Bringers of Doom

by Blake Arthur Peel

  Just like they did to Magister Halle.

  The assassins look at each other, determined expressions on both their sneering faces. It is clear what they are thinking – how are they going to get past my defenses?

  Taking a deep breath, I continue to channel source energy through my talisman, pulling more of the magical power into my body.

  The acrid smell of burning hair fills the chamber, accompanied by the scent of cooking flesh as the dead man smolders behind me. It is a foul odor, and I have to resist the urge to use both my hands to cover my nose and mouth.

  I need to get out of here, I think to myself as I attempt to formulate a plan. Focus, Zara!

  These men understand that I can't cast any offensive spells while my shield is up. All they have to do is wait for my energy to run out, then they can kill me. And down here, it is not likely that anyone will ever discover my body.

  The thought causes me to shiver, and I watch anxiously as the two assassins split up, one moving to stand behind me and the other blocking the corridor in front of me.

  Trapped, I think, forcing down the terror that rises like bile into my throat. Trapped like a mouse.

  "You can't wait like that forever," the man in front of me chides, his tone mocking. "I know your kind. You'll eventually collapse from exhaustion, and then you'll be ours."

  The man behind me laughs, and my stomach starts to convulse, fear threatening to overtake my senses. I can already feel the fatigue begin to creep in, gnawing at my senses and making me feel weakened.

  No, I think, trying desperately to clear my mind and formulate a plan. This is not how it ends for you. You are smarter than these men. Think!

  As soon as I drop my shield, the assassins will no doubt pounce on me. I trust that their reflexes are much keener than mine, even with my training. If I could only distract one of them somehow, I could make a break for it, running for the exit as fast as I can go. I think that I still remember the path. But what can I do to distract them?

  The answer comes like a bell ringing clearly in my head.

  Bracing myself, I turn to face the assassin behind me, watching me with hateful eyes on the other side of the smoldering body. The flames have almost died out now, leaving the crypts in almost complete blackness.

  Suddenly I jump forward, landing on the dead man's corpse and stamping out the flames with my feet. The body feels strange as I stomp on it, like meat that has been charred on the coals of a fire, but I continue my mad dance any way, effectively extinguishing the remaining magefyre in a puff of foul-smelling smoke.

  The assassin apparently realizes what I am doing, lunging forward just as the last of the light goes out. Squeezing my eyes shut, I duck and step to the side, sensing his arms grasping out at the air above me. The man curses, swinging wildly with his dagger with sweeping swooshing sounds, but I am already a good distance away, pushing my back up against a cold stone tomb.

  They can't see in the dark either, I think as I release the source energy, letting my shield drop into nothingness. Luckily, radiant shields only reflect light, appearing like a shimmering blue aura in the light of day but as nothing in the darkness. The assassins either did not know this fact, or did not think that it would be a problem.

  Holding my breath, I begin to silently slink off down the hall, using my fingers to guide me along the wall as I go.

  "Where'd she go?" One of the assassins barks in the darkness.

  "I don't know!" The other replies angrily. "I can't see anything!"

  "Damn you, Jas," the first one growls, their voices becoming fainter as I make my way down the hall. "If you let her get away, the master will have both our heads."

  "Shut your damn mouth," the second one retorts. "Give me a second."

  I can hear the faint sounds of metal on stone, and a quick glance over my shoulder reveals sparks flying in the blackness as one of them strikes a flint.

  They have a torch, I realize, coming to a dead stop. They're going to chase me down these corridors and strike from the shadows. I'm going to have to stand and fight.

  Knowing that it will take a moment for their eyes to adjust when they light the torch, I begin pulling in source energy through my talisman, remembering the words of a spell I had used on the darkhound in the Emberwood.

  The Radiant Beam.

  Using every ounce of mental strength that I possess, I fill myself to capacity just as the torch ignites.

  "Pajn taflegryn tân hud!"

