NECROSTONE
A Short Story by KC Gibson
Chapter One
Crouching
in the shadows across the street, Toxyn watched the building he had targeted
for a full hour, ensuring that nothing had changed for the guards duties since
the night before. He had been watching
this particular building for two weeks, memorizing the layout and the guards
routes, not to mention the comings and goings of those that worked within. After an hour, he had assured himself that
there had been no changes to the routine around the building and he was safe to
proceed.
There
was a guard that patrolled the street around the building, and another that
patrolled the roof. Toxyn waited till
the roof guard had gone past, then he sprinted across the street, ducking into
the shadows cast by the overhanging roof.
Blending into these shadows it was as though he wasn’t even there, so
when the ground guard came by Toxyn silently stepped from the recesses of the
building behind the unfortunate man and slipped a dagger between his ribs, the
point penetrating the mans heart. A
similar blade in his other hand circled around the mans head and the razor
sharp blade was drawn across his throat, cutting off his terrified scream. Rather than letting him fall, Toxyn caught
the guard and dragged him back into the shadows, leaving him there to bleed out
on the floor.
Turning
to his left, the assassin took three running steps and jumped, catching hold of
the roof that protruded over the double doors and pulling himself up. Crouching atop the doorway, he moved up
against the wall just beneath the roof where the other guard patrolled. Within moments he heard the man approaching
around the perimeter of the roof and when the guard had drawn even with his
position the assassin rose and jammed one of his daggers into the back of the
guards knee. The man gasped, falling
backward, opening his mouth wider to shout a warning but the blade of Toxyn’s
other dagger sank into his mouth as he fell, angled upward to pierce his brain,
killing him instantly. The assassin levered
himself up to the roof and crouched there in the night, watching and listening
to ensure he was still alone. No sound
could be heard anywhere, so the assassin felt secure enough to continue his
mission.
He
knew that the door leading from the roof inside the building would be unlocked
to allow the few guards within quick access should the roof guard sound an
alarm. He also knew, thanks to the
blueprints he had stolen, that the room which housed those other guards was at
the bottom of the stairs on the other side of that door. The location of the door was centered on the
roof and Toxyn moved quickly and quietly to it, slipping through into the dark
interior of the building. Pausing to let
his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness within, he quietly made his way down the
stairs. He was roughly half way down
when he heard the sounds of voices carrying to him through the night and he
smiled. It sounded as though the guards
were in that room at the bottom of the stairs, likely engaged in a card game,
completely unaware of the death that loomed on the horizon.
Moving
forward on the balls of his feet, Toxyn approached the door soundlessly, his
narrowed eyes sweeping the hallway as he reached it. From a small pouch on his belt he pulled a
trio of tiny silver balls and, yanking the door open, he tossed them into the
room. There was a moment of confusion
from within and Toxyn could hear the guards questioning shouts just before
those three spheres exploded, filling the room with a lethal gas. Toxyn put his back to the door, holding it
closed and smiling as he heard the guards start to cough and gag, one of them
managing to throw himself against the door in an attempt to escape. The assassin heard him slide toward the
ground and lay at the base of the door, dead before he reached the bottom.
Pushing
off the door he moved further into the building, through a curtained doorway at
the end of the hall. Here he found
himself in the temple room, the firs sign that the building he had infiltrated
was in fact a religious structure dedicated to the Goddess Roma. On the wall behind the altar, which was
situated across the room from him, was a golden symbol of Roma, the scales of
justice which consisted of a claymore sword and chains descending from the
crosspiece of the sword with plates at the ends of the chains. He knew from his childhood studies that the
scales represented the balance between good and evil, but in his opinion the
side representing evil should have been much lower than that which represented
good.
Smirking,
he scanned the room with his eyes, looking for another doorway which led to the
living quarters for the priestess who ran the place and her acolytes. He knew there were two monks as well and a
few rooms for guests of the temple, though he hadn’t heard that there were any
of them in residence at the moment. The
doorway he wanted would not have been so easily spotted to someone that didn’t
know what to look for, but to Toxyn it stood out like a sore thumb. There was a section of wall behind the altar
where the pain was just a shade off in color compared to the rest of the
wall. This, he knew, was the doorway to
the hall where he would find the priestess and the acolytes quarters.
Crossing
to the hidden door he slipped a blade into the almost invisible crease and
pried it open, grinning when it gave way and swung soundlessly to permit him
entry. The hallways beyond was pitch
black and that was a problem, for all of about two seconds while he kicked in
one of the few magical items he wore, a ring that granted him the ability to
see in near total darkness. The magic
allowed him to see the entire length of the hallway as though illuminated by
the light of a full moon. Though he
didn’t know exactly which room would belong to the priestess, he was confident
he could find out quickly enough.
Moving
down the hallway he checked the first door and, as he had suspected, it was
unlocked. These people lived in a
building where they trusted each other implicitly and there had never, until
now, been any reason to lock their doors.
There was ample reason to have armed guards patrolling, which was why
Toxyn was here, but they had no reason not to trust each other. Slipping into the room he found it cramped
and sparsely furnished with a narrow single bed, a table with a lone chair and
a small dresser. On the bed lay a young
boy in the simple robes of an acolyte of the church of Roma
Though
he had never traded blows with a warrior monk in the past Toxyn knew better
than to underestimate them. He
approached the next door with extreme caution, pressing his ear to it gently before
testing the knob. Like the others, it
was unlocked, but he knew that didn’t mean the monk would be as unprepared for
trouble as the untrained acolytes had been.
One of the reasons for the assassin to call himself Toxyn had to do with
his affinity for exotic and rare poisons and he realized that this situation
was likely to call for one of those. Beneath
the long sleeves of his black tunic, strapped to his forearms, were a series of
throwing darts, each one laced with a petrification poison derived from a man
eating plant in the Jungles of Krayt.
The mechanism which held the darts had been designed so that when Toxyn
flexed his forearm muscles a certain way, one of the darts would fall into his
palm, point up. As he reached for the
doorknob with his left hand he ejected one of the darts into his right.
As
the door swung open there was a blur of movement that was almost too fast for
his eye to follow. With lethal silence
the monk came on, leading with a high kick that would have connected with the
assassins head had he not fell back at the last moment. Toxyn flicked his hand out, launching the
poisoned dart at the monk, but the martial arts master twisted his upper body
and the small throwing weapon disappeared behind him into his room. Not wanting to give the assassin a moment to
press his attack the monk came on, driving a forward snap kick toward Toxyn’s
stomach. The assassin parried the foot
down with both his hands then took an elbow to the chin, his head rocking back
and his teeth cracking together as he slammed into the wall opposite the monks
door. Tasting his own blood cleared the
assassin’s head and brought a deadly focus to his mind.
The
monk stepped forward, yelling a kiai as he launched a punch that went through
the wall where Toxyn’s head had been a moment before. Knowing that the martial artists shout was
going to wake the priestess and the other monk, Toxyn realized he had to end
this quickly. Flexing the forearm muscle
of his left arm he caught the dart that dropped into that hand as he feinted
with his right, pretending to throw another.
The monk had already seen him try to throw with that hand and so
sidestepped quickly, right into the path of the dart thrown with the other
hand. It caught him in the shoulder and
the mans eyes widened in surprise as the poison instantly petrified him. Snarling viciously Toxyn drew his daggers
from where they were tucked into the front of his belt, raising them in a
crossing motion with the blades down, slicing and “X” into the monks chest then
bringing them back down, driving the blades into the base of the mans neck and
tearing them out the front, severing the monks jugular. Blood sprayed forth, soaking the front of
Toxyn’s tunic and he heard an enraged scream as the monk fell to the floor.
The
assassin spun, parrying aside the kick of the second monk, this one a young
half-elven woman that was surprisingly pretty the assassin thought. Her thin face was contorted in rage after
seeing her friend fall and she was throwing all her emotion into the onslaught
of attacks. Toxyn was forced to fall
back as she pushed her advantage of surprise, kicking, punching and clawing in
well executed combinations. His concentration
complete Toxyn focused on parrying and dodging her moves, knowing that even one
of the powerful blows from a trained martial artist could end him on the
spot. But whereas he was keeping a cool,
professional head she was attacking in anger and as always happened when one
didn’t control their emotions in combat she made a mistake that he was more
than willing to capitalize upon.
After
throwing a quick one two combination of punches that made the assassin dance
backward she tried to execute a spinning back kick, which had her turn her back
to him for the barest fraction of a second.
That was all Toxyn need, dancing back in and catching her leg as it
lashed out, wrapping one arm around her upper thigh and lifting, throwing her
off balance so that she had to lower a hand to the floor to keep from falling. One of his petrifying darts fell easily into
the palm of his right hand and Toxyn drove it into the base of her neck. The pretty monk gasped, her body going rigid
as the rare poison worked instantly upon her.
Grinning triumphantly he reached around her with that same hand, now
holding one of his daggers, and placed the blade to her throat, thinking what a
shame it was going to be to kill the woman.
“Stop!” A commanding feminine voice rang out and
Toxyn glanced up to see an elderly human woman in loose, flowing nightgown standing
at the end of the hall in front of her open bedchamber door. She was tall, with long silver hair and a
lined face that was probably very pretty thirty or forty years prior. In fact, the assassin could tell that even
now, after age had ravaged her body, the priestess had once been a striking
woman indeed. Her voice shook with
barely contained rage as she continued, “I know why you’re here assassin, and
if you kill that young woman I’ll resist you with every ounce of power granted
me by the lady of justice.”
Toxyn’s
gaze played over the profile of the warrior monk, her slightly pointed ears,
the high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes, reflecting their anger at having
been so easily bested. “If I spare her?”
he asked, his voice a low rasp.
“Then
I will grant you that which you seek.”
The priestess promised. The
warrior monk that he still held in his arms made a sound in her throat that he
was certain, if she could move her lips, would have been a plea for the older
woman not to give in to him.
Knowing
that if he had to fight the priestess and subsequently torture her to get her
to do his bidding the old woman could potentially be more formidable than the
monks, Toxyn stood up straight, letting the monk fall to the floor. “Where’s the vault?” he asked.
“As
I am the only one that can open it, it is accessed through my chamber.” She motioned toward the open door into her
room and the assassin motioned her to go first.
She led the way through a small sitting room and into what passed for
her personal library. Marching up to one
of the shelves she pulled on a particularly large leather bound volume and the
assassin heard a faint click as the bookcase suddenly popped away from the
wall. The old woman grunted slightly as she pulled the heavy shelves outward,
revealing a staircase beyond that descended into inky blackness. “The vault is down there.”
“You
said yourself that you’re the only one who can access it, so after you old
lady.” Toxyn ordered, pointing toward
the stairs. By forcing the priestess to
preceded him down the stairs he had also forced her to disarm any traps that
were waiting for unsuspecting thieves.
He was quite amazed at how many there were, the old woman literally
stopping every other step to disarm one or more. It took a great deal longer than he was
comfortable with, but they finally reached the bottom of the stairs and he
found them now facing a large black door constructed of solid iron. There were silver and gold highlights,
including runes that were the protections which only the priestess could
bypass. “Deactivate the runes.” He ordered.
The
priestess regarded him coolly for a moment, then mumbled a few arcane verses
and he saw the magical symbols upon the door flare brightly, the fade to
nothing. “It will do you no good without
the combination, and I’ll not give you that!”
She said. “I’ve helped you all I
intend to!”
He
smiled slightly, the expression concealed beneath the mask that covered the
lower half of his face. “With the magical protections gone, I don’t need the
combination!” With a motion faster than
a striking snake Toxyn flung a dart that struck the woman between her breasts, petrifying
her instantly. “But neither am I so
stupid as to kill you outright when I don’t know what further protections may
lie within the vault itself!” She stood
there, rigid as a statue and Toxyn chuckled as he tipped her against the wall
and stepped up to the door. A moments
brief concentration activated another magical item, this one an earring in his
left ear. Feeling a strange tingling
throughout his body, the assassin stepped forward and to the amazement of the petrified
priestess who was watching helplessly, he phased right through the door!
Once
in the vault he shut off the magic, knowing it had only enough charge left to
get him back out, and he glanced around.
His heart was racing as he took in the artifacts that were carefully
stored throughout the large room. For
years he and, indeed, the entire kingdom had heard the tales of the artifacts
of dark magic that were brought here to be stored in the black vault. Templars of the sect of Roma would battle
evil mages and demons and bring the loot taken from those creatures, if of an
evil taint as well, and store them here to be kept under the most powerful
magical protections available, that and the mystery as to the actual location
of the Dark Vault.
Toxyn
glanced around, noting the shelves and crates, display cases and other such
items that were scattered about the room which was, he thought, surprisingly
small considering the reputation of the place.
Narrowing his eyes, he surveyed the area, not wanting to move forward
until he was certain that he wouldn’t set off some further protective
magic. His gaze fell then on a dagger
which rested on a shelf before him, nestled snugly in the hands of a skeletal
statuette. He felt his pulse quicken as
he recognized the blade, for it was something that every assassin in the world
had heard of. There were only a handful
of them in existence in Kyzanthia, blades said to be enchanted by the God
Nocturne himself. They were referred to
as acid blades, but they weren’t, as far as he had ever heard, inherently evil,
so he wondered how one of them had wound up here. Disregarding his own safety for a moment he
stepped forward and reached out to wrap his fingers around the hilt of the
dagger. His fingers went instantly numb
and he hissed, drawing his hand quickly back.
Flexing them, he realized that he still had the full range of movement,
but now the tips of his fingers were tingling.
Narrowing his eyes, he reached out once more and lifted the dagger from
its skeletal mount. That same numbness,
followed by a soft tingle, washed up his arm and then passed, leaving his
appendage as though nothing had happened.
Testing
the blade, he found it very well balanced the blade looking to be crafted of
silver with various symbols and wards engraved along its length. This was a bonus he would take full advantage
of, he decided, slipping the dagger into his belt as he turned and began to
search for the purpose of his infiltration, the Necrostone. Toxyn made his way slowly through the vault,
perusing the various items there, most of which the powers that watched over
them had seen fit to label and even describe the abilities of. Some he had heard of, others he had not, but
all were of interest to him and all, he knew, would fetch an impressive sum on
the black market. Items that were small
enough to be easily concealed on his person he took, jewelry, trinkets and some
books. All of this he would likely sell
if he could not find some use for it himself.
The dagger, of course, was now his to keep and the Necrostone, when he
found it, would go to his client.
Toxyn
soon found out why the vault seemed so small to him, it was because this room
was only the first of what was probably many.
As he tested the door he found leading out of the first chamber he was
mildly surprised to find it both unlocked and unprotected. ‘I
guess they felt the protections on the main door were enough.’ He thought as he moved through this one and
his eyes widened at the items arrayed before him here. “By the Gods.” He breathed in awe, for here
were items of such power as to make those in the first chamber pale by
comparison. Slowly he started to make
his way through this room, which was smaller than the first but held items of
greater… and darker… power. He paused,
regarding a set of six rings that lay together in a small circle upon one
shelf. Each ring was silver and sported
a different precious stone: diamond, ruby, sapphire, emerald, amethyst and
Onyx. On a small index card behind the
rings were scrawled the following statements:
The rings of
covetousness, grant their wearer the ability to acquire that which he most
desires! Oddly, the powers of the rings
will only work on men but they have been found to be the following; diamond
gives the wearer the ability to convince
others of a good deal, even if it is not, ruby (or the Philanderers ring) plays
with the hearts, minds and emotions of women, making them more receptive to the
wearers advances, sapphire is the ring of luck, giving the wearer the ability
to derive a better deal for himself out of almost any situation. The emerald stone grants the wearer an
affinity with animal life, allowing him to bend it to his will. The amethyst stone is the mentalists dream,
granting the wearer the ability to read a persons mind. Finally, there is the onyx ring, which will
always allow the individual the chance to return from certain death. The price for this power is often great, but
most people are willing to meet it.
It
took almost no thought at all for Toxyn to remove his left glove and begin to
place the rings on three of his fingers, doubling them up on each one. Smiling at the boon this find had been, he
slipped the glove back over them and continued his search of the vault. Several more items of interest made their way
into his various pockets and pouches for sale on the black market, but it
wasn’t until he entered the third room when he found that for which he had been
searching. This room was very small and
hand only a handful of items concealed within.
There was room for more, but evidently the only items they had found
powerful enough to be in this room were the few he saw.
The
others were too big to be of interest to the assassin, but the item he had come
here to find was very easy to identify.
It rested on a small table in the center of the room beneath a square
glass case. A ruby, about as big around
as the palm of his hand and so dark red as to be almost black. There were no adornments, it was part of no
necklace or ring, it simply rested there on the surface of the dark wood
table. Toxyn walked up and rather than
lift the glass and risk setting off a trap of some kind, he shattered it with
the hilt of the dagger he had stolen.
When nothing happened, he reached out and palmed the stone. It felt warm, even through the thin leather
of his glove, but he smiled as he closed his fist around it, then he turned and
made his way back out of the vault.
At
the main door he activated the last few seconds remaining of his phasing charm
and soon he found himself standing once more in the hall next to the still petrified
priestess. Turning to her, he smiled
cruelly and said, “I bet you would dearly love to know what I took from in
there, wouldn’t you?” He could see the
fear and anger reflected in her eyes, and he chuckled. “All right, I’ll show you!” Slowly he drew forth the acid blade from his
belt and brandished it where she could easily see it. Grinning broadly, he moved the blade to her
throat, leaning in close to whisper in her ear.
“Your service to Roma has ended.”
He heard faint whimper from the priestess as he drew the blade across
her throat, then felt the blood pumped from her jugular splash across his
front. There was a chemical burning
smell and a sizzle from the wound as the acid from the blade added to the
damage, but the dead priestess felt nothing as she slumped to the ground. The paralysis faded with her life and Toxyn
made for the stairs up to the temple, not glancing back at the elderly woman.
In
the upstairs hall where he had killed the acolytes and the one monk he grinned
down at the other, his eyes playing over her petrified form, liking how the
position she had been petrified in showed her flexibility and the muscle tone
of her lithe body. He could feel her
angry eyes upon him as he knelt before her, smiling softly beneath his mask.
Sighing,
he reached out with the blade of his new dagger and pushed the folds of her
tunic aside, revealing a tantalizing view of firm cleavage. “Would that I had more time to spend with
you.” He slid just the flat of the blade
across the top of her breasts and the monk felt a tingling numbness pass
through her chest. “I suspect you would
be a challenge to tame.” Then he thought
of the ring he now wore on his left hand, the one referred to on the paper as
the philanderers ring. “Then again,” he
added as he focused on the supposed power granted by that ring, “perhaps
not.” Suddenly a thin sheen of perspiration
had broken out over the monks body and he pressed two fingers to the side of
her throat, feeling her pulse racing madly.
“Well now, doesn’t that just
bring up all sorts of interesting possibilities?”
“Get
your hands off that woman animal!” growled
a man who had suddenly appeared at the end of the hall. Toxyn, startled at the sudden interruption,
glanced up to see a young warrior in armor that was far too large for him
standing there scowling at him. This was
one of the homeliest young men he had ever seen, with mousy colored hair, a
pale, acne covered complexion and a build like a quarterstaff with arms and
legs.
The
assassin chuckled softly, feeling completely unthreatened by this
individual. “Who are you supposed to be
boy?”
“I
am Dameon Nyte, Templar of the Church
of Roma
“You
shouldn’t have interfered, now you’ll have to die too!” With a sudden, lightning fast flick of his
hand one of his poisoned darts was launched at the Templar. Dameon, acting more out of reflex and panic
than any skill threw himself forward, diving beneath the missile. Bounding forward, thinking to press his
advantage, Toxyn leapt at the young holy warrior and was thoroughly shocked
when the young man, lying in a sprawl face down on the floor, flung his hand
out before him and the assassin was struck by a blinding flash of light. Caught in mid-air, Toxyn was flung backward,
his entire body on fire as he crashed into the wall at the end of the hall and
slumped to the ground. The assassin
groaned, seeing the young templar rise unsteadily to his feet.
