Death Mark

by Robert J. Schwalb

  The spirits did not answer.

  She struggled to find the words to evoke them, to call them forth, but they were like dim memories, fragments and nothing more. She could grasp them with her mind but could not hold them long enough to speak them aloud. She groaned. No matter how hard she tried, the spirits would not answer. Her pouch containing her ingredients had been destroyed. She had nothing left, no connection to the world except for the oaths she had spoken.

  Her anger grew and the stones in the walls shook and rattled. A new power awakened in her numbed body, a dreadful force that shocked her. Anger, outrage, and hatred were its source, and with it, she could get the vengeance she craved and make good on the promise she made.

  Korvak annihilated the mul where he stood in the shattered frame that had once been Talara Vordon’s front door. The thug’s body flew apart in chunks of meat and bone, painting the walls with blood and organs. Korvak stood so fast, his chair fell backward. He drew power from the life force he sensed in Alaeda and Talara, turning flowers in a vase to dust as he gathered magical energy for the next attack.

  Another guard, a human, rounded the corner, showing more caution than the first. He managed to squeeze off a shot from his crossbow before black energy flung him off the walkway to drop him three floors, where he landed with a splash in the courtyard below.

  “Get in there, cowards!” shrieked a voice from outside.

  “Is there any other way out of here?” asked Alaeda.

  “Can you fly?” said Talara, panicked.

  Two more guards wearing black and red rushed in through the door, each holding spiked clubs. Korvak blasted one. He spun away. The second nicked him before Alaeda rammed her blade between his ribs. The guard slid down, blood frothing his lips. Before he hit the floor, more soldiers spilled into the room, six in all. Talara retreated to the balcony; Alaeda stood next to Korvak.

  The guards filed in, ignoring the dead, and formed a half circle, weapons held at the ready. A blond elf followed them in.

  “Galadan!” hissed Alaeda.

  “There you are. I was worried,” he said.

  “Scum!” she said.

  “Now, now,” he shot back.

  “Enough of this,” said Korvak.

  “Agreed,” said Galadan.

  “Seems we’re stuck,” said Alaeda.

  Korvak shrugged.

  “I’m impressed, templar. You killed a few and in a most spectacular fashion, I might add. How many more do you think you could kill before my men here cut you down? One, three?”

  “Maybe. I promise you’d be one of them.”

  Galadan rewarded him with a frosty smile.

  “My business is not with you, templar. It’s with her,” he nodded to Talara. She was busy tying knots into a sheet she had grabbed while they were fighting.

  “Not on your life,” said Alaeda.

  Galadan looked past Alaeda and said, “Talara, I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to make a deal.”

  Korvak thought it an interesting offer.

  “Ignore him. He’s a liar and a traitor,” said Alaeda.

  “You keep calling me a traitor. What, might I ask, is a Stel agent doing with Talara Vordon, hmm?”

  Alaeda snarled.

  No one moved. Korvak said, “You said something about a deal?”

  The elf nodded. “Thaxos wants you dead for some reason. In fact, he wants you both dead. Good work, by the way, with the thug my patron sent to tuck you in. I have worked for Vordon long enough, though, to know as soon as I’m no longer useful, he’ll kill me too.”

  “So she’s insurance. Is that it?”

  The elf nodded. “You—and just you, Lady Vordon—will come with me. We’ll vacation at Silver Spring for a few days, and then we can go our separate ways. The rest of you, you’re free to go. Now how does that sound?”

  “Sounds bad,” said Alaeda.

  Korvak agreed but he kept silent. The elf was right. He could kill one or two more and still kill the elf. If he did, the surviving guards would just kill them anyway. He was about to speak up when Talara said, “I’ll go.”

  What the hell are you playing at?” whispered Alaeda.

  “Shut up, you,” said the guard behind her. He prodded her with his spear butt, shoving her forward a few steps.

  As she had suspected, Galadan wasn’t about to let her go. He let the templar walk, which he did without even a wave. But Galadan rounded up Alaeda in the end, no matter how much Talara protested. They were tied up with giant-hair rope and being marched down the steps.

