Lost Lands: The Game - Atlantis

by A. E. McCullough

  “First?” asked Cozad.

  Tao nodded. “I have a lot to tell you but time is not our ally. We need to leave a note for the others and get after Arieal before the trail gets cold.”

  Cozad began to walk back into the grove of trees. “Everything is packed and two wyverns are already saddled. I can get a third ready for Kastle. I already left a note. It was troubling at first. It seems that this avatar doesn’t know how to write but when I let the Edward mindset come forward, I remembered how to write.”

  Tao nodded. “That’ll work and since it’s in English only those from back home would be able to read it. That could prove useful.”

  Cozad nodded. “That was my thinking also.”

  Tao offered him a small smile and patted his friend on the shoulder. “Then let’s get going.”

  Chapter 17

  Gamble, Mathias and Pixi spent their first day in Antioch exploring the city. By modern standards, it wouldn’t really be much of a city. Gamble was from Chattanooga which had a population of about one-hundred seventy-five thousand. Mathias’s hometown of Denver boasted over two million residents. Pixi actually spent the school year in London with her mom and the summers in San Francisco with her dad. Both cities had populations of over seven and a half million. Even with those staggering figures in mind, Antioch was still impressive. They had no way of knowing the exact numbers but they estimated the population to be in the low to mid thousands. It was crowded but as long as they had gold, they were left alone by the ever present guards.

  Pinon’s had been a treasure trove of information. Not only had they been able to purchase a map of Antioch, they got one of Hyperborea with all major towns and trade routes. Pinon the Mapmaker had insisted that it was accurate. However, he balked at the authenticity of the only map of Atlantis. It was supposedly smuggled out by a former slave. Gamble doubted the story but since it was the only map available, they added it to their collection. With a little prodding and a few coins of silver, Pinon also explained the current state of affairs in Antioch.

  The city didn’t have a King or any type of royalty but was run by the five guilds; the Blades, Shields, Wands, Staves and Coins. These guilds represented the five professions of Rogues, Warriors, Wizards, Priests and Merchants. The Guild Council worked with their counterparts to keep the populace in balance and at peace with the Dragon Kings of Atlantis. Every five years, a new Overseer was chosen from the current Guild Council to watch over the city’s affairs. The current chief administrator was on his third term and the guards with the red turbans worked directly for him.

  Pinon looked around before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “Rumors say that Sanguine Bolt is a refugee from Atlantis, even though he doesn’t bear the mark. Of course, he has an awful scar on the right side of his face which could be hiding the mark.” The mapmaker shrugged. “Either way, he was young, talented and very charismatic. Joining the Order, he soon rose to prominence in the Wands. I don’t know if the rumors concerning his origins are true or not but since he assumed the role of Overseer, we haven’t had a single problem with the Dragon Kings.” Pinon waved his hands back and forth. “Some think he’s been in charge too long. There are some that want him gone so we can go to war against the Atlanteans. Not me. War isn’t good for business.”

  Gamble and Mathias digested the information and bid the merchant farewell.

  Their second stop was a local tavern. They found that the ale was in fact very good, not quite a Guinness but extremely refreshing. Gamble and Mathias were careful not to drink too much or ask too many questions at any one location since they didn’t want to draw too much attention to themselves.

  They failed.

  The companions were in their third tavern enjoying a pint when five guards with blood-red turbans walked in and surrounded their table. A quick glance over their shoulders showed that there were at least five other guards blocking the exits. Gamble finished off his ale and dropped one hand to his pouch to draw forth a runestone. He could tell by the feel that it was a flashbang. He would talk but if it came to a fight, he was going to be ready.

  Mathias noted the subtle way the dwarf had dropped his hand and started calculating the angles and the odds. Neither were good but they still had an ace in the hole by the name of Pixi. Since Gamble didn’t speak, Mathias didn’t either and the two companions waited.

  The Guard Sergeant stepped forward, placed both knuckles on the table and leaned forward. “Your presence has been requested.”

