Green Agate Pretender

  GREEN AGATE PRETENDER

  Morgan Blayde

  Acknowledgments

  To those who helped along the way: Sally Ann Barnes, Jess Cox, Denny Grayson, Caroline Williams, Chris Crowe, Steve and Judy Prey, Jane O’Riva, Leo Little, Nancy Hughette, Chris Smith, Chris Riley, Jim Czajkowski, Tod Todd, Matt Bishop, and Jean Colegrove.

  OFFICIAL WEBSITE:

  www.morgan-blayde.com

  © Copyright Dec. 2017

  ONE

  “The best thing to do when attacked,

  is to kill everyone, at least once.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Freezing my ass off outside the main granite gate of the Winter Court, I paused to finish a fifth of Jim Beam bourbon, tossing the bottle into the snow. The winter storm had grounded me. I’d had to land and take on human form, or risk flying into a mountain or something. Fortunately, I’d been able to summon clothes and gear from my Malibu mansion.

  As far as I could tell, the adverse weather had shut down the whole fey kingdom. Kingdoms are a mirror of their liege’s hearts. I wondered if Izumi’s mom was in the best of moods. Well, at least I’d arrived without being bitten or mauled by wolves or trolls. Always a plus in Fairy.

  The wind moaned as I looked the place over for someone on watch who could let me in. Did I really want to be here? To parade myself before the local fey as the man who knocked up their princess with the awesome prowess of my invincible cock?

  Hell, yeah, he said.

  What I really dreaded was that Izumi would expect me to wait on her hand and foot, to fetch her pickles and ice cream, and to rub her feet. It didn’t matter that she’d just found out about the baby, and so was only barely pregnant. She was the type to milk this for all it was worth, punishing me for letting Selene get pregnant first.

  I remembered the letter she’d left me at the Vegas hotel, after we sent the Old Man off on his honeymoon with my new step mom:

  To my dear, wonderful husband,

  Pregnancy tests have proven positive. I am carrying our child. With this joyous news, I am returning to my mother’s court in Fairy so all may rejoice. I know that when you hear this news, you will rush to my side.

  Let Selene talk you out of it, and I will kill you slowly.

  Your loving wife.

  Izumi

  I sighed.

  Well, never let it be said Caine Deathwalker can’t appreciate his own private hell.

  I concentrated, pooling shadow magic smudges on my chest under my winter clothes. I visualized the pattern I needed for my Dragon Voice spell. A normal yell was going to get swallowed by the storm. I needed more. I washed the unseen pattern with raw golden magic from my dragon side. The spell activated. I yelled. My voice boomed like thunder—like the fist of a god striking the mountain.

  “Hey, you fucks! Open the damn door!”

  I stalked up to the fifty-foot doors. The outer wall reared high above me and stretched to either side, wreathed in frigid mist. Rearing even higher, were blocky towers with shuttered windows. I knew further details of the fortress; not my first time here. This might be the first time I was truly welcome, however. Just inside, a gear-and-pulley system provided the power to open doors that parted, slabs moving with ponderous slowness.

  Tired from all the climbing and plodding through heavy snow, I walked out of the wind and found myself facing an escort of fey warriors. Swords and spears bristled. They looked like they wanted to put more than a few holes in me.

  “What? Did I wake you guys up or something? You may want to tell Queen Kellyn that her son-in-law is here.”

  The weapons lowered. A warriors said, “Come this way.”

  I went with them past the inner mechanisms, across a courtyard, and over to the royal palace, reaching the Throne Room with an escort of silver-clad fey fore and aft.

  I knew I looked unworldly in winter gear from Earth. Thermal underwear warmed me under my jeans. My hiking boots were fur-lined as well as my hooded parka. A black backpack dangled from my hand by straps. Under my unbuttoned coat, I had my shoulder rig and my PX4 Storm semi-automatics in reach—even though this was a friendly visit.

  No one ever died from habitual caution.

