by A L Hardy
“Yes and no.” Ilays answered before Xardan could get a word in. “Why didn’t you mention to either of us that you just happen to know how to use throwing knives with such accuracy as you displayed at the gate? I’d be lying to you if I told you that throw with my scimitar was pure skill. I regularly use magic to guide my blades. You weren’t Focusing and you were just as far from your targets as I was from mine.”
“Oh... That... I learned how to throw knives at the monastery. For the first while that I was with you two, I wasn’t sure if I could trust you. After all, a Knight walked in and told me to come with him. I didn’t really have a choice. I saw him as an unwilling ally in trying to retrieve Father Nikolas. So, I made sure to keep my belt knives handy, but my abilities secret; if I had needed to escape from him that would have been my only real chance at getting away. To be honest, I’ve been doing it whenever I went hunting. I’m not very good with a bow. That’s why my kills were always missing their heads. I’d cut them off so you couldn’t see the wounds that killed them…” Jurod finished weakly.
For the first time since they had joined together for the trip, Jurod saw Ilays blush. It was odd watching her blush because it seemed to emanate from her ears and spread throughout her face. Her beauty was astounding.
“We don’t have time for the two of you to start a courtship yet. We have work to do, remember?” Xardan chimed grumpily.
“Yes.” Ilays said while trying to bury her face in paperwork. “Let’s get going so we can find Justyn.”
“Jurod, I must be informed of any skills that you’ve developed in any way,” Xardan lectured, “Seeing as how I’ve been training you in swordplay, those knives could come in handy. I’ll show you how to use them as both a distraction and a killing stroke now that I know you can do it. For the moment though, your combat skills are irrelevant. It’s time to utilize the clerical skills that I know the monks imposed on you. Now, let’s get to work; we’ve lost enough time with this conversation already.”
Jurod nodded his understanding and let the subject fall. He turned to his pile of papers and began sorting through them at a somewhat slow pace.
The three companions all set to work and within minutes knew what to look for. The work sped up, but still took an incredible amount of time to do properly. Several long hours passed in silence as the group rummaged through the many reports; most of which were hastily written and gave little information. They skimmed over the bulk of the reports looking specifically for groups of three men. They searched through every pile and were about to start a second look when Xardan collapsed back into his chair with a sigh of defeat. “It would appear that our quarry turned from Ebenhart in favor of Strolm. Don’t bother with the second look. It’s time to get going.”
“How can we be so sure Xardan?” Jurod asked as he laid down the last of his reports. “They could have joined with a larger group and snuck into the city with them couldn’t they?”
“It’s a wise thought Jurod, but you don’t know Justyn like I do. He doesn’t get along well with others. Unless he found a large group of soldiers that were willing to take orders from him, he would be incapable of blending in with any other group. He’s likely eager to separate himself from Nikolas and Lewk as soon as he can. He wouldn’t tolerate any other companions. Since there have been no armies or even small squadrons entering the city according to these reports, I have no doubt that he’s not here.”
“That’s fair enough. I guess I’ll have to trust you on the kind of person Justyn is. Since they’re likely to stay as a group of only three, why don’t you just use your shadow magic like you did in Erethil to catch up to the three of them in Strolm? I saw how quickly you can travel like that.”
“Because, Jurod, I have to stay with you. I’m not sure if I made myself clear earlier, so let me do it now. Without proper training from a fellow Knight, there is a good chance you will lose control of your power and kill others or yourself. I can’t have that happen. In addition, I’d have to leave the two of you and hope to successfully kill a powerful spell caster, an officer that I helped train, and whatever mercenaries Justyn may have lying in wait for us. I cannot afford the exhaustion of taking you both along, and I need the two of you present when that fight happens if we want to have a chance of getting Father Nikolas and that spell book back.”
*
Morning found Justyn leaning easily against the door frame watching both the hallway outside their room at the inn and where Nikolas lay comfortably on the bed. Behind him at the small desk provided to them in their room, Lewk grumpily ground some dried roots that Justyn had never heard of into a fine powder.
“How long is this going to take?” Justyn snapped.
Lewk glared up at Justyn from his roots and held a bowl full of leaves with a fat stick toward Justyn. “It will go faster if you grind the Jergal leaves.”
Justyn looked back at Lewk with a blank expression until he set the bowl back down and started pouring the root powder into a small pouch. As Justyn turned back down the hall, Lewk retrieved the bowl he had offered the Captain and started powdering the leaves. Justyn yawned with boredom as Lewk worked and found he was allowing himself to nod off as Lewk began mixing the various powders he had created with the juices and fluids that he had carried from Erethil. The sounds of evening merriment drifted up from the common room when Lewk poured a thin, cloudy formula into the mug of spiced wine next to him and turned toward Father Nikolas.
“High Captain, a little help if you don’t mind?”
Nikolas had spent a great deal of time trying to think of ways to ensure the truth serum would fail. Either by not reaching his mouth, or by having wrong ingredients included, he wanted to be sure it wouldn’t make him divulge the proper spell to Lewk. Unfortunately, Lewk was incredibly particular in what he did and how he did it. He verified every ingredient over and over again and had caught Nikolas’ few attempts at rendering the brew unusable.
