“None leave!” Raine cried out, and Feyden moved to obey. He positioned himself in front of the narrow passageway and drew his sword. He was flanked by a small pack of wolves who also took position. Lorifal chased those fleeing into Feyden and the wolves, and the panicked group was trapped between the vicious axe, the deadly sword, and the gnashing teeth. The area became a vortex of black ash.
Raine, meanwhile, was finishing those in the arena of the fire pit. She was still outnumbered, but the ratio was so diminished it seemed she was now in the majority. The remaining vampyres fought hard, and Raine took several minor cuts and bruises, but no strike came close to doing real damage. The worst she sustained was a bite on her wrist that she allowed so she could decapitate the head latched onto her arm. Finally, the last attacker fell, and Raine sliced downward and cut the vampyr in two. She looked up to Feyden and Lorifal, who were also finishing with their undead.
Raine sheathed her swords and surveyed the pack of wolves that returned to her side. She ruffled their fur and examined them. Most had sustained only minor wounds, a few, some more serious. She was saddened to see that one had fallen. She picked up the beast and slung it over her shoulders.
“I will take care of this one,” she said, addressing the alpha, “and see that he is returned to the earth properly.”
The wolf gazed at her with glowing yellow eyes as if he understood.
“Send my regards to Fenrir,” Raine said, “and tell him I will see him soon.”
The alpha yelped his understanding, and the pack trotted off, brushing by Feyden and then disappearing down the narrow passage in single file. Raine followed them and rejoined her friends. A body twitched nearby, the only one that had not yet turned to ash.
“Do you want to leave a messenger?” Lorifal asked.
“No,” Raine said.
With an enormous overhead strike, Lorifal stopped the twitching and the body dissolved into ash. That was one fortuitous thing about fighting the undead: there was no doubt as to whether they still posed a threat. The entire cave was blanketed in a fine, black powder. Raine herself was covered in black, the fine dust sticking to the sheen of perspiration on her skin. She glanced about the enclosure with a small sense of satisfaction.
“I think the message will be clear this time.”
Chapter 8
Raine slipped into the castle as effortlessly as before. She was much cleaner than she had been the day prior because she had bathed in the first stream she had found to wash the noxious ash from her body. She cleaned herself again, more thoroughly, upon arriving at Fireside. And after briefly attending to her weapons and armor, she chose not to sleep, but returned in the dark to the palace.
“I see you have returned unscathed.”
Raine stepped from the shadows into the light and the woman turned those pale eyes upon her. The eyes drifted to the wound on Raine’s wrist. “Well, not completely.”
Raine circled the woman without fear, but cautious. “Are you disappointed I survived the trap you set for me?”
The woman was only entertained by the allegation. She plucked a leaf from a nearby vine. “Oh, it was not a trap. It was a test. And I am far from disappointed.”
Raine decided to articulate her suspicions. “And why would you send me to slay your own kind?”
It was less than a bluff and more than a guess, and it was emphatically confirmed.
Malron’a smiled. “Because I wanted them dead.”
Raine did not move, and Malron’a continued with an alarming carelessness. “You are looking for the Shadow Guild.”
Raine kept her voice even. “You are the first person I’ve met who speaks those words without fear.”
“There is a reason for that.”
“You are a member of the Shadow Guild,” Raine said, resigned. “And no ordinary member, I am guessing.”
“There are no ordinary members of the Shadow Guild,” Malron’a said, her pale eyes gleaming. “But you are correct. I am second in the Shadow Guild hierarchy.”
If possible, Raine’s caution spiked even more. This was an incredibly dangerous being who exuded treachery and death.
Malron’a was entertained. “You are the first person I’ve met who hears those words without fear.”
“There is a reason for that,” Raine said, mirroring the woman’s reply as well as its implied threat.
Malron’a plucked another leaf from the vine. “Lately I have heard the most extraordinary rumors, tales of a woman traveling with an elf and a dwarf, a woman slaughtering vampyres and recklessly seeking the Shadow Guild. A woman who, despite her ability to kill with ease, always seems to leave one survivor behind. And most curious, a woman reported to be immune to the vampyr bite.”
Raine said nothing, and Malron’a glanced to the wound on her wrist.
“Are you?”
“I am.”
Malron’a looked as if she wanted to test the assertion then and there. But instead she continued her musing.
“And these tales were similar to others I heard, outlandish stories of a failed assassination attempt in the land of the Ha’kan. Four of the best assassins, all members of the Shadow Guild, thwarted single-handedly.”
“It wasn’t exactly single-handedly.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Malron’a paused as if contemplating something. “And is the dragon your lover?”
Somehow, Raine felt this was the most dangerous question yet posed by this woman. “Yes.”
“Then you are Arlanian.”
The revelation of her heritage made her feel exposed, but she kept her tone even. ”Then you know the other half of my heritage as well.” The blue and gold markings on her forearms appeared, then snaked up her arms onto her shoulders.
Malron’a said nothing, but continued her contemplation. The revelation of the markings seemed only to give her pleasure.
