by Logan Petty
Axle’s words from her first day of training imprinted on her heart and resonated today as her eyes fell upon a boarded up tavern with a wooden sign that dangled haphazardly from the awning over the door. A crudely etched rat face peered from the sign. Human runes below the rodent read “Bilgerat’s Nest.” She grinned as hope found its way into her mind. The windows shed no light into the night air. A few undead soldiers wandered the streets around the tavern. She did not doubt she could take them, but she decided to take a quieter route, since the commotion could draw more enemies, or scare off her quarry.
She ran her finger along the blade of her father’s dagger. The cut barely hurt at all anymore, much like the pain she felt as she thought about her abandonment. She drew a special rune upon her forehead, concentrated hard on the beating of her heart, and whispered a few lines of incantation. The bloody rune on her forehead burned her skin, opening her mind’s eye. Her heartbeat pulsed outward, bouncing off buildings, seeping through the earth, and diffusing into everything around her. She closed her eyes and could see the heartbeats of every living thing around her for half a square mile. Timbrell’s heart pounded furiously. Mari’s beat steady like a metronome. Nothing reverberated from the hollow chests of the soldiers lurking around. The rapid flutter of ravens swirled through the air and bounced off the awnings upon which they perched. A few far off packs of gnolls thud-thudded rhythmically, patiently . . . expectant. Most importantly, Kyra picked up the orchestra of heartbeats beneath the tavern, beneath her feet. She could feel so many tempos, so many patterns, but all of them alive. All of them below. She opened her eyes as she whispered back to Mari and Timbrell.
“I found them. This is the place, but they’re beneath it, not inside it.”
Timbrell watched Mari’s hands move about before looking up and addressing Kyra. “But how do we get to them?”
Kyra smiled to herself as she wove another enchantment, already halfway into the rite. She finished drawing an arcane circle with numerous runes surrounding it, all drawn in her own blood. She mumbled an incantation, focusing her mind on the circle as her free hand pressed against the stonework on the street. Again, her mind awakened, penetrating the mundane limits of vision. She could see all stonework around her, natural and artificial. She could see all sides of every stone building around her for a mile. She could not see anything that moved within those walls, but she could clearly see their dimensions, and where they were solid. Most importantly, she could see where the stonework left space in solid earth. Beneath her feet, a maze of tunnels twisted and tangled. Combined with her other spell, she could map out the locations of every heartbeat within the undercity. She studied them for a moment, noting the moving ones, the stationary ones, and the greatest concentration of beats as well. She found a hidden grate that led into the tunnels below. It lay beneath the crates she hid behind earlier. She stood up, dizziness overtaking her as she moved. She swayed and caught hold of a wall in the alley. Timbrell piped up.
“Are you alright?”
Kyra winced, placing a bleeding finger to her lips. She hoped the nearby soldiers did not hear that. She had used a good amount of blood in her casting already tonight, and it began to take its toll on her. She could not let the other two see her weakness. She simply glared silently at them as she pushed the crates slowly out of the way, revealing the grate. She lifted it, grunting with exertion as the heavy iron plate rose from the hole it covered. She peered inside. No heartbeats below them, but that did not discount the dead. She slowly crawled inside, casting a simple light spell on a coin in her pocket as she splashed down. The light from the coin shone upon the stonework her previous incantation still highlighted in her arcane vision. She slowly walked forward, watching carefully for any movements. Behind her, she could hear Timbrell whispering to Mari. She chose to ignore it. The sooner she could leave the dead weight behind, the sooner she could focus on her mission. It still irked her that Sibilach stuck her with the most useless members of the infiltration party.
They ventured from one tunnel to the next, carefully watching the heartbeats of the people and creatures around them. Kyra intentionally avoided them, trying to get to the center, where the largest population of life resided. They came upon a long tunnel that connected to several side branches. As Kyra stepped out, Mari grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back, wrapping a hand around her already shouting mouth. Kyra’s hand instinctively twisted behind her head, pressing the dagger’s blade against Mari’s throat. Timbrell whispered in the sorceress’s ear.
“Don’t move. That tunnel is filled with the dead.”
