by J. P. Ashman
Exley stood in the shadows of the stairwell and grimaced at the loss of his two men, but swiftly pushed it from his mind as two more prisoners fell to bolts coming from the arrow slits in the tapered walls.
Exley pointed and two witchunters moved forward, drawing hand-held crossbows before running up to the slits where the men inside were reloading. A heartbeat later and the guild’s crossbowmen were dead, a small crossbow bolt buried in each man’s head. The two witchunters who’d killed them quickly reloaded and peered back through the arrow slits to see if anyone was trying to take up the positions of the fallen men inside.
As expected, two guards ran forward from behind the slits to drag the fallen crossbowmen back. They too fell as the witchunters loosed their reloaded weapons through the slits once more. Six loyal guards had died in that short space of time; two in the outer chamber and four behind the supposedly protective wall. The two witchunters reloaded their crossbows a second time and looked on again through the slits, waiting for anyone else who may be foolish enough to try and relieve the dead guards’ posts.
Nodding his approval of his witchunters’ success, Exley pointed to the door opposite him. Two warrior monks rushed forward and took up positions either side of the open door in case anyone came to assist the treasury from above.
The treasury door was made of heavy oak, reinforced with iron studs as well as magic and so the prisoners picks, shovels, swords and crossbows made no marks whatsoever as they hammered on and rebounded off the now blue-shimmering door.
‘Tell them to try the bloody walls,’ Exley said, and Egan raced forward to give the order. A few prisoners carried on at the doors whilst the rest started on the walls. The stone chipped away and Exley laughed. How stupid the guild was to reinforce a wooden door and then assume the ancient stone would do fine on its own. He knew it would take time, but his men on the inside had informed him that any casualties from the riot would head to the barracks on the floor above, where clerics would treat them, clerics such as the damned gnome this whole mission was about. He would allow these men their treasure and then they would assault the floor above, take the gnome and retreat back through the tunnels, saving Exley and his men the trouble of fighting through floor after floor to find what he’d come for.
Almost an hour had passed by the time the prisoners smashed through the thick stone and into the treasury’s middle chamber; there was another reinforced door between that room and the treasury’s vault.
The first prisoners through the hole died as two remaining guards cut them down with sword and axe. Numbers soon overwhelmed the guards and they were hacked down as more and more prisoners pushed through the still-crumbling hole.
Once the guards’ screaming had stopped, another scream of pure terror followed, soon accompanied by more of the same. Exley, from the outer chamber of the treasury, looked around to his fellow Samorlians, who were clearly as confused as he was. He moved quickly then, climbing through the hole as some of the prisoners tried to push back out again.
A tremendous roar shook the room then and more men screamed and tried to scramble back out of the hole, but Exley forced them back with the point of his rapier. Two witchunters followed him through as more prisoners ran back from around a corner, trying to hide or push towards the hole. Exley strode past them all as a near deafening roar echoed around the middle chamber.
Exley almost fell back as his unbelieving eyes took in the scene. Several prisoners lay burnt on the floor as a blood-red fire drake sat on its haunches on the far side of them, the back of its body hidden behind another corner.
How big is this place? Exley wondered, trying to map it in his head from what he’d seen in the outer chamber.
Lurching forward suddenly, the beast’s teeth filled maw snapped at a cowering prisoner who pissed himself whilst pressing himself against the far wall. Roaring, the fire drake shifted its scaly bulk and Exley just managed to jump back as a rush of liquid fire engulfed the cowering prisoner. His pick clattered to the ground as he rolled screaming in agony, before dying horribly as his skin charred and curled.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ the young witchunter behind Exley shouted.
The beast roared again.
Exley tilted his head briefly, before shaking it and laughing. ‘No.’
After another burst of fire, the Witchunter General stepped out from the tapered wall and charged the snorting beast. He ran straight past the drake’s head – which seemed unusually slow in its reaction to his movement – and around the next corner.
A shrill female scream rang out and the red scaled beast shivered, faded slightly and then disappeared completely, leaving nothing but the smouldering corpses of those it had burnt behind.
