The Beggar's Wrath

by J B Drake

  “You’re not going through?” she asked, but it was as if Anieszirel didn’t hear her.

  “Kin-Slayer!”

  Turning, Anieszirel glared at the Archmage.

  “What is it?” Anise pleaded.

  Turning back to the door, Anieszirel sighed. “They’re amassing again. On the other side.”

  “Oh gods,” Anise muttered. “How many sellswords did they hire?”

  Anieszirel shook her head. “These ones are different. They have a plan, one they’re confident will work against me.”

  “And…you think that plan involves flanking us?”

  Anieszirel nodded. “Possibly.” Then she turned to Anise once more. “Go get Marsha, let’s not leave anything to chance.”

  Anise nodded. “Right.” As she moved to do as the Kin-Slayer had asked, however, she stopped and faced Anieszirel once more.

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?” she asked.

  Tearing her gaze from the door, Anieszirel held Anise’s stare with a seriousness the Archmage had yet to see from her.

  “I’m going to spring their trap,” Anieszirel said.

  Anise frowned. “Is that wise?”

  “No,” Anieszirel replied, shaking her head, “but we have precious few options. There are more of them behind that door than we’ve faced so far, and we’re almost out of time. I’d rather not stain my blades with Tower blood, so I need to end this before your brother gets here.

  Anise sighed and nodded.

  “I’d much rather you didn’t stain your blades with Tower blood either, Kin-Slayer,” she said as she turned to hurry to Marshalla’s side.

  Anieszirel laughed as she turned to face the door once more.

  “Oh, Anise!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes?” Anise said as she stopped and turned. It was then she noticed the Kin-Slayer’s blades were no more.

  “Keep the others behind me from here on in. There’s no more time for sword play, and I do not wish to harm them with what I’m about to do. Or you.”

  “Very well,” Anise said after a spell, then hurried on.

  As Anise’s footsteps faded, Anieszirel frowned as she supped of the power once more.

  “What you going to do, Ani?”

  “Watch,” Anieszirel thought as she smiled.

  Closing her eyes and lifting her head skyward, the chronodragon called forth her azure form, this time complete with her wings. As she channelled her power into her form, Anieszirel breathed deep, and in one sharp exhale, she flapped her ghostly azure wings at the door, the one single motion calling forth a wall of air so powerful as to blast away the door and much of the wall about it. Then, as the air rang loud with the shattering of wood and stone, Anieszirel whispered once more, and time itself slowed to a crawl.

  “Didn’t know you could do that!”

  Anieszirel smiled once more. “Oh, but I’m not done yet, Tip. Just watch.”

  Lifting herself off the ground, Anieszirel floated forth, through the haze of lazily falling stone and dust, to stare at what lay beyond. They were indeed more now than before, but this time, the Fairshrouds were at the fore, within her grasp.

  “Perfect,” she whispered as she raised her hands and began casting a spell. It was simple spell, one that would call forth a cloud of pure lightning. But simple though it was, it was one of her more deadly incantations, for this was a cloud that would hurl bolts of lightning at any and every living being beneath it, and the more arcane power within it, the further its reach and the more powerful its bolts. So, as the cloud took shape, Anieszirel fed it with raw arcane power, and as she fed it, the cloud grew and floated higher, until at last, satisfied, Anieszirel drifted forward, a delicious grin upon her lips.

  “So long, you f—” Anieszirel muttered as she floated forth, but then, without warning, an unseen hand grasped hold of her, pulling both her and her elemental cloud to the ground, forcing her onto all fours as the cloud vanished into the floor before her eyes.

  “What…!” she gasped as the grip bound her fast to where she knelt. Then, her eyes grew wide as she watched runes of power etched into the stone floor begin to glow one by one around her, encircling her, and as she watched them glow, Anieszirel’s heart raced as she realised what the trap was.

  “No!” she yelled, squirming in vain to free herself of the force that held her fast.

  “No!”

  Anieszirel knew she only had moments before she was trapped, and in her desperation she drank deeper than she otherwise would’ve dared, gulping and channelling the power even as it burned her from within. But too little of her own inner strength had returned, which meant she simply could not channel enough of the power to free herself from her bonds.

