by Jason Jones
“Who did you talk to, old friend?” Johnas queried .
“No one. Kendari killed the bishop I planned on discussing the scroll with. Spies…overheard many things…the daughter of Lazlette is on…the run…with others. It is a relic beyond…” His agony stopped the conversation, Dasius could hardly speak through the pain in his leg and arm.
“Who has the scroll, Dasius? And why is Salah Cam offering a king's fortune for it?”
“The travelers from Southwind, my prince. They are with Gwenneth Lazlette now, a minotaur, an elven woman, a knight of Southwind, and a priest from Boraduum, I believe.” Dasius relaxed a bit, discussion on the table now, and he tried to find a comfortable position with all his injuries. He groaned in pain, parts of his broken body numb from shock. “Value…not sure…but it may have powers in it, divine and old. I could not get close enough.”
“What do I care for divine powers of an old scroll?”
“Because, Johnas….those powers could be passed to another…if my spies…overheard correctly.”
“Where are they heading?” Johnas still did not look at Dasius, still paced, unblinking.
“They made for the east gate, so this way, or to Harlaheim through the mountains, we suspect. The Lazlette family has ties there with Kalzarius. Kendari, the assassin, was stopped by our men before he could get near the scroll, my prince.” Dasius began to look around, wondering when someone would come to look at his leg, as the prince had many physicians and paid priests.
“This scroll…is it as powerful and ancient as you have been informing me? Or are you trying to save your Caberran neck?”
‘Yes. Our men overheard much last night while the daughter of Aelaine deciphered it. Most ancient and valuable indeed, and she was also found to be contacting Kalzarius in Harlaheim. Most likely the safest spot to keep it and learn how to use it, my prince.” Dasius, the domenarch of Vallakazz for the White Spider, did not mention that she had snuck into his room while he was out, using the warlock mirror to contact the famous wizard. That would most likely get him killed on the spot.
“Have you spoken to any strange folk recently, perhaps, Altestani men?”
“No, of course not, my prince.”
“Warlock mirror destroyed?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you Dasius, you may go.” Johnas nodded to Heathen, who in turn opened the door. Johnas knew when a man lied, and Dasius had lied twice, just now.
“Go?! Look at me, Johnas! My hand is burned off and my leg broken. Some assistance is in order, I feel! A priest, if you would?!” Dasius tried to stand but fell back in the chair, his temper flaring, outraged by the complete lack of concern that the prince showed his most valuable wizard in Chazzrynn.
The blade drew out of its scabbard with a speed unmatched by anything ever seen. Seven steps down in a flash, and the tip pierced through the chest of Dasius, all the way through the chair. Pinned to the furniture, the tip of the curvy blade protruding visibly on the other side, Dasius of Caberra squirmed as blood ran down his chest and up into his throat. He tried to issue arcane words and gestures, but the choking blood stopped him.
Johnas removed the blade, wiping it on his black cloak as he turned his back to the useless wizard. “A whining, handless, failure of a wizard is of no use to me. Heathen, dispose of that chair, I am no longer fond of it, or its contents.”
“Yes, my prince.” The red minotaur strode over to the chair, with a heavily panting Dasius bleeding out onto it.
He lifted it up easily with both arms and walked to the pit of spikes next to the left door, the one meant for uninvited guests. The bloodied wizard of the White Spider tried to climb out, his eyes fading, and was thrown face first down twenty or more feet onto a bed of two foot spikes. The chair cracked atop his body, riddled with holes filled with deadly protrusions.
Heathen looked upon the wreckage of bones and bodies that lay there, barely visible in the dark of torchlight. “Farewell Dasius.” the old guardian stared at the body, knowing how many years Dasius had been loyal to the prince. He closed his eyes, returning to his lean on the wall and wondered when he would be put in the pit, when his first and last failure would come.
“Just what was needed, Heathen. I feel better already. Now send for Vanessa and the spy from Harlaheim, Balric. I have some planning if we are to get the daughter of Lazlette and that scroll.”
“Spy?”
