by Jason Jones
Block after ever-changing city block they strode, veering and turning as often as possible. Valhirst began to get deep and high reaching, the buildings crowding tighter, their road slimmer with more shadow all around. Homeless beggars reached up hands as they passed, eyes darted from closing windows, and the smell of ocean-washed piss and filth defied the winds summoned by Gwenneth.
“Doors opening from the warehouse on the right, careful now.” Azenairk said another murmured prayer to Vundren, blessing the battle that was about to ensue. Knowing they were being trailed, stalked from rooftops, and heading toward guards of Valhirst and shapeshifters unseen, Zen prayed for his allies as well.
The troupe was not about to stop, but found that their passage in this alley was blocked by ten men, one of them pointing a longsword and a dagger at them, smiling behind his grizzled shave, eyepatch, and scars.
“You are under arrest and are ordered to follow me to Prince Johnas Valhera. I hope you do not go peacefully.” Farrigus smiled a wicked grin and nodded to his men to move in. He then nodded to the rooftops, where several black eyed pale men scaled down the walls, their hairless forms barely covered in loose white clothing, emotionless, detached, and thin of frame. The doppelgangers raced down the sides of the buildings with ease, fearless and quick.
“Fifteen on five, do something, Saberrak,” Shinayne hissed, seeing the odds in a tight alleyway crossing.
“Agreed, I say they are outmatched.” Saberrak snorted and drew a smile from James. Shinayne did not show any amusement.
“Someone say something.” Shinayne slowed her pace, looked behind, they were surrounded.
“I am here to see Heathen, here from Unlinn.” Saberrak bluffed, still walking forward but with his axes lowered. It was the only thing he could think of to say here, what his father had told him to say.
“You can talk to him all you want, minotaur, for he guards the cells, if you are lucky enough to see one.” Farrigus went en guard. “Now stand down, and come with me.”
“I will just pass a message instead.” Saberrak raised both axes now as they all drew closer. He lowered his horns and roared.
“That was it?” Shinayne kept pace as soldiers charged and creatures began to leap from the walls behind them.
Farrigus looked to the elven woman with a devious eye. “Kill the men and the beast, save her for me.”
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Jade of the West crept into the basement entrance of the old ruined church well outside and north of Valhirst. Kaya felt the hot breath of Chalas Kalaza on her neck, and his hatred of her was a presence that she could not deny. The sudden foul smell of the underground tunnel dragged Lady T’Vellon away from the shadow that the horned beast cascaded over her.
Cobwebs formed in the corners where no one walked in this old place, and the lantern was still in the same spot from years ago during her training. Supposed visits they were, diplomatic engagements, yet Kaya trained in secret, with the Eight, in these very tunnels. Kaya lit the wick with her flintstick, and the passage of crumbling rock gave way to stairs winding further down. Her thoughts swam with what could happen when she emerged into the heart of the White Spider, the throne room of Johnas. All she cared for was that she be spared and that enough guards were there to put this killer into the pit for his daring to abduct her. This creature had no conception of nobility, the outside world, or what he was about to endure at the hands of the deadliest assassins on the continent.
“Keep moving, woman, you do not want me restless for I am hungry, for many things.” Chalas snorted with his scarred mouth full of yellow teeth and pulled her hair with a sharp tug to keep her attention. His right hand never left the hilt of his blade, and his dark ivory curled horns scraped the ceiling at various spots, reminding her always of his close proximity. The murderous brute could taste blood in the air, human blood. He had been painted with it from his fallen enemies many a time.
“We are almost there. This stair leads down to the main corridor and then to Heathen, who guards the inner chamber of my Prince. He will know where this other minotaur is, then we part ways.” Her boldness grew stronger as she came closer to her allies, closer to Johnas Valhera.
“If you think I can not smell your treachery in the air, think again, girl. You had better have twenty men in there if you hope to be rid of me. If you try anything at all, you will wish all I did was kill you.”
This time he pulled her long hair and spun her around, forcing her eye to eye as he crouched to her level. Her shortblade drew out, pointed right at his chest, trembling. Anger erupted from her slate blue eyes.
