“Many have tried,” Alther said. “The staff of Aljeron is a relic that would be priceless to a collector, and if the legends are true a terrible danger in the hands of a magic user. The site of the final battle of the Void War has been lost for millennia. Villagers picking mushrooms and the like occasionally stumble across relics like our friend here, but the actual site of the battle has never been found. According to myth, Aljeron climbed atop a mage’s tower, and sealed the rift with his staff and power. He succeeded, but all trace of him vanished from history. Some say he threw himself into the Void to close it; others say that the magic involved vaporised him, leaving only his staff behind where it lies to this day,”
“Enough of the history lesson, we’re losing daylight,” Ferran said impatiently.
They moved deeper into the forest. As they made their way through the thick undergrowth, an oppressive feeling came over them. This time, Ferran raised a hand to call the halt.
“You hear that?” he asked, tilting his head.
The faint sound of voices carried through the trees.
Ferran gestured to the others and together they headed toward the sound. As they got closer the voices grew louder. They crawled closer until they could see three cloaked figures arguing.
“I told you,” snapped a familiar-sounding woman. “Now the lady’s plan is in jeopardy. The undead failed, the useless Witch Hunters failed, and now more Nightblades are likely to be on their way. We should have killed that old fool, and not relied on the corpses of stupid villagers to do it.”
It was the same woman Alther had encountered on his last trip into the forest.
“Why do you think we’re the rearguard?” growled the man with the deep voice. “It’s a punishment is what is it. Put on rearguard duty, despite the fact we found the tower. It should be us that finds the staff, not those upstarts.”
“Upstarts?” said the other man. “Those guys gave me the creeps. They never said anything about those weirdos when we joined.”
“I know you’ve not been a part of the cult for long, boy, so I shall let that comment slide. Those weirdoes are the devoted. Woe be to any Nightblade that tangles with them.”
As the N’Gist bickered, Ferran nodded to Sophia. The Witch Hunter carefully slipped away to take up a position where she could strike. Ferran and Alther took their Tourmaline blades from their belts and rose into crouches to wait. A few moments passed, and the N’gist continued to argue. Suddenly one of them cried out and dropped to the ground, a barbed arrow jutting out of the back of his neck.
With a roar, Ferran and Alther burst out from their hiding place and charged at the other surprised cultists. As Ferran ran, he unleashed a telekinetic blast that sent the woman flying backwards, striking a tree. The sickening crack of her bones breaking told them that she was out of the fight.
The final N’gist was more prepared. With quick reflexes, he raised a magical shield to deflect Alther’s own attack. The blast ripped through the forest, sending leaves and branches flying in all directions. The Nightblades summoned their blades into life and took up positions on either side of the cultist.
“Surrender! You can’t beat two Nightblades, and a Witch Hunter who’s a crack shot has her bow trained on you.”
The cultist glanced from Ferran to Alther and back again. His hands were raised and charged with magical power. The Nightblades were ready to defend against any strike.
“I will not betray the lady. You’re just going to have to kill me!”
An arrow lanced out from the trees and punched into the cultist’s leg. Ferran dashed forward and placed a gloved hand tightly over the cultist’s mouth. The man tried to scream out in pain, but instead his cries were muffled. Ferran pulled the cultist’s hood down roughly to reveal the face of a young man. Pain-induced tears flowed from his eyes.
“Tell us what we need to know or I’ll signal for her to put an arrow in your other leg.”
The man nodded in understanding. Carefully Ferran lifted his hand.
“Please … please don’t … it’s not worth it,” the man panted.
“Who are you?” Alther asked, his hands on his hips.
“My name is Ciro. I was a mage in Caldaria.”
Alther raised his eyebrows at the revelation.
“So, it is true,” Ferran said. “Mages are sneaking out of Caldaria. The last time I was in the city, there were rumours that mages were disappearing. Seems as though we found one. Were the others from Caldaria too?”
Ciro nodded.
“We escaped that prison together. The people fear us and lock us away in that bloody city. All we wanted was our freedom,” he spat.
“You call joining the N’gist, freedom?” Alther scoffed.
“They gave us shelter when no other would. The lady promised us power beyond our wildest dreams and a chance for some payback. My brother was killed by peasants just because he was gifted with magic. I would have shared his fate but my mother sent me to Caldaria. Sure, I was safe, but I was nothing more than a prisoner.”
“The foolishness of youth,” Alther tutted.
Ferran tightened his grip on Ciro’s collar. He, too, had once thought of Caldaria as a prison, but his years as a Nightblade had made him come to appreciate the safety offered by its crystal walls. The young man in his grip was nothing but a foolish kid, a kid brainwashed by a cult.
“You can limp away from this alive; just tell us where the tower is, and who this lady is that you keep mentioning.”
Ciro winced at the pain in his leg.
“Okay, okay … we were sent here to search for an ancient mage tower. The lady sent us here as a test of our faith. Jezebel there,” he said, pointing to the woman’s body that lay at the base of a tree, “was an Acolyte. Higher rank than me and Grim, she was to test us. Everything was going to plan until I messed up and lost control of that Banshee. If it hadn’t killed that little lad, then he would never have come snooping,” he added, pointing to Alther.
