by Jeff Gunzel
“Please have a seat, Filista, then perhaps we can finally get started,” said Shantis, her voice calm despite her growing irritation. “It’s high time we made some decisions, and I—”
“For once we agree,” interrupted Filista. “It’s time some decisions were made.” She remained standing, leaning back with one foot planted against the white wall. With her high cheekbones and small mouth, she always looked to have a permanent smirk. Like someone with a secret they weren’t willing to share. Right now, it was difficult to tell if that smirk was genuine or not. “It seems you’ve taken more interest in this ‘human’ than you have for your own kind. My people expect a bit more from their High Priestess...old friend.”
“Your people?” said Shantis, struggling to contain her anger. “And since when have you become the voice of the people?”
“Since you’ve turned your back on them in favor of a weaker race. Ever since you’ve started chasing this ancient myth—”
“Ancient myth?” Shantis growled softly. Her eyes squinted into yellow slits. She slowly rose from her chair. “How can you possibly still doubt the coming of the Gate Keeper? Did you not see what he is capable of? Were you not there when he—”
“When he what?” she shot back. “Led those black creatures straight to our village? Tried his best to eliminate our people once and for all?”
“How dare you?” Shantis shrieked, finally losing her composure. “We performed the ancient ritual. You were there, damn you! It was—”
“It was never completed,” said Filista flatly. The room fell silent. Pulling herself off the wall, she stood tall and confident. “Not all of us are blinded by the tricks of the humans. That man knew what the outcome would be. He willingly played along, knowing he had already fooled our gullible High Priestess. When it was clear he was about to be revealed as the false god he is, he summoned those demons to interrupt the ritual.”
Shantis trembled with anger; her knuckles popped as her fists clenched tightly. “I’ve heard enough of this treachery,” she growled. “Your pitiful twisting of reality is nothing more than a manifestation of your own fear. If you are afraid to answer your calling, then so be it. The glory will fall upon us while you cower like a rabbit.”
“Oh, my dear friend,” said Filista, her gentle voice dripping with false sympathy. “Being led to slaughter by a false god has nothing to do with glory. For years we have lived in peace without those butchers getting involved in our lives. Has any race ever shown such knack for turning against one another? They kill and pillage as often as children argue. The humans come here with their lies and tricks, easily deceiving our mighty leader.” Now she was talking more to the others than to Shantis.
“That’s enough, Filista,” said Shantis. “The humans have...self-destructive tendencies, I agree. As time passes, they will learn.”
“Thousands of years were not long enough? Lizards display more adaptability.”
“I said enough! None of this is relevant. You do not speak for the people, and I’m sure the others will—”
One by one, armed men began to march into the room. Shantis watched while five men took positions around the room, each pointing a spear in her direction. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, old friend. I do indeed speak for the people,” said Filista, her permanent smirk appearing quite genuine all of a sudden.
Graten and Coompall each thrust their seats back, holding up their hands innocently. “High Priestess, we knew nothing of this,” stuttered Coompall. “We–We take our leave.” They scurried from the room.
“Your hunger for power is so great you would commit treason?” Shantis thundered to Filista.
“Protecting the lives of my people is not treason,” said Filista calmly. “I will not allow you to lead them to certain death all because a mere human deceived our leader. Please come quietly...old friend. I know you don’t see it now, but this is best for everyone. In your stead, I will see to the people and tend to their needs—a thing I find of great importance. An issue you seem to have forgotten.”
Shantis unclenched her fists, then pointed across the men with a sweeping finger. “Stand down now! I can see you have been tricked, and I will take that into consideration when deciding your punishment. I am your High Priestess, the only true authority in this room. I say once more: stand down.”
“We–We no longer answer to you,” said one of the cryton soldiers. He shook his spear in Shantis’s direction, glancing periodically at Filista. “C-Come with us now. We don’t want to have to hurt you.” The other four visibly tightened their grips on their spears, but didn’t advance, each waiting for the others to take initiative.
Shantis slowly shook her head and sighed. A deep sadness showed in her eyes. “Then it seems I have no choice,” she whispered. “For what it’s worth, I forgive each of you, and may the gods do the same.” She bowed low to the ground then stood up straight. Their eyes went wide with horror. “Die with honor.”
Smooth and quick, she blazed across the room and was on the first soldier before he could blink. Grasping his spear just below the tip, Shantis brought down her forearm, shattering the weapon in a spray of splinters. Keeping her momentum, she spun about, driving a vicious elbow into the soldier’s throat. Windpipe instantly destroyed, the man released a wet, gurgling gasp as he hit the wall, then crumpled to the ground.
In one clean motion, she reversed her spin, driving the splintered spear tip into the next soldier’s eye. Dead instantly, he collapsed down next to his gasping comrade. With a kick, she flipped the table towards the other three, forcing them to scatter before it crashed against the wall. Shantis dropped down low, palms flat and one knee to the floor, showing her teeth.
“Don’t just stand there, take her down,” barked Filista, moving near the doorway. It was unclear if she was blocking any escape attempt, or simply trying to get out of harm’s way.
