“Seven of the Eternal Hand? That seems excessive.” Jonah could see the seventh member of the elite royal guard trailing the other six. He was holding an engraved war hammer with a wicked spike on its back. Thin lines of gold ran along the hammer and converged in small circles of gold near the handle, head, and spike. The gold seemed too decorative to be utilitarian. Why put soft metal into a bludgeoning weapon? It didn’t make much sense.
“Seven might not be enough.” Fin said.
The calm in his voice unsettled Jonah somewhat. He heard the admiration in Fin’s words.
Branson spat at the sight of her. “She’s human, same as what we got up here. Put an arrow through a gap in that armour, she’ll bleed and die just the same.”
“I don’t know,” Fin said. “They say when that hammer of hers struck, lightning cracked out of its end. Men went flying as if they were toys. Those orbs on her shoulders glowed like magic.”
“Hmm, that might explain the gold,” Jonah said. “All the precious metals conduct energy, and gold is the best of them. Interesting. But how could she generate such a large charge in the first place? The armour must act as an enormous capacitor of some sort.” Jonah was so enthralled by the woman and her story that he had postulated out loud without a second thought. The sudden silence around him, however, stopped his train of thought dead in its track. He turned and saw Fin and several of the other Black Rain staring at him. Branson’s eyes were wide with panic.
The ale had loosened his tongue. Not many in Eura were as well schooled as the Fecund Blood, especially in the sciences. No commoner who trained as an archer their whole life would know such things. Jonah had just blundered terribly. He had to think of something quick.
“Oh!” Branson snapped his fingers as if remembering something, and then guffawed in laughter. “That’s from The Wizard and the Metal Man.” Branson rolled his eyes and then looked at his fellow bowmen. “You know the play? By Hindelion?!” Branson stepped up to Jonah and ruffled his hair. “Quick, this one is. It was a line by the Wizard, we saw the play a couple nights before we set sail from Port Barrier.”
A few feigned nods of recognition – most likely they didn’t want to appear thick. The lie spread just enough confusion to distract them.
“Sorry,” Jonah said, “I like Hindelion’s plays and thought that would be funny. Guess it only works for those of us who like the theatre.” He tried to look suitably embarrassed but wasn’t sure how many would buy their story.
“Strange sense of humour,” Fin said, shrugging it off, and looked back at the Syklan woman as she passed below them. “She killed five of the Hand before they got a hold of her.” Fin shook his head. “Dark magic I say.”
“Five of the Hand is it?” Branson laughed. “And who’d you hear that from? Come on, even you know better than to listen to them rumours. Next we’ll hear they can change into animals or sprout wings from their backs and fly. Give it a rest, Fin.” Branson went back to his place against the wall to nurse the last of his ale.
“Both of those things are also in Hindelion plays,” Jonah quipped, this time getting a few chuckles and head shakes from the bowmen around him. He hoped it was enough.
“You look at the Hand.” Fin pointed down. “They’re giving her a lot of space, as if they’re still wary of her. I ain’t never seen one of the Hand worried about anyone.”
Jonah saw what Fin was alluding to. Each of the Hand held twin-bladed staves in guard position and looked ready for an attack at any moment. He thought there was a sliver of truth in Fin’s idea, and wondered if this woman was the reason the Commanders had been spooked earlier this morning. He wouldn’t blame them. A warrior clad all in metal wielding a flaming and sparking hammer would unsettle anyone.
Head to toe in dark grey steel, Jonah thought to himself. A person wouldn’t last an hour in armour like that upon the Dissorian sands. They’d cook inside that steel like just as surely as a stew did in a pot above a fire.
The Syklan left the courtyard and was escorted to the church, which now flew the High Prince’s flag.
“Can you get any closer to ‘letting a sand lion into your tent’ without having an actual lion?” Jonah said as he watched the woman disappear into the church. He doubted he would have let that woman within a hundred yards of him if he were the Prince.
