Path of the Traitors

by Charles E Yallowitz

“Somebody is messing with us,” Trinity growls, her violet eyes shimmering with a malevolent glow. She reaches out to destroy the map, but stops her acid-coated nails at the last moment. “The Baron only has Nyder left, so who would he send after us? Could he even recruit a new agent without being able to leave Shayd? General Vile, I want you to go back to the camp and bring Altia to the next target. Don’t go into the building because I want you two as backup in case this is worse than we thought.”

  “Why would the thieves attack two places on the same night?” the warrior asks as they make their way out of the wreckage. He is scooped up by the channeler and placed on her shoulder, a speed enchantment left on his legs to help him move quickly. “It is because these mugs are not the target. We are. If you follow these clues then you will run into the thieves. Are you really willing to walk into a trap?”

  “How many times did the champions walk into our traps and survive?”

  “Heroes don’t always win those scenarios.”

  “Well, I don’t plan on playing nice if that helps.”

  *****

  Due to Quail being clumsier than usual, Trinity tells him to hide in the alley while she searches the two-story house. She frowns at the sight of an open window on the top floor, which looks suspicious for a chilly autumn night. Transforming into a dark mist, the channeler goes around the corner to seep beneath the door and spread out across the floorboards. There are piles of books and scrolls in every direction, but they appear to be organized by subject. Only the higher shelves have thick layers of dust on a strange collection of trinkets, making Trinity think that the homeowner is either too short or too lazy to reach them. Spotting a fireplace, she moves most of her shadowy mass to the grating and searches for signs of recent entry. Creating a small flame in front of her, the channeler finds that the firebox is devoid of ashes, which could have marked an intruding thief. Flattening against the floor, the chaos elf patiently waits for any sound from upstairs that is louder than the house settling.

  Not hearing any movement, Trinity flows into a shadowy corner to return to her normal form and remains there for a full minute. Satisfied that she is alone, the chaos elf heads into the nearby kitchen and freezes in the doorway. A variety of mugs are on every shelf, have filled the metal sink, and cover the counters. Hooks on the ceiling hold more and the window is blocked by a colorful collection that forms the picture of a rearing horse. Only the middle shelf of the pantry has food while the rest are filled with steins and gaudy-handled goblets that Trinity could never imagine using in public. Opening the icebox, the channeler finds that all of the meat is being kept in large mugs that are normally used by ogres. Against her better judgement, she checks one of the drawers and is slightly relieved to find that it contains silverware. The next one holds cooking utensils and the third has dishes, so she calmly checks the last spot. A growl is caught in her throat when she sees stacks of tiny mugs that either belong with a child’s tea set or a fae colony.

  The longer Trinity stares at the collection, the tenser her muscles get until she is stiff as a board and ready to leap through the wall at the first sign of trouble. Noticing that her reaction is not normal, the channeler casts magic sight and is nearly blinded by the bombardment of minor auras. Every mug has a small enchantment that makes them self-cleaning and able to retain the perfect temperature of a drink for hours. The sheer volume of magic batters Trinity’s senses and instincts, which keep screaming that she is about to be attacked. Her ebony hair fans out like the hood of a cobra until she regains control and stops herself from lashing out at the unnerving collection. None of the mugs give off enough energy to be connected to Eporwil, so she backs out of the kitchen and gives herself a minute to recover.

  Walking to the bottom of the stairs, Trinity can tell that they will creak from the slightest bit of pressure. After some thought, the channeler levitates and has an angled wind push her to the second floor. Her violet eyes glow in the dark and she puts out her arms to resemble an eerie ghost, but the display is wasted on the empty hallway. Remaining in the air, she floats from door to door and peeks through the keyholes in search of the homeowner. With her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight that comes through the windows, she is able to make out silhouettes and pierce some of the shadows. Due to her limited view, it takes her at least a minute to figure out what she is looking at. Most of the rooms are being used for nothing more than storage, the only pieces of furniture in view being thin desks that are covered with boxes.

