by Layton Green
They exchanged a series of sword thrusts that left the underside of Mala’s arm bleeding, centimeters from an artery. She managed to disengage by swinging the sash at his head and forcing him back.
“An energy vortex?” he said. “There must be more to your plan. I searched the trees and know you came alone. What trick is up your sleeve, treacherous one?”
“The Grandfather would never order my death. Why risk his wrath?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. The Grandfather is old, and more fickle with his edicts. But this is not about you, Mala. I came for the weapon. Leave it in my hands, and I’ll decide whether to slay you as well.”
She spat. “You’ll twitch on the end of a blade one day, fiend.”
“Perhaps,” he said, amused, “but it won’t be yours. What dark hold do you have over the Grandfather, Mala? I’ve always wondered.”
“True love,” she said, “as sweet and pure as a mountain stream.”
The music of Nagiro’s laugh masked the darkness of his heart. “I do miss your wit. You would have made a fine concubine, once I ascend to the Throne of Daggers. But then you’re already accustomed to that role, aren’t you?”
She pressed the attack, causing the assassin to skip back as he continued to laugh. “A sore topic, Mala? We all know you bewitched the old man. It was the only way. But you’re a killer, just like the rest of us. Why leave the mountain?”
“I’m a killer, true. But I choose who I kill and why. You’re nothing but a slave to the whims of a diseased old man.”
The dhampyr leaped at her with a vengeance, catching her with a foot to the stomach that doubled her over. As his sword came down for the killing blow, she reached into her pouch and threw a handful of fire beads in his face, causing him to rear back.
She scrambled to her feet as the mist swirled around them, as if urging them on. Despite Nagiro’s superior speed and strength, she managed to keep him at bay with her array of sword, sash, dagger, and fire beads, infuriating the dhampyr.
“You’ll never outlast me,” he said. “You already tire.”
She didn’t waste her breath denying it.
“Where is Magelasher? You’ll tell me before you die, I promise you that.”
Mala hadn’t brought the cat o’ nine tails, in case Dashi betrayed her and she needed a bargaining chip for her life. As powerful as the weapon was, it wouldn’t afford her the same advantage against Nagiro as it would against an opponent with magical defenses.
As she stepped back to throw a dagger, Nagiro’s form blurred, shifting into a hyena wolf with silver and brown fur. The huge beast snapped its jaws and leapt at her, causing her to execute a series of acrobatic maneuvers to avoid its claws, almost tumbling off the sloped edge of the mound. That was dangerous. She had to stay atop the earthen burial site to keep him from using the Mirror Cloak. When she finished a series of back handsprings and spun to meet the hyena wolf, the dhampyr had shifted back to human form, face twisted in fury, his sword sweeping towards her chest. She lifted her own blade just in time, but Nagiro raked his wrist spur across the side of her throat, narrowly missing her jugular and causing her to stumble. He shifted again, and Mala found herself flat on her back with the paws of a hyena wolf pinning her torso to the ground.
Blood seeped into her mouth as she twisted and struggled to no avail. The creature was far too strong. She gagged at the stench of its fetid breath, her chest crushed beneath its weight. With a blur, the dhampyr shifted to human form again, and Nagiro pressed the side of his blade against her throat. He sat astride her, pinning her arms to the ground with his knees.
“Let us try again,” he said. “Where is Magelasher?”
She spat in his face.
“Witch!” he roared. After wiping off the spittle, he put the tip of his blade against her left eye. “Shall we start here?”
She tried to think of something, anything, that might help her escape. The golden bracelet, as slender as a wire, was concealed beneath her sleeve. It may as well have been in the Mayan Kingdom, because she couldn’t move her hands. Yet if she didn’t slip the collar onto Nagiro, she knew Dashi wouldn’t help her.
“Why come after Magelasher?” she said, trying to buy time. “Instead of the Coffer of Devla?”
“Not to worry, love.” He leaned over to let his long hair fall in her face as he patted her check. “Ferala seeks the Coffer, and she knows where it is. She’ll kill your blond companion and his friends, then bring the Coffer to the mountain. I assure you of that.”
