The blocky digital letters of my magical horologium watch tell me it’s 3:13 AM Hell time. I’m wide awake. Sure, I’m hot as Hell. Sweat’s running off me like a waterfall. Legs sore from all the goddamn walking, running, flying. Landing. Yeah, landings are the worst. Eyes burning with all the sulfur crud in the air. Lungs feel like I’ve smoked about a thousand packs of cigarrettes. Tongue tastes like fucking rotten eggs. Yep, they’ve managed to devil my damn tongue like an egg. I’ve been here all of fucking 35 hours.

I look over toward our motley company. The ninja-devil-turtle godzilla-things called Urdrakes stare back at me with their glossy, unblinking lizard eyes. It’s weird and cute at the same time. Not cuddly-cute. But lizard, turtle, godzilla cute. Hey, I’m into godzilla, OK? Deal. Beside the Urdrakes are a floppy-hoppy arrangement of Mottles. A bunch of them are now hanging on the wall. Great. An army of tapestry bats. Original Mottle is in a pile-up of them. They’re doing the touch-telepathy thing. Feathered Plumacats prowl around the cave. One brushes by, its feathers soft and prickly on my neck. Zaya, the green-skinned Vila, is in a ball beside me. Her soft breathing would normally lull me. I’m too jumped up for that. Probably adrenaline. Plus the fear. Definitely the fear. I turn to Zel and Theri.

“We should move again.” My eyes land on Zel.

He shrugs. “Worried?” he asks.

Damn straight I’m worried. We just hit one of Overseer Tower’s giant scorpions. Hard. The magic and destruction we unleashed — visible for miles around. Lit up the goddamn Hell-sky. Then we freed a boatload of their captive wisps. If there’s one thing devils take goddamn serious, it’s the souls they’ve trapped and subjugated. I try to compose myself. “Look. If they don’t know what’s happened by now, that we hit one of their scorpions, they’re fools. I’m guessing whoever’s in charge up there in Overseer didn’t get there by being a fool. So we need to keep moving.”

Theri puts her rough, clawed hand over mine. It’s weird and comforting at the same time. “You got us this far. What do you have in mind?”

Yeah. I got everyone into some deep shit alright. I take a breath, then jostle Zaya. She slowly rises, rubbing her eyes. “You’re going to want to be awake for this,” I say to her. I motion to Mottle, Zorfang, and Featherstar. “Over here, we’ve got to talk.”

Mottle shuffles out of his pile. Zorfang is already standing nearby. He leans closer. Lux from omnis scientia shines through the crystals ridging his back, casting little rainbows. My magical sensor’s hovering over my left shoulder. The amount of magic it takes barely means a thing to me now. The wisps sheltering in my name curse and shadow are pumping out a torrent of energy for my curses. Featherstar leaps up onto a boulder, then looks down at us imperiously. Definitely a cat. “Right. So we need to get moving. And since Overseer’s our objective, there’s no reason we shouldn’t head that way. They won’t expect a force as large as ours. Hopefully. We can use that to our advantage. Especially if we take a good position.”

I turn to Zaya, Zel, and Theri. “So what do you know about the land here? Any strategic points where we might gain an advantage?”

Zel and Theri exchange a glance. “There’s Sunken Crag,” Zel replies.

Theri nods. “It’s a deep canyon running between these hills and Knife Lake. Filled with nasty Scrabbers and Stelo-Mal. The wisp slavers in Overseer avoid its depths. One large bridge crosses it. The bridge has four watch towers. Each with a guard of about ten.”

“Scrabbers?” I ask. I know about Stelo Mal. That was Bob. Remember Bob? Yeah. That guy. He’s still with me here in my shadow. Chillin with all the other one hundred and two villains.

“Scrabbers are giant spider-crab devils. The Form Makers often turn wisps into them in this area,” Zel replies. “Deadly. Vicious. Mean.”

I think I might’ve glimpsed a Scrabber earlier tonight. What I saw looked damn nasty. I liked what I was hearing. “OK. We’ve got a shorta plan. Better than no plan at all. We head for Sunken Crag. As we do, we send scouts to figure out if Overseer’s sent a force to hunt us down. My bet is it has. We need to know where it is.” I turn to Featherstar. “You seem friendly with the Mottle Zephyr. Can you find about six others who’re willing to team up with a Mottle?”

