With a hop, Eliran shifted from one building’s shadow to another, getting in a better position to scan the alley. As she swung to press her back against a wall, the dagger hanging from her hip slapped her thigh and she nearly screamed from the pain. Even sheathed in thick leather as it was, the magical artifact still stung. It was almost as if the object was fighting her, like a furious dog trying to escape captivity and flee back to its owner.
The torture was near constant. Even when she slept, the artifact flooded her mind with horrible visions of gore, destruction, and suffering. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had slept free from nightmares. After almost an entire year of this, Eliran was beginning to fear that she would eventually lose her mind. Still, the memories contained within the dagger were simply too valuable. She would not dare leave the artifact behind.
A shadow moved down the alley and the shape of a man came into view. With a glance in the opposite direction, Eliran made sure the two of them were alone and left her hiding spot. The man remained silent as she approached, his wide body hidden beneath a cloak as dark as night. When they were close enough that they could see each other’s face, he nodded. His name was Odamin, or so he claimed, and his nose and cheeks bore the marks of a lifetime of trouble.
“Boss,” he said. His voice sounded like a raven’s croak.
“I’m not your boss,” Eliran told him.
“You are for the time being. I have news.”
“You found Farshad?”
Odamin nodded. “I’m afraid the news ain’t very good, however.”
Oh, no… Another dead end? Eliran thought. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead,” she said. Eliran had been looking for Farshad for weeks now. She knew nothing about the man except his name, physical appearance, and that he owned a shady warehouse on the eastern part of Engadi. She had seen him in one of the dagger’s memories, and despite the lack of detail in the memory in question, one thing was obvious. He had done business with Astoreth at least once, probably often. It was very little to go on, but after a whole year of uselessly sifting through the memories within that cursed dagger, very little was all she could hope for. Every other lead to Astoreth had proven hopeless. Farshad was the last one that showed any promise.
“Dead? No, no,” Odamin said. “Farshad is very much alive. That’s exactly your problem.”
The sorceress frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. This isn’t personal.” Odamin’s cloak parted open and the glint of a blade flashed, slashing forward.
Her training kicked in without thought. Eliran moved like a cat, her left hand snatching Odamin’s wrist just in time. She felt the tip of his knife pressing against her ribs and gritted her teeth. Igniting her runium reserves, she made her muscles stronger. It wasn’t a spell she was very good at, but it was enough to keep the bulky man’s hand frozen in place, the blade trembling from the struggle. The next instant, she sent her free hand to Odamin’s forehead.
“That was a really bad idea,” she hissed.
Her fingers pressing at Odamin’s temples, Eliran sent a jolt of pain into his head. Mind spells. Now this she was good at. His face twisted in agony as his body started to convulse, the knife falling to the ground with a clatter. Eliran pushed him down until he was laying on the muddy ground before she finally released his forehead, the spasms stopping immediately.
Odamin panted heavily, his eyes darting around, trying to focus.
“Who do you work for?” Eliran demanded.
“Screw you, witch!”
“Wrong answer.”
Eliran squeezed the man’s temples and he began convulsing again like a freshly caught fish on a ship’s deck. This time she allowed it to go on for a little longer until the spit drooling from the corner of Odamin’s mouth began to foam.
“I’ll ask again,” Eliran said. “Who do you work for?”
Odamin panted heavily, as if he had been running for hours. “The–They’ll kill me. I can’t. They’ll kill me.” His muscles were still contracting violently as aftershocks from the spell coursed through his body.
“Believe me, I’ll do much worse.” Eliran moved to grab his forehead again, but Odamin spoke before she reached it.
“Farshad! I work for Farshad.”
Damn it! Eliran thought. This was beyond unlucky. “Who is Farshad? Why does he employ people like you?” she asked.
“He’s…” Odamin closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. When he reopened them, he looked like a man about to hang. “He’s the head of the Abdaleen Cartel.”
Eliran’s head tilted. She had been expecting Farshad to be some sort of criminal, but not the most successful one in the whole empire. During the past decade, the Abdaleen Cartel had vanquished all their rivals in Akham and now controlled the entire region. They were disproportionally larger than any other criminal organization in the empire. If Farshad was its leader, Eliran was dealing with someone even more powerful than the Grand-Duke of Nahlwar himself.
The important question, however, was what was his involvement with Astoreth and the Circle?
“Runium,” Eliran guessed. “Does the Cartel deal in runium?”
Odamin nodded.
Of course. This was good, though. This was really good. A chance to attack the Circle in multiple ways – killing one of their Head Archons and disrupting their runium supply. A whole year of torture, of sifting through Astoreth’s memories in the dagger, was finally going to pay off. It would be a monumental setback for the bastards.
Eliran stood and the man allowed himself to relax a bit, his head falling backwards to rest on the ground.
“You want to survive this?” the sorceress asked.
Odamin’s head tilted back up and he eyed her with suspicion.