His thoughts had somehow led back to the beginnings of a headache, so he switched to more pleasant things. “Any more of that ale?” he asked, breaking the stunned silence which had settled over the tired archers around him.
“Another sip for all, I’d guess,” the man pouring from the cask said.
“I’ll have mine now then,” Jonah said handing over his cup.
The archers sat down to rest their bodies and watched as the town returned to some semblance of order below them. They rested, for they knew tomorrow would mean marching to the next town.
A town which Jonah hoped was devoid of Syklans.
4 - Hunting in the Night - Thannis
The plan was executed perfectly; it was truly a work of collective genius. But now my mind has gone a bit numb from watching the devastation on my monitors. The raw power of nature is truly awesome to behold, and my colleagues would be amazed to know Kali is even more effective than anticipated.
Their loss was regrettable. They were loyal and committed members of our cause.
But there can be only one monster left alive to see this through, and I am he. The rest would not have had the initiative to see this through if I had not led them. In that, they were as guilty as everyone else, and therefore they had to die.
I’ve reset civilisation so we can try again. I’ve given us a chance for redemption, a chance to prove we should be allowed to continue as a species, and it only cost the lives of a few billion unworthy parasitic souls.
The world would tell you it was an easy price to pay, akin to cutting off a gangrenous limb to save the body.
Eventually, I know I will mourn, the shock of this will wear off, and I’ll have to live with our decision; but for now I cheer as I watch Mother Nature wipe opulent city after opulent city right off the map.
I’ll cry bitter tears later, but right now, I cry out in victory.
- Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 000 Year 00, 2nd Entry
Tonight all Thannis’s planning came to fruition. His most complicated trap would culminate in his sweetest kill. It would work. It had to.
Thannis had waited so long. Nearly two months of hiding, of playing a role, of instituting the right rumours and half-truths – but tonight’s reward would be unique. It will all be worth it. The thought made Thannis’s body quiver with anticipatory pleasure.
He caught himself daydreaming, and his sharp mind reprimanded his slip in character. He could give no outward sign of his real intentions. The guards would be looking for things out of place. Only a few hours more of this charade, he told himself. Everything was in place; the only thing left was to play his role to perfection. Any slip and it would all unravel, for his prey tonight was intelligent, wary, guarded and armoured against the very act Thannis was about to attempt.
Thannis smiled reservedly to the high-ranking nobles who had stepped ahead of him in the queue leading into the Aluvikan Grand Hall. He was to appear to be a very proper, dark, and brooding gentleman tonight. His alias was on the list and expected to attend, though was also of low enough rank to warrant very little notice. In reality, however, Thannis was in fact the Crown Prince of Nothavre, and there were dozens of people in attendance who knew him, would jump to appease him, and would ruin his trap and shatter the illusion he was weaving. Thus, he wore a disguise, which he was confident in, but still … there was always that chance.
The risk only added to his pleasure.
Thannis climbed the stairs with perfectly measured steps, waiting his turn to be let in. He was nearly at the top and could now see through the arching doorways and into the Grand Hall. He felt a flutter of excitement at the entrance, but not from the splendour of the hi
gh vaulted white ceilings soaring overhead, the gold leaves and intricately painted vines on the carved marble columns, or tapestries hanging like silken ribbons. No, Thannis had grown up with riches and splendour. The excitement was instead because she was down there, walking through the throng of nobility just as a magnet moved through iron filings.
Though outwardly Thannis’s face showed the appropriate level of impression from the lavishness of the ball, his persona of a young brooding noble showed a flicker of spirit. Not enough to displace the stoic handsomeness he wanted to portray, but just enough for the doorman to notice it – and dismiss it as a typical reaction.
“Name, sir?” The man’s Aluvikan accent was thick upon his words but Thannis had no problem understanding. Emulating accents was one of his greater accomplishments.
