He found three bottles shoved behind a row of herbs used in the treatment of a disease better left unmentioned. With his get out of jail free key in hand, he had only one more set of items to retrieve before he’d be ready to depart.
He lifted his cot’s mattress onto its side and against the wall and gazed apprehensively at the weapons hidden beneath. An elegant saber and dagger lay side by side on the slat supports surrounded by two bandoliers packed with gleaming throwing knives.
Kheled was nailed in place, eyes fixed on those beautiful instruments of death. This was it, the moment it all began. It had been a long time coming.
He hesitantly bent over to arm himself, and by the time he touched his blades, any doubts had disappeared. He strung the saber onto his belt, positioning it on his right, and strapped the dagger to the left.
He’d never been sure if the side arm actually classified as a dagger at this point in time since the blade alone covered the length of his forearm when held toward the shoulder, but he’d grown accustomed to this modified length years ago. He’d spent many sleepless nights forging the weapon himself once the city had fallen into its sleep cycle. His day job had suffered in the week he’d required to finish it, the time lengthened by the need to stay hidden from patrols and the occasional passerby.
Once both of the longer blades hung off of his belt, he draped one bandolier of knives over his shoulder and around his chest and wrapped the other around his right thigh. He flung his trusty cloak over the whole outfit and hooked the front clasps together.
Finished with preparations, he stuck his head into the hallway for an initial analysis of guard placement.
“I apologize for the ruckus, master,” he called to the first guard quite some ways down the corridor. “I wanted to work on a project, but I’m finished. I’ll be heading to bed soon.”
He ducked back inside the clinic’s confines, quietly cursing. While snuffing out his many lamps, lanterns, and torches, he adjusted his plans for what he’d observed.
They’d left fifteen feet between the clinic’s entrance and the first guard. Twenty Zrelnach lined the remaining fifty feet to the first intersection in a staggered formation, and a small six-man unit huddled at the cross-section.
He’d only need one small modification to his plan if that was truly all he would face. He grabbed an empty bottle from its stack among the lab equipment shoved in one corner. Steeling himself, he strode halfway to the entrance before skidding to a stop and about-facing. He snatched a rag from his soiled clothes, thanking his lucky stars that he’d remembered before he took a step into the hallway.
“Let’s try this again,” he muttered, sliding the rag up into his right sleeve.
He emerged from his clinic, and immediately, the guards stiffened and rested hands on hilts.
“Gistrick!” Kheled boomed happily. “I’ve been meaning to check in with you! How are you recovering?”
The closest guard seemed confused over whether the healer was addressing him or not. His uncertainty combined with apprehension about the healer’s continued approach twisted his face into a bizarrely ridiculous expression.
“I’m not Gistrick,” he gruffly replied.
“Oh, that’s right! Here’s me switching you Zrelnach up again. Silly me!” Kheled said with feigned embarrassment. “I forgot to give Gistrick his medicine, and I was hoping I could hand it off before bed. I suppose you could bring it to him, though? Here, catch!”
He tossed his empty bottle at the guard, and as expected, the soldier instinctively snatched it from the air. Hands full and attention briefly distracted, he was helpless to stop Kheled from throwing the first full bottle down the corridor. It impacted the ground another twenty feet down, and the glass shattered, releasing the bottle’s contents into the air.
“Oh, Alouin. I am so clumsy tonight!” Kheled exclaimed, moving forward even more. “Let me clean this up, and I’ll leave all of you be.”
He held his breath for the thirty seconds it took to get to the broken glass. As he stooped over, he carefully plucked one of the larger shards from the ground and snatched the rag from his sleeve. He surreptitiously pressed the cloth over his nose and mouth before he took a short breath.
“We can clean this up, Healer,” the nearest guard said, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You’d make us less nervous if you stayed in your clinic for the rest of the evening.”
Kheled took a slow deep breath and tucked the rag away before rising to his full height.
“You’re right! I might cut myself if I do this improperly. I’ll get a broom and bag.”
He slowly meandered further away from his prison.
“Healer…” the guard grumpily warned.
“Right! Clinic’s that way!”
He turned, tossing his second bottle underhanded in the direction of the intersection.
“When did I become so clumsy?!” Kheled exclaimed, shaking his head with shame.
He needed to take another breath, but there was no way he could hide his actions with all of the alert stares on him. Hopefully, the drug had been in the guards’ systems long enough. He flicked the cloth from his sleeve and gratefully took in air once his mouth was concealed. He tensed for the inevitable angry questions about the contents of the shattered bottles.
“Hey, look!” a nearby Zrelnach giggled, pointing at his face. “He’s got a mask!”
The healer slumped with relief when the rest of the platoon burst into laughter. They traded jokes back and forth and relaxed, some even sliding to the ground, while Kheled strolled right past them. He tossed the last bottle into their midst for good measure once he’d stepped over the last body.
Popping the lid on his final medication, he took a deep whiff. Instantly, his mind focused, fully alert, as any possible trace of accidentally inhaled gas were wiped from his system.
