by Jesse Teller
“Will he do it?” Rayph asked when they reached the house Drelis had set up in.
“He is on his way now to give your message,” Drelis said. “We will see if they come.”
“Are you going to be alright?” Rayph asked.
She shrugged and nodded. “It was good to see him again. I think he missed me.” Rayph laid her in her bed, and she fell to sleep immediately.
Six hours later, Rayph felt them approaching the city. They came in an arching trajectory. He could feel it from a distance, its angle and curve. Like an arrow shot in the air, they arched somewhere, days travel away, and fell from the sky. Rayph moved to the main courtyard outside the Poison King’s castle, to the statue where Crease stood with his love around his thigh.
Rayph felt exposed and vulnerable, wishing he had Smear watching his back, but the golem had caught up with Smear again.
From the sky came a streak of darkness with a billowing tail like a demon’s comet. It fell from the heavens and collided with the courtyard with a crippling impact. An errant wind disassembled the smoke, and tendrils of darkness wrapped around them until four men and a woman stood facing different directions.
Rayph saw the cold blue eyes of Demetri Clasta. He knew he shouldn’t fear the man. Demetri had always dealt fairly with Rayph, had always been just and right, but Rayph knew the man’s father, knew his mother, and no warrior known to Rayph could compare to him. He had seen Demetri fight before, had seen the swath of decimation the man had caused. If Demetri unleashed, nothing in this city would remain standing.
The man wore his blond hair long and disheveled. His pure black skin gleamed, sleek and oiled. His armor covered his chest, but not his scarred arms carved with the words of his father’s language, a language Rayph knew better than to try to learn. Rayph had watched men go mad trying to learn to speak that tongue. Demetri grinned, and Rayph bowed.
Slowly, the rest all turned to face Rayph, and he let his eye fall to Sabrar, who stepped forward. He stomped loud with his heavy war boots and nodded to Rayph with a smirk. Sabrar’s staff was no longer topped with the demon skull of his old master. Rayph thought on it before he shoved his mind in another direction. Somehow the absence was more horrible than the skull had ever been. The hem of Sabrar’s robe crawled the ground at his feet as if seeking the world around it. His hair was a black storm. His eyes seared with a cold heat that forced Rayph to consider the bond they shared and the wisdom of sending for him.
Rayph nearly cried when he saw Tyga standing within their group. His heart broke, and he longed to ask his old friend what turn of events led to his membership in a group such as this. Tyga had been an instructor in the Crystal Citadel, had taught Rayph the mysteries of swordplay. Tyga was impeccable. What crime could he have committed that bound him here?
Because they were all criminals, all serving a sentence for a force both pure good and utterly terrible. They were the scum who had been rounded up by the Valkyrie and bound into service. Rayph knew no peers for these four terrifying men and this mysterious woman.
She wore a long, black evening gown that shimmered and looked to have been made out of black scales. The only creature Rayph could ever imagine wearing scales like that was a pit demon he once had to deal with in his days before Lorinth. The woman’s collar was white lace and framed her neck in a devastatingly beautiful way that made her nearly irresistible. Her hair was black and oiled and fell over one side of her face completely. Rayph decided instantly she had black skin, but as he stared at her, he realized it was not skin at all. This woman was covered in short, black fur. Her flawless body shimmered in the slight breeze, and Rayph could only imagine she was half-garq, half-human, though nothing but her fur marked her as garq at all.
The final man stepped forward laughing, and Rayph braced himself for Saykobar, the most hideous man Rayph had ever heard of. The man’s legend for being a monster was grand. Saykobar opened his mouth to speak, but snarled as Rayph heard horses behind them. Town guards rode into the courtyard to surround them all. Toc-a-roc sat a stallion, looking down as if he were staring at his doom.
Demetri lifted his dull gray sword and held it out toward the nearest guardsman. The man’s horse kicked violently before bucking the guard, screaming as it ran for its life.
