Finally, the lift doors opened, and Drathan walked down a dark corridor until he came to a steel door. After he entered the code, the door groaned opened, and he stepped out onto the ancient concrete street. Long cracks zigzagged through the concrete as the street buckled under the growing weight from above, despite the environmentalists using a lighter weight material for every section they added upward.
As Drathan walked by, he noted the crumbled foundation of some buildings, which set the entire structure off balance. Looking upward to see what became of the building, he grunted when he saw how the designers had taken advantage of a dangerous situation and continued to build on it until it connected with another leaning building. The two buildings provided poor support for each other, but no one seemed to care; they were unique for the time being—much like the people in them.
At times Drathan missed the simplicity of Serhon, Nirrorm, Cuskelom, and the other kingdoms, but the Crucibles were never disappointing.
He walked on.
Pitiful streetlights tried to chase away the engulfing darkness, but they appeared like stars in the night sky—little light in an ocean of black. The roots of buildings dug deep into the concrete buried ground as the structures towered high into the sky, disappearing in the clouds. Back and forth, hovercars whizzed in an organized fashion through the network of buildings. Lights and life flickered at all hours in the city, but few people knew better; they had seen the weeping walls of the lower levels, the cracks of foundations, and the shifting perspective of life, lies, and truth.
Before him loomed the menacing figure of the gothic tower in the shadows of other massive towers. Despite its dwarfed size beside the monsters of steel and iron, the gothic building stood with sharp jagged steeples piercing the thickness of the air. An aura of defiance cloaked the building.
Drathan walked toward it.
Placing his hand on the door, he pushed it open. Entering, his booted feet stirred decades of dust on the cracked floor when he pushed open the already ajar door. A gust of stale wind swept through, summoning a small dust-devil. Heavy spider webs, which draped from one arch to another, quivered at the dust laden wind, yet the gale gained strength and soared to the high pointed peak of the main steeple.
Drathan ignored all this and cast his gaze to the center of the room and was surprised to find it occupied. As the unofficial headquarters of the assassins, thieves, and bounty hunters for the Crucibles, everyone kept to their own business until the eve of the Guardian Games. However, in the center of the pillar-lined and vaulted room, in front of the grand staircase stood a group of unfamiliar individuals surrounded by fellow assassins—all of whom had their weapons trained on them.
Several people in the group looked familiar—Sirros and Nyvera—but one man caught Drathan’s attention, and he frowned as he stepped toward them and tucked his hands behind his back. “Kilroth.” He nodded.
His brother lifted his head and locked eyes with him. Both brothers had similar appearances with dark, slicked back hair and a look of silent intensity. Nothing was missed by their eyes, but they preferred to operate differently; where Drathan would resolve a matter by simply killing the offending party, Kilroth preferred to allow others to mediate while he observed until the matter required his intervention in which case he would strike fear into the heart of the problem and resolve it—without shedding much blood.
Kilroth had been an assassin with a conscience—a terrible combination, so Drathan had been relieved when his brother retired from the House of Ackden and disappeared. Drathan had known that Kilroth joined forces with the thief group headed by the infamous Aden, but because Kilroth now operated in an altogether different line of work, Drathan had nothing to do with him.
Until now.
It was almost a complete family reunion, but the only one missing was their sister. However, Drathan chose to forget about her and how their parents had chosen her over the two of them. Instead, he focused on Kilroth and drew his shoulders back. “What brings you here?”
A man who bore resemblance to Prince Lorrek—though Drathan had heard rumors that he had died—stepped forward. “They are with me, and I seek Lady Vixen.”
“And why exactly are you seeking her?” Ceras—the main reason why Drathan had come here in the first place—asked from her perch atop some old wooden crates where she sat on the edge with her legs crossed, watching the event unfold with ease. She drummed her fingernails onto the wood in a rhythmic manner.
“He’s here to kill her,” Nyvera answered then shot Lorrek a glare before looking back at Ceras with a smile. “But we’re here to stop him.”