  Galadan gloated. He smiled at Alaeda and brushed her cheek with his hand. He pawed her like an adolescent boy until Alaeda bit his hand. She ripped the skin as he pulled away. The soldiers then beat her until Talara begged them to stop. They jerked Alaeda to her feet and pushed her forward. Blood dribbled down her chin, more Galadan’s blood than Alaeda’s own.

  He was still nursing his hand when they reached the courtyard. Two guards moved to the entrance while the remaining four watched Talara and Alaeda.

  “Let’s go, already,” said Galadan to his guards.

  “No so fast, elf,” said a shrill voice from overhead.

  Galadan staggered and scanned the walkways.

  A giggling noise bounced around the courtyard walls almost masking the slight clicking of booted footfalls.

  “Who’s there?” Galadan shrieked.

  “My master knew you would betray him. I doubted. I thought you were too frightened to turn against us. After all we had done for you, elf.” The voice said “elf” like a curse.

  “I haven’t betrayed anyone,” he pleaded to the voice. “See, I have her. I have them both!”

  “But I heard you, elf. I heard you through the walls. Everything you said.”

  “You two,” Galadan said to the guards holding Talara, “go. Find whoever that is and kill him.”

  Laughter rang again. Neither soldier moved, a mixture of pity and scorn on their faces.

  “Oh, no.” Alaeda laughed. “Looks like you’ve been double-crossed yourself.”

  “Shut up, bitch!” he yelled as he struck her. Alaeda didn’t fall. She spit out a tooth. It bounced off Galadan’s chest and clinked on the bricks.

  “Bind him,” said the voice, its owner coming into view. It was the halfling Watari, Thaxos Vordon’s henchman.

  The soldiers took Galadan by the arms. He resisted. He fought. One broke his finger. The other punched him in the gut. The elf crumpled, weeping.

  The halfling wore a uniform reminiscent of something Thaxos Vordon might wear, a button-down jacket, snug breeches tucked into leather riding boots. He circled them all, inspecting them with a critical eye, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped. “My master wants you all dead, so you will die. Since it has fallen to me to do the deed, I will do it in my way. You may relax for now. It will be hours yet before I get to the last of you.

  “Come,” he said to the guards, clicking his tongue as if the sturdy men were beasts. “To my chambers.”

  Thaxos Vordon adjusted his breastplate. It was an antique, a remnant from the first people who had lived in the city before it became Tyr with Kalak’s ancient conquest. No rust spotted the armor. A strange creature stood out embossed in the center. The long sword he carried, also steel, had been his grandfather’s, and it bore a screaming human face on the pommel. It was an exquisite weapon.

  He stood in Iron Square, cleaning the blood from his hands. The firelight played on his polished breastplate, and the screaming from the Stel agents was as music. He had ordered his soldiers to secure the doors and light Stel’s emporium on fire. It was a fatal lesson to those plotting against him and his house, and one Stel was not in a position to avenge since he had billeted a few hundred trained warriors at the Stadium Gate to disperse the mob before they could create any trouble.

  He had just received word that a mob had reached the city. There was fighting between Tithian’s defenders and the attackers. His spies told him the attackers
were, in fact, miners. Vordon had not expected this development. Tithian had kept the mines open after all. He should have been angry. Instead, he used the knowledge to kill any last regrets he had about his actions.

  He glanced over at his soldiers awaiting the next command. He had paid the very best for their services, and they had trained at Vordon compounds all over the region. The commanders arranged the soldiers in tight ranks. They held their spears straight and wore boiled-leather shields strapped to their arms. Most were human, though muls, halfelves, and even a handful of tareks were ready to fight for him as well.

  The fires had become a blaze and swallowed the desperate cries from inside the burning building. He signaled the soldiers, and they marched away toward the two towers rising from the Golden City at the far side of the city. They turned down the side street toward the Brickyards. The city’s watch was there to greet them, a collection of old men and boys left behind to police the city. Thaxos regarded them with a critical eye. Their eyes widened with fear as Vordon’s force spread out into a battle formation, breaking into smaller three-man Vs, two shield bearers with a pikeman in the center. “Kill them and let’s be on with this,” he said.

