Danglere struck out first, sliding his arm in a savage backhand towards Malwynn's unguarded arm. Roybeth moved deftly to flank Malwynn, pressing their advantage of numbers. It was obvious the two had fought together.
Malwynn's response was simple, and completely unexpected. He raised his wrist in a snapping motion, tossing the length of rope upwards, centering it in his hand. He then spun his hand and the rope in it, in a fluid motion, and used the rope to parry Danglere's blow away from his body.
In the moment the sword stung the rope it should've cut straight though, and severed Mal's arm at the elbow, but instead there was a loud ring, the sound of metal on metal. The rope had the qualities of iron.
Malwynn's expert parry placed Danglere's face nearly in front of his own. The grunt's momentum had carried him a bit too far to remain safe. He stopped the spin of the iron rope in his hand and whipped it in his own backhanded strike, bouncing the steel hard rope off of Danglere's chin with the force of a sledgehammer. Through a ruined mouth the bearded brute grunted as his body collapsed to the butcher's floor. His already devastated jaw impacted the hard wood floor, doing more damage.
The meat cutter, rooted to the floor in confusion up to that point suddenly realized he was in grave danger, and bolted into the back of the shop to escape out the back door.
Roybeth watched as his friend went down. He'd seen the massive man take a serious blow before, but this was different. His jaw would never work the same again if he stood up with any sense left in his head. It also meant Roybeth's numerical advantage had been entirely negated. To win this fight and save his longtime friend he needed assistance, and he needed it now.
"KEMMIN!" Roybeth barked out.
Outside Kemmin heard the plea for support, and turned to give the assistance called out for.
Umaryn had been following the men the entire time. She had to suffer the same indignities her prey had, changing clothes twice, and running ahead more than once to give the illusion she was in a hurry. Twice she had changed her clothes to look like a man. She'd spent all the Crowns in her pocket to buy replacement garb from the poor standing in the streets as they moved. But the anonymity was worth any price.
She'd managed to get to within fifty yards of the blonde man outside butcher shop without him noticing. He was spending too many seconds looking over his shoulder as his two compatriots ran inside after her brother. The shop was intentionally chosen. Mal and Umaryn had taken Dram's advice and led their stalkers to where they were comfortable. The shop was perfect.
Well, perfect enough to give it a go.
Umaryn had worked on a variant of the Rope of Iron spell. She'd mastered the original spell to the point where she could cast it with but a thought, and she had on several occasions been able to cast the spell, but then delay the spell's effect. It allowed the rope to remain flexible for some time, but when a command word was spoken before the spell's energy faded, the rope became as rigid as the iron the spell was named for. As her twin Malwynn had been able to utter the command word and trigger the spell the same as she, so they wagered their lives on the rope and spell working. She hoped The Way wouldn't fail them today.
The tall black haired warrior woman crouched low next to wooden barrels that were being used to gather trash. The smell was horrid, but the cover it gave her was good. She peered over the tops of rotten heads of lettuce, watching the blonde man. Umaryn only barely heard the yell come from inside of the shop, but when he turned and bolted into the butcher shop, she knew one of two things had happened.
The two men that had gone inside to kill her brother needed help to accomplish the task, or her brother was already dead, and they needed help carrying his body.
She hoped for the former, and not the latter. Umaryn stood and began a full sprint to the shop where her brother's mortal fate hung in the balance.
Malwynn didn't know who this swordsman was, but after a few parries of his coordinated attacks there was no mistaking his skill. The man was efficient, wasting little motion or energy in his strikes, and he struck hard. Mal's sword hand and wrist were numb from the ringing blows of the sword and rope clashing, and they'd only been at war for perhaps half a minute.
When the shop door burst inward, and another warrior joined the fray, Malwynn knew he was outmatched. He'd have to fight while his mind figured out the answer to this violent puzzle.
