by S. C. Stokes
Tristan recognized his father's voice. Dariyen and Marcus had been friends since their youth.
“You'll die for that, you traitorous rat!” Marcus shouted as he shouldered his way through the ranks of the King’s Guard.
The traitor neither paused nor answered the insult. The mass of assassins simply drew hand crossbows from beneath their robes and unleashed a devastating fusillade at the defenders. The rain of death filled the hall as it hurtled toward the young King and his retinue.
Syrion and Elaina hastened to erect an arcane barrier, but the assassins were too close, and the time all but spent. The King’s Guard closed ranks and raised their shields to block the worst of the volley. The small bolts of the hand crossbows punched into the wooden shields with ease—the timber was little match for the powerful velocity of the steel bolts.
Those not fortunate enough to gain cover behind a shield suffered worse as the bolts punctured armor and flesh with equal ease. More than a dozen men fell and Tristan grunted in pain as a bolt slammed into his left shoulder. The pain was excruciating but there was no time to dwell on it. Tristan barked orders to the King’s Guard: “Warriors of the Guard! Don't yield an inch. Both time and numbers are on our side, for every moment we hold their defeat draws nearer.”
The two sides collided with incredible force. The assassins were whipped into a frenzy but met with the cold resolve of the King’s Guard. Firm of heart and mind, the Guard were determined to lay down their lives in the duty with which they had been entrusted.
Unable to act for fear of striking their own men, Syrion exercised his powers to rise into the air above the fray instead. Syrion hovered in the space of the vaulted ceiling and began launching spells at the unsuspecting foe below. The first fireball struck the stairway leading into the hall. Were their faces not concealed, Syrion would have seen the surprise and fear in their ranks as the flames consumed a dozen assassins. Without delay Syrion cast a second with equally devastating results. He might not have been able to intercede on the front line, but he could easily stem the tide of reinforcements that the Night Stalkers were receiving.
*****
Hitomi watched in despair as the sorcerer annihilated her forces. She had intentionally timed the assault for a time she had thought Syrion would be absent. Somehow the otherworldly nightmare had returned without her receiving word of it, and her mind swirled with terrifying memories of her time in Belnair. How can I contend with such a foe? she thought as fire rained down upon them. Every moment he survived, her chance of success diminished rapidly. “Kihara, bring him down now!” she commanded, careful to avoid gesturing at her airborne foe for fear of drawing his attention. Success hinged on his being distracted by the melee.
Kihara sheathed his blade and unslung a large crossbow from his back. Favored for its accuracy and stopping power, the crossbow was the next evolution of ranged combat. It was slower to load and fire than a traditional bow but nonetheless hurled its projectile with greater power and accuracy over a short distance. Kihara was an expert marksman, having carried out many assassinations for the Night Stalkers over his distinguished career. Kihara moved slowly but smoothly, striving not to attract attention as he dropped to one knee and took aim at the sorcerer hovering above them in the air. Kihara knew that if he were seen, death would follow swiftly. With the crossbow raised to his shoulder, Kihara took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he pulled the trigger . . .
Kihara’s aim was true. The bolt cut through the air and buried itself in the young mage's chest.
The broiling ball of fire before Syrion dispersed as he clutched his chest with both hands.
*****
Breathing immediately became difficult and Syrion knew that he had sustained severe damage to his lung. If he didn't act swiftly he would soon be dead. Using his arts, Syrion grabbed the end of the bolt with one hand and placed the other over his chest where the bolt had struck him. His hands glowed gold as the young Astarii mage worked his healing magic.
Channeling the arcane energy that flowed through his being, Syrion reshaped the bolt so that he could draw it out without inflicting further damage from the barbed head of the weapon. The bolt came free, but blood came with it, pumping out of the mage’s chest.
Syrion let the bolt drop to the floor as he focused his energy and efforts on sealing the wound and reversing the damage the bolt had caused within him.
