by Matt Moss
The shadow reeled upright, catching one man by the back of the neck with one hand, his sword gripped in the other. He kicked the second man, adding to the momentum, causing him to fall face down on the sand. The man yelled and cursed against the shadow’s hold, but it was no use. The shadow tightened his grip on the man’s sword hand and twisted the blade to face him. He slowly forced it towards his neck.
“Wait, wait!” the man cried.
With fluid motion, the blade punched through the gladiator’s neck and into his skull. His eyes rolled and his body jerked as the blood flowed down the the blade. The man on the ground turned in time to see the horror, his eyes widening at the carnage.
He scrambled to his feet and bravely held the sword at ready. “Come then, demon bastard! Finish it!”
The man in black let the body go to convulse on the ground. He walked to the man and pressed his chest against tip of the sword. The last gladiator stood, frozen in place and shaking uncontrollably. He met the demon’s cold gaze and his resolve melted. The sword slipped from his hands and fell with a thud. He reluctantly fell to his knees, head down. “Just finish it,” he sobbed.
The man in black regarded him for a moment, taking in the sight of a gladiator on his knees, crying. A man who just forsook his honor and the honor of his brothers. All for the promise of glory. All for the pleasure of men.
The shadow reached out and held the man’s head with both hands. The man shook with sobs as tears fell to the sand in what he knew would be his last fleeting moment. He looked up to see the demon’s face one last time. His neck twisted and snapped in the shadow’s hands and his body fell to the side.
The man in black looked up for the first time. He gazed around at all the people in the arena. The crowd stood silent and in awe at the brutality of the Season finale and the skill that he had shown. He looked at the sand and the dead men that decorated it. The silence ended in thundering applause as he made for the center of the arena.
Governor Hebron clapped in earnest, proudly looking down upon the champion.
His voice boomed. “Congratulations, gladiator! You stand victorious and deserving of all glory. There will be tales of this day generations from now. Your name will echo throughout time upon their voices!”
The man in black briefly regarded the governor before untying his jerkin. Reaching within, he pulled a silk ebony pouch and clutched it to his bare chest.
“Please, do us the honor in telling us your name,” Hebron requested.
The man in the arena spilled the contents into his hand. Two stones emanated — one purple, one green. He closed his eyes and held one stone to the sky. A beam shot into the heavens — violet in color, surrounded by wisps of black smoke.
Everyone looked on in amazement. They stood in awe for a moment until the beam of light disappeared.
Hebron knew what it was. He’d heard reports about the attack in Kingsport, still recent on people’s tongues. Surely others had heard of it as well and knew that the same was about to happen here. It was no matter, because it was too late. They stood and watched as the man pulled the glowing stone down. He held it chest high with a shaking fist as the stone grew brighter.
Dark purple wisps began to flow from the stone. They swirled about the sand before lurching up the walls to spread throughout the arena. The wisps twisted and intertwined themselves through and around the people. Suddenly, the crowd changed shape and chaos ensued. They began killing — men, women, children — all ripped apart by one another with their bare hands. Countless bodies fell among the steps and spilled onto the sand from the rampage.
On the governor’s balcony, Mattias lie dead in a pool of blood as Hebron pummeled the boy’s head over and over in a fit of rage.
After a long moment, the stone faded away and the wisps dissipated into the air. Only a handful of people were left standing as nearly everyone in the arena was either dead or dying. The man in black tossed the stone aside and breathed deep. He closed his eyes as a green beam shot into the heavens. With the power surging from his fist, he knelt into a crouch and placed the stone to the ground. When the beam vanished, the earth began to shake. A violent cracking sound came from the base of the support pillars that surrounded the arena.
Clear headed now, Hebron stood wide-eyed with bloody hands and took in the horror. As the balcony cracked, he was launched forward. He grabbed the rail and held on tight as the world began to collapse around him.
With a booming yell, the shadow’s power surged. A shockwave of energy blasted through the arena, causing the entire structure to crumble and fall, leaving nothing but a pile of stone and bodies. When the dust finally cleared, he sat on the hallowed ground, in the middle of the devastation. Silence accompanied him as he sobbed uncontrollably.
