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Overview
When King’s Agents Simon Buckley and Haldron Stonebender raid a suburban farmhouse, they expect to find an illegal bomb factory full of Orc terrorists. Instead, they end up killing the sister of the current Elf ruler, turning a straightforward police raid into an international incident.
Now, Simon and his team must battle terrorists, gangsters, and their own superiors to find the truth behind the High-Elf’s involvement and avert a war.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781938190391 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Brick Cave Media |
| Publication date: | 01/22/2018 |
| Series: | Magic Law , #1 |
| Pages: | 316 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.66(d) |
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
"Breaching team in position," Haldron Stonebender whispered through the silver Far-Speaker receiver clipped to Simon's left earlobe. "I'm not too keen on the new Fire Mage, though. He's a tad shaky."
Simon lifted the leather and moonstone bracer on his left wrist to his lips and spoke into the faintly glowing gem. "Give him a break, Hal. It's his first raid. He'll be fine."
"He'd better be." Hal's Dwarfish burr grumbled through their private FS connection. "We only get one chance at this."
Simon shifted his weight and brought the D'Stang pneumatic bolt thrower up to a ready position. The short-barreled weapon, slung from his tactical vest for easy deployment, could be shifted out of the way if the fight came to close quarters. Simon hoped it wouldn't. "You have eyes on the door," he said. "Your call."
His double-edged Bonecleaver Mark 3 was within easy reach in the rear sheath of the vest. The short sword had been a gift from Hal's wife, with the admonition that he 'watch her husband's back.' Simon's sword skills were marginal at best. He had no desire to face the wrath of a Dwarven widow out for were geld if he failed to protect his second in command.
"Make ready," Haldron rasped over the FS tactical web. "Breaching team, by the numbers."
"One, ready." Hamish McPhee, the team's armorer and Simon's rear cover.
"Two, ready." Jack Ironhand, in place to cover the door.
"Three, uh, ready."
Simon smiled. That would be Liam Aster, their new Fire Mage.
His turn. "Five, ready." He was careful to keep his tone neutral. If his confidence in Liam turned out to be misplaced, Hal would never let him forget it.
A gibbous moon shone down through the bare trees that surrounded the old farmhouse. The land around them had been subdivided and sold off to developers long ago. The half-acre parcel on which the original farm buildings sat had been preserved as a bucolic island in a sea of suburban sprawl. In the wan light of Midwinter's Eve, it looked more sinister than pastoral.
Simon loosened the Bonecleaver in its sheath and raised the pneumatic to his shoulder. He flipped off the safety and felt the slight vibration as the Air spell spun up in the cinnabar rod encased in the ebony and aluminum stock.
"Take the door, Three," said Haldron. "All others, on my lead as soon as the door is down."
Simon tensed as blue flame swirled in front of the door. Within a second, the spiraling flames funneled down to a narrow point that struck the doorjamb just below the lock. The jamb disintegrated with a burst of molten iron and a flash of burning wood.
Haldron dashed forward and hit the door with a flying kick, smashing it inward. "King's Agents!" he shouted, identifying the team. He had his own pneumatic up as he stepped into the darkness beyond the threshold.
Simon rushed in right behind Hal, swiveling left and right, sighting along the D'Stang's barrel, seeking targets. He felt rather than heard Hamish trailing behind him. Simon heard a rattle of gear as Jack took up station to cover their exit. He knew Liam would wait outside to provide anti-air cover in case their quarry had access to a flyer.
Hal gestured to his right and Simon split off that way into a modest-sized sitting room dominated by a large stone hearth. The room was dark. With a practiced shake of his head, he flipped down the brass-framed seeing stone mounted on the rim of his helmet so that he looked through it with his right eye. He muttered the incantation and the room seemed to light up with a soft green glow. The stone washed out all color and there was a slight distortion at the edges of his vision, like looking through warped glass, but at least he could see.
Simon caught a glimpse of movement near the hearth and swiveled the pneumatic to cover it.
