‘No, not at least the one I remember,’ Illumina remarked.
His eyes turned away from the globe and he buried his hand in a draw, in search for a quill and parchment.
‘Wait… who is that?’
Draeden’s eyes followed the hand of his sister, which pointed at another man in the distance, hacking his way through combatant after combatant.
His eyes squinted at the globe, scrutinizing the figure.
‘I know that man…’ the Szar whispered.
He turned to his sister, who gazed quizzically at him, a look of utmost contempt on his face, ‘a Hunter… Zaine,’ Draeden snarled.
*
It was utter chaos outside, slavers fought slaves, as rain pounded them from above. Everyone seemed to be covered from head to toe in mud, which made it all the more difficult for Thorne to spot Zaine.
‘Zaine!’ he yelled at the top of his lungs, as he descended down the hill.
No one could hear him above fighting, let alone answer his call.
He passed multiple bodies on the way, both slavers and slaves. Blood oozing out of fresh cuts and stumps. He fought hard to push back the thoughts of his old mentor Rozenhall, savaged by alpha wolves.
By good fortune, he finally noticed his companion. His uncovered torso was covered with blood, frankly it was miracle his bandages had survived. The man stood in line with what remained of the slaves. But he was holding his side with one hand and fighting off the slavers with the other. Thorne had never seen him this tired before and the slaves were completely outnumbered.
Thorne didn’t know quite why he did it, but he found himself sprinting into the fray, lobbing fireball after fireball in a line at the crowd of slavers. The rain limited the damage considerably, but it caught their attention and cleared enough of path through towards the slaves.
‘Zaine!’ Thorne cried, diving through the mud towards the swordsman.
His companion looked down in bewilderment, ‘Thorne?’
‘Hey,’ Thorne said spitting out of a mouthful of mud, ‘sorry I’m late.’
‘Late?’ Zaine laughed, ‘this is my rescue mission– LOOK OUT!’
The warning came too late or perhaps Zaine’s hand had slipped on Thorne’s mud soaked robes, either way fortune against him. As soon as the sword plunged through Thorne’s stomach, time seemed to slow.
A dull ringing filled his ears over the background fighting. Was this what it was like to die? His eyes lifted slowly to meet Zaine’s, whose mouth was open in an anguished cry. Something warm began to dribble down the sides of his mouth. He coughed, and droplets of blood spurted over his boots.
‘You fool!’ one of the slaver’s shouted, ‘that’s the Warlock!’
In all fairness, Thorne thought this would hurt a lot more. Not to say the initial plunge hadn’t. He looked at his surroundings again and noticed to his surprise that everyone had backed away, even the slaves. Only Zaine had remained, crouched in front of him, his own sword plunged into the mud, and his free hand holding what remained of the pommel of a sword.
In that moment, the dull ringing in his ears began to dissipate and he began to become conscious again of the rain pounding his back… and aware of an odd burning smell.
Thorne looked back down and gasped. Below him, what he assumed to be the remains of the sword, sizzled and bubbled among the mud and his chest…. Well.. His wound had disappeared to be replaced by a searing, bright amber glow that highlighted the veins in his chest, rapidly spreading warmth across his arms and down his legs.
It was difficult to describe how he felt. The ringing had disappeared, time appeared to have returned to normality and he felt… good. Really good in fact. It was like he was punching the blissgiver into the tree all over again. The slaves had dropped their weapons and in almost perfect unison fell to their knees, bowing their heads towards him. Zaine stood before them, still hanging tightly onto the half-burnt pommel.
*
The Baron swigged down the remains of the bottle of wine and threw it down furiously onto the stone floor.
He winced as a shard caught him by the leg and he staggered and fell, howling as his hands were cut by the sharp, shattered remains of the bottle on the floor.
He groaned as he looked around the ruins of his cabin. The walls had turned black with fire and there was a massive hole where the door should have been, the wind scattering loose pages and coins on the floor.
He was ruined. The Warlock and his pet Hunter had destroyed everything. All those months of hard work ruined in a day.
‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’
The Baron stumbled to his feet and whipped his head round to face the intruder, who leant by the doorway of the cabin.
‘You! You came,’ the Baron gasped at the Assassin.
The man smiled under the shadow of his hood and pulled his hand out behind his back drawing a dagger, blood dried over the surface of the metal. ‘You called,’ the man said calmly, handing the Baron the dagger.
‘Yes… I bloody well did!’ the Baron growled, thinking through his words, ‘I have a proposition.’
‘Oh?’ the Assassin said, folding his arms together against his belted tunic, ‘and what is it that you propose?’
The Baron licked his lips nervously and then strode towards a cabinet at the other side of the room. One of the few pieces of furniture that had survived the Warlock, or rather that…monster he’d become. He dug his hands into a pile of parchment, throwing each useless one carelessly over his shoulder with a curse. The Assassin hummed a tune quietly to himself, his feet tapping an annoying rhythm on the floor. The Baron grinned wickedly when he found the parchment required, walked over to the waiting Assassin and handed it to him.
‘A target?’ the Assassin asked.
‘I’ll get to that soon,’ the Baron replied curtly, ‘just look at the damn thing, will you?’
The Assassin chuckled and slowly unravelled the knot around the parchment and then opened it up.
‘You know who it is?’ the Baron demanded.
‘Yes,’ the Assassin replied, studying the parchment with an intrigued expression, ‘I don’t suppose it’s the same fellow who did this is it?’ the man asked, pointing at the scorched walls.
The Baron resisted the temptation to lash out at the Assassin and said through gritted teeth, ‘of course.’
‘Huh,’ the Assassin said.
‘What?’ the Baron snarled, ‘worried that it’ll affect your stupid Balance! What?’
The man paused and then quietly folded the parchment and placed it in the Baron’s hands.
‘What?’ the Baron demanded.
The Assassin ignored him, placed his hands inside his pockets and began to walk away. The Baron growled into his hands, ripped the parchment in half and chased after the Assassin.
‘Don’t you walk away from me! Don’t you bloody dare!’ The Baron barked, ‘I am the Baron!’
The man looked back, examined the ruined cabin behind him and muttered, ‘a Baron no longer I think,’ and then strode down the hill.
The Baron clawed at his own face in exasperation and then ran at the end of the hill and screamed, ‘I’ll pay you gold!’
The Assassin stopped in his tracks. ‘How much?’
‘As much as you need!’
‘Two thousand Skys.’
‘A thousand!’
‘A thousand and seven hundred.’
‘A thousand and five hundred!’
The Assassin stroked his chin for a second and then nodded in agreement ‘very well, we have a deal.’ He waved and continued on down the hill, whistling a tune.
‘I want him dead Assassin!’ the Baron bellowed hoarsely, ‘and the Hunter too! I don’t care how you do it, just kill them both! You hear me? Kill them!’
Chapter 18
Thorne felt the familiar, soothing touch of rain, the water rolling down his cheeks.
His eyes, now able to focus, observed the rhythmic pace of Zaine’s metal greaves, as t
hey bounded across the stone path in a series of clunks.
Thorne’s head rested against the stranger’s bare back and he felt the warrior’s gloved hand held firmly on his back, keeping him in place.
‘Zaine…’ Thorne muttered, ‘Zaine…’
The warrior halted suddenly, ‘you are awake?’
‘Yes, let me down will you?’ Thorne replied.
The man sighed and then carefully lowered the Warlock onto the ground, steadying him when he stumbled on his feet.
‘Are you alright?’ Zaine asked.
Thorne groaned in response, shaking off the man’s arm from his shoulder. The Warlock leaned over, letting his back take the full brunt of the rain, wiping away the droplets from his eyelids. He groaned again, his closed eyes bringing about a number of unpleasant recollections; he could hear the roar of flames and picture an endless pile of bodies. He could see glimpses of carnage all around him and then… darkness.
‘What… what happened?’ Thorne asked weakly.
‘I found you unconscious, I carried you out from the camp,’ the warrior replied, eyeing him warily.
Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes once more, inviting the return of the vivid memories. He sat crouched on the ground for a minute in silent contemplation and then growled in frustration. It was hopeless; he didn’t have a clue about what it all meant. He felt a droplet of water hit his chest and shivered. Thorne’s eyes sprung open and he snapped his head down to observe a slit in his robes, rimmed with blood.
‘Zaine,’ Thorne pleaded, ‘what happened to me?’
The warrior crossed his arms and held Thorne’s gaze silently.
‘Zaine,’ Thorne began irritably, feeling heat suddenly surging through his body, ‘I need to know.’
‘Let’s move on… we’ll be at the city soon,’ Zaine turned his back on Thorne.
Thorne growled in frustration and leapt at the man, aided by some sudden strength that allowed him to lift the warrior up by his waist.
‘Thorne,’ Zaine began, with surprising calm, ‘you’re boiling–’
‘Tell me!’ Thorne demanded, shaking his companion furiously. He could feel the heat surging inside of him, but he refused to notice the stinging sweat that rolled into his eyes and down his arms and chest.
Zaine placed his hands gently on Thorne’s shoulders. ‘Thorne, this isn’t the right time,’ Zaine said.
‘Gods damn you Zaine! It’s never the right bloody time!’ Thorne snarled.
‘Listen to… yourself… look at what… you’re doing,’ Zaine said quietly.
Thorne felt his ragged breaths spread out slowly until it smoothed out entirely, and he was left clinging on to the Hunter’s waist.
What was he doing?
CRACK!
Chapter 19
Thorne whipped around. His amber eyes again furious, he pulled the dart from behind his back and tossed it aside.
‘Who did that?’ Thorne demanded.
Silence and then another Crack!
But he was prepared this time. The dart whizzed towards Thorne’s hand and then disappeared in a handful of flames.
Thorne’s ears perked up and he could hear voices. Somewhere close, whispering and hiding like rats.
‘What manner of man is this?’
‘Our orders were for a Warlock.’
‘This can’t be a Warlock… that dart should have paralysed him.’
The voices appeared to be coming from behind a large boulder close to the path he stood on.
‘Found you,’ Thorne said, launching a torrent of flames down both sides of the boulder, setting the dry grass alight.
The two assassins, startled by this Majik, leaped from behind their hiding place and let loose a torrent of darts.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Most missed, but a few managed to find their mark, causing the Warlock to stagger. Thorne grunted through gritted teeth, as he pulled the darts out one by one from his torso.
Thorne looked up, finding one of the assassin’s standing before him; a thick beard poking out underneath his hood.
‘Where’s your friend gone?’ Thorne demanded, tossing the darts aside.
The remaining assassin held his silence but began a rapid rhythm of movements with his hand; clench, hold up two fingers, clench, release – Crack!
Several things happened at once. The second assassin dropped silently to the ground a few metres behind Thorne and pulled a long, thin knife from the inner folds of his robe, and threw it. Zaine, who had been watching this rapid sequence of events from his prone position, largely with his mouth agape, cried out in warning as the assassin landed, ‘LOOK–!’ But barely had the first sound left Zaine’s mouth before Thorne twisted. He plucked the knife from the air, much to the surprise of the second assassin and, in a continuous fluid movement, hurled it straight back at his attacker, the knife burying itself into the assassin’s shoulder.
‘–out?’ finished Zaine, quietly.
‘Grimm!’ the bearded assassin bellowed, as his companion collapsed onto the floor.
But as Thorne advanced, the assassin whipped his hand into a pocket and drew out two small, stone–like objects. He barked a curse and threw them in Thorne’s direction. they exploded a metre away from him and instantaneously began to release thick clouds of smoke obscuring his vision.
Thorne could hear paced footsteps that seemed to come from everywhere, as though the smoke was reflecting sounds all around him.
Crack! Crack!
The first dart missed him completely but the second caught his ankle, distracting him briefly. It was enough. He heard a cry, and then saw a flash of silver that arced down from above, slashing across his arm, biting hungrily into his skin.
