Chapter 16-419: Fair Treatment of Guests

The Manitou Shaman considered the Borea levelly for a long moment, considering the humming magic around... and the Truth that was tearing at him with every word I’d spoken.

“I shall leave that decision to them,” he growled slowly, foisting the responsibility back where it belonged.

My eyes shifted, and the half-dozen Borea werewolves froze their furry white arses in place.

“Very well. Say the word, maggots of the Borea. I will convey them to my friends. They will accept your Blood Feud, and begin the hunting of you and your Curseline down to the last male, female, and child. Every caern, every holding, every place you call sacred; they will come to you and find you, and they will Feed you to the Land, just like that Worm you were feeding innocent souls to that they butchered.

“If the extinction of your kin is what you desire, present your claim one more time. I can guarantee that you will all be slaughtered within the hour, so you had best notify your Pack very quickly that they are all going to die, and why, or it might be somewhat of a surprise when they do.”

Yeah, I had utter confidence in Sama and Briggs. More to the point, I knew where all those places were, and making a Skull that would point at the closest living member of the Curseline wouldn’t be all that hard. The two of them would stay busy taking out the major sites long enough to power that Skull up, and then hunt these arseholes across the world, clearing the Sealed Banes as they did so.

Truthin every word certainly didn’t help their confidence. There was running to your deaths as a warrior, and then having the confidence to give the order that might doom every living member of your Pack, wiping them from the Land.

The stories of the Hunt unleashed on them in Siberia, the warriors who had fallen... and their Queen and the released Worm in addition, all started to come back. Stories, exaggerations, surely, surely...

The Worm that they butchered...

Truth...

“The Seals on our Banes are failing!” The shame of the admission had to be a mighty blow when the eldest of them blurted it out, judging by the way it caught in his throat, and the way the Borea almost folded in on themselves in shame at the cry. It was an admission of weakness, something they never had to do before, and it struck at the heart of their warrior’s pride.

They didn’t really want to challenge Briggs and Sama to a Blood Feud. They wanted a blood price... for them to kill off the Banes the Borea could no longer contain! The two of them had already proven they could kill one, there was no reason to believe they could not kill more...

“Which of the fourteen?” I asked immediately, and they trembled again at the direct sharpness of my tone... and the accuracy of my words, which shocked the other werewolves, too.

The elder who’d spoken could only sigh as I revealed I Knew. “All but Kegligher’s Fang, the Umiskyrot, and Mount Nyugovich,” he admitted.

My face was massively unimpressed. “When you useless twats screw things up, you even ensure that you do it in an epic manner, don’t you? Eleven damn Seals going down, including Borgar’s Pit and the Klavykyon? Just because you have Heavens-damned death wishes, you think everyone else should die with you?!”

I was This Close to pulling the trigger on the bunch of useless things. Instead, I calmed myself down (admittedly with such great effort the ley lines were careening in protest around me), and when I reopened my eyes, none of the werewolves had dared move an inch.

“I’m assuming the Mazed are pressing the Throat and Ursarimak’s Den, as those Seals should be fine, and you fucktards throwing yourselves at the foxes is why you can’t defend them.” I didn’t even expect an answer to that, and their heads lowered in even more shame. “Is Elder Damarovitch still in charge at the Den?”

I even knew names. Their blue eyes got really small. My reputation didn’t do me justice.

“Y-Yes, Lady Traveler...” There was even some respect in it.

“Cleftjaw at the Throat, or did he finally flark off?”

“E-Elder Prachareaver is in charge there now, Lady Traveler...”

“Funny. Kills one bunch of Maze demons and suddenly he’s an Elder? Whatever.” I looked off into the distance. “Legion, you up to anything important?”

-Running supplies to the Professor, My Lady. Problems?- their unique multivoice /answered instantly.

“Fucking werewolves can’t clean up after themselves for shit, and won’t ask for help until it’s too gods-damned late to do it easy.”

-Those Banes they Seal up are like ticking time bombs, My Lady.-

“Yeah, and apparently the Mazed are going after two of them, and the rest are decaying now that they learned their lesson not to sacrifice things to feed the trapped demons, and they discovered they don’t actually have the skills to Seal them, imagine that in a clan of berserker wannabe-rugs. Think you and Shvaughn could handle one?”

-Which one?- they /replied calmly.

“The Throat.”

-Certainly. Shvaughn should be able to clean up any Mazed outside.-

“Jump to her. Be there in a moment to ‘port you there.”

-Yes, My Lady.-

I turned my eyes on the rest of the werewolves, and pointed at the Manitou Shaman. “You. You speak for the Werewolves in the Convention. You’re coming with me, so get in human form and fix your damn clothes.”

He blinked at me, glanced around at the dropping jaws, and suddenly realized this was quite the opportunity for him and his Tribe.

Some of the werewolves looked they were going to complain. I went on, “If any of you wish to protest, please contact your loved ones, tell them you aren’t going to be seeing them again, and then complain to me. I’ll address your protests quickly.”

Their jaws clamped shut, but they relaxed despite themselves as the Wall of black and silver flames vanished abruptly.

“You ten and you five. I know who you are. I can look in on you from across the world. I know your Auras. I am going to inform the Church of the Harse about you. They are going to be watching you.

