizards from the House of Striga like to play pranks like this. That’s an item to research for later.
A low hum sounds in the air. Zachary gasps. “What’s that?”
“That’s the hum of a ghoul portal about to open.” Ghouls are incredibly tall, pasty-skinned, and fearsome looking. In general, they aren’t too tough in battle. That said, they do have the ability to open portals: door-size holes that allow them to zap from one spot to the other. We’ve locked the ghouls out of Antrum, for obvious reasons. They could portal in a demon horde if they wanted to. And some are nasty enough to do just that. Even so, here in Purgatory, the ghouls rule the land and go where they like.
“Is it an enemy?” asks Zachary.
I tilt my head and concentrate on the sound. “No.”
“How can you tell?”
“Each ghoul has their own tone when they create a portal, and this ghoul is my friend Walker. Remember him? I mentioned him before. He’s the warrior and artist.”
Zachary steps backward toward the exit archway. All this talk of ghouls definitely has the lad worried. “Did you say I was excused?”
“Ghouls look fearsome, but they’re actually rather gentle. And Walker is also the brightest engineer you’ll ever meet.”
“Oh, I forgot he was your friend.” Zachary stops his backward walk. His little knees are visibly knocking together, though. “I’ll stay if you want me to, my prince.”
What a brave and loyal lad. He’ll do well.
“I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you. Your shift is over. Please head home and get some sleep.”
Spinning about, Zachary races from the stables so quickly you’d think the place was on fire. I make a mental note to have Walker give some instructional speeches to the new lads. My young thrax warriors need to get used to ghouls in general—and Walker in particular—if they want to rise in my ranks. I trust Walker with my life. He never does anything without a purpose, and he certainly isn’t one to pop into stables unannounced for no reason. All of which means that I know one thing for certain.
Walker isn’t transporting here for a social call. Something is very wrong indeed.
3
The hum grows louder. A moment later, a large door-shaped black rectangle appears in the stables. Through it steps a ghoul in long black robes. He has a brush cut, white skin, emotive eyes, and stylish sideburns. A moment after the ghoul moves inside, the door-like hole behind him vanishes.
I grin. Walker is here. As my best friend, Walker is the only person I’ve trusted with the truth about my scheme against Aldred. In fact, he’s been tasked with spying on Acca and reporting if Aldred does anything too crazy. As a ghoul, Walker is a neutral party. He’s also exceptionally sneaky. The earl still doesn’t suspect he’s being followed.
“Greetings, Your Highness.” Walker scans the stables. “Are we alone?”
“We are.” My pulse quickens. “He’s at it again, isn’t he?”
Walker nods. “The Earl of Acca has taken it upon himself to lead a rather large demon patrol into battle.” He lowers his voice. “The Archer’s Moon shines tonight on Earth.”
“I should have expected this.” When the Earth’s moon is at its thinnest, it resembles a curved-out bow. Acca are masters of archery, so they call this heavenly body the Archer’s Moon. It’s a secret tradition for Acca leaders to perform great feats of battle during the Archer’s Moon. “What’s Aldred doing?”
“He’s got a hundred thrax against a single she-demon.”
I purse my lips. “Sounds reasonable.” For once.
“He can’t get a read on the demon’s class.”
A jolt of worry shoots across my shoulders. It’s a basic rule of thrax battle training—never engage an enemy until its class is clear. With most demons, you can define their class on sight. Plus, if there’s ever a question, the wizards from the House of Striga arm us with divining charms. Even the Earl of Acca can’t be so thick as to ignore those protocols. “Let me get this straight. He doesn’t know the class, and yet he’s still planning to attack?”
“Unfortunately.” Walker has very pronounced bone structure, but I’ve never seen him look more gaunt or worried. “He’s never led this many in one charge before.”
“Let’s go then.”
“Are you certain?” Walker knows the risks.
“Execution threats be damned. I’m not letting even one more thrax die. We’re leaving.”
“Shouldn’t you change into battle armor?” Walker gestures across my formal tunic.
“No time. Can you portal us there?”
“If you’re certain.”
“Positive.”
“In that case, absolutely.”
