by Jason Jones
“I offer nothing, and if you let that one-horned, dishonored old wretch walk behind me again, I shall kill him and toss his remaining horn at your feet.” Anger flared, mixed with disgust, as the brown stared at Heathen, eyeing his broken horn. He spat after eyeing his old scars, his age from head to toe, and his disgrace in serving a human.
“Careful visitor, Heathen has killed more men than you can imagine. I may enjoy seeing your arrogance put to the pit.” Johnas realized that this one was much bigger, younger, stronger, and more eager for blood than his bodyguard had been in almost two decades, since the Prince was young. Either way, he would take advantage of who won and benefit from death, as he always had.
“Heathen, is it?” Chalas snorted.
“It is. A well known name on the surface, known for butchery beyond your hole under the west, brown cousin,” Heathen growled.
“Known for aiding escaped minotaurs in return for pay.” Chalas spit on the ground before the throne again.
“Mind your words, visitor.” Heathen glared.
“I should rid you of this filth, human, I would even kill it for free.”
“Prince Johnas Valhera will do, instead of human. Watch your tongue. Heathen has killed hundreds in my service.”
“Well, Prince Johnas, I have killed most of his cousins, hundreds of ogre, and countless men. A true killer has a need for blood, not numbers.”
“Perhaps the two of you should decide who serves me, then.”
“I do not serve.” Chalas growled.
Heathen stood, deep in thought, listening to the arrogant competitors speaking of his fate as if he were not even present, and in fact, he was not. His orders, all the people he had put to death, his one loss to a minotaur in the north, and now the prince who he had served for nearly two decades was bartering with his life as if he were a mere possession. All these years, he had been the fear behind the Prince’s word, the blade of his wrath and decrees, and the enforcer of his will. The old red reached into his belt pouch, pulled out the key he had taken, and placed it on a lantern ledge and feigned to lean on it for support. He stared at Vanessa until she looked back, making sure the prince did not notice, but letting her know where the key was as he patted his hand and nodded. He had fought his kind before, and this beast of a warrior was intimidating, even to his veteran composure. Heathen knew he had better out move and outthink him to have any chance. He had thought of several prideful retorts to the insults this brown kinsman was making, but he had neither the care nor energy to voice them.
The side door to the rest of the underground complex of the White Spider flung open, showing a bleeding Farrigus, limping through, longsword in hand. “My Prince, they have survived the ambush, heading for the docks!”
Johnas stood up slowly, pacing, staring at the floor and tapping his fingers gently on the emerald pommel of his sword. His brow furrowed in deep concentration. “And how did this occur, dear Farrigus?” The thought of what usually resulted in such failure came across his mind, and thrusting his blade through the man would be satisfying, yet Farrigus had killed many and done well in the past. The prince waited for an answer, not much caring about the bleeding man, just what information he could offer.
“The wizard, Lazlette, she killed most of the doppelgangers with powerful magicks and her dwarven ally. The knight of Southwind and the minotaur were unstoppable, and the elven swordswoman is nearly as trained as myself in the blade. They are injured, my prince, but I fear we will need…” he slumped to the ground, dizzy and weary from his injuries, blood dripping onto the stone.
“Nearly? If she were nearly as skilled as you, she would be dead and you would have less bleeding, I would presume.” Johnas threw a wicked glance at the man trying to glorify himself after failing.
“Yes, my prince,” his face lowered, keeping his hand on the wound in his stomach.
“Where is the minotaur? He is mine.” Chalas turned to the feeble assassin, walking toward him without care or concern, much like Johnas.
“Heathen, it seems someone here wishes to take your place as my bloodthirsty minotaur, unless you would contend with him.” Johnas saw in this brown horned killer the minotaur that Heathen used to be, that he needed. There was no use for two, not when one could be glorified and built into the perfect killing weapon. Heathen the red had lost his zeal, his edge, and was reserved and lazy. And if he were wrong, the Prince would keep the old red warrior around a bit longer.
