The Beggar's Wrath

by J B Drake

  With a panicked cry, the girl charged at her, fists at the ready. But once more, Netari was ready, and as the girl charged, Netari darted forth, slamming a knee into the girl’s chest with enough force to knock all wind out of her lungs and send her crumpling to the earth. Then, with a cry, Netari lunged at the girl, her blade seeking the girl’s heart.

  “Die!” she shrieked as she thrust her blade at the girl with all her might. Except her blade did little more than pierce the girl’s tunic.

  Both girl and duchess stared at each other for a spell, each unsure what to make of what had just happened. Then, with a roar, Netari raised her blade, gripping it tight with both hands. If she couldn’t silence the girl’s heart, she’d have her head instead. Except once again, she was denied her wish, for as she swung, an unseen hand held her rigid.

  “A valiant effort, Netari Fairshroud,” the child’s voice echoed in her mind, “but futile. Tell me, how does it feel to watch death come for you?”

  For a brief moment, the child’s words were lost to Netari, but her eyes was still upon the girl, and as she stared, she watched the girl scurry for one of the Tower woman’s daggers before scrambling to her feet, and, with a cry of her own, spin round and plunge the dagger into Netari’s chest.

  A deafening silence fell upon all within as Netari held Marshalla in a bewildered gaze. It was a gaze she kept upon Marshalla, even as her strength began to fade, a gaze that only fell when the silence was broken by the sound of elven steel clattering upon the stone floor.

  As if awoken from a stupor, Netari stared down at the dagger in her chest before staring at Marshalla once more, her eyes, this time, filled with deep and utter hurt, the intensity of which was more than Marshalla could bear, and as Marshalla lowered her eyes, Netari turned and began making her way to her beloved husband’s side. But her strength was fading fast, each step more laboured than the last, until at last she stopped, and, looking down at the dagger within her one last time, Netari Fairshroud stared at her beloved, tears stinging her eyes, and she reached out to him.

  “Tirelin,” she breathed, then crumpling to the floor.

  Farewell, My Love

  “Are you seeing this?” Eldred hissed, his voice quivering as he stared wide-eyed at the boy they had come to end. “Are you all seeing this?”

  Thane nodded, his face as ashen as Eldred’s. “Kin-Slayer’s still in the boy. Gods preserve us.”

  “How are we supposed to kill the boy now?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Thalas began his words bearing courage he did not feel, “we—”

  “It doesn’t matter?” Neremi snapped as she rounded on him. “Kin-Slayer just slaughtered a room full of sellswords without raising a finger, and you say it doesn’t matter?”

  “Well, what do you suggest we do?” Thalas demanded.

  Glaring at Thalas, Neremi moved to speak, but had no words. Again, she tried, but she could think of no way out.

  “Let’s just go, Neremi,” Eldred pleaded. “We still have coin, let’s just go!”

  Neremi shook her head. “Go where?”

  “Wherever!” he begged. “This is folly!”

  Again, Neremi shook her head. “Our families, Eldred. That’s why we’re here, remember? We can’t just leave.”

  Eldred turned to the scene before them. “You wish to fight her, then?”

  As Neremi moved to speak, Thane grasped hold of both her and Eldred’s elbows before pulling the pair deeper into the shadows.

  “Someone comes,” he whispered, and as Thalas joined them, the sound of running reached all their ears. Then, as the far door was flung wide, all four watched as the young boy named Tip fell to the floor.

  “Nobody move!” Thuridan bellowed as he burst into the building, mages of the Shimmering Tower pouring in after him. As his companions entered, Thuridan stopped and took stock of what lay within, and what he saw filled him with revulsion.

  “What in the hells happened here?” Daniton whispered as he wandered to Thuridan’s side.

  Thuridan shook his head as his eyes wandered over the twisted faces, and indeed bodies of the fallen.

  “What could’ve done this?”

  “Help us!” came a cry from deeper within the room, drawing Thuridan from his thoughts. Turning to its source, Thuridan’s eyes fell upon Marshalla as she frantically waved them forth.

  “It’s Marshalla,” Daniton frowned.

