Editor's Note: Story copyright Brandon Brooks, all rights reserved.
'I will dine with you shortly, and then I must be off to meet our new allies. Expect battle soon, my brothers and sisters, and wait in the city for my return,' their leader commanded.
'We shall do as you say, my lord,' one of the group said, a young half-elven man. Though dressed as an attendant, he was wearing fine quality silk garb, as were the rest of the entourage accompanying Votishal on his mission to Drakhiya. The small mix of men and women from Duender were hand-picked by the fighter, and like him they were not really tradesmen but warriors. For now they were being sent out into the city to keep the Eldar presence visible, even while Votishal prepared for his sojourn to the strange tower in the south.
As the contingent left through the archway and out into the hall, a passing orc palace guard leered at them, visibly fighting to maintain self-control. The elves and humans from Duender ignored the scornful guard icily and proceeded to the city streets outside.
All that remained in the lush guest chamber were Votishal and his henchman, Stobb, who casually leaned against a column by the entryway. A corrupt grin slowly crept across the half-orc's face as he beheld the elf in silence. Stobb would finally begin to have his freedom from the lifelong oppression of the Eldar guild's constant silent judgement of him. Sick of their disdain, pity and shame, he found it fitting that Votishal's cleaved skull would be the first of many more to come. His hand went to the haft of his great two-handed axe and brushed against his tunic, where it concealed the mark of the Scythe clan.
As the elf buckled on a glittering breastplate made of a strange metal, the half-orc glanced sharply into the shadows cast by the noonday sun in the back of the room. There the lissome form of a human rogue stood, standing taut and silent behind a column near the elf. Stobb grinned to himself, deciding not to steal Nattick's thunder as he recognized the shadowy outline of his rogue friend.
'Votishal,' the half-orc said quietly.
'What is it, Stobb?' the elf replied, busily donning a light desert robe over his armour.
'Things look pretty good for us now, don't they?' Stobb gazed intently at his charge, studying his expressions.
The elf grinned confidently. 'A great war is brewing, and one that we are sure to win. The key to what happens next lies in that tower. When it is done, the land will belong to us again, it's rightful caretakers. Much Scythe blood will be shed, and soon!' Votishal stared defiantly, caught up in his pride.
'Did I not mention? I was never on your side, you puny elf,' Stobb said ominously.
The elf merely stared at him confusingly, his jaw hanging open and his eyebrows raised. 'Stobb, wha-'
In a blur Nattick leapt out from behind the column, driving the point of his wickedly sharp knife home in between the unaware elf's ribs. Votishal cried out in pain as he was wounded deeply. Acting out of rigid discipline, the fighter somersaulted forward and came up on his feet facing his opponent. He winced in pain as he slowly unsheathed the large blade at his side, blood welling down his backside from the deep wound.
The rogue threw back the hood of his cloak and snarled defiantly at the elf, and with lightning quickness he yanked his prized sword from its scabbard. Nattick twirled the knife in his left hand as he beckoned to the fighter with his sword, its finely-welded blade glinting in the light.
As Votishal slowly brought the point of Elvenheart up in front of him, he became enveloped in a glowing blue light, and new energies wafted over him, diminishing the pain from the stabbing. He stared balefully at the assassin before him, noticing that he seemed to somehow blend in with the background even as he moved. The bastard was wearing Arehtama's cloak, and this made Votishal feel at once angered and threatened.
The two circled each other slowly and menacingly, as Stobb quietly placed a folding screen across the room's lone entryway, exchanging a meaningful glance with the palace guard outside.
'I don't know what the hell is going on here, but both of your scalps will adorn the palisade back in camp!' Votishal shouted angrily at the rogue, eyeing Stobb warily and readying for an attack from both. The half-orc now merely sat cross-legged in front of the screen, his large axe strapped to his back. He stared back at the elf immovably.