“I have held up my end of this, bastard, now let me go!” Through gritted teeth she bit at him with threatening words that held no fear whatsoever.
Chalas grinned again, eyeing her up and down. “That’s more like it, woman, angry. Good. I look forward to taking that out of you, slowly and painfully. Walk.”
Her shoulder shrugged away, turning defiantly and stomping toward the stone steps with pure evil behind her. Down the stairs the light floated, through an alcove and into a long corridor that seemed to go on forever. At the end of it she had expected to see a great red minotaur waiting, but there was none. The double iron doors stood quiet and shut with no one to greet them.
“Strange, there should be someone here.”
“Then go and open it.”
“They will kill me for entering before being recognized and announced, idiot.” Kaya raised her weapon again, slowly moving ahead, anxious to find out what had happened.
“What a shame, open it anyway. You go in first.” His hot breath was mirrored by the sound of steel being drawn, a subtle threat that he meant to keep. “Unless you would like these walls to be covered in your blood now?”
“Very well, fool, but this could mean both our deaths.” With no other option, she reached for the door.
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Farrigus lunged ahead again, this time getting a little closer with the dagger, yet still not passing the elven woman's defenses. Her shortblade crosscut, knocking both of his blades aside, then with her curved longblade, Shinayne cut across toward the man’s face. He ducked and spun, positioning himself with space between them and came back on guard.
The elven swordswoman glanced at her allies, busy fending off doppelgangers that now had sharp bones protruding from their wrists, used as weapons. The city guard that swarmed around the minotaur and James were less brave as Saberrak beheaded one with a double axe chop. Shinayne knew she had little time to dispatch this arrogant human leader, for surely more enemies in this cursed city were en route.
Azenairk Thalanaxe backed up a step, his shield high as the ominous creatures weaved their bony blades in a dance of sorts and closed in. Their faces were pale blue-white and unsettling with the unblinking and enlarged solid black eyes with no pupils, their fanged mouths and pointed ears focused on the dwarf. He charged ahead, pushing one into the wall. His shield made contact hard, forcing him to regain his balance as he realized nothing was there, the creature had vanished. Zen looked down to see the head of the shapechanger on the long serpentine body of a snake at his feet. He kicked it square in the face, sending it skittering down the alley, where by flight’s end it was upright and formed on two legs again. It turned, blue blood dripping from its mouth, and hissed as bones slowly rose from the wrists through the flesh.
“These fiends do not fight fair!” The priest deflected more attacks from the second one, turned low and swung up from the ground, landing the head of the hammer under its chin. The doppelganger landed on its back, hitting the cobblestone with a crack of bone and slap of flesh. Trapped in the tightening alley, more shapeshifting fiends closing in on him, Zen felt unsure about the fight at hand.
Green light flashed from the dark oak staff, causing the three men around her to blink several times and try and rub something out of their eyes. “Gennerias delfe demiri!” Gwenne’s hand pointed at each of them for a mo
ment and young Lazlette walked forward past them, confident in their demise.
A second later, three flashes of orange light erupted as the clothes on the guards burst into flame, sending stench and screams up the alleyway. Another guard charged her, lunged, and chopped into her thigh with his saber. The clang of metal on metal echoed in between the high walls of dockside. Gwenne smiled wryly, noting her protections well concentrated upon made her flesh much like steel. The shocked guard reared up for another attempt, two hands on his blade this time. Her wand aimed point blank at his face and unleashed a white blast of heat and steam, knocking him down into fits of screaming agony. The misty warm wind continued to shade the area in gray haze, protecting them from the archers, the sound of battle soaring from the loud inner city. James ducked under a heavy slash from one of the young guards. His shield blocked the second attack and his broadsword countered with a quick cut into the boy’s ribs, and back across his chest, the steel slicing clean through.
Standing to the knight's left, Saberrak hacked both axes into the shoulders of his human enemy. Dropping him to his knees, the minotaur kicked him into the one charging behind, sending them both to the stone street. The force of the minotaur kick crushed whatever life was left out of the young guard, and before the other could get to his feet, he was cut down by two axeblades that buried deep in his chest.
