by J. L. Ficks
Lewd trembled in the assassin’s arms and his eyes raced with fear. “So it seems we are both without honor,” he managed.
“Today I leave you to crawl back to your hole, Warlord Lewd,” Shade spat and shoved the warlord back over to his men, “but look hard upon this face, for this is the last time you will see it!”
The crimelord regained his pose, spun around and met Shade’s pointed gaze. The exchange of glares ignited like a wildfire.
The assassin pointed his dagger and smirked mockingly.
Lewd’s lips shriveled into a wrinkled grimace.
Shade melted slowly into the shadows until only his glowing yellow eyes burned through the gloom. “Do not forget, Lewd,” he said, “tomorrow death comes for you from the shadows, and mark my words you will not see my face again until you feel the cold hard thrust of my dagger!”
Chapter Fourteen:
The Smell of
Bloodstone
Shade peeled the last grape off the stem and popped it leisurely into his mouth. He leaned back on his barrel. He wiped his mouth clean with the brown napkin provided to him by Bwedrig. The Doelm barkeep nodded and gathered up the crockery of the assassin’s meal consisting of broiled lamb, garlic potatoes and Red Farian Grapes. Bwedrig cast a nervous look over Shade’s shoulder through the hole in the wall and out into the Black Markets. Shade could feel the change in the air as well, but he did not let the tension ruin the simple pleasures of his meal.
The Dark Elf felt eyes on his back sizing him up like a prime cut of meat. Men and night mortals in the markets paced back and forth past the hole in the wall stealing glances inside. They were like a pack of uneasy wolves trying to muster the courage to attack a broad buck. They could practically smell the bloodstone. Shade was no fool. He had caught onto the quiet whisperings that had swept through the markets and the bounty that Lewd had placed on his head: 10,000 Bloodstone Pieces. ‘What a flattering tribute you pay me, Lewd,’ Shade thought. The only question was whether anyone had the guts to make their move.
Shade kept his heckles raised, but would let nothing spoil his high spirits. He crumbled another lump of clay into his goblet of Red Syssrian Wine. The bottle was nearly empty. He ran his fingers over his temples and rested the back of his hand against his forehead. He felt no sweat nor heat nor any other sign of fever. He let go of his tea and checked his pulse. He had made it a point to check his vitals at the top of every hour. He waited patiently. He counted the rhythmic beats of his own heart. Ah yes. All signs were normal! It had been almost fourteen hours with still no ill effects from the poison. This called for a toast.
The assassin reclaimed the brass goblet in his hands, raised his muddied beverage and curled his lips, “I propose a toast, good Bwedrig.”
“To wat do we owe da pleasure?” Bwedrig tried to sound civilized. Spittle sprayed from behind his yellow fangs, ransacking any attempt at sophistication.
“Why to pigs, of course,” Shade grinned, “who fare wiser and are far better company than all the scholars and great learners of Doljinaar.”
“To pigs then,” the fat barkeep grimaced. He crinkled his sweaty brow at a total loss for words.
Shade chuckled softly to himself. He watched as the last of the microscopic clay particles sunk to the bottom. Bubbles formed in the tea as large chunks collecting at the bottom loosed small pockets of air. He brought the mug to his lips. He downed a healthy swallow of nasty, grainy grimy tea. The secret lay in the swamp clay. The glow never left his lips.
The Dark Elf had learned much over years of shrewd observation of the various wildlife behaviors in the Ice Marshes. He had often wondered at a Muckhog’s ability to eat the highly venomous Gilolizard with no ill effects. The secretion of its glands was enough to make a man violently ill for months, a bite meant death within hours. At first, Shade had falsely assumed the Muckhog’s poison immunity stemmed from the tough lining of its belly. After all, Muckhogs were notorious for their ability to eat anything, but after years of further observation he later noted that the swamp pigs had a habit of gorging on clay during the warmer months the Gilolizard was not in hibernation. The clay he later realized acted as a natural dilutant to the poison.
Shade had quickly adapted the idea and after months of experimenting with lesser poisons he grew more and more confident in his theory. He began taking daily doses of swamp clay and soon he too earned the ability to down the most deadly poisons. His keen interest in the marshlands singlehandedly eliminated his profession’s primary vulnerability. Slip poison into an assassin’s plate or cup and there was no art in his death. A barmaid or a busboy could do the honors, no training necessary. But no longer with Shade, as Warlord Lewd had learned much to his grating consternation.
