Daggers of Ladis

by RG Long

  She glanced over at the man, who had leaned against the sole tree in an apparent lack of any gentlemanly manners. Not that she wanted to be treated like a lady. She would have sworn at him and made it her mission to mock his politeness to his face if he had. Still. It was the principle of the thing.

  Serinde, on the other hand, had been as quiet and somber as her own soaked cloak. At least the dwarf provided her good arguments and Ealrin was pleasing on the eyes.

  These two were the worst traveling companions Silverwolf had ever had.

  And that list was rather long.

  “I’m going to do a quick walk around,” she said, standing up suddenly and stretching her incredibly sore muscles. She was used to sleeping outside and even more used to roughing it. But the increasing cold and rain wasn’t doing her body any favors.

  Neither Barton nor Serinde seemed the least bit bothered by this announcement. Barton readjusted himself against the tree he was leaning on and Serinde only shifted slightly underneath her own cloak.

  “Sheesh,” she said as she shook the extra water running down her body from her. It was pointless. The rain continued to fall with the same intensity it had for hours. Shaking her head, she made her way through the trees.

  They had been searching for the Isolian camp for the last three days. How hard should it be to track an army? Unfortunately, the weather had been dumping rain on them for the last four, making tracking near impossible. It was working well for both parties at the moment. Silverwolf couldn’t make out any movement between the trees and, therefore, she assumed her movements were equally veiled.

  Still, she kept a hand on her sword at her hip. Silverwolf would never dare to be unprepared for an attack. That’s how she stayed alive so long.

  And why she had dreaded coming back to this terrible continent.

  Her thoughts strayed back to her father, the high priest who decided having a daughter wasn’t something he was willing to accommodate anymore, so he shipped her off to be sold as a slave. It still bothered her. Not being sold. She had long since given up on the life she thought she could have had.

  What bothered her was seeing her father again.

  And allowing him to live.

  Maybe she was becoming soft. Maybe she was letting running around with this crew turn her into an assassin who relied too much on her feelings and not enough on her blade.

  She leaned against a tree, finding a small bit of shelter under a particularly large branch and thought over it for a moment. What was keeping her with this group? For years she had enjoyed doing whatever she wanted and getting paid handsomely for it. She took clients who she felt had passion or at least correct motives and she charged whatever she felt she deserved.

  Which was usually quite a lot.

  This had to be the least she had ever been paid to do anything and it didn’t involve anywhere near the violence she was used to and had come to appreciate in all its forms.

  Maybe it was time to seek out a new role to play.

  At the moment, Silverwolf looked up and tried to focus through the trees. Movement had caught her eye. It wasn’t close up, however. It was almost like the landscape past the trees was shifting. She began darting through the trees, moving as quickly as she could in the muddy terrain.

  Coming to the edge of the trees, she knelt down and tried her best to stare through the sheets of rain that came down on the plains. It was hard to see, but Silverwolf could make an assumption on what was marching towards them. With a sigh, she knew that now was not the time to dwell on her current circumstances.

  They did have a job to do, after all.

  She padded her way back to Serinde and Barton and was disappointed that neither of them even flinched at her returning. What if she’d have been an Isolian scout? That was a terrible way to keep watch over their camp.

  “Time to get moving,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and looking down at the two rather sad companions she had been paired with.

  “Why?” Barton asked gruffly, though he didn’t look up at her. Serinde at least had the decency to turn her head in Silverwolf’s direction.

  “Because the Isolian army is just outside the forest, you worthless, washed up, good for nothing scout.”

  CALLING BARTON NAMES hadn’t made him more interesting to be around. It didn’t seem to make him react to Silverwolf at all. So, she decided she’d continue to do so until she could make him mad. Or react in any way that was beyond the lump he was currently being.

  “Come on, gray beard, let’s get moving,” she called quietly enough to not carry through the rain. Barton was following Silverwolf and Serinde from rock to rock as they approached the marching Isolian lines.

  They were on the move east, which was not surprising in the least bit. Silverwolf knew they eventually hoped to assault Prommus. The question she had, however, was whether they would try to connect all of their supply lines before setting a siege on the capital, or if they would attack the head of the animal before going for its legs.

  Whatever the case, there could be no mistaking it. The blue shields of Isol were held high on poles since the rain would probably spoil their banners. They marched in blocks of what looked like hundreds. Still, the army was just visible to them as they made their way on the outskirts of the marching soldiers.

  “I wonder when they’ll stop for the day,” Serinde said.

  Silverwolf shrugged.

  “It’s strange that they’re marching through this rain,” she replied. “Either they’re too stupid to not set up and wait it out, or too determined to get to where they’re going to care. Either way, it works in our favor.”

  They had treasures to find.

  A trumpet called out loudly over the falling rain. Several more answered it down the long line of marching Isolian soldiers and the soldiers came to a halt. A call from the captains rang out and was repeated over and over through the ranks, though Silverwolf couldn’t discern the command.

  The ranks broke and men scrambled in the mud. It must have been an order to set up camp. What a terrible time to do so, Silverwolf thought.