James followed behind the advancing gladiator, deflecting with his shield arm, then stabbing steel through the men on his right. Axes cut across necks and legs of those charging the knight from his flank, while perfect parries and short stabs and pointwork from the broadsword did their deeds on the left side. The knight and the minotaur moved ahead in advancing circles, slicing men down where they stood, pushing them back or cutting them to the streets now red with battle.
Shinayne countered the longsword from Farrigus with her shortblade, and then cut diagonally from his shoulder to his thigh. The blade was stopped by a reverse held dagger, the steel screeching as the two locked together their four blades and pushed. The swordswoman felt her feet giving, feigned a look of distress as best she could, then fell into a backroll. Her longblade swung wide and arced across to deflect any pursuing attacks from the scarred assassin, who did indeed pursue. Her shortblade plunged deep into his stomach, making contact with what could only be his spine. She spun on her heel, then crouched low, bringing both blades whirling across the man's thighs, leaving two deep lacerations on each, down to the bone.
Farrigus stumbled back, hurling his dagger as he fell, the tip landing deep in her bicep through the chainmail and leather guard. The man lay down, bleeding and helpless to do anything but to crawl, and the elf stood up, removing the dagger and holding her arm tight to her body, warm blood in the cold air caressing her left side. She raised her curved blade, and made for the nearest doppelganger crawling over Zen.
The warhammer pounded again, splitting the head of the disturbing creature in three, yet it began to slowly reform as the others did, growing back together as flesh and bone became whole. He spun to the next one, finding himself quickly surrounded, and smashed its face with his shield, then thudding the hammer into it’s chest sending it to the ground. Yet again it rose, hissing in pain, now walking on four legs, shaped like a prowling cat of hairless white flesh and fangs, adorned with bony bladelike protrusions and pointed ears.
Zen felt a sharp pain in his calf, and then another, as the swarm began to pounce and pierce their weapons into the open areas not covered with his plate armor. His weapon swung again, making contact with, and splattering blue ichor all over himself from the close proximity. Then the motion stopped, white lights flashed in a garble of arcane tongue and then screeches from the fanged maws of the four that crawled about him. The doppelgangers froze, their skin turning scaly and dry, eyes glossing with gray clouds over black, and they fell solid like stone to the ground.
The dwarf looked up, seeing Gwenneth with her black hair swirling in the unnatural winds, her eyes of green aglow with energies and light that matched her staff and wand. She kept chanting, and the stone hardened like a prison being molded over the shapeshifters, through them, and then they cracked and fell to chunks of crumbling rock. Nine statues of doppelgangers crumbled to pebbles from arcane energies. As Gwenneth began to stumble from exhaustion, the priest limped to his feet and let her lean on him to remain standing. The glow faded and Zen could see the weariness in her face, felt her body weighing on his. He walked her quickly toward the approaching elven swordswoman.
“Time to move, Saberrak! Make us a path!” the priest yelled toward the knight and the gladiator, seeing Shinayne injured and the wizard leaning on him for support.
Gwenneth maintained the obscuring haze that now did not even allow sight above ten feet in the air. Her eyes were barely open, but still holding her spells in place.
James plunged his broadsword into the chest of the last guard standing. A scream with blood spurting issued from the man's mouth, his saber fell to the ground next to many others who were either bleeding out, crawling away, or meeting God already.
“The path is clear, priest, but not for long. How bad is she?”
James was panting, feeling to see if the cut on his shoulder was as serious as the bleeding arm of the elf. He looked fast, there were more city guard, at least a dozen, charging one alley behind them.
“Let me stand, Zen. I just need some time on that ship. Is it close?” Zen let go of Gwenneth who struggled to walk on her own with the help of her staff, waving her hand to dismiss any assistance as she looked ahead.
“Five more streets, then turn left. I am fine, just get us there before more arrive, James.” Shinayne sheathed her blades and held her arm tight to try and slow the bleeding.
