Path of the Traitors

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Coming to the stairwell door, Trinity enters first and puts up a barrier to prevent anyone from attacking their rear. Letting the others walk ahead, she leaves a hazy wall at every floor as well as a magical alarm that only she can hear. There are no traps or obstacles beyond a loose step that Quail trips over, the mapper’s loud yell answered by a ringing silence instead of shouting guards. As they ascend to the fifteenth floor, Trinity becomes more anxious and worried. With no traps or soldiers, the nervous channeler stops creating barriers and enhances her hearing to the point where the flapping of bats outside can be heard. Unable to maintain the sensitivity for more than a minute, she gives up without discovering anything suspicious. Trinity considers that the rulers of Ashkeep may have more faith in the outer defenses than they should, but the idea that anyone working for the Baron would be so careless puts her on edge. Taking the lead, she makes sure to be the one who opens the door and waves for her companions to take a few steps back.

  Stepping into the council room, Trinity keeps her eyes on a circular table that goes around a central glass shaft that contains long streams of soaring light. Nine chairs of various sizes have been placed with their front to the wall, faint names etched into the top of each one. Metal goblets have been set into the table, their enchantment allowing only their owner and the head butler to lift them. There is a small bar in the corner, but only a few bottles of mead are left on the counter while the other drinks have been locked in a cabinet. Landscape portraits decorate the walls, each one showing an area of the Baron’s former territory. Three of them depict Shayd with zombies and demons tormenting the chaos elves, which brings back many painful memories for Trinity. She feels the temptation to destroy the offensive images, but swallows her rage and heads further into the room.

  “You stay with me, Quail, while the others stand guard at the doors,” she whispers as she approaches the far wall. A large portrait of the Baron sitting on his throne takes up most of the space, the forest scene oddly peaceful to the eye. “I doubt you can simply walk through this thing since that would mean anyone could get to the crests. There must be a trick to opening it. Does the map give you any clues?”

  A sharp pain hits Trinity in the side of the neck and she stumbles into the table, her vision swiftly getting blurry. She can see her friends are already unconscious on the floor, including Vile with a dart stuck in his bad eye. Clapping draws her attention to the portrait, which melts into a bulky figure wielding a four-pronged staff. The burgundy-scaled fireskin wipes paint flakes off her robes and takes out a silver hand mirror to examine her sharp teeth. Trinity starts to slide off the table until she grabs one of the immovable goblets and fights against the rapid poison. She sends electric shocks through her body to maintain consciousness, the pain a welcome sensation that she uses to help her struggle.

  “The stories did say you were tenacious,” the fireskin says before slamming her thick tail on top of Trinity’s head. Poking the groaning intruder with her staff, she knocks on the wall to send a message to the other councilmembers. “This is Madam Mora. It appears all of our plans were for nothing. The traitor came right to us, which was very nice of her. Send a reward to Varda’s family as thanks for her sacrifice and have the elites come to restrain the prisoners. I will see everyone in an hour. May Baron Kernaghan’s love guide us to his future.”

  *****

  With a small yawn, Trinity opens her eyes and calmly takes in her surroundings. She is still in the council chamber, but is hanging upside down from a hook that is fused to the ceiling. All of her friends are bound together beneath an empty picture frame, only a few dripping scraps of the portrait remaining. Bending and twisting her body, Trinity gets a closer look at the chains around her ankles and opens her mouth to spew an icy breath. She stops at the sight of sparkles along the dark metal and goes back to hanging limp instead of dealing with the counterspell her captors have prepared. Repeatedly puckering her lips and making a popping sound, the chaos elf waits for the councilmembers to arrive. It is only when she stretches backwards that Trinity realizes all nine are already standing behind her, their bodies partially masked by fading invisibility spells.

