by Jeff Kish
“This is a good drug,” she replies.
“Good, then she’ll be out for a while,” he acknowledges. “Now, come, we’ve guests awaiting.”
Tema hesitates. “I sustained a small injury in the fight and would like to tend to it.”
“Very well, but at least bring the asset inside. I’m far too old to carry her myself.”
Begrudgingly, she again manipulates the small twigs wrapped around Fire’s limbs, moving the branches to make it appear as if her victim is actually walking. Luk leads her inside his home and down the hallway to a gathering area where a roaring fire illuminates and warms the room. Besides Luk’s normal entourage of bodyguards, the assassin finds five travelers standing in a circle, plus a sorry-looking specimen next to a guard with his wrists bound.
“Th-That fiend again?” the bound Ospif exclaims in alarm at the sight of Fire. “And here I thought things couldn’t get any worse.”
“Here is your runic, gentlemen,” Luk announces. “Just as promised.” The group’s leader steps forward to analyze Fire, and Luk puffs out his chest. “And you were impressed with my other prize.”
“Other prize, indeed!” Ospif cries out. “Your wiles are beneath even that of a common Allerian thug. What a waste of a scholar.”
Luk beams. “The cousin of a king! Between that and this runic, Thayo certainly owes me a small fortune. Though, to be frank, I may owe Thayo for taking the cousin off my hands. The lad is terrible company.”
“As if you’re a joy to be around,” Ospif gripes as he’s shoved forward by Luk’s guard. He stumbles into the bulkiest of his new captors, who glares at him with disdain before dragging him from the room.
The dark-clad guest pokes Fire in the forehead. “This is a runic?”
“Of course, Hyrel,” he says with confidence. “Was the commander expecting something else?”
“We were expecting a one-armed, teenaged boy. This is a tiny, two-armed girl.”
Though momentarily stunned, Luk motions to one of his bodyguards and says, “Please pluck a strand of her hair.”
Though perplexed, the guard obeys. He pulls one out and offers it to Luk, who raises a hand. “No, no, I don’t want it. Please hold it out for all to see.”
Obediently, he extends it toward the group, and everyone watches in expectation. Eventually, the hair freezes into a shard of ice, and it’s all the guard can do to contain a scream as the searing pain of frostbite pierces his fingers.
Luk laughs with great amusement. “Haha, ice! Now, go retrieve a pair of ice cuffs.” The guard’s eyes water as he complies.
“Ice?” Hyrel asks in surprise. “What happened to the earth shaper?”
“To be candid, I may have made a bad assumption,” Luk admits. “Your good commander merely told me to be on the watch for a small band of Valvorans, one of whom was a runic. When the group came before me, I confirmed her status and sent my resources to secure her. I did not believe the one-armed fellow to be one of them.”
“So you let him get away!?” Hyrel barks.
“Thayo should have trusted me with more information,” he contends. “Still, a runic is a runic. I would not be so ungrateful.”
Ultimately, Hyrel displays his agreement. “I apologize for my outburst, and you have my gratitude, Corpit. Thayo is most appreciative of your efforts.” He motions toward one of his men, who extends a small, sealed box to Luk. “This is merely the first payment for your services.”
Luk opens it to find a small trove of precious stones within. “Thayo has never messed around,” he mumbles as he closes it. “Still, I did not do this for the money. He can consider the transaction closed.”
Hyrel is surprised. “And the king’s cousin?”
“Consider him a bonus,” he says, waving him off. “Truly, he is terrible company.”
Two of Hyrel’s men approach Tema, who shifts her body to conceal her injured shoulder. She unwraps her captive, allowing them to take the unconscious runic from under the shoulders, and the tangle of thin branches returns to the form of a sword. Sheathing her blade, she looks to her boss expectantly.
“Very well, you can leave,” he says. As she departs, he calls out, “And help yourself to the bath house. You’re still filthy from your skirmish.”