  Neither the Queen nor Izumi were present. A large, blubbery, thug-looking fey sat on the throne like it was his proper place to be. He had a green agate crown on his head, carved from a single stone, and had a sneer on his lips. His tan wasn’t natural to the Winter Court. Summer Court, possibly.

  “And what do we have here?” he asked.

  “Caine Deathwalker, Lord of the Dragon’s Eye, heir to the Dragon World Throne, Demon Lord and Hub Lord of Earth. Where’s my wife, the Princess Izumi?”

  Slow getting in character, the clown on the throne shaped his face into an expression of profound loss. “I fear she has wandered to a lost place at the Heart of Underhill where none may be recovered, a place of ancient terrors and ever-breaking magic. I doubt you will see her again.”

  “No?” I tasted the copper of lightning rage on my tongue.

  “No. You see, you are about to die.” He nodded and flicked some fingers.

  The escort around me drew swords.

  I whipped out my handguns and held them extended from my sides. Spinning, I fired until the clips were empty and all my spent casings bounced on the polished floor. Gun smoke harshened the cold air as the last shots echoed into silence.

  The fey warriors wore magic-reinforced silver chainmail, but the ammo I used was magic as well. My rounds had exploded into them, leaving bloody craters. They sprawled, mostly dead. A few groaned with lingering life.

  I holstered the empty handguns and mentally called a machine pistol to me through the ether from my Malibu armory on Earth. It materialized in my hands, a comforting weight.

  The man on the throne was standing now, mouth open, staring. I expected him to call for additional guards. Instead, he scurried toward a side door, hauling ass.

  You can’t really believe I’m going to let you get away?

  I ran, yelling. “Get back here, ass-wipe, and grovel like a man.”

  He went through the door and slammed it behind him. Approaching, I fired heavily. Reaching the door, I swung a foot and kicked with full strength. The wood splintered inward. Boards flew free. Part of the door stayed with the hinges. I flung myself through the ragged gap, poking ahead with the smoking muzzle of the pistol. Mounted on the trigger-guard, its laser sight sent a thin green beam probing for a target.

  The gloomy room was full of fey guards lying scattered on the floor, senseless. They weren’t shot up. This wasn’t my work. I checked one of them.

  Asleep. Probably a spell.

  These were probably those loyal to the missing queen. I wondered if she too were lost in a place of ancient terrors and ever-breaking magic.

  A door opened off to the side. Light flooded in. I saw the Pretender silhouetted a moment, then he was gone. I leaped after him, wondering how such a heavy-footed softy could sustain such a pace. There was only one explanation: fear.

  He must have a good idea of what I’ll do to him.

  I ran out the door he’d used and caught a glimpse of his back as he turned a corner. I’d been here before, but the layout of the hallways was ever evolving. Fairy lived with Dissociative Identity Disorder, each of the lands a distinctive extension of its ruler. And the sections often moved around, sometimes, entirely on their own whim.

  The hall carpet was ice-blue, the walls white pine. I ran past display stands with vases, rare books, and assorted pieces of sculpture, many jeweled. If I wasn’t so pressed with the present situation, I might have stolen a couple things. Demon lord habits are hard to break. As it was, I kept running, turning corners.

  The lumberin
g idjit slid inside an oak door and slammed it shut behind him.

  As I reached the door, it faded out, becoming a piece of wall. I lunged into the wall. It broke before me, falling in crumbling ruin. I held my breath, catching the reek of old death. The chamber was dark and packed with dead fey. Bodies were dumped on couches, love seats, dropped onto chairs, and stacked like cords of wood. These guardsmen and nobles had probably been executed by the fat fuck I was chasing. The transition of power here had not gone well.

  Which raised the issue of where Kellyn was? The Pretender could have killed her, or she could be locked up someplace. After usurping her control over the tie to the land, he might have wanted to force her into marriage to legitimize his position. Without that, the other lords and ladies of Fairy would not accept him since it would set a precedent for someone to steal their positions, too. The passing on of a kingdom usually only happened at the death of a ruler.

  I didn’t see the Pretender anywhere. Gone already or hiding. My bet was on hiding; fey glamour being the first defense of those Underhill.