  “No!”

  With rising panic, Anieszirel watched as the runes continue to glow. Then, when the last rune glowed, pain the likes of which she could scarcely remember flooded through her. Throwing her head skywards, the bound chronodragon opened her mouth wide and screamed with all she had.

  As Anieszirel’s piercing scream reached her ears, Anise she spun on her heels, and she laid eyes upon the runic circle that held Anieszirel bound, her heart froze.

  “Kin-Slayer…” she whispered as she stood mouth agape. Then, a figure darted past her, one closely followed by a smaller shape. Coming to her senses, Anise sprang after the pair.

  “No, wait!” she exclaimed, latching onto Marshalla just as she was about to race through the shattered opening.

  “Let me go!” Marshalla shrieked as she fought Anise’s grasp.

  “No!” Anise begged, dragging Marshalla back as a confused Gray stared from her to her mistress.

  “Tip!” Marshalla screamed as she squirmed and fought Anise’s grip. “Tip!”

  “No, girl, no!” Anise yelled. “She’s trapped in a banishing circle. If you go near her you’ll be trapped with her!”

  “Let me go!” Marshalla shrieked, seemingly oblivious to Anise’s warning. “Let me go! Got to help him, let me go!”

  “No-one can help her now,” Anise replied. “She has to help herself.” Then, Anise noticed the gazes of many of the sellswords were now upon her. With the blood drained from her face, the troubled Archmage pulled Marshalla further away from the circle. The Kin-Slayer was not the only one who had to help herself now.

  “Ani!” Tip screamed, his terror raw and unmistakable.

  But Anieszirel couldn’t respond, she daren’t. Her priority was freeing them from the circle and freeing them quickly, for the longer they were held trapped, the stronger the circle’s pull upon them would be, and it was only a matter of time before she was overcome and they were pulled down to the netherworld, body and soul.

  Gritting her teeth, she fought against the searing pain, pushing it as far from her mind as she could. In her prime, she’d have been able to free herself from such a small circle with ease, but she was far from her prime, and so she once again drank deep of the power within, channelling each gulp to resist the circle’s pull.

  “You know, for a moment there, I felt sure you’d free yourself before the circle formed.”

  Raising her head, Anieszirel glared at a grinning Netari Fairshroud. She was so close, all Anieszirel had to do was lunge forward just a little, and the hateful woman would be in her grasp.

  “How does it feel, Kin-Slayer?” Netari Fairshroud snarled. “How does it feel to be trapped like a dog?”

  “Mistress, please,” pleaded a sellsword standing behind Netari. “You cannot stand so close, the circle’s too unstable, it can—”

  Spinning, Netari smashed the back of her fist into the sellsword’s face, sending him tumbling backwards, before returning her gaze to the trapped chronodragon.

  “I came here looking to avenge my sons of the gutter rats that led them to their deaths, yet here I am avenging them of the monster that killed them!”

  “Ani, get us out! Please!”

  Gritting her teeth, Anieszirel dropped her gaze as she fought the pull.

&
nbsp; “I’m trying,” was all she could manage.

  “And speaking of gutter rats,” Netari continued, prompting Anieszirel’s gaze to rise. “Bring the girl here. I want the Kin-Slayer to watch me slit her throat.”

  “Ani! It’s Marsha!” Tip screamed, his voice one of near hysteria. “You got to do something!”

  But she couldn’t, she was already pouring every ounce of strength she had into resisting the circle’s pull.

  “I’m trying, Tip,” she thought in response. “I’m trying.”

  “Please, you got to help her!”

  “I’m trying!”

  Then, Marshalla’s cries drifted to Anieszirel’s ears.

  “Ani!” Tip shrieked.

  With a roar, Anieszirel pulled and squirmed anew, but as she fought, tears welled in her eyes, for she knew there wasn’t a single thing she could do. She knew, without a doubt, that her hubris had condemned Marshalla to death, and damned Tip to watch his dear friend die.