  It is at the end of the hallway that Trinity finds the open window and a door that is slightly ajar. Gently slipping inside, she finds the master bedroom and a snoring man buried under the floral-patterned blankets. Her attention is drawn to a display case above the dresser, which holds a single mug made of gold. The finely crafted handle is shaped to look like ale being poured out of a bottle and turning back into a gaping mouth. A foam pattern is around the rim and moves like it is flowing down the sides. Instead of getting near the beautiful object, Trinity rolls her eyes and flicks her finger to dissolve the magical trap that surrounds the case. With the obvious threat disarmed, she inches toward the bed and throws enchanted dust over the mumbling man to make sure he does not wake up until dawn.

  The instant her sleep spell touches the homeowner, he explodes into a flood of emerald gas that Trinity is unable to escape. She falls to the floor and gasps for air, her eyes burning so badly that they leak acidic tears. Rolling under the bed gives her some relief and she does her best to purge the magical toxin from her body. Green ooze coming out of her mouth, Trinity barely hears a heavy footfall and amused chuckle from the hallway. The stranger is nothing more than a shadow on the other side of the gas cloud, which never passes through the doorway. A glistening barrier is revealed when the muscular man lights a cigar and casually blows smoke at the only thing protecting him from his own trap.

  Still dizzy and in pain, Trinity reaches out with her aura to draw the gas towards her. She lets the toxic trap seep into her pores just enough that she claims control of the spell and her enemy remains unaware of the danger. Fighting the urge to vomit, the channeler sends the bed crashing into the ceiling and rushes forward. The cloud billows into her body as she makes a fist and charges at the open doorway. The black-clothed man continues smiling until her punch strikes the barrier and she sends all of the toxins into the hallway. As the protective spell shatters, Trinity entombs the thief’s body in the green fog and slams him against the far wall. Misty tendrils reach for his wide-eyed face while the weakened chaos elf considers giving in to her darker desires. She stops herself at the sight of a familiar blade behind the man’s head, the war staff still strapped to his back.

  “You must be Racker,” Trinity says in a hoarse voice. She separates her arm from the churning cloud and backs toward the window, the fresh air helping her recover. “Didn’t think it would be this easy to catch you. That only leaves one question. What is this really about? I doubt it has to do with Tzefira or those ugly mugs.”

  “I’m not Racker,” the terrified thief says before sucking in a quick breath. His cigar still in his mouth, he waves it in the hopes of the aromatic smoke fending off the toxic cloud. “He got all of us together for this job. The mugs are supposed to be holy items and the person who hired him wants the complete set. Racker gets to keep the Earthquaker Staff while the rest of us are paid enough money to last us a year. He gave all of us copies of his weapon too, but they’re only made to last a week. After that, they’ll crumble and the magic returns to him. Let me go and I’ll tell you even more.”

  “Wow. Normally, I’d have to remove skin or break bones to get that much information,” the chaos elf mentions with a wicked smirk. She licks her lips at the fear in the man’s eyes, only a small part of herself feeling bad for him. “Honestly, you make me sick with the way you just blurted out everything. I know thieves and loyalty don’t typically go together, but you could have at least made me work for what I wanted. I got myself all worked up and now I’m left wan
ting. Not very nice to do to a girl you just met.”

  “Like I’m crazy enough to resist Queen Trinity, especially since my trap didn’t work,” the man says, letting his cigar drop to the floor. He tries to hop backwards and put some distance between himself and the chaos elf, but a sharp tug on his nose drags him to her side. “I don’t know how Racker knew you were coming. Setting this up was a last-minute thing that he had me do before I took that Eporwil Mug. Told me to use a trap because you’re too dangerous to face in a fair fight.”

  Trinity clenches her fist to harden the gas and playfully squeeze the thief. “That’s very kind of him to say. Sadly, my days of being evil are over and I have to play nice. I’m telling you this because that only means I might have to let a necrocaster friend of mine converse with your spirit. I’m sure he could do that with you still alive, but I know he wouldn’t have as much fun as he would with you being dead. He’s still deciding on if he wants to behave too, so I’d share the rest of your secrets now.”

