by Jeff Gunzel
“She’s awake, I trust? Bring her to me,” came the all too familiar voice from a back room.
“Right away, sir,” said the blond-haired man. He threw the bucket aside, then untied the ropes around her waist and feet, but left her hands bound. With a harsh tug, he hoisted her from the chair by her arm, then escorted her into another room. There sat Arkare, his seat pulled up to a large table he seemed to have all to himself. Anna found that odd only because the banquet spread out across the table was fit for five or more people. There was a large bowl filled with fruit, a plate of boiled eggs, several loaves of crusty bread, stuffed green peppers, and what looked to be a roasted chicken. There was even a silver pitcher filled with red wine, fruit slices floating on top.
Arkare gestured to the seat across from him. Unsure but not seeing much choice, Anna sank down into the seat.
“Leave us,” he said to the blond man, who then nodded and disappeared from the room.
He poured the wine into a silver goblet and slid it across the table, then poured one for himself. Seeing her shy away from the drink, he drained his own in a single gulp. “It would be rather foolish of me to put up with you for this long, only to poison you now. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She grasped at the goblet awkwardly, trying to grip it with her hands still tied together. She winced, realizing how eager and desperate she must have seemed. But she couldn’t help it. She was famished, and the sight of this food... I could have waited at least a few seconds before snatching at it like a beggar.
“Come now, don’t be shy,” said Arkare, sliding her plate back and forth with two fingers. “You must be starved. As you can see, there is plenty for both of us.” She held up her tied hands and gave him a pleading look. “You’ll manage,” he replied dryly, a hint of annoyance betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.
With her hands still strapped, she reached across the table and grabbed an entire loaf of bread. After dropping it on her plate, she went back and snatched an apple from the bowl. With her hunger winning out over her pride, she tore into the bread. Gorging greedily, she hovered over her plate protectively, as if worried this was all a cruel joke and he might snatch it away at any moment.
“My private cooks are the only ones I trust to prepare my meals. It’s seems as though you’ve found something to your liking,” said Arkare, refilling his goblet. With her mouth full, she nodded before gulping heavily from her own goblet. The wine was warm and sweet, nearly rivaling the fine wine that could be found in her home city. “Good. Now that you’re settling in, I thought perhaps we could have a talk. I have a few questions for you.”
Anna stopped chewing, her gaze rose from the feast and she looked into the killer’s eyes. As always, his pale face reminded her of a bloodless corpse. “Are you saying you need my help? Is that what this is all about?” she asked.
“I’m implying that a little cooperation on your part might make your temporary stay with us a bit more...comfortable. Answering a few of my questions would not hurt your chances of getting back to your family more or less...unharmed. Now, I want you to tell me you understand.”
She casually took a bite from her apple, then held it in front of her face for a long while, using it to hide her grin. “You still can’t find him. Can you?” she said.
The look on Arkare’s face validated her hunch. “His days are numbered, I assure you,” he replied stiffly. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Suddenly feeling empowered, she felt the urge to push this a bit farther. Her bravery stemmed from knowing he needed her alive. “Although it’s obvious your men are finding difficulty in locating this one...single...assassin, am I correct in assuming the Shadow is having no such difficulty hunting them?”
“If by hunting you mean hiding in dark corners like a coward, then striking my men from behind,” he said. “Then I would be forced to agree. ”
“And now I suppose you’ll ask me about his habits, or what he has told me about this rundown little town? Perhaps he mentioned a secret hiding place that only he and I know about? Are you so desperate—so completely out of ideas of how to capture him—that you thought by some small chance I might have valuable information for you? I’ll remind you that he is not my friend or ally. He brought me here to barter with you, so he could take his gold and run off into the night! And from where I’m sitting, it looks like you should have taken it. Now all you can do is sit by helplessly while he picks off your pathetic pack of bandits like flies!”