“And I don’t believe I killed those assassins with a single arrow,” Raine added. “I have killed many vampyres since then, and even the weakest are hard to kill.”
Malron’a broke her silence. “You did not kill them. They killed themselves. Except the one that was eaten by your lover,” she said, correcting herself
“Mauled,” Raine said, correcting her further, “she did not actually eat that one. From what I’ve heard, your kind does not taste good.”
“Interesting. From what I’ve heard, you do.”
Raine ignored the innuendo and moved on hurriedly. “But why did they kill themselves?”
“Because failure is not an option in the Shadow Guild. There are no second chances. And they would rather die by their own hand than by mine.”
Raine was falling into her own deep contemplation, that of the woman in front of her, their strange, charged exchange, and finally the overall situation.
“As second-in-command, can you issue the edict I wish?”
“The cancellation of the contract to kill a head of state?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot.”
Raine was disappointed, but before she could grow angry, Malron’a continued.
“But I could if I were first in command.”
And there it was a last. The motivation for their contrived meeting, the explanation for their convoluted conversation, the reason for the arbitrary and capricious actions of the woman in front of her.
“You want me to kill the head of the Shadow Guild.”
“I do. Her name is Pernilla. And just by telling you that, my life is now forfeit if you choose to reveal it.”
“You are remarkably trusting.”
“I trust no one,” Malron’a said, “but you need something and have but one option. I need something and have but one option. It would seem that destiny has brought us together.”
“Or something,” Raine muttered. “Fine, where do I find this Pernilla
?”
“I don’t know where she is. I would start in Hestr. She is not there, but it will provide you a start.”
Raine thought through the bargain she was about to make.
“But the contract to kill a head of state is still in effect while I seek out Pernilla?”
“It is the number one priority of the Guild. And they will relentlessly seek to fulfill it until a dignitary falls. And there is a contract on your head as well, placed by me. I have to deflect suspicion, of course.”
“Of course,” Raine said, thinking furiously. The Shadow Guild was ruthless; they would not stop. She did not care about the contract on her own head. But she could not be everywhere; she could not protect all of the heads of state, or even coordinate their security, if she was drawn away on this quest. And it fleetingly occurred to her that such a distraction could be this woman’s intent, although it hardly seemed logical Malron’a would provide so much information if that were the case.
Raine was frustrated. It was only a matter of time before the assassins were able to take down a leader at an opportune moment. Although Raine had convinced those leaders that it was likely the dragons behind the contract, their subordinates and successor might not believe the same if that leader fell. The animosities between the peoples of Arianthem were ancient and deep and it would take very little to rekindle those long-standing hatreds. The dragons had hatched a treacherous plot.
“Then make my contract the priority,” Raine said. “Make them all come after me.”
Malron’a was stunned at the boldness and ingenuity of the creature in front of her. “And how am I going to justify that?”
“I will give you all the justification you need in Hestr.”
Chapter 9
And so is your little toy gone?”
Volva lie on a golden couch gazing out from a balcony so high the earth below dropped into an infinite abyss. Her keep was perched on the side of a mountain, accessible only to creatures capable of flight. Jörmung was becoming so fat a dragon it was a wonder his wings could lift him to this height. Although all dragons were remarkable shape-shifters, their natural form was largely fixed, and although Jörmung could hide his life of dissipation by shape-shifting into an alternate being, it was fully on display in dragon form.
Which is probably why he spent the majority of his time in human form. He was handsome enough, young, but not so young as Volva, brown hair and brown eyes, smooth skin, tanned cheeks. But even so, he could not entirely hide the life of debauchery he led. Jörmung’s desires were depraved even by the loose moral standards of dragonkind. Where most sought sexual conquest through seduction, Jörmung preferred force, and the more unwilling his prey, the greater his enjoyment. This disease of character exhibited itself in the fine lines around his eyes that would appear despite his control over his malleable appearance, the grotesque network of veins that would rise on the surface of his nose like a drunkard’s curse. Even now, he was adjusting the belt on his cloak as he walked in and Volva correctly surmised he had just dragged one of her entourage into an alcove and raped him or her on the spot.
“Drakar? Yes, Talan’s baby boy is gone.”
Jörmung plopped himself down across from Volva and it was an action more associated with an overweight, middle-aged man than the youth he presented. Volva mentally compared him to the darkly handsome Drakar, and Jörmung suffered in the comparison. Drakar might be a fop, but he was an elegant and entertaining fop.
“He is hardly a baby anymore,” Jörmung said, “but he will not reach the potential of either of his parents.”
“No,” Volva agreed, “fortunately. And he favors his father far more than his mother. He has all of daddy’s weaknesses: a lack of focus, flighty, shallow to a fault, slave to his appetites. Although I do believe he gets his skill in bed from Talan.”
“I have not had the pleasure,” Jörmung said sullenly.
“No,” Volva said, leaning over to pat him on the cheek. “But you will before this is over.”