He had about five minutes before the drug wore off for his victims. For the first time in his years here, he was grateful for the clinic’s close proximity to the city’s entrance. He drew his hood over his face and quickly hiked the familiar route to the waterfall. The empty corridor’s lined with packed homes fell behind him, and in no time, he was surrounded by the forest
Now, it was just a matter of borrowing a horse from the neighboring encampment, avoiding contact with any justifiably irate humans while doing so, and progressing with all speed for the nearest town.
* * *
Four hours and dozens of miles later, Kheled first spied the bump on the horizon that must represent the human settlement of Fissid. He’d decided on this destination after a short stop near his home city where he’d inquired after the location of the forest fire. According to the information that had been provided, Fissid would be the closest town to the blaze that could be considered within the safe zone. Surrounded by rivers and marshy plains, the wildfire would encounter many obstacles if it tried to devour the settlement.
He’d thought it would make the perfect base camp to treat any and all refugees from the disaster while also keeping an eye out for his ally, but as the small collection of buildings drew nearer, he wasn’t so sure. Not a single glow of firelight emanated from the town, and the absence of movement, even at such an early hour, was out of place.
Kheled halted the horse and dismounted, leading it to one of the scraggly trees found in these grasslands. Once the animal was secured to the trunk, he slowly and stealthily approached the outskirts, avoiding the road like the plague.
Fissid was a small conglomeration of houses that surrounded the road, its lifeblood. Behind the main square, shops and workshops created smaller streets in lines and rows. The small town served as a final trading stop for merchants and travelers on their way past the borders of Ada’ir.
Kheled passed through a narrow gap between two homes near the middle of the town, apprehensively listening to the absolute silence whistling toward him through the crack. Please, please let everyone be asleep.
He came into the main square and immediately re
ached for the wall for support. The familiar sight of pooled blood, dismembered limbs, and bodies hanging from homes greeted him like an old friend-how I’ve missed you-, and his stomach heaved. He closed his eyes and focused, ignoring the metallic tang of blood rushing through his nostrils. The deeply buried memories threatened to resurface, and he took a few steps back into the narrow alley.
This was not what he’d desired. Kheled missed the boredom and indifference intensely in this moment, but he couldn’t indulge in self-pity and self-disgust right now.
The carnage was fresh which meant the perpetrator or perpetrators would be nearby. Kheled needed to stay exactly where he was if he wanted to avoid discovery. Such destroyers would rarely return to the scene of the crime unless they possessed that sick need to experience the pain and death again, if only in the mind.
No matter how much Kheled needed to find the criminals and make them pay, he also must remain a nondescript healer, someone to be overlooked and ignored. Punishing the murderers in the way they deserved would attract unwanted attention.
As soon as he’d come to his decision, the twang of an arrow let loose from its string reduced all of his logic to rubble. His saber was in his hand before he’d consciously thought to draw it, and Kheled sprinted across the blood-soaked dirt.
The sound had come from the opposite side of town. Fortunately, he didn’t have many streets to navigate before he barreled onto the open plain. He skidded to a stop, head whipping back and forth to locate the archer.
In the distance, an older human male darted toward a cloaked figure who, in turn, advanced on a paralyzed young man. Kheled was well acquainted with the look on the youth’s face: a strange combination of terror, agony, and anguish. He’d worn it himself on many occasions. He understood the actions of the older man, that of a father giving everything for his child. He’d done that once in the past.
Well, there was no way he’d let today end in tragedy. Kheled shot across the earth, a flash covering the distance in leaps and bounds. Even at such speed, he couldn’t save the father. The man’s easy defeat and collapse fueled his anger, and he smiled dangerously as he yanked his dagger from its scabbard.
The cloaked figure raised his own sword over the youth’s head, and Kheled vaulted forward desperately. He wouldn’t make it. Another life lost when he could’ve done something more to prevent it.
He barreled into the figure’s side, forcefully dragging it away from the young man. Immediately, he sprang to his feet, ready to do whatever he must to keep his enemy docile.
The hood had fallen away from the enemy’s head, revealing a familiar, hated face.
“Teron,” Kheled muttered in horror, frozen to the spot.
The enemy coughed and stood to his feet once he’d caught his breath. He drew his hood up as he rose, concealing his features in shadows once more.
“If you know who I am, then you should get out of my way. My lord, Doldimar, has ordered this one’s death.”
He gestured at the paralyzed youth with his massive sword.
“Indeed, I know you,” Kheled replied. “I know that if I leave him to his fate, you’d slay me as soon as I turned my back.”
Teron laughed quietly.
“How interesting! Someone who understands my character well,” he whispered with surprise. “In that case, shall we begin?”
He swiped his sword at Kheled’s side harder than should have been physically possible, and the healer partially deflected the blow with his saber. He rolled his body back and away from what he couldn’t block and jabbed at Teron’s exposed stomach with his dagger. His opponent’s blade was back in the center, blocking access to his flesh. Teron flicked his sword with inhuman force, and the dagger flew out of Kheled’s hand.
Fine. He wanted to play by those rules? Kheled could accommodate.
He jumped back from the uppercut that Teron attempted next and ducked under the following swing at his head. The fight progressed in this way for about a minute more with Kheled leaning, ducking, and dodging away from Teron’s massive blade, only occasionally blocking with his saber when it became absolutely necessary. He allowed a few strikes to come close to landing with the express purpose of frustrating his opponent, and upon observing the irritated set of Teron’s shoulders, he laughed.