Glancing
worriedly at the assassin, the young man stepped up to the petrified monk and
stooped, placing a hand upon her shoulder.
Toxyn watched, feeling slowly returning to his body, as a faint light
emanated from the young mans hand and suddenly the monk was able to move
again. She sprang to her feet with a
vicious snarl, her eyes fixed upon the assassin who suddenly felt a peculiar
heat on his palm, right beneath the necrostone.
The monk moved toward him as he focused his attention momentarily upon
the ruby and she cried out in shock as the dead monk suddenly reached out and
seized her calf. Nyte, similarly
surprised, let out a shout of surprise as the dead acolytes suddenly appeared
in the doorway to their rooms, shambling out into the hall.
The
half-elven monk kicked the hand of the dead monk with her other foot,
shattering the bones in his wrist then hopped back, watching with wide eyes as
he pushed himself upright, his dead eyes riveted upon her. Evidently the animated corpse had none of the
combat prowess he had possessed in life but she quickly found that that didn’t
make him less dangerous. He lunged for
her, trying to catch her in a bear hug and she ducked beneath his arms, driving
her elbows into his mid-section with all the force she could muster. He didn’t even grunt, just lowered his hands
and caught her tunic at the shoulders, hauling her upright then lifting her
bodily off the ground. She kicked out
with both feet, raining blows upon his chest and face but the zombie seemed
unaffected as he thrust her back against the wall of the hallway, holding her
aloft as though she weighed next to nothing.
He leaned toward her, opening his mouth wide and she could hardly
believe what she was witnessing as the dead monk, once a close friend of hers,
sunk his teeth deep into the soft flesh just above her left breast. She didn’t cry out, but continued to
struggle, pounding him with fists, knees, feet and head to no avail. She felt a tearing pain in her chest as he
ripped a chunk out of her, felt blood starting to run down beneath her tunic,
over her breast and down her stomach.
Suddenly
the young warrior who had come to her defense earlier appeared behind the
zombie and simply laid a hand upon the back of his neck. The undead monk threw his head back, bloody
mouth open in a silent scream as he dropped the lady monk and then crumpled to
the ground, the body within his monk robes suddenly smoldering and then turning
into so much ash. The woman, breathing
hard and bleeding profusely, crouched next to the pile, frowning.
“Damn
it!” She swore, “The assassin has escaped.”
“Worry
about him later, you’re wounded.” Said
the young templar, reaching toward the still bleeding wound. Reflexively, she slapped his hand away,
glaring at him. The young man stood up,
looking hurt and said, “I only wanted to help.”
After
a moment her expression softened and she sighed, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have
reacted that way.” She glanced around
them, noting the other zombies that were now piles of ash. Giving him a skeptical once over she said,
“You told him you were a Templar?”
He
scowled, obviously not liking the way she was looking at him. The young man, with his less than muscular
build, ill-fitted armor and sickly complexion didn’t cut a very heroic
figure. “That’s right, Dameon Nyte,
Templar to the Church
of Roma
“Well,”
she allowed grudgingly, “I can’t deny you have some Templar training, the way
you handled those zombies.” After a
brief pause, she introduced herself, “My name is Brigit, protector of this
temple.” She glanced down at the pile of
ash in monks robes, “I used to be his second.”
“Where
is the cleric responsible for this temple?
I came here seeking shelter and a meal.”
Dameon informed her, explaining his reason for being there.
“Likely
she is dead, since she took the assassin downstairs but he came up alone.” It took only a few moments to confirm this
theory and Brigit cursed vividly again when she found the body of the
priestess. She felt as though she had
failed in her duty as protector. “The
door to the vault is still closed, but the magical symbols are gone, so
obviously he got inside. But until
someone arrives with the authority to open it, I won’t know what was taken.”
“I
may know someone who can help with that.”
Dameon offered.
Chapter Two
It
had been two days since the break-in at the Dark Vault and Dameon Nyte had
stayed around to help Brigit with the running of the temple. Of course, with the murder of the priestess
all services had been canceled and Brigit had had to explain why to the curious
flock of worshippers. The monk had sent
off a magical message to the bishop who had been the priestess’s immediate
supervisor and he had been prompt in replying that he was sorry to hear of the
tragic loss and the priestess, whose name had been Clara, would be sorely
missed. There was no mention of who
would replace the priestess or what they intended to do about her murder, but
Brigit knew they would do something.
After all, Roma was the goddess of justice, which meant they couldn’t let the murder of one of
their own go unpunished. The monk simply
assumed they didn’t want to discuss their plans in a message that would be
easily intercepted.
Dameon,
while helping to keep the doors to the temple open so people could still come
and pray, was also doing his fair share of corresponding with his
superiors. Though he had tried to
convince them otherwise, his leaders had deemed that since he was already on
scene, he would represent the Templars in the investigation and there was no
need to send another to take over.
Though this decision made him slightly nervous, he was determined to do
his best. It was with great relief that
he recognized the priest who arrived a week after the break-in and murder as
someone he not only knew, but had hoped they would send.
“Ragnor!’ The Templar called as he rushed down the
aisle between the pews in the temple to greet the High Elven priest. Taking the elf’s hand he dipped in a bow,
pressing his forehead to the back of the mans hand in a gesture of fealty. “Thank Roma it’s you they chose to send!”
“Dameon?” This from the beautiful elven woman that had
entered the temple behind the priest.
“My word, what are you doing here?”
Ragnor and Ayla Tulaetin were not only a priest and monk of Roma, they
were also nobles responsible for the running of the small coastal community of Hanover in the elven
empire of Aldonia. It was here that
Dameon’s father had settled after retiring from the navy, and it was in an
orphanage founded by the daughter of these two people that Dameon had spent the
last few years of his childhood in. It
had been Ragnor that sponsored Dameon’s entry into the Templar training
program.
Bowing
similarly before Ayla, the Templar responded, “I was part of the events that
transpired here. I had arrived in town
and was stopping in here to see if I might acquire quarters for my stay. I interrupted the crime in progress.”
“He
saved my life is what he did.” Declared
Sister Brigit, the warrior monk, as she strode across the large temple room to
shake hands with the priest and his wife.
The two monks sized each other up and evidently were impressed with each
other. “If Dameon hadn’t shown up when
he did, I would have been another victim of that assassin!”
“Do
you know what he was after here?” Ragnor
asked, getting right to business.
“I
do, milord.” Brigit said, turning and
gesturing for them to follow her. “You
see, in addition to being the only temple
of Roma
“What
was taken?” Ragnor asked with concern.
“I’m
afraid I won’t know that till you open it.” Brigit said.
Ayla
frowned. “You mean it’s not open? How did he get in?”
“He
must have forced Clara to shut off the vault doors magical protections. Beyond
that, I really don’t know. But I
desperately need to get in and start an inventory. Whatever he took, he’s had several days to
sell or otherwise distribute. Those
items, every one of them, are far too dangerous to just leave out there.” Brigit said.
“What
makes you think I can open it?” Ragnor
asked skeptically.
Brigit
sighed, but realized she would have to explain before the continued. “There was an enchantment placed upon the
vault to deal with the unexpected death of Clara. The very next fully vested cleric of Roma to
cross the threshold would be granted the power to open the vault. That’s you, lord Ragnor.” She saw the concerned look upon the handsome
priests face and she said quickly, reassuringly, “There is a ritual that will
be performed when Clara’s permanent replacement arrives, granting him or her
that power, but until then, it’s you.”
Ragnor
took a moment to process this information, then he turned to Dameon. “I take it the Templars have assigned you the
task of tracking down the stolen items?”
Dameon nodded, and his expression said that Ragnor was uncertain that
was wise, but he kept his tongue.
Nodding, he turned to Brigit.
“Very well, let’s get started then.”
Turning
to the Templar, Ayla said, “Dameon, why don’t you show me where Ragnor and I
can stay while we’re here?” The young
templar, slightly awed by the monks great beauty, nodded. Ayla smiled at him, thinking to herself that
she remembered him as a young man and had always believed he had very strong
feelings for Natashiana, the daughter who had founded the orphanage he had finished
out his youth in.
A
few hours later a thoroughly exhausted Ragnor stumbled into the room he would
share with his wife. She sat up on the
double bed, having dozed off while waiting for him, her brows elevating at
sight of her husband. It had been a
matter of some concern to Ayla for a few years now that Ragnor’s health didn’t
seem to be improving. Ever since the
attack on their home town in which their daughter, Tasha had lost her husband,
Ragnor seemed to be slipping away. His
strength, which once seemed limitless, was waning quickly but his faith was
unshaken. He was convinced that it was
all a test by the Lady of Justice and that he would prevail. Ayla wasn’t so sure, but neither was she
willing to openly question her husband.
“Well?”
she asked, turning her long, shapely legs to dangle off the bed as she sat up,
regarding him.
Ragnor
slumped into one of the rooms simple chairs, leaning his head against his hand
and sighing. “It’s worse than we
thought. Most of the inventory is still
within the vault, likely because there was too much of it for one man to
take. Brigit and Dameon are compiling a
list of what was taken, but I’m
fairly confident I know what the break-in was about.”
“Oh?”
she prompted, rising and crossing the room, moving behind his chair and
starting to massage his shoulders.
He
moaned slightly, resting his head against the back of the chair as her strong,
dexterous fingers worked their magic.
“The most recent addition to the vaults inventory was the
Necrostone.”
Her
fingers paused for a moment as she digested that news, then she continued to
knead the muscles of his shoulders, which she remembered being much more solid
once upon a time. “And it’s gone?” He nodded and she frowned thoughtfully. Ayla knew as well as her husband the legend
of the Necrostone, one couldn’t really serve the church of Roma
One
of Blackthorne’s greatest accomplishments had been the discovery of how certain
gemstones could augment certain types of magic.
He had been looking for one to augment necromancy, of course, but had
wound up discovering a great many others as well in the process. The ruby, he’d found, was the natural focal
point for death magic and Nocturne, as a gift for the mage created a stone that
would augment his powers exponentially, giving him the ability to raise a
virtual army of the undead that would answer only to him. At his demise, Nocturne transferred
Blackthorne’s soul into the stone decreeing that any person who shall bond with
it shall become the host for the death mage.
There have been several incarnations of Blackthorne since the creation
of the Necrostone, and somewhere along the line it was said that he had
acquired a protector, an inhuman monster that called itself Atlas the
Unfeeling. In the hands of a properly
trained death mage the Necrostone was a devastatingly powerful device, even
without agreeing to be Blackthorne’s new host.
Because of their status as enemies to the church of Nocturne, all priests
and priestess’s of Roma knew that the death God’s clerics were the equal of
almost any necromancer.
“Ragnor,”
she said softly, “isn’t Nocturne worshipped here in Milligant?”
He
nodded, his eyes closed, nearly asleep thanks to her strong fingers. “Aye, though not so widely as Roma, thank the
Lady.”
Frowning
thoughtfully, Ayla opined, “What if whoever has possession of the stone now
wishes to change that? They’ve already
slain a high ranking priestess of Roma in their effort to acquire the stone.”
Ragnor’s
eyes popped open and he looked up at his beautiful wife. “Then we may well be in great danger here.”
Her
expression troubled, Ayla said, “Perhaps I’ll go into the city, see if there
are any rumors on the street regarding the stone or the temple of Nocturne
“Ayla,”
Ragnor said softly and she turned to him, her neatly folded black tunic and
pants in her arms, “be careful.”
Strut
stood in a small, cramped room with a group of warriors who, like him, were
responding to a mysterious advertisement, asking for men and women of skill in
combat who also had the ability to act with discretion to report to the temple of Nocturne
Strut
was not an overly large man, in fact for a barbarian he would likely be
considered of average height and build.
Of course, that made him a good bit larger than your average human. He stood a few inches over six feet tall with
straight black hair that hung to his shoulders.
He had a ruggedly handsome face with features that looked to have been
chiseled from rock. A strong jaw and chin,
pronounced cheekbones and bushy black eyebrows that framed intense, penetrating
dark eyes. His armor, though well worn,
was in good repair and consisted of metal plate combined with chainmail. On his shoulders and knees were stylized
guards depicting leering skulls that could have been of a demonic origin. On his back, hanging in a harness with the
handle protruding up over his shoulder he wore a double bladed battle axe,
which was his weapon of choice, though on his hip, resting easily in its scabbard
he carried a claymore. Each of these
weapons were commonly considered two handed, but Strut wielded them
comfortably, one to each hand.
“What
do you suppose they’re waiting for?”
asked a husky, feminine voice, tinged with a slight and hard to place accent.
Strut
had, of course, noticed her before, a beauty like this was hard to miss, even
in a crowd. As he turned to face her he
let his gaze wander boldly over her luscious curves, noting with pleasure that
she was regarding him just as boldly.
Just shy of six feet tall, she was one of the shapelier women he had
ever set eyes on, clad in a chain mail brassiere that was hooked to spiked
steel pauldrons on her shoulders. Her
ample breasts seemed barely contained within the chain cups and Strut let his gaze
linger for quite a time. Her stomach was
bare, flat and well toned, displaying chiseled abs and a silver stud protruding
from a piercing in her navel. A broad
leather belt hung low on her hips, sporting a pair of matching long swords and
beneath that she wore what amounted to a loin cloth that matched her top. Over that, hanging down from the beneath the
belt was a leather tasset that did nothing to hide the shapeliness of her
legs. She also wore black knee high
boots and gloves to match.
“Probably
seeing which of us are patient enough
to wait for them.” Strut said.
She
smiled, reaching up with one hand to push her long red hair behind her ear
while reaching out with her other to shake his.
“I’m Alexis, but please call me Alex.”
“Strut.”
He replied, gripping her forearm and shaking.
She had a solid grip, he liked that.
With
a slight frown, she said, “Forgive me asking this Strut, but where are you
from? You look like a Northerner, but I
can tell from the way you talk that you’re more educated than that.”
He
opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the door opened again and three
men walked into the room. They were
obviously related, each of them with dark hair and eyes and pale complexions,
save one. The youngest of the trio was
dressed as a warrior and his skin was bronzed by the sun. The eldest, whose hair was starting to drift
to gray, faced the crowd of warriors and addressed them. He was clad in the robes of cleric and Strut
recognized the symbol on the front as belonging to the god Nocturne.
“My
name is Keiran Shayde,” the old man introduced himself, then turned to the
other elder man, who wore robes like a mage, “this is my brother Connor.” Pointing at the younger warrior, whose eyes
were sweeping the room distrustfully, he said, “And my son, Erlyk.”
Alex
leaned toward Strut, “Sir Erlyk Shayde, the First Knight of Errgaunt!” She seemed impressed and, judging by the way
her eyes had lit up on seeing the handsome knight, she found him more than a
little attractive. “They call him the
Black Knight.”
“Fitting.” Strut grunted, regarding the other man from
across the room. His armor was black
with silver highlights and obviously of the highest quality. Over it he wore a tabard sporting the Shayde
Families coat of arms, a pair of fiery red eyes on a field of black with a
single line of red trim running around the outside of the tabard.
“I
thank you all for coming and apologize for keeping you waiting. Your discretion from this point on is not
only appreciated, it is required. I
assure you ladies and gentlemen, if I learn that you’ve spoken of this meeting
with anyone you will suffer for it.” His
eyes swept the room meaningfully, and for a moment Strut thought the old man
had met his gaze for a bit longer than the others. “That being said, you are all here because
you answered an advertisement for capable warriors who can also remain
secretive. Whether or not any of you
meet those requirements remains to be seen, so this is how it will work. One of my servants will fetch you all, one at
a time and take you to another part of the temple where my brother, my son and
I will interview you each individually.
If we like what we see and hear, you will be offered a lucrative job, if
we do not, you will be sent on your way.
Any questions?”
“What
exactly are you hiring us to do?” Strut
called out.
Three
pairs of eyes zeroed in quickly on Strut.
“You will find that out only after you have been hired to do it. Perhaps not even then. It is to be revealed on a need to know basis
and until I am certain you can be trusted with the knowledge, you don’t need to
know.”
As
the Shayde men filed from the room Alex leaned toward Strut and asked, “What’s
the matter, afraid to get your hands bloody?”
He
watched the Shayde’s leave through narrowed eyes, but shook his head. “Absolutely not, I just like to know what
cause I’m bloodying them for.”
Ayla
stayed crouched, unmoving, on the rooftop of the temple of Nocturne
She
followed him for six blocks, smiling to herself as he entered one of the cities
few all night taverns. From the look of
him, he would be there drinking for a while, so she had time to return to the temple of Roma
After
she had gone a man stepped from the shadows of the same rooftop, watching her
go with narrowed eyes. Moving toward the
edge by which she had been crouched Toxyn frowned, gazing down at the
tavern. Wondering what the darkly clad
woman had been up to he descended from the rooftop and crossed the tavern,
figuring he would just wait and see.
Strut
had been standing at the bar, tossing back ales for nearly an hour, going over
in his head what the Shayde men had told him when he saw, reflected in the
mirror behind the bar, a tall and lissome beauty walk into the tavern. She had dark, reddish brown hair like
mahogany which she kept tucked behind a pair of delicately pointed ears marking
her as an elf. Her face was angelic,
full pink lips and straight and pert little nose and green eyes that swept the
room cautiously as she entered. She wore
a dress that was of a relatively simple design with a somewhat low cut
neckline, the bodice hugging her generous bosom, flat stomach and the sensuous
curves of her hips and backside before falling in long folds to the floor,
hiding what had to be two very long legs.
As
was typically the case when such a beauty entered a room he wasn’t the only one
that noticed her and as if to prove this several appreciative whistles filled
the air. He saw the elven beauty smile
uncertainly, then she started across the room toward an empty table. Strut watched her in the mirror, noting the
graceful moves and the perfect posture of the woman.
Next
to him at the bar stood a young human, no more than twenty-three, who had been
watching her as well, though he had been far more open about it, actually
turning and staring openly at the statuesque elf. “Damn!” he said appreciatively, grinning at
Strut, “I have got to get me a piece
of her!” The barbarian arched an
eyebrow, silently sizing the young man up.
It was obvious to the warrior that this was some pampered rich kid,
likely the son of a wealthy merchant.
Strut doubted he had worked an honest day in his life, but he supposed
most women would find his looks, if not his money, appealing enough. Something told him, though, that this elf had
a litter different standards than that.
“What do you think?” the kid
asked, leaning close as though speaking to Strut confidentially, “Fey
wine? I hear those elven wenches always
go in for fey wine.”
Glancing
at the elf in the mirror Strut saw that she had seated herself and was now
watching one of the servers expectantly, waiting for her to finish with the
table she was already serving. He
thought he saw just the hint of a knowing smile flicker across her face and he
wondered idly if she had heard the young mans words. Shrugging, the barbarian said, “You may be
right. Good luck.”
The
young man asked the bartender for a bottle of his best fey wine, then taking it
he turned toward the elf and, squaring his shoulders, marched importantly
across the room. Strut watched in the
mirror, bemused, as the young man approached her table. He saw that the elf had noticed the human too
and was watching him with an almost bored expression as he approached the
woman’s table. “Good evening
milady.” The young man said and Strut
smirked when she ran her eyes over the youth with something like disdain on her
face. “I thought I might join you.” Strut noticed that he wasn’t asking if he could join her, he was inviting
himself to her table. Evidently, the
elven woman had noticed the same thing, for her delicately arched brows shot
up.
“Oh? Why should you do that?” she asked, loud enough for those around them
to hear.
The
spoiled rich kids face clouded over with uncertainty for a moment and while he
searched for a witty response the bartender asked Strut, “Can I get you
another?” The barbarian glanced down at
his tankard and saw that it was empty, so he nodded.
As
the barkeep moved away to fill the order, Strut turned his attention back to
the youths clumsy attempt at seducing the elf.
“Why, so we can get to know each other better!”
The
elf closed her eyes and sighed as though she were tired of being plagued by
prissy little rich boys, which maybe she was.
