The Tomni'Tai Scroll (Book 1)

by Sam Ferguson

  The beast closed in. Bushes and twigs snapped and cracked in its wake. Talon quickly pulled a dagger with his right hand and lashed out just as the beast lunged forward with its maw gaping wide. Talon’s dagger went into the soft tissue in the beast’s mouth, just behind its upper row of fangs. A few teeth poked through his wrist bracer from the bottom, but Talon held fast. The beast writhed and jerked, trying to free itself from Talon’s dagger, but Talon would not let go.

  The briars ripped and pierced through Talon’s shoulders and back as he was jolted this way and that by the beast in its attempt to shake loose. The assassin quickly threw his other hand in the beast’s mouth, pouring the oil as far in as he could. Then, he released the bottle and struck his flint against the dagger. The first time failed, as the beast twisted its head and nearly knocked the flint out of Talon’s hand. The second strike spewed a couple of weak sparks that momentarily illuminated the pink and black maw just above Talon’s face. The sparks died amidst the saliva streaming from the beast’s fangs. The third strike hit home.

  A shower of sparks hit the oil and took flame instantly. Talon quickly released his hold on the dagger and pulled both of his hands free. The beast roared in agony as it fought against the burning oil. It swatted its face with its paws, and tried several times to bite down, despite the dagger stuck in its pallet. As it squirmed and jolted around, Talon grabbed his sword and cut himself free of the briars. He was not going to let this beast get another chance at him.

  The fire fully engulfed the beast’s catlike face now. It slammed its head against the ground and trees in a vain attempt to beat the fire into submission. Talon sneered and walked up along the beast’s side. He raised his sword high over his right shoulder and came down with all of his might. As his sword connected with the back of the beast’s neck, Talon pulled the blade back, adding a deft slicing motion to his chop. The flaming head came free of the beast and the body twitched backward, flames puffing out from the neck hole where some of the oil had gone down its throat.

  Talon then replaced his sword and kicked the burning head toward the road. He spent the next little while gathering some firewood and building a fire in the road off of the beast’s flaming head. To his surprise, the fire did not have an unpleasant odor at all. As the hair and head burned it smelled only of grilled meat, not that he intended to take a bite of course, but at least he wouldn’t have to endure the usual smell of burning flesh.

  Talon piled a few more branches on the fire and also set the torch he had made behind him. He would use it once he was finished. After the fire was built up and he had better light to see with, he went to work removing the thorns and briars that had lodged themselves in his clothing and skin. It was a painful, slow process, but it would have to be done before he arrived at the Scholar’s Keep.

  More than a couple times he heard rustling in the bushes, but whether it was the light of the fire, or perhaps the already dead carcass in the forest, something prevented anything else from coming near Talon. Still, he kept his sword at the ready just in case.

  Judging by the dying fire, Talon surmised that a couple of hours had passed by the time he pulled the last of the thorns free. He noticed that one of the beast’s fangs had fallen loose and sat in the dying embers. Talon used his dagger to flip it out of the fire. “A foe like this is to be remembered,” Talon commented as he flipped the fang into his coin purse.

  Then he stood up and grabbed the torch. He put the end into the fire and began walking down the road again after it was lit.

  Talon smiled when his torchlight illuminated a white, stone obelisk on the side of the road. It was only a few feet tall, and hardly bigger around than a sapling spruce tree, but it still filled him with excitement.

  He looked along the left hand side of the road, searching for an unmarked path. Soon he found a foot trail, much narrower than the road, but he decided to take it all the same. He extinguished his torch, not wanting to signal his presence to the guards before he was ready to make his move. He silently hoped that he wasn’t inviting another night prowler to attack him as soon as the flame died.

