*****
Pillows cover the floor of the barely furnished tent, which remains steady regardless of the uneven ground that the oxen are casually battling. Gently placing her weapon on a stand, Tzefira goes about making tea with an enchanted kettle and tosses a few bags of cookies onto the central table. She keeps her good eye toward her guests as they get comfortable, none of them showing signs of wanting to talk. Her attention lingers on Nimby’s skeletal arm and she considers using the enchanted manacles, but doubts the thief would have any trouble getting out of them. The cost of such devices runs through her mind and she decides that it is not worth the loss. Placing cups in front of everyone and handing the kettle to Quail, Tzefira goes to her cot and opens a box with vapor drifting out from under the lid. Claiming a bottle of cold ale, the tense mercenary takes her place across from Trinity and enjoys her first taste of high grade alcohol in the last two weeks.
“I’m not friendly enough with any of you to share the good stuff, so you’re going to make do with the tea,” the warrior states, noticing that Altia and Nimby are staring. She watches Trinity scratch at the collar, which is leaving red welts on the channeler’s cobalt skin. “Looks like you’re reacting to the restraint. Funny thing is that it isn’t very powerful. At least not compared to someone like you. Why don’t you destroy it?”
“Because that would be rude and mistaken for an escape attempt,” Trinity replies as she slides a magically flattened finger under the relic. Closing her eyes and slowing her pulse, she gradually feels out the spell and starts to unravel it to reduce the pressure on her neck. “Besides, I need to find other ways to get out of trouble. Destroying things was never my style until fairly recently. Your daughter can be a terrible influence.”
“If you ask me, I’d say she’s been a good one on you,” Nimby interrupts, his cheeks puffed out with cookies. Crumbs falling from his lips, it takes him a minute to choke down his food and stop gasping for air. “Thank you for helping us, Tzefira, but won’t it take too long to travel to Serab? You’ll need to break for camp a lot, which takes hours for a force of this size. It looked like your men were already tired too.”
The Mercenary Queen nods her head before knocking on the floor, the hollow sound answered by the snort of an ox. “They are, but Yagervan is no place for us to rest. I recently bought fifteen of these enchanted tents, which allows my men to rest as we march. They work in shifts and those who aren’t on duty can either sleep or attend to whatever needs to be done like weapon maintenance or food prep. As for the oxen, I have three animal carts that work the same as the tents, so we rotate the beasts as well. Not a perfect system since we have to stop every three days for real rest, but it helps us cover ground faster than most armies. We should be reaching Gods’ Voice with only one break needed.”
“Why are we going to Gods’ Voice?” Quail asks, pulling out his maps to make sure they are heading in the right direction. He nearly knocks over the kettle and two cups, but Vile and Altia are quick to get them away from the papers. “The map is sending us back to Serab, but we have to go further southwest than Gods’ Voice. Not sure what we’re looking for since there’s nothing there. All of my maps have that area as a wooded valley where local farmers get fresh water and berries that are good for cows. There is a word over the spot saying-”
“Ashkeep,” Tzefira says, hoping to end the young man’s rant. She draws a tiny, framed picture out from under the table and unceremoniously drops it on the pile of maps. “That’s an image of the valley and you can see it turn into a city when held under moonlight. I haven’t been there myself, but there are those within my field who have claimed to have gone there for jobs that are better left unexplained. It isn’t surprising that you never heard of this place. Ashkeep is a legend more commonly found within the mercenary world because those who supposedly work for them can retire rich after one assignment. I’ve been to the valley, but I didn’t find anything beyond wilderness. I assume that you get in either through invitation or simply knowing the trick to finding the door.”
“A city that has fallen into legend would make sense for the hiding place of the portrait and, hopefully, the crests,” the Lich whispers, chuckling at how the mercenary jumps at his voice. He takes the picture and has Nimby’s right eye turn gold to look for magic. “There is a minor enchantment, but nothing that we should concern ourselves with. None of this explains why we need to go to Gods’ Voice.”
“As if any of the journey has made sense with all the backtracking and useless strays that we continue to adopt,” Vile growls while rummaging through a drawer of toothpicks. A metal one that is shaped like a rapier catches his attention and he proudly slides it into his thin belt. “I will speak for the group. We are all tired and frustrated that this is taking so long. Perhaps it is best that you be honest with us.”
Finishing her drink, Tzefira stares at the figurine for a few seconds before turning her attention to Trinity. The channeler removes the collar and throws it across the tent, the relic sparking as it hits the cot. Instead of retrieving the broken item, the mercenary goes to her war staff and takes it off the stand. The others watch as she lifts the weapon over her head, the silence broken by the Lich nervously coughing. With a small grunt, Tzefira plunges the blade into the floor and the tent shakes violently enough to topple a small bookcase. The magical tremor ends quickly and there are no sounds from outside to prove that the oxen have heard the short disturbance. Grabbing a fist-sized clay jar as she returns, the warrior dabs the white ointment on her scars to prevent them from getting irritated by her sweat.
