CHAPTER FOUR
It was overcast.
The party rose early, the wind biting at them mercilessly as they moved through the sleepy town.
"What a wonderfully brisk day," Jelik noted sardonically as he gathered his grey cloak closer to his shoulders.
"Tell me again - why aren't we taking our horses?" Karlos complained as they came to the old bridge.
"How were you planning on getting them across that bridge?" Jelik shouted above the sound of the rushing water. He was in a particularly foul mood this morning.
Anthea started across the bridge.
Karlos continued grumbling. "We could've gone around the town."
"The rocky terrain doesn't suit horses," Kielmark replied.
"Oh." Karlos held on to the loose railing of the bridge for support as he crossed.
"Watch out," Anthea shouted as she completed crossing the bridge. "It's rotten here. Try the other side."
Jelik glared at the half-Elf. "I can see that, thank you."
Anthea shot back a fiery look as she rubbed her temples.
"You okay?" Karlos asked as he arrived safely across the bridge.
Anthea just nodded but continued to massage her head.
The party crossed the damaged bridge safely.
Eastern Lotheric was completely deserted. The houses lining the roads had broken windows, missing roof tiles, and a permeating stench. Rubbish circled the alleyways in a turbulent windy frenzy as a chime clattered from an old weathered porch.
"Nice," Sudenora noted sarcastically as he covered his nose and mouth with a cloth.
Jelik breathed deeply. "This place reminds me of home."
Anthea turned up her nose superciliously. "Let's just get out of here as fast as we can."
Soon they'd passed through eastern Lotheric and reached the grasslands – but more poignantly – they'd come to a place where the air was fresh.
They followed a track north, alongside the Splitting River and fields.
Sudenora quaffed the air in happy gulps and studied the clouds. "The weather should improve over the next few hours." He smiled as if that would lighten everyone's mood.
Anthron squinted at the Twelve Peaks that lay in the distance before them. They were colossal. Riddled with red volcanic dust, the twelve taller mountains stood out significantly further than the rest of the mountain landscape. Anthron imagined they resembled bloody fingers clawing at the clouds.
The hike in the wind was onerous. About noon they stopped and rested.
Sudenora took off his pack and searched its contents, taking out some cold pork.
Jelik rolled his eyes.
"You can go without then." Anthea snapped.
Sudenora then dug into his pack and retrieved a large wineskin. "Osile gave us some wine," he grinned. "Just in case it got too cold." With that he shared the pork, and drank from his wineskin. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, then passed the wineskin to Jelik.
"Only a little each, we still have a job to do," Anthea said as Jelik handed her the skin. "Only a mouthful." she smiled as she took a few gulps. She passed it around.
"Just remember, what she says goes." Jelik grated.
Anthea passed the wine on. "Look, what's with you today?" she pointedly asked Jelik.
Jelik shrugged and looked away.
"This tastes awful." Anthron grimaced as he passed on the wineskin. Kielmark raised his hand while shaking his head. "Arrolokians aren't allowed to drink."
Jelik scoffed. "How come I've never heard that? If you don't want any you don't have to lie…"
"Leave him alone, Jelik," Anthea flashed, rubbing her temples slowly.
"Thanks," Kielmark said uncomfortably. "I don't want any."
"No problem." Jelik replied.
They packed their belongings and set off again along the trail towards the red mountains.
As Sudenora had predicted, the wind dissipated as the sky gave way to snatches of sunshine after a few hours.
The mountains loomed above them - the twelve peaks now lost from view beyond the scattered cloud. After several hours of tramping they climbed up the last incline that led to the massive mountain valley, and stood rapt in awe. Inside the red valley rested The Twelve Peaks. The dusty trail they had been following wound off into the distance, disappearing between the red mountains. The sound of the Splitting River could be heard flowing somewhere below them.
"An impressive sight, no?" Jelik commented.
"I wonder what the view would be like from up there," Anthron asked rhetorically.
"You'd probably get a bird's eye view of the clouds," Jelik replied.
"There," Anthea pointed up at one of the peaks, "That looks like another track."
They picked their way carefully over the loose rocks into the red valley, their feet scuffing at the volcanic dust.
"I hope this stuff comes out," Sudenora said as he patted himself. "It looks like it stains cloth."
"You know that having a track can't be good," Jelik kicked at a rock absent-mindedly. "A track means life."
"Not necessarily." Anthea replied as she began to follow Karlos.
"Oh, so rocks make tracks in and out themselves do they?" Jelik taunted.
Anthea sighed irritably. "Spare me."
"Would you two leave it?" Karlos huffed.
"Sure thing." Jelik said, then muttered something under his breath.
"What did you say?" Anthea shrieked as she spun to face the thief.
Jelik shrugged. "Nothing important."
Anthea's eyes went steely as she drew several symbols in the air. Seconds later she was holding an angry ball of fire.
"Stop this!" Kielmark shouted, standing between the two adversaries. Anthron almost smiled.
"Couldn't agree more, Kiel." Jelik looked alarmed.
Anthea dispersed her fireball with a wave and began up the track, nursing her stomach.
"Are you okay Anthea?" Karlos asked. Anthea didn't reply, continuing to climb.