The new addition to the fight was a substantial man. Malwynn gauged him as a half a hand taller and wider than he was. He entered the building with a short sword drawn and when his eyes took stock of his companion laid out on the floor and dead or nearly dead, he brought his blade to Malwynn in anger. Malwynn played off that anger.
The first man in the fight was forced to back away as his associate rampaged into the battle. Malwynn turned his attention to the threat and spun the iron rope around to meet a driving thrust. The rope rang out again and turned the point aside. The man yanked the blade back furiously and thrust it forward once more, and Malwynn met the blade similarly, sending it aside and into the counter the meat seller made his business on.
"Raaaah!" the man screamed as the tip of his weapon lodged itself in the thick wood. Malwynn used the man's rage and dexterously stepped on the affixed sword. He leapt atop the counter to get over it, where he could escape from the back room into the alley beyond.
Mal felt the pain from the stab only after his feet landed on the floor. He planted his foot and attempted to bolt into the room where he and his sister had tortured and killed so many, but his right thigh screamed in agony, and instead he only limped forward. He let out a stifled yelp in pain.
"That's right little Malwynn, Roybeth's sword stings, doesn't it?" The first man quipped. Malwynn didn't return his insult, instead shuffling away as fast as he could as the second man struggled to free his stuck weapon. Mal looked over his shoulder and saw the man named Roybeth start to climb over the counter the same as he. His friend appeared even more enraged that a second person had used his weapon as a step. Mal also caught a tease of a glimpse of one more person coming up the steps outside to join in. He only saw bright blue eyes.
The same eyes he had.
A smile beat away the grimace from the pain in his leg, and he pushed deeper into the house of murder.
Umaryn had her hammer up and ready before she even stepped inside. The weight of the weapon comforted her, invigorated her. The spirit within the weapon silently whispered in her ear, and made her feel invincible.
She watched as a man disappeared into the back room of the shop after her brother. They'd already discussed the plan to escape out the rear should the fight happen inside. She then brought her full attention to a man who had just removed his weapon from the wood of the counter. He still didn’t know she was there.
Umaryn whispered a prayer to her weapon as she brought it down from on high, and felt The Way cascade through her hands, bringing out the power in the steel. Her victim heard her words, and turned to face her just as the hammer smashed down into his shoulder. Her spell had alerted him and saved his skull, but he still paid a dear price with an annihilated shoulder.
His scream stopped the man running after her brother for a moment, and for that she thanked her ancestors. The man with one working arm lunged forward with a piercing thrust that nearly ran her through. She sidestepped it by a slim margin, and felt the hiss of the blade's edge kiss a scar into her leather armor. She could hear the spirit of the blade as it passed near her flesh, and the rite of another chant came to her mind.
"Ichthyorak!" She belted out, and unlike the time she'd said the spell during winter at the wolf man behemoth's mace this time there was an ample, overwhelming surge of The Way.
The rabid dog of a warrior used the time she invested into the spell to draw his weapon back and launch it forward once more. This time, Umaryn made no attempt to dodge the lethal blow.
The tip of the blade started to pierce the toughened leather of her stomach, and for half a moment she thought she was wrong about the sp
ell. Then the spirit in the blade heeded her will. The blade buckled, and folded in half, the hilt pressed against her belly, the steel edge and tip made useless.
As he snarled in rage, she let loose a smile that was eerily similar to her brother's.
Her hammer didn’t fold against the man's skull.
In his wildest dreams Malwynn knew that in a close quarters fight this Roybeth man would slay him. The wound in his leg was leaking at a steady flow, and the damaged tissues under the skin had robbed him of his quickness. Roybeth had no such hindrances, and also benefitted from years of experience in battles just like this. That Malwynn was still alive was a blessing from the ancestors.
But Malwynn knew he had a hope left. He needed just twenty feet of space to make it happen. Maybe even less, maybe just ten feet. Ten feet would allow him to leverage what Roybeth could not; The Way.
