""If he's at large, the Council will be far more likely to treat you severely," Madol emphasized, taking a long disciplined breath. He folded his arms. Keevan could visibly see him force excess heat from his body and draw on the surrounding water. "Where's he going next?"
"He said he owed Kors and I for helping him escape. He used the Watcher's detonations earlier as a distraction." Keevan replied, hesitating a moment. Would Corvan understand if Keevan gave the Tri-Beings all he knew? Would he see it as a kind of betrayal?
"Keevan?" Bahjal pried, giving him a one-armed hug. "This is important Keevan, we need your help and Corvan is in trouble. Where is he?"
"He didn't want to go. He made Kors a promise, and me one too," Keevan insisted, taking hold of Madol's wrist. "I don't think he'll be all that dangerous once this is all over."
“In the Malik's eyes, danger is decided by potential, not intent," Madol replied, pushing Keevan's hand away. "Where is he?"
"Kors told him that if he helped Kors against the Watcher, then they'd be even," Keevan admitted. He quickly added. "But I made him promise not to kill anybody. No more killing."
"I'm assuming Kors didn't make a similar promise," Madol said grimly, rushing back down the hallway. "Now you two wait in the courtyard. The Watcher and I will make short work of them."
"No, he won't," Keevan insisted. "The Watcher's power is a ruse."
Madol froze, glancing at Keevan. "Boy, we're short on time. Explain yourself quickly and to the point. How would you know that?"
"The Watcher's weapons connect to a much larger network of Danica extending under the city," Keevan said, glancing at the floor nervously. This man carried the authority of the Malik himself, putting his words above even those of the High Priestess'. Bahjal nudged Keevan's shoulder, encouraging him. He continued. "His Danica weapons just amplify his will along those paths. Outside of the Catacombs, he's just an Etrendi."
Madol gulped, rolling his eyes. "An Etrendi with powerful Danica weapons. Trust the Harbor Guild to pull one over on the city just to make people feel safe. The Watcher is vulnerable then. Very. Thanks. Now clear out."
"Absolutely not," Bahjal insisted uncoiling her whip as she spoke. "Kors and I have unfinished business."
"Bahjal," Madol replied, his tone gruff and frustrated. "I can't take Kors and the Varadour if I'm worried about protecting you two."
"The Varadour is bailing once they're done with the Watcher," Keevan said. "Once his debt is paid."
"Gods," Madol spat, whirling away. "I've got to stop him. Keep up if you can, but stay out of my way. Hurry!"
Chapter 26
Kors stood behind drawn curtains, waiting for the thumps of Harbor Guild boots to fade. This was the last place they'd expect to find an intruder, only a stone's throw from a powerful Tri-Being. Most would consider attacking him pure suicide. Most didn't have a Varadour on board. Kors smiled gleefully, struggling to contain his elation. Corvan was right, sneaking through the main gate after the Varadour's public display wasn't difficult. Assuming the Outlander's memory was all he promised it was, they'd rendezvous soon. Zerik's dream was so close to realization now. Time to set the pieces falling into place, and Malik Morgra falling into oblivion.
Putting the cold metal whistle to his lips, he blew it again. The soundless device puzzled him, as did many of the Outlander's abilities. When this was all over, he decided to review some of the ancient texts. Sure, some of those legends were truly myths, but others could carry a whiff of truth. Someone like this Corvan needed to be controlled or at least contained. Then again, if Corvan was willing to deliver the Watcher, what else mattered?
Kors leaned across the small sitting room, peering out the tiny window to the southwestern Temple above. It and its twin to the north were the second tallest buildings in all of Issamere and served a vital purpose to the city during the stormiest seasons of the year, shielding the Tri-Beings from excessive moisture. Another rush of elation surged through him. With the weapons of the Watcher in his hands, no one would stand against him. The Harbor Guild, the Temples and the Malik would fall. The Etrendi would finally quell in fear at the mention of Malik Zerik.