Featherstar licks her hand. Long tongue lolls out. She then uses the back of her hand to clean behind an ear. Looking down at me, she finally replies — “Yes. I know six who’ll take a Mottle. What do you have in mind, faeyowther?”

“You’re already quick. I’ve seen you bounding across the cavern. Teamed with a Mottle, you can fly for short distances. Plus the Mottles will help you hide. I want you to scout out toward Sunken Crag and Overseer Tower. If there’s a force coming at us, I want you to find them, then report back. Don’t get into any fights unless you must. This is a scouting mission, clue?”

“Yes,” Featherstar purrs. “A stalking mission.”

That’s not what I said. But it’ll do. I’ve got omnis scientia which should help me get a wide view of the surrounding land. But that’s like having just one lookout on a high point. We needed to make sure we saw any devil force first. Then we could get ourselves into a better position. Plus, the bastards are bound to have their own scouts. We’d have to avoid those. Which brought me to my next aim.

I turn back to Theri and Zel. “So can you tell me what kind of eyes and ears these devils have? We need to deal with those.”

“All sorts,” Theri replies. “Psychic red devils with wide-ranging senses, forces riding rapid, one wheeled machines called Vortexes, horned flying snakes with an ability to teleport short distances called Uktena. Also, a Hell Lord can sense a mage wisp like a shark can sense a drop of blood in the water.”

Great. That made things tricky. It also provided opportunities. I turn to Mottle. “I’ll need all the remaining Mottles but you to spread out in pairs of two around our force. I want ’em to hunt down any of those flying snakes that come close. Small groups of four or less Vortex riders too. If more than four show up, send a flier back to me. Break up into groups of three. Don’t attack unless you have surprise and double the enemy’s numbers.”

Mottle slaps his tail on my arm. I can feel him quivering in excitement and fear. Yes, he sends to me. This is really happening. “Alright, everyone. Get ready. I want to be out of here in ten minutes.”

***********

Overseer Lavross rides into the Hell night, a toothy grin on his face, his dark worb bulging with tortured wisp energy. A rifle and a Night Axe are slung across his broad back. The Vortex beneath him eats up ground. The fast, lethal vehicle sends a thrill through him as its single, spiked wheel digs up furrows — a stinking cloud of exhaust and a hail of dirt clods trailing along behind.

Seven Lances of Vortex riders form around his four scorpions and command center. In each Lance are ten red devils. True fiends driven by lust for profit willing to do the hard, necessary work. The motley cavalcade is in high spirits. They clatter weapons against the flanks of their Vortexes, shout profanities, gun their engines ’til the entrapped wisps howl in torment. Lavross’s grin widens at their enthusiasm. It’d been long ages since he last hunted a mage. Many of these devils had never seen a mage hunt. Now they’re part of the myth. Lavross lets them have their frolic.

An eighth Lance, led by his lieutenant, the Overseer and former Hunter Amagash, runs out ahead. Amagash is already beyond sight. But Lavross is certain the scouts share in his Century’s enthusiasm. Amagash’ll scout the lands around the destroyed scorpion, then return with his report. If all goes well, Lavross will run down the attackers tonight.

Lavross scratches his horn in impatience, glancing at the slow-moving scorpions. His toothy grin fades back into a cavernous mouth. These lumbering machine-beasts tower above his Century. He doubts he’ll need their massive claws, bristling gun platforms, and devastation tails — capable of harvesting wisps and turning their raw energy into terrible force. They’re slowing him down. Yet Lavross is loath to part with the security their presence provides.

If it’s only a mage with a handful of rebels or undesirables, then Amagash will make quick work. The young devil will then try to claim most of the reward. Amagash had already tried overshadowing him once or twice. If that happens, Lavross’ll have to devise a way to take credit. Such subtle social maneuvers aren’t his forte. Lavross finds himself wishing he’d personally taken command of the scout force. But the suspected mage and his rabble demonstrated surprising lethality in taking down a scorpion. The machines, though large and slow, pack a serious punch. Either the mage is lucky or he knows what he’s doing. Luck or experience — Lavross doesn’t know which is worse. His hand drifts down to his chin, giving a speculative scratch. His mouth returns to its toothy grin. Hah! He’s more than happy to allow his lieutenant to take the risks! An unknown force with a dangerous leader! “Good luck, Amagash,” Lavross grumbles to himself. His voice sounds more genuine than he intends.