  A brilliant shaft of light erupts from my open palm, jerking me back and hurtling toward the assassin holding the torch with the speed and intensity of a lightning bolt. It punches him directly in the stomach and rips through him, burning through clothing, skin and bone almost instantaneously and dropping him to his knees, dead.

  The torch falls from nerveless fingers and clatters to the ground, leaving the stunned visage of the last assassin standing statue-like off to the side.

  Ignoring the tingling fatigue that begins moving up my arm, I stand up straight, filling myself with even more source energy and creating a floating ball of magefyre above my palm.

  "I'm no easy prey," I say in a voice that sounds much stronger than I feel. "Shall we finish the fight?"

  The assassin looks from me, to his two dead friends, then back to me, his face a mask of horror and disbelief. Then, he begins running down the corridor, knife still in-hand.

  For half a second, I consider letting him go. What do I care if one rogue assassin runs free? I am alive, and that's all that matters. Then, logic takes over. If I let him go, he may kill again, and that blood would be on my hands. Plus, I silently add as I begin chasing after him, capturing him would no doubt provide me with a wealth of information on these Harbingers. He's the best source of evidence that I could have hoped for.

  Still allowing the magefyre to float above my shoulder to light the way, I run, sprinting as fast as I can down the twisting, dark hallway, the mute dead watching our chase from their crypts.

  I have always considered myself to be fit, but the assassin is quick. He races in a twisting path through the corridors, putting more and more distance between us with every step that he takes. Not to mention the cumbersome robes I am wearing.

  Shrugging the mage robe off as I run, I concentrate on not losing sight of him in the labyrinth of narrow halls. My shift is much easier to move in, even though it reveals my shoulders in a completely immodest way. In times like this, modesty is the least of my concerns.

  We weave and we turn, going in the exact opposite direction of the stairs leading up to the cathedral. Where is he leading me, I wonder, sweat beading on my forehead. Could he be going to a secret entrance to the crypts?

  Sure enough, the assassin jumps into an empty tomb, the shadowed alcove disappearing into a tunnel leading upward. He curses when he sees that I haven't given up the chase and disappears inside, his padded footfalls echoing off the circular stone tunnel.

  Not wanting to let him get away, I climb inside after him, letting my magefyre light the way and ward against any unexpected attacks. Should he be waiting just ahead of me, he would get a burning surprise.

  The tunnel winds upward, rough-hewn and stinking of rats. My foot slips on something slick, and I try not to think about what creatures are currently sharing this tunnel with us.

  Eventually I see a light ahead, and I push myself to reach it.

  The assassin leaps out into the open air and vanishes from sight, leaving me to close the distance between us.

  I soon find myself stepping out into a cramped alleyway somewhere in the city, a metal grate pushed to the side allowing me to get out. Though lighter than the tunnel, the sky is dark, and a thick drizzle of rain falls down and soaks me almost instantly. I look right, then left, spotting the assassin near the end of the alleyway and running out into the street.

  Pushing away my tiredness I continue, splashing through puddles as I make my way to the end of the alley.

  My lungs are burning and my breath comes in
great, wheezing gasps. I don't think I've ever run so hard in my entire life, even when training to duel at the Academy. I can tell that this is a race that I cannot win.

  In a last, desperate attempt to stop him, I stop running and hurl the sputtering ball of magefyre down the street after him, trying to aim so it doesn't kill him.

  Despite the rain the ball of magical fire still flickers with light, and it closes the distance much faster than I can run, eventually connecting with his leg and sending him falling to the cobblestones.

  Forcing my legs to move again, I jog up to him as he frantically tries to keep the blue flames from climbing up his thigh and reaching his torso by swatting himself, his face twisted in pain. The burns on his leg look bad, but they are far from fatal. Clutching my talisman, I cast a spell to lash his feet and hands together, then extinguish the flames using a spray of radiant energy.

  Panting, he looks up at me with hateful eyes.

  He is now my prisoner.

