Aradhon made his way through the woods until he found the small creek that flowed past the church property on its way to the Indian River. The sun lifted high into the afternoon sky and sweat beaded upon his brow. Still, it was not as hot as the Nether, and he was grateful his prince sent him to oversee the new Gateway. Aradhon did not lie to the Warrior. He was not directly involved in the plans to raise a new Gateway to the Nether. He was merely a…watchdog, so to speak, here to make sure the one in charge succeeded.And he would succeed. Aradhon would make sure of it. The demon, Vargas, may have underestimated the human Warrior, but Aradhon would not be so naïve. The Warrior's power resided in the sword he carried, and it was a power the human had yet mastered. That was the reason behind the meeting, after all. Aradhon wanted to gauge the level of Rhychard Bartlett's training.It wasn't far.Aradhon could see it in the Warrior's eyes as well as the slight probing the elf did of the h
Rhychard hated mornings, especially mornings that required him to get out of bed and haul other people's stuff around for free. Of course, this morning it wasn't simply other people's years of collected junk. It was his mother's. Worse than working early in the morning for free, he dreaded working for family. They not only expected you to work for free, but they expected you to be happy about it. Rhychard's wallet was far from happy. Some people refused to own a truck for just that reason. Once the news was out you owned one, every family member and freeloading friend you had asked you to help them move something. It was the same with his business, My Hand Truck & I. The part some of his friends—and his mother—didn't comprehend was that it was his business, his livelihood, and not a charity."I'm your mother," Catherine Bartlett reminded him when she asked for his help. "You're going to charge the lady who fed you and clothed you for twenty years? The woman who spent ten hours and sixt
Rhychard tied his long, black hair into a ponytail with a leather thong before grabbing the harness that held his collection of swords—two short swords made of iron, a substance the faerie world dreaded, and the long, bronze Guardian Sword that changed his life forever. Magic from the faerie world of the Land Under possessed the Guardian Sword, supposedly created by the Guardian himself and bestowed upon the mightiest warriors of the Sidhe elves to help protect the earth, the land of the Guardian's creation, from the Destroyer and his creatures. Rhychard became the first human Warrior of the Way to exist and tossed the realms of faerie into a tizzy. Humans weren't supposed to know the magical realm truly existed, and most times, Rhychard wished he was still ignorant of that fact, as well. He didn't ask to be a Warrior. He had been drafted by the Guardian when the Warrior elf, Jamairlo, was killed by Vargas's gargoyles. The creatures of the Void also killed Meelim, Jamairlo's coshey. Wh
He turned his gaze to the rest of the complex, and for the most part, it appeared the same as always. Except, that is, for one specific area. It was quite apparent that only his shrubs had been pruned and flower beds weeded. Furthermore, although he couldn't explain why, the vegetation around his condo seemed somehow brighter, more alive than the rest."And this all happened today?" This had something to do with him and the faerie world, he was sure, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of why."Yes. Friday was just like every other day, but when I come back this morning, I notice all these changes. Why nobody tell me I'm supposed to take care of the woods?" Logan dry-washed his hands as he stared into the trees. "Miss Wilkinson, she say when she walk her little Mr. Murphy early this morning, she see two guys back in the woods clearing dead branches and trimming the bushes. Why they replace me if I don't even know this is my job? Thirteen years no one tells me this is my job. I w
Famallumi touched everything. Like a child in a toy store, he picked everything up he came in across, turning it in all directions to examine it. He pushed buttons and turned dials as Rhychard followed behind the elf turning everything off while putting his knickknacks back in place. Granted, he didn't have much clutter in his small apartment, but Famallumi made everything a bright new discovery. He turned the stereo on three times, the sound blaring, muttering, "It's a different song every time." When he discovered the television, he wanted to know why Rhychard kept other people in the small box."Are they of the Void? Is this a new Warrior contraption you've devised to imprison those who would do evil?" Famallumi searched every side of the television. "How do you get them inside?"Rhychard turned the set off as he took a deep breath. "There's no one inside. It's make-believe for entertainment. I thought you said you studied humans." However, the apprentice didn't hear him as he set
Trace was an odd creature. At thirty-two, he still lived with his widowed mother rent free. Lacking full time employment, he helped Rhychard out when he needed some spending cash. His only ambition was the next level of whatever video game currently obsessed him. He was a bum for the most part and dressed like one, as well. Still, outside of Buttercup, he was the only human Rhychard could talk to about his live fantasy adventure.The shaggy-haired misfit of society waited for Rhychard at the curb and quickly slid into the passenger seat of the cab. Well, quickly for Trace, which was like first gear to the rest of the world. He never saw a need to hurry, since he wasn't really going anywhere in life and had all the time in the world to get there."Your mom's not going to be happy," Trace said as he brushed his walnut hair out of his eyes."When is my mother ever happy?""When she's making you do something you don't want to do."Rhychard just nodded. It seemed to be the truth sometimes.
Never one to pass up a free meal, Trace quickly followed before Rhychard could turn it down in his rush to escape. James Bartlett wasn't so quick to follow his wife, however. He pulled the dirty rag from his back pocket and wiped his face and then his hands. He then tossed it to his son. "You didn't see a spider. You okay?"Rhychard wiped his face, taking his time as he tried to think of what to tell his father. He couldn't exactly say he saw visions of flames. His father would think him crazy. It was hard enough to convince himself that he wasn't off his rocker.Handing the towel back to his father, he said, "Yeah, I'm fine. I saw a shadow or something in my periphery, and it startled me. That's all. It's what I get for allowing my mind to wander and not focusing on what I was doing."His father stared at him. "A shadow, huh?" He nodded. "If you say so. Come on, let's get some grub before your friend eats it all." He patted Rhychard on the back as he started into the house.Rhychard l
September. Buttercup wished that it would cool just a little, but in Florida at eight-thirty in the sweaty a.m., it was still humid and sticky, the coolness of night never lasting long. She was glad she wore her dark hair back in a ponytail as she could imagine what a drenched mess her neck would be while she sat on the bench at the Harbor City Transit Stop 52. A giant oak covered the stop with its branches offering a minuscule amount of shade, but heat was heat regardless. She kept trying to adjust the business skirt she wore, not used to anything so…covering.She took a deep breath. What on earth was she thinking? She had no business trying to be something other than what she already was, a street hooker who earned her keep by spreading her legs for any john who came along with twenty bucks he could sneak past his wife. Who did she think she was trying to get a real job somewhere and get off the streets?Rhychard believed in her, as did Kree and Tryna. The Warrior supported her and e