"Yes, my lord."
Jaska chanted a spell of masking and waited. Ten minutes later, Ooran walked into the room, admitted by Telerus who returned to his post. The door shut and Ooran took four steps before seeing the blood-smeared body slumped in the chair.
Ooran spun and saw Jaska. He froze, his eyes wide with fear. "M-master Bavadi." Ooran bowed at the waist and saluted Jaska. "I-I didn't expect to see you here."
"But I expected you, Ooran."
Ooran reached for his sword. His hand never made it to the hilt.
Jaska's saber tore through Ooran's neck, half-severing the head. Blood spattered Jaska and pooled on the floor. He spoke a command and his qavra blazed to life. The blood flowed down his uniform as if down a slick wall and left no stain.
As Jaska turned, he noticed a flicker in Ooran's qavra. He checked it and cursed. A conditional spell had been laced into the qavra. Ooran's comrades would know that he had been slain. And if they knew Jaska was in the city, they could easily track down Zyrella.
Jaska rushed from the room but paused beside Captain Telerus. "Are you an evil son of a bitch, captain?"
He grinned. "I'm no palymfar, my lord, but I try."
Jaska sliced Telerus across the throat. "I thought so."
~~~
When he detected Ooran's death, Hyrtu cancelled his plan to waylay the courier and question him on his way out. A message came through the Shadowland from Yrvas: he had ten mercenaries at hand, all that were available from the guild today.
Ohzikar and Zyrella left the house. Once Hyrtu knew their heading, he projected his thoughts through the Shadowland and contacted Yrvas.
"The priestess and her templar left after a messenger came. Traveling toward the docks, possibly to meet Jaska and leave. I'm trailing. Suggest ambush at Duck Tallow and Mariner."
~~~
Jaska found the house in the military quarter empty and cursed the messenger's efficiency. As he ran toward the docks, he chanted masking spells. The few people out on the streets at daybreak took little note of him. Later they might recall that someone had run past them. Jaska only hoped he didn't cross the path of a guard patrol. Anyone actively looking for trouble would see him for what he was.
Even gleaming Hectyra had its bad side. Whereas the avenues of the military quarter fell in straight, orderly lines, the streets of Low Town snaked between tanners and fisheries, brothels and warehouses. The scents of rotting fish, tanned hides, and human filth dumped into alleys spoiled the air.
Jaska knew shortcuts Zyrella wouldn't but didn't risk them for fear that he would get too far ahead. With one spell active already, he didn't want to boost his speed unless necessary. Scrying ahead would require stopping and that didn't seem worth the effort either. His allies couldn't be that far ahead. Nor could his enemies.
The distinctive rasp of drawn blades echoed through the quiet streets. In a full sprint, Jaska turned a corner and spotted Zyrella and Ohzikar a hundred paces ahead, their path blocked by eleven armed men whose leader wore an unconcealed qavra choker.
Bystanders fled with haste, except one rather ordinary-looking man who advanced along the edge of the warehouses. Only twenty steps behind them, this peasant drew something from his cloak. Their attention drawn by the men ahead of them, Ohzikar and Zyrella didn't notice him sneaking up from behind.
Jaska chanted the betrayal spell.
~~~
Hyrtu stumbled in shock as violet light erupted from the qavra beneath his peasant's cloak and enshrouded him. The light didn't harm him, but his active protections ceased. The same malfunction occurred for Yrvas.
Footsteps whispered behind him. Hyrtu turned and saw the hazy form of a palymfar rushing toward him. He knew the intense amber eyes locked on him and understood who could manipulate his qavra this way. He also felt no surprise as the two throwing spikes punched through his torso armor and dug into his ribcage.
Weakly, Hyrtu threw his own readied spikes. Jaska's blurred form made a poor target. The spikes missed and Hyrtu drew his saber. A word of power was spoken somewhere and flowed across his consciousness. Years of palymfar training hardened his will against the command but without the familiar aid of the qavra, the magic slowed him. Hyrtu attempted a parry but missed. Then Jaska's blade slashed across Hyrtu's eyes, drew back, and plunged into his stomach.