  Then, the lights of the runes began to merge.

  “I’m sorry, Tip,” she thought, her heart broken. “Please forgive me.”

  But there was no response. Worse, she could barely sense the little boy at all, almost as if he was cowering from her. It was enough to break her heart.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and lowered her head one last time.

  Then, time slowed to a crawl, as if of its own accord. As it slowed, the pain crashing against Anieszirel’s senses faded to nothing. Puzzled, the chronodragon looked about her, but stopped when she felt something deep within her stir, something deep within Tip. But it wasn’t Tip, no, this was a presence she’d never felt before.

  “What…?” she muttered, unsure what to make of her senses.

  Then, her mind cleared and she realised whose presence she felt. It was a realisation that brought with it a wave of pure revulsion. The arcane power within the child, it was alive. She’d been feasting on a living entity this whole time, and as she recoiled in horror of that one thought, a wave of pure blackness burst from her body, flooding out before her before rising up like a wall of darkness. It was as if none could see it, as if none could feel the suffocating menace emanating from it, none save her, and as it rose, it took upon itself the shape of the young boy Tip.

  Raising its head, it sneered at her.

  “Pitiful.”

  It sounded like Tip, but this…this could not be her Tip.

  “What are you?”

  The creature smirked at her before rising high and, transforming into a wave once more, crashed down up the chronodragon, wrenching control from her as if she were a mere child.

  Clutching her side, Anise staggered back in the face of the advancing sellswords, staggering back till she felt the wall against her back. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gray sprawled and still, lying where the wind blast had flung her, the three arrows sticking out of her side rising and falling ever so slowly.

  “What now?” Marshalla asked.

  Anise turned to her. The young girl was afraid, and it was clear from the look in her eyes she knew what was to come. With mounting desperation, Anise sought an alternative, a way to at least save the girl beside her, but each thought ended with their death. Then, four of the sellswords advanced.

  “Wait, look!” exclaimed one of the sellswords. As one, both Anise and Marshalla turned to where the outspoken sellsword pointed, along with the other sellswords. The sight that met Anise’s gaze, brought a smile to her lips. Kin-Slayer was on her feet again.

  “That’s impossible,” one of the sellswords whispered.

  Grinning, Anise turned back to them. “It would appear the Kin-Slayer’s set to free herself from the circle. Do you truly wish to have this child’s blood on your hands when that happens?”

  Anise’s words had the effect she desired, and as they faltered and squirmed, she nodded at Netari.

  “Perhaps your mistress could do with an escort out of here.”

  “Uh…” began the sellsword at the fore. “Yes…yes, we must protect the Fairshrouds.” Turning, he nodded to his companions, who then spun about and hurried towards Netari, their leader right behind them.

  “Thank the gods for that,” Anise whispered as she rested against the wall behind her.

  “Gray!” Marshalla exclaimed as she raced to her fallen panther.

  “Why, thank you for asking, Marsha, I’m doing just splendidly!” Anise called after her.

  “You still standing, Gray’s not!”

  Shaking her head, Anise looked down at her wound. It was deep.

  “That’s going to leave a mark,” she muttered. Sighing, she shook her head as she rested it upon the wall. “And this is why you pack bandages, Anise, you never know when…”

  From the corner of her eye, Anise caught a glimpse of the Kin-Slayer as she went back down upon her knees.

  Frowned, she turned to the kneeling chronodragon. “What is she doing?”

  “I asked you a question, damn it!” Netari bellowed at the mage whose tunic she clasped in her hand. “How is she able to move?”

  “I…I don’t know!” the mage replied with a mix of fear and wonder. “The circle’s still functioning, she shouldn’t be able to—”

  “Perhaps it’s time we left, my dear,” Tirelin said, appearing behind his wife as he placed a calming hand upon Netari’s, the one in which she held the sellsword bound.

  “No!” Netari exclaimed before turning to the child. “No, we had her!”

  The child’s head was bowed, his eyes upon the runes of the circle. Then, as Netari stared at him, she watched as the child placed his hands near the runes.

  With rising fury, Netari turned back to the mage.

