by James Somers
Following Sarah down into the basement area and out through the courtyard beyond, we came to the horse stalls. I was still fascinated by the fact that Helda owned private property. A house was something regular people had: married ladies or rich widows.
Two horses had been set aside for us already. A brown and black pacer had been saddled with saddlebags packed to the brim with dried beef and other foodstuff that would last at least for the first few days of our journey. We had water skins as well, but would be following a route taking us by fresh water springs and several rivers as we made our way steadily north.
Distracted, I went through my cache of weapons for the tenth time—those on my person, which were many, and more within the saddlebags, including a pair of twin short swords. I had long favored a two-handed sword fighting style. Many told me it was too flamboyant, but they tended to be those I’d just beaten while utilizing it. Helda’s servant, Sarah, finished with her work, feeding and watering the animals in anticipation of our departure.
After about ten minutes, Agnes appeared in the stable. I was already curious as to the final instructions Helda had left her with, in particular the parts that had to do with me, but I didn’t come out and ask. I simply asked, “Are we ready?”
Agnes collected her last layer of clothing, a duster and brimmed hat. I put mine on as well. It wasn’t the usual attire of a wraith dancer, but with their fur linings they kept the wind and cold off of you. Still, once we reached Tarris, we would need to obtain even warmer clothing for the rest of our journey toward Thorn Mountain. Winters were very mild across the plains, but harsh in the north. I’d only ever seen snow from a distance. This mission would be an adventure in more ways than one.
Climbing up into her saddle on the brown mare, Agnes wasted no time leading the way out of the stalls. “It will take us a little over three days to reach Tarris if we pace ourselves well,” she called back. “Our rations should easily last that long, so we shouldn’t need to stop to hunt.”
I hopped up onto the black mare and goaded the animal out after her. “And when we reach Tarris?” I asked.
“The Elder Mother has given me the name and location of a man who is familiar with the Resistance and their stronghold at Thorn Mountain,” Agnes said. “He is a seller of forbidden goods, but has always been very willing to share information with the High Guard in exchange for our turning a blind eye to his activities.”
Agnes began at a trot, flowing quickly into a canter and then a gallop as we made our way out onto the open road. Helda’s home had been located near the northern edge of Babale’s suburbs. We soon found ourselves traveling at speed through scattered cattle and livestock farms. A question had blossomed in my mind, but I had neither time nor a feeling of liberty to ask it. Why did the High Guard, as dispensers of divine justice handed down from the dragons themselves, feel that it was acceptable to turn a blind eye to the activities of criminals?
PONDEROUS
Two nights into our journey toward Tarris, I had struggled internally with my own questions to the point of anarchist nightmares. Agnes had led us at a brisk pace allowing for little conversation. It was true that she was older and had more experience, but Agnes was also a very quiet person; firm when necessary while otherwise maintaining a gentle air. Surely, if there was someone other than Zora to ask, it was Agnes. She had always been supportive of me during my training, having been an apprentice of Zora herself.
I pulled a bite off of a piece of dried beef, chewing like a bovine in deep contemplation; particularly how to phrase my questions so that it wouldn’t be mistaken for blasphemy. Agnes had been glancing at me as we sat near our small fire. The horses were tied out on a nearby tree. Her curiosity got the better of her first.
“All right, Gwen, you’ve been stewing on something since we left Helda’s,” she said. “What’s going on? Are you mad at me for being chosen by the Elder Mother to lead this mission? I didn’t ask to, you know?”
Agnes had caught me off guard. I hadn’t been expecting her to question me, or the nature of her query. Stammering a moment, I said, “No, of course not, Agnes. The Elder Mother was right to have you lead. I’ve just been wondering about something since we left.”
Agnes visibly lowered her guard. “Really, what have you wondering about?”
“When you mentioned our contact in Tarris, you said that the High Guard turned a blind eye to his illegal activities.”
“Yes,” she said, “so that we can have information that might make our missions easier to execute.”
“Well,” I began, “that actually raises another question too.” I paused, wondering if I was about to cross a dangerous line.
Agnes smiled. “Don’t worry, Gwen, I’m not going to scold you for asking questions.”
I relaxed only a little. “First, I was wondering how we can turn a blind eye to criminal activity when it is our duty to uphold the laws of the gods. If a law is absolutely good and breaking it demands punishment, how can we set it aside at our leisure?”
Agnes seemed taken aback for a moment. Clearly, she had not expected a question of such depth. “I told you, we don’t lay it aside, the order comes from the High Priest and from the Serpent Kings.”
“Yes, I know, but how can they lay it aside?” I asked.
Agnes stammered a moment. “They are gods, Gwen. They can do whatever they please. Who are we to question what a god does?”
She looked pleased with that answer, as though it offered all the finality in the world. But for me, it only raised further questions. “You’re right, Agnes, the gods know all things—”
“Of course they do,” she added, hoping I was at last satisfied with that realization.
“But since they do know all things,” I furthered, “why would they need to lay aside the law in order to gain information from these criminals that they already know?”
Agnes blinked several times. For an awkward moment that was all she did. I let the silence sit there between us; punctuating my own frustration with these questions. I had no intention toward blasphemy. I simply didn’t understand the seeming inconsistencies, but I wanted to.
Agnes’ eyelids lowered to slits as her mouth closed to a grim thin line. “What is it you are trying to do? Are you undermining the gods?” She looked skyward as she said this, as though expecting Belial or one of the other Serpent Kings to charge out of the sky at any moment and pounce upon us like rabbits.
“Of course not, Agnes,” I pleaded. “How could you say such a thing?”
“I’m thinking the same thing about you,” she said. Agnes was clearly bewildered by the questions and agitated by my persistence. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Be warned, Gwen,” she whispered. “You are walking a dangerous line. To suggest such things could have you sentenced to death.”
“I do not mean to suggest anything, Agnes,” I said, feeling that I’d already gotten myself into serious trouble and had to now argue my way back out. “I have been as zealous as any for the Serpent Kings. Is it wrong for me to want the truth?”
“I cannot say that it is wrong,” she admitted. “However, it is certainly dangerous. We are on a mission to assassinate the leader of the Resistance, and you, with your questions, sound like one of their prophets. Now, we will not speak of this any more during this journey. We have a job to do. The best thing either of us can do is to prove our loyalty to our gods by carrying out Belial’s command to the letter.”