“Lord Michael de La Quan.” Thannis gave the name while continuing to display the proper level of boredom with this ritual. He knew his alias was on the list. He had seen to that detail weeks ago, even ensuring a small amount of drama about whether Lord Michael would go or not. In truth, this was an easy alias as there really was a Lord Michael, one who looked remarkably similar to him and had been planning to attend. The man would wake up a few nights from now in his bed, wondering just what had happened in the past few days. It would have been easy to kill Lord Michael, but a real life doppelganger was not something you discarded so easily.
Thannis smiled politely and waited as the doorman checked the list for his name. Hurry up, you imbecile. He squashed his impatience down. His cravings had reached an almost unbearable limit, and he could feel himself becoming edgy. He imagined his hunting knife ripping open the man’s throat. The thought gave him some respite from his urges.
“Of course, my Lord, go right in if you please.” The doorman bowed, and Thannis was surprised to catch a hint of a downturned lip at the sound of his fake Nothavran name. Even Michael de La Quan should have been shown more deference than that. Could it be that the High King’s imposed peace was already beginning to chafe? Typically Thannis would revel in the chance to stir up the old hatreds between Aluvik and Nothavre, but tonight his other mischiefs took precedence.
He scanned the room as he entered, making himself see it slowly. He re-checked his exits, noting that a large display of flowers had been moved since yesterday and was now in front of what looked like a locked door. Thannis subtracted that exit from his plan and continued cataloguing the relevant details of the room: the positioning of the guards, any rotations, where they were scanning. He checked for blind spots should he need to use them, and quickly noted the best objects to use as distraction or weaponry. It was a routine Thannis had drummed into himself which helped him to remain focused and sharp. There would be time for glorifying excess and abandoning control later.
His height allowed him to see over most of the crowd, apart from the occasional spindle of long, vibrant feathers woven into several intricate hairstyles. He smiled appropriately at the pair of women whispering to themselves as he passed by. He gave them just enough to stroke their egos, but not enough for them to think about pursuing anything further. Tonight Thannis wanted to float through this crowd like a ghost, and then trap the attention of the most exotic prize here.
He was confident his looks and ability to flirt could entice one of these local belles into his trap instead, if things went wrong tonight; but it would be a hollow consolation.
All thoughts of a back-up plan vanished as the crowd broke in front of him, and then there she was, the beauty Thannis had been searching for.
Elise Syun, daughter of the Xinnish Queen, was a princess of exquisite beauty with no equal. Her long silky black hair hung down over bare shoulders. Soft pale skin ran down her plunging neckline, hinting at perfectly shaped breasts. Her dark red dress with silver embroidery hugged her exquisite figure. She drew the gaze of every man in the room – but seduction was not his game tonight. She would see through such an obvious trap. Elise Syun had probably been through dozens of kidnapping scenarios and would recognise one when it appeared, so there was danger in his plan yet. She still might not take the bait. The uncertainty made his heart beat hard in his chest; he would have to play this just right.
Thannis noted the two fully armoured guards by her side. One was wearing santsi globes in his pauldrons and looked to be Asgurdian by his size. That would be Captain Ole Sigurn, a fully knighted Syklan, noted for being absolutely devastating with shield and sword. To Princess Elise’s other side was the Hafaza, Henriette Gelding, noted for her almost artistic violence with the long-bladed spear she held and her devastating blasts of Presence. Thannis forced himself to keep his breathing even and his heart rate down.
Ole Sigurn or Henriette Gelding would each have been worthy and extremely challenging targets in their own right, but the danger they posed made his plans tonight all the more tantalising.
Thannis would hopefully have all three before the night was done.
He stalked the trio through the throng of tailored suits and elegant dresses as a tiger might a deer through tall grass. He found a spot along the line of those hoping to greet the princess, and waited for his turn. When Princess Elise let her hand be kissed by the person three places down from him, he subtly reached into his pocket and let the tiny glued ball of explosive powder roll onto the floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw it roll a few rows behind him. The slender line of incendiary thread was still attached to the copper thimble in his pocket. He placed his finger in the thimble and let his other fingers touch the small, expensive santsi globe in his other pocket. The stored energy within the globe flowed into his hand and he began to feel the energy within the globe.