After a tense climb they came to a flat surface about twenty feet wide and fifteen feet long. There were human bones scattered about. At the far end was the cave that Anthea had spotted. Giant footprints were visible in the red dust, but none of them were anywhere near the cave entrance itself.
The view was quite impressive, Anthron thought, being able to see the town of Lotheric to the south in the late afternoon sun. "Here we are." he said as the rest of the group climbed on to the dusty flat platform.
The party peered into the dark passage as Kielmark rummaged through his pack, finding two torches.
Anthron asked, "Think we need a scout?"
"I'll go," Anthea proposed. "I don't need a torch." Anthea's eyes narrowed as she stepped past Jelik, disappearing into the cave.
Anthron shifted uneasily. "What's up with you two?" he asked Jelik.
Jelik stared at the blonde warrior, making him edgy. "We're not suited to spending all this time together. We can't get space while traveling."
Anthron nodded. "So, what's going to happen…"
Jelik waved his hand signifying the end of the conversation.
They waited in silence a few minutes before Sudenora spoke. "We've given her enough time I'd say."
"I'll get a light." Anthron offered. He pulled out a worn flint, and began rubbing his dagger over it. Within moments the two torches were sparking and hissing with black smoke.
"I'll go next," Jelik stated. He took one of the torches, spun round and entered the cave, holding the light aloft as the others followed.
The passageway was about ten feet wide; the edges made up of loose sharp rocks that made it difficult to get in close. The ceiling was about seven feet high, dotted with hundreds of small red stalactites, but the floor seemed out of place. It was shiny and smoothly worn down the middle, looking like something had been dragged over it for several hundred years to create the effect.
"I really hate being underground," Karlos said nervously.
"Don't worry about it Karlos," Sudenora replied. "If you don't make too much noise the roof should hold. Loud noises sometimes…" his voice trailed off.
Karlos then made a concerted effort to walk quietly.
After about twenty minutes the passage started sloping down, as well as leaning left. Kielmark spoke quietly. "It seems we are descending in a spiral around the inside of the peak."
"I wonder if any of the other peaks are like this." Sudenora commented.
After walking on in silence for a while, Jelik motioned for the others to stop. "I can hear something." Tilting his head he listened intently. There it was again – the echo of metal hitting rock. "Anyone hear that?"
"Sounds like someone mining." Anthron observed, unsheathing his sword.
"Damn," Jelik swore. "Why didn't Anthea wait for us?" He flicked his wrist to retrieve a dagger from up his sleeve, then turned and jogged quietly down the passage.
The others continued on at a slower pace.
Jelik increased his speed again as the metal-on-rock sound got louder. After a brief jog he stopped abruptly. Anthea suddenly appeared in front of him. Her eyes glowing dimly red, indicated she was using her Elven night vision.
Anthea squinted at the torchlight. "We've got trouble."
Jelik cracked his neck to one side. "What kind of trouble? What's that sound?"
"Let's walk and talk," Anthea turned to head back down the passage. "Please put the torch out," she said sharply. "The sound you can hear is pick axes."
"So there's just miners down here?" Jelik scoffed as he relaxed.
"Yes," Anthea stopped and stared at the thief. "Dead ones."
"Ahh," he exhaled. He dropped his torch, stifling the flame with his foot. "Is there anything else there?"
"Not that I could see." she wavered.
"What?" Jelik snapped.
"Well, I thought I sensed another presence."
"Do you know what the dead were actually mining?"
Anthea stopped walking, Jelik blindly crashing into her. "Jelik, they're dead. They didn't chat about the weather."
The thief's eyes narrowed.
She sighed in frustration as she traced symbols through the air, then gently touched the thief's arm. Suddenly Jelik could see clearly in the dark corridor, thanks to Anthea's enchantment.
Jelik nodded his thanks. How far? For the first time he 'spoke' to her in the silent hand signal language of thieves.
Anthea replied in the same fashion. No far. Ten by three walks. She winced. It had been some time since she'd used sign language.
Jelik frowned. Thirty paces?
Anthea nodded. Jelik placed a dagger in the middle of the passage floor next to the torch then they continued on. The thief answered Anthea's raised eyebrow. They'll probably blunder their way down. Leaving those will at least make them wary – perhaps even quieter.
They moved on.
Just now, Anthea's hands flashed.
You mean we're nearly there? Jelik queried, screwing his nose up as the stench hit him.
Anthea nodded while covering her nose and mouth. The passage gradually became easier to navigate as torchlight flickered up ahead, strange sparks flaring off the walls themselves. The sound of metal hitting rock was now easily identifiable as someone wielding a pick.
We should wait for the others, Jelik suggested.
Why? Not bold? Anthea replied, smiling wickedly.
Fine. Jelik's hands made the sign sharply. In sign language, that was the closest one could get to shouting.
The torchlight was garish to Jelik's enhanced vision, so when his eyes began to stream Anthea removed her enhancement as she reverted back to her own normal vision.
The torch was mounted on the left side of the passage at a T-junction. The corridor they had been following kept going down, becoming steeper, with another branching to their right. This new passage was the same size as the other, well lit with torches.