“If I see any more blood of the innocent on your Auras, I am going to kill you. If the Inquisition digs up proof that you murdered people, they are going to notify me, and I am going to kill you.

“We know who you are. Good luck keeping your noses clean.” As they growled in fear and their fur stayed nice and stiff at the implications, I floated down in front of the Manitou, who had reclaimed most of his traditional Shaman attire with a wave of his hand. “And you Borea.” My eyes narrowed as I looked at them. “Get off this land. I’ll take care of the Throat and the Den within an hour, and I’ll make time to clear the Banes off the others. Get!”

And like whipped dogs, they turned and ran away, heads down and tails low in submission.

“Elder Strikes at Shadows, you ready?” I asked directly.

He blinked. “You know of me?” he answered slowly.

“I know all of you.” The werewolves all blanched. I put my hand on his shoulder, and snapped my fingers.

------------

I materialized next to Shvaughn, who was standing outside the Convention Center with Legion standing next to her. The scarlet and blonde Amazons looked like sisters, or mother and daughter, and since they were both in several ways, it wasn’t that surprising. Most people would just take Legion’s draconic frill as a hairpiece, after all.

I put my lips to Strikes at Shadows’ forehead, and the Blessing materialized there, to his surprise.

“You’re in the Markchat box assigned to all delegates. They are getting a tent ready for you on the roof. Have fun charting the future of civilization on the American Mother Land!”

He was more than astute enough to open the Door and peek around it, and I let him do it. He stared at me, I looked back, and firmly reached out my Will and shoved him back into his Markchat box.

“Y-yes, Great Lady,” he half-bowed, staring at me a little wide-eyed, sweeping looks at the two Amazons he could feel extremely powerful Pact Magic on.

“Darlin’, this bitch you sent after me an’ my brother is jes’ too good at her job,” Shvuaghn said in a man’s Texan drawl as we watched the werewolf head for the door of the convention with his back straight and thoughts racing.

“The two of you Freemason fanatics made her a few billion dollars richer, as I understand it. Congratulations on joining the Phoenix Group Foundation. You’re a world leader in charitable projects and discrete political manipulation of tyrannical foreign powers.”

She huffed. “Such lip on you. How could you be this woman’s Monarch?” her fine lips twisted.

“You do know she’s laughing at you as you say that, right? Because I couldn’t be her Monarch unless I am capable of being her Monarch. In other words, I am higher Level and more powerful than she is.” I made a dismissive gesture. “So flark off to your fate, you old bastards. You enjoy her hot legs and glam face and That Bust while she uses your money for whatever and helps run the world.”

The outrage on her face vanished a second later as she grinned nastily. “Those two are going t’ be tasty when I get to them,” she said in her normal vague Irish lilt.

“How’s the book coming?” I asked in return.

“I just had to spend the last couple days shifting between the forms of two old bastard Freemasons as I took everything they ever worked for and screwed over their families!” she protested. I just lifted an eyebrow, and she rolled her green eyes, opened up the vest emphasizing That Bust, and pulled out a thumb drive. “I downloaded the story to one of Gregorigori’s gnomes and he magitech’d it into print before sending it off to the Ivory Worshippers.”

I looked at Legion, who flicked out a ten and handed it over. I put it away smugly.

“You doubted me?” Shvaughn protested to Legion on seeing this.

“You left off digesting to compose,” Legion replied calmly. “Fifty-fifty chance!”

“They really wanted to see Lady Traveler in person. They blame her for all this radical shit taking over the country, foreign non-human bitch screwing up everything for righteous god-fearing proper Americans,” she finished in a native Texan drawl.

“White, ex-Christian, Bible-thumping, human males who have lots of money proper through their Freemason connections, Americans?” I inquired archly.

“You forgot geriatric.”

“My apologies, I stand corrected in front of the two-hundred-year-old Warlock.”

“Don’t ruin it for them. They are still so turned on that they are a sexy Amazon with a great body and accent.” She stretched out while barely moving, still enough to get the blood moving.

“How many others?” I asked neutrally.

“Sixteen!” she smiled cheerfully and very unapologetically. “Four assassins, their handler, two contacts, a couple informants, and then up the family’s loyal retainers.”

“Which is why you’re teasing the Camps with your awesomeness. They aren’t going to be happy when you eat them.”

“I only eat the parts that make ME happy,” she sniffed, making a dismissive gesture. “So, what are we doing?”

“We’re going to Siberia. You’re going to a Caernpoint called The Throat, guarded by the Borea Great Pack, where they’ve got a Bane sealed up. You’re hunting Mazed and everything they’re bringing to the fight, while Legion goes in and kills the Bane.” I flashed them both the details, although it turned out they both were passing familiar with the area via the memories of others, imagine that.

“And you’re-?”

“Going to do the same to the other one at Usarimak’s Den.”

She lifted an eyebrow at that, obviously knowing what that was. “I want popcorn seats!” she wheedled.

“Fine. Eyeball exchange.” We all blinked, and promptly had alternate viewing screens out of one another’s eyes. Shvaughn promptly checked her hair and moved her vest a half-inch, and shifted her hip just so for Legion to admire the curve better. I had to smirk, so she turned her leg and flashed her eyes at me too.

“Ready to go?” I palmed my Rod Spike and held it out. They stepped forward together to grasp it, and I spent some ki.