by Jason Jones
“I know what you are hunting, and what you want to hunt. Or should I say, who you want?”
“Why are you here? To distract me? You must be busy with what you do, luring the desperate to live and serve and kill for you. I am focusing now, and I send your master many that I am sure belong in hell. Why are you here, Nareene?” Kendari put his blades away in their scabbards and began to proceed on picking up the trail again.
The temptress blinked and her weapon vanished with a wisp of red fog. “You got my attention a few days ago, my love, killing that esteemed and venerable priest in the Temple of Golden Mercy, pinned down and outnumbered in your old age, yet still with a zeal for blood to match my own.” She slowly closed her eyes as he passed, appearing in front of him again with her simple willpower, her cold hand caressing his face.
The cursed elf batted it away with his hand and walked around the temptress, annoyed at her games. “Sometimes a person is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and gets to meet their maker a bit earlier than expected, demon. Try not to read much into it.”
“I have a favor, lover.”
“Have I not done enough, killed enough, for our little bargain all those years ago?” His frustration was rising and his mind was desperately trying to think of how to be rid of her. He knew from past experience that he could not kill her, he had tried. His blades had butchered and outmatched her before. She would disappear and be back the next night, and not near as pleasant in her negotiations.
“You are heading to a sacred temple near here and a few of my superiors would like to see you desecrate it and use your talents on all who dwell inside.” Again, Nareene appeared beside Kendari, rubbing her hand on his arm and shoulder, whispering into his pointed ear. “To the abyss with their little fey souls, all of them.”
“Are you saying the satyr and the savage are at a temple of the Whitemoon? If that is the case, you need not push me to exact a toll on them should I find it.” His pace quickened, trying to keep distant from her whispers and charms. His chest burned, a reminder of the brand she smoldered into his flesh over four centuries ago.
“They are already there, and you know that once you are spotted it will seal quickly. Your employer, the mortal one anyway, will get his treasures soon enough by your hands. Do this for me? Please Kendari, I have so many that would be pleased to see that temple covered in the blood of the fey, you have no idea.” Her fanged smile, her otherworldly beauty, and the lust tipped voice of this temptress could make almost any man beg for her favor, almost any man.
“Your offer? You realize I have a scroll to find as well.”
“The scroll will not leave Valhirst, they have no chance. I offer a blade of equal power to Shiver, yet poisonous and corrupt, or mesh armor from the netherworld mines, or perhaps…I could capture that elven woman you failed to kill in the west. She may be quite a prize to keep you entertained. I could arrange it to the east.” Nareene smiled and laughed again, twirling around like a young girl dancing in the snow.
“Shinayne T’Sarrin…” Kendari began to feel dizzy, then shook his head of her corruption.
“I know you long for her, I felt it when you saw her, and smelled it when you were crossing blades with her. What a dream Kendari. The ages old cursed elf, and the young deposed princess from the most noble of elven kingdoms, how precious.”
The swords drew from their scabbards once more in a flash of anger and the Nadderi elf stepped around to face her. Hers were there as well, before he could attack, red fog simmering into hellish metal from her hands as she weaved her defense. His heated blade cut toward her face while his off hand reversed to cut close across her thighs, slicing deep into her immortal flesh. His posture was too low, too quick, and her infernal foot kicked him square in the chest, sending him tumbling over backwards. Kendari was up on his feet in a moment, ready for the next assault, but his enemy was not to be seen, only heard in distant whispers.
“Remember who owns you, Kendari of Stillwood, remember who has your little soul locked away for the future. Do as I ask of thee, and it may be yet another century before I call on you…..”
The voice faded, the strange shadows and fogs dispersed back to some other place, and the sounds of the world and winter forest began to stir again. The swordsman sheathed his weapons and breathed in and out the unpolluted air, feeling his heart return to a semblance of his own. He felt the hopelessness of it all, like he had so many times before with this demon he had bargained with after his sentenced curse took effect. There was no escape from her, not ever, and he was given little compared to what he would have to offer in the end. He had not seen it then, but now, for Kendari, fear of dying had a most foreboding connotation. The trail was fresh, small hoof prints again gave it away, and the Nadderi killer headed north after his prey.
