144: Wrath

by Dallas E. Caldwell

  "We can’t decide?"

  Kiff laughed. "Take it easy. It was just a joke."

  "Someday soon you are going to have to choose, Kiff," Xandra said. "I just hope that you choose me."

  Kiff looked up at her, and she flushed a bright red.

  "Us. Choose us. Master Kas Dorian, really. You know what I meant." She stood and gathered up the mystic’s candle. "It’s late. I’m going to bed." She turned and hurried toward the foyer.

  "Xandra, I know my word isn’t worth much to you."

  She stopped in the doorway, but did not turn to look at him.

  "I would never hurt you," he said. "You can trust me."

  "Good night, Kiff."

  Xandra took the candle and left him standing alone in the empty room. As he watched her leave, his Undlander eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could see everything, no amount of shadow could conceal an object from his vision, and no magic could bar his gaze. Why then, was it so hard to see each step before he took it?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Reyce packed his few belongings into a rucksack and removed a large, wooden star from a hidden panel in his private quarters. The room held only a small desk and a rickety, old stool. There was no bed because the undead - even those that held on to their sentience - were unable to sleep. The desk was littered with ancient scrolls and various alchemists’ tools. The back corner of the room held a pile of abandoned and broken devices, many of which looked as though they had been discarded in rage; their pieces smashed against the wall. Reyce held the eight-point symbol out in front of him and frowned in disgust.

  "What are you planning on doing with that?"

  Reyce clutched the emblem to his chest and turned. The Undlander thief stood in the doorway. "Kiff, I didn’t hear you come in."

  "I didn’t want you to."

  "Arrogance," Reyce said.

  The boy shrugged and hatred burned in what was left of Reyce’s heart. This child was nothing more than any of the handful of self-entitled, immature rabble that flocked to the pitiable House of Stars.

  Reyce edged past the assassin, but the bothersome Undlander turned and followed him down the main hall toward the front door.

  "Now where are you off to, Caretaker?" Kiff asked.

  Reyce opened the door and tried to close the thief inside as he left, but the Undlander put his foot in the way.

  "It’s not any of your concern, Thief," Reyce said. "We’re on the same side here."

  Kiff followed him outside and around the west corner of the guildhall. "Then you shouldn’t mind if I trail along. Us being allies and all."

  The lifeless custodian stopped and glared at him, and Kiff stared right back, hoping that the unnerving effect his dark goggles and mask had on the living might also provide some intimidation with the dead. Reyce made a sound like a rock dragged across slate and shook his head, but he proceeded down the side of the building to a small window near the back without saying a further word. Kiff chuckled to himself.

  The warden of the Sigil House stepped carefully to avoid knocking over a few loose boards and toppling a stack of bricks.

  Kiff pulled out his board and floated above the roofline where he could see every move Reyce made.

  The caretaker reached the window and affixed the star emblem to the pane. Kiff watched and waited.

  When Reyce had finished securing the wooden emblem, he turned and walked away from the guildhall as fast as his stiff legs would carry him.

  Kiff dipped down and swept along the alley behind him. "So if we’re on the same side, why did you try to smoke me out in front of the others?" he asked.

  Reyce took a quick turn at the end of the alley and another as he crossed the street. Before the duo reached the edge of Cheapside, he turned again and ducked down a cluttered alleyway.

  "Okay. Drop the shield already," Kiff said. "You’re not gonna lose me with a few turns. Especially not walking. So stop, and let’s talk."

  Kiff crouched and sped up, bringing his board around in front of the undead Peltin.

  "I smoked you out for the same reason you would have, Thief," Reyce said. "To buy some trust."

  Kiff shrugged. "Makes sense."

  "I’m honestly surprised you haven’t been gutted by now. Not one of them trusts you. Are you even trying to do your job?" Reyce sighed. "I guess I shouldn’t expect much professionalism from the House of Stars; nothing but copper-piece thieves and degenerates."

  "Well, we can’t all be members of the glorious House of Suns, now can we?" Kiff said with a laugh.