Arkare flipped the table, sending food flying halfway across the room. Grabbing her by the hair, he dragged her across the floor, through the doorway and back into the first room. Enraged, he flung her into the corner. She slammed hard into the wood, all the air instantly driven from her lungs. “Keep this whore tied up in here until I say otherwise,” Arkare yelled to the blond man who jumped out of his chair, not sure how to handle the hostile situation. “Do not feed her or give her anything to drink. If she needs to relieve herself, she will do it in the clothes she has on! And most importantly, if she gives you trouble of any kind, her fingers are expendable. You have ten individual options for keeping her mouth shut. If you find you’ve exhausted all these options, report back to me and we will consider her toes.” Shocked, eyes bulged like an insect, the man nodded.
Arkare bent low and pressed his forehead against hers. Anna was only now starting to get her breath back. “Do not forget who I am,” he hissed. “Perhaps I do need you alive, but that is the only requirement for me to get my gold. Your body being whole and your face intact are not necessities.” He stormed from the room and out into the street.
Anna curled up in the corner, her hands snug over the top of her head. Her scalp burned from being dragged and her back was sore from the impact. Still, there was a subtle sense of satisfaction in the back of her mind. A tiny seed of hope. Arkare had reached out for her help, and yet she had somehow found the strength to deny him. Of course, she couldn’t have helped him even if she wanted to. Azek was as big a mystery to her as he was to Arkare. But that wasn’t the point. She had some power over the situation, if only just a little. The thought brought a smile to her face.
* * *
Verck and Zool watched as Gill and Orsh’s bodies, along with their separate heads, were thrown into a wheelbarrow and carted away. Zool gurgled something in his bubbly voice, the glistening tentacles writhing around his face as he spoke.
Verck flicked at the hanging stick with his hand, making it clack against the wood frame of the wagon. An old trick to be sure. To believe any of these thugs were dumb enough to fall for this was a harsh reminder of how different the wolves’ lair was these days. At least compared to the disciplined, organized group Verck remembered from not so long ago.
“Arkare has no idea who he’s dealing with,” said Verck, shaking his head as the wheelbarrow disappeared around the corner. “This is all just some shallow game of pride to him. He doesn’t care how many lives it will cost in the end.” Zool gurgled in reply. “Patience my friend, patience,” Verck replied.
A bit of black dust sifted down from a nearby rooftop. They both looked up to the minor disturbance but saw nothing. “You’re out there somewhere, old friend,” said Verck as he scanned the rooftops. “Let’s hope I find you before he does.”
* * *
The three-man patrol marched back and forth across the rooftop. From here they had a decent view of the streets below. Word of impending trouble had already passed through the town like a forest fire, so the streets were even emptier than usual. Arkare’s men were the only ones stalking about. The locals stayed hidden in their homes waiting for this rumored war to pass.
A whistle from a nearby rooftop drew the men’s attention. It was Nazzen, easily the finest sword arm amongst Arkare’s crew. They were relieved to see the killer so nearby. Word of Orsh and Gill’s fate had already spread, and these three were getting nervous.
As usual, Nazzen was shirtless, his tightly wound muscles exaggerated by the snug leather strap
s that crisscrossed his chest. They held his two swords to his back. He had plenty of scars, but none as pronounced as the one that split his face diagonally from temple to chin. It was hard to believe anyone could survive such an injury, but no one was ever bold enough to ask about it.
Silently, he pointed to his own eyes, then swept his hand across the streets down below. All three men shook their heads in response. No, they had seen no sign of him yet. Unable to hide his frustration, Nazzen snarled, looking even angrier than usual. His constant bloodlust was no secret, and unlike the others, he chose to patrol alone. He didn’t care as much about the reward as he did about fame. Nazzen wanted desperately to be known as the man who killed the Shadow. With a grumble, he leapt across to the next rooftop and bounded away.
“Do you suppose Nazzen will be the one to find him?” asked Rith quietly.
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” replied Shmally, fingering his sword and gazing around cautiously. “If we can get to him first and take down this rabid dog, we’ll be legends. We will be—”
“Dead if you don’t keep your eyes open,” interrupted Lofild, nervously glancing back over his shoulder. Lofild had been with the wolves’ lair when Azek was still in power, and the other two knew it. “Neither one of you fools has any idea what he’s capable of.”