Anthea pointed at the new passage. There goes diggers, no that goes down.
Jelik shook his head in dismay. You need practice. So you haven't gone down there then?
No.
Anthea let out a short yelp of fright and Jelik whipped out two daggers as a deep voice spoke from behind them.
"There's no need to be secretive," The voice came from a large pale man dressed in a baggy brown robe. "I've known you were here for some time now."
Out of sheer habit of living on the streets of Smazorok, knowing the philosophy of he who hesitates dies, Jelik threw his daggers at the man who startled him. The thief's reactions were lightning fast, both daggers striking the man's chest.
"Forgive me," the man responded as he withdrew Jelik's blades matter-of-factly from his chest. The daggers were bloodless. "I have not introduced myself. I am called Gwyerson Dernas, third to The Master himself," he smiled, revealing a row of serrated teeth. He looked to Jelik. "You were chosen originally as food. It looks like now you have another purpose - you should be honoured."
"What?" Jelik stuttered as he withdrew two more daggers.
Anthea unsheathed her sword and began advancing on Gwyerson. He responded with a raised eyebrow. "Shoth met likas toloth." he spoke softly.
Anthea's eyes went icy as Gwyerson spoke, and she clutched at her stomach. Gwyerson pointed to Jelik, and Anthea turned with her sword poised, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she struck the bewildered thief.
CHAPTER FIVE
The man pushed the door wide.
He was instantly affronted by the stench of stale beer and vomit – a putrefying disjunction from the fresh night air. The Hive was an extremely busy tavern and he jostled his way through the rowdy drunken throng.
He made his way to the stairs and disappeared into the shadows of the booth he wanted. An attractive woman wearing a white satin dress sat opposite. "Sasha Quevnon. Or should I call you Quabeth White? It's been a while."
She smiled at him. "Smit-Myer Crysin, you can call me what you like. In fact it's been two months and twenty one days since we last met," Sasha shrugged nonchalantly. "But who's counting?"
Smit-Myer waved his arms around the tavern disapprovingly. "A particularly loathsome choice of venue, I must say."
She sighed. "Why do you want to see me?"
"I'm looking for more people, five others that have escaped. These ones have been missing for almost seven months. I need the help of your contacts around the Izonda border."
Sasha leaned back and screwed up her nose as she toyed with a fingernail. "Why do you still work for them."
"That's my business. Will you help me? There's a full purse in it for you – the usual fee."
Sasha shrugged. "I'll do it for you, not them. Just give me the money and descriptions."
Crysin reached into his tunic and passed a pouch of money to Sasha. She took it with relish, and counted its contents.
"This'll do." she nodded.
"The first one is a large man with blonde hair and blue eyes named Anthron Mikolnic. His father is a blacksmith, his mother a seamstress. They live in Vemmlok."
He paused before continuing.
"The next one is Sudenora Kiltorn. He has brown hair and eyes. His father was a street performer illusionist in Eugernok, his mother runs The Jug - a bar in Eugernok.
"Now, here's one you'll surely know. Brekon House."
"They took one of the Brekon children?" Sasha asked, stupefied.
"They'll take anyone, they don't care. Anyway, Karlos Brekon. He was a disappointment to Dathor because he was too portly to make a decent warrior. That's why his father ignored him. He's got mousy hair, and hazel eyes.
"Kielmark of Arrolok, a horseman. His father is completely blind, his mother's dead. Large muscles, squat with dark skin, and a mean spirit. You know the usual Arrolokian. Black hair and brown eyes."
"I've never really spoken to an Arrolokian. Are they really that rude?" Sasha asked.
"Not really, their faults have been terribly exaggerated. It's just their way of life.
"Now, the last one here is a little out of the ordinary. Jelik Qualis is his name. I checked him out, and his family was hit by the Ruby Brotherhood some time ago. He lived on the streets of Smazorok for eight years before he and the Brekon kid hit it off."
Smit-Myer paused, allowing Sasha time to commit the facts to her retentive memory. "He earned his reputation for being the most adept man with a dagger on the streets of Smazorok." Crysin looked at the ruby ring on his right hand, the symbol of the Ruby Brotherhood. Sasha leaned forward and placed her hand on his just before they were interupted by a short plump woman with a red face. "Excuse me," she held a jug of ale in one hand, a cask of wine in the other. "Would either of you be wantin' somethin'?"
Crysin shook his head, knowing that his favourite green drink wouldn't be served in a place like this. He looked at Sasha. "Quabeth my dear, would you care for something?"
She waved the barmaid away.
Crysin caught her eye. "Before you go." he produced a silver coin and flicked it into her jug of ale. She blushed slightly as she looked awkwardly at Sasha.
Smit-Myer raised his hand in front of him and slowly shook his head. "Make sure you get some sleep tonight." With that, he waved her away. The barmaid smiled and left hurriedly, just in case this generous stranger quickly changed his mind.
Crysin saw Sasha looking at him inquisitively. He explained. "Every time I've been here, she's disappeared off upstairs with someone. It's really sad that anyone has to make a living like that." Crysin looked agitated about the whole thing.
