by Jason Jones
Bryant fell back down and curled up. He could not see out of his left eye as it was swollen over. His energy was gone after two weeks of whatever they fed him and cold sweats in the dark. His breathing was short, something clacked in his chest, surely bones were broken. He tried to move his fingers into fists, yet only one hand would respond, and that hand was missing a finger already. His left leg was numb from the knee down, and his jaw felt strange from the right side up past his ear.
The strength he had to fight, to talk and insult at least, was gone. The strong kick of this man, who he vaguely remembered to start, was beyond the forceful beatings of the others. This man was not human, something was not right about him, but he remembered the eyepatch. Bryant recalled the man on the Queen Sapphire that attacked his galleon, and he thought of how he had won and left her stranded in the islands. He tried to smile, knowing that he was right about the White Spider. Another kick, then three, ended his pleasant thoughts.
“Enough! That is enough, someone is coming, Farrigus.” Jehrale drew his twin shortblades and turned slow inside a shadow. The four agents did the same, though not nearly as well.
“I am now Crimson of the North, I expect the title to be rrrecognized, Vermillion.” Farrigus purred back, slowly turning darker with fur and also taking solace in a dark slant of shadow.
“Fine, Crimson of the North, shut your focking mouth. Your time with the prisoner is over. Better?” Vermillion watched a lone figure run down the stairs.
“You arrre lucky I smell your relation to Johnas, or the Emerald Eight would need another leg to stand on, Vermillion.” Farrigus walked on all fours now, the patch over his eye, and prowled the underchamber.
“It is the red headed boy, I smell him.”
“Master Vermillion, where are you?” Oggidan whispered. He jumped back and pointed his armblade. One feline eye was to his right while four sets of blades came from his rear and left.
“Here, young Oggidan.” Jehrale Valhera sheathed his blades and walked forward, the agents heeded his words and withdrew without order. He noticed Farrigus wince at the fact the agents listened to him without question.
“I have sent the other agents up topside, the war is going to breach the gates soon. Farrigus I have---“ Oggidan was cut off.
“Crimson of the North, boy, do not forrrget it again.” Farrigus growled.
“My apologies.” Oggidan bowed slightly to the one eyed panther. “Master Crimson, Prince Johnas has requested you and your men from the ships to the courtyard, now.”
“Is that an orrrder, boy?”
“No sir, just from the prince is all, not from me.” Oggidan reached out his hand with the jeweled scabbard, Johnas’ kris blade inside.
“Master Vermillion, the patriarch has asked for you to guard the heir prince, and told me to give this to you. Be careful, it hurt me when---“
“I know, only Johnas and I can hold it.”
Jehrale took the blade that held the timeless spirit of their mother, known as the emerald witch of Valhirst. Her trial was inevitable two decades past now, she was guilty of killing their father, so she had plunged this blade into her chest. Now, she was inside it, always guiding her sons to what she failed to accomplish in life and warning them of danger.
“So I go to fight the war, while mighty Vermillion gets gifts and guard duty? Typical, Johnas always has his favorites, but those favorites usually end up dead.” Crimson of the North stalked out of the underground to get his hidden feline brethren from the galleons at port.
“Was that a threat, newly appointed replacement?” Jehrale unsheathed the kris blade, then a shortblade in his left.
“A prrromise, master Vermillion, brother of Johnas Valhera. Your title may be just as precarious as mine, me by curse and timing, and you by rrrelation. I go to kill many men now, you two enjoy the dark…and watch your path, you neverrr know what may cross it.” Farrigus the panther stalked up the stairs in the dancing torchlight, alone.
“Brother? Is that true, master Vermillion?” Oggidan walked back toward his second mentor. The first was Fadim, the previous Crimson of the North, who was killed as a traitor by Sapphire of the East. Now, Oggidan had been learning under Vermillion of the South, and he was smiling at the thought that he was the brother to Johnas Valhera.
Jehrale walked back toward the heir prince after a quick nod to the four guarding agents. He thought of how he was supposed to kill anyone that found out, but that was not possible now. He resigned that Johnas, as king soon, would have to accept the fact their secret would become common knowledge in the White Spider.