Exley strode back around the corner with a freshly blooded rapier. He grinned to the prisoners who stood mouths open in awe at him.
‘Sorceress,’ he said, laughing. ‘It wasn’t real, you fools. Now come on, we’ll take the floor above and find someone who can get this door open for you… oh, and if you find a gnome up there, save him for me.’
The prisoners cheered their new found hero, who unbolted the middle door to let them back into the outer chamber. Exley Clewarth’s two witchunters grinned back at him as they followed the prisoners out.
The awaiting Egan Dundaven wore a mixed expression of intrigue and confusion as his companions emerged.
Chapter 36: Deals
The rising sun was swiftly lightening the pale blue morning sky to reveal a patchwork of white clouds. Birds sang and dew glistened on the grass of the balloon crew’s camp.
A bucket of cold water brought the remaining two crew members around with sharp intakes of breath. Their heads thumped behind their eyes, which blurred as another bucket was tipped over them. They sucked in the cold morning air again as they looked around, trying to bring up their hands to wipe their faces, before realising they were bound tightly behind their backs.
As their vision cleared, they saw the three dark blurs in front of them change into men; black clad and cloaked with wide brimmed hats and rapiers at their sides.
‘Wakey-wakey, gentlemen,’ the witchunter to the left said. One of the others sniggered.
‘What’s going on?’ one of the captives asked, his long blonde hair matted across his handsome features as water dripped from his chin.
‘Shut your mouth, elf,’ the middle witchunter said.
The witchunter on the left held up his hand, silencing the speaker. ‘No…’ Horler Comlay said slowly, his voice little more than a croak. He crouched down to face the two men as he continued. ‘This one’s a half-elf.’
‘An abomination then,’ the witchunter in the centre of the trio continued, and Horler held up his hand again, throwing the man a vicious look.
‘Don’t listen to him, my friend,’ Horler said, with a poor attempt at a genuine smile. ‘He speaks without thinking. He is ignorant is all.’
‘He’s from the south, it’s understandable,’ the human captive said. ‘Don’t suppose you have many half-elves down there do you?’ He was clearly trying to pander to the men that held them hostage.
‘Precisely, my good friend. I recruited him from an old friend of mine, the southern Witchunter General.’ The two witchunters hid their sniggers as both knew of Horler’s hatred for Exley Clewarth. ‘This is all a huge misunderstanding,’ Horler continued. ‘We stumbled across your camp in the night. Filled with goblins it was, with you two bound and tied and your companions… well… I’m afraid they’d already been killed.’ Both men looked around, eyes wide, in an attempt to see their fallen comrades. ‘We took the liberty of burying them after we chased off the little green bastards.’ Horler smiled tightly this time, attempting to look sympathetic.
‘Dead… all of them?’ the half-elf asked with incredulity. He looked sideways at his one remaining companion before clenching his jaw and straightening his posture. ‘Then why are we still bound, Master…?’
‘Master Comlay at your service.’ The Witchu
nter General stood and bowed. ‘We didn’t want you to wake and attack us thinking we were your enemy of course. Here, I’ll untie you now.’
Horler pulled a knife from his belt and knelt to cut the ropes at the men’s backs. He hesitated as the knife touched. ‘We would ask for a deal, if it isn’t too much trouble of course, for your freedom. It is of the utmost urgency and a matter of great importance to Altoln’s safety.’
Both men looked at each other again, struggling to come to terms with the news they'd just received.
‘A deal?’ the human asked, suspiciously.
‘Well, I say deal, but obviously I am going to cut your bonds anyway.’ And so he did. ‘So it’s more of a favour, for those who have helped you.’
The half-elf looked to the human, his worry clear to see, but the human merely shrugged and nodded his agreement to Horler. He stretched his arms out in front of him and rubbed his wrists.
‘Excellent,’ Horler said, standing once more and pulling both men to their feet. He clapped the half-elf on the back. ‘We will show you to your friends’ graves should you wish to pay your last respects, and then I will explain our request.’
