by Chad Corrie
“Not yet,” Alara replied in the same tongue.
“Then come with us,” said the same elf. “We can get you to safety and then work out the details of how to split the money when we take the slave in for a reward.”
“That could be a problem, since I’m aiding in his escape.” In one smooth motion Alara pulled back her hood, birthing a small gasp from all present.
“A Patrious in Colloni?” questioned the thin elf in shock.
“She’s a spy!” A haggard, scratchy-voiced thug stepped forward with his cutlass firmly in hand.
“She might be worth more than the gladiator.” The thin elf had become bold. “Take her alive.”
“Don’t come any closer.” Alara planted her feet. “Stand down, and none of you will be hurt.”
“Get her!” A hunter pointed his weapon at Alara.
The hunters formed a tight formation around her, their weapons poised for any resistance. But to Alara’s surprise the hunters didn’t move. She was unclear as to why until she felt the unmistakable pinch of a dagger point at her kidney. A rough arm then laid hold of her neck in a choking grasp as hot, sour breath slapped her ear.
“Not so tough now, are you?” the voice sneered. “Nothing says we can’t have a little fun with you before we turn you over to the emperor either. And I can think of at least one way to entertain—” But his bravado was cut short by a sword strike through his neck. His severed head fell at Alara’s feet with a hollow echo. The three other hunters rapidly retreated from the spectacle as the headless hunter’s grip quickly uncoiled from her neck. From out of the corner of her eye she saw the body drop, joining its head in a growing crimson pool.
In a blur of motion she witnessed Dugan race into the fray. When she dared a look backward, her mouth dropped at the carnage the gladiator had wrought. The clanging of steel pulled her focus back toward the man himself as he swung his swords in a great arc, slicing through all three of the stunned elves. As soon as the final hunter fell, Dugan’s eyes found Alara.
“Where to now?” A brief coughing spasm took him, ending with him spitting out some blood.
Taking in a deep, shaking breath, she carefully drew near. “How badly did they—”
“Boat.” Dugan snarled through his bloody lips.
“There.” She pointed to a clump of boats docked for the day. The dock was deserted following the fight; only a few brave souls still watched while hidden away in shadowy corners or from behind fat barrels they’d recently mounted.
“Where?”
“That one over there.” Alara motioned to a single-mast sloop whose white sails were rolled up tight. “Come on.” She dashed for the vessel. “I don’t want to fight the town guard too.”
Once he saw it was safe to follow, Dugan returned his swords to their sheaths. Jogging after Alara, he kept a hand at his right side, grimacing with every step. In the short time they’d been running she noticed the wound had already drenched his hand in blood. As vital as it was to attend to the injury, the only goal right now was making it to the boat. That and nothing more.
The boat and nothing else.
Chapter 9
I’ve come to see that history, indeed life itself, is a series
of cycles. If you learn their patterns you can predict your fate.
Prepare for their turnings and you will do well and prosper.
Heed them not and you shall suffer.
—Korlin, jarthalian philosopher
(5000 BV–4863 BV)
Kaden slowed, commanding the other six hobgoblins with him to do the same. He listened carefully to the jungle. It was early morning and already the birds and other animal life were awake, filling the area with their presence. He’d heard something else amid the jungle’s song: the sound of a falling body. Eagerly, the hobgoblin crept closer to a section of damaged brush, motioning his men to be ready.
Pressing beyond the underbrush, the subchieftain found his prey: a lone Celetor lying on the ground. Naked save for a breechcloth, he appeared unconscious. Keeping his gaze fixed on the human, Kaden cautiously drew nearer, short sword at the ready. Upon examination, he saw the Celetor still drew breath but wouldn’t be doing so for long. It didn’t matter. He’d just be the first tossed down Valan’s gullet.
Kaden bent down, needling the Celetor with the point of his sword. The man remained still. He gave the human a kick that flipped the Celetor onto his back. No response. Satisfied, he sheathed his weapon. “Tie him up.”