"King's Agent!" he shouted. "Get down on your knees. Hands where I can see them."
The thing by the hearth cocked its head at Simon's command. It was squat and broad, like a full-sized man whose legs had been shoved up into his torso. Its long muscular arms reached almost to the floor. Its head was human in outline but flattened on top, as if the skull had been sheared off at the brow line. It was hairless, naked and sexless, the space between its short legs smooth and featureless.
Simon cursed and fired two bolts as it growled and bared long, fang-like teeth. He dropped the bolt thrower and it swung down beside his left hip on its harness. He drew the Bonecleaver and shouted over his shoulder toward Hal, "Golem!"
The creature rushed him, the two cold iron bolts from the pneumatic protruding from its chest. The bolts didn't even slow it down.
Simon swung his sword at the thing and the double-edged blade sliced deep into its left shoulder. It roared and spun to its right, nearly wrenching the sword out of his hand. He backpedaled away from the golem, bringing the Bonecleaver up to a high overhead ready position.
The golem snarled as it lifted its nearly severed left arm with the right one, until the edges of the sword wound touched each other. The thing's flesh seemed to melt and flow as the arm reattached itself. The golem flexed its biceps and rolled its newly healed shoulder as if loosening it. It snarled at Simon again and crouched to spring.
Simon shifted to the balls of his feet and made ready. Even though he was expecting it, the thing sprang at him so quickly that he barely had time to react. He swung the Bonecleaver in a powerful arc aimed at the golem's thick neck. His aim was off by a fraction, but it was good enough. The blade struck the golem just above the angle of its lower jaw and sliced through the base of its skull, cleaving most of its head from the rest of its body. It went limp and dropped at his feet, the putty-like flesh sizzling and foaming as the spell that had created it dissipated. Sword now at low ready, Simon swept his gaze around the rest of the room.
"Clear!" he shouted and backed out into the entry hall.
"Clear!" Hamish's shout came from the room to the left.
"Hal!" Simon called. "Hal, sound off!"
He pulled the D'Stang up in a one-handed grip with his left hand and clutched the sword in his right. The broken front door faced a narrow corridor leading toward the back of the farmhouse.
Jack stood in the doorway facing outward. "Hal went toward the back of the house," he said over his shoulder. "The door closed behind him and he hasn't checked in on the tactical web."
"Cover me, Hamish," Simon said as he started down the hallway. It ended at a heavy, iron bound door. It was closed and a faint glow of red light shone beneath the lower edge.
Simon released the pneumatic and slung it near his left hip as he felt Hamish's hand on his back. He tightened his grip on the Bonecleaver and reached out with his left hand, feeling along the doorframe until he found the handle. He shifted to his left to give Hamish a clear field of fire through the door. Hamish tapped his back twice to indicate he was ready.
Simon turned the handle and felt the latch give. He kicked the door open, slamming it into inner wall of the room. Golems surged toward him. The Bonecleaver whistled through the air, taking the head off of the closest creature. Simon dove under the grasp of the second, clearing the doorway and slicing off one of the golem's legs with a backhand stroke. It went down in a smear of greenish fluid, tripping the one behind it. Simon cut upward, and the third golem fell in two pieces, still animated but unable to move. Simon stabbed downward at the golem with the severed leg, driving the sword through its head and into the wooden floor.
Behind him, he heard the hissing buzz of Hamish's D'Stang slinging bolts into the room. Two more golems fell with explosive bolts through their skulls. Hamish had switched from cold iron to Fire-charged ammo after hearing Simon's initial warning.
The strange red light filled the room, seeming to come from the air itself, like a glowing fog. Simon flipped the seeing stone out of the way as his eyes adjusted to the low light.
"Hal!" he shouted, struggling to his feet and wrenching the Bonecleaver free of the floor.
