Blackwing E-Book

Stephen Drake

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Socrates Blackwing - wizard, warrior, bounty hunter - has fallen into disfavor with his grandfather, The General.

It's the year 2070, and Socrates is stationed in Tacoma, PC-Washington. His mission is to investigate the people living in this Plane of Reality, and locate the ne'er-do-wells from his own Known Seven Planes that may have crossed over to wreak havoc.

But is his magic stronger than the technology of 2070, and what will he do when confronted with one of his own kind?

Leseprobe

BLACKWING

BLACKWING SAGA BOOK 1

STEPHEN DRAKE

CONTENTS

1. Grimstar And Dragon’s Breath

2. Wizards And Planes And Gates (Oh My!)

3. To T’gorn E’fal… Perchance To Dream

4. Becoming K’obi Sha Shin J’oi Faqin

5. It's What’s On The Inside

6. Reluctant Partners

7. The Ogre Cometh

8. An Unexpected Hero

9. Roomates

10. Disclosures And Reminiscences

11. The Storm Clouds Gather

12. The More Things Change…

13. Contingencies

14. Ready Or Not

15. Ogre Slayers

16. Repercussions

17. The Hamadryad Plane

18. Partnered

19. The Bonding

20. Returning

21. Q’estiria

22. Politicians

23. The Ambassador Arrives

24. Draining The Swamp

25. The Other Shoe

Glossary

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2016 Stephen Drake

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Ashley Conner

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Dedicated to Linda and Susan, for without their help and support, this work would not have been possible.

A special thanks to K.J. Simmill and J.C. Stone, authors in their own right, for their friendship, suggestions, help, and for taking the time from their busy lives to read my work. Words fail to convey my deep appreciation for them.

1

GRIMSTAR AND DRAGON’S BREATH

The landlord of the inn, who was standing behind the heavy, rough-hewn counter polishing his plain pewter tankards, gave a cursory glance toward the stranger who had just entered. The other customers stopped talking and watched the stranger, suspiciously and surreptitiously, as he passed.

“Wipe yer boots! I run a clean establishment,” the landlord yelled to be heard over the din.

When the stranger didn’t respond, he realized the place was strangely quiet, the usual low buzz of conversations had fallen silent.

When the landlord looked up once more, he saw the stranger walking toward the counter, with his head slightly down, his thick-heeled boots making a distinct clopping sound on the wood-planked floor. The stranger towered over everyone present, wore black leather from head to toe, and walked with a plain oaken staff, taking two steps for every thud of the staff on the floor. The landlord noticed that no water dripped from the stranger’s clothes, even though it had been raining all day, and his well-worn boots were spotless and highly polished, instead of being mud-caked. The brim of the stranger’s fedora was perfectly parallel to the floor except for the front third, which had been turned downward, casting a shadow over his face and eyes. As the stranger walked to a table to the left of the counter, the landlord noticed the stranger looked straight ahead, never looking left, right, or at the other customers or tables.

Once he reached the table he wanted, the landlord saw him lean his staff against the wall, and then heard the distinctive sound of coins hit the table as he seated himself with his back against the wall.

“Welcome ta’ the Dragon’s Breath Inn,” the landlord said, as he cheerfully approached the table, wiping his hands on his makeshift apron. “What’s yer pleasure?”

The stranger looked up to the landlord, his features, previously shaded, now more apparent. A large, ugly scar marked the left side of his thin face, drawing a thick, jagged channel from beneath the fedora to the start of his neckline. The only visible break of the gruesome wound was the black, cloth eyepatch. Trying to force his eyes from the disfiguring injury, the landlord attempted to meet the stranger’s gaze. The near-white shade of the pale blue iris looking back at him shocked him. The stranger’s hair was black, streaked with gray, and though twisted and wrapped around his neck, the end was held by three rings — two gold and one silver.

“Nothing,” the stranger whispered, in the innkeeper’s own tongue. His deep, basso profundo voice promised thunder if riled. “I am meeting someone.”

The innkeeper was shocked to hear this creature, which was definitely not a faerie, speak the Fair Tongue. The innkeeper frowned. He tried to be tolerant of others who lived in the Seven Known Planes of the Fae, but only faeries spoke the fair tongue.

“You have a name?” the landlord snapped, obviously insulted.

“Blackwing,” the stranger replied, in a deep whisper. “And keep it to yourself.” He smirked.

The innkeeper grasped at his heart as it pounded, and stepped back to regain his balance.

“N-not Phelonius Blackwing!” he gasped, quietly, his face betraying his terror. My heart is beating so hard I know it’s going to stop.

“What do you know of Phelonius?” the stranger asked, his right eye narrowed to a slit.

The innkeeper whispered, “O-only that he was… is… a Dark Enforcer. A Storm Bringer, some would say, one of the T’et Faqin Q’estirions.”