Several men groaned, their eyes glued to the slow rise and fall of her
breasts, Strut among them. “How old are
you son?” she asked him.
The
youth frowned, “Why does that matter?” he asked.
Smiling
slightly, she said, “I’d wager you’re not more than… nineteen? Maybe twenty?”
Frowning,
the boy nodded, “Nineteen.”
Leaning
back in her chair in a movement that Strut thought looked very like a cat, she
shook her head and said to him, “I’m nearly five hundred years old. Now, in case you don’t quite grasp what that
means for you,” and here she leaned forward slightly, locking her eyes with
his, “let me spell it out. In almost
five hundred years of life I’ve had men from every walk of life make attempts
at “getting to know me better” as you so delicately put it. Men not so handsome as you, and some far more
attractive as well as better educated or perhaps not so much. Do you really think that you, a nineteen year
old human with minimal experience in the real world has anything to offer a
five hundred year old elf that she hasn’t seen already? How could you possibly think I would be
attracted to you, or impressed by you in any way?”
All
things considered, Strut thought that was a fairly gentle let down, but he
noticed the young mans face slowly color with anger as an ugly scowl crossed
his visage. The bartender placed his
tankard full of ale in front of him and Strut absently closed his fingers
around the handle, watching the scene still unfolding in the mirror. “You’ve got a nerve thinking yourself too good
for me, bitch!” The youth growled and
Strut winced slightly, “My father is a very important man in this town! There are any number of women here that would be eager to share my bed!”
“Well
why don’t you go bore one of them then?”
The elf suggested and several men who had been watching laughed.
Snarling
savagely the young man raised the wine bottle as though to strike her with
it. Strut was there in an instant,
catching the youths arm in a vice like grip and squeezing till the wine bottle
was released. The barbarian caught the
bottle neatly as he turned the kid to face him then he brought the bottle up
and around in a wide swing, clobbering the rich youth upside the head. The bottle shattered, splashing wine in the
kids face and drenching his expensive clothing.
As his eyes rolled up in his head Strut released the kids hand and let
him fall to crumple at the warriors feet.
Turning
to the sexy elf he saw her watching him with an expression of mild
surprise. “I’m Strut.” He said simply,
offering her his hand.
She
cocked her head slightly, regarding the hand, then placed hers lightly in
it. Before she could speak he jerked her
to her feet and she gasped, then couldn’t help but smile as he raised the back
of her hand to his lips. “Thank you Strut,”
she said, gesturing at the unconscious youth at his feet, “my name is Ayla.”
“Can
I buy you a drink Ayla?” he asked.
Her
eyes narrowed suspiciously as they traveled over his body. Something about his well-muscled physique
must have intrigued her because she smiled slightly and shrugged, “Why not?”
` As
it turned out, the youth had been wrong about the elven woman’s taste in
alcohol. Strut sat at her table with
her, regaling her with stories of his exploits in the mountains of Trey’Elden
where he was born, while she slowly worked her way through a bottle of brandy
he had purchased for her and he himself continued to partake of several
tankards of ale. The young man who had
so fabulously failed to seduce her had been dragged out and thrown in the street
and neither of them had given him another thought.
“The
minotaurs captured you, chained you and intended to have you for their next
meal?” she asked, as though clarifying the details of the story he had been
telling. “However did you escape?”
Strut,
who by now was feeling the effects of the ale quite keenly, leaned forward and
smiled devilishly. “I broke the chains
then snuck away in the night. I came
back the next morning before they awoke with my traveling companions and we
made quick work of them!”
Ayla,
whose cheeks were reddening slightly due to the brandy, widened her pretty eyes
as though suitably impressed and said, “You broke
the chains?” Her eyes then trailed
slowly over the well defined muscles of his arms and Strut flexed a bit for
her. “Oh, my!” she said, her alabaster
skin turning scarlet when she realized she had just let on how impressed she
truly was with his body. Suddenly
wanting to change the subject, she glanced around and noted that they were
nearly alone in the tavern. The only
people still there were a couple of drunks at the bar and a man in the corner
who seemed to have fallen asleep at his table.
“My word, the sun is about to rise!
I had no idea so much time had passed.
I really should be going!”
Ayla
got quickly to her feet, too quickly it seemed for she suddenly swayed and
started to fall backward. Strut hopped
up and caught her easily, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around her
and pull her in tight against him.
Rarely had a woman felt better pressed against him. “I don’t think you’re in a condition to be
going much of anywhere.” He told her
softly.
Her
pulse was racing, her breathing too as she looked up into his face, hers
flushed from the alcohol. “I have had a bit much to drink, I
guess.” Her gaze traveled down along his
shoulders to his arms, her hands sliding up his chest then down his shoulders,
her fingers tracing the outline of his well defined biceps. “I’m feeling decidedly vulnerable right now.” She admitted, her fingers still tracing his
arm muscles, causing a stirring in Strut’s loins. “Only a scoundrel would take advantage of a
woman in my condition.” Again she looked
up into his eyes and he saw his own desired reflected in her gaze. “Are you a scoundrel Strut?”
He
smiled slightly, sliding one hand down from her back to her rounded buttocks,
pulling her pelvis tight against him so that she could feel his swollen manhood
pressed against her flat stomach. “I can
be, when the situation calls for it.”
Her
own smile was slightly roguish as she responded, “I hoped you’d say that!” Needing no further encouragement, Strut
lowered his face, finding her full pink lips with his own, tasting the brandy
upon them. Ayla moaned as she melted
against him, her lips parting to accept his tongue, her luscious body rubbing
against his as she raised her arms to encircle his neck. Strut couldn’t believe his good fortune,
cradling her ass in his hands and using them to lift her off the ground he
turned and carried the elf toward the stairs leading up to the rooms, one of
which he just happened to have rented for the night.
Ayla
had absolutely no intention of cheating on her husband with this barbarian, but
she had seen him coming out of the temple
of Nocturne
All
monks received training in certain mental disciplines, though some were
admittedly better at it than others.
Ayla was by no means a master in this art, but she was good enough at it
to easily push aside the effects of the brandy she had ingested earlier. So by the time they had reached Strut’s room
and he had set her shapely behind upon the table there she was perfectly sober. Not so easy to push aside were the more carnal
desires that his surprisingly skilled hands and mouth were igniting within
her. It had been quite some time since
she had made love to Ragnor, his health didn’t permit it as often as either of
them would like, and even in his prime he had never been built like Strut!
Though
obviously not the mindless brute she had initially taken him for, mentally
Strut wasn’t her type, but she couldn’t deny she wanted his body, so it wasn’t
difficult to show a great deal of passion as they proceeded to undress each other. The barbarian growled as he slid her skirt up
her thighs, parting them so he could step between them while the elf went to
work on his chest piece, desperately wanting to get his armor off before he got
her naked. She knew if she was naked
before him she would have to go through with this charade and that wasn’t what
she wanted, not really.
Strut’s
hands had slid up her thighs, beneath her dress and he was now pulling her
satiny underwear down her long legs.
Ayla heaved a sigh of relief when his breastplate and the matching back
piece fell to the ground. He had to bend
over to completely remove her underwear, but when he stood up it was a fairly
simple matter for the warrior monk to tear his shirt open to his belt. She started to rake his hairy chest with her
nails, tweaking his nipples and driving him crazy with desire, all the while
keeping her lips locked to his in as passionate a kiss as she could manage. When Strut’s hands found her full breasts,
kneading them through the material of her bodice she finally broke the kiss,
gasping.
“The
bed! I want you in the bed!” More than
willing to comply, Strut slid his hands under her ass and lifted her that way,
her long legs locking around his waist.
The warrior backed up till his knees hit the mattress then he let
himself fall, the elf squealing appropriately as she rode him all the way down,
bouncing with him on the mattress.
“Now,” she said, leaning forward and running her hands over his muscled
abdomen, “you just lie there and enjoy this!”
Strut
grinned and nodded, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensations brought on by
her mouth as she kissed her way down his chest and chiseled abdomen, her hands
slipping down into his shirt to caress his sides. One of the benefits of Strut having such well
defined muscles was that it became much easier for her to find the pressure
points she needed. With a minimum of
force she had completely paralyzed the barbarian, who didn’t even realize he
couldn’t move until she suddenly climbed off him and sat on the edge of the
bed, shaking all over, her back to him.
He
wanted to sit up, to take her in his arms and continue the pleasures they had
started but he found his body wouldn’t respond to his wishes. Frowning darkly, he suddenly realized he had
been had. “What the fuck is this?” he
demanded.
Ayla
ignored him for now, sitting at the edge of the bed, shaking mightily, her head
down and her eyes closed, striving to regain control of her emotions. She had come dangerously close to losing
herself in this mans passion, and that would have been unforgiveable. After a few moments she came to her senses
and could hear the barbarian bellowing at her, calling her all sorts of
unflattering names. Without even looking
at him she reached out and applied pressure to a nerve ending somewhere between
his collar bone and his and his upper most rib.
Suddenly, his mouth couldn’t move and he couldn’t yell at her
anymore.
Taking
a deep, steadying breath Ayla stood up and turned to face him. “That’s better.” All the lustful fire had gone from her gaze,
the warrior monk was now all business.
“I do apologize for this Strut, but I assure you it’s necessary.” The anger burning in his silent gaze told her
he didn’t believe that for a moment. “I
need to know what you were doing in the temple of Nocturne
Once
she had released his jaw muscles Strut still didn’t say anything for a few
moments. Then, “You could have just
asked.”
She
sighed but nodded, “Perhaps, but there was no guarantee you would have told me
anything. This way I can guarantee your
cooperation, whether willingly or not.”
“Are
you telling me that the church
of Roma
That
sentence obviously made her uncomfortable.
“No, of course it doesn’t. But if
it meant avoiding a war, or in some other way sparing a great many lives, they
would turn a blind eye.”
Strut
stared at her for a moment, then he said, “Let me up elf. I’m not threat to you.” She frowned down at him, disbelieving. “We’re on the same side!” He sighed, then told her, “Go over to my
bags, in the corner over there. In the
outer most pocket of my backpack there’s a letter, read it.”
She
gazed at him suspiciously for a moment, then she moved to where his bags had
been haphazardly tossed in a corner and retrieved the backpack from them. She had to grunt to lift it, wondering what
in the world he kept in there, and she carried it to the table. Checking it over carefully to ensure it
wasn’t a trap, she opened the outer most flap.
Sure enough, inside was a small folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, she scanned the words quickly
and her eyes widened in surprise.
Rounding
on the barbarian, she said, “You’re working for the imperial guardsmen?” The letter had been a job assignment from an
officer in the Emperor’s own court.
Evidently an old friend of Struts who had requested his help in
investigating a noble family they thought were plotting to betray and even
overthrow the emperor. “The Shayde
family may be plotting to overthrow the empire?
Who are the Shaydes?”
“Can
I get up now?” He asked, unable even to turn his head to look at her.
Crossing
the room quickly, Ayla released him from his paralysis and the barbarian sat up
slowly, stretching and moving his arms and legs to ensure that he still
could. “The Shayde’s are one of the more
powerful noble families in the Empire.
They have the means, the position and the drive to attempt a coup like
this. They also have the hunger for power.”
He regarded the monk cautiously as he stood up, moving slowly. “Sir Erlyk Shayde is the First Knight of
Errgaunt, personal bodyguard of the emperor.”
“But
the emperor suspects them of… what, trying to assassinate him?” Ayla asked.
“My
friend,” and he nodded at the letter she still held in her hand, “thinks
they’re trying to overthrow the imperial family. He’s not sure how they intend to do it, so he
asked me, as an unknown outsider to try and infiltrate the family. When I saw an advertisement asking for swords
for hire to report to the temple where the Shayde Patriarch is High Priest, I
figured it was an opportunity.”
Ayla
regarded him with a shocked expression.
“The head of the Shayde family is also the High Priest of Nocturne for
this city?”
“No,
he’s the highest ranking member of that religion for the entire Empire, why?” Strut asked.
Her
only answer was to turn toward the door, “We need to go and speak to my
husband, immediately.”
“Your…”
Strut’s voice sounded almost hollow as those words struck home, “…husband?”
Finding
out he had been used was bad enough, but realizing that it had been by a
married woman, that was even worse. She
turned back to him and said softly, “Yes, sorry.”
Before
either of them could say anything further the rooms only window shattered as a
lithe body came hurtling through it.
Strut spun, a shout of warning on his lips that never passed them as
Toxyn flung one of his prettification darts at the barbarian before he had even
landed. The warrior froze in his current
position, toppling over backward without another sound, having been completely taken
by surprise. Ayla, her reflexes a little
quicker, dived to the side, narrowly avoiding a similar dart. Rolling, she came up in a crouch, facing the
assassin.
“Who
are you?” she demanded.
He
was tall and slender, with a dancers build, a dark mask covering the lower half
of his face. He had long, very black
hair that was pulled back in a ponytail and he was clad from head to toe in
dark leathers. He stood with his hands at
his sides, his eyes roaming hungrily over her.
When he spoke, his voice was a harsh whisper but carried a power she
hadn’t anticipated, and wasn’t ready for.
“They call me Toxyn,” he said with a soft chuckle, “and you belong to me
now, beautiful.” Had she had some
forewarning of the power of the philanderers ring, Ayla’s mental training might
have enabled her to resist it, but she never even guessed that such a power
existed, much less that this man would possess it. All she knew was that she suddenly wanted
nothing more in all the world than to feel this mans body against hers and she
went to him, pulling him onto Strut’s bed while the petrified barbarian could
do nothing but lie on the floor and listen to her cries of rapture….
Chapter Three
Sister
Brigit looked up as the priest entered the Dark Vault and frowned when she saw
the concerned expression on his handsome face.
“Have you been in here all night?”
Ragnor asked her, smiling kindly.
Brigit
nodded, gazing around at the seemingly endless task of inventorying the
vault. “Normally, Clara and I would do
this once a year because it takes so long to inventory everything. I just want to make certain we haven’t missed
something.”
“That’s
commendable Brigit, it truly is.” He
glanced around. “Where’s Dameon? I thought he was helping you with this.”
“Oh,
he did. But he has his own assignment to
complete as well. As soon as we had a
list of stolen items he was off and running, trying to track them all
down.” She shook her head. “I don’t think it will be that easy. They’ve been gone several days already.”
Ragnor
nodded, then broached another subject.
“Speaking of things that have been gone for a while… have you seen my
wife?”
Brigit
blinked in surprise at him. “I thought
she was with you in your quarters.”
He
shook his head. “No, she went out last
night to follow up on some thoughts we had regarding the theft of the
Necrostone.”
“So
you think that was the actual target of the assassin? The rest of this was what… convenient?” Brigit asked.
Ragnor
nodded, “Basically, yes. The other items
were a means to make some quick gold. We
suspected that the church
of Nocturne
“Would
you like me to search for her? I do have
some contacts in the city, perhaps they will have heard something.” Brigit offered.
Ragnor
nodded, “I think that may be wise, yes.
Ayla is very capable of taking care of herself, but it’s unlike her not
to check in with me.”
Alexis
woke immediately, alerted to someone touching her as she slept, but the alarm
passed quickly as she realized it was the same man with whom she had gone to
bed the night before. She kept her eyes
closed but the corners of her full lips turned up in a smile as his lips started
to work their way down her body, pausing first to spend some delectable time on
her magnificent breasts, then again over her navel, flicking her belly button
ring with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth before continuing downward
until his head was nestled comfortably between her parted thighs. She gasped, arching her back and clawing at
his silk sheet as his lips and tongue found her center, then she chewed her
lower lip to keep from crying out as he kept administering her wake-up
call. She raised her knees, hooking them
over his shoulders while Erlyk slid his hands up her sleek thighs and waist,
finally finding her breasts with them.
She
didn’t know how long they had stayed like this, but it felt to her like a
blissful eternity, then the mood was shattered by a sharp knock at the door to
his private chamber. The Black Knight
groaned, raising himself up on his arms to shout, “What?!” Alex reached down, trying to push his head
back down with her hands but he resisted, for the moment.
“Cousin,”
came a low, dangerous sounding voice, “we have a problem.”
Erlyk
Shayde sighed, feasting his eyes on the beauty lying naked in his bed. “Not nearly so big as the problem you’re going to have if this isn’t truly
important!” He reluctantly pulled a sheet
over Alex before pulling on a pair of pants, then he went to the door. Without opening the door far enough for his
cousin to see inside, he slipped out into the hall. There stood Kynnred Shayde, the assassin more
commonly known as Toxyn, clad in his typical black outfit though to Erlyks’
trained eye he looked somewhat disheveled this morning. “This had better be good, cousin!”
“Would
a traitor in our midst be sufficient to disturb your play?” he asked, motioning
with his head toward the bedroom door.
“What
are you talking about?” The Black Knight
demanded.
“One
of the mercenaries you and our fathers hired last night is actually in the
employ of the Imperial Guard!” Toxyn
growled at him through gritted teeth.
“How
do you know that?” Erlyk asked, concerned.
“Last
night, while you and our fathers were interviewing those men I spotted an
intruder on the roof of the temple. A
woman, I thought at the time she might have been a thief, though I know now
that she is a monk of Roma.” Erlyks’
eyes widened at this. “I followed her to
a tavern where she skillfully seduced the warrior named Strut, then used
atemi,” at the knights blank expression, Toxyn explained, “pressure points
cousin, she used them to paralyze him, then she proceeded to question him. He admitted to her that he works for the
Imperial Guard and she later admitted to me…” he smirked slightly at this,
“…that she was looking for leads as to who stole the Necrostone and why.”
“So
they were both after us, without realizing it, and for different reasons.” Erlyk shook his head. “Well, we always knew
there was a possibility that the temple
of Roma
“But
both at the same time?” Toxyn asked.
Erlyk
smiled grimly, “Relax cousin. It sounds
as though you handled it well. Where are
Strut and this monk now?”
“Strut
is in chains down in the dungeon and the monk,” he smiled, “well, let’s just
say I’ve got her under control.”
Erlyk
Shayde arched a brow at this, but didn’t question his cousin. “Don’t underestimate her, cousin. Warrior monks have intense mental training,
she could break from your grasp at any time.”
Kynnred,
who knew that his cousin didn’t know about the items other than the Necrostone
he had stolen from the Dark Vault, wasn’t worried. “Can Strut expect the pleasure of your
company soon cousin?”
The
Black Knight thought of Alexis, naked and very willing in his bed, and he
sighed. “I suppose I should deal with
him.”
As
the two men finished up their conversation, Alex, who had been listening by the
door bounded back across the room and slipped beneath the sheet as her lover
entered. She followed him with her eyes
as he started to retrieve his clothing from where it had been scattered around
the room the night before. “You’re just
going to leave me after getting me all worked up?”
He
glanced at her, then said coldly. “I’m
sure there are any number of men in the city that would be willing to help you
take the edge off.”
She
scowled, then flung her pillow at him.
“I’m not a whore, Lord Shayde!”
“With
skills like yours,” he said as he made his way toward the door, still pulling
on his clothing, “perhaps you should be.”
After those cold-hearted words, he was gone, the door closing softly
behind him. A vase from the bedside table
shattered against the door a moment later.
Erlyk
Shayde walked into the dungeon cell and paused just inside the door, his cousin
stopping behind him. The Black Knights
eyebrows went up when he noted the number of chains that were holding the
barbarian down. Strut was on his knees
in the middle of the room, his wrists chained down at an angle to the floor,
several chains wrapped around his lower legs, also keeping him held to the
ground and another series of three chains running to a collar around his neck,
two to the sides and one off the back.
The barbarian was naked and glaring hatefully at Shayde.
The
knight turned to his cousin, gesturing at a scattering of about six chains
lying broken on the ground around their prisoner. “He pushed through the effects of the poison
before I could get him fully chained. He
broke through those before I and three of your guards could fully subdue him.”
“You’re
tougher than you look, Strut.” Erlyk
commented as he walked up to the barbarian.
