Daggers of Ladis

by RG Long

  Deliworth flat out refused to replace a candle until the very last wax had burned away and the wick refused to light. Jurrin was looking out the window, probably still worried about Olma. Ealrin couldn’t blame him. He only sat in his chair, stabbing Cook’s food with his fork, in order to occupy himself until Serinde returned.

  They had sent her out against most everyone’s better judgment. But there was no denying that Serinde fit the look of Ladis better than all the rest of them. She alone was fair-skinned with light hair. Ealrin hoped that she hadn’t run into much trouble. Silverwolf was out as well, but Holve insisted she would be able to both look for Olma and accomplish her mission. It was to be her last before they moved on.

  The city was feeling more and more dangerous by the day. More guards seemed to walk by the pub each time the suns came up. Even at night the patrols of the guards were increasing. Though at night, it was the women Temple guards who patrolled the area.

  With the war raging in the south, Ealrin wondered how long it would take until it reached up north. They would only be able to hide for so long. Even if they were able to hide for a week or more, the whole group would surely go mad. There was a big part of Ealrin that longed to be wondering the plains and fields again. Even if it meant running through the jungles of Ladis, dodging lizards and cave dwellers and Isolian armies.

  Ealrin let out another sigh and was about to turn to Holve to ask when he thought they might be moving on from the Green Rose, when the front door hit the bell that was hung just over it to alert the place of new patrons.

  Everyone stood up at the sound of the chime, thinking it might be a customer they needed to hide from, but worry turned to relief as soon as they saw who it was. Serinde and Olma came through door, hand in hand. The elf looked up at them all and took off her hood.

  “It’s alright,” she said, holding up a hand and, to Ealrin’s eyes, fending off a barrage of questions. “She’s fine and is sorry she ran off.”

  Olma looked up at Serinde, nodded, and then looked down at the ground.

  Most of them tried speaking at once, asking where the little girl had been, where the elf had found her, and why everything had taken so long. Ealrin could see in Serinde's eyes that the two had bonded over the experience, or at least that the elf was trying to shield the girl from further shame.

  If she had meant to explain to them what was going to happen or what they had been through, her words were cut off by the next person to come running through the door.

  Silverwolf was out of breath and looked worried and haggard.

  “What’s wrong?” Holve said as the assassin pushed past Serinde and Olma.

  “Time to go,” Silverwolf said. “I don’t know what they’re up to but a whole squad of Temple guards are heading this way and I don’t think they’re here to clean the streets.”

  It only took a breath for them to take in what she had said and for Ealrin to blink his acknowledgement.

  “Grab everything!” Holve commanded and the pub became a blur of movement.

  The older man took an armful of papers off the table and rolled them furiously. Gorplin and Jurrin ran up the stairs to grab whatever they could. Serinde and Olma followed them up with instructions from Holve about what to grab. They didn’t have much to gather. Blume stepped forward, her fist balled and the ring on her finger glowing slightly.

  “Maybe I can hold them off,” she said, looking grim.

  Ealrin took a step next to her.

  “Not by yourself,” he said.

  “Not at all,” said a voice from the kitchen.

  Ealrin turned to see Deliworth standing with a spear behind the much larger and intimidating Cook, who was holding his butcher's knife. Both had murder in their eyes.

  Holve growled at the old man.

  “You sold us out!?” he shouted.

  “I’m getting you the justice you deserve,” he said. “And collecting a rather sizeable reward for the trouble.”

  “Traitor!” Holve said, taking out his sword and pointing it at Deliworth.

  “Who’s the traitor?” the older man said. “If it weren’t for you, my son wouldn’t have been sent off to the war. We’d have no war to begin with if you hadn’t aided the rebellious scum.”

  Holve stepped forward. So did Cook.

  But it was Blume who acted first. With a flick of her hand, she sent both Cook and Deliworth flying backwards into the kitchen. A massive crash followed their smashing into the door, along with a lot of swearing and cursing.

  Holve glared at Blume first. She took a step back, the smile on her face wilting a bit. Ealrin stepped between them and Holve looked up at him. He still glared, but seemed satisfied.

  “Make sure they don’t follow us,” Holve said to Silverwolf.

  The assassin smiled and fingered her blade.

  “Gladly,” she said.

  “Don’t kill them!” Holve said, finishing rolling his parchments and putting them into a round, wooden container. “We need to leave. Now”

  “Out the back,” Silverwolf said. “They’ll be in the streets in a breath.”

  Holve nodded and he called up to the group upstairs.

  “Finish up and get down here! Now!”

  The stairs thudded with a crowd of people as they came down the hall loaded with packs and weapons. Barton was with them, also cursing the gods of Ladis and yammering about the curse of Yada following him wherever he went.

  “I’ll end that curse for you if you don’t shut up about it,” Silverwolf threatened.

  “Out the back! Now!” Holve said as they all gathered in the dining room. They ran out the back hallway that led to a small door. One by one they filed out, Gorplin and Serinde in front, Ealrin and Blume in the back. A smashing sound came from the front entrance.

