Witch Clan: Warriors!, John Stormm [books to read in your 20s female TXT] 📗

on this matter and reached their eventual consensus. The nature of the raids and the politics of the Pentacle represented a fair enough threat to involve the witch clan in Abred and a plan was formulated. Any Sidhe caught crossing over would be killed out of hand, or worse. With Sidhe help, the humans and the hybrid child would likely be the better choice than a standing army at averting much evil in the planes.

It was decided that if Master Shabriri could obtain the human Matriarch’s consent, the party would be brought over to Gwynvyd and outfitted in such a manner as make the Lograns believe that royalty had crossed over from a rich and yet undiscovered human plane. With the Rift Wand in their possession, it was only a matter of time and experimentation before Abred would be added to the list of threatened realms in Mordred’s lust for power. Perhaps that lust could be used as the weakness to draw Mordred into an interplanar trap. Remove the head and the monster becomes much less of a threat. But the Grand Wizard of Logres was nobody’s fool. This would take much research and planning to find the perfect bait for this trap. It would save a great many lives in countless planes if an all out war could be averted and all the known rifts could be closed or rendered impassable to and from the troubled world.

What the Master and Elder needed now was greater license to work in the plane of Abred as the Matriarch's cooperation was desperately needed. Her realm was not threatened yet and she might not view this as her fight. This deception had no chance of working without human help, and not just any humans. The Matriarch's bond of nurture and protection to the hybrid child was not a thing that even the Master Sidhe wanted to be caught in the middle of.
Another World Away

All of the elves were dead. Some survived longer than others but all had eventually succumbed to the treatment. Not that His Excellency would mind or miss them. After all, they were interlopers to His sovereign realm. Rumsdon was certain He would be pleased with the artifacts taken from them and the information gained on the possible locations of even more powerful weapons to help in His crusade to spread His beneficence throughout the multiverse. With the added benefits of the Rift Wand liberated in their last foray into the realm of forest devils, it was practically assured that the Pentacle would now have the means to transport its shock troops to virtually any habitable plane in the multiverse and conduct pinpoint strikes into armories and treasuries wherewith to arm and fund their Cosmic Storm.

“You can dispose of the bodies now and have the personal effects taken to the examiners,” he ordered the waiting adjutant.

“Feed the pigs, sir?” the adjutant queried.

“Yes,” he replied tersely, “Pigs have to eat too and I’d hate to waste the meat. Has Dick come about yet for our scheduled meeting?”

“Dauntless is already in the outer room looking over some of the effects,” the soldier replied, “and awaits your earliest convenience.”

“Very good,” he replied. “You may carry on.”

Rumsdon smiled to himself. His good friend had taken so well to the nickname of Dauntless since he became Vizier to Grand Wizard Mordred. In the distant past he had taken so many barbs for his common name by political rivals. Now everyone, regardless of political affiliation gave due respect to Dauntless Dick as he facilitated His Excellency’s foreign and domestic policies. The power and prestige they had accumulated between the High Trio since their appointments was beyond belief. In ancient times, of all the guilds, the warlocks were looked upon narrowly. As civilization advanced and society changed, it turned out that none were so politically savvy as the warlocks and thus came their rise to power over the centuries.

Life in the Ivory City had certainly taken a turn for the better. The forest devils were only a minor threat at best, but the propaganda artists rendered their stories of terror and destruction in such a grand manner that not a child went to bed at night without a prayer that their little throats would not be cut by one of their sneaky little elven blades. This was so well done, the public and even the gullible Council of Wizards and the Assembly of the Wise passed unprecedented power and funding to His Excellency to keep them safe from the alien threat. Xenophobia made willing allies where enemies once contended over every protocol. The existence of a nonhuman threat was sheer fortuitousness.

“Did you get anything useful from this lot?” Dauntless asked, indicating the cadavers being removed from the room.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Rumsdon replied, “and we always have to be careful with what information we get this way as sometimes they will say anything just to save their miserable skins. One gave me an excellent piece of insight into the operation of certain artifacts that I’ll want to pass on to the examiners.”

“Did you try it out on anything?” his friend asked.

“Oh no,” he replied, “Not me. Chances are I would try it and the technique of holding a certain image in my mind while using the artifact would destroy the weapon and the wielder. No, I’ll just pass it on down to the examiners and let them test it on someone a bit more expendable, and then only on a minor artifact. We’re going to need that Rift Wand we lifted from the fairies if we expect to be successful with this campaign.”

“You’ve got a devious mind,” Dauntless said with a chuckle. “That’s why we work so well together.”

“So, are we still on for that private dinner with His Excellency this evening?” he asked.

“He’s dying to hear what you’ve gotten so far,” Dauntless said with a grin. “But remember this is all strictly on the hush as for security reasons it cannot be gotten out that all three of the nation’s top people will be meeting in the same place at the same time. The fairies may decide to take us all out in one fell swoop if they ever got wind of it.”

“I believe they would,” he said seriously, “if they knew. But I doubt they have the resources and the moxy to pull such a thing off. More importantly, the Council and the Assembly need to see that we’re taking this threat with the utmost gravity.”

“Speaking of which,” Dauntless interjected, “We got a new law passed forbidding the wearing of concealing glasses and headwear in public areas to better recognize any more fairy incursions into our world. It went through without a hitch and full public support.”

“You know,” Rumsdon said, laughing heavily, “If more of the devils had tails, I believe we could convince the public to willingly forego the wearing of pants to confirm their humanity.” The two men guffawed and slapped their thighs in tears.

We Interrupt This Dream For An Important Announcement...

In a moss covered cottage in a sunny glade at the edge of an ancient forest, Emma brewed a rich broth of heather and chamomile sweetened with a splash of honey mead to enjoy in the warm sunshine. At home it was nearing the winter solstice and much too dark to bear. The President had been shot to death last month in Dallas and the constant threat of nuclear annihilation by the Soviets or even our own saber rattling warmongers made the cold and dark of this oncoming winter just too much to endure. Her dreams gave her respite in a simpler place and time She warmed her soul where the earth's anxieties could not reach her. The cicadas sang their song of deep summer in the trees of the forest when the jingle of harness bells carried ever so faintly from the direction of the packed clay forest road. Emma was in a realm of her own making and brought her mug of brew with her to the roadway wondering at the intrusion.

A magnificently ornate coach drawn by six impossibly snowy white horses slowed to a regal halt in front of her rustic cottage. Emma smiled as the courtly footman bowed deeply to her and opened the coach door.

"Please send my deepest regrets to Prince Charming." she said with a delighted chuckle, "that I won't be able to attend his ball as I simply haven't a thing to wear and those dreadful glass slippers have been aggravating my bunions."

"The Prince sends his regrets that he won't be having a ball," came a familiar voice from within the coach, "and I would spare your bunions inviting you to dance barefoot around the Pool of the Moon at our High Council." Brazen colored eyes glowed from within the cowl of the crimson traveling cloak as the tall Master Sidhe, Shabriri, stepped out of the coach and bowed elegantly.

"I gather that this will be in