“Undo
these chains and I’ll show you, you bastard!”
the northerner growled.
A
grim little half smile crossed the knights face and he stepped up, slamming a
left hook into the side of Strut’s head. The barbarians vision blurred and his
head turned sharply to the side, blood spraying from his mouth. “I’ll not be so insulted by a savage!”
Strut
chuckled, shaking his head softly. “You
think that was insulting?” He looked up and met Shayde’s eyes. “You hit like a girl!” I right cross rocked the barbarians head the
other way, splitting his lip open and causing blood to pour down over his jaw
and chin. Spitting blood onto the floor
at the knights feet he grimaced up at Shayde and said, “Told ya!”
Erlyk
roared, enraged at the mans audacity, and brought his knee up into the mercenaries
face, flinging Strut back hard, only his chains preventing him from sprawling
across the floor. His nose was shattered
and blood was pouring down his face, but as he straightened from the blow both
Shayde men were astonished to see that he was laughing, his muscled shoulders
heaving in silent guffaw’s. “I fail to see the humor in your situation
savage!” Shayde taunted.
Strut
looked up at him, both of his eyes turning black around the edges as a result
of the broken nose. “I already told you
that you hit like a girl, but now I know… you kick like one too!”
Shayde
lost it, pounding his fists with all his might into the sides of Strut’s head,
rocking the barbarian back and forth, blood spraying all over the knight, the
assassin and the walls of the cell. The
only sound were the grunts of the knight, and Strut’s as he took the punishment
and the rattle of the chains as they kept the northerner from falling. Erlyk raised his fist to punch Strut for
about the hundredth time when Toxyn stepped forward and caught his arm,
stopping him. Erlyk’s head snapped
around, glaring at his cousin, who said calmly.
“If you kill him outright, cousin, you’ll never know how much the Emperor
knows about our plans.”
The
Black Knight jerked his arm free of his cousins grasp, but nodded, “You’re
right, cousin, of course. My apologies,
father has always said I have a bad temper.”
Turning his attention to the badly beaten barbarian, he crouched down in
front of him and said, “So… Strut, is it?
I understand you’re working for the Emperor’s guardsmen. Why did they send a spy into our midst? How much do they know?”
Strut’s
head had been slumped nearly to his chest, held aloft only by the collar around
his neck, but it suddenly shot up and the barbarian spat blood and saliva into
the knights face. He started to laugh as
the knight reeled backwards, cursing and wiping the offending spittle off his
face with the sleeve of his tailored silk shirt. “Rot in Hell Shayde!”
Erlyk
growled dangerously and lunged forward, raising a hand to hit the barbarian
again. Kynnred stepped in front of him,
halting the knights forward momentum with a hand to his chest and a look that
counseled patience. “We’ve already seen
that force gets us nowhere with this one, so perhaps we should practice…
finesse?”
Erlyk’s
eyes narrowed, “What did you have in mind, cousin?” The predatory smile that crossed Toxyn’s face
sent a chill down even the Black Knight’s spine.
Dameon
felt that the items stolen from the Dark Vault would be most likely to show up
on the black market, but finding such a place had proven difficult. Dameon had always considered it one of his
biggest faults that he didn’t have the physique a lot of other warriors did,
which made him far less intimidating when it came to interrogating
suspects. Even when he stopped a patrol
of guardsmen on the city streets to ask them if they had heard of such a place
in town they laughed and told him that perhaps he should leave such sport to
them.
He
had just moved on down the street from this small group when he heard a woman’s
voice calling to him softly. He paused in the middle of the street and glanced
to his right, his eyes widening slightly to see a very attractive blonde woman
in the armor and uniform of a city guard beckoning to him. She stood a few feet down a side street, her
position blocked from the view of the guards he had just spoken to, and he got
the impression she didn’t want them to see her.
Frowning slightly, but intrigued none the less, Dameon approached her.
“Can
I help you?” he asked, trying desperately to keep his eyes on her face, which
was pretty, but not nearly so appealing as the body that was contained in what
had to be an exceptionally well tailored uniform and armor. He could see by the rank insignia on her
shoulders that she was a lieutenant.
“You
were just asking those men about the location of a black market in the city,
but you don’t look like the sort that would have business there.” When she said this, she gestured at the
golden scales of Justice that were the symbol of Roma, which decorated his
tabard. “I’m guessing you’re a Templar?”
Dameon
blinked in surprise because usually, due to his size, that was the last thing
people took him for. He nodded, “I am,
yes. Who are you exactly?”
“Lieutenant
Ylesia Aleric of the Milligant City Guard,” she said by way of introduction,
“may I ask why a Templar of Roma is trying to find the Black Market in my
city?”
Dameon
frowned thoughtfully as he regarded the attractive officer. Templars, especially those dedicated to Roma,
were taught to detect signs of dishonesty or ulterior motives in people, and he
saw neither in this womans clear blue eyes.
Instead, all he noticed there was a genuine need to help. He decided to trust her. “Are you aware of what is concealed beneath
the Temple to
Roma in this city, Lieutenant?” She
shook her head, “Have you ever heard of the Dark Vault?”
Now
it was Ylesia’s turn to blink in surprise.
“Isn’t that a legend about some room where the church keeps artifacts
taken from evil demons and sorcerers’ and such?”
Dameon
nodded, saying, “Aye, but it’s no legend.
The Dark Vault exists, and it’s right here in this city. Clara, the priestess in residence at the
temple had been charged with the Vault’s protection for several decades
now.” Ylesia was watching his face
searchingly, “Several days ago the vault was broken into. Clara, one of the monks assigned to protect
her and all of the acolytes were murdered in the process.” Ylesia gasped, a hand rising to cover her
mouth in response. “Several dangerous
items were stolen from the vault and I believe it to be most likely that the
thief would have sold some, if not all of them, on the black market.”
“Why
were the guard not informed of this?”
She asked.
Dameon
shrugged, “The church likes to handle things like this on their own, especially
something as delicate as this. If it
became public knowledge that the vault were not only real but had been robbed,
it could well lead to a panic. Besides,
we didn’t know if your superiors could be trusted.”
Ylesia,
reminded of a former commander who had disappeared recently while on an escort
mission, nodded, unable to deny the truth of his words. “Well, there is such a place in the city.
I can show you where to find it, if you like.”
“Thank
you Lieutenant,” he agreed, “your help would be much appreciated.” She smiled then turned to lead the way down
the street and as she did so he feasted his eyes on her shapely body. ‘Not to
mention your company.’ He thought
with a small smile.
Alex
was pulling on one of her gloves as she descended the stairs in front of the
temple where the Black Knight had taken her the night before. Evidently, whenever they were in Milligant,
this was where they stayed. As she moved
down the narrow path that lead through the courtyard toward the gate she was
adjusting her armor, what there was of it and completely ignored the
complimentary whistles from the Shayde Family guards posted at the gate, which
was situated between statues of lesser gods of the pantheon of Night, which was
lead by Nocturne.
She
spun, scowling, when she heard a deep, pain filled wail from deep within the
temple, but when she tried to go back through the gate to investigate one of
the gaurds moved in and stopped her, a hand on her chest. Alex raised an eyebrow, glancing down at
where his hand was resting on her generous cleavage, then she slowly moved her
gaze up to lock her eyes with his. “If
you want to keep that hand,” she said threateningly, her hands dropping to her
swords, “I suggest you move it.”
Scowling,
the guard did move his hand, but he didn’t move out of her way. Exchanging a glance and a smirk with his
partner on the other side of the gate, he addressed the mercenary, “You’re not
authorized for entry into the temple without an escort, miss.”
“I’m
in the employ of the temple!” she scoffed.
He
shook his head, smiling as though he were enjoying the little argument, or
perhaps he was just enjoying getting an eyeful of Alex. “No ma’am, you’re actually in the employ of
the Shayde family, not the temple.
Therefore, since your not even a follower of the Pantheon of Night, you
can’t pass through the gate without an escort.”
Alex
pointed back through the gate, toward the dark temple, “Did you not hear that
scream? Someone is in a lot of pain in
there!”
His
eyes widening in feigned surprise, the guard turned to his partner, “I didn’t
hear nothin’, did you hear anything Milt?”
The other guard shook his head, and at that moment another scream could
be heard coming from the temple.
Alex
scowled darkly, “I suppose you didn’t hear that either?”
The
guard just gave her a look of complete innocence, “Hear what?”
“Never
mind.” The red headed warrior muttered
as she spun on her heel and stalked away from the laughing guards. Alex hadn’t gone a block before she ducked
into an open tavern and crossed to the bored looking bartender who was wiping
down the highly polished bar with a dirty rag.
“Is there a back door to this place?” she asked.
The
bartender blinked, surprised at the sudden arrival of the scantily clad beauty,
his eyes feasting on her curves to the point that he nearly forgot to answer
her. “Yeah,” he grunted, motioning over
his shoulder with a thumb, “in the back.”
Alex
rolled her eyes, not even bothering to ask him if she could use it. She saw a door behind the bar and she turned
around, hopping up to sit on the polished surface, then swinging her legs
around and hopping down behind it. The
bartender grinned, evidently he had greatly enjoyed this show, and didn’t say a
word as the woman disappeared through the narrow doorway. Alex found herself in a large, well stocked
kitchen that was thankfully vacant at the moment. Glancing around, she saw a door in what must
have been the back wall of the establishment and she made a bee-line for
it.
Behind
the tavern was a narrow, dingy alley and Alex glanced both ways before turning
and heading back in the direction of the temple. The alley ended at the street on which the
temple was located and she stopped at its mouth, crouching in the shadows of a
building and gazing down at where the two guards still stood, no doubt talking
about her. One of them, the one that had
blocked her path through the gate, was turned in her direction, talking to his
partner, so if she crossed the street here he would no doubt see her.
Backtracking
and staying to the back roads Alex made her way around the side of the temple
so she could cross the street around the corner from the guards. Once she had accomplished this, it was a
simple matter to climb a tree near the temples high wall and launch herself
across, back into the courtyard. She
landed lightly, dropping and rolling to lessen the impact.
“Hey
now, just what do you think you’re doing?”
asked an angry, male voice. Alex
stood up, turning to face a middle-aged man in clerical robes that was marching
across the grassy yard, a scowl on his bull dog face.
Putting on her
best ditzy female smile, Alex said to him, “I’m sorry, but I heard a rumor in
the city that the Black Knight was here!” She sighed dreamily, clasping her hands in
front of her, which caused her arms to move forward, squeezing her breasts
between them, successfully distracting the mans attention. “Imagine, the First Knight of the entire
Empire… here in Milligant! I… I just had
to meet him!” She raised her clasped
hands, holding them to her chest which also drew the mans eyes there again.
“Well,” he said
with a small chuckle, thinking he had a golden opportunity that had just been
presented to him, “I suppose I could
arrange for you to meet him, we are close friends after all!”
Trying to sound
very excited by this prospect, Alex said, “Oh, could you? I’d be very
grateful!”
A sly smile spread
slowly across his ugly, lined face.
“Would you now? Just how grateful exactly?”
Her
full red lips turning up at the corners, Alex stepped forward so there were
only inches between them. Tightening her
clasped hands she said, “Oh, about this
grateful!” With that she brought her
doubled fists up under the mans chin. He
staggered back, a stunned expression on his face but as he started to fall she
stepped forward and caught the front of his robes, then dragged him behind the
shrubs that lined the inside of the temples high wall. Moving swiftly yet as silently as possible
Alex stripped his robes and pulled them on over her armor, raising the hood to
hide her face as best she could. It
wasn’t the best disguise in the world, but she figured it would have to
do. Thus concealed, she made her way
toward the main temple where she could still hear the screams.
The
first few times Toxyn drew the blade of his acid dagger across the broad
expanse of Strut’s chest, the barbarian bore it without a whimper. Of course, this angered the assassin, though
it didn’t show on his impassive face and he got increasingly more creative with
the blade. Soon, the smell of chemically
scorched flesh and the slightly metallic scent of blood filled the room, but
Strut hadn’t broken. It wasn’t until
Kynnred, in a fit of anger, slashed downward with his blade that Strut couldn’t
hold it in any longer. A wave of
searing, white hot pain accompanied the smell of burning flesh as the blade
slit savagely across Strut’s groin. The
barbarian threw his head back and wailed, the sound echoing through the temple
above, (and to Alex’s ears by the gate outside) and bringing a smile to the
faces of the Shayde boys.
“Now
we’re getting somewhere!” The Black
Knight cooed, causing Toxyn to glance over his shoulder and grin at his
cousin. When he turned his back to the
front to continue torturing the barbarian his victims head was traveling
forward rapidly to crack into the assassins skull with a meaty thud. Kynnred was thrown backward by the force of
the blow, the dagger flying from his grasp as he tumbled. Coming out of the tumble in a crouch, he
snarled at the barbarian, then his eyes narrowed as he saw his cousin bending
to pick up the dagger. Erlyk turned the
blade over in his hands, examining it with the critical eye of one who knew
fine weapons. “This is a fine blade you
have here, cousin.” He glanced at Toxyn
out of the corner of his eye. “Need I
bother asking where you got it?”
“Our
fathers only told me to get the Necrostone, they never said I couldn’t help
myself to whatever else was in there!”
Kynnred said, almost sounding as though he were whining.
Narrowing
his eyes suspiciously, Erlyk Shayde offered his cousin the dagger back, but
when Kynnred went to take it, the Black Knight held on, saying, “Perhaps later
we should discuss what else was in
the vault?”
Kynnred
jerked the blade from his cousin’s hand and turned his attention back to Strut,
who was hanging limp in his chains, sweat and blood pouring in rivers from his
body. “Now then, savage, tell us what we
want to know, or the pain will continue.”
“Okay…
alright… I’ll talk.” Strut gasped,
spitting more blood, this time mixed with bile, onto the concrete floor. He slowly looked up into the assassins face,
a pained smirk on his battered face.
“Yes… that ponytail makes you look like a fag,” he said to the rogue,
then he turned his gaze to the knight, “and no, black really isn’t a good color
for you!” He started to laugh, which
then degenerated into rasping coughs that were cut off by the sudden violent
kick from Erlyk Shayde that caught the barbarian in the side, right at the
kidney. Strut groaned then cried out
again as Toxyn took him by surprise, slashing the northerners face with the
acid blade, leaving a deep cut down the side.
The
First Knight of Errgaunt came forward and took Strut by the hair, jerking his
head back and glaring into the bloodshot eyes. “What does the Emperor know of
my families plans? Tell me or I swear
I’ll have my cousin castrate you!”
Strut’s
brows shot up in surprise, “I thought he’s already done that!” Then he moved just his eyes to look over at
the assassin. “Too much of it there for
you to remove with just one swing?”
Disgusted,
Erlyk shoved Strut’s head away and straightened, speaking to his cousin. “This is pointless, he’ll never tell us what
we want to know.” Shaking his head, he
said, “Just kill him, we still have much to do.”
Kynnred
smiled as he stepped forward, bending over in front of the barbarian. Erlyk turned to watch the barbarian meet his
end, leaning back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of him. The assassin, grinning maniacally, placed the
tip of his acid blade below Strut’s navel, right above his manhood. The barbarian hissed as the assassin slowly
dragged the blade upward, the acid from the blade hissing as it sliced a small
cut from crotch all the way up to the point of his chin. Strut gritted his teeth against the pain, his
arms flexing as he strained mightily against the chains holding him, the pain
from the slow cut adding power to his limbs.
The Black Knight frowned as the sound of straining metal filled the room
and his gaze traveled to steel eyelets secured in the concrete floor to which
the barbarian’s chains were attached.
“Cousin….” Shayde said, his voice carrying a
warning. Kynnred seemed either unaware
or unconcerned of the danger as he took the tip of his dagger and started to
press it into the skin beneath Strut’s left eye. New sizzling could be heard and Strut’s mouth
opened, but rather than a scream what emerged was a roar as the vision in his
left eye started to blur, the eyeball beginning to boil in its socket. Suddenly the stone to which Strut’s right arm
was chained exploded outward and the barbarians fist impacted with the side of
Toxyn’s head. The chunk of stone at the
end of the chain swung around and by chance happened to catch Erlyk Shayde on
the face, tearing a vicious gouge down the left side. The knight fell to the floor, screaming and
clutching his face as Strut slowly stood, the chains around his legs snapping
and sending links ricocheting off the walls all around them. Toxyn, stunned by the unexpected blow,
scampered away as the chain holding Strut’s left arm gave way in the middle.
Battered,
bruised and horribly beaten Strut stood in the center of the room, broken
chains trailing off his body, blood still pooling at his feet. His one good eye glared across the room at
the assassin, seeing him as the bigger threat.
Toxyn flexed his forearms, feeling the familiar weight of his petrifying
darts drop into his palms. He threw one
which hit Strut center mass of his chest as the barbarian had started slowly
forward. Grunting, the larger man paused
and for a moment the assassin thought his poison had worked, but then Strut
took another step, snarling as he continued forward, though much slower
now. Kynnred made to throw his second
dart but at that moment the door to the cell burst open and a robed figure
barged into the room, its sudden appearance throwing off his aim and the dart
went way wide of Strut.
Shrugging
out of the robe and letting it fall behind her Alex drew her twin long swords
as she quickly took in the scene before her.
She recognized Strut, though barely, as the man she had met the night
before in the cramped little room before the interviews. The darkly clad man in the corner she didn’t
recognize but she assumed it was the one that had interrupted her and the
knight that morning and of course she saw Erlyk Shayde, half his face covered
in blood, snarling as he moved up behind the barbarian, sword in hand.
The
Black Knights attention was distracted by the new arrival as well and as she
drew her blades he recognized her, scowling darkly. “You!” he shouted, and she smiled archly at
him, leaping toward him with blades held high.
The knight, who wielded a claymore, swept her lighter blades aside with
a broad circular motion and spun, putting that momentum behind his swing. Alex dodged backward, arching her back so the
tip of his sword just missed slicing open her stomach, then she brought her
swords back around, aiming high for his head in the hopes of finishing both the
fight, and him, quickly. Erlyk Shayde
was far too savvy a fighter for that and ducked beneath her blade while
spinning, one leg extended, and sweeping her feet out from under her.
Alex
grunted as she hit the ground, but no sooner had her shoulders touched the cold
concrete than she arched her muscled back again and sprang right back to her
feet, thrusting with both blades to force the knight back. As he started to circle her, looking for an
opening, Alex crouched, one blade held upright before her while the blade of
the other lay along the line of her forearm, which was held crosswise across
her chest. Her green eyes narrowed as
she watched him, circling as he circled, waiting for the attack she knew would
come.
Across
the room, Toxyn had opted that instead of grappling with the far physically
superior Strut the better option was to keep his distance and use throwing
weapons. Every time the barbarian would
get close to him, Kynnred would duck away, leaping to the farthest corner of
the room and pelting Strut with small throwing blades. The barbarian continued to bleed, and the new
injuries were just adding to his blood loss.
Even through his barbarians rage he knew he wouldn’t be upright much
longer, he was simply losing too much blood.
The poison from the dart had slowed him down even more than his injuries
already had, so the nimble assassin was having no trouble keeping away from his
powerful arms. Strut growled deep in his
throat, determined to tear apart with his bare hands the man who had caused him
such pain, once more starting toward the rogue.
Toxyn, for his part, was starting to run out of throwing blades, so he
waited until Strut was in close so that he was likely to miss as he threw
them. This proved his undoing as Strut,
realizing he was closer this time than the assassin had let him get before,
suddenly lashed out with the stone weighted chain, which wrapped around Toxyn’s
ankles several times, binding them together.
With a grunt he jerked back on the chain and the assassin cried out as
his feet were pulled from under him and he landed on his back. Slowly, grinning through the blood that was
running down his face, Strut started to pull on the chain, reeling the assassin
in little by little.
Erlyk
Shayde lunged forward, thrusting toward Alex’s exposed middle with his
claymore’s tip. Her left hand blade,
came across, parrying his sword down while her right hand blade, which was
pointed downward, slashed at his leading arm.