  I held still, listening intently for footfalls, or a pounding heartbeat from behind a pile of corpses. My eyes went fully dragon, mutating away from their human, unreflective structure, growing additional rods for processing low-level light. I grew in a “bright tapestry”: the tapetum lucidum, a biologic reflector common to many predators. It provided me with light-sensitive retinal cells and a second opportunity for photoreceptor stimulation.

  The green laser beam from my machine pistol flared brighter, putting a dot on the far wall, lighting up the room like a spotlight.

  I went forward, stepping on a few bodies, and swung the machine pistols’ muzzle right, then left again, wondering if I could spook my target with something he’d believe was magic.

  As the green beam hit the left wall, I heard the tiniest of gasps. There was an armoire there, dark wood with gaudy gilt trim. I fired a burst into it. The whole thing lost shape, twisting and compressing into the Pretender.

  He’d been using fey glamour to hide himself as something else, and he still had the devil’s own luck; it didn’t look like he’d even taken a scratch. His back was to the wall, his eyes wide, his legs trembling. I moved the pistol so the green beam highlighted his crotch.

  No easy death for this guy.

  He looked down to see where I was aiming, and lifted both hands to ward off my intentions. “No, please, don’t. I’m the only one who can open the way for you to reach the Heart of the Land. Kill me, and the princess will be lost to you forever!”

  A section of floor buckled up to block my shot. I fired anyway, hoping my ammo could cut through to him. The flooring fragmented under my exploding ammo, revealing—nothing.

  I leaped across the bodies between us and landed in the rubble I’d made. In the floor where the Pretender had stood, lay a square hole, a kind of chute to the lower floor. I paused long enough to pour extra golden dragon magic into the shadow smudges on my stomach that formed the pattern for my protective shield. Following blindly without protection would have been stupid. I hadn’t survived this long on shear good looks.

  A red glow sheathed me.

  I dropped down the chute. It wound around like a coiled serpent and spat me out into a dark pit. My red glow belled to form a ball around me. I fell onto a bed of cylindrical spikes in something reminiscent of a tiger-pit trap. My magical shell slumped into the spikes as they broke and slanted. Like an overgrown hamster in a hamster ball, I took a jarring fall, then wheeled around, looking for the Pretender.

  He hadn’t waited to see if this trap would finish me. I had no idea which of the walls he’d moved for his escape. His home court advantage was bustin’ my balls. I needed a change in strategy. Instead of going after the Pretender, I needed to go after his source of power, to cut off his connection to the local tie. I had a suspicion the tie would be under the keep. That’s where most fey lords kept them for convenience and security.

  The tie would be a magic crystal, a splinter from what had once been the Heart of Fairy, before the Great Wars of ages past had broken it, resulting in an age of lesser kingdoms. I had a tie in my own fey kingdom. Regents of the land needed to occasionally commune with their ties to keep the land happy with them.

  Envisioning the pattern for my bi-location spell, I drew lines of shadow on my middle back. When I had it perfectly locked in my mind, I washed the pattern with raw dragon magic. Combining two mutually antagonistic forms of magic should not have worked so well—but did for me.

  Back when my spells were based on dragon blood tattoos, I’d paid a severe cost in phantom neural pain for my magic’s activation. With shadow magic triggered by my lifeforce, I avoided such unpleasantries.

  As my physical form occupied the protective red shell, a ghostly body with a cloned mind separated. This gave me a split-awareness. I saw the dark room with the spikes under my shell, and myself from a vantage point of several feet away. My spectral self dropped through the spikes. I continued through the floor, into a sub level, and descended into the mountain itself.

  Attuned to the energy of my own tie, it wasn’t hard to feel currents of energy moving from another one. Like a neon blue wind, the local tie currents sailed me through solid rock. I caught cross-currents, always looking for heavier veins.

  I soon looped into a dense nest of light. Swimming to the core by sheer force of will, I found the Winter Court’s tie: a tetragonal length with four-sided points top and bottom. The blue-white crystal was clenched by snow chains of green agate. This was how the Pretender had stolen control of the kingdom since he hadn’t bonded properly with the tie. Now, I knew the queen lived.

