by JD Franx
Max scowled. “Keeping her survival a secret might just have been the right call, especially around that Skitter character. He lied to us. Something not right about him.”
“Very perceptive, Max. I’m almost certain he has ties to one of the criminal families here in Corynth. I think it’s possible he’s stepped up lately too, something, but I can’t prove it and we don’t have time to worry about it today. The Corynth City Guard can worry about the Talo Family. Let’s go see what Giddeon found out, but... after we make a stop.” Kasik headed towards the mansion’s basement. Puzzled, Max frowned, triggering a rare smile from the Northman. “It took me a few days to convince Giddeon to let you into the basement. Come on.” Using a heavy metal key he pulled from a table drawer in the study, Kasik unlocked four massive inset locks on the basement’s iron-banded door. Grunting, he swung the door outward and descended the stairs, pocketing the key.
Following the Northman, Max closed the basement door and shook his head in awe at the spiral staircase leading into the heart of Giddeon’s basement. Surrounded on all sides by dark blue granite walls, pock-marked with sparkling clear crystal, Max smiled.
“Like walking through the infinite void of space.”
“You see things differently, don’t you?” Kasik asked over his shoulder. Max shrugged, running his hand down the intricate design of the wrought iron rail bordering the staircase—a much needed safety measure against the disorienting effects of the granite walls.
Reaching the last few stairs, Max waited as Kasik unscrewed the round cap from the railing’s last support post and pulled a five foot long staff from inside. He noticed an inset on the door ahead, an exact match for the cleverly hidden staff. Kasik gently placed the staff into the door. A hollow click echoed, bouncing off the walls as several multi-coloured magical wards fell away and the door opened inward on its own, revealing a lighted room within.
“Fuck, Kasik,” Max whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’d think all the gold in Fort Knox was stashed in here.” The Northman’s confused glare prompted him to clarify. “Never mind, it’s a saying from back home.”
Kasik shrugged. “No gold here. Just Giddeon’s personal vault. Artifacts, rare scrolls, and a few enchanted weapons, plus that.” Kasik pointed to a small alcove cut into the pure white granite walls. A small display case was tucked into the arched niche. “The reason we’re here.” On top of the case, held in a padded set of brilliant jade claws, rested a five-and-a-half-foot-long black longbow. Streamlined and smooth, the bow gleamed as if polished straight from the craftsman’s hands. White markings adorned the entire weapon and two sharpened spikes had been seamlessly added to the handle during its creation for the sole purpose of close range self-defence during combat. On the display case, in front of the bow, layered in a row, were four bowstrings made from an unrecognizable material.
“Ember mentioned you liked archery, said you were pretty good at it. I managed to talk Giddeon into letting you use it, but there’s a catch,” he said, lifting the weapon from the jade claws. Kasik’s muscles tensed with the effort, his wrist tendons pulling tight from the bow’s weight.
“Always seems to be a catch,” Max muttered. “As long as Giddeon doesn’t expect my first-born child, I’m sure we can work something out.”
The Northman scoffed at his serious tone. “You misunderstand,” he said, standing the large bow on end and offering it to Max. “The only catch is that you have to string it.”
“Okay. Not much of a catch, Northman.” Max smirked, the friendly taunt earning him a snort.
“It won’t be so easy. Here’s your first Talohna crash course. That’s a forged obsidian bow. A race of beings called the Orotaq use exposed volcanic vents left over from the Cataclysm and some kind of unknown magic to melt raw obsidian glass and then forge it into weapons. This bow is at least ten times stronger than our most powerful crossbow. I tried, and I can’t string it, but then I’m not an archer, never have been. So good luck.” He smirked as Max grabbed the bow, lifting it from the ground with ease.
“It’s not that heavy,” he said, smiling, getting a grunt in return. Max ran his fingers over the white engraved markings covering the bow from end to end. “These?” he asked, looking to Kasik.
“Giddeon doesn’t know. He can sense traces of magic, whether from part of the forging process or an enchantment, he didn’t know. It has to be strung in order to find out, and...”
“And no one can string it,” Max finished, nodding. “Cool. Let’s see just how weak you bloody Northmen are.” He laughed.
