by J. L. Ficks
Festan gasped in shock. He stared at Shade his innocence rocked hard. The slime of the underworld watched in morbid curiosity. Shade heard one man tell another that Dark Elves had a history of mutilating corpses in dark arcane rituals. The assassin ignored the ignorant remark and continued in his work. His only interest was in the story the man’s body would tell.
Festan asked, “Shade, what are you doing?”
Shade didn’t answer. He studied the cursive hieroglyphic symbols that had been tattooed into nearly every inch of the man’s flesh. The markings spread from his chest, ran up his arms and down his legs. The Faelin estimated this Shaltearan Assassin had over six-hundred individual symbols, each representing a kill. Shade gasped. The Sixth Rank! The prior Shaltearan Assassins had only a handful of marks to their credit, but this man had ascended through six ranks of the Assassin’s Codex!
The Dark Elf leaned back and pondered the meaning of his latest kill. He had never killed an assassin of so high a rank in the Shaltearan Brotherhood. Generally, kill one high-tier Shaltearan Assassin and the brotherhood would concede the loss and brand it a cleansing of the order, but killing a second could ignite an assassins’ war. Shade would gladly welcome so lofty a challenge, but to engage in such a war here in an open bar would be an exercise in idiocy.
Shade rose to his feet. He turned and shoved his dagger back in its strap. The crowd watched him go as he strode towards the door. He thought surely Festan would pelt him with questions, but it appeared the Faun thought better of it. Shade could no longer risk staying here. He said no goodbyes. The time had come for him to make good on his promise…
Chapter Sixteen:
Man of Many Faces
Warlord Lewd absentmindedly watched the seductive dancing of his performing women, but his eyes barely registered their alluring movements. He had not budged from his throne all day. His back cramped. His undergarments clung to his skin under the bother of a hot anxious sweat. His eyes swung frantically back and forth over the faces of his subjects like a pendulum hanging by his threadbare nerves. He feared Shade might emerge from the crowd at any moment. A host of subjects hustled about the chamber bearing gold and silver trays arrayed with all manner of delicacies.
Lewd’s blood boiled. His flatterers ate and drank themselves into a slaphappy boozed stupor. He heard banter and laughter that grated on his frayed patience. They lounged and indulged in the pleasures of Lewd’s harlots, casting nary a care at the threat to their master’s life. The warlord squeezed a gold jeweled goblet in his hand, its rich Faunian Red Wine had yet to grace his lips. His life of luxury washed away like a puddle of fresh rainfall lost down Kurn’s dark sewers.
Kishrub and Zulbash flanked the throne, Yessheeran at his right hand. A charming Dervish servant girl smiled at him and offered him a platter of grapes. ‘How dare you!’ he thought, ‘my life hangs in the balance and you offer me a grape!’ He knocked the platter out of the ignorant girl’s hands. He cast his goblet across the chamber. The lavish wine splashed as the cup bounced across the floor. It seeped slowly into the mortar cracks like spilt blood.
“Begone! All of you!” he shouted. The entire chamber slowly emptied. Even Kishrub, Zulbash and his bands of personal guards made for the doors.
“Not you!” Lewd yelled at them, “You stay put!”
The guards returned to their posts. Even Kishrub and Zulbash got it right this time.
Warlord Lewd ground his perfect white teeth. He sank back in his chair and ran his trembling hands through his long white locks. ‘Get a grip on yourself, Lewd,’ he thought bitterly, ‘the power of the underworld is at your fingertips. It was I who united the dark bloods of Karus Forest. It was I who slew Tantarus and the other crimelords. It was my hand that pulled the night races out of the pit-traps of their own infighting and blood grudges.’ Just who did this Shade think he is? Taking out a contract on the most dangerous crimelord alive…what kind of suicidal notion is that? ‘He’s nothing but an insignificant pest,’ Lewd mused, ‘a bloodsucking parasite preying on an organization that could easily crush him underfoot!’
The warlord straightened himself. He pressed out the imaginary creases in his cape and grinned with a sardonic indifference. So the legendary Shaltearan Brotherhood had failed as well. What did Lewd have to fear? He had tripled his guard, sealed off every possible entrance and exit. Finding Krulle’s head on his throne a few days back, had left a riotous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he would soon move to a securer location where he could hold out the night. He had hired the Rat to handle security…a man famous for as much secrecy and stealth as Shade himself. If anyone could keep that backbiting assassin out of here it was a man who thought and reasoned like him.
