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Waiting Game (The Chronicles of Covent)

Page 11

by J. L. Ficks


  “A waiting game,” he replied smoothly.

  “Ssstop playing gamess,” Yessheeran hissed, “who’sss your mark now, Ssshade?”

  Shade smirked as he took another sip. He watched in dry amusement out of the corner of his eye as the group of thick-skinned thugs shifted nervously behind him. “That all depends on who wants to play.”

  “The word on the ssstreet is that you’re here to ssslay Warlord Lewd. Isss thiss true, Ssshade?”

  “I only play for high stakes.”

  “We have alwaysss had great ressspect for your work in the passst, Ssshade,” the Syssrah slithered behind the assassin and whispered softly in his ear, “have we not alwaysss provided you with a ssanctuary in Kurn from which to sstrike your prey? Have we not sstuffed your pocketsss fat with coinsss to disspossse of the sself-righteousss refussse who walk the sstreetsss above? Why then after all thisss time do you wish to ssever the bondsss of our ssacred partnerssship and sstrike at the very hand that feedsss you? Do you know what happensss to the headsss of ssnakes that bite the handsss of their masstersss back in my desert homeland?”

  “Let me guess, your people talk them to sslow agonizing deathsss.”

  “Your ssarcasm is esssteemed not here, Ssshade,” he breathed hotly into the assassin’s ear, “I asssk only that you consssider the penaltiesss of your own boasstfulnesss. Do you realizze what you’ll be giving up, Sshade? You will find no more ressst in your sswampsss. You will be forever branded an enemy of the Kurn ssewarsss. You will be a marked mortal from here to the end of your daysss. The hunter reborn the hunted. Give ear to what I sssay,” he stretched around to Shade’s other ear, “consssider the fruit of my lipsss for I am the very mouthpieccce of Warlord Lewd. Ssslink back into the ssshadows and I will tell him not. Walk away and I will forget your inssssufferable insssolencce.”

  “You only brought ten guards,” he frowned, “you disappoint me, Yessheeran.”

  “Thisss iss your lassst chance, Ssshade, walk away.”

  Shade took another sip of wine. “Tell you what, I’ll give you ten minutes to fetch twenty more men. Make it interesting.”

  Yessheeran made a cutting gesture to his neck. “I’ve heard enough.”

  The henchmen rushed Shade.

  The Dark Elf disappeared suddenly.

  They gasped. His stool appeared empty.

  Shade withdrew a pair of shadow-cloaked blades without a sound. He leapt off the stool, handsprung backwards and slashed the throats of the two Doelms in midair. He landed and threw five invisible daggers in rapid succession that sunk into the necks of the four men and the last Doelm. He planted two more knives into the chests of the Drakor and back-flipped back to the bar. By the time the two dragon-men hit the floor, Shade was back in his seat. He reappeared and sat calmly sipping the rest of his wine, a boastful grin still dancing at the corners of his lips. ‘Pushovers,’ he thought in disgust.

  Yessheeran blinked, dropped the dagger and looked around him in staggered shock. A chorus of alarmed whispers passed over the tavern. A few patrons ran for the door. The snake-man gaped about, his serpentine eyes wild with panic. He slinked towards the exit, but stumbled over the dead. He fell and hit the ground over and over again. He crawled and pulled his way over the piles of bodies, but finally made it out. And then he was gone, off to tattle to his master. Shade just hoped Lewd would finally get the message.

  Shade smirked and took another sip of wine, “I told him he needed more guards.” He watched in dry amusement as the tavern emptied before his very eyes.

  Shade sat alone in The Green Barrel, his only companion the sound of hard scrubbing and the occasional grunt of the fat barkeeper. He watched as Bwedrig’s brow dripped with sweat and his muscles twitched. He worked at the floor with his scrub-brush on his hands and knees. The Doelm plunged the brush into a vat of soapy red water, but he muttered no complaint. The Dark Elf had come to admire the Doelm’s tight-lipped work ethic. He showed his admiration by tossing bloodstone pieces into a pile of building coins on the bar in return for the extra drudgework and the loss of business.