“Well then, Lofild,” said Rith, grinning at the man’s uneasiness. “Why don’t you go ahead and explain to us what this traitor is capable of? Remind me once more why we’re supposed to be shaking like little girls.”
“They say he never sleeps and hunts only at night,” said Lofild in a light whisper, as if telling a ghost story around an open fire.
“Oh, well, the sun is up, so I guess we’re safe,” joked Rith, elbowing the other man in the ribs. They both got a short-lived chuckle before an irritated Lofild went on.
“No one sees the Shadow come or go. He can slip into a locked room without a key, slit the throats of all who reside, then melt into the night without even disturbing the dust on the floor. You both know I worked for Azek Lamanton. I’m telling you, he wasn’t known for his temper or public acts of violence.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Rith, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
“When a business deal went bad and an assassination was required to keep things quiet, he rarely sent anyone else to take care of it,” said Lofild. “He would disappear for a while, then return as if nothing had happened.” They looked at him with confusion. “Don’t you two understand? The target just disappeared. Poof,” he said, holding his hands outward for emphasis. “The body was never found, and there was never...ever...a single witness. He is possibly the greatest silent killer to ever live, and here we are trying hunt him down like some runaway thief.”
“What are you saying?” asked Shmally. “That we don’t have a chance? Is this a suicide mission?”
“I am saying don’t let your guard down for a second. If he sees us first, then it’s already too late,” warned Lofild.
The two watched on, horror filling their eyes as Lofild grew a second set of arms. They rose up from his sides, each holding a sword. Seeing the look in their eyes, Lofild froze in place, afraid to turn around and look. There came a hissing voice that whispered in the back of his ear, “One shouldn’t be so eager to search for death.” The swords flashed through his neck, sending his head tumbling across the rooftop.
Shmally and Rith cried out, drawing their swords in a panic. Their hands trembled to the point where their blades actually quivered. The cloaked figure wasted no time trying to measure up his most recent opponents. They were a minimal danger, yet he could feel the true threat coming up fast from behind. Azek slashed high at Shmally, causing the semi-skilled fighter to parry the half-hearted blow. With his sword up high and his entire torso defenseless, Azek impaled the man’s gut with his second blade, then tore it free, spilling gore across the rooftop.
Rith charged with desperation, his sword swinging in wild loops. Azek’s warrior senses were screaming now. He had to dispatch this nuisance quickly. In one fluid movement, Azek parried the wild swing, slashed the man’s knee wide open, and ducked the dagger that was tumbling toward the back of his head. Of course he never actually saw the dagger, but his veteran instincts sensed the coming danger. Rith had no time to scream out. A victim of friendly fire, he clawed at the dagger sunk deep in his chest, stumbled backward, then fell off the roof.
Azek dove into a forward roll as twin blades sliced the air behind him, the tip of one grazing the back of his cloak. He rolled up to his feet and spun about, swords up and ready. Immediately his blades crashed against steel, intercepting the second pair of strikes that nearly found their mark. With their blades pressed together, Azek stood nose to nose with Nazzen. Grimacing with his huge arms bulging from tension, the brute glared into his eyes with an icy stare. “It looks as though the glory will be mine,” said Nazzen, leaning in harder. “Fortune smiles on me this day. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
Azek pushed back, forcing the bigger man’s feet to slide a few inches. “I don’t know that finding me is a sign of fortune. Perhaps you should ask your comrades about that,” growled Azek, pushing him back even further. The assassin had an uncanny ability to generate power far greater than his slim but rock-hard frame would suggest. “However, perhaps dying by the Shadow’s blade might be viewed as a glorious end. You always thought yourself the better swordsman, Nazzen. What better way to prove it to the world than by killing me?”
With an explosive thrust they pushed at the same time. Their swords ground against each other, then separated. They circled away, eyes locked onto each other. Lesser men might have yielded from the sheer intensity, but these true warriors were cut from the same cloth. Neither was prone to mistakes on the battlefield, so the first to make one would most likely pay with his life.