Tema glances to her injured arm, finding a smearing of dirt and mud. Even her hand is covered in it. “Earth…” she mutters as she leaves the room.
“Mighty fine hunter, she is,” Luk boasts. “Dabbles in poisons and the like. That patch on the runic’s neck will keep her drugged for a time,” he explains, “but when she awakens, look out! They’re a handful to contain.” His lackey arrives with a set of thick gloves and hands them to Luk, who passes them to Hyrel. “I take it you’re familiar with these? The embedded runes are programmed to absorb ice.”
“Your expertise is most appreciated,” Hyrel says, motioning for his men to move out. As the members of Eagle take their leave, the leader stays behind and asks, “Corpit, you have been more than generous with us tonight. May I ask a personal question?”
“Our business is concluded, Hyrel.”
“Yes, but… why all this help? The commander had plans for greater compensation. This was a task he did not take lightly, and he will demand an answer for why you do not require more payment.”
“I simply do not wish to become further entangled in the affairs of runics,” Luk explains. “Between that and my… dislike for the prince, I’d say I’m earning fair enough compensation for my troubles.”
“So this is payback against the throne?”
“It is more than that,” he says. “Someone will win this contest of runics, and I desire to see neither the prince nor that arrogant Valvoran monarch standing as victors. Thayo and his guild alliance are the only remaining force that could stand against these two powers, and their victory is my best option to come out of the fated conflict favorably.”
“I also have faith in him,” Hyrel says, “but we started late. At best, between Thayo and Angal, we will match the power of the others. It is still an uphill struggle.”
“I have always been a gambler,” he replies. “Just tell the commander to remember me when his time of greatness is at hand.”
Hyrel again bows. “You know you will be well honored, Corpit.” Without another word, he follows his peers from the manor and into the dark night.
Chapter 23
“Any news, Commander?” Galen anxiously asks.
Marmela shakes her head. “We have just five scrambled messages. It is not enough to find the pattern. This cipher is just as complex as the last.”
Galen bites his lip, frustrated he can do nothing to assist, but Marmela’s lieutenant commander touches his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Commander. If anyone can solve this, it is Commander Marmela.”
“I believe in her,” he says respectfully. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander Praler.” Trying not to focus on the fact that this is the fifth day without word from Rex, he squeezes out of the small facility and into the streets. The morning is dark, with thick overcast clouds and a cool breeze which brings a foul odor. Rather than checking in with the scout squad leader for the second time in an hour, he heads to the borrowed town hall-turned military headquarters. The decrepit structure smells like wet mud, and Galen wonders how much longer they will need to suffer these accommodations.
Still, being a commander has its perks, and he enters his quaint personal quarters where a makeshift strategy table has been erected. Planted on it is a map of the region, adorned with pins of many colors: reds representing his troops, yellows for Allerian sightings, and far too many blue pins representing where Talkem could be hiding. He removes a blue pin based on the most recent scouting report and flings it against the wall.
Galen plants his palm on his forehead, seething with impatience. The distant thumping of footsteps further increases his agitation, realizing his two runic scouts have again returned prematurely from their rounds. They appear in his doorway, panting, a
nd he barks, “You two are a disgrace! How many times must I tell you to-”
“I saw smoke!” Di spits out. “To the north…”
Galen’s brow furrows. “Smoke?”
“A big, big plume!” Opal exclaims. “I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s still burning, whatever it is.”
Those words send a chill down his spine. “Tell me where you saw it,” he demands, pointing at his map.
Di hurriedly points to a location north of Allas. “This is where we were. And…” She circles an area and says, “Maybe in here, somewhere?”
“That’s either Foz or Bahser. Or maybe both.” The commander storms out of his quarters. “Come!” he barks. “We’re taking the bulk of our forces with us. We had best anticipate a conflict.” His subordinates scurry to comply, each one’s imagination running wild about what they are going to find there.
