by Moon, Tim
There was the possibility he could simply step over the offending stone, but if the trap maker was worth a copper, he would have a redundancy. What that redundancy was, though, was anyone’s guess.
Han continued to think about the trigger while he went about finding the trap maker’s backup. There was a chance it would provide insight into the design. After a few minutes of additional searching, Han found a small gear that, if jammed, might keep the bolts from firing. If it worked, then he could unjam the gear on his way out.
Grinning to himself, Han pulled a metal pin from the sash around his waist. He stuck it into the gear and scooted backwards. When he was out of the kill zone, he pressed down on the cobblestone trigger. When he depressed it without repercussion, he released the trigger and flinched in anticipation since many master traps featured a double trigger.
Han smirked and let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. Now that he had overcome the first of an unknown number of barriers, he focused on finding the next one.
The steel door appeared formidable. From the intelligence he gathered from the interrogation, it was a solid door as thick as a well-built man. The outer shell of the door featured an ornate design of a phoenix in a circular shape, the same emblem the soldiers of Empress Qorin wore on their uniforms.
Overlaying the silver base of the phoenix design was gold, which made the design of the creature glimmer in the dim light. It was truly breathtaking to behold. Han guessed whoever designed it was a master artisan of exquisite skill. The vault door could easily have served as the door to a palace, such was its beauty. However, it was a vault door and it defended an artifact that did not belong there. Han rubbed his chin as he examined the seams around the door, the joint of the hinges, the dial that would accept his code, and the handle he would pull to expose the contents of the vault.
The dial and handle were both of high importance and Han’s gaze lingered over them for long moments as he conducted the assessment. Using a strip of cloth he quickly cut from his uniform, he folded it into a loose ball and lightly wiped it along the combination dial. The cloth snagged a little on the left side.
Han peered intently at the dial and saw a small needle protruding from the surface. Undoubtedly, the needle would poison any unsuspecting or foolish intruder. Working with practiced ease, he removed the needle and went back over the dial again just to be sure.
After the second pass, he was confident he could spin the dial in relative safety. It spun easily and there was a soft click when he pushed the final number into place. Han removed a key Master Yoshi had given him from a small pocket inside his uniform and placed it in the lock.
Just like that, with a simple twist of the key, the vault unlocked. Han pulled on the door and stepped back to let it swing open. Nothing happened.
Inside the vault was a sight that brought a wide grin to his face.
Chapter 4
In the center of the vault, a stone pillar rose as high as Han’s chest. A red cloth rested under the wooden chest, with tassels dangling in the air.
Han inspected the doorway quickly and then stepped inside. He was certain there were more traps, but had yet to find any indication of them.
The chest was made of fine, dark wood, bound with steel bands that glistened underneath a permanent magelite, cast by a mofa. The light shined down from the vaulted ceiling like a spot lamp. It was as though someone polished the steel and stained wood daily, just in case someone important showed up to inspect it.
Han retrieved his lock pick set from his robes. The clasp on the front of the chest held a padlock that trembled with the power of an enchantment. His lips thinned and his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the lock. Tendrils of power were woven around the device. Han tested the edge of the weave, which appeared in his mind as intertwined orange and yellow energy flowing like a raging river in an eternal loop. As his own powers tested the magic, he felt a surge of energy burning in his chest.
Gasping, Han’s eyes snapped open and he dropped his power as he staggered back. He clutched his chest, which felt hot and sticky. This was going to be a true challenge. It felt like ages since Han had confronted such powerful magic. It thrilled him even more than the agony the burst had inflicted on him.
Every spell had a price to undo it. Han believed he paid the price for this one and proceeded to dispel it. Using a containment spell, he enveloped the padlock so its power could not blast him. Once it was safe, Han dispelled the ward, flinching as the spell burst apart in a brilliant flash. He then set to work opening the thick padlock that sealed the chest. Moments later, the mundane device clicked softly and the shackle slid free of the case. Han pulled it off and set it on the floor.
The air was still, but he felt a tension that unnerved him. It had been too easy to get this far, and he was beginning to worry all of it may be an elaborate ruse. However, he saw nothing suspicious as he glanced over his shoulder into the hallway.
Turning back to the chest, he used one of the picks to check the seam of the lid for needles or other traps. Nothing. He carefully raised the lid and peered inside.
As the magelite illuminated the signet, Han grinned in satisfaction.
The large gold signet sat atop a pile of green silk, intricately piled to display the ring.
At least they were showing it the proper respect, he thought.
The face of the ring featured the roaring dragon seal of the Emperor of Ishigandar, and it was readily apparent to Han he was collecting more than an artifact. The Emperor had personally bestowed one of the great rings of protection upon each of his lords.
Han’s grin went flat as he pressed his lips together in grim realization.
Empress Qorin had gone beyond mere espionage and declared war on the Ishiga with this act. If Qorin was willing to take this action, Han began to worry the signet’s presence here might be a trick. His scalp tingled at the thought.
Han still held the lock pick he used to check for traps on the chest. He reached into the box, slid the lock pick into the ring, and lifted it out. With his free hand, Han pulled open his shirt to access a bandolier strapped across his chest. Cool air hit his skin and made him shiver. Goose flesh rose on his arms.