“Normally, my Earthquaker Staff would create a large fissure in the ground. As you can see, it isn’t working at full power,” Tzefira explains as she finishes her treatment. Sliding the ointment container under the table, she pours herself a cup of aromatic tea that she is more interested in smelling than tasting. “One of my recruits from four months back stole most of the magic from my weapon in order to create a fake. His name is Racker and he’s a thief heading for Gods’ Voice. The man passed all of my tests, including a truth spell, which makes me think he’s a former guild thief. I say former because an active member wouldn’t dream of bringing my wrath down upon Rodillen. This is the other reason I agreed to my daughter’s unexpected request for help. Personally, I think four of you will betray the champions and the other two are going to get killed before whatever you’re doing is over.”
“I’ll retrieve the fake staff and stop this Racker guy from getting what he’s after,” Trinity declares with a grin. Cracking her knuckles, the channeler lays down among the pillows and yawns. “All you had to do was ask. Though, I might not be as subtle as you would like since I’m in a rush. Your daughter’s life being on the line and all that. Not that a traitor like me should concern herself with such things.”
With a shrug, the Mercenary Queen enjoys her tea and says, “I have faith in Nyx and her friends holding out until you help them or reveal your true colors. I should warn you that this job should be taken seriously since you’ll be operating in Serab’s capital. If you plan on uniting the chaos elves with the rest of Windemere then you might want to avoid destroying Duke Solomon’s favorite city. Given your people’s reputation, I know you can finish this quickly and without making a scene. As much as I don’t like you, Queen Trinity, I have to respect your abilities and it’s perfect timing that we’ve been put together.”
“You almost sound happy to see me.”
“Well, it doesn’t cost me anything if you die doing this.”
“And we’re back to the passive aggressive statements. I’m taking a nap.”
*****
Sitting on the roof of one of the animal carts, Nimby scratches at his boney arm in the hopes of relieving an incessant itch. Upon Trinity’s request, magical barriers have been erected to hide their presence from Yola. An unexpected side-effect has been that the skeletal limb and the angry spirit inside are being irritated by the holy energy that has been added to the spell. With no oth
er ideas, the halfling soaks some bandages in rum that he stole from a Dwarven warrior and binds his arm in the wrappings. A brief burning sensation runs up his arm, but stops at the shoulder where it becomes a phantasmal hiccup. His head swimming from the strong smell, Nimby lies on his side and listens to the beasts within the enchanted cart. He is about to fall asleep when somebody climbs up to join him, the first sign of unexpected company being a brief dip of the board he is using as a makeshift bed. Drawing a dagger from his shirt, the thief uses the polished blade to see who has joined him without changing his comfortable position. He can hear the Lich drunkenly groan at the sight of Altia, who is waving to the halfling as if she is standing across a room.
“Somebody has some thief training,” Nimby mutters as he rolls over. Refusing to sit up, he tucks his arms behind his head and twists a curl of brown hair around his finger. “I’m guessing you’re being left behind too. No surprise there since Trinity doesn’t fully trust you even with Ambrosine’s backing. This is what happens when you create too many lies and keep too many secrets. Once one falls into the open, more are bound to follow.”
“Doesn’t help that I was excited to meet the great Queen Trinity,” Altia admits with a crooked smirk. Imitating the halfling’s pose, she lets her bare feet dangle over the edge of the cart until a horse nips at her heel. “So, why are you being left behind? A thief would be useful to catch another thief. I find it hard to believe that she doesn’t trust you.”
“She might, but she definitely doesn’t trust my parasite. I’m stuck here because he could get impatient and cause trouble,” he answers, sensing pride from the Lich. Holding up his arm, he flexes the fingers and frowns at how the joints are stiffer than normal. “You should know that trust isn’t really something we put much stock in. With the exception of Quail, all of us worked for Baron Kernaghan and did horrible things. I’ve personally disrupted governments, killed friends, and ended potential hero lineages. Like Trinity, I regret what I’ve done, but I don’t have the moral shield of protecting my people to hide behind. All of my sins are by my own hand, for my own survival, and I may never atone for them. So, I fully expect to get my comeuppance one day, which will probably happen by me trusting the wrong person.”
Caught off-guard by Nimby’s openness, Altia sits up and is about to speak, but no words come to mind. She can only watch the halfling examine his cursed limb, his face showing none of the emotions she expected. The exposed bone sends a chill down the elf’s spine and she looks away out of fear of the Lich casting a spell. Feeling awkward in the silence, she checks her pockets for anything that she can use for a distraction. Altia yelps when Nimby tosses his yo-yo into her lap and rolls back onto his side. Unsure on how to use the toy, she simply turns it in her hands for a minute before tossing it back. Without looking, the halfling’s fleshy hand shoots up to catch the yo-yo and slams it onto the roof, the noise causing the animals inside to bray and grunt.
“So, why are all of you doing this if the champions were your enemies and you expect to be betrayed?” Altia asks as she moves closer to the thief. Sitting cross-legged at his feet, she does her best to look like a polite student instead of a curious stranger. “I understand that Quail is here because of his loyalty to Trinity and the chaos elves. I get that she wants to start healing the damage caused by her people and change the world’s mind about them. That’s something I want as well. None of that explains you, the Lich, Tyler, and Vile. I can’t see how any of you four benefit from this since redemption would be easier to gain outside of events that involve the champions and your former master.”