Thorne cried out, collapsing in a heap on the ground. The wound burned. What poisons had the assassin coated his blade with? He could feel his blood pounding down his arm, a pain like tiny daggers pushing out from within his skin spreading like fire down to his hand.
The smoke around Thorne began to clear. And from its depths he saw another flash of silver arcing towards him as another cloud of darkness ushered itself from the corner of his eyes.
‘It’s over,’ Thorne thought briefly before succumbing to unconsciousness.
Zaine’s parrying blow met the blade of the assassin, as he had leapt in for the kill, throwing the assassin briefly off balance. Recovering quickly, the assassin rolled into a crouched position and–
Crack.
Zaine shielded his chest with his glove, the dart rebounding off a metal knuckle.
The bearded assassin leapt to his feet snarling and began to release a torrent of darts. Zaine sprinted on, expertly avoiding the path of each dart, sliding under the assassin’s blade, and slicing his own across the man’s hip. The bearded assassin cried out in pain this time and collapsed onto one knee.
Zaine drew out his sword and placed the tip at the man’s throat, lifting the Assassin’s chin so he could look directly into the man’s eyes.
‘Yield,’ he said.
‘How?’ the Assassin demanded, ‘how?’
Zaine pulled off his mask and tossed it aside, revealing bright silver eyes.
The assassin let out a mirthless laugh. ‘Ha! Thorin neglected to mention we were hunting a Divine Son,’ he said.
‘I hear your masters neglect to mention much to you these days,’ Zaine replied.
The assassin merely shrugged, ‘are they so different from yours?’
‘No,’ Zaine admitted, holding his cracked pendant before the assassin, ‘but at least I tried to do something about it.’
He then brought his sword down and across in one clean, fluid motion. The assassin’s body slumped lifelessly to the floor, head rolling open–mouthed across the stones.
Zaine stood wordlessly for a few seconds and then sheathed his sword, bowing his head towards the body.
Crack.
Zaine caught the dart in his glove, dropped it and crushed it under his
boot.
‘You never give up do you, Grimm?’ Zaine sighed.
Grimm stared silently at the Hunter and then dropped his arm.
‘You killed him…’ he muttered.
‘One of us was going to die.’
‘Wait,’ Grimm said, before Zaine could turn away, ‘you said my masters neglect to tell us much. What do you mean?’
Zaine looked into the boy’s eyes, matching his piercing gaze.
‘You know exactly what I mean,’ Zaine sighed, the boy was young. Too young for this. ‘I think you and I know both know already there is much wrongdoing within your order.’
The boy fell silent, staring at the ground, and then without warning, darted off into the distance.
‘I’m sorry, boy,’ Zaine said, turning away towards Thorne. It was as he was walking away that he suddenly felt a burning sensation around his neck.
He paled. It was nothing surely? Fate would not dare to cut him down now? He looked down at his chest and gasped. The veins of his chest were illuminated and writhed under his skin.
‘Not now,’ Zaine muttered, ‘Please, not now.’
*
Thorne woke to a throbbing pain in his arm, groaning as he pushed himself off the floor and looked around. Naught but the grassy vales and the stone path surrounded him. How had he got here?
Thorne pinched his eyes and thought back: it had been raining, and then he was being carried by Zaine...
Zaine... Zaine...
Thorne looked around frantically then his eyes widened suddenly and he paled. ‘Zaine!’.
He jumped to his feet and sprinted to the fallen swordsman, dropping to the floor by his body. The stones by the stranger were marked with specks of blood and the man’s skin was covered with pulsing red veins.
‘How?’ Thorne muttered. He then leant over and put his ear on the man’s chest. He heard nothing.
‘Zaine please wake up... please,’ Thorne begged, receiving nothing in reply but the howl of the wind, which carried his cries beyond.
Thorne banged his fists on the ground and screamed in the air. He laid there a few minutes, or maybe hours; he couldn’t remember how long. He stood up sparing a final glance to his fallen friend, and then he ran, and ran, and ran.
Thorne Grey and the City of Darkness Page 16