“Yes, of course he is a spy. But, I keep him for I need to know who he informs, how far deep it goes. That way I know who my enemies are and I can get to the root of things. Killing him does nothing but put another in line to do exactly what he is doing. Pretending not to be aware of it, that is the trick.”
“Yes, my prince.” Heathen looked to the pit one more time, then strode out the doors to send his masters’ messages.
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Balric D’Vrelle felt his saber on his left side, his short blade on his right, trying to keep his breath flowing in and out. He knew that his promotion to Captain of the guard had been strategic, and assumed that Johnas knew or suspected the affair between him and Vanessa. The Harlian swordsman hoped that was all the prince was aware of. His worries creased his forehead, and he scratched at his trimmed beard in anxiety, thinking the worst, knowing what would happen, what could happen, when one was summoned to the lower chambers of the White Spider alone.
The piece of parchment folded in his hand simply had the symbol of a spider inked upon it, with the letter J. The agents, two young men barely out of their teens, had placed it inside the basket of bread that was at his table in the barracks. Johnas was known for broad day assassinations, yet not of his agents in places of power within his city, and not in any royal buildings. No, he would have them killed in his throne room, not the one in Castle Valhera, but the throne room well under the city. Heathen would usually do the dirty work, or sometimes Farrigus, if it were out in the city itself.
Balric thought of all he had learned of the operations and motions the White Spider made, and the connections to dozens of other cities and kingdoms that Johnas tied his webs to. As his confidante and superior, the bishop of Harlaheim had told him there were suspected ties even to the cruel and immense empire of Altestan to the north. Balric had seen with his own eyes now that, indeed, royalty from the oppressive enslaving conquerors from the far north were in contact with the Prince of Valhirst. Doppelgangers had been sent to infiltrate the Altestani ship disguised as crewman, whether to gather information or to double-cross, Balric was still unsure.
He winded down the dark tunnels under Castle Valhera, nodding to the agents posed as beggars and prostitutes, some actually were, and some had knives poised and ready under their clothes. One simple nod with no eye contact was the key that led to the doors near the sewer. Once in the main corridor below, Heathen, the old red minotaur, was waiting for him, spider-wand out and scimitar sheathed.
“Balric, Captain of the Guard, to see Johnas.”
He stated his business only by producing the parchment, and let the one horned brute check him for enchantments and hidden blades, none of which he had. Heathen opened the left door, always a good sign, for the Harlian spy knew all too well what lay beyond the right. That pit was used to be rid of those that had outlived any viable servitude to the Prince, and that decision of value was never reversed once Johnas spoke it. A shimmer of relief came to Balric.
The chamber had stains of blood crossing the foyer, ones that led to the pit. Balric placed his hands upon the hilts of his blades. He walked forward to a smiling prince upon the throne of onyx, jade, and emerald, and stood next to Farrigus, Vanessa, and several other agents and killers of the White Spider. Farrigus, patch over his missing eye and scars riddling his face and beard, shot a foul look toward Balric. The Harlian spy bowed deeply.
“My Prince, you called for me.”
“Yes, Captain, might I interject how well a man of Harlaheim looks in the royal falcon uniform of Chazzrynn.”
His smile was not reassuring, nor was his flattery.
“Thank you, Johnas.”
Balric bowed again, making eye contact with his lover, Vanessa Blackflame. Her black robes and red sashes looked nearly as perfect as her round face and young dark eyes that were deeper than the Vateric Ocean. He had not held her in many nights and longed to be able to steal her away for just an hour or three, to whisper as they did about leaving this place forever.
“I have recently spoken with our foul acquaintance, Salah-Cam, to the south. He proposes a split on the scroll, and whatever other treasures this little band possesses. His only wishes are for the daughter of Lazlette and the scroll, the rest are ours. Kendari of Stillwood is to be eliminated, but Cam says that is handled already. Should he fail, and we must take him ourselves, my price will rise. I agreed to this deal, despite my reluctance to deal at all, and in return Salah has given me some information regarding these travelers. I will require the guard to move into positions to the west of the city, allied by our shapechanging agents, and set a trap for them.”
