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

the fire was, he asked them if he yelled ‘GARBAGE!’, would they have come?”

“He’s great,” the other relief guard added, “too bad I’m on watch next Tyrsday night because I’m going to have to miss him.”

“That’s tough luck, buddy, we’ll be sure to tell you what happens when we come to relieve you,” one of the retreating guards promised over his shoulder.

John followed the tray bearer through the double doors. The antechamber held another set of double doors directly opposite of those he came through and a single door off to the right. The walls were paneled in what looked like walnut with pictures of past Grand Wizards in scenes in various portions of the Capitol and a few military insignia and coats-of-arms. Two of these appeared on either side of the double doors he wanted to go through. A small array of spears, swords and force lashes were available on a rack below these on each side. Ah, the predictability of the military mind, he thought.

“Sandwiches and coffee for you two,” the tray bearer announced as he set his load down on a small table near the single door. “You’re missing what is promising to be quite the world event on the scry tonight. I’ll be back for the trays with your relief in a couple hours. Try not to swallow those beans.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and headed back out the double doors which promptly closed behind him.

Little Fox stood fixed and silent, taking in the room and trying to estimate the remaining guards’ sizes and locations. The small door opened of its own accord, showing a small dressing room with a lavatory. He could hear the sound of someone urinating within. Nearby a sandwich rose from the plate and a bite appeared to be taken out of it and estimating the distance from the guard’s mouth to his throat, he quickly karate chopped with a rigid hand to the man’s larynx. A slight choking sound and the soft thud of a body hitting the marble floor was all he needed to tell him the move was successful. The sound of a toilet flushing, the sink run for a moment and then a towel rustling on its rack and a voice entered the room from the dressing room.

“I hate having to hear about all this second hand,” the voice complained.

Estimating the area of the guard’s throat, he made the same move again, only to come into contact with the man’s chin instead. Executing a quick drop and spin, he swept the guard’s feet out from under him sharply and heard the satisfying crack of a skull smacking the unyielding stone floor. Standing stock still, he listened to see if the noise, as subdued as it was, made any impact on the guards outside the double doors.

Since no one had made any attempt to contact anyone beyond the next set of doors, he assumed these were the last of the guards he might have to deal with and crossed the room for the double doors. They were locked. Of course, neither of the guards were carrying keys on them or he would have been able to spot them easier. Striding back to the dressing room, he checked their uniforms for keys. There were none to be found. The doors were well made, but only hardwood and nothing like steel vaulting or such. He could break them down with a single kick, but that would bring the outside guards in on him and they’d raise the alarm.

Examining the doors, he could see through the gap between them into the darkened room beyond and he could make out the bolt and latch system that were holding them fast. Being these hung in a wooden frame, he thought he might make use of the short swords in the racks to either side to pry the doors apart just enough to allow the bolt and latch to clear their receptacles and quietly swing the doors open. Just as he thought the swords might just bend or break, the doors opened. Entering the room, he found a light and noticed a knob he could turn to lock or unlock the doors from the inside. He shut and locked them behind him as he scouted the room.

In the center of the large room, the marble floor was carved out in a deep groove filled with salt that made up a twelve foot circle with a pentagram in its midst and the letters, YHVH. Remembering his conversations with Emma and Johnny, this was what they called the Seal of Solomon and those letters represented the Name of God. Yod He Vau He, or the combination of letters we use to get the name, Jehovah. Interesting that the Creator of his own universe was also the Big Cheese of this one. This certainly picked up his respect for the breadth and width of the Creator’s works quite a few notches. If it wasn’t a stretch of the brain pan to try and imagine before, it was downright astounding to consider now. Evidently, this particular alternate reality had a Solomon or his equivalent in its history too, but considering that in both worlds he knew of, had an Uncle Milty, this wasn’t too much of a stretch on his imagination.

Tearing himself away from his contemplation, he scanned the myriad of shelves and benches arrayed along the walls. Many contained books old and new, while others were covered with glass doors and held relics and artifacts to be studied. Among many of the cases were collections of bows and arrows of obvious Sidhe design and odd knives, swords, wands and staves of various designs. In one case was what appeared to be a bone handled hunting knife with a fine bead worked scabbard and belt with a card in front of it. The card read: “Stone Cutter”. Prying open the case with one of the short swords, he took the precious blade within for his own. This was a knife an Indian might covet. Where these wizards may have gotten it or how, he dreaded to consider but he would give this tool the respect it deserved as only one of his own people could. Holding his treasure in both hands reverently to the sky, he thanked all the spirits and the Creator of all for the spoil of his coup in hushed tones. Draping the ornate belt over his shoulder like a baldric, he realized that the acquisition was a visible clue as to his whereabouts, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Searching around all the cases, the one labeled Rift Wand was empty and his heart sank. A quick search around the room revealed it to be sitting in a cradle on a work bench, along side what appeared to be a wooden baseball bat with the words: “Louisville Slugger” in the familiar burnt wood trademark on one side. There was no baseball played here, and certainly no Louisville either. The bat had to come from his homeworld and that meant it was only a matter of time before far worse things showed up on these shelves. He had to find a way to quietly destroy the Rift Wand so that it could never be used to open the gate back to his world again.

The wand itself appeared to be more of a scepter than a simple stick. It was about thirty inches long, tapered at the bottom and wider at the top where the wood seemed to be carved into a taloned hand that held an opalescent blue-green stone orb about two inches in diameter. How someone managed to get that stone orb into the grasp of that talon without breaking the wood was a mystery to him. Hefting the artifact, he was surprised to find the wood had been petrified over the ages and become like stone. Smashing this on a bench or whatever was going to make a lot of noise. He might consider selling his own life dearly to destroy it, but there was Johnny and Emma yet to consider. The beadwork belt itched across his bare shoulders when he remembered the name, Stone Cutter and decided to try an experiment.

Drawing the blade from its sheath, he gave a trial cut on the tapered end of the wand. It was like cutting through wax, the blade cut through the haft of the wand and he could count the rings in the petrified wood. He continued slicing up the haft like he was slicing carrots and one by one cut the talons from around the orb. Setting the stone by itself on the bench, he attempted to cut it in half when it vanished out of his hand in a cool flash of blue-white light, leaving his eyes momentarily dazzled.

“Well, it doesn’t look as though there’s enough of this left to get them into any more trouble,” he muttered.

Now, was the matter of leaving the premises without being seen. Eventually, they would find out about the break in and the damage done, but that was better put off until he was well out of the area. With Dodger standing his watch at the Solstice ceremony, no one would ever be able to tie him to the crime. Getting out with a very visible knife and belt slung over his shoulder would not stand the scrutiny he might take trying to get out through the halls and past the guards. There were windows and about a twenty foot drop to the lawn below, but none of these had any latches or devises to open them with.

Looking them over, it occurred to him that glass was only fused, molten sand of a sort. Kind of an igneous rock as it were. Drawing Stone Cutter once again, he worked the blade back and forth on the window to make himself a place to hold onto the glass. It cut through the glass easily enough. Holding the top of his piece, he then cut out a panel big enough to crawl through and quietly set the slab on the floor and wriggled through to the ledge.

The twenty feet looked like a considerable drop but the carved facade of the building allowed him hand and toe holds to climb down a little closer to the ground before leaping so as not to cripple himself in the escape. Across the boulevard and to the right a little was the alcove in a group of buildings where he had stashed his cloak and clothes he had traveled across town in. What few people out in the street were limo drivers and such parked in a long arc around the Capitol lawns and all their eyes were focused on the other end of the building where all