“You’re right, let’s stay focused,” she said, still smiling. She gently pushed him away and turned, walking towards the guardhouse. He stared at her, frozen in place. He had never felt anything like that before, not once. It was amazing.
She looked over her shoulder and his heart hammered in his chest.
“Are you coming?”
She went inside. He stood there for a moment longer, focusing on breathing. His eyes caught the entrance into the palace and the weight of reality came rushing back. The threat on their lives from the king; Asebor, the thirst for revenge; finding Juzo, understanding his strange abilities. One kiss and his resolve evaporated like spilled elixir on a summer’s day.
“Shit,” he whispered, drumming his hands on his chest. He strode into the guardhouse and looked over her shoulder. Her fingers traced and re-traced the same entry on the guardhouse log.
“Malek Winterspine. Malek was here. You were right.” She shook her head, frowning.
“Hm. It looks like he created a ten minute gap where there would be no guards, clever bastard. I knew he was a scoundrel.”
“Plenty of time for an assassin to make his way in, but three days ago.”
“Yeah. How was that thing in the palace for over a day without being discovered?”
“A Skin Flayer, almost impossible to detect when still,” she said. “Wait. There’s something else.” Her eyes bulged and she gaped.
“Malek was just here five minutes ago, another time gap without guards. Maybe Stokes was about to leave,” Walter said. Nyset stuffed the notebook into one of her pouches and tightly cinched the strap, closing it.
“Get low,” Walter hissed. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her down as something shimmered along the palace wall. “Look,” he whispered.
She peered over the top of the window of the guardhouse and snapped her head back down. She nodded, and mouthed, “Skin Flayer.”
Chapter Ten
Assassin
“The ritual of becoming a Skin Flayer demands that the wizard bind the man’s soul into the weapon used in the ritual. If the weapon is damaged or destroyed, the Skin Flayer can restore it to pristine condition with a minor touch.” -from the Death Spawn Compendium by Nazli Tegen
“Hey!” Walter yelled. He still wasn’t entirely sure if what he was seeing was real or a trick of the light. Like a drop of spilled ink, grays and purples emerged from the center of the shimmering form, revealing its flesh and swimming robes. Nyset was the first out of the guardhouse, flaming darts and burning discs dancing about her body.
The Skin Flayer drew wicked blades and dropped into a low stance. Its face was a mass of scarred flesh, except for burning yellow eyes and black nostrils. Walter charged behind her, Stormcaller’s amber tendrils lapping at the ground. The creature held its stance as they charged, almost giving Walter pause. In a flash, it sheathed its glowing blades and turned to run.
“Stop!” Nyset yelled. She whipped her arms through the air like she was throwing daggers, and a hail of fire rained on the Skin Flayer. The Skin Flayer dashed towards the palace doorway with astonishing speed, leaving a trail of dark cloth in its wake. Nyset’s projectiles missed the mark, cutting into the palace wall and melting stone. All except for one.
Her last disc curved through the air, arcing towards the Skin Flayer. The disc passed through the swathes of purple and gray and the creature cried out. Its severed hand fell to the ground, rolling and trailing black blood. It never stopped sprinting towards the entryway.
It threw something over its shoulder, a handful of metallic spheres. They did not move like something that was tossed over the shoulder. No, they seemed to know their targets. One sphere accelerated towards Nyset, and before it crashed into her chest, it split into four parts, unveiling a metallic net. The net encased Nyset’s body and smashed her into a tree three paces away, binding and entangling her in its snare.
Three glinting spheres came at Walter and he inhaled. The warm air felt strangely cool in his lungs. The creature’s robes waved in the air, like seaweed underwater. The blood that flowed from its stump moved like molasses from a spilled jar. The Skin Flayer’s head slowly turned to look at Nyset and then Walter.
He met its yellow pupil-less eyes for what felt like moments. There was so much mindless rage, anger and singular focus in those eyes. The metallic spheres grew closer and he cracked Stormcaller beside him, wrangling its tendrils into three larger whips. He snapped Stormcaller into the air and its tendrils burned through the air, splitting the spheres into pieces at Walters command.