Shade could feel a mob now standing at the holes in the wall, a hundred eyes boring into his back. They must be finding courage in greater numbers. He smirked. The pack had finally mustered the guts to trespass into Shade’s den. He began to think in his heart he was foolish to remain in this tavern for so long. Perhaps, he was a fool after all he never took such chances with mobs, but he hadn’t received the trial he had been thirsting for. He simply wondered whether his ballsy gumption might at last lead to his undoing. Only one way to find out…
“Ah, welcome guests,” Shade said, “won’t you come in for a drink? Last I checked this was an open bar and Bwedrig would be happy to serve you.”
“We’re not here for the ale,” a man replied.
“Oh?
“We came for the bounty,” the man said, “ten thousand large and we’re betting we can fetch another thousand for your black bones.”
The fat barkeeper frowned fiercely. He bit his tongue and ducked into the back cellar. He slammed the door, locked it and left Shade alone.
Shade smirked. He said nothing in reply. He let the tension drag out. He waited until the mob shifted uncomfortably. He picked up the bloodstained bottle of Syssrian Wine and poured himself his final glass. He closed his eyes and took a long deep swig. He felt a rush of the cold wine wash down his throat and tingle through his veins. He put the glass down. He took the near empty bottle and tipped it toward the ground. The last drops of the wine dripped on the floor. He felt the crowd’s eyes watch each drop as it splattered against the stone. He said chillingly, “Then we serve blood here, but I’m afraid we’re fresh out.”
The assassin slammed the bottle down on the bar. The mob jumped. He spun slowly around. Over fifty men and night mortals crowded the battered openings in the walls. He saw a few of Lewd’s guards from the markets, a band of Minotaur poachers and a thick cluster of mercenaries and thieves from every local race. They carried arms and flickering torches. He saw many of them clutching wrinkled sheets of parchment. Postings Shade had heard had gone up in the markets. Postings that depicted his name and face—Wanted Signs.
A black-bearded, gray-robed Elementalist led the mob. He wore an orange brassard, on his right arm, with a flame symbol to signify his mastery over the element of fire. He held out a poster of a Wanted Sign with Shade’s face on it. Sure enough it said: Wanted Dead or Alive: 10,000 Blood Shillings. Shade’s glowing yellow eyes swept over the faces of the terrified mob. He did not see a mob, but a pack of harmless sheep. A dozen thugs merely looked into his eyes, turned and ran for their lives.
Shade unsheathed his blades. “Time to refill the tap.”
The Elementalist thrust his staff forward. A burst of flames blew through the tavern like a swell of dragon breath. Shade wheeled to the side. The mob surged in around the mage. Tables and barrels burned, but smoke clouded the room. Two Tulestine men ran in first, but broke out into a fit of coughing. He stabbed them each in the chest. They should not have been so easy, after all Tulestines were some of the best fighters in the world, but Shade would not press his luck. The mob surged in after them. Shade blocked a Drakoran axeman and swung his bloodstained dagger at a Syssrian guard to keep him at bay.
An ex-Doljinaarian soldier swung his pike at Shade. He sidesteppe
d the attack, but his feet danced across the floor moving from one parry to the next. The mob was quite a gamble. He caught one Doelm spearman after a missed thrust. He handsprung backwards to escape the mob. He stopped next to the burning table. He kicked a flaming barrel at a Doelm. The barrel hit the Doelm in his hairy arm. He squealed as the fire ran up the tufts of arm fur and ignited the large patch on his broad back. The mob rushed the assassin.
Shade kicked over the burning table. It wafted up in front of the mob and they froze. He threw two, three, six blades in quick succession. He relished the groan each victim made with every throw. He drew another blade just in time to parry the Drakoran axeman again. He kicked the Drakor’s axe shaft and the blade cut into the dragon-man’s scaled neck. He pushed the Drakor backward. His wings flapped open just as he fell backward and knocked into another four men.