Shantis rose back to her feet. “You heard the coward hiding in the doorway. Come, take me down. Forfeit your lives in the name of her cause.”
Blinding pain emanated through the back of her head, driving her back down to her knees. A second blast sent her skidding across the floor. The room spun and her vision blurred in and out. The warrior rolled to her back and looked up into the eyes of her champion. Weakly, she reached up to him with a trembling hand, only to have it kicked to the side. “Why, Brinkton?” she mumbled softly. “I trusted you.”
For a heartbeat, his stern face saddened. His hard eyes softened with sympathy, looking down at his leader, his friend. An instant later, the flash of compassion disappeared like smoke. His permanent scowl deepened into a hateful glare. He drove his fist down into her face once, twice... Her head bounced off the floor with each solid hit. Clinging to consciousness, she rolled to her stomach and tried to crawl. The futile attempt was stopped easily when he dropped a knee into her back, all his weight pinning her down. He gripped her hair, pulling her head back sharply.
Filista marched over to the helpless warrior. Her arms hung limply like a scarecrow’s. “Why must you be so stubborn?” said Filista, her face only inches away. “Can’t you see this is for your own good, for the good of the people?”
“I sssee the acts of a traitor,” Shantis said in common tongue, knowing no one would even understand her. “A coward who betraysss her own people, all for the sssake of personal gain. You ssspin the facts as a ssspider weaves a web, all ssso you look to be a sssavior. Sssave them? You’ve doomed our people.”
Filista just shook her head. “Even now, the devils’ language drips from your mouth like venom. Take her away.”
* * *
Large red flags hung from the rooftop, drooping low in the breezeless night air. Vivid and easy to spot even in the black of night, they clearly marked the private hut. No one was to enter here without permission, and most avoided it altogether. Guards patrolled the hut day and night; spears in hand, they watched attentively through their wicker helmets. Toni
ght there were two at the doorway, three others patrolling around the building.
The night had been uneventful as usual, but that was no excuse for growing complacent. Kelus’s orders were clear: protect the Shantie Rhoe...at all costs. The two at the doorway stood at attention, their spears locked together, crossed over the doorway. Their eyes remained focused straight ahead. The other three soldiers passed in front of their vision once again, continuing their march in an endless circle.
The moment the three disappeared around the corner, one of the door guards brought a hand up to his neck. The tiny jab felt like an insect bite. The other ignored his partner, eyes still scanning across the plentiful bushes and trees. Nothing seemed out of place. A tiny sting at the side of his own neck made him jump. The two looked at each other, eyes wide, the fast-acting poison already working. A white-hot burning sensation moved through their necks, all the way down to their toes. Voices failed when they tried to call out for help. The sky began to twist and spin as consciousness left them. But instead of hitting the ground, they each fell into waiting arms and were quickly dragged into nearby bushes.
Eric sat up on his bed. Not sure what had disturbed his sleep, he looked around the room. He detected no movement or any other evidence that something might be wrong. Of all your senses, trust your eyes the least, his father used to say. Your eyes are always in a state of overstimulation. They see what they want to see. If you really want to see the truth, don’t use them. “I remember, father,” he said out loud, then closed his eyes and began to focus, listening, feeling.
The same three soldiers came back around again. They marched along at a quick step. Very little time had passed since their last round. They glanced at the two guards standing at the doorway, their locked spears crossing the entrance and faces covered by wicker helmets. The two stared straight ahead, scanning the bushes and trees just as before. The three rounded the corner again without so much as a backward glance.
With perfect timing, the door guards uncrossed their spears as three shadowy figures streaked from the nearby bushes, allowing them quick entrance to the building. Once they silently darted inside and closed the door, the two imposters crossed their weapons again. There they stood, still as night, still staring out across the brush.
The room was dark, but it only took a moment to locate the bed. The sleeping figure hadn’t stirred, remaining motionless under the blanket. Two small darts zipped into the blanket. One of the assassins pointed to the bed, fingers flickering in silent speech. The other two lunged forward without hesitation, sharp steel flashing in each of their hands. Both blades sunk deep into the unconscious victim, followed by a spray of white feathers. They stared down at the covered pillows, eyes wide with panic. The decoy had worked perfectly.
The man by the doorway inhaled sharply when a large hand wrapped across his neck. “Looking for someone?” Eric whispered in his ear. His shrill screech quickly became a sickly gurgle as the fiery blade worked through his back and out the front of his chest. Eric turned and drove the corpse through the door. It exploded into a bloom of wood chips, the dead man skidding into the street.
Seeing the target’s back, the remaining two rushed him. But when Eric turned, they stopped cold. This was the first time they had gotten a good look at the proposed target, who was large and muscular, with long, curly, brown hair that hung over his face. He possessed a face they couldn’t quite see, bordered in shadow from the subtle light coming through the broken doorway. Yellow eyes glowed through the curtain of brown hair. The man was gripping a jeweled blade pulsing with fire from hilt to tip. The assassins froze in place, petrified at the supernatural sight.
“Did you think it would be so easy?” Eric hissed. “Well, here I am. Which one of you wants the glory?” The distinct smell of burned flesh filled the room as his fizzling sword steamed with dry blood. “Who sent you?” There was the sound of a quick skirmish just outside, followed by calls for backup. Eric ignored the commotion, calmly waiting for an answer to his question.