  “Do something!” she demanded.

  “I can’t!” the mage exclaimed, turning to the child. “I…”

  It was the confused frown upon the mage’s face that made Netari turn, and as she did so, she watched as dark tendrils grew from the child’s outstretched fingers, tendrils no thicker than a strand of hair, tendrils that snaked out around the child, and as the tendrils reached the runes, they wrapped about each rune before pulling them free one by one, the released runes fading to nothing in moments.

  “Oh my gods,” the mage whispered.

  “Netari,” Tirelin pleaded. “Let’s go!”

  “Leaving so soon?” the child asked as the banishing circle faded to nothing. Then, he raised his head, and as Netari stared into eyes, eyes that were nothing more than two spheres of blackest night, she felt her entire being fill with an immeasurable horror, one that held her rooted to the spot.

  Chuckling, the child cocked his head to the side. “How does it feel to be trapped like a dog?”

  Netari could neither move nor speak. And neither, she realised, could any of the others. But that was not all she realised. The tendrils from the child’s hands were still growing, and they were snaking towards her and her sellswords. Rooted, she watched as the tendrils neared, unable to flee or even move.

  As she was closest to the child, it was her the tendrils reached first. But as they reached her, they parted, snaking about her and her husband both before making their way towards the mage who Netari had grasped so roughly earlier, and as the tendrils snaked up his legs, the mage began to gasp and gag, falling unto his knees as a he coughed and choked, until at last he doubled over convulsing as a vile ichor ran from his lips, ears, nose and even eyes. Then, he was still.

  With a chuckle, the child lowered his head, and as he did so chaos erupted. With his gaze lowered, the bounds he’d held them all in were undone, and with its undoing, the sellswords routed, their courage forsaken. But salvation was not to be theirs this day, for as they ran, the tendrils seemed to come alive, merging to form thicker and thicker strands till they seemed like snakes, darting forth with frightening speed to latch onto the fleeing. Some were dragged to the ground, their feet pulled out from under them; others were slammed against the building’s walls, the tendrils holding them fast as thei
r insides were defiled. None were spared, and before long the building resounded with the gasps and cries of the sellswords as they met their terrible ends, the resulting stench almost as overpowering as the cries.

  And through it all, the child laughed.

  With her heart in her throat, Netari watched her people fall, her mind struggling to comprehend the scale, and indeed speed, of the slaughter.

  “And you thought you could best me,” the child snickered.

  As the child’s words rang in her ears, Netari felt her blood boil. It had all been in vain, all of it. All their planning, all their schemes…They were no match for the Kin-Slayer, they never were. And here they were, about to die, their sons unavenged. Spinning round slowly, Netari felt the full weight of her despair begin to crush her. They’d failed. She’d failed. And there was nothing she could do about it.

  Then, her eyes fell upon the girl and the Tower woman, and as she stared, her heart swelled. That she would die there was beyond certain, but even in defeat, she could still make the Kin-Slayer suffer.

  “So,” the child said, rising. “Who dies next?”

  At his words, Tirelin placed a hand upon Netari’s shoulder. But before he could utter a word, Netari grasped hold of his cane, pulling free the blade within before spinning and darting for her quarry, her face set and fierce. As she darted forth, the tendrils turned for her, but she was ready, and as they lunged, Netari dodged and darted out of the way, her many years of battle training making her difficult prey. Then, she was upon her quarry.

  As she’d hoped, the tendrils stopped the moment she reached the girl. But she knew she only had moments before the Kin-Slayer used some other spell to end her, and without a break in stride, she barrelled into the Tower woman who’d valiantly stood to face her, the force of her charge sending the woman careening backwards just as Netari swung her blade about, the edge of the blade slicing between the Tower woman’s ribs as she fell. Next came the panther, the coiled cat leaping at Netari, its fangs seeking her throat. But again, Netari was ready, and raising her blade as a guard, she darted back out of the panther’s grasp before lunging forth the moment the panther’s feet touched the floor, forcing the blade deep into the panther’s body before it could leap anew. Now, it was just the girl.