“Being an asshole takes away from your charm, Max. You shouldn’t make it a habit,” Kasik growled, turning Max’s laughter into a crooked grin. Grabbing one of the bowstrings from the display case, Max examined the strange material, his grin vanishing. Three thin, but separate, braided strings had been braided together a second time to complete the finished bowstring. Wrapping it around his hands, he tugged, hard, but the string held easily, flexing only the slightest bit. The greasy string slid along his hand and between his fingers as if coated in barely congealed fat. He glared at his fingers after studying them for several seconds. Nothing greasy transferred to his skin.
“What the...?”
“Weird, right?” Kasik asked, picking up the remaining three strings.
“Yeah, very. My fingers’ll slide off long before I reach full draw. What the hell is this shit?”
“Giddeon’s positive it’s harpy hair or maybe down, but definitely harpy. Your fingers won’t slip. Trust me, I’ve seen these bows in action. Too many damned times. Even solid plate armour won’t stop an arrow if the head is made from forged obsidian like the bow. Now string it, or am I wasting my time?”
Max nodded, but didn’t answer. Instead, placing one end of the bow between his feet, he leaned it to the left, knelt on his right knee and placed the bow on the inside of his left foot. He rested his left knee against the bow’s grip inside the curve. Slipping one end of the bowstring into the notch on the end between his left foot and right knee, he put the other end in his mouth, nearly gagging at the repulsive taste and feel of slimy rot. Using his left hand, he grasped the top of the bow and pulled down. It flexed, but only two inches; he needed at least six to string it.
Kasik smiled. “Not so easy, is it, smart ass?”
“Fuck off, Kasik,” he growled through the harpy bowstring in his teeth. Grabbing the bow with his right hand, as well, and pulling with everything he had, the top of the bow dropped to four inches. His muscles quivered from the strain, but still it was too short to latch the string to the top. Grunting, he pushed his left knee outwards against the bow, dropping it another inch as his muscles shook.
“Tyr’s bloody fucking blades,” Kasik whispered in awe, as Max growled and held his breath. Flexing the twitching muscles in his left shoulder, he applied more pressure to the bow’s end and the tip dropped further. Shaking and struggling to hold the bow in place, he snatched the string from between his teeth and slipped the bowstring’s loop over the top and into the notch. Noticing a moveable piece surrounding the bow’s top, he slid it upwards, gave it a half twist and pushed it back down, locking the string in place with a click. Exhaling explosively, he released the pressure on the bow and stood with the weapon strung.
“You did it,” Kasik said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, well, no Northman blood to slow me down.” Max smiled as Kasik shook his head.
“Not done yet.”
“What do you mean?” Max asked.
“Part two, smart ass. Can you pull it to full draw?”
“I don’t think Giddeon wants me shooting up his trophy vault, Kasik.”
“You need to stop thinking like an Earthborn, Earthite... What do your people call yourselves?”
“Earthborn is fine, I guess. It’s better than Earthling,” he chuckled.
The Northman smiled. “Earthling. I like it.” Max rolled his eyes, positive he’d hear it again. “Come,” Kasik ordered. “Over
here.” Following Kasik to the back of the vault and admiring the bow, he almost missed Kasik disappearing into the granite wall ten feet ahead.
“What now?” Max muttered, gripping the bow tight. With no arrows, and no room to swing a sword, the spikes above and below the bow’s grip hand were the only weapon he had. Before he could react, a fist shot out, grabbed his shirt by the chest and yanked him into the wall. Wincing in expectation of the collision, instead a bright light flashed for a couple seconds and then vanished.
“You can open your eyes, smart ass,” Kasik said, laughing. “Illusions, Earthling—you really should stop thinking like one. Personally, I’m not an advocate of magic, but it is everywhere here. Get used to it, and soon.” Max nodded. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he surveyed the room Kasik pulled him into. It was a weapon range that extended fifty yards ahead and was over twenty feet wide from side to side. Numerous barrels, targets, and straw imitations of people, some armoured with leather, others with scale, and one with heavy metal plate, were spread across the range. Standing storage units, similar to the armoires in Giddeon’s guest rooms lined the sides of the illusionary entryway.
“Damn.”