Haldron lay on his back in the middle of the room, apparently unconscious with a deep gash in his scalp. Two golems held him down by the arms. Above him stood a man-sized figure robed in black, a full hood covering the figure's head and face. It held a long dagger in its right hand and a small shield, like an old-fashioned buckler, in its left. The dagger glowed with a blue light that shimmered like moonlight on a deep lake. For a second, Simon thought he heard a high sweet song, like the voice of a temple virgin singing the first notes of the moonrise hymn. He stood still, listening, as the black figure raised the dagger above Hal's chest.
Hamish's voice cut through the spell cast by the sweet voice. "King's Agents. Drop the blade and stand away from my teammate."
Simon shook his head, clearing it, and raised the Bonecleaver to full guard. "Drop the blade," he repeated. "On your knees, hands behind your head."
The man in black said something in a harsh, hissing language that hurt Simon's ears with its discordant sounds. The two golems started forward and the man raised the dagger.
Hamish's bolt thrower buzzed again. The Fire-charged bolt struck the man in the center of his chest. The impact released the Fire containment spell on the copper arrowhead and all of the energy of its forward motion was instantly converted to heat. The man's chest exploded from within, throwing him backward into the far wall and showering Simon with bits of flaming flesh and bone. Then the first golem struck his chest, sinking three-inch teeth into his vest.
The Earth spell embedded in the steel mail of his tactical vest withstood the bite but the impact threw him back into the wall. He struggled to fend off the sinewy arms and stubby hands that clawed at the vest, seeking an opening to his bare flesh. He reversed the sword and worked it between the vest and the golem, under the thing's left arm. He thrust upward. It was awkward and lacked power, but it was enough. The steel blade sliced into the golem's head and the animation spell was broken.
Simon pushed the already disintegrating golem away from him and swung to face the spot where Hal lay. Hamish stood nearby, the foaming remains of the final golem dissolving at his feet. The glowing red mist dissipated, leaving the room bathed in moonlight. Haldron stirred and moaned.
Simon rushed to his side and helped him to sit up. He pulled a battle dressing from the pouch at his waist and pressed it to Hal's scalp. Hamish swept the rest of the room, sighting along the barrel of his bolt thrower before signaling all clear. Only then did Simon notice the glowing symbols etched into the floor. They seemed to crawl in front of his eyes like living things. Their red glow faded as he tried to focus on them and read their meaning.
Simon was no mage, but all King's Agents received broad training in magical practice. Part of the job, after all, was running down bootleg conjurers. You had to recognize illegal magic in order to know whether there were grounds for an arrest. The old days of the Magisterium were long gone and even criminals had rights under the Commonwealth Accords. Simon was pretty sure these symbols had something to do with an Earth spell, but they were unfamiliar to him. There wasn't much question about the guilt of the dead mage, though. Creating golems outside of an approved laboratory was illegal, not to mention the assault on a King's Agent.
Hal groaned and touched the battle dressing on his head. "What in the name of Stone ..."
"Are you all good?" Simon asked, looking into his friend's eyes. They were clear. Hal blinked several times, glancing rapidly around the room.
"Aye," Hal said. "Head feels like a bloody bass drum, pounding away, but I'll live. Is the house secure?"
"We're clear here," Simon said. He touched his bracer to open the Far-Speaker web. "Jack, Liam, all secure outside?"
"All clear.," Jack's voice was steady but the relief was evident in his tone.
"What happened in there?" asked Liam. "I felt a huge energy surge. Earth spell, I think. It almost nullified my containment. Don't want to think about what could have happened if that failed."
Simon understood. Fire mages worked at the very edge of safety when operational for a raid. The spells needed to conjure their particular medium were lengthy, so most kept a potential store of flame within a magical containment bubble ready for instant use if combat demanded it. If the containment failed, the flames would consume the mage and most everything else within a few yards' radius in an instantaneous fireball.
It was one reason why Fire mages had a reputation for being a little twitchy.
"We're not sure yet, Liam," Simon replied. "The perp is dead, but he was into some strange shit. Stand down your containment. I don't think we'll need more flame tonight."