The discussion had ended. Agnes turned away from me, eating her food almost grudgingly. I stood up and walked away from the fire, feeling her eyes upon me. Agnes wanted me to forget about my questions. But despite how much I would have liked to, I didn’t think I could.
JILLIAN
A full moon bathed the streets of Tarris in pale white light as a distant guardsman tolled the midnight bell. Jillian walked at a brisk pace, hoping to get home to a good night’s sleep. As Captain of the High Guard in Tarris, she had returned from her recent mission to a city on the brink of
terror. And it was spreading.
Travelers and traders had brought news of a recent attack upon the Temple of Belial and his palace located in the patron city of Babale. Reports were spreading fast throughout Tarris of rebels brazen enough to kill the priestesses of the High Serpent King by destroying a ward cafeteria with explosives strapped to their backs. Many had died in the attack including the rebels themselves.
The attack on Belial’s temple, though, had actually been thwarted. While worshippers brought their prayers and hopes to the High Serpent King, another group of rebels working in concert with those striking the palace had infiltrated the temple. Fortunately, a young apprentice had been on hand, responding to the explosions at the palace. The priestess had managed to intercept the rebels and kill them all before more explosive charges could be detonated.
On the one hand, the stories had ignited fear in the hearts of the people. But they also carried reassurance that all was not lost. The wraith dancers had met the challenge, with a single young girl eliminating half a dozen rebels by herself. Jillian did not know the identity of the priestess, but she had apparently been promoted very quickly, graduating her apprenticeship immediately prior to another promotion to the High Guard in Babale. Such a rapid move through the ranks had never happened before, at least not to her knowledge.
Jillian wondered how much of the girl’s appointment to the High Guard had been politically motivated. Certainly, the attacks would have impacted the citizens of Babale far more than the growing alarm occurring in Tarris. The High Priest would have wanted to divert attention from the terror attacks to more hopeful news as quickly as possible. Promoting a local hero with great fanfare may have done the trick to some degree.
Jillian grinned to herself as she walked. At least it was a wraith dancer receiving the praise. She was only marginally surprised that the High Priest hadn’t tried to take credit for foiling the attack himself. Such things were not unheard of, at least among those who were privileged enough to know the inner workings of the priesthood, as Jillian certainly was.
More troubling, though, was the recent reports filtering in from outlying villages and farms. In the last few weeks, death walker sightings had jumped exponentially. These horrifying cannibalistic creatures, once believed to dwell in solitude only in the most remote areas outside kingdom boundaries, were now attacking in groups. Jillian might have thought these reports total fabrications were it not for the fact that she had seen the evidence for herself.
Just two days outside of Tarris, she had found a troupe of merchants massacred. Two of their wagons had been overturned. The third had been burned almost completely. She might have supposed it was a robbery. But the half eaten corpses of several families and the gore strewn all around the wreckage had convinced her that the reports must be true. Things were changing somehow in the kingdom and these weren’t the only signs of it.
Animal attacks had been reported as well here and there, but given the reality of the other occurrences she felt an investigation would prove them true also. The mood was changing—an upset of the blind loyalty to the dragon gods. Some of it had been building for years among the people. There had always been the rebels, who were blatant in their revolution. But now an undercurrent of discontent was welling up among the general populace.
With the Renewal now a little less than a year away, a palpable apprehension had surfaced. What would really happen in a year? Would life as we know it really change? Would the faithful really become gods, joined as one to our dragon gods? And if so, what would that experience be like. Jillian could sense that the faithful weren’t really sure about giving up the utopia they knew for pipe dreams and promises unknown.
The growing tension made for a volatile situation; a powder keg waiting for a match to be struck. Rebels on the move, the death walkers bringing slaughter, even the Renewal itself—all sparks that could kindle an uncontrollable blaze at any time. And it was Jillian’s job to see that her wraith dancers, serving with her in the High Guard here in Tarris, were ready for it.
Moving swiftly and silently down a cobble lane, Jillian suddenly noticed something that made her pause. She sniffed. Then, drawing upon the gifts a little, she sniffed again. With a slight grin, she turned down a narrow lane, keeping close to the shadows.
Jillian paused again. She hadn’t exactly heard anything out of the ordinary. But there was something—
A knife was suddenly pressed against her throat from behind. A strong hand groped for the hand at her side, but she had instinctively moved it away. Her finger glided up to the knife hand giving her leverage to push the blade away. At the same time, her head snapped backward into her attacker’s face, stunning him momentarily as she pushed the weapon clear and ducked beneath.
Bathed in shadow, the man regained his composure, striking out with the knife in wide swipes. Jillian backed up, feinted, and then dodged inside the man’s reach to block the next swipe of the knife. Using the back of her hand, Jillian whipped her arm at his wrist. The knuckle of her middle finger popped his median nerve, sending a shock of pain sensation coursing through his hand and up his arm. The combined force of his movement with hers knocked the knife out of his hand.
Her attacker cursed at the pain, only to have the wind knocked out of his lungs as Jillian continued her forward momentum, landing elbow strikes to his ribs followed by a stinging open-handed blow to the left side of his face. The man fell backward, hitting the ground hard.
Jillian landed on top of the man, straddling him with her own blade nestled up against his pulsing carotid. She brought her face so close that their noses were almost touching. The man was breathing hard, trying to recover when she suddenly smiled and kissed him passionately.
He returned the kiss, enveloping her in his rugged arms. Jillian, starved for his affection, bit his lip in her excitement. The metallic taste of blood mingled with their passion. She suddenly pulled her blade away from his throat, sitting up on his stomach. Varen looked up at her, grinning, the left side of his face still burning where she had slapped him a moment ago.
Jillian hadn’t been winded from the fight, but she was breathing hard now. Her dagger returned to its sheath in a brief blur of motion, like an adder’s strike. Jillian leaned forward again, pinning Varen’s shoulders under her slight weight. Grinning, she said, “You’re late.”
LOVE and WAR
Varen traced the curve of Jillian’s back with his fingers. Her bedchamber held the aroma of costly perfumes and cinnamon. She giggled slightly under his touch. He grinned at her. “Is the mighty wraith dancer slain so easily by a mortal man?” he asked playfully.