Kyra hesitantly lowered her blade. A moment later Mari let go of her. She whispered to Timbrell, forgetting her companions could see in the dark.
“How many? Are they moving?”
Timbrell whispered back, “Hundreds, moving down the tunnel, toward something I’d guess. An invasion force?”
Kyra’s blood ran cold. Had the enemy grown wise to their plans to unite the factions? Did something she cast draw them to the sewers? Was she to blame? She shook her anxieties aside as she turned down a service tunnel. She scoped the layout of the tunnels and found a secondary incomplete shaft that lead straight to the concentration of people. She motioned to the others and took off down the twisting maze. She ran from one chamber to the next, climbing ladders, and sliding down secret chutes. In her haste, she neglected to notice a faint heartbeat around the next turn.
A skimmer leapt up from the rat corpse it had just drained, buzzing its wings loudly. Kyra screamed in alarm, dropping her dagger as it jumped at her. Mari rushed forward and caught the giant insect by the throat. It’s acidic needle dripped inches from Kyra’s face as Mari pushed back, forcing it to the ground. Timbrell leapt from her shoulders, biting the bug’s wings and ripping them off. The hungry pankin made short work of the bug, tossing its dangerous parts aside. Kyra caught her breath as she picked her dagger up. She glanced quickly at Mari.
“Thanks.”
The young elf’s eyes lit up as she smiled brightly. Kyra kept moving. The cluster of people grew ever closer. She found herself in the side shaft, running headlong into the chamber of people. A smattering of shouts and curses bounced around the chamber as a pair of powerful hands wrapped around her. She heard a gruff man’s voice from behind.
“Oi, what’s this then? ‘Ow’d a pair o’ girlies and a raccoon manage t’ get past all our guards?”
Another voice, higher pitched, answered the first as a scrawny man wearing a brown dirty vest and trousers approached her, saber drawn. “We gots compormiles! Best go tell the Cap’n!”
A filthy rag gagged Kyra’s mouth as several men fell upon the party. She noticed that Mari and Timbrell shared the same fate. The burly hands shoved her along, never relinquishing their iron vice grip. She soon found herself escorted into a large dry cistern that had been retrofitted with several living accommodations, such as bedrolls, larders, and shelves. Roughly thirty men and women of different races, all wearing rags, but armed to the teeth with bows, swords, hooks and other weapons, emerged from the shadows. Kyra noticed that all the exits to the cistern had been sealed off, save the one she came through. The main tunnel that the dead marched down now had a copper plate welded over it. The man carrying her stopped promptly and turned her toward the opposite side of the main entrance.
“Cap’n Arc! We been compostized! We caught these two chasin’ a raccoon into our base!”
A man dressed in a dingy blue overcoat, decorated with tarnished brass buttons and tattered blue trousers, sat upon a makeshift throne of crates. His brilliant blue eyes burned with ferocity against his pale, scarred face. His dark red hair matted together in strands, hanging down to his shoulders and against his brow. A ragged crimson beard, peppered with strands of gray stuck out in every direction from his jaw. He sighed, rubbing his temples.
“You mean ‘compromised.’ Just wonderful. It took us a month to find this place after the last raid.”
Kyra shouted desp
erately against the rag in her mouth. The captain leaned forward, studying the captive closer.
“Shake them down.”
Kyra’s disguise tore from her as the men repossessed her belongings, leaving only her robes. She sobbed, feeling violated by this action. Mari thrashed loudly, huffing and blowing. Timbrell yelped through his gag as well. The assailants offered their findings to the man they called captain. He picked over the contents of the loot. His hand drifted to the scroll and picked it up, but he stopped as his eyes fell upon the silver dagger. He placed the scroll inside his coat as he lifted the dagger. His gaze wandered from the silvery blade to the young girl before him.
“I have not seen this knife in many years. Who are you, girl, to have this on your person?”
The rag tore from Kyra’s mouth as she bit hard on her lip. The blood filled her mouth and she muttered an arcane verse. She swallowed the blood. Suddenly, thousands of tiny needles poked out of her skin, stabbing the hands of her captors. They yelled in pain and let go of her. Captain Whyteskornr rose to his feet as she stood still, glaring hatefully at him, the pins slowly retracting into her body.