Warlord Lewd shifted his focus from his directionless worry. He moved onto his plethora of divergences that entertained how he might pass the night. He could grab a bottle of Faun Spirits or burn a bowl of Stardust and it would be morning before he knew it. He could take his choice of girls from his harem. That would certainly be a pleasant way to occupy his time. Lewd dismissed his shallow thoughts. Lose himself in his pleasures and he would fall right into Shade’s capable hands.
Warlord Lewd froze. He watched as a hooded figure entered the hall. The figure passed through the crowd like a shadow. He cut a silent path through them like a sickle through dry grass. The warlord’s bones iced over; paralyzed in a sudden suffocating fear. ‘Oh no, Shade!’ he thought. The word “guards” was on the tip of his tongue when he noticed two bodyguards escorted the cloaked figure. The torchlight revealed the cloak to be burlap, not black like Shade’s own. Lewd calmed himself. He recognized his dark visitor by the confidence that emanated from his strut alone—his newest acquisition the Rat.
The Rat’s big brown eyes twinkled with an ever-burning gleam. A smug smirk clung to the corner of his lips. Lewd made out the man’s face. His skin was tan with a slightly gold tinge. His long brown bangs fell across his left cheek. The pointed tips of his Elven ears peeked through his hair as he bowed. The man was a Half-Elf, but like Lewd he was dashing and enigmatic. His garb was ordinary and unassuming, but he was the kind of stranger you would never notice until he had slipped in among your people and taken your daughter’s hand in marriage.
The Rat was an ex-spy who hired himself out to the highest bidder. The Rat was known to be a master of disguises and had a keen ear, thanks, in no small part, to his Half-Elvish heritage for gleaning information. Lewd had hired the Rat due to his experiences in Jui-Sae, even spying on the likes of Dark Elves for Doljinaar’s Elven allies. He was one of the only men in the world who had ventured into the black forests of Jui-Sae and lived to tell the tale. If any man knew how to counter Shade, a member of a race the world knew so little about, it was the Rat. Lewd could only pray the Half-Elf would rise to the challenge.
“It is time,” the Rat said, he cast back his hood and raised his beady black eyes, “the sun has set and the moons will soon be high in the sky. He will come.”
“And you’re certain everything is secure?”
“The entire Doljinaarian army could not get in here,” the Rat smiled assuredly.
“And you have taken all the proper precautions?” Lewd asked, “Need I remind you of just who we are dealing with here?”
“There is no need. I have seen those who walk unseen.”
“Let us inspect this disguise.”
The Rat stretched out his arms. His escort pulled his cloak off by the cuffs. The Half-Elf turned full circle showing off a magnificent set of well-polished dark blue plate armor and a rich purple cape that brushed at his ankles. Lewd beamed. His smithies had done well in such a short time.
The Rat murmured the words of a spell. A brilliant golden light shown from his face and suddenly his skin flushed from tan to a mottled green and yellow parlor. His brow appeared to crease up and fold over on itself. His smooth Half-Elvish face wrinkled before Lewd’s very eyes, his skin broke out into an infestation of pockmarks and his dark brown eyes lightene
d to a slimy yellow-green. The Rat smirked darkly, “When Shade comes, I will be waiting for him.”
Warlord Lewd gasped. He gazed upon the mirror image of himself. The illusion was flawless. The warlord was deeply impressed. Unlike the Illusionment spells of Essence Magic commonly used out West, this illusion betrayed no flaw. He had heard that the lesser known mirage-based spells of Elven Sun Magic could project so seamless an illusion, but this certainly convinced him the rumors were true. Nevertheless, he had learned long ago that a clearly conveyed pessimism reaped only the highest efforts from his subjects. Sting a man’s pride and he would spurn failure at all costs.
“It will have to do,” he said coldly. He rose and strode for the door. “Let’s just hope he takes the bait.”
“Oh, he’ll take the bait alright,” the Rat said, his swaggering grin crawling further up the corner of his lips.
Warlord Lewd did not turn around. He continued down the aisle. A cocky smile crept onto his own lips, feeding off the confidence that oozed off the Rat.