  “I feel obligated to point out how creepy it is that you were standing there watching us the whole time,” she casually mentions while spinning herself with a wind spell. Her movements stop when the cords around her hands sprout constricting tendrils. “A little tight around the shoulders, but oddly comfy everywhere else. I take it you don’t know what you’re doing. Feel free to ask me for advice on how to handle prisoners. If I’m feeling generous, I’ll even reveal your dear master’s favorite type of knot.”

  “In our defense, we normally execute our enemies,” Madam Mora says as she steps away from the others. With her teeth bared and her eyes narrowed into slits, the fireskin does her best to act predatory in front of the bored prisoner. “The only reason you are still alive is because we want the Baron’s bounty. We can use that money to build an even greater army for him to use against his enemies. Perhaps he will give us more for your friends, but the real reason they are still alive is because we don’t want to anger you. Remain on your best behavior and they will not be harmed.”

  “Not a smart idea to reveal your fear,” Trinity replies with a smirk. Fighting against her bonds, she leans up to put her face a few inches from the scaly politician. “You really are bad at this type of thing. That being the case, I have a question that you will answer or I’ll stop playing nice. How are you contacting the Baron through his curse? For that matter, why have I never heard of Ashkeep before?”

  While the other councilmembers whisper amongst themselves, Mora walks by the prisoner and claims her goblet. Twisting it off the table, she watches as crimson wine dribbles out of the rim and into the cup. Due to her reptilian snout, the fireskin has to dip her forked tongue into the alcohol and withdraw it after it is thoroughly coated. Mora takes her time and lets the drink settle her nerves, her eyes never straying from the smirking chaos elf. Tapping her talons on the back of a chair, she waits for the rest of the council to stop talking and give her either a nod or shake of their heads. Instead of an answer, they remain still and silent, which makes the fireskin fear that she is being set up by her companions.

  “This is the perfect opportunity to be dethroned,” Mora whispers with a growl. Holding out her hand, her four-pronged staff appears and she spins it to create a hazy afterimage. “As a traitor, you don’t have a right to those answers. Nobody here will tell you, so save your breath and know your place. Soon, a messenger from the Baron will come to collect you and hand off our reward.”

  “Who could he possibly send since he lost everybody?” Trinity asks before sprouting blades that run along her skin. She is about to break the ropes on her wrists when she is sent slamming into the ceiling by the fireskin’s weapon. “You hit like a newborn child and that’s an insult to infants. I think I know the answer to my questions anyway. The Baron never mentioned Ashkeep because he forgot all about you. He may have wanted to keep this place around as a haven for his loyal servants, but the memory faded away after centuries of being among superior agents. After all, why would he need you when he had demons, chaos elves, and Weapon Dragons at his command? This means you’re not really talking to him. The one answering your prayers is a bored deity who enjoys your suffering . . . Oh, that’s cunning. The Baron not being a god meant he couldn’t communicate with you through the curse, but that didn’t stop him from recruiting a stand-in. Come on out, Yola!”

  “Nobody here by that name,” one of the pictures says before flipping over. Sweat and paint pour down the wall as the small painting shakes. “Now, if she was here then she’d explain that it wasn’t to be mean. Arthuru wanted to help those he left behind and Yola was the perfect conductor for his voice. Of course, he did forget about Ashkeep after the Great Cataclysm and left me . . . I mean, the hygienic Chaos Goddess to tend to his flock. She did the best she could and the people remained happy. There’s probably more to it, but
she isn’t here to explain herself and may have left the reason in a jar somewhere.”

  Grabbing the staff pressed against her stomach, Trinity sends a jolt of lightning into Mora’s body. The fireskin goes through the table and cracks the glass shaft, which causes beams of teleportation magic to escape. A few patches of the woman’s scales are removed from her body before she can crawl to safety and cast a spell that reverses the damage. Freed from her bonds, Trinity lands on her feet and hurls the staff at the portrait, which tries to scamper into the shadows. A high-pitched yelp erupts when the artwork is pierced and falls to the floor. Leaping around, Yola returns to her natural form and struggles to remove the sharp weapon from her back. Firing it out of her chest, she directs it away from Trinity and impales one of the councilmembers. The robed figure is set crashing through the wall and sails over the moat to land on the solid cobblestones.

