by Dan Gillis
***
The huddled forms melded into the blackness of the night. The ‘prize’ was near and moving swiftly. They retained one advantage which allowed them to keep her within reach and still remain in shadow: Namely that her movements were erratic and for every three steps forward, she retraced two. They had the advantage of knowing the city and all the detours and passages. The girl was lost and calling out for help periodically. They would ensure that no help reached her, and when the opportunity was ripe, the Defilers would spring their trap upon the little mouse. Returning her to Nuril would please the mistress greatly. The final ritual of Mehnin would seal off this part of Kenhar against the holy orders and their meddling. Slowly the shadows melted in and out of the streets toward the fleeing and fragile leaf. It was so close now …
***
The broadsword whistled through the air as if in a dance. Shien dipped and weaved, stepping around the mast and hanging ropes. Anytime an enemy sought to gain an upper hand he would move to a better position. In vain they struggled to surround him, which resulted in them being hewn down, tripped or catching some object full in the face. The frustration was beginning to show upon the guards of the boat. A rather large man with long straggled hair charged him like a boar. Shien launched himself over the ox, curling his body. At the last moment he stretched his right leg out behind him, adding momentum to the already lunging lummox. Head and body crashed into the cabin entrance and fellow guards alike. No one moved from the twisted pile of wood and limbs. Shien had used the same leg to spring off the large man’s shoulder, onto the netted rope which ascended the primary mast. He climbed swiftly to the sail’s cross-beam and released the enormous sail with a few hacks from the sword. All below cursed as the large sheet of sturdy material settled over them and made movement next to impossible. Shien wrapped a foot around an anchoring rope which led to the prow. His gloved hands grew warm as he slid rapidly in descent. As he landed upon the deck he looked to his struggling opponents and felt grateful; he did not have to kill many tonight.
Shien stepped from the prow onto the gangway and peered into the darkness past the admitting gatehouse. The sounds of muffled struggling from the ship played upon his ears, but all was quiet past that. He stepped gingerly, sliding along the wall of the gatehouse, straining his ears. Only a fool would assume the danger had ceased. As he cricked his neck around the corner of the building, he jerked it back suddenly.
A large bolt of wood impacted into the wall where his head had been. He took off down River Street in a near sprint. He couldn’t run full out, as he carried a sharp blade and tripping could be hazardous. Also, he would need strength when the Watch cornered him. They knew this city like no other and would exploit the unwary, slowly closing in the gauntlet. He occasionally altered his course to discourage any other trigger-happy soldier. He would not underestimate these men. They were leagues ahead of those imbeciles on the boat as far as training and skill. Deadly accurate and swift of blade would describe their creed. He had tangled with other Watch in other cities; however Khyvla seemed to take pride in the rigorous training of their marshals.
Shien dodged toward a house and paused, briefly listening above his steady breathing. His sword arm slumped and rested his weapon upon the cobbled stones. Sweat trickled down his cheek; still, he was far from exhausted. The cold sweat, chilled from the night air, seemed to accentuate his thoughts. Shien wasn’t sure he could win against these men. He listened as they called out their signals to each other. It was ingenious; the language resembled sounds of animals or birds in flight. Shien had heard enough to know the intent. He pulled the straps of his leather pack firm and felt the objects shift upon his back. He closed his eyes and lifted his head toward the starlit sky. Breathing deeply, he crouched slightly in preparation to run again. ‘May the blessings of Aerluin be with me’ he thought. He paused momentarily. ‘That was weird’ … he had never prayed before. His body snapped into a swift step around the house wall.
“Aaaaaaah!” a high pitched scream was all he heard before something smashed into the side of his head. Shien was brought to the ground in a heap. Between the flashes in his brain he could detect that something lay across him, but in the dark he could not make out anything. His head felt like it would split in two, from all the abuse upon it that night. He shook it to clear the fuzziness. Then his senses returned.
“Damn it! Can’t anything go right?” Shien shouted as he shoved the smaller form off his torso. He leapt to his feet and glanced around. It was all shadow here on this street, but his eyes were slowly adjusting. He detected movement on the ground. He raised the broadsword and made to strike.
“Owwww.” The person moaned in pain. Shien’s sense awakened as he realized it was a young girl who had collided with him. She slowly stood up, holding her head. Both of their skulls had connected and Shien instinctively touched the thumping area by his temple. Blood came away with his hand.
“Get out of here, girl!” he whispered sharply to her. Well, his position was a dead giveaway now. A ten-toed bird chirped nearby and Shien cursed again. He started to lope down the alley that she had run down. If he could make the merchant court, maybe …
“Wait!” she yelled after him, “I need your help … I … look out!” Shien narrowly dodged a dagger which slashed out of the shadows at him, but it tore at his thick vest. His arm moved in a fluid motion and struck deep and hard into the shadow.
“Urk …gha …” A voice grunted as the shadow tumbled to the ground at his feet. Shien looked closer as the black cloak of the assailant spilled open. The clothes revealed dark red embroidering upon black cloth. His mind worked fast and suddenly his jaw dropped as a thought crashed upon him.