  Still, it would work for them.

  “Time to sneak into camp,” she said.

  “Are you crazy?” Barton asked. “We can’t just walk into the lines! They’ll kill us for sure!”

  “They’ll only kill us if you’re stupid,” Silverwolf shot back. She cocked her head as she looked at her soaked companion. “Which means you may very well die. Come on.”

  Heading for the next rock, Silverwolf kept her eyes open for scouts in the area. Particularly ones wearing cloaks to protect them from the pouring rain. The troops were spreading out in neat rows and attempting, rather foolishly Silverwolf thought, to set up their tents.

  “They’re gonna get everything soaked,” she said under her breath.

  “Looks like they already are,” Serinde replied. “I wonder how long they’ve been marching in the rain.”

  “Beats me.”

  “There’s only one reason they’d be setting up camp in the rain,” Barton said, choosing not to look around the rock they were hiding behind, but instead to lean against it. “They don’t think they’re going to make it to wherever they were heading and plan to wait it out.”

  Silverwolf considered this a moment.

  “Then we’re moving in,” she said. “Go kill yourself a scout and take their cloak.”

  THE TRIO MOVED ON THE outskirts of the camp. Silverwolf thanked the suns and the rain that her cloak was large. It hid her, the weapons she carried, and the hair that marked her so well. It smelled of body odor and dirt, however. That was something even the rain hadn’t managed to wash away.

  Serinde and Barton followed behind her. They did their best to look like a contingent of scouts who were patrolling the perimeter. So far they had only been stopped once by a soldier with a question. Barton had been able to casually knock him over the head with the hilt of his sword.

  The poor soul was currently being rained on and
probably mistaken as a rock in the terrain.

  But that meant they had to move quickly. The more soldiers found knocked out, unconscious, or, in the case of the former owner of Silverwolf’s cloak, a man with one extra hole in his chest, the harder their job was going to get. And yet, it felt good to kill again. Though she wasn’t sure how that particular feeling sat with her.

  But there wasn’t time to dwell on that.

  “There,” Silverwolf said, looking at a spot just ahead of her and turning quickly to the right. “Come here.”

  She moved and turned so that they stood in a triangle. The camp was still bustling around them. She hoped they could talk just long enough to look like they were trying to come together to discuss the security of the camp.

  Incidentally, Silverwolf thought as she smirked, that was exactly their topic.

  “Yada’s palanquin is up there,” she said, nodding with her head. Serinde looked around her and nodded.

  “And so are all of her guards. And a ton of soldiers. And her generals...”

  “Alright,” Silverwolf said, folding her arms. “I would love to hear your plan on how to get up to her then.”

  Serinde looked back at her. Silverwolf was just about to give her a talk about planning and plotting and making a sneak attack into enemy territory when the elf started talking.

  “We ought to create a diversion. Something to get the attention of most of the soldiers around her place. Either a fight or a fire or something similar. When they’re all distracted, one of us slips in and tries to find Blume’s amulet and the other stuff. It’s probably all together and close to her. It might even be on her. So, if we can make it happen when it's night and she’s asleep or by herself, that’d be best. Then again, if she’s able to Speak, we’re dead. Though, we might be dead anyway.”

  Barton started. Silverwolf let her brow get furrowed a little further. Mostly, she was upset that she didn’t have any better ideas.

  “Fine,” she said. “We’ll try that. If we’re not dead or captured and it doesn’t work, we’ll try my idea.”

  It made her even madder that she didn't have a better idea yet.

  She really was off her game.

  31: Hungry

  Snart hated the rain. It made him cold and caused his reflexes to slow down to such a level that it was hard to continue to crawl. All of his joints ached and protested as he continued on his path. It was as if his body were trying to prevent him from his prey. But it wouldn’t. He would have his meat.

  The entire congregation of Veiled Ones followed him as they made their way across the plains and into the territory of men. There was a forest up ahead, beyond the pouring rain. He could see it with his right eye. His left he kept behind him, just to ensure that no enemy came from there either.

  He was in charge because he had ended a stupid lizard’s life. The last thing he wanted was for someone else to do the same to him. They crawled on as the smell of the humans entered his nostrils. It had lingered there for a time before the rain had started. After the deluge had begun, he had lost the trail. Because of that, he had been forced to rely on his other senses to track the march of the humans.

  Fortunately, they left a large trail.

  Mud and footprints abounded as they followed after the army going north. They had even been able to pick off a few and taste the flesh of man again. It had been good to be so nourished once more. Well, at least it was good for his colors.

  And it kept his ranks happy to get a taste of what was to come. Their appetites would be insatiable once they feasted on humans for more than one meal at a time. And the armed ranks of them would serve as the first course. There were more humans to consume across the great swathes of Ladis.

  The lizards had once ruled this whole land, before the humans had come. Snart would lead his Veiled Ones to eat them all and grow into a congregation the world had never before seen. Even before their great demise.

  The wet ground squashed under his claws as he moved forward. The only sign of his approach was the imprint left in the mud. Soon, he knew, the rain would make it indistinguishable from the other tracks the men had left. Good. His lizards crawled behind him and would leave similar tracks.