  “Oh, I hope that wasn’t one of the people I liked,” Yola says as she hurries to the hole. The staff reappears in her hand and she nonchalantly tosses it back to Mora, who clumsily ducks the weapon. “Nope. Never saw that man before. At least I think it’s a man. Hard to tell from so far away and after such a big splatter. Mortals go gooey far too easily.”

  “I assume the bounty was your idea,” Trinity states while taking a seat. Slicing a goblet off at the stem, she forces it to fill with a sweet juice and drinks before the relic turns to dust. “You knew we’d be coming here at some point, so you made sure we couldn’t sneak in and out. By the way, Aeriel is being sealed for attacking me and Altia, which means you don’t need me anymore. Plenty of time for you to find other ways to get stronger.”

  “But that requires patience and I’m nearly out of it,” the immortal declares, her tongue running along her lips. Going down to all fours, she prowls around her friend like a hungry cat, complete with a tail that quivers behind her. “Aeriel will come back eventually and then my hunt for you will continue. I’d consider eliminating her while she sleeps, but I’m not allowed on Ambervale. Unless I eat you, of course. Now, I have come up with an alternative that will make both of us happy. You’re upset about the chewing and swallowing part of our deal. What if I simply absorbed you into my body? No pain, crunching, or parts of you getting stuck in my teeth.”

  With a tired sigh, the channeler walks up to her friend and pokes her in the chest. “I’m sure this isn’t the last time I’ll say it, but I’m going to do it anyway. Stop trying to eat, devour, or absorb me! There are only so many ways to have this conversation, Yola, and I think we’ve done them all. Now, get out of my way or tell me where the real portrait is hidden.”

  “But you owe me.”

  “For what?”

  “I did a thing to help you, but you haven’t noticed yet.”

  “Then tell me what you did.”

  “It’s a surprise. Promise.”

  Four spikes hit Yola in the chest and knock her out of the building, her green hair gripping the hole to haul herself back up. The immortal clambers back inside and charges at Mora, her limbs twisting and growing spiked hooves. Refusing to back down, the fireskin conjures a ring of ice that can instantly freeze whatever passes through it. The deadly spell is shattered by a blast of sound that knocks both combatants away from each other and drives nearly everyone to their knees. With fists clenched, Trinity walks over to Yola and pins her to the floor with part of the ceiling.

  “I need to know where that portrait is and she’s going to tell me,” the chaos elf whispers into the snoring immortal’s ear. She jumps away from a playful bite, her hand going to her neck to make sure she is not bleeding. “Here’s the deal, Mora. You tell me what I want and I’ll surrender myself to you after I get the crests. Agree and we both get what we want. Refuse and I’ll unleash Yola here by telling her that the city of Ashkeep would make a good appetizer. That should give me plenty of time to search for the portrait and escape without lifting a finger to help any of your citizens. We both know I’m the type of person who would do that. So, what do you do with the fate of all your people resting on your decision?”

  “Send your friend after us,” Mora replies without hesitation. Placing her staff across her shoulders, the fireskin lifts her head to expose her throat. “All of us are ready to die in the name of our master. If this portrait is needed by a traitor like you then we know it is a weapon that can hurt him. You will never get your hands on it. Kill everyone here and your quest ends. Even with the help of that necrocaster, you won’t get your answers.”

  “There are women and children here!” Trinity snaps, her arms quivering with rage. Hoping to scare the councilwoman, she hurls a thin line of acid that misses by an inch. “Not even a blink from you. Do you really want to sacrifice yourself for a man you’ve never met? He forgot this city and probably won’t come back for you after he’s free. Ashkeep has been abandoned, so there’s no reason for you to remain loyal.”

  With a toothy smile, the woman steps forward and bows at the channeler’s feet. “Would you expect those you left behind to do the same? We have heard of your exile and that not every chaos elf was allowed to leave Shayd. Is it strange for you to see the dedication of your people held by those who worship your enemy?”

