Thazienne –Thanks for the positive words; I hope I can keep this story going. It might a long haul; the rise of a kingdom, especially this one, is going to take some effort.
Lady Fellshot – I'm glad that I'm not alone out here in trying to make something out of the aftermath of the Last Mythal trilogy (I've just started reading your Twilight Rising but I'll ogle over that in a review once I finish). Going back, I do see the typos you mentioned, and a few sentences that could use better wording. Thanks for pointing those out to me; I'll try to improve in the future. I'm glad you like Malaka, because I've had no success with drow assassins in the past. Here's to hoping Malaka fares better than them.
A/N Chapter title named the same as a song from the Dark Knight soundtrack.
Chapter Two Introduce a Little Anarchy
Malaka emerged out of the shadows without as much as a cough to announce his presence to the other assassins. One heartbeat he wasn't there. The next, he simply was. The three other House assassins immediately detected him as soon as he wished to be detected, spinning around to face him. "Master," they murmured, inclining their heads and stepping back from him, allowing Malaka to move about freely in the small wooden cubby. It wasn't exactly the war room, but Malaka felt more at home here. Besides, at the moment, the Four were making it a war zone, bickering and arguing about a course of action –the assassin had slipped out unnoticed. However cramped the square assassin's headquarters were, the walls made up for lack of space with the quantity of quality tools. A pale globe of light hanging from the ceiling illuminated walls full of specific weapons for specific tasks –daggers, short swords, longswords, karra blades, scalpels, stars, darts, needles, festering bombs, and many more creative items.
The built in shelves were also fully stocked with various vials and jugs full of substances of every color and form, substances like centipede extract, scorpion poison, spider venom, bebilith juice, devilseye, lifebane, balor's bile, vilestar, bitch's brew, sufferfume, Urthaynk, mist of Nourn, fugu juice, nishita, and amber unlyns. Every one of the four assassins in the room was intimately familiar with all these poisons, even subjecting themselves to small doses to build up a resistance. Each poison was different –different ones could be coated onto a blade, slipped into a drink, disguised as perfumes, applied as something as innocent as a massage oil…the art of assassination was complex and beautifully intricate.
"Night be with you," said Malaka, facing his three subordinates. There was no place to sit, and leaning against the walls could prove fatal, so all four drow stood. The Master of assassins took a moment to survey his three remaining assassins, all clad in unadorned black. There was Ti'rak Jaelre, a long haired cousin of Jezz who had taken the mask as well as apprenticing himself to Malaka. Then there was the blue eyed, black haired Adenal Cadab, a pale moon elf convert to Vhaeraun's way and wholly devoted to the reunification of the elves. Lastly, copper haired and scarlet eyed Sheeranya Lan'tollet, a young female drow who wore studded leather armor, and wielded two swords as well as one; she was a refugee from Maerymidra, cast out, for she could not summon any form of spellcasting whatsoever, which reduced her station greatly in the Lolthian clergy.
Apprentices. Young elves. No true assassins, these, but House Jaelre had devoted it's proud, few, and best to the last stand against the Crusade, and they had been lost under the power of those warriors –the elven paladin captain, Fflar Starbrow, had slain two of them. And a deadly female archer, who turned out to be Coronal Ilsevele, had shot another one through the heart. Malaka had barely avoided the same fate, but swore vengeance against those two. Only problem was, if there were two better protected people than the Coronal and her consort, he did not know them. Which generally meant that said people were alive, somewhere.
Malaka wrenched himself from his thoughts. "Well," he said to his disciples. "I pray Tebryn has put you through the most rigorous of tests while I was away."
"Of course," said Sheeranya, smiling. An obvious lie; Tebryn was no true assassin, and though he had some idea of how to train other killers, the art that Malaka mastered and taught was not something the Patron could perform, let alone teach.
"Did we stop them?" demanded Ti'rak eagerly. Adenal looked uncomfortable; 'them' was his kinfolk, in a sense.