Walter exhaled, running through the metallic shrapnel and netting. He skidded to a halt and looked at the fleeing Skin Flayer and then to Nyset, pinned to the Cypress.
“I’m fine, go!” she shouted, wriggling against her bonds. He ran.
The hallway was long and dark, sparsely lit by torches. His eyes hadn’t yet adjusted and he just had to hope the tunnel continued straight for the next few seconds. An iron fist smashed into his gut and he doubled over, expelling the remaining elixir ale from his stomach onto his boots. An elbow came crashing down on the back of his neck and dropping him to the ground. A few teeth slammed through the underside of his tongue when his face met stone. He winced with his bloody teeth bared and groaned. Warm blood oozed from the corners of his mouth.
Soft footfalls ran from him, deeper into the palace. He dragged himself to his feet and forced his legs to move. His legs felt like they had doubled in weight and resisted his command to sprint. Breathing was hard and something didn’t feel right in his neck. The hallway turned and the next section was brightly lit with many doors on either side. The blood trail he had been following vanished in the middle of the hallway.
“What – where are you?” he whispered. He wiped brown spittle and blood from his lips and onto his sleeve.
Walter crept down the hall, muscles tense and tried to walk with composure, as if he were unaffected by the creature’s blows. Never let your opponent see that you are injured, Noah had said. Where are you? I know you’re here somewhere. He squinted down the hall, looking for the same shimmer he saw earlier.
A bolt of searing pain spread across his back and the corner of his eye caught a streak of yellow light. “Too easy,” a voice like nails on glass screeched in his head. A strong hand gripped his shoulder and a boot came crashing into his Achilles’ tendon on the opposite leg, throwing him off balance and smashing him into the floor. Walter screamed and scrambled onto his abdomen, gasping for air.
The Skin Flayer ran, glowing blades shining under its flowing robes. He stuck two fingers into the pain on his back and brought them to his face, eyes widening at the bright red blood on his fingers. He could feel his skin pulling together and mending itself. It certainly did nothing to stop the pain. No more fucking around. Focus. Your biggest weakness is that you are too sure of yourself, Noah’s voice said.
Walter rose to his hands and knees and sent the fireball roaring that had been patiently waiting to inflict destruction upon this monster. Walter focused on his target, controlling the fireball and changing its flight path. Walter had watched very closely when Malek taught Nyset. The ball of flame struck the creature’s shoulder, tearing off its arm that had already lost a hand, sending blood spraying onto the adjacent wall. The Skin Flayer batted at the flames dancing on its robe and the place where its arm used to be with its other hand. It wiped its bloody hand across its robes.
It growled and turned, setting its burning eyes on Walter. He rose to one leg and found his legs trembling. Get it together man. Between using Stormcaller, the ball of fire, and his flesh mending his back, he started to feel the weight of exhaustion pressing on him.
The Skin Flayer strode towards him. It unsheathed its sword and dragged it across the stone wall, leaving a glowing line of yellow. A door opened and a man came out wearing white.
The balding man looked at Walter. “What is all the commotion? Please be quiet I —”
The Skin Flayer swung his s
word through the man’s neck severing his head, never taking his eyes from Walter. The head rolled into the adjacent wall, mouth hanging open. The man’s body dropped to its knees and fell onto its chest. A torrent of blood pumped from his neck and a woman’s shriek carried from the opened door.
“Bastard!” Walter roared through gritted teeth.
Not enough room for Stormcaller. His hand found the Breden guard’s sword at his waist and he drew as the Skin Flayer’s sword slashed at his head, blading his body to dodge the blow. He countered and the Skin Flayer parried, swords held braced across their bodies and edges grinding together.
He stared into its terrible eyes and winced at the smell of rotting death. Walter raised his foot, smashing his heel into the soft bones on the top of his opponents’. The Skin Flayer’s weapon relaxed for an instant and Walter’s sword pushed its sword aside and his slid into its bicep, stopping on bone. Dark blood poured from the wound and flowed down its arm.
