Nellise sat across from him, her feet entwined with his in the cramped cabin. Ordinarily, Pacian would have thoroughly enjoyed being couped up with three beautiful women for an entire day, but he had been withdrawn and brooding since the conflict under Stonegaard. The death of Tosh by his own hands plagued his dreams. One night he had awakened, covered in sweat from a nightmare he couldn’t remember, only to find Nellise lying in bed with him, stroking his hair until he fell asleep once more.
To experience the worst day of his life at the same time as the culmination of his romantic efforts with the woman of his dreams left Pacian bewildered, and it changed the entire nature of their relationship. He hadn’t even tried to make love to her on those nights when she had come to his bed, and he knew then that something was very wrong with him.
Still, the young woman was an endless font of comfort and understanding, and seemed to spend most of the time gazing at Pacian with her golden eyes. If she knew what had really happened with Tosh, her feelings towards him would probably be quite different.
By her side was her repeating crossbow, improved by the craft of the finest artisans the dwarves had to offer. Apparently, the weapon had been unfinished when Clavis was using it out west, and the king’s bowyer took it upon himself to turn it into a true representative of their craftsmanship.
Valennia hadn’t changed a bit from the recent adventure and once her extensive wounds had healed, she was starting to chafe at the peace they “endured” at the hospitality of the dwarves. This would have been more surprising had he not learned the reasons behind her endless fury.
The tall akoran warrior had been effusive in her praise at the gifts she had received, and should Pacian ever learn her birthday, he’d know just what to get her. Stacked on the back of the carriage was a full suit of infantry plate armour, especially modified to suit her measurements. Valennia had at first insisted on wearing the armour in the carriage, but the driver balked at the damage it would do to his fine leather seats, so she had relented… eventually.
Presently, the steady rocking of the carriage settled down as it rolled along paved roads leading up to the great city of Fairloch. Pacian peered out the window to see the tall stone gates of the city just ahead, as the sun began to touch the horizon in the west.
He had been eagerly awaiting their return for several days now, as every time he looked at a dwarf he felt a pang of guilt in his chest, and he yearned to be free of such unfamiliar feelings. His first stop would be the inn’s bar, where there was a keg of ale with his name on it.
Within ten minutes, they were through the gates and into the southern district of Fairloch. Lanterns in the street were being lit by boys and girls paid a copper or two for the work. The carriage lurched to a halt and Pacian immediately opened the door and stepped onto the familiar snow-covered pavement of Fairloch. The smell of the brisk sea air was a stark difference from the stale, sweat-laden warmth of the underground city.
“Are you sure you can’t take us straight to the Fair Maiden Inn?” Pacian asked of the driver, a stout fellow sporting a respectable set of mutton chops.
“As I told you before we set out, Mister Savidge,” the driver replied curtly, “I only go as far as the Tradeway Tavern and here we are, as per that arrangement. You and your lady friends enjoy your evening, now.”
“Don’t worry about it, Pace,” Nellise chided him. “The walk will do us good.”
“Not in this bloody cold air it won’t,” Pacian grumbled as the other two women stepped out of the carriage and retrieved their equipment from the back. “I could really use a drink.”
“You’ve become so used to the warmth in Stonegaard that it’s quite a shock to leave the place,” Nellise remarked wistfully. “Still, I think we stayed longer than we should have, given the gravity of our situation.”
“I didn’t argue the point,” Pacian shrugged, “but Sulinus really wanted to give us expensive shiny things instead of magical sceptres as payment. Take it up with him.” Nellise gave him a quick smile, which provided Pacian with a momentary thrill that was tempered by the sudden feeling he was being watched.
Glancing around at the crowd of heavily-clothed travellers, he casually searched for anything odd, while making it appear as though he wasn’t. The dull background chatter of dozens of people muffled any odd sounds he might hear, yet something still didn’t feel right. While the driver was struggling to unload Valennia’s armour, Pacian walked a little distance from the carriage and checked one of the narrow alleyways bordering the inn.