“How very admirable of you all,” the older assassin, Calder, said with his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stalked around the group in a flamboyant, confident matter. “You!” He pointed at Lorrek. “You’re a mind boggling mess. You have an identity crisis or something going on.” He then drifted his finger at Haskel. “And you’ve got a secret...” Then he wiggled his finger between Haskel and Gremina as a smile grew on his aged face. “Ah, you both have a secret—the same one, and you keep looking at him.” He pointed at Lorrek. “So I bet it’s got something to do with him.”
Nodding with satisfaction at his assessment, Calder shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stalked around the group until his eyes fell on Mel’Nath and Ardenn, and he grinned. “Well, my dear, you bear a great resemblance to our very own Ceras.” He shot the female assassin a look and smirked as he saw Ceras straighten—her eyes widened, features paling. Nodding, Calder looked back at Mel’Nath, considered him for a moment, then tsked and shook his head, dismissing him. “You ain’t nothin’ more than a bunch of fancy heroics.”
His gaze settled on Kilroth then on Aden, Lyston, and Tobias. His lip curled into a sneer when he set his sights on Tobias, and he pointed his finger at the young thief’s face. “Whatever you do—don’t. Touch. Anything. And don’t try to be a hero. Got it?” When Tobias cast Aden an uncertain look, Calder snapped his fingers to regain the thief’s attention. “Oi! Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you! Don’t look at him ‘cause he’s not gonna help you anymore than you’ll help yourself. Now, don’t try to be a hero, and you’ll be just fine.”
Finally, he shifted his attention to Lyston and frowned at the young thief’s quiet persona. Calder chuckled and nodded because he saw potential. “I think you’d be right at home here in Jechorm. You good with technology?”
Lyston met Calder’s gaze unflinchingly. “Yes. I lived here for several years a while back.”
“Good.” Calder smiled. “That’s very good.”
He then looked at Aden—a thief he actually knew—and frowned. “I’ve got half a mind to throw you back into whatever hole you came from.”
Aden cracked a dry smile. “That feeling is mutual, I assure you.”
Knowing better than to engage in further talk with the master thief, Calder turned his gaze from Aden, ignored Kilroth altogether, and nodded at Nyvera and Sirros with a smile. “Ah, good to see you two again. It’s been a while.”
“It certainly has.” Sirros smiled.
But then Calder dropped his smile and stepped close to them—his face stone serious and his gray eyes icy. “But don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten all those times you got in my way and stole kills from me.”
Sirros leaned down into the shorter man’s face and smiled. “Oh, I hope you haven’t forgotten. That would have been such a shame.”
With a growl, Calder pulled away, dragged his gaze past the smirking Nyvera and set his eyes on Fawn. He frowned and wagged his finger at her, shaking his head. “You’re a world of trouble, and you probably think you’re all-so-powerful.” Noticing the slightest smile upturn her lips, he sneered and jutted his chin. “Yeah, you do, don’t you? You’re probably all magical and mystical and bonkers in the brains.” He swirled his finger near the side of his head then spun around to his fellow assassins, throwing his arms wide open. “Assessments have been made. You decide the best course
of action, but personally I think we could use some livening up around here, but do what you will.”
Drathan pushed down a sigh. He had come to address Ceras about the missing Radella files, but by all appearances, that was going to be delayed.
An older dark-skinned bounty hunter, Flynn, approached the group and measured them through narrowed eyes. “Why are you here?”
Fawn stepped toward him—elegant but with deadly grace. “We have come to hunt the Hunters.”
All assassins and hunters in the room dropped their hands to their weapons or created magical weapons but did not draw them. Drathan, however, sighed again, and chose not to reach for his saber.
He heard Tobias say to Kilroth, “This seems oddly familiar.” Then he noted the slight smile on Lorrek’s lips as the sorcerer stepped forward, past Fawn.
“We could settle this here and now, I suppose.” Lorrek spoke aloud but seemed to direct his comment to Fawn as he glanced her way. “We came for numerous purposes but the chief one being to eliminate the Crucibles.”
