by James Wolf
Amos’s Maestro had left him strict instructions to leave that morning, but Amos had wanted to get a magic book from Fandivas Street before he left – to prepare for when the Maestro started teaching him, and to try and improve his reading. Amos did not know how it had taken all day, but all of a sudden the sun had set, and he still had not left Dolam. The Maestro would not be pleased, Amos thought.
Amos was packing his last few items into his sack, when a knock at the door startled him. He shrugged, and shuffled over and opened the door, yawning. Amos was confronted by a hooded stranger, wearing a rich green cloak. How odd? Amos thought. He recognised the man from somewhere – he was sure the stranger was someone famous? Amos just could not put a name to him.
‘Excuse me, friend,’ the stranger asked, ‘do you know where room number seven is?’
‘Second floor,’ Amos pointed up the staircase.
‘Thanks, friend. Say,’ the stranger said cordially, ‘aren’t you the new apprentice of Hirandar Firefist?’
‘Why yes,’ Amos beamed proudly.
The stranger smiled, whipped out a dagger and plunged it into Amos’s chest. The stranger grimaced at Amos’s startled expression. The stranger thought of how he loathed all wizards, as Amos gurgled on his own blood. Every time he killed another one, the stranger imagined it was the Wizard that had killed his sister.
Amos slumped to the floor, his face rigid with bewilderment and fear. Within moments his life was gone.
The hooded stranger casually walked away, careful not to rush, leaving Amos Ballon lying dead in his doorway. A finely crafted dagger protruded from Amos’s heart, with a gold and silver chalice etched into the weapon’s hilt.
Logan strode to the castle, as the red evening glow of a summer’s day dulled towards night. At least the gold-coloured mask he was wearing served to hide his face. Logan made sure his blue cloak covered his distinctive sword as he walked. The streets were teeming with masked people having a good time, and Logan knew a night such as this was a prime opportunity for people to do mischief, hidden behind their masks. His Sodan senses were alert as merrymakers stumbled past him. If one of them was stupid enough to attack him, Logan was ready. And he would have to be on guard tonight, as Isornel would surely be there at the castle. Logan did not fear wizards – they died as easily as any other man – but he knew they were powerful and dangerous.
As Logan approached, the majestic castle appeared more forbidding than ever in the shadows of dusk. Guards met him and he showed them his invitation. The Defenders let him in without question, and without even checking the face under his disguise. Logan walked past incredulous. Any assassin could have been hiding behind one of these masks.
The Sodan again felt the evil that lingered over the castle, as he crossed the courtyards and gardens. He was directed by another Defender into the great hall, toward the sound of music and revelry. Logan managed to slink inside, and elude the herald. He planned to keep to himself, and observe. He only wanted a chance to speak to Balthus again, before he slipped away. Logan knew Isornel would be skulking around here, and he kept his left hand on the sword hilt at his left hip. Logan felt the touch of Mantioc’s comfortable hilt, and he sensed the connection between himself and the blade. The great Sodan blade could cut through magic spells.
The ball had all the pomp and splendour Logan expected of a royal occasion. The great hall was decorated with glittering streamers, metallic ornaments and fairy lights held in coloured lanterns. Couples, spread evenly over the hall’s floor, danced in step to the gentle music of an orchestral band.
The Sodan watched the nobles gossiping amongst themselves about the latest society news and scandal, whilst servants glided between them offering more champagne from trays of crystal glasses. Logan could see the nobles were in competition with each other, as to who was wearing the most lavish mask, and the finest clothes. There were a team of acrobats and entertainers waiting against the wall, doing nothing at the moment, but when the dancers took a break they would provide some spectacle for the privileged guests.
Behind Logan’s mask no one knew who he was. Sometimes someone would approach him, and Logan would politely answer any question they had, but he avoided getting into lengthy conversations. No doubt, anyone who spoke to Logan found him boring. One drunk gentleman even asked him if he had heard the rumour that the Grim Wanderer was back in Dolam!
