by Alex Lang
“By the order of Lord Governor Velledon of Vigil, lay down your arms and surrender yourselves!” the lightstaff-holder proclaimed.
Kyris fixated on the man, wondering if he was a keeper, though not attired as one. And the staff he held was like no flamestaff he had ever seen, but one could not discount the white light spilling forth.
A pair of armsmen from each group leveled crossbows at them. The rest held halberds low and ready, as though expecting trouble or not interested in apprehension, despite what the staff-holder had said.
A mock-keeper and a leasher, along with over a dozen guards. And there was still the archer on the roof.
“Hold!” Kyris stepped out from the group arms raised, and slowly walked to the middle of the street. “I have something to say.”All eyes were on him, and more importantly, so were the crossbows.
“We care not what you have to say,” the mock-keeper yelled. “Do not move another step. Surrender.”
Kyris glanced over his shoulder and caught Caldir’s eye, and he thought he read the look, that surrender was not an option. He gave the man a nod, hoping in turn that Caldir understood what he was thinking.
The threat of imminent death had a sobering effect, but he must still have been under the sway of the wine and mead sloshing in his stomach, otherwise he would have given things more thought. Or perhaps he was thinking more clearly and realized there was no other option.
No one outside of Caldir, Ellse, and Sandamar had ever witnessed him use his ability and lived to tell of it. That was about to change.
He felt for that cold, dark presence in his mind and grasped it, entering the Gloom. The usual sensations assailed him; the dullness and haze covered everything, the silence all-encompassing. His fear intensified and felt sharper, more intimate. Where the chill of the night air had invigorated him, the icy bite of the Gloom shocked him into motion.
The sight of a man vanishing had the desired effect, and Kyris seized upon the opportunity. He couldn’t allow the enemy time to process any of it. He needed to push the fear, surprise, and confusion over the edge into chaos.
The leasher sent her beasts forward, and Kyris ran to meet them. He shifted out of the Gloom, reappearing between the two charging hounds.
Animals did not handle the fear-inducing effects of the Gloom any better than people. Often, it was worse because they didn’t bother to reason the fear away. And Kyris was thankful that these things were not so far from their mundane kin as both black hounds yelped and flung themselves away from him when he reappeared between them. They fled in opposite directions.
A crossbow-wielding armsman pointed the weapon at him, and Kyris did his own fleeing into the Gloom. He couldn’t help but flinch as the shadow-bolt passed through his chest, marking his excellent timing.
He spared a glance back and saw that someone had gotten the shop door open. Caldir and the group were filing in, though some looked to have been wounded.
Kyris kept running, eyes on his target. The leasher held her hand out to the closest hound, and it stopped running.
Kyris reappeared behind the woman and stabbed her twice in the neck above the armor. She fell to the ground. The hound she had been controlling was once again free to escape.
Kyris popped in and out of the Gloom amongst the enemy. Armed only with a dagger against the armored foes, he stabbed at faces when possible; otherwise, he aimed to wound and harass, always appearing close to negate the usefulness of the halberds the armsmen used.
It was working. Men were panicking, some even running.
An armsman came at Kyris with a sword, a clumsy swing which he dodged with ease, but an arrow broke against the ground where he had been. He shifted to the Gloom, then glanced up at the mysterious archer.
He couldn’t keep this up. The archer would eventually get him. He had hoped to incapacitate both the mock-Keeper and leasher, but deciding one was good enough, he ran back towards the shop.
Ellse was the only one left outside, and a zealous armsman advanced on her.
Kyris quickened his step, but he wasn’t going to make it.
The armsman jabbed the spear at her. She dodged, caught the shaft, kicked him in the stomach, whirled, wrested the spear from his hand, then ran him through with it, all in one fluid motion.
Kyris gaped. And here he’d thought to come to her rescue.
The mock-keeper waved his men forward, and the brightness emitted from the cylinder increased.
Ellse glanced around, then ducked into the shop as more of the armsmen pressed in.
