by Jeff Gunzel
Azek wasted no time in cutting the rest of his bonds. His mind felt numb and fatigued. Even though he suspected the entire ordeal was nothing more than an illusionary world created by the krackanian, both his body and mind were exhausted. Was it real? The pain had been so intense, like nothing he’d ever felt before. Could that really have been no more than a trick of the mind? He wanted nothing more than to lie on the floor and close his eyes, but there was no time for any of that. It was time to prepare for a final push. To exact revenge on a town that had turned its back on him, and its leader, who had underestimated him.
* * *
Azek waited patiently in the dark room. He allowed for a single white candle to remain lit, giving off just enough light to remain useful. Shortly, as he suspected it would, the door swung open then slammed shut in a single nervous movement. “I think he knows what we’re up to. We have to hurry and—” With his hand still on the knob and his back turned, Verck froze in place.
“And just what exactly does he know?” Azek asked calmly.
Verck turned slowly, his face blank and unreadable. He looked at the assassin sitting on the table, his arms casually folded across his lap. A single white candle burned next to him, making his sharp facial features appear angular and jagged, like a man several years his senior. Even though Verck’s heart sank like a rock, he had to admit to himself that this wasn’t a complete surprise. The Shadow always seemed to find a way out of things, and here he was, free and looking extremely irritated.
Verck turned back quickly, attempting to flee, but a well-thrown dagger changed his mind. It grazed his cheek, then slammed into the door. It quivered for a time, giving the illusion that it might be laughing at him. He turned back again, a line of red trickling down to his chin. A glance at the floor answered the only other question he had. Zool lay there, face down in a pool of liquid blue. He sighed, then gave a nod of defeat.
“I think you should sit,” said Azek, gesturing toward the chair that once held him prisoner. His voice was calm, icy. It sent shivers down Verck’s spine. The older man stepped over Zool’s leaking body and fell back heavily into the chair. Even his relaxed body language gave the impression of one who was resigned to his fate. He wasn’t going to run, or try anything foolish, Azek was sure of it.
“Well, well,” said Verck, his broken spirit evident in his soft voice. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, I did leave this dense creature in charge while I was gone.” He kicked the krackanian, its tentacles flopping to the side with a wet smack. Even more blue liquid spilled from its neck. Verck shook his head with regret. “If I hadn’t left you in the first place, then my plan would have—”
“Shut up,” Azek interrupted. If his voice had been icy before, it could freeze fire now. Verck leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, half expecting a blade across his neck. “It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? Someone managed to foil one of your brilliant plans, so the blame must fall on another’s shoulders.” Azek glanced towards Zool’s body. “The dead can’t defend their actions, so blaming him makes perfect sense. If not him, then someone else. That is the way of this cursed town.”
Azek hopped down off the table and paced across the room with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked thoughtful. “I don’t know why it took me so long to see it,” he said, shaking his head. “To think, I used to be just like you. Like all of you. Greedy down to my core, always scheming to get ahead. Never once taking responsibility for my own actions. When things didn’t go my way, there was no shortage of people to blame. It’s always someone else’s fault. And so the circle goes round and round and round. An entire town filled with greedy cutthroats, and the only competition amongst its inhabitants is who can sink the lowest. All for the sake of climbing some invisible ladder of rank that means nothing to the rest of the civilized world. It’s pathetic!”
Verck let out a forced laugh that sounded more like a bark. “So the man who’s spilled more blood than anyone I’ve ever met is going to lecture me on greed? Really now, am I to believe the Shadow has all but changed his ways? Are you now a priest of sorts? A bringer of light and goodness, perhaps?”
Azek showed no anger at the man’s sarcasm. He even nodded and smiled to himself, understanding how preposterous he must sound. Perhaps Zool really had broken his mind. “I am no priest,” he replied softly, giving a slight chuckle at the thought. “I don’t serve the gods in any way, nor do they serve me. You could say we have struck an agreement of sorts.”