  Bwedrig had not uttered another word. The Doelm merely nodded his pardon as he noticed how richly the assassin reimbursed him for the inconvenience. He even served Shade a meal of pheasant drumsticks, Terramothian Wild Rice and buttered green peas. The Faelin picked at the last drumstick now. He had requested tea, which Bwedrig had taken an unplanned trip into the markets to fetch, so that the assassin could keep both his wits and vigilance sharp.

  Shade waited patiently. It was only a matter a time before the Sewer King received word. As far as the Dark Elf was concerned the next development would be the warlord’s first true move on the board. Shade looked forward to his enemy’s play. He could only hope that Warlord Lewd would prove a worthy opponent in this deadly game of chess. He did not have to wait long.

  The door banged loudly. It flew off its hinges and smashed into the far wall.

  Bwedrig jumped, but Shade sat coolly at the bar.

  The assassin did not even turn his head. He heard the rattle of armor and a sudden fussing; followed by the scraping of armor, the cursing of large guttural voices and more fussing. Bwedrig went back to the bar figuring there was no sense cleaning when additional bloodshed would come forthwith.

  “I said me go first!” roared one huge voice.

  “You always go first!” boomed another big ugly voice.

  Shade shook his head. Imbeciles! He waited and waited and waited. The air filled with the sounds of constant scuffling, puffing and swearing.

  “You got me stuck!”

  “No, you got me stuck!”

  Shade played his hand coolly until his new foes drove him to such frustration he could not help, but spin around. He crossed his arms and growled, “You two need help back there?”

  Shade laid eyes upon two monstrous Gorums tangled in a jumbled green mass of arms, legs and faces in the doorway. They froze and sneered their huge ugly green mugs at him. Gorums had absolutely enormous hands and were mountains of brute muscle and fat. They were the second largest race in all Covent.

  Shade had seen this pair in the sewers before. Their names were Kishrub and Zulbash and they comprised Lewd’s personal bodyguard.

  Kishrub growled and glowered at him, “Help? No help!”

  Zulbash shook his huge fist. “Yeah! Shut yur face, you puny Elf!”

  Kishrub and Zulbash pushed, pulled and clawed at one another. Kishrub’s giant hand pushed against Zulbash’s face while Kishrub’s big fat foot pressed against Zulbash’s rib in the doorway. They were getting nowhere.

  “For crying out loud,” Shade spat in disgust. He strutted over to the pair. He braced himself on the doorframe and kicked repeatedly at them until they fell backward dislodged. He watched in growing annoyance as they crawled around on their hands and knees until they retrieved their massive weapons. Kishrub’s huge hands closed around a five foot long war-hammer with a nasty pick end and Zulbash picked up an equally large mace studded with deadly spikes.

  Shade sighed and held his tongue. At least this encounter had the potential for a challenge. He stepped back to allow the Gorums entry. He waited staring at the doorway as they disappeared back behind the wall.

  Smash! He jumped to the side as part of the wall flew into the bar. He heard a second successive smash and even more rubble choked the air with dust. He glared hotly. The dumb brutes had just smashed a giant hole through the wall. He saw their enormous forms duck into the tavern. ‘Poor Bwedrig!’ he thought. He shook his head. They could have used the door if they had been smart enough to take turns.

  “Me first,” said Zulbash as he straightened himself.

  “No me,” Kishrub said, though they were already inside.

  Shade was a bit shocked as Kishrub and Zulbash rose to full height. They reached a towering eight and a half feet! The assassin could almost feel the shadow fall across his face as their gross yellow and beady black eyes stared down at him. He remained cool and studied them
for a moment.

  Gorums had disproportionately long arms, which dragged their huge hands along the ground behind them. Gorums looked closely related to Doelms, except they were bigger, stronger, slower and of course dumber. A pair of long cantankerous canine teeth protruded from behind their ugly and twisted snarls. They had long black Doelmlike hair and bushy eyebrows that hunkered down on their huge foreheads. Kishrub was balding and Zulbash wore his hair up in a, Shade blinked, was that a pretty white bow?