"Aye, sir," said Liam.
"Once you're secure, get Lieutenant Gulbrandsen on the mirror and join us inside. I want his eyes on this scene."
A clanking sound interrupted Liam's acknowledgement. Simon felt vibration in the floor beneath his boots.
"Ham," he said. "Give us some light over here."
Hamish stepped up beside him and drew a torch from his utility belt. He muttered a Fire incantation and a blue flame flared within the torch's small crystal globe. The light revealed a trap door set in the floor and a small windlass anchored next to its edge.
Simon glanced at Hal who nodded and drew his own sword. Simon pried up the front edge of the trapdoor with his Bonecleaver until he could get a grip on the wood, and then heaved it open.
An Orc stared back at him, wild-eyed. He struggled against the chains that bound him to a flat stone slab and grunted unintelligibly around the rubber ball gag that was stuffed in his mouth.
"Easy," said Simon, sheathing the Bonecleaver to hold out his empty palms. "Take it easy. We'll get you out of there."
He looked at the edges of the slab. Heavy metal cables ran from eyelets set in the stone to a winching mechanism bolted to the underside of the floor. Hal looked over his shoulder, and then took hold of the windlass and gave it a turn. The mechanism was well oiled and turned smoothly; the stone slab began to rise. Hal continued cranking.
When the slab reached floor height, Simon noticed locking bars set into its surface. He slid them out and Hal let go of the windlass. The bars held, keeping the slab level with the floor. Symbols and glyphs were etched into the grey stone, many of them matching the symbols drawn on the floor.
Simon removed the gag from the Orc's mouth as Hal went to work on the manacles that bound him to the slab.
"Don't hurt me," the Orc begged. "I'm just a poor farmer. I don't know anything. I won't tell anyone. Please let me go."
"Calm down," said Simon. "We're King's Agents. No one wants to hurt you. We'll get you out of those chains as quickly as we can." He looked at Hal.
"Can't get through the manacles without a cold chisel," the Dwarf said. "But I think I can manage the chain links." He spoke to the Orc. "Pull your left arm tight against the chain and look away."
The Orc's voice trembled, "What are you going to do?"
"Just do as he says," said Simon. "He won't hurt you. What's your name?"
"Gripple," said the Orc, keeping his eyes fixed on Simon. "Gripple Swampwater."
"Do you live in this house, Mr. Swampwater?" Simon saw the look of disgust on Hal's face but ignored it. He well knew about his friend's hatred for Orcs, even if he didn't understand it.
"No. I farm a shareplot down Fernhill way, just outside the Reservation fence. Ten acres are all mine, though." The pride in his voice temporarily masked his fear. Hal's sword came down with a clang, severing a link in the chain about six inches from Gripple's arm.
The Orc cried out and jumped against the remaining chains. "Durlash's Beard," he squeaked. "Give an Orc some warning."
"Shut up and I will," Hal said. "But only if you promise not to jump around like a toad on a mudflat."
"I won't move. I promise."
Hal moved quickly around the slab, repeating the procedure on each of Gripple's chains. The Orc sat up and rubbed his wrists and ankles. He was smaller than a man, no taller than Hal, but slight of build with spindly limbs and long fingers that ended in thick black fingernails.
Hal examined his sword and grunted. "Lucky for you I didn't notch my blade. It'll take an hour at the grindstone to restore the edge, though."
"Thank you," Gripple offered meekly.
Hal just grunted again and turned away, walking over toward the mage's body a few feet away.
"Don't worry about Agent Stonebender," said Simon to Gripple. "He's always cranky after a raid. The golems getting the drop on him didn't help his mood, either."
Gripple shrugged. "He's a Dwarf," he said, as if that explained everything.
"Simon," Hal called from next to the body. "You'd best be having a look at this."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Platinum Magic"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Bruce C. Davis.
Excerpted by permission of Brick Cave Media.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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