Like vultures, four hobgoblins circled the fallen Celetor and tied his feet and hands together. The other two went to a nearby tree to hack off a limb with their swords.
“Khuthon’s shown us some favor.” Kaden stepped back and let the hobgoblins finish binding the human. “We didn’t have to run far to find him.” Once a suitable limb had been acquired, the Celetor was latched onto it with the same bast rope binding the rest of him. The four large hobgoblins lifted the branch between them.
“We’ll be out here again soon enough,” said one of the unburdened hobgoblins. “The wizard will burn through them like all the rest. And then the lottery—”
“No.” Kaden quickly interjected. “Boaz isn’t going to bring the lottery back.”
“Then what are we going to do?” asked the other. “The wizard can’t be killed.”
“It will be taken care of.” Kaden motioned they’d return the way they came. “Now move! Double time.”
The hobgoblins got into line, trudging through the dense undergrowth and moist air until they reached the rebuilt stone gate of the ancient city the Basilisk Tribe had come to inhabit. Carrying their cargo past the restored walls, they took stock of the other Celetors they’d captured. It was from this lot the one they carried had dared his escape before they’d fully made it into the city.
Upon their capture, the Celetors had been herded into the open area of a courtyard, and it was there they remained until Kaden returned with the escaped Celetor. All were bound at the wrists, like their comrade, with another rope looped around their waists connecting one to the other, like livestock on their way to the slaughterhouse. Their herdsmen were armed and armored hobgoblins—dressed in the same chain mail shirts and carrying the same short swords as Kaden and those with him.
“Make sure they see him,” Kaden said, referring to the other Celetors. “They need to know they aren’t getting out of here alive.” The men obeyed the order at once, adjusting their position so the hanging Celetor was clearly visible. The faces of his fellow humans, pale and pained, made it clear they understood the message.
“I give ’em three weeks,” said one of the hobgoblins carrying the Celetor.
“Might last four,” said the one beside him.
“Two at the most,” another ventured.
“As long as they keep Valan occupied, it’ll be worth it,” said Kaden, as the forty waiting Celetors were pulled away to their cells, where they’d await Valan’s good graces.
“Keep it going,” Kaden ordered as they made their way toward a massive building named the King’s Tower. The building stood one hundred feet tall and appeared to have been a bastion of defense in the once mighty city. The tribe realized the potential of the tower immediately and had turned it into a command center from which Boaz could rule with relative security. Most of it had been repaired, save for a crumbled section of masonry on the southwest corner, which remained open like some festering wound. The corner proved a tricky fix; the materials they’d first used failed to keep, and it’d taken some time to solve the problem. But by the time the answer came, so too had Valan, and all plans for completing any business as usual were put on hold.
Double stone doors with worn and defaced friezes guarded the tower’s entrance. Like the friezes on the doors, much of the ruins had eroded into faded memories, which none of the tribe—with the exception of the priests—had ever been interested in studying. These massive doors were pushed aside by two hobgoblian guards as Kaden’s band drew near.
Kaden sto
pped and addressed the six men behind him. “Two of you take the Celetor to Valan while he’s still of any use. The rest help settle our new prisoners into their cells.” The four still carrying the Celetor shifted their burden, allowing half their number to set about their task as Kaden made his way into the King’s Tower.
Behind its doors, Kaden entered a small antechamber with two strange statues standing at attention on either side. Each was devoid of any detail save for their legs; their heads were missing, and their upper bodies were marred to the point of ruin. Kaden strode by them without a second glance, aiming for the stairs at the end of the room.
As he climbed, he noted the small roving bands of guard dogs who, like him, were dressed for battle: a combination of leather and chain mail barding. Bred from wild wolves, the dogs made the largest and most aggressive patrol animals possible. With them were the fearsome basilisk patrols. While the extra patrols were enacted after Valan’s arrival, they really wouldn’t do much against the wizard if it ever came to an actual confrontation. Everyone knew that on some level, no matter how much they tried saying and acting otherwise.