The thought made Jörmung’s eyes glow in a decidedly unattractive manner, like the glint of a rat’s eyes as it skulked about in the darkness. “And so why does Drakar hate his mother so?” he asked.
Volva leaned back, laughing, the tinkling sound both cold and metallic, like golden coins spilling into a pile.
“Well, he despises her for killing his father, but the rest is just adolescent angst. He hates her authoritarian manner, for telling him what he can and cannot do, and really, his infatuation with his sister is the best part of all.”
“What?” Jörmung asked, leaning forward with the same, rat-like leer. “What about his sister?”
“He wants to sleep with her something awful. He is obsessed with the thought.”
Jörmung sat back chortling in an even more unattractive manner. “That is rich. So you have promised him his sister? And what will you be doing when he is raping the poor girl?”
“Drakar is a toy,” Volva said carelessly, “a means to an end. He may fuck anything he wishes.”
Volva’s eyes began to glow, but unlike Jörmung’s animal-like glimmering, the light in Volva’s eyes was inorganic, cold and elemental.
“I told him my only condition was that I get to watch.”
Chapter 10
The young woman sat in the garden and contemplated the text in front of her. Her lover, Eydis, had told her she enjoyed reading, but she found no joy in the book in front of her. First off, she had difficulty concentrating and the words began to swim in front of her face after the first few paragraphs. The doctor said that could be a lingering side-effect of her head injury. Second, the popular romance she was reading was not very interesting, somewhat bland and vapid, but she kept that opinion to herself. She did not want to disappoint her companion, who had provided her the book with a look of hope on her features. Ostensibly this had been one of her favorite forms of entertainment prior to her accident.
Signe sighed and put the book to the side. She felt restless, although the doctor still insisted she not exert herself. And she kept trying to tell herself to be grateful for the pampered life she led. Servants waited on her hand and foot, she hardly had to lift a hand to even feed herself. She was largely sedentary, a gift compared to the field workers she could see from her window, and she was allowed little exercise other than walks through the well-tended garden. This was again at the insistence of the doctor, although Signe gathered she had not been that active before her accident. Apparently she had been a novice at riding a horse but had insisted, against Eydis’ wishes, to go for a ride which had ended in disaster.
“And how are you feeling today, my love?”
Signe brightened as Eydis flowed into the room. As disoriented as she still was, her love was a ray of light in her fog.
“I feel good today,” Signe said.
Eydis leaned down to kiss her forehead, her breasts spilling forth from her low-cut gown. Signe’s eyes were drawn to the lovely display and Eydis saw her preoccupation.
“You are feeling good!” she exclaimed. “This is wonderful. Perhaps we can nap a bit, after the doctor bleeds you.”
Signe’s expression clouded over. “Must he bleed me? I think I’m fine now.”
Eydis was gently stern. “It’s his opinion that the bleedings have speeded your recovery. They’ve taken the pressure from your head, the one that stole your memories.”
Signe knew nothing of medicine, so she could not argue. She sat docilely while the doctor came in and made his preparations. She winced slightly as he inserted the fine metal needle beneath her skin, then watched as the red fluid flowed down the thin tube into the connected glass jar. In a few minutes, it was over, and the doctor disappeared.
She stood, then swayed unsteadily as Eydis caught her.
“See,” Eydis scolded, “you are not nearly as well as you think you are.”
Signe al
ways felt far weaker after the doctor bled her, but she would not argue. Eydis had nothing but her best interests in mind and was very protective. And although her recovery seemed to progress in fits and starts, she had to admit she was slowly getting better.
“Here, let me put you in bed.”
Eydis escorted the young woman up the stairs, holding her elbow in support. As Signe sat on the edge of the soft bed, Eydis pulled her shirt over her head and undressed her down to a shift and the silk leggings she wore beneath her clothes. Eydis pushed her backward and Signe did not resist as she was tucked into the bed.
“You’re not staying?” Signe said drowsily.
“I will be right back once I send the doctor on his way.”
Signe lie in the bed staring up at the ceiling, feeling a little guilty. It wasn’t even midday and she was back in bed while the workers outside toiled in their labors. Still, it was very pleasant, with the sun coming through the window, the blanket warming her chilled skin. She felt lethargic but it was not a disagreeable sensation, rather it distilled in her a feeling of languor.
Eydis made her way back down stairs and her demeanor changed dramatically when she approached the doctor.
“Give it to me,” she said coldly, and the doctor complied with the fear he hid so well around his patient.
“Now get out.”
The woman took the glass jar into a side room, one which remained locked at all times. It was full of esoteric devices, arcane scrolls, and glass containers with mysterious fluids and powders in them. She took a goblet from a nearby shelf and emptied the blood from the glass jar into it.
She settled into a chair and lifted the goblet to her lips, taking a long draught with great pleasure. She drank the blood slowly, but in its entirety, savoring it as one would enjoy a fine wine. Her pale skin grew bright with the flush of youth, her cheeks glowed with the blush of health. And when the goblet was empty, she took a deep breath, then released it with a sigh of great satisfaction.
The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI Page 6