Toc-a-roc gulped hard before turning to the leader of the Hoodsmen, “We have no quarrel with you or your order’s members. We want nothing from you and will leave you to your druthers. But this man that stands before us is a criminal and—”
Saykobar yawned loudly. He turned his attention toward Rattlesnake and grinned a devil’s grin. “When I want to hear your squealing, I will kick you. Until then, peel those men away from me before I loose my hounds and they are reduced to char. They will be little more than a memory everyone can tsk at and say, ‘Those fools were dead before they climbed into the saddle. And whatever happened to the man who led them? What corner of Hell do you think they dragged him off to? What kind of terrors do you think he has seen? How often do you think he begs for death?’”
Toc-a-roc took on a sickly tint of green and broke out in sweat before Tyga placed a hand on his crystal sword and looked him in the eye. “If you want no quarrel, then ride, for we do not tolerate interruptions. I respectfully beg you to run, before Sabrar and Demetri set to work on these innocent men.”
“Innocent?” Saykobar said with a laugh. “Such a rarity these days, even in babes. Their little chubby hands grasp for the world, their beady little eyes speak of obsession and desire. No, there are no innocents in this world anymore. It is peopled completely with those who deserve judgment—judgment we were bound to execute.” He laughed and grinned again, a smear of a smirk jagged and terrifying. “You are dismissed,” he said with a flip of his hand. Toc-a-roc purpled before snapping his reins, kicking his horse in a frantic run.
Saykobar stepped forward and laid a sarcastic look upon Rayph before saying, “What gives you the audacity to call for one of my hounds? Who are you? I would like to know before I rip you open and watch you bleed.”
“Saykobar, this is a friend of mine. His name is Rayph Ivoryfist, the Hope of Lorinth,” Sabrar said.
Saykobar hissed and stepped forward to sneer in Rayph’s face. He seemed about to say something when his body was suddenly streaked through with pain, and he doubled over. He gasped but did not cry out. Within a breath, he stood up again, his face stained with fear. He shot a look of hate at Rayph.
Saykobar snarled under his thick red hair. His eyes, cold and dark, begged for the nerve to slaughter Rayph where he stood. He seemed to hold the hate of a generation when he looked at his feet to gather himself.
Rayph looked to Sabrar and saw no explanation in the man’s face of the sudden pain Saykobar had known or the mysteries of the order his friend now belonged to.
“The Hope of Lorinth?” Saykobar said in a whining voice. “Lorinth is without hope as I see her. Commanded by a buffoon, warped and run through with half-breeds and trash from Ebu. No, this nation is a hole. Why am I here? I want to haunt it for as little time as I can.”
“I want to lead you to my accommodations within the city. Will you follow?” Rayph said. Saykobar sneered but nodded. “Then please come with me.”
They headed toward the Bilious Quarter and, as they walked, Tyga stepped up beside Saykobar and whispered. “We are being followed.”
Saykobar nodded and waved his hand dismissively. “Handle it.” His gait never slowed. He followed where Rayph led. Tyga leapt sixty feet in the air and landed on a distant building. A cry lifted into the air and, within moments, Tyga dropped down beside them once more.
“You have guards trying to arrest you and shadowy forms pursuing you? For the Hope of the Nation you sure smack of criminal to me,” Saykobar said.
“I guess I am a criminal.”
“What juicy crimes did you commit?”
“I kidnapped the king of Lorinth and locked him in a cell,” Rayph said.
Saykobar grinned with a chuckle.
“I gave him back.”
“Ransom?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. I took him so I could protect him.”
“I’m losing interest,” Saykobar snapped.
Rayph turned his gaze back to the street and was relieved when they reached the bar he sought, long-abandoned, dirty and dust-covered. Saykobar made a face when he entered and turned to Rayph with anger.
“What sort of accommodations are these? I will not sit here. This is totally unacceptable,” Saykobar said. “For a powerful wizard, you sure have no standards. Take us to Ironfall or I am leaving now.”
Rayph felt as if slapped in the face. He turned on Saykobar in shock. “How do you know about that place?”
Saykobar grinned a boyish grin and laughed. “You didn’t think I would look into you before I came? Please now, before I die of dust inhalation.”
“I can’t form a portal. I have neutralized their wizard, but the Head Hunters could detect my portal and follow us.”
