The warlord will be pleased. I must summon one of her lieutenants to seize the boy. Soon, I will be Captain Riquier, perhaps colonel, even. Yes, that would be most fitting… the hero of the empire, he who captured the boy the emperor himself feared.
Riquier could almost taste the promotion and all the glory that came with it. He would build an elegant manor on the bay, along with a harem filled with the most beautiful women from all across Easilon.
His thoughts were interrupted when he nearly collided with a squad of Nebaran soldiers. Ten men with swords and crossbows were methodically carrying out their orders, going house to house in search of townsfolk to slaughter when he ran into them.
“You men! With me! I’m changing your orders.”
The men snapped to attention when they saw his rank and fell in behind him.
“Where’s the warlord’s Triad?” he snapped.
The men’s faces turned fearful, and more than one made a protective sign at the mention of the fiends.
“The cloaked one is with the warlord,” one of the men said, a grizzled veteran. “I know not where the winged one is, but the other was near the gates, last I saw.”
Riquier’s lips twisted into a cold smile. “That one will do.” He withdrew an item from his belt, a twisted spiral of black horn with an iron mouthpiece on it. After a deep breath, he blew the horn.
It emitted no audible sound, merely a deep vibration that could be clearly felt, as if his very bones were reverberating from the tone. A peculiar weightless sensation briefly filled Riquier’s gut, similar to what he remembered from cliff diving into the sea as a young boy.
One of the younger soldiers turned and retched on the ground. The soldiers’ faces were pale as they watched Riquier, unnerved by the magical summons.
He lowered the horn and replaced it on his belt. After a few heartbeats, the fog swirled and was sucked into a point of darkness that formed at head height, just past one of the men’s shoulders. The man cursed and leaped away, quickly distancing himself from the spot.
The blackness expanded then resolved itself into the warlord’s monstrous lieutenant. The fiend was twice the height of a man, its body covered with tough chitinous plates, and its massive arms ended in wicked pincers. The face was batlike, with an elongated maw of needle-sharp teeth and huge ears. Its pincers dripped blood.
“Why have you summoned me, human?” the fiend known as Bliezahr asked, its voice a deep rumble. Its pincers snapped together with loud, unnerving clacking.
Riquier’s mouth had suddenly gone dry, and he needed a couple tries to get any words out. “The boy… the magic user the warlord is searching for. I’ve located him!”
Bliezahr’s small head rotated, and it sniffed the air. “Where?”
“At an inn to the north—I will show you. You men, follow.” Riquier started off north again, back toward the tavern.
The Nebaran soldiers fell in close on his heels, having no desire to get any nearer to the demon than necessary. The ground shuddered beneath its massive feet as Bliezahr followed.
Riquier could barely contain his excitement. The boy would be his and, soon after, the spoils.
***
Taren immediately came to respect his new companions. Creel was decisive and deadly with a blade, a survivor who clearly knew his way in the world. The girl Ferret was brave and helpful, advising Creel on the best path while maintaining a watchful eye on Taren. Enna, who seemed to have the most to lose, was understandably worried about losing her husband and home, but once she was committed to escaping the city with the others, she forced down her fears and displayed a steely resolve he could only envy.
The route they initially planned to take through the back alley was blocked by burning rubble from the next building over. They were forced to cut up the side street beside the inn and back toward the center of town.
Creel led a fast pace, remaining in the lead, sword in hand. He dispatched a lone Nebaran with a quick slash of his longsword then waved them forward.
Taren’s head was pounding, and he felt as though he needed to sleep for another day, yet he felt a fierce pride at what he’d accomplished. He’d been able to control the magic and save a majority of the folk in the inn. Creel’s sudden arrival had been a fortuitous blessing as well. He just hoped his presence wouldn’t get the others killed, for he’d felt a cold fear clench his gut upon discovering Lieutenant Riquier must have escaped during the melee.
Creel waved them to a halt as he listened intently. Taren reached out and steadied himself against the wall of a home. He slipped into his second sight, and what he saw made him gasp.