Up ahead is Sunken Crag. The dark canyon gapes beneath a green-tinted night sky. Shadows lay deep, covering much of the Crag’s interior. Down there Scrabbers and Stelo Mal engage in endless struggles for dominance. Preying one upon the other. The Crag’s depths — a deadly gladiatorial pit where winners eat the losers and grow strong. Filled with super-predators, few who venture into Sunken Crag return alive. Lavross, lifts his eyes to the great bridge crossing a narrow portion of the Crag. It spans five hundred feet. Buttressed with heavy stone and dark steel forged in the pits of Mechanum, this structure provides the best, easiest passage across Sunken Crag. Its battlements and four towers form a strong point. One needed to deter the Crag’s predators while defending Overseer’s main approach.

Occasionally, some of the more rational Stelo Mal or Scrabbers will emerge to trade with the devils of Overseer. For the most part, they come out only to raid, devour and loot — as is the way of things in Hell.

Lavross’s thoughts break as his Vortex roars across the bridge apex. Spreading out to his left is the stinking, poisonous expanse of Knife Lake, to his right, the dead-falls and defiles of the Razor Hills. Lavross salutes the Crag Bridge guard. Their captain does him the honor of arraying his four Lances atop the towers, then tossing sulfur into the flames to light the fires green. Lavross grins at the gesture. One his reputation commands.

Its scorpions lumbering, its Vortexes roaring, Lavross’s force flows out onto the wisp fields beyond Sunken Crag. Up ahead, he can see some smoke plumes from Amagash’s scout force through the darkness and bobbing wisp-lights. The mists from earlier are long-since dispersed. His sensitive devil eyes drink up the night, providing clear sight and detail.

Across those wisp fields, already miles ahead, Amagash’s Lance howls through the night. The rangy Amagash wears a black-dyed Mottle trench coat. A recent prize he had specially tailored to house rows of jet metal spikes on the arms near his elbows and shoulders. Metal plates within the coat clatter in the wind as his Vortex tears up ground. At his shoulder, Corviss the Utenka flies. The red serpent threads through the air like living flame.

“We come near to the place,” the Utenka hisses.

Amagash grunts his reply. They top a rise, then descend into a depression. The scorpion is plainly visible below. A burned-out hulk in a ring of black ash hinting at a severe explosion. The Lance pulls up to the scorpion. Amagash calls a halt. Ten devils grow quiet as they take in the destruction. A couple crack brash jokes, tossing a small skull back and forth as they banter. Amagash dismounts, motions to Qlul, his second, to accompany him, then does a quick circuit of the wreck. As he reads the signs, Amagash begins to grin.

“Just a small group,” he says to Qlul and Corviss. “Only four sets of tracks. Two of them are fliers, though.” He points up toward the hills. “They looted the wreck, then headed off toward the land rise in that direction.”

Qlul nods. “I see the same. Though they hit that scorpion hard.”

Amagash scoffs. “Moved well and were good hunters, I’ll give ’em that. But they were lucky to take down the scorp’. No need to report back. We can take them ourselves.” He motions to Qlul. “Stay here with Jorlix. Investigate the wreckage. Let Lavross know we’ve headed into the hills.” He motions toward the highland.

“Is it wise?” Corviss hisses. “We are already few.”

Amagash spins on the snake, watches it thread itself into uncomfortable knots, then gives a confident grin. “It’s just a rag-tag little band. Nothing we can’t handle. Plus, I’ve got you for eyes and ears, right?” He turns and looks out into the hills. “They’ve probably gone to ground in some crack or crevice. Should be easy enough to smoke out.”

Corviss continues to spin nervously. Amagash takes joy in the little snake’s discomfort, then revs his Vortex engine. “Immolators! Onward!” he shouts the name of his Lance, they form up on him, then with a roar they head up the land rise and into the hills.