“Uh-huh. Even an ArchWizard has to practice. The military boys and the king’s knights get a bit excited when wizards tear up their range and training compound, so Giddeon built this one before his mansion went up. You can shoot anything you want in here, all three walls will stop an arrow or crossbow bolt from deflecting anywhere. Giddeon wants to know exactly what the bow can do. The Wizard Council is trying to develop a defence against the gods-forsaken things.”
“They’re that dangerous?”
“You’re about to see, first hand.”
“Cool.” Max smiled. “Very god-damned cool.” Kasik approached the standing armoire to their left and unlocked the door, removing three quivers full of arrows.
“Here,” he said, handing Max the first quiver. “Thirty arrows. Pure forged obsidian from nock to arrowhead, with harpy feather flights. They won’t break, but they will get lost or buried so deep in the earth only the Mahala will ever find them. And it’s all we have; the Orotaq don’t share their arrows unless they’re trying to kill you with them. The arrows are too heavy to use, even for Elvehn longbows, so Giddeon has a standing offer to purchase any that are found, or pulled from people. The other two quivers are specially weighted for this bow. Mimicking the obsidian arrows for weight, they’re equipped with Northman steel arrowheads instead. These will break, but new ones are easily made, so recover the arrowheads whenever you can. I’ll show you how to make replacements as we travel. It takes practice to treat, plane, and balance the wood.”
“Sounds good.”
“All right. You’re set. I recommend the plate armoured straw-man as a target. And don’t worry, like I said, ending up with a ricochet bouncing around in here is impossible, thankfully. Pulling an arrow out of your ass wouldn’t be how I’d want to end my day. Use an obsidian arrow and we’ll get an idea of the weapon’s full effect.”
Max grabbed one of the heavy black arrows, nocked it and eyed the target. It suddenly occurred to him why the bowstring had a soft, greasy feel to it. Without taking the offered glove and arm-guard, he stood side on and pulled the bowstring back to his ear. It took the same effort as it would to draw a custom-made one hundred pound draw weight bow back home—a considerably heavy draw often used for hunting African big game, but the Orotaq bow quivered with a different kind of power. He could feel it humming along his left arm, through his shoulders and down into his fingers as he held the string taut. Resting comfortably on his unprotected fingers as he aimed at the solid metal chest-plate of the armoured dummy, Max loosed the string with a solid ‘whoomp’. The arrow leapt from the bow, too fast to follow, striking the target a hundredth of a second later, fifty yards away. A wrenching crack rolled over the range as the post holding the dummy snapped off of its support stand, somersaulting the straw-man into the wall. The arrow’s flight arc was almost non-existent. At fifty yards, the arrow hit exactly where he’d aimed with no obvious drop.
Max nodded; a sign of respect for the master who crafted the bow. “That’s incredibly impressive, Kasik.”
“It works, smart ass. That’s all I care about,” Kasik said. “Let’s go see the damage.” Once more, Max followed the Northman as they walked the length of Giddeon’s private range. As Kasik lifted the dummy from the smooth stone floor, Max winced and grabbed at his chest. The dummy’s plate-metal chest-piece had split from top to bottom where the obsidian arrow punched clean through. The entire front of the metal armour had caved-in under the intense pressure of the impact, causing the massive split. Turning it to the back side, Kasik shook his head at the sight of the arrow stuck in the plate by the flights, after nearly passed clean through.
“It definitely works,” Kasik repeated, a slight bit of awe and anger creeping into his voice. “I’ve seen men die gasping for breath, almost crushed inside their plate armour from impacts like this. Now when we fight the Orotaq we use only chainmail and leather.”
“A bad way to die, for sure.” Max agreed.
“Ember says you’re an incredible shot. True?”
“I guess.”
“Then shoot to kill when you use that bow, or don’t use it at all,” the Northman growled with disgust, as he pulled the arrow out and tossed the mangled chest-plate to the floor.
He held the arrow out for Max. “The Orotaq never grant such mercy.”
GIDDEON’S MANSION
Giddeon waited anxiously for Ember’s return. Using his inner sight for a more comprehensive examination of the unconscious woman, whom the guards had placed in a spare room, he found something unexpected almost immediately. “Saleece, come here a moment. See if you sense anything.”