Sasha smiled as she studied her old friend. He was thirty-eight years old, The lines around his tired grey-blue eyes made him look older. His tanned face was long, thin, and slightly leathery from travel, with his white teeth protruding whenever he smiled. He had long straight black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a neat Scyermor styled moustache and beard.
"Anything wrong, my Quabeth?" Crysin asked.
"No, of course not. I was merely considering a strategy to track your targets." Sasha returned.
"They aren't my targets," Crysin snapped. "Remember that."
"I'm sorry," she nodded her head respectfully.
"Of course," he replied.
"I'll get Sonat working along the Izonda border with a few men," Sasha began. "Leaving word about, that sort of thing. I think Korsorn can cover Mosorac and Decton. We can probably forget about Lotheric."
"You know my feelings about being thorough. Make sure Korsorn checks out Lotheric as well. I don't want to have to call in my people just yet; they've got better things to do. How about Drans? The last job he did was very thorough, he found three people hiding in the Bayton sewers. Get Drans to check out Carson and the surrounding plains."
"Actually, I was going to suggest Lorol for Car…"
"Lorol's a thug – and not suited for this sort of work," Crysin interupted. "Drans will do nicely."
Sasha unconsciously gnawed her fingernails. "Have you checked east?"
"Yes," he nodded. "We found a little village hidden in the Sambethe forest, very sequestered I must say. We sent Wilse to investigate with a story that he'd escaped Selection. The first thing he discovered was that there's another village in the Ithren forest somewhere. I'll have to send my own people to check that out." Crysin slouched back in his chair. "The Elves would take out anyone but the best."
"So your game may well have been hiding in the forest for the last seven months and you didn't think to check it?" Sasha laughed derisively, "That's not like you."
Crysin's eyes glazed angrily. "I was instructed to search east." he replied coldly.
"Ah. I should have realised."
Crysin rose from his chair, stretched, then leaned over and kissed Sasha's hand and bowed. Sasha noted that he never took his eyes off her the whole time. Charming he may be, but he was always cautious.
"As always, my Quabeth, it's been a pleasure. Let's agree to meet again in three days. This time, however, I'd like to change the venue. How does The Merchant's Dream sound to you?"
"That's fine. Three days then, same time." She stood as he left and watched him merge into the crowd.
"Why do you put up with that?" a rasping voice said from behind the booth.
Sasha slowly turned away from the crowd to seat herself once again in her booth. A thin man emerged from behind her, his head shaking distastefully. "Thug?" he muttered.
"What's this, Lorol? Jealousy? Really, you ought to know me better than that. Business is business."
Lorol sat across from Sasha. He looked wiry, with a dark Kortusian complexion. He had slanted eyes and short black hair, with a scar running down the left side of his face, curving around up under his throat.
"Jealous, maybe. Do you have to do business so…" Lorol croaked as he gesticulated for Sasha to complete his sentence.
"Tell me, who has put the most business my way over the last little while?" Sasha asked. "Crysin has, and that will continue."
She clicked her fingers as the barmaid walked past. "Would ye be wantin' anythin'?"
"Yes, I would. A brandy - in a large glass." Sasha replied.
"It won't be long." the barmaid replied, then she headed off into the throng again.
"I'm not so sure Crysin will manage that, my Quabeth." he continued.
Sasha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I might just hunt him down tonight, Quabeth, so that I may insult his severed head on those cold wintry afternoons when it rains and I've got nothing better to do."
"No." Sasha replied harshly.
Lorol stood up, placing his right fist over his heart. "You don't think I can do it?" His rasping voice had a hard time reaching its desired pitch of obnoxiousness, but Lorol's expression said it all.
"I don't doubt you."
"I'll show you, Quabeth. I'll show you that my skill is far superior to his," Lorol then turned to leave.
Sasha caught his arm. "Look, this isn't something to die for…"
Lorol pulled his arm away and barged through the drunken patrons.
"Now what can I do?" Sasha sighed, flopping back into her seat. She brooded until the barmaid returned with her large glass of brandy, and threw her a few coppers.
"How much for the rest of the bottle, missy?" Sasha asked. She picked up the large glass and downed it in five huge gulps. She winced slightly, wiped her mouth and continued. "Because my glass seems to be empty, and I have a feeling I'm going to get very thirsty."
The plump barmaid gathered up her coins and nodded. "This will be fine." And she made her way back to the bar via the path Lorol had just cleared.
Crysin slipped through the back streets of Mosorac inconspicuously. He headed for the other side of town where five of his men were waiting for him in a derelict warehouse. What Sasha didn't know couldn't hurt her.
Crysin sighed, and watched his breath become a wispy cloud. His breath turned in on itself before diffusing into the cold night air.
From the next intersection Crysin could hear voices. He slipped into a doorway and hid in the shadows - listening intently. He could now hear the footfalls on the cobbled street close by, Crysin's best guesstimate was there were about four people approaching. As the people got closer, he could hear the sound of leather creaking; the sound of sheathed weapons slapping against their legs.
Their talking became louder and more intelligible as they came into view.
"I still don't think we'll find someone stupid enough to think we're the guards, Rali," a man with a handlebar moustache said glumly.
