"I’m not going to ask such questions," Honmour said grimly, eyes combing the foliage for their target, his makeshift spear light in his hand. "Let’s just finish him here."
Guess we don’t have much choice, Kaltor thought with a sigh. I’m not waiting ‘til dark for him to strike when we’re exhausted, and I don’t think Honmour would be willing to wait for reinforcements, anyway.
"Spread out, watch for signs of an ambush," Jensai suggested. They spread out ten yards apart, pushing through the foliage spears-first just in case of any more traps.
"I’ll take the main tracks," Kaltor decided. Jensai and Honmour took flanking positions on his right and left, slowly working their way forward and slightly toward him as they watched for traps. If he’s got anything from before the Crippling up his sleeve, I’m the best chance we have at deflecting it and taking him down.
A new fear started to toy with his consciousness. I may have to go all out to stop him. He glanced at his friends before turning his gaze to the forest floor. Would they still accept me so open-heartedly? Would they help me hide the truth of my existence from the world?
The change in the tracks drove his thoughts aside, demanding his full attention. Every third step left a deep indentation in the toes facing further down the trail. He was looking for something ahead of him, he realized. Kaltor started to imitate his stance, hopping a bit to get a clear view of the terrain ahead of them. Nothing but trees and thick underbrush met his eye.
"Um, Kaltor," Honmour cut in. "Why are you hopping like a rabbit? I know women love a good dancer, but this hardly seems the time to be practicing your jumping."
"He jumped here, too," Kaltor retorted. "He was watching for something further down the trail."
"Shaylis is close by," Jensai confirmed. "The land is starting to flatten out. We should reach the clearing around the outer walls soon."
They continued along Melshek’s path for another dozen paces before Kaltor signaled them to stop. Before them the walls of Shaylis peaked out through the trees. The tracks here were different. "Jensai," he said aloud. "What do you make of this track?"
They huddled around the fresh tracks in the earth. "Four toes. Claw marks. A hooked claw protruding from the back heel, probably for tripping its prey. Safe to say Melshek is—"
Something interrupted the breeze behind them as a dark form charged in from the shadows. Three trained hands launched their spears. One lodged in the creature’s abdomen.
His serrated long sword swept through the other two spears in mid-flight, curving back toward their throats. With trained precision they stepped back, circling their opponent, favorite weapons drawn.
"How dare you three think you can beat the king of the Varadours! Your powers are no match for mine," Melshek grunted in disgust, ripping the third spear from his stomach. His blood coagulated in the wound before the weapon even hit the ground. All that remained of his royal garb were the tattered remains of his linen underwear around his waist, torn away at the knees.
"Need a killing blow," Kaltor said aloud. "Varadour healing."
"Really?" Honmour said bitterly. "I didn’t notice when his gaping stomach wound sealed itself."
All conversation died as Melshek lunged forward. His first blow knocked Kaltor back a pace, attacking so quickly Kaltor could do little but parry each blow with his daggers. Melshek’s second attack threw Honmour off balance, followed by a clawed kick to Honmour’s face.
Even as he finished his kick he spun to swing his blade toward Jensai’s stomach. The assassin managed to beat aside the weapon by swatting the flat of the blade, but had to roll to the side to avoid the next attack.
Varadour skin vision, Kaltor thought as he recognized what was happening. He can’t be surprised from behind.
Kaltor charged in anyways, slashing at Melshek’s side. The attack forced the creature to turn his weapon Kaltor’s way. Honmour tried to rush him from behind, but a quick slap to the flat of his blade sent him tumbling backward to avoid another clawed kick.
A throwing blade sailed through the air, just missing Kaltor’s right shoulder and grazing Melshek’s head. The beast turned away, snarling angrily at Jensai’s smug grin.
Good idea, Kaltor thought, sheathing one dagger and tossing a throwing blade toward Melshek’s face. Beat him down from a distance.
Melshek managed to deflect Kaltor’s spinning blade, but took a hit to the shoulder from a stone flying from Honmour’s direction. With a feral howl he pivoted, trying to focus on a single opponent, but being forced to turn and twist to dodge incoming attacks. The scene reminded Kaltor of town people killing a rabid dog, but here the dog fought much more desperately, and this dog could destroy an entire city.