Soldiers began to filter in from outside. Some quickly walled off the Shantie Rhoe with their bodies, even though it was clear he was in no danger at all. The others surrounded the assassins, spear tips pushing at their necks. “Take them alive,” said Eric calmly. “I’ll be having words with them soon enough.”
Chapter 4
“We cannot continue taking such risks,” said Kelus, driving a fist into his open hand. “Double—no, triple the guard from now on.” The usually calm chieftain was more than a bit rattled. “How did they ever get so close to him?”
“And do we even know who they is?” said Wara, her sharp green eyes burning like emeralds. Her yellow dress drooped loosely below her shoulders, as if the fabric were wet. Several gold hoops ran up and down her thin, boney arms, so many it seemed impossible they wouldn’t burden her frail body. Yet the old woman moved about with an unnerving grace, a sort of finesse no one that age should still possess. “Have you learned anything new about the attackers? We must gain some understanding of their motives.”
Kelus walked across the bearskin rug and stood before one of the tan canvas pictures strung to the wall. Although he’d seen them many times before, he looked on, pretending to admire them. “The interrogation is already underway,” he said, never lifting his gaze from the wall. “We’ll have some answers soon enough.”
“We have our answers now, sir.” The curtain of colored beads scattered to the side. In walked a burly soldier with black tattoos running up and down his bare arms. “At least, we know more than before.” Despite the apparent good news, the man did not look particularly pleased. With a solemn expression, he pulled a red-stained white cloth from inside his vest, then snapped the wrapping like a whip, sending a small flap of skin to the floor. “They all have the mark, I’m afraid,” he said, staring down at the chunk of flesh. In a flash he was gone, beads clicking against each other in the doorway.
Kelus sighed as he picked up the fresh, wet strip. He held it up and pulled it tight, revealing a tattoo of a blue rose floating in a cloud of white smoke. “They won’t talk,” said the twins, voices dry and emotionless. Their bald heads bobbed down and then up with a cracking sound.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” said Wara. She nervously ran her slender fingers through her long, white hair. “I’m afraid Eric has made some powerful enemies. And no, there is no chance they’re going to talk.”
“That has yet to be seen,” said Eric, slapping back the stringed beads and entering the room where the private meeting was being held.
“You were not invited to attend,” said the toothless twins, heads bobbing down then up.
“Yes Kikuro, that’s correct,” said Eric flatly, focusing on the tattooed skin. He picked it up and took a long look. The flower blossom was bright and well detailed. “So, who are we dealing with here?” Ignoring the circle, he looked directly at Kelus.
Kelus paused a long time before answering, “I think you better come with me.” He faced the circle and nodded. “If you will excuse us.” The two of them left in a hurry.
After a time, Kikuro spoke. “He has drawn much attention.”
“Yes, too much,” said Wara, rubbing her neck. “The woods have eyes. They watch his every move despite our best efforts to conceal his identity. His reputation is rapidly spreading beyond the borders of our village.” She sighed, fingers rising to her temples. “He can stay here no longer. We don’t have the means to protect him, and I will not risk the safety of our people. We must begin the trials.”
* * *
“I can’t prepare if you continue keeping me in the dark, Kelus,” said Eric while they walked down the dirt path. He rubbed a hand down his bare arm, feeling the black symbols burned into it. Even after the horrible scarring occurred, he never made an effort to cover his arms. They were a part of him now, and he would do nothing to hide them. The subtle motion stopped Kelus from staring at the markings, and seemed to help get his attention. “Are these the reason they came
for me?” Eric continued.
“They’re not talking yet, but I’m sure it is,” said Kelus.
“And who is they?”
Kelus groaned, clearly not wanting to discuss this. “Those tattoos; those symbols inked to each of their backs. It is the symbol of the Tryads.” He shook his head, finding his own words hard to believe. “Professional killers.”
“You mean like mercenaries or leathers?”
“No,” Kelus said softly. “They are far beyond that, my boy. If a man owes you money and you need a brute to shake him up a bit, you might attain the services of what you call a leather.” Eric was beginning to see where this was going. “If the revenge you seek is with a wealthy landowner or any man with significant rank, if you have enough coin, you could hire mercenaries to deal with them. But if your target is a king or queen; if your goal is to change an entire political landscape by one significant assassination—”
“You hire the Tryads,” said Eric.
“Not directly, but yes,” said Kelus. “As with most powerful factions, there is a chain of command. No one ever speaks with their leader directly. Technically, they don’t even exist. They are unseen ghosts who move in, get the job done, then move out without leaving a trace. The only evidence they leave is a corpse.”
“So the Tryads themselves are not my enemy.”
“A compassionate way of looking at it, I suppose,” Kelus said dryly. “But that’s really not the point here. Someone wants you dead. And what’s worse, to have hired the Tryads, they must have quite a bit of coin, power, or both. The operation was probably backed by several lords, maybe even an entire territory. We just don’t know.”
“Then allow me to question them,” said Eric.