Logan had endured the party for about an hour, and there was still no sign of Balthus, or his Wizard counsellor. Surely the King would come soon? He could not miss his own party? Logan still felt the unease in the castle, and he was ever vigilant for signs of danger and Isornel.
‘I remember there was once a time when you liked to dance.’ A lady whispered in Logan’s ear.
Logan turned to see Alyssa looking every inch the resplendent princess. She wore a flowing gown of regal green silk, with sparkling emerald jewellery to match. Logan thought that stunning gown revealed far too much leg and cleavage than was proper, and he felt desire stir in him. But Logan was Sodan. He was disciplined, and the moment of weakness passed. Alyssa’s mask was an extravagant head-dress made of real gold, unlike all the others at the party. As her head moved plumes of wafer thin metal swayed mesmerically, floating like wisps of smoke on the wind.
‘Those times are as long gone as your innocent self,’ Logan turned away to watch the dancing.
‘I wonder if your feet remember what a dancer you once were,’ Alyssa weaved her fingers inside Logan’s hand. ‘Would you give me the honour?’
‘I don’t dance,’ Logan shied away from her touch. ‘Especially not with you.’
‘If you are so righteous,’ Alyssa sneered, ‘how can you not grant me forgiveness?’
‘Even if I believed you,’ Logan said coldly, ‘I would still never forgive you. Goodbye Alyssa, may we never meet again. Send your brother my regards,’ Logan made for the door.
‘Please Logan, don’t go,’ Alyssa said with concern. ‘I don’t want you to go out there.’
Logan was startled. It was like he was speaking to a different Alyssa. She spoke with a softness that he not heard in twenty years. Had the tone of her sultry dark eyes also altered, Logan wondered? He thought there was compassion in her eyes now. They seemed more… human?
‘I must,’ Logan murmured.
’The Light speed you on your journey,’ Alyssa snarled, with all the spiteful malevolence returned, her dark glower almost burning through her mask.
Confused, Logan turned away and left the ball. He could not understand the woman, and it was beyond him to help her find redemption.
How could the girl he had once loved become such a monster? Logan thought, as he tossed his mask into a fire in the castle’s entrance hall, and walked outside the keep and back through the gardens. A girl he had once, long ago, hoped to ask for her hand in marriage – how could she turn so cruel? So cold?
Logan had spent six years training with his Master, in Borleon, before he first arrived in Arilon, during the summer of Nine Seven Three. He was twenty one, and Master Talion had finally deemed Logan worthy to be ennobled as Sodan. He travelled to the great capital, with the intention of using his skills to serve noble King Aswan. On the first day of the Lion Guard trials, Logan had bested any warrior that was sent against him. It did not matter if they sent two, three or even four men against Logan. The Lion Guard trainers watched in amazement as the villager outmatched their best swordsmen with ease. The court had gathered to watch the spectacle. The First Sword of the King, Jagar Ebron, challenged Logan in front of the whole court. Logan had his wooden sword point at Jagar’s neck within moments. Logan remembered the shock in Jagar’s eyes as the crowd gasped in disbelief.
‘One day,’ Jagar had said to Logan, ‘you will be revered as the greatest swordsman in all of Hathlore.’ Jagar bowed his head to Logan.
‘What is your name, swordsman?’ Aswan came over to the combatants.
‘Logan Fornor, my King,’ The Sodan dropped onto one knee.
‘What do you want, Logan?’ The King asked. ‘A man of your skill could take the whole world.’
‘It is not my place to take, my King.’ Logan said. ‘I want only to serve, with honour.’
Aswan smiled, ‘You will join my Lion Guard, Logan; and I expect great things of you.’
Logan bowed his head, and when he raised his eyes he met the gaze of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He fell for her in that first moment.
Logan and Alyssa had courted in secret for a time, and both hoped to take it further. But they were young and free, happy to let nature, and the years, run its course. And besides, they had little choice. Those were the days before Logan’s legend grew into the Grim Wanderer, and Alyssa’s royal family would never have approved of their daughter with a lowly commoner. So they had continued a courtship of secret meetings, until Logan was called away to war, in the year of the Light Nine Seven Five. When Logan returned from that war a hero, Alyssa had been unrecognisable to him.