Erlyk grunted, feeling the blood already soaking his sleeve as he spun,
his sword scoring a glancing blow on the back of her shapely calf as Alex too
spun away, trying to keep distance between them. Not giving her a chance to rest he leapt forward
with a yell, sword held high and chopping down to cleave her skull in two. Alex raised her blades, crossed over her head
to catch his then kicked straight out and up, her knee nearly reaching her
breasts as the toe of her boot caught him under the chin, staggering him
back. On came the warrior woman, her
blades flashing before her in a figure eight, pushing the Black Knight back as
he watched desperately for an opening in her offense. In desperation he drove his blade straight
forward, aiming between her large breasts and Alex’s right hand sword parried
it away, but the contact with his blade was enough to slow her pattern and the
knight pressed that small advantage, stepping in and catching her left wrist
then twisting it. Alex cried out as she
both felt and heard a snap and her sword suddenly fell from useless
fingers. Grinning wickedly Shayde rammed
his opposite shoulder into her, staggering the redhead back. She hit a wall, the back of her head
impacting the brick and stunning her.
Shayde shouted in victory as he lunged forward, plunging his blade
toward her heart. Alex rolled away along
the wall, feeling the sparks of his blade impacting the stone showering over
one of her shoulders.
“Damn
you whore!” He shouted, and Alex
suddenly reversed her roll, raising the arm with the broken wrist and bringing
it down over his sword, locking the blade beneath her arm while she brought the
other hand up. She was too close to use
her blade effectively, but her fist, with the fingers wrapped around the handle
of the blade, made for a devastating bludgeon as she pummeled him in the
temple. Shayde managed to retain his
grip on his sword as he staggered back, lights flashing behind his eyes.
“I
told you,” the woman gasped through her pain, “I’m not a whore!”
Across
the room, Strut had nearly dragged Toxyn to him and the assassin was flailing
desperately, clawing at the ground and cursing, trying to stay away from the
mans powerful grip. Kynnred knew that
even as hurt as he was, Strut was more than capable of dismembering him with
his bare hands, especially after what he had just seen the man do with the
chains. He felt one of the larger mans
hands close on his ankle in a vice like grip and he rolled over, the acid blade
in his hand slashing viciously at Strut’s forearm. The barbarian hissed, jerking his hand
back. “Bastard!” he growled, then he
howled as the assassin drove the blade down through the top of the barbarians
bare foot, the blade cutting deep into the rock below. The acid hissed and spluttered as it burned,
then Kynnred jerked the blade toward him, slicing the barbarians foot
practically in half lengthwise. The
northerner toppled, his mutilated foot no longer able to support him, but his
hands closed on the legs of the assassin and he growled as he started to drag
himself up the other mans body. “I’m
gonna break you in half!”
Desperately
Kynnred slashed at Strut’s face with the acid dagger, but to his surprise, and
evidently the barbarians as well judging by his stunned expression, the larger
man caught it. With a wicked grin, Strut
slammed the hand into the concrete in an attempt to disarm the assassin but
when he didn’t relinquish his grip Strut took the forearm in both hands and
bent it with all his strength. The snap
of bone was lost in Kynnred’s pained screams, bone bursting through muscle,
sinew and skin as the dagger clattered away.
“You’re mine now boy!” Strut
growled as he pulled the assassin down low enough for him to get his hands on
the mans spindly neck.
“Cousin!” Toxyn screamed desperately.
Across
the room, Erlyk Shayde was still reeling from the blow to the head he’d just
taken from Alex, but her heard his cousin’s scream and, ducking beneath Alex’s
blade he somersaulted toward the other two combatants, coming out of the tight
roll on his feet, his blade flashing down.
The chains holding Kynnred’s ankles together were severed as though made
of rope and Alex realized there was more to the knights sword than met the
eye. Having freed his cousin’s legs,
Erlyk raised his sword, thinking to behead the barbarian swiftly, but Alex came
at him from the side, screaming, charging in with her shoulder low. She caught him in the side and the knight
grunted in surprise as she literally lifted him from the ground and flung him
across the room. The Black Knight
impacted the wall, rebounded and staggered forward. Alex, seeing an opportunity, lunged forward
and drove her one remaining sword into his chest, glancing off a rib as it sunk
into his heart. The momentum of bouncing
off the wall kept him moving forward till he was completely impaled upon her
sword, the bloodied blade protruding from his back. His face wound up a short few inches from
hers when his forward momentum had halted, his eyes wide, his mouth slack with
surprise. Alex grimaced as blood started
to pour forth from his mouth, but she raised her foot and planted it in his
chest, pushing him away and yanking her blade free. The Black Knight fell to the ground, his
heart pumping blood high into the air through he opening in his chest.
Alex
spun as she heard Toxyn’s terrified shriek of “Cousin!” and saw the assassin
kick hard at the ground with his newly freed legs. The momentum of that gave him the momentum he
needed to somersault backward, reversing positions with Strut who wound up
lying on his back with the assassin crouched above him. Cradling his broken hand against his chest
the rogue scooped up his prized dagger as he bolted for the door, choosing
escape over nearly certain death.
“Coward!” Shouted Strut, trying to pull himself after
the fleeing rogue. He’d only dragged
himself a few feet when he gave up the effort, collapsing face down on the
concrete floor.
Alex
retrieved her fallen sword and returned it to its scabbard before going and
crouching at the barbarians’ side. “Hey
handsome,” she said softly, causing him to turn his head and look at her
blearily, she could see he was nearly unconscious, “what say we get out of here
before he returns with an army of reinforcements, eh?”
As
she hefted the majority of the barbarians weight and started to assist him in
vacating the temple, Alex wondered if there was a priest in the town, other
than the Black Knights Father, who had the power to heal such vicious wounds as
this poor man had endured.
Chapter Four
As
it turned out, Alex and Strut encountered no opposition on their way out of the
temple, since all the guards were rushing to the cell in which their dead
knight lay. Alex got the barbarian out
of the temple, across the courtyard and through the front gate without
encountering a soul. She knew how
incredibly lucky this was, but certainly didn’t question that the Gods were
evidently on her side for a change. Of
course, getting out of the temple was only one part of the challenge before
her, now she had to get him… and herself for that matter, some help
quickly. She hadn’t been in Milligant
for very long, but she knew that other than the temple of the Night Lords, as
it was sometimes referred to, the only other religious structure of any size
was the temple of
Roma temple of Roma
It
took nearly two hours and when she finally arrived at her destination she
wasn’t even certain whether Strut was alive or not. They were greeted by a concerned if somewhat
distracted priest who introduced himself as Ragnor and helped her to carry the
barbarian into a back room where several hospital style beds were located. After helping to lay Strut on one, Alex
collapsed onto another and lay there, exhausted, as the priest worked over the
barbarian warrior.
“What
in the nine levels of hell happened to him?”
the priest asked as he set about healing the mans wounds to the best of
his ability.
“The
wrong people found out that he was in the employ of the Empire.” She replied sleepily, remembering what she
had overheard in the hall outside Erlyk’s room just that morning. She thought how it felt like so much longer
ago than that right now. “They tortured
him as they interrogated him.”
Ragnor
shook his head. “Who did this to
him?” When there was no answer he
glanced over at the other table and saw the that redhead had faded off to
sleep. Deciding there would be plenty of
time to get the answers later, but wondering if this situation had anything to
do with his wife’s disappearance, Ragnor finished with the barbarian,
satisfying himself that the man would live, then he went over and healed the
relatively superficial wounds of the woman without waking her, then he left
them to rest, knowing how much they would need that.
“Most
people,” Ylesia explained to Dameon as she led him down a narrow side street,
“when they think of a Black Market, they think of some dingy little shop in a
dark alley where some mysterious person buys and sells stolen goods.” Dameon nodded, silently admitting that that
was exactly what he thought himself.
“But here in Milligant the Black Market is such a thriving business that
it has taken on more of a flea market feel.”
She opened a rickety wooden door, revealing a narrow staircase that
descended into darkness. “After you.”
After
giving the blonde beauty a skeptical glance, Dameon nevertheless led the way
down the stairs. He could hear her
follow him, pulling the door closed behind her and once the door had shut, he
was surprised to find that there was enough light radiating up from down below
that he could see rather well. The
bottom of the stairs opened into a tunnel not much wider than the staircase,
but Dameon could see, some hundred feet or more down, that there was a brightly
lit cavern awaiting them. “That’s it
then?” he asked.
Ylesia
nodded, “Yep, don’t be shy.” She gave
him a little push and he frowned, but moved ahead cautiously. The tunnel opened into a broad expanse of a
cavern, stretching to the left and right as far as Dameon could see. He could easily see the wall across from
them, but this underground market seemed to go on forever in both
directions. “Told you this was big
business here.” Ylesia said, moving up
beside him.
“Isn’t
it risky for you to be seen here?” he
asked her, eyeing her uniform and taking that opportunity to get another eyeful
of her curvaceous body.
“Why,
because I’m a member of the guard?” He
nodded and she pointed out into the market.
When he followed her pointing finger he was shocked to see a patrol of
guardsmen, much like the one he had seen earlier in the street above,
patrolling here as well. “Most of us get
discounts from these people. It’s their
way of staying off our radar.”
“So
the Milligant guardsmen truly are
corrupt?” he asked her, casting a questioning look at her.
Her
plump pink lips turned up in a knowing smile, and she shook her head. “Not all of us, no. But more are dishonest than are honest.” The last sentence was uttered with a sad
frown. Glancing around, she got back to
business. “I believe the most likely
merchant to have acquired what you’re looking for is over this way.” She said, leading the Templar off to the
right.
As
they walked, Dameon glanced around, interested in spite of himself in some of
the wares lining the booths and tables scattered along this seemingly vast
cavern. ‘No,’ he thought suddenly to himself, ‘this is more of a wide tunnel than a cavern.’ Aloud he asked his escort, “How long is
this tunnel exactly?”
She
shrugged, trading nods with one of the patrols that was moving along opposite
them. Dameon could feel curious, and
even jealous stares following him as he followed her. “No one knows exactly,” she answered, “the
Black Market encompasses a mile and a half stretch. There are guards posted at either end to stop
unauthorized persons from moving beyond it.
The rest is controlled by the guilds.”
“The
Guilds?” he repeated.
She
nodded, turning slightly right and weaving between a couple of scantily clad
slave women chained to a muscular human that was trying to sell them to
passersby. “Milligant is home to three
thieves guilds and an assassins guild.
The latter actually runs all four, though lately one of the thieves
guilds has been testing their limits.
The guardsmen are bracing themselves for a guild war, thinking that the
thieves of the one are going to try and gain their independence.”
“That
could lead to a lot of deaths, couldn’t it?” Dameon reasoned.
“Yes
it could.” She said, sounding troubled.
“Then
why don’t the guardsmen just put a stop to it?
Clear out the guilds all together, reclaim your city.” Dameon said.
Ylesia
stopped and turned to face him. “Don’t
you think we would have if it were that simple?
First off, the guilds combined might outnumber the guardsmen by at least
ten to one and secondly, their business is secretly what has kept this town so
wealthy for as long as it’s been.” That
said, she turned and motioned at a small but sturdily built shack. Dameon was startled to not that it looked
like the only actual building in sight.
“This place is owned by a merchant named Garchuck. He’s the most successful procurer and seller
of illegal magical artifacts. Something
as powerful as the items stored in the Dark Vault would probably only be
brought to him.”
“You
know him?” Dameon asked, regarding the
small shack as though it were a snake about to bite him.
Ylesia
did something like a cross between a shrug and nod. “We’re… acquainted, let’s put it that way.”
“Enough
to make the introductions?” He asked.
She
cocked an eyebrow at him. “I would, but
you haven’t even told me your name yet handsome.”
He
blushed scarlet, never had a woman so beautiful as Ylesia referred to him in
that way before. “My… apologies. My name is Dameon, Dameon Nyte.”
Ylesia
saw him blush and it made her smile.
“Follow me Dameon.” Hearing his
name from her lips was like a high to the Templar, who got a sudden whiff of
perfume he hadn’t noticed her wearing before when she turned to lead the way
into the shack with a flip of her hair.
“Garchuck!” She called as she
entered the small building, slamming the door open. “Where are you at you slimy son of a toad?”
Dameon
winced, shocked nearly speechless that she would be so rude, but then a moment
later he understood why. As it turned
out, Garchuck was a hobgoblin, tall and painfully thin, wearing a monk style
robe that was several sizes too large for him.
He had long, pointed ears that flopped down the side of his head and an
overextended, hooked nose with enough hair growing from the nostrils to
resemble a mustache. His beady black
eyes danced hungrily over Ylesia as he emerged from a back room that the shack
hadn’t even looked big enough to have
from the outside.
“Lieutenant
Aleric,” he said with a lot of noisy slapping of his swollen lips, which were
too wide for his narrow face, “what a pleasant surprise.”
“Don’t
be so sure Garchuck, you don’t know why I’m here yet!” Ylesia told him, keeping her voice cold and
detached.
The
hobgoblins pulled his gaze from her ample feminine charms with difficulty to
regard Dameon with a kind of disinterested interest. “Who’s your homely friend?”
This
time when Dameons’ face turned red it was from anger. “I’d watch your tone Garchuck, this is Dameon
Nyte, a Templar of the church
of Roma
At
her words, Garchucks eyes lit up with mirth.
“He’s a Templar?” The hobgoblin asked, running his eyes over Dameons’
rail thin body, likely thinking the human was more sickly thin than he was
himself. “Aren’t you a little…” the
hobgoblin heard the warning in Ylesia voice as she cleared her throat and he
glanced at her, then said disdainfully, “…young
to be a Templar?”
“Not
really, no.” Dameon responded smartly,
then quipped, “But with the stink coming off of you, I’m shocked you get enough
customers willing to come in here to make running this place worth your wild.” Garchuck narrowed his eyes at that and Ylesia
had to hide her smile behind her hand.
“What
do you want here Templar?” Garchuck
asked, sneering the last word as though it tasted foul in his mouth.
“I
have a list of items here,” Dameon said, unfolding a piece of paper he took
from his belt pouch, “that were stolen from a temple on the surface. I would like you to see if you have acquired
any of them.”
“No.” Garchuck said snidely.
Dameon
arched his brows at that. “No… what?”
A
derisive snarl marred his already grotesque features and his nasally voice
dripped with venom as he said, “I don’t like you Templar, so I have no desire
to help you.”
“Garchuck!” Ylesia said warningly, stepping forward.
Dameon
extended a hand, stopping her. “No, it’s
alright Ylesia.” The soldier frowned at
him as the hobgoblin grinned victoriously.
“If he doesn’t want to help a lone Templar of Roma, then perhaps he’ll
be more willing to help the army of them that will likely settle upon this
little shop, and the market surrounding them, when I report his unwillingness
to help.” As he spoke, the smile on the
merchants face slowly faded, eventually turning upside down all together.
Dameon
turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“Wait!” Garchuck said, his voice
tinged with panic. Dameon stopped,
smirking slightly before he turned back around.
He saw an approving smile on Ylesia’s face which made him feel that much
better. “Perhaps I was a little hasty!” He
scooted forward, trying not to trip on his too large robes. “Can I see that list?” Dameon handed it over, exchanging a glance
with Ylesia who again had to hide a smile behind her hand.
“Hmmm,
yes,” he said after some length, “many of these do seem familiar. I believe a good number of these items came
through my shop several days ago. I sold
them all almost immediately.”
Dameon
felt his heart sink. “Do you recall to
whom?”
The
hobgoblin shook his head, smiling in a way that told Dameon he was only too
happy he couldn’t help in that regard.
“I’m afraid it’s against the best interests of my clients to keep
records of that kind in my shop. You
understand.” He handed the list back to
Dameon, who frowned at the merchant in a way that communicated he most
certainly did not understand. Suddenly nervous under the disapproving
scowls of the Templar and the soldier, Garchuck made a show of suddenly
remembering something. “You know, I
think I might still have one of those items.”
“Oh?” Dameon inquired, suddenly hopeful again. “Where?”
“Wait
here, I’ll go get it!” the hobgoblin
offered, then turned and disappeared back into the room that shouldn’t have
been there.
“Maybe
we lucked out after all!” Dameon said,
excited.
Ylesia
shrugged, looking suddenly wary. “Be on
your guard Dameon.”
He
scowled, about to ask her why, when Garchuck returned. “This is it here!” The hobgoblin exclaimed, coming forward with
a small statuette in the shape of demon, a Baal-Rog if Dameon remembered his
demonology, and he had been a very good student. Handing the item to Dameon, he added, “Of
course, if you want it, you’ll have to take that up with my other
customers.” He stepped aside and Dameon
heard Ylesia curse as he looked up from the small figurine to see two burly
orcs stepping into the shop from that mysterious back room. “You see, they were interested in purchasing it
too!”
One
of the orcs, a brute with brownish skin and yellow eyes barked something at
Dameon in its native tongue, which he didn’t understand, but it was pointing at
the statue, so he could easily enough get the gist of it. The other was eyeing Ylesia with a lustful
stare and grunted something at her.
The
soldier drew forth her sword and apparently she spoke Orcish because she
growled, “Over my dead body pig face!”
Garchuck applauded happily as the orcs advanced menacingly on the
humans.
“How
‘bout giving me a go with the wench when you’ve finished with her?” Garchuck called to the second orc, who
grunted a negative response. “I’ll give
you a fifteen percent discount!” This
elicited an affirmative grunt and an enraged snarl from Ylesia.
“I’m
gonna gut you Garchuck!” she growled,
which only brought a smile to the merchants horrid face.
Dameon,
brave though he was, felt his courage severely tested in the face of the orc
that was advancing on him. He reached
across his body to draw his sword, not wanting to relinquish the statue but the
blade, which he usually wielded two handed, was heavy enough that it shook in
his hands. The orc chuckled menacingly
when it saw this, tapping the smaller blade aside easily as he stepped out and
thrust toward the Templar’s belly.
Dameon, acting more on instinct than anything else, parried the blow
with the statue, the edge of the blade slicing the figurine’s head clean
off. The orc grunted, its small black
eyes widening in sudden horror and Dameon looked down at the damaged figure
which was suddenly exuding a strange, reddish mist. Knowing that this item, whatever it was, had
been cursed with very dark magic Dameon was frightened to see this and dropped
the statue which shattered into hundreds of little pieces. The red mist became a red cloud and the lanky
Templar was instantly engulfed by it. The
cloud, whatever it was made, burned and itched on contact and Dameon staggered
back, trying to move clear, but the mist stayed with him, seeping into the
young Templar through the pores of his skin.
Dameon whimpered pitifully, afraid he was about to die and the orc
snarled moving in the for the quick kill.
As it approached the Templar however, with his sword raised high a bolt
of lightning shot from the cloud, impacting the ugly monster in the chest and
flinging him backward to crash into a tall set of shelves. Garchuck howled, seeing a great deal of
profit destroyed beneath the orcs toppling form.
Ylesia,
mostly oblivious to what was happening, had her hands full with the amorous
one, who was playfully taunting her with his blade. Her blue eyes were narrowed dangerously and
though his sword kept swinging dangerously close to her, she could tell he
wasn’t seriously trying to hurt her, after all, he had other dishonorable
intentions. This, Ylesia felt, gave her
the advantage and when the orc feinted a strike that brought him in a little
too close she gave a shout and struck with the speed of a coiled rattlesnake. Turning her Rubenesque form to the side and
knocking his blade wide, Ylesia reversed the direction of her sword and thrust
the blade into the orc, piercing his broad chest just beneath the ribcage, but
angled up to puncture as many vital organs as she could. His small, beady eyes widened in surprise and
the soldier, looking into those dark orbs, smiled grimly at him. Stepping back, she yanked her blade free and
watched the orc topple to the ground, a pool of his blood slowly spreading
beneath him. Then she glanced around to
see how Dameon was faring and she frowned, seeing the young Templar leaning
against a wall, breathing heavily, his skin having taken on a slightly reddish
shade. Her gaze moving about the room
she saw the orc that had been menacing him lying amid the rubble of a tall set
of shelves and Garchuck inching his way toward the back door. The statue he had handed to Dameon was
shattered on the floor a few feet from him.