One perk of being in Purgatory is that Walker can transport us directly to Earth. If we were in Antrum, there would be several layers of security to go through.
I take my bright spots where I can find them.
Walker lowers his head. Another low hum fills the air as a large door-like hole appears once again inside the stables. Stepping into a ghoul portal feels like tumbling through space. I suppose it must be what the humans enjoy about their skydiving. I find it gets the adrenaline pumping. I do need to stay connected to Walker while in the portal, though, or I’d never find a way out. Even I have my limits on adrenaline spikes.
Walker and I step across the stable floor, hold hands, and walk through the portal. Moments later, we emerge onto a nighttime landscape on Earth. Around me, rolling hills converge on a small valley. Hundreds of warriors line the hillcrests, their silhouettes outlined in the moonlight. Below me, the grounds are well kept; short grasses cover everything in sight. Picnic tables also dot the lower landscape, along with the odd swing set. The thin moon hangs in the night sky.
That’s it. The Archer’s Moon.
Clearly, this is a human park of some kind. Based on the fact that there are no mortals to be seen, I’m guessing this is one of those areas that closes at dusk. Which means there will be no humans around to be threatened by the demon. Good.
Speaking of the demon, she stands at the center of the valley, wearing some kind of gingham dress that reminds me of Dorothy from that human movie, The Wizard of Oz. The she-demon even has a basket and some sparkly red shoes. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Either this is a Class F Mirror Demon—they take forms they see in culture and are notoriously easy to kill—or something incredibly sinister that’s just posing as one. That’s a well-known tactic for Class A demons.
Since I can’t determine the class on sight, I pull out one of my charms from the House of Striga. This particular item looks like a stick of gum, but it’s actually a demon detection spell. I tear off the wrapper and stare at the chewy treat inside. The words demon type unknown slowly appear on the treat.
Either my charms are malfunctioning or this is a rather advanced demon. Only a handful of Class A monsters could confound one of the charms from the House of Striga. Concern charges through my nervous system.
Now I don’t merely suspect this might be a Class A—I know it with all my soul.
I need to find the Earl of Acca and soon. Attacking this she-demon is suicide.
Scanning the landscape around me, I see no sign of Aldred. I approach the nearest commander. Good thing I make a point to memorize all the names of Acca officers. “Bertram.”
“My Lord. I didn’t see you approach.”
“Where is your earl?”
Bertram lifts his chiseled chin. “You’re not my commander when I’m on Acca demon patrol. I have to tell you nothing.”
For a man who’s about to rush into a suicide mission, Bertram has absolute faith in the earl’s leadership. This is all because Acca does more brainwashing than real battle training. Unlike demon patrol, the Acca warrior-training schedule is one thing that I’ll absolutely be able to change when I marry into the house. It might be one of the only upsides, actually.
“Come now, Bertram. You know exactly where he is. Tell me willingly, or I’ll make life back in Antrum rather uncomfortable.” Mostly, I get the royal physicians to say the fighters aren’t fit for duty. There’s nothing worse for a warrior to be on the sidelines for a year or so.
A muscle twitches in Bertram’s heavy neck. “Fine. My earl is about a half-league to our right, standing tall with his warriors.” The commander lowers his voice. “Don’t ruin this battle for him.” He glances up toward the sky.
Bertram doesn’t say anything, but I know exactly what he’s thinking about here. It’s what I’ve spent so much time researching as part of my secret plan.
The Archer’s Moon.
This is one of the mysteries of the initiation into becoming a full Acca warrior. None may speak of it, but with enough research, I found out the truth. When the moon is at its thinnest phase, it looks most like the drawn string of a bow. Performing great deeds under the Archer’s Moon—or even as near to it as you can get—gets your name carved on the wall of their inner sanctum. The earl almost always tries some kind of attack at the Archer’s Moon. Which hangs overhead right now.
Last year, he got fifty warriors killed when they went up against ten Class B demons. I shudder to think what he has planned for tonight.
“Excuse me.” I march off in the direction that Bertram indicated. Walker stays close behind. Sure enough, the earl is wearing regular infantry armor so as to blend in with his troops. However, his meaty belly makes for an unmistakable silhouette, even in the moonlight. I march right up and stand in his line of vision.