Warlord Lewd sat alone in a ten by ten foot bunker walled in by pre-cast concrete blocks known as the Brick. He tapped his fingers nervously on the armrest of his highback cushioned armchair. He shunned the canopied bed, buried in heaps of colorful pillows and silk bed linens, which was starkly out of place in his walled hole. He also ignored the marvelous platters of rich delicacies arranged atop his gilded Elm bedroom set. The Brick had no obvious entrance except a small sliding secret window reinforced by iron bars. The secret entrance could only be opened by a lever from the inside.
Lewd had pulled his chair up to the window and pressed his ear against the cold steel panel. His sharp anxious breaths echoed in the small uncomfortable space. His inept servants crammed way too much furniture in here. He felt suffocated by his own cramped luxuries. His brow dripped with sweat and he could barely keep his heart from shivering inside his chest. He could hear nothing.
He cracked the metal window and listened harder. He peered through the small gap and saw that the far side was still stacked with unmortared bricks that concealed the window from the opposite side. His men would not remove the brick until the coast was clear.
The crimelord sat back and steamed in frustration. ‘Curse this infernal chamber!’ he thought bitterly, ‘better to be out there with my wits about me than trapped in here like a child’s caged play thing. At least then I could see what was going on!’
Warlord Lewd held his breath and listened again. He felt a slight breeze blow through the crack. It howled softly in his ear.
Still nothing. He regretted his decision not to bring any of his recreational pastimes into the bunker. He had decided his pleasures had not been worth the risks of exposing his location due to the moaning of some daft whore or the slip of his own tongue wagging under the influence of dust or alcohol. Control and self-restraint were two attributes that had won him his empire. He would be a fool to abandon such high caliber virtues now. This night will pass he had told himself. But what good had all his mental preparation done for him when he could not hear a thing?
The crimelord jumped. He thought he heard the sounds of muffled screaming. He pressed his ear up against the crack again. He heard it again, ringing loud and clear, followed by more screaming and shouting. They sounded distant, but came from the direction of the throne room.
A long horrible silence ensured.
Lewd held his breath. Eventually, the silence was broken by the sounds of boots clambering down the hallways and the rattling of armor. He let out a long sigh of relief. Thump! Thump! The bunker rattled. Bits of stone and mortar rained down from the ceiling. The dust stung his eyes. The warlord coughed and spit the grit out of his mouth. He could swear he heard the sounds of stone cracking.
Lewd looked up. More rubble rained down as settlement cracks spread on the ceiling. He frowned knowing the disturbance could only be explained by Kishrub and Zulbash’s walloping blows to the compound. ‘Curse those two fool bodyguards!’ he thought, ‘Any more blundering and you’ll bring the entire city of Kurn down on my head!’ He heard a few more shouts and then everything went dead quiet again.
Warlord Lewd sucked in his breath. His heart pounded with a riotous fear. What if Shade had killed everyone? What if Shade had peeled the Brick’s location off the tongue of one of Lewd’s spineless associates? Would the cruel assassin simply lounge in the adjoining room, helping himself to the palace kitchen, all along indulging in the pleasures of Lewd’s Women, as he bided his time? How long would he wait? The warlord’s rations would barely last the week. ‘How long could I wait?’ he thought in horror, ‘how many days and nights before starvation or dehydration drove me out of this foul hole and into Shade’s waiting hands?’
“Guards!” he whispered harshly.
Silence.
Lewd grit his teeth and seethed louder, “Guards!”
Still, only silence.
“Guards!” he barked, “Answer me or I’ll feed you to the Sharkgates!”
After another moment’s hesitation, he saw one of the loose bricks removed. He felt an unsteady pressure build in his bladder. ‘Desmoana’s black heart!’ he thought bitterly, ‘What have I done?’ He pictured Shade’s glowing yellow eyes gloating at him from the opening. Everyone must be dead! He could see their cruel glow, mocking him, tormenting him like the eyes of a demon gloating over the souls of the damned. The image burned so strongly into his mind, it took him a moment to recognize the apprehensive bearded face of one of his Brigorian guards.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, “it’s just not safe to speak now.”
“I heard screaming,” Lewd replied, “what’s going on?”