Blackwing gave a nod toward the coins on the table and the innkeeper reached for a gold one. Then, thinking better of it, reached for a silver one. Before he could pick up the coin, Blackwing pinned his wrist to the tabletop. With his free hand, the stranger pushed up the sleeve of his duster and then passed his hand, fingers twitching, over his bared forearm. The innkeeper saw the stranger’s tanned forearm transform—a red and gold tattoo of a gryphon appeared, sparkled briefly, faded and disappeared. Blackwing released him.

His bonafides! A true T’et Faqin, doing the Council’s business in the Faewyld. “Y-yes, sir, I understand,” the innkeeper said, as he backed away quickly, pocketing the table rental.

Once he was far enough away, he took a moment to compose himself before he hurried to resume his work.

The innkeeper tried to calm himself once he was behind the counter. It was difficult to will his hands to stop shaking and slow his hammering heart. A Dark Enforcer! Here!

His grandfather had told him of Phelonius Blackwing. How he had destroyed an entire village, for a perceived minor slight of some kind.

“The T’et Faqin Q’estirions are more than wizards,” he remembered his grandfather saying. “They are the most brutal, merciless, tenacious group that ever walked the Faewyld, maybe even the entirety of the Seven Planes. They are ferocious and unyielding warriors.”

He glanced over to Blackwing’s table in time to see a highly engraved pewter tankard with what looked like a dragon handle with gems in the eyes, float to the table top. And once there, Blackwing tapped the handle three times and the tankard filled itself.

His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. “If you ever see one of theQ’estirions, go the other way. Failing that, don’t anger them and don’t offend them. T’ain’t healthy!”

You could remove your hat, at least. It’s only good manners, ain’t it?

After taking a few sips of the noxious brew in his tankard, Blackwing motioned for the innkeeper.

“Y-yes sir?” the innkeeper asked.

“Give me your hand,” Blackwing said.

He picked up a gold coin from the tabletop and put it into the innkeeper’s proffered hand and held it there while he closed the landlord’s fingers around the coin. With his other hand, Blackwing reached into a pocket and produced a red crystal globe that shone with an eerie internal light. The innkeeper’s eyes were drawn toward the globe. As he stared at it, he saw an image of another green faerie.

“Pontifar Grimstar. Seen him? Before you answer, you have Wizard’s Gold in your hand, so if you manage to lie, which I wouldn’t recommend, it will disappear and return to me, after marking you. So answer carefully.”

“H-he comes in sometimes,” the innkeeper said, guardedly, after calming himself. “I have not seen him,” his voice cracked, “in a phase cycle or so.”

“He will be here. Do not warn him in any way.” Blackwing released the innkeeper’s hand. “And do not interfere, if you value your freedom.”

The innkeeper gave a nervous smile, bowing quickly as he backed away.

Blackwing swallowed more of the concoction from his tankard. It seemed to help suppress the pain from his ruined eye and the facial scar. He was half-finished with his second tankard when his staff started bouncing, making a tapping sound. When he raised his eyes, he saw Grimstar entering the inn. He placed a hand on his staff and it calmed.

Grimstar was talking with the other customers, sometimes laughing raucously, as he made his way to the counter. Blackwing set his tankard down and picked up one of the gold coins. He stood it on its edge, holding the top with a finger of his left hand, and flicked it with a finger on his right hand, making the coin spin in place. While it spun, he murmured a summoning spell.

Grimstar, drawn to the spinning coin, made his way, haltingly, to Blackwing’s table. Once there, mesmerized by the coin, he reached to take it, but once his palm touched it, the coin flattened into a band and fastened itself around Grimstar’s wrist.

“Hey! What is this?” Grimstar raised his arm to inspect the band, and saw no seam.

It was tight enough that he couldn’t pull his thick wrist out of it. When he tried to get a finger under the band to pry it off, he felt it tighten. The more he tried, the tighter it became.

“Who are you?” Grimstar yelled. “Get this thing off me! You have no right!”

He glanced around desperately in search of aid, but no one in the bar seemed to hear anything he said.

“No right?” Blackwing stood, grabbed his staff and hit the base of it on the wooden floor.

Boom!

He opened his duster and a huge jewel floated from one of the inside pockets. Everyone in the inn turned to look as they heard the snapping and cracking of wood. As Grimstar watched, he saw the top end of the staff changing and growing into the shape of a finely carved, arched dragon’s head, reminiscent of a shepherd’s crook. They saw the jewel, which was such a deep red it was close to black, float over to the staff and insert itself into the dragon’s mouth before it closed, securing the gem in place.

There was no sound for quite some time.

Finally, the silence was broken by the landlord, who had come over to Blackwing’s table.