“Yes Oggidan, I am his younger brother, Jehrale Valhera.”
Oggidan looked as Vermillion of the South removed his hood. Scars on his left side looked to be from acid or burns, three scratches on his right went from eye to throat, and his head had slicked back blonde hair tied in a tail. His eyes were green, and without the markings, he looked nearly identical to Johnas, especially with the emerald sword in his hand.
“I…I..don’t know what to say, master Vermillion of---“
“Please, call me Jehrale, I almost never hear my name spoken.”
Jehrale stared at Oggidan, smiled, and then looked to the heir prince who was staring up at him from his shivering curled position on the cell floor. The three looked back and forth, in silence for untold moments.
“It was my mothers’ wish that one of us survived, as she feared House Salganat would kill us all. After Mikhail had turned my father against us, she hid me away and faked my death by fever. She was accused of witchcraft, church and nobility both saw to that. Of course, she was a witch, but compared to the royalty I have seen across Agara, she was a field mouse amongst lions. Yet, her death would make some feel better about themselves, so she denied them that, and took her revenge. I was very young, my father dead shortly after, and Johnas was the elder. It is the way of things with warring houses in a kingdom. The Valheras had many generations of rule in Chazzrynn, then the Salganats for the last several centuries. Now, the Valhera line will rule again.”
“You rule from shadows…only…Valhera…honor belongs to house…Salganat…forever.” Bryant moaned out what he could as his tired body collapsed against the wall he had drug himself to.
“Your house has but two men left, Bryant. One imprisoned here, one about to die on the fields of Valhirst. There is something you should know before you hang this night. Something to put your mind at ease.” Jehrale sheathed the emerald kris blade, ignoring the throb and warnings it was sending him.
“What.. is.. that, traitor…” His jaw and breath both struggled to emit sound. Bryant tried not to stare, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of steel in the dark, then another.
“Your older brothers, Gartaine and Drail, were not killed in the war with Harlaheim, all those years ago. And, your mother, Helinna, did not die of the fever, either.” Jehrale grinned and stared as he walked close through the open cell. The throbbiing was constant now, his mother wanted something, but she would have to wait. He drew a shortblade and placed it under the chin of Bryant.
“Now you know.”
Bryant felt the tears, but he could not cry anymore, he had not the strength. His lip puckered, eyes watered and burned, but all he could do was lay there against the wall in chains. His eye caught two more flashes of steel in the dark. He saw the outline of two black clad agents fall slowly, as if they were held from behind, and then something drug them back into the darkness. Bryant looked, all four agents were gone now. He stalled, spoke with all he had left in his chest.
“Why, what… have I… ever done.. to you, Valhera?”
Jehrale went to respond with something atrociously evil and foul, then he saw, just as the words went to his lips. In the eye of the heir prince, something moved behind he and Oggidan. He drew the kris blade and dove ahead and turned. Two slices of steel went through the air behind him, right where he had been standing.
“Oggidan on guard, behind you!”
T
he red headed boy spun round, blade out on instinct, drawing his off hand sword in mid turn. Both his edges met a broadsword meant for his neck. He was face to face with Knight of Southwind by the tabard and chevrons, barely older than himself. He glared, his two blades still pressed to the one sword of the intruder.
There were no words, just stares and pacing steps. Jehrale Valhera circled with an elf, savage looking with tribal markings on his face, who held a falcata and a kukri dagger toward him in a loose and low stance with his chin down. Vermillion kept a sideways stance, guard high, leading with the kris blade and holding his shortblade off to the left.
“Stand down, men of Valhirst. We want the prince, nothing more.” The tan elf spoke quietly yet stern.
“You cannot have him, elf.” Vermillion of the South nodded to Oggidan Chilar as they closed in step, nearly back to back.
“Then by the title vested to me by King Mikhail of Chazzrynn, I, Sir Liogan Andellis, declare your lives forfeit.” Liogan Andellis nodded to Lavress Tilaniun, the two taking slow steps to flank their enemies, four dead agents bleeding out behind them.