Rali, a man with short curly red hair, laughed. "It's always worth a try, Broan. If they suspect anything, the four of us can just wipe them out and loot them."
Low laughter crackled among them.
Crysin remained hidden until they were out of earshot.
Then he re-emerged from the doorway, completely invisible. He smiled to himself, grateful for the magical properties of his multi-faceted cloak. He went through the intersection, and changed course from east to south. After a few minutes, the magic wore off, so he walked in the shadows once again. He crept stealthily through another intersection, changing his course back eastwards. Suddenly he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end – he was being watched! He moved further into the shadows, closed his eyes, mentally re-grouping. Yes... A watcher was on a rooftop on the other side of the street. He opened his eyes again and scanned the rooftops. Nothing. He could see nothing out of the ordinary. Crysin listened for a moment. He couldn't hear anything untoward. He continued along the cobbled road, loosening his sheathed wakizashi.
Suddenly he heard a whirling sound, the sound of something very sharp coming his way. He dove forward, got to his feet, leapt on to his hands, and did several handsprings before stopping to look around. In the wall right where he had been were three large shuriken, razor sharp metal disks, embedded deeply in the stone wall. He scanned the rooftops again. He could make out a figure on a small house opposite where he now stood. The figure somersaulted off the roof, landing on the cobbled road with barely a whisper.
Crysin had his curved wakizashi out of its sheath before his adversary's feet touched the road. His opponent drew two similarly curved blades, and advanced on him slowly.
Crysin was usually imperturbable, but this was an exception. His adversary was about twenty feet away now, covered from head to toe in black cloth. Crysin recognised his Kortusian features. This would be one hell of a fight he thought.
"I've grown tried of your games, Crysin." the Kortusian growled. His voice rasped like rusty metal being sanded.
"Ah, Lorol the Blade." replied Crysin, recognising his distinctive voice.
"This will be your last play, so try to play well. Quabeth White sees you as a threat. She is also weary of you. She wants you out of the game." Lorol then lunged at Crysin, and so the fight began.
Crysin feinted and missed his first attack and parried his second. There was a series of clashes of sword against sword, then both stepped back and re-grouped.
"Better than you thought?" Crysin taunted.
"You shall die painfully," Lorol spat.
"Oh, get on with it. Do you have any idea how many times I have heard that?"
With that Lorol charged.
Lorol's first strike was aimed at his throat; his second went for his right knee. Crysin blocked both attacks in one movement much more deftly than Lorol thought possible. Lorol then had to bring both weapons back as Crysin sent his wakizashi darting straight for his exposed chest. Lorol caught the blade with both of his, deflected it downwards, trapping it in the X of his blades. He then pushed one of his curved swords aside and attacked with his other, aiming for Crysin's neck. Adrenalin surged as he noticed Crysin couldn't get his sword free from his other blade in time. His sword was almost home when Crysin raised his arm up into the sword's path. There was a dull thud, sending Crysin backwards.
Lorol couldn't believe his eyes. He could see little iron rods sewn into Crysin's sleeves.
"Terribly sorry, Lorol, but I'm going to have to hurry things just a little. I have some important business - business that I'd rather you didn't overhear."
Lorol was surprised that Crysin knew where he'd been earlier that night.
Crysin spun his wakizashi several times. "Are you ready for another round?"
Lorol clenched his fists around the handle of his curved blades, and felt a slight pain in his left arm. He looked down at a small nick across his forearm. He cursed as he raised his swords once again in battle posture.
Lorol came in again, his twin swords lost in a blur of speed. He attacked from every conceivable angle, always frustrated and parried by the flashing wakizashi. He started to attack higher and higher, trying to lift Crysin's guard. Lorol attacked his neck and shoulders now, but still the wakizashi kept both swords at bay. Crysin saw what Lorol was up to and played along, allowing his guard to rise. Then Lorol pulled both his swords back at once, and lunged forward, attempting a double stab to his chest. His ruse would have caught most warriors off-guard, however Crysin was ready. He raised his wakizashi up, and brought it around in an arc as he stepped out of harm's way. Both blades strayed harmlessly wide. Crysin sidestepped and spun on his heels until he was standing alongside his attempted assassin. He then locked his left arm around both of Lorol's, and with Lorol's arms trapped, smashed the hilt of his wakizashi into his face.
Lorol's vision became befuddled for a few seconds - until he regained his composure. He was standing about fifteen feet from Crysin, weaponless. Crysin was so cocky that he'd put his own weapon away. Lorol reached down into his boot, and pulled out a long thin dagger. Crysin didn't look in the least perplexed.
Crysin unbuckled his sword belt, and placed it on top of Lorol's twin blades. He flicked his wrist, revealing a dagger. He undid his cloak, and placed it over the weapons.
"It doesn't need to come to this, you know," Crysin mentioned straightforwardly.
"I'll rest when you're dead," Lorol hissed.
The two assassins started towards each other.
Crysin lashed out - Lorol swayed back, then retaliated with a high swing, and a sidekick. His kick caught Crysin completely unawares, connecting painfully with his ribs. Seizing the advantage, Lorol kicked Crysin's dagger from his hand, and made a slash for his throat.
