Taking advantage of his new position, Pacian dove at the remaining attacker and cut him on both arms, then kicked him solidly in the gut. Staggering backwards, bleeding profusely from his new wounds and, sensing he was outmatched, the brigand quickly fled the scene, leaving his comrades in crime lying in the snow.
Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Pacian reversed the hold on his daggers and was about to plunge them into the back of the scumbag lying at his feet, but something stopped him. His arms held in place unmoving with the blades pointed straight for the heart of the sharp-faced bastard.
Ordinarily, he would have no problem ending the life of someone who had tried to kill him. Doubt crept into Pacian’s mind as he contemplated finishing off his fallen foes, and after a long moment, he sheathed his weapons once more. The one called Saffy looked up at him with fearful, wide eyes, still clutching her stomach as she tried to recover.
Feeling disgusted with himself, Pacian stepped over their unmoving forms and continued on his way, trying to push the sight of the terrified girl from his mind. Within a few minutes, he was at the wall separating the districts, which he now thought of as the rich people keeping the poor at arm’s length.
There was no sign that anyone had walked this close to the wall since the snow had started falling, and he silently wished Sayana was here to read the tracks, or better yet, fly him over the wall. But if Cain had come through here, then there must be a way through.
Some houses were built along parts of the wall, their backs against the stone bricks. Like most of the buildings in this area, they were old and run-down, and any one of them might have a secret door leading through the wall. Pacian silently walked up to the nearest house and tested the door, finding it locked and the windows boarded up.
If this was the location of a secret door, it was a little obvious — the boarded-up front practically screamed “this house is empty and not worth your time.” No, the ideal way to hide a secret passage was to make the house blend in to its surroundings. He checked the houses further along the street, and saw only one of them wasn’t boarded up.
Moving in closer, he could see soft lights through the frost-covered windows, and smoke billowing up from the chimney. The door was locked, of course, so he spent a few moments dealing with that before he slowly opened it a crack. There was no indication of movement inside, but there was fresh snow on the floor leading off down the main hallway.
Creeping inside, he moved quietly along the hall, keeping an ear out for any indication the place was occupied, yet heard nothing. The trail of snow ended at a blank wall at the end of the corridor, and Pacian smiled to himself at his own cunning. He felt around the wooden wall before him until he found a small latch that parted the fake wall and revealed a small tunnel through a stone passage, cut through the wall itself.
Pacian slipped through the door and along the tunnel, his breath misting before him. Along the length of the passage torches burned, their smoke wafting along the low ceiling towards the other end. When he finally emerged, he found himself in a small tool shed in the back yard of somebody’s house. The door was opened slightly, so he slowly stepped outside.
Pacian was right next to the wall, and saw a narrow alleyway alongside the property he was standing on. He caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of his vision and bolted forward, rolling on the snowy ground as a crossbow bolt thudded into the door he had been standing in front of.
Pacian didn’t even stop to look — he sprinted towards the alleyway and heard whoever had taken the shot at him cursing as he disappeared from his sight. He didn’t stop running until he had taken a few twists and turns through the back alleyways, and then stopped to catch his breath.
The scenery here was far nicer than the slum he had just walked through, and one of the main streets at the end of the alley looked familiar, too. He was definitely close to the Fair Maiden Inn now, so he jogged through the back streets until he found himself peering at the inn from across the street.
If Cain was nearby, he was well-hidden. Dozens of people were still walking the streets, though as he watched, many of them were heading to the inn itself to seek respite from the cold northern winter. Further along the street, he spied the distinctive sight of Nellise and her two companions strolling along. Valennia was rapidly outpacing the other two and by his estimate, would be at the inn within two minutes. Pacian had that much time to find and disable whatever trap Cain had set for them.
The lantern light coming from nearby was preventing Pacian from seeing into the alleyways next to the inn, a likely ambush point. Taking a chance on being seen, he pulled his hood low over his face and sauntered out onto the road, appearing to be just another wandering citizen of Fairloch. If he was being watched, nobody seemed to react to his presence on the street.
He ducked into a side alley as soon as he was close enough, and pressed his back against the wall before looking around. This alley was empty, but there was another on the other side of the inn, one the ladies would pass before reaching the front door. Keeping his feet as silent as possible on the dry snow, Pacian crept down the alley and around the back of the inn, past the kitchen with its alluring aromas of hot food and drink, and into the alley on the other side.
As soon as he did, Pacian froze in place, for he was looking at half a dozen men crouched in the shadows, waiting for something. He knew what they were up to, but he was at a loss as to how to deal with so many. There was less than a minute until the ladies strolled past and were set upon by these thugs, and that’s when Cain would make his appearance. He had no idea how powerful the inquisitor was, but his quiet confidence had indicated he was more than capable of dealing with Sayana’s sorcery.
Suddenly, Valennia appeared at the end of the alleyway. She seemed unaware of the nearby men waiting to jump her, but had taken the time to put on her breastplate after dismounting from the carriage. The scythe that had been stolen from their room in Stonegaard had been recovered after the fight, and adorned the akoran warrior’s back.