Mala felt herself go cold. She’ll kill your blond companion.
If Ferala was tracking Will, the dhampyr would find him and kill him. Of this she had no doubt. Neither Will, nor anyone else with him, was ready to face the likes of Ferala. Nagiro’s twin was even more ferocious and deadly than he was.
The revelation gave her a burst of adrenaline, and Nagiro saw it in her eyes. “I’ve struck a nerve, eh? Is the blond one a lover?”
“Nagiro?” she said, shuffling her feet as close to her buttocks as she could, and tensing her torso.
“Yes?”
“Catch.”
She spat again, this time aiming for his eye. Like a slap, spitting was a maneuver that served to unbalance more than harm. As the spittle flew towards Nagiro’s face, causing him to flinch, Mala thrust upward with her heels with all her might, unbalancing the powerful dhampyr just a fraction, for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t enough for her to regain her feet, but she was able to slip an arm out and fling her hand at his face, again aiming for his eyes.
Instead of batting her hand away, he bit down on it with the precision of a striking snake, sinking inch-long fangs into her forearm. Mala screamed at the pain but fought through. The eye strike, too, had been a distraction. Her bodyweight had shifted enough to allow her other hand an inch of space, and she managed to reach into her pocket and extract the wrist collar. Contorting her slender wrist with the dexterity of a master thief, she freed her hand even further, reached up, and slapped the golden band around Nagiro’s wrist.
There was a flare of orange light. Nagiro jerked his arm away with a scream, as if the collar had seared him. Mala scrambled away in the confusion, her arm aching. Thank the Queen that dhampyrs were sterile and their bite could not make others of their kind.
“What is this?” he said with a snarl, holding his arm in pain. He tried and failed to yank the slender wire off his wrist. “You think this will save you, witch? I’ll take you to the mountain and flay you alive!”
“Having trouble with the bracelet?” she mocked.
His face contorted, and he concentrated as if trying to shift form. When nothing happened, he stared at the wrist collar in horror, screamed his rage to the night, and rushed forward. Mala had backed all the way to the edge of the mound. When the dhampyr was halfway to her position, the ground burst apart, trapdoors of dirt-encrusted wood hinging open. Dashi and ten of his followers jumped out of their hiding spots to surround Nagiro, cutting him off from Mala.
The dhampyr howled in fury and replaced the hood of his cloak, causing his form to blur. As before, he didn’t quite disappear, instead leaving a silver shimmer in the air. The thieves raised their azantite-tipped arrows that Mala suggested they bring. Rumor held that piercing a dhampyr’s skin with enough azantite would kill it, though she was unsure of the truth of that legend, or how much azantite was required.
Before anyone got a shot off, Nagiro pounced on the nearest thief, who had dropped his bow to reach for his sword. Nagiro tore his throat out with his wrist spur. Spinning as fast as a tornado, he whipped his sword into another, gutting a woman with the platinum blade. As he spun again, Mala heard the thunk of a quartet of arrows piercing his cloak, and Nagiro staggered. Azantite was sharper and stronger than any metal, and another round of arrows dropped him to his knees.
With the dhampyr distracted, Dashi slipped behind him and threw a net that rendered the creature immobile, caught in purplish strands that hardened to the strength of ste
el.
“Impressive your kind is,” the Guild Lord said, holding Soulskein aloft in precaution as he stepped towards the trapped dhampyr. “But there are what, a few dozen of you on Urfe?” He pointed the tip of Soulskein at Nagiro’s throat. “Majority rules, I’m afraid.”
“You’ll start a war with the Alazashin,” Nagiro hissed.
Dashi shrugged. “Lord Alistair already has. And I’m betting on him.”
For the second time in two nights, Mala collapsed into her chair at The Velvet Temple. After rendering the dhampyr unconscious with tranquilizer darts, Dashi and his minions had carried him back to the Thieves Guild in a private carriage. She knew they would keep him locked in a secure cell, guard him with all of their resources, and decide how best to exploit him.
Mala idly wondered how far the Grandfather would go to ensure the return of his favored assassin, or whether he would leave Nagiro to his fate. She also wondered, now that Dashi had the Mirror Cloak, when he would make his bid to usurp Ilianna.