“Um… excuse me, sir,” the innkeeper said. “Is there a charge against Grimstar?”

Blackwing turned and slowly bent at the waist to fix the landlord with his right eye, and glowered.

“I don’t mean to tell you your business,” the landlord said, “but his family will want to know.”

“I am not going anywhere with you,” Grimstar yelled.

“I am transporting him and his accomplices to Sha-Tor-Ads-Moor, for prosecution. The charges so far are illegal use of an artifact and illegal transmutation for the purpose of swindle. There will undoubtedly be more by the time we get there. Why do you ask? You may accompany him if you wish.” Blackwing picked up his coins and his tankard and stowed them for travel. “Where is his family located?”

The innkeeper quickly declined the invitation to accompany Grimstar and started explaining where Grimstar’s family could be found. When everything was ready, Blackwing started for the door.

“Turn me loose,” Grimstar shouted. “You… you—”

He fell silent. His mouth was moving, but no sound left him.

As Blackwing walked, Grimstar was being dragged, his resistance not hindering Blackwing’s pace in the least.

Once outside the inn, Blackwing took two steps, and on his third the pair vanished.

Moments later, they reappeared in a forest clearing. Grimstar didn’t recognize the area, but it was apparent that his captor did. As Blackwing stepped forward, toward the center of the clearing, Grimstar stumbled.

“The disorientation from the wizard-step will pass. Just ignore it,” Blackwing said, in a voice so low Grimstar had to strain to hear him.

As Blackwing entered the center of the clearing, he raised his staff and muttered something. A small cottage shimmered into existence and Blackwing entered, with Grimstar in tow.

“Is this your house, or did you liberate it from some peasant?” Grimstar looked around the small one-room building and saw only a hearth, a table, and three chairs.

“No. It is a resting place for T’et Faqin Q’estirions. Only we know where it is and only we can make it appear. Get the fire going and look around for something to eat.”

“I am not your slave! Do it yourself,” Grimstar snarled.

In that quiet, menacing tone, Blackwing said, “I require nothing from you. The fire and food are for you. You do not want food or warmth then go without. Any complaints later will be silenced.” Blackwing sat in a chair that faced the only door and took out his tankard and a few pieces of dried meat. He remained silent while he ate and drank.

Grimstar grumbled and thought for a few minutes, before starting the fire and rummaging around the cottage for something to eat. About the time he found something, the door opened and someone—another Q’estirion, by the look of him—entered and sat opposite Blackwing, and the pair began to converse. All Grimstar heard were hushed words with soft sounds—unlike the usual harder tones—and he understood none of it. Even though Blackwing was the first Dark Enforcer he had ever seen, comparing the two left him with the idea that Blackwing seemed unkempt and road-weary. The irritating part for Grimstar was that neither of them acknowledged him in any way.

“This cannot be good,” he mumbled. Very few ever see a Dark Enforcer these days, and here sit two of ‘em!

Blackwing knew who was entering the cottage before the person actually entered.

“Malthuvius,” Blackwing said, at his entry.

“Socrates,” the other Q’estirion said.

Malthuvius glanced at Grimstar with a questioning look.

“Prisoner,” Blackwing said. “What brings you so far from Q’estiria?”

“You do.” Malthuvius sat and pulled several pages of folded parchment from the inside of his duster. “How is the eye?”

“Bothersome.” Blackwing touched the patch covering his left eye.

“Sorry to hear that. We did our best. From the General.” Malthuvius pushed the papers toward Blackwing.

“Defeating dragon riders has its cost.” Blackwing opened the papers and read the drawn runes.

When he finished, he re-folded the papers and pushed them back to Malthuvius.

“Tell my venerable grandfather that I am currently executing a contract.” Blackwing glanced in Grimstar’s direction.

He took a slow drink from his tankard, making a face that told of his displeasure in the taste.

“You read the orders,” Malthuvius said. “They take priority over a simple retrieval.” He reached inside his coat and took out a sapphire crystalline sphere and set it on the table.

“Per the tenants of the T’et Faqin Q’estirions, I can refuse an order if it conflicts with the completion of a prior commitment.” Blackwing reached inside his own coat, pulled out a ruby, crystalline sphere and placed it close to Malthuvius’s.

Both spheres glowed eerily as they synchronized their information.

“Are you really going to force me to insist?” Malthuvius asked. “After all we have been through?”

“What am I supposed to do with Grimstar? I see no reason why those orders cannot be delayed to allow me to complete my current contract.” Blackwing took another sip.

“It took me the better part of a phase cycle to find you, so any nominal delay that could have been taken has long since lapsed. I will finish your contract and deliver Grimstar. That would free you to execute your new orders.” Malthuvius pulled out his own tankard and dried meat. “If you were less stubborn, you would not have been demoted and I would be taking orders from you.” He started to eat and drink.