  “Help us!” Marshalla repeated. “Anise’s hurt bad!”

  “Anise!” Daniton cried before racing forth, some of the other mages hurrying after him. Thuridan, however, had his eyes upon someone else.

  “Tirelin?” Thuridan muttered, frowning as he watched the elven noble take hesitant steps towards Marshalla.

  “Magister,” one of the remaining mages said as he hurried up to Thuridan before pointing at a bundle near the noble. “I see the boy.”

  Focusing on the bundle, Thuridan nodded.

  “Go,” he said, “see to his well-being.”

  “At once, Magister,” the mage said before hurrying over to the unmoving child.

  Taking a deep breath, and immediately regretting it, Thuridan turned to the remaining mages.

  “Check on the fallen, I want to know what happened here.”

  “At once, Magister,” they replied in unison before hurrying to do as Thuridan had ordered.

  Nodding, Thuridan returned his focus to the elven noble, and, with a tight frown, marched towards the Duke.

  “It’s over,” Neremi muttered as tears stung her eyes.

  “Keep it down, Neremi!” Eldred hissed. “Or they’ll find us!”

  Neremi turned to face him. “Don’t you see? It’s over. It doesn’t matter if they find us, it’s over. The Tower’ll know soon; if the girl doesn’t tell them about us, the Duke will. It’s over, Eldred.”

  Then, as the tears ran down her cheeks, Neremi turned to Thalas, her face contorted with hate.

  “And it’s all your fault,” she snarled, her voice heavy and raw. “We gave you everything. I gave you everything! And this is what you give us! I hate you, Thalas Grovemender. I hate you, and I curse the day I met you.”

  Thalas stared at his former beloved with eyes void of emotion, but his heart was in pieces. She hated him, body and soul. She was to be the mother of his children, they were to face the future together. And she hated him. Every fibre of his being cried out to hold her, to reach out and comfort her. But instead, he remained where he stood, staring. Eventually even that became unbearable, and thus did he turn his gaze to the scene before them.

  Neremi scoffed. “You can’t even look me in the eye, can you?”

  Gritting his teeth, Thalas fought back his tears. Then, as he stared at the mage who’d knelt beside Tip, a thought wormed its way to the fore of his mind. It was reckless, and certain to mean his death. But it might just save Neremi.

  Snarling, Thalas nodded. “It’ll do.”

  “What?” Thane asked, frowning.

  Turning, Thalas glared at him. “Get them out of here, Thane.”

  With his own gaze darkening, Thane reached for Thalas’s throat. “Didn’t I tell you—”

  Grasping his wrist, Thalas swung Thane’s hand away from him before bringing his face to within a hair’s breath of Thane’s. “You wish me dead, yes? Well, you are about to get your wish. I have a plan, Thane, one that will end me. But if any of you are in this building when that happens, you will be joining me. So I suggest to keep your hands to yourself, shut your mouth, and get them out of here.”

  Without waiting for a response, Thalas turned and began making his way further into the building, the others watching him go.

  “What in the world is he doing?” Eldred asked.

  “How in the hells should I know?” Thane snarled.

  Neremi merely stared.

  With a ragged sigh, Tirelin reached his beloved. As he stared at her, he was struck by how at peace she seemed. It was a peace he’d struggle to give her since the death of their
sons, but a peace she had found at last. Falling to his knees, Tirelin grasped her hand with both of his as tears ran down his cheeks. As he held onto his beloved wife’s hand, Netari opened her eyes and stared at him.

  “Tirelin,” she whispered.

  Tirelin smiled as he gently caressed his wife’s cheek. “I’m here, my darling.”

  “She killed me, Tirelin,” Netari whispered as a pained frown flittered across her face.

  “Hush now,” he replied. “Rest.”

  “Can’t you do anything?” Tirelin heard Thuridan mutter behind him.

  “I’m sorry, Magister,” the mage tending to Anise whispered. “The runes on that dagger, they’ve…too little of her life force remains now. Anything I try now will kill her. I’m truly sorry.”

  Just then, Netari smiled as a single tear ran down her face.

  “I hear them, Tirelin,” she whispered. “I hear our sons. They call to me.”

