Path of the Traitors

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Flustered and worried that she has made a mistake, the young woman declares, “It did and I’ve always had the utmost respect for you. I’m only treating you like my leader, which is what would happen if Quail and I are allowed to live on Shayd together. Still, I agree that it doesn’t seem very natural. I’ll go back to how I was before and never try this again. Although, this does bring up the question of what happens to me and others who follow Ambrosine once Shayd is free of the Baron.”

  “Let’s face that dragon when we come to it,” the chaos elf says before they follow their companions. Noticing that Quail routinely looks over his shoulder at them, the amused ruler cannot stop herself from smirking. “He’s really concerned about this. It’s good to see one of my people so close to an outsider. Gives me hope for the future, which reminds me that I feel like you’re still holding a secret. Is that fog coming out of the trees?”

  Hurrying to where the others have stopped, Trinity and Altia arrive as a billowing vapor covers the valley floor. The autumnal-colored trees shimmer as they are engulfed by the fog that is the purest white the travelers have ever seen. Constant rumbling shakes the ground as if large creatures are burrowing through the dirt and threatening to burst from below. The tremors stop when the boulders spin themselves into the earth until only their domed tops can be seen. A dull glow emanates from the rocks and coalesces into a solid beam that runs into the fog. Silhouettes of people going about their day appear in the thickening cloud, only one of the figures getting darker while the rest fade away. With a sharp hiss, the light from the boulders shrinks and folds up to create a portal that crackles as it becomes a closed door. Studs are on the mottled metal and there is a slot for a guard to look through, but the travelers can see no handles or knockers for them to grab.

  The fog recedes into the forest, leaving the door standing with a few pieces of wall attached to its sides. With a slow creak, the entrance opens and a silver-bearded dwarf walks out of a lightless void. His black robe drags along the ground and sticks to the leaves, but he does nothing to remove them. The wide-eyed man’s arms remain folded, so that his hands are hidden within his sleeves. A skullcap is on his head and it takes the travelers a minute to realize the helmet has been fused to his skin. Half of the dwarf’s teeth are missing, which causes him to drool whenever he smiles. He holds up his hands to reveal his pointer fingers are twice their normal length and gnarled like branches.

  “I am called Turster and I do not know any of you,” the man says, his orange eyes locked on Quail. Sensing powerful magic, he scans the rest of the group, his attention lingering on Trinity and Vile for a few seconds each. “Ashkeep would be happy to welcome you, your concubine, your servant, your pet, and the prisoner. We only need proof that you are a friend or you must pass one of many tests. Know that to refuse or fail will result in immediate execution. There is no leaving our territory once you have entered.”

  “What does immediate execution mean?” Quail nervously asks as he steps forward. The chaos elf stops at the sight of a phantasmal scythe that appears above Turster’s head. “Sorry, I was merely curious. I have the Illusion Rings, which I hope allows all of us entry. Give me a moment to put them on and we can be on our way.”

  The dwarf waits for Quail to put all three rings on his left hand before announcing, “I applaud your courage and strength. It is rare that someone will wish to fight all three of the Spectral Guardians at once instead of separately. You must be a powerful warrior or caster to accept such a challenge. Once you are victorious, Ashkeep will be revealed to you. Good luck and remember that your companions will also die if you fail.”

  “Wait, I didn’t know it worked that way!”

  “Once the challenge has been made, it cannot be changed.”

  “Can someone fight for me?”

  “That will result in immediate execution.”

  “But I don’t know how to fight!”

  Turster shrugs and steps back into the doorway, which closes and locks with an echoing crash. Once the sound disappears, the Illusion Rings slide off Quail’s fingers and float at head height while they drift away. The relics separate to surround the chaos elf and get higher before releasing curtains of golden magic. Clinks of shifting armor come from one of the portals as a hammer-wielding knight steps into view. A swing of the spiked weapon drives Quail toward an emerging warrior with a shield strapped to each arm. The chaos elf narrowly avoids being slammed by the studded discs and is sent rolling by a lightning blast that erupts from the outstretched hand of a cloaked caster. Scrambling out of the circle, Quail ducks behind a tree and covers his head when an explosive orb is fired from under his enemy’s shadowy hood. The blast sends dirt into the air and knocks the sturdy elm over, exposing the mapper to the charging warriors.