The rogue feinted a time or two, making the bloodthirsty elf flinch and leap forward each time, but he proved to have excellent balance, almost as good as Nattick's. Finally Votishal let out a cry and
charged straight at the rogue, who met the downward slice of the elf's massive sword with his own in a speedy parry.
Quickly, Nattick spun around and to the right of the charging elf, his knife slicing quickly across the fighter's outstretched right arm, leaving a thin red ribbon of blood in its path.
Not letting the sneaky human get behind him a second time, Votishal quickly righted himself and bore down upon the rogue again, this time weaving the large sword quickly and in a complicated attack. The elf demonstrated an uncanny agility with a blade that was seemingly too large for him, and instead of slowing him down it appeared to give him strength.
Nattick had no choice but to steadily parry the fighter's exacting thrusts and slashes, only his expert command of the sword and dagger keeping him alive. The flickering blue light around the elf proved somewhat distracting to the rogue, and he tried to counter this by spinning his knife, attempting to divert the fighter's eyes for just a second.
Nattick slowly gave ground to Votishal, who was trying to work him into a corner. He had fought such experienced fighters before, and knew he had to keep moving and parrying lest he be hacked to pieces if cornered.
Seizing a rare opportunity, Nattick batted the elf's two-handed sword away as he feinted with it, and sliced open a gash on the fighter's left leg. Nattick had managed to sustain only a few cuts and nicks from the point of the large blade as he swept by the fighter, and his opponent was now visibly bleeding from several large cuts.
Votishal screamed in rage, and with one hand he picked up a metal brazier and hurled it at the rogue with astonishing strength. Nattick had to duck and barely missed being struck upon the head by the iron brazier, which whizzed past and clanged into the wall behind him. Embers spilled forth from the top of the brazier in an orange flurry, clattering about harmlessly on the stone floor.
The elf was upon him again with renewed fury and with a quick, circular motion he managed to disarm Nattick, sending his sword flying well behind and to the left of him.
Hastily, Nattick snatched up one of the many throw pillows lying about and tossed it straight at the fighter. Votishal brought Elvenheart slicing down, cleaving the pillow in mid-air, sending goose feathers flying and falling about like a thick snow.
Votishal grinned triumphantly and loosed a wicked cut with his blade right at Nattick's head, who dropped into a crouch, artfully dodging the swing and executing a perfect foot sweep. He knocked the fighter to his feet before him.
Moving so fast even Stobb's rapt stare could not catch it fully, Nattick produced two hunga-mungas from within his tunic and hurled them at Votishal's fallen form. They both plunged deep into the elf's abdomen, producing a meaty sound as they bit deeply into his unguarded flesh. Greenish ooze seeped from the wounds and Votishal clutched at them feebly, the poison spreading through his veins like liquid fire.
As Elvenheart fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor beside him, the blue glow abruptly winked out of existence, and the elf groaned. The last of the feathers slowly settled to the ground beside him, landing in a growing pool of the elf's tainted blood.
Ignoring Nattick and glaring up at Stobb, who now stood over him, Votishal spat. 'You have betrayed us, half-breed, proving you are no better than the orc scum that gave you life. You will not live much longer than I.'
'Maybe not,' Stobb replied, 'but I have found true brotherhood, something your people could never give.' The half-orc grinned evilly at Votishal as he stood and raised his tunic, revealing the steely mark of the Scythe burned into his flesh.
'No...' Votishal gasped as he died, his eyes and face now glassy with the shock of betrayal and death.
Stobb simply spat upon the ground, and Nattick had already begun rifling through Votishal's garments, his bastard sword again hanging at his side in its sheath. Elvenheart was also sheathed and on the rogue's back. Stobb shook his head slowly in bewilderment, feeling slightly uneasy at how quickly and effortlessly the rogue moved without detection.
'Well done, Stobb, you'd make Boki proud.' Nattick said as he continued to search through the slain elf's belongings. He cast a sideways glance at the half-orc and smirked, 'And thanks for letting me do him alone. I've wanted that scalp for some time.' In a flash the rogue had the elf's scalp in his hands, and it was easy to see that Nattick had scalped many a corpse before this one.
