6
Life, Liberty, and Pursuit
Kythorn (June) 7, 1451
Eric had been a prisoner of the Darkspawn assassins for over a month. His body had borne the brunt of torture, of the rack, of the brands, of the knives, and still he had the will to live. Eric was scarred, his body having scabbed over knife wounds in many places, along with dark parts of branded and blackened skin, but his mind was free. He sustained himself on thoughts of Anor, of the boy he loved as a son, free above, his arm mended and his legs unfettered.
Eric slumped against the wall of his cell. The doorway, blocked by a heavy metal grate, was narrow, and by ingenious design, the heavy ball shackled to his left leg was too wide to fit through it, even if Eric could summon the strength to move the great iron monolith. Eric had no window, but his body told him it was night, for it was always night, according to his internal clock, for he was always in need of sleep.
Outside his cell was nothing but a blank stone hallway, where a jailor would walk, a drawn blade cold in his hand. Eric rested against the wall, the stones more than comfortable, compared to the harsh tortures he had undergone. His eyes were almost closed when he heard a dull thump, then a slight clatter. He jerked them open, and then rushed to the bars. In the hall, the guard was on his back, his blood flowing from his throat, which was cut. His sword was on the floor beside him. There was no sign of a killer. Eric curled his hands into fists, hardly daring to hope.
Then he heard a small voice, and convinced himself he was insane, for from the empty air outside the cell grate, Anor's voice issued. "Eric, is that you?"
Eric's voice was cracked and hoarse "Aye, tis me."
Anor seemingly stepped from the air, "I've come to save you!"
From behind Anor, another man appeared. He was tall and young, but his eyes carried the wisdom of one many years older. He was of elvish descent, for his ears were pointed and his skin held a touch of gold, but the rest of his lineage was unknown to Eric, for his hair, unlike anything Eric had ever seen, was light blue, like the sky on a clear day. The man's clothes were designed to allow easy movement, a sleeveless shirt and a pair of loose pants, both black. A slight breeze seemed to accompany the man, springing from nowhere, and only existing around him. It blew his hair back over his shoulders and ruffled his clothes, but otherwise, the wind seemed not to affect him. A recorder rode at the man's waist, next to a well used rapier.
Eric looked to Anor, his gaze questioning the nature of the stranger. Anor only nodded, this single motion calming Eric's suspicions.
The man put his hand to the grate, and muttered something in a different language, something that Eric could not begin to fathom. Then there was a tone, low but clear, and the grille disintegrated, reduced to a pile of dust and metal slivers. Rather than repeat the spell, the man drew his blade and sliced through Eric's chains as if they had been made of paper.
Eric was free, and in his quaking voice, he thanked his savior, many times, before throwing a bear hug around Anor. Several of his scabs cracked open with the movement, and blood oozed down his side. Eric paid it no heed, for he was free. Scooping up the guard's sword, he brandished it, daring any Darkspawn to show his face.
The blue haired man was down at another cell, conversing with the occupant in a beautiful language that felt out of place in the gloomy setting. Eric guessed, correctly, that it was Elven. Then he repeated the spell he had used on Eric's door, and out stepped another person. He was tall and elven as well, but he was obviously a cross of human and elven blood, and his skin showed the same golden tinge as his savior's. The two held a whispered conversation, then from nowhere, the blue haired man produced a long bladed spear, and the freed man took it from him, spinning it several times, end over end, for no apparent reason. Eric could hear the hum from where he was, over forty feet away.
The pair joined Eric and Anor, and the half-elf introduced himself as Roance, and his brother, "one of very few words," as Aymon.
Aymon's hands worked in the motions of a new spell, and he tossed several pieces of filmy material into the air along with fine dust, which emitted smoke. He touched all of them, and Eric felt himself become insubstantial. He looked down at his body, and saw he was floating several inches off of the floor, with his body a thin mist, almost invisible in the dim light.
"Follow me" said Aymon, and, without waiting for a response, floated away. Eric put his mind to the task of movement, and glided after him. The party did not move fast, each person's speed being about a third of the speed of a man's walking pace. Insubstantiality proved to be a plus though, For Aymon led them through cracks in the walls, always in an upward direction, until the were above ground, in a public square.
It was night, and as soon as the group touched down, they all became solid again. Aymon sang a few notes, and then laid his hand on Roance's chest, emitting a blue pulse of energy, which targeted the man's few injuries. Aymon walked to Eric then, and repeated the process, except to a higher degree. A burst of light flowed from his palm, targeting Eric's many wounds, restoring and revitalizing him.
Roance spoke, his clear voice ringing across the pavestones "We should move, that building…" he indicated a large, stone fronted structure, almost identical to those around it "…is the guild house of the Darkspawn, and they have been known to horribly execute escaped prisoners. I know a safe house not far from her, where several of my companions live."
Without waiting for an answer, Roance walked away at a brisk pace, so brisk, in fact, than Anor had to jog to keep up with him.
Unknown to them, a man had found the guard's body, and throughout the assassins' guild, the alarm was spreading. As the escapees rounded a corner and moved from the square, several hidden doors opened around the area, and five catchers walked into the open, each controlling a chain that held a rat, though these were more than rats, each was the size of a large dog. Dire rats, they were called, and were throwbacks from an age long past.
The men, none shorter than six feet tall, and none under two hundred pounds, were fearsome to behold, and they could do their job well. They started off after the four, the dire rats straining on their collars.