  “Never compare yourselves to the chaos elves,” the confused Queen replies before closing her fist to shatter the stone pinning Yola. She creates a barrier to stop the immortal from attacking and adds a colorful illusion to distract her. “Don’t make me do this. I’ve done a lot of horrible things for my people, so adding this sin won’t make much of a difference. A victory for the champions is one for the chaos elves, so I need those crests. This is your last chance to make the smart move and give me what I want.”

  Removing a dead scale from her arm, Mora turns away to sit in her chair and enjoy another drink. She waves for the others to join her, including a spectral figure who crawls through the gaping hole. The destroyed goblet sprouts from the table as everyone grabs their cup and runs their fingers around the rims. Removing their hoods, the councilmembers reveal themselves as coming from all races and ages. Some are no older than fifteen, but they speak as if they have seen horrors undreamed of by children. Others are covered in wrinkles and struggle to move against agonizing arthritis. The only thing they have in common is a cold look in their eyes, which sparkles as they make a silent toast. Only Mora keeps an eye on Trinity, who eventually tears away her spell and prepares to give the execution order to Yola. The fireskin settles back and closes her eyes, expecting to be the first one killed.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” the Lich declares as he slips out of his flimsy bonds. With Nimby asleep, the body’s legs are stiff for the first few steps and become smoother as he adapts to being in full control. “There is a way for everyone to get what they want, but it means I reveal a little secret. You see, Madam Mora, I am the one who put this expedition together because the Baron needs those crests to secure victory. Once placed in the wall of Gaia, they will contain the battle and block the champions from their power sources. I’m sure he does not need such assistance, but I wish to help in his final hour.”

  “You conniving, worm-sucking monster,” Trinity growls, her mouth dripping an acid that hovers in the air. Passing her hands through the gathered spell, she coats her fists and takes a swing at the necrocaster. “I wondered why you were doing this. Revenge on the man who you idolized? Even your vengeful nature has its limits, Tyler. What makes you think I’m going to help you now that I know the truth?”

  “Because you wouldn’t want two more deaths on your conscience,” he states with a gleeful chattering of his teeth. Pointing his boney finger at Quail and Altia, the Lich reveals two glowing runes on the back of their necks. “I put that on them days ago when you thought Nimby was on watch. He fell asleep and I went to work. Refuse to help me and they become my new toys for a minute before they explode. Then, I put them back together and do it again. Now, you’re going to help us get those crests. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the Baron will see t
his as an act of redemption on your part. Now, Madam Mora, are we allowed to visit the portrait given the situation has changed?”

  “I believe it is in the basement, but nobody goes down there,” the councilwoman answers, her eyes glowing with a truth spell. Feeling a growing pain in her skull, she shakes her head clear and rises to her feet. “I sense no treachery, so your words ring true. We can send you there right away, Master Tyler.”

  A clap of thunder shakes the building and echoes until it becomes Yola’s voice shouting, “I want what I want! Give me my tasty friend!”

  “You get me once we have the crests,” Trinity mutters as she falls to her knees. The acidic gloves dissolve as tears fall to the floor, each one sprouting a wisp of smoke. “If this is really to help the Baron then I’ve betrayed my people. I don’t have a right to lead them, especially since it would mean the champions lose and we can never return to Shayd. Protecting Quail and Altia will be my final act before you consume me. At least I can help you go home, Yola. Sorry for giving you so much trouble.”

  “I’m not sure I like this game anymore,” the immortal whines before taking a seat.

  “Then, we’re ready to go,” the Lich happily announces while breaking the sleeping spell on everyone except Nimby. Whirling around and bowing to Mora, the necrocaster places his skeletal hand on the carpet to leave a burning mark. “The Baron is grateful for the love and loyalty you have held for him all these centuries. I promise that the city of Ashkeep will rise as one of the jewels of his kingdom.”