~~~
With ten mercenaries and a palymfar approaching, Zyrella saw no course but to call on her full talent. The palymfar would resist. The mercenaries likely would not. How many would fail, she couldn't predict. She didn't know how much power she could summon on such short notice. Her abilities weren't battle-tested anymore than they were battle-intended. Ohzikar drew tulwar and shield then waited on their attackers. He would defend her as long as possible.
The palymfar said to her, "I've waited years for you."
Forming patterns of sigils and runes within her mind, Zyrella couldn't respond. Let him talk, though. The longer she had to prepare, the more energy she could gather and the more assured her casting.
He motioned his men forward, leading them with saber in one hand, bagh nakh in the other. As Zyrella prepared to speak, the palymfar's qavra flared with violet light. The mercenaries paused. The palymfar's eyes widened with shock.
The assassin backed away, fumbling at his qavra.
Ohzikar smiled. "Death has come for you, palymfar. You won't escape the Slayer."
"Get them!" the palymfar said. Fear tinged his deep voice.
The mercenaries moved forward, and Zyrella unleashed the sorcerous diagrams held in her mind. The word of power rippled and struck. A shockwave like silent thunder pounded within the skulls of her enemies.
"Drop your weapons and surrender to me," she commanded.
Four mercenaries dropped to their knees. Their broadswords clanged on the cobbled street. Three clutched their foreheads in pain. Two battled a wave of dizziness. The last bolted down the street. Even the palymfar seemed shaken.
Zyrella herself fought nausea and vertigo. Having done all she could, she leaned on her staff and gasped for breath.
Ohzikar heard a noise behind them as Zyrella's word of power washed over him without effect. He turned and saw Jaska charging a man near them with his sword drawn. Ohzikar wasted no concern on an opponent who would be dead within another moment. He charged and shield-bashed the nearest mercenary, who was shaking his head. That one fell and Ohzikar launched an attack at a second. This mercenary parried weakly, taking a slash across his arm. Lacking the strength to counter-attack, the mercenary narrowly defended another sword strike but collapsed when Ohzikar caught him in the jaw with the rim of his shield.
The palymfar, still encased in violet light, gathered his courage. He charged the templar with two dizzied mercenaries beside him. Ohzikar backed away, defending their attacks. Compared to Jaska, this palymfar seemed slow. Ohzikar knew he could defeat him one-on-one, but perhaps not with two mercenaries helping him, even if Zyrella's spell had rattled them.
The remaining mercenary charged Zyrella. She lifted her staff weakly to block his attack. Before he could reach her, Jaska stepped in. The mercenary took a claw-rake to the side of his head and a slash across his knees. He fell and Jaska rushed on to help Ohzikar. The wounded mercenary pulled himself up. His skull met the iron-shod end of Zyrella's staff.
The palymfar hit Ohzikar on the shoulder. The blow glanced off his chainmail. Ohzikar countered but the palymfar dodged away. A mercenary slashed. Ohzikar bent backward and the blade whisked by an inch from his throat.
"I command you to stop!" said a voice filled with cold rage.
The mercenaries paused. The palymfar stood erect with a stricken look in his eyes. Jaska stepped up beside Ohzikar. The templar looked around. Four men still knelt on the street, awaiting Zyrella's command. No other enemies remained.
Jaska pointed at Yrvas and said to the mercenaries, "This battle is between him and me. If you wish to die, that's your choice, but if you run, I won't hunt you down."
; The standing mercenaries bolted down the street, but those kneeling and under Zyrella's control remained.
"So you are a traitor then, master?" Yrvas said.
"From your perspective, I suppose so."
"Why, master? You were the best of us."
"You were a prized student, Yrvas. A friend as well. I'm sorry, but I wasn't myself when you knew me before, I wasn't the man I was supposed to be. Salahn bound my will and made me serve his dark desires."
"The priestess has tainted your mind, Jaska. You are the cruelest man I know."
"She has done nothing to me. I lost my qavra in battle and gained my freedom from Salahn."