  “In the name of the High Priest, give up the prisoners and traitors within!”

  In response, Blume shot a blast of magic towards the door, bringing the first floor of the inn crashing down in front of it.

  “That should slow them down for a little bit,” she said over the crashing and yelling that followed the explosion. Ealrin could hear guards yelling at other guards to sift through the rubble to get through.

  “No more magic unless I say!” Holve ordered gruffly.

  Blume shrugged but nodded.

  Once they exited the door into the small back alleyway, however, Ealrin saw that their path was not uninhibited.

  “They’re out this way!” a guard was shouting, just as Gorplin quieted him with his ax.

  “Bah!” the dwarf shouted. “Bloody loudmouth. Can we go back?”

  Blume wilted and Ealrin saw why. The guards were making a lot of headway through the pile of rubble that used to be Deliworth’s front door.

  “Not the way we came,” she said.

  “Then we fight through!” the dwarf said, charging for the next soldier that rounded the corner. Fighting back here was tight. Ealrin could reach out and touch stone walls on both sides. The guards would over power them eventually, or else shift through the wreckage fast enough to get at them from two sides.

  “If we can’t go through, we go up!” Silverwolf said, pointing at an overhang.

  Ealrin looked at her skeptically.

  “We just blocked our only other escape,” he said, knowing he was stating what everyone else already knew. “We don’t have another choice.”

  GORPLIN WAS THE HARDEST to get up to the second story balcony. Not only because of his considerable weight, but also because he was so determined to fight every guard that came around the corner of the back alley. He had made for himself quite the pile before he allowed them to pull him away. The torchlight of the guards rescinded slightly as they appeared to regroup. Only then did the dwarf allow them to grab him and pull him back to the safety of the back door. Both Barton and Ealrin had to hoist him up to a waiting Holve, Serinde, and Silverwolf.

  With their combined efforts, they got him to the second story of the next building. After that, the res
t of their company came up much faster. Silverwolf had already broken into the door and Serinde said that the place was abandoned. It certainly looked like it. Cobwebs and various signs of negligence were everywhere. Whatever was being stored here had gone bad many years ago and the place reeked considerably.

  Ealrin almost forgave Deliworth for the stench of his own kitchen before remembering he was the reason they were fleeing through the night.

  “What would cause Deliworth to hand us over?” he asked no one in particular.

  “Stumpy smelled up his establishment,” Silverwolf answered. “Have you ever been around an unwashed dwarf for long?”

  Holve cut across whatever Gorplin’s response was going to be.

  “This way,” he said, leading them past a window. “Serinde already checked. The guards below are knocking on doors to find out where we went. We’ve got to keep moving.”

  As if to add to the urgency of his words, they heard someone beating on the door below their feet.

  “Open in the name of the Temple!” a muffled voice said.

  Holve looked around the room and Ealrin followed his gaze. They were certainly in some type of storage building. Barrels, crates, and bags filled with who knew what lined the walls. The stone walls were just barely visible beyond the stacks of goods.

  “We need a way out,” Holve said. “Blume?”

  Ealrin looked down at her and she shook her head.

  “I... I still don’t know where we might end up,” she said. “It could be somewhere worse off than here.”

  Holve narrowed his eyebrows at her, but nodded all the same.

  Then he pointed to the wall to his left.

  “How about a door, then?” he asked.

  Blume held out her hand and concentrated. Ealrin began to cover his ears, expecting another explosion like she had caused in the Green Rose. Instead, however, he was surprised to see the stones glow a soft red, before melting away into each other, until a hole was made in the wall large enough for them to squeeze through.

  Ealrin wanted to be impressed with her.

  But the hole she had made was right into the wall of a man in a robe holding a very large mace.

  “Heretics!” he called. “Traitors! Criminals! Vandals! Thieves!”

  “One at a time,” Silverwolf called, stepping forward, blades drawn.

  Ealrin sighed.

  Of course, it was the house of a well-armed and vengeful Prophet.

  11: Lesser Gods

  The suns were beginning to set over the horizon and David had still not finished the chores. There were still the sheep to bring in from grazing, the gardens to water, and the pig pens that needed a good cleaning out. He may not get to that today.

  Everything had gotten harder on the farm ever since his older brother had been taken off to war. Now with just himself and his mother, it was too hard to keep up. Chores piled up day in and day out. But they had to try.

  Their little village would help. They had always been a helpful community. The twenty or thirty stone buildings that made up their hamlet were still visible in the failing light of evening. A few torches were lit in the village square to the south where David could make out Susan, the vegetable grower, and Matthew, the butcher, still peddling their food at the end of the day.

  Hollow drum beats filled the air. David recognized the last call of the church. Their little temple pillars were not fancy, but they were adequate. Some worshippers gathered there to pray for their relatives and for their continued guidance. Often David would think of going to church to lift up his own prayers on the incense burned there, but there was always more to do.