They managed to force Melshek a few feet further into the forest, allowing Jensai to recover his spear. One of Kaltor’s blades partially sheared off a hairy ear, causing another howl of rage.
Melshek knocked a sword stroke aside, took two rocks to the back with an inconsequential grunt, and sprinted in Kaltor’s direction. His feet and clawed toes ravaged the earth for traction and speed. His eyes were red with blood lust. The image of the viper hound flashed in Kaltor’s memory, and he threw his dagger with a trembling hand.
The blade sank into Melshek’s right cheek bone, missing his brain but causing him to turn his pace a bit to the right, blinded by his own blood. Kaltor dove past him, plunging a blade into his enemy’s back without even bothering to throw it.
Using his claws for traction, Melshek reversed direction instantly. He spun, sending a thickly muscled arm into Kaltor’s chest as he wrenched both blades free of his flesh. Kaltor hit the ground hard, trying to guide his momentum into a roll as Honmour and Jensai attacked from both sides.
Melshek faced Honmour first, deflecting his sword with Kaltor’s dagger and slicing Honmour’s arm with the throwing blade from his cheek. Even as Jensai lunged forward to spear him, Melshek was already in motion.
His right leg parried the assassin’s spear thrust as he leapt backward onto his left. His right foot’s heel claw hooked into Jensai’s arm and jerked him forward, laying into him with all four extremities and tearing into his throat with his misshapen teeth.
Rolling up onto his feet, Kaltor launched a volley of blades into Melshek’s back, screaming in frustration, his voice tinged with fear. Jensai could only half-scream, gurgling beneath his own blood. The creature glanced toward Kaltor with an irritated expression, then threw back his head in a feral roar of massive exertion.
Black mist burst from the creature’s body, engulfing their surroundings and knocking Kaltor to the ground again. Through the cloud he heard Honmour grunt from a similar blow, and a stomach-wrenching, gurgling sound that could only have been Jensai’s final moments.
The mist rushed into his lungs and a massive wave of dizziness sent him to his knees in uncontrollable spasms of vomiting. His world seemed to swirl in circles as he sat in place, his senses writhing.
In the distance he heard the sound of something large tearing its way through the undergrowth to his left. Maker’s Blood! he thought with a hacking cough. Melshek’s escaping. What’s happening? Jensai!
Despite the mist he started crawling forward, feeling the terrain and trying to remember the lay of the land. He tried to use his skin vision to see around him, but with the same results as his natural eyes, total darkness.
After a few moments, the mist seemed to sink into the ground. Its particles didn’t even settle on the plants or the debris—they just sank into the earth and vanished, drawing a few weak coughs from him as they dissipated. As visibility slowly returned, he heard Honmour coughing as well, getting closer.
They met over Jensai’s body. The fatal blow to the neck was obvious, and his empty eyes promised that the suffering he’d endured was indeed over. The wounds were extensive and vicious. Melshek laid into him hard, Kaltor noticed. Even after the killing blow.
Honmour placed a hand on Jensai’s throat and Kaltor felt the familiar, tingling sensati
on as a Varadour tried to heal another. Wave after wave of healing energy swept through Jensai’s body. Kaltor put his hands on Jensai’s other shoulder wordlessly, sending a blast of his own through his friend’s flesh.
Not only did the energy fail to restart Jensai’s heart, but all the affected wounds did not respond to healing. His claws and teeth were venomous, he realized. No Varadour could heal these wounds without them being cleansed first.
"How did this happen?" Honmour sobbed, clutching Jensai’s head. Kaltor did not move. He could only stare into those dead, open eyes. Those last seconds of his friend’s demise repeated in his head again and again.
Melshek fought off three trained Varadours, outmaneuvering them with levels of strength and agility they were not prepared to face. His deformed face, hands, and feet were covered in Jensai’s blood. Kaltor recalled the scream and look of frustration on Melshek’s face as he threw back his head and blinded them with that strange, pressurized mist.