Blackwing glanced to the wide gold band holding Malthuvius’s braided hair.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “You know that is not true. I was demoted because I am… inconvenient to have around. That would be more accurate.”

“Being perpetually intoxicated does not help matters, either.” Malthuvius took a drink.

“It helps with the pain.”

The two spheres stopped glowing and they both picked up their own and secured them.

“Have you been taking the medication?” Malthuvius leaned back in his chair a little as he retrieved his own sphere.

Blackwing raised his tankard and shook it a little. “The ale helps to cut the taste to an almost tolerable level.”

Malthuvius chuckled. “It does have a hideous taste, but you know it is the only thing that will help. Is the eye functioning?” He indicated the patch.

“It functions. It gives plenty of needed information, when it can, about half the time. When it cannot, I wish for my own eye, ruined or not. When you return, you can inform my grandfather that his legend is secure. The people still remember his tantrum.”

Malthuvius nodded. “And what of him?” He shifted to the fair tongue and raised his volume.

The change in language and volume startled Grimstar.

Blackwing also shifted language. “He is to be returned to Sha-Tor-Ads-Moor, after I collect his family and cohorts.”

Malthuvius motioned for Grimstar to come toward the table. “If released, will you run? You do know you can be summoned, no matter how far away you manage to get,” he said, once Grimstar was close to the table.

He hadn’t spoken loudly, but the words seemed to strike menacingly at Grimstar.

“How can I run?” Grimstar asked, dejected. “I am tethered somehow to him,” he held up his wrist, showing the gold band, “and I do not know where I am or which way to go. I have been dragged out into the Faewyld, against my will and in a manner intended to confuse.” It will do me no good to plead with them. They are merciless. Better to save my strength for later.

Malthuvius shifted back to the native tongue of the T’et Faqin. “You can release him.” He dismissed Grimstar with a wave of his hand. “He will not go far.”

Blackwing gave a barely perceptible nod and quietly spoke the spell to release the magical tether to Blackwing’s staff, but not the band. Grimstar had no indication that he was no longer tethered.

“How long will it take for you to fulfill your contract?” Malthuvius asked Blackwing.

“No more than another phase cycle, I should think,” Blackwing said, after making the mental calculations and padding the result.

“Unacceptable.” Tension crept into his quiet voice.

Blackwing shrugged. “It could be less, but I would not expect it. It will take as long as it takes.”

Malthuvius rose and began pacing. “Rest. I need to think and consult with others. I will watch Grimstar,” he said, after a few trips across the room.

Blackwing gathered his duster around him as he settled into the chair, feet on the table, legs crossed at the ankle. After lowering his hat to cover his eyes, he crossed his arms and became quiet and still.

2

WIZARDS AND PLANES AND GATES (OH MY!)

Blackwing watched as the woman that had held his interest for the past several days came to the door. He had observed that she came here every morning, at the same time, and left long after dark. She obviously was a storekeeper of some kind, but the type of store had confused him. It had few customers on a daily basis, and he wondered what was sold there.

The woman was nice to look at, by the standards here, as he had observed several males turn and watch as she walked past. She had dark, rust-colored hair, and a pale complexion. She was lithe and moved with a certain grace that grabbed his attention. He had seen some wood nymphs who shared her general characteristics, but a closer inspection would have to be made to determine if she was one from the Fae.

From a distance, his left eye had indicated traces of the Source. It was her, or something she had touched, that had left the trace.

He noticed the woman looked sharply to the left of the door as she touched the handle to pull it open. He didn’t know if it was a local ritual or something else. Something religious, perhaps. He had noticed several customers not performing the ritual, so he was uncertain. As he watched, he saw her turn on a small sign with strange drawings before sitting on a high chair behind a transparent case.

The building was distinct from others around it. It was small, with only two floors, and out of place among its much taller neighbors. This one was brick and had little glass in the front. Its neighbors were towers of glass that reflected light in a disquieting, unnatural way, in Blackwing’s opinion.

He believed this Plane to be very strange and the people in it even more so. It had unusual conveyances of all sizes. For what purpose, he had no idea. Some were large and extremely noisy and spewed noxious fumes. Some were smaller and quiet as a whisper. A few flashed red, white, and blue lights and made sounds so loud and shrill that it hurt his hearing. These conveyances passed between him and the small store and traveled on the hard surface that was lower than the similar surface he was standing on. He saw people cross between white lines when a sign flashed white. On poles that held the smaller flashing signs was a silver button that people pushed, often several times, obviously to give them something to do while they waited for the sign to flash white.

He had been careful, in his observations, to cast a reflection spell, which allowed his surveillance without being observed. He had seen enough to approach and make initial contact, so after crossing to the door he dispensed with the spell and entered.

