Graduation Day
Chapter 4 – The Black Finger
From her vantage point atop the wall, the elf regarded the dark-robed cleric. Daelynn had little knowledge of how divine magicks worked. Did he know she had departed the tower? Did he need to see her to curse her? Could one of his spells reach her at this distance? She touched the hidden pocket in her leather vest that held one of Tymora's blessed coins.
Braxes was now shouting something, his attention fixed on the Tymoran temple. Glancing across the plaza Daelynn saw movement at the temple doorway. A small, white-haired figure wearing a belted, grey robe exited from the vestibule to stand on the broad upper step. Mistress Alline. The elderly priestess's hands were clasped in front of her, held at chest height. The Preceptress regarded the plaza and slowly shook her head. She moved her left hand, as if shooing away a fly. The two globes of darkness closest to the temple vanished revealing two leather clad, armed figures. At a shouted command from Braxes the two men, both armed with swords, charged towards the temple steps.
Daelynn gasped as she realized that Alline was their intended target. She took a deep breath, ready to shout a warning when the priestess made a quick, small gesture with her right hand. Before any word of alarm could be spoken, the two men stopped in mid-stride. One had a foot on the lowest step of the temple, the other man was a yard or so behind the first. Both men stood stock-still, as if frozen in place.
The shouting from the tower had increased in volume. Sparing a glance rearward, the elf saw flames licking at the tower base. Thinking her still inside, the gang had fired the abandoned structure. Sard would soon be forced to follow her down the rope, Daelynn reasoned. But the elf could not risk waiting for the thief to exit – she had to move! Readjusting the strap of the bag that held the second half of the Trysech against her back, she slipped over the wall into a deeper darkness.
The uneven patchwork of light and shadow that filled the plaza offered Daelynn two routes to the base of Tymora's temple. One was relatively straightforward but passed near three of the dark globes, which she was certain held more enemies. A second pathway zigged and zagged towards the gateway and Braxes before veering back to the Tymoran refuge. Neither path would wholly hide her from searching eyes. As Braxes' abilities were unknown to her, she thought it best to avoid the cleric. Starting along the more direct path, she moved hurriedly from shadow to shadow.
Swift movement overhead caught her eye. An arrow passed harmlessly over the closest black globe and smashed in to the yard's stone flagging. Casting a quick glance back at the tower, she saw it was aflame. Smoke issued from every opening. Orange fire roared upwards. She could not see Sard. Another arrow, shot from the tower, arced in to the plaza. This one penetrated the black globe nearest her. A woman tumbled out of it. She clawed briefly at the arrow in her side then lay still. Her body sported leather armor and a broad belt that held several hatchets.
A third arrow flew across the plaza, entering the next closest globe of darkness. That globe winked out of existence revealing a stout young man now transfixed to the lamp standard by the arrow. An axe slipped from dying fingers and clattered to the pavement. Sard had cleared a pathway for her! She turned back to look again at the tower only to see it completely engulfed in flames. She watched with dismay as the ancient structure crumbled before her eyes. Flames, sparks and smoke climbed skyward; she heard the remains of the building crash to the ground beyond the wall; ash drifted in the air. Whatever Sard's debt to Roland, it had been repaid.
The elf turned away. Looking forward, there was only one sphere of darkness left between her and the temple steps. Braxes and Alline stood still; each cleric focused on the elf and her progress across the plaza. All the other temple doors were closed.
Daelynn glanced quickly at the axe lying on the ground near her. Too heavy for her to use, she judged. Drawing one of her throwing stars, she marched towards the last black globe. At twenty paces distance she threw the shuriken at the center of the ebon sphere. It had no sooner entered the darkness when a sharp metallic clang sounded from inside and the star flew out, tumbling across the plaza stones. In the same instant the globe dissolved, revealing an armor-clad figure illuminated by the two torches set high on the light standard.
The Black Finger stepped forward and away from the light pole. He wore a long, belted chain mail shirt and leather helmet. The rest of his clothing was dyed a deep, dark red, similar in color to the tunic and robes that she had seen Braxes wear. The man carried a short-sword in each hand. The sword in his right-hand was as black as midnight; the one in his left shone silver. Daelynn's sharp elven vision noted that the forefinger of his right leather glove had been dyed black. She had stopped her advance and watched the assassin. Average height, average build, unremarkable features, but he carried himself with an air of deadly menace. Armored and well armed, he moved lightly, his steps sure. He positioned himself directly between Daelynn and Tymora's temple.