Logan left Castle Dolam through one of the minor gates. He was lost in his thoughts, as he made his way back through the maze of streets, but it did not escape his attention that there were many shadows following him. When Logan slowed, so did the footsteps behind him, and when he sped away they followed. The street ahead was unusually quiet, except for the men loitering in the distant shadows. Logan grimaced. He knew it was too quiet.
Logan could tell by the way they walked, the men ahead had been waiting for him. Glancing to the sides, Logan knew there was no escape, and not enough time to climb to the rooftops. Windows had their shutters closed and, Logan was sure, all the doors were barred.
Street lanterns revealed the dozen men ahead were all armed. Logan checked back over his shoulder, and saw the men standing some way down the street behind him – the ones that had followed him since the castle. The Sodan watched how the men stood, how they moved. He saw many of them had taken up a proper fighting stance, and Logan knew these were no normal footpads. These were all trained warriors, and they had come for him. Logan had always thought he would die in a great battle, but not here, and not when the boy still needed him. There was so much for Logan still to teach Taem. The Sodan Master had hoped to see his apprentice to that final day, to stand by his side on that Day of Reckoning. But if it was his destiny to die tonight, he would do so with honour, Logan thought as he drew his blade.
Logan counted twelve assassins to the front and eight behind, as both groups stalked towards him. The Sodan looked down at his blade, Mantioc, and asked the Light for strength. He turned and charged the eight assassins that had followed him. Logan saw the shock on their faces as he ran at them. He was so outnumbered, he had to do what they least expected. In his mind Logan prayed to the Sodan Code, as his gleaming blade hit aside a thrown knife.
Taem gaped at the luxury and style of the Stag and Hare hotel. He and Baek found Drual easily enough in the upmarket hotel, but getting the rogue to hurry up and pack was the hard part. Eventually, the famous adventurer decided what clothes from his vast wardrobe would be most suitable, and they headed back to The Jester Inn.
Drual had a broadsword strapped to his side, and carried what Taem was sure must have been the rogue’s most prized possession. It was a rare Rhungari repeater crossbow, custom made for the rogue and capable of shooting four bolts before a reload was needed. Taem marvelled at the craftsmanship. Its only wooden parts were the two twin composite bows, the rest was all burnished metal and tanned leather. Taem could see the repeater crossbow had four different triggers, one for each of its bows. On both sides of the butt there were silver plates engraved with “Drual Dhagren” in a flowing script. Taem was also amazed by how many blades the rogue carried. Drual now wore a belt holding ten throwing knives – and that was in addition to his knife lined baldric, and the knives hidden inside his coat!
The three adventurers crossed the river Bodium, by the main Prosper Bridge, passing groups of masked revellers as they walked through the Entertainment Quarter. Taem was sure a hooded man had been watching him from the other side of the street, but when he looked back the man was gone. The man had made Taem feel uneasy. Inside the watcher’s hood, Taem had caught the sparkle of an emerald jewel, but before Taem could think further on it he saw there was a fire up ahead. The warriors ran once they saw The Jester’s roof was ablaze.
Logan charged in with fury. Every moment in ferocious attack, he had to trust in speed alone to be his defence. The Sodan Master knew the only chance he had of surviving this night, was if he finished these eight assassins in the moments before the other dozen reached him. Logan killed the nearest three enemies as he stormed in, swinging his blade diagonally upwards, straight down and horizontally back across his body. He blocked an attack with a high sideways parry. Logan dropped to a low stance and cut through his opponents exposed mid-section. His charge had taken the gang of assassins by surprise. Two enemies came swinging at Logan. Acting on reflex, the Sodan swept his blade all over his fighting compass as the men attacked. Logan knew these assassins were trained warriors. Their strikes were fast and precise, but the Sodan blocked and dodged them all. Logan surged forward and hit outwards. He enveloped the enemy’s blade with his own, and thrust his sword point up and through the assassin. He pulled back and defended a downward chop with a rising block. Logan swung down without hesitation, cleaving through the enemy from forehead to navel.
