Naming Day (Jake Underwood Book 1) (23 page)

I outlined my plan to Dalia and she was delighted to help. I guess she was getting pretty tired of being a bystander in the battle over her fate and would probably have done just about anything to help her situation. Luckily, this shouldn’t be dangerous.

“What if your father is not in residence when you arrive?”

“Well, the thing is that whether he is there or not, he will have the house open. From a visit a few years back I discovered that it is customary for nobles to consider these satellite townhouses as if they were actually on the Court Mountain. Isn’t it that way at the Court of Twilight?”

“Not exactly, Jake. The Court of Twilight is located inside a mountain rather than outside it. The lord of Twilight’s Court is located deep within the core of Court Mountain. Townhouses like you describe are on the surface of the mountain and are highly desirable because of the excellent starlit sky. “

“It sounds pretty grim. Who would want to live in the ground like a rat? No offense.” I realized that I was being pretty tough on her home.

“I realize that the beauty of the night is lost on many from the Court of Dawn. You must not think that the Court of Twilight is a hole in the rock. The mountain is hollow and has galleries open to the night air, crystals refract the light of the stars and the moon and bring them into the heart of court. It is a glorious display that you must see to believe. Also consider that many of our court members are more at home in the dark than the light. While many of us can function in both a lighted and a darkened world, care must be taken for those who would be harmed by the light. You must simply come and visit the court as my guest and as my fathers.”

“I guess so. Maybe one day I will accept your invitation to visit the Court.” I motioned towards a small shop ahead that seemed to be selling candles or glowing spheres. Hard to tell with magic in use exactly what anything really is.

As Dalia made her way into the shop I considered whether she would ever be able to go back to the Court of Twilight, let alone whether I could ever take her up on her offer. See, this whole situation had stink all over it, the kind that you can never completely remove. How the hell could I ever prove I wasn’t this Count Trellsor? This was clearly a case were mistaken identity could be fatal. Dalia was naïve to think that the Twilight Order was going to ever forget that she was connected to an “agent provocateur” that had caused such mischief. I sighed and realized yet again that it was days like this, when I have been shot at by an ogre, jumped through haunted gates and been pursued by heavy hitters from both sides of the Bright Kingdom that made me miss boring loss prevention and divorce work. You hardly ever got burned out of a house by a hit squad when you were following a cheating husband.

I was keeping an eye on the street and letting my mind wander a bit. I was considering what exactly it is that women find so damn appealing about shopping. Buying I get. Shopping and not buying? What’s the point? It’s no excuse I know, but I think I might still have been a little muddle headed from Jervalas Stormcrow’s draught and that was why I didn’t notice anything until I heard the sound of breaking glass inside the shop.

It only took me a moment to gather my wits and I hoped that a moment wasn’t too long. I should have been thinking clearer and that is my only excuse for not realizing that I was heading into a trap.

I opened the door and charged into the candle shop. My eyes adjusted to the lower light level and I saw that I had a real problem. An elf, probably the shop clerk was laying in a pool of slowly spreading blood oozing from a second smile right below her first one. Spasmodic twitches told me that it had just happened. Through an open door I saw the slumped body of Dalia being carried by somebody I reckoned was probably the dwarf. They are strong little bastards and Dalia didn’t weigh very much. I started after him and I can’t really say what exactly happened at this point. I don’t know what made me glance into the reflection ahead of me instead of staying focused on Dalia. Whatever it was it saved my life.

In a dimly glowing crystal globe I saw an arc of metal cutting through the dimness of the shop, my neck its obvious goal. I threw myself down and away, sending a display of globes flying through the air. Many shattered, releasing a magical snowstorm of light and scent as each captured spell fizzled and burned quickly exposed without containment. I felt a slight sting as the tip of the blade grazed my back instead of severing my head.

I hit the floor about the same time as the glass did so I landed clean. Rolling over, unfortunately ground shards of glass into my back. Luckily, the cape took most of the damage. By the light filtering in from the street I could see my old friend from the previous day, the elf with the iron scarred face. He was wearing a glamour that made him appear normal, but I ignored it. The only good news that I could see was that he couldn’t be wearing Black Watch armor. You can’t wear a glamour and the armor at the same time. So he was only armed, not armored.

I could see hate and spite sparking in his good eye and flecks of spittle on his lips transfiguring from a noble fey into a mad dog. He swung wildly at me, shattering a display of candles. His depth perception must have been off because I can’t think of any reason for him to have missed at that range. He was fighting badly, very badly for a Black Watch member. Later it occurred to me that perhaps he actually was suffering from iron poisoning. In many Fey it can lead to dementia and death with stages of disability and madness all along the way.

