For King and Country Read online

  FOR KING AND COUNTRY

  By Wesley Allison

  Smashwords Edition

  For King and Country

  Copyright © 2020 by Wesley Allison

  Revision 3-22-20

  All Rights Reserved. This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Wesley Allison

  Cover Image Copyright © Rodjulian - Dreamstime.com

  ISBN: 9780463458082

  Dedication

  For Vicki, Becky, and John

  Patron

  Darryl Schnell

  To find out about how to be a Patron and support this author’s writing, visit:

  www.patreon.com/wesleyallison

  The Sorceress and the Dragon

  For King and Country

  By Wesley Allison

  For King and Country

  By Wesley Allison

  Chapter One: The Sorceress, Senta Bly

  It was still technically summer in Birmisia. Fall wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks, but apparently nobody had alerted the weather. Thick dark clouds hung over the city of Port Dechantagne. Though they couldn’t seem to make up their minds whether they wanted to drop rain or snow, they certainly pushed down the mercury in the thermometers. People who had started out their day in sweaters or shawls found themselves shivering as they hurried about their business. It grew dark enough that by 4:00 PM, the city sent the lamplighters out early on their rounds.

  At the city’s bustling shipyard, it was business as usual. The dockworkers fell into two groups. The first were the human workers, rough and hard men for the most part, used to working under harsh conditions. Few of them were idle enough to notice the cold. The other group consisted of the lizzies, the aboriginal inhabitants of Birmisia Colony and the rest of the vast continent of Mallon. Looking like a cross between an upright alligator and an iguana, with skin ranging in color from a mottled olive to a deep forest green, the lizzies stood from six to seven feet tall and each weighed as much as two large men. They moved more slowly as the air grew colder, causing their human foremen to shout at them.

  On this particular day, both groups of workers were hustling faster than usual. Three ships were lined up along the docks, and two more waited in Crescent Bay for access. One of those at the dock, a rusting hulk called The Mona, had been scheduled to depart that morning, but the outgoing cargo was still being loaded, a task that had been slowed by the untimely mechanical failure of one of the port’s two cranes.

  Across from all the activity, sitting on a wooden bench, was the sorceress Senta Bly. In a society where women’s fashion had only just decided that a dress without a bustle might be acceptable, and where a bare ankle still could cause a stir, Miss Bly’s attire went beyond the bounds of decency. She was clad in a black leather bustier, with nothing over it, and a black pleated skirt short enough that it left fourteen inches of exposed thigh between it and the tops of her leather knee-high boots. Her only other article of clothing was a black top hat perched upon her blond hair. Yet, no one chided her for her immodesty. No one spoke to her at all. Every person that passed by struggled not to even look at her, though the sheer amount of skin on display occasionally proved too much for a young dockworker. Even he wouldn’t let his eyes linger long enough to make out all the details of the sigils, magical tattoos, that covered most of that skin—stars on her chest, dragon designs on her shoulder blades and around both thighs. She yawned and then took a bite of the sausage on a stick she had purchased from the food cart a few minutes earlier. Despite her lack of warm clothing, she was immune to the change in temperature.

  She blinked when someone sat down next to her. It was a man clothed as a dock foreman. Muscular and handsome, his thick black hair was shaved close around his ears. He was a few inches shorter than her six-foot height, though it was impossible to tell with both sitting, and they were nearly the same age, though Senta had just celebrated her thirty-fourth birthday and she knew that he hadn’t yet had his.

  “Hello, Hertzel,” she said.

  He smiled and nodded. Then, producing his own sausage on a stick, he took a bite. Senta took another bite of hers.

  Hertzel Hertling was one of the sorceress’s oldest friends. They had met when they were both nine years of age, and along with Hertzel’s sister Hero, and their friend Graham, they had spent countless hours playing and exploring their world. Now Hertzel was a married man with children of his own. And in the entire time that Senta had known him, Hertzel had never uttered a single word. This seemed to be a result of seeing his parents murdered in front of him, as he had been a completely normal little boy prior to that, but nobody knew for sure, and he didn’t offer an explanation.

  Taking another bite of his sausage, he looked her over and then raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” she demanded.

  He nodded his head toward her.

  “I never thought you were a prude.” She stuck the last bit of her sausage in her mouth and held it as she pulled the stick out. She then held up the stick between two fingers while she chewed and watched it burst into flame and then disappear.

  He glanced down at her thighs.

  “You can’t see my unders,” she told him. “I’m not wearing any.”

  Hertzel shook his head in exasperation.

  “How’s your wife?”

  He nodded again.

  “Did you ever wonder why we never got together, you and me?” she asked. “I mean, you’re a pretty handsome guy and I’m just flat out dishy.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, I guess we’d ruin our friendship. I did that already with you-know-who. It’s just that I haven’t had a good shagging in months.”