Syrion felt the flesh stitch close under his careful ministrations but the loss of blood was making him faint. He felt more tired than he had in years—his brain told him he needed to return to the ground to avoid further assault but his body would not respond. Instead the young mage lost consciousness, and the last thing Syrion saw was the rich red of the carpet beneath as he raced toward it.
*****
Kihara punched the air jubilantly as the mage fell. Kihara had taken precautions to poison his bolt with the venom of the Doku viper, a large amphibious snake native to Mizumura. The Doku would bite its prey to deliver its venom seeking not to kill but to fatigue and weary its prey. Even the most powerful of beasts soon succumbed to sleep as the potent poison coursed through their veins. The sleeping victims would then be dragged beneath the water's surface where they would drown and be later consumed by the beast. Few men were foolish enough to hunt the Doku for its venom, but Kihara had found it a most useful tool in the carrying out of the Night Stalkers’ will.
The young mage slammed into the floor, and he would not be rising anytime soon, if at all. It would be a simple matter for any of the assassins to dispatch the now-helpless mage while he slept.
Kihara turned to his mistress, Hitomi, as she nodded approvingly at his handiwork. Kihara smiled with pride and slid the crossbow strap over his shoulder before he slung it behind his back.
*****
Elaina watched in horror as her son struck the ground with a thud. “Syrion!” she called as she ran to him to find his robes drenched in blood, a crossbow bolt lying next to him. Elaina searched his body for a wound but found none, and she could only conclude that Syrion had attempted to heal himself after being struck by the bolt. What caused him to fall? Elaina asked herself. She placed her head next to his mouth and was relieved to find him still breathing. “Syrion, Syrion!” Elaina shouted as she shook him.
There was no response.
At the familiar cry, Tristan glanced over his shoulder to see his mother hunched over his younger brother—Syrion wasn't moving. Concern for his brother filled Tristan's mind, but being in the thick of the fray he was unable to extricate himself to help them and left his brother to his mother's tender care. Tristan focused his thoughts on the enemy before him, where he could see Hitomi engaged in the thick of combat.
The lithe woman moved nimbly through the fray, her kama rising and falling swiftly. Hitomi slew a King’s Guard with every calculated stroke. At her side the traitor Jalen was similarly engaged. The pair fought well together—were they not his enemies Tristan might have admired the pair’s deadly form. But today, he had only anger toward the woman who had caused his family such pain and the man who had betrayed his sworn oath.
Tristan looked at the pair, unsure who to move against first.
“I have the rat!” Marcus shouted, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, “and he'll pay for what he did to Dariyen. The witch is yours.”
Tristan nodded his agreement and father and son began carving their way through the fight toward the deadly pair. The unarmored warriors of the Night Stalkers were skilled fighters, but without armor to shield their vital organs they fell swiftly before the singing broadsword of the young King.
Marcus had opted for a large claymore, so the blade was far slower and more unwieldy than that of a broadsword, but the sheer weight of the blade made it difficult to parry or deflect. Marcus wielded it like an angry bear carving through the ranks of assassins as through a field of wheat and he the harvester’s scythe.
The King’s Guard pressed forward alongside their liege, insuring the assassins co
uld not overwhelm him by sheer force of numbers.
Seeing the murderess within reach, Tristan leapt at Hitomi, unleashing a flurry of blows at the woman he loathed so completely.
Jalen, beside Hitomi, saw an opening, and he thrust his sword toward Tristan's exposed flank.
Marcus was atop him in an instant, his claymore descending on the traitor's outstretched blade. There was the ring of steel on steel as Marcus’s sword drove the traitor’s blade into the ground, sparing his son from receiving the sword point in his ribs.
Using his momentum, Marcus dropped his shoulder and slammed into his enemy. Jalen was bowled to the ground, and Marcus loomed over him ready to deliver the killing blow.