  Gamble sat down his empty mug and glared at the guard with an unblinking stare. The four guards behind the sergeant fidgeted nervously. It was obvious that they weren’t used to people not jumping to do their bidding. Finally the dwarf spoke. “I don’t remember asking you to join us at this table. Nor have we broken any laws, so you can’t be here to arrest us.” Gamble lifted his empty mug and waved it at the barkeep. “Now if you don’t mind, my friend and I were enjoying a pint and we prefer to drink alone.”

  Turning away from the guard, Gamble shifted his feet ever so slightly as he readied himself to spring into action.

  The Guard Sergeant was in a quandary. Never in the past five years had anyone refused the request to accompany them but he couldn’t return to his master empty-handed. And what made it worse, the dwarf was correct. They hadn’t broken any laws nor could they compel them by force of arms with all the witnesses in the bar.

  Uncertain of what to do, the sergeant placed his right hand on the dwarf’s shoulders and tried again. “I said that your presence is requested. That was me being polite. You obviously misunderstood this to be an actual request.”

  Gamble glanced down at the hand then back at the sergeant with a completely blank expression. “Youngster, first off I have boots older than you. Secondly, someone should’ve taught you proper manners. You don’t go around manhandling your elders especially if you aren’t arresting them. You’re not arresting me correct?”

  Gamble casually pulled his hand out from under the table.

  The young sergeant grinned. “No sir. You’re not under arrest. I just need…”

  Mathias could tell that Gamble had something palmed and flexed his fingers ever so slightly to loosen them up. Whatever the dwarf had planned, the half-elf expected him to act soon and he wanted to be ready.

  Gamble shrugged his shoulder to throw off the sergeant’s hand and slid out of the booth. “If we aren’t under arrest, then we choose not to accompany you.” Turning his attention to the other patrons in the tavern, the dwarf asked, “Unless it is common practice for guards to take law-abiding citizens away when they hadn’t done anything.”

  From the way the patrons murmured it was obvious that the dwarf had struck a nerve.

  “Since when is it against the law to sit quietly in a tavern and enjoy a pint?” Pointing at a well-dressed patron, Gamble changed his tone to mimic the sergeant. “You shouldn’t be drinking that, come with me.”

  The patrons began to give the red turban guards a hard look but Gamble didn’t stop there.

  Moving over to another table, he leaned his four foot frame on the table in the same manner as the guard sergeant. Staring up at the two warriors sitting at the table, he kept his tone in near perfect mimicry of the sergeant as he said, “Your presence has been requested.”

  Of course, instead of giving the warriors a hard stare, Gamble proceeded to make a mockery of the guard by his ever changing facial expressions.

  The warriors and the patrons laughed.

  The red turban guards looked around confused. When they had entered, the patrons were cowed and fearful. Now they were laughing at them. It was a hard pill to swallow. The sergeant’s face was flush with anger. He stepped forward and grabbed Gamble’s arm roughly.

  The dwarf had been expecting this reaction and called out in English, “Flash!”

  As soon as the sergeant spun him around, Gamble closed his eyes and threw the stone on the floor. Both Pixi and Mathias heard the skald’s warning in time to close their
eyes. Since no one else in the tavern understood English, they quickly fell victim to the runestone’s magic.

  As the stone hit the floor, two mighty spells went off in close secession. A blinding flash of light followed by a loud boom echoed in the tavern room. Even the three companions who had been expecting the spells’ effects were slightly disoriented by the spell. It was so loud and forceful, that it rattled their teeth. The guards and patrons who hadn’t been prepared for the medieval flashbang were completely blind and disoriented for several minutes at least.

  The companions didn’t waste a moment and fled the tavern. In her haste, Pixi even dropped her invisibility for several seconds although no one in the tavern was in any sort of condition to notice. Focusing her attention on following the dwarf, she disappeared once again and sped to catch up to her companions.

  Gamble led them generally west, left down an alley, then right at the next street and then left again. After several minutes, he slipped in behind some crates that were covered by a large tarp and sat down. Mathias joined him seconds later followed by Pixi.