"So now you oppose the man who made you a legend and gave you power beyond that of everyone save himself? Men fear you everywhere. You have everything you could want."
"My dignity? My honor? Do I have those? What I want now is only to right the wrongs that I did under Salahn's sway. Nothing else."
"Am I one of those wrongs, master?"
"Yes, and I am sorry for what I made you."
"I'm not sorry in the least," Yrvas said and with a burst lunged forward, having in desperation broken free from Jaska's compulsion.
Jaska stepped to the left, parried the sword strike, and guided Yrvas past him using the palymfar's momentum against him. Jaska spun and plunged the blades of his bagh nakh into the back of Yrvas's neck.
The palymfar fell and writhed in pain. Jaska hunched over him. "Because I valued your friendship before, I show you mercy now."
After the killing strike, Jaska stared down at the corpse. The work he must do in the world would be a sad business, having to kill men he remembered as friends, students, and comrades, that he remembered as terrors only in nightmares that later faded beyond his reach.
Ohzikar touched Jaska's shoulder, causing him to flinch. "We need to go. Before city guardsmen arrive."
Zyrella looked to the kneeling mercenaries. "When the authorities arrive tell them the two slain palymfar fought against one another and involved you without your knowing what was going on. You will not remember us."
Jaska stalked onto the galley and showed the stamped documents to a ship captain clearly frightened by the presence of a palymfar. Captain Rohl scanned the papers and found everything in order. Then his eyes fell upon the name Jaska Bavadi. As the color drained from his face, he passed the papers to Sergeant Daras, the mercenary commander and an old comrade. Daras blanched and cursed his fate under his breath.
Before either could protest or question their new assignment, Jaska said in a stern voice, "Set sail immediately, captain."
Rohl crossed his left arm over his chest. "Aye, commander."
"Sergeant, prepare to defend the ship. We may have problems leaving the harbor."
Daras saluted. "As you wish, commander."
Jaska stowed his gear in the small cabin he would share with Zyrella and Ohzikar then returned to the deck. Captain Rohl and Sergeant Daras barked orders. The ship eased out into the harbor. Mercenaries waited with composite bows at the ready, but no one hindered the ship's progress. Likely, the authorities investigating the incident on the streets had accepted the easiest conclusion. And a ship loaded with mercenaries wouldn't demand notice in a port as busy as Hectyra's.
Professional rowers pulled to the beat of the bosun's drums. The Spindrift Cloud's three sails caught the winds and added their strength. The bronze ram on the ship's front plowed into the calm sea and Hectyra fell from view. Jaska, Ohzikar, and Zyrella stood on the aft deck above the ship's two meager cabins. For a long time, the three simply watched the ship's progress and dwelt within their own thoughts.
Ohzikar said at last, "How did those palymfar find us?"
Jaska lowered the mask from his face. "I think they tracked Zyrella with magic. The powers that hid you for so long must not be as strong as they once were. They approached Lord Ezaras looking for me, suspecting that I was a traitor. So we can assume that Salahn has figured out that I'm still alive. And that I'm no longer loyal to him. Also, he got a message this far, which shows proof of his increased power."
"Salahn may believe you to be under my domination," Zyrella said.
"Possibly, though it makes little difference. He will order me killed unless they are certain that you control me." Jaska took in a deep breath of salty air. "Before I came to you, I killed a palymfar named Ooran, after I dispatched Lord Ezaras. Ooran's qavra held a tracking spell that notified his comrades of his death. When I discovered it, I knew I had to find you quickly."
Zyrella and Ohzikar stared at him, wondering about his stability. Jaska noticed their observation and frowned. "I killed Ezaras for his crimes against this city and humanity. The world won't miss him, I assure you."
Both looked away. After some time Zyrella said, "The last palymfar you killed was a student of yours?"
"All three were former students, but Yrvas was one of the best. Far more cautious than most, but he always used his caution to his advantage. He was also a friend."
Zyrella moved closer. She thought to put a hand on his shoulder then changed her mind, afraid of the feelings contact would arouse. "I'm sorry, Jaska."