“Just a few more years and I would have worked my way up the ranks, supplanting Grandol Humbock as our rightful leader,” said Nazzen, clacking his swords together, circling to his left. “He was too soft to be a leader, as were you! I would have brought grandeur and fame to the wolves’ lair. Our influence would have stretched far beyond this wretched little town, possibly across the realm. Kings and queens would have knelt at my feet!”
“And to what end?” asked Azek, his swords crossed and his hood low over his face. He circled away slowly, keeping just the right distance between them. “The world is too big even for you. Despite your outrageous ambitions, you know nothing of leadership, or the burdens that come with it. Every decision you make carries the weight of hundreds of lives. Would you have sacrificed the lives of your men for the glory of the wolves’ lair, or for the glory of Nazzen?” The brute snarled but said nothing. “That is why Grandol chose me to carry on our duties when he was gone.”
“A mistake, to be sure,” Nazzen snapped. He stopped circling and raised his blade, pointed it at Azek. “You were afraid he might one day realize the lack of wisdom in his decision, so you murdered him like a thief in the night. You’re a coward who deserves to die by my blade.”
“I did not kill him!” said Azek, displaying more emotion than he had intended. He softened his voice. “Nor did I ever consider him my enemy. He was like a father to me and I will never forget what he did for me and the wolves’ lair. Once, I even talked him out of having you...eliminated. He told me you were too brash and dangerous. That you were quickly becoming a threat to yourself, as well as our brothers. I told Grandol you only gave in to your emotions so easily only because you pushed yourself to be the best. A state of mind I could relate to at the time. I now see that he was correct and that I was the one with clouded judgment.” Azek raised his swords and lowered his stance. His breathing was smooth and even, completely under control. “The time has come that I remedy my lapse in judgment. In these final moments, reflect on your wasted life, for you will not see another sunrise.”
The warriors charged in with explosive force, their swords crashing against
each other with incomprehensible speed. Whirling blades collided over and over, creating showers of blue and orange sparks blooming out in all directions.
Nazzen was the stronger of the two, and deceptively fast for a man of his build. With his heavy barrage of sword strikes carrying more force behind them, Azek found himself taking steps backward to compensate for the savage assault. Recognizing the assassin’s minor retreat, Nazzen’s ferocity grew and he pressed into an all-out offensive flurry. The assassin’s blades worked feverishly to defend against the onslaught, deflecting each strike at the last possible second.
Realizing his strikes were only missing their marks by impossibly small increments, the brute pushed with everything he had. Years of built-up jealously and anger unleashed themselves in an animalistic rage. He saw before him the man who had held him back from greatness. A man who was fading physically and would fall at any moment. He saw...exactly what Azek wanted him to see...
Azek worked his blades with speed and precision, deflecting strikes mere inches away from his flesh, but never once counter attacking. Above the high-pitched sounds of clashing steel, he could hear Nazzen’s ever increasing heavy breathing. The assassin took note of the heavy yet predictable strikes repeated over and over. The clear pattern presenting itself again and again. Despite Nazzen’s considerable skill, he seemed to be content with trying to overpower Azek. Driven by rage, he pressed forward straight as an arrow, his blades shredding the air like broken glass caught in a tornado. Straight, straight, straight, left slash...straight, straight, straight, right slash. This predictable fool... thought Azek.
The pattern repeating, Azek waited even longer to block as he feigned fatigue. Nazzen’s breathing came in raspy bursts and his arms burned, but so convinced he was that any moment one of these strikes would find a home, that he pressed on with everything he had left.
Straight, straight, straight... Azek timed it perfectly, countering with speed and ferocity Nazzen had never seen in his life. Driving his blades up and out, he caught Nazzen completely off balance. Both Nazzen’s swords suddenly blasted out wide, leaving his whole body exposed. Losing the grip on his left sword, it went tumbling over the edge to the street below. Azek’s blades exploded into a whirling blur. Deep slashes seemed to appear across Nazzen’s body all at once.