His daughter knelt beside the bed and closed her eyes as her mystical senses entered the Elvehn woman’s body. “Holy Mother Inara. She’s bonded to the earth! Her cruus is stronger than mine—than yours even. How is that possible? Her hand, Father—she has a trace of some strange magic on her left hand.”
Giddeon frowned, picking up the girl’s hand for a closer look. His eyes went wide as he spotted the tattoo on her palm—two blades, one broken. “Gods… It can’t be,” he stammered.
“It’s them, isn’t it? The Broken... And old magic, from before the Cataclysm. Am I right?”
He nodded. “Yes. This as well,” he said, running his finger over the black blossom on the woman’s right temple that sprouted thorn-covered vines and trailed down her jawline and neck, all the way to her shoulder and into her chest.
“Assani’s blood,” Saleece breathed. Her hand slapped against her mouth as soon as the name of the assassin goddess escaped it.
“No!” Giddeon barked, adding his hand to his daughter’s. “Never utter that name. Only those devoted to her should ever speak it. She is the one goddess who just might show up when invoked.” Getting a nod from Saleece, he removed his hand and stroked his beard. “It seems the Broken Blades Guild is more than a myth. We need to heal her at any cost. I’ve no desire to answer to them, should she die in our care.” Something nagged at the back of his mind about the Broken Blades, something he had heard or read a long time ago, but try as he might, he couldn’t bring it forward, so instead he pushed it aside.
The guard at the door admitted Kasik and Max. Giddeon dismissed the young man, ordering him to report to his immediate superior. “My source seems to think Sora’s has some extra ears lately,” Kasik reported, handing Giddeon the note.
When the ArchWizard finished reading, a whispered word from his lips ignited the note, turning it to ash in seconds. “If her own guild did this to her, we must allow them to believe her dead, for her protection and now ours as well. Harbouring a corpse from the Broken Blades will get us all killed,” he mused, rubbing the soot from his fingers.
“Corpse?” Max asked. “She’s not dead yet.”
“There’s a saying in ancient myth,” Giddeon explained.
“Broken Blade assassins don’t have targets. They never fail—and they never give up, ever. It’s merely a matter of time before they get to you, so their victims are called corpses. If even a fraction of the stories from myth are true, none of us would be capable of fending off a Broken Blade assassin alone.”
“Sounds like the myths are close to reality, Father.”
Giddeon nodded to his daughter. “Frighteningly close. This woman has more magical aptitude than either Saleece or myself. Anyone looking for her may be stronger yet. Someone left her in this condition. I’ll tell the guards she died and get them to notify the King and the Six Pillars of Rule as well. His safety is paramount now—”
Ember rushed into the room, medicine bag in hand, cutting Giddeon’s sentence short. “I got the gallick mushroom,” she panted. “I didn’t know if you would have everything here or not. I brought the whole kit Zefar put together for me. Do you want to prepare it here, or…” She trailed off, noticing their grim faces. Her own face fell. “Am I too late?”
“Thankfully no,” Giddeon assured her, taking the bag. “We’ve just had some other news; Saleece will fill you in. It won’t take long to prepare the antidote. If you have some, I could use a pinch of fleshleaf.”
“It’s the one wrapped in blackvine. Zefar said the rest of what he packed we should be able to find fresh on the journey, but he doubted we’d find any fleshleaf. He told me it’s hard to come across now that most people know it increases the strength of whatever it’s mixed with.”
Giddeon couldn’t help admiring how fast she was learning and how well she was coping with the shocking situation she and Max had found themselves in. His son couldn’t have chosen a finer wife. Setting out the ingredients one by one, he wished things could be different. He’d come to like Ember and Max over the last week, but could not neglect his duty to protect Talohna.
Saleece brought Ember up to speed while the ArchWizard prepared the elixir. When it was ready, Max lifted the unconscious woman enough for Ember to slide in behind her. Propping the girl’s back against the her chest so she wouldn’t choke, Ember cupped her chin and tilted her head back onto her shoulder while Giddeon slowly poured the warm mixture into her mouth. He used his fingers to pinch her nose shut while Ember closed her mouth, forcing the woman’s body to swallow the antidote in an effort to breathe. They carefully laid her down, keeping her back and head elevated to prevent her choking should she vomit as Giddeon injected the cure as well.