Great changes were coming to Hiertalia. Powers were rising that the Etrendi wouldn't lower themselves to understand, which ironically was the very reason they'd fail to stop it. The Rhetan people were constantly counted as second class citizens, just another possession to be counted and used, because of their weak elemental commands. The Etrendi's elemental prowess was the only thing keeping the people from rising up in rebellion. A shudder of anticipation rushed through Kors' heart and he smiled. Sweet changes were on the horizon, all made possible by the Watcher's impending death.
A breath of wind and flicker of fabric announced Corvan's arrival. He seemed to melt from one shadow to the next, his body only taking shape when under direct light. The former prisoner's face was not caught directly in the light of the window, his body shifting in and out of sight. The worst part was the light, carefree edge to his smile, just bordering on the insane.
"Everything alright?" Kors gulped, fighting back the need to shudder. "That was quite the distraction. I should hire you more often."
"Yes, it worked well, didn't it?" Corvan chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "I just had to catch up, well, rest up. It went better than I could have hoped, actually. So, the Watcher is around here I assume?"
"The large chamber just ahead," Kors said, nodding to his left, down the hallway. "The two guards at the end are mostly ceremonial, but dropping them will alert the Watcher. I'd rather sneak up on him first, if that's possible."
"I'd say it's very possible," Corvan agreed, tapping his chin. "Who’s allowed in the room? Typically, I mean?"
"The highest officials of the Harbor Guild, the Malik's personal envoys and perhaps a Runner with a sealed message from the Council," Kors whispered, glancing outside. Their view barely crested the District Wall, another reminder of the Etrendi's powerful hold over the city. He grit his teeth and turned his full attention to the matter at hand. "How about a distraction, while you sneak in? It's easier to hide yourself if there are lots of shadows, right?"
"True," Corvan said, watching Kors thoughtfully. "You're figuring out how my powers work. I don't know how I feel about that."
"You help me settle the Watcher and you'll not likely see me again," Kors said with a shrug, restraining the urge to cackle. Shadow camouflage or not, the Varadour was a solid, vulnerable man like any other. With the Watcher's weapon in hand, he could flood the hallway and drown the Outlander on the spot.
"Glad we understand each other," Corvan echoed, licking his lips anxiously. "Let's do this then, shall we? You have a good distraction in mind?"
Kors grinned, exposing white teeth like a hound. "The best. Keep to the shadows on my left. I'll stay between the torches and the wall."
"Lead on," Corvan said, fading into shadows again as he slipped into the hallway.
Kors slipped out of the small sitting room, limping down the hallway with feigned pain. The torches hung on the right side of the wall, leaving room on the left side for the sun's natural lighting should someone feel like pulling the curtains from the sitting rooms. Fear was a common motivator for intruders trying to escape, so the Guild put up guards anxious for the first static spark to betray their mark.
"Ugh," Kors groaned, pitching over his feet and leaning against the right wall. He risked a glance upwards, noting only a minor flicker of interest from the guards down the hall. He rolled his eyes as he took in their boyish faces and polished armor. New soldiers, with rich fathers looking for a “safe” way to give them “experience” in the field.
Kors hobbled another dozen paces closer, he only needed to distract them for a moment. "Ugh!" He repeated, clutching his belly and stumbling. He pictured Corvan failing at his mission, then Corvan abandoning him entirely and the thought coaxed enough fear through his heart to send a few sparks of electricity into the torch holder next to his head.
"Sir?" One sentry asked, a soft-faced boy who drew his weapon like one might use a foreign language constantly heard but never practiced. He shared an uneasy glance with his comrade, who drew his blade as well, eyeing Kors with nervous suspicion.
"amefaehf," Kors mumbled, dropping to one knee.
"I think he's been stabbed," the first sentry asked, kneeling down in front of Kors.
"Step away from him, I think he's the intruder," the second said, pulling his fellow aside by the shoulder. Behind them, Kors watched an unusually dark shadow flicker across the entryway to the Watcher's hall, and smiled. He caught a momentary glimpse of a frail hand and a thin dagger that once belonged to the now vacant sheath on the second sentry's belt. The Watcher would die from one of the sentry's own weapons, perfect. The Guild would brand the boy a traitor, rather than admit to harboring a feared Outlander.
