Emily Shadowhunter 7 - a Vampire, Shapeshifter, Werewolf novel: Book 7: REVOLUTION, page 1
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 46
Emily Shadowhunter – book 7 © 2021 by Craig Zerf
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. 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 express written permission from the author / publisher.
Emily Shadowhunter – Book 7
REVOLUTION
CHAPTER 1
The Duke of Wellington once said – Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won.
This is just a posh British way of saying – war is crappy, even if you win it. But losing one is even crappier.
The windrows of dead villagers had not even had the privilege of fighting a battle. They had simply been exterminated. Smoke rolled across the remains of the burned-out buildings. Corpses lay strewn like so much flotsam and jetsam.
Some lay alone. Others in clusters. Whole families, lovers, friends.
Together in death as they were in life.
A dog gnawed at the single Orcish corpse one of the villagers had managed to kill.
Flocks of hooded crows, rooks and ravens darkened the skies as they came looking for carrion. Foxes and badgers slunk through the deserted streets, stopping every now and then to tear a chunk of flesh from one of the fallen.
Then the sky clouded over and, within seconds, it began to rain. Heavy, sullen drops of water. The heavens were weeping.
A woman stood alone in the center of the village green, surrounded by the end of her life as she knew it.
Her eyes were dry, because she was past lamentation. Past desolation. Past everything but achieving the mere basics of life.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Even the thundering sound of galloping horses approaching did not cause her to move her head.
She simply stood.
Her mind as empty as the nothingness left of her existence.
Everyone she knew was dead.
Finally, she looked up, her attention focusing on the detachment of upper Fae cavalry that had pulled up in front of her.
One of the Fae nudged his steed forward, stopping in front of her.
The commander of the detachment was one, Lord Jingo Partridge. A leader known more for his relative closeness to the Winter Queen than his military prowess.
‘You,’ he called out. ‘Peasant woman. What happened here?’
She looked up at him, her face a mask of absolute subjection. ‘They’re all dead,’ she whispered.
‘I can see that, woman,’ snapped the commander. ‘Who did this?’
The woman blinked owlishly and then spoke, her voice bereft of emotion. ‘There is a message,’ she mumbled. ‘For the Daywalker and the Wizard. Only you can stop this. Love, the Morrigan.’
Lord Partridge stared at her, his face a picture of bafflement. ‘What does that mean?’ he shouted. ‘Explain, peasant.’
Ignoring the lord completely, the woman looked about her, then, slowly, she shambled over to one of the fallen. Bending down, she picked up a small dagger that had fallen next to the corpse.
Without warning, she placed the blade against her neck – and slit her own throat.
‘Bloody hell, woman,’ yelled lord Partridge. ‘What you go and do that for? Idiot, I still had questions.’
As he was raving, one of the other cavalrymen dismounted, walked over to the woman and checked her pulse.
‘Sergeant Pillory,’ snapped Partridge. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Just checking, my lord,’ answered the sergeant.
‘She’s obviously dead,’ said Partridge.
‘Seems that way, my lord,’ agreed the sergeant. ‘I shall organize a team to ensure she gets a decent send off, sir,’ he continued. ‘We will gather all of the villagers and construct a pyre on the east side of the village.’
Lord Partridge waved his hand dismissively. ‘No need,’ he said in a bored tone. ‘I’m sure the crows and the foxes will take care of the carrion. Leave it, we need to report to the Queen.’
Sergeant Pillory pointedly ignored his commander and ordered six of his troops to dismount. ‘Carry the bodies to the east wall,’ he instructed them. Then, turning to the rest of the squad he told them to collect enough wood for a funeral pyre.
Finally, he turned to face lord Partridge once more. ‘The pyre will be set as you instructed, my lord,’ he informed his commander. ‘I am sure the Queen will be very impressed at the compassion you have shown her loyal subjects.’
Lord Partridge stared at the non-commissioned officer for a few seconds before his self-importance and inbred sense of entitlement overwhelmed the obvious lack of obedience being shown him.
‘Yes, sergeant,’ he agreed. ‘Make it so. I shall be outside the wall. Send some of the men to set up an awning, chairs and a table for me.’
Sergeant Pillory bowed deeply.
‘It shall be done, my lord.’
Only when the aristocrat had ridden back through the village gates did the sergeant allow his distaste show. And only for the briefest second.
Then he turned to oversee the sad and gristly task of preparing the villagers for their funeral ceremony, at the same time wondering who the Daywalker and the Wizard might be.
CHAPTER 2
Merlin’s face was pale with fury. His eyes shone with emotion and his breath came in short jagged inhalations. Like a man in pain.
‘Calm down, my friend,’ said the Prof ‘You’ll do yourself no end of stress induced damage going off like this.’
‘Calm down,’ yelled Merlin. ‘Easy for you to say, it isn’t your name that is being tied to literal genocide.’