Unfortunately, a nearby assassin leapt up at Marcus, sword in hand, aiming to drive it through the man's chest. Marcus shifted his weight and stepped back on his right foot as the assassin overbalanced his sword and found only air in the space that Marcus had just vacated. Marcus, on the other hand, had both feet firmly under himself and bought his blade down across the assassin's back. The man collapsed and Marcus returned his attention to the traitorous guardsman.
Jalen was back on his feet and had no intention of underestimating the older warrior again. Marcus brought his claymore up and delivered another heavy slash at his opponent. One wrong move would see Jalen split in half from nose to kneecap, but Jalen was no amateur—he ducked under the blade and lashed out at Marcus, his smaller blade drawing a line of blood across the old warrior’s bicep. Marcus recoiled as if stung and Jalen allowed a jubilant smile to cross his face as he made the next move, bringing his blade down in a cutting motion across Marcus’s leg, hoping to force his foe to lower his guard.
Marcus did so—to avoid the cold bite of steel he turned his blade and deflected the strike. At the same time Jalen rolled his wrist and bought his sword around in a savage arc, its sharpened blade almost whistling as it sliced through the air towards Marcus’s now-exposed neck. Marcus saw the move coming and ducked under the blow, launching himself forward and upward, driving his head into the assassin's chin.
Unprepared for such a brazen and brawlish assault, Jalen staggered backwards in a daze. Marcus didn't miss a step, continuing forward with his claymore slicing through the air in a brutal arc to catch the assassin on the shoulder. The heavy blade did its work easily and with a sickening stroke it cleaved through the man's shoulder and buried itself in his chest. Jalen's eyes went wide in shock.
Marcus’s grim satisfaction was the last thing he saw in this life.
Tristan eyed Hitomi warily. There was no trace of reluctance or hesitation as the Mistress of Death advanced, blades flying about her furiously. Every moment she went unchecked soldiers suffered and died at her hands. All these years Hitomi had played the dainty court flower while beneath the surface she had hidden a life of violence from the public scrutiny of the court. Tristan knew from his own upbringing that such martial prowess was not achieved overnight—it came as a result of day-after-day laboring in the training pits. It took years to hone technique and form in the never-ending pursuit of perfection.
Tristan moved toward her, mindful of the melee around him. He knew that one misstep or mistake on his part would be all the murderess would need to seal his fate. The King’s Guard were pushing forward now. The death of the traitor, Jalen, had given the assassins pause and Marcus was cleaving his way through their ranks unchecked. Marcus had always been a fearsome warrior, and now with his newly reunited family on the line he was a force of nature, his claymore rising and falling with devastating effect. The King’s Guard moved in support, and shouts from the landing below suggested that other reinforcements were en route.
Hitomi and her dancing blades were all that stood between Tristan and victory. If she fell her followers would soon falter. They would fight to the death—of that Tristan had no doubt—but there was a difference between fighting a foe inspired by a fierce leader and rounding up a few headless chickens that milled about in desperation and despair. Hitomi was the head that needed to be cut off.
Tristan and Hitomi locked eyes. The murderess dispatched the King’s Guard in front of her and stepped over his body to advance on the young King.
She showed no signs of hesitation, lashing out with the blade in her left hand to strike at Tristan's torso. As Tristan's blade rose to block that strike, the blade in her right hand was already sailing towards his neck. He dodged beneath the sweeping blade before it removed his head from his shoulders, but the woman did not relent—she simply continued her dizzyingly quick assault. The blades flashed as they rose and fell, and Tristan alternated between parrying the strikes and ducking and weaving to avoid the blows.
Mindful that he could not best the murderess without landing a blow of his own, Tristan launched an offensive.
Tristan employed both of the strengths of his broadsword over the kama—its reach and its double blade. By keeping the murderous Hitomi at bay he made it difficult for her to land a blow—she would have to close with him in order to deliver a strike with her much shorter weapons. Tristan compounded her difficulties by launching a furious counter-attack each time Hitomi missed her mark.