“What is it?” Ferret peered at him with concern.
“There’s a large number of troops pouring in from the main gate,” Taren warned Creel.
The warrior didn’t question him but simply nodded. “How many?”
The auras of the men had merged into a bonfire. He shook his head. “I don’t know—enough to secure the town and rout the encampment outside. Thousands.”
He briefly wondered if Elyas was all right. The big man had been excited to finally be able to do some soldiering. He could look out for himself well enough, but with the treachery and chaos from the sneak attack and these unfavorable odds…
“Let’s go.”
Creel’s order brought Taren back to the present, and he ran after the others. Elyas would have to fend for himself. Taren needed to focus on his own survival and would be fortunate if he made it through the night alive.
They ran for a couple blocks, unchallenged. Shouts and cries and the ring of steel on steel issued from the fog, the sounds distorted and locations difficult to judge.
A squad of Nebarans appeared out of the fog without warning from a street to their right. Creel instantly moved to intercept them, but there were too many. Taren grabbed Enna’s arm and pulled her to one side, the barmaid just avoiding the swipe of a blade. Taren grasped the attacker’s sword arm and struggled with him a moment, but the Nebaran was stronger than Taren, especially in his weakened state. The soldier wrenched his arm free, swinging his elbow back around and striking Taren in the jaw. He slipped and fell in the muck, jaw aching. The soldier raised his sword to run him through.
Ferret slammed into the Nebaran from one side, her dagger stabbing swiftly. With a grunt of pain, the soldier stumbled away, holding his ribs as blood leaked through his fingers. He snarled and raised his sword again, intending to strike Ferret, but Taren kicked him in the shin. The man hopped back with a curse.
Then Creel was there. He was already battling two other soldiers, another pair bleeding out on the ground, but he reversed his sword and thrust behind him, plunging his red-tinted blade into the wounded man’s back. He withdrew his sword, bringing it back around, the keen longsword humming through the air as it knocked aside another man’s thrust and then chopped into the second Nebaran’s head, caving in his helm as if it were parchment. Creel shouldered into the last man, stepping on his foot and driving him to the ground. He ran him through as he lay prone.
Taren and the others could only watch the impressive swordsmanship in stunned silence.
“Come on,” Creel barked.
Taren scrambled back to his feet and followed the others. They cut left toward where he thought the center of the city might be, but he was too disoriented to know for sure. Shouts and the sounds of combat were coming from the direction they had left behind, and he realized Creel must have very good hearing.
Houses loomed out of the fog on both sides, larger two-story structures that bespoke wealthy owners. The mist cleared a bit as they continued on without encountering any Nebarans.
Taren suddenly felt an uneasiness steal over him, an unnatural chill. He slipped back into his second sight and saw an alarming sight in the direction they were traveling.
“Stop!” he shouted. “We can’t get through that way.” A large pulsing red aura of something monstrous loomed in that direction.
Creel slowed, peering into the mist as
a roaring shriek sounded ahead, making all of them suddenly stop and exchange nervous glances. “Right. Are we close to the edge of town yet?” he asked Ferret. When the girl nodded, he said, “Let’s go through here.” Creel kicked open the door of the nearest home, a large manse, likely a merchant’s.
Taren expected cries of outrage when Creel went through the door, but none came. He followed the others and quickly came to realize they weren’t the first ones to have broken in.
“Oh, gods!” Enna covered her mouth with her hands.
A family had been butchered in a parlor to their left, apparently while on their knees and pleading for their lives. A mother, a father, and three small children lay in a pool of blood on the polished wooden floor.
“We can’t do anything for them,” Creel said when the others balked, but not ungently. “Let’s keep moving.” He took Enna’s arm, guiding her toward the rear of the home.
“There’s a window through here,” Ferret called, waving them into an adjoining study. A picture window looked out onto a walled garden in the back of the house.