  Two wedges advanced. The watchmen ran off, dropping their weapons. Thaxos gestured to a rank of archers. As one, they pulled and fired. The watchmen died before they got ten yards.

  “This will be easier than I thought.” He laughed.

  Iron Square was in flames. The fires had consumed everything on the northwestern side and spread out toward the Warrens. She noted the Stel Emporium was among the casualties. People crowded the square. Some gawked. Others risked their lives to fight against the fires. Lines formed, with the leads throwing sand, hoping to smother the flames. People rushed around. No one paid any attention to Watari as he led the way toward the Vordon Emporium, where it had somehow managed to avoid catching fire.

  They moved through the upper chambers, passing what was a showroom of sorts, and into the warehouse beyond the door. The soldiers lit torches to light the way down a flight of steps into the darkness below. They made many turns down almost identical passages, but the halfling never hesitated, never slowed. They walked for some distance until they reached a large open room. The halfling lit a few hanging braziers to shed more light. The illumination revealed tables and wheels, chairs and racks holding bizarre implements, a macabre assortment designed to create pain and bring about agonizing death.

  Alaeda was terrified and she tried to find a way out from the horror the halfling would perform. A guard had disarmed her and tied her hands. She struggled against the knot. It held.

  “Put the women in the cage. Make sure they are comfortable,” he said with a laugh. The thug who had enjoyed beating her after she bit Galadan shoved her inside the cramped cage and tossed Talara in after her. To Galadan, the halfling said, “If you won’t mind, hop up on the table.”

  The elf moaned and struggled in the guards’ iron grip.

  “Very well. Put him on the table.”

  The guards lifted Galadan and laid him out flat. He tried to curl into a ball. The guards held him in place.

  They continued to hold him while Watari took his time putting on his apron and selecting his first tool, a bone scoop stained black from use.

  He started to work on the elf.

  Alaeda had to look away. After the first hour, she covered her ears to drown out the screaming.

  When Korvak raced out from the building, two brawny soldiers caught him by the arms.

  “Where you going in such a hurry?” asked the one to his left.

  They wore no colors, just simple leather jacks and short-bladed swords, pale blades drawn and ready should Korvak resist. He had never seen them before and had no idea where they had come from.

  “Yeah, where you goin’?” snorted the other one, a dull-faced lackwit.

  “Ah, I came to find you. Galadan’s been killed, and Lady Vordon is getting away,” lied Korvak.

  The more cunning of the two guards chuckled. The other relaxed his grip just enough for Korvak to wrench his arm free. Korvak sprayed him in the face with a crackling black energy from his outstretched hand. The man fell, screaming. He clawed at his melting eyes. The other fell back, horror plain on his face.

  “You don’t work for Galadan, do you?” Korvak asked.

  The tough shook his head and stepped back farther.

  Korvak advanced. “Who, then?” He could see flames crawling high into the sky from somewhere down the road.

  “The half—halfling. Watari. Said to catch anyone trying to run away. Don’t hurt me. Please.”

  “Is he here?”

  The man nodded.

  Every instinct told him to run for his life, to put as much distance between himself and the monster who had maimed him. He shuddered, recalling the memories. The guard seized on Korvak’s distraction and ran.

  Korvak let him go. He turned to the door and looked into the courtyard. They hadn’t come down yet. If he ran, he’d be subjecting Talara and Alaeda to the same as he faced, if Watari were behind their capture. Korvak didn’t know what he could do. He was still outnumbered, and the guards would just kill the women if he went back inside. He didn’t care about Alaeda, but he needed Talara if he were going to stop Thaxos.

  He watched the flames rising from the end of the street. He knew it was too late to stop the attack. The fire was all the evidence he needed. Vordon had begun his conquest. He whispered a farewell to the women and ran as fast as could for the Golden City.

  Melech groaned. He pushed himself up, not sure where he was or how he got there. He could open one eye; the other was painful and swollen shut. He was on the street. He heard screaming. Garish light danced on the walls.

  A small hand grabbed his hair and wrenched his head around. He grunted. Kep looked him full in the face then released him. “He’s awake.”