Aside from the usual refuse one would normally find down such a passage, there didn’t seem to be anything threatening nearby. Then, everything went black as Pacian felt something pulled over his head. He reacted immediately, trying to reach up and rip off whatever was blocking his vision, but his wrists were grabbed by powerful hands and wrenched behind his back.
Pacian thrashed around as he felt himself being dragged along. He managed to kick one of his assailants squarely in his squishy bits, and received a heavy blow to the stomach for his trouble. Pacian doubled over, wheezing for each breath. He lost track of time as his captors took him through the maze of backstreets. Finally, he was dragged through a doorway which slammed shut behind him.
The burlap sack that had obscured his vision came off, and he blinked the dust out of his eyes. A single candle provided light, creating vast shadows which loomed over the wooden walls. Pacian looked upon a small, almost empty room with a single piece of furniture.
A plain wooden chair seated a familiar looking man with a neatly trimmed grey beard, wearing a white robe with the hood pulled up to partially obscure his face. The distinctive glint of metal armour was visible underneath the robe, and a large sword was attached to his belt.
“Archon Cain,” Pacian muttered, recalling the inquisitor he had held a knife to less than two weeks ago, in the heart of the Church. He was in more trouble than he thought.
“We meet again, Mister Savidge,” confirmed the inquisitor, his hands folded calmly in his lap. “I apologise for the rough handling, but after our last encounter, I felt it wise to take certain precautions. Rest assured, these two gentlemen are professionals, and will not harm you further unless you give them reason to.”
“They look like fine, upstanding church folk to me,” Pacian drawled.
“I sense a healthy dose of sarcasm there,” Cain remarked with a thin smile. “Understand that the Church does not typically employ such people, except in special cases the Inquisition deems appropriate. As wardens of the faith, we are afforded greater latitude to achieve our goals.”
“What are your goals, anyway? Going to beat me up for threatening you?”
“Yes, but that is not my primary concern,” the archon explained. “Considering the nature of your involvement with Nellise, I made sure to keep an eye on events taking place in Stonegaard of late.”
“You were spying on us?” Pacian growled, giving up his attempts to break free of the two thugs.
“On Nellise, specifically, yes,” Cain responded. “The information I received indicates she is continuing to flaunt her position betwixt soldier of the Kingdom and representative of the faith, and it appears she has no intention of choosing one or the other. So, it would seem I must choose for her.”
“She’s not hurting anyone. Why can’t you just leave her be?” Pacian protested.
“Word of her exploits is beginning to circulate,” Cain explained, his tone conveying some degree of tension. “There are many influential people in Fairloch who would use her as a reason to further restrict the role of the Church, even more than we already are. Words such as ‘zealot’ and ‘militant’ are being bandied about, reminding people of the dark times in the Church’s past. I will speak this plainly so even you can understand — she cannot continue to represent the faith in her current capacity, plenipotentiary powers or not.”
“I don’t know what that word means, but if you ask me, she’s the best bloody representative you’ve ever had,�
�� Pacian sneered. Cain didn’t respond, except to glance at one of the men holding Pacian. The thug punched him in the gut, doubling him over in pain.
“I am not here to debate the issue with you,” Cain rasped as Pacian struggled for breath. “More of my associates will meet me near the Fair Maiden Inn, where I shall persuade her to seek the restorative environment of the Keepers of the Light. There, away from dark influences such as yourself, she will find her true path.” Pacian recalled his brief time at the monastery in the mountains, filled with “reformed” criminals, and knew Nellise did not belong there.
“If you try to force her, you’ll have to get through Val and Sayana first,” Pacian said as he gasped for breath.
“Yes, I’ve heard of their prowess,” Cain replied. “An akoran barbarian and a genuine sorceress, who apparently defeated an insurgent army practically single-handed. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in as well, for entirely different reasons. Clearly, the wizards who recently examined her grossly underestimated her capabilities, so she too must be brought into the fold to ensure she doesn’t turn into some kind of rampaging monster.”