The assassin spun around. The Elementalist was there. He pointed his staff in Shade’s face, another devastating spell on the tip of his tongue. Shade ducked and knocked the staff off aim. Another mighty burst of flame shot from the staff’s crystal ball, but it burned the four men who got tangled under the Drakor. Shade cut the Elementalist at his ankle and the man went down screaming. He was about to finish him off when a Doelm grabbed him from behind. He gasped for breath as the Doelm’s brutish strength compressed his organs.
Shade jammed his knife into the Doelm’s side and he dropped him. He frowned. He was too much on the defensive. It was time to turn the tables. He slipped into unseen form. The crowd gasped and looked about.
Shade danced lightly on his feet cutting through one foe to the next. He moved through them like the angel of death itself. The bodies fells without so much as a glimpse at their killer. The panic spread like a blaze through the mob. Many more fled the tavern. The crowd thinned out until only nineteen brave fools remained. Shade let the others run. He saw another crowd gathering in the Black Markets, mere observers watching at a distance, but no one else joined his attackers.
The Elementalist struggled to his feet, leaning hard on his staff. “There!” he shouted pointing directly at the invisible assassin.
Shade did the man a favor and reappeared. The caster had been right of course, but there was no use in draining the sport out of the skirmish when so few lingered. He smirked boastfully at the survivors.
A Doelm bouncer sneered back. He growled and charged. He waved a torch at Shade making it difficult to riposte. The assassin jumped back and dodged the fire. He got behind another table and pushed it over. It landed on the Doelm’s big fat foot. The brute screamed. The Doelm fell and Shade slashed him across the neck. Two rough whiskered Terramothians rushed him swinging studded clubs at him. He whirled around them several times drawing blood until they finally collapsed under their many wounds. A Syssrah swung his kopesh sword at him. He parried the blade with ease and planted a dagger in the snake-man’s chest.
Shade stopped back at the bar for a drink. He took another long sip and set the glass back down. He spun around just in time to parry a sneaky Gutter Dwarf. He opened his offhand and flung a Blinding Shadow spell in the Dwarf’s face. The Dwarf growled and went down rubbing his eyes. He was about to kill the Dwarf when a stocky short Grull swung a bastard sword at him. He ducked. He grabbed a wine bottle and broke it over the Grull’s head. The man hit the ground out cold. A Doelm bounty hunter threw a throwing axe at him.
Shade spun to the side. He caught the axe in midair and threw it back at the Doelm. The Doelm’s eyes widened in shock. His own axe buried itself in his neck. Shade arrived back at the bar, as if his every movement had been carefully rehearsed. He grinned in spite of himself and took another drink. He turned back around.
He watched with satisfaction as two Braznians threw down their swords and left. Only six fools remained. Another three must have thought better of the bounty. Ten thousand blood shillings didn’t sound so good now. The Gutter Dwarf had left as well. The Elementalist scowled at Shade red-faced. Three Brigorian berserkers closed in on his position. The ex-Doljinaarian soldier gripped his pike. The Grull snored loudly still unconscious.
Shade retrieved more blades. He stalked around the three axe-waving Brigorians. He studied their movements expecting them to break into a frenzy at any second. The scar-faced Brigorian took a swing at him. Shade ducked. His dagger kissed the man across the cheek. The Brigorian blinked. He touched the dab of blood and his eyes erupted into a wildfire. All three berserkers rushed him. Shade ducked and evaded their blood-fueled blows. They broke nearly every barrel and table in The Green Barrel tavern. Shade shook his head, ‘Poor Bwedrig.’
The scar-faced Brigorian took another swing at the Dark Elf. Shade pulled off the splits and drove a dagger into the Brigorian’s spleen. The bald, black-goateed Brigorian hacked at the nimble assassin. Shade spun back to his feet. He rolled over the table just as it was cut in half.
The Brigorian threw the table aside. He charged through several more barrels hacking apart everything in his path. The assassin threw his blade at the man. It caught him in the shoulder, but he kept coming. Shade hurled another blade and the Brigorian finally went down. The last eye-patched Brigorian pounced on the unarmed assassin. The Dark Elf rolled under another table. The Brigorian hacked the table and chairs to pieces. Shade grabbed a broken table-leg. He jumped back up and lodged it deep in the Brigorian’s chest.