The thugs reacted to her presence by whispering amongst themselves, but whoever was in charge decided she was not the main target. Val had clearly grown impatient with the other two women and had moved ahead much faster, heading straight for the inn door when Pacian had a flash of inspiration.
Taking out one of his throwing knives, he coiled up his arm and threw the blade at Valennia, scoring a direct hit on her breastplate before ducking out of sight again. Her expression would have been comical if it wasn’t so threatening. She stopped, looked down at the knife that had dropped into the snow, and then drew her scythe and immediately stormed down the alleyway towards the six rugged men.
“Who dares challenge me?” she thundered, taking the thugs completely by surprise. They backpedalled for a moment before their leader snarled the order to attack, and as one they charged towards the advancing warrior-maiden. Valennia held her ground, slamming down the visor on her helm and readying her deadly weapon for the first attack.
Pacian watched from the shadows as the group of men tried to overwhelm her with sheer force of numbers, only to find the razor-sharp edge of her scythe cutting through their ranks. No novices to battle, the men did what they could to avoid the blade while maintaining the offensive, and the sounds of clashing weapons rang out through the streets.
It was only a matter of time before the City Watch arrived on the scene, so Pacian had to track down Cain before that happened. Creeping back down the alley, Pacian turned around and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the inquisitor coming straight at him. Only his finely-honed reflexes allowed him to dodge the descending blade which screeched off the stone wall just beside him.
Pacian tumbled to one side and drew his daggers, crouching cat-like on the snow as he faced off against the inquisitor. Cain held his sword at the ready, yet didn’t seem inclined to charge straight in. Instead, his lips moved silently, and Pacian immediately knew the man was whispering a prayer. Before he could react, however, he felt his
muscles freeze as if he were held by an immense force.
“I must compliment you on your tenacity, sir,” Cain said as he relaxed his stance. “You are proving to be quite a thorn in my side of late. Your persistence forces me to take measures to end your interference in a more permanent fashion.”
Pacian, his muscles burning, used every scrap of willpower he could manage to break the hold the inquisitor had on him, but was still unable to move. From around the corner, the sounds of Valennia making short work of Cain’s associates could be heard, as well as screams of passing citizens, exposed to the akoran way of fighting for the first time. If Pacian could just call out for help, it might not be too late to save his life. The inquisitor was moving inexorably closer, his sword held easily in one hand.
“I shall make the cut clean and quick, for I am not a cruel man, despite what you may think,” Cain assured him. “You may die assured that your beloved Nellise will receive the help she needs… whether she wants it or not.” At the mention of the beautiful cleric’s fate, Pacian gritted his teeth and found the strength to break free.
He rolled forward as the blade came down, narrowly missing his feet as he came around, almost pulling his shoulder out of its joint with the ferocity of the manoeuvre. His vythiric dagger plunged into the surprised inquisitor’s side, slicing through the chainmail underneath and diving deep into the unprotected flesh beyond.
Cain staggered against the alley wall and kicked at Pacian, sprawling him out onto the cold ground. He sprang back to his feet almost instantly, ignoring the pain in his shoulder while Cain regained his footing as well. The two men circled each other warily, until Pacian noticed that the blood from the inquisitor’s wound had already stopped flowing and seemed to be mending itself as he watched.
Fully aware of the healing powers priests of the Church possessed, Pacian waded in with sheer fury, knowing he had to stay on the offensive if he wanted to stand a chance against the man. Pacian came at the inquisitor from every possible angle, darting past his defences and scoring minor hits here and there, while Cain’s blade swept at him in broad strokes that seemed impossibly fast. More than once Pacian felt the searing pain of a direct hit, but his dwarven-crafted vythiric chain armour protected him from what could have been mortal injuries.
Realising he couldn’t outfight the man, Pacian knew that he somehow had to outthink him. Time was running out, and at any moment the City Watch — or worse still, Nellise — would come down the alley to find out what the noise was all about, and it would be all over.
Reversing the grip on his dagger, Pacian led with his other weapon in an obvious strike to the inquisitor’s leg, and found it turned aside by his sword. Their eyes locked for a fraction of time and in that moment, Pacian could see that Cain knew he had just made a fatal mistake. The vythiric dagger plunged through his armour into his gut, sapping the energy from his body and dropping him to the ground in a growing pool of his own blood.
He couldn’t stop there however, for it would only be a few minutes before Cain was healed once more. Pacian followed through with more deadly blows, pummelling the helpless inquisitor with unbridled rage. He held Tosh’s vythiric dagger to Cain’s throat as both men struggled for breath, but for very different reasons. He stared back at Pacian with eyes that showed no fear.
Pacian hadn’t intended to prolong the moment, yet he found it difficult to perform the final act that would extinguish the inquisitor’s life. Once more the image of his dwarven friend dying in his arms flashed through his mind, and his soul recoiled at the prospect of taking the life of a man who had technically done nothing wrong. He wasn’t a murderer, or even a thug — he was doing what he believed was right.
Ultimately though, he had attacked Pacian and more than that, threatened to take Nellise away from him. He had gone through too much to lose her now, and if Cain was to live, that is exactly what would happen.