“My Prince, I have spilt far too much blood for you to even accept a challenge from a visitor. Perhaps another time. I will keep guard here while the young one plays about the city.” Heathen looked down at his blade, knowing that his answer would not satisfy the prince, nor Chalas, only himself.
“I need to keep Kaya in hiding for some time now, until she can show her face again in Chazzrynn. She can guard the White Spider. Will you fight for the honor of serving me? I have no room for two minotaurs here, only one.”
“I have some matters to attend to, Prince Johnas, then I will escort this visitor to the docks to claim his prize. We can fight after he has what he came for, but you may find his desire to serve you much less once he leaves the city with the gray one.” Heathen's reasoning could not be argued, for the challenge from an unproven visitor was seldom respected.
As the Prince nodded to Chalas and Kaya in honor of a wise answer, the old red guardian grabbed the key to Balric’s cell and put it back in his belt. “I will meet you outside the docks, stranger, and mind your tongue until I see it fit you speak.”
“Old bull, I will split your chest wide open with one cut…”
Heathen snorted, chuckled, and walked out of the room to the northern exit.
“Very well, calm down gentlemen. Vanessa, take your men and your remaining archers and head to the docks. Stop them if you reach them in time. If not, board the Queen Sapphire, our fastest Valhirst naval ship, and follow whatever leaves the docks next. I will have some shapechangers guised as crew and Farrigus will accompany you. Get my priests and get his injuries tended quickly.” Johnas paced, in his element, giving orders, planning outcomes, being generally devious.
“Chalas, follow Heathen below and see what he is up to, then go with him and begin searching for your minotaur prize on the ships. Come back here regardless, and we will talk of your skills within my house and your future.”
“Not likely.” Chalas snorted.
“Kaya, send word to the Altestani ship. Ask for Gregore there. Tell him I need the Queen Sapphire trailed, and that they follow the scroll. That should get our northern nobles from the great empire to act quickly and get them out of Valhirst. Tell that old doppelganger wizard to use any means necessary.”
All bowed, all except Chalas Kalaza. The brown gladiator bowed to no one, and never would. He stared at the robed woman, who was staring back at him, he had no idea why, but she and the red shared a glance that no one but he had noticed. Curious, he walked out the side entrance to follow old Heathen.
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Arrows rained like an unforgiving storm onto the docks. James held the rear with shield high in the misty gloom of the arcane. Sweet, salty air brushed them all, as did the sight of a score of ships lined along the waterside city. Merchants took cover from the reckless city guard that fired upon their targets through the magical mist. The commotion rising from behind the troupe was a constant murmur of shouts and affirmations that the city wanted them for something. The worn and warped wooden piers stretched out, curving and long, around Emerald Harbor, the waves crashing under them, floating the smells of the green and blue waters of the Carisian Sea into the massive stone city.
“On the left Saberrak, the one with the winged woman on the red flag, the Bronze Harpy! Go!” Shinayne, still holding her wounded arm, crouched behind Zen's shield as they marched toward their freedom under a hail of crossbow fire from the port towers.
The minotaur noted the large vessels, many men scurrying about moving ropes, hoisting t
hings, and some even staring at the docks in wonder of the battle that seemed to be getting closer. Every ship looked the same to him, then he saw the winged woman on the front of one of them.
“I see it. I also see a woman with many men right behind us. This is not over yet.” Saberrak stopped at the gang plank of the Bronze Harpy, looking up, axes in hand, and he met eyes with an old man.
The Captain of the ship, a stout man from Loucas, was aged and grizzled, dressed in loose clothing and topped with long gray hair tied back. His red and white clothes and brown jacket were unkempt, his cutlass had spots of rust and seaweed dried to the scabbard, and his teeth were as yellow as the corn in late summer.
“Who the hell be you nearin' my ship, minotaur? Be gone now, very busy here!”
“I am with the elf, old man. Step aside.” Saberrak lowered his head, his gaze above his horn tattoos piercing through any front of intimidation this old crab had left.