  Forcing a smile, Tirelin nodded. “Then go to them, my love. Keep them safe till we meet again.”

  For a spell, Netari’s smile grew, but the pained frown returned.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered at last, then was still.

  Closing his eyes, Tirelin fell upon his beloved wife as a pained groan escaped his lips, and as his head touched hers, he wept. For a time, the only sounds to be heard were the cries and wails of the broken-hearted elven lord.

  “What happened here, Tirelin?” Thuridan asked after a spell.

  “She did this!” Tirelin cried, rising as he pointed a finger at Marshalla as she knelt beside Anise. “She killed her!”

  “Oh, shut up, Tirelin,” Anise muttered between gasps. “Your wife got what she deserved.”

  “The woman is dead, Anise!” Thuridan bellowed.

  “So what? Death does not absolve us of our sins.”

  “So what happened, then?”

  Anise sighed before wincing. “Netari tried to kill us. She cut me down, and Gray…wait, where’s Gray?”

  “Your brother’s got her,” Marshalla soothed.

  “Will she make it?”

  Marshalla nodded and smiled. “Yeah. Lucky one, that cat.”

  “Good,” Anise sighed, before staring hard at Marshalla. “How about you, are you alright?”

  Marshalla shrugged and smiled once more, but the haunted look in her eyes spoke volumes.

  Smiling herself, Anise reached out and squeezed Marshalla’s hand.

  “It’s never easy, taking a life,” she said, words that called called forth tears that stung Marshalla as they ran her down face.

  “So, Netari Fairshroud cut both Anise and your panther down,” Thuridan muttered as he glared at Marshalla. “And you just happened to best her. Is that what happened?”

  With reddening cheeks, Marshalla turned to the sneering Magister, holding his glare square with a glare of her own.

  “You, a child with no training, bested Netari Fairshroud.”

  “If you believe that, Thuridan, you’re a bigger fool than I thought possible,” Tirelin snarled.

  With his anger straining on its leash, Thuridan spun about to glare at the Duke. “So what say you, then, Duke? What happened here?”

  Gritting his teeth, Tirelin nodded. “The gutter whore slew my wife, that is true, but Netari was bound.”

  “By who?”

  “The Kin-Slayer!”

  Thuridan smirked. “The Kin-Slayer? All the way from the void sphere she’s—”

  “The Kin-Slayer’s in the boy, damn you! She killed everyone! And she held Netari rigid so that whore could kill her!”

  With his frown returning, Thuridan stared from the elven noble to Marshalla and back before turning to Tip as the mage with him checked on his well-being still. Then, Thuridan turned back to Tirelin.

  “She’s in him, Thuridan,” Tirelin said. “Upon my honour.”

  Shaking his head, Thuridan spun on his heels and marched towards Tip.

  “Wait!” Marshalla pleaded as she rose and raced after him.

  Satisfied he was far enough from his friends, but still with a clear line of sight to the boy, Thalas stopped. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he sought to calm his nerves.

  “Never thought it would end like this,” he muttered, but he knew there was no alternative. Taking another deep breath, he let it out just as slowly as he cleared his mind and gathered his strength. He would only have one chance at this, and he would need the entirety of his arcane might to have any hope of succeeding. Taking one last deep breath, Thalas centred his thoughts and began conjuring a lightning bolt worthy of a Mage Adept of his calibre. Then, his father walked into his sight.

  “Damn it, Father!” he exclaimed as he undid his spell. “Move!”

  But his father seemed set to remain where he now stood. With a frustrated snarl, Thalas stared into the shadows once more. Perhaps he could find another spot.

  Then, the girl appeared, also blocking his sight.

  “Oh, for the love of…!”

  With a grunt, he stared into the shadows once more, but soon realised there was no better spot than where he was, not unless he wished to risk his friends getting caught in the Kin-Slayer’s response. That left him with only one option, and it made an already risky plan more fraught with peril. Sighing, Thalas shrugged.

  “I’m already damned anyway,” he muttered. “What’s one more curse?” Then, he centred his thoughts once more.

  “Get out of the way, girl,” Thuridan snarled.