Suzanne Hawks exited the door that led to the upstairs apartment of her building and proceeded to open the store for the day. Hawks’ Emporium had been a legacy from her father and grandfather, as was the building. It had managed to support her, so far. She had many offers from the major developers, who’d planned to demolish the building for another high rise, but she had refused them all. She knew, however, that the Tacoma City Council had been raising the property taxes in order to get her to default or sell to the developers. She had heard many of their arguments for updating the downtown area and getting rid of all the eye-sore buildings in favor of the modern high-rises. She had no idea how much longer she could hold out against their onslaught.

As she walked the few feet to the store’s main entrance, she had a distinct feeling that she was being watched. The same feeling she’d been having for the past three days. As she reached for the door handle, she turned to look left of the doorframe so the retinal scanner could identify her and unlock the door. This particular upgrade had cost her dearly, but had been worth it, in her opinion. She felt safer, as the neighborhood was deteriorating at an alarming rate. To try to get her to sell, the city council had also reduced police patrols in her immediate area, and with the reduced presence had come the criminal element.

After entering and turning on the Open sign, she sat in her chair behind the counter to continue reading one of the old books her father had purchased just before he died, when a loud ding came from the electronic chime above the door as a man entered.

“May I help you?” she asked, congenially, as she tried to ascertain if he was customer or criminal.

The man was strange-looking, dressed in all black leather and a patch over his left eye. Inwardly, she cringed at the sight of the ugly scar that ran from under his hat, above his nose, across his left eye, down to the left side of his neck. The man spoke, but she didn’t understand a word of it.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t speak German,” she said.

She had no idea what language he spoke, but it sounded like German to her. It was then that the man produced what appeared to be a three- or four-inch diameter crystal globe that glowed warmly. For some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off the globe, and reached to take it from the man.

As soon as she touched the orb, her mind was filled with images of strange battles, of people riding what looked to be dragons or huge lizards, and flashes of fireballs, blue energy orbs tossed at each other, and flaming swords of various colors. As the images flowed, she heard a pleasant voice whispering, “I am not from your Plane and I need assistance. Will you help?” Her attention was on the images, but the voice repeated and echoed. After what seemed to be hours, she heard, “Yes,” in her own voice. It was then that the images stopped and she shook her head to clear it.

“What happened?” she asked the man standing in front of her.

He was smiling warmly. “Am sorry, mizz, need help to spoke,” he said, in broken English, with what sounded to her like a heavy, German accent. “I name Blackwing. You name?”

“Um… Suzanne… Hawks,” she replied, her brain still foggy. What the hell are you doing! Don’t give out that information. “You look like you could use a place to rest,” she heard her voice continue. “I have a little empty space in the storeroom you could use for as long as you need to.” Shut! Up! You’re going to get killed by this… person.

“Mooch tanks for use storeroom for few… hors!” the man said.

“Okay. Follow me.” Suzanne led the way to the basement door.

As she walked, she didn’t hear him following her, and turned her head enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. Once at the door to the basement storeroom, she opened it.

“You can find a place to rest down there. Just make yourself at home!” she said, as he passed by her and descended the stairs. As Blackwing reached the bottom of the stairs, a part of Suzanne wanted to lock and bolt the door. Instead, she closed it gently and returned to the counter and sat back in her chair. Once there, she was startled by the sudden thought that a stranger had entered her shop. After a cautious glance around, she satisfied herself with the thought that there was no one there but her.

As Blackwing descended the stairs, he heard the door close gently behind him. As his eye became accustomed to the dim light, he saw a room filled with boxes of various sizes and some furniture. He found a straight-backed chair and settled in to rest.

He took out his tankard and some dried meat before removing the globe to set it on a box where he could reach it easily. As he munched some of the dried meat, he took off his hat and set it on a nearby box beside the globe. I am tired and my scar and eye are giving me grief. He washed down the meat with sips from his tankard. At the rate I’m consuming them, I’m going be out of medicine soon and ale shortly after that. I’ll need to find new sources before long. My supply line is unreliable, at best.

“Sorry, my friend, but one of us had to go. Better you than me.” The message he had received via the globe upon awakening here three days ago, replayed in his mind. “Have no fear. I will complete your contract for you and see to it you get the credit and the fare for it. The good news is you have been promoted, as evidenced by the added gold ring.”

Blackwing fingered the rings at the left side of his throat. He now had three gold rings, not that it mattered much to him.

“The bad news is you are now stationed there to preserve the integrity of Plane Eight and the gate, by order of the High Council. As you are aware, Plane Eight was deemed off limits, so we know nothing of the creatures living there. You are to gain knowledge of them and their ways while you seek a few known violators, identities and breeds unknown, of the ban. There are not many of them that we know of. You are an invaluable resource to your grandfather, the General. Apprehensions and custody changes will be by way of your entry point. Message exchanges and reports will be by the globe, as is usual. I do expect daily reports, but knowing you, that is asking too much. Twice a week will be sufficient, for now. Do your duty and try to stay alive.”