Once the food arrived, rabbit stew served with rosemary biscuits, Mala turned her attention to the decision at hand: whether or not to fulfill her lifelong quest of confronting Kjeld, or instead try to save Will Blackwood’s life.
Mala didn’t know why the knowledge that Nagiro’s twin was after Will had given her such a burst of adrenaline. She did not think it was because she loved the impetuous warrior. She had to admit she had feelings for him, but she had never known love of that sort. If so, she thought she would have felt it somewhere by now, deep down inside, and known for sure.
Was it because Will was a companion in arms?
A good man?
The best hope for her people?
Since when did any of that matter? Truth be told, she didn’t think any of it did.
So why couldn’t she let this go? All of a sudden, she realized what it was, and it made her beer taste rank.
Fear must be the source of her sudden urge to help Will. Another excuse not to face the majitsu who had haunted her nightmares for her entire adult life.
Yes, she was sure of it. She felt for Will, and did not want to see him come to harm, but her own cowardice in confronting Kjeld was the real reason she couldn’t get the young warrior’s predicament out of her mind.
Still, even after she had admitted this sad fact to herself, why couldn’t she seem to stop thinking about him?
And if not Will, whose memory had the shaman taken from her?
The next day at noon, Mala stood in front of a two-story stone residence on Magazine Street. A handsome but typical dwelling in this part of town. She had spent the morning making discrete inquiries about the home of Val Kenefick, the spirit mage she suspected was the alias of Valjean Blackwood, Will’s older brother.
Her inquiries led her to a carriage driver named Gus, who had given her the address. Not after Mala had offered him good coin—for some reason, the man was fiercely loyal to Val—but only after she had told him that his brother’s life was in danger.
Gus could drop her at the residence, he had said, and nothing more. He didn’t have a key, and what she did after that was her business.
Mala had never met a lock she couldn’t pick. Eying the simple wooden door with an expert eye, she expected a deadbolt, or an iron bar that would have to be slipped off. If it proved difficult, she could always pry a window or take to the rooftop.
Oddly, the door opened without resistance. She crept inside, knowing Val was away on a mission for the Congregation, unsure if anyone else was around. It made her nervous to sneak into the home of a wizard. The Val Blackwood she had known had been unable to access his powers, but apparently things had changed.
And how in the world had he managed to join the Congregation so quickly? As a spirit mage, no less?
She detected no physical traps, and any magical ones would have snared her already. She stopped to eye a strangely hypnotic tapestry on the wall that depicted two wizards facing each other across a rock bridge spanning a bottomless chasm. The artistry was exquisite, and she wondered at its origin.
There were signs of recent use in the kitchen. Before she descended to the cellar or climbed to the rooftop, she found what she was looking for in one of the bedrooms: a pillow with a few short strands of blond hair.
Neither Val nor Caleb had blond hair. Unless someone else had slept in the house, there was a good chance the lock belonged to Will.
Still muttering to herself that she should be looking for a way to challenge Kjeld, Mala took the decagon of Kirna Tuluth out of a pouch. The beautiful amulet was embedded with tiny pieces of amethyst that formed a ten-pointed star. Earlier that morning, she had consulted a lore master about its usage. She turned the face of the amulet clockwise until it clicked. When it popped open, she laid the strand of hair inside and closed it, then slipped the silver chain around her neck and held the amulet in her palm, staring at it.
She owed this man from another world nothing. Yes, they had once saved each other’s lives, but those debts had been paid. Yes, his lips tasted nice and his strong arms felt good around her waist, but she could find a dozen men that very night who made her feel the same.
So why couldn’t she leave him to his fate?
She depressed the lever on the back of the decagon and spun the face, unsure if anything would happen. At once she felt the amulet merge into her hand, as if sinking through flesh. The sensation was not painful but caused her to step back in shock. The room started to fade, and just before the blackness enveloped her, she thought again about what a coward she was for running away from the monster who had murdered her parents.