Malwynn had wedged the iron rope into the wood of the door that exited into the alley. It wouldn't stop Roybeth long, but he only needed a couple of seconds. As he limped to the end of the alley he heard the iron rod slip on the stone of the alley floor, and the door itself fling open. Mal thought about how ironic it was that he'd taken so many to their deaths inside that door, and now death had followed him out of it.
By the time Roybeth had stepped into the alley, Malwynn was standing in the center of the street, his bow in hand. Roybeth saw the farmer's weapon and laughed. Malwynn could see the disdain plainly on his face. Malwynn drew the string, and let fly a very special arrow.
The arrow had been fashioned out of the leg bone Dram had carved off of the warrior they had killed that night so long ago. It had taken months to clean and purify the flesh and bone, and render it useful for the spell Dram had taught him. But now, the sliver of bone that served as the arrowhead was the conduit for a very lethal source of necromantic energy.
The arrow struck Roybeth in the thigh, sinking a hand's width deep and mirroring Malwynn's wound. Omniri's lackey froze in the alley in pain.
Malwynn could feel The Way release into Roybeth's body, and he could see Roybeth realize what was happening inside his flesh.
Necromancers for hundreds of years had fashioned the bones of the dead into weapons. Daggers of bone, blades dipped in the flesh of the tainted, and especially arrowheads that carried the rotten soul of a dead body. Such was Malwynn's spell.
The Soul Sliver carried exactly that; a bit of the original man's soul, contained within and festering with hatred and unadulterated necromantic energy. When the flesh was pierced, the arrow let loose some of that hatred, and some of that energy, and it withered, and corrupted.
Malwynn watched the man's leg desiccate inside his trousers, and knew the fight was over. The Way had won the day.
Roybeth couldn't even stand on his mutilated leg, and as the evil coursing through his veins and arteries spread, his muscles cramped, and he collapsed to the dirty stones. Mal put the bow back over his shoulder and drew the dagger his sister had forged for him.
Roybeth was rolling side to side in the alley, his hands alternating between the arrow in his leg, and the muscles that had curled up into torturous shapes in his belly. Malwynn almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
"You serve Omniri, don't you?" Malwynn said, stopping short of the man's reach.
He coughed, and Malwynn caught the scent of rot on the man's breath, "Fuck yourself murderer. Traitor to the Queen!" Roybeth's eyes were overflowing with seething anger towards Malwynn. It made sense. Malwynn had just nearly killed the man's friend.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Roybeth spat, the sticky wad sailing wide. Mal used the man's convulsion and stepped forward, planting a sturdy boot to the man's sword hand. The same hand that had made Mal's hand turn numb earlier. Roybeth struggled, but Mal was too heavy, and his body now too weak.
Mal crouched down, and without ceremony or honor, put the tip of the blade into Roybeth's throat. He jammed the dagger upwards, through jaw and tongue, through palate and brain.
Roybeth, servant of the Lord High Inquisitor Omniri Decadra, and Empire veteran of a decade, died in an alley behind a butcher's shop.
Umaryn had caved in the skull of the man her brother had broken the jaw of before she left. She knew enough about loose ends in a fight to make sure no one could stand up and become a threat if there was any chance.
She made her way out the back door of the alley and stopped immediately. Her brother stood over the corpse of the third guard, and was chanting in his own dark fashion. She could sense waves of power coming from his act, and she didn't care for the scent, or taste of The Way he wrought. It felt old, and dark, and very unnatural. Dark lights swirled around the tips of his fingers and danced across his lips, moving downward like falling stars made of blackness.
The motes of energy sank into the flesh of the corpse and it twitched, moving about as if the life stolen from it was being returned.
Umaryn's stomach pitched to and fro wildly as she realized what her brother was doing.
"Malwynn… no. Please not this. Anything but this."
Her brother ignored her and finished the necromantic spell. The corpse of Roybeth got to its feet and stared about the alley with undead hatred in its eyes. It was moments away from attaching either her or Malwynn.