"Wait," the first sentry said, glancing over his shoulder before stepping up to Kors, blade at the ready. "This man's not bleeding. I know your face. You're one of the ex-!"
A roar of pain and the din of battle echoed through the hall from the Watcher's chambers. The soldiers turned toward the disturbance, momentarily torn between two threats. The first, the one closest to Kors, managed a simple thrust at the big Tri-Being's pretended wound.
Kors snapped forward, guiding the blade away from his belly with one hand and driving his fist into the first sentry's throat with the other. The soldier, little more than a boy, clutched the wound with both hands as he collapsed, trying to breath. Water coated his hands as he instinctively fought to keep his airway open with immediate healing.
Kors claimed the first sentry's blade a heartbeat later, lunging at the second sentry. This one managed a decent defense, parrying each strike with hasty maneuvers that lacked Kors' practiced polish, but the guard kept pace with each blow. The boy's weapon glowed with steady heat, as his shock and loss built into rage.
The weapon shaved away at Kors' with each stroke, for the Exile felt no rage. Anticipation for a cause so near realization, of course, but no anger. Sparks leapt from his body to the blade as he realized his emotions were setting him up for failure. His fear mounted and the boy grinned with each stroke as he trimmed another sliver from Kors' blade. In another minute, Kors would be defenseless and an assault of pure water wouldn’t do much to someone wielding a fully-heated Danica blade.
But the boy fought only with defense in mind. Blow by blow, Kors pushed him into the opposite wall, between the curtains of two sitting rooms. His sparks abated as he shifted his perspective. The boy wasn't a threat. He wasn’t even a true opponent. He'd learned to fight another body, but his memorized sword forms wouldn't teach him to fight another mind. That training came by painful experience, a burden only the survivors carried with them.
There, perfect. Drawing the sentry's eye with a wild swing from the right side, he clutched a drape in his left hand and hurled it into the soldier's face. The boy panicked for an instant, slapping away the unexpected obstruction instead of diving aside. Students at the academy weren't trained to 'cheat,' they were trained to duel.
Kors felt a twinge of satisfaction as his blade pierced fabric, metal, flesh and bone. The boy fell into the adjacent sitting room, moaning in agony. Blood oozed out from under the curtain, a crimson testament to Kors' skills. He could feel the moisture in the room shifting in the boy's direction, the desperate plea of a dying body for healing and salvation.
Kors licked his lips and cautioned himself against the impending boredom as the room turned too dry. Sure, if he focused hard enough he could rip the surrounding moisture from the two dying boys, but what was the point? The Watcher waited in the next room.
Corvan leaning against the door frame banished all thoughts of boredom from Kors' mind. The Varadour stood there with a relieved, giddy smile on his face. The stolen armor smoked from four different spots, and glistened with crimson blood coating both hands and the dagger he borrowed from the second sentry.
"Well, I assume the Watcher is dead," Kors said numbly, trying not to let the fear show on his face. He felt his hair raise just an inch into the air, static sparks leaping among the separate strands. He suddenly found himself praying this man didn't know enough about Tri-Beings to recognize fear.
"That's the other guard?" Corvan asked, pointing his bloody knife at the growing crimson puddle peeking out from behind the curtain.
"Yes," Kors managed.
"Unavoidable, I expect," Corvan sighed, staring at both sentries with regret.
"Yes. At the least, it gives us the chance to cast the blame elsewhere. Return his weapon." Kors shook his head, pushing through rival emotions of frustration at trying to understand this blood-soaked madman, and relief at finally being rid of him.
Corvan tossed the blade under the closet, greeted only by the continued moaning of Kors’ most recent victim. With a wicked grin, Corvan reached around the corner and pulled two thick iron bracers into view, like a brother presenting a name-day present.
"These are?" Kors asked, picking up the heavy bracers. Their sheer weight was impressive, like something they might chain Corvan up with now that they knew the extents of his abilities.
"The Watcher wore them on each forearm, while he sat on his throne-looking chair," Corvan explained, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Kors followed his motion, staring thunderstruck at the motionless figure lying in a bloody heap on the floor. The man's sleeves ended at the wrists, which were chaffed from constant contact with the bracers. Kors stared at the Danica weapons in renewed wonder.