“Aldred. Call a retreat.”
“Greetings, my lad.” The earl laughs as if I’d told a great joke. “What a sense of humor you have. Come see this latest display of my military strength.”
The muscles in my throat constrict with held-in fury. “You don’t know the class of demon.”
“Sure, I do. It’s Class F, Mirror Demon.”
“Then why kill it? Doesn’t seem too harmful. And it’s not attacking. It’s against our code to go on the offensive without provocation.”
“It provocated us before.”
“Sure it did. And it’s provoked, not provocated.”
“Whatever. It attacked us before, and it’s absolutely a noteworthy kill. A demon is a demon, my boy.”
“Class A demons are very different. And they often masquerade as a lower level entity.”
“Bollocks. That’s a Class F. You’re a coward.”
Frustration heats my bloodstream. The earl is lying. It’s his favorite way of handling unpleasant truths. Ignore them. Insult the one who speaks the truth. “This is an order, Aldred. Call your men off.”
“I don’t need to follow your orders here.” His piggy eyes narrow to slits. “And if you continue to interfere with my demon patrol, I’ll say you’re in flagrant violation of our treaty. I have witnesses.” He steps closer. “In fact, I can execute you right now, just for walking into my patrol. What do you think of that?”
If Aldred believes that he’ll frighten me, he’s wrong. I’m committed now and beyond caring. “I think your house has demon patrol mortality rates that are three times higher than any other house.”
“Really? Three times? I wasn’t aware.”
I’ve heard the phrase seeing red. Now, I know what it means. Fury colors the world around me. “That’s simply not true. We’ve discussed this on many occasions.” I pull his dagger from its sheath. “And if you’re going to execute me, better do it now.”
“Ho, now. Don’t get hysterical. Where is your father?” Aldred stands on tiptoe, as if hoping Connor were waiting behind me. “He’d see the logic in my battle plan.”
“Father is on his anniversary trip, so you can give up on that ploy. Call off your troops. There are no humans here. Attacking a demon when we don’t know its class is suicide.”
“Gah. Look at her. She’s a Mirror Demon.”
Down in the valley, the she-demon in question looks up us and blinks innocently. I point in her direction. “Did you see that?”
“What?”
“That demon is listening to our every word. She just blinked up at us as if to say what a harmless creature I am. That’s a well-known Class A trap. She’s playing you like a fiddle. Class F demons have the IQ of pond scum. This one is Class A, no doubt about it.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” The earl holds up his pudgy pointer finger. “But, in the interests of demonology, may I show you what happens when we call in a volley of bolts?”
“You’ve done this before?”
“All night long. I told you, she’s been provocating us.”
“Provoking.”
“Whatever. The men are nearly out of bolts for their crossbows. This she-demon has a rather interesting reaction.”
I scan the warriors more carefully. The Acca fighters all stand in neat rows. Battle formation. All of them grip a crossbow in their hands. That’s fine. If the she-demon could attack from this far, she would have already, so crossbows are a safe play. They’re also Acca’s specialty. It’s hand-to-hand combat where things get tricky.
“Then go on.” It’s always good to learn about new demonic reactions to our weapons.
The earl steps forward, raises his arms. “Prepare for Acca Assault Plan Seven!”
I raise my hand, palm forward. “I’m not aware of that one. All assault plans are supposed to go through me.” And I only assign Greek letters to them, such as Assault Plan Alpha. Yet another example of the earl being a pain in my backside. If you give warriors on the battlefield the wrong assault plan number, things get dangerous, fast.
“Damn those messengers of mine. Must have forgot to send the new plans your way.”
Fresh waves of rage roll through me. “Aldred, stop lying.”
“No worries, my boy. Soon we’ll be family, right? It’s all part of what fathers do for sons.”
The thought of Aldred as my father-in-law makes a nasty taste fill my mouth. I push the thought aside. The marriage is necessary simply because Adlred is so foul.
Aldred claps his hand on my shoulder. “I can be generous. I’ll not execute you for interfering with my demon patrol this time. And I’ll even make sure the plans get to you soon.” The earl turns back to his warriors. “Begin!”