  Kishrub scratched his head with his huge finger as if trying desperately to recall his reason for coming inside. Zulbash scraped his chin in equal puzzlement. Layers of overstuffed fat heaved as they breathed. Their cloth undergarments were loosely covered in random scraps of metal that served as improvised armor. Only Gorums who were allied with the Dwarven kingdom of Gildron had iron cast in their enormous size. And so the pair had settled for random Grullish, Haradrian and Drakoran pieces bound together by leather straps. Kishrub used a tower shield he had hammered flat at the ends as a chest piece and Zulbash adorned the cast iron door of a Dwarven furnace. Shade squinted hard. Was that a cauldron on Kishrub’s left shoulder? And a doll dangling from Zulbash’s already ridiculous chest piece? It took all of Shade’s concentration not to snicker out loud.

  Instead, he crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

  Zulbash picked his nose. Kishrub yawned, stretched his huge arm and accidently knocked his big hammer into the ceiling. Rubble fell. He shook his head and stared back down at Shade with big blank eyes.

  The Dark Elf winced as he caught a whiff of a malodorous odor from Kishrub’s toxic armpit. The assassin frowned in fierce disgust. He reminded himself that Kishrub and Zulbash were feared all over the underworld. They had slain hundreds of men, Doelms, Syssrah, Drakor and even Minotaur in the brutal hostilities that secured Lewd’s rise to power. They had even bested the Minolord, Tantarus, himself. Sure, Lewd’s dagger did the final honor, but Kishrub and Zulbash had held the Minotaur down.

  Shade’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Well?”

  “Wait, we trying to remember something,” said Kishrub.

  “Could it possibly regard my threat to kill your great master?”

  Kishrub grinned, “Ah, yes, now me remember.”

  “Yeah, you be quiet!” said Zulbash, “We remember now.”

  “And?”

  “Our master sends mussage,” Kishrub replied.

  “Oh, and what message is that?”

  Kishrub grinned a big toothy grin, “We’re dat mussage.”

  “Really? I could use that massage. Sounds relaxing.” Shade sat back down. He gestured to his back and smirked slyly, “Rub right here, just above the left shoulder-blade. It’s a little sore from butchering all your master’s goons.”

  “No not mussage!” Kishrub rattled his fists. “MUSSAGE!”

  Zulbash pointed in accusation. “I told you, you mess it up!”

  “Shut up or me mess you up!”

  “You can’t mess me up!” Zulbash raged, “You can’t even say MOSSAGE!”

  Shade rolled his eyes. Could either of these two Neanderthals get anything right? The Gorums bickered and shook their gargantuan fists at one another. The Dark Elf threw a helpless glance at Bwedrig who shrugged. The debate heated up until the assassin was sure it would erupt into a bloody brawl. He snapped, “Are you two pea-brains finished quarreling yet? Because you’re really starting to bore me.”

  “We not joking,” Kishrub began again, “Lewd says you crawl back to yur swamphole in Jile and he’ll furgit da inslut next time he sees yur ugly face in Kurn.”

  Shade finally laughed out loud. Inslut?

  “You mess up again! Master put Shade in salt if he ever come back to Kurn.”

  Shade laughed even harder.

  “Dat make no sense!” Kishrub turned back to Zulbash. “Master says Shade bring good business to Kurn when Shade not trying to kill Master. Why Master put em in salt?”

  “Shut up!”

  “No, you shut up!”

  Shade yawned. “Once again…bored.”

  Kishrub pinched Shade by his cloak with his huge fingers, pulled him to his feet and roared, “You just do what we say or we break little Elf, you got dat?”

  Zulbash pushed the assassin in the shoulder. “Yeah! We break you!”

  Their strength was so great Shade had to put his right foot back to keep his footing. That was their mistake, their last mistake. His yellow eyes went electric. Their nerves jumped as a dangerous glint crackled in his eyes. He stepped towards them. His hands reached for the familiar cold steel of his hilts. He sneered, “Am I supposed to feel threatened? Lewd is a bigger fool than I thought if he thinks two brooding apes will be enough to deter me.”

  “You murder Master over our dead bodies,” said Kishrub.

  Shade swept his gaze from Kishrub to Zulbash and back again. His lips curled into a treacherous grin and he said smoothly, “That can be arranged.”

  Zulbash slammed his fist into his open palm. “You try it and we pound you.”