  He recognized his surroundings. It wasn’t far from the Merchant District, the corner of Shadow Path and Ziggurat Row. The strange light came from flames licking the air, rising from what he guessed was Iron Square and the Warrens abutting it.

  “Good.” Footfalls. Torston loomed overhead, glaring at him, fists on his hips. Melech could see Torston’s fists were split and bleeding. Then Melech remembered. Torston had beaten him. Kep had watched. He was sure Torston had been about to beat him to death. He was almost disappointed his master had not. It meant he was in for more pain.

  Melech spit out blood. He felt around his mouth with his finger. He was a few teeth short.

  “Don’t think I’m being merciful, Melech. I’ll still kill you. It can, however, be fast or slow depending on how helpful you are.”

  “Hmm, a tough choice,” muttered Melech.

  Torston kicked him in the ribs.

  “Kep said you could still be useful. You have him to thank for what’s left of your miserable life.”

  Melech managed a bloody smile. He hoped it conveyed all the hatred he had for the smug halfling. It did not have the desired effect. Kep just stood there.

  Torston knelt by Melech. “I always liked you, kid. You had talent. You had a head for the business. I had even once entertained the notion you might take over when I retired. Too bad you had to go and get yourself tangled up with a templar. Those fellas, they’re bad for business.”

  “Sorry to have disappointed you,” mumbled Melech.

  The man laughed. “You were free and clear, Melech. I wouldn’t have followed you. You could have gone anywhere. Sure, the desert might have killed you, but you at least had a chance at making another life for yourself. Why’d you come back?”

  “What, Kep didn’t tell you?”

  He gave the halfling a sidelong look and said, “I’m asking you.”

  Melech considered his words. “Galadan.”

  “The elf? Why whatever for?”

  “I came back to kill him,” said Melech.

  Torston gave a belly laugh and stood up. “You are a fool, Melech. Galadan was a dead man
anyway. If I didn’t kill him, Vordon would have.”

  “I never figured you’d sell out to the merchants,” muttered Melech.

  “Oh, why wouldn’t I? They pay just as well as anyone else.”

  “But you betrayed them,” said Melech.

  “Who? Vordon? Not at all. I did as I was asked. We eliminated the Stel agents and made our money. Shom? You did open the gates, did you not?”

  Melech wasn’t willing to let the matter drop, though. “Those things we let into the city …”

  “Are my partner’s friends. Enough. We need to get down to business, and then I can be about killing you. Kep seems to think you know where I might find Korvak.”

  Melech stammered.

  “Surprised? Don’t be. The templars need to learn to leave my people alone. Korvak overreached himself by using one of my agents. He won’t do it again.”

  Melech owed Korvak nothing. He would hand over the templar in an instant if he knew where he was. He thought Kep knew that. The halfling was no longer watching the exchange. He was looking up the street. Melech followed the halfling’s gaze. There, he thought he saw fighting, men with picks battling Tyr’s guards.

  Then Kep gestured. It was a hand signal. Trust me.

  Melech started laughing. How could he trust the halfling? He had led Torston straight to him. And to poor Poxy.

  “Er … Sure. I can set up a meeting. It’ll take a couple—”

  “No. Now. Take me to him now.”

  Kep must have put that idea in Torston’s head. He must have some place in mind. Kep had not been to any of the meetings. He thought back. Except the first one. The halfling had been just outside the apothecary’s shack.

  “Oh. Sure,” he said. He struggled to his feet and stumbled away from the fighting and the flames for the Warrens. He just hoped Kep had a plan.

  Korvak saw he was too late by the time he reached the stadium. The Golden Tower, the seat of King Tithian’s power, shone with awful light. From its top, magical death rained down. Brilliant fireballs cut white-blue streaks through the darkness, landing with flashes and booms shaking the city. Here and there, lightning lanced out from lower windows. Thunder rolled through the city. Other flashes of color; weird, twitching shadows; and uncountable other bizarre and unsettling magical eruptions surrounded the tower. Rising from the grounds in great billowing clouds were ashes, the greasy detritus thrown up from the wondrous gardens planted to feed their magic.