“I did it for you,” he cried. “I did it for you.”
FIFTEEN
It had been seven days since Arkin reunited with Rico. Since then, Rico had been bringing Arkin up to speed about each of the guild leaders, along with the Resistance’s plans to kill Victor. It would take a miracle to make the plan work, along with all the help that the guilds of Kingsport could offer.
They met in an underground safe house. Arkin felt their eyes upon him.
“Can we trust him?” Hoss said, leader of the Hammers. A gaunt man with massive arms. “Word around town is that there’s a member of the Order here. Folks seen him using evil powers the other day.” He eyed Arkin with trepidation. “And folk don’t take kindly to that sort around here.”
“He had no other choice,” Rico said and threw an arm around Arkin. “You can trust him with your life.”
Arkin nodded, confirming that he could be trusted. “I want the high priest as dead as do you all do, maybe more.”
“Shut your mouth, boy. Who gave you the right to speak? You obnoxious little shit,” another man hissed. Neptune was the name his men gave him, Lord of the Seas, Captain of the Sea Dogs.
“Don’t make me take your other eye, Nep,” Rico said in jest, though it sounded more like a threat. He glared at the Sea Dog in earnest.
“Ha! Alright then, boy. Speak free,” Neptune said and leaned against a bar top.
Arkin shook his head. “That’s it. I got nothing else,” he awkwardly said. It drew a laugh from around the room.
Arkin noticed a man in the corner cross his arms, clearly not amused. Vaylesh, the leader of the Lost Children, regarded Arkin with cold eyes, sizing him up. “Why is he among us? He shouldn’t be here.” Vaylesh asked Rico.
“Because I say that he should be, Vaylesh.” Rico shot back. “And the last time I checked, I’m still in charge. Did you know that your little bastards could have killed him the other day?”
Vaylesh gave a twisted smile, showing a perfect set of ivory teeth among the long raven hair that fell beside his face. “They were just doing their job. They are just children you know. Understand that they mean no offense, just business,” he said looking at Arkin and gave a slight bow of the head.
“None taken,” Arkin replied. First impression, he didn’t like Vaylesh. Arkin’s instincts told him that something was off about the man, and he had come to rely on those instincts more as they seldom lied.
“There. That’s settled,” Lock said, leader of the Knuckles. “Now, can we get to the matter at hand?” The red haired man looked like he’d been a scrapper his whole life with oversized fists and swollen ears, not to mention more scars than Arkin cared to count.
“The matter at hand,” Rico repeated and took his seat at the head of the guild’s table, “is that we have a false king, self proclaimed high priest, to remove from power, and by his head if I have anything to say about it.”
The five guild members and Arkin followed Rico’s lead and sat at the table, chairs sounding as they slid on the stone floor. A detailed map of the city lie spread out before them. The room had been lit by lanterns that hung on the walls. The flames did little to warm the place. It felt cold, reminding Arkin of one of the cellars at the Crossing. He wondered how far
down they had walked as he wasn’t paying attention at the time. Rico had mentioned that there were tunnels underneath Kingsport that not many people knew about. He supposed that’s where they were now.
“He has the trust of the people,” Hoss said. “That will be a problem. I’m not fighting the whole damn city.”
“Aye,” Lock agreed, “along with the men he’s been bringing in. I’ve never seen an army replenish its ranks and then some so fast. He has double the men that he had going into the Grand Highlands.”
“And the bastards are all around town, too,” Neptune jumped in. “Though I can’t complain much, business is good!”
“Drudge is becoming a problem, Nep.” Lock spoke. “People can’t control themselves, so that leaves me and my boys to clean up the streets.” He pulled a handful of tobacco from a pouch and filled his jaw. “Have you ever fought a man that has piss and shit all over himself, and doesn’t even know it?” He looked at Nep as though it was a serious question. “It’ll ‘bout make you gag. And if you’re not careful, the stinking bastard will cold-cock your ass while you’re reeling away. The shit’s getting old, fast. You need to quit bringing it in.”
“How about a commission?” Nep countered.