She opened her eyes, purring beneath silken sheets. “Are you only a mortal after all?” she asked. “I thought I might have been ravished by a god—my innocence stolen away.”
Varen grinned at her, tickling her with a poke to the ribs. “There’s nothing innocent about you, Jillian.”
She rose up on her elbows next to him. “And you, sir, are no gentleman. A scoundrel, perhaps, but no better.”
Varen smiled, scratching at his stubble. “Have I ever claimed to be anything more?” He rolled onto his back with his arms behind the silk pillow under his head.
Jillian leaned toward him, kissing him with the scent of apples on her lips. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Do you think I lack confidence in you?” he asked.
“No, I just thought you might be curious as to what happened,” she said, grinning.
Varen rolled to his side, propped on his elbow, staring into her eyes. “Truth be told, I’m dying to know. Did you have to kill anyone getting it? I had to think quickly once we came back down the mountain.”
“I only had to kill one guard in Ezekiah’s room,” she said. “But I killed the two soldiers at the base camp just for the thrill of it. How did you explain their disappearance?”
“I didn’t explain it,” Varen said. “I demanded that they explain to me how I and my men could have had anything to do with t
heir disappearance while under constant surveillance from the time they escorted us up the mountain.”
“Did you kill them then?” Jillian asked, a delightful gleam playing in her eyes.
“No,” he said, “I thought I would leave them wondering instead. Ezekiah will not know what happened since we were with him the entire time. He won’t send anyone to stop us.”
“His map has been stolen…a map to one of the most valuable treasures in all the kingdom and you think he won’t send his men to the cavern?”
“He may,” Varen admitted. “But he won’t realize an army will have already secured the site.”
“He will not let it go,” Jillian said. She played with the hair on his chest. “Honestly, I don’t understand why you haven’t killed him yet.”
Varen cast a sidelong glance at her, but said nothing.
“Are you afraid of him?” she pushed.
He bolted up in the bed then, barely restraining his temper. “I fear no man.”
Jillian smiled, jumping up to wrap herself around him, face to face. “Then kill him,” she said, purring in his ear.
Varen almost stammered for an answer. “You don’t understand, Jillian. He has real power.”
“The power of a dead god…you said so yourself.”
“I cannot say what power it is,” he said. “But I know what I’ve seen. They have tried to kill him before, you know? Assassins, like you, have come for him only to be destroyed every time.”
Jillian looked into his eyes until he unwillingly met her gaze. There was no hint of play in her expression now. She kissed him. “I could kill him for you, Varen,” she offered. “I have the gifts, after all.”
“So did those who came before to kill him,” Varen said. “Besides, it is not necessary for us to kill him. Ezekiah has received the blame for the attacks I had Peka carry out in Babale. A scapegoat can be a very useful thing. The dragons will remain distracted with him while we secure the weapons and plan a major attack upon one of the patron cities.”
Jillian studied his face for a moment. “Do you really think we can win against the gods?”
Varen grinned, then took her hands in his and kissed them. “Perhaps, my love, you will think better of my courage when I stand upon the carcass of Belial himself.”
“An audacious vision,” Jillian said. “But no one has ever attacked one of the dragons before, let alone slain one.”
“Whether they are gods, or not, is not as important as the fact that they are physical beings,” Varen mused. “They have flesh and bone and blood. They have to eat just like the rest of us. In all of these things they must be able to be killed. We only lack the necessary force at the moment. But that is all about to change.”
Jillian appeared skeptical. “Exactly what weapons will you find in this secret cavern of Ezekiah’s?” she asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Varen admitted. “Weapons from the old world that have been preserved in great numbers.”
“Old world weapons can already be had,” Jillian pointed out. “Many of them are sold on the black markets every year. Of all the weapons the High Guard has confiscated since I became Captain here in Tarris, I’ve never seen any that would lend me any confidence against one of the Serpent Kings.”
She rolled away from him, staring at the oil lamp burning at her bedside. Jillian seemed to see the future in its dancing flame. “Their scales are like plates of iron; thousands upon thousands interlocked with no way to penetrate them. They might be flesh and blood beneath, but they are not like other creatures we know. And they will not lie quietly while you make your attempt. They will rise up from their mountain and come down to kill us all.”
Varen came up behind her, seated upon the edge of the bed, transfixed by her own terrible premonition. He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, squeezing gently. “You talk like you’ve seen them come out of their hiding place.”
Jillian turned her face toward him. “You would mock what you don’t understand,” she said. “They do not have any need of hiding, Varen. Who would they hide from?” She turned her body to him. “You wouldn’t mock them, if you had seen what I’ve seen.”
Varen cocked one eyebrow. “I did not know your faith in the dragons had returned.”
“Not my faith returning, my love. It is my fear of them which has never left.”
Varen noticed that she was trembling. “What happened?”
“I was privileged to see what many never knew happened,” Jillian said. Shortly after I joined the High Guard, there was an uprising that took place to the northeast.”
Varen appeared skeptical. “But no one lives northeast of Tarris,” he said, interrupting. “It’s a dead land.”
“Nothing lives there anymore,” she continued.
Varen’s eyes grew wider, urging Jillian to go on.
“The High Guard was sent by the High Priest to quell the rebellion,” she said. “However, their resistance was more organized than we expected. As you may know, some of the ruins from the old world can still be found there.”
Varen nodded. He did remember stories of the ruins of an ancient city in the northeast, spires of bare twisted metal that had once been mighty buildings of glass and steel. It was a forbidden place and said to be very dangerous to venture into because of high levels of toxins present there.
“Evidently, these rebels had managed to salvage a great number of guns along with a seemingly endless supply of ammunition,” she said. “Despite one thousand wraith dancers sent to destroy them, the rebels survived our attacks. We went to them with sword and shield, bow and arrow and the Gifts of Transcendence. We could not break their line. Even getting close was perilous. Their guns were faster than those you sent with Peka and his men. They fired many bullets with only one pull on the trigger. And they did more damage; penetrating our shields to kill our warriors before we could get within striking distance.”