  “Stay on your feet and try to divide them!” Vile shouts from atop Altia’s head. The figurine curses at the sight of Quail turning away from the guardians and running. “Never put your back to an enemy! Face them and retreat in a weaving pattern! Have you learned nothing from your training?”

  “She only gave me three short lessons and they were all about punching!” Quail yells back before ducking into the forest. He is followed by the knight, who smashes the trees with enough power to uproot them. “Mappers tend to run from danger unless they’ve had extensive training like Grandma Babs did. One enemy I could think a way to beat, but three are well beyond my abilities. Anybody have any advice?”

  “Don’t get hit,” the Lich gleefully replies with a cackle.

  “Shut up, Tyler,” Trinity snaps, punishing the Lich with an ice spell inside the exposed bone. Ignoring Nimby’s whimpers of pain, she cups her hands over her mouth and amplifies her voice. “The Troll Ring gives you great strength, so look for openings. Without a shield or armor, you need to dodge until you can deliver a punch. Being a chaos elf, you have greater agility and grace than you realize. Try to use the trees to prevent them from surrounding you. Keep an ear out for incoming spells!”

  Tripping over a root, Quail lands in a pool of mud as a wind tunnel rockets overhead. He rolls onto his back and pulls his legs away from the large hammer, which gets stuck in the thick mire. Seeing the shield fighter charging and the caster preparing another spell, he scrambles to his feet and tries to get by the towering knight. When he sees the enemy’s shadow lifting its arm, Quail awkwardly spins to avoid the grab and delivers a punch. His hand goes through the guardian’s back, but the chaos elf feels nothing to tell him that he has made contact. With a nervous laugh, he watches the knight turn around and remain standing with his fleshy limb still in place. As the hammer raises, the mapper notices an orb of darkness race toward the other warrior, who strikes the projectile to send it toward its true target with extra force. Unwilling to see if he can block the swinging weapon and approaching spell, Quail retreats and is sent crashing through the trees by an explosion. Bleeding from a cut on his forehead and aching all over, he stands with part of an oak held over his head. The chaos elf hurls the broken trunk at the tightly packed guardians, who continue advancing while the wreckage passes through their shimmering bodies.

  “How can anybody defeat even one of these things?” Quail asks, his eyes darting from one enemy to another. Sprinting away, he does his best to make a serpentine pattern and gets up quickly whenever he falls. “What if they can’t hit me either? That’s ridiculous because then the test would be pointless. Being ghost-like probably helps to draw people into a false sense of security. At least I’m not falling for that trick. Not to mention those spells and that hammer are damaging the forest. If I knew more than mapper magic then I might stand a chance. Maybe I should have let someone else do this.”

  “Fight with your strengths!” Altia screams at the top of her lungs. The interruption causes the four combatants to pause, the guardians glancing at the distant elf. “You aren’t a warrior, Quail, but you have other skills. Chaos elves are known for being cunning, so use your brain and survive this.”

  Reaching into hi
s pocket, the mapper pulls out a smoke bomb that he keeps for emergency escapes. Flicking the safety cap off the explosion, he hurls it at the guardians and covers them in a dark blue cloud. Due to the addition of aura-adhering dust, the smoke sticks to the trio whenever they move and continues to blind them. Staying low, Quail sprints into the trees to their right while the caster’s fire and lightning blasts strike the area where he once stood. Pulling out a blank map, the chaos elf whispers a spell to track his enemies and hurries out of sight before the smokescreen dissipates. Climbing into the branches of a sturdy maple, he pulls his patchwork jacket over his head and remains among the autumn foliage where even his companions can barely see him.