“Lavress, now what do we do?” Liogan waited for someone to strike, or retort, but they all simply paced with blades drawn.
Lavress said nothing, keeping his focus.
“Oggidan.” Jehrale glared at the elf as the kris blade glowed green and hummed.
“Yes master Vermillion?” The young boy with one hand spoke over his shoulder, eyeing his adversary, resolution and confidance rising in his glare.
“Show no mercy.”
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The roar of the crowd did nothing for him, not even a hint of pleasure did he feel as he walked past the seven mangled bodies that littered the floor of Ajastaphan Arena. Chalas Kalaza had been all but abandoned here with his bloodshed. Agents hid from him, Cadius was now the domenarch supposedly, but had not been seen. The brown minotaur had no army nor scouts to begin his search for Saberrak the gray of Unlinn. His take from the arenas was mounting though, up to five thousand in gold coins or more he surmised. Soon, he would have is own butchering guild, armed to the teeth, and he would seek out the gray gladiator that had escaped him.
The brown minotaur felt his chipped horn, courtesy of the son of Tathlyn, and his hate brewed more. He sheathed his serrated greatblade and strode out of the arena doors into the barracks. He passed the fearful stares of captured men, dwarves, and every other sort of slave. Chalas walked toward the doors that led into White Spider territory, and the massive ogre guardians stepped aside without word. He had it here, the fear, the respect, and the adoration of tens of thousands of spectators that loved the blood he spilled and the death he caused.
He was undefeated still, in Unlinn, in the Tre’hahdim arena, and in the secret underground arena of Ajastaphan. Though he wanted it to have meaning, it did not. Chalas knew, though he had never heard it with his own ears, that many whispered of the gray minotaur that got away. The battle after the battle with Mafahann the two-headed ogre, between he and Saberrak, many thought Chalas had lost. It burned like a fire inside, a relentless flame of purgatory and hate, one that Chalas Kalaza would need to extinguish in brutal fashion.
A dark shadow of a figure crept from the left corridor, crossed in front of him, and was gone to the right too fast to catch. Chalas looked down, a piece of parchment fluttered to the black stone floor. He looked around, smelled the air, no one but him here. The minotaur picked it up with one hand, drawing his blood and flesh encrusted blade with the other.
The parchment read only a few words, but his scarred face sported a grin nonetheless.
Our silent feud must come to an end, come to the balcony, Cadius, Domenarch of Devonmir
“About time. We shall see how silent it is when you scream with your entrails falling down my steel, Cadius.”
Chalas crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor. He turned and headed up the stairs to the left, curling up into the darkness. Agents with black masks nodded to him and gave him a wide berth, torches lit with arcane fires as he passed, and the doors to the White Spider balconies were open as he arrived. For the first time since his return, the first time since he had killed Rinicus Three-Blades, there were people upon this balcony. Chalas had come here many times, but it had been empty for several months.
Cadius sat at the table, warlock mirrors out on display, two ogre sentinels on each side of him. Three dark figures also sat with the Harlian wizard, two agents and one dark clad elven woman. His eyes bore right into those of Cadius. His goatee was trimmed now, his banyan root staff was held tight in his hand, and he looked nervous. Chalas expected as much.
“You failed to inform Johnas of my position, and took it for yourself. Clever, avoiding me was the only way for you to survive.” Chalas snorted and kept walking forward, blade tapping the sofas and chairs as he lowered his horns.
Cadius, despite the current arrangement, could not help but feel terror. Over eight feet and five hundred pounds of brown hide and muscle with no conscience was heading right for him. He nodded nervously, and the two of the Emerald Eight stood up at the table. Sylette Sassari of Shalokahn remained comfortable. Her matching elven blades, one long and one short, were at rest in their scabbards.
“So this is him? The famous Chalas Kalaza, my family and I have profited from your kills, bravo minotaur.” Sylette winked at Chalas, her black hair pulled back and flowing behind her pointed ears as her deep brown eyes shimmered like magic.
“And you let women speak for you as well, you are weak, even for a pathetic human.”
Chalas dove at him, over the table, the two agents diving out of the way. Cadius blinked as the minotaur roared, and then he stopped in midair. A strange glow of reds and orange formed around him, his body frozen in place over the table, his blade not half a foot from the face of Cadius.
