by Ben Hale
“Let us learn what we can,” Elenyr said. “Split up. Mind, go to the door and see if you can listen to their thoughts. I’ll come from beneath and see what I can hear. Fire, get into position where you can come quickly if we have need.”
“Done,” he said.
The end of the tunnel connected to a spiral staircase that descended to the cavern floor. Other entrances were visible on the exterior of the cavern, and Elenyr marked their location in case they needed a quick escape. Then she descended the stairs and crept her way across the bridge of aquaglass to the assassin island. Nodding to the fragments, she phased to ethereal and dropped into the stone.
The ground looked solid from above, but to her ethereal eyes it looked like smoke. Patches of denser stone were interspersed with dirt and pools of water from the lake. She could see all the way across the island, the foundations of the assassins’ personal towers a darker tint than the rest of the ground. Beneath the ground she moved more by will than force, and her body glided forward, drifting beneath the courtyard that separated the towers from the titan’s footstool.
She caught a glimpse of movement and spotted Mind advancing to the entrance of the chamber, where he came to a halt at the door. Elenyr continued to advance until she hovered in the rock beneath a triangular table of black stone. The seven assassins were gathered around it, while the woman at the head was speaking. Elenyr willed herself upward, rising until her head surfaced above the floor. She lifted free and crouched beneath the table, listening to the woman speak.
“I know you dislike such a summons,” Guildmaster Loralyn said. “But circumstances in recent weeks have changed.”
“I’d been stalking a contract for six months,” one replied, his tone irritated. “Surely this could have waited.”
“It could not,” Loralyn said.
The guildmaster, a human woman, had been the head of the guild for only a few years. Elenyr knew very little about her except that she had once served in King’s Guard in Griffin, the youngest to ever become a high captain. Then suddenly she and her sister had disappeared. Ten years later, she and her sister had assassinated a duke in the very kingdom they’d once sought to protect.
Elenyr knew the remaining five, but only by name and deed. Two were elves, one was a dwarf. One was a gnome gifted in anti-magic—his specialty the assassination of mages. The last was a man named Gendor, the Blade Ghost. He too had come from a king’s guard, only he’d been under King Numen in Erathan. Discharged for excessive brutality, he’d returned and slaughtered his commanding officers. All of them. Then he’d joined the Assassins’ Guild.
“The krey have returned,” Loralyn said, ending the growing complaints.
“The ancient race?” her sister, Lorica, sounded shocked. “When?”
“Three weeks past,” Loralyn exclaimed.
Elenyr identified Lorica by her voice, but knew her by another name. With a cloak that spread into great white wings, the woman had gained a reputation as the Angel of Death. Feared by the nobility yet loved by the populace, she was the most well known assassin the guild had seen in centuries, and the bounty on her head exceeded even that of her sister.
Elenyr felt a familiar tug at her consciousness, and realized Mind wanted to speak to her. Loosening her mental barrier, she permitted him into her mind, and the fragment’s words came from nearby.
The sister didn’t know.
What about Gendor? Elenyr asked.
His mind is closed to me.
Keep trying.
Questions bubbled up in the chamber and Loralyn slammed her fist onto the stone, bringing them to silence. “We do not know their purpose, but they are quickly gaining allies. There are those who have awaited their return and they have begun to gather.”
Elenyr frowned. She’d heard rumors of a group that worshiped the krey, but thought they were just rumors. Perhaps there was more truth than she realized. Then Lorica shifted her feet, nearly kicking Elenyr, and Elenyr leaned away from the boot.
“We should kill the krey,” Lorica said.
“Why?” an elf asked, his tone scornful. “They are no threat to us.”
“Sister?” Loralyn asked, her tone puzzled. “Why do you think we should kill the ancients?”
“We all know the stories of the Dawn of Magic, and the krey are a threat to everything. If they have returned, they will seek a return to the power they once had.”
“How could you know that?” Gendor scoffed.
“Because all crave the power they lost,” Lorica said.
Elenyr caught the note of hatred in Lorica’s voice. It was obviously suppressed, but Lorica hated Gendor, and the current of emotion ran deep. Elenyr wondered why he deserved such animosity.