“Should I kill him so we can have a more civilized place to talk?”
Rayph really disliked Delaman but would not kill him if given the chance. When Trysliana stepped from the shadows, Saykobar turned and scoffed. “The Drink Wench, how pleasant. I will have any drink that does not come from this building. And if you would shake your ass while you get it, that would be best.”
“I’m not a drink wench anymore,” she said.
Saykobar nodded as he turned to Rayph. “Hiring the help, I see.”
Rayph wanted to punch the man but shook it off. “Trysliana, we need better accommodations.”
Hours later, they sat in a rustic bar, in a small but comfortable room, with Saykobar across the table from Rayph. The rest of the Hoodsmen stood behind him, their hands on their weapons, their faces locked in icy scowls. The dark woman stood with a lace fan in her hand but no weapon at all. Behind Rayph stood Trysliana, Drelis, and Sisalyyon. Saykobar lifted his tea and blew on it slowly as he looked across the rim at Rayph.
“Now why am I here?” he said.
“I am fighting vampires in this city.”
“And may your killings be fruitful. What does that have to do with me?”
Rayph shook the comment off and continued. “In the process, we were attacked by the band of men and women hunting us. They made off with two of our group and a dear friend. We need them back.”
“This is where I come in?” Saykobar said.
“What I am asking for is for you to—”
“Free your two, and this friend of yours, so they can come back to work for you.”
“Yes.”
“Sounds simple, why can’t you do it?”
“I have to stay in the city and stay on task.” For the first time in many years, Rayph Ivoryfist felt like a child, begging for a treat. He felt stupid and impotent. He sat in the gaze of this horrible little man and felt helpless. In that moment, Rayph hated Saykobar. He looked up at Sabrar, wondering how his friend could put up with him for so long. He thought of the Valkyrie and its hold on him and realized Sabrar would suffer under this man’s grasp for many years.
“You want me to walk down the street and beat a jailhouse down for you?” Saykobar said. “How incompetent are you?”
Rayph felt the urge to apologize and slap the man all at once. “They are not being held here. It is my belief they are being held in the dungeons of Nardoc.”
“The king’s castle?” Saykobar asked with a smile.
Rayph shuddered in the gaze of that smile. “Yes.”
“I get to blow a hole in the side of the castle of Nardoc and grab three of their most terrible prisoners and drag them out of there? You want me to shame the dungeons of Lorinth and humiliate the nation’s highest guard?”
“That is not exactly—”
“Me and four other degenerates get to show the main guards of Lorinth to be incompetent cowards.”
“They are not cowards.” Rayph needed to slap this man, though he had heard of the destruction this one person was capable of. Rayph knew he wouldn’t survive it.
“They are not cowards now, but when I leave them they will be,” Saykobar said. “I will do this thing for you. It sounds like too much fun to turn down. This is what you will do in return. You will get down on your knees and beg me to help you.”
“What?” Rayph asked.
“Beg for the lives of your men. If you truly value them, this should be no problem. How much do you love your men? Enough to get down on your knees right here in this shitty little bar and beg me to help you? Or is the pride they instilled in you at the Crystal Citadel too great to save these men’s lives?”
Trysliana dropped to her knees and folded her hands. She hung her head, and Rayph could hear her whimpering. “Please, save them. They are loved by me, and I can’t do without them. Please don’t leave them to die. I will do anything for you. Just bring them back to us.”
Saykobar cackled. The sound threatened to steal Rayph’s sanity. “As much as I love to see a pretty girl beg and cry, it is not what I asked for. Thank you, drink wench. Now I wish we had stayed at that filthy dilapidated hole of a bar so you could scuttle around in the dirt. No, as much as I enjoyed that, I can’t accept it as payment. You, Ivoryfist, the Hope of Lorinth, get on your knees and beg for your men’s lives.”
Rayph stared at the man, spells coming to his mind. Rayph’s head buzzed and sweat ran down his back. “You are a horrible man,” Rayph said. “A man such as you should never gain power. You wield it poorly.”
