Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy Page 14

Lourdie raised her eyebrow not believing for a second that Abbey hadn’t asked the entire castle for some coffee.

  “Chill, Sensei, I’m drinking tea. I got it. No more coffee for me.” She poured Lourdie a cup and handed her the cream and sugar. “I swear it was here when I came down,” Abbey said in response to Lourdie’s look of skepticism.

  Lourdie inhaled the sweet aroma of the French roast and took a calming sip. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling like herself for the first time in days. Further down the table, the master hunter was surprised to hear that the combat style debate was still ongoing from breakfast. She smiled at the passionate hunters.

  The early morning gray clouds must have started to dissipate because a vibrant rainbow of colors began to streak across the wall behind Abbey and the others. Lourdie was about to turn around and find the light source when Abbey swallowed very loudly and fixed her eyes on something. The young girl’s cheeks darkened and Lourdie knew instantly that someone had piqued Abbey’s interest. The scent of fine leather rose above her coffee’s sweet smell. Lourdie couldn’t help herself, she closed her eyes briefly and inhaled, knowing who it was. She opened her senses. He was slowly walking behind her, looking for something.

  “Coffee?” a seated guardian offered him the carafe.

  “Ah.” Finding what he had been searching for, the stranger reached for a pot of tea instead, “Thank you, but no. A gentleman never cheats on his tea.”

  Lourdie looked up and was greeted by his devilish grin.

  Her morning jogging companion took an indulgently long sip of tea from his cup as he listened to the ongoing debate. A woman with what sounded like a South African accent lauded her love of parkour and free running. “Ha! A morning stroll is the closest I get to ‘free’ running.” He seemed about to look in Lourdie’s direction, but looked down instead, “It’s a bit flashy really-- more flair than fight.” He appeared a bit sad, lost in his own thoughts.

  The comment was condescending, but he had sounded sincere. The strange combination was confusing to Lourdie.

  “My boy! I wasn’t done with you yet. Get your arse back in this kitchen,” Mum B scolded the runner from her kitchen’s doorway. Rubbing her hand down her apron front in agitation, she held the old wooden door open with her other. She quickly snapped her head in the direction of a man’s whistle, “And you, Sinclair! When you’re done havin’ a laugh, fetch me a basket of eggs.” Lourdie watched as the old woman kissed the Celtic relic that hung around her frail neck. The retired hunter then whispered her word against the chain and charm to create an orb. It began to crackle and hiss as it solidified. She threatened the young man, “And that means now!”

  “Yes, Mum B,” a man’s Scottish accent rose above the buzz in the hall and answered her swiftly. The chastised Scott shoveled a final mound of food into his mouth and ran from the hall.

  The runner winked at Mum B as he took another long lazy sip of tea.

  The old woman scoffed and whirled around back into her kitchen. A satisfied ‘humph’ was barely audible as she and her orb disappeared.

  Seemingly carefree, the jogger sighed dramatically, “Duty calls.” There was an easy, light hearted melody to his voice. He placed his empty tea cup on the table and walked back towards the kitchen.

  Abbey let out her breath that she’d been holding in. “Wow! Who was that?” she mouthed to Lourdie. “OMG, he’s hot.”

  Lourdie rolled her eyes, but had to chuckle. She couldn’t disagree with Abbey’s assessment, though he seemed to ooze arrogance. Just then the rainbow of vibrant colors played across Abbey’s face again and the entire great hall brightened this time. Lourdie turned completely around and gasped.

  “I know, right?” Abbey agreed with her mentor’s reaction.

  “It’s. So. Buh...Beautiful.” The treasures the castle slowly revealed had Lourdie stumbling over her words more here than anywhere else she’d ever been. The sun peeked through the storm clouds revealing the most breathtaking stained glass window the hunter had ever seen. It ran the entire length of the great hall and followed the roof line to its peak. The piece of art was bursting with every color imaginable.