The elf across from her shifted in his seat. “Our youngest member speaks with wisdom.”
“I think we should ally with the krey,” Gendor exclaimed, eliciting a stunned silence.
“Why?” Lorica demanded.
“Because if they return to power, we could benefit,” he said. “The contracts could be very lucrative.”
“At the expense of the people,” Loralyn said.
“Of course our guildmaster sides with her sister,” the dwarf, Thorg, exclaimed with a derisive grunt. “Gendor is right. We must ally ourselves with the krey.”
“I am the guildmaster,” Loralyn said. “And as guildmaster, I carry the burden of knowledge. Every past guildmaster has shared their secrets in our archives, and you have no idea how dangerous the krey can be.”
“I don’t care about the archives,” Gendor growled. “I care about profits.”
“Is that why you have been accepting contracts without my approval?”
Loralyn’s tone had turned dangerous, the mood in the chamber darkening in an instant. Elenyr watched as several blades were drawn beneath the table, the whisper of steel on leather only heard by her. Elenyr eased her own weapon free, careful to remain ethereal.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” Loralyn demanded. “I order a contract refused, and then weeks later they are dead.”
“Coincidence,” Gendor said.
“I think not,” Loralyn said, tossing what sounded like a memory orb and a handful of parchment on the table. Whatever it showed elicited a round of gasps, indicating it proved Loralyn’s claim.
“Is this true?” the elf demanded.
“You would betray the guild?” another growled.
Gendor began to laugh. “Does it matter? Ever since I sent Holden to kill the Hauntress, you’ve been suspicious of me.”
Elenyr’s hand tightened on the handle, and she struggled with the urge to rise through the table and strike at the man. He was small, but he possessed inhuman strength, and she reminded herself to remain cautious.
“So you admit it?” Loralyn pounced.
“Of course,” Gendor exclaimed. “You pick and choose contracts, discarding most, until we hardly hunt at all.”
“We kill for honor,” Loralyn said, also on her feet. “Not for greed.”
“Your antiquated idea of our craft is laughable,” Gendor exclaimed. “We are paid to kill, to hunt and draw blood.”
“Yet we only kill those who merit death,” Loralyn said. “You know our creed.”
“And I despise it.”
The rancor in Gendor’s voice echoed in the chamber. Elenyr again stayed her hand, forcing herself to listen as Loralyn drew her blade. The reverberation of her longsword coming free sounded like a gauntlet being dropped to the ground.
“I should kill you where you stand,” she said. “But tradition grants you a choice. Do you wish to fight me to claim the guild? Or leave in disgrace?”
Elenyr risked lifting her face through the table, catching a glimpse of the assassins in the chamber. Gendor was too confident for her liking, his expression a sneer as he regarded the guildmaster.
He was small, his body at odds with the story of inhuman strength he seemed to possess. Ye
t he was not a body mage, that much Elenyr knew. He stood with his arms folded, his grey eyes conveying the utmost scorn.
Loralyn had stepped away from the table, and stood with her blade out and ready, her features hard. She was aging, yet still beautiful, her blond hair going silver. Lorica, a younger image of her sister, glared at Gendor, her expression oddly triumphant, as if she’d waited for this moment.
“You have served your purpose,” Gendor said, finally drawing his blade, an ugly knife with two side prongs.
Elenyr considered her course of action. She could wait and watch Loralyn kill Gendor, but that would mean Elenyr would never learn who had sought her life. And if Gendor killed Loralyn, the guild would be against her for decades. Making her decision, she gathered herself and ascended.
Gendor came to a halt when Elenyr rose through the table, and the other assassins scrambled to retreat. Elenyr held her sword low and ready, fixing Gendor with a cold glare. Green smoke cascaded off her body, her cloak and cowl partially ethereal. The man regarded her with irritation.
“You are interrupting a private council, Hauntress.”
“You should thank me,” Elenyr said. “I just saved your life.” She turned to Loralyn. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
“No apology needed,” she said, her eyes on Gendor. “I know one of our number was given a contract on you, but I assure you, I did not issue it.”
