Sherry loved mountains. She grew up in them, surrounded by their majesty. And on dark nights like this, as they drove through the city and its many streets, seeing them on the horizon was often her only comfort in Santa Fae.
They remind her of her home immediately, only back then elves couldn’t build cities in the open like this, only humans had that privilege. But after the war that changed, and this became the first metropolis for all the Fae Folk of the Earth to live together outside their forests and their caves united as one. They all stopped hiding and inherited the world from their fallen enemy after they nearly killed it.
“Attention, this is Knight Karn from House Aran on Perlitas Boulevard, all quiet, over,” said the voice on the magic-powered radio, which she ignored.
It was the dwarves who chose the location of the city; just a few miles from the base of the Dragon-Tipped Mountains (their human name long lost now), since it was to them that the project was entrusted. They argued many reasons for it, but everyone knew of their love for their hollow halls and the mining they could do there. Still, many argued that if it was truly going to be a haven for all of us, they couldn’t exactly deny them that.
And if that wasn’t enough argument for it, many species of dragon liked to make their nests on the tall peaks, making the mountains as much a home for them as for the dwarves. Despite their great wisdom, they had lived mostly on their own throughout the centuries, jealously guarding their treasures, and avoiding humans until they couldn’t. This was the first time in the long history of all races that the Dragons had made an effort to join them in society. This city represented the spirit of a new beginning for all of them.
“Understood Aran, all is quiet here as well. Rull, what’s your status, over.”
Sherry frowned, drifting back from her thoughts as she picked up the radio on the dash to reply.
“This is Rull, my path leads towards Wisp Hill. Priority one. Do not call for us unless it is an emergency.”
Sherry could hear the knight’s partner in the background of the radio, sniggering and saying something that sounded a lot like ‘The Chief’s pet’.
“Don’t worry Rull, we got the fancy streets covered tonight. Over and out.”
Sherry suppressed a displeased grunt, she was used to their insinuations and comments, but they never failed to grate her to some degree. It was only thanks to her partner's reassuring smile next to her that she could swallow it. Mort could not have looked or been any more different than her, but she loved him like the brother he was to her.
He was sitting in the passenger seat, leaning back and looking as relaxed as his clothes; nothing but loose jeans and a bright red flowered shirt more fitting for the beach than the grimy streets they worked in. A colorful contrast to her entirely black armor and dark demeanor. Mort had always been fascinated by human culture, and it wasn’t just his preference for their style of clothes, those had become more popular of late anyway, but like many Fae of their generation, he grew up with their movies and stories. Sherry had not.
“Should we get something to eat first?” offered Mort, pushing his long blond hair out of his face. “You do look like you could use some noodles, or perhaps something más caliente?”
“I care not, do as you wish.”
“You know you’re still doing that, right?”
“Doing what?” she asked.
“That old dramatic speech thing,” said Mort critically. “You sound like my grandfather did a thousand years ago, like that time I said ‘this is impossible’ about that case with the stolen gold, and you replied ‘Agreed, not in a hundred lifetimes could they have done this.’…which, you know, felt like a bit much.”
“My way is my own,” said Sherry, ignoring his comment. “Most of my family spoke like this when I was growing up, so I see no reason for shame in it.”
“Of course, you do you amiga, not like it’s gonna make you any more popular with the other knights anyway. Certainly not with me walking around,” he added with a sardonic laugh.
Sherry turned the car on the corner of Oro and Agata, entering Wisp Hill. This was the other side of the center of the city. Skye Street was the shiny, clean and pretty side that people liked to think of as the face of Santa Fae, but Wisp was old, dirty, and barely lit by the neon signs and pale blue fires that gave it its namesake. Very pretty at night, but many considered them a bad omen. Not the most popular neighborhood despite its location.
Mostly Houseless Elves and outcast Dwarves. Perhaps some Orcs didn’t see eye to eye with their more civilized brethren. Sherry didn’t mind herself, it was close to HQ and in the heart of the city, keeping her close to the action. She was perhaps the only member of a House to live here, but she felt right at home with the outcasts of Santa Fae.