Varen swallowed against the lump gathering in his throat. He had no idea Jillian had been part of such an action. He had never even heard rumors of a rebellion in the northeast. He found himself about to ask what had turned the tide, but he had an empty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
Jillian sighed. “When the rebels could not be defeated by the High Guard, Moloch arose from his slumber in the mountain. I can still remember his monstrous black form descending upon the battlefield. We were all but defeated, and the rebels were charging across the blood-soaked field toward us. The few of us who had managed to survive were huddled behind an outcrop of rock, bullets whizzing past, ricocheting off of the boulders.”
A tear formed in the corner of Jillian’s eye, then cascaded down her cheek. “I had never actually seen any of the dragons before that day,” she said, looking into Varen’s eyes. “I’m thankful that they stay in the mountain sleeping most of the time. Moloch was massive and terrifying. I’ve never seen Belial, but he’s supposed to be even bigger. Anyway, we few survivors were pinned down. Then we heard Moloch’s terrible roar.”
Varen stilled her trembling hands with his own.
“The ground shook with it, Varen. I could feel it jarring my very bones. Some of us dared to stand upon his approach. The wind displaced by his passing knocked us to the ground again. By now, the rebels had stopped firing on us, so we climbed the rock to see.
“A very few of the hundreds of rebels coming across the battlefield stood with their weapons, firing on Moloch. Their bullets only ricocheted off of his black scales, angering him even more. The rest of their men were trying to flee. Moloch unleashed streams of orange liquid upon them—acid from glands inside his jaw, I’m told. The rebel’s gurgling screams—I’ll never be able to forget that. Their flesh began melting off of their bones almost as soon as that caustic spray swept over them. They looked like wax figures melting in the sun. None of them escaped. By the time Moloch had destroyed all of the villages of those men, there was no one left alive anywhere in that area.”
An awkward silence fell between them
, sitting there on the bed with only Jillian’s sheets covering them.
Finally Varen shut his eyes and spoke. “And you fear this will be our fate if we choose to fight them?”
Jillian considered only a moment before replying. “Varen, I’ve spent most of my life serving the dragons. It has not been a difficult life. I thought that I had anything and everything I could need or want until I met you…fell in love with you.” Another tear escaped her eyes. “I only know that I do not want to lose what we have together. I love you and would die fighting for you, but I know I could not bear to lose you. And, yes, I very much fear that this is precisely what will happen if we continue to invoke the wrath of the dragons.”
“What would you have me to do, Jillian, abandon my people?” Varen asked.
“Yes, so that you and I can leave this place forever,” she said. “Surely we are resourceful enough to find our own way and leave the kingdom completely.”
Varen’s face hardened. “You know I cannot do that.”
Jillian sighed and kissed him. “I know you will not.” She fell back onto the bed. “And still I love you.”
Varen smiled at her. “Yes and if I must die at least I may die knowing that.”
FELONIUS
Another half day’s travel had delivered me and Agnes at Tarris, the patron city of the dragon god, Moloch. I had never had the opportunity to visit Tarris and seeing it didn’t leave me feeling cheated. One of the first things I noticed was the smoke rising from many of its structures and the unpleasant smell of things burning, being refined and made into other things.
Tarris was the city of craftsmen, forges, textile mills and many other trades that provided goods and services throughout the kingdom. Truly, it was an ugly city, at least when I compared it to my home in Babale. Looking upon it now, as Agnes led the way through its crowded thoroughfares, I began to see how black market trade and the activity of criminals could flourish in such a place.
I began to feel like I’d never really been anywhere at all. And, truth be told, I hadn’t. Babale and its nearby farmlands had been the extent of my worldly travels, while older more experienced members of the High Guard, like Agnes, had been to the far reaches of the kingdom many times.
Seeing similar uniforms, I quickly identified the presence of High Guard wraith dancers patrolling here and there among the people. My instinct to wave was overruled by the covert nature of our visit. Dressed as commoners, we were meant to go unnoticed. Still, I couldn’t help but take note of the women serving here under the reign of the dragon Moloch.
They wore stern looks on their faces; not at all like the happy expressions of the priestesses in Babale. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was simply a reflection of the city, with its ill mood, making them look that way. “If I had to serve in such an unattractive city, I’d probably frown too,” I whispered into Agnes’ ear as we turned down another street, maneuvering our way through the crowd.
She cast a sidelong glance at me, seeming scornful of the remark at first. Then a smirk crossed her face as she said, “Not to mention the smell. But we’d better keep quiet. Some may be listening with the gifts. The High Guard here has not been notified of our operation.”
I immediately ceased any further comments, while discreetly keeping my eyes peeled for any indication that our cover had been compromised. The eyes of the guards flitted across the crowd, searching for anything suspicious, but they never seemed to pay us any special attention. Very likely they had received news of the attacks taking place in Babale.
The High Guard would naturally be very suspicious of any behavior out of the ordinary. No one wanted to become the target of further attacks by the rebels. If they had already been brazen enough to strike the very heart of the kingdom, then no one could truly feel safe anymore.
We had been walking through the streets of Tarris for more than three hours when Agnes said, “I think the place where we are to meet Felonius is down this way.”
We turned down an alley, for it was much too narrow to be considered a proper street, and began a trek among seedier elements of the city. There were unwashed smelly people here and there, looking very intoxicated. Old wineskins dangled from the twitchy fingers of the unconscious. Rats skittered across our path, screeching their complaints for our interrupting whatever wretched business they were about.
Agnes carried on as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about the scene. I was disgusted by it. Never had I seen people living in such conditions. In Babale, the High Guard would never have allowed such conditions to exist. In the back of my mind, I vowed to use my new position among the Guard to make sure they never did.
As appalling as I found this revelation, we were still on a mission that required us to be inconspicuous. With effort, I pushed back my emotions and allowed my disgust to drain out of my expression. I walked after Agnes, the model of an apathetic citizen of Tarris.
Agnes stopped in front of a squat block building. There was no one loitering in front of it like there was around the other buildings opening to the alley. A single thick-looking metal door stood before us, warning us that nothing good could be waiting beyond. Agnes looked at me and then approached the door. There were stains upon the door, almost as though something had splashed across its surface. Subsequent rains had not completely wiped it away. My first thought was blood, but it was difficult to be sure.