“I believe you,” Elenyr said. “And unfortunately, before you begin your duel, I would ask your permission to challenge him myself.”
“Me?” Gendor asked. “You wish to challenge me?”
Elenyr smiled, the grim expression causing the other assassins to retreat. Elenyr stepped off the table and glided around the assassins, her blade rising as she closed the gap to the Gendor. To his credit, he remained in place, his expression calculating.
“Do I have your leave?” Elenyr asked.
Loralyn inclined her head. “He acted outside the creed of this guild. You are welcome to him.”
Elenyr raised her sword and pointed it at the man. “Who issued the contract on my life?” Elenyr asked, her voice gaining a dark timbre.
Gendor regarded Elenyr like she was a mild irritant. His eyes maintained the calculating look, as if he were attempting to solve a difficult puzzle. Elenyr fleetingly wondered if he was the lightning mage that had crafted the sword for the failed assassination.
“It is fortunate that you have chosen this moment to come,” Gendor said. “For it means you will die with the others.”
“Us?” Lorica asked. “You mean to kill us all, alone?”
Elenyr, Mind’s voice cut into Elenyr’s thoughts. We have a problem.
I’m a little busy.
You’re about to get busier.
Instead of words, Mind sent an image, a fuzzy glimpse of Mind’s vision as he retreated behind an assassin tower. Elenyr’s eyes widened when she spotted dozens of shadow figures rushing across the bridges to the island, their blades reflecting the light.
Gendor stabbed a finger at Loralyn. “You adhere to these pointless traditions, keeping our number small, selecting only a handful of contracts, all while we are meant to rule. While you’ve been cautious, I’ve built an army of assassins, and it’s time this guild joined a new era with the krey.”
Dozens of black garbed figures burst through the door and flanked Gendor, their matching blades drawn. Each wore a silver mask, the features bland and sharp, meant to terrify. The insignia on their shoulders indicated they served a single master.
“Hauntress, at least you lived to see my Bloodsworn.” Gendor’s smile turned triumphant. “We have worked from the shadows long enough.”
The assassins looked between Gendor, with two joining Loralyn and Lorica. The other two, Thorg and the other elf, joined Gendor without hesitation, suggesting they were already part of the Bloodsworn.
“Fire,” Elenyr said, raising her voice.
Gendor snorted. “You think to threaten me with flames?”
“It wasn’t a threat,” Elenyr said. “It was a summons . . .”
Chapter 17: The Bloodsworn
Outside the council chamber, Fire stepped off the assassin tower and fell to the ground. He landed and struck the stone, blasting fire in all directions. Those in the doorway were caught in the explosion, the flames knocking them into the council chamber, the Bloodsworn tumbling into each other, their clothes burning.
The elven assassin with Gendor reached outward and the lake rose up, flowing into the chamber and extinguishing the flames, the water bursting into steam. By then the two ranks had closed and Elenyr had reached Gendor. The man smirked and the dagger elongated, stretching to become a sword.
She drove her blade towards his chest but he knocked the sword upward, spinning and striking her right flank. She phased to ethereal, intent on letting the weapon pass through her body. At the last moment the blade sparked with power, lightning crackling up the blade. She realized her mistake too late and flinched—but the weapon came to an abrupt halt next to her waist, parried by Loralyn from behind Elenyr.
Elenyr darted to the side as Gendor scowled, the surprise of his weapon’s lightning magic spoiled. Loralyn locked eyes with the betrayer and stepped into Elenyr’s place, motioning her aside.
“He’s mine.”
Elenyr realized they were beyond answers and inclined her head. “As you will.”
Lorica and the other two assassins fought on the opposite side of the table, the Bloodsworn driving them back by sheer numbers. Fire stood in the doorway, singlehandedly preventing other Bloodsworn from entering. Mind watched his flank, his thin sword cutting into the ranks of Bloodsworn.