* * *
The singed earth crunches beneath the commander’s boots as he enters what is left of the town. The air is filled with smoke and ash, and not a single building remains intact. A rancid stench fills the air, making even the most veteran soldiers squeamish.
Di trembles as she steps past the town threshold. “What… What happened here?”
“You really need to ask?” Galen asks before pushing further into the town square.
“Yeah, Diamond. It’s pretty obvious,” Opal chimes in, his normally chipper attitude soured.
“Fan out,” Galen commands to the accompanying troops. “Look for… survivors.”
Di is mortified by the sight of such rampant destruction. There is barely a trace of evidence that this was once a quaint farming community. Her shaped air-boot crunches loudly on something, and she lifts her foot to reveal the charred remains of a wooden doll. Her eyes well up with tears as she crouches to retrieve the small toy. “Why…” she asks, her voice squeaking. “Why would someone…?”
“The reasoning is simple. They are our enemies,” Galen states. “Instead of the why, I want to know how. How does a band of Allerian scouts lay devastating waste to a protected town like this in such short order?”
“Protected?” Opal asks, glancing around. “Shouldn’t we see swords or something? Was there even a battle?”
Galen just now realizes the lack of evidence for a skirmish. “That’s impossible. We’ve had troops stationed here for months!” No one argues the point, but the evidence speaks for itself. He looks to the eastern hills to find them spotted with small piles of smoldering ash, each one likely a villager caught in his or her retreat.
“So are Allerians really strong?” Opal asks, crouched down and studying the ground. “I mean, the ground is still warm! And it’s black…”
“It’s not atypical to have fire makers among a scout force,” Galen says. “They can contribute significant force to a small troop, but… there must have been twenty of them to do this much damage. The heat output was incredible.”
“Where did they go?” Di suddenly demands.
Her attitude surprises Galen. “Back across the border, no doubt. Why do you-”
“I’m going after them,” she declares. “Let’s go, Alam.”
“G-Go to Alleria?” he stutters, dumbfounded.
“What, is the big hero scared?”
“You are not chasing the scouts,” Galen orders. “They razed the town while we slept. They’re half a day gone by now.”
“They just murdered innocent people!” she exclaims.
“They picked a fight because they want us to react.”
“So let’s react!”
“Enough!” he shouts. “I will not debate the art of war with a child.”
She shoves the charred doll before his eyes. “These people deserve justice,” she scowls through clenched teeth.
“Should war break out, you will see many more such atrocities. You’d best get used to this sight.”
“No!” Di screams. “I won’t ‘get used’ to this! Never!” She throws the doll to the ground, where it disintegrates into a pile of ash. “I’m a runic. A warrior! I’m not letting this happen again.”
Opal is taken aback. “Diamond, you sure are sounding scary today.” She shoots him a cold stare, causing him to shrink back before she storms toward the town’s entrance. He breathes a sigh of relief and mutters, “Yeesh, what’s gotten into her?”
“She is acting the part of a soldier,” Galen snaps. “What about you? What do you intend to do about this atrocity, Opal?”
“Me?” he asks, glancing around at the damage. “I mean, we’re too late. What do you want me to do?”
The commander growls and steps away from the youngster, mostly to ensure he doesn’t backhand him. He never thought he would see the day he wished for more soldiers to have Di’s attitude.
* * *
The powerful kick sends Tema stumbling backward, and she hits the ground hard. She laments her inability to use her right arm, and she curses the earth shaper who gave her that injury. Sliding her other hand into the pocket at her side, she retrieves a knife and flings it at her intimidating opponent.
The well-built Allerian deflects the twirling blade with his forearm, and the sound of metal on metal rings out with the impact. The sneak attack disgruntles him. “This is growing tiresome.”
“This is growing tiresome,” she says softly.
His brow furrows. “That is the second time, now. You are a puzzling opponent.”
“You are a puzzling opponent.”
As his frustration mounts, a red-haired observer laughs hysterically from the sidelines. “She’s a weirdo for sure. Don’t lose your head, Perry!”
