I can smell them. They were here in this passage perhaps five minutes past. Someone else is with them, a mortal whose scent I cannot quite place. Who it is doesn’t really matter, though, since they will all die just the same.
“Are you afraid, mighty warriors? Too frightened to face your destiny? I have your friend, and I will kill him if I must.” They do not respond.
Either they do not hear, or they do not care.
My gaze shifts to my burden. He is still struggling and gasping for breath. His thick meaty fingers are scraping desperately at my grip, but to no avail. Even if he were not so weak from lack of air he could never unloose my hold. His face has an odd purplish hue to it. It is almost pretty.
Sighing, I let my grip loosen an imperceptible amount. As much as I would like to finish him, there is need not to kill him just yet; he is still my bait. The humans must be unable to hear my threats. That being the case, I shall raise my voice.
I continue down the hall, shouting louder. “Show yourselves, cowards. I have your warrior and I will slay him.”
At last, there is a response from around the bend. “Cowards! You call us cowards? Only a coward would take a man hostage.” It is Coragan’s voice and he sounds angry.
Gleefully, I stroll forward with my burden in tow. At last, I shall avenge Clarissa’s death and put an end to this pathetic rabble.
Pain lances into my shoulder as a bolt tipped with silver strikes. It buries itself in my flesh, heightening my rage. I grunt once, then lift my burden up for the bounty hunter to see. “Throw your weapons down, or I will crush his throat.”
The three men stand in the hall ahead of me. They are arranged in a line before an ancient rune-covered door. Galladrin has his rapier, Coragan his crossbow, and the man I don’t recognize has drawn a wooden stake in lieu of the sword resting at his side. They stand poised and ready, but I can sense their fear.
“Release him, Lucian, or are you that afraid of us?” Coragan lowers his weapon, but does not toss it to the side. “Must you hide behind a prisoner to keep you safe? Is your soul so empty that you lack even courage enough to fight your own battles?”
My laughter echoes down the hall. “Afraid? Of you? What is there to fear from mortal men like you? You have silver, yes; but I have strength, I have speed, intelligence, and abilities and powers of which you can barely dream. I have no more need to use this mortal as a shield than I’ve need of air to breathe.” With a flick of my arm, the warrior’s body is tossed to the side. He smashes face first into the wall and crumbles in a heap—he is not going anywhere and can be killed at my later convenience. Perhaps he might even make a good companion. I take three steps forward. “As you can see, I have no fear. Come, let us finish this. And let the warrior’s soul be the prize.”
The guardsman with the wooden stake begins to shake. His hand quivers, and his lips tremble. With another step, I break his courage. Terror fills his face, and he turns screaming to the door at the side. He pulls it open, then runs through. Galladrin’s gaze flickers nervously from me to the door, then back again.
“I’m sorry, Coragan,” Galladrin says, his voice cracking. “I don’t think we’ll win this.” Shaking visibly, the rogue, too, slips through the door.
Coragan is alone now, fear written on every expression of his face. I motion to the door. “Who is the coward now, bounty hunter? I remain, yet your friends have fled.”
The man nervously chews his lip, then slowly lifts his sword. With his opposite hand, he reaches into a hidden pocket to pull forth a small medallion which he then displays before me. I sense a power from it; a touch of the divine and holy. Unfortunately for him, he does not have the skill to wield it. One more step and Coragan of Esperia, the renowned bounty hunter of untold glories, breaks like a dried and brittle twig. He edges toward the exit, then rushes through. It closes with a loud thump and click.
Laughing, I approach. Do these mortals think they can truly flee from me? The night is young yet and my thirst barely sated. This shall be a glorious evening, a night to be remembered by all the ages. I, Lucian val Drasmyr, shall once again prove myself victorious. My enemies shall paint the stones with their blood, and I shall drink until I have consumed my fill.
The door before me is covered with strange markings, and a soft aura of magic. Reaching forward, I find it does not yield to my ethereal touch, and I cannot pass through. Is that their master plan? To escape behind a door through which I cannot pass, then lock it as they flee? The fools should have realized there is more than one way to open a door.
I raise both my hands above my head and clench them into fists. “Let the Night rule forever.” With the strength of a god, I smash the door wide and advance into the room beyond.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 80