“And why would you want to do that?” Flynn set his hard gaze upon Lorrek.
“Because,” Fawn drew his attention to her and met his stare. “The Guardians are alive—they are real people, and these Games must be stopped.”
For a long moment, Flynn considered the young woman in front of him. He sensed the enormous power she and Lorrek possessed, but he knew they were not assassins. “You don’t understand.” He shook his head with a slight chuckle. “We are assassins. We kill real people for a living. That is what we do. So whether or not they are alive and real makes no difference to us now.”
“Ah, but it does.” Fawn’s steadfast statement caused Flynn to scowl at her, but she remained unmoved. “You came to Jechorm for the Crucibles because it was a challenge and easy money. After all these years of only participating in the Games and having no other real assignment, your skill may have deteriorated over time.” She tilted her head. “Have they not?”
Flynn yanked his gun out and pointed it at Fawn’s forehead, which sparked everyone else to pull out their weapons and aim them at their foes.
Mel’Nath and Ardenn stood back-to-back—their twin pistols pointed at whatever assassin was outside their group, but Ardenn kept catching the gaze of the red-haired assassin, who was staring at her.
Ceras clutched the smoky silver beads of her necklace but otherwise did not draw any weapons.
Kilroth swooped up his staff and stood with his back near his fellow thieves, but his gaze found Drathan, who had unsheathed his saber and held it backhand—similar to how Aden always fought. Both brothers locked eyes. Neither intended to fight, but both were aware it might come to that, and they knew they would face each other.
However, Fawn calmly stared down the barrel of the gun. Beside her, Lorrek watched the situation without summoning his magic. Both Fawn and Lorrek knew she could destroy the weapon before a bullet had the chance to leave the chamber. Reaching up, Fawn touched the top of the gun then pushed it down, locking eyes with Flynn. “However, I have a compromise—one that might be even more entertaining than the usual Crucibles.”
Calder laughed as he stood with his arms crossed—never worried about drawing his own weapon. “What would that be, darling? We’re the professionals here.”
A smile grew across Fawn’s face, and she pulled away from Flynn to meander through the room toward every assassin and bounty hunter. “Why don’t we add to the thrill? You are here to kill the Guardians, and we are here to save them. You may continue as usual, but we will offer our assistance to the winning Guardian of the Games, and therefore, we will kill any and every one of you who gets in our way.” She locked eyes with Drathan, smiled at him, then turned back to Flynn and Calder. “So, what say you?”
Calder shoved his hands into his pockets, thumbs sticking out, and hunched his shoulders. When Flynn glanced his way for confirmation, Calder merely shrugged.
Gathering a sigh, Flynn shifted his gaze back to Fawn and lifted his chin. “So you mean to say that during the Crucibles, you will protect the Guardian, and if we cross paths, we can kill each other.”
Fawn nodded. “That is exactly what I am saying.”
Flynn cast Lorrek a suspicious look but then focused on Fawn once more. “Do Asalda and Pelham know of this proposal?”
“Not at all.” Fawn smiled.
Calder marched up to Fawn, shoved his face close to hers, crinkled his nose as he studied the slightest of expressions on her features, and all he saw was amusement in her dark blue eyes. He bared his teeth in a sneering smile then wiggled his hand in her face. “And you don’t plan to tell her, do you?” When the amusement remained, he snapped his fingers again with a smirk as he spun around to the others. “Let’s not tell them anything. The Games and Crucibles are always publicized throughout Jechorm, and it’s been predictable—one Guardian will survive the Games, and eventually an assassin or bounty hunter will kill that Guardian. This would be much more entertaining—such a surprise. The public wouldn’t be expecting it, and the ratings will go high, and you know how the Senate honors us when we bring along such a good show.”
