Surely Sol protects his own, she told herself.
After walking for a time, she became aware of someone on the path ahead of her. She could not make out any features, for the figure was cloaked in darkness, a pulsing aura that the weak sunlight couldn’t pierce.
Idrimel clasped her holy symbol for reassurance and moved closer. She reached for her mace, thinking another demon was fouling her homeland, but the weapon was gone. She wore only her temple vestments. Already, the hem was dark with soot stains. Readying a powerful spell to unleash against the demonic figure, she suddenly halted in astonishment. Where the figure strode, footprints of green grass sprouted. A shadowy hand brushed a blackened bush beside the path, and leaves and blossoms sprouted before her eyes. By the time Idrimel passed the bush, it was full of berries.
Marveling at what she was seeing, Idrimel hailed the figure, eager to discover its identity. She was ignored, and the figure walked even more quickly, it seemed.
Idrimel knew the mysterious being was perhaps the key to her quest. She hitched up the hem of her robes and ran. “Hold, I just wish a word!”
The figure quickened its pace yet again, running through a thick grove of blackened trees, and Idrimel followed. The dark nimbus swirled and dissipated like fog as she reached the center of the grove. She found herself alone. Surprised her quarry had eluded her, she spun in a circle but found nothing.
A sudden fluttering sound came from overhead, like that of a cloak, and then darkness washed over her. A weight struck her, and she fell to the ground, stunned for a moment. When she was able to gather her wits, she found a glinting dagger held pointing at her neck. Darkness swirled around her like smoke. The figure’s cowl was pulled low, shrouding its face in deep shadow.
“Why do you follow me? What do you seek?” The voice was a woman’s. Her annoyance was tinged with curiosity.
Idrimel stared at her, willing her eyes to pierce the gloom. She could feel power radiating off the woman but could sense no evil—conflict perhaps, but not evil. She was reminded that shadows were cast as a result of the light. Perhaps the mysterious woman, in her own way, was an instrument of Sol.
After a moment, she could make out a pair of eyes glowing like embers within the cowl and the tips of bone-white horns curving down past her cheeks.
She must be the plane-cursed one I seek!
“Our fates are tied together,” Idrimel said. “The worlds will burn, but you somehow hold the key. You can heal the land and prevent all of this from coming to be.”
A bitter laugh came in reply, and the cowled woman rose to her feet. “You know me not. And I care not about fate. Naught but death follows me. Begone. Come after me again, and death shall greet you also.” The woman disappeared with a light flutter of cloak, receding into the darkness as if she owned it.
Slowly, the shadows dissipated, and Idrimel was bathed in the afternoon sunlight once again.
Something shone brightly on the ground in the revealed light. The plane-cursed woman must’ve dropped this. Idrimel picked up a small ivory tile, a piece from a game she had seen being played by some acolytes a couple evenings past after they had been released from their duties. Carved on the tile was an ugly creature, which after a moment, she realized was a zombie. The undead monster held a tankard of ale in one hand, the golden fluid leaking from a number of holes in its torso. Its head was thrown back in laughter.
Her eyes flew open, heart racing in excitement. She quickly thanked Sol for the sending. In the morning, she would share her vision with Athyzon and they would seek out the woman of shadow.
***
Nera’s soft leather boots did not make a sound as she strode across the common room, cowl pulled low to avoid recognition. Familiar as she was with the guildhall, she knew which creaky spots in the floor to avoid.
Due to the late hour, embers burned in the fire pits, and a couple torches guttered weakly in wall sconces. The stink of smoke and unwashed bodies filled her nose. Thieves and ruffians snored in their bedrolls and on benches, many of them having slumped over asleep in the same spot their nightly carousing had ended. A slovenly rogue watched her idly with a glassy-eyed gaze, high on whatever substance burned in his pipe—civet, she would’ve wagered from the acrid stench.
The familiar sights and smells would normally have taken Nera back to her past, but tonight the only thing on her mind was revenge.
Rollo had sold them out, and for that he would die.