  "No." Reyce sneered. "We can’t."

  "But the House of Stars isn’t just for thieves and degenerates." Kiff pulled out his bladed whip. "You said it yourself: occasionally some of us show promise as brilliant assassins, too."

  Reyce stepped backwards out of the alley and into an old courtyard. He stumbled a bit and knelt down to retrieve a knife from his boot. The courtyard had no cobblestones or tidy sidewalks. A rundown fountain with stagnant water sat in the middle of the hard dirt square. Unlike the other fountains in Odes’Kan, this one had seen many years since any water rippled from its central spout, no magelights danced beneath the water’s surface, and any coins that may have once littered its basin had long since been taken and spent on bread.

  Kiff rode his board around the man in a close circle. "And sometimes that means tying up loose ends. Especially those that can’t keep their mouth shut. Besides, your bosses seem to think having someone on the payroll that’ll be around for, oh, ever, I guess, is too much of a drain on the coin purse. Doesn’t really matter to me. I get paid either way." The Undlander snapped his bladed whip out to the side, but it did not make a sound. Kiff shook his head. "I don’t know why I use this thing."

  Reyce crouched and readied his blade.

  "I’ve never killed a dead man before," Kiff said.

  "You are welcome to try."

  Kiff laughed. "This should be interesting."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Shadowy images clawed at Polas’s mind. His body shook and perspiration soaked his blanket. His cot creaked and groaned beneath him as he tossed and turned in a restless struggle against his nightmares.

  Around him, the room was quiet. Xandra slept on a cot like his, Flint was curled up in a ball on the floor, and Vor slept in a seated position with his back against the wall.

  Polas’s body was rigid, but inside his mind swirled a whirlpool of lost memories.

  ~ 1000 years ago ~

  "General Polas Kas Dorian," Exandercrast said as he brushed an imagined speck of dust from his immaculate suit. "It has such a regal sound to it. Descended directly from a member of the Eight."

  Polas again found himself strapped to a table. The marks on his legs were now old scars, his wrists were raw and bloodied from his attempts to free himself, and his right ankle was bandaged and ached as though it had been recently broken.

  Behind him, a thin-skinned Narculd kept a fire going in a small cauldron. A glittering array of maniacal devices lay across a metal grill, glowing red with absorbed heat.

  "You know," Exandercrast continued, "I’m partly responsible for the creation of the Eight. You might even go so far as to say it was my idea. One of the only charitable things I could ever be accused of."

  Exandercrast laughed lightly to himself as he circled the table. He snapped his fingers, and two Ibor guards entered the room. They both had to duck to enter through the doorway, their gnarled horns scraping against the stone arch.

  They bent over Polas and unfastened his bindings. Polas’s mind screamed for him to fight them off, to kick at them, to do anything, but his body simply would not respond. Every inch of him felt cold and knotted, and his bones grated against one another with each movement.

  "I grow bored of causing you physical harm, Kas Dorian," Exandercrast said. "I thought we would introduce a few guests to enliven things a bit around here."

  The Ibor guards dragged Polas from the room and down a dark hallway with Exandercrast
close behind.

  At the end of the hall, Polas thought he heard voices he recognized. Soft, like sweet music and amber wine.

  The guards flung him to the floor of the brightly lit room. Polas looked up in horror to see his precious wife, Finadel, and his innocent daughter, Leyryl, strapped to tables. The child was older now, and could hardly be called a child anymore. He had missed so much. In his absence, she had blossomed into a beautiful flower; his baby girl had become a young lady. The pain of regret coursed though his veins. The weight of not knowing how old she was or how many years he had missed sought to drown him.

  "Polas," Finadel said through streaming tears.

  Polas’s body finally found a source of strength, and he sprang upon the closest guard, slammed his fists into the stony creature's throat, and kicked him in the back of the knee. The Ibor laughed and tossed him aside like an orin doll.