"No," said Malaka curtly, driving them all back on their heels. The Master rarely failed at any task, and this was big. "The faeries…they took Myth Drannor. Our agents and other assassins are in Vhaeraun's hands now. And the fey'ri were exterminated like the abominations they were." The assassins shared nervous glances, reeling at the blow to House Jaelre. They remained silent, though, in the presence of Malaka. After a moment of silent respect for the dead, and allowing his apprentices to understand, the Master went on. "I've just given the news to our lords and lady, but there's more. The elves have managed to draw many of their kin to them, kin that do not appreciate our presence. In fact, they have a rather disturbing blind hatred towards us. Uncomprehending bastards don't understand that what we want is life on the surface." Malaka's flaming eyes intensified. "They're creating an army, an 'Army of Myth Drannor' to complete their new Cormanthyrian Empire. When completed, that force will be enough to wipe us out. All of us. Already, the advance guard and vanguard march."
"We…shouldn't we do something?" Ti'rak was thrown off guard, eagerness sliding off his face like slime off a ghauadaun.
Malaka laughed humorlessly. "It takes a while to make a decision when you have four patrons," he explained. "As of yet, no course of action has been reached. In fact, I don't think anyone has even been notified as of yet, to prevent panic. Once our leaders come up with a plan, we will implement it."
"So why are you telling us?" the faerie said, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. Malaka made note of that.
"Because I don't believe in sitting on our asses waiting," he said. "I might not be a leader, a decision maker, a mover and shaker, but I still have jurisdiction," he waved his hand to encompass the room, "over you three, and all of this." Realization began to dawn on their faces, and Sheeranya gave a happy little laugh.
"We're going out?" she said, hands on the hilts of her swords.
"We're going out," Malaka confirmed. Ti'rak's eyes blazed with fury at the faeries, and the eagerness returned. The noble clenched his hands into fists, ready for war. Adenal was silent, brooding. "We're going out, but not as far as you think. I'm not sending you on a mission of vengeance, I'm not sending you to strike at the heart of the elves." Ti'rak began a protest, and Malaka reached over and slapped him with the back of his hand. "Stop being a hotblooded fool, noble boy," he said violently, lowering his gloved hand. "I just finished losing every assassin I knew to that sort of work, and explained it to you as well."
"Where are we going?" he mumbled, chastened, though hate still glimmered in his eyes. Some of that was undoubtedly reserved for his teacher. It was a comforting reminder that they were still dark elves, something to separate them from the high elves that advanced on them now.
"You're going to Auzkovyn lands, in stealth. Make sure no elves see you. I suspect scouts are already moving towards our positions," said Malaka. "I want you to get the word out to our beloved cousins. Stroke them into a fire, get them ready for war."
"You want to strengthen them? The Auzkovyn that you've repeatedly told us you don't trust?" Adenal seemed skeptical of the drow's motives.
"No, I want to weaken them. If they hear of this now, quickly, some will flee, but some will rush to battle, if you whisper to the right people. That's why I'm sending you; I trust you can find the right people and whisper the right whispers. They will strike in ambush format, like raiders, and both they and the faeries will take losses. We benefit greatly. I want you to find the most hotheaded leaders and speak with them, the most rooted, adamant surface drow, the ones who refuse to go under again to the Night Below. Convince the majority, and the rest of the Auzkovyn will follow them into battle. Make all the promises of Jaelre support you need."
"We're aiding them…while weakening them?" Adenal really had much to learn about drow politics.
"I never said I was going to keep the promises," Malaka said incredulously. "I said make the promises. The Auzkovyn will see through most of them, but that sort of flattery often evokes a response. And eventually, Jaelre will move to support their Auzkovyn cousins, and together we can remove the elven threat. We just need time to refine our newer weapon before acting." Malaka thought of the red road, and magic of the shadow. "I'd suggest getting some rest. The action hasn't been authorized, but I doubt it won't be. I'll propose the idea tomorrow, and you'll head out immediately." He paused. "Why are you still here?"
The drow filed out of the room's only door, but when the faerie tried to leave, Malaka caught him by the arm. "You're staying here, Adenal," he said courteously but firmly.
Adenal tightened. "I'm twice as good with the blade as Ti'rak," he said. "And I'm just as stealthy as Sheer. You yourself said I was becoming a good assassin."