Siphoning was a skill few could master, and fewer still could become strong and subtle enough to make it useful, yet Thannis had found he was abnormally gifted in this somewhat magical skill. He had found from a young age that he was sensitive to the energy fields around him and could siphon off huge amounts of the energy from the world around him. He would channel and direct that flow of energy into objects for spectacular effect. The santsi globe he held in his pocket, made from specialised sands and glass, was akin to a type of capacitor, one which the person siphoning could draw stored energy from. Pushing the energy out of the body usually required a conductive metal of some sort for the best transference. Thus, as Thannis concentrated on pulling the energy into him and felt the familiar icy-hot tingle, he made sure to place his index finger into the copper thimble he would use to direct that energy back out. Soon he began to feel the copper heat to the point where it began to hurt.
The damned person beside him was taking longer than he had guessed. He held onto the pain, letting the tingle grow in his hand until his fingers began to numb. It was going to be close.
Princess Elise nodded to the person beside him, politely indicating that the conversation was over. Thannis forced himself to keep his relief hidden. He cleared his throat to cover up the slight hiss, and he pushed the remaining energy into the copper thimble. He felt the slight release of pressure as the incendiary string lit. No one noticed the tiny flick of flame leave his pocket, as his throat-clearing was as much of a social faux pas as spitting when meeting a princess. The crowd around him would be looking at the response of Princess Elise to such a crude man.
“Your Highness,” Thannis said, and bowed. He forced himself to keep from cheering as she extended her hand mechanically.
A loud snap exploded three rows behind him as the explosive ball went up. The crowd jumped, women and men gasped in surprise. Thannis took his opportunity and put the note into the princess’s outstretched hand. Their eyes met, and he deftly squeezed the note into her grip as he kissed the top of her hand. “A pleasure, Your Highness. Lord Michael De Le Quan at your service.” He motioned with his eyes to her guards. Ole and Henriette had weapons ready and were scanning the crowd, who were all in turn quite bewildered, as any trace of what had made the noise had disappeared.
Princess Elise caught his look. Thannis shook his
head almost imperceptibly and then politely stepped back into line, averting his eyes in an obvious move to draw no further attention to himself.
“Someone must have stepped on a glass ball perhaps,” Henriette said, her Hafaza robes shifted to display her scaled armour beneath.
Ole simply grunted, sounding much like the bear he resembled.
Princess Elise stared at Thannis for a heartbeat longer. Thannis flexed his jaw to show tension and a bit of anxiety.
“Princess?” Ole asked, and his hand drifted closer to his sword as he took a step towards Thannis.
Thannis held his ground, keeping in character, eyes down but displaying a slightly heightened measure of anxiety, as if he were about to be revealed. He let his eyes dart nervously up to Princess Syun. He let his crossed hands relax, and his fingers tapped out the hidden code he had saved for just this moment. Each finger of his right hand tapped his thumb and then reversed the procession.
Princess Elise’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments. “Ole,” her voice snapped, “I’m sure Henriette is right, nothing of consequence.” Princess Elise flicked her hand dismissively. “Let’s move on.”
The elation Thannis felt nearly rocked him, but he held his character: letting everyone see he was appropriately chastised and nervous from his encounter. Nothing out of the ordinary, just someone who had slightly embarrassed themselves. No need to pay attention.
He waited for another minute until it was polite to leave the line. He melted back into the crowd and found a spot where he could watch unobserved.
Princess Elise almost rushed through the rest of those who waited to introduce themselves, and her hands opened the note almost immediately after her last obligatory greeting.
Visions: Knights of Salucia - Book 1 Page 6