  The faerie landed on the crates and dropped her invisibility. “What was that all about?”

  The dwarf shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Then why didn’t we just go with them? They asked politely.”

  “First off, if they had sent two or three guards to ask us, I would’ve gone without hesitation. That would’ve been a real invitation. Sending ten guards with all exits blocked, that wasn’t a request. It was a summons.”

  Mathias nodded. “Aye. It didn’t feel right to me either. The question remains, why and who wanted us?”

  Gamble shook his head. “Well, if Pinon’s information was right, they were sent by the city’s chief administrator, Sanguine Bolt. But personally, I don’t care. We are leaving Antioch tonight.”

  Pixi said, “But we still have two days until we are supposed to meet up with Tao.”

  “Doesn’t matter. If this Bolt character really wants us, he will try again. The guards couldn’t rush us since we were in a public place and they underestimated us. We can’t count on that happening again.”

  Mathias asked, “What’s the plan?”

  Gamble said, “Simple. We hold up here until nightfall and slip out. Either over the walls, through a gate or by boat. It doesn’t matter but come sunrise, we need to be out of Antioch.”

  * * * * *

  The young sergeant and his fellow guards knelt before a heavily cloaked figure with a blood-red cheche; which was a type of turban and veil which concealed everything but the eyes. They had failed to complete their assigned task and they were unsure what punishment the volatile guildmaster would inflict.

  Caressing the bone handle of his wand, Sanguine Bolt asked once more. “Are you sure they didn’t say anything else?”

  The young sergeant racked his brain for anything that might save his head. Suddenly, he recalled something. “The dwarf, he said something right before the explosion.”

  Sanguine Bolt leaned forward. “What was it?”

  The sergeant shook his head. “I don’t know. It was in a language I’ve never heard before. It wasn’t dwarvish or elven of that I am sure.”

  “What did it sound like?”

  “Fla….Fla…sssshhh.”

  “Flash?”

  The sergeant dared to look up in his excitement. “Yes master! That was it!”

  Sanguine Bolt leaned back in his chair. Flash. An English word. He hadn’t heard English uttered in Hyperborea in over a decade. Waving his hand to dismiss his guards, the chief administrator took the time to contemplate the implications. A dwarf that knew English and had access to rune magic could only mean that Al Shaytan had brought another group across. Ringing the brass gong next to his throne, two servants sprinted in to do his bidding.

  “Draw up and post a reward for the capture of this dwarf and his half-elf companion; five hundred gold pieces if captured alive…fifteen if dead.”

  The scribe cleared his throat. “Pardon me master but did you mean fifteen hundred?”

  Sanguine Bolt shook his head. “No. On second thought, make it fifteen silver pieces. I want these two ruffians alive and if the reward for dead was higher, it would be easier just to kill them for the bounty. I want the hunters to realize how much gold they’ll lose if they disappoint me.”

  The scribe nodded his head. “Yes m’lord. They shall be posted around town within the hour.”

  Sanguine Bolt leaned back in his throne, deep in thought about home and not for the first time.

  * * * * *

  Tariq al’Nasir al’Rafiq wondered, and not for the first time, what possessed him to leap onto the underside of the black knight’s squire’s horse? Internally he knew it was a desperate act of penance for his assassination of Roland. He was truly committed to trying to rescue Calli. He just didn’t know why in the world he was still hanging onto the front breast collar of a galloping horse. Of course, if he let go now, he would be trampled underfoot and that would tend to ruin his day. His wounds throbbed and ached but he forced those thoughts aside. At this current time, it took all of his concentration to do two things; keep up the spell that kept him invisible and hold on for dear life.

  Just when he thought that he wouldn’t be able to hold on for any longer, the horses slowed down to a walk.

  Tariq opened his eyes to find that they had entered what looked to be a large military camp with white tents and plenty of soldiers.