  Hertzel’s face turned bright red, as he stood up and headed across the dockyard.

  “Sorry!” Senta called after him.

  She sighed and then spotted another dockworker, this one pushing a stack of boxes with a dolly. He glanced at her for a split second, and then hurried onward.

  “Oi! You! Get over here!” she called. He tried to hurry away. “I know you can hear me! Get over here before you end up as a toad!”

  The man set the boxes down by letting go of the dolly. With his head hanging low, he walked toward the sorceress only slightly slower than most men would walk toward the gallows. He did his best not to look at her by staring at her boots.

  “You work here, don’t you?”

  He nodded, but then added. “Yes, ma’am… uh, miss.”

  “When are they going to get that small ship in? I’ve been waiting all day.”

  If the dockworker knew this was a vast exaggeration, he didn’t let on. He looked out toward the bay.

  “The Mona will probably be pulling out within the hour, but Brech’s Haven will be brought in next. The Comet probably won’t get to dock until tomorrow.”

  “The Comet is the smaller one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kafira’s knockers!” growled Senta, jumping to her feet.

  The dockworker flinched but recovered. “Waiting for a friend? You could just take a launch over.”

  Senta smiled and stepped over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

  “In fact, there’s a magic-user on that ship. I just want to make sure he’s not going to cause me any trouble.” She could feel him tremble and her smile grew wider. “How old are you?”

  “Um, uh twenty… next Restuary.”

  “You make a good point,” she said. “I could just zap over there and dispose of him. But he could have protected himself with all manner of magi
cal traps and wards.”

  “Um…”

  “You’re right,” she continued. “I am the most powerful sorceress in the world, and although I sense a fair amount of magic over there, I have very little to fear. So, it’s decided.”

  She raised her hand and suddenly she was gone, not with a flash or a bang, but with the smallest of pops. The dockworker turned and ran down the street, away from the dockyard and the dolly stacked with boxes.

  With an equally small pop, Senta appeared aboard the S.S. Comet, in a very nice and, no doubt, very expensive stateroom. In the center of the room, at the foot of the bed, was a half-dressed man. He had a bald head and a carefully groomed goatee. He turned toward the woman and partially raised his arm before he found himself thrown across the bulkhead by a giant translucent spectral hand. Before he could speak, the giant hand raised its index finger and pressed it down on his mouth, silencing him.

  “Well, you’re not a government wizard,” said Senta, stepping toward the immobilized man. “You’re not a wizard at all.”

  Wide-eyed, he looked her up and down.

  At that moment, the cabin door burst open. Senta didn’t turn around, but she could sense another man enter, and the activation of one of her contingency spells told her that he had a gun.

  “Don’t move,” he growled.

  “You should put that away,” she said. “You might accidentally shoot your friend, because I assure you that the bullets will do nothing to me.”

  “Maybe they will,” said the voice behind her. “They’re enchanted.”

  “Ooh, you sound like a big strong man,” she said as she slowly turned around, “and indeed, you look like one too.”

  She made the tiniest gesture with her index finger and suddenly the pistol in his hands turned red hot. He dropped it to the floor.

  “The gun just ruins the whole image for me, I’m afraid,” she said, with a shrug.

  “Let Willie go.”

  Though the man now facing her had a full head of hair and a thick mustache, he bore a family resemblance to the man still pinned to the wall behind her.

  “Willie is your brother?”

  He nodded.

  “And what is your name, big boy?”

  “Karl. Karl Watson.”

  “All right, Karl Watson. Willie and I are going to have a little chat. You just sit down in the corner and behave yourself. If I like what he says, you may go along your merry way.” She turned back to the brother. “I’m going to release you, but if you even start to utter our favorite four syllables, you and your brother will join a long list of people who’ve disappeared in the mysterious land of Birmisia. Understand?”

  Willie Watson blinked. Senta released the spell and the spectral hand disappeared completely, but the man didn’t move.

  “So, a sorcerer?”

  “Yes,” he said, carefully.

  “I’ve never actually met one, though I of course knew they existed. You’re quite powerful, more than a match for any of the wizards in the colony, I think.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “So, why are you here?”

  “My brother wanted to see Mallon. He’s an archaeologist and has studied all the ancient civilizations. He wants to get a look at the lizzies. I came along to make sure he’s okay.”

  “There’s something else,” she said. “Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

  “I work for his Royal Highness, the Duke of Argower. I’m an advance scout for his visit.”

  “So, you’re a member of Clitus’s little club. Well, so far you lot have managed not to brass me off. See that it stays that way.”

  Willie Watson nodded.

  Senta looked over her shoulder at the brother.

  “You’re quite handsome, and your brother’s not too hideous. I’m going to send you both an invitation to dine with me.”

  “You have a lot of nerve, lady,” hissed Karl Watson.

  “Yes.” She smiled and suddenly she was gone.