Kyris was behind them in the Gloom, but he didn’t want to shift just yet, fearing the archer would have a clear shot. Instead, he ran through their shadow-forms into the shop, then turned to face the armsman in the lead, reappearing close enough to smell the man’s sour breath. The armsman jerked back, but Kyris stepped in, head-butted him on the nose, then followed up with two quick jabs of his dagger to the throat while the man was stunned.
The armsman attempted to stem the flow of blood with his hands before Kyris kicked him in the chest, back towards the other two, sending all three staggering out of the shop.
Kyris turned and ran down deeper in the store, but he staggered a step, feeling dizzy. He was shifting too much. The glow behind him intensified, and the entire shop was lit by the white light. His path curved around a display. There was a flash, a loud explosion of shattering glass and wood, then all was dropped into darkness, except for the drifting aflame fabrics and the broken pieces of the tailor’s mannequin that had caught fire.
Kyris didn’t know what had occurred, but he felt that he had come very close to dying just now. Perhaps he was premature in naming the mock-keeper.
As he continued his flight, Kyris could hear the keeper shouting something about ‘nightspawn’ and ‘orders,’ or some such. Whatever it was, it seemed to whip the armsmen into action as they unleashed a battle-cry before storming the shop in earnest.
Kyris ran behind the counter and into the back room where Ellse was waiting in the doorway to the secret underground.
“Go! Go! Go!” He waved her on.
Kyris joined Ellse, slamming the door closed behind him. They entered the secret passage, and Ellse slid the wall panel shut but not before an armsman entered the room and saw them.
“Allithor’s balls,” Kyris cursed as they made a reckless charge down the stairs. Their pursuers were already working on breaking through, as evidenced by the sound of splintering wood behind them.
As they came to an intersection of passageways, Caldir joined them, coming from further within the complex. The man had a pack slung over a shoulder, a lit lantern in each hand, and a key ring looped around a finger. He quickly handed a lantern to Ellse, then they all resumed their flight.
They burst into the training chamber, causing the rest of the group to startle.
“About time,” Tallence said, lowering his sword at the sight of them. They were all armed now, having raided the weapons rack, though Kyris noted with surprise that the staff Kohan held was the same relic-staff that he had taken from the artificers. Very curious, but now wasn’t the time for questions.
They had three lanterns total amongst the group, and they still didn’t fully illuminate the large chamber, as the braziers were unlit. Remembering his own light, Kyris dug out the small crystal from his pocket and unwrapped it.
“Quickly, to the other side.” Caldir closed the bronze door and began to search the key ring.
He was knocked almost to the ground as an armsman barged in.
The man paid the price for being the forerunner as the group cut him down. Kyris ran to the rack and selected a short sword and dagger for himself as more watchmen flooded into the chamber.
Caldir and the rest of the group began a fighting retreat towards the wooden doors at the far end of the chamber.
Kyris shifted into the Gloom once more and targeted the artificer armsmen carrying crossbows. He killed where he could but was more intent on wrecking the weapons. His
interspersed presence and surprise attacks stalled both the armsmen’s advance and their confidence, then the keeper arrived with reinforcements.
“Stand firm!” he commanded the armsmen. “You fight under the protection of the Light.” All eyes went to the keeper as he pointed his staff at Kyris. “I’ll cleanse this nightspawn filth.”
“Are you the sweeper?” Kyris walked forward with arms outstretched to the side. “And that must be your broom.”
Someone laughed. It was the archer who now leaned against the banister of the second floor. There was just enough light to flash across his face to show the amused smirk.
The keeper seemed genuinely astonished but lowered the staff, pointing the strange cone at him.
Kyris had glimpsed the crystal within the cylinder growing brighter and brighter, beginning to blind him. This was a bigger version of the torches, but one adapted for killing.
Kyris wanted the weapon directed at him. He had the best chance of avoiding its effect… if only he could tell when the burning light would be released. He had to turn his head away from the radiance, but he refused to raise his arms to shield his eyes.