“You bring a lot of trouble with ye, not fond of that, but get aboard ye big beast, and hurry up!” Captain Dennilar peered over the bow of the ship, spotting the rest coming to the plank, and seeing the archers following.
“And what do you s’pose we do about them, huh? City guard coming to board me ship, an I don’t be wantin none o’ that this early in the day, damn ye!”
Gwenneth, walking fine on her own now, turned and walked back, waiting for the elven noble, the priest, and James to pass her. Her eyes closed and she saw the arrows stop from the far away guard towers, now out of reach, so she let go of the warm haze of obscurement. She let go her energies of protection and sense, feeling her mind and body ripen without the magical drain of so much at once. Gwenne faced an approaching black robed woman, younger and darker skinned, noting the wand in her hand and the dozen archers marching behind her. The mist vanished and she began to chant as the others boarded the ship, full of cuts and wounds from battle.
Vanessa saw the gray minotaur board a ship and she followed the docks. Right behind was a noble elven woman, a knight of Southwind, and a dwarf. The daughter of Lazlette was not boarding the ship, but approaching her directly. She raised her hand and halted the archers, one hundred feet before the daughter of Lazlette.
“Be ready men, fire on my order,” Vanessa pointed ahead.
“Fingrinis fealties nil!” Gwenneth's fingers wove a pattern of a circle as her staff glowed white and shimmered with the sun in front of her and the sea at her back. A white pulsing light, round and immense that covered the walkway like a giant white shield began to form. It appeared, unmoving and firm, nearly fifteen feet high. She took a deep breath, knowing the wizard in front of her would dispel it quickly as it was a novice spell of protection, and she hoped that she did.
Vanessa raised her hand and stopped, the archers stopping in formation behind her. Her arcane sight saw the mystical shield for what it was. “Novice. And I heard you were powerful, Gwenneth Lazlette.” Vanessa spoke to herself.
Ignoring the commotion of onlookers, Gwenneth Lazlette opened her eyes, noting the patient men waiting in line behind this young female student of the arts, waiting for her to bypass the spell that blocked them. She breathed deep, reciting a painful incantation in the ancient arcane tongue. “Visiri van volishiri, helvra vilivanai…” electricity began to crackle in the air, and pins and needles ripped through her right hand.
Vanessa Blackflame chanted and traced with her wand a rudimentary spell of undoing, focusing on the shield of clear white energy. She had never seen the spell cover such an immense size that quickly, but nevertheless, it blocked her path.
“When the barrier drops, fire upon the wizard and then we board and arrest! Understood?” The men all nodded to Vanessa, readied their crossbows, and took aim.
“What is she doing? Trying to get herself killed?” James looked at the others aboard the ship. Zen was crouched in prayer and pain alongside Shinayne. Saberrak stared, axes in hand, waiting to see if he would have to charge the walkway, watching Gwenne face off against another wizard and over a dozen archers, alone. The knight waited too, watching to see what the minotaur did, as much as the readied guards.
“She is fine,” Saberrak said coldly, plainly, as if it were fact, not opinion. “Get this thing ready to make out into the water.”
“How do you know that?” James questioned the minotaur's confidence in her, knowing that he had only been on the surface world less than a fortnight now. “She is exhausted, she could be killed, you have no way…”
“Her eyes, composure, steadiness. Reminds me of myself before a battle. She knows exactly what she is doing, knight.” Saberrak breathed out a sigh, and turned to walk to the others aboard this floating mass of wood. He noted the crew staring as they hurried to loose the vessel from the dock.
James stayed ready at the edge of the gang plank, not sure if he should charge or not. Despite the sureness of the gray horned warrior, he marched down the wooden ramp, and drew his broadsword to stand with Gwenneth.
“You are under arrest by order of Lady Blackflame, and by order of the Prince of Valhirst! Stand down, woman!” one of the guards spoke for the wizard he served as she focused on the blocking magicks. More guards filtered in behind them, rows and rows of Valhirst men now behind Vanessa.