She parked the car a block away from their destination, a classic 1970s Black Ghost Dodge. Even now she felt a deep fondness for the muscle car, black like her armor, a gift from Mort when she first moved here. She was also the only one among the knights not to drive the recommissioned human patrol cars. Another mark of her pride, tolerated grudgingly by the others only because the Chief allowed her. Perhaps she was something of a teacher’s pet, but she didn’t care.
“We’re really getting the hang of these stakeouts lately,” said Mort.
“It helps that they are always so close to home,” she replied and started putting on the rest of her armor as best she could inside the car.
“You sure they’re going to meet here? It’s just an old office building.”
“The word in the street is not very subtle,” said Sherry as she tightened her greaves in place. “The Blue Dwarves are acquiring faster than they can sell; they are looking to move their human weapons and these houseless elves are somehow getting the gold for it.”
“Still, why do we always have to be the ones to bust these meetings?” asked Mort fairly. “This is the third one this month in this area.”
“The other knights do not care,” said Sherry harshly. “You know this, Mort. They would just kill everyone inside and be done with it.”
Mort looked kindly at her, Sherry knew he understood despite the complaining. It wasn’t just that she considered this street her home, but she cared about the people, too. Elves with no magic or house to their name, desperate to feel some measure of the power denied to them.
Even these outcast dwarves were just looking for some gold, the mark of status among their people. All this was just to feel like part of who they were again, with stolen gold and human weapons. The truth is Sherry couldn’t help but understand them, and she felt they deserved better than a one-sided massacre from the other royal knights.
“Watching you put on all that one really makes me not miss my own armor,” commented Mort as they waited.
“Just be ready all the same, we know how these meetings tend to go. It is not a question of whether it will go sideways or not, but how quickly these fools remember they hate each other.”
“And yeah, the weather isn’t gonna help,” said Mort. “Nights this hot, makes me wonder why we ever left our cool and cozy forests after the war.”
Sherry paused before placing the last piece of her armor, “I am surprised to hear you say that.”
“I'm a proud woodland elf, Sherry,” he said smiling.
“No, I meant…I forget you still can feel things like the weather.”
Mort looked down with a wry smile, “Ah, yes, I still feel it. A lot of things actually, like this seat warmer I installed, which I know it’s not the best time, but you should really try-”
A loud crash and the shattering of glass killed his next words, as a dead dwarf fell on top of their windshield, cracking it. Mort looked stunned, but Sherry was barely surprised.
“Looks like they remembered,” she said and placed the dark helmet on her head.
“I also felt that, just for the record,” said Mort as they got out of the car.
She opened the car door and went straight across the street towards the front door. Thankfully the area was deserted this late at night, “Does the dwarf live?”
“Yeah, I think he’s still among the living,” said Mort while poking him slightly, making the dwarf groan weakly.
Sherry opened the front door and went through the small lobby straight to the old elevators with Mort behind her, “which means the fall was not too high.”
“Looks like the third floor to me, but it’s hard to be sure with so many windows already broken and…” he was cut short by the eruption of gunfire above them. “Oh, never mind, it’s definitely the third floor.”
The elevator doors opened and Sherry punched the button for the third floor. Mort got in after her looking relaxed as always. She almost envied that. No elevator music played, thankfully. Just the quiet echoes of the bullet above them as they got closer. Barely left them any time to discuss options.
“Same as always?” was all Mort asked.
“Yes, I will put their fire out with my own.”
Sherry began to concentrate and summoned the magic to her right hand. She tapped into that large pool with her consciousness, feeling the vastness of it, and easily, so easily, she drew upon it like taking a cup of water from a lake.
The cool surge of energy rushed through her body and focused on her palm as she held it there, gathering just enough before snapping her fingers for a spark. The magic erupted in a large ball of blue fire, hovering just inches away from her hand, and just in time as the elevator doors opened.
The scene was chaotic. A trio of dwarves had taken cover behind an overturned desk next to the now shattered window their friend had fallen off. An elf lay dead in the center of the room next to an open chest full of human guns, bleeding from several bullet wounds, and 2 more hid behind a pillar taking fire as they tried to reload their own weapons.
Both elves wore long wine-red robes and hoods covering their faces, something they had been seeing a lot of lately among these houseless looking for weapons. Both also failed to notice Sherry or Mort behind them as they looked upon the scene, the fireball still burning in Sherry’s hand. They were too busy arguing.