He growled something unintelligible and positioned himself to make a lunging attack. He was using a short sword of some kind and I am sure that he would have preferred something with a little more reach. I considered pulling the ceremonial rapier at my side, but quickly dismissed the idea. Like I told Dalia, I know damn little about how to use one of the damn things and besides, it was for show not fighting and I didn’t want to try and play his game.

I jumped back and twisted as he lunged, committing himself to the thrust. The point passed through my cloak and tore a swath of cloth from it. He stumbled forward and as his momentum carried him forward I shoved as hard as I could into his back, sending him flying towards the floor. His blade flew away and he screamed in rage. He screamed again when he pushed himself off of the floor and the broken glass ground into his palms.

He was off the floor quickly before I could take advantage of his fall. Damn, he was quick. Before I could think about my next move, he was at me, his fingers seeking purchase on my throat. His weight was less than mine, but his pain and hate lent him enough strength to send us both to the ground.

We rolled into yet another display and this one contained burning candles that spilled hot wax on both of us and ignited the some of the lamp oil that had pooled from previous damage. His fingers hooked at my throat as I tried to break his hold. I could see his ruined face above me, his glamour falling as he lost concentration. The wound was not well healed and has split in several places with blood and a clear liquid oozing from the suppurated wounds. His good eye focused grimly, on the task of throttling me. I was using my right arm to hold him off. He was strong, stronger than me. I would hate to see this guy when he wasn’t already injured. My left hand groped for anything I could used as a weapon. I felt a sharp pain as a piece of broken glass cut into my palm, but I didn’t let go. I gripped it harder, trying to ignore the biting pain, a swung it in a low arc that cut across the bridge of his nose and into his good eye.

He screamed the agony of a wounded beast as he threw his head back. He stumbled to his feet, blindly. I hadn’t thought it was possible for his face to look worse, but the blood streaming from his eye poured down his unscarred cheek as he flailed madly about. I felt faint when he pulled the dripping piece of glass from his eye. He raged incoherently as he stumbled around the now burning shop. He sobbed as he stumbled into counters and displays, his path traced by wreckage and blood.

I looked around for anything that I could use, a piece of wood or a bit of broken furniture. Nothing. At least nothing that I could get to. His sword was clear across the shop and I would have had to go by those grasping hands to get. It was then that I remembered the largely useless sword that hung by my side.  I pulled it from the sheath and it made a faint rasping sound and he jumped towards me and the sound that drawing the blade made. He couldn’t see, but he could still hear.

I don’t know what he thought at that final moment. Maybe he was full of regret for what he’d done or what he hadn’t done. There is just no way to know. As he threw himself toward the sound he heard I raised the blade and felt his weight on the point as it entered his stomach. He stood transfixed against the light of the burning shop and I heard a raspy gasp as he stopped. Then he clawed his way, up the blade toward me.

Blood began to trickle from his mouth as he staggered toward me, the blade pushing further into his vitals. I lowered my shoulder and shoved with every bit of strength I still had and rammed the dull sword blade completely in to the hilt and shoved him backwards, impaling the point into the wooden counter. I felt his weakening hands scrabble at my back but my own momentum carried me and him forward. I felt a great shock as he fell backwards, the blade jerked from my hands.

He hung there, his hands now gripping the blade, slippery with his own blood and viscera, his mouth making little awkward sounds as he was dying. I stood staring at him, the blade protruding from his back and pinning him like a grotesque butterfly against the counter. Finally, he slumped and his face relaxed. One half dominated by that terrible scar, the other half perfect except for the blood from his eye.

I realized that I wouldn’t have much time. The shop was on fire and somebody would be coming quickly to see what was happening and I would be just as happy if I wasn’t here when they showed up. I tried to pull the blade from the body, but it was really embedded into the counter. I did a cursory search of his corpse and discovered about what I had expected, nothing except a small fortune in moonstruck silver, which I pocketed. It would have been nice to find a map that said “hideout here”, but I would just have to think of something else.

I could see that the fire that had started was probably going to be easily controlled and as much as I hated to do it, I couldn’t let that happen. Anything that slowed the court down in figuring out what was going on here would give me more time to figure out how to recover Dalia. I took some bottles of scented lamp oil and fed them to the flames. The fire was hungry and only needed a little encouragement to grow monstrous.

I pulled myself over the counter and grabbed the cashbox. There wasn’t much in it and I didn’t really need it, but I empted the contents into the pouch at my side and pushed through the open door at the back of store and into the stockroom. Behind me I could feel the heat growing as the crystal globes began to pop in the heat and flames.

The dwarf hadn’t bothered to close the door to the service road and I stepped out into it. It was clear at the moment but wouldn’t stay so. There was no sign of Dalia or the dwarf. I couldn’t follow.  I could hear shouts behind me and the breaking of more glass and hiding my bloody hands, I sped down the service way and vanished into the city.