Roance led the group down street after street, turning, twisting alleyways. After over ten minutes of walking, he stopped and rapped on a door, two soft knocks, then two hard ones, then a third, soft again. Several seconds later, the door opened, to reveal an aging man. His beard hung to his chest and he had a stooped posture, but his eyes were bright.
"Roan, how nice to see you!" he exclaimed, pulling Roance into a hug "What trouble have you gotten into now?"
"Darkspawn." It was not Roance who spoke it, but Aymon.
The man paled, then regained his composure, and hurriedly beckoned them inside. "Quick, quick, before someone sees!" His eyes darted around the buildings around them, and, apparently satisfied, he closed the door.
Inside, the house was small, and didn't seem very well protected, until the man pulled away several of the floor stones to reveal a wooden trapdoor. Wrenching on the ring to open it, he quickly motioned the group into a cellar, presumably used as a refuge in times of trouble, for an occupant could pull several sheets of thick metal over the opening. Also, the walls were lined with food, not food one would enjoy eating, but food none the less. Eric fell upon it, filling his starving stomach with anything he could find.
Upstairs several loud knocks sounded, and the man's voice, yelling a reply that he was coming. The knocks continued, then came a crash as the door was smashed off of its hinges. The old man began cursing, telling, in no uncertain terms, his opinion of the culprit's parentage.
A rasp of steel was heard, and then the man screamed. Several seconds later, blood dripped down into the cracks around the trapdoor. Aymon made several gestures, murmuring "Hyinalo Rehake Aura!" A small blue square appeared in midair, from which a cloud exited. Eric blinked, for darker bits of the cloud seemed to form a pair of eyes, but it may have been his imagination. In a voice of whooshing wind and moving storms Aymon stated a command. The cloud floated upwards, ignoring the presence of the trapdoor completely, disappeared for a moment, then returned, and spoke, surprising Eric, though he was now recognizing the cloud as a sentient being. The cloud's words, like those of Aymon seconds earlier were in another language, sounding like the low rumble of a tornado. With a clap of his hands, Aymon dismissed the cloud, then he relayed the information he had gathered.
"Furnor is dead. " Roance let out a moan, and then contorted in rage, his knuckles white on the haft of his spear. Aymon continued "his body lies above us on the trapdoor, and his killers have moved into the next house. We are safe for the moment."
As the words left his lips, a snarl came from above, then the sound of floor stones grating, and then an exclamation of discovery. Aymon muttered several syllables, and the cloud returned, but crackling with lightning. Roance brandished his spear, growling, clearly wanting to avenge his friend's death. Eric picked up his sword, which he had kept from the guard, and Anor drew two long daggers, both showing signs of wear.
The hatch was pulled up, and a vile creature leaped in. A squeal was all it managed before Roance spitted it upon his spear, and then expertly withdrew the weapon. A gout of black blood spurted from the dead creature, drenching the half elf. Eric drew back from the foul smelling liquid. Looking up, Eric beheld a large man with a huge axe leering down at them. Aymon drew his rapier and swiftly ran up the ladder to the opening, his cloud following. Roance ran in his wake, followed by Anor, and then Eric.
The scene in the hut shocked Eric. The old man was stretched out, obviously dead. There was a puddle of blood around him and trails on the floor showed he had been dragged from his former position. The creature that Roance had killed seemed to have eaten a portion of him. IN another corner, the Darkspawn man was on his knees, hamstringed expertly by Aymon. Aymon's rapier darted in and out, each strike connecting and bringing away bright blood. The cloud was around the man's head, lightning strikes constantly flashing and the roar of the wind evident. The man fell, showing an endless number of gashes around his body. When the cloud moved from his head, Eric saw the man's eyes had been burnt out, and none of his hair or beard remained. Aymon's attacks may have been effective, but the damage was mostly inflicted by his cloud.
From the street came two more men, both holding chains controlling huge rats. Eric recoiled. This is what the creature in the chamber was. Roance had a good reason for slaying it. These were obviously feral.
Seeing their dead comrade, the men released the chains. The rats lunged forward. Roance twirled his spear, slamming the butt down one's throat, then turning to plunge the blade into its heart. The other jumped at Eric, who held the sword before him, his legs spread to absorb the impact. The rat collided with him, and Eric was obliged to hack at it, nearly severing its head. While their pets attacked, the men had not been idle. One raised a wand and muttered a word. From the wand leaped a small ball of glowing orange, which detonated twenty feet above the ground, forming a pillar of flame that shot upwards, illuminating the night. The second lifted a sword, and charged, crashing into Anor, and bearing the lighter boy to the ground. Anor plunged his daggers into the man, but he seemed not to notice. The man stood erect again, his chest bloodied, then stabbed down with his sword, sparking off of the floor where Anor had been a second before. Then Aymon and his cloud were upon him. In less than fifteen seconds, he stooped over, dead from a thrust of Aymon's rapier. The final man attacked recklessly, unperturbed by his companions' death. The butt of Roance's spear crashed into his stomach, than a broad sweep of Eric's sword cut into his neck, spraying blood everywhere. The man died quickly, his expression puzzled.
"RUN!" Roance yelled, pointing at the fiery column, "Darkspawn approach!" He sprinted off into the night, followed closely by Aymon, then Anor and Eric, running side by side, Anor supporting Eric, who was bleeding from some of his unhealed wounds and feeling weak.