“The tower. Where is it?” Ferran pressed again.
“It’s a mile in that direction. When we found it, Jezebel sent word to the lady. She will be coming. Soon she will have the staff of Aljeron!”
“Who is the lady?” Ferran growled, his patience was wearing thin.
“She is more powerful than you, she will kill you all,” Ciro chuckled.
Alther walked over to them and placed a hand on Ciro’s head. He uttered an incantation, and within seconds the N’gist was unconsciousness, the sleep spell having taken effect. Ferran let go of Ciro and dropped him to the ground.
“We won’t get anything else from him. Come on, we have to reach the tower.”
* * *
The ancient mage tower was difficult to spot amongst the thick undergrowth. Its worn and weathered stone was covered in moss. Of the tower itself, only the spire remained visible on the surface. Two Witch Hunters stood on top, their crossbows held at the ready. A flickering orange light came from below suggesting that people were inside the ruins.
Sophia climbed a nearby tree to get a height advantage on the Hunters. From her perch in the branches, she would be able to pick them off one by one. Ferran and Alther, meanwhile, crept carefully through the brush until they reached the base of the tower. A large crack in its wall was the way inside. The bottom half of the tower had been buried long ago by the forest.
Once in place, Sophia made a low whistle to signal to the others that she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she closed one eye and aimed her bow. Two shots in two seconds. She couldn’t afford to miss. She pulled back the bow’s cord and let her instincts kick in. One of the Hunters had turned his back on his colleague. She released the breath at the same moment she loosed the cord. The deadly arrow lanced down from the trees and struck one Hunter in the throat. The Hunter clawed feebly at his ravaged neck and the sounds caused the other to spin about. He didn’t even have a chance to shout a warning as a second arrow struck him right between the eyes and penetrated his skull. Both Hunters collapse
d to the ground. No alarm had been raised.
Alther and Ferran moved into the tower. Inside was a stone staircase that led downwards. Hanging on one of the moss covered walls was a flickering torch. Of the N’gist and Witch Hunters, there was no sign.
“Must be further in. Come on,” Alther said, leading the way down the steps and into darkness.
The descent felt like forever, but eventually a glimmer of light could be seen. The stairs ended and they stepped into a massive open space. The tower had been an entranceway into a much bigger complex underground. To the Nightblades’ surprise, ancient magical lights were still active and casting their glow. At the far end of the room were the ruined remains of what once had been a spectacular mosaic. Made of thousands of pieces of precious stones, the image on its surface was that of a wizard holding his staff.
“Aljeron, no doubt,” Alther explained quietly. “It is said that he was famously vain and loved to show off his greatness at every opportunity. This must have been where he prepared his ritual for sealing the rift. The mage tower above us was the very spot where the Void was first opened; it was where the rift was concentrated. The Nivor must have tunnelled their way underneath and built this chamber. Incredible to do so right under the Fell Beast’s nose.”
“Most Fell Beasts are mindless monsters, can’t imagine they would have been able to stop them from doing so,” Ferran replied, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger. Sure enough, he focused on an archway that led to another part of the complex. Had he seen movement?
He tapped Alther on the chest and gestured toward the archway. They moved towards it, their swords at the ready. Passing through the archway they entered a smaller but equally impressive antechamber with numerous passageways leading off of it.
Etched onto the walls next to the passageways were a series of X’s.
All of the passageways with an X next to it were dark. However, one had a light flickering. The light cast by a torch suggested that the N’gist were down it.
“They’ve searched all the others. The X’s must be to indicate that they haven’t found what they were looking for,” Alther guessed. “Which means this passageway may lead us to the staff.”
They spun, weapons drawn at the sound of footsteps. Both men let out a sigh of relief as Sophia appeared out of the gloom.
“They must be down there,” Ferran said, pointing to the passageway with the flickering light. “Stay close.”
They moved stealthily down the passageway until it opened out into another wide open chamber. A pile of rubble dominated one side of it.
Witch Hunters and N’gist were digging through the pile with pickaxes and shovels. It was a bizarre sight for Sophia and the others to see. Normally both sides would, or should, be killing each other.
Overseeing the dig was a tall man dressed in the garb of a Witch Hunter. His tri-corn hat was decorated in the silver sigil of the order ,and his long overcoat had the lapels of rank upon the shoulders.
“Father,” Sophia gasped softly.
Ferran placed a hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was to warn her or to comfort himself. Seeing the man who had condemned his mother as a witch and who had ruined his life after so many years made him feel a surge of both anger and fear.
“I think I have something!” shouted one of the diggers excitedly. The others stopped digging and hurried over to help. After a few moments, they pulled something out of the pile.
“This is it! Finally! Send word to the lady that we have it.”
The digger held a golden rod in his hands.
Elias strode over and snatched it out of his grasp.
At first, it looked too small to be a staff, but then the Hunter twisted it. With a snap, the rod extended until it over three feet in length.
“The staff of Aljeron,” Alther whispered in awe.
Elias smiled, before twisting it again to shrink it back into the short golden rod. He tucked it into his coat pocket and then whistled.