I’m not sure how long it took me to come to my senses, as I wondered the streets through the poorer districts of the outlaying court. I finally figured out which of the major roads I was near, although it didn’t matter anymore. There was too much turmoil to try and get to my father’s townhouse.

The area I was heading towards was mostly filled with descendents of mortals who were brought here when such a thing did not violate the Compact. Occasionally, someone new would crop up by falling into an open portal or getting caught up in something like Marty had. I would be less conspicuous here and most of those who live here don’t have a much higher opinion of the Fey than I do making them unlikely to say anything to court officials who might come asking.

I used to have a favorite inn that I stayed at when I was on business here but going to old haunts was a very bad way to stay undetected. I recalled that there were several inns with an unsavory reputation and that sounded like just the place for me. I had more than enough money to stay anonymous for a few days and more than enough to make myself invisible in the right place.

I ended up at a joint called Titan’s Club. It was a typical three floor inn with common rooms on the bottom floor and two floors of quarters. I made arrangements with the owner, a mortal name Webber, who was perfectly happy to take my money and forget to put me on the registry. A few extra coins got me some bandages and a healing salve. I have to hand it to him, he acted like all my cuts and bruises were really invisible. He even offered to get “non-existent” cuts and tears in my clothing fixed by his wife. I think she disapproved of me, mainly because of the scowl that she gave me, but that may have been habitual in this part of the court.

I sat on the reasonably clean bed and took stock. On the plus side my funds had bought me a temporary bolt hole. It even had a window with a drainpipe outside the window along with what looked suspiciously like handholds to enable an occupant to come and go without being seen. This cost a little extra, but was well worth it if you ever needed it. On the negative side there was a lot more. I had lost Dalia and had no idea if she was alive or dead. Somehow, they had found us again and had taken her. Then I realized that I had never bothered to take the tracking spell off of her. Shit. I was too distracted by what had happened to Marty and I had gotten distracted again and Dalia had paid the price. Why they didn’t just kill her as they tried to do to me I had no idea. I realized that I couldn’t go out on the streets because I didn’t know who was or what could be looking for me. The only card I hadn’t played was the one that caused me the most distress, my father. I would have to get him to come to me.

I thought about method for a few moments and then decided that a sealed message would do the trick. It was running a risk, I knew that, but I didn’t really have many cards left to play or much to lose at this point. He might hate me, but I knew he valued the family name and reputation. I hoped enough to at least hear me out.

So I sat and wrote a note that I felt sure he could not ignore, calling on the family name, and suggesting a meeting at yet another bar in the same neighborhood. When you are a fugitive it’s helpful to have someplace to get off the street. If this meet went south, I wanted to have a someplace off the street so I thought neutral ground would be better.

When I am actually in the Bright Kingdom, Magic is easier for me. I’m not sure why exactly, although I believe it has to do with a higher magical energy state to start with, plus the fact that my fey heritage is more prominent here. Most half breeds that I have met look pretty Fey and they usually live at the court. I look almost entirely human. I sometimes think that if I moved to the court, I would gradually look more like a Fey, but that ain’t ever going to happen.

I prepared my mind for a simple binding ritual. It’s basically a will working that seals the message to it recipient exclusively. If anyone other than my father opened the note then it would be destroyed. I am sure a high powered will worker could overcome it, but Jeryn’s team didn’t have one anymore and at this point I would almost welcome Sergeant Bermuda showing up to take this mess off my hands, but still I decided that it might be a good idea to make it stronger by pledging blood. This would be even more effective since I was sending it to a blood relative.

“Hear me powers vast and small. I, Jake Underwood, son of Lord Stavros Melliscant and master of Lord Karen’s Blight do call you to hear my vow of blood.”

As I have said before, the spirits are a lot thicker here than in the mortal realm and I good feel unseen eyes observing me and weighing my words. The power was much thicker here. In the mortal world it was like quicksilver and elusive and I also had to strain to grasp it. Here it was like molasses and all I had to do was reach and grasp thick ropes of the stuff.

“By the powers that watch and the will that moves, I do abjure thee to guard this message and vouch that none but my Father shall read it or else consign it to flame and smoke. I offer blood as payment and as token of oath.”

It wasn’t hard to find a place on me that was bleeding. Clenching my fist caused the gash in palm to open up a little and blood trickled out. I dipped my finger in the warm blood and begin to trace a symbol on the folded paper. Some mages like to seal the envelope with power but that always seemed like doing things backwards. Once you got the past the seal on the envelope you were in besides, it was dead giveaway something was important inside. Me, I put it on the letter itself. Nothing to see on the outside to draw attention and no way that someone could read the letter without dealing with my binding.