  The first scene was Arthur’s last battle with the Nevra-Hsi, Mordred. The two were locked in a deadly dance, one good, one evil, and both lost that day. The Hsi towered over Arthur by two feet, draped in a solid piece of black, fluidic armor. The slick armor’s edges were frayed and torn by his cowering pack of krims. Dragons circled in the sky like vultures. Mordred’s face was hooded and cloaked in darkness. In contrast, Arthur, ever the knight in shining armor, stood proudly in a sheen of sunlight that reflected off his blade. This was the moment just before he would pierce Mordred’s heart, or at least the Hsi equivalent of a heart. All of the king’s knights, except for two, were in the fray fighting hundreds of netherwalkers. In the far right corner, Lancelot stood stalwart in the battle, his blade dripped with the blood of the two betrayers.

  The center and largest panel was of the day the Vaelosh a’Rue appeared to what was left of the Knights of the Round Table. The darter elders were giving each of the remaining twelve knights a gift from their realm, the Swords of Twelve. Sir Lancelot was there, alongside Sir Bedivere, Marcus Vaughan’s ancestor. Lourdie was mesmerized by the piercing green eyes of the elders. They appeared to be made from real emeralds. The elders were not quite human in form, however, they appeared more ethereal, ghost like, as they floated just above the earth’s surface.

  Through the centuries a rumor had persisted in the King’s Court that only the Vaelosh a’Rue Merlin had ever mastered a true human form. His constant meddling in human affairs, however, did not sit well with the other Vaelosh a’Rue. The archivists believed the elders blamed him for what they called ‘imbalances in the universe.’ Upon King Arthur’s death, Merlin’s title as elder of the Vaelosh a’Rue was stripped and he was banished from the flux. And, just like that, he disappeared into history. Merlin’s chaotic mischief was the reason the elders forbade all darters from having contact with humans after the formation of the King’s Court.

  The third panel was of a kneeling, heart-broken Lancelot as Camelot burned in the background. The burden he took upon himself was written all over his face. It was one of the saddest things Lourdie had ever seen. Lourdie looked up above the destroyed Camelot and finally saw the huge phoenix rising out of the ashes of the burning rubble. The bird was spectacular in vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows. It was casting its warm glow throughout the hall. The colors were reminiscent of the sunset that had haloed Castle Clogyn in its light yesterday. The phoenix reborn symbolized the Court’s new purpose.

  Lourdie was still without words. She knew she could stare at its wonder for hours and still find something new every time. The awestruck hunter found the stained glass moving and profound. Her reverie was interrupted by a small, purple sphere at the base of the third panel. She mouthed ‘oh, no’ as she watched the tiny shape dart away. Lourdie looked at her companions, but could tell they hadn’t spotted the darter.

  “Has anyone ever tried to kill a netherwalker with one of the Swords of Twelve?” Abbey asked, breaking Lourdie out of her trance.

  Louie gasped at her question as he took a seat next to her. “They were forged by the Vaelosh a’Rue to create, not kill. Never to kill.”

  “Yeah, I know all that, but has anyone ever tried?” Abbey asked quizzically.

  “Abbey, you really don’t know?” Lourdie asked her apprentice.

  “Know what?” The young apprentice tilted her head. In Abbey’s attempt to be the youngest hunter in history she obviously missed a few court classes.

  “About fifteen years after the darter elders appeared to the Knights of the Round Table, Sir Bedivere was hunting and tracking a shadowskin with a group of his men. They had been gone for days. He had taken his sword of twelve with him, knowing full well the elders’ warning. His men had trapped the krim, a huge dragon. It must have sensed the sword and coveted its power because the krimdrogo charged the knight, ba
rreling through the other guardians like they were simply flies to be swatted. The knight wielded the sword as though he were about to fight a mere mortal. As soon as metal touched netherworld flesh Sir Bedivere fell to the ground. Dead.” Lourdie paused to let her apprentice comprehend what she was saying.

  “The sword, it killed him?” Abbey was dumbfounded.

  Louie simply said, “Create, not kill. Death will be thy price.” He shook his head. “The darter elders’ warning was not heeded. They may look like weapons, but they complete the gloaming bond, nothing more. They are meant to create, not destroy.”

  Abbey tilted her head again. “Then why did the darter elders-- the Vaelosh a’Rue, or whatever-- make them look like swords?”

  Louie shrugged, “A familiar and discrete object of the time I suppose. Hiding in plain sight. For all we know, if the elders were to visit us today instead, we could have had the Smart Phones of Twelve.”