"So, as yar alone I figure yar master's now dead?" The Black Finger waved the dark sword. "I call this beauty 'Beshaba's Bite'. It's a poisoned blade. Just a scratch will kill. And Tymora's Divine Seeker got more then a scratch!"
Daelynn had never heard the term 'Divine Seeker' before, but it well-suited Roland's work over the past year. And sounded so much better than 'Church Thief'.
"Were it up to me, I'd just kill ya and be done. But, powers that be says to make ya an offer. Leave the Trysech and walk away, now."
In reply Daelynn reached over her right shoulder and drew her own short-sword. Dropping her left hand to her side she pulled her long knife from its sheath on her thigh. She held both weapons at low guard - an invitation for the Black Finger to make the next move.
"Ha! I was hopin' that 'd be yar answer! Taken on yar master's quest, eh? I never killed two Divine Seekers in one day before! Die, Tymoran scum!"
The man set one sword at mid-guard, the other at high guard, and charged towards the elf. Repositioning her weapons, Daelynn leaped forward to meet him.
The first few passes were a test of the other's abilities. Thrusts, parries, half-hearted ripostes. Then the pace of battle quickened. Steel flashed in the torch light. The clang of metal, grunts, obscene oaths and an elven battle cry echoed across the square. A long knife was no match for a sword - Daelynn used hers more for deflection than attack. That should have forced her to a more defensive technique, but she compensated for inferior weaponry with youthful vigor and greater speed.
After a particularly violent exchange of blows both combatants drew back to assess damage and catch their breath. The Black Finger was breathing hard. He wiped sweat from his face and offered Daelynn a wolfish grin.
"By Beshaba's breasts! Whoo! Yar fast. No wonder my disciple failed. But no fancy Shadows like yar master? Wouldn't do any good. These blades are blessed."
"Blessed or cursed, it matters not." Daelynn pointed to a nasty looking gash in the man's right leg. "That will soon slow you."
The Black Finger sneered at the elf. "Not as much as ya might think! And although what I gave ya," he gestured at her left shoulder. "Is but a scratch, it was delivered by 'Biter'. Ya'll soon feel the effects of the poison. All I need do is delay ya."
Daelynn's reply was a quick thrust at the assassin's smirking face. The tip of her blade laid open his left cheek. His smirk became a lopsided scowl. He lunged at the elf, both swords thrusting for her mid-section. Daelynn countered with violent parries that left her opponent's left side momentarily open. She swung hard. She knew that a side strike from a shortsword was not going to penetrate chainmail. But when you cannot cut, lacerate or stab - you hammer. She had struck the same spot twice before in their brief struggle; this third strike was the fiercest yet, and it accomplished her goal. The blow broke two of the man's ribs.
From painful, personal experience, gained in training with her mentor, the elf knew that a cracked rib makes each breath hurt. Having to breathe hard and fast due to battle increased the pain five-fold. With his left side momentarily immobilized, the Black Finger was forced to counter with his right-hand sword, the deadly 'Biter'. He brought it over hand in a desperate, deadly, smashing blow aimed at the elf's head.
Daelynn parried, bringing her own sword up hard against the dark blade. It was a novice move that a more experienced fighter would not have made. Striking hard, blade to blade, edge to edge, focused a large amount of force on a small area; her inferior sword shattered.
Only her uncanny speed allowed her to dodge two swipes of the assassin's swords. The elf dove to one side, trying to put distance between herself and death. She tumbled, rolled and scrambled unsteadily to her feet, aware that she had been struck on her right leg.
The Black Finger stood some ten or twelve steps away. He leaned over to his left, favoring that side. Pointing the black blade at Daelynn, he taunted her.
"Too bad about yar sword. And that's another hit. More poison in yar blood. End will come quicker now. Yar slowing."
Perhaps it was the power of the man's words, but Daelynn's vision seemed to cloud. Her wounded leg throbbed and damn it if her cut arm was not going numb. Time was running out. It had to be now.
Sheathing her knife, Daelynn reached into her belt and vest with both hands. She quickly drew and released her last weapons. Four quick flicks of her wrist sent four objects whirling towards the Black Finger. Three razor sharp, spinning discs were fired dead center at the man's armored chest.
Armored or not, a warrior's training and instinct is to avoid a strike. The Black Finger could not move fast enough to dodge the missiles, but he didn't have to. Rapid parries with his black blade sent three throwing stars bouncing across the plaza in random directions. It was at the same instant that his sword struck the fourth object that he realized by its shape, color and manner in which it had been thrown, that it was not a shuriken. His sword destroyed the weak cotton bag, releasing its contents in a yellow-red cloud of fine powder that encompassed his head and shoulders.