Nera’s subconscious nagged at her. Zita could’ve been responsible… or any of them. Perhaps the old man is innocent. The possibility existed that another could have betrayed her and Arron, but she knew in her heart it was the old man. Best pay Zita a visit and warn her of what is to come.
She felt guilty that she intended to vet her friend’s loyalty as a precaution while delivering a warning, but that was the prudent action. Events had progressed too far, and indifference and naiveté were no longer viable options. Survival was paramount. She had to rescue Malek, but first she would take vengeance for her slain brother.
Zita’s room was near the rear of the guildhall, as befitted her station as a lieutenant, away from the noise and stink of the common room. A couple more chambers belonging to Rollo’s other lieutenants were clustered along the same corridor before it ended at the guildmaster’s door.
Nera rapped softly at Zita’s door and waited. After a brief moment, the floor creaked as someone approached from the inside.
“Who’s there?” Zita’s voice came softly from inside.
“It’s Nera. We need to speak of an urgent matter.” Lightslicer’s pommel dug into the palm of her hand. She hoped she wouldn’t have to draw it.
The lock clunked, and Zita swung the door open, revealing the dim interior, lit by embers in a brazier.
Zita looked at her questioningly but must have noticed the dark look on her face, for she only waved her inside. She relocked the door and turned to face Nera. The half-orc’s thin nightgown did little to conceal her muscular yet feminine physique.
“It is good to see you, Nera,” Zita said finally. Her eyes took in Nera’s hand, clenched on the hilt of her dagger. She slowly sat on the edge of her rumpled bed and watched as Nera paced nervously in the cozy chamber. “I’m relieved you are well—I heard there was trouble at the safe house. If you need aid, just say the word, and I’m there for you.”
Nera observed Zita closely but saw no guile in her friend’s demeanor. She saw worry and concern, but that was all. Finally, with a sigh, she sat on the wooden chair across from her friend.
“The old bastard sold us out. The Magehunters showed up at the safe house and tried to take us. Arron died during the fight.” She tried to hold back the rush of emotions that threatened to break loose.
Zita brought a hand to her mouth in shock. “Arron? I… I didn’t know, Nera. I’m sorry.”
Nera nodded, remembering her brother and Zita had been close at one time. She was relieved to see the genuine emotions wash over Zita’s face. The half-orc had a good heart and couldn’t have betrayed them.
“A dwarf came after—a retrieval officer. I assume the old man took his coin as well.”
Zita scowled. “I remember that one—had a crazed look in his eyes I didn’t care for. At first, I thought he was high on civet, but it was something else. Rollo spoke with him in private, as I recall. Oh gods, Nera, I’m so sorry. If I’d known what was going on—”
“What’s done is done. I came to warn you there will be blood spilt this night—you may want to make preparations to seize control come morning.” Nera got to her feet, eager to be done with the bloody business ahead of her. She started toward the door.
Zita stopped her and gave her a rough embrace, her powerful arms squeezing the breath out of Nera’s lungs. “You do what needs doing, lass. If you need anything at all, you have but to ask.” Tears leaked down Zita’s cheeks.
Nera hugged her back, her own eyes moistening. “Aye, thanks, but I must do this on my own. I’ll try to ke
ep it quiet and any mess to a minimum.”
“Sabyl favor you, Nera.”
Nera shot her a smile before slipping back out into the corridor, and Zita quietly shut the door. Nera took a couple deep breaths to calm herself and steel her nerves. Through the door, she heard the sounds of her friend getting dressed. She evidently was about to prepare to assume Rollo’s mantle as guildmaster, which would require getting some loyalists ready to put down any potential power struggle.
She eyed the door at the end of the hall. The time was ripe.
Getting to the guildmaster was almost pathetically easy. She didn’t even have to rely on her stealth skills. Within the guildhall, no guards were posted. The thick oaken door to the old man’s chamber was secured with a sturdy lock and protected only by a simple poison-needle trap, both of which she bypassed in under half a minute.