  Lourdie laughed and nodded in acknowledgement. She resumed her history lesson to the eagerly awaiting sponge that was Abbey, “Sir Bedivere’s eldest son Amhren, a sixteen year old hunter, was able to banish the beast. He and the men brought his father’s body back here to Castle Clogyn and told the other knights the sad tale. Bedivere’s men all attested that the creature was after the sword. A heated battle erupted between the remaining knights. Back then that meant bloodshed and anarchy. Some cursed the Vaelosh a’Rue and their witchcraft and riddles. Some blamed Bedivere for his vanity, and a sixteen year old boy swore to rid the world of every krimdrogo until his last dying breath. Lancelot waited for his brothers to calm then sought to unite them again in their common cause. He knighted Amhren then and there, demanding they stay united. The knights finally realized they needed a level headed leader, one that spoke for all. Sir Lancelot was unanimously elected first Viceroy of the King’s Court.” Lourdie shrugged, “After that, the swords were kept locked up as securely as possible, only brought out at gloaming bond rituals. That was the very first law the newly appointed Viceroy laid down.”

  The thought of eleven other knights under the same roof was a foreign concept to any modern day guardian, because as life expanded around the globe so did the presence of other Chiarshadrins. As fracture activity became apparent in an area, a descended reigning knight and his court were stationed there permanently. Each knight from the original twelve bloodlines migrated to different continents and countries throughout the centuries having their own unique hurdles to conquer. They had to battle their way through famine, floods, shipwrecks, plagues, and wars. Not to mention the cultural differences they faced. To look at the courts now, each melding effortlessly into the countries they dwelled, one would never know the sacrificed lives that had soaked the trails with their own blood. With twelve knights and the Chiarshadrins they guard around the world, Lourdie wondered just how deep the Vaelosh a’Rue’s knowledge went.

  “Then what about that one?” Abbey said pointing at the first panel of glass at King Arthur. “Excalibur. Is it really true Sir Bedivere returned it to the Lady of the Lake here at Loe Pool?”

  “Now that was a weapon forged for battle. But, unfortunately, it is true. Honoring the wish upon our King’s dying breath, Bedivere gave it back to the darter elder Vivien. Too bad, too. All that unharnessed energy is just floating somewhere in the Flux. The King’s Court could definitely use a weapon like that,” Louie said.

  “Man! Sir Bedivere just didn’t have much luck with otherworldly swords huh? Bummer.” With her boundless energy, Abbey pointed at the dragons in the stained glass as she changed the subject. She entertained Louie with the story of the dragon and nest she and Lourdie had encountered before their trip to Britain. Louie drank up every word as the three ate lunch. He’d never met hunters that had come up against a dragon before, not many had.

  Louie’s castle tour was mostly focused on areas specifically designed for hunters’ needs. The Cloak housed a gym with top of the line weight and cardio machines along with an Olympic size pool and several saunas. The pre-gloamer showed the visiting Americans the large interior area where the training sessions would be held when the weather became an issue and the massive gun range still had Lourdie green with envy. The hunter facilities had been amazing but Lourdie couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. She had hoped for a more historical and eerie tour with staircases hidden behind old bookcases and secret passageways leading to ancient wonders. She figured she would just have to discover those treasures on her own.

  Louie ended the castle’s whirlwind tour at the entrance to a massive interior courtyard. He looked down at his feet and blushed, apologizing again that the virtual chamber was closed for renovations. He led Lourdie and Abbey through the shaded colonnade of arches, into the warm sunny yard. The morning’s angry storm had apparently blown through completely. The large square space was three stories high, lined with arches all the way around, and entirely open to the sky. It was fully equipped with everything a trainer could possibly need. Lourdie wondered how many thousands of knights had been trained here through the centuries. From targets and sparring rings, to rock climbing walls and zip lines, the space was an adrenaline junkies dream.

  As she entered the training grounds, Lourdie got a little nervous. She still wasn’t expecting such a large group of hunters. She knew there would be several groups of hunters visiting over the next few weeks, so such a large number for the first day gave her pause. Louie gestured to an area where the girls could warm up and excused himself, walking to a nearby sparring pit.