As he recalled the message, he felt the anger grow within him once more. Anger at his grandfather, who had assigned him this task, and anger at Malthuvius Nighthawk for the manner it was thrust upon him.

As Suzanne Hawks went through her day, she remembered bits and pieces of what had transpired that morning. She lacked quite a few of the details of what the person called Blackwing looked like, but some of it she remembered. Her plan was to ignore that he was in her storeroom.

If he isn’t awake by the time I close, I’ll tell him to leave, after questioning him, of course. If he refuses to leave, I’ll just call the cops and have him removed. What wore on her was how he’d managed to swing the invitation. True, I’d extended the invitation without his asking, but I know that was reckless of me. I would never trust some stranger to use my storeroom.

As she glanced at the clock on the far wall, she heard someone walking toward her from the storeroom. She hadn’t heard the basement door open or close and it bothered her that she wasn’t more aware of her surroundings.

“Feeling better?” she asked, with sarcasm.

“Much, thank you,” Blackwing said.

Suzanne noticed his German accent was almost nonexistent.

“Would you mind telling me who you are and what you want of me?” she said. Am I angry with this stranger or with myself for being so trusting?

“Socrates Blackwing.” He bowed, with one foot slightly ahead of the other, arms out.

Who still does that?

“As I said before, I am a stranger here. Information would be gratefully accepted, as would some assistance to your ways.”

Blackwing was standing at the counter and seemed to loom over her. She guessed his height at six-six, but because of his long, thin fingers and a more skeletal nature of his body, he seemed taller. Dressed the way he was, and because of his basso profundo voice, she found him to be intimidating. She could sense he was dangerous.

It was his eyes that made her uncomfortable. The patch, covering who knows what horrors, and the accompanying scar. The other was so pale she felt like he was seeing deep into her soul.

“For starters,” Suzanne said, “how’re your creds? You’re going to need lots to survive here.”

“Creds?” Blackwing asked, and Suzanne could see the confusion on his face.

“Money, credits, cash,” she snapped. “Food and a place to sleep aren’t cheap here. If you are, as you say, new here, you’re going to need an ID and a means to earn a living.”

Blackwing put a hand in one of the pockets of his duster. “Would this be acceptable payment?” He placed a gold coin on the glass counter.

From long years of dealing with people with items to sell or trade, she looked at the coin but didn’t pick it up.

“Do you mind if I examine it?” she asked, once her heart quit pounding. Looks like gold.

Blackwing nodded. After sealing her hands, she picked up the coin. It was quite heavy for its size, circular, and had lots of strange markings stamped into it, close to the edge. She pulled out her small digital scale and placed the coin on the tray and made note of the its weight. She placed a right-angle scale on the counter, put the coin inside the angle and took a snap-shot of it, both sides, for sizing. She then put in a jeweler’s loop and inspected it more closely.

“The coin weighs 1.1 Troy ounces. If this coin is solid gold and not just gold plated or alloy, I’d say it’s worth is close to fifteen thousand credits, at today’s market value. As a curiosity piece, it would be worth more, maybe twenty thousand, as long as there aren’t too many in the public domain.” She removed the loop and handed the coin back to Blackwing.

“It is solid gold,” he said. “Is it of high value? You can keep it, for your kindness.”

Suzanne was shocked at the generosity. “To put it another way, lots of people would slit your throat for it.”

Blackwing reached into another pocket and pulled out an ornate pewter tankard and started to drink from it.

“That’s quite a coat you have there,” she said, with raised eyebrows. “Is it a coat, or a wearable vault?”

“It is a coat,” Blackwing replied, with a deadpan expression. “True, it does have some… special properties, but the main function is as a coat.”

It was then that Suzanne noticed his voice was barely above a whisper, but she heard him plainly. His voice is so deep I can almost feel it in my bones.

“How do I get more of these credits you speak of?” Blackwing pulled out another pewter tankard and placed it in front of Suzanne.

“Well, you’d have to have an ID, an Identity Device, for it to do you any good.” She raised the tankard to her lips.

She could smell the liquid inside and it smelled sweet and a little like honey and caramel. As she slowly tipped the tankard, she let a few drops hit the end of her tongue. The liquid had a slightly sweet taste, not as sweet as it smelled. As she drank the small mouthful, it felt creamy and smooth in her mouth, with a pleasant level of alcoholic content.

“What is an Identity Device?” Blackwing asked.