Along the hilltop, the warriors raise their crossbows. Moving as a single unit, they aim at the she-demon.
After that, they fire.
The bolts reflect moonlight as they zoom toward their target. Instead of striking the monster, the bolts pass right through her. Interesting. Mirror demons can turn transparent at will, so bolts passing through it is no surprise. However, the way they turn transparent is very particular. Weapons pass through them without seeming to have any effect. That’s not what’s happening now with this particular she-demon. As the bolts pass through her body, there are concentric ripples—like the effect of water droplets on a still pool. My mind spins through everything I know of demon lore. I can almost place the effect, but not quite. A lead weight of foreboding settles into my stomach.
“That’s quite a response,” I say. “She isn’t transparent so much as—”
The earl grabs my shoulder. “Quiet now. Here’s the good part.”
On the battlefield, the warriors begin to race toward the demon. A chill rolls through my insides. “You said that your warriors would just fire on her.”
“Projectiles followed by hand-to-hand combat. That’s Acca Assault Plan Seven.”
Worry spikes through my limbs. “Hand-to-hand combat with a Class A? They’ll be murdered. Hold them back! Stop them now!”
Aldred rolls his eyes. “I told you, she’s not Class A. She’s a Class F mirror demon.”
But the warriors are already charging down the hillside toward the she-demon. Even worse, they’re still shooting darts as they go. My stomach drops. This is one of the critical gaps in Acca’s training. These warriors simply don’t know hand-to-hand combat, which makes racing toward a Class A demon even more dangerous.
I step forward and raise my arms. “Warriors of Antrum, your future king calls to you. Stop!”
Sadly, the Acca fighters don’t even slow down, let alone stop. If anything, the manic gleam in their eyes shines more brightly. When it comes to battle, they only follow the earl.
This won’t end well.
Beside me, the earl grins. “They won’t listen to you. These are my fighters, and they value their autonomy.” He rubs his meaty palms over his round belly. “I’m so glad you’re here. All this worry about mortality rates and needling me over who leads my own troops. Watch now. See how well I handle them in this battle. That one little she-demon is as good as dead.”
The warriors close in, and that’s when the she-demon changes.
What was a mirror demon now takes the form of a hulking male demon with stout legs, six arms, and a porcupine-like collection of spines along his back. Every inch of the demon is covered in dark plated armor. Its eyes flash red.
That’s bad enough. What happens next is even worse.
The demon then slices off into a series of two-dimensional cuts. These are dozens of paper-thin version of the same monster. My heart sinks.
That’s a Soul Slasher.
These Class A demons break off into paper-thin versions of themselves. After that, the two-dimensional monsters cut through their prey. Soul Slashers don’t cause any physical damage, but they do murder their target’s spirit. And without a soul, the body dies as well. Painfully.
My heart rate spikes as I turn to Walker. “Portal me in there.”
Walker sets his hand on my shoulder. “It’s already too late.”
Suddenly, the valley is covered in paper-thin versions of the Soul Slasher that cut through hundreds of warriors at once. Acca warriors crumple on the battlefield; their howls of agony reverberate through the night air. Every corner of my soul echoes with their pain.
“Take me in anyway,” I tell Walker. “Behind the first version of the Soul Slasher.”
Walker gives me the barest of nods. He’s a warrior, same as I am, which means he knows what I’m planning. Walker pulls out two daggers from his ghoul robes.
Smart move, Walker.
I pull my baculum from their holster at the base of my spine. I carry these weapons with me always. Baculum look like two small silver rods, but since I’m from the House of Rixa, I can ignite them with angelfire in order to create any kind of weapon.
And Walker is right. Daggers are the best choice for a Soul Slasher.
Walker then opens a ghoul portal, which we both step through. A moment later, we march out once again, emerging right behind the original place where the Soul Slasher first stood. Bodies of Acca warriors litter the valley around us. A hundred paper-thin versions of the Soul Slasher hover above the corpses. Moving in unison, all the versions turn toward their new target.
Walker and me.
Perfect.
This isn’t my first time in battle with Walker. On reflex, we move to stand back to back and face the oncoming horde. Some small part of me screams that this is suicide. More of me is enraged at the loss of so much life.