Drathan stared at Calder, unimpressed. He wasn’t interested in any of this. He never preferred the fame that came with the Crucibles. His kills were silent, unnoticed, and unwitnessed, but he had come to Jechorm after he had crossed the lord of his House. Instead of being hunted, he came here and joined the Games until enough time had passed. However, with each passing year, he simply had not found a reason to leave. But now he might have.
“Well, if that is the plan, you can’t expect to stay here.” Flynn folded his arms. “We might kill you in your sleep.”
Fawn and Lorrek shared a smile, and then Fawn glanced back at Flynn and nodded. “Of course. Not to worry, I have elsewhere for us to stay.” She spread out her hands, motioning for everyone in her team to hold hands, so she could magick them to this other location.
“Wait.” Kilroth disrupted Fawn’s concentration by stepping out toward Drathan.
Fawn halted her magic and opened her eyes, frowning as she observed Kilroth.
Drathan watched his younger brother’s approach. Now that he considered it, he supposed they were very similar in personality—quiet, attentive, and sharp-eyed; it was their sister, Erita, who differed from them and chose more fervent colors for her wardrobe, displaying a fiery personality along with her magical abilities. Because Kilroth was so much like himself, Drathan knew what to expect from him, but he still allowed his little brother to speak nonetheless.
“Drathan.” Kilroth greeted him with a cautious nod then looked around at the prying eyes. Uncomfortable with being the center of everyone’s attention, he shifted uneasily but feigned confidence. “I do not wish to oppose you.”
With his face void of emotion, Drathan stepped toward his brother and stared at him. “Then don’t.” For a moment longer he held the stare and then turned on his heel and marched away. “Ceras! I wish to have a word with you.”
Ceras blinked, taken aback, but hopped off the crate, and cast Ardenn one last look. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” She then hastened after Drathan as quickly as her high heeled shoes allowed—click, click, click
She finally caught up with him when he entered the old room that had been a banquet hall. The long table was still set up with a white table cloth, candlesticks, and ancient glass plates and goblets in front of every elegant chair. Spider webs draped from candle to candle and covered the dusty plates and silverware. Now that Ceras thought about it, though this was the chief location for the assassins and bounty hunters to gather, they rarely stayed long enough to clean and make it feel welcoming. None of them cared. None of them wanted that commitment because life as an assassin was so unpredictable.
Swiping a finger across a silver platter, she frowned when she saw the trail her finger had made in the thick dust. “We should really consider getting a housecleaner.”
Drathan spun around so fast that
Ceras had to step back. He glared at her. “You broke into the security center on level Alpha Five, and you deleted the file containing information on an individual named Radella.” With that he crossed his arms and waited—no need to question; she knew what he meant.
If only she had actually done what he accused her of.
Furrowing her brows, she pulled back with a frown then lifted her hand and wiggled her finger as she shook her head. “No, no, no, no—you’re taking it wrong. I simply broke into the security room. I didn’t take anything.” She folded her arms as she smiled. “That would have been stupid because we all know exactly how hard Zethus works to perfect security in, around, and throughout all of Jechorm. He would have noticed—and perhaps panicked—if I had done anything to a file, so no,” she shook her head again, “I don’t know what file you mean.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Then why did you break into the security room? That in and of itself is enough to make Zethus panic.”
“I was helping a friend.” Ceras tossed her hair over her shoulder then set a dull look on Drathan. “Seriously, you should try it sometime. It would be good for your blood pressure.”
Drathan snatched her by the front of her dress and yanked her close. “Listen—”
“No!” Ceras whacked the hand holding her and glared at him. “You will treat me like a lady, or I will scratch you.” She clawed her hand and threatened to lower it to his hand.
Knowing her fingernails were laced with poison, Drathan sighed then let her go and crossed his arms—the only sure way he would not touch or harm her. “Who were you helping?”
She stepped away from him and brushed dust—and his touch—off her arms. “Vixen, of course.” She gave him a ridiculing look.
“She’s here—in Jechorm?” Drathan raised his brows, and Ceras sighed.
“Yes. Why does that surprise people?”
Drathan frowned. “Where is she?”
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 51