He grunts his disapproval. “Please don’t call me that, Ruby.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just get it over with, already,” she goads, her foot pressed against Luk’s back.
The Krypta mogul gazes across his manor’s courtyard, littered with his fallen bodyguards, many of whom were turned to ashes. Tema is the last of his minions still standing against these two powerful aggressors. Though battered, he again strives to escape his captor’s clutches, but she stomps on him and laughs, “Just wait, guy. Perry’ll finish this real quick.”
The muscular soldier looms over his opponent, his thick biceps twitching for action. His dark brown hair is cut short, and he sports the uniform of the Allerian military: a black leather tunic with loose sleeves and shoulder pads, though the black cloak seems to be a preference of style. Despite the heavy sword strapped to his back, he seems to prefer hand-to-hand combat.
“Putrid wench,” Luk grumbles, now fixating on the dark-haired informant sitting on the grass mere inches away. “Just what is your aim?”
“A greater and more prosperous Alleria, naturally,” Athena replies, mockingly. “Isn’t that what we all want? Well, besides yourself, seeing as you’re still holding out on us.”
“Yeah!” Ruby agrees, twisting her foot. “The prince won’t take no for an answer. Neither will we,” she says, her lips warping into a sadistic snarl.
Athena shrugs. “Still, I was surprised to find young Amethyst, here. You let the Valvoran runic slip away, but this one was hiding under your nose without you ever realizing it?”
Luk fixates on his personal assassin, still refusing to believe their claims. “Tema, lay waste to that buffoon!”
“Laying waste,” she mumbles, charging her opponent and swinging hard at his neck.
Her opponent smirks in amusement as he changes his stance and, rather than attempting to dodge the strike, he deflects her sword with his forearm. Tema overcomes the shock of her elemental blade’s ineffectiveness and delivers a second, more powerful strike. This one, too, is defended with just his arm.
Her blood boiling, Tema swings once more, but this time her blade’s many small twigs and branches unravel mid-strike. They wrap around her opponent’s arm, and she pulls it tight, focusing her efforts into constricting the branches, intending to snap both armor and limb in one swoop.
“She’s got you now, Perry!” his ally shouts
.
“His name is Peridot, dear,” Athena offers with much amusement.
The Allerian runic rotates his free arm around, as if stretching out his shoulder. Swiftly, he brings it down on the extended sword and shatters it.
Tema stumbles backward from the lack of compensating force and scrambles to reform her sword with the element that remains.
“You will be a great ally,” Peridot declares as he winds up and hurls an object at Tema.
The resourceful assassin bats at the incoming projectile, but the force is so incredible that she might as well have struck a stone wall. Her branches shatter as the mass impacts her shoulder and send her spinning to the ground, and her opponent is on top of her before she can recover. He punches her in the forehead, taking care to use just enough strength to achieve a clean knock-out.
“About time,” his partner gripes. “I took out, like, fifty grunts while you were playing with wood girl.”
Peridot plucks a hair from his unconscious opponent, which reflects a deep purple hue. “She is a runic, Ruby” he says as it takes the form of a sharp splinter. “She was formidable.”
“She was unbound,” Ruby stresses.
Luk succumbs to despair after watching his last hope fall, still in disbelief over his assassin’s identity. It was not as if he had his suspicions, but his wily mercenary had apparently deceived him when he demanded a piece of hair as evidence, as he has done with all elemental manipulators in his service since learning of the runics. Defeated, he groans, “Just finish the job you came here to do, cretins. I don’t intend to give Trapak a good show.”
“He don’t want a show,” Ruby says. “What he wants is the other runic.”
“Give us her location and we will leave you in peace,” her lumbering associate promises. “Despite your misgivings, the prince bears no ill will against you or your organization.”
“Lies,” he growls. “This day has been looming since the day he found you two. You should be ashamed at how he’s using you.”