Banging out a rhythmic pattern, no doubt something Helda had imparted to her, Agnes stepped back to stand beside me in the alley and wait for a reply. After a few seconds, a metal slide began to open near the top of the door. A pair of eyes was just barely visible peering out at us from the darkness beyond. “Who are you?” a voice barked from behind the door.
Agnes took a step forward. “Mistress Helda has sent us to Felonius,” she said.
A hint of recognition shown in the eyes before the metal slide was shoved back into place. Several locks could be heard as they were unlocked and bolts slid out of place behind the door. The door opened quickly, and a meaty arm covered in black hair shot out from behind it, beckoning us to enter. Agnes and I cast sidelong glances at one another, and then we stepped forward inside the doorway where darkness swallowed us.
Immediately, I grabbed Agnes’ sleeve to be sure that we didn’t get separated. At the same time, I reached into the Gifts of Transcendence for heightened senses. The gifts responded to my call. My eyesight lightened, so that I could see the room and descending stairs beyond in a sort of twilight vision. The burly arm was attached to a hulking mass of a man; his belly barely contained by a leather halter.
The little vestibule where we were standing reeked of his foul body odor. The beefy guard removed a cap from a lamp sitting on a table nearby, barely giving me enough time to dampen the effect of the gifts on my sight before being temporarily blinded by the sudden addition of light. I shielded my eyes as they readjusted to our surroundings.
The man grunted in the direction of the stairs as he placed the lamp upon the wall above. The light spilled most of the way down. Seeing that the guard was not going to accompany us, Agnes and I started cautiously down. The air was moist, but not so much that it made the stone steps slick to walk upon. I had dimmed my vision somewhat, but had retained my more acute hearing.
As we neared the bottom of the stair we came to another door; this one made out of wood. Beyond the door I could hear all sorts of strange noises: laughter, footsteps and the rustle of different fabrics rubbing against one another and across the skin of the wearers. Listening further, I heard the voices of women and one particular man’s voice, as well as the raucous noise of food chewing as the man spoke, ordering servants about.
Agnes watched me, waiting to see if I had heard anything indicating danger from the other side of the door. I shook my head. She placed her palm against the door for a brief moment. Knowing the gifts, I understood that she was attempting to feel the heat from bodies in the room beyond. She removed her hand, then held up four fingers—the number
of warm bodies she had sensed through the gifts.
I glanced up the stair, finding the burly guard still watching us. He almost certainly couldn’t make out what we were doing down in the shadows, but he at least knew we hadn’t gone through the door yet.
“Knock,” he said with a voice so deep as to be menacing without effort.
Immediately I had the urge to knock just so I wouldn’t have to hear him speak to us again. Agnes, taking the lead, knocked, rapping on the door three times. I could hear someone responding, light steps drawing near to open the door. Presumably, they had no fear of opening the door for someone who had managed to make it past the giant sentinel up the stairs.
A woman dressed in silk garments opened the door, allowing us to enter the lavishly decorated room beyond. Immediately, I connected the sights with the sounds I had heard while still on the other side of the door and the information Agnes had given me. Besides the young woman at the door, there were two more clad in similar garments fawning over a fat man dressed in purple robes, sitting upon a mound of pillows that may have passed for some sort of throne.
The women appeared to represent some sort of harem. They were giggling slightly as they made a mess, playfully feeding the man various cuts of fruit from a platter one of them was holding. The man was trying to sip from a bejeweled goblet of gold at the same time. I could smell the fermented wine within all the way across the room even without the use of the gifts.
The man paused as he beheld us, and then motioned for us to come toward him. We removed our hats and the fat man seemed to notice for the first time that we were women. “Ah,” he said, beginning to appraise us anew. Disappointment dawned for a moment. “Really, how can I know if I can use you when you’re wearing such things? Kindly disrobe, please.” He took another sip from his goblet.
Agnes and I looked at one another again, puzzled.
“Come, come, ladies,” he said with some annoyance. “I have no time to dally with sheepish harlots.”
The light of understanding dawned a moment before my hand flew to one of my blades hidden beneath my riding coat. It was bad enough that this churlish pig kept such women in bondage to him, but to assume that we had shamelessly come to beg our bodies into his employ was more than I could stand. It was only as I reacted that I noticed the fifth person in the room.
Neither I nor Agnes had spotted her lying in wait within the shadows when we came into the room. But as my blade came free in a threatening blur of motion, the woman with hair as black as a crow’s wing shot forward to intercept me. She moved far faster than any normal woman should have been capable. Even as I moved toward the fat man on his pillowed throne I knew that she must be a wraith dancer…and she was going to beat me to him.
With only a fraction of a second to assess the new situation, I noted that she had produced no weapon. That meant she would employ one of the Gifts of Transcendence; possibly the Touch. If she managed to connect properly, the bones in either my hand or my arm would likely be shattered. Moreover, since I had set my course in motion prior to her reaction, I was at a disadvantage for changing direction. Still, I mustered the strength to pull my arm back just enough to keep her from connecting with her intertwined index and middle fingers—the signature of the Touch.
The woman missed as I retreated. The fat man had only just reacted to our movements, lurching backward over his mound of silk pillows, tumbling with one of his female servants into the floor beyond. Immediately, I was strengthening my hold on the Gifts, calling for increased strength, agility and perception. I wasn’t going to back down. The fat man’s dark-haired bodyguard wasn’t retreating either.
Almost as soon as it had begun, Agnes inserted herself between us. I realized that I had acted inappropriately, possibly jeopardizing our mission by rushing ahead when Agnes was to lead in all things pertaining to this assignment. Strangely, she hadn’t addressed me, but the other woman. “Andrea!” she shouted.
We both stopped short of our next moves—both of us puzzled by Agnes’ knowledge of this mysterious wraith dancer’s identity. The fat man had begun to recover himself; his servants helping him to his feet. Agnes did not wait for his outrage to be unleashed. “Felonius, we are sent from Mistress Helda in Babale,” she said.
I noticed that Helda’s name disarmed his temper. He switched from bewildered outrage to broken subservience in an instant. “Please, ladies, sit?” He gestured to more cushions on the floor opposite his own. He snapped his fingers at his female servants, sending them hastily for hot food and new wine.