“When will this occur, my prince?” Farrigus queried.
“Soon. First, we will allow them into the city, to make their arrangements at port. The morning journey to the docks will be hindered by Vanessa, distracted by the disguised agents, and brought down by Balric and Farrigus. Quickly, quietly, and be warned, the reports I have received from the late Dasius indicate that the underestimation of these five is unwise at best.” Johnas paced, smiling as he spoke, tapping his scabbard with each step as if timing his words.
“Why not meet them at the gate when they enter and just take em’ outright, sire?” the scarred killer, Farrigus, spoke up.
“Three reasons, dear Farrigus. One, Kendari of Stillwood. Impossible to detect and he could be anywhere on the outskirts, but he will think twice before sneaking inside the city. Two, there is another elf and a satyr that are near and allies of the five that I hope to lure in with them. Three, they killed over thirty of our men in Vallakazz, in wide open streets eliminating most of our presence there. The wizard is dangerous and needs to be contained, as well as the minotaur. The tight streets here, especially toward the docks, will limit their movements and Lazlette’s magic. They will arrive in daylight, surely, and Chazzrynn forces arresting or killing their own noble blood will surely have all of the king's soldiers here quickly. Lazlette is royalty, one of the founding families of Chazzrynn. Are we clear now?” Still taking small steps a foot in front of the throne, Johnas waited for a response from his trusted killer.
“Like glass, my Prince.”
“Excellent. Vanessa, meet me in my chambers so that we may discuss what you are to do to influence our little trap. Balric get your best men ready, at least fifty. Farrigus, make contact on the north side with the doppelgangers since Gregore is deep in cover on the Altestani ship. Tell them we need at least five for this evening. Understood? Heathen, you stay with me. And someone get riders out to find Jade of the West as I have heard nothing from Southwind Keep for some time now.” His mood like the turbulent ocean, Johnas seemed almost happy now that there was some hunting and some capture on the horizon.
Balric, Farrigus, and Heathen bowed together to their prince, only Balric stayed still, distracted, forgetting the formality. He watched as Vanessa slowly walked, eyes glistening with tears, toward the passage behind the throne that led to Johnas’ personal chambers, and the prince with her. Balric felt his heart sink, hopelessness take over, and then his anger began to flush his face. His hand went to his saber, like many times before, knowing that he would be doing the world and his heart a favor by killing this wretch of a prince. The timing however, would see him dead as well, every instance so far. He had to wait.
“She’s not for you to have Harlian, she’s the Prince’s toy…heh heh.”
Balric drew his saber and shortblade, still looking ahead at the shadow of Vanessa in the candlelit passageway. He turned his guard up, as Farrigus drew his longsword. The wicked grin only pushed him harder, and Balric attacked with both blades lunging ahead as Farrigus backed up. The longblade of the killer cut horizontally near the spy’s nose, missing with a whoosh as the Harlian swordsman’s quick motions averted contact. His shortblade came out to counter any attacks and his saber began to weave cuts up and down at the torso of Farrigus.
“Jealousy, not a quality a killer should have. Tell me…”
Their blades met again and again, spinning around each other in fevered hate, sparks spitting off of steel.
“Does it bother you when she moans for him, or do you think she fakes it?” Farrigus spit on the floor with a smile.
“Bastard scum!” Another cut deflected down, and Balric moved in with his shortsword pressed against the neck of his enemy. He felt, at the same moment, a dagger pressed against his throat, from under the tight quarters between the two. Farrigus had drawn a hidden weapon and was ready to cut should he be cut.
“Would you bleed out for her, for that little whore?” Farrigus whispered.
“No, but I would bleed if it meant seeing your corpse upon the floor first.”
The two swordsmen glared, eye to eye, blades at each others throats, anger dripping from Balric’s face and hate spilling from his every breath. Farrigus smiled, “You know what he really does with her in that chamber now…I could tell you, every motion of it.”