The Skin Flayer’s eyes narrowed and it moved into the cut, forcing its fist into Walter’s gut and jamming his sword further into its bone. Something stabbed into his stomach and felt like his skin was melting. Walter screamed, extracting his sword from the beasts’ arm and striking at its face. It parried with ferocity and Walter’s sword cracked at the hilt, sending the broken blade spinning across the floor. His hand sang with pain, clutching the broken bit of sword. Walter tilted his head, avoiding the backswing of the Skin Flayer’s blade that would have split his face in two.
He squeezed the hilt as hard as he could, directing the jagged remains of his sword in a sharp curve into the Skin Flayer’s neck. He pulled it out and jet of blood pulsed from the wound. It dropped its blade and jammed three fingers into the hole in its neck. On the inside of its wrist was a thin blade coated in something bright green. He struck again, slamming the sword, now more a dagger, into its eye. It screamed and stumbled backwards, falling to its back.
The searing pain in Walter’s gut spread to his chest, back and pelvis. He reached for the Dragon again and some of the pain subsided. He was filled with a raging frenzy and jumped over the Skin Flayer, straddling its screaming form. He slammed the short blade, now burning with Dragon fire, into its cheek and deep into its other eye socket. The creature’s skin burned and smoldered with each strike.
A distant voice said, “By the Phoenix, stop, oh my — please stop!”
The Skin Flayer was not moving but Walter continued hammering with the short blade, releasing the fury and hate that boiled in his blood. Blood splashed across his face and into his eyes and he blinked it away. The pain that radiated from his gut returned with a vengeance and his arms felt numb. He dropped the sword hilt and saw the massacred face of the Skin Flayer. He looked to his clawed hands, awash in dark blood. He stared at the Skin Flayer and screamed, a combination of a cry of victory and a wail of pain. A line of dark spittle hung from his chin.
He looked up to see a frail woman staring at him with her lips and chin trembling, one hand on the beheaded man’s body. “Please, oh please, please,” she sobbed.
His face felt numb and cold and the corners of his vision darkened. He heard someone running down the hall behind him from where he had entered. He collapsed onto his side and closed his eyes, staring at the undulating stones. Like a small city of cobbles.
“Ha,” he whispered, eyes spinning.
“Walter,” he heard a voice say from far away. He willed his eyes to focus and saw Nyset above him with a hand over her mouth.
“Why are you so blurry?” he asked, eyes closing.
“Shit. I think you’ve been poisoned. Can you hear me? Stay with me.” He closed his eyes and the Dragon left him.
* * *
Voices around Walter spoke in hushed whispers. There was a strange burning sensation in his stomach, as if he had one too many elixirs this morning. He put his hand to his stomach and his eyes snapped open. He cried out, writhing and pulling on the sheet that covered him.
“What’s happening?” he groaned. Wiggles crawled from his feet towards his head and started licking his hand. Walter rubbed the dog’s head, smiling.
“You’re awake, thank the Phoenix,” Nyset said putting a hand on his forehead.
“Where am I? Why does it still hurt so much?”
“You’re in our bed chambers in the Temple of Meditation. You are poisoned, I’m not sure by what. It’s a particularly nasty poison, Baylan hasn’t been able to heal it using Phoenix power. That’s why you still hurt so badly. I’m sorry, I wish there were something I could do,” Nyset winced. Her eyes softened the pain a little bit, filling his mind with warmth.
“I am alive? Did we get the assassin? Is the king okay? Oh, Phoenix. The guard, the old guard will report of our treachery.”
“Walter, relax. Yes you are very much alive,” she pinched him on the arm. He smiled and then groaned, pain contorting his face. “Sorry. You are amazing, yes you killed the Skin Flayer and the King is quite well, and hopefully very pleased.”
“I — I think I was poisoned,” He said, eyes scanning her face.
“Yes, well you are still recovering — Baylan thinks the only reason you’ve survived is because you were both touching the Dragon and the Phoenix seems to lie dormant within you. It may have some effect on your memory for a bit, but he thinks you should recover within a few days.”