I marveled, wondering what hold an old woman could have on such a wicked man in a city leagues away. Surely, Helda must hold this fat man’s life by a thread for him to act this way. His bodyguard, Andrea, had already returned to the shadows behind him. Felonius began to speak with Agnes about our needs, conveying his most sincere apologies for mistaking us for common harlots. “Business is business, you understand,” I heard him say.
For my part, I fell in beside Agnes, allowing her to lead. We really couldn’t afford to risk this operation. We had been commanded by Belial himself. However, my gaze never left Andrea’s dark eyes, and her gaze never faltered from mine.
ANDREA
I felt anything but comfortable sitting upon the silk cushions before the fat man, Felonius. Some kind of meat, chicken I think, had been brought out on a platter for us along with various kinds of cut fruit and tea. Agnes had refused the wine that had been offered. Before eating or drinking any of it, I had used the gifts to enhance my senses once again so that I could detect any chemicals or poisons that might have been added. You could never be too careful, especially in the company of a wicked man like Felonius.
His female servants sat beside him pawing at him every now and then, filling me with disgust. They were barely wearing enough clothing to cover themselves, besides seeming to be either intoxicated or impaired by opiates. At any rate, I found it difficult to believe that any woman in their right mind would serve Felonius.
Still, there was this curious bodyguard, Andrea. She was clearly in a sober state. No wraith dancer could access the Gifts of Transcendence otherwise. But why would someone with such a noble background serve a man like Felonius in a place like this? I tried to get my mind on the business at hand, but Andrea was too much of a distraction. Not to mention that having her standing in the shadows behind the fat man had me wound as tightly a bowstring.
“These refugees,” Agnes was asking, “they are bound for the castle at Thorn Mountain?”
“Yes,” Felonius said. “For a price, I find suitable places for these Believers who have been ostracized from their families and neighbors for their new faith. One of the easiest, for the time being anyway, is the castle. I don’t deal directly with the prophet, but he hasn’t turned anyone away yet.”
“Couldn’t these refugees just travel to Thorn Mountain themselves?” Agnes asked. It was a question that I wondered about as well.
Felonius chuckled to himself. “I suppose they could try,” he admitted. “However, the journey can be perilous with the weather. And there are the rumors that have circulated.”
“What rumors?” Agnes said.
Felonius could not suppress a grin. “It is said that you have to have the right contacts in order to be allowed up the mountain. Otherwise, you could be making a trip through the snowy wastes only to be turned away. Then where would these people and their poor children be?
“And these rumors,” I interrupted, “do they also tell of a man named Felonius who can get you inside for the right price?”
“As I said, it is a rumor that has spread throughout the city and beyond,” Felonius said. “Who knows how these things get started.”
“I trust our price will be different.” Agnes suggested.
“Oh, entirely, my dear,” Felonius agreed. “Any friend of Helda is a friend of mine. Consider the fee waived.”
I wanted to ask why that should be the case—why the old woman made the difference—if nothing else
but to see him squirm. But I didn’t.
Agnes seemed satisfied with Felonius’ offer. “Then we should be on our way as soon as possible.”
Felonius stood and motioned Andrea to him. “Indeed, you shall, ladies.” Felonius seemed as eager to have us away as we were. He led the way through a hallway beyond—a corridor lined with doors down each side. I did not have to enhance my hearing to catch the laughter and moans of pleasure emanating from the rooms beyond. My desire to be gone from this place only increased.
We finally came to another chamber where the fat man had all manner of food items in store, as well as clothing, weapons and anything else one might need. He turned to us, gesturing toward his storehouse. “Please, ladies, take what you need for your journey; my gift to Mistress Helda and the Serpent Kings.”
Agnes and I began to peruse Felonius’ supplies, taking down foods that would travel easily as well as water skins. I found suits of clothing made from animal furs and pulled them down as well. We would definitely face colder temperatures and quite possibly foul weather as we made our way to Thorn Mountain.
“I should have anything you need for the journey, ladies,” Felonius said. “When you have what you need, my bodyguard, Andrea, will escort you to one of my warehouses near the city perimeter. There you can join the refugees, and Andrea will see that you get a proper start. Remember, if you want to blend in with the refugees you must not make references to our dragon gods except in a negative way. However, many of these folk are still new to their faith in their dead god. So, you won’t be expected to have any great theological knowledge.”
Agnes nodded to Felonius and thanked him. She glanced at Andrea, who was watching us. Felonius started back out of the storeroom, waving merrily as though we were all the best of friends. It bothered me to watch him go, knowing the kind of criminal activity he was involved in, knowing that the High Guard was willing to turn a blind eye and compromise with such a wicked man. Felonius deserved the judgment and wrath of the Serpent Kings, but instead he would be rewarded.
We were left there in the storeroom with Andrea. We had our clothing picked out and bundled in our arms. She looked at us warily. “I will wait while you change,” she said. “I can have servants pack the other items for your journey, if you wish.”
Andrea was playing the role of servant well, but I could see fire burning in her eyes. This woman was a warrior and likely had been so for a very long time. She carried herself gracefully and her body was hard; not at all like the prissy girls fawning over Felonius. I wanted so much to know what had brought her to this.
Agnes barely regarded Andrea’s words. She was looking past the bodyguard façade, seeing the woman for who she really was. Agnes stepped closer to her, standing nearly nose to nose. “Yes,” she said. “I know exactly who you are, Andrea. You may not remember me, but I will never forget you. Know this: if not for the urgency of my mission, I would gladly finish what the High Guard failed to do years ago.”
Andrea looked into her eyes, but she did not flinch at her barely veiled threat.
“Agnes, what is it?” I asked.
She glanced back at me, and then walked away without explanation toward a bench on the far side of the storeroom. She found a basin and towels next to a well-pump. She pumped the handle a few times, filling up the basin. I watched Andrea as Agnes disrobed and began to wash herself with the towels and soap and water, cleaning away the grime of our last few days of travel before getting ready for what lay ahead.
Andrea did not speak to me, but her eyes betrayed her sadness. Perhaps there was even regret in her expression. I couldn’t be sure and I wasn’t bold enough to ask. I turned away from her, following Agnes to the far side of the room. I tossed my fur clothing on the ground and began to remove the dusty riding clothes we had worn from Babale. It felt good to shed them like a grimy skin. The air on my skin was refreshing. The water was cool, but it would feel good to be clean again. I turned to find that Andrea had left the storeroom; her steps so light that I had not even heard her go.