-25-
The portal to Kethropi City was located beneath the Sanctum. Lord Alistair himself saw Val and the others off, along with Professor Azara and a retinue of majitsu guards. Dida had never seen a bilocation portal before and was highly impressed with the experience, inquiring how it compared to an elder bibliomancer’s method of long-distance travel, the deployment of mathematical interdimensional constructs infused with magic. No one in the room had any idea what he was talking about.
As Val, Adaira, and Dida faced the archway of liquid silver, Professor Azara explained that a high-level spirit mage could use the portal not just to bridge locations in an ephemeral state, but to transport items or people as well. Since this feat was far too advanced for Val, she brought the three of them through the portal, then stepped back through.
They arrived in a well-appointed chamber in a portion of Kethropi City located on the surface of the ocean, a tiny floating island built out of coral and reserved for visiting dignitaries. Val wondered how they kept it afloat and anchored it.
Beautiful mixed-media artwork made from repurposed ocean objects, shells and dried sea creatures and various species of coral, adorned the pebbly walls. They were met by a small contingent of kethropi led by Riga, who Val had learned was niece to the reigning king, and ninth in line for the throne. As soon as they arrived, Riga moved forward to greet them, using the rolling gait of the kethropi. Riga wore a floor-length sleeveless dress that shimmered in shades of green, made of dried seaweed enhanced with silk, interwoven with tiny pearls. Blue-green scales covered the exposed portions of her body, her face was gilled at the cheeks, and she had nostrils so flat they were barely perceptible.
The other representatives had scales of varying shades of blue and green. Val assumed that Riga, along with her retinue, had been imbued with the same magic that had allowed her to attend the Academy. That or the entire chamber was ensorcelled.
Lidless eyes the color of dull amber flickered with warmth as Riga raised the back of her hand in a limp-wristed gesture of greeting. “Well met, Val and Adaira. And Dida! I thought you would have returned to your kingdom by now.”
Adaira executed a flawless kethropi hand movement of her own, and then greeted Riga by her long official title—in the gargled language of the fish-people. Murmurs of surprise and approval rose from the kethropi contingent.
There were no tables i
n the chamber, but a servant brought a tray of tea and water. The other kethropi remained standing as the visitors caught up with their old classmate. Adaira expertly straddled the warmth of the reunion with the professional niceties of a diplomatic mission. She knew all the right things to say and when to say them, leaving Val impressed by her ambassadorial skills.
From Val’s briefing, he knew the kethropi were a reclusive race. Not just because of the obvious difficulties in communication, but also due to a culture of insularity born from apprehension of the outside world. Though the kethropi had plenty of mages and a formidable army—unmatched on the oceans—they never involved themselves in surface conflicts. They also disapproved, for the most part, of contact with the surface races outside of trade or diplomatic purposes. An invitation to visit their kingdom was an extremely rare prize, usually extended to aquamancers from friendly nations.
Which was why, in exchange for helping the Congregation find the Trident of Terengotha, Lord Alistair had agreed to give the kethropi Zagath’s location in Undertown. Val had learned that Zagath, after he was banished, made a habit of selling kethropi secrets to foreign governments.
Neither Val nor Adaira was comfortable with the double-cross, but it was out of their hands. Too much was at stake to allow a criminal to stand in the way of recovering the Coffer of Devla.
As they sipped seaweed tea, a surprisingly refreshing beverage, Val and the others learned a bit more about their mission, including the history of the trident. They were told that interracial marriage and procreation were forbidden among the kethropi, and all mermerus were born sterile. Riga did not say it, but Val got the sense they were heavily discriminated against within kethropi society.
Three centuries before, a mermerus named Terengotha surprised the kethropi by exhibiting magical ability, the only known wizard of his kind. Desirous of a life above the surface, he had crafted his trident in secret over many decades, fulfilling a lifelong ambition. Before he could escape with it—unauthorized surface visits were forbidden at the time—his lover betrayed him to the authorities. Terengotha was imprisoned and the Trident ordered destroyed. To everyone’s surprise, no one, not even the most powerful kethropi mages, could shatter the weapon. Fearing it would be too much of a temptation to other mermerus, the queen ordered the Trident sent to a deep and lightless part of the ocean, dropped into an ancient temple that was legendary among the kethropi.