In short order, Kaden climbed the stairs and worked his way through a handful of hallways before stopping at another set of stone doors. Unlike the ones he’d first entered, these still held their intricate carvings. On the left door was a gleaming spear suspended vertically. On the right, the image of a large, grinning skull. No hobgoblin—whether priest or commoner—could decipher the meaning behind the carvings but many liked the symbols just the same, including Boaz, who felt they were a favorable omen and therefore took the room behind them for his throne room. The hobgoblins guarding these doors promptly opened them for Kaden’s passage.
Boaz’s throne room wasn’t opulent, but was an awesome sight nonetheless. The room could comfortably hold a giant and still have space for a good-sized throng. Around its walls were faded and marred frescoes of blue-skinned beings. All of their heads and faces had been chipped away, like everything else they encountered in the ancient ruins.
In these images the figures were engaged in various everyday tasks, from farming to raising livestock and even metalworking. The images were in the middle portion of the walls, looping around in a continuous band. Whatever else might have been part of the room’s decor was long since lost and forgotten. Only a polished granite throne remained fastened to the wall opposite the doors. Here it was that Boaz, with the rest of his subchieftains, had staked his claim.
“How was the hunt?” asked Boaz. A set of braziers crackled in the two corners of the room on either side of the throne. Apart from a set of torches attached to the wall on either side of the door, these were the room’s only light sources, and cast a sinister shadow over the winged serpents carved into the throne’s armrests.
Kaden was amazed at how strong Boaz appeared. If not for the physical deformities he’d suffered, he would have been back to his old self. It was a good sign; these weren’t the days to have a weak chieftain on the throne.
“Good enough,” he said, making his way before the throne, joining the other subchieftains gathered there. “We’re putting the Celetors in the cells now.”
“How many?” asked Boaz.
“Forty.”
“A decent number.” Ranak, like the rest of the subchieftains, stepped aside so Kaden had full access to Boaz.
“How many losses did you take?” Morro inquired.
“Only two,” Kaden reported proudly. “They tried to follow us but we quickly beat the fire out of them.”
“I had one of the weakest ones sent to Valan, though.” Kaden sought out Boaz’s face as he spoke, making sure Boaz knew Kaden didn’t act without thinking the matter through. “He wouldn’t have made it that much longer anyway. He tried to run too.”
“So you made an example of him.” Boaz nodded. “Wise.”
“Now we have some more time,” said Ranak.
“To do what, though?” Elek crossed his arms. “This whole process has just made us more his servants, and you know what the Manual of Might says about that.”
“How large was the village?” Morro asked Kaden.
“Modest. It isn’t a threat to us. Even if they tried attacking, we could crush them with only half our warriors.”
“All right.” Nalis now joined the conversation. “But we really don’t know how much time we have.” He shifted his gaze to Boaz. “Then what? If we start up another lottery—”
“There won’t be any more lotteries,” Boaz thundered.
A moment of silence followed before Boaz starting speaking with Kaden. “Before you arrived, we were talking about how best to put an end to Valan—permanently.” Kaden thought they’d discussed the matter before and come up with no solutions—it was what had led them to Boaz’s sacrifice and even the capturing of the Celetors—but he did his best to keep his thoughts hidden.
“There are a lot of matters to consider, but it’s been an intense discussion.” Morro was cautious with his words.
“Debate is more like it,” Elek retorted.
“What’s there to discuss?” Kaden searched for answers from the other subchieftains. “All we have are swords, and if we can’t kill him with them there’s little more we can do.”
“I thought so too . . . at first.” Kaden listened to Boaz carefully, intrigued by the dark levity playing about the chieftain’s features. “But what if we can use that column against him?”
Kaden’s eyes widened. “How?”
“That’s what we’ve been debating,” said Elek.