As he placed the ring into a pouch on the bandolier, Han heard a slow creaking sound. He whipped around to see the vault door closing. Han picked up the chest and dashed toward the door. He shoved the chest into the narrowing gap to slow its movement. It held, but creaked under the pressure.
Han squatted down and slipped through the space. The wood of the chest groaned and burst in a small explosion of splinters as the metal door boomed shut. Bits of wood struck his uniform and littered the floor as Han unblocked the trigger on the floor in front of the door, and sprinted down the hallway.
As Han rounded the corner and started up the stairs, he heard shouts of alarm echoing through the monastery.
Chapter 5
Han’s tabis padded softly against granite steps as he raced up another set of stairs. His breath and the thumping of his heart mingled with the echoes of alarmed monks. Clearing the next landing in a quick dash, a familiar sound caught his ear.
The click-thwack of a crossbow bolt being loosed in his direction caused him to dive to the side. He pressed himself against the stone stairs barely dodging the bolt that whizzed past his head. It clattered off the wall and tumbled over the railing, falling down to the lower levels.
While the archer reloaded the crossbow, Han was determined to reach the next floor. He was nearly to a place where he could exit the building and reach the main trail down the mountain. He could nearly taste the freedom and yearned for the fresh alpine air.
A body shrouded in smoke landed before him in a crouch. Han gasped and jumped down a couple of steps, creating space between him and this unexpected foe. The figure stood and began to slowly draw a large black blade. Han had only heard about the type of exotic sword he was now looking at. The center of the broad blade glowed with a dark purple hue.
The mask on its face resembled a monstrous, snarling creature.
A demonblade.
An unconscious shiver ran down Han’s spine. Now he understood why the vault had seemed relatively insecure. With a demonblade on hand, why bother with security that can be easily by-passed? A question flashed through his mind: why had the demonblade not been closer to the vault?
The being didn’t move. It simply stood there, holding its sword, waiting for Han’s reaction. When Han drew his sword, he narrowed his eyes and gulped as he faced the figure ahead of him. This would be his first face-off with a demonblade, and as much as Han hated to admit it, their reputation unsettled him.
There was no way out of the monastery except through his opponent, so Han focused on the aspects of the encounter he could control. He was not in a good position to fight, since his opponent currently held the high ground. An advantage he would have to work to mitigate.
Seizing the initiative, Han launched a blast of energy at his opponent and then rushed up the last few stairs. The blast shoved the demonblade backward, nearly knocking the blade free of its grasp. The creature reached down with both hands and swung at Han. The lightning fast cut flashed through the air. Han parried it.
When their blades touched, the demon’s dark blade flashed purple, casting a glow over both of them. Other than the flash of light, the sword was essentially like any other. Han’s blade held its own, which gave him a sense of relief. A burst of confidence charged through his body, and for a moment, he thought perhaps the demonblade’s reputation was their most effective weapon.
Their blades clashed together in a series of red flashes. Neither of them gained a strong advantage on the small landing. The creature was quick, but Han could match it. He mentally berated himself; this was no demon.
Han pivoted on the ball of his lead foot, forcing the demonblade to fight with his back facing downstairs. He launched another attack. His strikes were blocked, but he’d only used the moves to set up a kick. Han’s foot lashed out viciously.
It met only air. Han nearly toppled down the stairs, but caught himself just in time. His free arm twirled through the air like a windmill as he found his balance. The demonblade was gone.
Han spun in a low crouch, expecting a deathblow to land at any time. No one was behind him. He looked all around, up to the ceiling and then over the railing. Nothing.
A pair of wild, cackling laughs echoed down the staircase. His shoulders trembled from another shiver. The noise was like nothing he’d ever heard. It must have come from the higher levels, but when Han looked, no one was there.
“Karse!” he said, cursing himself. Seizing the opportunity, he began to run. His feet pounded up one more flight of stairs to the next level and he turned down a long hallway. Freedom was close. Han prayed to the Great Teacher that he had the speed and skill to escape with his life.
As Han sprinted down the hallway, a pair of monks emerged from a door on the right. They looked startled at the sight of Han, while he wondered how they had not heard the battle on the stairs. Surely the clash of the blades had echoed throughout the stone monastery.
Startled as they were, the monks were still quick to react. One carried a staff, while the other held a large book.
The man with the staff leapt forward and began twirling the weapon as he advanced. Han slowed his pace but kept running, advancing to within a dozen paces. Using his momentum, Han attacked, swinging his sword with brutal, heavy blows to beat back the defense. The monk grimaced as he lost ground.
The warrior monk pivoted, bringing the end of the staff up in a strike at Han’s head.
Slapping the staff aside with the flat of his blade, Han reached up, grabbed the staff with one hand and slid his blade forward along the shaft. His strike was quick and powerful. The monk fell back against the stonewall clasping the stump where his other hand used to be. His panicked shrieks filled the hallway.