  "Stay here," I breath, staggering away from him and looking around for anyone who can aid me. Not that you have much of a choice.

  The streets are deserted in the rain, the storm chasing the crowds of Tarsys indoors. My hair is matted to my face, and I can tell that I must look a dreadful sight, but I find it difficult to summon the will to care. I have just fought deadly assassins and won, even capturing one of them as prisoner. Not to mention the fact that I am now freezing cold. The least of my concerns is how I look.

  There has to be city guards somewhere around here, I reason, splashing my way down the street and looking everywhere for a sign of the watch.

  A glance over my shoulder reveals that the assassin is struggling against his restraints. The flickering energy binds his limbs like shackles made from steel. He curses, thrashing in the middle of the street like a caged animal, but the magical lashings hold.

  Though, it will still likely be a struggle to bring him back to the Conclave.

  I intend to extract every bit of information from this man regarding the Harbingers. Then, when I have the direction I need, I will strike at the heart of the shadowy organization.

  Only then will my fellow mages and I be safe.

  Maybe even the kingdom as a whole.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Owyn

  I wipe the blood off my father’s hatchet with the hem of one of the Nightingale’s cloaks, then turn to regard Talon, who is staring at me like I am insane.

  “Did you just say that there is a demon about?”

  I nod solemnly, moving to clean the blood and sweat from my face with my sleeve.

  I’ve seen that expression before, I think to myself wryly.

  Talon, apparently forgetting about the pain of his broken nose, shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you know how bloody crazy that sounds, mate?”

  “Yes,” I sigh, exasperated. “I do. But I swear it’s the truth. Why do you think Tamara brought me all the way from Tarsys to meet with the Master Warden? There are more than just Nightingales seeking to destroy the kingdom.”

  “And you think that demons have gotten through the Arc?”

  Again I nod, fixing him with a serious stare.

  Talon eyes me for a moment before finally replying, as though he is truly considering whether or not I have gone completely mad. “Alright,” he says, “out with it, then. I want to hear everything.”

  Not seeing any reason to hold back, I oblige him.

  We stand there amid the corpses of the four Nightingales as I regale him with everything that has happened over the last month. I tell him about our discovery of the demons in the Emberwood, about the Battle of Forest Hill and the alliance with the Nightingales. I even explain to him what mindflaying is, ending with Elias’ departure and my journey to report to the Conclave.

  “And that is what brought me here,” I finish, gesturing around us with my hatchet.

  For several heartbeats Talon is silent, regarding me with an unreadable expression. The skin beneath both of his eyes is already started to swell and turn dark, and the blood running from his nose is starting to dry.

  Eventually, he breaks the silence, spitting on the ground in front of him. “That’s quite a tale, Owyn. And I’m halfway inclined to believe you. That’s one explanation as to why these sods would attack us, anyway.” He nudges one of the bodies with his boot.

  “We have to head back to the Grand Lodge,” I insist, bringing up my point from before. “The Wardens have to be warned about what is going on.”

  “Well I sure as Hells don’t want to stay out here!” He winces and brings a hand up to his broken nose, touching it gingerly. “Light almighty, this hurts.”

  “Let me see that,” I say, sliding my father’s hatchet into my belt loop and stepping up to him so I can inspect the wound. The break looks nasty, but clean, the bridge of his nose bent in an odd way near the middle. Otherwise, he looks fine. “We’re going to have to reset it,” I mutter as I examine him.

  “Reset it?” He asks, his tone becoming anxious once more.

  “Yes,” I reply. “Elias did it to me one time when we were sparring. I took a practice sword to the face and ended up looking like you... only, you know, not as ugly.”

  I say it in such a deadpan way that for a moment, Talon looks a little offended. Then his face splits into a grin. “Alright, get on with it then. Let’s get this over with so we can leave.”