“None of us are wizards.” Kaden pointed out the obvious. “Or priests,” he added for good measure.
“But some of those Celetors may be shamans.” Ranak shot Kaden a grin as recognition grew in his eyes. “You see it now too, don’t you? These Celetors could be a twofold blessing.”
“But none of them are shamans,” said Kaden. “We made sure of that before we tied them up. How do you—”
“Everything isn’t clear just yet,” said Nalis, “but it just seems too good to pass up. And these humans will help give us more time to see how best to do it.”
“But none of them are shamans,” Kaden repeated with mild frustration. “Haven’t you been listening? We’ve only more wood for the fire, nothing else. There isn’t some dagger hidden in these logs.”
“But there could be more out there,” Elek returned, “perhaps even looking to find their way to us.”
“Are you old men or women?” Kaden’s rebuke roused some fire behind the subchieftains’ eyes. “Are you so afraid of Valan that you’re trying to make strategy from wild dreams and wishes?” Motioning to Boaz, he added, “Is this how you honor our chieftain’s sacrifice? With fear and trembling before a human wizard?”
“And what would you have us do?” asked Ranak.
“Be men and be strong,” answered Kaden. “As Khuthon made us to be.”
“Khuthon helps those who help themselves,” Morro said, quoting another truth from the Manual of Might. “And we’ve done just that.”
“Then we need to find the next step.” Kaden eyed each subchieftain in turn.
“Which brings us back to the column,” said Nalis.
Valan didn’t take much notice of the two hobgoblins who entered the chamber. His face was intently planted in a book resting on his lectern. Above him floated the ever-present glowing globe, whose light aided his reading.
“What do you want?” he asked in Goblin.
“We were told to bring him here.” Valan heard a hobgoblin step closer, followed by the sound of something heavy dropping on the floor. Valan peered up from his work with mild interest, then quickly became more focused and alert once he caught sight of what they’d brought.
“A Celetor?” He hurried to the hobgoblins. “Where did you find him?”
“In the jungle,” said the same hobgoblin. “We captured a good many.”
“Finally, a human test subject,” Valan said to himself in Telboros. This would be a welcome
change. The hobgoblins and goblins had been suitable for working on the Transducer’s basic functions, but if he was really going to master the finer traits, he needed a human candidate.
He came to stand before the Celetor, searching his crumpled frame with intense interest. He wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw. There was a look of weakness about him. “Is he wounded?”
“No.” The hobgoblin shook his head.
“Then untie him.” Valan carefully watched the hobgoblins hurriedly free the Celetor from his bindings. While there were no wounds, there was still a less-than-animated nature about him.
“You sure he isn’t dead?”
“He’s not dead,” said one, “just ginshaw.”
“Ginshaw?” Valan searched his mind for the correlating Telborian word. “Unconscious?”
“Yes.” The hobgoblin gave a small nod.
“Then wake him up!”
The hobgoblin slapped the Celetor’s face until he made a low groan. Valan took this as a good sign. He’d need the Celetor fully awake if he was going to get the most use out of him.
“Now place him inside.” He motioned to the Transducer.
Finally awake and alert, the Celetor started screaming bloody curses at his assailants as they dragged him up to the opening at the column’s base with scant care or finesse before throwing him through it. Landing on his back, the Celetor quickly righted himself and attempted to maneuver out of the column, finding the exit blocked by an invisible barrier.
“Don’t waste your strength trying to escape,” Valan informed the Celetor in Telboros, though it was doubtful he could understand him. “It’s quite secure. And you’ll need your strength in any case.” The mage hurried to his lectern, ignoring the shouts accompanying the frenzied pounding on the invisible barrier.
Once they realized Valan was about to work his spell, the hobgoblins quickly cleared out, shivering as they heard the wrought iron gate close behind them. Both stood transfixed with anxious eyes as Valan raised his arms and recited the words to the ancient spell he’d said scores of times before.