“I am the daughter you abandoned on the front door of Saint Beruk’s Orphanage nearly two decades ago. I’m not surprised you do not recognize me.”
Silence stifled the room as Captain Arc stared at Kyra, his mouth half open. He smiled, shaking his head.
“You must be confused, child. I never had a daughter. Surely I would know if I did. You aren’t the first to make such a claim, though you are the closest in resemblance to me. But tell me, girl. What did you expect to find within this place? Did you think the famous Captain Archel Whyteskornr would undoubtedly welcome you, his long lost child, with open arms and shower the bounty of his incredible wealth upon you? Well, look around. Gaze upon my empire of trash. Feel free to inherit my palace of rats. Hah, while you’re at it, sup at my royal banquet.” He laughed, gesturing to a line of barrels full of bones. “I’m afraid that’s all I have to offer you and your friends.”
Kyra squinted hard at the Captain, disgusted at what she saw. “So that’s it, then? All this time and you just brush me off like a fly? I didn’t come here to inherit your blood money. I came to deliver a message. I can’t give half a care if you believe my heritage. I see now the stories were all lies anyway. Your happy little family is about to become a feast for the dead.”
Laughter echoed throughout the cistern as the captain raised a hand. The noise subsided before he spoke.
“Little girl, if you wish to make idle threats—”
The cistern shook as a loud bang, like someone hitting a bell with a large hammer, reverberated within. Kyra followed Arc’s gaze to the main entrance as another impact buckled the copper plate, knocking several rivets loose. The captain drew a shining cutlass from his belt.
“All hands on deck! We’re under attack!
A third hit tore the blockade from the entrance, sending a cloud of dust and stones into the chamber. Hundreds of undead creatures poured into the room, leaping upon the living. Kyra licked her bloody lip as they closed in on her.
A billow of orange flame shot from her mouth, immolating several monsters on the spot. Mari grabbed her lute and Kyra’s knife while Timbrell grabbed his instrument. Mari tossed the blade to Kyra, who promptly caught it, slicing her hand wide open. Mari began to strum an energetic reel on her lute, driven by the tap-tapping of Timbell’s percussion. The tune filled Kyra with energy, allowing her to intensify her magic.
Kyra flicked a trickle of blood toward an oncoming creature, who looked like an amalgam of stitched up animals. Her blood ignited, creating a series of concussive explosions that timed themselves with Mari’s cantering beat. The screams of the men and women fighting the onslaught drew Kyra’s attention to the gargantuan creature that crawled into the room from the dust.
An unholy construct of giant’s bones, sinew, and animal hides dragged itself forward. It had three skulls, one that served as a head, two that it used to drag its bulk forward like hands. The chipped teeth of the latter heads scrapped horribly against the stones, the cracks in their craniums indicated they were the ones that knocked loose the barricade. The topmost head sported a single bulging eye and an exposed brain that oozed black tendrils. The construct’s lower half consisted of a crude basket of bones that held a tangle of dark greenish entrails which dangled about, leaking foul smelling bile.
Kyra paused, stunned for a moment as Captain Arc rushed past her. He swiped at the oncoming horde, creating a wave of water that sent dozens of them scattering about. He launched himself at the abomination, stabbing at the base of its skull-hand. The other hand rose and slammed down on the captain, who narrowly moved in time. Kyra followed after him, unwilling to be outshone by this washed up old beggar.
The creature raised a chattering fist again. Before it could fall upon its target, a bolt of fire seared the air, hitting it with enough force to knock it back, charring the sinews that held it together. Undaunted, the captain climbed into its rib cage, slashing at the throbbing organs within. Kyra grit her teeth as she unleashed another volley of fireballs. She did not understand why, but she intentionally aimed them around the captain, caring whether she hit him.