Her brother snapped his fingers, and the zombie spun its head to the noise. Malwynn's bright blue eyes caught the now rotting brown eyes of Roybeth, and their gazes locked. Umary felt another massive surge of The Way as Malwynn brought his will to bear on the zombie. After a moment of the insubstantial, invisible war, the zombie's body slackened, and the hatred left it.
Malwynn owned it, body and rotting soul.
Umaryn was drained, both by the spell she'd witnessed, and the revelation that her brother was now able to reanimate the dead with necromancy.
"You said you wouldn't. You said you'd never use The Way for this, only to stop the people who killed our mother and father."
"And I still am. I think Omniri might take facing his most loyal servants in battle poorly sister. I aim to use his own men against him."
- Chapter Fourteen -
ARTIFACTS AND RELICS
Sometimes fate is fair, sometimes fickle and capricious. A good man might go his whole life doing good deeds, and see only beneficial results. Occasionally fate decides to turn on a person. Another man who walks the same path living the same life might have bad fortune at every turn. Bad men are punished, and bad men go free all the same.
Malwynn couldn't help but wonder if the festering wound in his right thigh was some kind of punishment for his recent deeds. The stab wound had taken sour immediately as they left the alley next to the butcher shop. The brother and sister had only just left the meat shop with their three brand new zombies in tow when the wound started to turn flush red, and ooze a thick blood that looked to be swirled with the first glimpses of pus. The hole in his leg burned with hellish fury.
If there ever was a time that Malwynn wished he had his Gvorn Bramwell, this was it. The beast could've gracefully carried him back to the lift at the center of city with minimal pain, and he longed for that so. Umaryn walked near him at first, giving her brother space that she needed more than he. Having just watched him resurrect the dead into the cruel form of the zombie only minutes before, she was not excited to even stand near him. He seemed tainted now in her eyes. All that changed when his limp became so pronounced he was slowing them down. She tossed aside her loathing and remembered only who he was; her injured brother.
"Thank you," Mal said with a furrowed brow and gritted teeth.
His pain must've been intense. "No problem," Umaryn replied softly, sparing her breath to help support his frame. She could feel all the muscle he'd put on. When they'd left New Picknell he had been a wiry farm boy. Strong, but thin. Now he was thicker, with wider shoulders, thighs and calves. He was nearly twice as strong here in this cold city now as he ever was on their family farm.
"We need to get back to the manor,
and quickly. I think the weapon I was stabbed with had poison on it. Or maybe it was enchanted with The Way to carry disease. I don't know. There are necromantic spells that can do that. Maybe that was it." Mal looked down to the uneven street, carefully placing his feet one step at a time. A tumble now would be devastating.
"We're on our way brother. Lean on me."
Malwynn looked to his sister and in that moment, appreciated her more than he ever had before. He lingered on that happiness for as long as he could, for it made his pain fleeting.
"Roll onto your stomach," Dram said coldly.
Malwynn was climbing onto the long pitted table in Dram's study. The worn wood was stained from decades of dead blood, and rotting flesh, and stank of pain. He hoped getting on the table wouldn't make his leg worse. He listened to the Lord Necromancer and rolled over onto his stomach, revealing the tear in his trousers that obscured the wound he suffered from.
"This is grievous Malwynn. This is the kind of wound that can end a soldier's career. You're nearly hamstrung. The walk back here likely tore the muscle further. You should've hired a cart, or a horse to bring you here." Dram sounded frustrated, possibly even angry.
Umaryn spoke before Malwynn could, "We weren't really interested in walking main streets Dram. We stayed out of the eyes of the city guard, or anyone who might've been working with them. We still haven't accounted for the apprentice."
Dram contemplated her explanation under his purple hood for a minute before returning his attention to Malwynn's wound. Almost punitively he slid a long nailed white finger into the gash, eliciting a yelp of pain from the young man. Dram's nail came out covered in pink blood, stained white by the presence of more pus.
The Wrath of the Orphans (The Kinless Trilogy Book 1) Page 25