Ferran tensed. The diggers looked around in confusion as out of the shadows stepped the familiar crimson-cloaked killers they had encountered in Ridderford. Without mercy, they drew daggers and set about butchering the diggers. Sophia cried out – those men were her fellow Hunters.
Elias spun to face the new sound. His eyes grew wide in surprise at seeing his daughter, but then narrowed as he spotted the Nightblades. Without a word, he turned and fled the chamber.
“We have to stop him,” Alther cried. “The N’gist must not get the staff!”
The older Nightblade shoved Ferran and Sophia forward.
“Go, I’ll hold off these vermin,” he said, stepping into the chamber and igniting his Tourmaline blade. The silver light cast the chamber in a mysterious glow that only heightened the scariness of the crimson-cloaked killers who were finishing their grim work slaying the Witch Hunters.
Ferran grabbed Sophia’s hand, and together they chased after Elias, whose running footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the passageway in which they now ran down. The passage turned right and then left and right again. The place was a maze. Only Ferran’s keen sense of hearing prevented them losing their quarry. As they ran through the warren of passageways, the sound of battle followed them.
* * *
Alther enhanced his body with magic. If the crimson-cloaked men were what he suspected, he would need all of his power and more than a little luck to win. There were three of the killers stalking towards him, but he was not afraid. In his long years, he had faced worse odds and emerged alive.
“That was when you weren’t a decrepit old fool,” he thought with a wry smile.
Most Nightblades did not get to live as long as he had. He had outlived all of his peers by a considerable margin. Most had been slain by Fell Beasts over the years. He had come close to a similar fate more times than he would care to remember. The scars that marked his body were testament to many near misses and close calls. From the relatively harmless Pucks, to the most feared Fell Beasts of them all, the Necrist, he had survived and they had not.
He slipped into a fighting stance, his front leg bent slightly and his back left straight. He centred his weight and rose to the balls of his feet. To fight such a foe as the ones he now faced, he would have to be quick.
The cloaked figures stalked toward him slowly. Even they knew the reputation of the Nightblades. They knew that they were not facing some upstart knight errant or wannabe hero.
Alther whispered a spell under his breath and raised his sword.
The first attacker came at him from the side, taking him by surprise. With mere inches to spare, he narrowly dodged the tip of the deadly dagger aimed at his throat. As he dodged, pain lanced into his flank as another of attacker struck from the opposing side with a violent kick that sent the Nightblade flying through the air. Alther crashed to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Without the enhance spell he had cast moments before, his ribs would have been shattered.
“Supernatural strength and speed,” he coughed, spitting blood onto the stone floor. “So, my guess was right. You are Crimson Blades Assassins.”
The third Crimson Blade launched himself high into the air, a leap that no normal man could have made, for he crossed the entirety of the chamber in a single bound. Alther raised his blade, deflecting the savage downward thrust of the Blade’s dagger.
Closing his eyes slightly, he channelled the magic within him. He felt strength wash through him and flipped back onto his feet. It was a move that an old man had no right doing, and for a moment the Crimson Blade hesitated. It was the moment Alther needed. He darted forward, and as he did so chucked his sword from his right hand into his left and swung the glowing sword in a wide cut. It cleaved through the stunned Crimson Blade’s torso, cutting him clear in two. The squelching sound of body parts thudding onto stone reverberated around the chamber.
The two remaining assassins looked at each other, before focusing their gaze on the Nightblade.
With magic still pu
mping through his veins, Alther dove forward into a roll and snatched up the dagger dropped by his fallen foe. As he came up from the roll, he threw the dagger with all his might at the closest Crimson Blade. He watched the dagger fly, but it never struck its target. With terrifyingly quick reflexes, the assassin caught it nimbly and threw it back.
Alther cried out as the dagger pierced the armour on his shoulder. He staggered backwards, and the second assassin pressed the attack. He parried a savage thrust aimed at his heart and countered with a head butt that sent the assassin reeling away in pain. Stars exploded before Alther’s eyes. He shook his head to clear it. The other assassin attacked, this time with an overhead strike. Alther stepped forward and raised his sword, the blade slicing through the assassin’s arm, sending it wheeling through the air.
The assassin made no sound. They didn’t scream even through their arm had just been lobbed off. To Alther, that was the most unsettling thing about them. He shouted out in pain as the now one-armed man kick him hard in the chest.
He’s still coming for me! he thought in disbelief. These are not men, but monsters!
The assassin tried to kick again, but this time Alther struck off the leg. The Crimson Blade tumbled to the floor. Now one-armed and one-legged, it still tried to attack. Alther stood over it and thrust down with his sword to still it for good.
He stood over the Blade’s body, panting. Even with magic, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. The final Crimson Blade stood out of reach, watching him silently.
“Come on then!” Alther challenged, his breathing heavy.
The assassin shook its head slowly.
“No need, old man,” it hissed in a raspy voice. “Nature will do the job for me.”
“What does that me— ack” Alther cried out, his hand gripping his chest. Pain shot through his body as the heart attack struck. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his lungs; the pain was unbearable.
Tears streamed down his face from the pain as he sank to his knees. Darkness took him.
The Nightblade_Tales of Delfinnia Page 15