“No! You’re not dead! Get up!” He grasped the arm of the motionless form and heaved. “No, no, no … why did you attack me, you fool?” He threw the body which collapsed as a rag doll upon the ground, the life completely gone from it.
“What’s wrong?” the girl’s voice spoke beside him. Shien ran a trembling hand through his damp hair. His hand came away slightly red but he wasn’t focusing on that anymore. He stared at the body upon the ground, his head shaking slightly in denial.
His words washed over Firah like a tempest. “What’s wrong? That’s a blasted Defiler from their cursed cadre! I’ve killed one of their own! They are going to find me and exact a penalty in blood! They are going to suck out my soul and feed it to their bloody demon! I’ll be worse than him!” He was now shouting at her. Her green eyes flicked on every accentuated word in his tirade. However, her mind was still reeling from his mention of the demon. Her thoughts raced back to her horrific nightmares. He knew about that? That black terror which haunted her mind?
Shien was getting anxious and regarded the girl. She was going to get him killed. He pressed his finger against her forehead and prodded her firmly. “Bother someone else, girl. I’m leaving.” As he turned, she pushed her foot firmly into the small of his back which sent him tumbling to the ground.
“Thanks for your help,” she cooed. Her face was set in a smug grin.
Shien growled as he shot back up. He didn't need intuition in empathy to divine what she was thinking at that moment. Utter contempt and frustration was seething from her every pore. Her pathetic display of effrontery ate at him. The nerve of the girl! The feelings of pure disdain were mutual now. He strode over to her and gripped a fistful of her shirt, drawing the young girl up to his face. “You little brat!” Her eyes narrowed just as a slight snort mocked his actions.
“You think I’m scared of you …”
“Hold there!” The voice caught both of them off guard. Then Shien realized that the command was not meant for him. He heard muttering of voices in the street outside their alley. He released the girl and moved his body tight against the wall until he was able to peer around the corner into the dark street. Several members of the Watch had stopped more cloaked cadremen. They were engaged in a heated discussion. Apparently, the cloaked ones took offense at being
accosted, and the Watch were enforcing the very curfew the Blade of Ahtol had imposed! The irony was too rich, but Shien knew better than to stick around. It was his window of opportunity. He sprang into a run, back up the alley past the annoying waif. His mind focused ‘Forget it. She means nothing’.
Firah watched him leave and considered herself lucky to be rid of the Gnarel-bred oaf, but the dream question poked at her mind. The Watch was close now, and Zyr needed help, but somehow all she could think about was getting answers to her dreams. This man knew something of it and her whole soul hungered for information, anything to help her solve the puzzle. There was something else too - a tugging at her heart to follow the young man. The feeling seemed to wind itself around her completely in comforting reassurance. Though her logical mind protested with Zyr’s desperate plight, she reluctantly sprinted after the brash man. Although he had a head start, she was able to catch him moving down an adjoining street. She was chasing the trailing threads of fate.
Shien saw her moving behind him quickly. He groaned within himself and rounded behind a small wooden shed. There was an open entrance on one side which he sidled into. Crouching low, he saw the girl stop and look about, visibly frustrated. He chuckled and decided to wait till she was gone. Deep within, he felt a pang of guilt which stirred like stone in his belly. He drove away the feeling and continued to survey the street.
***
“You have no business outside past curfew!” The captain of the Watch roared at the seething man before him. The cloaked persons were lined up before the six Watchmen, and all appeared quite put out.
“You meddling fools, make way in the name of Lady Nuril!” the one screamed back into his face. The argument had raged on and all tempers were flaring. The headman had been through countless of these encounters with cadre upstarts thinking they were above the law. Finally, they were going to receive justice at the hands of true public servants. He thought the curfew was a ridiculous notion and every Watchman now worked longer hours to enforce the new code.
“You're in violation of curfew, and believe me, Nuril will hear of it.” He made to apprehend the man before him and his companions followed suit. The group of shrouded men withdrew several paces and flourished their hands. The captain smiled. “If that is your choice, I’ll accommodate you,” he spoke slowly while unsheathing his short sword. The sound of sliding metal from his squad echoed in his ears. The criminals were saying something and faintly he could make out movement of their dark cloaks. Suddenly, fear came over him. In his mind it never occurred to him that they would go this far. “Defilers! Stop them, quickly!” he shouted out desperately.
“Thank you for assisting us, gentleman,” the dark figure spoke acidly. As the Watchmen rushed toward the shadowy figures, they screamed out in agony, falling to their knees. They felt their life essence slowly draining away, which seemed to flow as wispy trails of red towards the enemies’ now elevated hands. The captain struggled to regain his feet and wearily slogged toward the lead Defiler. The others screamed and writhed as the glowing trails of essence were being pulled from their bodies to the fingertips of the dark Ashori. The captain growled loudly, willing his body to move a little more. He slowly raised his sword up and made to strike down the closest fiend with all the strength he had left. Suddenly, he felt a hand over his face and a searing pain coursed through his head. He dropped his sword as he collapsed, twitching in agony. His last thought was to look to his foe, who knelt down beside the immobilized fighter. The captain’s expression filled with horror as whispered words entered his ears.