REFUGEES
A half hour later, female servants arrived to pack our gear and supplies for the journey to Thorn Mountain. They were older women who may have been slaves. Andrea arrived a short time later to inform us that it was time to go. She looked at me rather than face Agnes’ icy stare. I had no idea what she might have done in the past, but I couldn’t blame her for avoiding my partner. After all, Agnes had as much as threatened to kill her. And even though I had enjoyed a brief showdown with Andrea, I couldn’t help but be fascinated because I was looking at someone who had once been like me, but who was now living out in the world apart from the authority of our gods and beholden to none.
Not that I wanted to run from who I was. I simply didn’t realize someone like Andrea even existed. And I wondered if she might have answers to the questions that were running through my head recently. Agnes had already made it clear that she would not entertain my curiosity. I had nowhere else to turn.
I waited until we had arrived at a large warehouse sitting mostly empty except for a few carts full of furs and other dry goods. Near the far door a group of about thirty people were situated around a cook-fire with a black iron cauldron suspended over it on a stave. A woman was piecing bits of meat and vegetables into the pot—a last meal before the journey, I supposed.
When we arrived, Andrea spoke with one of the men, giving him a document sealed in wax. Apparently, Felonius had left the refugees under the impression that they needed his seal in order to have a hope of acceptance among Ezekiah and his Believers at Thorn Mountain. Andrea seemed to be explaining the document’s importance to the man who nodded thankfully for the great favor Felonius had done for them by taking their money. Little did they realize that Felonius probably couldn’t have cared less whether they actually made it to Thorn Mountain, or died in the wilderness.
Agnes made her way to the fire where the others were sitting. I stayed behind, seeming to casually walk apart from the group surveying our situation when really I was only waiting for Andrea to finish what she was doing. Agnes turned away from me when one of the women around the fire brought her a bowl of stew. She accepted it gratefully and was immediately ensnared by the woman into conversation.
I watched Andrea until she was done talking to the man and bid the group farewell. However, before she could depart I intercepted her. She looked wary of me, but I was smiling and trying to look as harmless as possible. “Andrea, I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if you don’t mind?”
“Mistress, you should have some food before your group departs,” she said. “The journey is long and you’ll soon wish you could enjoy such meals.”
I stepped in front of her. “Andrea, I’ve never met anyone like you—a wraith dancer no longer serving the Serpent Kings. I wondered if you would tell me what happened. How does Agnes know you and why is she so angry?”
Andrea looked as though she would withdraw, her expression stirring to sadness at the mention of her past.
“Please,” I begged. “I’ve had…questions recently and I don’t know who to turn to for answers.”
Andrea stood still, seeming to consider for a moment. She glanced toward Agnes, as did I. She was still caught up with the other woman.
I used to be like you, Mistress,” she said. “I was a wraith dancer and also the Captain of the High Guard many years ago. I do not remember Agnes, though she must have served under my command during the rebellion that took place in the northeast. We were fighting against superior weaponry…weapons taken from the old world. Many wraith dancers were killed trying to put down these rebels. The dragon, Moloch, came to our rescue and destroyed their army, decimating the entire region. But there were few of us who survived. Some were even killed by Moloch’s ensuing rampage.
“When all was said and done, I was blamed for our failure in the northeast. I was stripped of my rank in the High Guard and cast out from the priestesses of Moloch. Several assassins were sent in the weeks to come, but
I would not give them my life. I disappeared, alone and unwanted, among the dregs of society in Tarris. I had no food and no shelter.
“It didn’t take long for me to find myself starving on the streets. Felonius found me and offered me work in his brothel.” She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. Then she became hard as stone again. “I had no choice but to accept. I had nothing else.”
Throughout her story, my eyes grew wide with wonder. Such a warrior going to waste, becoming a common harlot in order to survive. I could barely fathom it.
“In time, Felonius bit off more than he could chew with a rival in the trade. When this rival sent men to kill Felonius, I stopped them and saved his life. Since that day, he has employed me as a bodyguard only and increased my pay beyond room and board.”
I couldn’t help but give her a strange look. “But a man like Felonius—”
“Has given me some sense of worth again,” she interrupted. “I know what kind of man he is, but the dragons cast me aside. I had questions too.”
I reserved my judgment for a moment, curious what questions she might have asked in her situation. “What were they?”
“I only had the opportunity to voice one before assassins were sent to kill me,” Andrea said. “Why had our gods sent us to quell a rebellion in the northeast, when a god should have known we would be killed trying?”
One part of me was offended by her question—the part of me that reverted to training. I could quickly understand why they tried to silence her. She had questioned the deity of the dragons. Yet the curious side of me wanted an answer to the question Andrea had dared to ask and more. Why had they not provided a logical answer? Why kill her just for asking?
I stood there looking at her, bewildered. She could surely see what was going through my mind.
“Mistress,” she said, “my advice to you is to silence your questions and never ask them. Not if you want to live. You can see what such curiosity brought me to. Now, I can probably look forward to more wraith dancers coming after me, once you two return from your mission. I would not wish the life of an outcast upon you, so take my advice…and my thanks.”
Andrea placed her hand on my upper arm.
“Thanks?” I asked.
She smiled just a little. “For giving me the chance to share my side of what happened…for listening.”
Andrea let go of my arm and turned away. I didn’t know what else to say to her, so I simply let her go without another word. When I turned back toward the fire and the refugees, I found Agnes glaring at me. She clearly wasn’t happy about my speaking to Andrea.
I lowered my eyes to the ground and walked toward her. She stood up and met me with a steaming bowl of stew. “Here,” she said. “You would be wiser to eat something that’s good for you than to listen to the poison of traitors.”
Agnes shoved the bowl into my hands and turned back to sit at the fire. I wasn’t sure anything I said would take away her anger, so I didn’t bother trying. I didn’t feel that I had any right to either justify or condemn Andrea’s actions. And Agnes wasn’t interested even if I tried.
I sat down on the ground and began to eat the stew. It was tasty, but nothing could drown out my growing doubts about what was happening in the world around me. I didn’t want to doubt anything that I had been taught. But unanswered questions were praying upon my mind, like vultures circling a dying animal. They would not go away no matter how I clung to my long held beliefs.