**********

I can hear the machine noise the moment we exit the cave. I look around. It’s not a great position. We’re in a canyon with only one visible escape. The Urdrakes, Plumacats, and Mottles all stare at me. A Plumacat blinks. I know the staring’s an affirmation of my leadership. No pressure! I’m seriously freaking out. We’ve all been thrown into this weird, must-survive relationship. It involves a lot of flash decision-making. I’m sure they’re all not-so-happy putting their frigging fates in the hands of some 17-year-old kid.

Sound’s approaching fast from up the canyon. I don’t have time to send any scout other than omnis scientia. Whatever’s coming will be on us in about a minute.

“OK. We gotta act fast! But not without info! Give me a second to look!” I listen to the rising sound of approaching engines, then loft omnis scientia toward it. Dark, smoking lands expand below as the sensor rises, then shoots up the canyon. It scans left. Then I see them. Eight red devils riding fat, single-wheeled vehicles sprouting pipes, belching long tails of smoke, and tearing the ground with wicked spikes. Their leader is a tall, thin devil wearing a cloak crafted out of Mottle skin. This pisses me off. I like Mottle skin on a living Mottle. Not for some devil’s sicko trophy. All devils are heavily armed — bristling with rifles, pistols, and various melee weapons. Omnis scientia ripples with magical detection. Ahead and above the devils, a red thread flies. Must be an Uktena — one of the devil snakes Theri and Zel warned about.

“There are eight devils on weird bikes and an Uktena!” I shout as I shift focus away from omnis scientia. “Ambush! We’ll ambush them! Mottles, up on the canyon wall! Plumacats and Urdrakes, hide among the boulders! Now!”

I spin on Zaya. She’s just started to emerge into the canyon. “Back in the cave! You’re too important to risk!”

She gives me a huffy look, then fades back. She’s the only one able to give wisps form. I’m the only one who can help her. But I’ve gotta lead this fracking fight. I don’t have time to argue. I’m glad she listens. I spin toward Mottle, Theri, and Zel. “You guys, follow me! Mottle, I need you!”

I storm off toward the canyon center. Mottle lands on my shoulders. His contact momentarily causes my senses to blur. He bites me. Doing the weird reverse vampire thing, he injects food and vitality into my neck veins. I immediately feel better as coolness and a rush of energy spreads through me. His form supports my body. My steps elongate into bounds. Theri and Zel run up beside me. All around, Plumacats are crouching, Mottles are hanging onto the canyon wall, blending in with the rocks. Urdrakes are pulling legs, arms, heads and tails into their shells, plunking down among the boulders. Once withdrawn into their shells, they look like a bunch of spikey rocks. This might just work.

I lead Theri and Zel past our new force of rebels in Hell. Reaching the canyon center, I turn and begin to gather my curse energy. “Those devils coming are heavily armed!” I shout to all in the canyon. “They’ve got that advantage! If they investigated the scorpion, they probably only expect us!” I point at myself, Theri, Zel and Mottle. “We’ll be bait!”

Zel and Theri give me a look that basically says what the fuck??? I Ignore them and continue. “Let’s make a show! Give ’em what they expect to see! Then, when they get in among the Urdrakes, Mottles, and Plumacats, we all pounce! Got it!?!?”

There are growls, yowls, and shuffles of affirmation.

“Good!” I turn to Theri and Zel. “No fireball rounds except for the Uktena. You can blast that flying snake to Hell if you want.” I point into the air. “Our friends on the ground are too close together.” I wave them toward my back as I face up the canyon. “Now! Get behind me! Be ready!”

The sound of diabolical engines growls loud in my ears. I don’t need omnis scientia to see the fire snake now. I lift my hand. Tap my energetic vessel. It is full — just two hours after emptying to help Zaya shape the Urdrakes, Plumacats, and Mottles. Sparks fall from my name curse, lighting up the whirls of my magical tattoo, casting deeps shadows around us. Lunen! Svert! Umbra! I shout. The sound echoes through the canyon as my moonshadow blade forms in my hand. I’m kicking extra energy into it. I’ve got loads to spare. The effect is one of blacker-than-black shadow, piercing silver moonlight spilling around me, and a loud sound like tearing as the blade’s magical substance hungrily devours Hell’s caustic air. I lift this sliver of destruction up and behind me. Then, I hold my left hand up in front, readying a spell for the devils’ attack.