“I’m
not through with you yet!” She said
threateningly, pointing her blade at the hobgoblin, who whined and froze where
he was. Stepping toward the Templar she
said, “Dameon, are you all right?”
He
glanced at her and she gasped, for his eyes had changed color, the whites now
showing yellow and where they had been brown they were now an almost luminescent
red. “I… I don’t know yet.”
“What
happened to him?” she demanded of the hobgoblin, but Garchuck could only
shrug. “The statue broke, did it do
this?” Now the hobgoblin, evidently
scared speechless, nodded. Stepping up
to Dameon she placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and was amazed at how much
heat was radiating off of him. “We need
to get you out of here.” She turned to
Garchuck then, her eyes narrowing threateningly. “I’ll be back, and if you want me to forget
this little incident,” she said, motioning at the fallen orcs, “I would suggest
that when I return you have a list of names of the people you sold the other
items on his list to.” Garchuck nodded
so hard it looked as though his head might fall off, then Ylesia turned and
guided Dameon out of the small shop.
The
body of Sir Erlyk Shayde lay upon a medical bed in a back room of the temple of
the Night Lords, his father, Keiran Shayde, standing over him. Behind the priest stood his brother, Connor
and nephew, Kynnred, his arm in a sling and bandages wrapped around it. Keiran had refused to try any healing on the
young rogue, fearful that losing the magical power necessary to heal Toxyn
might hinder his ability ho help his son, whom he was trying to resurrect. The dark priest bowed his head, trying
desperately to find the calm necessary for the prayer he had to offer to
Nocturne.
Mumbling
quietly to himself, Keiran laid his hands upon his son and they soon started to
glow, that glow rapidly spreading throughout the dead body of the Black
Knight. Connor and Kynnred watched
silently, each knowing that if Erlyk Shayde didn’t return to them then their
plans for the Empire were in serious danger.
The Black Knight, being the first knight of the Empire was the one of
them that could get the closest to the kingdoms current ruler. It was he that was supposed to strike the
blow that would lay the Emperor low and secure his father’s place as ruler of
Errgaunt. Without Erlyk, they weren’t
certain if even the power of the Necrostone was enough to win the day.
It
happened very suddenly, the ear piercing shriek of the Black Knight making all
three men jump as Erlyk’s eyes popped open and he launched himself out of the
bed, standing across from his father but with his back to all three of
them. He was crouched, ready to continue
a fight that had ended an hour before.
“Erlyk,
my son, calm yourself.” Keiran said,
rounding the bed to stand near his confused offspring. “The battle is done, you are safe now.”
Erlyk
turned and, recognizing his father, he relaxed visibly, but then he noticed his
uncle and his cousin standing a short way off and his eyes narrowed at
Toxyn. “What happened cousin? My memory is… foggy.”
“We
were…” he glanced at his father at and uncle before continuing, “…questioning
the barbarian Strut. He broke free of
his chains and attacked us but was quickly joined by the redhead you yourself
took to your chambers last night.
Between the two of them… they bested us.
You fell at the hands of the woman.”
The
description of the events brought the memory racing back to Erlyk Shayde, who
remembered also the damage to his face from Strut’s shattered chain. Raising his hand, he felt the ragged scar
that remained. “The damage is still there.”
Keiran,
feeling as though his son were questioning this, explained, “I needed all the
healing power at my disposal to bring you back, Erlyk. Perhaps, after I’ve had time to rest I can
deal with your face…and Kynnred’s
arm.”
It
was obvious the Black Knight cared nothing about his cousins broken arm. He shook his head, “No… I shall wear this
scar as a reminder of the one who gave it to me, that I better prepare to face
him the next time.” He smiled grimly,
“And there will be a next time.”
Keiran
stepped forward and placed a hand on his sons arm, “I’m glad you’ve returned to
us, we’re nearly ready to continue with the plan.”
“We’ve
enough volunteers?” Erlyk asked, and his
father nodded. The Black Knight smiled,
“Excellent.” Turning to Toxyn he said,
“Cousin, you told me you have the warrior monk you caught with Strut under your
sway.” The assassin nodded, frowning
thoughtfully. “Do you suppose she would
give you any information regarding the defenses of the Temple of Roma
A
slow smile spread across the young rogues face and he nodded. “It’s all in how I ask her!”
Minutes
later, the assassin was walking through the door of his quarters, his gaze
falling upon the shapely high elf that stood gazing out the window. She still
wore the dress of the night before.
“Ayla darling,” he said as he entered, “I must speak with you.” Ayla turned to him with a glorious smile,
dashed across the room and threw herself at him, her arms encircling his neck
and her full lips crushing against his.
Kynnred was taken aback by the suddenness of this, his arms
instinctively going about her waist, pulling her in close, his tongue plunging
into her mouth. The womans firm, ripe
body pressed against his combined with the obvious hunger in her lips tempted
the assassin to have his way with her again right then and there, but he
resisted. There was business to be
accomplished first, then he could explore the ample pleasures of this womans
body again. Breathlessly, he pushed her
back, holding her at arms length, relishing the stung look on her beautiful face
and liking how her lower lip jutted out.
“Plenty of time for that later my dear, right now I must ask you
something.”
“You
can ask me anything my love.” Ayla
assured him, and Toxyn marveled at the powers of the Philanderer’s ring, not
for the first time.
“You
are familiar with the temple
of Roma
She
frowned, cocking her head to the side.
“Attack from what? Who would be
so foolish as to attack a temple to the Lady of Justice?”
Evidently
her devotion to her church had not been altered by the powers of the ring, “I
have reason to suspect the temple of the Night Lords is plotting against
them.” He said, and it was very true. Of course, having brought the elf in the back
door, she didn’t even know that she was in the temple mentioned. “I need to know if they pose a threat, should
I warn the Roma Acolytes and guards?”
“It
wouldn’t do any good, they’re all dead.”
Ayla said softly, her expression showing she was troubled. “All that there is to defend the temple is a
low ranking templar, another monk and….”
She trailed off, her pretty face creasing in a frown.
“And?” He prompted.
Slowly
her gaze rose to meet his and the fire of hatred burning within them set the
assassin instantly on his guard. “And my
HUSBAND!” She said the last word with such venom that
Kynnred knew he had lost her, and though he tried quickly to use the power of
the philanderer’s ring to regain his hold, her rage kept it at bay.
Ayla
struck fast and hard, her right leg flashing upward, the motion of her flowing
skirt a slight distraction as the assassin instinctively reacted, raising his right
arm to block. The block was successful,
but the pain that radiated through him from having blocked the kick with his
broken arm sent a wave of nausea through the assassin. He staggered back, groaning as she came
on. Ayla’s right leg had barely touched
the ground before the left was up, the toes curled back to drive the ball of
her foot into Kynnred’s solar plexus.
Again the assassin staggered back, grunting in pain, his good hand
bringing forth the acid blade. Ayla,
catching the glint of light off the blade stepped forward and caught his wrist
in her hand, shifting her weight to the right and twisting his arm to the left
she brought the back of his forearm down across her knee. There was a crack as this arm too broke, and
the blade clattered to floor. The monk
nimbly kicked it away, seeing from the corner of her eyes as it disappeared
beneath the bed. Turning the other way
and raising his arm she brought it down across her shoulder, dislocating his
before bending at the waist and flinging the assassin hard against the
wall. Kynnred, dazed and in great pain,
slumped to the ground. He was barely
conscious, his vision blurred as she moved up on him.
“Roma
tells us that above all else, Justice should prevail.” She reached down, grabbing his tunic and
hauling him to his feet. “But what would
be suitable justice for one such as you?”
She slammed an elbow into his chest, fracturing some ribs and bouncing
him painfully off the wall to stagger back into her range. With heel of first her right than her left
hand she rocked his head from side to side with solid blows to the jaw, then
she stepped in and rammed her knee into his groin. He groaned and would have doubled over if she
hadn’t landed a perfect uppercut that straightened him up and staggered him
back again. This time when he staggered
forward she tilted to the side, pivoting on her right foot while her left leg
rose, the heel of that foot colliding powerfully with the side of Toxyn’s
head. The assassin staggered to his
right, seeing the rooms only window, which she had been standing in front of
only moments before, looming up beside him.
Leaping into the air Ayla spun, a shout of rage coming from her as she
lashed out with her right leg in an aerial spinning back kick that caught the
assassin in his chest and launched him through the window. Amid a shower of broken glass he fell two
stories, landing in some shrubs which broke his fall.
A
two story drop was nothing to a trained monk and a moment later Ayla landed
softly beside him. She glanced down at the fallen assassin, saw no sign of life
and nodded. “Justice is served.” With a quick glance around she suddenly
realized where he had been keeping her and, regarding his words of only a few
minutes before, she realized what the temple of the Night Lords was
planning. Thinking she had no time to
lose and had to warn Ragnor and the others of the impending attack, the monk
turned and sprinted across the courtyard, her skirts billowing around her as
she went.
Chapter Five
Strut awoke with a
start, sitting up on the bed and looking around, his eyes narrowing
suspiciously when he didn’t recognize where he was. “Relax handsome, you’re safe here.” Said a woman’s voice from across the
room.
Looking
over there, Strut was surprised to find the pretty redhead from the meeting
with the Shaydes lying in a bed across from him. Then his memory returned in a rush, being
seduced by the elf, both of them being subsequently captured by the rogue, his
torture at the hands of the Shayde family and his eventual escape with the aide
of this woman who was obviously as deadly as she was beautiful. “It’s Alex, right?” he asked her.
She
nodded, smiling. “I’m glad you remember
me, I wasn’t sure I had made that much of an impression.” Then she scowled, “I do wonder though how you managed to wind up on the bad side of the
Shayde family. I thought you were hired
on, like me.”
Grunting,
Strut asked, “Does the Shayde family have a good side?” Then he answered her question more
fully. “They found out that I’m actually
on the payroll of the Emperor, I’m supposed to be reporting on the Shayde’s
plans for conquering the Empire.” He
shrugged, “Obviously I’m not much of a spy.
First I was found out by a sexy warrior monk, then the Shayde’s caught
me!”
“You’ve
seen my wife?” Asked a man that neither
of them had seen enter the room. Strut
and Alex both turned their heads to see a priest of Roma enter. He was tall and still had broad shoulders,
though he looked somewhat sickly, as though he had been suffering from some
illness. His brown hair hung to his
shoulders, the points of his elvish ears visible above his temples. “You mentioned a warrior monk, did she have
long reddish brown hair and green eyes?”
Strut
nodded. “That’s your wife?” He felt only slightly ashamed that the wife
of the man who had evidently healed him was the same woman he had nearly had
sex with not long ago. After all, it had
been she who seduced him, right?
“Where
is she, do you know? She’s been missing
for more than a day.” The priest crossed
the room, his tone anxious.
Strut
held up a hand to slow him down, “Now just hold on a second, who are you
exactly?”
The
elf stopped by Struts bed, closed his eyes and took a deep, calming
breath. When he opened them he seemed to
have gotten control of his thoughts, “My apologies. My name is Ragnor Tulaetin, I am a priest of
Roma here to look after this temple following the death of its former
priestess. My wife, Ayla, came here with
me to assist in finding out what had happened.
She is a warrior monk of Roma and she is… quite dedicated to her faith.”
‘I’ll say!’ Strut thought to himself,
thinking of the lengths Ayla had nearly gone to in order to get information
from him. Aloud, he said, “Your
description fits the woman I met, yes, thought I have no idea where she is
right now.”
At
that moment there was a disturbance at the entrance to the hospice wing and
Ragnor turned, his eyes widening in surprise to see Dameon Nyte, supported on
one side by Sister Brigit and on the other by a blonde soldier he didn’t
recognize being practically carried into the room. Rushing forward to the aid of the young man
that was like a grandson to him, Ragnor said, “Romas’ wrath, what’s happened to
him!?”
Brigit
responded before anyone else could. “I’m
not certain, I was on my way back to the temple after going out to look for
your wife and I saw them struggling down the street. I recognized Dameon and offered to help.”
As
he helped the women get Dameon to a bed, he asked the blonde woman, “Can you
shed any light on this miss?”
“Lieutenant
Ylesia Aleric, sir,” she introduced herself, then continued, “and I was helping
Dameon to get some information out of the merchants in the black market.” She glanced around, frowning at the two other
warriors lying in beds in the room, obviously wondering what she had stumbled
into. “One of them, a particularly
slippery hobgoblin named Garchuck actually had one of the items Dameon was
looking for in his possession but it was in process of being purchased by a
couple of orcish warriors. Dameon and I
fought them, but in the tussle the item broke and did…this!” She gestured helplessly at the Templar, who
was now lying silently upon the bed, apparently unconscious, while Ragnor
examined him.
“Do
you remember what the item was? What it
looked like?” Brigit asked the guard.
“About
six inches tall, shaped like a demon of some kind.” Ylesia commented, she had never been much of
a student of demonology.
Brigit
frowned, “Bat like wings? A long tongue
curling out of its mouth, muscle bound with long claws on hands and feet?” Ylesia nodded and Brigit swore colorfully. Turning to Ragnor she said, “That’s the
phylactery of Daemonyte!” he gaze
settled then upon Dameon, “Your young Templar friend has been possessed by the
spirit of a powerful demon lord!”
Ragnor
looked up at her, his gaze troubled.
“Perhaps I can exorcise it?”
“It
may be his only chance!”
They
were chasing her, Ayla could hear their footsteps behind her in the dark
alley. It hadn’t taken as long as she
had hoped it would for them to find the body of Kynnred Shayde and his family
had set their guards on her trail immediately.
Ayla, more concerned with getting to her husband and the temple than
with concealing her trail, wasn’t hard to follow, but she was in superb
physical condition and she was maintaining her lead on them.
Coming
to a junction of two alleys behind a tavern Ayla ducked to the left, then
skipped right with a startled gasp as a back door flew open and someone
staggered out, bending double and vomiting onto the cobblestones of the narrow
alley. Vaulting this person without them
even knowing she had been there Ayla continued down the alley but stopped,
turning back curiously when she heard the terrified scream of a man she
believed might have been the drunk who was vomiting. Narrowing her eyes, she moved back along the
alley, keeping close to a wall so that the shadows concealed her and she
observed what she had originally thought were Shayde family guards apparently
feeding on the hapless man.
Horrified,
Ayla considered going to his aid, then one of the men who had been pursuing her
lifted his blood soaked face and she saw that it was partially decayed, little
more than a layer of skin stretched over a human skull. ‘Zombies!’
she thought to herself, then turned and fled down the alley. She skidded to a halt however when she noted
several forms staggering toward her from that direction. They had cut her off, and now had her trapped
between them. Glancing over her shoulder
the warrior monk saw another group closing in from behind, heard the hungry
growls of the animated corpses as they spotted her and quickened their pace.
One
of the best known facts about the faith of Roma was that the Goddess of Justice
had a deep and abiding hatred of the undead, so she had bestowed upon those who
would preach her word or protect her church certain mystical abilities that
would help against such creatures.
Forcing her racing heart to calm itself and dropping into a light
meditative trance, Ayla entered into a complex if very brief kata, her limber
body executing movements practiced over several centuries of life. At the end of this exercise she witnessed her
hands become encased in a kind of green flame that didn’t burn her, but she
knew full well would disintegrate undead flesh on contact.
The
first of the creatures reached her and the monk reacted on instinct, maintaining
her trance as she let her training and her faith guide her actions. The first zombie to reach her grabbed her by
the upper arm and spun her to face him, his gruesome mouth opened wide as it
came in to sink his black and rotting teeth into her flesh. The decay on his breath would have made her
gag if she hadn’t been so immersed in concentration, but when her balled up
fist slammed into his chest the zombie staggered back with a roar of surprise
and pain, a wave of green flame expanding out from where she had punched to
quickly engulf and consume him. As he
bounced off a wall and staggered forward, his body falling away into ash she
turned to meet the next assault. A fist
to the face of the next zombie sent it spinning in a flash of green flame to
the ground while she spun again and kicked another, sending it staggering back
into two of its companions. She lunged
forward, driving her flaming fist into the stomach of the zombie she had
kicked, those emerald flames quickly spreading and consuming all three
zombies.
One
of the monsters got a handful of her long hair and jerked backward with a
hungry growl, Ayla arched her back as it
hauled her toward it and kicked out at a zombie that was coming forward to take
advantage of her position. Lifting both
her shapely legs she planted them in the monsters chest and used her kick to
push herself up and back, flipping over the head of the undead that had grabbed
her hair. Catching the sides of its head
in her flaming hands she bent her legs and planted her feet in the small of its
back the shoved it forward with her strong legs, using that momentum to spring
back over the heads of the remaining zombies as the one that had grabbed her
staggered forward, its head and soon the rest of its body engulfed in green
flames which spread across a group of five creatures that it staggered
into. Landing lightly on the balls of
her feet Ayla turned and sprinted away down the alley, knowing that she
couldn’t afford to waste any more time battling the creatures.
“Oh,
she’s good!” said Keiran Shayde softly,
his thin mouth turning up in a smile as he watched through the eyes of his
zombies as Ayla so skillfully escaped them. The priest stood in the courtyard
where they had found Toxyn’s body, his eyes closed, directing the search for
the woman through the minds of his charges.
“She
must be, to have so soundly defeated Kynnred.”
Erlyk Shayde commented from where he stood next to his father.
Keiran
opened his eyes and glanced to his other side, where his brother knelt crying
over the dead body of his only son.
Though neither Keiran nor his son had had much in the way of respect for
Kynnred, neither could they deny that the young rogue had been highly skilled. “I am sorry brother, I can not return him to
you as he was.” He stepped up beside
Connor and placed a hand on his younger brothers shoulder. “But, with the help of the Necrostone and
Nocturne’s blessing, perhaps I can bring him back as something… else.”
Connor
turned his face to his brother, a questioning look behind the tears. “What do you mean?”
“It
is possible that Kynnred can be of even more value to us now than he was
before.” Keiran explained, “I’ve been
studying the stone, brother, and I believe I know how to augment the powers
Nocturne has bestowed upon me. I cannot
return Kynnred to life, as our God would not allow that so soon after
resurrecting Erlyk, but I can give him a kind of… unlife!”
A
scowl darkened Connor’s features. “You
mean like… like one of those zombies you animated earlier?” He asked, gesturing out toward the street
where Keirans small band of undead were ravenously chasing the monk.
Keiran
shook his head. “No brother… he would so much more!”
A
war of emotions played over Connor’s face.
He desperately wanted his son back, but he wasn’t certain he trusted his
brothers newly augmented abilities either.
“Will he still be Kynnred? Will
he still be my son?”
“I
believe, at his core, that he will be, yes.”
Keiran said, “But his potential will be so much more!”
Connor
could see his brother fingering the Necrostone in his left hand. Looking from the eldest Shayde to his fallen
son, he nodded. “Do it!”
Without
further ado, Keiran Shayde extended his left hand toward the body of his nephew
and started to chant a prayer to Nocturne, channeling his holy power through
the stone held lightly in his palm.
Ylesia,
Brigit and Ragnor were still gathered around Dameon’s bed when Ayla burst into
the room, her skirts and hair flying behind her as she ran. Ragnor turned, his momentary elation at
seeing her alive and well fading as he recognized the look of determination in
her eyes and the flames of retribution still flickering around her hands. Knowing there would be time for a proper
greeting later, Ragnor simply asked her, “What’s happened?”
Ayla
glanced around, her gaze lingering for a moment upon Strut who had sat up in
his bed at her arrival. “The temple of
the Night Lords, under the control of the Shayde family, has mounted an army of
undead and set them upon us. They’ll be
here any time!”