Honmour managed to stop sobbing. His grip relaxed on Jensai’s hair as his hands moved down his face to close his eyes. They wouldn’t close at first, as if the body refused to let them move on from Jensai’s fate. Gritting his teeth, Honmour forced them closed and used healing energy to connect the eyelids with the skin under his eyes.
With those eyes closed, the rest of the world seemed to snap into place. The last of the mist was still sinking into the ground, outlining the open path toward the walls of Shaylis that the mist had never touched.
We have no idea what we’re facing, Kaltor thought, feeling light-headed, unable to pull his gaze from Jensai’s body. We— we couldn’t have known. That last attack, though— that was meant to blind us during his escape. Was it because he was at his limit? Were we about to beat him? He glanced at Honmour, who still had not raised his head from Jensai’s body.
"Bury him for me," Kaltor said.
Honmour finally lifted his eyes, though they were full of sorrow and confusion. "What?" Realization dawned in his eyes and he grabbed Kaltor’s tunic and pulled him close. Honmour’s eyes were flared wide in pain, grief, and outrage. "Jensai is dead and you want to just leave?!"
"I have to track Melshek," Kaltor explained, putting a comforting hand on Honmour’s shoulder. Slowly, he tried to pry his tunic loose from his friend’s angry grasp. "We can’t let him get away. Not after this."
"No!" Honmour cried. He let Kaltor go with a snarl of disdain, setting Jensai’s body down gently before leaping to his feet. "He’s in Shaylis now! Why do you get to go after him? It’s my home, not yours! I’ll kill him before he touches my family!"
Because you’re not a Remnant— you can’t take him on your own. Another chilling thought strangled his feeble hopes. If even I can take him alone.
"I’ll get word to your family first thing," Kaltor promised, thinking quickly for some other reason why he should go on and have Honmour stay. "But right now we need someone Prince Tyran knows. Someone to convince him this is real. A lone, wounded Battleborn won’t be enough. The son of the king’s best advisor will."
Honmour clenched his teeth. "Noble-born!" he spat. "You couldn’t care less about the rest of us, or even Shaylis! Just crawl back to the capital with your parents!" He leaned over Jensai’s body, crossing his arms over his chest in a ritual form of prayer. "Go back to your perfect world."
With a grunt of frustration Kaltor pushed Honmour to the ground. The Battleborn was on his knees in an instant, his hand twitching toward his sword. "You will only think of your family!" Kaltor spat. "Not everyone else! That’s why I’m going!" Honmour sputtered, trying to resume his tirade.
Kaltor beat him too it, screaming all the louder. "This isn’t just about your family, mine, or even Shaylis!" he yelled. "What makes you think he’ll settle for just one city?!"
Honmour’s breath caught as the point hit home.
"I’m going because Prince Tyran will alert the entire town watch within minutes of my arrival," Kaltor growled. "You’re going back because you’re already wounded and would only be met with suspicion when you told the royal guards. They might even imprison you until another messenger arrived to confirm your story!"
Honmour glanced toward his still-bleeding arm and said nothing for a moment, staring first at his friend’s body, then back at the city. Finally he nodded. "Sorry, Kaltor. I can find you after I’ve healed up," he answered. "Stick to the rooftops."
Kaltor shook his head. "I can’t take him alone, much less handle what’s going to happen in the city," He let go of Honmour, struggled to his feet despite the lingering disorientation, and recovered his thrown blades littered on the ground.
"So, what do we do?" Honmour asked. Untying Jensai’s leather blade-holster from his arm and tossing it Kaltor’s way. "We should at least warn them."
Facing the city, Kaltor stood up. He strapped on the second set of throwing weapons to his other bicep. Before him, he noticed Melshek’s tracks shifting back to their human form, recognizing a patch of disturbed earth where he’d stored and retrieved his clothes.
Gereth is already trying to gather the Bandit Lords and Master Taneth with the surviving miners, he recalled silently. I should just alert the town watch and contain him.
However, we pushed him very hard. Kaltor recalled the look on the creature’s face before Melshek had escaped. He may even need to recover from this fight. A trickle of excitement electrified his spine. What if I went all out and killed him while he was weak?
"Bury Jensai," Kaltor said. "Then fill in Gereth and Taneth on what we’re up against. We’ll need every man we can spare to contain what’s about to happen. They need to surround the city."
