The Wielder: Sworn Vengeance (The Wielder Series) (3 page)

The last wave of creatures turn to puddles of ectoplasmic goo from the force of the wizard’s chain lightning spells which careened amongst them.  Standing next to the wizard Grey Lightbringer is the beast Ahtsag Znuul who has also taken down his share of the waves of creatures that besieged the two.

“The coward must be close to bring forth his minions like this
,” Znuul notes.  He closes his eyes and reaches out with his senses to find the source of the attack –Maldgorath the Collector.  Before he can set his senses to his task the doors to the hallway crash open - this time not with summonling demons and devils, but a pair of commandos with automatic weapons.

Without a moment’s thought,
Znuul’s wings flare out and he quickly stands in front of the wizard Grey, taking the onslaught of automatic weapons fire.  It doesn't feel good at all to him.

But Znuul is made of stronger stuff than
regular bullets can do real harm to.  He takes their fire, then returns the favor with savage mental assault to one of the commandos and a vicious telekinetic attack to the other that literally flings him into and partially through the wall.  The commando under the mental assault is curled on the ground, groveling.  Znuul stalks forward, reaching down for the man’s helmeted skull.

“No
,” says the wizard Grey.  Ahtsag stops in his tracks, telling the commando, “Lucky boy.”

Grey smiles to Znuul, then instantly becomes serious again; “The Collector… where is he?”

The large winged creature again reaches out with his senses and finds his prey in the rear courtyard.   Then that prey disappears.  “He flees us” he says opening his eyes.  But his senses are still somewhat extended and he notes a disturbance that shouldn’t be there.

He looks at the wizard Grey
Lightbringer.  “Old man, we have at least two military helicopters incoming, five minutes maximum.”

“Damn
.” is the wizard’s response.  He makes haste to his desk and tells Znuul to open his safe under the bookcase.  Grey produces a small leather attaché from his desk.  The safe opened, Grey instructs Znuul to give him the invitation from the Queen of the Fae he received during Arthur MacInerny's trial.

Znuul hands him the sealed invitation
with a scowl. “We have no time to wait for diplomats of one side to approach the other to open a gateway.  Must I remind you, that if we went there I would be summarily executed and my head put upon a pike. I die, so do you.”

Grey takes the invitation from him and beams a smile. “I would never subject you to that.  You must get what you can of the staff and campers away.  I will pitch a storm and keep the copters at bay.  The safety of our charges is paramount.
Take this pouch and hold onto it dearly.  If the worst happens you will know what to do.”

This
input does not sit well with Znuul, but he takes the leather pouch all the same. “You get them out, I can more than deal with these machines.”

Grey smiles at his charge, the demon bound to his will
, known at one time as the Destroyer of Hope and Devourer of Souls.  “We don’t need you showing up on the internet. Trust in me and get our charges out of here.”

Znuul nods and begins to leave to perform his duties
. He is stopped by his master’s voice; “Ahtsag, I believe in you and I trust in you. You know you are as family to me.”

“Don’t do anything too crazy old man” is the beast’s reply
as he ducks under the door jamb to address his duty.

In the hall he bellows for all to converge on the front portico.  He quickly takes wing to the third floor and directs the children to come downstairs.  He collects Marthe and anyone else he could find in the house and ha
s them follow him to the garage.

Storm clouds and lightning began to swell around the chateau and
Znuul knows Grey is applying his craft strongly.  No helicopter pilot in his right mind would attempt to go through the weather Grey was invoking.  He was buying time to get the kids and staff to safety.

At the garage, Znuul has them pack into the limousine and the suburban.  He gives the keys to the limo to M
arthe and tells her to follow him in the suburban.  He pulls out of the garage and immediately turns into the field of grapes, tearing down the hillside. He blazes a path for Marthe to follow and reaching the end of the vineyard, banks hard left towards the barns where the farm equipment is kept.

The suburban is met with gunfire and Znuul’s response is to lean forward and unfurl a wing to protect the children and staff in the back.   The windows shatter and he raises an arm to protect his eyes instinctively. He slams the brakes and takes the hurtful gunfire.  When the gunfire ceases he flings the door open, telling everyone
in the vehicle to “Take to the floor!”

There are three commandos.  They are reloading.  With a moderate amount of
concentration Znuul projects a red energy from his eyes that skewers one commando leaving him with two eye sized holes in his chest.   Taking two steps forward he plants his feet and with a flap of his wings projects a force wave that scatters the two others to the ground.  Stalking forward he rips the gun from the hand of one and uses it to cancel the other commando with two to the chest and one to the head before he can get his bearings.  The last commando has the unfortunate fate of Znuul jamming his fingers into his chest and having his life’s essence ripped from him.

