The Fae Wars: Onslaught by J.F. Holmes & Lucas Marcum

Author:J.F. Holmes & Lucas Marcum [Holmes, J.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cannon Publishing LLC
Published: 2021-04-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

From the war journals of Lord Thar Tavan, Head of House Tavor, Commander of the Third Legion.

Ellarissa is dead.

The Elf Lord sat stonily on a bench on the Brooklyn Bridge walkway. No one dared to approach him; even the Yrch marching forward to the attack created a circle as they moved, they would not risk his wrath. After a while, he kneeled and bowed his head. Then he looked up, his eyes blazing with hell. It was a dangerous well he drew on, gaining strength from deals made with beings that stalked the Ways and every use cut off a piece of his soul.

“Bring me a human, a young female,” he commanded, and his guard hurried to obey. They returned with a Hispanic girl and Tavan spat. “No,” he said, “a Celt. That one,” and pointed to a pale faced red headed teenager. The elvish knights grabbed her and pushed her forward, then forced her down on her knees.

Tavan stood and drew a long cruel looking knife from his belt. “Balor,” he chanted, saying the name three times, “I offer you blood for power. Grant me the power of the ways to defeat my enemies and avenge my daughter. Come to us and make war on our behalf. I give you blood for blood.” After a moment a cloud began to gather, a vague hint of a gigantic humanoid form. Tavan dared not look at it, he knows that the demon was exerting immense will to even appear as this shape, and he could not interfere until the bool rite was done. Calling the Old Ones was dangerous and like to kill the caller as not.

He stepped forward and grabbed the girl by the hair, forcing her neck back. She glared up at him and said, “FUCK YOU!”, then spit in his face.

*****

High atop the burning building Sasha Zivcovic watched the scene with fascination through the scope of his rifle. The primal Slav in him knew what he was about to see, a sacrifice to the old gods, the ones his grandmother had scared him with on the long winter nights. His mind toyed letting it happen, seeing the girl die and watching her soul get eaten by the demon, seeing it taking shape from the mist.

He also thought of Kincaid, a man who he respected. The American would want him to shoot the Elf Lord, but the Serb figured that it would be useless. And to be honest, he did want to see the god or demon or whatever it was. Then he saw the girl shout, reading her lips through the scope. She was beautiful, a teenager who would someday be spectacular. No, she didn’t deserve such a fate. He dialed the scope’s power up and looked at the wind.

*****

Tavan raised the knife and his aide knelt with the cup to collect her blood. He swung his arm for the stroke, hate pouring out of him as he aimed at the pale neck. The girl’s head snapped sideways, exploding in a welter of brains and blood and she crumpled to the ground like a rag doll.

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