Both Theri and Zel are grinning despite themselves. They have their rifles out, loaded, barrels poised. I admit, I feel pretty damn badass. We’re all gathered. Ready.

The devils on their weird spiked wheel unicycles turn ’round a bend in the canyon. Spray of pollution and crud kicked up from the ground trails behind their fat, mean-looking vehicles. At last visible to my naked sight, their leader points his gun at me. His devil’s eyes alight with hunger. He’s perceived my magic. His deep-red skin — a sign of devil nobility. Not a Hell Lord. But the kind sensitive to Curse Magic.

Not like he fucking needs it. I’m making quite a show with sparks spewing out of my name curse flying everywhere, moonlight glow surrounding me, and blade of frigging black moonshadow held aloft in my hand. The devils’ eyes all lock on me as they rush forward.

“The mage is mine to capture! Slay the rest!” The leader shouts in Minosian to his companions. They fan out, gunning their engines, aiming their vehicles like lethal missiles toward me, Theri, Mottle and Zel. The leader and two devils — one on each far end of the formation — lift their guns.

Clypeus! I shout, bleeding another large plug of energy from my swelling vessel into the protection curse. Sparks fly from me — converging to form a spectral shield of white like the unfolded petals of a flower in front of me.

Three guns report. Hell-bullets shoot out. Their trace lines speed toward Theri and Zel. They explode against my shield, then ricochet off in streaks of molten metal. Mottle quivers in rage. He’s finally noticed the leader’s coat. I lift my moonshadow blade. The devils approach the ambush point. More bullets impact against my shield. The devils’ leader is taken in by battle rage. “Little mage! Your wisp is forfeit! My mistress…!” He never finishes.

“Now!” I shout to my companions, then fling my curse-sword. It flips end over end, cutting the air like a roaring scythe. It tilts, spins to the side, then shears directly through the devil’s leg and his weird unicycle in one go. Damaged and deformed, the machine tumbles, rider flying headlong through the air to land with a crunch twenty feet from me. One of his horns breaks off from the impact. His body lurches and quivers.

Zel and Theri emerge from behind me. Zel raises his rifle. Theri follows. Both shoot fireball rounds into the sky. The red streaks rise to meet the flying serpent. It seems to waver, then is engulfed. The ball burns like a brilliant sun, illuminating the battle below. Urdrakes spring up from the shadows like so many monsters. Their heavy hands, snouts, tails lash out. They come away with arms, chunks of metal, spines. Those further off from the fray angle their shells toward the riders. Light ripples up their spines. Collecting in the crystals near the Urdrakes’ heads, it shoots out like frigging laser beams. Three converge on one rider. The devil is lopped into three pieces as his cycle careens off, hits a boulder and explodes. Plumacats pounce. Some fly on the wings of mottles. Two more devils are ripped from their seats by slashing claws and fangs.

I reform the moonshadow blade in my hand. By the time its shadow and light touches me, the Mottles are swooping down. There are only two bikers left. They’re engulfed. Their bones crunch as the Mottles use their muscular forms to crush them. Ouch. Before I can move, Mottle is flying off my back. He covers the distance between us and the prone leader in one leap. The guy is seriously fucked up. Blood gushes out of his leg stump as he struggles to grasp one of his many weapons. No luck for him. Mottle takes him in one swoop, rolls up his body like some wicked bat candy wrapper, gives him a nasty squeeze, then pushes out pulpy and shattered remains.

It all happened in maybe 30 seconds. Holy shit! We won! The words form in my mind first, then I shout them out in exhaltation. “We won! We fucking won!” My cry is infectious. Plumacats yowl, Urdrakes roar, Mottles flap. Theri and Zel join in the cheer. Zaya bursts out at last to sing her own celebration.

Yeah, we just won another freaking battle. Holy shit, do I feel lucky! But this lethal dance with the devils of Overseer Tower has only just begun.

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

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