He saw the keeper’s face strain. Waiting one more breath, he shifted to the Gloom, but it was too soon. He’d hoped to bait the attack, but the keeper didn’t release the light. It was still held within the crystal— bright, even viewed from within the Gloom. Taking only a moment to assess his options, Kyris rushed forward. He had to act before the Allithoran decided to direct the deadly attack towards one of the others.
Fortunately, it seemed the keeper wanted Kyris specifically to feel his wrath. He swung the staff back and forth, searching, anticipating Kyris’s reappearance. And the man was no fool, as he kept two armsmen standing at his back as constant guards. As much as Kyris wanted to gut the man, there was no easy opening.
In the Gloom, he couldn’t hear if there was an order issued or if, without an easy resolution for either side, it was just the natural course of things, but the battle resumed. Caldir and Kohan ran to the wooden doors, while everyone else engaged the armsmen.
In the silence of the Gloom, an aborted cry of a wraith flickering in, then out, announced that his time was running short. He shifted out near the entrance to the chamber and was assailed by the noise and chaos of battle. One of the Allithoran’s bodyguards reported his reappearance, and the keeper turned around to bring the staff to bear.
Grunul must have seen this as his opening as the man let out a challenging roar and charged from the other side, with an ax in each hand.
Kyris could read the keeper’s expression as he glanced between the two targets, torn as to whom he should unleash the light upon.
He must have a limited reserve of Allithor’s blessing to be so stingy with it, Kyris thought, but before he could ponder it further, an armsman’s sword demanded his full attention. He made the encroacher pay with a deep cut to the inner thigh, and the man went down.
As Kyris engaged a new opponent, he caught glimpses of Grunul cleaving a man with a battle-ax, and Ellse darting in and out with her spear, a blur of motion. The two fought with ruthless efficiency, cutting down the men that barred their way. The keeper, now judging them worthy of the light, swung the staff in their direction.
Kyris issued his own challenge, a mix of a growl and a shout, to less impressive effect. He wasn’t used to such outward displays. Regardless, he charged forward, but he knew he wouldn’t reach the keeper in time. He flipped his dagger, holding it by the blade, then hurled it. The projectile spun past an armsman by a finger’s length to strike the Allithoran in the arm. It was only a glancing blow, but it was enough to draw blood and to cause the man to jerk up. A blast of blinding white light shot out of the cylinder to strike the domed ceiling, dislodging stone and scorching what little of the mural that remained.
Grunul, having cut down another armsman, had a clear path to the keeper. Like some unstoppable, raging animal, the Marlander shot forward, letting out another roar.
The Allithoran stood his ground. Holding the staff with one hand now, he pointed the weapon at Grunul, the concentration of light building anew. The last desperate act of a dead man, Kyris thought, moving to attack. He blocked a blow from a bodyguard, then shifted, stepping through the man to reappear next to the keeper. He pivoted his weight and sank the blade of his shortsword in the man’s side.
“Where is your god now?” Kyris hissed.
The keeper groaned in reply, then Grunul arrived with an overhead chop of his ax, cleaving the man’s head with a sickening crunch and spraying Kyris with blood.
The light from the staff was extinguished like a candle. Along with the dimness, a lull settled on the battle.
Kyris surveyed the arena littered with the bodies of the dead and dying. He was surprised to see Izab among them, near the back by Caldir and Kohan. He hadn’t seen what happened, though it wasn’t hard to imagine. But by the cold, hard mathematics of battle, they had done miraculously well.
The handful of remaining opponents were coming to the same realization. Their numbers had been greatly reduced, and their leader was dead. They were in an underground chamber with at least one foulspawn and possibly more, given how Grunul had fought.
A few looked up to the archer, whom Kyris had forgotten about in the mayhem, but the man hadn’t moved or even changed his lounging posture.