Saberrak looked back as they ran ahead, noting the dead shapechangers, the dying men, and those still trying to survive. Over twenty lay in the bloody mess of weapons that decorated the cobblestone dockside alley of Valhirst, and he thought of his home in Unlinn.
This was every day and every night where he was from, and how he missed being outnumbered three to one and walking away unscathed by his enemies. A small grin escaped his focused visage, and he followed his friends toward the docks and his first view of the Carisian Sea.
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Darkness swayed in the great chamber of the underground of Valhirst, torches and candles fought with lanterns to give off a glow through the blackness. There was no one. Kaya had entered through the left door, of course, and saw no one here for the first time. She had thought of opening the right door and hoping her captor would fall to his death, but thought better of it. The black throne sat empty, no guards or agents to be seen, only faint whimpering from behind the seat of the Prince. The floor held the great ivory design of a spider, the pit reeked of decay and rot, the sofas and chairs sat staring blankly at empty tables, and not even the air had much to tell.
“Where are your acquaintances, Lady Kaya?” Chalas breathed it more than spoke, his blade tip dragging on the ground as he walked about, a small reminder that he was ready to kill her at any moment.
“Heathen? Johnas?” She seemed more afraid now of appearing false than ever. The lady spy was used to being involved in the most twisted webs of deceit and keeping her composure, but this was different. She had never had an eight foot horned killer holding death over her, it was she that had always held the death card. Kaya set down the lantern and drew her shortblade, as much for her worry about what may have happened, as for what may happen in a moment.
Black robes and dark hair over a wet tan face walked from behind the throne and resolved into a young woman with a wand raised and glowing red.
“Who stands in the dark without recognition?” The girl looked as if she had been crying, eyes puffed out and glossy, her neck still wet with streams of tears, one eye swollen more than the other.
“Jade of the West and …..ally, here to see Prince Johnas. Is that you, Vanessa?” Kaya recognized the girl from the shado
ws, yet it had been many years since she had turned into a woman. She wondered what sort of position she retained within the White Spider.
“Kaya T’Vellon.” the voice was that of an anxious and approaching Johnas Valhera. “The most wanted woman in the kingdom of Chazzrynn, here to see me at last.”
His blade was covered in blood, down to the hilt, and he produced a towel from his belt and began to clean the green glowing exquisite weapon. He turned as if there was an audience that only he could see, and addressed them. “Jade of the West to the rest of you, mind your respects.”
“My prince.” Kaya bowed.
“You have survived Southwind Keep I see, thus, we no longer need to pretend to hide who you are. You will not be going back, that much is certain. What news do you bring your Prince?”
Kaya noticed the bloodstain on his shoulder, but he was very relaxed for a change, not the nervous scheming bastard she remembered.
“We have lost the keep, Johnas. The church has too many eyes and ears, as does my brother Alexei. The Chancellor, Marcus Mederris, he has the backing of the church. There was an issue with a scroll that I set up well, but it was disrupted by forces beyond my...”
“I have that situation being handled as we speak, by Farrigus. The group with the scroll is here in Valhirst. It is most valuable indeed, even the Altestani are aware of it.” Johnas sheathed his blade and sat to rest on his throne. “And who is your guest? A bodyguard, slave, or corrupt soul like the rest of us?”
“Chalas Kalaza of Unlinn, no slave, no bodyguard, and I care not for anything or anyone here. The only reason I am here is to find Saberrak the Gray, and bring him back to his master. You know of this minotaur, he is here, tell me where.” The huge brown skinned killer stepped forward, his blade still in one hand. His stare met the Prince dead on, never flinching, watching as he saw a red minotaur out of the corner of his eye enter through another hidden entrance.
“Quite demanding, Chalas. What do you offer for this kinsman of yours? I accept gold, hostages, and slaves, even platinum or rare stones.” Johnas nodded to Heathen to take up his usual spot by the main doors and the pit. Hand on the hilt of his great scimitar, he walked behind the larger and younger brown minotaur.