  It wouldn’t do to have the human scouts find them and warn the army now. They had already planned so much. Up ahead, just beyond the sight of the rain, Snart could see them: the human armies. He licked his lips.

  They ought to wait for nightfall. That way they could sneak more easily into the camp, when their magic would hide them the best. The blood of men would run before any scouts ever knew they were there.

  Snart paused, his claws outstretched but not yet on the ground. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the air. His skin and body were cold. That had endured as long as the rains had. But now there was a warmth in the air. Not a gentle warmth like the suns gave them during normal days, but a sinister fire.

  A flame.

  As soon as he felt it, he wanted to kill. He needed to kill. It was like a burning desire to rip, bite, and claw at whatever was nearby him. His left eye went wide and his muscles tightened. From within him, he felt a very powerful surge of energy. He lashed out at the closest thing to him: a blue veiled one who had thought crawling close to their leader was safe.

  He was wrong.

  The blood of his victim splattered his face as he tore into the lizard with reckless abandon. The violence pleased him. It made him stronger. Screams and squeals from his victim rang with pleasure in his ears. The fire within him grew, even as the lifeblood of his unsuspecting opponent stopped pulsing.

  Behind him, the hiss and cry of other lizards, both outraged and pleased with this show of blood, grew loud.

  Did they feel it, too?

  For days they had used caution in following the army of men. Snart felt none of that pause now. He did not know where the desire to consume, to kill, and to maim came from.

  And he did not care.

  He wanted to taste the flesh of men, not the cold blood of his fellow lizards.

  “Kill, kill! Men armiessss! Eat men’s flesssssh!”

  With those words, he abandoned all pretext of hiding. He took his spear off his back, licked his lips, and ran for the line of men. His mouth watered with the desire to taste the flesh of a man.

  And the first one he found only increased his bloodlust.

  He was Snart.

  Leader of the Veiled Ones.

  And he was hungry.

  31: Convincing a Lady

  Ealrin took a deep breath of fresh air. It was stifling riding underneath all those clothes and furs. He was glad for the warmth for sure, especially for Blume and Olma’s sake. They were shivering when the caravan picked them up. The group had huddled around them, trying to ensure they got all of their warmth. But after an hour’s ride under the furs, Ealrin yearned to breathe air that wasn’t riddled with the smell of his companions.

  “Quiet, now” said their bearded smuggler. “Miss Rivius will be with you after a while. Stay put while I find some food to give you.”

  Ealrin let a sigh escape his lips. Food. He decided it would be just fine to be scrunched up for a little while longer if it meant they would get something to eat. In the last few days, he had done his best to give Blume his portions. She looked like she could still eat the horses that brought them here. But if their hostess was being kind enough to feed them, that at least was going to be a good sign.

  Plus, he was starving.

  “Mister Ealrin,” Jurrin said from the back of the cart. “Do you think we’ll be able to get out of the cart or will we be spending the night here?”

  The thought hadn’t yet occurred to him, if he was honest. He had been so worried about getting into the city and not getting caught that he hadn’t thought past this very moment. The lady who was to be their contact had the face of a no-nonsense business woman. Something told him that she wouldn’t offer them free rooms for the evening.

  “I’m not sure, Jurrin,” he said truthfully. “Let�
��s just wait to see what she’ll give us to eat.”

  It wasn’t long before the bearded man came back with two woven baskets. One of them contained wonderfully warm bread. The other had strips of dried meat. Ealrin didn’t recognize it, nor did he care. With great self-control, he passed the baskets around the cart before taking his own share and biting into both the bread and the meat hungrily.

  He looked sideways to see Blume eating, too, and that warmed his heart more than the bread. Perhaps, after some time of rest and food, she would be back to normal.

  Taking another bite, he tried to calm the part of his mind that reminded him that normally Blume was adventurous, free spirited, and often got into trouble.

  IT FELT LIKE SEVERAL hours before anyone came to check on them again. Ealrin and the others sat restlessly in the cart, still hidden by the furs and the cloths they rested under. Jurrin was lightly snoring. Blume and Olma sat in what looked to be an awkward silence, where one would glance at the other, begin to speak, but then appear to change their mind. Maccus, Mas, and Tratta were having a whispered conversation with Gregory.

  For a moment, Ealrin felt odd. Almost left out of something. He shook the feeling away as soon as he could and realized it was because Holve wasn’t here. Without the older man’s appraising commentary or comforting reassurances, Ealrin felt himself lost. It was strange. He still felt upset at Holve for not telling them everything they would need to know about being in Ladis.

  Why was he hiding things from them?

  The thought came back in with force to Ealrin and he found himself not missing Holve, but upset with him again. If only he had shared with them what he was planning, maybe they wouldn't be in such a predicament!

  There wasn’t long to stew on such thoughts, however.

  As soon as he began to get himself riled up and angry, the cloth flew up again. Everyone in the cart jumped as their protective covering was lost. Ealrin went for his blade. The woman who lifted the cloth jumped, too, but quickly recovered and gave them all a scolding look.