Finding no aid there, Kyris could see in their faces that they were teetering on fleeing. But then someone Kyris had hoped to never see again walked into the chamber—Lord Rexam, the Boneclad warrior, entered with a fresh squad of armsmen.
At the same time, Caldir managed to unlock and pull open the wooden doors of their supposed escape route to reveal more enemies waiting on the other side, brandishing weapons and torches.
The new arrivals charged in, catching Adar by surprise and stabbing the young man in the gut. Time seemed to move like molasses as Kyris watched Adar’s face contort in slow agony. Ellse let loose a cry that was a mix of a scream and a roar, jarring time back to normal.
She charged in but was forced back by a sharp line of halberds.
Ellse retreated, rejoining the group as they faced the opposition, grim-faced and determined.
Kyris found himself on the far end of the room, near where Rexam had entered.
Could they still fight their way to freedom?
Grunul, Tallence, Rollim, Ellse, Caldir, Kohan, and himself. Seven against dozens.
If they charged the new group of armsmen who had not seen what they were capable of, perhaps they could scatter them and plow their way through to the sewers. It would be bloody, and their chances were slim.
Ellse stared at him, the confusion and question clear on her beautiful face. Why was he just standing there?
“I’m sorry,” Kyris mouthed, then he fled into the Gloom.
Chapter Thirty
Kyris turned away from Ellse, afraid he might discern her reaction, her judgment, even from within the haze of the Gloom. There was no time for contemplation or regret. The wraiths would be surfacing in earnest in moments, and he had left his newly discovered weapon against them hidden back at his lodging.
He ran headlong towards the wooden doors; the path to the sewers, Caldir had said. Kyris tried not to look at the shadow-forms of the group as he passed, tried not to read what they were going to attempt by their postures. It tore at him to abandon them, but he could not die here.
Perhaps if they surrendered, Lord Rexam would not kill them outright, but given the heavy toll they had extracted from the artificer armsmen tonight, he didn’t believe it likely.
Kyris ran through the armsmen and had reached the passageway beyond when the wraiths began appearing around him.
He ignored them and charged forward with everything he had, his vision narrowed to what was directly in front of him. His mind barely processed his surroundings. Kyris didn’t know what lay ahead, but the certainty of the wraiths nipping at his heels propelled him with a vigor only imminent death seemed
able to summon.
He burst into an intersecting tunnel, then his stomached lurched as he fell. Kyris yelped but hit the hard bottom only a heartbeat later. He was disoriented, but one fact screamed at him. He wasn’t running anymore.
Kyris grasped for the warm, solid presence in his mind, escaping the Gloom just as a shrieking wraith reared up over him. He reappeared in the proper world but found the icy chill of the Gloom had been replaced with something much more substantial and just as intense; rushing water. It filled his nose and mouth. Panicked and choking, he scrambled to his feet and discovered that the water only came up to his thighs.
He was standing in a small canal within the sewer tunnel where the rain flowed towards the river. He coughed and spat, then pulled himself out onto a narrow walkway.
Kyris lay there, face flat against the brick floor, pulling in labored breaths. His mind caught up with his body and he saw that in his flight, he had gone through an open grate where the construction of the large stone blocks of Caldir’s complex changed to the natural stone of a cavern, then transitioned again to the small bricks of the sewer tunnel.
Kyris waited until his breathing was under control, then got to his feet. Somewhere during his fall and scramble, he had lost his sword in the channel of running water, though he couldn’t recall whether in the Gloom or out.
He was contemplating if it would be worth looking for it when he saw light and heard voices at one end of the tunnel.
His own light crystal was still dangling from his belt, so he covered it with a hand. He moved away from the voices, but which way was out?
There was an incline to the tunnel, and the water streamed down the middle. He reasoned that it was going downhill towards the river which meant escape lay behind him. But he saw no choice. He would have to circle around.
Kyris jogged down the tunnel, away from the light. It didn’t take long before he came to a fork in the path. Either seemed as good as the other, so he picked at random the path on the right.