"I don't need an assassin-"
"You said yourself you need someone with stealth-"
"Never interrupt me, Adenal. As I was saying, I don't need assassins right now. If I wanted someone with stealth that could really incite the Auzkovyn, I'd ask Tebryn to go, or do it myself, but we both have other tasks. No, I just need heralds to pass unseen into drow lands and make an alert, to which your compatriots are perfectly suited to do."
"But not me."
"What do you think will happen if I send a faerie to warn drow of a faerie attack?" Adenal was silent, but the logic was hitting him hard. "Besides, I need at least one assassin still in House Jaelre."
"You're going?"
"Not to Auzkovyn."
"Then where?"
"I'll tell you when I know for sure. In any case, I want you to help with the defenses. Use an assassin's eye to secure all possible areas where elven spies may come in. You're needed here. Trust me." In truth, Malaka had already done what he had just instructed Adenal to do.
"I could be an infiltrator. I could go into Myth Drannor, with the red road I'd be there in just a few days, maybe less."
"You're needed here," stressed Malaka. "Vhaeraun casts a shadow for all of us, and your shadow falls upon this House. Mine is near Myth Drannor, not yours. Fear not; House Jaelre has all angles covered, even if they don't know it yet. I wonder if the Four have actually come to any conclusions yet…"
"I thought you said you didn't know where you're going."
"I didn't say that. I just said I didn't know where I was going for sure. Aside from that, you're right. You can enter Myth Drannor, and likely will at one point. But I cannot. There are…other things I can do near there, though." Malaka let go of his student before he could respond. "Go. Shadows embrace you."
Adenal took a moment to appraise his master. "And you, Master," he said, leaving.
Malaka remained where he was long after his disciples had left. It wasn't true, what he had said to Adenal. Most of it. The reason he kept the faerie here was because he simply didn't trust him. He was, after all, still a faerie, and the army that was advancing on them was comprised mostly of faeries. With his knowledge of House Jaelre and their works, Malaka wanted to make sure that the elf didn't leave the compound until the faeries were rebuffed. But he couldn't kill him, not with the sudden shortage of assassins they had now. And there was always the possibility that he was loyal. Malaka laughed ironically to himself as he fingered a silver vial of liquid pain. The last possibility that occurred to him was that Adenal might be loyal. "The joys of my kind," he whispered to the liquid pain, which gurgled in agony in response.
He had no idea how much time he spent in the assassin's cubby. All Malaka remembered was staring into the depths of that silver agony he held, reliving one of the worst days of his life. The frantic charge of the ground forces issuing from Myth Drannor, aerial bombardment from the demons and fey'ri dropping spells and darkness to cloud the silver armor of elves, taking his assassins out to the side and waiting in the shadows of the bushes while Sarya's minions screamed at him to move, waiting tensely as the vrocks and demons teleported in amongst the shining Crusade, gliding like a shadow towards a group of confused and separated elves besieged by demons, wetting Hound for the first time that day, fading back, striking again, fading, striking. It was an endless cycle; Malaka did not know how long they had performed it. He just remembered that one time as they faded, they were short one. Then they were short another. Soon, they were caught by a central force of elves, who were crushing the faerie along with golden ghosts swept the field, an army of the sanctified dead, a golden evil sent directly by the Seldarine to sweep away the entrenched daemonfey. Malaka's vision blurred, and he fell back even as a blue bastard sword gleaming with white fire cut Jylann in two right in front of him. The helmed elf didn't see him as he turned to face another enemy, one more obvious than the drow in the shadows, shouting, "Ilsevele! For Myth Drannor, and Seiveril Miritar! Ilsevele, this way!"
"Captain Melruth, we are winning!"
"Melruth! Melruth with Keryvian!" The cheer was raised by a standard bearer.
Malaka fell to the corners of the field, near the treeline, another shadow easing up to him. "We have lost," gasped Xolshin.
"We have lost," confirmed Malaka. "Come. There is nothing to be done here anymore."
"Nothing but to kill the bastard who slew Rilraena!" hissed the shadow, glaring daggers at the captain with the blue sword. "My wife's death will not go unavenged!"