“Aaaarghh! Shut your mouth, fiend!” The pain was too much, his thoughts raced with images of cutting this man's throat, despite the dagger at his own.
“Enough!” Two heavy hands placed on their shoulders, the minotaur towered nearly two feet over them both. “The Prince’s business is his own and this chamber is not for killing, unless I do it! You have your orders, now get out!”
The men lowered their blades, sheathed their swords, and backed up from each other a few steps, not even blinking to avoid taking their gaze off of the other. One cut from Heathen would put either one of them in half. Yet they felt such mutual hate that leaving seemed nearly impossible.
“The Harlian seems to fancy the Prince’s whore, Heathen...”
“Enough, Farrigus! Leave now or I will remove you!” Heathen placed his hand on his scimitar and pointed toward the doors.
“Very well. But remember, I will be next on the list for the Emerald Eight. So, Harlian, anytime you wish to continue, have your funeral arrangements made.” The foul one-eyed killer of the White Spider, one of many, strode out the doors, chuckling to himself all the way.
Balric went to walk after him, into the streets, but a scimitar almost as tall as he, drawn by the minotaur, blocked his passage.
“You would do well to hide your feelings for the lady, Harlian. The Prince does not trust you already, you know this, and your position gives you no leverage to go after Farrigus. In fact, you are in a tight spot. I would advise you to stay away from Lady Blackflame, no matter what has gone on between you, for your sake, and hers,” he huffed, sheathing his oversized blade once more, and took two steps back.
“Understood and appreciated, my friend.” Balric knew his affair was no secret to some of the circles here in the capital of the criminal guild. He hoped his allegiance to the church was still unknown. Balric knew that Heathen was a contact for escaped minotaurs, had caught him sneaking a few through tunnels. They were freed slaves from arenas, and Balric had said not a word.
“I am not your friend, Balric. I think you are a spy from the king’s court in Harlaheim, and so does the Prince. Should that be the case, I will delight in throwing you into that pit with Dasius and many others to rot with you. Your loyalty and skills are the only things keeping you alive right now, do not tempt me to inform Johnas of your affair.”
“Well put, minotaur. And I shall say nothing of your smuggling. I will take my leave.”
“Take a long leave, do as the prince demands, and find a whore or three.” Heathen rested back in his spot.
Balric strode out of the inner sanctum of the White Spider, his legs weak and sha
king with fear. His heart heavy with sorrow and anger he could not displace nor put closure to. His mind raced on how to get Vanessa from here, to make it out and get to Harlaheim safely. His mind saw only her round face, perfect high tan cheeks, and her long midnight hair that crossed over her dark almond shaped eyes with the slightest wind. Their nights in Harlaheim had been nothing short of passionate, and he knew she was a prisoner here as well, acting her part until the time was right. Just like him.
Balric still did not know the names and details of the Altestani business or the exact contacts of the White Spider in other kingdoms, Johnas had kept that information from him. Until he knew, he was safe nowhere, not even at home. He walked back to the barracks, head down, watching for Farrigus to appear from around a corner. Every wretch, whore, shopkeeper, anyone he saw could be a set of eyes for the Prince. The Prince who was taking his woman against her will, and the anger stirred more.
Balric D’Vrelle wracked his mind, searching for an answer, trying to tie loose ends together, attempting to have faith that he could get what he needed for the church and get out. Years in Harlaheim, Willborne, Shanador, and finally Chazzrynn had him so very close. Under cover for the Aldane, for a sect of the church few bishops even knew existed, Balric sometimes forgot who he used to be. He began to plan his attack on Prince Johnas Valhera, which would be the fastest way to get out with Vanessa. It would also make him the most wanted man by the White Spider, and the kingdom of Chazzrynn. Balric sat in the barracks and weighed his options, balancing love and danger, evil and murder, mission and secrecy.
“Guard!”
“Yes, Captain D’Vrelle.”
“Bring me our best archers.”
“We received word from the web, we are watching the west for a troupe of fugitives that---“
“No, I have a change in plans.” Balric had decided. It was time to kill the most dangerous man in Chazzrynn.