  Shade harrumphed and strode between the pair. He let them soak in the full ridicule of that playful grin frosting the edges of his lips. He saw their faces twist into horribly infuriated sneers. They were not used to being toyed with. No man or night mortal ever dared laugh at them, grin at them, mock them so, but that didn’t stop Shade. He paused in the middle of the room, his back turned to them. He sensed them raise their massive weapons in the air.

  “So?” he chided softly, “Shall we dance?”

  Kishrub charged him and brought his massive hammer down in a powerful blow. Shade sidestepped the blow. It smashed and cracked the tavern floor. Zulbash swung his spiked mace sideways. Shade tucked into a roll.

  Smash! Bits of brick and mortar rained down. The spikes left nasty gashes in the nearest wall, but missed their target. Kishrub swung his hammer again. He tried to surprise Shade. He reversed his momentum and brought his hammer pick back at the nimble Elf. The assassin dodged the first swing. He arched his back to form a bridge to evade the second and calmly kicked his legs up into a walkover.

  Shade strutted across the tavern. He grinned coolly back at his adversaries. He hadn’t even touched his weapons, but he wanted his enemies to know the full futility of their efforts. Zulbash surged forward, waved his mace and unleashed a series of cross swings. Kishrub swung his hammer back and forth in wild abandon.

  Shade danced around their blows. He watched them whiff, grunt and curse in festering frustration. They hit everything—the walls, the ceiling, the tables and barrels, but not him. He waited until their eyes ran wild with terror, until they drank in the total depravity of their efforts, and then he drew his blades.

  Kishrub got his pick stuck in the floor. It took a second to wrench it free, but a second was more than the Faelin needed.

  Shade skirted deftly up the mace and drove one of his daggers into the Gorum’s right shoulder joint. Kishrub reeled backward in pain. He grabbed his bleeding shoulder, but managed to keep a hold on his hammer.

  Zulbash swung his mace, but Shade ducked and drove a knife into his left knee. The Gorum dropped his mace and roared. He snarled at the cunning assassin, yanked the dagger free and tossed it to the side. He grabbed his mace. He rose back to full height shaking in unbridled rage. Kishrub’s hammer shook with equal fury in his giant fists. They charged him again, only this time together. Kishrub swung low while Zulbash swung high.

  Shade dove forward. He squeezed barely through the narrow gap in their attack. He spun around and threw two daggers. One caught Zulbash in his right elbow and the other caught Kishrub in his left thigh.

  The Gorums roared again and erupted into a blood rage. They swung in wild desperation. Shade stabbed them again and again. His stabs must have seemed more like pinpricks to his huge enemies, but he knew every strike stung their pride. He was an expert in bipedal anatomy. He watched in dour amusement each time one of his foes clenched his teeth and grimaced through the pain.
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  Shade never slipped into Unseen form. He wanted them to see him. He wanted them to look death full in the face and scream in hopeless solitude. He worked them over until they could barely lift their weapons. He avoided the vital organs, but aimed for the nerves. He grinned in satisfaction as he stripped the hope and dignity from their faces. He even found pleasure in their pain. He outfoxed them until they could only roll around on the ground and moan in unbearable agony.

  Bwedrig looked up as Shade withdrew his last two daggers.

  The assassin stood between the two giant green pincushions who looked up at him with wild, terror-filled eyes. He twirled the knives in his fingers. The tips flashed in the torchlight as he pointed them downward. He squeezed the hilts and raised his arms to deliver the simultaneous killing blows. He stabbed violently. He aimed at the crinkles in their huge foreheads in the same place Lewd had driven his own dagger into Tantarus’ thick skull.

  Kishrub and Zulbash cried out in terror, but he stopped just a bare inch shy. They felt the cold pointed steel tips against their petrified brows. The points were so close they split the droplets of sweat that trickled down their hot faces.

  Shade stayed his blade. Did he really want to kill these two? They made him laugh. And laughter was a rare thing indeed in the cold hard life of an assassin. He walked back to the bar, put a dagger down and took another drink. He turned back around to see Kishrub and Zulbash’s eyes still frozen in terror.

  “Go,” he whispered.

  They gawked at him in shock and disbelief.

  Shade charged after them, brandishing his blades. “GO!”

  Kishrub and Zulbash scrambled on all fours and crawled out the door like a pair of squealing terror-struck pigs.

 

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