He nodded. "Many things are different now. I owe gratitude and friendship to you and the White Tigress. No others. All other bonds have been severed."
"Yrvas didn't prove cautious today," Ohzikar said.
"No, their attack was hasty and desperate. They must have feared that we would soon leave."
"Other troops must be on the way then," Ohzikar said. "That's why they waited."
"I wouldn't be surprised if Salahn himself pursued us. Now that he's absorbed the White Tigress, he will have time to leave his work in the compound, something he hasn't done in many years."
Zyrella said, "Let us hope that he'll avoid you, fearing the prophecy."
As the ship sailed eastward following the coast, Jaska ordered the entire crew to assemble below. Ohzikar and Zyrella flanked him in a show of support.
"No doubt rumors have spread," he told the rowers, sailors, and mercenaries. "I am, in fact, Jaska Bavadi, the palymfar known as the Slayer."
More than several of the sailors made crescent mudras to ward away evil. Many cursed according to their various religious beliefs. Some hardened men accustomed to the rigors of warfare and seafaring looked as if they might jump ship.
"However, I am not the same man anymore. I am restored to my true self." Looks of confusion swept through the men assembled. "For years Grandmaster Salahn of the palymfar wielded a sorcerous hold over me and caused me to commit the terrors for which I am reputed.
"Now my skill turns toward righting the wrongs of the palymfar and restoring my honor. I fight for the good of all people and in helping me, you serve that cause as well."
The men's faces were unreadable. Their expressions varied and shifted as they pondered whether they should trust him. Only one thing was certain. They feared the zealous fire that laced his words and smoldered in his eyes.
"All who serve me now will likely face death. Any man who has a problem with this shall be released from his duties with what pay he has already earned. You will receive no retribution for doing so, only my good wishes.
"Soon Hareezan raiders will pursue us. They give no quarter, and they disdain the codes that protect sailors in times of peace. All of you must fight for your lives and freedom if such a time comes. I shall fight with you to the best of my ability. Zyrella Anthari, High Priestess of the White Tigress, promises the same, as does her templar captain Ohzikar Sanwared.
"Now, I would speak with the officers. The rest of you may return to duty. Those who wish to end their service should speak with their superiors tonight and let their wishes be known so that we may drop you off at the next port."
~~~
As the crew dispersed, two twin brothers who served as marines exchanged meaningful glances. Lithe and tall, they carried themselves with the grace of dancers. With demeanors more appropriate to actors or musicians, the two looked out
of place amongst their fellow mercenaries. However, in a number of battles, the two young men had proven their lethal skill with sword and bow. Despite hailing from Issaly far to the west, their skin was as dark a tan as that of any Hareezan. But their hair was pale, as if bleached by decades of sun. Their eyes were of a blue so faded as to be almost white. Friends and enemies alike thought them ghost-touched. And even the most reserved women would comment on their beauty and openly stare but never dare speak with them.
Bakulus's eager, icy eyes glowed. In terms of spirit and personality, if he were the daylight sky, his brother would be the velvet of night. "He could be the one."
"Don't even say it," Caracyn replied. "Not yet. We shall bide our time and see what sort of man he truly is. He may prove false like all the others. Don't get your hopes dashed again."
"We have to find the one eventually. It's our destiny."
Caracyn waved a hand dismissively. "Maybe the prophecy was wrong. Maybe our search is in vain."
"Our mother died with those words on her lips, Cyn."
"Then maybe we have failed somewhere along the way."
"I will never give up. Until I die, I won't stop searching. I would even search without you."
Caracyn's slender, angled face tightened. "You'll go nowhere without me, and you know it."
"For this I would."
"Then I will follow you," Caracyn replied, "even if the cause seems lost."
Bakulus smiled. "You don't really think that anyway."
Caracyn harrumphed and turned away. "I won't get my hopes up again, Bak. Not after the last time. I'm tired of this search, and I wish we could live normal lives."
"What joy would that be? Look at us. We have to be more than simple mercenaries. From birth we were marked as special."
"Aye. That is our problem."
Wrath of the White Tigress Page 10