Crysin rolled backwards, coming to his feet as Lorol advanced with a series of slashes that were thwarted by Crysin's iron rods. Lorol made a horizontal slash - Crysin ducked under it and spun around putting his leg out. Crysin's heel caught the back of Lorol's feet, tripping Lorol on the cobblestones.
Crysin was quick, and he was upon Lorol in a flash. Lorol's dagger was sent scuttling noisily across the cobblestone road, as Lorol got back to his feet.
Both unarmed, they prepared to fight again, both unaware that their fight now had an unwanted observer.
Lorol's fist darted toward Crysin's head, but Crysin was quicker. His right hand deflected Lorol's punch, quickly followed by Crysin's left hand grabbing hold of the arm. Crysin pulled his arm as he shot out his elbow, smashing Lorol's nose. Lorol reeled back as he swung his fists wildly, catching Crysin's mouth.
They both stepped back again, catching their breath. Crysin darted out with a combination jab front kick, followed by a spinning kick. Lorol didn't see the latter.
Lorol stumbled back, blood flowing from his nose, fumbling in his belt pouch as Crysin kicked the side of his head. Lorol spun right round before dropping to the ground motionless.
Crysin wiped the blood from his mouth as he retrieved his items. He buckled on his sword belt and clasped his cloak over his shoulders. He decided to leave Lorol's blades. "Sorry, my friend," Crysin began approaching the now stirring Lorol. "Dead enemies are safe enemies. I find that live ones are more likely to come back and haunt you."
Lorol was now propped up on one arm, his hand searching through his belt pouch again.
"Oh no you don't," Crysin said as he began running towards Lorol. With a triumphant look on his face, Lorol pulled a shiny round object from his pouch and held it up. "I shall see you again," he croaked. With that, he threw the object to the ground. Upon impact an explosion of thick smoke erupted into the overcast night.
Crysin was hesitant to enter the smoke - instead he circled around. Once the smoke had settled somewhat, Crysin scanned the area.
"Damn!" he cursed.
Lorol was nowhere in sight.
A dark figure slunk away from the fight into the receptive feeding ground of shadows. He was particularly ravenous this evening, but thought it in the worst possible taste to drain one of his employees.
CHAPTER SIX
Karlos covered his face.
"What in Termolen's name is that smell?" exclaimed the Healer, wrapping his scarf tighter around his nose and mouth.
"Smells like your boots," Sudenora muttered. "I can also hear flies."
Kielmark peered further down the corridor. "Where are the others?"
"What's that?" Anthron pointed, then picked up Jelik's extinguished torch.
Kielmark scooped up the dagger. "One of Jelik's."
"How do you know?" Anthron inquired.
Kielmark turned the pommel of the dagger around to show Anthron. "You see here, this is his symbol. He marks all his daggers this way."
Anthron frowned. "What does this mean then? Are they in trouble?"
"I think he wants us to be cautious." Karlos replied.
The four continued down the corridor.
"Torchlight ahead," Kielmark hissed. "The walls themselves seem to be sparking."
"And," Anthron whispered, "That sound has stopped."
"I've got one of those feelings." Sudenora muttered.
"Just be ready." Anthron responded as Kielmark doused his torch.
"That smell's getting worse," Karlos whimpered. "Smells like something rotten."
They arrived at the well-lit T-junction.
"There's blood here," Anthron whispered. "And it's fresh."
"Which way then?" Kielmark asked.
"Well…" Anthron stopped as Karlos yelled. Whirling around, he watched the Healer slump to the ground, his forehead bleeding. Standing over Karlos was Gwyerson Dernas.
Kielmark attacked instantly. Gwyerson caught the sabre effortlessly, wrenched it from Kielmark's grip, tossing it behind him up the passage.
Sudenora began mumbling words to Servas – but before he could finish Gwyerson bashed him off his feet. Sudenora stayed down.
"No more Elementalists." Gwyerson laughed.
Anthron glanced at Kielmark who was looking petrified.
"Who are you?" Anthron demanded boldly, holding his silver-hilted long sword in front of him.
Gwyerson smiled warmly, Anthron seeing his blood stained teeth. He gestured at Sudenora and Karlos. "I do apologise, this isn't the easiest way to begin a relationship."
"What do you want? Where are the others?" Anthron demanded.
"First of all," Gwyerson stated with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Get rid of your toy."
Anthron's sword flew from his hand, ending up the passage near Kielmark's sabre.
"That's better," Gwyerson smiled. "Now we can be gentlemen." He pretended to muse over it for a moment. "Now that I have Xycermon," he motioned to a bat shaped dagger tucked in his belt. "Your existence is superficial. I don't care myself, however the Master doesn't want any mistakes." Gwyerson tipped his head in farewell, then vanished into a green mist as Anthron and Kielmark heard shuffling footsteps coming from the torch-lit corridor.
"Anthron?" Kielmark's voice was shaking as he looked up the passage. "Dead men walking."
