Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  ‘Oh and you’d fair better would ye, Sears?’

  ‘Please boys,’ Coppin said. ‘Let’s not, eh?’ She picked up the rum and took a swig, closing one eye tight and pulling her head to the left with the strong taste. ‘Rum?’ she blurted. ‘Ye sure?’

  ‘Ha, good stuff, eh?’ Longoss said, appreciating the distraction.

  Sears reached across and took the barrel, as well as a swig for himself. He coughed and the other two laughed. Taking a second swig, he passed it across to Longoss, who nodded his thanks to the man.

  ‘All I mean, Longoss, is if it’s such a struggle against two assassins, for either of us, how’d we expect to find anything out about this mark that’s supposed to be so damned important by assaulting the whole damned Black Guild?’

  ‘The siblings.’ Longoss looked back at Sears whilst giving the barrel back to Coppin. ‘They knew it was big, I could tell, and the fact they didn’t know more confirms it. As for how we’ll find out, I’ll pry it from Poi Son’s lips miself.’

  ‘That’s just it though,’ Sears said, his voice rising angrily, ‘we can’t take the damned Black Guild can we? Not the two of us!’

  ‘Three,’ Coppin said.

  ‘Two,’ Sears and Longoss said together. Coppin took another, longer swig of rum.

  ‘Anyway,’ Sears continued, ‘if we know nothing about this mark, who’s to say it ain’t too late, that Poi Son has had some other assassin kill whoever he or she may be?’

  Longoss was shaking his head as Sears spoke. ‘He, not a she, of that I’m sure and nope, they won’t make a move whilst we’re alive, not now they know we know what they know.’

  Coppin looked from the barrel to Longoss and back, blinking several times.

  ‘We don’t know what they know though, do we?’ Sears said, exasperated.

  ‘We know enough as far as they’re concerned, Sears. They wants us dead or pinned down in Dockside at the very least, where they think we can do no harm. The place is lawless with the plague afoot. Fires have gutted whole blocks, looting and worse are rife at night—’

  ‘No change there then,’ Coppin muttered.

  ‘And they know,’ Longoss continued, ‘should they fail to kill us, at least keeping us here will stop us informing the City Guard.’

  ‘Ye already did inform ’em,’ Coppin said, laughing and prodding Sears on the arm.

  ‘Ye know what I mean. They know if Sears gets clear of Dockside and reports all this to his captain, who in turn goes to the Constable of Wesson, then coming from him it could very well cause some serious shit for Poi Son, who will be aiming outside of Dockside with this assassination and needing the attention of the authorities anywhere but on the guild.’

  ‘How’d ye know it’d be another district without knowing the mark?’

  ‘If it’s so big, Sears, it’s hardly to be a gang master or such is it? So it must be someone in an upper district, see? Another higher guild’s master or one of Wesson’s high lords even?’

  Sears took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Aye, I guess so.’ After a few moments pause, where no one spoke, Sears’ eyes lightened and he asked another question of Longoss. ‘Can we not leave Dockside through the sewers?’

  Longoss shook his head immediately as Coppin said, ‘I ain’t crawling through that shit, literally, all the way out of Dockside.’

  ‘Besides,’ Longoss added, ‘we’ll get to Poi Son and we will get answers, as well as payback for Elleth.’

  Despite their scepticism, both Sears and Coppin saw the raw determination in Longoss’ eyes as he spoke, and neither denied the feeling the former assassin would pull off what he intended. When that would be, however, was a different matter and it was that which worried Sears the most.

  Coppin’s thoughts lingered on the prospect of revenge after Longoss’ words. I hope ye right Longoss, for I want that for Elleth as much as you do.

  ‘Well we can’t wait for ever,’ Sears said finally.

  ‘No Sears, we can’t,’ Longoss agreed.

  ‘Then we better continue my training then, eh lads?’

  Both men looked to Coppin, the slightest of smiles appearing on both of their faces.

  ***

  Exley Clewarth ran down the twisting steps, a small bundled figure over his shoulder as his remaining witchunters and warrior monks followed close behind. A couple of prisoners tagged on as well, but most stayed behind, trying all they could to break into the vault while two more stood guard on the door to the upper levels. Exley didn’t expect they would last long once the battle mage realised something was wrong and there were no negotiations in progress, but the prisoners would slow down the battle mage and the men-at-arms, and that was all that mattered.