Both men nodded again, continuing to rub their wrists as they followed Horler to the mounds of fresh earth at the far side of the encampment. As they followed, the other two witchunters fell in behind them and snarled at the thought of working with a half-elf.
***
The small room had fallen quiet as Coppin’s training petered out; the woman clearly shattered and in need of food and a drink.
When did any of us last eat or drink anything? Sears thought. He looked to Longoss as the man’s stomach growled audibly, and couldn’t help but laugh at the timing. Longoss looked back at Sears and nodded, whilst rubbing his own belly.
‘She needs food,’ Sears said. ‘We all do.’
‘Aye,’ Longoss agreed, ‘and she needs clothes.’
Coppin looked up from where she’d rested her head on the side of Longoss’ chair. ‘Did someone say food? I don’t remember the last time I ate.’
‘Nor do we,’ Sears said. ‘I think I need to go find something—’
Longoss held up his hand. ‘I’ll go.’ He waved away Sears’ attempted protests and pushed himself to his feet, using one of the chair’s arms to do so. ‘I know Dockside better than you, Sears, and ye know it. I also know what to look for with regards to the bastard Black Guild.’
Sears looked unsure, but nodded all the same.
‘Ye won’t be long, will ye?’ Coppin asked, concern evident in her voice and expression.
Longoss shook his head and smiled a gold-less smile before moving to the door.
‘Don’t stray too far,’ Sears said. ‘Ye’re vulnerable on yer own now, Longoss.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ the big man said. ‘But I’m still a mean bastard,’ he added, winking at Coppin, who nodded and smiled before rising and moving towards Sears.
Unlocking and opening the door a crack, Longoss peered outside and then moved swiftly through and into the street beyond, closing the door behind him, which Sears moved across to and locked.
‘He’ll be alright, lass.’
Coppin nodded, but looked unconvinced as she settled next to where Sears had been sitting. The big man walked across and sat beside her, hoping he was right.
Longoss checked the rooftops as he walked swiftly down the deserted street. Despite the rising sun, dark shadows clung to the narrow street’s edges, and as he walked past several black crossed doors, he made a point of heading towards those shadows, intent on outing whoever may be using them as cover.
No shadow he passed through bore any hidden agent of the Black Guild, but as Longoss turned a corner, making his way towards a baker he knew of nearby, he walked almost fully into an elongated, plain white mask. The grey eyes behind the mask widened briefly as they took in Longoss’ own.
The two men jumped back a step, both equally startled and unused to being taken by surprise.
‘Blanck,’ Longoss said, his voice rasping through gritted teeth.
The assassin – his posture now defensive – rose both of his empty hands slowly, palms forward. ‘Longoss,’ the assassin said, his voice betraying his genuine surprise at bumping into his intended target, for although Longoss was exactly who Blanck had meant to find, the assassin had believed him to be in a hideout nearby, not wondering the streets. Blanck made a mental note to punish the watchers who'd been assigned to Longoss should he survive his encounter with the renowned assassin. Smiling behind his mask suddenly, Blanck remembered that Longoss had given his word to the whore, and that word was to never again kill.
As Blanck’s posture relaxed, Longoss spoke slowly to the assassin, whilst risking the occasional glance about the area for signs of other threats. ‘Do not mistake my word not to kill as a sign of weakness, lad. For there’re many things I can do to ye without taking yer life, should the need arise.’
Blanck’s defensive posture, although extremely subtle, returned. His hands, however, stayed high, away from the cloak that hid his weapons. ‘Undoubtedly,’ he said, his tilting mask muffling his words ever so slightly. ‘There’s no reason to prove that though, Longoss. I sought you out to talk, nothing more, although I admit I didn’t expect to see you out and about.’ The mask tilted back the other way, its jerking movements intended to distract.
Unaffected by Blanck’s methods, Longoss glanced quickly about the place again, but saw nothing but a couple of children playing in the gutter further along the street he'd been turning from. Watchers.
‘I’m alone,’ Blanck said, finally lowering his hands, but keeping them out to the sides.