  His luck held up, and nothing followed or attacked him from then on. He stalked along the trail until he spied light through the trees. As he closed in he left the trail and picked his way through the trees to get a closer look. He smiled when he saw the Scholar’s Keep. Talon studied the building eagerly. It was a single tower with one door at its base and a window about thirty feet above the ground. A pair of guards stood in front of the door. Flanking the portal were large horns hanging on the wall as sconces lighting up the immediate area around the entrance. Talon couldn’t see them very clearly, as they were some fifty yards away, but he could tell they were Svetli’Tai Kruks. The guards wore long, flowing scarlet robes and had long curved scimitars hanging from their sides. Their silver hair was pleated in a single braid down their backs and they each held a great spear as they stood watch.

  Talon moved his eyes back to the tower. It was centuries old. Ivy clung to the cracks between the stones where the mortar had decayed away. Some of the ivy had grown so thick that instead of vines it looked as if a tree’s roots ran up the entire tower. Even still, Talon doubted he would be able to climb to the window. There was a balcony at the top of the tower, with another guard standing watch there. There were some tall, sturdy trees he could climb, but the limbs had been trimmed away around the tower. There was no way for him to go up, unless he went inside.

  Talon sat still in the brush, thinking of all possible options. As he sat, he listened to the night sounds and caught the hint of a babbling stream. He remembered that the elf lady had mentioned a brook that went over the main road. Talon mused that if the tower had been used as a guard tower previously, then perhaps they would have built a drain for it. He quietly backed away and slipped to the south. He only had to go about twenty yards before he found the stream. It was a bit larger than he had anticipated. It spanned twenty feet across and looked like it was about five feet deep in some places.

  He smiled to himself and then turned upstream. He carefully scanned the rocks and ground until he came to an old, rusted grate. He might have missed it had the heel of his boot not broken through a thin crust of dirt to slip between the gaps. He bent down and began clearing away the overgrowth. After a few minutes he found a crude, rusted lock. He gave it a tug with his hand and found it was still strong. However, the grate itself moved slightly. Talon felt with his left hand along the edges and then realized that the old, iron casing the grate was built into had rusted through part way.

  Talon pulled a long, thick rock from the stream and wedged it into the opening in the iron pipe. He stomped on it a few times with his boot, sneering in delight as the grate loosened farther and farther. From what he could tell, if he could get it open, the pipe was large enough to allow him to pass. He searched for a long branch and lodged it in the grate next to the stone. He leaned back on the top end of the lever and tugged with all of his might. The grate popped and creaked before finally snapping loose. The metal grate flopped all the way into the stream, making a mild splash. Talon then bent low to inspect the pipe.

  As he neared it he could smell the rotten, mildewy odor associated with such pipes, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He quietly put his feet into the water and felt around for the bottom of the pipe. To his delight, he found the pipe itself was about three feet in diameter. He quickly removed his tinder kit and mini crossbow and placed them on the bank in front of him. Then, he felt with his hands along the inside of the pipe. There were only a few inches of air above the water level, from what he could tell, and there was no way for him to know what he might encounter further on. There was also no guarantee it would open up to the inside at all. For all he knew it could just be a small hole or drain on the inside. Talon sighed. He was already wet, he figured he may as well see where it went and hope for the best.

  He placed a dagger in his mouth, took a breath and submerged himself, using his hands to pull himself forw
ard in the dark tunnel. The water was slightly warmer than the rest of the stream, though Talon didn’t dwell on the possible reasons for that. He simply kept moving along, feeling and groping with his hands and fighting the current. He almost lost his grip once when he recoiled from a mushy, fuzzy mass that his fingers had latched onto. He kept his place by driving his feet into the sides and holding on with his other hand while he pressed his nose and mouth above the water for a breath.

  The air was hot, humid, and sour. After two quick breaths he pushed on. The pipe curved to his right and got a little smaller. He could still fit, but his elbows and knees knocked the sides if he wasn’t careful. He moved faster now, swimming and pulling himself upward as the pipe sloped up.