  Smiling wanly, I jog over to my gelding who is standing just down the road. Fortunately, the animals didn't run too far away once the fighting began. I should count myself lucky, I think to myself, fishing something out of my saddlebags. Shaw's horse is nowhere to be seen.

  I eventually pull out a small strip of leather, then run back to Talon, who is wiping off the edge of his longsword with the hem of his ranger cloak.

  “Bite down on this,” I say, rolling up the strip of leather and handing it to him. “And try not to jerk your head back while I set it. This is going to hurt.”

  He stuffs it into his mouth and bites down. “Great,” he mutters around the leather, dribbling a bit of saliva out of the corner of his mouth.

  Placing my hands on either side of his face, I use my thumbs to gently feel the bridge of his nose, searching for the break. He stiffens at my touch, and whimpers as I press the wounded cartilage and skin.

  “Ready?” I ask when I feel like my thumbs are in the right place.

  “Ready,” he mumbles around the leather between his teeth.

  I begin counting down. “Three... two... one...” Then, I press hard on either side of his nose, pushing the break back into place as hard as I can muster. Talon screams in pain, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes, but otherwise he holds perfectly still.

  I pause to examine the nose. It looks a little straighter, but the break is not quite set.

  “Almost there,” I say, not letting go of his face. “One more time.”

  Breathing heavily, he nods slightly, closing his eyes and biting down hard on the leather.

  Counting down again, I push once more with my thumbs. A satisfying pop fills the air as the nose is corrected, and Talon lets out another scream of agony. Blood rushes out of his nostrils as if the floodgates of his head have been opened.

  I step back, wiping my hands on my trousers and looking satisfactorily at the nose. It appears to be functional once again, though it still looks obvious that it had been broken. “Much better,” I say with a grin. “You’ll want to take it easy for the next few weeks while it heals.”

  He gingerly raises a hand to his nose and lets out a string of curses, some of which I have never heard before. “That bloody hurt!”

  “Now you look like a real fighter,” I say, shrugging. "It doesn't look pretty, but at least now you can tell you've been in a fight. You're welcome, by the way."

  He eyes me for a moment, still feeling his nose, before finally mumbling, "Thank you."

  Looking around, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Can't anything in life ever be e
asy? We are surrounded by corpses and both of us are wounded, but at least we are still alive.

  The same can't be said for Talon's master.

  "We need to start heading back now," I say at length. "We have a long road ahead of us, and there may be more of these mind slaves hanging around."

  Talon nods his agreement, and we begin packing up our things, leaving the Nightingale corpses on the road for the buzzards to pick apart. Talon retrieves his short swords while I try to gather arrows. When we are finished, the horses ready for departure, we wordlessly walk over to where Rickard's body lies up the road.

  "How are we going to bring him back?" Talon asks softly, the blood beneath his nose beginning to dry and turn crusty.

  I think for a moment, considering our options. Riding with the body slung over one of our horses like a deer would be a grisly way to go about it, and I don't think either of us would want to do it that way. Then, as I glance out into the woods, an idea strikes me.

  Delving into the brush, I begin picking up supple branches and rigid sticks, gathering them into a bundle in my arms.

  "What are you doing?" Talon asks curiously, watching me from up on the road.

  "Making a litter," I reply, bending down to pick up another branch. "Unless you want to carry him on your lap?"

  He grimaces, and I regret saying the words. Rickard Shaw was Talon's master, and his death must be hard on him. Glancing at him apologetically, I continue my work.

  Soon, I have enough branches and I make my way back to where the body lays, kneeling down on the road and beginning to weave the lengths of wood together. The supple branches bend well enough, while the harder branches provide me with a framework to work with. With a little bit of twine from my saddlebag, it should serve its purpose well.

  "Get me some rope," I tell him, admiring my makeshift litter. "We'll lash it behind my horse."

  He complies, and it isn't long before we are reverently rolling the body onto the litter, securing it with the rope and tying it to my saddle. I do most of the work myself. With his wounded arm, Talon isn't very much help.