Once the meal had been eaten and everyone was ready with wagons and carts full and passengers aboard, Agnes and I set off with the refugees toward Thorn Mountain. We left near dusk, hoping to avoid suspicious followers. Agnes and I were allowed to ride in one of the wagons owned by the woman whom Agnes had indulged in conversation earlier and her husband.
The wagon was at least covered, which was better than I had expected to start this journey north. I huddled inside my furs, avoiding eye contact with Agnes—at least until she simmered down and had put Andrea out of her mind. The road was hard-packed dirt with a layer of frost over the topsoil. Nearly a week ahead of us stood Thorn Mountain. I settled in and got some sleep, still trying to put bothersome questions out of my mind.
SISTERS
Jillian walked behind the Supreme Matron of the Council of the High Guard for the city of Tarris. She was unsure and uncomfortable. An emergency meeting called for her, as Captain of the High Guard, and Supreme Matron Galinda to meet with two high level agents sent by Belial himself. No one else would be in attendance; the matter being of the highest secrecy and highest priority.
Jillian had tried to feel Galinda out on the matter, hoping to glean details before actually meeting with the two wraith dancers from Babale. However, Galinda had stopped her quickly. She had only just received a communiqué herself. Until they met with these two women, they would not know what was going on.
The pair proceeded down a lonely lamp-lit corridor of ancient stone block. At this late hour, the other wraith dancers serving in the High Guard and housed in this special ward would already be asleep. Only the sound of their soft footfalls could be heard with the occasional pop of hot oil inside the lamps.
When they reached Galinda’s office, they found two guards waiting outside the door. On a bench against the opposite wall, sat two wraith dancers Jillian did not recognize. They were clearly sisters by appearance and she had at least heard about two twins who fought together using a peculiar complementary style among wraith dancers. They were said to be highly skilled and effective in their work.
The two sisters stood and bowed, acknowledging the Supreme Matron.
“Ladies, I understand Belial has you on pressing business here in Tarris,” Galinda said. “Please, come inside.”
The guard unlocked the office door and opened it for the Supreme Matron. Jillian allowed the sisters to enter first, and then followed. Galinda walked to her desk and seated herself as the others found chairs around the desk. The guard closed the door leaving them to their business.
“Now, ladies, how may we assist you?” Galinda asked.
Rachel spoke first. “Matron, my name is Rachel and this is my sister, Rebecca. As wraith dancers with the High Guard in Babale, we have been commissioned by Belial himself to find and eliminate the rebel known as Varen.”
Jillian started in her chair. She hoped no one had noticed. She felt like someone had just stabbed her in the heart. Her love had been targeted by the dragons. She had known their indifference would not last forever. At some point they would try to kill him. Finally, the order had been given. Two more dangerous wraith dancers could not have been found to carry out the deed.
“I have heard of you both,” Galinda said. “Your talents are well known.”
“Mistress,” Rachel began, “Mistress Helda informed us that you would likely be able to provide us with intelligence information on Varen’s recent activities. It has been reported that he has been seen operating in and around Tarris.”
“He has indeed. Jillian is Captain of the High Guard here in Tarris,” Galinda said, indicating Jillian. “She can provide you with the details we have.”
Now it had fallen to her. Jillian began to perspire. She could feel the heat gathering. She was in a precarious predicament. If she did not provide the actual report, Galinda would know and question her about it. However, if she did tell what the High Guard had found, Varen would be placed in grave danger.
“Actually,” Jillian began, “our information is limited. However, we do know that Varen was seen on the streets of Tarris recently and some of his men were arrested by the High Guard. Upon examination they informed us that he had taken the road west toward the Urtah Mountains.”
Jillian wanted to tear out her own tongue—the betrayal felt like ashes in her mouth.
“Does he have an encampment in the mountains?” Rachel asked.
Jillian almost hesitated. “That is what the report says.”
“How many days since he left for Urtah? Did the prisoners say?” Ra
chel asked.
“No more than two,” Jillian said. “His men were caught coming out of a brothel. Apparently they stayed behind, hoping to catch up at their convenience.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the brothel. Jillian assumed she would be surprised. After all, Babale was supposedly free from the criminal elements that plagued Tarris unmolested. Still, the wraith dancer didn’t make it an issue.
Instead, she and her sister stood and bowed; first toward the Supreme Matron and then toward Jillian. “Mistress, you have our gratitude, as do you, Captain,” Rachel said. “With your permission, we will be on our way.”
Galinda nodded. “May the gods speed you on your way and give you success.”
Rachel and Rebecca turned to go.
“Could I be of assistance?” Jillian blurted out.
The sisters paused, turning toward Jillian. There was an awkward silence between them. Jillian could feel Galinda’s eyes upon her.
After a moment, Rachel composed herself. “Thank you, Captain,” she said hesitantly. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
They turned, Rachel opened the door and they walked out, closing it behind them.
Galinda’s reaction was instant. “Jillian, how could you ask such a thing? Belial commissioned them and they must fulfill their obligation.”
Jillian turned and bowed. “Forgive me, Mistress. I only hoped that I might help them because of the dangerous man they are sent for. Please accept my apologies.”
“As Captain of the High Guard, you of all people should follow protocol to the letter,” Galinda said.
Jillian kept her eyes downcast. “Yes, Mistress.”
Galinda paused for a moment, examining her again. Apparently satisfied she said, “Very well, you may return to your room.”
Jillian turned and left the Supreme Matron’s office. The two guards were still keeping watch on either side of the door. Jillian looked down the corridor, searching for Rachel and Rebecca, but they were already gone. No doubt they were rushing to their horses in order to hurriedly get out of the city and onto the Western Road to catch up with Varen’s caravan.
Jillian walked quickly down the hall on her way to her own room. She had given Rachel and Rebecca the information they required. She had offered the sisters help with their mission to eliminate Varen. But that had been a lie; a ploy. Given the chance she would soon have slit their throats.
Jillian knew she now had only one course of action left to her. Varen, her only love, was in danger. Two highly skilled assassins were riding out to take him from her life forever. Leaving everything else behind, she had no choice but to intercept these deadly sisters and kill them herself.