  Glaring, Marshalla stood her ground. “No, you tell me what you going to do to Tip first!”

  “Do not presume to command me, child!” Thuridan snapped. “Now, get out of the way before I—”

  Just then, movement at the edge of his vision caught Thuridan’s eye. It was a man, leaping out of the shadows with what appeared to be a lightning spell dancing between his fingers. With little pause, Thuridan conjured an arcane wall about him just as the figure let loose his lightning spell. It was a spell aimed at young Tip, but as Thuridan called forth his wall, the spell slammed into the wall instead, eliciting a startled yelp from Tip and Marshalla both. Before the figure could conjure another spell, however, Thuridan called forth a lightning bolt of his own, hurling the bolt at the figure as it formed. The figure’s startled cry filled the air as the bolt seared a hole through his heart before sending him careening back into the shadows.

  “No!” a voice cried from the far end of the building.

  Turning, Thuridan watched as another figure leapt from the shadows and raced towards him. With his face set, he conjured another lightning bolt. Then, he recognised the figure.

  “Neremi?” he said, his brow furrowing as he undid his spell. “What are you…?”

  But she paid him little mind, racing past him and towards the shadows into which the first figure had flown. As she raced past him, Thuridan saw the panic in her eyes and felt the urgency in her steps, and in that moment, he knew without a doubt who it was he had slain.

  “No…”

  With lips ajar, the Magister turned and took a hesitant step forward as Neremi fell to her knees before pulling the unmoving figure out of the shadows and into her arms. As she did so, Thuridan saw the figure’s face.

  “Thalas…” he said, his eyes going wide as Neremi’s screams filled the air.

  “What is he doing here?” he muttered, his gaze transfixed upon his son’s lifeless face. He turned to Neremi.

  “What are you both doing here?” he yelled, his pain fuelling his rage.

  “Thuridan,” Daniton said.

  Turning, Thuridan saw his friend pointing, and following his finger, he watched as Eldred and Thane made their way over.

  “You killed him!” Neremi shrieked, turning all eyes to her. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at Thuridan square.

  “He was your son! Your son! You monster, how could—”

  “Quiet!” Thuridan bellowed, bringing his clenched fists to his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. As blissful silence
fell upon all, Thuridan lowered his hands and opened his eyes once more before turning to Neremi once again.

  “Is he truly dead?”

  “Come see for yourself,” Neremi spat.

  “You going to blame Tip for that too?” Marshalla sneered.

  “Now’s not the time for that, Marsha,” Anise replied. “Whatever you may think of Thuridan, he just stained his hands with his son’s blood. Have a heart.”

  With her cheeks reddening, Marshalla kept her peace and wandered over to hold Tip in her arms.

  “Why in the world are you here?” Daniton asked, his eyes upon Eldred and Thane. But it was Marshalla who spoke.

  “They sold us to them people to die,” she said, nodding at Tirelin, “Must’ve come for their coin.”

  “They what?”

  Marshalla nodded, but before she could speak, Neremi did.

  “Kin-Slayer’s in the boy!” she exclaimed. “We came to help, to warn people, but we were too late! She killed everyone, you should’ve heard the screams, she—”

  “Liar!” Marshalla exclaimed. “That thing not in Tip anymore! You just saying that so they don’t—”

  “Then, who killed all these people?”

  “Why ask me? Wasn’t here whey they died!”

  “Not here? You were—”

  “Enough!” Daniton roared before turning to Eldred and Thane.

  “What say you?” he demanded.

  “Kin-Slayer’s in the boy,” Eldred replied without hesitation, then turned to Thuridan. “Thalas meant to harm the boy, Magister, to force the Kin-Slayer to show herself. He knew none of you would believe us if we simply told you.”

  Thuridan stood rigid as a single tear ran down his cheek.

  “Is that true, Thane?” Daniton asked.

  Thane hesitated. His eyes had been upon Marshalla the whole time, and as more and more eyes fell upon him, he finally tore his gaze from her and stared at Eldred. There was something in his stare, something that drained all blood from Eldred’s face, and as Eldred shook his head at Thane, Thane turned to Daniton, his face set.