Creel picked up a padded armchair and hurled it through the window. Glass tinkled and fell outward in a shower. Ferret nimbly vaulted through. Creel helped Enna over the sill then turned to Taren.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Don’t wait for me.”
Creel shrugged and leaped through into the garden.
Taren leaned on a sturdy walnut desk to catch his breath, noting the scores of books lining the shelves with longing. There’s got to be a fortune worth of books here—certainly a wealth of knowledge. Reluctantly, he turned toward the window and followed the others into the garden.
Ferret had already unlatched a gate across the yard and was peering into the alleyway. She waved them forward. The same awful bestial roar came from somewhere behind them, giving them a renewed sense of urgency. Screams of utter terror quickly followed. They took the narrow alley to the left and, at the next street, turned right again to put some distance between themselves and the monstrous creature they had sensed.
A knot of fighting in the street ahead forced them back to their right. After a couple blocks, Taren was starting to think they had evaded the remaining Nebarans and might get away, when the fog thinned out and they skidded to a halt in an intersection, a crescent of foes blocking the way, many with crossbows loaded and aimed directly at them.
Lieutenant Riquier stood at the center of roughly a dozen men. His hair had been burned off the left side of his head, leaving the skin an angry, blistered red. His dark eyes bored hatefully into Taren.
“At last! Step forward, boy!” Riquier commanded.
Taren exchanged glances with his companions. He didn’t think he could buy their escape by turning himself over but knew they’d be riddled with quarrels if he resisted. He took a step forward, but Ferret put a hand on his arm.
“Nay, don’t,” she warned.
Creel’s face was hard, eyes calculating as he glanced from Taren to the Nebarans. For a moment, he feared Creel might turn him over to Riquier and bargain for the release of the others, but he seemed to realize they’d be killed either way. The warrior cursed but kept his sword raised.
Taren tried to summon the magic again. He could sense it, feeling it just out of reach, but it remained elusive when he tried to summon it. His head swam, and he thought if he somehow did manage to wield it, the effort would likely render him unconscious, as it had back in Ryedale.
“Seize the boy, and kill the others,” Riquier snarled.
***
Mira knocked aside a sword stroke with her staff. She kicked the soldier in the belly, and he reeled back, bent over. Her fist snapped out and struck the second fighter’s jaw, sending him down on his backside. A quick jab of the staff to the head knocked him unconscious.
Kennitt’s short sword slid through the first man’s ribs, sending him staggering away into the mist.
All around them was chaos in the gray mist. Shouts rang out, and boots pounded the muddy ground.
“Which way, Mira? We’re about to be surrounded,” Kennitt warned.
She stilled her senses a moment, focusing on the peculiar tugging sensation. “North.” At least, she thought north was to the left, but that was the direction the Weave was drawing her, so that was the way she went.
Kennitt grunted and followed as she ran through the thick fog, slowing her pace enough for the old ranger to keep up. A powerful urgency that Taren was in imminent danger made her want to run as fast as she could, but she didn’t want to get separated from Kennitt, either.
An awful shrieking roar issued from the fog nearby—behind them, she thought. Mira felt a crawling sensation on her skin from the horrific sound, as if she’d rolled around on an anthill. Something was out there, something that was anathema to the Balance. She had no desire to encounter whatever had made that sound.
A Nebaran loomed out of the mist, and she brought her staff down upon his head before he could react. The man crumpled to the ground and disappeared as she raced onward. The tugging sensation increased, and she knew she neared her goal.
“Step forward, boy!” a voice shouted from ahead.
The mist thinned ahead, and Mira slowed to a stop. Before her stood an arc of soldiers facing to her right. Most had crossbows aimed at a group of four people.
Mira’s eyes were drawn immediately to the young man she sought. He was there, behind the others, looking pale and exhausted. His companions were a hard-faced man in leather armor, whom she recognized as the criminal from the cage outside the gates, and a pair of young women.
Kennitt stopped beside Mira. He looked from her to the others. “I suppose we have to get through them in order to reach your lad, eh?”
Mira was about to reply but realized she was out of time when the Nebaran officer gave the next order.