  “Duke Solomon hired us to get the mugs.”

  “After all of that, you’re going to lie to me?”

  “I swear, Racker told us that the Duke wants the complete set at all costs.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense unless it’s supposed to get me into the castle.”

  “You’d never get into that warded fortress.”

  “Like that’s the biggest challenge I’ve had to face since I started this adventure. Get out of here.”

  Snapping her fingers, Trinity frees the thief from the gas by turning it into a cloud of cool mist. Rubbing her aching eyes, the chaos elf heads down the hallway and stretches her arms before they stiffen. The clink of a latch being undone causes her to stop and she turns to see that the man has drawn his war staff. With a yawn, she remains in the open and waves for her enemy to attack. He hesitates for a moment before plunging the fake Earthquaker into the floor, the boards splintering from the devastating magic. A tremor runs through the entire building, but the copy lacks enough power to do more than create a quick moving crack that is no wider than an adult’s foot. The spell only makes it a few feet before it leaps into the air and the energy gathers in Trinity’s open palm.

  “As if I never thought of a way to defeat Tzefira? I spent time trying to kill her daughter for Ambrosine’s sake,” the chaos elf says while tickling the trapped enchantment. To her amusement, blue and yellow moonlight come through the window and perfectly frame the shivering thief. “This is where a nicer person would take your weapon and let you go. I’m not there yet. Attack me without provocation and you better be ready to die.”

  Holding up her other arm, Trinity has the war staff spin into her hand at a speed that makes the man think it has been teleported. Putting the weapon on her back, she lets him take one step toward the window before hurling the stolen magic at him. The trembling energy rockets down the hallway and takes the form of a blade that appears to slice him in half. A large, blood-covered dent appears in the wall behind the thief, whose parts flop to the ground as if they are sitting. They continue to writhe even after the chaos elf removes the illusion and reveals that the man is alive and whole.

  “I might have gone too far with that one,” Trinity mutters to the whimpering thief. A wave of nausea hits her and she holds onto the stairwell railing, her system rejecting the last of the toxic ooze. “Not the prettiest of victory celebrations, but at least nobody is around to see it. On the plus side, it would have been more embarrassing if it happened at Solomon Castle. Hope the old man and his daughter are ready for an unexpected guest.”

  9

  Kellia dabs her father’s brow with a damp cloth, her own face covered in sweat from tending to the sick ruler all day. Taking a nearby potion, she puts a little in his mouth and gently coaxes him to swallow. His eyes are on the verge of opening before an agonizing cough wracks his body. The spray of spit burns against the defensive barrier that is emanating from the young noblewoman’s pearl ring. Hurrying across the luxurious bedroom with fresh towels and a basin of water, the healers rush to check Duke Solomon’s pulse and breathing. A priestess of Zaria attempts to purge the disease from the groaning man, but she finds that it is still as resistant as when it started. The doctor pats the robed woman on the arm while he checks their patient for any symptoms that he might have missed. They are still holding onto the hope that the spells are targeting the wrong disease, but the Duke’s steady decline makes them fear that they are fighting a losing battle. None of the attendants pay attention to Kellia, who is backing toward the door as slowly as possible. Unwilling to leave her father, she leans against the frame and nearly falls asleep against the frame when a guard approaches. The future ruler’s stained nightgown and knotted hair make the respectful man’s message even more difficult to deliver. It is only when she waves for him to get closer that he goes to one knee and clears his throat.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Solomon, but there is an odd delegation waiting for you in the smallest meeting chamber,” the guard reports while holding up a scroll. The wax seal is of two eyes that glow around the edges, which neither of them have ever seen before. “It is Queen Trinity of Shayd and she insisted that we let her into the castle. We did so because of the champions and the Snow Tiger Tribe said her people were on our side, but we have soldiers at your command if you wish to refuse her request.”