“You’ll never stop trying… so it’s the only way,” he muttered to himself as his blade dove in to finish the job, all the while trying to ignore the look of terror that finally consumed the man’s face in his final moments.
Chapter Sixteen
Despite their lack of sleep, Aiden didn’t feel like resting. He was content to explore the ruins of the old tower while Ronan and Sir William recovered from their injuries. Maggie advised they’d need most of the day to allow their wounds to regenerate enough to travel, and Aiden didn’t mind spending his time searching the place for the elusive sceptre.
The dragon’s assault against the tower, decades ago, had damaged the structure from top to bottom. Anything above the second floor was virtually destroyed, and even if he could reach the higher floors, Aiden doubted they would be able to support his weight.
On the second floor he found an old library, with piles of ancient books strewn over the floor. He spent half the day looking through them for anything of interest, and wasn’t disappointed. Tomes covered all manner of arcane topics, and as an avid student of the art, he dearly wanted to add these to his collection back home.
Among them he discovered a manifest of artifacts kept within the tower itself. Aiden was crestfallen to find no mention of the Sceptre of Oblivion in the crumbling pages, but he continued searching anyway in the faint hope it was mistaken.
Pushing aside heavy blocks of broken masonry, Aiden found more the remains of many people. One body in particular caught his attention — the remains of an elf, its long, elegant bone structure indicating its heritage. Well-crafted leathers which had stood the test of time encased the body, and the long-dead elf clutched the hilt of a weapon in one hand.
Heaving aside a large chunk of stone, Aiden saw a chipped and scarred singlesword in its skeletal claw. He was crestfallen at the sight, for he dared to hope that he’d located the sceptre at long last. Still, the blade seemed to be mostly intact and upon closer inspection realised it was something special. He recognised the distinctive shimmering of auldsteel, the same metal as Sir William’s blessed sword.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to relieve you of your weapon,” Aiden whispered to the dead elf. He gingerly removed it from the dirt and brushed some of the detritus away, marvelling at its balance as he brought it into the light for a closer look. Tiny gemstones were encrusted into the hilt and on the crosspiece, and on an impulse Aiden shifted his vision and saw the faintest aura of power surrounding the weapon.
Auldsteel weapons were the stuff of legend, for the method of their creation had been lost long ago. Given the age of this sword, Aiden had little doubt that the original enchantment upon the blade had faded with time, but must have been something impressive back in its day. It had clearly been used in countless battles, for the metal was scarred and pitted. Aiden didn’t know any way to sharpen auldsteel weapons, and the implications of the practically indestructible metal being this damaged were beyond his comprehension.
Still, even in this condition, the sword would be far more effective than his mundane blade, so he took the scabbard of his new weapon from its previous owner and strapped it to his back. The sun was low in the sky when he rejoined the others at the impromptu camp near the base of the tower, and Aiden was pleased to see both Sir William and Ronan on their feet once more.
Behind them, the imposing visage of Vindictus lay upon the ground, broken and unmoving. Curiously, Maggie sat next to the dead dragon, filling a hole in the ground with her hands. Aiden walked up behind her, grimacing slightly at the unpleasant sights and smells the dragon had to offer, and saw that she was burying the remains of her former master.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Aiden said, looking down at the mound of dirt where the old druid was buried. “However, he managed to get past the barrier, he couldn’t have known what he was about to face.”
“I know,” Maggie whispered, “but that doesn’t change the facts of the matter. His decision to come here led to the corruption of my order, and the demise of everyone I once knew. I am now the sole surviving member and the new Enlighten
ed One, Keeper of the Faith, but there is nobody left to lead.” Aiden didn’t have any advice for her, so he just stood there in awkward silence, trying to think of something to say.
“I’m okay, Aiden,” she said knowingly, before anything came to mind. He smiled to himself at her insight and tousled her hair in what he hoped was a comforting fashion.
They spent the afternoon lying out in the open, looking up at the sky through the shimmering barrier of light that encircled the area. A brief storm swept through, and it was a strange sight indeed to see sleet running off the barrier as if it were a vast dome of glass. Sir William spent his time in quiet prayer, the magnitude of his battle against the dragon and subsequent death — however brief — appearing to have reaffirmed his faith.
“So, I’m dying to know,” Maggie eventually said to Aiden after she had finished her work, “did you find any sign of that sceptre?”
“Not even a hint,” Aiden replied grimly. “I found some records that date back to the city’s inception, but if the sceptre was ever here, it wasn’t written down.”
“If it’s as valuable as we’ve been told, the owner of the tower might have kept it secret,” Ronan offered, his voice still weak.
“Maybe, but if it’s here, it’s well hidden.”
“I’ll take a look,” the retired thief said, carefully getting to his feet. “If it’s here, I’ll be able to find it. No offence, by the way.”
“None taken,” Aiden grinned as Ronan hobbled off into the tower. Aiden’s smile vanished as he saw the tattered remains of the sailor’s leathers clinging to his back at the precise point the dragon had struck him. It then occurred to him just how lucky they all were to still be alive.
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