“You might find that more difficult than you imagine,” Pacian assured him.
“We are well-versed in dealing with heretic sorcerers, Mister Savidge,” Cain retorted. “And if she chooses to fight, she merely damns herself further.”
“Do you think this bunch of idiots is going to stop her?” Pacian scoffed, earning him another punch to the gut for his trouble.
“I am more than capable of neutralising her powers for a brief time, rendering her little more than a young woman with an attitude problem. My associates will have no problem dealing with all three of them, and need not involve the Church with this sordid business.”
“So… you’re the only one that knows all of this?” Pacian asked, struggling to get the words out.
“For now,” Cain nodded, standing up. “I like to be discreet in all matters, for the public good. Now, I’m afraid our little chat is at an end. My friends will see to your every comfort — or lack thereof — while I set to my task. Think of this as absolution for your past crimes, Pacian. When it is done, do not think of striking back at myself or the Church, or even the duke won’t be able to save you.”
Cain walked to the door and opened it up, giving Pacian a brief glimpse of a dark alleyway somewhere in the city before it closed behind the inquisitor. He was then dragged over to the chair and ‘invited to sit down’ by his two hosts and their large fists. His arms were held behind him, and it appeared they wanted to tie him to the chair for the coming entertainment. But they had made a fatal mistake.
Pacian’s two daggers had been taken when he was first grabbed, as were the knives in his boots, but he still had another six small blades tucked into his tunic and sleeves. When his hands were brought together, he was able to take out a knife with each hand from the opposite sleeve and with a flick of his wrist, sliced up the hands of his first captor.
He bellowed like a stuck pig, falling back and staring at his bloodied hands as Pacian took advantage of the shock to bring his arm up and drive his blade into the side of the other thug. The old axiom of “the bigger they are, the harder they fall” proved correct, as the huge man staggered to one side and clutched at the vicious wound.
Pacian kicked the chair out from under him and with firm footing, stabbed and slashed at the first man he’d wounded, his hands all but useless after the initial attack. With the big thug unable to defend himself properly, Pacian soon found the opportunity to slash the man’s unprotected throat, forcing him to fall back as he started to bleed out from the mortal wound
Sensing the approach of the other man, Pacian was nonetheless caught by surprise as he was grabbed from behind by a pair of huge arms. Unable to stab at him with his arms pinned, Pacian was forced to rely on other methods. He brought one of his legs up behind him, hoping to connect with something vulnerable and struck gold. The arms released their vice-like grip for a moment, and Pacian managed to turn around and drive both knives straight into the guts of the big thug.
Pacian was staring right into the eyes of the thug as he struggled for breath with two four-inch blades sticking out of his lungs. They were locked together for a long moment as the big man fought to hold onto life, until the strength left his body and he slumped onto the ground, dead. Pacian, his heart racing and his breath coming in short gasps, staggered backward, dropping his knives to the ground as he promptly fell to his knees and threw up.
He sat there dry retching for a good minute or two, until his body realised there was nothing to get rid of. Pacian wiped his mouth and clambered onto his feet, unsure what had just happened, but determined to catch the inquisitor before he reached Nellise. Pacian retrieved his weapons from his fallen opponents and quickly searched their bodies, finding a pouch of copper jacks and a large, rusty key. He went to the door, unsurprised to find it locked, and used the key to make his escape.
A light snowfall dusted the streets, and the temperature was dropping rapidly as more bad weather moved in. Tracks in the snow at his feet seemed to indicate the direction Cain had taken — a winding path through the back alleys of the city. Pacian briefly considered finding his way back to the place where the carriage had dropped them off, but he figured the women would have left there already. His top priority now was to find Cain, and convince him of the error of his ways.