Lock cocked his head and began to rub his chin. “Suppose that’s fair. Twenty percent would seem about right.”
Neptune moved to protest, but Rico cut him off. “You two can settle that later.” He looked to Lock and Hoss. “Yes, Victor has the people’s trust, and he has amassed an army by promising lies of prosperity to eager ears. But we have the element of surprise. We will strike when he least expects it.”
“What makes you think he doesn’t expect it?” Vaylesh chimed in, his head resting in his hand in what looked like boredom.
“Should he have reason to, Vaylesh?” Neptune spoke. “Have you told your little shits about our plan? You know they like to squeal.”
Vaylesh ignored the man and continued to regard Arkin with curious, cold eyes. Arkin furrowed his brow at the odd, scrawny man and returned a glare of his own.
After a moment, Vaylesh replied. “Not that I know of. My children know nothing.”
Hoss spat on the ground. “You make me sick, Vaylesh.”
Vaylesh met Hoss’s eye and shot a twisted grin in reply.
“Victor has no knowledge of our plans,” Rico assured them. “But we need to act before he does. Malik said the Oracle will prophesy in two days. The whole city will be in attendance.”
“What’s she prophesying this time?” Lock asked and looked to Neptune as if he knew the answer.
Neptune shrugged. “How the hell am I ‘sposed to know. Do I look like a bloody oracle?”
Hoss leaned in his chair. “You know, now that you mention it, I have noticed your hips growing a bit as of late.”
Lock and Arkin both snorted, stifling a laugh.
“Go spit, Hoss,” Neptune chided.
The banter quickly faded and Hoss looked back to Rico. “With the whole city showing up to see the Oracle, wouldn’t that be a bad time for an assassination?” Hoss noted.
“Malik said the event will take place in front of the palace. There, they will be in the open,” Rico said. “If we put two men here,” he pointed to a location on the map, “and two more on the tops of these buildings, that will give us angles.”
“Who’s taking the shot?” Lock asked.
“Arkin’s a damn good shot with a crossbow,” Rico praised and looked to Arkin, to which Arkin nodded his gratitude in reply. “I say he takes it.”
“You sure about that?” Hoss said.
“I’d bet my life on it,” Rico assured.
“Hell, since we’re at it, and probably gonna wind up dead anyway, I say we kill the woman as well,” Neptune stated.
Before anyone could process the words, Vaylesh volunteered. “I’ll take the shot.”
Every eye turned to Vaylesh, then back to Rico. “Makes no difference to me,” Rico said.
Arkin eyed Vaylesh and the wry grin that seemed to always sit on his face.
Neptune stood up. “It’s settled then! Let’s pray for rain,” he said. “A rainy day always makes for better cover. And better killing.”
Rico stood. “The plan we’re about to discuss doesn’t leave the room. No one else from the guilds are to know.” he stated.
Lock nodded in agreement. “It’s for the best. We want an assassination, not a riot. The less who know, the better,” he said, then turned his head and spat into a corner. “Every one of us involved will probably die.” He looked around the table, meeting every man’s eye. “Just making sure that’s understood before we go any further.”
“It must be done,” Hoss said, crossing his massive arms. “For the good of the world. We all know the cost, and I, for one, am willing to pay it.”
“Aye,” Neptune said.
“Aye,” Rico and Arkin agreed. They looked to Vaylesh.
“I suppose,” he surmised.
“Uurs? You’ve held your peace up to this point. What say you?” Hoss asked the leader of the Faceless. Under his cloak, Uurs wore a mask painted to resemble a face. The mask of the Faceless. Rarely speaking, they used alternative methods in their dealings around the capital; mostly dealing with corrupt businessmen and government officials.
“Are you ready to kill a priest king?”
Uurs flipped a small dagger around his fingers and deftly spun it in his palm before slamming it point first into the table. Behind the plaster, Uurs’s eyes danced.
“Is that a yes?” Neptune japed.
“Ha! Looked like a yes to me,” Hoss said.
Rico placed both hands on the table. “Let’s get to it then.”