She held her breath as the door creaked open. The room was dim but for the faint glow of embers in a brazier. As she stepped lightly inside, her hands sought the cool comfort of her dagger hilt. She eased the door shut again and moved across the chamber.
Rollo lay on his back, naked but for a sheet covering him from the waist down. The old man was snoring like a sleeping bear, one hand on his hairy chest and the other slung wide across the slim form of a sleeping girl. Nera could smell the reek of ale and sex as she neared the bed. She curled her lip in disgust when she noted the young girl wasn’t yet of age.
The old perverted bastard has grown soft and lazy—pitiful. I still owe him for that night years ago when he tried to force himself on me.
She pictured herself in the girl’s position, and anger sparked fierce and bright. She could almost feel his rough hand clamped over her mouth and his sour scent as he pinned her beneath his bulk, breath stinking of onions and ale, his hard cock pressing into her thigh as he fumbled with her breeches. Her wits had been sluggish that night from some drugged ale he had given her.
Thank Sabyl that Arron was looking out for me that night and ever since. The thought of her brother’s last act of protection, which ended up with Lassiter’s sword bursting out of his back, made her want to gut the bastard Rollo where he lay.
Nera fought to calm her anger. Blind rage oft leads to a fool’s death.
She put her hand over the young girl’s mouth and shook her gently. Her eyes popped open in alarm at the sight of Nera leaning over her.
“Shhh… Get out of here and you won’t get hurt,” Nera whispered. She probably could have shouted and Rollo wouldn’t have wakened, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
When the girl nodded her understanding, Nera took her hand away. The girl slithered out from beneath Rollo’s meaty arm as if he were some snoring predator that might awaken and devour her. She picked up her clothing and quickly slunk out of the room.
Nera knelt at the side of the bed for a moment, studying her prey. The old man was oblivious to her presence, deep in his ale-soaked dreams. Nera smiled when her eyes alighted on an object across the chamber.
“Wake up, you wretched bastard!” She turned over the chamber pot, sending urine splashing across Rollo’s face and into his wide-open mouth.
The guildmaster lurched awake, choking and sputtering. His bleary eyes blinked stupidly up at Nera in the dim room. Seeming to suddenly realize what he had been doused with, he hunched over and vomited all over himself. He frantically wiped at his face with his sheet.
“Charming. You’re a real ladies’ man, Rollo. Forcing yourself on young girls that are just learning their way in the guild.” Nera slid Lightslicer out of its sheath and idly twirled it in her fingers.
The sickly look on Rollo’s face swiftly turned to rage when he finally took stock of the situation. “What do you want, you cursed whore? You’re going to pay for this insolence.” He slid backward from the mess on the bed, sitting up and glaring at her.
“You sold me out. You directed the Magehunters to the safe house, just as you did that mad dwarven retrieval officer when they came looking for me and my friends. You took their coin and gave us up without a second thought, didn’t you? People dear to me were hurt—Arron was killed! So I’m here to collect from your sorry hide.” She knew her eyes were glowing in the dark with her anger, but Rollo didn’t seem cowed.
Instead, the old man boomed laughter, surprising her. “You foolish wench. Life is all about bartering—trading gold, information, favors, what have you. How else would you successfully run a guild and stay on the good side of the powers of Nexus? Mayhap that’s why you got yourself arrested.” He shook his head. “You aren’t the first to stand in from of me and think you can take me down. Selling people out is just the way we do business. Everyone has their price, be they a poxy beggar for a couple coppers or a nobleman for a knife in a rival’s back and the promise of future favors. The reality is, you don’t have the balls to do what needs to be done. And that’s why you can never trust a woman to do a man’s job.”
His hand suddenly whipped under the pillow, swift as a striking snake despite his drunkenness and advancing age. Confusion briefly flashed on his face when he came up empty.
“Looking for this?” Nera brought her left hand from behind her back and tossed Rollo’s stiletto in the air, watching it reflect the light as it turned end over end. She neatly plucked it from the air by the hilt and, with a fluid flick of the wrist, sent the slim blade to bury itself in the old man’s flabby neck. “Poisoned, I would imagine, eh?”