A few grains of the expensive, exotic spice that Daelynn had stolen would add zest to any drink. A spoonful would give ample flavor to a meal. A cupful thrown in the face would burn eyes, blister the inside of the nose if breathed, and sear throat and lungs. Coughing, crying and gagging, the Black Finger desperately sought to wipe the spice from his eyes, but his efforts only made things worse.
Drawing her knife, Daelynn charged. The assassin was now flailing about, his swords cutting viscous arcs through the air, trying to fend off the attack he knew was coming. She dropped to the ground, sliding along the paved plaza, slightly below the drifting spice cloud and slashing blades. As she slid by his left side, her knife cut deep in to his knee, severing muscle and tendons. The man cried out and crashed to the ground. Stopping her slide, she jumped to her feet, snatched up the silver blade that had fallen from the assassin's grasp, and sprang upon her hapless foe.
Daelynn struck twice with the flat of the sword; once across the top of her foes' head and then again across the back of his right hand. The head blow stunned him while the blow to the hand disarmed him, the dark blade slipping from nerveless fingers. With her eyes tearing, Daelynn stepped back out of the fast dissipating spice cloud
The Black Finger slowly rolled over and peered up at his vanquisher with watery eyes. In a hoarse voice he swore at her. Hesitantly, he tried to remove the glove from his right hand. He had to use his teeth to do it. Stretched out upon the plaza flagstones, he glared up at the elf, raised his right hand and pointed a black dyed finger at her.
"You've done for me. But if my poison don't get ya, then a Black Finger's Death Curse will!"
He started to chant. Leaping forward, Daelynn shouted a prayer to Tymora, making two swift cuts with the silver sword. The assassin's right hand fell to the ground, neatly severed from his arm at the wrist. Before any cry of pain or horror could be made, the sword ended its second pass in the man's throat.
Using the discarded glove, she cleaned her knife and new sword of gore, sheathed the weapons, and started once more towards Tymora's temple, leaving the body of her master's killer sprawled in a pool of blood. She was having trouble focusing her sight, and the leg and arm that had been gashed by 'Biter' were leaden. Passing the two men who still stood frozen-fast to the base of the steps, Daelynn turned and looked back across the plaza to the west gateway. Braxes was no longer there.
Limping up the stairs, the elf approached Mistress Alline, who had descended part way to meet her. Halting a step above the elf, the cleric stretched out a hand and gently touched Daelynn's head. The elf could feel her pain, nausea and fatigue ebbing away. She pulled the bag from her back and handed it to Alline.
"Sir Roland is dead."
The cleric opened her mouth to speak but instead simply nodded and with tear-filled eyes hugged the girl to her. Arm in arm the cleric and the thief slowly mounted the stairs and entered the temple.
Epilogue: Divine Seeker
Two young acolytes ambled through the grey stone halls of Tymora's temple complex. They were chatting about the day's matins service and complaining about the "old lady". Harmless banter, and their tone was affectionate, although Mistress Alline would not have been amused.
The pair strolled on, oblivious to the figure hidden in the hallway shadows. Daelynn watched the duo turn a corner. Now out of view from chatty novices, the elf maid stepped into the corridor and strode down it to small doorway at the far end. A blue-edged grey cloak, hood up, covered her form. Across her back was strapped a sword, the hilt jutting slightly above her right shoulder.
Daelynn entered the room, a cozy warm study, where Preceptress Alline, Matriarch of Tymora's Church in the East, sat at a table, perusing parchments. The elf seated herself on a small divan and waited. Mistress Alline looked up and greeted the elf.
"Good morning, child."
"Aye ma'am. It is," the elf replied.
Alline smiled. Although favored by Tymora, Daelynn had been hesitant to take on Roland's role. She had set some conditions, which Alline had been only too glad to grant. Not that the elf needed to know that just yet. The aged cleric pushed her work aside.
"Two of my brother clerics from our western church were supposed to arrive here last month," Alline stated. "They are not only late but are missing. They were last seen in Karst."
Daelynn raised one eyebrow. "And you wish me to find them, and bring them here?"
Alline nodded her head in agreement. "Be careful, Daelynn."
The elf stood, pushed back a lock of dark hair, and smiled at her employer and spiritual mentor. "I am always careful, Mistress."
As Daelynn slipped quietly back into the hallway, Alline snorted in reply, turning back to her work. But her mind was not on the dreary task of record keeping. Instead the cleric offered a prayer to her goddess asking her to watch over her new Divine Seeker.
END -