The smell hit Kielmark and Anthron almost simultaneously and Kielmark was sick. The putrefying flesh of the approaching bodies was grey and maggot infested. Out of the five that approached only two were whole. Two were missing an arm each while the last was headless. They moved jerkily with each squelching footfall with hundreds of flies buzzing around them.
The image of Scotus flashed in front of Anthron's eyes. It wasn't dead.
Kielmark retched again.
"Anthron." A weak voice came from behind the blonde warrior. He turned around, dagger in hand, to see Jelik limping way up the passage covered in blood.
"Where's Anthea?" Anthron snarled.
"That doesn't matter any more." Jelik replied coldly.
Kielmark dashed up the passage, retrieving their weapons. "Anthron, I'm going to need help."
"Fire," Jelik breathed. "Use fire."
Anthron's eyes darted about. "Jelik's right, Kiel. Use torches – the bodies will burn easily." The blonde warrior detached one of the mounted torches, while Kielmark grabbed another.
The first walking dead was mercilessly mutilated. Anthron swung his flaming weapon with all his strength at its head as Kielmark held it at bay by holding his torch at its torso. The head came off with a sickening crunch, maggots squirming about madly as they began to burn.
Anthron had just enough time to wipe bile from his chin as another closed. "Three to go," he panted as another dropped to the passage floor burning.
"Anthron," Jelik pointed to the defenceless Karlos and Sudenora with a torch he'd plucked from the wall. "We need to keep them safe."
The blonde warrior nodded in response as he ducked under a slow attack. Thrusting forwards, Anthron discarded his torch that had punctured through the rotten chest and kicked the burning body over.
Kielmark was showered in flaming sparks as he blocked; then Jelik's flashing sword was there. Jelik severed the head and he kicked out the legs, leaving Kielmark to eradicate the fetid corpse.
The remaining animated carcass fell, caught alight from its spent drudgers.
"We have to get out of here!" Jelik wrapped his cloak around his face to protect him from the fumes and fetor.
Anthron noted the red dust on the walls flaring irregularly. "I don't know what that means," he pointed. "But I agree. Jelik – get Sudenora. We'll grab Karlos."
Kielmark and Anthron hoisted Karlos as Jelik threw Sudenora over his shoulder, and they began to run back up the smoky passage.
Anthron felt like his lungs had given out as they burst into the fresh night several minutes later. Gasping for air with a painful stitch wasn't a pleasurable experience. As he rolled in the red dust he vowed to get fitter.
It wouldn't be the last time he'd think that.
Jelik stood straight with his hands on his head, wincing while trying to catch his breath. "Are we whole?" he gasped.
Kielmark wiped perspiration from his face. "That was…"
The dark man was cut off by an underground explosion which shook Jelik from his feet. From the cave entrance they were assaulted by a wave of putrescence followed by a thick cloud of red dust. Anthron covered Karlos and Sudenora as several small rocks bounced off his back and forearms. There was one more shudder, then all was still.
"What was that!" Jelik coughed, peering through the thick dust.
"This dust could be flammable." Kielmark spat, rubbing his eyes.
Jelik opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as Karlos regained consciousness.
"By Termolen! My head!" Karlos groaned loudly before coughing.
Anthron examined Sudenora. "You might want Termolen's help before too long," he hacked. "He looks bad."
Karlos squinted. "He'll live. I'll collect myself and be with you shortly."
Ten minutes later the dust had settled and Sudenora was awake nursing a headache.
"So," Karlos began. "What happened?"
Anthron shook his head. "I'm not sure. All we know is there's something powerful down there which wiped the floor with us - and Anthea's gone." The blonde warrior glared at Jelik. "Where is she?" he said threateningly.
Jelik's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't take that tone," he snapped. "She's one of them. She turned on me," Jelik revealed two slashes across his arm and back. "That robed guy back there recognised her and she attacked me."
"Well," Sudenora urged. "Go on?"
Jelik stared at his feet. "She'd hit me twice before I could react, I obviously wasn't expecting an attack from her," he hesitated before continuing. "I threw the daggers in my hand in her direction as I fell, then some kind of force hit me. I came too further down the passage when Anthron and Kiel began fighting."
Anthron's eyes were slowly reddening. "She wasn't around when we got there. So you don't know where she is?"
"Damn it Anthron!" Jelik exploded. "I have no idea!" Jelik's voice echoed through the mountains.
"What a mess." Karlos sighed.
Anthron studied Jelik, particularly his outline. For the second time, Anthron could see a purple hue lightly pulsing around him. He watched as it dissipated with the thief's anger.
"Anthron." Sudenora hissed urgently. All turned to where he was looking. A swirling green mist spiralled from the sky, slowly circling the party.
"What is it?" Anthron asked, drawing his sword.
The green smoke hovered above them for several moments before descending like a feather. As it touched the red ground it began to grow, slowly solidifying and taking the shape of a man – Gwyerson Dernas.
Jelik leapt in, daggers slashing, finding his attacks useless, as Gwyerson was intangible.
"Top effort," Gwyerson taunted as the group backed away. "I didn't think you'd survive the blast." He held out his hand as a misty sword appeared. "I'll have to finish you myself."