  “Have a rejuvenation potion brought to the chamber. I will handle this,” Kellia replies, shaking her head clear. She closes the doors behind her, but stops when she sees that the guard is still kneeling. “If she meant us harm then she would have already attacked. The fact that Queen Trinity thinks her business is worth being diplomatic has me curious and I can certainly use the distraction. I do wish Lord Karwyn was here and not marching with our army to Gaia. How are the battle preparations going?”

  “They have combined forces with Mayor Highrider’s men and sent messengers to the dwarves who live north of the city,” the man says before whispering his leader’s request into the ring on his thumb. His armor clangs and clatters as he hurries to catch up to the noblewoman, his arms ready to catch her if she falls. “Do you think it is a good idea to meet someone like this when you are in such a state? The news of Duke Solomon’s condition is known only to those within the castle and his advisors would like to keep it that way. We still don’t know enough about Queen Trinity’s situation to trust her.”

  Kellia screams before hurling a nearby table across the hallway, the furniture smashing against the white stone wall. “I don’t care. My father is dying and the people will find out soon enough. Maybe they should know now and be allowed to pray for his recovery. There might even be stronger priests out there who can destroy whatever is killing him. No offense to the ones in the castle, but I refuse to believe the city of Gods’ Voice with all of its temples and shrines can’t stop a disease. I would even accept the help of a Lorvisian at this point as long as they swore not to make my father undead or steal his soul. Now, please help me get to the room because that rant took a lot out of me.”

  The guard catches Kellia by the arm to practically drag her around the corner and down two more hallways. A small boy hurries to meet them with an orange potion in his hands, the bottle slick from his sweat. Serious about his duties, he patiently waits for the exhausted woman to finish the drink and hand the container back. The two servants hide their worry when the healthy glow normally associated with a rejuvenating potion is barely visible and Kellia still moves stiffly. Mustering the last of her strength, the noblewoman walks away from the guard and waves him back to his post. Her fingers quiver as they touch the meeting chamber’s door, so she waits until she has her body under control before pushing it open. To her surprise, all three of her guests stand and go to one knee as she enters and remain in that position until Kellia sits at the circular table.

  “I’m sorry about visiting you so late, especially with what you’re dealing with,” Trinity states, pointing at her own ears. She sighs when their host stares blankly
at her and attempts a half-hearted shrug. “My ears are keen and your voice is loud. Not to mention, we came to see your father and were told that you are handling guests. You look terrible, Lady Solomon, so I assume it is worse than I imagined. Would you like me to send a message to my people and see if our most powerful priestess can travel here?”

  “Thank you, but that would be too much of a risk considering very few people know that the chaos elves are hiding on Ralian,” Kellia replies with a forced smile. Gesturing to the chairs, she cautiously eyes Quail and Altia while everyone gets seated again. “My father’s condition is complicated due to an assassination attempt and then a disease that has proven to be resistant to magic. The healers are analyzing its aura in the hopes of creating a spell that will kill it, but that takes weeks, which my father might not have. So, I am the acting Duchess of Serab. What has brought you here?”

  “Uh, it’s an honor to be allowed in your home,” Quail blurts out while fumbling with the thief’s scroll. He blushes when Altia giggles at him, but gathers enough of his wits to open the map without his shaking hands tearing the parchment. “Sorry, but I never dreamed a person like me could meet someone like you. Anyway, we were asked by Tzefira the Mercenary Queen to track down the magic stolen from her Earthquaker Staff. The thief is a man named Racker and we discovered he is here collecting Eporwil Mugs. One of his men died in a heist and we found this on him. The map was quiet until we came to the edge of your moat. Do you happen to know what this document shows, Lady Solomon?”

  “That’s a map of our treasure vault,” she answers while leaning forward. Her arms slide across the table and she starts to fall asleep before jolting herself awake. “There’s nothing to worry about since the wards, moat, and soldiers will protect us. I do thank you for giving us a warning, which will save lives. Although, I’m confused on why they would come here for these Eporwil Mugs. We don’t have anything like that unless my father or an ancestor hid one on the grounds.”