  Exandercrast extended a single hand toward Polas. His body seized then went stiff, and he found himself floating above the ground. Blood vessels in his neck swelled as he tried to free himself from the invisible hold. With a thud, his feet slammed back onto the ground, and he was rooted to the spot.

  "Kas Dorian, did you really think I could not control you here?" Exandercrast said. "My power is far greater than your simple ‘iron-blooded’ resistance."

  He forced Polas to stand with arms folded across his chest and leaned in close to Polas’s face, close enough that his nostrils burned with the scent of heated stone. A glimmer of sadistic light danced in Exandercrast’s eyes as he whispered, "Oh, and about your son. Not to worry, I have something special planned for the boy."

  He straightened and brushed the lapel of this dressing suit.

  "I’ll leave you alone now," He stopped outside the doorway and turned. "Oh, and gentlemen, do enjoy yourselves."

  Polas could not move a muscle, could not open his mouth, and could scarcely even breathe as he watched the Ibor guards stalked toward his wife and daughter.

  One of the guards ran a rocky finger along Finadel’s nose, tearing an even line down the middle of her face.

  Finadel screamed, and the Ibor began their work in earnest.

  Blood splattered against Polas’s unblinking face and tears welled in his eyes.

  Xandra awoke to find Polas sitting up in bed, rocking back and forth with his head in his hands. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he breathed as one in a heated battle.

  "Master Kas Dorian, are you alright?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to draw his attention. "Master Kas Dorian?"

  Polas stood with a heart-churning yell and threw his cot against the wall. It splintered with a loud crash.

  Flint bolted upright and pulled his blankets up to shield against what he likely assumed was an attack.

  "It’s okay, Master," Xandra said.

  Flint peeked over the edge of his blanket and let out a long sigh.

  "Master Kas Dorian," Xandra said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "Is there anything I can get you? It was only a dream. Maybe some water will help you rest."

  "Only a dream…" Polas shoved his feet into his ratty old boots and grabbed his sword. He took a long look at Xandra, and something in his eyes told her he was not truly seeing her. In one instant, he was staring with eyes distant, and in the next, he yelled something in High Peltin and ran from the room. He slammed the door behind him with such force that the old paneling around the frame split and fell away in pieces.

  Xandra grabbed her things to follow him, but Vor put a hand out to stop her.

  "There’s a star on the floor," he said with an eerie calm.

  On the ground next to Kiff’s empty cot, the shadow of an eight-point star lay, falling from the room’s only window.

  "Where’s Kiff?" Xandra asked.

  Flint stood and dressed. Once he had his boots on, he walked over to the window to examine the star-shaped plank that had been attached to the outside of the pane.

  "The pup left a while ago," Vor said, standing. "The noisy dolt tripped over me on his way out."

  "Really?" Flint looked back from the window with an eyebrow cocked.

  "Why would he leave us?" Xandra said. "How could he?"

  Vor shrugged."Probably ran home to his masters. Our esteemed host has left us as well." He picked up his axe and ran his fingers along its blade while his thick tongue played against his canines.

  Xandra was shaken and utterly confused. Had she dreamed her last conversation with the Undlander? She knew it was more important to give chase to Master Kas Dorian, but her heart longed to chase after that annoying thief. "What do we do?"

  "First of all, we do nothing rash. We get organized, make a plan, perhaps acquire a map of the city and plot his most likely locations. Only then can we go after Master Kas Dorian," Flint said. "Right, Vor?"

  "That seems a little involved. Besides, I think we’re about to have company." He nodded toward the window.

  "They're all around us," Xandra said as she peeked out into the alley.

  Shadows flashed as figures on the neighboring roof ran past. Xandra stood very still and looked up at the ceiling as the roof creaked under the weight of passing bodies.

  "It will be okay, my dear," Flint said. "We need to remain calm and stay together."

  A loud crash sounded from somewhere in the building.

  "It sounds as though they have managed a way inside," Flint said. "Any ideas what we might be up against? Numbers? Strength of arms?"