He hadn’t enjoyed an activity this much since… Well, it had been a long time. But he knew the fight needed to come to a close. His opportunity came in a brief moment of overexposure, and he took it.
Teron chopped his sword toward the healer’s neck, swinging with much more force than he should have. Kheled bobbed under the swipe, quickly maneuvered inside Teron’s defenses, and buried his saber into one of the least commonly armored portions of bipedal anatomy: the underarm. He withdrew the blade and twirled out of Teron’s reach. Flicking his saber to clear as much of the blood away as possible without a thorough scrubbing, Kheled sheathed it, satisfied that the battle had drawn to a close. If only his calm would return, he could focus on the downed humans.
A brand of blazing heat passed across his back, and Kheled lost control of his legs. He collapsed, bracing for another strike as he went down. Once his body hit the ground, he flipped over with difficulty to at least face Teron before the monster ended him, but to his surprise, his opponent had joined him in the dirt.
Tiny gasps puffed billows of dirt granules into Kheled’s face, and Teron fixed furious eyes on the healer. An uncontrolled burble of cacophonous laughter burst from Kheled’s mouth, and he slammed his left palm into the earth to the noise’s rhythm.
“This won’t stop me for long, fool,” Teron hissed. “Your sacrifice will have been in vain.”
Kheled’s laughter doubled in strength, and he took deep heaves of air when the fit allowed him to.
“Oh… I… know…” he said with the last few gasps as the chortling faded, “but judging from the amount of blood collecting underneath you, I’d say you’ll be down and out long enough for me to get those two away from you.”
He gingerly climbed to his feet and swiped a hand along his back, wincing at the sharp sting of the open wound. Grimacing when his hand came away bloody, Kheled stepped forward to wipe it clean on Teron’s cloak.
“Virtue’s slave,” his opponent gurgled with surprise before his body lost all animation.
“What an accurate description,” Kheled muttered with disgust.
Sighing, he turned to assess the fallout and formulate a plan. He had three bodies, two of unknown status and one temporarily incapacitated.
First thing’s first. He retrieved his dagger from where it had fallen and sheathed it. He longed to scour his saber before any retained blood dried into a crusty film over the blade, but fixing the humans took precedence for now.
Kheled hurried to the father first, and the older man’s fight to cling to consciousness surprised him. The father made a great effort to hold back tears, but the occasional dry sob broke through his defenses, the noise deafening in the night’s silence.
The healer stepped in front of the human so that he could observe that the mysterious person clomping around out of sight wasn’t the monster that had attacked him.
“Oh, thank Alouin,” the human breathed, the sudden outbreak of sobs threatening to tear his hand away from the arrow in his neck. “Please, my son. Is Raimie alive?”
Kheled crouched to take a closer look at the injury.
“I didn’t see Teron touch him, and even though the bastard’s magic is powerful, it can’t kill anyone. He probably succumbed to the induced terror and pain,” he murmured distractedly. “Can you gently lift your hand? I believe we can extract the arrow without any fuss, but I’d like to be sure before we try anything.”
“You’re a healer?” the father asked. “Then leave me be. Tend to him first. There was a fire…”
“Please allow me to take care of whom I see fit first. The arrow should be simple enough to remove. It won’t take long.”
“No,” the older man stubbornly said, face resolut
e. “He’s much more important than I. Until you’ve looked at him, I won’t let you touch me.”
Kheled lifted an eyebrow. He could hold the father down to extract the arrow, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort. It’s not like the arrow would kill the older man in the time it would take to oblige the request.
Shaking his head, he stepped around the older man and quickly crossed the distance to the youth. From what Kheled could see, the kid looked perfectly healthy besides the massive amounts of soot caking his skin and mousy brown hair. His nose looked like it’d been broken sometime in the past with how crookedly it sat on his face, and his ears would benefit from longer hair to cover their unnaturally large size. Those oddities were perfectly normal, all things considering, and Kheled was puzzled as to why the youth was still unconscious.
But when he stood over the young man’s body, the healer immediately knew that something was deeply wrong. He dropped to the ground and held his ear over the youth’s face, intently listening for air entering or escaping the open mouth.
“Shit,” he murmured, shrugging off his cloak and rolling up his sleeves.
“What is it?” the father asked. “Is he all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Kheled cheerily lied, positioning his interlaced fingers over the youth’s breastbone.
“Alouin, did I mess it up that badly? I tried chest compressions earlier when he stopped breathing, but he was complaining about a lack of air before Teron showed up.”
Kheled came screeching to a stop. Thank the gods for concerned parents. He ripped the youth’s shirt open and winced at the enormous black and blue bruises covering the right side.
Broken ribs and a complete lack of respiration. Those symptoms were unusual when they came together. Kheled would normally diagnose a collapsed lung in this situation, but that didn’t normally halt breathing, merely impaired it. He’d no idea what else might be the cause. Maybe system shock or some other full body issue was assisting the collapsed lung in killing the youth.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 9