“And that, was that. Not so difficult.” Sylette paced the brown minotaur, noting the few inches of blade and horn before the face of the new Domenarch.
Cadius let out a deep sigh, wiped his face from the sweat that ran, and stood. “My lords of Devonmir, you have your gold and your new champion, as per the agreement with the patriarch of the White Spider.”
The veil of black wall faded to nothing and three dark robed beings hovered through the dissipating mist that remained. They circled the minotaur in silence, each set of red eyes behind their cowls seemed appeased, yet they whispered in an unknown tongue to one another. Koligail, Trehad, and Maroguille all held a respectful finger toward the beast and killer, knowing well enough to hold the spell in place. They spoke, in unison, sending shivers up the spines of all but Chalas Kalaza.
“We will take him below with the screams and shadows, send the gold to our thrones. Our deals are done and debts repaid, Domenarch Cadius, yet we will be in touch, often.”
“And what will you do with him, my great lords?” Cadius shuddered, knowing full well these three were the dead or eternal damnations of dark infernal sorceries gone wrong. He had hoped to never be this close to them.
“Our mistress to the magicks beyond has something special for us, Nareene always delivers the most wonderful and delicious of rites. You will see him in the arenas in time, and by then I would not recommend placing your bets against him. Come Chalas Kalaza, it is time to meet the spirits of the hells and become so much more than you already are.” The lords three bowed and hovered toward the stairs, this time with their prize held helpless and hovering behind them.
“My family thanks you for the information, Lords of Devonmir. We call our debts even as well. Best dark wishes in your experiments.” Sylette Sassari spoke gracefully and bowed as the three hovered away with the famous undefeated brown minotaur.
Ruby of the Sea and Emerald of the Ocean both bowed as well, then turned to Cadius and Sylette. “Our affairs here are settled, your domain is secure, and we must travel west. The Patriarch wishes the White Spider to find answers to Jade of the West and the fugitives that sank the Al
testani vessel.”
“I will inform Johnas of how greatly appreciative we are here, and how well the Emerald Eight have managed to handle our disturbances. I hope to see you both again.” Cadius looked over the railing into Ajastaphan Arena, admiring his new domain of power in the White Spider.
“Pray you do not see us again.” Ruby of the Sea added.
“For that means you are unable to handle things without our guidance.” His twin, one of the quadruplets, Emerald of the Ocean commented in return.
“Then, I hope to never see you again.” Cadius corrected. Those two were silent, as always, and left without word nor hassle.
“And you, dear Sylette, where do we stand with the Sassari family?”
“I have a name, that was all I needed to put reason to my cousin Vossir’s death. Though I will admit, we suspected one of yours responsible for the deed, the Lords of Devonmir gave me one much more probable and valuable to Shalokahn.” Sylette Sassari drew her paired Simnorri blades in a flash, then spun them as if they were lighter than air, and sheathed them with a malevolent grin.
“And that name was?”
“T’Sarrin. Shinayne T’Sarrin of Kilikala. She passed through here recently, rescued that gray horned beast with the Lazlette woman, and left many dead behind her. Whether it was her or your traitor, Kaya T’Vellon, that killed Vossir, it matters not. Between the Sassari family and the T’Sarrin family, there is a history that leaves no room for coincidence.”
“Then we, the White Spider and the Sassari family, hunt the same group to the west. Perhaps a union?” Cadius admired her, desired her, she was thin and elegant, deadly and intriguing all with one breath.
Sylette laughed loud and wickedly. “Amusing, truly, but I work alone. Farewell Cadius, tell your spiders to stay out of my way. If another of my family ends up with so much as a hair out of place in this city, my brother Avricas will be here, personally. Pray he does not bring Surma Shatan with him, for that means many deaths.”
“I will be sure to pass the word of warning along. Farewell.” Cadius walked between his ogre as he watched the elven assassin of Shalokahn leave the balcony. He made motion for more wine from his two ogre guards. They looked to one another, shrugged, and began arguing over who would grab and pour.