Ragnor
processed this information quickly, then turned to the others in the room. “Are you two well enough to fight?” He asked Strut and Alex. The barbarians only response was to throw
aside his bedding and stand up, his naked body bringing appreciative smiles to
the faces of all the women assembled.
Glancing
down at his nudity, Strut shrugged. “As
long as someone can lend me some weapons and armor.” He seemed unconcerned about showing off his
muscular form, indeed it looked as though he enjoyed the stares of the females.
Alex
got to her feet as well, though she kept the bedsheet wrapped around her
statuesque form. Together she and Strut
went to find their things.
To
Ylesia, Ragnor said, “Can we count on the city guard at all?”
The
pretty blonde shook her head. “Not if
the Shayde’s are behind this. They own
most of the guard in this city.”
“What
about you?” Ayla asked, a slight
challenge to her voice.
Ylesia
smiled dangerously, “No one owns me, milady.”
Squaring her shoulders, the soldier said, “I’ll stand with you, if
you’ll have me.”
As
Ragnor nodded his acceptance of her offer, Brigit spoke. “Three warriors, two monks and a priest
against a small army of undead and who knows what else!”
Ayla
smiled grimly as she headed back toward the temples main entrance, “They don’t
stand a chance!”
The
six defenders of the temple
of Roma
Ayla
had taken the time to change from her dress into her monks garb, a loose
fitting tunic and pants, belted at the wais, rope soled slippers and her
deceptively plain looking walking stick.
Her long hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail and her eyes
glinted with a fire Ragnor had not seen there in many years. Once they had stepped through the gate the
priest halted, falling immediately into prayer as the warriors all sprinted
forward, Strut snarling “BASTARDS!” as he ran, axe and sword held high.
Seeing
their charge, the zombies moved to meet it, charging forward with surprising
ferocity, the first indication that these undead were not your run of the mill
zombies. Ragnor hit them with a ball of
fire which seemed to be the same sort of flame that surrounded the hands of the
two warrior monks who were even now wading into the morass of undead, the
emerald fireball sending a dozen of the creatures into thrashing piles. Breaking away from the main group, several of
the zombies started to run toward him and the fact that this was a tactically
sound maneuver told Ragnor again that there was something wrong here. Zombies were mindless automatons, usually the
pawns of powerful necromancers or death priests. These creatures seemed to be thinking and
reacting of their own will and the priest barely had time to throw up a
protective wall of green fire before the monsters were on him. Two of the five that had charged at him
staggered into the green flames and disintegrated with horrible screams as the other
three skidded to a halt and started to circle, looking for a way around the
wall of retribution flame.
Strut,
meanwhile, was in his element, his borrowed blades which were surprisingly well
balanced, slashing and hacking their way through zombie after zombie. He was surprised, though, to encounter a few
of the walking dead that were wielding weapons as well and these creatures
slowed him down some, made him think about his tactics before he actually
acted. One of the armed zombies, he
realized with a start, he recognized as one of the warriors he had seen in the
meeting with the Shayde Family at their temple.
‘So, that’s what they were looking
for volunteers for! Glad I never got the
chance to report back for duty!’ he
thought as he moved to meet this warrior head on. It came ahead, raising its sword high for a
strike and Strut raised his borrowed axe, blocking the swing and then driving
his own sword through the dead mans stomach.
When that did nothing short of slow the zombie down, Strut swung his axe
downward, the force of the move deflecting the others blade away as the curved
axe blade sunk into the small of the zombies back, severing his spinal
cord. The creature fell with a hiss and
continued to growl and spit as though determined to fight. Strut put his foot on its head and crushed
the monsters skull as he stepped forward to meet another zombie.
Crossing
her blades and thrusting them down to block a low attack Alex spun, driving
both her blades in separate directions, running them through the middle of two
zombies who only growled and continued to push toward her. Feeling pressed by the undead from all sides,
Alex withdrew those blades and spun, hacking with nice precision a their necks,
severing their heads. The zombies fell
away but were immediately replaced by two more one of which was armed with a
mace. He swung it viciously, forcing the
buxom redhead to fall back and she cried out as cold, clammy bare arms slipped
around her naked torso, catching in her in a supernaturally strong grip. Hearing the beast growl in her ear as it
lifted her bodily from the ground Alex kicked out desperately at the two moving
in on her from the front, staggering them backward a moment then she reversed
her blades and drove back and down, slicing deep into the thighs of the zombie
that had caught her from behind. It
growled and squeezed harder, Alex’s vision blurring slightly as she nearly lost
consciousness. Fighting to stay awake,
knowing full well that passing out now would spell her death, she pivoted her
blades, the keen edges slicing through muscle, sinew and bone, severing the
creatures legs at mid-thigh. She was
released as it plummeted to the ground and she turned, grimacing to find that
she had been in the clutches of an undead orc.
“I
thought they ugly when they were alive!” she complained as she severed it’s
head, then turned to meet the advance of the other two, who had renewed their
attack.
Ayla’s
staff, as much a part of her when used in combat as her hands and feet, was now
engulfed in flames of retribution and cut a wide swath through the zombies,
causing every one it touched to burst into emerald flames and fall away as
dust. Having cleared a several foot
perimeter around herself the monk risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the
three zombies circling Ragnor, who was surrounded by a wall of green
flame. She knew her husband, and knew
that he would not be able to maintain that fire indefinitely. She wished he had stayed inside the temple,
his strength not being what it once was since the attack on their home town a
decade earlier, but Ragnor was nothing if not stubborn and while he might not
have the stamina he once did, his powers were still impressive to behold. The elven monk had just taken a step back
toward her husband to assist him when the priest made an outward sweeping
motion with his arms and the wall suddenly and very quickly expanded outward,
engulfing the three zombies and destroying them instantly. Catching his wife’s eyes he cast her a brief
smile, then frowned as he pointed behind her.
Ayla turned and saw, in the distance down the street beyond the zombie
army, Keiran, Connor, Erlyk and Kynnred Shayde moving toward them. Her eyes narrowed at sight of the rogue, for
she knew full well he had been dead when she left him.
“The
Shayde’s!” she called, pointing with her staff beyond the zombies. “We must get to the Shaydes, they control the
zombies. Stop them and this whole thing
ends!” A fresh roar escaped Strut as he
started to push through the undead, his blades swinging widely and accurately
around him. Alex fell in to the
barbarians side, her twin blades slicing and dicing while Ylesia and Brigit
cooperated their way through a wave of undead.
Ayla, having already cleared her section of the street simply started
sprinting toward the Shayde family, darting to one side and going up and along
a wall to circle around the small group of zombies that suddenly closed in
front of her. Seeing the beautiful monk
advancing on them, Toxyn smiled savagely and stepped forward, acid dagger in
one hand and a short sword held in the other.
“I do not know how you live fiend, but it is a condition for which I am
the cure!”
When
she was about fifteen feet from him she used her staff to pole vault into the
air, leveling her lithe body with on leg extended in a flying kick. Toxyn let her close with him, then spun on
his left foot, the right shooting out in a spinning kick that connected with
the monk in mid-air. She grunted, the
powerful kick sending the monk careening away toward a wall. Curling into a ball she flipped and hit the
wall feet first, pushing off with her legs and ricocheting back toward the
assassin. Her hands caught the young
rogue on his shoulders and she let her body arc over his head, using the
momentum of her leap to lift him off his feet and fling him over her head
toward the opposite side of the street.
She crouched where she landed, watching him soar across the street, then
her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watched the assassins extend his arms out
to the side and seem to literally fly
across the road, smiling as he settled quite gently upon the ground facing
her. Baring a pair of long white fangs
he beckoned her forward and Ayla felt a chill of fear and revulsion pass
through. ‘Vampire!’ she thought to herself, wondering how in the world that
particular transformation had been achieved.
Then she remembered the strange zombies they had been fighting at the
fact that they believed this family to have the Necrostone. Apparently, the priest of Nocturne had been
experimenting. Reigniting the green
flames of retribution, not certain how they would affect the vampire, she
started forward. Toxyn, laughing
menacingly, turned and vanished down an alley the sexy monk in close pursuit.
Erlyk
Shayde saw Strut and Alexis battling their way towards him, his father and
uncle and he smiled grimly, the bright red gash across his handsome face making
it look grotesque. Drawing forth his
claymore sword the Black Knight started forward, his dark gaze riveted upon the
pair of warriors who seemed to have found a natural niche fighting side by
side. As he advanced, he growled “Stand
aside.” and the zombies parted before him as though he were a wedge and they a
stout piece of wood. Strut and Alex,
suddenly finding their opponents backing away from them glanced around in
bewilderment. When Strut’s gaze fell on
the knight he growled, raising his axe and sword and moving forward to meet the
other man. When Alex saw him she smiled
grimly and moved to follow Strut, but Shayde made a gesture with one hand and
the zombies closed voraciously back around the flame haired warrior woman and
she was soon in a ferocious battle for her life, no longer having Strut’s aid
to assist her.
The
barbarian glanced over his shoulder, frowning in concern when he saw her being
quickly overwhelmed but before he could turn back to assist her Erlyk Shayde
howled a war cry and charged, raising his blade high. Strut heard the cry and spun, raising his axe
to parry the assault and thrusting low with his sword. Erlyk Shayde twisted to the side, narrowly
avoiding the lunge and then continued the sideways motion, spinning and
throwing the momentum behind his blade as she slashed at Strut’s waist. Down came the axe, catching the knights blade
in the lower curve of the axes blade and Strut twisted his arm violently,
trying to disarm the other warrior. He
was surprised to find that Shayde prevented the maneuver with a show of
strength that the barbarian never would have believed he possessed. Frowning, he started to put his considerable
muscle behind the axe, hoping to force the claymore from the other mans
hands. Shayde strained against him,
veins in his neck bulging with the strain, his arms quivering as he resisted
the larger warriors immense strength.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Strut began to gain the upper hand, forcing the
other mans blade to the side but then Shayde suddenly released his sword, and
Strut grunted as the resistance was gone and he staggered. The knight spun, a flash of silver as a blade
suddenly protruded from his sleeve and Erlyk stepped in to the off balance
barbarian, driving the retractable blade deep into the other mans chest and
twisting it.
“You’re
zombie food!” Shayde growled as he
jerked the blade free and shoved Strut backward. The barbarian felt the clammy hands of the
zombies clutching at his armor and head, drawing him backward and to the
ground, teeth already finding the chinks in his armor as the zombies, enraged
by the scent of his blood started to devour him.
Ylesia
and Brigit, who had already been trying to fight their way to the overwhelmed
Alex suddenly saw Strut go down and with an unspoken agreement the monk started
toward him while the blonde soldier continued to fight her way to Alex’s side. In the background they could hear the magic
of the priest of Roma cutting a swath through the zombies, but it seemed as
though for every zombie that died five more appeared to replace it. Things were looking grim for the defenders of
the temple, especially with the added magics of Keiran and Connor Shayde acting
against them.
It
was then an enraged roar from the far end of the street brought the battle to a
halt as every fighter turned, undead and mortal alike, to witness the
monstrosity that was making it’s way toward them down the street. He was at least seven feet tall and as wide
as a wagon, naked save for a pair of leather pants and boots. He was so heavily marred with burn scars that
it was nearly impossible to determine what race he had once been, but Brigit
gave a gasp and turned to meet the gaze of Ragnor Tulaetin, who frowned
questioningly at her.
“Atlas
the Unfeeling!” she said and his eyes
widened, for she had told him of the legend of the Necrostone’s protector,
sworn to recover the stone should it ever be stolen, “If we don’t stop him,
he’ll destroy the entire city to get at the stone!” These last words were directed at everyone,
not just the defenders of the temple
of Roma
So
horrified was everyone by Atlas’s sudden appearance that they didn’t react
right away. It was the young monk,
Brigit, who was the first to respond, sprinting forward with her own staff in
hand to meet the new threat. Seeing her,
the legendary creature started to charge forward, emitting a growl so deep it
could be felt vibrating through the ground.
The monk leapt, flying at Atlas and swung her staff at his head but the
creature, not even feeling the blow to his skull caught the shapely monk in
powerful, clawed hands, one around her midriff the other closing around her hips. Brigit grunted, her staff falling from
suddenly limp fingers as the monster squeezed, showing strength far beyond even
that of Strut. Throwing back his head
Atlas roared as the muscles of his shoulders and arms flexed powerfully and
Brigit was literally ripped in half, blood and internal organs spraying,
painting the monsters scarred flesh red.
Throwing the two halves of Brigit aside the monster roared again and
started forward. The defenders of the temple of Roma
Toxyn,
being a skilled rogue, was already a stealthy individual, but now that he had
the added powers and abilities of a vampire behind him he was faster than any
creature Ayla had ever seen. She would
see him waiting for her at a corner and when she caught up to him he would move
off, seeming to move a city block in the blink of an eye. Still the monk moved on, racing ahead
relentlessly, her breathing steady as she raced down the back streets of Milligant
in pursuit of the monster. It had been
ingrained in her from the day she first started training as a monk that Roma
held no hatred greater than that she felt for undead, and vampires were the
most powerful of that class. When Baron
Vonderlicht, ruler of the vampire kingdom
of Shadowveil had campaigned for
vampires to be allowed as a legitimate race of Kyzanthia the temple of Roma
After
chasing across half the city Ayla rounded a corner and saw the assassin
standing at the end of a dead-end alley, leaning casually against a wall and
smiling infuriatingly at her. She didn’t
run anymore, walking forward calmly, sizing him up, glancing around to see if
he had set some sort of trap for her.
But he simply waited, his evil gaze traveling slowly and appreciatively
over her curvaceous form.
When
she was only a few yards from him he spoke, his voice soft and lilting, his
tone seductive. “You know it’s been less
than forty-eight hours since you spread your beautiful legs for me on the bed
in Strut’s room.”
“Since
you raped me, you mean!” she growled at
him.
Toxyn
chuckled, shaking his head. “As I
recall, you were a willing and… very vocal participant.”
“You
used magic to seduce me, that’s as good as rape!” she growled, adjusting her grip on her staff
so it was held in both hands, ready to strike.
Before he could say anything else she did just that, lunging forward,
thrusting one end of her staff at his temple.
Laughing Toxyn dodged backward, then leapt straight up to the roof of
the building he’d been leaning against.
“If
you want me Ayla,” he said tauntingly, “and we both know you do, come and get
me!”
Ayla
glanced around, seeing her path to the roof of the building in her minds eye
and following it instinctively. With two
running steps she hopped to the top of a couple of barrels then pushed off them
across the alley, the tips of her fingers closing on the narrow sill of a
window, then she shoved off the wall beneath the window back across the alley
where she landed on the outside of a waist high railing on a raised
veranda. Vaulting to the top of the
railing Ayla’s powerful legs flexed and she leapt to the roof, landing lightly
in a crouch, her eyes narrowed as she glanced around.
A
shadow crossed above her and she reacted on instinct, thrusting straight up
with her staff. She gasped as the weapon
was jerked from her hands, the vampire hissing in pain as the green flames
singed his skin, sending the staff spinning off into the night. He landed lightly behind her, his feet on the
very edge of the roof and she thrust backward with an elbow, hoping to knock
him off. The assassin didn’t block the
elbow, but caught it easily, the monk wincing as he twisted her arm painfully
up behind her. With his other hand he
grabbed her hair and jerked her head backward, forcing her spine to arch as she
bent to gaze up at his gaunt, pale face. Her eyes met his and she felt the tug
of the vampires mesmerizing gaze.
“You’ll
find, Ayla, that I no longer need the benefits of the Philanderers’ ring to
bend a woman to my will. I doubt that
even the mental training of a warrior monk could withstand my power!” Ayla felt her pulse racing and saw his gaze
drift down the pulsing vein in her neck.
He smiled slightly, inhaling her fragrance deeply and lowered his head
to lightly brush his lips across the smooth column of her throat. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Ayla moaned as he sank his teeth into her
pliant flesh and as her blood flooded his mouth she felt her willpower waning,
her arms rising to encircle his neck.
Ayla’s
last coherent thought was, ‘Not again!’ Then she was lost, her mind, soul and, most
important to Toxyn, her body now his to do with as he pleased….
Chapter Six
The vampire
groaned ecstatically as he drank deeply of the monk, her arms around his neck,
holding him to her. Keeping one hand
behind her head to brace her, the vampire took his other, which had been
holding her arm behind her back a moment before and slid his slender fingers
between the folds of her loose tunic, which was held together only by a cloth
belt tied around her waist. With a few
deft tugs the belt fell free and her top fell open, a shiver running through
Ayla as his sharp fingernails scraped lightly down her flat stomach. Her breathing was growing more rapid as the
tips of his fingers started to work their way beneath the waistband of her
pants, his teeth still sunk greedily into her throat.
A
grip more powerful even than his own suddenly settled upon Toxyn’s neck and he
raised his head, hissing preternaturally as whoever had managed to come up
behind him lifted him bodily with one hand, letting the monk drop unceremoniously
to the roof. Toxyn struggled, trying to
reach behind him and break the grip on his neck but whoever this was he was far
stronger even than the vampire. The hand
turned the undead assassin and slowly his assailant came into view. He was a mountain of a man, well over seven
feet tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms that would put some tree
trunks to shame. The top half of his
head was concealed behind a silver helm designed to resemble the skull of a
demon, the scowl on his lower face making it easy to imagine the look in the
eyes behind the ruby lenses of the helmet.
With
a ferocious growl, Toxyn swung at the man and was startled when the warrior
caught his fist, then his scowl darkened as he noticed a ring upon the hand he
had just caught. It was silver with a
black and red crest emblazoned upon it, the crest of the Shayde family. “It’s bad enough that you’re a vampire, but
now I find out that you’re a Shayde as well?”
The man shook his head as though he suddenly pitied the creature. “Before I was only going to kill you, now I’m
going to have to make it slow and as torturous as possible.”
Wondering
what beef this man had with his family, Toxyn decided it was time to test the special ability that his uncle, with the
help of the Necrostone, had bestowed upon him.
The assassin had all the traditional powers and abilities of a vampire,
but true to the name he had taken when becoming a rogue, Keiran Shayde had
given his nephew the ability to exude an invisible but highly toxic gas, which
he started to radiate now. The helmed
one frowned and staggered back slightly, then realizing immediately what was
happening he flung the vampire away with all his considerable might. Toxyn flipped through the air a few times,
then he straightened up with his arms and legs spread and then, where a human
vampire had been a moment before, a vampire bat was gliding away into the
night.
Still
feeling the effects of the toxic gas, Ayla’s savior fell to one knee, lowering
a fist to the roof to help brace himself.
“Since when can a vampire do that?” he asked no one in particular.
“That
was no ordinary vampire.” Though he
hadn’t been speaking to her, Ayla answered him as she slowly sat up, placing a
hand to her forehead as her vision started to spin. “I thank you for your assistance sir.”
He
winced when she referred to him as sir and shook his head. “My name is Skull, I prefer that to sir.”
“Very
well, Skull. As I said, I thank you for
your assistance, I only wish he hadn’t gotten away.” Suddenly realizing that her shirt was still
hanging open and noticing the warrior had obviously seen this as well, she
hastily pulled the tunic together and retrieved her belt, wrapping it back
about her slender waist. Skull grinned in
a cocky fashion and Ayla got the distinct impression that her clothing wasn’t
concealing anything from him. Forcing
aside her dizziness, Ayla forced herself to her feet. “I must go and assist the others.”
“Others?”
he repeated, standing up as well.
“My
husband and some others were in battle with the Shayde family and an undead
army they had raised.” She turned,
thinking the quickest way back to the temple of Roma
“If
there’s a fight to be had with the Shayde family, then you can count me
in!” Skull told her and the monk turned
back to regard him. He had certainly
been of help to her already, so she nodded and lead the way across the city,
keeping to the rooftops, her passing not nearly so noticeable as his heavy footfalls.