He walked over to Verck, hovering over him for a moment. Verck closed his eyes, fully expecting his life to end at any moment. But instead of cold steel, he felt the loose ropes hanging from the chair being refastened around his wrists. A second knot was tied around his feet as well. “A bringer of light and goodness?” said Azek as he tied the last knot. “No, I don’t think so. Such a man could never turn his back on the innocent, or anyone who was suffering, for that matter. I have no time for such inconveniences.” He finished the last knot, then walked over to the door. Verck let out a visible sigh of relief. It appeared that Azek, for whatever reason, was not going to kill him.
A horn blasted from outside, shortly followed by shouts and wild commotion. Azek turned back to Verck, whose eyes were the size of saucers. He too had heard the familiar battle horn, and knew that nothing good would come from it. “You’re correct, Verck,” said Azek, now having to speak up due to the increasing noise outside. “My blades are stained with the blood of many. Some from those who crossed me a single time, some from my most hated enemies. That blood can never be washed away. As you can see, I am no bringer of light, but maybe...just maybe...I am a bringer of truth. I’ll take more lives soon enough, but it won’t be for gain or greed. It will be for justice.”
“So you’re not going to kill me?” Verck squeaked, his breathing coming in rapid breaths.
Azek smiled at him. “I only have one more life to take, then my business here is done. That, old friend, is justice.” He left without saying another word. A quick breeze from the open door extinguished the candle. Verck sat alone in the dark room, tied in the chair, with Zool’s cooling body on the floor to keep him company.
* * *
The sound of war horns trumpeting alerted Jayden, and he sprang from his seat. He glanced at Anna briefly, her sleepy, half-closed eyes staring at nothing, hands tied together. With her sandy blonde hair frizzed out, and drool running from the corner of her mouth, he was confident she wouldn’t pose any threat. After all, she was practically an invalid now. Too bad, he thought to himself. So many men have yet to take their turns with her, and she is already useless. I’m afraid Arkare won’t get much coin for this shell of a woman.
Another blast of the horn sent him scurrying towards the window. He drew back the curtain a hair, just enough to peek out without being noticed. Panicked shadows flittered back and forth across the window, shouts rang out through the streets, but he still couldn’t get a good look at what was causing all the commotion. “By the gods, what’s happening out there?” he murmured.
Anna blinked once, then twice. Her blue eyes lazily rolled in his direction, lips curling back in an angry snarl. Her teeth were tinted red, blood due to the physical abuse, but her mind retained more scarring than her body ever could. With her eyes half open, teeth bared in a permanent grimace, she silently rose from her chair. Jayden was far too preoccupied to even notice.
The tall, dark-haired man brought his hands around to his front, excitedly presenting the toy he had been hiding behind his back. “Here you are, my special little angel,” he said, handing the cloth doll to the little girl. She gave it a big hug then held it up for her daddy to see, giggling at its dark button eyes and large gray ears. She’d only held it for less than a minute, but had already fallen in love with the little bear. Already, it had become the center of her small world. She leapt to her feet with the doll flopping around in her hand, and drove herself into her dad’s open arms. He held her tight. “Happy birthday,
Anna,” he said with tears in his eyes.
Anna ambled toward the door, the wood under her feet creaking with each slow, deliberate step. Her movements were more akin to the walking dead than a thinking person. Driven more by instinct than by reason.
“You never let me have any fun,” said the little girl, stamping her feet defiantly. “I want to go outside and play with the other children.”
“You haven’t completed your studies yet,” her father said, trying his best to hold firm in the face of his daughter’s disappointment. “After your homework is finished—”
“No, not even then. You always say that, but there is always one more page to read. One more fact to memorize. I’ll always be trapped in this house!”
He sighed and threw his hands up. “I know you think I’m being overprotective, but someday you will see why. You come from a very special family, and many will be jealous of you.” He shook his head. “Anna, the world can be a cruel place, and I hope to protect you from the evils of this world as long as I can.”