Znuul casts the d
ried husk of the commando aside and takes a moment to savor the life he just devoured with a smile.

Grey’s storm is swelling and the helicopters are at bay.  But Znuul senses something else.  Something coming fast.  Something coming from high above. Putting his thumb to his forehead he projects a simple thought to his master – “Danger from above coming, get out now”

He receives no response, but instead a feeling of lightness.  A feeling of freedom.

A sound roars from above; jet fighters. The chateau explodes under a siege of carpet bombing.

Ahtsag Znuul reaches out for Grey Lightbringer with all his senses. He finds nothing.

Marthe, the chateau’s chef leaves the limousine and walks up
to the statuesque Ahtsag Znuul staring at the flaming remains of the chateau they called home.

“Thees is good Ahtsag.  You are still steel here,
Monsignor Lightbringer escaped.  You both still live.”

Very slowly, the beast turns his head and looks down upon the chef Marthe.  “No Marthe, Grey is gone.  And I am now
unbound.”

I don’t think I did too
badly.  I beat Shey’s expectation by at least five times over.  That is I probably lasted a minute – the first time.  That’s not bad for a man who hasn’t had any sexual contact for almost twenty five years.  And much, much longer than that with anyone other than his wife.

That
first time rocked Shey to her core; leaving her at least as overwhelmed as I was, trembling and muttering many sweet things.  It’s apparently true, just like when my summonlings physically hurt me, they receive multiples of the damage – when they physically please me, it appears to be the same - in a much better way.

Some guys might think that’s cool.  I know it for what it is: a means of control, damn near Pavlovian.
Hurt bad.  Pleasure good. Do as I say.

Ick.

Our second round was much more on par with my male ego.  Shey is a playful, communicative lover. It was a good time for both of us.  But now I lay here, Shey curled up next to me and all I can think of is what Dory must be thinking looking down on me from above.

My wife Dorothy is my guardian angel of sorts. 
She passed away and I know she’s looking over me - because she showed herself. I hope she turned an eye, even though she gave Shey and I “permission” some time ago when physical intimacy became difficult at best for her.

I feel a quick kiss on my cheek and look over to see Shey on her elbow looking at me with concern. “Dorothy would be happy that you are happy.  You should be happy again
,” she tells me.

“Yea
,” seems like the only thing to say, so I do with a smile.

“If you need help getting happy again, I can do that”
- she exclaims bouncing up to her knees and smiling mischievously at me.

Then the phone rings. I think we’re both a little dismayed at it. “Don’t!” she tells me, but I
do.  I reach over and grab the phone.  It’s a Protectorate call.

The team must be needed.

I answer and find much to my surprise it’s Alistair Burningwood – the chancellor of the Protectorate and general big muckity-muck. I am never contacted by this man directly, only through layers at his command.   This must be something.

After a round of pleasantries, he tells me there is a dark practitioner in Covington that must be “addressed.”  He lets me know that the normal
assignment via email through the secure-net will not happen as the phones and lines have been compromised.  He gives me an address.

“Arthur, be very careful and keep phone silence
,” he tells me.  “We will be express mailing you a new phone. It should arrive tomorrow. Things are beginning to turn ugly Arthur, events are unfolding that are unprecedented. Please take care of this for us, as quickly as possible.”

I try to ask him about what these events are.  All I get is a
, “we can’t be sure the phones are secure.  You will be briefed after your mission.  At this point I can’t promise you that your arrival isn’t known.  My phone is secure, yours… enough said. Go and God speed.”

And with that he hangs up.

“What is it Arthur?” my naked fairy princess asks me. 

“It’s work Shey
,” I tell her. “It’s time to get going.”

Christophe LeBlanc w
as coming home after a long day at a neighbor's barn.  He was assisting with the birth of a calf and unfortunately it went breach.  Luckily for the calf and mother though, he was there.  Christophe by day is a country doctor, helping person and animal alike.  But he is also a healer adept of the Hands, a league of spiritual healers and members of the Protectorate.

Driving back in his Renault sedan he
is thinking of nothing but joining his family.  Then he notices the helicopters firing upon his hometown of Libourne. Yes, it is in the distance, but what is going on could never be mistaken. Warfare. 

There are explosions and the distant sounds of heavy machine gun fire.

Panic sets in, followed by his foot which makes the sedan lurch forward, whining at the demands presented by its driver. 