"No, it won't. I'm sorry for Rilraena, but he took Jylann too. He is too powerful," said Malaka softly. "Now is not the time when we can strike. We must move."
"No. I refuse, Master Malaka."
"Xolshin-" Malaka reached out to grab the other elf's arm, but Xolshin pushed him away. A second later, an arrow hissed through the space he would have occupied if Xolshin hadn't struck out at him. Malaka twisted to see a female archer pointing and shouting at them across the field of battle, near the walls of Myth Drannor. They were at the edge of the forest, yet she could still see them! Xolshin screamed and charged to the battle, and a golden bolt took him through the heart. His body toppled down and rolled in the dust, silent, with Rilraena now. Malaka nearly screamed in rage himself, yet his senses took hold. There was only one thing to do, and that was
"I have to go back," the assassin murmured. The liquid pain hissed at him. "No, I have to go back." Delicately, he set the drug back on its rack.
"Back to Myth Drannor?" said a female voice. He spun to find Bela standing in the small doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked tired, and her robes were loose and opened. It had been a long day, obviously.
"You look terrible," he said softly.
"And being in a room full of a thousand things and more that can kill me if I breathe isn't helping," she said with a wan smile. "Come." Malaka walked with her, closing and trapping the door first, until they went outside and stood on a parapet. The two drow looked out over a vast forest of beauty, birds and animals always in the shadows, tree cover extending far into the clouds, providing darkness in the Old Elven Court. It was breathtaking, and no one appreciated more than elves. Even dark elves.
"Have you decided on action?" asked Malaka.
"Can you forget for a moment about that?"
"No."
Bela sighed. "Neither can I. It's eating all of us alive. Nurkinyan will make a speech to prepare for the march of this army, maybe in an hour. We…we don't know what to do. Obviously, the Auzkovyn have to be contacted. They will prove to be our greatest allies. Even if our Master Assassin doesn't trust them."
"It's not like I'm singling them out because their drow. I don't trust anyone. Besides, I've already taken care of the problem of contacting them." Bela turned, eyes narrowed and flashing angrily.
"What have you done? You didn't tell Valk, did you? Sweet shadows, say no…"
Malaka laughed. "Why do you hate him so?"
"The arrogant pig needs to die a painful death, that's all I'll say." With any other race, that was just an expression. With the drow, she meant it. "Answer! Did you tell him?"
Malaka teased her with a grin, but it lost the fun as the subject matter hit him over the head again with the seriousness of the situation. "No, I didn't tell Valk," he said. "I think sending out Ti'rak and Sheer to deliver the proper words with the proper people will have a better effect. I'll ask for an audience tomorrow and propose the idea, though I've already informed them of what they will be asked to do."
Bela deflated. "Good. Great. Some action." She sighed. "More than our esteemed ruling council of Four can come up with. That's sad." Bela looked back out over the forest. "Fifteen thousand drow. I thought it was a large number. That's how many surface dwelling Vhaeraunites we have, Auzkovyn and Jaelre combined. Yet it pales in comparison to…say it again, I'm not sure I believed you the first time."
"Twenty four thousand. A generous estimate. And I think the number will grow as they move, faeries are flocking to Cormanthyr like hunters to a bounty. We'll face at last thirty thousand, I fear."
"Thirty thousand. Thirty thousand disciplined, strong, fighting shape elves and their mages and their celestial allies and their brutish human pets…against fifteen thousand dark elven, not counting the huge number that will flee, mostly sneaks and assassins, many of which have never worn armor in their entire lives, let alone seen longswords and pikes and twin-headed dire flails…"
"If I see a twin-headed dire flail coming at me, I'm running," confirmed Malaka seriously.
"Yes, but you'd run in a circle, come up behind the wielder, and kill him with that wondrously nasty blade of yours."
"True," allowed Malaka.
"What do you think, Malaka? How can we stand up to such a force? They have such serious devotion, single minded goals, these faerie elves. How do we win against such order?"
Malaka considered it for a moment, thought about Myth Drannor, thought about his desire to return, and then the corners of his lips curved up slightly.
"Introduce a little anarchy."