Lightning flashed through the window, illuminating the room for an instant. She took one final step while Jayden peered out the window, oblivious to her whereabouts. You were right, father. The world is a cruel place. Suddenly, bound wrists flashed down across Jayden’s face, the rope securing her hands tightening across his throat.
She roared a bloodcurdling howl as she pulled with all her might. With his head snapping back, Jayden clawed at the rope, gasping for air. He pushed off the wall with his foot, using the momentum to send both of them backward. Together, they slammed against the table, then fell back on top of it. The heavy jolt did nothing to loosen Anna’s grasp, even with Jayden’s weight now on top of her. She howled again, pulling while he thrashed about desperately, gasping in gurgling heaves. Crazed, she bit into his left ear. His attempt to scream in pain came out as a garbled bark. She tore half of it off, then spit it onto the floor.
His flailing arm smacked against the nearby bookshelf, sending the burning skull tumbling to the floor as well as several other objects. Her wrists began to bleed as the ropes bit into her skin. He clawed away at his own bleeding neck, his other hand feeling about the table for anything that could be used to stop this crazed woman. Blindly touching a candlestick, he gripped it tightly and began flailing backward. Several blows hit their mark, but the rope only tightened further in response.
The skull candle hadn’t taken long to set the rug on fire. Black, oily smoke was quickly filling the room. Jayden’s bloodshot eyes bulged, his dry tongue hanging out grotesquely. Blood ran freely down the side of his head from where his ear used to be. He struck backwards with the candlestick again and again, hitting Anna several more times in the forehead.
With blood streaming down her face from the blows, flowing from her cut wrists, she screamed out again with animalistic rage. Locking her legs around his waist, she arched her back, pulling back with all her remaining strength. He gasped one final time before his grip loosened, releasing the candlestick to the floor. His legs quivered in a final death rattle, then his whole body went limp. Slowly, she released the pressure, then kicked his corpse off her lap.
Hungry flames licked the side of the wall as black smoke collected across the ceiling. She got off the table and stepped over his corpse without a second glance. It was like someone else was controlling her movements. It was like a dream, only it was someone else’s dream. Anna watched herself open the door and wander out into the streets.
* * *
Warhorses thundered through the town side by side in double columns. “Shields up! Eyes to the rooftops,” shouted Ninal from his lead position. Crossbow bolts zipped down from above, slamming into the damp sand around them. Others impaled the soldiers’ shields as they covered up, riding hard while maintaining formation. “Surround the village and work your way back toward the center. Leave no stone unturned until we find Lady Drine. Onward, men. Break rank!” Ninal ordered, charging on ahead.
The horses thundered down the main street for a time, but whenever they approached a cross street or alleyway, a number of them peeled off. The idea was to cover as many streets as possible. Spreading out the soldiers also made them more difficult to take down with crossbows. The enemy couldn’t concentrate their fire on a single formation. Now they were all individual moving targets.
Once Ninal had put enough distance between himself and the others, he dismounted in a single leap, sending the horse riding on without him. The trained warhorse would gallop beyond the town borders, then wait for its master near the road. In the open battlefield, it would have been advantageous to remain mounted. But fighting in these close quarters it was better to stay on foot. Battle formations, high ground, knowledge of local terrain, it all meant nothing when the enemy could be hiding anywhere.
By the amount of empty horses running through the streets, heading out to wait for their riders, he could see that many of the other soldiers had come to the same conclusion. He marched forward with his shield up and sword drawn, alert eyes darting side to side. He could hear shouts and the clashing of swords coming from alleyways nearby, but for the most part the wolves’ lair stayed hidden, picking and choosing their targets carefully. Honorless mercenaries, maybe, but these murderers weren’t stupid. They weren’t going to clash toe to toe with trained soldiers out in the open if they could help it.