  Vor stared blank-faced at Flint. "I’ll go after the general and make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble. You two take care of this rabble and try not to get killed." He turned and flung the door open, its hinges straining to cling to the frame.

  Xandra peered down the long hallway. The corridor was rapidly filling with dark clad assassins. The Dorokti King lowered his head and charged, and those assassins unlucky enough to be in his path were knocked aside or trampled. He did not stop when he reached the front door to the building, but instead rammed right through it, leaving Xandra and Flint alone against an ever-growing mob of dark-clad rogues.

  "Wait!" Flint yelled after him. "Don’t split the party."

  Xandra looked from her master to the doorway. The Thieves’ Guild mercenaries were recovering and had turned their focus to their prey trapped in the statuary room.

  "I’m not one to complain, but this is quickly getting out of hand." Flint backed himself between the statues using what little protection they could provide as a makeshift barrier.

  "The skull," Xandra said.

  She ran to the door and slammed it closed. Flint strained to push the massive Nalunis skull into position as a barricade.

  "Now what do we do?" Xandra asked.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Kiff sat on the edge of the old fountain. He was short of breath and doing his best to staunch a seeping wound on his thigh. One sickle lay beside him with a few strips of damp cloth stuck to its blade. Reyce’s bloodless body lay beneath the pool’s stagnant waters.

  "Will you please stay dead this time?" Kiff asked as he finished cinching a strip of cloth around his leg.

  The night was still at this late hour, though he could see lights and hear music from the within the city. Windowless shacks and homes that were little more than stables surrounded the open courtyard. The dirt streets were lined with filth and refuse, and a persistent odor swarmed the area, plaguing him even through his mask.

  Kiff stood and hopped a few times to test the wound on his leg. It did not seem too bad. Crushed voru was almost as good as magic on a fresh wound.

  "You lost, pup?"

  Kiff turned to watch Vor emerge from a shadowy alleyway. The Dorokti strode past him toward the fountain and lifted the corpse out of the water. Reyce’s neck was broken, he had a small hole in the back of his head, his spine was severed in three places, and his torso had been lashed until it was little but sad strips of decayed flesh. Vor growled and dropped the body back into the fountain.

  "You better start tal
king fast," Vor said. He turned to face Kiff and moved his axe to a two-handed grip.

  Kiff pulled his board out of his pack. He could sense the rage pouring from the Dorokti. He had to calm the berserker or there would be many more lives lost in Cheapside than Kiff was prepared to have on his conscience. "I found him like this."

  Vor’s laugh rattled nearby windowpanes. A few citizens holding tiny candles peeked out of their front doors to check on the commotion.

  "You were out for a stroll then, eh?" Vor said in a mocking tone. "Or perhaps you were off to visit some old friends."

  "He did stab me." Kiff pointed down to his wounded leg. "Or at least he tried to. It’s more of a graze, really."

  Kiff bent down and set his board to hover a few feet off the ground. Before he could step onto it, Vor grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "How about you tell me why I don’t gut you right now?"

  "Would you believe that I’m a holy crusader tasked with ridding the world of unholy abominations of undeath, and were you to murder me, you’d be making a direct, aggressive act against the Church of Leindul? Which is probably a sin."

  "Not a chance."

  Kiff shrugged Vor’s grip away and hopped onto his board.

  "Pup, you’re really trying my patience."

  "How about this?" Kiff spun and rose into the air, out of Vor’s reach. "I used to be a member of the House of Stars. Past doesn’t make the man, Vor."

  "It can give you a very clear painting of who he really is, though."

  Vor pulled a small throwing-axe from a pouch on his thigh.

  "So, is that how you feel about the Fallen?" Kiff asked. "Has the past of your people determined who they are?"

  Vor set his jaw, and his snout twitched. "You know nothing about my people."

  "I know more than you might think." Kiff said. "We do have cultural studies where I come from. Well, that’s a lie, but I have picked up a bit on my own over the years. I know you’re after a lot more than Exandercrast’s head. And I know you’re sneaking around making preparations behind Kas Dorian’s back."