He sees the explosions as jets from above drop payloads upon his home town.

Then those jets are engaged by others.  He slams the vehicle to a stop and watches the dogfight ensue from above.  They wind around each other and intertwine and one jet shoots down another. Other jets streak in and take out the helicopters strafing the town.

After
viewing all of this calamity, he puts the car back in gear and presses down on the gas pedal again.

Christophe looks on, won
dering if his family survived. Wondering if friends survived.  Wondering why he wasn’t there to help. 

He cries
and still moves ahead; he can’t help but think it looks bad and feels worse.

Why?  Who? He asks himself.

We pack the minivan and I drive us to the site.  I wanted Sil to drive, but she was having nothing to do with it.  I tossed her the keys and they just flew past her.  I know the cataracts are just for show.  She just chose not to pluck the keys out of the air like she normally does.

We ma
ke it there without event.  Upon arriving we circle the area in typical fashion.  It’s an abandoned industrial facility – large metal building, with no signs of security or troops protecting it. 

That only means they’re inside.

After a perimeter run or two we agree that we don’t see any cameras, so we stop at the side to the entrance and unload.  First in would be Sheyliene.  She’ll do an aerial reconnaissance and tell of any discoveries. She reaches up to her hair and in her usual fairy dust routine, becomes very tiny and flies off.

Vets makes like we have to change a tire, just in case.  The rest of us just wait.

After a bit Shey buzzes back in and turns to normal size in the minivan.

She reports. “Nobody in the yard, but three guys with automatic weapons off the main entry area. 
I didn’t see anyone else in the main warehouse, but there’s a locked room and I’m sure someone’s in there.”

I figure that’s where our target is.  And chances are he’s armed to the gills – both supernaturally and otherwise.  I thank Shey for her help and look over to the team.  I share my pl
an: “We take the front door, use Sil to distract them and then take them down quietly”

Hag-
Sil just looks at me and says, “I’m not changing from this unless you make me.”

I could compel her to
change.  I can compel any of my summonlings to do anything I wish.  I just don’t like to do that. So instead, I just give her an exasperated look and sigh “well, fine.”

I give the plan a moment or two to re-gel in my mind. “Alright then, Shey knock on the door, when they open it we take them as quietly and as suddenly as we can.  We do not want them warning anyone. If we can avoid fatality, let’s do that… but not at our expense.  O
kay?”

The team nods in agreement.

So we move in.  Shey knocks on the door, trying to look as disarming as possible.  The door opens and she is greeted by the first thug.  First thug gets a finger strike to the throat, followed by Shey barreling into the room using him as cover.  The element of surprise is in our favor. The other guards hold fire not wanting to nail their guy. 

That leaves room for Arixtumin, the
sorcerer of our group, to step up. He lets loose a black lightning bolt that sends one of the guards flying across the reception space.  He trains his attention to the other, but my trusty hound Hjuul has already torn across the room, pounced on him and is tearing his throat out.  Gory, yes - but effective as he never got a shout out.

So much for non-lethal force
…

The rest of us pile into the reception area.  Shey is finishing off the guard she had in hand with a choke hold
; her arms around his neck and legs locked tightly around his torso.  The other guard is lying in a crumpled ball in the corner.  The third one is no more than gore upon my hound’s jowls.

I signal to the team that we need to enter the warehouse area. All
are attentive.  As a strike team, we are quite cohesive.

We are making our way to the warehouse, when crumpled guard begins to get up and pull his sidearm.  Like a flash Hag-Sil is on him, slapping the weapon from his hand and tripping him to the ground. She drops on him enveloping his face under her skirt. He is struggling and she is working her hips back and forth.  Then, just like that, she goes to a splits
, flat on the floor and with a twist of her hips, he stops moving. She puts her feet on his shoulders and forcibly disengages from him.

Everyone is shocked and wordless. 

I hear Shey gag.  Pffif says, “I donnae think that’s a place anyone wans ta be anymore.” 

I am thoroughly
disgusted.

“Nobody heard him scream” she croaks to us.

Hag-Sil points to her cataract eyes and then to the warehouse. Back on mission, I get it. But damn, that was just gross. I had no idea she could do that.  I knew it was a death snatch, just not an eat your face and break your neck one. Eww.

We make our way through a mostly empty warehouse except for
an enormous number of blue barrels. But “mostly empty” is the key.  A frog-faced demon appears wielding a long rod. I know that face, it tried to barf an acid ball on me before in South America.  It recognizes me too, as it stops and gurgles out – “You!”  The frog faced demon turns the rod towards me and lets loose a cry of “Morazza!” A bolt of green lightning streams out toward me.