  There were about twenty men and twelve women gathered in the courtyard. Lourdie recognized some of the Russian and Japanese hunters she had met at breakfast and lunch, but there were so many, many others she had yet to meet. It appeared that every court from around the globe was represented. Most were stretching, a few were talking, but there was a group of four that were already sparring. A man in his mid-twenties was fighting off the other three, and getting the better of them. He was about six foot and had blond wavy hair. Feeling a little disappointed, Lourdie couldn’t help but compare him to her morning jogging partner. The man in the middle of the fight wasn’t as rugged or as muscular as her mystery jogger. This man was what most men hated to be called. He was cute. She looked past the sparring and her heart did a little flip flop. Arms crossed, her jogging partner was leaning against the wall of archways staring straight at her. Bishop appeared to be having a private conversation with him. I knew he was a hunter. Then reality sank in. Crap! That means I’m training him.

  “I bet that’s Temple,” Abbey said.

  Lourdie gasped, not taking her eyes off her mystery man, “Who?”

  “The pretty one that looks like a prince fighting the other three.” Abbey followed Lourdie’s gaze over to the wall, “But I see that you found a whole hella-hotness again. Hello Mr. Hunky!” Abbey drooled as she did some stretching.

  Finally noticing the girls, Abbey’s prince easily smote his foes and walked over to them. “Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Temple. Welcome to Castle Clogyn!” he said for all the world to hear as he gracefully bowed before them.

  Lourdie shook the man’s hand a little crestfallen. “Hi, uh, I’m Lourdie.”

  Bishop turned around as the jogger gestured towards Temple and kicked off from the wall. Her mystery jogger walked over and suddenly put a mock choke hold around Temple’s neck.

  Lourdie’s morning jogging partner guffawed, “Cousin, quit confusing our guests.” He seemed to tighten his grip on the knight’s neck, then flashed a brilliant smile to Lourdie and Abbey. “Good afternoon, ladies. My apologies for not greeting you earlier,” he looked straight at Lourdie with a smirk on his face. “I only arrived home early this morning. I’m Logan Templeton, this,” he tussled the now struggling man’s hair, “Is my cousin, the prankster Luke Templeton.”

  “You’re Logan Templeton… err, Temple?” Lourdie said, disbelief in her voice.

  The real Temple released his captive cousin, offering Lourdie a handshake. “Last t
ime I checked,” Temple said giving Lourdie back her hand along with that devilish grin. “Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Reese.”

  “My apologies, ladies. I was just having a bit of fun. Can you ever forgive me?” Luke said with his best ‘aw shucks’ grin. “And please, call me Luke or LT if you prefer.”

  Temple whispered under his breath, “Little Temple.”

  Luke elbowed him in the ribs. It was clear the two had grown up together. They had an easy familiarity and obvious friendship.

  “No harm done. Though now I know who the court jester is.” Lourdie glared at Temple.

  He returned her gaze, unfazed by her sarcasm.

  “Hello from down here.” Abbey waved her hands, slightly irritated at being ignored, “I’m Abigail Thorne, but you can call me Abbey. Or, Thorne. Lots of people call me Thorne. I kinda like Thorne. But, Abbey is okay too ‘cause I don’t really go by Abigail...” She could feel her face flush.

  “Hello, Abbey. Are you enjoying your stay at the Cloak?” Temple said giving the hunter apprentice a genuine smile.

  The direct attention on Abbey caused her blush to deepen, but she became even more enthusiastic. “Oh yeah! It’s amazing. Thanks for letting me tag along with Lourdie, I know my last trial is gonna be here, but I’m sure it’s Lourdie’s ability that got us here.”

  “Quite right.” Temple gave Lourdie one of the most deadly serious, all knowing stares she’d ever seen.

  Out of all the eyes on her, Lourdie was particularly aware of Temple’s intense gaze. He seemed skeptical of her abilities. Purely out of spite, she created two orbs, then a single orb, then another pair, and then another pair, all in rapid succession. For good measure she created three more sets of dual orbs before she stopped and waited for a response.

  The crowd collectively gasped as she brought her final two orbs down to her hips while all the other delvirs on the ground imploded simultaneously around her.

  Her bold Russian friend, Pavel, spoke up first. “Could you show us that again in slow motion?” he asked jokingly.