Shade walked back over to the bar breathing a little heavier this time. He threw back the meager remains of his wine. He wiped a red dribble off his cheek and spun around for the last time. Only the Elementalist and the ex-Doljinaarian soldier remained. The wounded caster leaned heavily on his staff by the doorway, just in case he needed to make a quick getaway. The Doljinn approached Shade. The man stank of desperation. He was scarred, but as filthy as a vagabond. He looked like a once high-ranking officer who had fallen into ruin, which made him dangerous.
The Doljinn waved the pike at Shade. His thrusts were slow and guarded. He did a good job of keeping Shade at a distance. The assassin obliged the dance for but a few moments and then quick as a flash, slipped past the man’s guard. He thrust his dagger at the Doljinn’s chest when the man surprised him. He caught Shade’s wrist. The blade dragged across the man’s chest, but did little more than cut the links in his chainmail. He backhanded Shade across the face with his gauntlet. Shade reeled backward, but kept his wits intact enough to disarm the man.
The ex-soldier dropped his pike and clutched his bleeding shoulder. Shade sprung back to his feet. He cut at the man again. The Doljinn grabbed a tower shield and raised it up to protect himself. Shade’s dagger made a horrible screeching sound as it scratched the shield. The man ducked behind the shield. Shade turned just at the Elementalist unleashed another barrage of flames. He barely managed to dive under a table as the fire scorched the air. The table erupted into flames, but Shade escaped unscathed. He scrambled back to his feet.
The Doljinn rushed him with the shield. The assassin brought his arms up to blo ck, but was pushed backward out of the tavern. He spun around the shield and stabbed the Doljinn in the back. The man moaned. He kicked the man into the nearest sewer canal. The Doljinn disappeared into the sewer waters with a great splash.
The Grull had roused and remerged from the tavern. He charged Shade and raised his sword. The assassin laughed. He merely sidestepped the Grull. The Grull rushed right past him and also fell straight into the canal. He screamed and thrashed unable to swim. The currents swept him downstream.
Shade sprawled to the ground. His instincts had proven right as a pillar of flames blazed overhead. He rolled over and scrambled back to his feet. The Elementalist stood on his feet grimacing through the pain. He threw fireballs that ripped through the air. Shade charged. He dodged left and right. He felt the edge of the flames lap at his skin as the projectiles shrieked past him. The heat of every near hit only drove him onward. Soon, he danced around every cast with a choreographed sense of timing that bordered on unnatural.
The man’s jaw dropped.<
br />
The crowd looked on.
Time slowed down to a crawl. The Elementalist face washed over with an ash white fear. He clenched his teeth. The sweat poured down his hard-creased brow as he threw everything he had at the nimble assassin, but it was too late.
Shade reached him. He drove his blade into the Elementalist’s shoulder. The man cried out as the knife slid out his back and pinned him against the wall. Shade pinned the man’s other shoulder to the wall with his offhand dagger. He withdrew four more blades and pinned the caster completely against the wall. The Elementalist trembled against the wall as his blood soaked his robes.
Shade went over to a copy of his Wanted Sign on the wall. He snatched the sign off the wall and held it out to the crowd. He paced back and forth holding out the sign. He shouted, “This is what happens to all fools who attempt to collect on my bounty!” He slapped his Wanted Sign up against the Elementalist’s chest. He drove his dagger through the sign and into the man’s heart. The man at last shuddered and died. The assassin turned back to the crowd.
Not a breath was taken in all the Black Markets. The place was so silent one could hear a pin drop. Then a man stepped forward. He grabbed another Wanted Sign and held it up for Shade to see. He crumbled it up and tossed it into the nearest canal. A smile crept onto the assassin’s lips. He watched as the entire Black Markets followed the man’s lead. Every sign was ripped down off the walls and cast into the sewer waters. Shade was just glad they got the message. The hushed crowd turned quietly back to their own business.
Shade headed back inside. Bwedrig had remerged and took a dismayed survey of his trashed tavern. The barkeeper bit his lip. Shade sat back down at the bar. He pulled out a pouch of bloodstone and tossed it on the bar. It would be more than enough to pay for the damages. Bwedrig nodded. He got down another bottle of wine off the shelf. He popped the cork and refilled Shade’s glass.