The shield began to sparkle and fade. Gwenneth’s eyes fixed on the younger woman's across the walkway, watching for the flinch of her eyes, a motion to fire. Vanessa’s head began to turn to the left, giving away that her spell was complete, all the sign the prodigal Lazlette needed to unleash her magic upon the enemies before her.
“Volishir Valishan Vidrinius!” Her fingers, numb from stored arcane energies, pointed from her right hand, while blue arcs of lightning from the sky ripped into her dark oak staff held in the other hand.
“Get down, now!” Vanessa turned back to look and threw her wand and staff in front of her body.
Faster than a fast moving storm, blue and white lightning seared from her fingers, sawing the wooden planks in half as it traversed from Gwenneth through the line of men, and even the opposing woman herself. Arcane defenses went up, but had not the power to halt the force hurled at Vanessa. The barrier shattered with arcane power, arrows that had been launched were incinerated with arcing electrical force, and the screams went to the air as one horrifying plea for life.
No noise issued from the blast, the silent fissure of splintering wood, and screams of men that did not dive off the walkway into the sea were the only sound. Their bodies shot through, howls of terror from onlookers filled the air as the unheard bolt did its work. In the blink of an eye, it was gone, leaving twenty dead men twitching on the ripped wooden walkway, and a young female wizard holding her face and sliding off the ruptured planks into the waves below. Thunder roared from the clear winter sky moments later, low and dull, as if from far away, yet guided here in pursuit of the lightning that had been created without its permission.
Gwenneth Lazlette turned toward the ship, and walked past the knight who was still behind her, shield raised and eyes wide in disbelief.
“James…I…”
“What in Alden’s name was that?” his hand trembling, having felt the energy from the sky, tingling and crackling through the air surrounding the wizard, he had been close enough to sense that something powerful had just occurred. James saw the remaining men in full flight from the crashing bridge at their feet. He steadied Gwenneth as she stumbled a step, then she nodded to him and walked on her own.
“Lightning, James Andellis, just a little lightning.” Gwenneth continued to board the ship, archers and commoners alike fleeing in any direction as the scarred portion of the pier fell into the waters. Gwenne was weak, eyes closing, but smiling at finally being able to unleash all her pent up energy and test herself as never before.
“All aboard, get us out o’ Valhirst men, they'll be talkin bout this for some time, be certain o’ that.” Captain Dennilar limped about pushing the men to get back to work as most of them were staring at the black robed woman tha
t had just destroyed half the docks. They were in awe of a wizard that had called thunder and lightning from a clear day and wielded it like a deadly blade of the heavens.
Saberrak nodded to Gwenneth, noting her superior attitude, much like his own at times. He looked toward the priest, laying his hands and prayers on Shinayne’s arm, and James Andellis, gazing at the sky, seeming at peace with himself, finally.
“Nice work, Lady of Lazlette.”
“Thank you, minotaur.”
“Fine bladework back there, James.” Shinayne nodded to their human friend.
“Likewise, Lady Shinayne.” James lifted his eyes toward her, all of them grinning as the ship made berth into the Carisian Sea.
Never having seen a ship, an open sea, or how any of the surface world moved and lived till the last week, the minotaur took it all in. He also watched the humans of the crew, noticing that two of them were not able to take their eyes off of Shinayne. At first he thought of her beauty drawing their eyes, dark eyes indeed. Yet something stirred in his chest, warning him that it was not mere attraction that drew these two. Saberrak the Gray kept them in sight and smell, trying to discern the intentions of their attention to the elven swordswoman. He felt unease, yet could not convince himself of why. He steadied himself, as the ship gave anchor, and began to drift out into the cold green waters.
A friendly smack on his shoulder broke his trance for a moment.
“We made it horned one, we made it.” Shinayne smiled.
Saberrak looked back, men scrambling on the scorched docks, getting smaller by the moment.
“Where are we heading?” Saberrak looked north to the open waters.
“Harlaheim,” Shinayne responded with a gesturing hand northeast. “the kingdom of the crown and rose. It will be warmer there, though not by much.”