  I channeled raw, golden dragon magic into my hands and grabbed the chain. The links exploded in my fingers, sending agate shrapnel through me. My hands deformed into ectoplasmic blobs. It hurt like son of a bitch, probably because I thought it ought to. Annoyingly, the mind creates its own realities.

  I willed my hands to reform as I rose back toward the castle, following a throbbing current of light seen by my mind, not my eyes. I suspected I’d soon be led to a very pissed off Queen.

  TWO

  “’Legends’ are those who secretly bury

  their mistakes in the dead of night.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Half of my split-awareness drifted through the stone floors and walls of the keep, not back to my physical form which I felt elsewhere. I could have shifted mental focus and pulled in more sensation from my body, but its eyes were closed, its awareness minimized to provide less mental static.

  The tie energy brought me to a luxurious suite with tapestries on the walls, fur rugs, a raging fireplace, and a massive four-poster bed, no canopy overhead. Large candles on stands added to the light, adding flickers of movement to the shadows.

  I stared to make sure the shadows were empty and not hiding guards, or some magical threat. Finding it safe, I gave my attention to the busty naked woman tied to the bed, a gag in her mouth. It was Queen Kellyn, body of a high school cheerleader, her hair lavender-blue, her eyes cobalt. Her inner thighs were bruised. Much of her upper body lay under a glaze of frozen white, as if someone had poured water over her so her icy core temperature could form an icy coating.

  If I’d had my real body, with my camera-phone, I’d have taken a few shots for posterity. Unfortunately, that opportunity was lost to me.

  Sensing my mental presence, she glared, making urgent sounds in her throat, her face heating with embarrassment.

  Why? Of all fey I knew, Kellyn was the least body conscious. Mere nudity shouldn’t cause awkwardness. Nor being tied down. An experienced lover like the queen easily mastered such games.

  Then it hit me. It wasn’t ice on her body, but frozen cum. Someone had used her against her will—repeatedly—and had left her well-marked as their property, the way a wolf pisses on a tree or a newborn cub, or the way a porn star splatters his partner’s silicon-enhanced tits. To do this to an unwilling queen of the fey sho
wcased bottomless confidence, and colossal stupidity.

  There’s no way she’ll let this go unpunished.

  Kellyn didn’t need me to free her. I’d unchained her magic. It flowed to her, caressing her abused body, bringing her power. The headboard cracked with a sound like a rifle shot. The ropes on her iced over and shattered. Neon winds lifted her into the air, righting her. The frozen cum-slush on her thawed and fell away. Her fey glamour clothed her in an illusion of a jeweled gown, complete with beaded slippers and a silver crown.

  Fresh guards rushed in to converge on her. They knelt, eyes down, faces inflamed by their failure to protect her. These were hardened warriors, mauled by past wars, with death in their eyes. Their weapon harnesses were worn and oiled, not the type put on to impress visiting dignitaries. And they feared for their lives.

  This was her land. The keep obeyed her will. She’d soon know exactly where the Pretender had scurried off to. I just had to follow her, and I wanted my physical body for that. I shifted my awareness to my physical form, in my shell of red energy, and allowed my wandering spirit to be reeled in.

  My divided mind fused back together. Two became one. And I was still trapped on top of a bed of spikes. And I noticed I still had my machine pistol in hand. I slung it over a shoulder by its strap, letting it dangle.

  Concentrating, I reformed the shadow smudges on my body from Bi-location to Dragon Fire, and poured golden dragon magic into the new design. My skin warmed, spreading out from my torso. My flesh glowed tawny gold, then deepened with swirls of orange. The air inside my red shell grew hot.

  Extending my hands through the red shell barrier, I allowed them to burst into flame. Streamers of fire fountained away from me, filling the chamber, creating hell. The flames tried to flow back up my wrists, but the barrier kept them out. I liked my current clothes too much to want them burned off my body.