It now became clear that his only chance was to fight the two men here and now. Before either of them could react, Nikolas shot out of his spot in the corner and rushed toward the cup in Lewk’s hands. His intention was to knock the brew on the floor and cause them to cross half the countryside all over again for those ingredients.
Before he got to Lewk, the pommel of a sword caught him in the chest. Justyn had moved more quickly than Nikolas had ever seen or expected from the man. The wind left Nikolas’ lungs, and he spent the next several minutes trying to breathe. He knew nothing was broken, but he had been hit hard enough to bruise his ribs easily.
“None of that,” Justyn said as he flipped the sword around so the tip was at Nikolas’ neck, “Be a good boy and drink your wine.”
Nikolas slipped a small vial of antidote from his robes and reached his hand out for the cup. Before his hand reached its target, Lewk slapped it with the flat of his dagger, causing Nikolas to drop the antidote onto the floor.
“I’ll not have you spoiling my wonderful potions, Nikolas.” Lewk remarked as he reached down and picked up the bottle.
The rage on Justyn’s face was clear, and Nikolas knew that any other delays would likely cause him to start losing body parts. He reached his hand the rest of the way, took the cup, and took a small sip of the wine inside while making it look like he had taken a long drink.
The two men did not notice this small lie. Justyn removed his sword from Nikolas’ neck and Lewk turned to start packing up his ingredients. As they did so, Father Nikolas walked to the chamber pot, cup still in hand, and sat as though to use it; all the time keeping the cup close by so he could dispose of the rest of the potion and limit the amount of information the two could get from him.
“Give the serum an hour or so to work, and then you can do as you will with him.” Lewk smiled up at Justyn as he spoke. Justyn warily eyed Lewk’s smile as he leaned against the doorframe with his hand idly stroking the hilt of his blade.
“If you don’t mind then,” Justyn said, “I have an errand to run.”
Justyn pulled a bundle of worn brown wool out of his bag as he packed his armor bundle. He swiftly moved to untie the bundle and began pulling on the ragged clothes. Knives and scabbards disappeared individually as he donned his garments and when he finally tied the worn rope around his waist the illusion was quite convincing.
Upon seeing Justyn walk back into the room to drop his armor bundle Lewk asked, “Might I inquire as to the nature of your errand?”
Justyn was walking back out the door as he responded, “I need to get professional help with our… annoyance.”
Justyn walked determinedly out of the inn and onto the brutal streets of Strolm. His illusion was completed as he stooped to the road and rose with a fistful of dirt. He rubbed his face and neck with the dirt and stumbled down the street. He had been to Strolm before and knew of the dark clan that took payment for their assassination services, but he honestly had very little idea of where to begin looking for their halls.
He stumbled down the main road, hiding his glances down side streets and alleys. Each road was a boiling tumult of fighting as various clans attempted to wrestle control of the city from each other. The gold and blue tabards of the Templars of Strolm were patrolling the main road and stopping any of the small clans that drifted out of the alleys.
As one of the mounted patrols rode past, Justyn noticed a pair of large, apparently unarmed thugs stomping toward him. They wore no tabards or defining colors naming them to any particular clan. Justyn’s practiced eyes immediately placed them among the most dangerous men in the city.
“You need to come with us.” One of the thugs stated.
Before Justyn could spin away from the attack, the second thug struck him hard across the back of his head.
Justyn woke with a bag over his head and his bare wrists tied comfortably behind his back and ankles tied together on the floor. He only felt his trousers now and none of the straps and scabbards that carried any of his knives. He started to assess his surroundings and immediately noticed the hard wood chair he was tied to and the warmth emanating from a nearby fire. He began to wonder why he had been attacked so suddenly then put into a chair so carefully as to not cause discomfort.
Behind him, a door opened and Justyn heard heavy footsteps walk into the room.
“Release him.”
The voice was sharp and unfamiliar, but it was quickly obeyed and Justyn’s bindings were immediately severed. Large meaty hands pulled him to his feet and yanked the bag off his head. It was a simple room, mostly unfurnished save a low table with a half dozen armchairs around it; the fireplace was directly across the room from the door. Justyn took special note that there were no windows in the room.
Each of the two thugs that met him on the street now stood to either side of him, each bristling with more weapons than even Justyn could keep track of. What surprised Justyn however, were the black tabards the thugs wore now that bore the dark gray palm of the Shadow Hands. Justyn had found the assassin’s clan.
Two other men were in the room. One wore simple, black leathers with the Shadow Hands’ tabard. A deep hood cast shadows across his face that hid any defining features. The other wore the same simple, black leathers with the Shadow Hands’ tabard; he, however, wore no hood. His short hair and beard were mostly gray with small remnants of black throughout. Both men sat in front of Justyn with pipes in hand.
“I understand that you have a business proposition for us,” the bearded man stated.
“I would like to know who you are first.” Justyn replied.