  Once the cloud vanishes, Quail is left staring at an empty spot where the guardians used to stand. He is so stunned by their disappearance that he forgets to check his map, so he is caught off-guard by the shield fighter slamming into the tree. Clinging to the branch, the chaos elf sees that he is surrounded and the knight is rearing back to strike his hiding place. The caster releases a spray that makes the branch sticky and prevents Quail from making an easy escape. With a grunt, the hammer shatters the trunk and the massive tree collapses upon itself. Landing on his back, the chaos elf becomes pinned with no leverage to easily lift the debris off. He rolls onto his back as the earth becomes swampy, the caster rapidly speaking in an unfamiliar language. Every attempt to push up on all fours and throw the branches off result in him sinking further into the foul-smelling muck. Gasping for air, Quail’s eyes fall on the map, which is sitting in the path of the approaching guardians. Even from so far away, he can tell that there is nothing on the parchment beyond his own name and the surrounding area.

  “They don’t show up on the map,” he says with a laugh. Crawling further under the branches for protection, he grunts at the pressure threatening to break his bones. “Everything shows up with that spell. Ghosts aren’t exempt. I should have known this was the trick. Illusion Rings is such an obvious clue. None of you exist!”

  The moment Quail believes his own words, the guardians vanish and the three rings fall to the ground. The chaos elf wriggles out from under the heavy tree before collecting the mud-covered relics and returning to his friends. He can feel the pieces of jewelry crumble in his hand as he meets the others in front of the metal door. They are about to congratulate Quail on his first victory in battle when the entrance to Ashkeep opens and a wanted poster is blown out by a stale, acrid breeze. The piece of paper sticks to a tree, giving everyone a clear look at the picture of Trinity and an offer of three-hundred diamond spheres for whoever brings the dangerous criminal to the guards.

  “What do we do now?” Nimby asks before the wind takes the wanted poster away. The halfling is about to offer some of his disguise materials when Trinity transforms herself into an elderly human and steps into the city. “Figured that was what we were doing. At least you’re wanted alive.”

  *****

  The sky above Ashkeep is bright from the midday sun, but there are trails of eternal night running through the pristine blue. Houses made of tan bricks and stores composed of enchanted logs line the grid-like streets, which are broken only by a handful of statue-filled parks. Wooden boards are at every corner with announcements about events and any news that the locals can read at their leisure. The central road is a long marketplace where most of the buildings have more than three stories, each level holding a different business. Food vendors have claimed every patio and intersection, many of them paying rent to whichever landlord lets them work for the day. To make sure everything is running smoothly, armored warriors openly patrol the streets while stealthier guards wear simple clothes to blend in with the crowd. Barely visible splotches of blood are on the cobblestones from recent attempts at theft, which is punishable by a slow, public death. Waving in the endless breeze, black flags with the insignia of a heart pierced by two blades sit on top of every structure.

  “That’s one of Arthuru’s symbols,” Trinity whispers in a weak voice. Pretending to be an old woman, she hacks and coughs while Altia helps her walk. “I don’t know what to make of this place. They’re obviously connected to the Baron, but he never spoke of Ashkeep. Could he not know about this city?”

  “Entirely possible since it exists just outside our reality,” the Lich says, the smell of rotting bodies making him giddy. The necrocaster’s happiness fades when they turn a corner and find a pen of zombies that are being sold as practice dummies. “Such a waste of good corpses and necromancy. If I had to guess, I would say these are followers of the Baron and they have been thriving here in preparation for his return. Perhaps one of his older agents created this place as a haven or even a gift. Then again, he could have made it himself and kept it a secret from everyone.”

  “That sounds more likely considering the portrait and possibly the crests are here,” Vile states, his body rigid to avoid attention. The sight of a little girl tearing apart a doll makes him shudder at the thought of sharing the toy’s fate. “As normal as this city seems, there is an undertone of ruthlessness. I see signs of fights and death on every street, but I can’t tell if the killings were random or instigated by some incident. The guards definitely look like the murderous types.”

  Distracted by a stand selling maps, Quail is nearly left behind by the others. It is only when Nimby whistles that the chaos elf drops a gold coin on the counter and takes the scroll that has caught his attention. Hurrying back to his companions, the mapper nearly trips over a collection of baskets and crates that he scrambles to clean up. Apologizing as fast as he can, Quail runs to catch up and opens the map in their faces while catching his breath. He is thankful that Altia takes the thick paper and holds it for everyone, allowing the chaos elf to sit on a nearby box. The sudden outburst from a halfling sleeping inside causes him to leap back to his feet and move away to prevent the muttering local from getting violent. Turning to address his friends, he takes the map and calms himself down enough to speak.