Stobb grinned back at the rogue. 'You know, Nattick, I'm one of few who can look you in the eye. You're so damned creepy, half the guild is afraid of you. Besides, all I care about is finally being able to go to camp. I'm sick of the Eldar and their stinking teas.' The half-orc spat into his hands and then began to straighten up the room. 'The blood and feathers won't be a problem, but what do you want me to do with this?' Stobb said, nudging Votishal's corpse with the toe of his boot.
Nattick looked up and paused thoughtfully as he stared at the fallen elf. 'Isn't the kitchen right around the corner?'
Stobb frowned for a moment and said, 'Well, yeah, but-'
'Use that axe of yours and give something to the cook to make for these nice Eldar folk when they return. You know they can't resist the Drakh spices, and why not let them share in our tradition of dining upon corpses?' Nattick gave the half-orc a depraved grin.
Stobb threw back his head and laughed, twirling a silver headband around one finger. He hefted the limp form of the elf over his shoulder and disappeared through the doorway, the screen that was blocking it now moved aside.
Meanwhile, Nattick read with alacrity a scroll he had found tucked away in a crystal tube, concealed within a pouch of the fighter's belt:
Z
Have your Consortium ready by the last day of the Feast. We will drive the barbarian Scythe guild
down to you first so that you may 'dispose' of them as you had proposed. We shall clean the filth
from Drakhiya at the same time.
Remember: You are not to harm or banish any of the human folk associated with the Eldar, as per our original agreement. They will know of your magics and will assist in the cleansing.
I have sent Votishal to you to act as your lieutenant. You will find his thirst for Scythe and orc blood unparalleled.
I
Nattick frowned. Consortium? Cleansing? Whatever the Eldar and the mysterious denizens of the monolith were up to, it did not bode well at all for the future of the Scythe. It appeared this Consortium might have something against humans, as well. Balfor had been right, Duender was up to something, but what had that bastard gotten him into this time? He did not like the sound of this 'Z' with whom the 'I', most likely Illarin, was communicating. Of all of his marks, the toughest had always been magic users, and only powerful magics could enable the construction of a tower made of diamond. Nattick shivered.
Yet his thrill for a challenge egged him on, and he would be sure to extract at least double payment from Balfor when all of this was settled. The rogue quickly swallowed his fear and began to relish the idea of taking out yet another garlic-eating mage.
Just then Stobb reappeared from the kitchens, gnawing on some mysterious meat that had been skewered upon a stick. Nattick rolled his eyes disapprovingly at the half-orc and said, 'The cooks down here use too much rodent for my liking.'
Stobb shrugged and said, 'What do we do now?' He touched Nattick's Scythe mark and paled visibly as he transferred his own strength and energy into his bloodbrother. Stobb wilted just a little as the rogue's cuts healed almost completely, and the thin human nodded at him in appreciation.
Nattick pressed the cylinder containing the cryptic message into Stobb's hands. 'I need to get to that tower. Go to the captain in the Dalairi embassy, have him take you to Akul. Give him this, and make sure he gets word to Boki and the others. They are about to be ambushed, and we need them down here as soon as possible. Until then, lie low. There is no telling how soon the other Eldar in Votishal's party will discover that he is missing.'
The half-orc snickered. 'Or that they've just had him for dinner.'
Nattick grinned at his bloodbrother as he backed away, melting into the shadows. 'In a few weeks, when this is finished, I'll take you into the frozen wastes to visit the northern orcs. The women are lonely up there!'
Stobb chuckled as he set about cleaning up all traces of battle in the Eldar suite. Before he could turn around his rogue friend was out the window and gone.
Much later in the evening, following a delightfully spicy dinner of exotic meats, every last member of the Eldar contingency spent hour after hour hunched over the chamber pot, retching horribly. None of the elves knew exactly what the meat was, but somewhere outside the palace's rear gate, smoking her pipe of tabaq, an orc cook who knew cackled evilly.