SIXTEEN
“Is everything ready?” Arkin asked as he moved about the room gathering all the necessities.
“Weapons ready,” Rico replied, checking the inventory spread out on the second floor of Jennie’s house. “Black powder, blades, bows — everything needed for an assassination and a little mayhem.”
“What if we get caught?” Arkin asked as he brought the crossbow up and snugged it against his shoulder, checking the weapon one last time.
“We won’t.”
“Are the guilds ready?”
“Yes. They should be in position now.”
“Why can’t I see Malik before everything goes down? I want to see my cousin.”
“It’s too risky. He’ll meet up with us in the Crossing after it’s done.”
Arkin tucked a few daggers into his belt and slung the crossbow behind his back. He checked his pockets, making sure he had an ample supply of bolts.
“It’s time,” Rico said, tucking two swords behind his back, underneath his cloak. “We need to go. You ready?”
Arkin hid the last blade, nodded, and followed Rico into the street. He bumped shoulders with a few townsfolk as he entered the crowd and earned a few curses in doing so. The crowd was heavier than normal due to the high priest’s unprecedented appearance. The sound of the townsfolk and the smell of smoked meat filled the cobblestone streets the closer they drew to the palace.
They moved through the commotion with relative ease, careful to avoid any of Victor’s soldiers or city guards by slipping in and out of alleyways. Finding their position behind a baker’s shop on main street, they stopped and looked up. Rico threw a grappling hook up for Arkin to climb. “This is you, Arkin. The first shot is yours, just like we settled upon. Nobody makes a move until you pull.”
Arkin grit his teeth and felt the bow tucked within his cloak before grabbing the rope. “You sure everyone is in place?”
“They are,” Rico assured him. “They aren’t Order, but they can be trusted. I trust them.”
“Alright then,” Arkin said. “Rico…”
“Save it for later. After this, I’m sure a beer or two will be in order.”
Arkin pursed his lips knowing that Rico didn’t want to say goodbye. Arkin didn’t want to either. In a short amount of time, he’d alr
eady seen more death than most people ever did, and he was ready for the killing to be over. It would end with Victor.
Rico gave a sharp nod, turned and left to take his position in front of the palace steps.
Arkin climbed the rope and the palace came into full view. From here, there would be a clear view of the proceedings; and a clear shot with a crossbow. Crouching behind a chimney, he readied the weapon. He felt the weight of the world in his hands — wood, steel, death, hope. He closed his eyes and prayed.
“I think I’m due for a little of Your grace.” He opened his eyes and narrowed them upon the palace steps. “You owe me.”
Gong!
The church bell rang, calling attention to the day’s awaited announcement. The palace doors opened and guards began to flow down both sides of the steps, all fully equipped for battle with plate and spear. They marched to create a wall between the crowd and the steps, and still they continued to seep from the palace doors.
Glancing down, Arkin saw Rico melt into the crowd and work his way towards the front disguised in shrouded beggar rags. Arkin’s eyes scanned towards the market and locked onto Hoss with Neptune at his flank. They were in position, awaiting Arkin’s pull of the trigger.
Arkin ran the plan over in his mind. He would take the shot when he felt an opening. As the High Priest fell, Hoss and Neptune would ignite the powder kegs in an alley between two shops, adjacent to the market. Lock and Uurs were to take each side of the palace steps and start the riot inside the mob. This was for distraction, and hopefully nobody would notice them slip away from the fighting.
Rico’s position was to be at the center of the steps. If Arkin’s bolt didn’t do the trick, Rico’s job was to finish off the High Priest, at all costs. Vaylesh was to be positioned on the church side of the palace, atop the inn’s roof. His job was to kill the Oracle with a crossbow, preferably shooting right after Arkin, before the chaos.
Gong!
The High Priest emerged from the door, dressed in his holy white garb, hood pulled over his lowered head. In his right hand, a staff tapped the stone as he walked down the steps. The Oracle followed him, wrapped in a half dress of gold silk that left little to the imagination. An emerald glinted in the sunlight from the ringlet that cradled her head of crimson hair. Karn was the last out of the palace and held his place by the door.