  Their village sat in the green pasture and valley of two large mountains. The whole scene would look more picturesque if their troubles weren’t so great.

  Misfortune seemed to follow their family. And though they had heard many offers, few people helped. Sam, the carpenter, had repaired their house after the rainstorm had taken out a portion of the roof. Yet he refused to take payments. David’s mother was hurt by this, not just because they had no money to give him besides trading one of their sheep or pigs, but because it hurt her that he knew how badly they needed the help.

  When it was four of them, they had gotten along so well. David’s father and Cas, his older brother, had been able to work hard to support them. They may not have lived like priests or princes, but they never went hungry.

  The same couldn’t be said for their current state.

  David did his best to put food on the table for at least his mother, but even that was becoming a struggle. They couldn’t eat their sheep because they needed them to produce the wool they so depended on. One of the pigs was pregnant and they hoped that the litter would bring them enough money to save up for the long winter ahead. But if they killed their male pig to eat, they would have no hope of future litters or funds.

  Wiping the sweat off of his brow, David began to call in the sheep so that they could be penned up for the night. Whistling a special note, he heard them bleating and running over the hill towards him.

  But something was wrong.

  There were much fewer sheep returning than normal. Only a dozen of the thirty or forty they owned had returned. What happened? David was worried. Where were they?

  Before David had time to think about the coins that they would lose if he wasn’t able to reclaim his sheep, a sudden chill split the night air. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end and a terrible dread began to fill him like cold water.

  A sense of something very wrong overtook him. It had nothing to do with the sheep he was missing. It was like the whole world had gone wrong.

  “Whom do you serve?” a sinister voice said as the area around him became dark, even for this time of day.

  He fell to his knees, but he didn’t remember hitting the ground so hard. David wasn’t able to speak. Who did he serve? His mother. His father‘s memory. The village. Ladis, he guessed.

  His family prayed to the old gods. They made stones when one of their members died. They wore a piece of cloth sewn to their shirts in order to please the god of whichever station in life they desired.

  Even though Rix, the god of farms and fertility, was pinned to David’s shirt, he secretly wished for something different. A different station.

  “Whom do you serve!?” the voice said more forcefully. David covered his ears with his hands, though it did nothing to stop the sound from penetrating his being. The voice was strong. The feeling of dread and pain and fear began to envelop David entirely.

  He wasn’t sure if it was the right answer or not, but he was afraid to say anything else.

  “You,’ he said in a pleading voice. “I’ll serve you. Just spare my mom and me. Please.’

  The chill of the evening receded slightly. David heard a low, soft chuckle that was every bit as menacing as the loud commanding voice.

  “What use have I for anyone who digs in the dirt?’ the voice said.

  Though he could not see where it was coming from, David began to feel immense pressure on the back of his neck. He moved a hand from his ear to the spot and felt nothing. There was no hand to shove away. He opened his eyes. There was no foot that would leave an imprint on the ground next to him. Just dread and pain.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask!’ he shouted.

  The pressure receded a little.

  “You must prove yourself,’ the voice said.

  “Prove?’ David asked, unsure of the answer. He didn’t want to know what he could do to appease this darkness. But he feared for his life. More so, he feared for the life of his mother. They had gone through so much. They had seen so much pain. He didn’t want any more pain to come to her.

  “Blood,’ the voice said. “Spilled blood. Make it run in rivers of red until I am satisfied.’

  David looked up from his hands, terrified and quivering. They couldn’t spare any sheep. And even if they could, how many would it take for this voice, this presence, this...demon to be satisfied?
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  “Without our sheep we have nothing,” David dared to speak.

  New and greater pressure shoved his face to the ground. He spluttered and spat grass and dirt from his mouth when it finally released.

  “The blood of animals does not please me,” the voice said. It sounded furious.

  David coughed, fearing to speak.

  “Please, spare us,” he finally choked.

  “Us? You fear for your mother?” the voice said, sounding both intrigued and vile. At precisely the same moment David heard his mom screaming from inside their stone hut, just a little bit off from where he stood.

  “No!” he yelled. “Stop! I’ll do it! Whatever you ask! Whoever you are! I’ll do it!”

  His mother’s screams stopped. David could hear her sobs of pain fill his ears and he ached with pain that was not from the darkness. His own mother. He could not let her suffer. But what price would he give to spare her?

  “Blood,” the voice said again. “Until I am satisfied.”

  CALMLY THE SUNS ROSE on what should have been a warm and pleasant day. David collapsed onto the ground, exhaustion overtaking him. Smoke rose from every hut and building in his village. Blood stained his hands, arms, chest, and face.

  “Whom do you serve?” the voice echoed in his head. David knew the answer.

  The screams that had filled the night had finally ceased, but David knew they would never leave his waking memory. He would always hear them. They would follow him for the rest of his life.

  But his mother lived.

  At a cost.

  “Graxxin,” he said, his voice hoarse and his eyes closed against the stinging tears. “Goddess of blood.”

  David breathed again and began to sob.

  “For now,” the voice spoke. “That will do.”