“Shade went for it,” the guard told him quickly, casting a cursory glance over his shoulder, “he went after your decoy and took the ambush head on. We lost many men and the Rat has gone missing, but we think Shade is wounded.”
“Good, then seal me off until he is dead.”
“Yes, your greatness.” The guard bowed and replaced the brick.
Warlord Lewd clenched his teeth. He watched as the light from the adjacent chamber winked out again. His treacherous thoughts nibbled away at his momentary comfort. Wounded? How wounded? At least Shade too can bleed. Then he heard more shouts and screams on the far side of the wall.
“He’s here!” Lewd screamed. He backed up and hit the rear wall. His armor clanked loudly against the brick. He had forgotten about the small size of the bunker. He clung to the wall trembling. His bladder nearly relieved itself. Death’s messenger had come. It seemed like an eternity before someone removed the bricks. The hand was gloved in black, like Shade’s hands, like the hands of death reaching for him.
Warlord Lewd squinted fiercely. The torchlight seemed so bright it blinded him. He could not make out the person’s face.
“My lord, my lord,” came a friendly voice, “we got him!”
““Where is he?” Warlord Lewd demanded, “I want to see his body!” The warlord hurried down the hallway following a host of guards. They grinned brazenly, but Lewd’s victory felt less sure as he stepped around the sheer number of bodies that littered the floor. He even saw a few corpses strung upside-down hanging from the large iron chains that decorated the ceilings. ‘That’s just chilling,’ he shuddered. His eyes lingered on every cold dead face he passed by.
Lewd hurried through the open double doors and into his antechamber. A throng of hired thugs, servants, harlots and the warlord’s other rabble crammed the chamber full. The mob parted at his approach. He saw the hooded figure of the Rat leaning casually against the front wall, arms crossed. Kishrub and Zulbash’s massive hands pinned an invisible figure down, betrayed only by the cruel shape of his bloodstained outline. Yessheeran had nearly uncoiled his full form and twisted his snakish torso over the unseen figure in the creepy slithering manner managed only by Syssrah. A sadistic grin leaked over Lewd’s face. Shade was dead!
The puddle of blood splashed as the unseen figure thrashed unexpecte
dly.
The warlord jumped back. “He’s not dead?”
Kishrub and Zulbash pressed their weight down.
Shade stopped moving.
“Don’t worry,” the Rat said coolly, “he’s not getting back up.”
“You’d had best be sure. He’s lethal even at a distance!”
“Nay, I hit him with one of my quarrels. A belly wound,” he replied, turning to spit in the bloody pool, “Kishrub shattered his legs with his hammer and Zulbash caught him in the shoulder with that foul mace.”
“Why is he still cloaked in his magic? His face! I demand to see his face!”
“The Shadow Magic does not wear off so easily, my lord. You’ll see his face soon enough,” the Rat replied coolly. He brushed his knuckles feigning disinterest.
“Is that the best you can muster? A worthless excuse!” Lewd spat, “Can’t you dispel his invisibility spell or are you just a self-professed master of illusions?”
The warlord thought he saw the man cock an eyebrow under his shadowy cowl. The Rat gave no reply, but simply pushed off the wall. He strode over to Shade’s invisible body and knelt. He stretched out his hands and murmured the words of a foreign magic. The words were cryptic but beautiful, flowing together like dark music. A dim gray shimmering aura emanated from the Rat’s hands. It settled over Shade’s invisible form.
The body took physical shape glowing translucent black for a moment as if mummified in shadows. Then the darkness faded revealing skin, hair and leather armor all black like onyx stone. A pair of solid yellow eyes glowed weakly. Lewd at long last gazed upon the Dark Elf’s face.
Warlord Lewd’s eyes widened. He grinned brazenly. It was Shade! The Dark Elf bled profusely from the mouth. He coughed and sputtered up blood wheezing heavily. He clutched his stomach over a frayed hole in his leather armor which had been soaked with blood. His leather breastplate had also been torn to pieces revealing a caved in shoulder and deep puncture wounds. Both his legs had been crushed. His life faded, but still he held on. Lewd had to admire Shade…to be so close to death’s door and hang so stubbornly onto life’s threshold was a testament to the assassin’s steel will. ‘He had some nerve,’ Lewd thought.