Han glanced behind him, still weary of the demonblade. The other monk had set the book in an alcove in the wall and dashed forward as he unleashed a blinding burst of light. Han squinted as he leapt sideways and turned so his back was close to the wall, and lashed out with his blade to keep space between them.
With a surge of his own magic, Han’s eyes glowed red and his vision returned. The monk had picked up his friend’s staff and was spinning it in an elaborate display of his skill. Han smirked at the showmanship and launched a blast of red energy at the man. The staff clattered to the ground wreathed in flames, followed a moment later by the monk’s head.
Han flicked the blood off his sword to keep it from running down the blade and loosening his grip. In a quick lunge at the monk cradling his stump, Han thrust his sword through his throat, cutting off his screams. He fought the urge to inspect the book. Instead, he stayed focused on the mission and resumed his mad dash toward the main entrance of the monastery.
After what seemed like ages, Han found the hallway opening up into a grand space. His pace slowed as he took in the amazing view. Glancing up, he saw the ceiling was nearly one hundred feet high. Elaborate carvings on tall polished pillars depicted scenes from the history of the Gong, the people whose country and monastery he had infiltrated, and the centuries old rival of the Ishiga. The two kingdoms that had once been united under one empire. Statues sat peacefully in numerous alcoves lining the walls, and light filled the space from a hundred golden lanterns that dangled from glistening hooks protruding from ornately carved arms built into the pillars.
Han sucked in a breath at the sight as his eyes darted around. His footfalls and breaths echoed faintly, but he took heart at the clear path before him. A smirk played on his lips.
Then a boom echoed so loud that Han thought his ears might explode. He winced at the noise and came to a halt as a gust of frigid air rushed over him. The massive front doors, each of them easily thirty feet tall, had swung open and caused the ruckus.
In their place stood not one, but two demonblades. Dark smoke swirled about their bodies as orange and red embers flickered in the cold mountain breeze. A shiver ran up Han’s spine and his shoulders visibly shook, though he played it off by shifting his stance as he tried to formulate a plan.
The demonblades guessed his plan. Had they not been there, Han had no doubt he would have by-passed the monastery’s usual security. As it was, his life was now at grave risk, which put his lord’s possession in great jeopardy.
Han pulled his blade out and stood his ground. He eyed his opponents with a calculating gaze.
They copied his action, drawing their black blades and stalked toward him in perfect unison.
Whatever happened next, Han knew blood would be spilled.
Chapter 6
Together the two demonblades represented the greatest challenge Han had ever faced. His own skills were renowned among the Ishiga, while demonblades held a formidable reputation the world over.
He fared well on the staircase, but he suspected the warrior had not pressed his advantage. To what end, he still was not sure. Nevertheless, Han would not make the mistake of underestimating his foes.
The demonblades strode toward him, closing the two hundred feet between them with surprising speed. They began to chant.
Han could feel the air buzzing with magic and knew right away that their chant was some dark incantation. Within moments the air was swirling around him. His clothes pressed against his body as the wind whipped his hair about and whistled in his ears.
As he watched, Han thought he saw pieces of shadow fall away from the walls and ceiling and begin swirling in the wind like leaves caught in a whirlpool. The fragments of shadow grew until he realized they were bats, or some demon kin with a similar likeness.
Han replaced his sword in its scabbard and concentrated. His hands followed the practiced routine and power began to surge within him. A ball of brilliant red light burst into existence and began to grow as Han spread out his hands.
The shadow bats dove toward Han as he stretched his arms out wide, exte
nding them as far as he could reach. He felt vulnerable as the creatures raced toward him, but he knew he was safe. The red energy grew into a massive translucent orb that surrounded him on all sides.
One creature managed to enter the orb, but was badly damaged. Han struck it with a backhand and it burst into a puff of black smoke as it fell against the orb.
The two demonblades with their ghoulish masks moved to either side of Han. One struck the orb with his sword, the red vein within the blade flashed brilliantly as the metal bounced off the unaffected construct.
Han began to walk forward, his movement couldn’t be too swift or the orb would collapse. This was not a big problem because he simply had to make it to the doors. One of the demonblades slashed at the orb. Sparks shot across the floor to no effect.
They followed him unable to stop him. Han smiled when he realized neither of them would leave to close the doors. They were too eager to attack him and the monks were nowhere to be seen.
As Han marched toward the doorway, crossing the grand foyer at a steady pace, dozens of monks carrying bows and other weapons filed out of a single entrance on either side of the room. They must have been lying in wait. Now they were too late. Han was nearly to the door. In fact, the entrance of the monks would only make his escape that much more satisfying.
The monks lined the remaining space between Han and the entrance. Two rows of at least a dozen monks blocked the way as two men began pushing each door shut.
Han grimaced, but continued walking. It was impossible for them to close the doors at their current pace.
A voice pierced his mind; it was a howl mixed with cackling. Han’s pace slowed and he winced at the intrusion. His skull simultaneously felt like it was being crushed and burned. The orb began to flicker.
The monks launched a volley of arrows at him on the off chance one would slip through his defenses. Han stopped walking to concentrate on pushing the mental attack out. His teeth ground together with the effort. Beads of sweat rose on his forehead and upper lip.