  The horses came to a stop near the center of the camp and the black knight dismounted. Moving up to the squire’s other horse, he casually lifted off the bound form of Calli and entered a large tent without a word to anyone. The well-armed and armored guards on both sides of the entrance had come to attention and saluted with their pikes. Once the knight commander was inside, the guards shifted back into their more relaxed but still very attentive position.

  The rider of Tariq’s horse hopped down and grabbed the reins of his master’s horse and led the three weary steeds off. Unsure of where to go exactly, the assassin waited until they passed behind a large tent with several wagons parked behind it before dropping off. Rolling underneath one of the wagons, he crawled the few feet until he was next to the tent wall and out of sight before collapsing.

  Tariq wasn’t sure how long he lay there but it was dark when he opened his eyes. Struggling into a sitting position, he studied the camp. Torches and lanterns were lit all around the camp. This really wouldn’t complicate his mission, both light sources created flickering shadows which to an assassin was as good as darkness. However, Tariq was weak. Weaker than any other time in his life that he could remember. He felt worse than the time he had run, well actually jogged and walked, the Boston marathon.

  Tariq checked the wound on his shoulder. He could hardly move his left arm but the good news was that the gash was only oozing blood instead of running free. Reaching behind with his good hand, he found the wound in his lower back and his hand came away coated in bright red blood. This wasn’t good. Now he knew why he was so weak. He’d lost more blood than he realized.

  Pulling out some gauze from one of his pouches, he shoved it into his tunic over the wound as best as he could. Sticking his wounded arm inside his tunic, he wiped the blood from his hand on his already filthy robes. Pulling out his enchanted katar, he dialed up one of his most deadly poisons. Taking a deep breath, he summoned up a hidden reserve of strength and slipped into the shadows.

  Tariq al’Nasir al’Rafiq of the Hashāshīn Order was going hunting and beware to anyone who crossed his path.

  * * * * *

  Cassie cursed herself over and over at her foolish behavior. She’d known better than to rush into the open like some lovesick schoolgirl. But she had. Seeing her husband after nearly four years had overwhelmed any sort of rational thought. Thinking back to their brief encounter, she was sure he hadn’t recognized her. Of course, she wasn’t his Cassie anymore. She was different. She was Callistra, the vampyress, killer of i
nnocents.

  She wasn’t even sure how Patrick’s sense of honor would handle the fact that for her to survive in this land, she needed to drink blood. Only time would tell, but she forced herself to think of herself as Calli. It was a subtle reminder of the changes in her.

  Turning her attention back to her dire situation, she studied her surroundings. The knight commander had dropped her just inside his tent and went about his business without a single word to her. Of course, she was still bound by the magical webs and without her wand, she couldn’t dispel them. She took a deep breath as she considered her lost wand…again. If she ever got out of this, her powers would be severely limited. At least, she knew how to construct one now, that is if she lived through this.

  She was unsure how long she lay there. It was late afternoon when she was carried inside but now it was dark. Servants had arrived to light the lanterns inside the black knight’s tent. With the new lighting she took some time to study her adversary.

  He was tall and handsome in a rough sort of way but his face and eyes seemed incapable of showing any emotion. When some of his subordinates had been inside the tent, one of them had cracked a crude joke. Everyone laughed, including the Grand Marshal but his smile and laughter seemed forced. His eyes were cold, like those of a shark. The evening meal came and went and still he ignored her. There was a constant flow of soldiers in and out of the tent. It was obvious that the Peacekeepers were up to something. If Calli had to guess, it would be that they were staging an invasion or a major military campaign.

  Near midnight, he focused his attention on her. Grabbing a chair, he reversed it and sat down where he could stare at her. Rubbing his chin, “Now my dear, what am I to do with you?”

  Since she was still gagged, Calli took that as a rhetorical question and did nothing but return his stare.

  After a minute or two, he clapped his hands loudly and two knights dressed in the white tabards of novice Peacekeepers walked in. One had his left arm in a sling and the other seemed to be favoring his left side. The Grand Marshal fixed his eyes on them and gave them the once over before commanding, “Your names?”