Elenyr plunged into the ground and flew across the chamber to rise behind the pair of Bloodsworn battling Lorica. Elenyr turned solid and swung her weapon, the blade cutting deep. As they fell, she spun, deflecting a sword and then striking a third Bloodsworn with her free hand. Her sudden appearance left them in shambles, and the remaining attackers fell beneath Lorica’s sword.
Across the room, Thorg and the water mage had cornered the elf, and the mage stabbed her with a spike of water as the dwarf slew Lorica’s remaining ally. Lorica growled and charged, with Elenyr at her side.
“Your sister is a fool,” Thorg growled. “But I suppose it runs in the family.”
The dwarf slammed his fists together and fire burst apart, forming two barbed shields. He twisted and threw the first, but Lorica ducked, allowing the spinning shield to pass above her. It spun into the wall and plunged deep, carving a line into the stone.
“Thorg,” Lorica snarled, “I’ll gut you for this.”
“Not if you are dead,” Thorg said.
The elf cast a whip of water and swung it at Lorica’s feet, coiling it about her ankles. Just as she leaned back, Elenyr leapt through Lorica’s sword, phasing ethereal and then solid on the other side, her own blade slicing through the whip. She drove into the elf as Lorica charged Thorg.
“You are not part of this,” the elf said, her whip morphing into a snake.
“I am now,” Elenyr said.
She deflected the snake and leapt in, but steam from the fire morphed into a dozen swords, all driving for her body. Elenyr phased to ethereal and they passed through her. The elf snarled and raised her blade, but Elenyr’s sword edge passed through her ethereal throat. The elven assassin whirled—to find Elenyr’s sword at her heart.
“You chose the wrong side,” Elenyr said. “Care to make another choice?”
The elf snarled and deflected Elenyr’s sword, but instead of attacking Elenyr, she spun and charged Lorica, locked in a duel with the dwarf. Seeing her intention, Elenyr leapt across the gap and shouted a warning.
Lorica spun, her sword rising to deflect the elf’s blade, the motion leaving her open to Thorg. Elenyr passed between them and turned corporeal just before reaching the dwarf, her blow sending him tumbling into the entrance corridor. When Elenyr turned, she watched Lorica twist beneath the aquaglas
s blade and plunge her sword into the assassin’s heart. The woman’s scream echoed in the chamber, drawing Gendor’s gaze.
The room was in shambles, the chairs and table rent by the fury of conflict. The Bloodsworn lay where they had fallen, while only Thorg remained standing with Gendor. Hundreds of Bloodsworn remained outside, but they could not pass Fire and Mind, who barred the opening. Evidently realizing his reinforcements could not be reached, Gendor whirled and sprinted to the exit.
“Mind!” Elenyr cried.
The fragment spun and raised his sword, but Gendor leapt to the wall and used it to push off, allowing him to soar over Mind and Fire. Landing hard, he darted out of the opening and joined the Bloodsworn in the courtyard. Thorg opened a hole in the ground and disappeared, a moment later the stone spitting him out beyond Mind and Fire.
The assassin sisters and Elenyr charged the doorway, joining Fire and Mind. Hundreds of masked assassins were arrayed against them, their blades reflecting the light. Gendor smirked as the assassin sisters joined Elenyr.
“Your army will die with you,” Loralyn snarled.
Gendor released a mocking laugh. “Only two of you remain. And even with the Hauntress, you cannot stop me, or the master I serve.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Fire wiped the blood from a cut on his cheek, flames licking at his fingers.
Gendor glowered at Fire and raised his hand to reveal a small, spherical object. He touched a rune on its surface and it glowed to life. Then he tossed it toward Elenyr, his sneer one of disdain. Gendor and his Bloodsworn retreated, the soldiers tossing other spheres onto the ground around the council chamber. They all glowed into life, growing brighter by the second.
“You are a relic from a dead age, Hauntress,” Gendor said. “And it’s only fitting you die by another ancient weapon.”
“Go!” Elenyr barked. “Inside!”
The group sprinted into the council chamber and Fire summoned a wall of flames, closing off the doors and forming a barricade. The spheres outside detonated together, the explosion ripping into stone like it was kindling.