“My real name is Tyler, you vapid child,” the Lich snaps as the bandages burst into green flames. The smell of alcohol causes the two mortals to cover their mouths and noses, the briefest contact making them dizzy. “It is not hard to figure out our reasons. Vile has no choice, but to follow us unless he wants to spend eternity in that tiny body. This halfling seeks forgiveness from Luke Callindor or to die helping his former friend. It seems to depend on his emotional state, but I push for the latter because that will give me the body. Contrary to what he says, I can rebuild him to some extent. As for myself, I want to teach the Baron a lesson. I was the most loyal out of all of his agents and he rewarded my dedication by letting his son destroy me. By finding these crests, I will show him that I should be respected and feared instead of cast aside. Maybe his horrid child is watching from the other side and will learn that I was not to be mocked and betrayed.”
“Basically, you’re acting like a jilted lover,” Altia says, causing Nimby and the cart driver to laugh. Rising from the roof, a ghostly hand covered with acid stretches for the elf, who refuses to back down even when it is an inch from her face. “Go ahead and touch me. I’d like to add that spell to my list. Besides, there are plenty of priests here who can heal whatever damage you inflict on me.”
Nimby rattles a dagger between his arm bones to disrupt the Lich’s spell, which melts into a pool of harmless water. “Don’t encourage him. He’ll take it as a challenge to see what you can survive. You know, it isn’t really fair that I’m here being honest with a total stranger. Share your own reasons for sticking around. I hope it isn’t entirely because Ambrosine told you to. That would be disappointing and reveal you to be nothing more than a servant.”
“There is that, but I wanted to see Quail again,” Altia nervously replies, her hands playing with the ends of her hair. She scowls at the exaggerated snort and rolling eyes she receives from the halfling. “Fine, I was and still am following orders. Not any different than what you did for the Baron. The difference is that I’m working to make Windemere a better place, so I have no regrets for my actions. Helping Trinity means the chaos elves will no longer be seen as enemies of civilization. That’s one less threat in the world. Reuniting with Quail and getting a second chance with him is a bonus.”
“Such a good little soldier.”
“Better that than a moping thief who is stuck in his past.”
“Not even close to what I am.”
“Really? Then, why don’t you get an exorcism?”
“Because it wouldn’t work.”
“And why not?”
Flipping to his feet, Nimby makes a running leap to a nearby wagon that is filled with shields and helmets. Landing on the pile, he immediately jumps and swings around a flagpole, which startles the driver. The halfling lets go and lands on top of another animal cart, which is filled with chickens and sheep. He is about to settle in for a nap when he notices that Altia is nowhere to be seen. Nimby knows the curious elf would never walk away without trying to talk with him again, which makes him feel embarrassed by his futile escape. When he hears a thud behind him, the thief refuses to turn around and face the young woman. Even when she leans around him to stare into his eyes, the halfling continues to quietly stare ahead. Praying she gives up, his hopes are dashed when she mimics his stance and expression. All of the soldiers laugh at the sight, their voices stabbing into Nimby’s confidence. The last straw is when the Lich chuckles and begins mocking him inside his own head.
“I refuse to get an exorcism because I probably deserve this fate,” the thief admits while removing the bronze ring. The enchanted object burns his fingertips until he puts it back, the black marks on his flesh healing immediately. “Getting rid of the Lich won’t make him return to the other side. He’ll find a new host who he will conquer and devour without a fight. As arrogant as it sounds, I’m the only one who can keep him contained. Sure, he wants to teach the Baron a lesson, but he’s still evil. A creature like him shouldn’t be allowed to roam free. This is the least I can do for those I hurt.”
“Martyring yourself always sounds good until you die,” Altia points out, unsure if she got the quote right. Mouthing the words again, the elf shrugs and tucks her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know if I believe that. There is something to be said about sacrificing for others. You just have to be sure it’s worth the suffering. I’m sure you realize that there will
be a day that you die and he’ll be the only one left inside your body. Aren’t you worried that the Lich will undo whatever you accomplish or harm your reputation?”
“Like a dead man needs a reputation,” the necrocaster interrupts with a cackle. Letting the skin and muscle regrow down to the wrist, the creature has his red-eyed face appear as a tattoo on the flesh. “I can take over the halfling’s body whenever I want. His willpower is strong and impressive, but not unbeatable. Yet, I know that whatever victories he claims over me cannot be undone by anything I do in the future. We will be two entirely different entities. Nobody will recognize the body when I’m done with it and I refuse to use his ridiculous name. Far too cute and childish for a worker of corpses.”
“Am I supposed to be thankful for all of that?” Nimby asks as he holds his hand up to his face. Catching the fingers that try to jab his eyes, the thief snaps two of the joints and bites his lower lip in pain. “I’ll be happy as long as I prevent you from interfering with Luke and the others. Part of me believes you’re still going to attack the champions and that’s where we’re always going to be at odds. Don’t even try to deny it. Your ego and pride will drive you to teach both sides a lesson, Tyler.”
Path of the Traitors Page 16