  “Are you all right?” Karl asked his brother.

  “Kafira,” said his brother in a hushed voice. “She didn’t speak a single syllable.”

  “What do you mean? She hardly shut up.”

  “She didn’t speak. All that magic without uttering a single incantation.”

  Karl shrugged and retrieved his pistol, but Willie sat on the bed and stared off into space.

  * * * * *

  Teatime the next afternoon, found Senta at Café Idella, the poshest dining establishment in Port Dechantagne. It was a large restaurant with large windows all around that looked out onto carefully cultivated gardens. The sorceress today wore a modest day dress of pink and white. She generally tended not to care what other people thought about either her looks or her actions, however this did not extend to Aalwijn Finkler. Besides the fact that he and his wife were old friends, Aalwijn owned all the best dining establishments in the colony, including this one. It simply wouldn’t do to have no decent place to dine out.

  “Good day, Senta,” said Aalwijn, standing at the entrance in a crisp grey suit. “Dining alone?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Right this way, please.” He guided her along the edge of the dining room to a spot in the corner.

  “Are you trying to hide me?” she asked slyly.

  “Do you really think that any of my customers failed to see you?”

  Senta glanced around. Sure enough, everyone was staring in her direction, though most quickly turned away from her gaze.

  “I’ll send the waiter over,” he said, before turning on a heel and returning to his post.

  Senta looked from table to table, all around the room, but didn’t see anyone she knew. With a sigh, she propped her chin up with her hand.

  A body just to her left signaled the arrival of the waiter, or so she thought, but when she turned, Senta looked up into the face of a teenage girl with thick wavy black hair.

  “Senta?”

  “Hello, Auntie Senta.” The girl bent down and kissed the sorceress on the cheek.

  “What are you doing?” wondered the sorceress, looking around once again. “Are your parents here?”

  Senta Markham was the daughter of Senta’s oldest friend Hero, who was Hertzel’s sister, and the girl was one of many children named after the sorceress, back when Senta was a little less feared, and perhaps a little more respected.

  “No. I’m working here now.”

  “Your father allows that?”

  “I’m sixteen years old. He says it’s high time I earned my own money.”

  “You don’t need to earn money. I can give you as much as you want. All you have to do is ask.”

  “My dad says you’ve already done way too much, paying for me to go to university,” said the girl. “Besides, I like working here.”

  “What is it you do?” wondered Senta.

  “Well, normally I stock supplies and do some food preparation. But um, right now, I’m to take your order.”

  “My order? Why?”

  “Cause Jock and Emile are both afraid to come out and take it.”

  “Really,” grumbled the sorceress. “One would think I was some kind of mass murderer.”

  The girl giggled.

  “I’ve seen all your snuff boxes, Auntie.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know they’re all full of the ashes of men you killed.”

  “That’s not true. A few of them were women. In any case they were all very horrible people and none of them, so far as I know, were waiters. I’ll just have whatever Aalwijn has arranged for today’s tea.”

  “Right away, Auntie Senta,” said the girl, once again kissing the elder Senta’s cheek and then hurrying to the back room.

  The sorceress sighed and waited for what seemed like an interminably long time before her namesake returned carrying a tea tray. Behind her was a young man carrying an even larger tray filled with food. Once it was laid out before her, Senta could see a delicious panoply of goodies. There were tiny cheese
sandwiches, tiny turnip pasties, bamboo spears stuck through little squares of roasted pork, squash, and mushrooms, and of course there were chips.

  “I brought you tea,” said the girl. “Did you want wine?”

  “No, my daughter thinks I drink too much.”

  “Hmm.” The girl nodded. This probably wasn’t news to her, as she was very good friends with Senta’s daughter, who incidentally, was also named Senta.

  The sorceress looked at the man behind the girl.

  “Is this Jock or Emile? It doesn’t look good for a man to hide behind a little girl, you know.”

  “This is Bernie,” said the younger Senta. “He’s a dishwasher, usually.”

  “Oh, well, then I commend your bravery.”

  The man smiled weakly, and then hurried away. The teen girl kissed her again on the cheek and then left her alone to eat. The sorceress was just bringing the first pasty to her lips when she heard familiar voices.

  “I’m so famished I could eat everything in this restaurant!”

  “Then I shall buy you two of everything, my love!”

  A young couple was being shown to their seats in the center of the dining room. The young man was handsome, in his early twenties, with chestnut brown hair and a very expensive suit. The young woman wore an expensive violet day dress, had a long mass of wavy blond hair, and bore more than a passing resemblance to Senta.

  The sorceress narrowed her eyes, just as both the young people noticed her. The woman closed her mouth tight and blushed slightly. The young man guided her into her seat and then turned to stride to Senta’s table.

  “Good day, Senta,” he said with a somewhat forced smile. “How are you today?”

  “Still not talking to you, your lordship,” she replied through clenched teeth.