Wiping the remaining spittle from his mouth, Pacian headed off through the maze of back alleys in the poorest part of the city. This area seemed to be used mainly as a dumping ground for rubbish from the nearby buildings, discarded crates and foodstuffs, which seemed to be attracting a lot of rats and a few stray cats that chased them through the refuse. The stench was sickening, further unsettling Pacian’s unruly stomach, but he persevered through the muck until he moved into a cleaner area.
Here, the denizens of the night were starting to appear on the backstreets of Fairloch. Prostitutes braving the cold stood near lanterns, waiting to attract the interest of passers-by. Run-down buildings that looked like they had been hastily built over a century ago loomed over him, almost as if they were on the verge of collapsing. The squalor of this part of the city was stark, and a grim contrast to the more affluent parts of the city Pacian had been confined to for most of his visit.
He had lost track of Cain’s path long ago, the inquisitor’s footsteps intermingled with those of the local population in the snow-covered ground. Pacian was now relying on his sense of direction to guide him towards the Fair Maiden, and he probably had another ten minutes of travel through the rough parts of the city before he had to find a way into the market district.
The districts in Fairloch were walled-off, with a main gate allowing travel through each part. But Cain’s footsteps had been leading away from the gate, leaving Pacian to assume he had some other way of getting to the inn.
Immersed in his own thoughts, Pacian suddenly noticed he had attracted the attention of some local inhabitants — two spry looking men and a petite woman, all of which had a dangerous look about them. They had surrounded him in one of the alleyways, leaving him no path of escape that didn’t lead past at least one of them.
“Where do you think you’re going mate?” asked the man in front of him, arms spread wide in an overly theatrical display of bewilderment. He had a sharp face and simple clothes, although Pacian could tell by the way he moved he had a layer of leathers underneath his winter clothing.
“Going on a little tour of the city, slaying the sights — I mean seeing the sights,” Pacian replied blandly.
“Not through our neighbourhood you’re not,” the sharp faced brigand said. “Not without paying our very reasonable fees.”
“I just paid the other bloke down the street, you know… Jimmy,” Pacian protested mockingly, not impressed with their little show.
“Think you’re funny, don’t you,” growled the other, shorter man.
“Oh, who’s a pretty boy then?” the girl sudden
ly purred in Pacian’s ear, running the edge of a knife along his cheek.
“Shut up, Saffy, you sound like a bloody parrot,” the short thief muttered. “I’ll get straight to the point, mate — give us your money, or we’ll feed you to the dogs one piece at a time.”
“As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have a prior engagement,” Pacian replied impatiently. “Just don’t stab me in the back with that knife and I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
“I don’t think there’s any sort of arrangement we can make that doesn’t involve that knife ending up in your back,” the sharp faced man sighed, “so Saffy, why don’t you just get right to it.” Before he had even finished speaking, Pacian felt a dull pain in his back as the tip of the girl’s dagger met the unyielding strength of his vythiric chainmail.
Pacian lurched forward, crying out in mock agony to make them think he was badly wounded. With their guard down, he lurched backward and rammed his elbow into her gut, driving the wind from the surprised girl’s lungs. Pacian drew his two daggers in the blink of an eye and sensed the approach of the two men. He rolled backward in the snow and came up on his feet, ready to fight them face to face.
The two thieves slashed at him with their daggers, both of them missing their mark as Pacian anticipated each strike and moved to avoid them. His reprisal was met by similar moves on the part of his opponents, each of them agile and slippery and used to fighting in close quarters. With time, Pacian knew he could wear them down, but he just didn’t have the patience for this right now.
Trusting fully in his new armour, he left himself open for a straight-on attack to his gut, which the sharp-faced man took advantage of, without delay. He dived in, hoping to finish Pacian off in one strike, but his dagger couldn’t penetrate the vythiric chain. Out of position and vulnerable, Pacian had no trouble slamming the pommel of Tosh’s dagger into the thief’s skull, and smiled with grim satisfaction as the man fell face-first into the snow alongside his female companion, out for the count.
Soldiers of Ruin Page 25