Several black tendrils shot up from the creature’s mass of cancerous guts, ensnaring Captain Arc. He grunted as he struggled against them, unable to break free. Kyra’s heart jumped at the sight. Mari’s song filled her body as she quickly drew a circle on the floor and focused hard on it while the Ravenwake Company beat back the oncoming dead. The circle glowed brightly, filling the room with a gentle breeze. She stepped on the circle and bent her knees into a squat. She coated her blade in her own blood and drew a series of runes in it. She pushed off the ground with all her might, flying into the air. Her aim proved true as her body sailed toward the upper head. She boldly shouted an incantation of righteous fury, igniting the dagger with white electricity. She plunged the dagger into the beast’s eye, sending surges of lightning through its frame. It shuddered violently, releasing the captain within. He staggered out as the beast shook its blinded head ferociously, flinging Kyra and the dagger free.
Kyra crashed to the ground below, managing a weak shield spell to prevent any broken bones. She looked up in time to see Mari bounce off of her circle of lift and catch the falling dagger mid air. As she rose above the beast, she threw the blade with the precision of an elven ranger, driving it deep into the exposed brain mass. She fell to the ground, caught by Captain Arc as the monster thrashed violently, throwing bile and corruption everywhere. It crumbled to the ground as the mythril blade of the dagger seared its brain. The surviving Privateers rallied as the monster fell and the remaining undead lost their sense of purpose. It only took a few minutes to cut down the remaining horde and put them to the torch.
Kyra sat on the ground nursing her bruised ribs as she noticed a figure approach her from the side. A hand appeared in her vision a second later. She looked up to see Mari’s grinning face. Kyra hesitated a moment, then returned the smile begrudgingly. She accepted the hand and rose from the ground as Mari gave her a tug. She eyed Captain Archel suspiciously as he limped up to her. He stopped cold in his tracks and cleared his throat.
“You fought valiantly, my daughter. I should have never treated you so coldly, though my words before were true. I never knew I had any offspring, so you can imagine how a man of my station would react to such news.”
Kyra’s gaze fell to Mari. Mari’s hands wove a series of signs. Timbrell watched them a moment then opened his mouth to speak. Captain Archel beat him to it.
“She says . . . , ‘You should not hold grudges, even against a’ . . . ahem, I shall not repeat that word, . . . ‘man like him.’ That language. I’ve seen it before, long ago. An elven woman known as Skalda Briaredge used it to communicate with her followers silently during the last war. Are you, perchance, from Alfhaven?”
Timbrell stammered, “Why, yes, but this is our unit’s special language. How coul
d you decode it so easily?”
Archel sighed, smiling, “I thought as much. Some signs are different, but the general structure is the same. So, what is the magically adept daughter of a Jordborgan pirate doing in the sewers with rangers from Alfhaven?”
Kyra pointed at Archel’s chest. “We came to deliver that message to you. Now that we have, we must be on our way. An army of many nations marches upon the gates of Jordborg, and today at dawn we will meet at the gates of the palace to drive the invaders from this land once and for all.”
Archel withdrew the scroll and unbound it, straightening it out. His eyes scanned it a moment, then he glanced up in surprise at Kyra, then back to the scroll, his complexion turning whiter. He rolled up the scroll and tucked it away. A broad smile spread across his face as he bowed to Kyra.
“My dearest child, I am in your debt for warning my people of the oncoming doom. Our blades are at your disposal from this day forward until the Tyrant of the North’s bones lay in a pile of his own ashes. So then, shall we pay a visit to the palace?”
Kyra and Mari exchanged glances. She did not have to like Captain Archel, but having him and his pirates at their side would prove advantageous in the fight to come. A sadistic smile spread across Kyra’s face.
“Let’s end this.”
Chapter 13:
The landscape of the battle outside the city gates altered drastically over the past half hour. Jatharr’s ears still rang as he cut a swathe through the disoriented masses of the enemy army. The Swedrbrekker’s forces skirted the edge of a massive charred crater of broken glass the size of a small valley. The city’s gate lay in smoldering ruins, having caught the brunt of the cataclysmic blast from the destructive weapon the Grey King’s allies attempted to unleash upon the attackers. Jatharr found himself secretly praising the centaur’s devastating magic, despite fearing it deeply. He made a mental note of their capabilities in a head-on fight as he slashed his way forward, scattering heads and limbs in every direction. The enemy seemed to lose the will to fight.