Thoughts of the elven noble, Shinayne, crept in his mind like spiders moving slowly down their own web. Her golden curls and skin, her aqua and silver eyes, and the way she moved in swordplay, all clouded the crisp focus that Kendari held in his hunt. The cursed elf smiled, hoping to have the chance, no, the pleasure, of gazing upon her beauty again. And then, he would kill her.
Masks I:II
Eastern Rural Trails
Chazzrynn
Her black steed was tired from five hard days of travel with little rest, its legs stiffening from the cold Chazzrynn winds that had picked up after the snowfall. Kaya T’Vellon pushed the horse onward, through old trails rarely used, even in warm weather months. The main roads would be well traveled by knights of Southwind, agents of the White Spider looking for a mark, and soldiers of King Mikhail seeking to bring her in for treason. The small trade roads of lesser merchants, farmers, and dwarves of Boraduum were treacherous in the heavy snowstorm, but it was a risk she had to take to reach Valhirst alive.
Surely, her brother, Alexei, Lord of Southwind, had uncovered the broken warlock mirror, and the priest that had been watching and recording her movements was too well guarded to silence. Father Marcus Mederris had been in contact with several bishops, their talks of her now in the past and unable to be reversed. When the thaw came, when they searched the keep, they would find many bodies. Kaya had been cutting suspicious tongues for a almost decade, covering her position in the White Spider, yet she had not killed them all. The walls of deceit had closed in around her, and now all that was left was to seek Prince Johnas in the emerald city and hope for benevolence and mercy.
Kaya had been in the service of Johnas Valhera since she was a young girl, starting with little bits of information gathering just past ten years old, then to secret travels for this or that, and finally in the last half decade she had become one of his best and most dependable blades. Her position of shared lordship helped, as well as her beauty and seductive nature. Many an ambassador never returned to their kingdom from a night’s pleasure with the lady of Southwind Keep. Many a young soldier or knight found the same fate, had they seen or known too much for her to let them survive. Now, a few loose ends had forced her to leave all she knew, to flee in the face of certain death or capture should she have tried to talk her way through her own webs in the west. The church of Alden would see the truth, and the priests had ways of revealing it in prayer, something the spy could not contend with. Even as one of the Emerald Eight of the White Spider, known in secret as Jade of the West, Kaya had little choice but to abandon Southwind.
Johnas had ordered her to silence Marcus Mederris over a year past now, and she thought she had. Yet his younger brother and he had striking simalarities in the dark of an Elcram taverne. The blade to his throat had done the job, but not before he had yelled her name in the night. She had hoped no one heard it clearly, though she was certain someone must have. This past year,her contacts overheard much, enough from the church that told her they were en route from Silverbridge with charges, evidence, and surely chains to take her away in. Marcus Mederris had been gone a month, his investigations on Johnas Valhera seemed to turn toward Kaya now, and she knew her time
was near.
Her gaze squinted into the snow and wind coming at such a forceful angle, her mount bucking at the gestures of its rider to continue on. The trees moaned, swaying from the harsh gale and the weight of ice and white blankets of snow upon their branches. She thought of staying a night in the small town of Roccarth, east of Thurick and south of Addisonia, as the day or more left to Valhirst may kill her steed and leave her stranded. Hopefully no one would look for her in a small temple village of farmers.
Her eye caught a caravan, its wagon facing the west, meaning it was returning from Valhirst or nearby, snow piled inches atop it. It had been still for some hours, the horses lay dead and partly buried in the drifts. The lady spy noticed two small sets of footprints, perhaps children, heading south toward the main road in deep snow. They looked recent and fresh. Then she saw the blood, and then the bodies, face down in the snow, unmoving.