I will end this demon or die trying.
The paper-thin Soul Slashers rush at us in a great shimmering wave. At this angle, they seem like a hundred full-bodied Souls Slasher monsters, but if you could view from the side, you would see that each is barely there.
Doesn’t make them any less deadly.
Soul Slashers are easy to kill, but only if you strike them with a dagger at precisely a sixty-six degree angle. I ignite the baculum rods in my hands into two daggers made of white flame and wait.
Sixty-six degree angle…sixty-six degree angle.
The Soul Slashers are twenty feet away.
Ten.
Five.
The first Soul Slashers get close, and I get into battle position, arms out. Behind me, I feel Walker’s ghoul robes shift as he does the same. The Soul Slashers only need to pass through my body to kill me.
I tighten the grip on my baculum daggers.
One.
My mind clicks off. My world becomes nothing but demons, battle, and reaction. I make an upper cut. Parry. Slice. One Soul Slasher passes halfway through my body. Pain radiates through me. My breath catches while I cut it through on the opposite side, killing that version of the monster.
Too close that time.
My body is slick with sweat by the time we’ve weeded the Soul Slasher horde down to one final paper-thin version. The thing still looms massive with its spiked back and six muscular arms.
I glance over my shoulder to Walker. “Assault Plan Xi Theta?”
He nods.
With that, Walker and I race toward the paper-thin version of the demon, our every step in sync. The last Soul Slasher moves to attack as well. At the last moment, Walker and I split formation to race around each side of the two-dimensional form. As we run along, we hold out our daggers at the precise angle.
Sixty-six degrees.
The last Soul Slasher falls over, dead.
Now all the paper-thin forms rise up from the battleground, forming a great swirl of motion as they rejoin into the shape of a full three-dimensional monster. It’s the last thing this particular demon will ever do in this world or the next. Once the Soul Slasher’s body is reformed, it tumbles onto the ground, a lifeless hulk.
We killed it.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer demon.
I extinguish my baculum and set the bars back into their holster. Normally, I experience a surge of triumph after a successful fight. This time, a weight of sadness settles into my bones. The Soul Slasher is gone, but so are hundreds of Acca warriors.
On the outside, I must look calm. But inside? I’m howling with rage. Dead bodies lie around me. Their forms show no physical damage, but their souls have been cut to ribbons. They won’t even get a chance at an afterlife.
The earl pads up to stand beside me. He gestures across the battlefield. “Now, this is a surprise.”
“You should have listened to me.” My voice drips with fury. “I want the rest of your commanders on my personal training grounds tomorrow at dawn. They desperately need coaching in hand-to-hand combat.”
“What? No one could have foreseen this kind of attack.” Aldred’s ears turn pink as his temper rises. “You can’t mean to undermine my careful work with my own warriors. You’re not my son-in-law yet.”
“You want an inquest on this?”
“Do that, and you’d be inviting your own execution.” Little bits of spittle fly from the Aldred’s mouth. “You can’t stop me. Interfering with my rights on demon patrol is a killing offense!”
“Don’t care. Don’t try me. My practice grounds. Your commanders. Tomorrow morning. A week of training in hand-to-hand combat, or I swear, I will raise an alliance of the other houses against you.”
“You can try. Your father wouldn’t allow it.”
“My father isn’t here.”
A long pause follows. Finally, Aldred steps away and forces a laugh. “Bah. What can a week of training do, anyway?” He points right at me. “And only you do the training, no one else.”
“Agreed.” I turn to Walker. “Take me back to Antrum.”
Walker bows slightly at the waist. “As you command.” He winks.
“Go on,” snarls Aldred. “Enjoy my leniency until your father returns. He’ll talk some sense into you, and I won’t be so forgiving next time!”
While Walker creates his portal, my thoughts return to my secret plan to thwart Aldred and his demon patrols, once and for all. This chance at training is a stroke of good luck. It could make all the difference when my plan does come to pass. It all hinges on the Earl of Striga, Aldred’s bloated ego, and the Archer’s Moon.
But for now, there’s nothing to do but wait…and visit more families of the fallen.
Two hundred warriors lie dead on this battlefield.
I can’t let that happen again.