  “The woman said this is a current map of Windemere,” Quail whispers, his hands quivering with excitement and fear. Examining the simple drawing, he turns it around until he is satisfied with its position. “All of the continents are at exact compass points, except for the central islands. You have the Northern, Southern, Eastern, and Western lands, which haven’t been in this formation since before the Great Cataclysm. I think Ashkeep has been sitting here with very little connection to the outside world. They might get news, but not enough to realize that even the continents have changed. What is going on here?”

  “Honestly, I think you summed it up perfectly,” Nimby says as he steps away and looks around. He swiftly sends a dagger at the foot of the halfling who is about to attack Quail, the startled man rushing back into his crate. “We don’t know their connection to the Baron, but it’s obvious that the city and these people were put here long ago. This makes me curious about those mercenary interactions. I would bet money on it involving traitors who escaped the city and threatened to reveal its whereabouts. A memory wipe or alteration spell could be used on whoever they hired for the job. Still, I see some modern clothes, so they might have recruiters out there or even an enchantment that draws potential citizens into the city.”

  “Either way, it isn’t any of our business,” Altia bluntly states as she continues to help Trinity walk. Not wanting to get separated, she leads them away from the busy marketplace and finds a less crowded street to follow. “Our goal is to find the portrait and get the crests. It isn’t like we can take on the entire city. What would be the point? Let’s focus on what we have to do and get it done. Then we can get out of this place, which is giving me the creeps. Anybody notice that nobody is really smiling?”

  “Even the children look serious,” Trinity replies with a hacking cough. Leaning against a building, she pretends to search her clothes for medicine while checking the area for hidden spells. “There’s no magical manipulation here. I guess the citizens are naturally like that or we arrived after a traum
atic event. Leaning more toward the first option. If they’re as cautious and close-lipped as they look then getting information will be nearly impossible. Pushing too hard will attract guards.”

  “What about that over there?” the Lich asks, raising his arm to point at a booth. Sitting in the middle of the street, the wooden structure has a small crowd around it. “The sign says it’s an information vendor. Perhaps it’s set up for newcomers. I assume it doesn’t hurt to check it out and overhear some gossip from the crowd.”

  Not waiting for their opinions, Nimby jogs over to the citizens and pushes through to get a closer look. The cheers and laughter of the crowd feeds his curiosity while he leaves his friends behind. His fingers wiggle at the sight of so many money pouches that he can easily pluck from their owners’ belts, but stops himself by chewing on his lower lip. Feeling a violent tug on his sleeve, he glances down to find Vile climbing up to his shoulder where the figurine remains motionless. The presence of his father does nothing to ease his impatience, so he continues forcing his way to the front. Nobody gives the halfling a second look, their attention locked on whatever is happening at the booth.

  Squeezing between two whistling calicos in robes, Nimby stops at the sight of three bodies piled next to the booth. On the other side are five young men and women who have been shackled together, a fresh brand smoldering on their shoulders. The wild-haired man sitting on the counter cackles as the crowd celebrates his latest victory. He cartwheels to the nearest captive and licks her cheek, the woman doing her best to avoid crying. Her eyes routinely shift toward the body of a young man, who has a ring that matches the one on her finger. With a whoop and small dance, the booth owner leaps onto the top of his sign and spreads his arms to quiet the entertained crowd.

  “This has been a good day for me, but I’m always up for another challenger,” the information broker declares while shuffling cards between his hands. He throws them into the air to make patterns that he collapses and catches with ease. “Step up if you have a question and feel lucky. As you all know, I take money, food, water, clothes, your life, and your loved ones for payment if you lose my game. All you have to do is pick a card and find it again at least once while I juggle the deck. Everybody gets three chances, so give it a try. It beats living your life without the answer to your deepest question and Baron Kernaghan has blessed me with great knowledge. So, step up and challenge me.”