Kaya drew her shortblade, and pulled her small steel shield from her back. The horse stopped and she saw the red blood mixed in the snow by the rear of the wagon as she peered around and dismounted. An ogre, cut in half, entrails frosted over with drifting flakes, and two more beheaded. Dead and still also were a man, and a woman with child, also cut apart in the same manner, their bodies face down. She had never seen an ogre, one of the yellow skinned and tusked brutes over ten feet tall, cut in half by anything. Her eyes looked for tracks, for a sign of what recently did this, and where it went. All she saw were more ogre, all cut to pieces, the arms and legs and heads scattered around this caravan. Kaya pulled up her black mask and listened. Besides the moaning of the winter storm, there was no noise.
The snow whisked around her high leather boots, filling in the tracks she left as she rounded the caravan. Cautiously, sword out and shield up, Lady T’Vellon crept round the rear of the wagon near the butchered bodies. She poked her head inside the rear flap, noticing the blood spray that covered furs and trade goods galore. Her mind raced to bandits, a rival ogre tribe, perhaps a giant from the Bori Mountains that may have been the murderer of a family and an ogre band that had cut into the wooden carriage.
“Ogre do not travel this far east.” She whispered to herself, hearing nothing of what could have killed this human family and a score of ogre. Kaya saw no tracks besides that of the caravan and ogre, no army, no giant or other creature had left even a mark in the snow.
Suddenly, her eyes were met, inches away, by another set of eyes, dark, black like the night. The breath came hot and heavy from its nostrils, its horns curved round its brow and nearly touched. A shadowy light from the gray winter sky illuminated the kneeling brown minotaur with a greatsword the size of the lady herself, covered in blood and pieces of meat, just like its wielder.
Her first step back was met with a rush of muscle, brown hide, and horns as the beast emerged from the wagon. Kaya turned to her left, continuing her backpedal, and watched the horned killer turn round to face her. It stood half a foot taller than the gray one in Southwind, Saberrak, and had a look far more terrifying and bestial. Scars covered half the creature's face, claws and blade cuts scattered across the chest and arms were adorned with tattoos to define them. It’s greaves and shoulder plates of bronze had spikes and blades with various etchings of skulls and horns, and even his giant blade carried a string of fangs and teeth from the pommel.
The lady spy sidestepped close to a grouping of trees to use as obstacles and cover from the beast and eyed her vial of minkshadow that she had stolen from an agent of the White Spider named Farrigus, long ago. If need be, she could draw it off her belt and spill it to release a cloud of thick, nauseating black mist that would give her a head start to mount her stallion and escape. The dark brown horned terror charged at the trees, his horns lowered, but his eyes were fixed on the woman.
The edge of its blade cut halfway through a young willow about as thick as herself, followed by it snapping from the impact of hundreds of pounds of minotaur. The willow began to fall, leaving a stump about four feet in height between her and the bloodied blade that had surely butchered the human family and the ogre. Kaya stepped to the left again, keeping close to the trees, her shield deflecting a one handed swing from the beast. His steps slowed, cautious and calculated, placing both hands on the grip of the greatsword, his nostrils issuing several feet of steam with each breath.
“Trees will run out, human.” A grin as wicked as she had ever seen crawled upon his jaw.
Her blade trembled as she maneuvered to stay out of reach. “I wish no quarrel, minotaur.”
“None ever do.” His head careened around yet another bark covered obstacle between him and the woman he stalked. “I hope you taste as good as you smell.”
“I am friends with a minotaur, and he is near here, right behind me. A gray one. He will be most displeased should he find me in any bad form. He is much taller than you, and bigger. I would be careful and reconsider, if I were you.” Her voice carried no air of fear, lies were her specialty.
“What is his name then, little woman?” The blade chopped out, striking off a large branch, mostly so he did not have to duck under anything to keep his steps in time with hers. “I smell fear, I smell lies, and I need your corpse for pleasure and warmth.”
“Saberrak the Gray, and I have seen him kill much bigger beasts than you, you would be wise to...”