“Hey man, can you still do a fireball?!” said one of them loudly over the gunfire.
“You know that was one time!” replied the other.
“Well, I’m out! So give it a try, will you!”
“Shut up you pointy-eared bastards!” shouted one of the dwarves from across the room.
“Should have known better than to trust a filthy dwarf!” replied the elf on the right as he confirmed he was out of bullets.
“Ok, um, let me see…I can barely feel any magic anymore but…just need a spark…just a tiny…” he frowned and gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate to draw even a drop of what Sherry could summon so easily.
Finally, a spark of normal fire flickered in between his hands. Just the tiniest ember, barely worthy of being called light, but they both looked at it with incredible relief and joy, and Sherry felt sorry for them.
“You did it!” exclaimed the elf, excitedly. “Can you make it bigger?”
“I’m barely holding this!” replied the other.
“It should be more like this,” said Sherry, and they both finally turned to notice her and the great big ball of blue flame on her hand. Bigger even than a sports ball, making the small lighter size flame between them look useless.
“You’re both gonna wanna dodge now,” said Mort from behind Sherry, smiling apologetically.
Sherry pulled back her arm, just slowly enough for them to recognize the sign, which they did, as they both threw themselves on the floor in front of her as she tossed the ball of blue fire against the pillar. It went right through it like it wasn’t there and exploded once it hit the floor like a bomb, covering the spot and part of the roof in flames.
An inferno raged above them, but Sherry walked through the pillar of fire without effort. Mort would call this her penchant for the dramatic, but if it put an extra ounce of fear in those she needed to stop then all the better. Behind her, Mort bent down next to the two elves, cuffing them.
The three remaining dwarves peeked from above their cover to look at her slowly walking through the blue hell towards them. She could see the fear in their eyes, and not just from the magic. They feared what she could do to them; even with just her fists. They knew they could not win. All except the one on the right, who yelled “For Honor!” in old dwarvish and leaped towards her, ax in hand and aiming for her neck. She stopped him in mid-air with a high kick, holding him there with his breath knocked out of him.
“Um, would it be ok if we surrendered now excuse me, Miss Knight?” asked one of the remaining dwarves nervously as he stepped out, hands up.
She turned to look at them, and finally lowered her leg to allow their friend to fall to the ground. “Yes, that would be ok.”
The other dwarf dropped his weapons and joined his friend on the ground with his hands behind his head as Sherry cuffed them as well. Most dwarves would fight until the end; often preferring a worthy death over imprisonment, but then again these were exiles for a reason: No honor among them.
“That chest is filled to the brim with these handguns, and I have to say, they do not look centuries old,” said Mort approaching, but Sherry’s attention went straight to his chest, and the bullet hole in it.
Mort saw her mortified expression and finally seemed to notice the mortal wound himself, before giving a small laugh. “Ah, I didn't even feel it in all the rush.”
Sherry felt a heavy lump in her throat constricting her at the sight, even as Mort tried to wave off her concern. She knew that bullet couldn't hurt him. He was already dead, after all. Killed by a bullet just like that many years, and at that moment she could remember the sight so clearly. Mort laying dead, a hole in his head, and all the screaming and weeping in the world couldn't bring him back. Only magic, used in the most forbidden way could, albeit temporarily. Mort could only still be here, with her, as long as she held him there with magic…but if she ever let go…
“Stop it,” said Mort sternly, and she snapped out of it, realizing she had been instinctively reaching out towards the wound.
“I…I am…” she tried to say, but words failed her.
“You look deader than me, Sher.” Mort grabbed her hand with both of his, and despite the gloves he wore, she knew how cold they were. “You can't fall to pieces every time something happens to me; we agreed on that.”
“I… do not want to be alone again,” Her words were small and weak, which was unlike her, but it was all she could manage. The iron will she kept up at all times failed her now, and she felt frail as she looked at her best friend, whom she had dragged from the grave against everyone’s wishes, defying the law, just so she couldn’t feel like that again.
“I promised you that I am here as long as you need me, Sher,” said Mort, embracing her, even as their prisoners watched, confused. And in the background, they could hear the sirens of the other Royal Knight vehicles approaching them.
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