“Your bodies will do nicely.”
***
Zyr leapt down five stairs at a time, almost overtaking his enemy. His mind was as hot as the attacks which had been flung against him. His only concern was to end the threat that this man posed to Firah and all the people in Khyvla. He was a Defiler, and Zyr had sworn to fight against their kind until his days were ended. They violated all which was pure through their demonic rituals for the selfish pursuit of damning evil power. He rounded the last stair and stopped abruptly. His enemy was vainly working at a locked door to the street. He stopped and whirled around, his face full of anger and frustration. Zyr stepped slowly into the room moving in a circle around a table in the center of the room. His enemy hopelessly mirrored him, trying in vain to keep the monk from engaging in close combat.
Zyr stopped and regarded the scowling man. Likely, the Ignitor’s strength was somewhat depleted, especially after such aggressive weavings. Zyr knew he could make the end quick, which was the most merciful way according to his creed. However, something was bothering him, which ate at him since he entered the city. It was the burning question which would cause him to abandon even the most sacred charge from Mother herself. It was a matter of honour; yet that sympathy was merely the rippling surface of the deep recesses of his soul. He had come to see her. He had to know, even if it meant risking everything. His conscience chided him to the last - it was a foolhardy and selfish gesture. Yet it was the only choice. Firah’s safety pricked at his conscience in a battle with past feelings. He assured himself that she was capable of reaching the Watch. With that assurance he sprung the trap.
He quickly prepared a pulse of detective energy and delved outward; his intuition was right. Another waited outside in ambush, as he detected the faint tell-tale imprint of an Ashori. He would never be able to gain access to the tower of Ahtol through force; its defence was too formidable. There was only one way in. He picked up a chair and brandished it at his opponent. He moved so as to position his foe next to the entrance. Zyr sent the chair flying toward the door, but it appeared to his wary foe as a near miss. The door crumpled under the force of the blow, exposing the street. Zyr cursed out loud in a convincing volume.
Not missing a beat, his enemy flung himself through the opening. Zyr paused and prepared himself for what fate held in store and burst out of the door, roaring some senseless war-cry he heard used by Tey’ur long ago. His plan had worked. He felt a sudden unseen weight come over his whole body. He felt as if he barely had energy to move his feet. ‘So it’s a Cerephor’ Zyr thought. It was a simple illusion and could be countered with some degree of effort, but he let himself bend under the weight of the illusion. Next, he felt hot bands of fire encircle his arms and torso. The heat seared his arms and body, while the unseen burden forced him to his knees. Good, they were not going to kill him. However, he could not give up easily; that would spoil his ruse. As he struggled to rise, he saw in his peripheral vision a glint of metal rise above him. ‘The moment has come’ he thought. His hand lay open, ‘Will I have the strength to do it?’ The handle of a dagger connected with the base of his skull. A whisper escaped his lips as blackness stole his conscious thought.
“Tehsa.”
***
Firah searched in vain throughout the street. The uncouth Reykal had actually got away from her. She let out a scream of frustration from behind clenched teeth. Why were men like that? Why was the whole world full of those bone-brained idiots? She knew that she could not find him in the thick darkness. Sighing, she realized that she better try to locate the Watch again and get back to Zyr. She had spent too much time on her own foolish whims, and she wondered how her friend was faring. Zyr was quite resilient and she felt he could hold on until she got help.
As she paced down the street she noticed some forms moving toward her slowly. In the dark she could not make them out at all. They made little sound in their advance. ‘At this time of night, it must be the Watch’ she thought. Elated, she moved toward them and raised her hand.
“Hello! I need help! A friend of mine is being attacked! Please help me!”
As she drew closer, she could make out armoured torsos and the movement of swords upon their belts. Their lack of sound was unnerving; they continued to move in a slow and steady pace toward her. Firah strained her eyes and looked at the closest figure advancing close to her. Slowly, her eyes opened wide. The man’s face appeared to be melting or
rotting, and she could see portions of his skull beneath the putrid skin. The sight was such a fright to her that she hesitated to move. In a quick movement, the disfigured man thrust out a cold fleshy hand which grasped her throat. Desperately, Firah struggled against the chilling fingers, twisting and clawing, but the hand held firm. His expression (what could be read in his ghastly face) revealed no emotion or evidence of care as she grasped at the horrid fingers. She felt her breath fail as the grip collapsed her windpipe. Grunting and screaming faintly, she writhed and worked against her dispassionate adversary. Gradually, her movement slowed as her strength ebbed. Her body struggled for air which would not come. Firah’s eyes closed slowly, her vision blurred … ‘Oh Mother, please help. Not yet. Please.’
Suddenly, her body collapsed to the ground. She struggled to open her eyes. There was someone moving over her body, charging into her attacker. In the recesses of her mind she could hear the sound of someone yelling. It gave her strength in a strangely spiritual and passionate way. She fumbled at the hand around her throat and found it gave way to her prying. Breath rushed into her body as a great wind of nature. After a few gulps, she raised herself upon her arms, coughing violently. She slowly became aware of what was happening around her.