“This.” She turned her head, lifted the back of her hair, and pointed to a small silver spot on her neck close to the base of her skull. “The government tags everyone when they’re born. It allows a lot of the tech that most of us use every day to work, and you can’t buy or sell without one. It’s powered by the electrical activity in the brain and is specific to an individual’s DNA. Do you have one?”

“I have nothing like that,” Blackwing said, as he shook his head. “What is DNA?”

“Deoxyribonucleic acid. It’s a molecule that holds genetic encoding and is unique to every living organism. The government uses it to track everything you do and everywhere you go. Sixty years ago it was part of the anti-terrorist agenda. Now, though, it’s an intrusion.”

“That does not sound like a good thing to me.” Blackwing took another sip from his tankard.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you and where do you come from?”

“I am me, and me is what I am.”

“Flowery answer. And it tells me nothing.”

Blackwing frowned. “It is difficult to explain. Me and my kind are called many things in many places. Generally we are called T’et Faqin Q’estirions, which simply means we are the Called of Q’estiria. Some call us Storm Riders or Storm Bringers, and some call us Dark Enforcers.”

“I’ve never heard of Ka-eh-steer-ia. Is it a country or something, and why would they call you all those other names?”

Suzanne finally noticed the man’s ears. I’ve never seen ears like those on anyone. From what she could see, the ends of his ears went under his hat.

“Are those real?” She indicated his ears. You’re definitely not from around here.

“They are real. The places that call us Dark Enforcers are referencing our clothing and what we do. We dress this way and we enforce the edicts from the High Council. Those who call us Storm Riders or Storm Bringers do so for good reason. We are not generally well-received, especially among those who violate the edicts.”

“Are you an elf?” Suzanne’s mouth was agape and she threw her hands up to her lips to keep any more words from coming out.

It was what she was thinking, but she didn’t intend to voice it.

“I’m so sorry! How politically incorrect of me. I didn’t mean to be so blunt or offensive.”

“What is anelf?” Blackwing said.

How do you explain a reference to a book that someone from out of town would have no clue about? As they talked, she had an image in her head of Elrond, from Lord of the Rings. But Blackwing wasn’t as fair as her mental image of Elrond. Not by a long shot!

Suzanne glanced at the clock again and decided it was time to close the store. As she got to her feet, she placed the coin on the counter and walked around it to lock the door.

Joe Johnson aka Crackin’, Tom O’Toole aka DA Tom, and Trevor Peterson aka Shooter, were watching the shapely red-headed woman in the small shop when they saw the gold coin. They had orders from their handlers at the Tacoma Police Department, to explain to her that she should move her shop out of their neighborhood. Consequently, they knew the cops wouldn’t show to spoil their fun. They could do whatever they wanted.

As the woman was heading toward the door, Shooter pulled his Glock 19, making sure to rack a round, and Crackin’ got out his Louisville Slugger. DA Tom pushed his way into the shop, followed closely by his compatriots.

“You jus’ back it up, missy!” Crackin’ pointed the thick end of the bat at her. “I knows you was told to clear outta here. You shoulda went.” He looked around the store, then went to the counter and palmed the coin. “Go check ta see if anyone else be here, DA Watch her, Shooter.”

Crackin’ had been tapping the bat against his palm and was drawing back to hit the glass case, when they all heard a deep, menacing laugh coming from the middle of the store.

Everyone turned to look, and saw a hideous demon covered in blue, white, and yellow flames. It looked to be twenty feet tall and was hunched down to fit under the ten-foot ceiling of the shop. The demon had huge bulging muscles and its face looked like hell itself, burning red coals for eyes, a huge maw with dripping fangs, and enormous horns coming out of the side of its head.

As the demon reached out with its huge clawed hands, each of the would-be robbers scrambled for the door.

3

TO T’GORN E’FAL… PERCHANCE TO DREAM

Suzanne’s face betrayed her shock and fright. “What the hell was that?” She turned toward Blackwing, who was still standing where he was before the three thugs pushed their way into her store. “Did you do that?” she said, when Blackwing didn’t answer.

“We were having a pleasant conversation before we were rudely interrupted,” Blackwing shrugged.

Suzanne narrowed her eyes. “Are you some kind of wizard?”

“What is wizard?”

“You know, like Gandalf.” You’re definitely not a Harry Potter.

“I do not know who or what that is. Or what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” Suzanne paced frantically. “Why would you? You’re not from around here.” Having rounded the corner of the counter, she picked up her phone and Blackwing heard three distinct tones. “I want to report a robbery,” Suzanne said, into the device. “Just now. Three men pushed their way into my store, threatened me, and stole a rare coin. I’m here now. When? Fine! I’ll see the officer tomorrow.” She slammed the phone down.

Blackwing could see that Suzanne was still trembling, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the three men or from seeing the demon.