Suddenly, he whirled about, his shield up high just as a bolt slammed into it. Throughout the years, the general had developed a raw instinct for combat, being able to sense danger without actually seeing it. A second projectile came tumbling through the air. Ninal’s blade flashed, making short work of the thrown dagger, sending it astray with a shrill clang. The three men standing in the alley stared in disbelief. They had him dead to rights but missed with both attacks. Enraged by their own failure, they charged from the darkness, swords drawn. Ninal braced, weapons up and ready.
The first two attacked, swords flashing up high. Ninal intercepted both simultaneously, his shield and sword each catching the strikes. The third struck low, slashing at his leg. Ninal smoothly sidestepped, and the blade went wide. Ninal followed with a hard return kick that cracked the man’s knee. He howled, crumpling backward and falling to the ground.
Ninal slashed at the first man, his sword immediately intercepted. These men were not without skill, but they were not the level of trained soldier either. If they were going to win, it had to be early and quick. Ninal spun in the reverse direction, crashing his shield into the face of the second. The blow was solid; bones cracked, and he too slid across the ground with a ruined face. Blood pooled along the street from an open mouth with broken teeth.
The remaining man turned to run, but even wearing chainmail and holding two weapons, the skilled soldier caught him within a few steps. Ninal tackled him from behind and used his own forward momentum to drive the man’s face forward, bouncing it off the ground. The general dropped his shield and slammed the man’s head into the ground a second time. “Where is she?” he shouted to the groggy mercenary, his nose crushed and blood running down his chin. The red thinned in the rain which was coming down heavier now.
“I...I don’t know,” he mumbled drunkenly, head swaying back and forth while Ninal held him by the hair. “Arkare doesn’t tell anyone those details.” He began whimpering, his bloody lower lip quivering with terror.
“I won’t ask you again,” the general whispered, his hand full of hair tightening its grip. A clang off his back sent him into a forward roll right over the top of the man. Retrieving his shield in mid-roll, Ninal spun on one knee, then whirled back to face the new threat. Unlike the first bolt that luckily glanced off the back of his chainmail, the second found its mark, zipping in just underneath his readied shield. It slammed into his leg, sending fiery pain shooting through his body. There was no time to pull it out, as more bolts came firing from the rooftops. All he could do was keep his shield up, stay curled in a ball, and hope to make himself a very small target.
He look
ed up to see another man raise his reloaded crossbow from a nearby rooftop, but a flash of steel across his neck sent his body tumbling to the ground below. Ninal lowered his shield a few inches, and peeked over the top of it. “By the gods, what was that?” he gasped, more thankful than questioning.
* * *
“Almost got a shot,” the mercenary mumbled, gazing down from the rooftop, carefully aiming his crossbow. Below him were two Taron soldiers back to back, together fighting off another six men. It should have been a rout, but the well-trained soldiers worked together as if they could read each other’s thoughts. They barked out commands to each other as their swords whirled about in an intricate dance. The words were nothing but gibberish to anyone else, but the result was a finely tuned killing mechanism.
On command, they locked their shields together on one side, then defended the remaining three sides with flashing steel. Another one-word command, and the second soldier ducked as the first spun about in a wicked looping slash. The second soldier’s opponent grabbed his throat as it sprayed red across the street. The soldier stood back up and continued fighting the next man up, as if the insane maneuver was something they had practiced hundreds of time. In fact, they had...
“I can’t get a shot, our own men are in the way,” the man on the roof grumbled in frustration. He saw a fleeting movement from the corner of his eye and turned. There was no time to bring his crossbow up, no time to react. Azek’s first blade carved into the side of his face, taking his ear and most of his jaw. The second tore open his chest, spraying blood across the rooftop. It was over in a heartbeat.
Not losing a step, the assassin ran on and leapt the gap between the buildings. His cloak rippled as he glided through the air, giving the illusion of a giant bat taking flight. Despite his considerable speed, he landed softly, completing a forward roll as two more bolts zipped over the top of him. Rolling to his feet, he sidestepped a third with a quick twist.