A small smile split the bearded man’s face before he spoke, “Due to the… nature of our work, discretion is something not lightly cast aside. However, my impression of you is that you will not give up on the matter so please suffice knowing that I am the clan master in this part of the world, and this gentleman is the assassin whose services you will employ.”
“I understand,” Justyn continued, “however I must admit that my services will require your best.”
The hooded man gave no reaction to Justyn’s request and the thugs and bearded man only chuckled lightly amongst themselves.
“I assure you,” the bearded man said, “he can handle anyone that you need removed.”
“Even a Knight?” Justyn asked.
Chuckles around the room silenced as Justyn spoke.
“Knights carry a high price on their heads, sir.” The bearded man cautioned, “Not only do we have the service charge that will likely double your price, but we have other charges and traveling costs; usually for multiple people.”
“This job will definitely involve multiple people, as the Knight doesn’t travel alone, but he’s following me so he’ll be in Strolm within the day, so travelling costs shouldn’t be relevant.” Justyn informed, “I’ll pay the service charges and the price for the two companions with the Knight. You can decide how many men it will require and how much you require for payment.”
“And how do you intend to pay us?” the bearded man inquired, “There is no money in your belongings.”
“Payment will be made upon proof of the Knight’s death and his companions. Send their heads to my office in Faelhart and I’ll send payment back with the same courier.”
“Your office?” the bearded man scoffed, “There are two shortcomings in your proposal. First, how do you intend for my courier to carry three heads into an office in Faelhart; and second, how to do we know Faelhart has approved these funds? I know that you are High Captain Justyn of Faelhart’s army. I also know that you do have some wealth to yourself, but not enough to pay this fee.”
This statement caught Justyn off guard. He hadn’t anticipated the Shadow Hands already knowing who he was. As soon as this was said, he tapped his trousers where his hidden pocket contained the letter from the King. As he reached for the note, two swords immediately appeared at his throat. The bearded man’s face had gone cold as he said “You ought to know better than to reach for anything in the presence of assassins. What is your intention?”
“I intended only to offer you some manner of proof of payment,” Justyn said without moving an inch. “Your men were quite thorough in removing my weapons, but they missed my hidden pocket with a simple piece of paper inside.”
The bearded man nodded to the two thugs and the swords disappeared from his throat, but only backed away by about an arm length.
Knowing that he was liable to die should he move too quickly, Justyn slowly pulled out the paper and said, “Here is your proof. The King himself wrote this and, although you can see that the seal is broken, you can also see that it was the King’s seal and that it is written in his hand.”
“I see.” The bearded man commented as he reached for the letter and began to read it over. Upon finishing he looked at Justyn and said, “I have but one more question. Why is it that Faelhart’s army wants one of their own Knights assassinated? Let alone the legendary Knight of the Black Era?”
“That,” Justyn finished, “is Faelhart’s business.”
*
Swords clacked loudly against each other in the artificial light of Ilays’s magical orbs. Jurod spun and dove away from Xardan’s strikes, using Drashyre to stop Xardan’s shadows from ensnaring him.
After avoiding several of Xardan’s strikes, Jurod lunged in at Xardan’s backside. Xardan parried the lunge with a blade he conjured from the shadows, and slammed his wooden blade against Jurod’s head.
The sharp crack of wood resounded and
Jurod fell to the ground as half of Xardan’s blade flew off into the bushes.
Jurod groaned as he tried to bring his eyes into focus again after the blow, but even after several minutes the lights still blurred as he looked around the camp and Ilays insisted that the sparring be finished for the night.
“Is there anything that you can do for my head?” Jurod asked.
Ilays shook her head slightly, “I have no talent for Mentalism. I’d risk causing more damage than I would heal.”
Jurod nodded, resigning himself to his fate, and tried to focus on what Xardan was trying to explain.
“…it’s typically not an issue,” Xardan was saying, “but you need to be aware of it in the case of an elongated dual.”
“Sorry,” Jurod interrupted, “aware of what?”
Xardan grumbled about Jurod not paying attention until Ilays snapped at him, “You smashed him on the head so hard that I’m surprised he’s awake!”
Xardan conceded the point with little argument.
“Your fighting style is predictable,” Xardan repeated, “It won’t matter so long as you’re able to kill your opponents quickly, but if you take time killing them, you’ll likely fail.
“Get some rest,” Xardan finished, “We need to ride hard and fast at first light and I’ll need you able to ride by yourself.”
Chapter 6
To the Fey, the Kin were an abomination; a foul creation of usurpers to Godhood. The Fey marched to war against them, determined to eradicate them and their masters.
*
17 years ago
Thanks to Malenmar, Ilays was more skilled in swordplay, archery, and Evocations than anyone in the King's army - but she was still underage and even with Faelhart's Knight of the Black Era marching an army directly at Reth, she was not allowed to enlist. It was irritating, frustrating, infuriating! Ilays danced between Malenmar's conjured shadows, parrying with practice swords and lashing out with blasts of flame to burn off her anger. She wasn't even counting the number of shadows that Malenmar had conjured - she was beyond caring how many surrounded her; she danced, she fought, she killed.