‘How many?’ asked Emily, her face as pale as Merlin’s. ‘How many have they killed?’
Merlin shrugged. ‘Not sure. Hundreds? Not thousands.’
‘Not yet,’ interjected the Prof
‘Well, we have to stop it,’ stated Emily.
‘It’s a trap,’ said Troy.
‘Obviously,’ agreed Emily. ‘But that doesn’t matter, does it? Innocents are dying. And they are dying because of me. It has to stop.’
‘Not because of you,’ said Grannus. ‘Because of that insane crow woman.’
‘She is doing the killing,’ admitted Emily. ‘But the dying is because of me. I am ultimately responsible.’
‘Not true,’ interjected the Prof ‘I would say that, ultimately, Merlin and I are responsible. After all, we showed mercy, of a sort. We imprisoned her instead of destroying her essence. So, the blame lies with us.’
‘Hey,’ said Tag, his voice raised almost to a shout. ‘Enough. Seriously, enough whining about whose fault it is, or isn’t, or might be. Me and missus Jones say, let’s go get this bitch.’
‘What he says,’ added Troy.
Merlin stood still for a while, thinking.
‘What are we waiting for?’ asked Emily.
‘Pause for a while, child,’ replied Merlin. ‘Obviously something needs to be done about this. However, it will do us no good rushing in without a plan. Or without knowing what the long-term consequences might be.’
‘The long-term consequences are that innocent people will keep dying until we show up,’ stated Emily.
‘Fine,’ returned Merlin. ‘So, what do you suggest we do? Open a portal to the world of the Fae, rush in where angels fear to tread, and then what?’
‘We find the Morrigan and stop her,’ replied Emily.
‘How?’
Emily frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But surely it’s better than sitting on our asses while people are dying.’
‘No,’ denied Merlin. ‘It isn’t. Look, I understand, more than you think. I have witnessed countless vile acts such as this. Death beyond imagining. And if there is one thing I have learned, going off half-cocked will only result in failure. Stop. Think. Approach this from
Emily took a deep breath and nodded. ‘You’re right,’ she said.
‘How about I make some tea?’ asked Tag. ‘We can discuss it all over a nice cuppa.’
‘No tea for me,’ snapped Grannus. ‘Booze is what I need. Whoever heard of the god of shiny things drinking tea?’
‘In all fairness, shiny thing guy,’ returned Tag. ‘No one. But that’s only because no one has heard of you, period.’
‘Are you taking my name in vain?’ bellowed Grannus.
‘No,’ replied Tag. ‘All I is saying, the god of shiny things don’t sound so cool. Maybe, back in the day when peeps wore animal skins and stuff, shiny things was cool. Now, not so much.’
Grannus was about to reply when, instead, he hesitated, thinking. ‘You mean, I need to change with the times?’
‘Exactly,’ agreed Tag. ‘For a start, god of shiny things sounds lame. What you need to be is – the god of Bling.’
‘Bling?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What the hell is, Bling?’
‘Hold on,’ said Tag. ‘Before I make the tea. Look at this.’
The big man took out his cell and did a quick search on the internet. Then he held the screen up so Grannus could see.
‘Who is that,’ asked the god.
‘That be Mister T,’ replied Tag. ‘See all those gold chains and shiny jewels? That be Bling.’
‘The god of Bling,’ mused Grannus. ‘I like it. Yes. From this day forth, I, Grannus, shall be known as the god of Bling.’
‘Right on, man,’ cheered Tag.
‘But still, no tea,’ added Grannus. ‘Booze.’
‘Sure,’ agreed Tag. But trust me, you don’t know what you is missing.’
CHAPTER 3
The portal crackled open with a flash of lightning and the smell of ozone. Slowly, it widened until it was both wide enough and tall enough to fit two people side by side.
Latobias strode through, followed closely by Sirona, and Belenas.
The team were working on the theory – if you are going to enter a potentially hostile environment, send the gods in first. Grannus had stayed behind to follow up on the Triginta.
‘Well, we’re in the pox-ridden, donkey farting right place,’ noted Belenas as he turned back to face the portal. ‘All clear, you piles of monkey midden,’ he yelled.
Merlin and the Prof came next. Then Troy, Muller and Tag.
Finally, the Legionnaires, crowding in closely around Emily. Forming a human shield against any harm that may threaten her.
As the last one came through, the portal flickered closed.
Quinton gestured to his men and they fanned out to form a perimeter, weapons ready. Tag hauled missus Jones from his shoulder and scanned the immediate area for unfriendlies.
Emily noted a huge wall in the distance. ‘What’s that?’
‘The capital of the winter realm,’ answered Merlin. ‘The seat of the Winter Queen. That’s where we’re heading.’
‘Why we come out so far away?’ asked Tag. ‘Couldn’t we have popped out in front of the gates? I don’t like walking much, seems unnecessary.’