  Suddenly the pipe twisted straight up and grew smaller. Talon placed the palms of his hands against each side and used his feet to propel upward as his hands held him from losing ground. His lungs started to beg for air as he forced his body up. He could see light from above. He knew there had to be air soon. His chest began to burn and he had to shift holding air between his mouth and lungs to trick his body into believing he was breathing.

  Up he went. The pipe opened up into a smooth, rock bowl about as deep as he was tall, but at least was able to move his arms freely. He launched his arms into wide strokes, focusing on the yellow light above the surface. When he was finally out of the drain pipe he kicked his feet rhythmically, adding momentum with each stroke.

  It may have only been another fifteen seconds from that point that he reached the surface, but it was all he could do to keep from gasping. He exhaled and sucked in a breath of fresh air as he fanned his arms out around him.

  He looked around and grinned. Water was coming from a natural underground stream to his left, and above him was a large wooden bucket attached to a rope. The bucket was separated from him by a covering of iron, but the door for the bucket was left open. Talon was in a well.

  The iron grate was about three and a half feet above the water, and he couldn’t reach it. He would have to gain leverage another way. He swam toward the mouth of the underground stream and groped along the wall for a handhold. He didn’t need much, just a foot or two above the water level would be enough.

  Finally he found a crack in the stone wall and pulled himself up. It took a couple of tries to get his feet under him without having them slip out from beneath him, but he eventually managed to find a support. Then he slowly arched backward and reached back with his right arm while clinging to the handhold with his left.

  His fingertips squished against the inside of the crevice and his arm flexed solid, holding him precariously above the water. His right hand inched ever nearer the iron grate. His fingertips just managed to slide and curl around one of the crossbars. Talon smiled and launched himself backward, thrusting his left hand at the grate and tucking his legs up under him, trying not to make a very loud splash through the water.

  He found a hold and was able to pull himself up and out through the hole. His waist snagged a bit, but after a quick twist he was able to wriggle the rest of the way through. He quickly checked the room and saw he was alone in what looked like a prep area for food. A few racks hung from the ceiling with drying herbs and braided cloves of garlic. Pots and dishes were stacked along a sturdy, yet plain wooden table and next to that was an oven with an iron grill inside, filled with old ashes and dead embers.

  Talon rolled off of the grate and put his feet on the stone floor. Water coursed out from his boots and streamed from his clothes. Talon bent down and pulled his boots free. It took a bit of doing, as the leather clung to his skin and fought against him. When he finally yanked them free, a cup’s worth of water slopped across the floor. Talon stripped his socks and wriggled his toes to give them air. He hung the socks over the grate and turned his boots upside down, letting the tops drip over the side of the well.

  Then he laid his sword across the grate while he pulled his tunic up over his head and draped it next to his boots. Finally he undid his belt and untied the laces at his crotch. He pulled his pants free, tugging them off of his wet, thickly muscled legs. He then tossed the pants up over the bar where the bucket hung and grabbed his sword and dagger again.

  The air inside the tower was cold against his damp, bare skin, but he preferred the nip in the air to the chaffing of wet clothes as he snuck toward the door and began to assess his surroundings.

  He pressed up to the side next to the open doorway and peered through to the next room. It appeared to be a bunk area, filled with seven crude beds made of old oak beams and mattresses stuffed with straw. Heavy, fur blankets covered each bed. Three of the beds were empty. The others had sleeping elves in them.

  Talon went to the balls of his feet and gently padded through the room to the first elf. He deftly opened the elf’s throat without any noise, his dagger sliding easily through the flesh. With the first down, Talon moved swiftly to take care of the other three.

  After murdering the fourth, Talon picked up the red robes slung over a chair nearby and hastily put them on. The fabric was a bit snug as it struggled to fit over his muscled body, but it was no matter to Talon. He merely needed the disguise. He drew the hood up over his head and moved onward.

  When he emerged from the sleeping area he found himself behind an old, silver-haired elf standing near a fireplace, pitching a small log onto the fire.