“Seize the boy, and kill the others.”
Mira didn’t have time to think—she simply reacted.
***
In the instant Taren feared his companions would be killed in a hail of quarrels, a figure dressed in gray seemed to appear from nowhere as though a manifestation of the fog itself. The stranger stormed into the left flank of the soldiers with a sharp cry, startling the Nebarans and drawing the attention of the two leftmost crossbowmen.
A staff lashed out, striking the nearest man’s crossbow and knocking it upward. The jostled weapon released its bolt high into the air harmlessly. The stranger twirled the staff, and the opposite end cracked the man in the temple, dropping him. The next crossbowman took aim, but the staff whirled again, smacking the inside of the man’s elbow, dropping the weapon down, its bolt thudding into the fallen soldier’s leg. The crossbowman reeled back after a swift thrust of the staff’s end crushed his throat.
The rest of the Nebarans turned reflexively to face this new threat. An arrow sprouted from the throat of the crossbowman to Riquier’s left.
The remaining three crossbowmen all loosed their quarrels at their attacker with the staff, who Taren saw was a young woman. In a stunning display of reflexes, she somehow arched backward, throwing herself out of the way as a trio of quarrels streaked past where she had been an instant earlier.
An arrow flew back out of the fog in response, thudding into another Nebaran’s chest.
Creel took advantage of the distraction and charged. Taren barely noticed as he cut down two men in an instant, for his attention was drawn to the impressive young woman with the staff.
She was a blur, spinning and striking with the staff and also with her feet and fists. Within seconds, the majority of the soldiers were stumbling away and falling around her, wounded and stunned, some even unconscious or dead.
Riquier looked shocked to see his men reduced from a dozen to only four within seconds. The embattled Nebarans fell back, forming a defensive knot.
“Bliezahr!” the lieutenant cried. “Aid us at once! I have the boy!” He fumbled for a shiny black item on his belt.
The ground seemed to ru
mble, and Taren felt that awful presence approach. The mist streamed away, revealing a hulking monstrosity twice the height of a man walking on four jointed, crablike legs. Huge pincered arms clacked together as the chitin-armored beast lumbered toward them. Its eyes were piss yellow and set in a batlike head that was too small for the enormous body.
“What the Abyss is that?” Ferret asked, her words strangled with terror.
Taren had no answer although he suspected Ferret’s statement was on the mark as far as the beast’s origin. The creature clearly wasn’t of the natural world—he could tell from the ill red aura pulsing around it.
“Kill them, and capture the boy, Bliezahr,” Riquier ordered.
The fiend swiveled its head to glare at Riquier. “Do not think you command me, fool mortal,” it growled, the deep voice the sound of boulders grinding together.
Ferret’s arm whipped out suddenly, the motion drawing Taren’s attention. Riquier abruptly grasped the side of his neck, and Taren saw the small knife embedded there.
The lieutenant croaked something unintelligible as blood spurted through his fingers. The remaining four Nebarans looked nervously from Riquier to Bliezahr to Creel and the young woman. They promptly turned and fled into the fog.
Bliezahr made a hacking sound that could have been laughter at Riquier’s fate. The lieutenant was stumbling away, blood soaking his surcoat.
“Got that bastard,” Ferret muttered, but instead of looking pleased, she looked terrified.
The fiend’s baleful gaze fell upon Taren, and it scuttled forward, pincers raised threateningly. “Whelp of the Whore of Nexus! I claim you as my prize.”
“You claim nothing,” the young woman with the staff said firmly. She lunged forward, and her staff whipped out in a complicated patterns of strikes and jabs. The staff clacked loudly as it struck the fiend’s chitinous plates. After a flurry of blows, she backed away, face dismayed.
Bliezahr was unaffected. It roared its laughter again then lunged at her. An enormous pincer, which looked as though it could snap an ox in half, slammed into the soft ground, lodging about a foot deep. The young woman had sprung backward out of the way.
Scions of Nexus Page 38