4
The next morning, I wait for the Acca warriors to arrive on my personal practice grounds. This area is nothing special really: a wide swath of yellowing grass that’s ringed by browning woods. As always, gray skies loom overhead. In that way, Purgatory is a lot like Antrum. You’ll never see even a sliver of blue sky in either place.
I sense the Acca warriors before I see them. Through my own feet, I feel the slight rhythmic thump of their boots on the ground. Some telltale crinkling of leaves and crackling of branches as they march through the forest. My heart rate quickens.
Today is a chance I simply can’t pass up. I plan to challenge Aldred to a fight under the Archer’s Moon. If I win, I can claim any boon that I wish. Chances are, Aldred will have me battle one of his commanders instead. I don’t have long to learn their tricks.
Twenty Acca warriors march out from the tree line in two neat rows. I approach the first commander in line, a hulk of a man that I recognize instantly. “You’re Lothar, correct?”
“I am Lothar the Fierce.” His deep voice carries the heavy accent of someone who grew up on the outskirts of Acca territory. It’s a cross between the gruff sound of human German combined with an American hillbilly twang. “My earl trains me. We should not be here.” Lothar glares. “Our house has treaty with yours. You no order me around.”
“And yet you’re here,” I say. “And on your earl’s orders, no less.”
For a moment, Lothar’s lips hang open as he debates what to do next. Then he snaps his mouth shut.
Smart move.
I gesture toward the empty practice field. “Why don’t we start training with you, Lothar?”
“I no need training. I show you.” The hulking man reaches into a thigh pocket and pulls out a dart. “I pick it up and throw it.” With a powerful flick of the wrist, Lothar chucks the dart into the trees. Somewhere in the shadows, a small animal shrieks.
I lift my brows. “I believe you just killed a cat.”
“No cat. Squirrel.” Lothar taps his temple. “I know how to fight, get it?”
This is too rich. “Lobbing darts at squirrels does not equate to prowess in hand-to-hand combat. And close fighting, my dear Lothar, is why you’re here.”
“You no understand.” Lothar reaches for his pocket again and pulls out another dart. He carefully slips the covering off the needle-like ending. “This one has poison. I hold in my fist and punch you in the face. You die. Hand-to-hand combat is over.”
I nod, impressed, and store away that fact for the future. “I must admit, that’s one battle tactic I didn’t realize you employed.”
“Good. We go.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that hand-to-hand combat is a lot more than sneaking out a poisonous needle.” I rest my hand on Lothar’s arm and lower my voice. “You know what happened with the Soul Slasher.”
A pang of hurt flashes in Lothar’s eyes. “I do.” He recaps the dart and sets it back into a pocket on his training armor.
Good. He’s listening.
“How would you stop the next Soul Slasher?” I ask.
Lothar frowns. “I pick it up and throw it. That’s what my earl says.” The statement lacks the mindless conviction he spoke with before, though. I consider this major progress.
“Well, Aldred is not here.“ A rhythmic crunch sounds from the forest line. I don’t need to turn around to know that someone’s stepping onto the practice ground behind me—and this particular someone has a very distinct tread. “Correction, your earl just decided to join us.” I turn to face him. “Good morning, Aldred.”
The earl scans the practice grounds. “Where’s Connor?”
“Did you forget? It’s my parents’ anniversary. They always take a small trip to celebrate.” It’s one of my favorite times of year, actually. I get a lot of schemes completed in their absence.
“Be that as it may,” huffs the earl. “I’m here to round up my warriors.”
Aldred is many things, and predictable is one of them. I knew this was coming, but I feign a small look of surprise. Never let your enemy know you can read them. “But the warriors only just arrived. As you recall, we agreed to a full week of training.”
“That’s far too long. I don’t remember anything like that.”
“It seems we have a disagreement of history. Shall I order the Earl of Striga here? He can cast a binding spell and hold us to our respective promises.” I step closer. “The agreement was for a week, Aldred.”
In truth, I have far better things to do than spend a week with Acca’s commanders. That said, I had to ask for a week. If I had requested a day of training, then Aldred would never shut up until I cut it down to an hour. This way, I ask for a week and get the day I actually want. Win-win.