  As he reached the bottom floor, Exley moved aside to let the two remaining warrior monks down in front of him. He passed down the unmoving gnome and dropped down into the ancient tunnels below, before taking the gnome and lead once more, his men close on his heals.

  After twenty or so minutes, Exley passed the gnome over to one of his witchunters rather than pause to catch his breath. He had no idea how soon he would be pursued and so wanted to keep moving until he reached the prison. From there he would make for the cathedral where he would finally be safe and he could present the traitorous gnome to the Grand Inquisitor.

  He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of the victory, more over Horler Comlay than the guild he'd assaulted. He had no care for what the gnome had done. As far as he was concerned the real perpetrator had been the wizard, who was nothing more than ash at the bottom of a pyre in Execution Square, but the victory over Wesson’s Witchunter General would be sweet indeed.

  A monk who'd taken over leading the group coughed and spluttered as he ran through a spider web. Exley made a mental note not to take the lead through the tunnels again and so dropped back slightly, letting everyone but Egan Dundaven pass ahead of him as they ran exhausted through the darkness.

  ‘I can hardly believe we managed it,’ Egan said, panting, and Exley’s smile widened.

  ‘You did well in finding these tunnels, Master Dundaven. You’re a credit to the order.’ Exley couldn’t see how the witchunter took the compliment, but he was sure the man would be ecstatic. It wasn’t often the Witchunter General dished out praise, after all.

  The tunnel was narrow in places and the group spread out into single file. Exley shuddered when he realised he was at the back, half expecting some thunderbolt or ball of flame to strike him from behind. He shook the thought away as his rasping breath struggled with the dust filled, stale air of the damp tunnel.

  And then there it was, a deathly scream and a flash of light from ahead.

  Exley couldn’t see the monk leading the group, but as the flash shot down the dark tunnel, an image of the man doubled in pain almost burnt into Exley’s retinas. He turned away, blinking repeatedly.

  The familiar clicking of crossbows caused Exley to look back. He saw two of his witchunters crouch down whilst reloading their weapons. The two remaining prisoners turned to run back towards Exley, before being thrown with an invisible force past everyone in the group. They landed in a crumpled heap, far back into the darkness, their cries of surprise and fear ending suddenly as they landed.

  The second warrior monk jumped up and lurched forward, his torch bursting to life again with the renewed movement and its flickering light briefly revealing a cloaked figure up ahead, just within Exley’s range of vision. The warrior monk covered the distance swiftly, jumping at the end and striking the figure square in the chest with his raised foot, throwing the man down onto his back. The monk hefted his mace quickly and swung it down to strike the fallen man, who rolled to the side, the mace thumping the ground close to his head. A foot shot up and connected with the monk’s groin, causing him to bend double just before a knife like wand thrust up into his chest. A loud crack from the wand launched the monk into the ceiling of the tunnel where he stayed as if pinned to the stone.

  Three crossbows clicked then and
Exley realised one was his own. He’d loaded and loosed the bolt automatically, without thinking. Both his and the other two bolts, one from Egan to his side and one from another witchunter further up the tunnel, spat forth towards their attacker. As they reached him, the body on the ceiling fell and took all three bolts. A cry rang out and all three witchunters knew they'd just hit and killed their brother monk. Exley roared in outrage.

  Another bolt clicked from the final witchunter up ahead, but his bolt turned violently to the side at a wave of the magician’s hand and a flick of his wand, shattering the bolt on the stone wall.

  The cloaked figure ran forward then with great speed, somehow dodging another bolt loosed by Egan before reaching the two forward witchunters. Exley could just see the bundled gnome on the floor, his unmoving form caught in the flickering light of a torch thrown down by one of the witchunters now engaging the magician. They drew their rapiers and moved together to defend themselves and block the tunnel to where their General stood.

  ‘Master Dundaven, get the gnome, drag him back here. I’ll cover you,’ Exley ordered, as he took Egan’s loaded crossbow from him and deftly loaded another bolt onto his own.