He kneeled down in front of Melshek’s tracks, soaking in every detail. Honmour caught hold of his shoulder, pulling his attention away. "Find my father, Marnin. Tell him to get my family together," Honmour demanded. "Get them out of the city."
Kaltor nodded. "I will."
With a grunt of effort Honmour lifted Jensai’s body, cradling it in his arms as if his friend were only wounded or sleeping, and hurried deeper into the woods. Varadour power emanated from him as he left, drawing on more energy to fuel his body. Hope he doesn’t push himself too hard, Kaltor thought. Won’t do us much good if his heart-pouches run out of liquid before he makes it back.
He turned his attention back to Melshek’s tracks, feeling a small ray of hope lighten his mind, despite the memory of Jensai’s open, lifeless eyes. The tracks showed that the creature’s legs were shaking and unsteady. His wounds weren’t bleeding anymore, but he was definitely on the verge of collapsing.
There’s still hope, he thought. I can catch him. I just have no idea how to kill him when I do.
Chapter 11
"Where are you, Melshek?" Kaltor muttered from his perch three stories above the marketplace. His skin vision resonated from the roof like a slow, steady heartbeat as he scanned the many faces for the creature—Melshek—or any black-blooded victims.
Two hours have already passed. He counted in his head, restraining the urge to run screaming a warning through the streets. There would be little he could do, indeed, if he were labeled a lunatic and thrown into prison for the city’s protection.
He could be anywhere by now! Kaltor lamented. Building another altar and gathering new victims. This would be so much easier if he hadn’t switched back to his human form! After scaling the wall, Melshek had melted into the crowd, hiding somewhere away from his usual places of work as a nobleman.
For the eighth time, he dug his blade into the mortar at his feet, widening the holes already there from his earlier internal debates. How does Master Taneth remain so immovable during missions? I know we’re supposed to leave no trace of our passage but this— He’s loose in the city. I can’t find him!
"Tradehouses, the castle, merchant divisions from the capital—" he continued down the list. I haven’t missed any of them, so he must be hiding somewhere else in the city. Homes, stores, and guard houses for ten thousand people spread out befor
e him. With a sigh of defeat, Kaltor stopped counting.
"Okay," he muttered to himself. "The next best option is to be as prepared as possible for his next assault," He sheathed his dagger and walked along the rooftop ‘til he stood over an expensive inn. Each room had a small balcony protruding from each story of the building, overlooking the marketplace.
Master Taneth would want me to find a less obvious way down, but there isn’t any time. Drawing on a bit of power to steady his reflexes, Kaltor leapt out into space.
He landed in a crouch on the floor of the third-story balcony. A thin serving woman stood at the door, tray full of steaming, hot food in hand, staring at him in surprise. With a courteous wave, Kaltor said, "If you see a slightly shorter man passing through with a short sword, tell him to watch for my signal."
"Of course— sir," she said, maintaining her composure and placing her burden on the table. "Would you like to stay for tea?"
"No time," he said with a grateful nod, leaping backward over the fence of the third-story patio. He caught the edge of the floor as he fell and swung down to the second story, propelling his body over the fence of the second balcony, landing next to a small table loaded in a server's tray.
A tea pot sailed past his head, shattering against the fence and sending searing hot juice cascading in every direction. He managed to glimpse a woman lounging on a cot next to the table, partially disrobed in the sunlight. Before embarrassment could register on his face, she hurled a porcelain cup at him and screamed, "Hassan!"
That’s a curse word I’ve never heard before, Kaltor thought, turning toward the balcony to survey his next jump. From inside the building he felt a Varadour draw on his powers and the largest, hairiest man he’d ever seen rounded the corner, battle-axe in hand.
Oh, Kaltor realized. It’s a name.
"Easy!" He said, hands raised innocently. "It’s just–"
Hassan swung the weapon high overhead and brought it crashing down. Kaltor dropped to a crouch, letting the weapon hit the stone balcony behind him, sending chips of stone down his shirt. Oh, bloody Abyss, that’s going to itch all day, he thought grimly, sprinting into the man’s legs with all his might. The guard did not budge.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 12