The Sodan looked for the other two assassins, and saw one had been impaled through the chest by a spear from behind, the other had been hurled against one of the buildings to the side. He turned, knowing the charge of the other dozen assassins was imminent, but he saw, instead, how they hung back warily. Fortune favours the Grim Wanderer this night, Logan thought.
‘Hirandar sent us,’ Jvarna said, as Ragad made sure the assassin he had flung into the wall was finished. The huge Croma buried his warhammer in the still body for good measure.
The three warriors lined up to face the remaining twelve assassins.
‘Leave none alive,’ Logan said grimly, as he brought his Sodan blade up. The opposing parties closed on each other.
The Sodan warrior blocked to his left, and struck out powerfully through a foe on his right. Logan flicked his blade out to another assassin on his left, nicking the enemy’s throat. It was a shallow but precise cut. The assassin toppled to the floor, trying to stem the blood pumping out of his body. The Sodan blade flashed, and a third assassin’s head was removed clean from its shoulders. Three more assassins surrounded the Sodan. Logan blocked to his front. Brought the sword over his back, point down, to defend his rear. He swung his blade round to the side, deflecting the attack of the third. The Sodan Master was forced to repeat that sequence three times within two seconds, until the assassins faltered. Logan swung his blade in a mighty circle, whipping all around him, and cut all three enemies down in one move.
Ragad had caved in the chest of one of the assassins, and was about to deal a fatal blow to another – who was lying lame on the floor, the enemy’s leg sliced by Jvarna’s spear. Another enemy was gasping for breath, leaning against a wall at the side of the street, a dagger piercing his side. Jvarna drove her spear through the heart of one of the remaining assassins that rushed her, whilst Ragad’s hammer made a mess of another assassin’s face, and Logan leapt forward and chopped through the last of the enemies.
‘Thank you,’ Logan flicked the blood from his Sodan blade, ‘you saved my life.’
‘Not sure about that,’ Jvarna gasped. ‘It is true, the Wanderer is the greatest swordsman that ever lived. I have seen it with my own eyes now. Perhaps you might have survived on your own?’ Jvarna gave a sly grin.
‘Best we did not find out though,’ Logan nodded.
Ragad was rifling through the bodies, searching for anything that would give them a clue as to who sent the assassins.
'Hirandar said you may be in danger,’ Jvarna glanced around at the dead assassins, ‘and she was right.’
‘She usually is,’
Logan smiled. ‘The others,’ Logan gasped. ‘If they tried to kill me, they likely went for Hirandar as well. Come, we must get back to The Jester!’
Taem, Baek and Drual ran down the lamp-lit street, towards the burning Jester Inn. Taem watched as a flaming figure was hurled through the air out of the inn door, his body consumed by blue fire. As the three warriors ran closer another man stumbled out of the inn, with a phantom green light boring a hole in his stomach. Taem saw another enemy crash through the common room window. This one was holding his bleeding side, a more worldly wound – but no less deadly – dealt by a great axe. Yet another man came running out the doorway, screaming, as he flapped to put out the green flames that were devouring his arms. Hirandar came rushing from the inn, a blur of red cloth, as she chased the assassin with a ball of pure blue energy in her open hand. Hirandar launched the magic bolt toward the fleeing assassin, but it missed, blowing a hole in the building across the street from The Jester. Baek drew back his bow, eying down the shaft, and relaxed as he released his three fingers. The would-be assassin convulsed, mid-stride, as the arrow thudded into his back, and he collapsed down dead.
Hirandar was checking the assassin she had hit with blue fire, as Taem, Drual, and Baek reached the Wizard. Taem saw the assassin lying in the street was badly burnt but still breathing, although he would soon be dead. The man had long white hair, and his whole face was covered in a red jagged tattoo that give him a frightening demonic appearance. Baek gaped at the man’s face.