Atlas
batted aside Erlyk Shayde as though he were little more than an annoying gnat,
the Black Knight toppling and crashing heavily into and then through a tavern
wall. Connor and Keiran, being closer
than Ragnor to the monster, were backing away as they began to cast spells upon
the monster. Connor, the only actual
mage on the street that night, erected a wall of energy in front of Atlas which
stopped the creature once he ran into it, but judging by the way the energy
flickered as he started to pound his fists against it the wall wouldn’t hold
him back for long.
Keiran
Shayde extended the Necrostone, focusing his clerical magic through it and
frowned when nothing happened to the monster.
From behind them came the voice of Ragnor Tulaetin who was himself
preparing a spell. “He was created by
the power of the stone to be its protector and champion. Atlas the Unfeeling is impervious to the
powers of the Necrostone unless the spirit of the being within it wills it
otherwise!”
Shayde
frowned as he slipped the stone into his pocket and began instead to rely upon
his own, un-augmented death god granted powers.
A bolt of dark energy, referred to as a death bolt, shot from the
priests hands and passed easily through Connor’s wall to slam into the monsters
chest. Atlas grunted as he staggered
back, then shook off the effects and raised his mighty fists to begin pounding
again upon the magical wall. That was
when the ground beneath his feet suddenly softened and the monster started
slowly to sink, the effect of the quicksand spell that Ragnor had just
cast.
Atlas
was up to his knees in the quicksand when one mighty blow from his fist caused
the wall to falter and vanish. When he
tried to move forward he grunted, scowling down at the ground he was sinking
into as though just realizing it was there.
Ylesia and Alex, the latter already bleeding profusely from many wounds,
arrived then and started to hack at the creature with their blades. They found that the scar tissue which covered
his body had hardened to the point of armor and their blades were very nearly
useless against him. Roaring more from
anger than pain Atlas backhanded Alex who went flying across the street,
knocked right through several support beams that held up a roof over a wooden walkway
in front of the tavern. As she landed in
a heap at the base of that wall the roof, now without its support, collapsed
atop her.
Wisely,
Ylesia fell back, taking a moment to strategize her next move while the monster
dealt with getting himself out of the quicksand pit. Dragging himself forward slowly, Atlas bent
forward in front of the soldier, reaching out to dig his fingers into the dirt
road. With a savage shout she stepped
forward and brought her blade down with all her might across the back of the
monsters neck and her blue eyes widened in stunned surprise as the blade
snapped in two. Snarling, Atlas reached
out and closed his powerful hand around her ankle, a surprised shriek coming
from the soldier as he started to swing her above his head like a rope and then
let go, launching the beautiful blonde more than a hundred feet down the street
behind him. The impact from that landing
would likely have killed her had Ragnor not taken the time to reach out with
his clerical magic and catch her, lowering the soldier gently to the ground.
Atlas
was free now and rose to his full height with another roar, his eyes settling
upon Keiran Shayde. He sensed that the
stone was with this man and he moved toward the high priest of Nocturne. Keiran, feeling real fear for perhaps the
first time in his life, fell back as his brother began to speak the words of
another spell. A bolt of lightning
descended from the heavens and struck Atlas with unerring accuracy but the
creature didn’t even stagger or slow in its advance on Keiran.
Having
pushed his way through the rubble in front of the tavern Erlyk Shayde suddenly
staggered into view, his face a bloody mess, chunks of wood from the shattered
wall and collapsed roof protruding from his body. He saw his father in peril and snarled,
moving forward to face the monster once more.
He paused though as another form came hurtling out of the dark, Ayla
Tulaetin flipping out of an alley and landing a flying kick full force with
both feet to the monsters shoulders.
Atlas did stagger that time
and Ayla rebounded, flipping away and landing lightly upon her feet. Before the monster could straighten up Skull
arrived, landing a vicious one-two combination on the monsters head, the force
of his blows at least making the creature take notice.
Atlas
snarled as he turned to face the helmed warrior and Ayla called, “What is this
thing?”
Her
husband, his voice sounding strained and tired, responded, “Atlas the
Unfeeling, champion of the Necrostone.
That’s what it’s here to get!”
Ayla
turned her gaze to the dark priest who was looking near to panic, “You have to
give it what it wants! The thing will
destroy the city, and you, if you don’t!”
His
voice sounding near to hysteria, Keiran Shayde cried, “After all the years its
taken me to acquire the Necrostone I’ll not so easily give it up!” He turned to the zombie army he had
raised. “Destroy it!”
The
blows being traded by Skull and Atlas were shattering glass up and down the
street, the shockwaves buffeting those that were still standing. Ragnor had to shout to be heard over
them. “I’ve already told you, the power
of the stone doesn’t work against him!
That includes the undead the stone helped you to raise!”
“Father,
perhaps it’s time for a strategic retreat?”
Erlyk called and his father spun, meeting his sons eye. The elder Shayde nodded and turned to flee.
“You
would rather run and keep the stone, than turn it over to the creature and save
your city?” Ayla remarked, aghast.
“There
are plenty of other cities!” Keiran
Shayde called over his shoulder as he turned tail and ran from the scene of the
battle. Erlyk Shayde turned to follow
his father but Ayla, a scowl darkening her beautiful features, moved to block
his path.
“Ayla,
no!” Ragnor called and she turned to see
him pointing at the battle between Atlas and Skull. Turning in that direction she was just in
time to see the helmeted warrior, already staggering, take a powerful blow to
the side of his head and fall with an earth shaking bang, to the dirt
road. Glancing around, Ayla saw the
Shayde’s disappear down an alley and realized that she and Ragnor were the only
ones left standing to face Atlas the Unfeeling.
Having lost her staff in the fight with Toxyn, the elven monk once more
summoned the flames of retribution and with her hands covered in green fire she
moved forward to face the monster.
In
the hospice wing of the temple of Roma Dameon Nyte suddenly awakened with a
start, sitting bolt upright on the bed in which he had been placed he glanced
around. Distantly he could hear the
sounds of battle and those noises brought a frown to his homely face. He knew, though he could not fathom how, that
out there was a great evil being battled and he had to go and help. He noticed with some surprise that he was
still wearing his Templar armor as he clambered off the bed, but he frowned,
for something didn’t seem right. As he
started to walk across the room toward the exit it occurred to him, normally
this armor felt very heavy and made him even more clumsy than he already
was. Now, though it was still very loose
on his painfully thin frame, he no longer felt as burdened by its weight. In fact, he thought briefly, he couldn’t feel
any weight at all!
The
Templar moved quickly through the temple, the sounds of the battle getting
louder as he got closer to the front doors.
He paused by a window, glancing out to see a horrifying scene. Only Ragnor and Ayla Tulaetin were left
standing against one of the most horrific creatures Dameon had ever seen, and
when he saw the monk face off against the creature alone he started to run for
the front door. Exiting the temple he
dashed down the steps and started to run toward the street, his eyes on the
scene unfolding before him, praying to Roma that he would arrive on time to be
of help.
Atlas,
though unbelievably strong and seemingly indestructible, was incredibly slow
and Ayla’s emerald fire enhanced blows impacted his scarred flesh in rapid fire
succession. She would dance in and rain
a dozen fast punches mixed with a few kicks onto the monsters body then weave back
or duck beneath a ponderous but powerful swing from the monster. Never did it stop moving forward and though
the flames of retribution seemed to burn it on impact it gave no indication
that it felt any of her blows. Ayla
continued to fight, though she was forced to give up ground as it
advanced. She could hear her husband
casting behind her and occasionally a holy bolt or something even more powerful
would strike Atlas. She knew that Ragnor
was tiring however and he had very little fight left in him.
Swearing
as she fell, Ayla tripped over the fallen body of one of the Shayde families
zombies, all of which had fallen and stayed down on Keiran Shaydes flight from
the field of battle. Rolling backward
the monk regained her feet quickly but the unfortunate incident cost her dearly
as Atlas connected with a blow to the side of her head that spun the elf
around, her vision darkening as she started to black out. The monsters arms closed around her from
behind, one arm above her breasts the other across her hips and she was lifted
off the ground as he started to squeeze.
Ayla knew she was about to lose consciousness and if she did she would
likely never regain it, but she also knew there was nothing she could do to
stop this fiendish monster. She heard
Ragnor cry out to her and saw through her dimming vision as he cast one last
spell, a bolt of lightning that impacted Atlas and sent the priest staggering
to his hands and knees. She felt the
jolt of electricity as the lightning struck Atlas and caught her too, but the
monster barely registered it, continuing to squeeze. ‘Goodbye
my love,’ she thought as she felt Atlas’s arms begin to part, her body
being stretched between them as he started to do the same to her as he had to
Brigit. She felt her ribs cracking and
her vertebrae popping as Atlas continued to apply pressure.
Then
a voice rang out through the night, magically augmented and resonating with
power. “Unhand her creature!” Through the darkness blurring her vision Ayla
saw a form moving toward them from the direction of the temple gates. Something in his hand, (a sword?), burst
brilliantly into flame and Ayla suddenly felt Atlas’s powerful grip on her
lessen considerably. She felt a sound
rumble from his massive chest, but it wasn’t a growl. She realized with a start that was more akin
to a whimper and she was suddenly released to collapse on the ground at the
monsters feet. Her vision cleared but
she could summon the strength only to raise her head and when she saw who her
savior was she could hardly believe her eyes.
“Dameon?”
she said softly, then unconsciousness took her.
Dameon
was dimly aware of Ragnor, still on his hands and knees, watching in awe as he
stalked toward the monster. He wasn’t
certain where the flames now dancing along the blade of his sword had come
from, but it was obvious to him that this creature feared them. ‘Why,’
he wondered to himself, ‘does it fear
this fire, but not the emerald flames Ayla conjured?’ Atlas
was backing away from him, his terrified gaze riveted upon the flaming
sword. He opened his mouth to speak and
thought, ‘That’s another thing, who’s
voice is this I’m using?’ “You
have no place here monster!” The
voice in his head sounded to him like his own, but the one that came from his
mouth when he spoke was most certainly not that of Dameon Nyte.
One
handed he swung the sword, something he had only been able to do with two hands
before, and even then only just. The
crackling blade caused Atlas to fall back even faster, and he whined, horrified. Pushing his advantage, though he didn’t
understand it at all, Dameon thrust and the blade hissed as it cut deep into
Atlas’s flesh, searing and filling the air with the stench of charred flesh. Howling, the monster turned tail and ran,
moving with a speed born of panic and desperation. For the briefest of moments Dameon thought of
giving chase, then he remembered Ayla and Ragnor and instead he turned to help
them. He started toward the fallen monk,
his face clouded with concern, but paused when he saw Ragnor getting unsteadily
to his feet. Looking over to the priest
who was watching him, Dameon suddenly felt a wave of dizziness come over him
and he toppled to the ground, unconscious before he hit.
Strut
awoke some hours later feeling stiff and very sore, but overall glad to be
alive. He remembered very well the
events leading up to his falling in battle and he recognized the room he had
awakened in, this being the second time he had done so. Glancing around, he saw Alex, Ylesia and Ayla
also lying in beds throughout the room though the priest, Ragnor, was seated
next to the bed his wife was lying in.
Noticing that the warrior had awakened, Ragnor stood, looking beyond
weary and stretched before coming over to speak to the barbarian.
“How
do you feel Strut?” Ragnor asked him
The
barbarian grunted his reply, “Like I got the shit kicked out of me.”
A
fleeting smile crossed the elven priests face, then he replied, “I guess that’s
accurate enough. We’re all very lucky to
be alive, I can tell you that.”
“How
did we survive, exactly? Last thing I remember was the Black Knight
running me through and calling me zombie food.”
Strut said.
Ragnor
frowned, “Our battle with the Shaydes was interrupted by a creature known as
Atlas the Unfeeling. Legend tells that
he is the monstrous protector of the being whose soul resides within the
Necrostone. It had taken him this long
to catch up to it and evidently he still thought it was being held at the
temple for he was coming here. But when
he realized Keiran Shayde was using its power he started to focus on that
family instead. Of course, the Shayde’s
fled the scene like the cowards they are.”
Strut
found he liked this priest, and he wasn’t the sort to like many in the
clergy. “Leaving us to fight the monster?” He glanced around, noting that one of their
number was missing. “Where’s Brigit?”
Ragnor
sighed and the expression on his face was really all the answer Strut needed,
but the priest told him anyway. “She
fell to Atlas, he literally tore her in half with his bare hands.”
Scowling,
Strut asked, “How was the beast defeated?”
At
this Ragnor frowned, his expression one of concern. He glanced over to the bed in which Dameon
Nyte rested fitfully. “Dameon arrived,
utilizing powers he has never had before and confronted the creature. He conjured a flaming sword, which seemed to
frighten Atlas and the creature ran away.”
Sighing, the priest continued, “I have no reason to believe he will
return here as he is after the Necrostone.
Likely, he will try and catch up to the Shayde family now.”
“You
think Dameon is dangerous.” Strut said,
glancing at the painfully thin Templar.
“What do you intend to do?”
Ragnor
shook his head miserably. “It isn’t my
place to do anything. He is a fully
vested Templar of Roma and he has new orders.”
He glanced at Strut, “He is to try and recover the items stolen from the
Dark Vault. Whatever this… magic that
has overcome him is, it is second to his mission. He will have to deal with it, or we will have
to deal with him when the time comes.”
“Doesn’t
sound like a mission he could, or should
undertake alone.” Strut commented
thoughtfully.
Ragnor
looked at him. “You would volunteer to
accompany him? To help him in his
quest?”
“I
would, if the church
of Roma
Ragnor
regarded him a moment, then smiled slightly.
“I think that can be arranged.”
“What
about me?” said Alex suddenly from the
other side of the room. “I’m as involved
in all of this as the rest of you.”
Ragnor turned to regard her and chuckled.
“You
just may be, and neither of you is alone.
There was another late arrival to the battle who has volunteered to help
out, especially if it means battling the Shaydes. He seems to have a special kind of hatred for
them.” At their quizzical looks, he
explained. “After she chased the vampire
away, Ayla returned to the fight with a huge warrior who calls himself
Skull. He’s already awakened and gone
out to have a few drinks, but he has promised to return when Dameon is ready to
travel and go after the other items from the Vault.”
“How
much was taken from the Dark Vault?”
Alex asked from across the room.
Ragnor
motioned at the Templar, “Dameon has a list, and there will be clues popping up
as the items surface. Dark magic like
that doesn’t stay hidden for long.”
“Will
you and Ayla be going with us, or is it just us and the Templar?” Strut asked, glancing over at the monk. He thought he caught the barest movement of
her eyes, as though she had closed them quickly.
“No,
we will be returning to our home in Hanover . The priest that is designated to take over
here will arrive any day now.” He
glanced over at his wife, who he thought was still sleeping. “I look forward to returning home. I fear that Ayla has gotten a taste for
adventure, as she had in her youth.” He
shook his head, then excused himself and walked from the room.
“What
do you think?” Alex asked Strut from
across the room.
The
barbarian was watching the monk, wondering if he had been seeing things or if
she had really been watching them. “I
think we’re in for an interesting time.”
After
he had rested up enough to leave the hospice wing of the temple Strut had gone
back to the room he had rented a couple of days before, at the tavern where he
had first met Ayla. He was still sore
from the battle and so he ordered up a hot bath to soak away the aches. After cleaning himself up he began to dress
but hadn’t yet finished when there was a tentative knock at his door. Barefoot and shirtless, the barbarian grabbed
his axe from where it rested against the foot of the bed as he crossed the room
to the door. “Who’s there?”
There
was a long pause, and for a moment he thought he wasn’t going to get a reply,
then she answered, “It’s Ayla.”
His
brow furrowing slightly in curiosity, Strut leaned the axe against the wall
beside the door, then pulled it open.
She stood in the hall, clad in a simple but form fitting dress, the
neckline cut just low enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of cleavage. His nostrils flared when he caught the
pleasant scent of perfume radiating off her.
She looked as though she had cleaned up too, her lustrous hair gleaming
even in the dim light of the hall. “I
didn’t expect to see you again.” He
said, standing aside and motioning her into the room.
Swallowing
in what seemed a nervous gesture, Ayla crossed the threshold and moved half way
across the room before she turned to face him.
Strut had paused to close the door and when he turned to her he could
see her green eyes playing over his bare chest, tracing the chiseled
musculature. “I’m not really sure why
I’m here,” she said weakly, “unless it’s to apologize.” His brows went up at that, as though he
didn’t think she had anything to apologize for.
“My behavior the other night was inexcusable.”
He
smiled slightly, responding, “Oh, I don’t know.
I think there was a damn good excuse for it. You wanted information, you thought I had it
and you were trying to get it.”
She
nodded, then spoke slowly, as though the thoughts she was voicing were forming
as she spoke them. “Yes, but there was
more to it than that too. Ragnor and I
have been married a long time, well over a hundred years, but for the last
decade he’s been… different. He hasn’t
been able to be a husband to me in the way that most men are.” She seemed to be struggling with this, and so
Strut, being who he was, helped her.
“He
can’t have sex with you anymore.” She
colored slightly in embarrassment, but nodded.
“Seems to me like that’s his problem, not yours.”
She
shook her head. “We’re a team, he and
I. That makes it both of our problems,
but I still have needs and it’s been so long.”
She sighed, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, “The other
night when I was trying to seduce you… I was only seconds from going through
with it. I wanted you, I won’t deny
that, and I was scared by it. I haven’t
wanted a man other than my husband for a very long time.”
“Ragnor
is a good man, he’s lucky to have you.”
Strut said, though he wasn’t certain he meant all of it.
She
nodded, “He is a good man, yes. But he
doesn’t have me, not really, not anymore.
He hasn’t for some time now.” She
paused, obviously struggling to find the right words. “Look, we’re going back to Hanover tomorrow and before we do… I
just….” She couldn’t finish her sentence
because suddenly Strut had taken her in his arms and crushed his mouth to hers. Ayla melted against him instantly, a moan
escaping her throat as she traced the muscles of his bare chest with her
fingertips.
Lifting
her in his arms Strut carried her to the bed and lay down with her, his own
hands now beginning to explore her luscious body eagerly. There were buttons down the front of her gown
and he undid those quickly, baring her breasts so that he could squeeze and
knead them, lowering his head to take her firm nipples in his mouth. Ayla was breathing hard now, her fingers
tracing along his shoulders and through his hair, gasping as she felt his palms
sliding up her satiny thighs, beneath the folds of her skirt. It had been a long time since the elf had
wanted any man as badly as she wanted Strut, but then her mind wandered to her
husband and all the years she had spent at his side. Suddenly her resolve returned and she was
pushing Strut away desperately, the barbarian having just slid her silky
underwear off her long legs and preparing now to climb between her thighs.
“Strut
wait!” She cried desperately, “Wait,
please!” He raised himself up on his
powerful arms, gazing down at her questioningly. “I…” she met his eyes and saw in them that he
wasn’t angry or judgmental, “…I can’t.”
Strut
nodded, rolling off the shapely monk and lying on his back next to her. “Okay, I understand.”
She
turned her head to look at him. “You
do?”
He
nodded. “But had you waited even one
second more!”
“I
know.” She rolled onto her side and
kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’re
a good man too, don’t ever forget that.”
She climbed off the bed, pulled her underwear back on and fixed her
dress, then rushed from the room. When
the door had closed behind her, Strut groaned loudly and rolled over on his
side.
“Damn
woman!” he groused, for he was more
aroused than he had been in a long time.
“I
hope you’re not talking about me?” Alex
asked, standing in the doorway. Strut
hadn’t even heard it open. “I had
thought to ask you to dinner, but now I see you might not be in any condition
to leave.” She smirked at him, kicking
the door closed behind her. “Anything I
can do to help?” Strut patted the bed
beside him and Alex smiled as she crossed the room.
The
next day Strut and Alex, along with Skull and Dameon Nyte headed out of
Milligant, heading north toward a small town in Trey ‘Elden that Dameon had
heard might have turned up one of the items from the vault. As they rode out, Strut couldn’t help but
wonder what was next for him as he headed back toward the land of his birth.
THE END… FOR NOW
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