“You can still survive this,” Eliran added. “I can take you west, help you disappear in some forgotten Thepian village. Somewhere even the Cartel’s tentacles can’t reach. But you’ll have to help me.”
“And if I refuse?” Odamin asked.
“I kill you. Right here and now.”
There was a flash in the sky, and after a moment of silence, a rumble of thunder rolled over them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Eliran said. “You’re thinking you can just say yes, then shove a knife in my back when I’m not looking. There’s only one flaw in your plan. I’m guessing you told your boss I was looking for him, and he instructed you to get rid of me. When you don’t come back tonight, he’ll know you talked. You’re as good as dead anyway, so it seems I’m your best shot.”
The corners of Odamin’s lips twitched. “What do you want from me?”
“The next runium delivery,” Eliran said. “When is it happening?”
“There’s going to be one tonight,” Odamin replied, letting his head fall back to the ground again. “But you can’t possibly hope to steal it. Those shipments are too well guarded.”
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. Where will it happen?”
Odamin shrugged. “I don’t know where the drops are made. Only when they happen.”
“Do you know where they leave from?”
“No.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “The warehouse changes. I’m not given that kind of information.”
Eliran narrowed her eyes. “You’d better think of something useful to say. I can feel my motivation to help you fading quickly.”
Odamin swallowed and seemed to think for a moment. “The Marius Bridge,” he said. “This morning, I heard some of the boys saying they were delivering a fat pouch to the Constable. You know, to leave the bridge unguarded tonight.”
Eliran smiled. “Not bad.” She offered Odamin her hand. “See? We make a great team.”
* * *
The Marius Bridge was an old stone construction harkening back to the post-unification days when a young empire attempted to solidify its influence over the newly annexed territories with a series of public works projects. It stood just outside Engadi, at its northern
edge, connecting it to the imperial road headed for the Shamissai Mountains.
Rain had started to fall about an hour ago, a relentless downpour so heavy it made the world dim. Eliran ducked beneath the thick canopy of an oak tree, Odamin kneeling beside her looking grim. They stood at a bend in the road, two hundred feet from the bridge. There wasn’t a single building in sight on this side of the river, only clusters of trees interspersed with occasional clearings where grass and underbrush grew wildly.
The rattle of cart wheels rolling over the cobbles of the bridge grew over the clattering of rain on leaves. Eliran peeked out from behind the oak tree. It was a small, two-wheel cart pulled by a single horse, escorted by twelve men on foot, half in front of the cart, half behind it. There were two more men on horseback, the riders trotting across the bridge ahead of the escort. As soon as they cleared the bridge, they snapped the reigns and sprung into a gallop. Scouts, checking the road for ambushes. Odamin had been right. These people weren’t fooling around.
Eliran shrank back into her hiding place as the riders turned around the bend. They halted their horses, checking the shadows of the trees around them. Eliran glanced sideways at Odamin, making sure he didn’t get any bright ideas. She leaned into his ear.
“At my signal, grab the horses,” she whispered.
The man nodded.
Eliran took another peek towards the river. The cart and the main escort had just cleared the bridge. She snapped her fingers.
One of the riders froze and looked east. “What was that?”
“What was what?” the other asked.
Eliran waited a moment and snapped her fingers again.
“Over there!” the first scout said, a finger stretched towards a clearing further down the road.
The two riders kicked the haunches of their horses and the animals dashed forward. Calmly, Eliran stood and walked out of her hiding place, emerging onto the road behind the galloping scouts. She lifted one hand and made a pulling motion and both riders were thrust backwards off their saddles, as if they had hit an invisible wall. The two men hit the ground like boulders, their horses halting and neighing from the sudden absence of weight at their backs.
“Now!” Eliran whispered towards where Odamin was still hiding.
She saw the man hesitate before obeying and lunging forward. He raced to the horses and stopped again as the two scouts tried to get back on their feet. They never got the chance. Eliran swung her arms, taking the air in front of herself in an embrace, and the men were sent flying towards each other. They crashed forehead against forehead, a sharp cracking sound followed by their bodies collapsing to the ground.
With a gesture, Eliran spurred Odamin to get the horses, then jumped back into the cover of the oak trees. Between the small copse of tree trunks, she saw the man who she assumed to be the escort’s leader raise a closed fist. The group halted just before the bend.
Perfect, Eliran thought with a grin. She closed her eyes, focusing on the power churning within her and summoned a strong wind. Soaked leaves were sent flying off the ground and the rain started falling sideways.
On the road, the Abdaleen goons were startled by the sudden change in the weather but stayed put. Around them, the tall oak trees began to swivel, and Eliran noticed the anxious glances they sent at the forest.
She snapped her fingers. There was a massive crack, followed by a smooth, growing whine. A tree fell into the road right in front of the escort, the guards jumping backwards. Eliran snapped her fingers again and there was another crack, a second tree falling over on the road, this time behind the group, boxing them in.