“You appear to be upset,” Blackwing said. “What are you upset about?”

“I haven’t been robbed in years, and then you show up and the shit hits the fan! And you’re no help. I ask a straight forward question and I get a blank look from you. I can see why someone would call you a Storm Bringer. You bring a shitstorm.”

“Who did you talk to on that device?”

“This,” Suzanne picked up her phone and showed it to Blackwing, “is a cell phone. I called the police to report a robbery. They stole your coin. Don’t you care?”

“Why don’t you sit and try to calm yourself.” Blackwing indicated the chair she had been occupying.

As Suzanne sat, she picked up her pewter tankard and tipped it up, but it was empty. She slammed it back down on the counter.

“If you would like more, just tap the handle three times.”

“And what’s that supposed to do? Send me back to Oz or Kansas, or something?”

She looked at Blackwing, who returned her gaze with a blank look of incomprehension.

After a few seconds, she tapped the handle three times with her index finger.

“There, I did it. Nothing hap—”

Suzanne stared at the tankard as it refilled itself.

“What the hell?” she said, with her own look of incomprehension.

Blackwing gave a wry smile as she took another sip. “I am unconcerned about the coin. It will return to me soon enough, and those who took it will pay a price for doing so.”

“Hey, I just thought of something,” Suzanne blurted, after she’d calmed down. “Those thugs didn’t see you. At least, they didn’t talk to you and didn’t indicate that you were here. Why is that?”

“They saw what they wanted to see.” Blackwing shrugged and snickered. “You were their primary target and they were too focused on you to notice me.”

James McConnel, Law Enforcement Technician for the Tacoma Police Department, was sitting at his desk. The wall directly in front of him was covered with the images coming in from the surveillance cameras located in businesses, on street corners, bank exteriors, the bullet train station, and the Under Sound Subway stations. He marveled at the technological advances that had trickled down from the now defunct NSA and its surveillance programs of some sixty years ago. It may be old technology, but it served to keep a close eye on all the criminal activity in the city.

“Did you turn off the cams on Court C and 11th?” said Brian Trevail, the desk sergeant currently on duty.

“Sure did, just as I was ordered,” McConnel replied. “Is there a problem?”

“No. That Hawks woman just called in a robbery,” Trevail said, with some concern.

“I thought she was supposed to go to the hospital?” McConnel asked.

“That was the plan,” Trevail snapped.

Suzanne looked at Blackwing, skeptically. “Well, I’m tired and need to sleep. Where are you going to spend the night?” She tipped her tankard and finished it before setting it in front of Blackwing.

“What is sleep?” he said, with a blank look.

“You know, sleep. Lying in a bed, closing your eyes and going to dreamland? You don’t sleep?”

“Earlier today, I performed T’gorn E’fal. I will not need to do so again for some time.”

“Well, you can’t be inside the store when I’m not here, and I’m leaving. As much as I appreciate your help with the thugs, I just met you. I hope you understand. You’re free to come back tomorrow, but you can’t stay here.”

“I will be back when you once again return.” Blackwing gathered his belongings and strode out the door.

Suzanne didn’t watch him leave, but quickly went through her lock-up procedures and exited the door shortly after Blackwing left. As the door locked behind her, she looked up and down the street for any sign of him, but didn’t see anything.

“Gone already? Why am I not surprised?” she said to the empty street. Was he really here, or was it my imagination.

When Blackwing left the door of the shop, he reinstituted the reflection spell and became invisible once more. He managed to find a deserted alleyway, and performed the summoning spell that would bring the young man who had taken the coin, and the coin, to him. While he waited, he reviewed all the information the sphere had retrieved while in the store.

He discovered that the sphere had detected something called the Global Web and had copied it. This allowed Blackwing to research references Suzanne had made during their conversations. He was well into his research on wizards and elves, when he was alerted to the approach of his quarry.

Crackin’ had pocketed the coin without telling the other two about the prize. Why should I? I founded it and its mine. The storekeeper ain’t gonna need it where she’s gonna end up.

From the time he and his cohorts left the small store, he had been fingering the coin in his pocket. The more he touched it, held it, the more he needed to hold it and touch it. The coin felt smooth, cold, and heavy in his pocket, but seemed to warm him from the inside whenever his skin contacted it.

He had been wandering around not far from the scene of his score. Periodically he would take the coin out to look at it, to feel its weight in his hand, to see it shine in the fluorescent lighting that held the darkness at bay.

I was supposed to report to my handlers at the cop shop, but there’s plenty of time for that later. I’m not gonna tell them of this prize, either. I found it. It’s mine.

Crackin’ hadn’t been paying attention to his meanderings and was shocked when his steps took him to an especially dark doorway in an especially dark alley.

“Enjoying your prize?” a deep basso profundo voice rumbled at him.