I dive out of the way and it crashes into the wall behind me.

Vets wades in wielding her sword and cleaves the abomination in the neck. The strike doesn’t go all the way through as apparently Mr. Frog is made of fairly stout stuff.  Then, like magic, a silver arrow sprouts from his eye socket – Shey.  Another strikes in his throat.  Vets wretches her sword loose from its neck and strikes with an upward blow under its frog chin, the sword driving upward through its skull.

T
he frog faced demon dissolves into ectoplasmic goo.  He’s one of Maldgorath’s summonlings. That can only mean Maldgorath is in hire or league with this guy we’ve been sent to stop. It also means I may have another shot at revenge.  I call to my sword, Yayne, and it glows white with holy power.

I hope I
get that shot.  That bastard had my son killed.

My summonling group recognizes the issue immediately.  I
sense it among them; a mix of trepidation and anger.   After all, they were all under his thumb for ages before I was “gifted” them.

We see the office in front of us and fan out accordingly. 
Pffiferil examines the door and gives a thumbs up that it isn’t booby-trapped.  I nod to Vets and she sets in front of the door to kick it in.  I give her the signal and in we all go.

We all flow into the room which is wall to wall with the
same blue barrels we’ve seen all about the compound.  There is a suitcase on a table and a large TV screen applied to the wall. 

The TV screen
turns on and I see the ugly visage of Maldgorath on it. “Time to pray Arthur, you have a minute and a half to live,” he says. “I so wish I could be here, but you aren’t worth my time are you? The suitcase has about twenty pounds of C4 explosive.  You won’t be able to escape as all the blue barrels are ammonium nitrate bombs. Nothing will be left standing for over a quarter mile radius.  Why don’t’ you…”

He was saying something, but Vets was doing something else that took
my attention.  She shoves the blue barrels against the wall to the ground and then pulls her sword slashing the sheet-metal wall behind them.

“Run that way!” Vets yells point
ing to where we came from, while simultaneously scooping up the suitcase and barging through the breach she made in the wall.

We all stand in shock. 

“Damn!” says Hag-Sil who runs after Vets changing into her more normal demonic/succubus form along the way.

So we run.  I am going as fast as I can.  My lungs burn, my muscles pain but I push ahead.

Then I hear an explosion. I brace myself for the devastation.  But I feel none of it.  I do feel two of my summonlings returned to me that were killed. That would be Vets and Sil.

Realizing that I won’t be killed, I stop and walk carefully to the minivan.
I see the trail of the explosion up in the sky. Sil must have taken them to wing. My group is with me, that is what is left of my group.  I reach to the glyphs for Vets and Sil and summon them back.  Vets immediately takes a knee and says, “I am privileged to have died for my wielder,” bowing her head to me.

Sil returns
with the proclamation, “There was nothing good about that at all!”  Then she looks around at all of us and says “You’re welcome,” as she transforms back to Hag-Sil.  Hag-Sil walks over to the still kneeling Vets and picks her up by the arm. “That was some smart thinking Ms. Vets Vetisghar, I am impressed with you, though you could have let go of the briefcase,” she creaks in her hag-voice.

We are all a bit stunned and not saying much.  But one of us is very animated, Arixtumin.  He’s waving his arms about as he’s been compelled not to speak unless spoke
n to.

“Yes, please speak
,” I address him touching my will.

He gains his composure and shares his thoughts.  “Master Arthur, unless the plant explodes our foe will know we have escaped.  If the plant blows, he will assume our death.”

As much as I want to hate Arixtumin, when he is right, he is right.  And again he is. “What are you suggesting?” I ask him.

“Well, obviously
setting off the explosives, but given the briefcase has already been used we must find another way.  The most obvious way would be me.”

“Wow
,” says Pffif. “Ye’d blow yerself up?”

That gets a nod from Arix. “Better that than having the
Collector pay us a visit.”  By the collector, he means Maldgorath.  And yea, I see his point. We all do.

“You’d set it off?” I ask him.

He nods a “yes” to me, with a look of disgust.

“Damn
,” Is all I can say. “Ok go on.”

Arix tells us he’ll wait ten minutes from when he gets
to the central room.  We pile into the minivan and make tracks.  About fifteen minutes later, we see the explosion and I feel Arix return to the white.  He did it. I would have never thought he would do that.

But then, I can’t imagine he wants to confront Maldgorath again either.