  Egan rushed forward as the sound of steel rang on steel. As he ran, he could make out the cloaked magician fending off the two witchunters’ rapiers with a short-sword of his own, which hummed with every connecting thrust and parry.

  Exley tried to get a clear shot with one of the crossbows but it was impossible. His two witchunters twisted and turned around each other in an almost perfect fighting harmony, but left no room for a bolt to safely pass between them. Now Egan too blocked the way as he ran back down the tunnel with the unconscious gnome over his shoulder.

  As Egan reached his Witchunter General, so did the sound of death as one of the witchunters fell to a sword that now seemed longer than it had before, and of course it was. The magician had thrust with his short-sword causing the now dead witchunter to back away, leaving just enough room to stay on balance. The sword, however, had reached out further still, growing to the size of a long-sword to pierce the witchunter’s heart. The black clad man fell dead immediately and the shock to his fighting companion left him open to attack. He jumped backwards and somehow managed to avoid the swinging blade, but not the magician’s wand. Its sharp point entered the witchunter’s brain through his eye, unleashing a scream that curdled the blood of the two remaining witchunters.

  A light erupted then, from the back of the man’s head before he slumped to the ground. The brightness of it blinded Exley and Egan briefly, giving the magician time to reach them before Exley loosed the two crossbows. The first bolt hit the ceiling, the wild shot wasted as the Witchunter General’s blurred vision distorted his aim, but the second struck, a lucky shot but a true one and the resulting thud and grunt pleased Exley as the bolt found flesh.

  A dull pain racked the Witchunter General’s head and threw it back then as he felt his nose flatten and crunch under the unseen, invisible assault. He dropped to the floor and stifled a cry of pain as his eyes blurred even more.

  ‘Hold!’ Egan Dundaven shouted, and all went quiet and still. All except the harsh, dust filled lungs of the three heavily breathing men. ‘Move and I’ll slit the gnome’s throat, I swear it,’ Egan said in all seriousness.

  Exley grinned to himself, feeling the hot, wet blood of his nose dribbling over his lips and teeth. He rubbed his eyes and they began to clear, revealing their attacker, who stood half bent as he pressed on his thigh where the flight of Exley’s bolt was visible – his sword was gone. His other hand held the bloodied wand, its tip pointing at Exley, whilst Egan held a knife to the gnome’s throat.

  ‘If Master Orix dies, then so do you both and it won’t be pleasant, I assure you,’ the cloaked magician said, his voice calm despite his wound and the situation.

  ‘Ahh… Lord Strickland, a pleasure to finally meet you.’ Exley spat a mouth full of blood at the magician’s feet.

  ‘The pleasure is mine, General…?’

  Exley sneered. ‘Clewarth,’ he said, eyes boring into the magician’s, ‘General Comlay is out of town on business and so I have been tasked with Wesson’s necessary work in his absence.’

  ‘Oh I see, General Clewarth, you’re his replacement whilst he tends to more pressing matters. I do rather think he would have pulled this off without such, well, absolute failure, but you’re new to this I’ll—’

  ‘Enough,’ Exley said, his barely contained anger clear in his venomous tone. Ward Strickland smiled as Exley continued. ‘You will let us past, magician. Otherwise Master Orix’s blood will be spilled here as well as all of theirs.’ Exley waved his hand and the empty crossbow towards the witchunters and warrior monks lying broken on the tunnel floor.

  ‘So you can burn him like you did Lord Severun? Do you not realise this cleric is working towards a cure to the plague? If you kill him, how many more would die before the remaining clerics find a cure?’

  ‘He shouldn’t have started it then should he?’ Exley said nasally, his newly broken nose throbbing all the while.

  ‘He didn’t, you fool. This plague is a co-incidence, or at worse a piggy-back disease that attached itself to the arcane magic used by Lord Severun, not Master Orix. He did all he could to make sure this kind of thing wouldn’t happen, but we now believe it was part of the spell Lord Severun used, not the potion Master Orix created. He had only just discovered this before your attack and now you have dragged him away from work that could save us all.’ Ward was breathing heavily now, the wound in his leg and his magical exertion taking its toll.