“Show me to him then, I would much like to see my smaller cousin, Saberrak.” Despite his interest, the horned killer continued his hunt, chopping across quickly, this time taking the tip of Kaya’s steel shield off with the cut. Sparks flew upwards, shearing metal and screeching echoed in the cold forest.
“I am traveling to meet him actually, and ...”
The minotaur lunged, and as he did, Kaya slipped on the snow while backing up, landing firmly on her rear. The shadow of the beast was over her, and a steel blade was tight under her chin. She looked at her shortsword, gauging where to place it in this creature as to escape. Terrified, tears began to well in her eyes, dried only by the cold breeze.
“You have seen my prey, the gray minotaur known as Saberrak? Do not lie or I will take your head and enjoy watching your blood stain the ground. Then I will eat the parts of you I find pleasing and take your teeth as a reminder of this meeting. Your skin will be just another blanket, one of many.” His dark eyes had no care, no emotion save for hate and wickedness. His horns nodded toward the caravan, where several crude carved skins of human and ogre alike were stretched over the rear wagon wheels. Faces without flesh or bone stared emptily at the sky.
“Yes, five days back, and I know where they are heading.” A small warm trickle of blood ran down her neck as she spoke, the blade of the minotaur had pressure on her throat so tightly that the slightest motion of speech cut the skin.
“Take me to him and you live, woman.” His nostrils flared, hoping she would deny and he could cut her pretty head off from its body.
“Agreed.” The blade released and Kaya stood up, not daring to attack this killer.
“The horse is tonight’s meal, it looks tired of carrying you. Needs a rest I think, unless you disagree.” The minotaur walked over toward the stallion, his greatsword drawn out. The horse began to whinny, as if trying to communicate with its rider, trying to send a message for help.
Lady T’Vellon knew why this beast wanted to kill the horse, he wanted to make sure she could not run. Which is exactly what her mind told her to do now, yet her legs would not move, her body knew that to run would be certain death, no matter what her mind tried to say. She was paralyzed with fear, her thoughts were numb and confused as to her next move, and she always knew her next move.
“No, I am sure the horse will be fine after…”
The sound of steel through bone and flesh, the gurgling whine and gasp of her steed released as the minotaur drove the blade through its chest up to the hilt and withdrew it. Hot steam and blood pooled on the ground where the stallion fell, its legs kicking, mixing the blood and snow into an awful sight that brought tears to
the woman’s eyes.
“I am Chalas Kalaza of Unlinn, and I am the only one that can bring Saberrak back, or kill him. He is an escaped piece of property, a prized trophy, and dead or alive, he will be returning with me. You will take me to him.”
Kaya stood, her legs trembling from shock and cold, her dark brown hair matted with snow and tears. She had but one chance, to lead him to Valhirst and get him into Johnas’ chambers where Heathen could throw him into the pit. Desperate thoughts wore her hopes down, for she knew that getting in herself after all that had transpired would be precarious indeed, but now with eight feet of horned beast having her hostage, Kaya began to see it as little more than a futile exercise.
“Your name.” It was an order, followed by a chop of steel that ended the spasms of the horse suffering on the ground.
“I am Lady Kaya T’Vellon of Southwind Keep. Bringing me safe and unharmed to Valhirst will earn you much, Chalas Kalaza, and get you to the one you seek.”
Kaya waited for a response, there was none. The minotaur draped his body with the skins of the dead, one by one. Then he covered once more with blood smattered fur pelts from the caravan. Then, Chalas Kalaza walked to the horse, put a foot on the ribs, and chopped at one of the rear legs. Kaya grimaced, not able to watch as the beast tore and sawed until he had what he wanted of her steed. She opened her eyes as he cleaned his blade with the hair of the dead woman lying still in the snow.
“Walk, woman. Now.”
Chalas pointed with the sword in one hand for the woman to start marching and he followed, not more than six or seven steps behind her. This strange surface world with its cold and weakness held no interest for him. All that he knew was to bring Saberrak back to Unlinn as his glorious prize. The horned killer had his guide in place, knowing she would likely lead him into a trap.