‘Sure.’ Longoss balled his fists as he squeezed them tight, eager to wring the scrawny neck of the man opposite him. ‘I know exactly why ye were coming to see me, Blanck, and it weren’t for no talking, not if Poi Son sent ye, just like he sent Bill, although you might not be as lucky as he was.’
‘Aye, maybe, but I’d rather talk to you and sort this shit out, Longoss, that’s the truth.’
‘Ye’re wiser than ye look then,’ Longoss said, hinting he knew the face behind the mask.
Blanck didn’t miss that comment and it unnerved him as to how the former assassin could know what he looked like unmasked, something very few knew indeed.
‘Come back, Longoss. I can talk to Poi Son. This mark, it’s important to him; to the guild. He wanted you, no other. He’ll make exceptions for that, I’m sure of it. Don’t throw it all away over some girl.’
Longoss bristled, but kept his anger in check as he thought about the mark, knowing that finding that out, and telling Sears, was a damned sure way to hurt Poi Son and the guild as a whole. ‘Who’s the mark, Blanck? Tell me and I’ll reconsider.’
Female laughter from above Longoss lifted his head, revealing an attractive face and long, golden plaited hair hanging down from where the woman crouched on the edge of the roof.
‘Terrina what a pleasant surprise,’ Longoss said, stepping away from the building and moving so he could keep both assassins in his sights.
‘You’re a fool if you think Poi Son has told him the mark, Longoss. Something this big, that for whatever reason he wants only you to take on, and you think he’d entrust Blanck?’ She laughed.
Blanck raised two fingers towards her without taking his eyes from Longoss.
‘And you?’ Longoss asked.
Her laughter stopped.
‘No, I didn’t think so, lass.’ It was Longoss’ turn to laugh. ‘In fact, I’m glad he hasn’t told either of ye, for I want to pry the answer from Poi Son miself when I next see him. Ye see, kids, I gave me word that should anything happen to Elleth then I’d bring down the Black Guild miself. My only mistake was to think my threat would be enough to save her.’
Terrina laughed and Blanck shook his head, a deep sigh only just audible behind his mask. ‘What happened to you, Longoss?’ Blanck said as his sister dropped lithely to the street.
�
�A moment of clarity, that’s what, brought to me by an innocent girl.’
‘A whore.’ Terrina smiled as she saw Longoss’ reaction. She turned to Blanck then. ‘The whore who’s throat you cut, brother.’
Longoss’ head snapped to the white mask as Blanck leapt backwards, hissing at and cursing his sister as he did so.
‘Oops,’ she said, laughing and running around the side of Longoss as he charged the masked assassin, a roar of anguish tearing from his gold filled mouth and a small eating knife appearing in his hand.
As soon as Blanck had landed his backwards leap, he rolled to one side, coming up into a run whilst drawing two daggers. He parried the small knife that came in at him as he passed Longoss, and scored a hit on the big man’s thrusting arm at the same time.
Longoss cursed and spun away from the wounding blade, just in time to deflect a lunge from one of Terrina’s stilettos. She followed up with a high kick, which Longoss barely managed to avoid as he ducked away from the woman, finally holding both assassins in his sights once more.
‘She was no fucking mark!’ Longoss shouted, his anger aimed at the white mask facing him.
Blanck shrugged. ‘She was to me, Longoss. You’ve taken enough out yourself to know that’s all they are, that it’s nothing personal.’
Terrina laughed. ‘Oh, but it was so much more, Longoss. Blanck couldn’t wait to play with your little whore—’
Terrina dived to the side as Blanck swung for her. ‘That’s all you are now, Longoss – a mark,’ she said, winking at her furious brother as she tried to move around her target.
‘Not such a big one if you two’re all Poi Son sent.’ Longoss backed away from Terrina and subtly moved towards Blanck.
‘Ah, but you assume much,’ Terrina said, playfully skipping further around Longoss, placing him between the two assassins, ‘to think we’re the only assassins to be offered you as a mark.’