Tristan drove Hitomi back, with patience and precision seeking to wear down his foe. He stepped back out of the path of an incoming blow, then his blade lashed out, drawing a line of red along Hitomi's arm as it sailed past. Hitomi snarled and attacked instead of recoiling, and the move caught Tristan by surprise as Hitomi continued her frenzied assault.
Again Tristan picked his moment carefully, lashing out at the woman’s leg. Hitomi moved to block the blow, but in spite of her kama the broadsword still bit deeply into her thigh as Tristan’s strength won out.
With hateful indignation, Hitomi brought her second kama down, trapping the broadsword's blade. She twisted the blades with great satisfaction and wrenched the broadsword out of Tristan's grasp.
As the weapon slid out of his fingers Tristan did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed the assassin by her wrists and turned, shifting his weight to half-lift, half-throw the woman to the ground. As the assassin slammed into the floor her blades went flying, and Tristan followed her down, unwilling to lose the advantage he had gained. Both combatants had lost their weapons but still they grappled. Hitomi grabbed at the crossbow bolt still lodged in Tristan's shoulder, sending waves of pain through his body.
Tristan was no stranger to pain and had suffered much of it in his brief life. Gritting his teeth against the pain he returned the favor by grabbing the assassin’s arm where only moments earlier his sword had pierced her flesh.
It yielded the desired effect and she recoiled as pain shot down her arm. The two struggled as Hitomi shifted her weight and threw the King off her. Moving quickly she drew a knife from within her robes, and rose up over the King to deliver the killing blow. . .
As the knife descended, Tristan grabbed her wrist with both of his and threw the murderess clear while wrenching the dagger from her grasp. Hitomi hit the floor beside Tristan. Before she could rise another blade appeared before her, bringing her assault to a premature end.
The King’s Guard had prevailed over the Night Stalkers and now stood around the fuming murderess, skilled though she might be, she was overwhelmed and she knew it.
“Make a move, you wretch!” called Marcus angrily. “You might be quick, but you'll be dead before your back is off the rug.”
Hitomi raged as her plan came to naught and the object of her anger slipped once more out of reach. For as much as she hated Tristan Listar she was yet unwilling to trade her life for his. Hitomi seethed in frustration. Tristan regained his feet and looked about. The hall had been won. No Night Stalkers remained standing, and though many of the King’s Guard had fallen, many still remained as reinforcements streamed up the stairs from the Palace proper.
Tristan looked upon his vanquished enemy, filled with a mixture of anger and pity.
As much as he hated the woman, he could not bring himself to cut her down. Tris
tan thought of his son, hoping the memory of her scheme would be sufficient to drive him to do what must be done. He stood there in silence, knowing that, given a chance, she would slit his throat without a second thought.
“Hitomi,” he pronounced, “your actions have once more claimed the lives of many innocents. You are guilty of murder, kidnapping and no doubt a host of other crimes yet to be determined. You will be taken to a cell to await trial for your crimes, and the law of our land will decide your fate.”
There was a commotion behind Tristan and he turned to see what was the matter.
Linea stood there pale, a sword held in her two hands. “The law!”—she said angrily—”not on your life!” All were shocked as Linea raised the sword intending to drive it into the murderess.
“Linea no,” Tristan shouted, taking Linea by the wrist to prevent her murdering Hitomi. “That is not our way, it’s theirs. Justice will be done, but not like this.” Gesturing to the King’s Guard and Hitomi, Tristan shouted. “Take her to the dungeon. She’ll be tried in the morning.”
The King’s Guard sheathed their blades and dragged Hitomi to her feet.
“No,” Linea shouted, struggling against Tristan. “She can be tried here and now. Sentenced too.
“Her life is the price of her sins,” Linea said simply. “Not only for the lives she took today, but for those she sought to take. Never again can she be allowed to threaten our family.”
As Tristan struggled to restrain Linea without causing her further angst, Hitomi made her move.
As the King’s Guard shoved her forward Hitomi feigned a fall. Stumbling Hitomi broke free. Drawing a dagger from inside her robes Hitomi sprung at Tristan.