"Amazing," he whispered, dropping his sword without a second thought. He strapped on both bracers with slow reverence. "This could change everything for us. For our cause."
"I'm glad," Corvan said, rolling his eyes. "Cause he set off some kind of signal when I took him. Guards will be here soon I'd imagine. So much for casting the blame elsewhere, eh?"
As if on cue, Kors heard the clatter of dozens of boots running their way. Horns blew in outrage. Leather rasped against chain mail. Their shadows danced across the distant hallway where it turned towards the main entrance.
He didn't react to the distractions right away. He just staring fixedly at the mighty Danica weapons now clamped around his wrists. He recalled so vividly the inferno this weapon caused deep underground. It was a common fact that a Tri-Being's or a weapon's strength faded with distance. Therefore, a weapon so powerful so far away, at close range, should be utterly...devastating.
"Let them come," Kors laughed, a soft chuckle that gradually built into a maniacal bellow. "They are nothing before us. Come, we've an entire Guild to destroy!"
"We?" Corvan said, throwing up both his bloody hands. He stepped away slowly, gradually fading into the shadows. "I've done my part. My debts are repaid. You have your fun without me. You've earned it."
"Lunatic," Kors muttered, turning on the small army filling the narrow hallway. He stared down at his thick iron bracers and smiled. He could feel the Danica touching his skin, waiting, listening for his elemental powers to command it to leap into action. "I don't need you anymore anyway."
Four Danica enhanced spear men marched on him in a disciplined formation. Their weapons glowed in the torch light like the eyes of some massive pagoda claiming its prey. Their polished, dented armor glowed orange and yellow in the passing torchlight. These were not inexperienced recruits, these were the Harbor Master's personal guard.
Standing at the chamber's entrance, Kors faced the attacking soldiers and extended his left hand. The Danica bracer flared to life, filling his mind with a singular focus. He inhaled. Water surged around him like a gathering tide, billowing up from the floor drains and in through cracking windows. The precious liquid wrapped around him like a massive serpent.
The soldiers charged, Belenokan spears leading with Suadan guards in the rear for support and healing. One whirled his whip and hurled an ice spear at Kors. He flicked his other wrist, willing the other bracer to life. The projectile melted in midair, splashi
ng Kors in the face, only to gather his growing tide of water and now steam.
The soldiers were only a few paces away now, charging in at a full tilt. Kors watched each step, biding his time. This was where the bracers were the most powerful, contained in the narrow confines of the hallway. The pitiful guardsmen didn't recognize a killing field when they stood in one. The exile extended his arms, summoning all his focus and concentration on the rage. Here, the power would finally swing to the Rhetans, with the deaths of these guardsmen, the Etrendi would finally know fear.
Kors took one step back and dropped his hands. A river of steam roared forwards like a tide of pure force, just as the Belenokan spearmen stabbed forwards with their own Danica weapons. Fire met steam and the pressure in the little hallway exploded outwards.
The force hurled Kors a dozen feet into the Watcher's chamber. He landed on his back with a grunt of pain, gasping for air. Hot steam roiled around him and he rolled to his knees. It didn't make sense, how could his bracers be so weak? If they could reach so far into the catacombs and do so much damage, how could four spearmen push him back?
Four flickering red dots appeared ahead of him, spearmen taking their places outside the steam gathered around Kors. He could feel the Suadans behind them, pulling water from the chamber. In seconds they'd reveal his exact position and bracers or no, he knew what those spears would do to his body if they punctured his flesh.
Pitting his will and rage against theirs, Kors threw the elements around him into a roiling mass of steam. He pulled against the Suadans' fields, trying to keep the chamber's water beneath his own control. Yet, he could feel their combined wills defeating his own. The bracers were powerful, but not nearly as strong here as they were in the catacombs.
Kors retreated, turning his focus to decoding the secret of the bracers. The spearmen pressed their advance, with the Suadans behind them continually leaching at the room's moisture. They'd reclaimed half the chamber by the time Kors found the Watcher's station.
Unseen Secrets Page 25