Rollo’s mouth sagged open in shock. “You… you…”
“I what?” She leaned closer to make out his words.
“After everything I’ve done for you, you betray me…” Blood leaked down his hairy chest from the wound. He wrapped his hand around the hilt as if considering pulling it free or not. His eyes went to a large chest against the wall. “Please… have mercy… There’s the antidote… and a healing potion.”
Nera shrugged. “Thanks, but I would’ve discovered them when I cleaned your chest out anyway, since that’s what we do. I’m still a thief, even though I’m old-fashioned enough to believe in loyalty.”
Rollo attempted to heave his bulk out of bed, swinging his legs over the edge and putting his feet on the floor. Nera stopped him by placing one of her soft boots to his chest and shoving him back down with ease. Black streaks were spreading from his wound, running up Rollo’s neck and down his chest. He convulsed as the potent poison took effect.
“Once it reaches your heart, you’re done, Rollo. Better make your peace with whatever gods, if any, you believe in.” Nera leaned against the brazier, feeling its heat soak pleasantly into her lower back as she watched her guildmaster die. Curiously, she wasn’t troubled by his messy end. Instead, she thought of Arron’s roguish smile, knowing he would be pleased to have his death avenged.
Rollo flopped violently, spread-eagled on the mattress as if being forced down by some magical force. He twitched weakly, and foam dribbled from his mouth. After a few moments, it was over.
“Good riddance. Zita will make a much better guildmaster, I reckon.” Nera turned her attention to the old iron-bound chest across the room. “Now, let’s see what surprises you have inside…”
She disarmed a pair of cleverly concealed traps and manipulated the tumblers in the lock until they clicked into place. Almost reverently, she raised the lid of the guildmaster’s chest. The container nearly glowed as the light from the brazier reflected on the stacks of gold coins within. A cloth bag held a small fortune worth of gems. Several small vials of potions were arranged neatly. Underneath stacks of clothing was an item that made Nera nearly choke in surprise.
Folded within a rough piece of cloth was a crude-looking dagger sheathed within a rugged leather scabbard. She pulled it free, admiring the pale, wicked blade carved from the bone of some infernal beast. She had to stifle the urge to sneeze from the powerful enchantment the dagger held.
“That whoreson! He’s had this all along.”
Arron and she had nearly been hanged from the gallows by the s
uperstitious folk in a village on a miserable rain-drenched world during her first excursion off plane. Rollo had sent them to steal the dagger from a mage living there, whom he claimed had stolen it from a noble client who was paying a generous reward for its return. However, that hadn’t been the whole truth. The old man had found a wealthy buyer for the dagger but had lost it in a wager during a night of drunken dicing prior to the sale. She had come to be wary about believing Rollo in the many years since that adventure.
She touched the blade, Bedlam Judge by name, and a sharp tingle ran up her finger and hand, making her shiver. Nera recoiled, remembering well the ill sensation formed in her gut, as if she had quaffed some spoiled milk. This blade is made for the hand of someone with the blackest of hearts.
She was about to wrap the dagger back up and leave it behind, but it somehow drew her eye, and she found it hard to look away. Her fingers refused to release the dagger, briefly caressing the hilt. Lightslicer needed a mate, and she needed all the help she could get for the trying times ahead. Before she knew it, the blade was sheathed at her waist opposite Lightslicer.
Dark times ahead… Perhaps such an evil weapon can be turned to a good use.
Nera stowed as much of the gold, gems, and potions as she could carry in her pockets and pouches and made to leave. The disgusting sight of Rollo lying naked on the bed drew her attention once again. He lay spread-eagled in a puddle of congealing vomit, with blood caked on his hairy chest and neck, his eyes and mouth wide open from his agonizing final moments.
“Hope you found your peace with the gods, old man.” She turned on her heel and left the guildhall.
If he hadn’t found peace, that possibility honestly didn’t bother her one bit.
Chapter 5
Doors of the Dark Page 4