Kielmark was watching the man's feet, waiting for an indication that he had become tangible. Slowly the dark man noted the footprints in the red dusk sinking. That was what the Arrolokian was waiting for. "Now!" He leapt forwards, sabre leading. Gwyerson swung his sword in deflection, grasped Kielmark's arm with his spare hand then swung his attack harmlessly wide.
Kielmark's eyes widened in horror as he realised the sheer strength of this thing. It couldn't be human. The vice-like grip on his arm hurt so much he had to drop his sabre.
Karlos swung his morning star over his head, smashing the spiked ball heavily onto Gwyerson's head as Jelik stabbed two daggers into his back.
Gwyerson snarled, twisting Kielmark's arm, then flung the screaming man away. Spinning on Karlos, Gwyerson's sword glowed an angry green as it cut towards the Healer. Throwing himself backward Karlos tugged on his embedded weapon, narrowly missing the hissing sword. His morning star came free as he tumbled backwards, winding himself. Karlos just had time to cover his head as Gwyerson's sword bit deep into the Healer's left arm. The cut itself hurt badly, but it was the burning from the blade that made Karlos black out.
Sudenora released his second batch of sparks before the first lot had struck. He hoped the sparks didn't ignite the volatile red dust, but threw caution into the wind as Karlos went down. Gwyerson's eyes – now glowing red – rested upon Sudenora as the sparks flared and bit at his feet. Gwyerson waved his hand and produced a globe of darkness on Sudenora's head, completely blinding him. Sudenora dropped defensively to his stomach and crawled away from the fight, the dark globe following.
Anthron and Jelik looked at each other, then to Gwyerson. The wound in his head where Karlos had hit him had gone, and Jelik's daggers in his back didn't seem to bother him.
They were in trouble.
Jelik circled around so Gwyerson was in between him and Anthron, daggers in hand, muscles taunt. Anthron glanced to his silver hilted sword, wondering if it was going to be any use. It had to be.
Gwyerson advanced on the blonde warrior casually, not afraid in the least. That annoyed Anthron. Anthron grasped his sword in two hands and begun a fighting routine his teacher Lepus had taught him, swinging with all his strength high, using his own momentum to instantly strike low, and so on. Anthron's attacks were easily defeated, and as Jelik came in poised to attack, Gwyerson Dernas vanished.
"Where is he?" Anthron panted, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.
Jelik turned, surveying their surroundings. Then, standing above the wounded Kielmark, Gwyerson reappeared.
"I must be out of practice," Gwyerson glanced at his nails. "I would normally have you all by now." He smiled wickedly and sheathed his sword. "I will end this now for you."
Anthron's heart pounded as he realised there was nothing he could do. Gwyerson summoned a fireball in one hand, and picked Kielmark up by his injured arm. The Arrolokian screamed out, his other hand tight in a fist. "I may as well burn you all together." Gwyerson said as he threw Kielmark at Anthron.
Just as Kielmark flew from Gwyerson's grip, the black man swung his good arm as if to punch out. Instead Kielmark released a handful of red dust upon Gwyerson. Kielmark landed painfully, rolled, then blacked out.
Gwyerson's eyes widened as his fireball flared. He reached out to extinguish it just as it exploded, blasting his right hand to pieces.
Anthron and Jelik dived for cover but there were no more explosions. Gwyerson had stifled the blast so that it didn't contact any more dust.
Gwyerson let out an unholy howl of pain. Anthron and Jelik lost no time in taking advantage of that. Anthron raced forwards sword held straight out, and skewered the man through the chest. Gwyerson reached into his tunic as his stumped arm smashed into Anthron's ribs. The blonde warrior fell back gasping, just as Jelik jumped from behind. The thief sunk two more daggers into the back of Gwyerson's head. Gwyerson retrieved the bat shaped dagger from his belt, then he attacked. Jelik ducked the attack and kicked out, knocking the dagger harmlessly away. Gwyerson - now unarmed - snarled and launched himself at Jelik.
Jelik didn't expect such a straightforward attack, and they both fell.
Anthron winced as he stood straight, one hand on his side, the other shakily holding his sword. He would not give up.
Gwyerson was over Jelik, pinning him to the ground while the thief furiously thrashed and kicked. Anthron held his sword in both hands and struck Gwyerson with all his strength across his lower back. Gwyerson looked back at Anthron, his chin covered in fresh blood, and threw Jelik aside. Anthron watched in horror as his fatal cut on Gwyerson healed.
"What are you?" Anthron gasped, staggering back.
Gwyerson's red eyes glowed strongly as he advanced. "I'm your death," he grated.
Anthron believed him. The blonde warrior's knees buckled and crashed to the ground, waiting for death. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He couldn't even look towards Gwyerson. He could just stare straight up at what stars he could see. The magic Gwyerson had placed on him was for torture he believed.
Gwyerson looked down on Anthron, blocking his view of the stars, two daggers protruding from the back of his head. Anthron then heard something fly past his ear and, being able to move again, turned to Gwyerson.
Gwyerson Dernas was gone, a gaseous figure dispersing in his place; the bat-shaped dagger appearing back in Jelik's waiting hand.
47
Sarophia: By Stu Dunn