Saykobar’s face spasmed before he smiled again. “That is the book on you. I heard it from everyone I talked to about you. It will be your downfall, you know. The sands of time are running out. One day, your arrogance will catch up to you and you will die.” Saykobar winked at Rayph when he said. “Is that day today, or will it just cost you the lives of three who trust you?”
“Rayph, please!” Trysliana pleaded. “They may be dying.”
“Yes, they very well may. Or maybe it is just torture. How long do you want that to go on?”
“You’re a monster,” Rayph said.
“Yeah, I am, we all are. You, me, the hounds back there, your band of hags standing behind you. All of us are monsters. I just happen to be the monster with the sharpest claws and the biggest bite.” Saykobar grinned a greasy smile that made Rayph hate him all the more. “So, what will it be, Rayph? Your knees or death for your men? I can’t wait around all day. I must be on my way, fires to light, people to burn, that sort of thing.”
Rayph slowly took a knee. His face blazed with shame, and he thought the sight of Saykobar rising before him would steal every ounce of pride he had. He lowered his gaze to the floor. Saykobar placed his hand on Rayph’s head and patted it gently.
“Don’t you have something you want to say, Ivoryfist?” Saykobar purred.
“Will you save my men?” Rayph hoped that would do it, but Saykobar simply laughed.
“That was pitiful. Who begs like that? Come, Rayph, put your heart into it. You can kiss my ring if you want to.” Saykobar laughed again, and Rayph heard the woman join in.
“Please, save my men,” Rayph said.
“Better, but I think you can do even greater than that. Come on, so all of us can hear.”
“Please, save my men. I beg you.” Rayph said the words as loud as he could, and he hung his head in shame.
“Remember this moment, Ivoryfist. Remember what you have done here. Don’t let yourself forget you have been on your knees before me. Because no one in this room will forget it, I’m sure. I will bring you back your men if they are still alive. I can’t promise they will be the same after seeing what I will do to that dungeon, but they will be brought back to you. Maybe they will learn a little humility as well, as I have taught you,” Saykobar said with a laugh. “Now stay there, right there on your knees, until I am gone. You get up, you will irritate me.”
Saykobar made a show out of finishing his drink slowly. He said his farewells to
all the other Manhunters before he turned and walked away. Rayph dropped his face to the ground and fought back a sob. In moments, his crew had turned to go. He knelt alone in the room, fighting back tears of humiliation.
The Big Victory
Rayph hid his face in the cowl of his robe as he walked through the city streets. He could not meet the gaze of the citizens that hustled quickly to their homes. Rayph walked past residences with slamming doors and sliding locks. It was nearing dusk. The city was shutting down. No pubs were serving, save the Crow’s Nest. No shops stayed open past high noon. The marketplace had been dead of any business for days. Guards rode the streets, but they did not carry their Ironwood daggers. Rayph slipped into a doorway as a group of them passed, and he wished he could crawl into the building and hide.
He closed his eyes and told himself the same speech he had been saying since the Hoodsmen left. “It means nothing. Dissonance, Dran, and Dreark will be returned to me, and I will forget this ever happened.” But the sight of Saykobar’s boots as Rayph hung his head staring at the floor would not leave him. For hours, he had not been able to talk to his crew. Many times, Trysliana had called out to him through the fetish, but try as he might to answer, he could not get past it. His shame was too great. As he gripped tight the doorway he stood in, he contemplated leaving the city.
It was not a thought he let himself dwell on, but the idea of not being there, of not having to look people in the eye again or direct his crew, was seducing him. He pushed the thought away and tried to get his mind back on his problems.
Tellus was bound, gagged, with a bag over his head in a cellar in the Bilious Quarter. His ears had been stoppered with bits of wax, and Rayph was confident he would not be able to tell anyone any details of his trip there or his stay at all. He was a dangerous man. Rayph had ordered four of Dreark’s men to guard the spy at all times.
Toc-a-roc was closing the noose. His crew haunted every corner it seemed. So many times, Rayph had seen the Head Hunters patrolling the streets, searching every nook for any sign of Rayph. He knew the vampires would soon take over the city and he had better be indoors. But he couldn’t. He was unable to go anywhere except here in the heart of the city, where no one knew his face.