“Right, ok.” The fog felt like it was lifting from his mind the more he spoke. His eyes caught the glass of water on the round table and he reached for it with unsure fingers. Nyset handed it to him, smiling. “And what of the notebook?” He took a breath between a large gulp of water.
“The logbook? We haven’t been able to find Malek, we’re not sure where he is.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can stay awake. I need to – to get more rest,” Walter said with his eyes closed. She rubbed his head and pulled her fingers through his hair. He moaned quietly, enjoying the pulling sensation on his scalp.
“Good evening everyone,” Malek’s crisp voice said from the dining chambers across the hall. Walter opened his eyes and propped himself onto his elbows.
“Give me the notebook,” Walter said. Nyset sighed, and pulled it out of her pouch and put in his hand.
“You really should be resting. Can’t this wait?”
Walter rose from the cot and slipped on his trousers with a groan. There was thick white bandaging wrapping around his torso with a dot of red bleeding through his stomach. He didn’t look muscular with a tunic on, but with his shirt off, each muscle was tight and defined almost like the skin had been painted on, not an ounce of useless tissue.
“Your bandages need to be changed,” Nyset muttered.
“Not now,” he said limping towards the dining chambers. There he was, gingerly placing a slice of steak into his mouth, not a care in the world.
“How goes your training Grimbald? This— this is the best beef I’ve ever tasted. You really should consider becoming a cook,” Malek said nodding. “Ah, our hero has awoken. The king wants to meet with you, when you’re ready of course. He wishes to thank you personally for your valiant effort,” Malek said, taking a gulp of red wine.
“How are you feeling?” Baylan said, pushing a square plate away from him and retrieving his journal.
Walter stared at Malek, fingers digging into the cover of the notebook. Relax, you haven’t proven anything yet. He nodded at Baylan and returned his attention to Malek.
“I’m amazed you found plates Grim, I thought Nyset had destroyed them all,” Malek said. Grimbald shot him a glance, and returned his attention to his corn cake, popping it in his mouth. “What? Are you still sour about the last testing? If you think a Ripper was extreme, you would have never survived the Tower, right Baylan?”
“I suppose you are right,” Baylan said absentmindedly, flipping through his notes.
“Could you please put on a shirt Walter? I really don’t want to eat dinner with you sitting here shirtless.” Malek said.
Wa
lter walked to Malek and slammed the notebook down on top of his food, opened to the page with his name on it.
“What is this?” Malek said, eyes glancing at the notebook. “Get this off—”
“This,” Walter breathed, muscles trembling. “This is the entry log of the secret tunnels leading to the king’s quarters, I think you know the one.”
Malek stood, his brown eyes swimming with hues of red. “What exactly are you accusing me of?” His lips curled in a sneer.
“No Walter —” Baylan raised a hand holding a quill.
“You sent the assassin! You are controlling the king! You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Walter yelled, jabbing his finger in Malek’s face.
“You are wrong. You are but a child and do not understand what you say,” Malek’s voice cut through him weakening his resolve.
“This is your name, is it not?” Walter said a bit unsure of himself now. Grimbald was standing, looking from Malek to Walter. Baylan watched them with his fingers steepled and Nyset stood behind Walter with a hand on his shoulder.
Malek shifted his eyes to the notebook. “It’s a shame you did that, I was really enjoying my meal,” he smiled at Walter.
“Is that not your writing? Malek, Malek Winterspine?” Walter crossed his arms and his nostrils flared. Malek looked at the notebook, actually reading it this time and frowned. “We were fools to trust him, I knew it all along Baylan.”
Nyset watched Malek, cupping an elbow in one hand while tapping her lips with the other.
“You are a fool. This is not my penmanship,” he said flatly, tapping the signature. “And I can prove it, if it makes you feel better. Clearly saving your life was not enough to earn your trust.” Malek left the dining chamber and returned a moment later with a small chest. “Here we are, there should be hundreds of samples in here for you,” Malek said, pulling pieces of parchment from the chest.
The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) Page 11