‘It’s very necessary if you want to stay alive,’ answered the Prof ‘Any portals opening within five miles of the walls get zapped. There are powerful runes spread around the capital and they are charged on a daily basis by top Fae mages.
‘It’s for security. Stop armies opening up portals and attacking. This way, you can only materialize a few miles away and then they see you coming, raise the alarm and ready their defenses. But at the same time, it is still close enough to allow important guests, trade missions and such, relatively easy access.’
‘Makes sense,’ admitted Tag. ‘Well, let’s get to walking then.’
The team began their five-mile trudge through the knee-high snow.
Both Tag and Troy grumbled as they walked, picking their knees up high to facilitate movement.
‘Bloody snow,’ mumbled Tag. ‘Sick of snow. Next time we go vampire killing, or Fae saving, I vote we do it in Jamaica. Sun, rum and jerked chicken.’
‘I’m with you, big man,’ agreed Troy. ‘I’ve seen about enough snow to last a lifetime.’
‘I think it’s beautiful,’ disagreed Emily. ‘The way the sun sparkles off the ice in the trees. The pristine whiteness of the landscape, like it’s just been spring cleaned. It’s amazing.’
No one answered, concentrating instead on putting one foot in front of the other. Their progress was slow. Slower than normal due to the fact they were all carrying vast amounts of ammunition and ordnance.
Each legionnaire carried his primary weapon and anything from a thousand rounds to five thousand rounds of ammunition for the same. Over fifty pounds of dead weight.
Three of the Legionnaires were carrying the respective parts of a 60mm mortar as well as their primary weapon and ammo. Every soldier carried five rounds for the mortar, adding a further twelve pounds to their loads. Finally, they each carried ten M14 ‘toe-popper’ anti-personal land mines. They weighed in at a mere three and a half ounces each and were made to maim, not kill. Perfect miniature force multipliers.
Apart from that, they carried little else. Water, a small medic kit each and a few French RCRI rations packs. The NATO version of MRE’s. The difference being, instead of foil packs of mushy pasta and vegetables, or pork and rice, they contained meals like chicken rillettes, farmhouse pate, duck tabbouleh, and brie cheese. Napoleon once said, an army marches on its stomach, and the French military took that very seriously.
Tag had gone large with his ammo, as he knew the prodigious rate missus Jones chewed through it. Fortunately, due to his inordinate strength he was able to hump a combined weight approaching five hundred pounds. That included ten thousand rounds of ammunition.
In short, the hunters had enough firepower to fight a war. Which was exactly what they were intending to do.
It took the team two hours to get to the walls, and as they got closer Emily marveled at the sight.
They loomed over them, vast and intimidating. The walls were over a hundred feet high. Every sixty feet or so, a stone tower reared upwards, on the top of each, either an arrow throwing ballista or a mangonel catapult. Hundreds of archers lined the battlements and more guards were massed in front of the main gates. Cavalry patrolled the surrounds and one of the detachments approached them as they neared the walls.
‘Are these guys fighting a war?’ asked Muller. ‘They definitely seem to be on a war footing.’
The Prof shook his head. ‘No. Both Fae courts are big on showing strength. This level of preparedness is normal. However, much of it is show. They haven’t fought an actual war for a very long time.’
‘Okay,’ interjected Merlin. ‘Here comes the cavalry, let me do the talking. Tag, did you hear me? This will call for subtlety and diplomacy.’
The big man nodded. ‘Sure thing, boss man. I get it, subtlety and diplomacy are not my strong suit.’
‘Shouldn’t one of the gods do the introductions?’ asked Emily. ‘Surely that would impress the hell out of them?’
‘No,’ replied Merlin. ‘The Fae follow strict protocol when it comes to deities. Unless there is a priest present, custom dictates they do not even acknowledge the god. Most likely though, they won’t even realize that Latobias, Sirona and Belenas are gods. So, pipe down about that.’
The cavalry detachment pulled up in front of the team of hunters. Thirty strong, they formed a line barring their way. One of the men nudged his mount forward. His fancy uniform and the plumes in his headgear picked him out as the ranking officer. As did his expression of vague disdain.
‘State your business,’ he commanded.
‘We are here to see her majesty,’ answered Merlin.
The upper Fae nobleman sneered at the wizard. ‘No chance,’ he scoffed. ‘Now, I might allow you to enter the city, if the requisite payments are made. And I say, might. But first, a few questions. What are those strange devices your servants are carrying?’
‘Servants,’ spluttered Tag.
‘Tag,’ snapped Merlin. ‘What did I say?’
‘Subtlety and diplomacy.’
‘Good man,’ the wizard turned to the cavalry officer. ‘These are not my servants,’ he informed him. ‘And I am not under your command. So, sir knight, I suggest you get your men out of our way and allow me to enter the city in order for me to visit the Queen. I am on an important mission and have little time for self-important, low level horseback riders such as yourself. Now, begone.’