The men scrambled immediately, unsheathing their blades and forming a protective circle around the horse-cart. Eliran heard the leader of the escort barking orders, preparing for a fight. She closed her eyes, focusing.
Time for some real magic.
A blue light pulsed around her, slowly at first, then quicker and quicker until it turned into a blinding flash. Eliran disappeared, a blue speck taking her place. It flew out from the trees and into the road, and Eliran rematerialized behind a pair of guards. They didn’t even see her. She placed a hand over each of their heads and they fell to the ground without a sound, unconscious. A third guard fell before the rest of the group realized she was already among them.
“To me!” the group leader yelled. “To me!”
He was trying to sound like some military captain, but it was obvious these men weren’t soldiers, just the typical back alley thugs criminals usually employed. They wore simple clothes instead of armor, and their weapons were crude and ugly. Eliran saw an arrow fly towards her and batted it away as if it was an annoying mosquito. With a grappling motion in the air, she pulled the archer towards her. The woman screamed as she was dragged across the road, an invisible rope tied around her neck. None of her companions tried to save her.
Eliran grabbed the woman by the neck and held her up as a child might a toy. She squeezed and felt the archer’s body sag as her muscles shut down all at once, letting go so the woman fell lifelessly at her feet.
The rest of the goons were clustering together, trying to imitate a battle line, except no one was carrying a shield.
Eliran shook her head. “Pitiful,” she murmured. She could see the fear in their eyes, the hesitation in their steps. These men had never fought a mage before, and they were terrified.
The leader decided to take the initiative. He swung his sword above his head, yelling defiantly. It was brave, Eliran thought. It was also pointless. She punched the air in front of herself and the man was sent flying backwards as if a log had struck him in the face.
The remaining goons fidgeted nervously, exchanging questioning looks. Eliran was sure they were about to flee. Unfortunately, that was something she could not allow.
Closing her eyes, Eliran spread her arms and ignited her runium. She felt a familiar heat churning within and focused on it, concentrating more and more power until her chest felt like it was about to explode. The magic stampeded from her in a blue wave, knocking down all eight remaining thugs like the fist of a giant.
Eliran exhaled, opening her eyes and lowering her arms. She felt drained, as if a portion of her soul had been yanked from her. Releasing that much magic at once always took its toll.
Around her, the road was littered with bodies. None of them were dead, however. It wasn’t her style. Besides, she would need at least one of them to tell her where the runium was being taken. It had been the whole point of this ambush.
The gust of wind she had summoned began to fade, but the heavy rain kept falling. Her clothes were so thoroughly sodden they clung to her body like resin. She moved to the back of the cart and, with a hop, climbed on top of it. There was only a small crate to be found, the name of some front company printed on its side. Apparently, this was a small shipment.
“Odamin,” she called, the falling rain muffling her words.
The lid of the runium crate was nailed shut, but a quick glance around the bed of the cart revealed a crowbar. She decided to take the chance to restock. This night had already cost her two whole vials.
“Odamin?” Eliran called again. Where was the bastard?
The crate opened with a crack and Eliran froze, the crowbar firm in her hands.
“What the…” Eliran mumbled.
There wasn’t a single runium flask inside, just a goblet laying on a bed of straw. It was a magnificent thing. The design was clearly Fyrian, like the dagger containing Astoreth’s memories. It was made from a purple metal that seemed to glow almost as much as the Glowstone gems encrusted over its surface. Two dragons arched beside the cup, serving as its handles, their tails wrapping around its base.
This was a holy relic if ever she’d seen one. Just not the kind mother Ava had created. What really gave Eliran pause though was that the goblet somehow looked… familiar. Like something she’d used to see in her grandmother’s house when she was little. Except she hadn’t. Never. Not once. She was as sure of it
as she was sure that the goblet was right there instead of the runium flasks she had expected.
What in the mother’s name is going on? she wondered.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the creepy artifact before her. The woods around her seemed to have changed. Had the wind died completely? And where the heck was Odamin?
Wait, she thought. Is that…
Eliran jumped, and as she did, an explosion blasted her forward. She crashed into the mud, splinters of charred wood raining down on her. Her head spun and she looked back. A hole had been carved into the cart right next to the crate, just where she had been kneeling.
Magic…
She scrambled to her feet, skidding in the mud, her fingers tracing a complex pattern in the air as she conjured a shield. The next instant, a green bolt of energy melted against an invisible barrier in front of her nose. She was under attack by mages.
No… Archons.
Whatever this artifact was, it was important. Even more important than a runium shipment.
Eliran reached into her pouch, removed the first Glowstone gem she found, and brought it to her lips, whispering an incantation. She didn’t even check if the spell was right as a second bolt of energy crashed into her shield, making her flinch. As soon as the gem began to glow brighter, signaling her magic had been stored inside, Eliran shoved it into the straw surrounding the goblet, then dashed off the road and into the forest, her feet having trouble finding purchase on the slippery mud.
The Shadow Of Fallen Gods Page 7