  ‘I’m not for believing the likes of you, magician. You weave spells and bewitch people, ensnare their minds and corrupt. How can I know releasing this gnome wouldn’t cause more pain from more experiments and potions gone wrong? Now step aside man, otherwise he dies here and now and you will have no chance to free him.’

  ‘Is it true?’ Egan asked suddenly, and Exley turned to him surprised. ‘Is what you say true? Could he stop the plague?’

  ‘Master Dundaven, I think you should keep your mouth—’

  ‘Yes,’ Ward said, nodding. He looked deep into the eyes of the witchunter, whose hold on the knife at Orix’s throat relaxed a little. ‘If he is returned now, he could very well end all this suffering, all this death. And he has already been dealt his punishment. He is under house arrest for life, as ordered by the King, your ruler, not the Grand Inquisitor.’

  ‘Kill him now,’ Exley said, eyes boring into the witchunter.

  Egan looked horrified. ‘What?’

  ‘Kill him now,’ Exley said again, his voice low and dangerous, ‘before he spins more lies. Kill him, Master Dundaven, that’s an order!’

  Egan’s grip on the knife tightened once more. ‘But the people, General… we follow Sir Samorl for his sacrifice to save the people of Altoln, and this gnome can help them.’

  ‘I said kill him!’ Exley shouted, and Egan jumped at the sudden outburst, the sharp blade touching Orix’s neck and leaving a line of blood across it in an arc. He dropped the knife then and fell back shaking his head and muttering to himself. ‘This isn’t why I joined; this isn’t what we’re supposed to be about.’

  Orix fell to the floor alongside the knife, and Exley threw down the unloaded crossbows and drew his rapier. He thrust it first at Lord Strickland, who fell back away from it, and then he raised it high and brought it down swiftly towards Orix’s prone body.

  Before the blade struck, the Witchunter General jerked violently to the side. His rapier fell from his hand and landed harmlessly on the gnome. Exley stumbled sideways then and fell to the ground, a dull pain spreading across his body as he probed his bloodied side with his fingers. He gasped in disbelief as he felt the gaping wound leaking his life’s blood across the tunnel floor. Shallow breaths slowing, Exley Clewarth turned his head to his remaining witchunter, Egan Dundaven, before the light dimmed and his eyes closed; the fixed expression upon his face was one of shock and dis
belief.

  A blood-soaked rapier fell from Egan Dundaven’s hand. Tears filled the man’s eyes as he mumbled to himself repeatedly, ‘This isn’t why I became a witchunter; this isn’t what we’re supposed to be about.’

  Chapter 39: Can’t See The Wood For The Trees

  Shite-filled water lapped around Rapeel’s legs as one of the wiry lads he’d sent ahead returned down the sewer tunnel, eventually moving into the orange glow of the small torch one of his men held out ahead of him.

  ‘Boss,’ the boy greeted. He nodded as he reached the street-assassin, who motioned for him to continue. ‘We think there’s an opening ahead. We’ve seen torchlight, although it’s through a smaller pipe.’ His eyes flicked briefly to Rapeel’s two large men.

  ‘If Longoss can fit through it, these two can,’ Rapeel said. ‘I trust you were discreet?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Aye, boss, we don’t got no light do we.’

  Rapeel’s brows lifted.

  ‘And we was quiet too.’

  Nodding, Rapeel asked about the large rat.

  ‘The rat were pulling for us to head that way, so it’s where Longoss went, I’d wager on it.’

  ‘Any idea of his whereabouts with regards to up top, should our mark make a move from the sewers to the surface?’

  The boy grinned. ‘Reckon so, aye.’

  ‘Good lad,’ Rapeel said, slapping the boy on the arm. ‘Head back up top as soon as you can then and get word for others to mark the exits. I don’t want the bastard escaping us after we’ve tramped through this shit, understood?’

  The boy nodded eagerly and immediately squeezed past Rapeel, heading back the way they’d come.

  Once out of sight, one of Rapeel’s men turned to him, clearly concerned. ‘How’re we gonna get in there, against Longoss of all people?’

  ‘Suck it up, you soft sack of shit. We’ll send the rat and the boys in, then we’ll follow.’