  Talon quickly tip-toed up behind the elf and ran his sword through the elf’s lower back while driving his dagger deep into the left side of the guard’s neck. The elf twitched and stiffened, but barely let out more than a whispered moan before his strength left him and his body went limp. Talon skillfully guided the dead elf down quietly to the floor while glancing around.

  A tightly winding spiral staircase led up from this floor, and a large wooden door stood to Talon’s left. Talon knew it was the main door that led outside. The ground floor of the tower had three rooms, and Talon had cleared each of them. Now was the time to decide whether to deal with the two door guards outside, or to first press his way up the tower.

  Either choice came with a danger. If he went upstairs and the guards came in for any reason, they would discover his work and start searching for him. However, if he went outside to take on two guards, undoubtedly one of them would be able to raise the alarm, and if anyone was upstairs then Talon would lose the element of surprise.

  He had counted seven beds and there were now five dead elven guards. It was possible that these were the last two guards. He didn’t discount the notion that there may very well be more guards on the second floor, but he decided to deal with that when the time came. He flipped his dagger into an upside down grip in his left hand and set his sword on the ground near the door.

  He slowly reached down for the latch with his right hand and pressed his ear to the door. He heard nothing. He closed his eyes, visualizing his strike in his head. Then, he threw the latch and stepped out into the night.

  He plunged his dagger deep into the elf on his left, just behind the elf’s collar bone. He spun around the elf, twisting the guard’s body to create a shield between himself and the second guard while he reached for the elf’s sword with his right hand. He yanked the sword free and then rushed the surprised elf with the sword extended under the first elf’s armpit. Talon only stopped when the sword had pierced the second elf through the heart and pinged off the stone wall of the tower’s exterior.

  The first guard was now coming back out of shock and started to wrestle against Talon. Talon absorbed a mild punch to the body with a grimace and tugged down on his dagger, scraping the blade through the gap between the elf’s clavicle and scapula.

  The elf cried out in agony and his knees buckled. Talon pulled harder on the dagger until the elf’s collar bone snapped and the blade came free with a rush of blood. The elf fell to the ground and Talon rained down with a savage punch to the elf’s left temple. The elf’s head snapped back exposing his neck for Talon’s final, deadly dagger strike.

  Talon loo
ked up to the other elf, who was still breathing faintly and holding the sword in his chest with his right hand. The elf lifted his right hand and started to mouth something as his fingers weakly wove the beginning of an incantation in the air. Talon threw his dagger to stop the elf, but it fell short of its mark, as if an invisible wall stood a few inches in front of the mortally wounded elf. Talon’s eyes went wide as he watched a spark spontaneously erupt into flame in the elf’s hand. He bent down and snatched the dead elf’s body, hefting it up in front of him just in time to stop a massive fireball from burrowing into him. The force of the attack knocked Talon to the ground. The dead elf’s body twitched and sizzled atop him. The smell of charred flesh and blood was almost overpowering, but Talon knew he had to move before the elf could strike again.

  He shoved the body aside, glancing at the sizeable black hole in its back and sprang up to his feet. He was more than a little relieved when he saw the other elf’s body slumping down along the wall. The second fireball was never more than a spark before it extinguished in the dying elf’s hand. Talon exhaled and went back inside, hoping there were only seven elves in the tower.

  Once inside he retrieved his sword and closed the door behind him. He listened carefully for any sign of movement. After a few moments of hearing nothing more than his own throbbing heart, he made his way for the stairs and ascended to the second floor.

  The stairs were made of iron, and were very small and narrow. They were hard for his human feet to navigate, but he made it to the top without making any additional noise. Once on the next floor he waited a moment to let his eyes adjust. A single candle was the only light in the chamber. It stood in the center of an empty, wooden table that was surrounded by large, semi-circular bookshelves encasing the room about and creating shadows that danced away from the candle’s flame.