by Ben Hale
She listened to the conversation, the snippets of heated words rising from the cellar door. Her heart had stilled, her breathing calm, and she felt a fleeting gratitude for the point of focus. She thought of her target and again glanced across the dining hall. A scullery maid had passed inside and dusted the cabinets before she passed out of sight, scurrying with a furtive glance to the cellar door.
Her attention on the dining hall, Lorica almost missed Shadow’s appearance. The man appeared and disappeared, entering the cellar like a wisp of smoke. After all the effort to keep herself hidden, she felt a touch of envy at the casual ease with which he moved.
The seconds ticked by while she watched, and she retrieved the anti-magic shackles she used against mage targets. Gendor was not a mage, but Thorg was very powerful, and surprise would be her ally.
Sound erupted from the cellar, of bones and bricks breaking, of wood snapping and cries of pain. In the darkness Lorica smiled faintly. Shadow might be a mystery, but he certainly knew how to wreak havoc.
She eased from the closet and crept along the wall to the doorway. Just feet from the cellar door, she watched the barrier, her attention tuned to her surroundings, to the chance a random maid could enter the room, or a group of soldiers rushing to the sounds of battle. Then suddenly the door burst open, and out flowed a wave of water.
Shadow rode the wave with a man bearing his same features, except for the eyes, which were bright blue. With the door open a crack, Lorica watched them, shocked to see one that could have been Shadow’s twin.
A woman rode with them, all three astride the wave. It banked into a cabinet against the wall of the corridor, shattering glass and snapping wood. Then the wave turned down the corridor, accelerating towards the door. In their sodden wake, guards rushed in pursuit, shouting for aid. Lorica caught a glimpse of Shadow before they departed and their eyes met. He offered a cheeky smile.
Secreted in the doorway, Lorica opened the shackles and tensed. Thorg burst into view and sprinted down the corridor, his furious gaze fixed on departing foes. Lorica stepped into the open and caught his arm, smoothly attaching the anti-magic shackles to his wrist. With a deft twist, she rolled him around and fastened the second binding before shoving him into the dining hall.
Shutting the door behind them, Lorica turned to face the rising assassin, and withdrew a small orange orb which she tossed against the door. The ensuing ping echoed, and then all sound closed off from the room, ensuring that none from the cellar would hear.
“Lorica,” Thorg sneered. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m not easy to kill.”
“Your sister was.”
Lorica’s jaw tightened and she started forward as the dwarf retreated. He worked at the shackles that bound his wrists and magic, but they were forged by dwarf and enchanted by gnome.
“Where’s Gendor?” Lorica asked, stalking him, her oathsword in hand.
“With Relgor,” Thorg said. “In the north.”
“I was told he was here.”
“Are you certain your source told the truth?”
She thought of Shadow and her lips tightened. Flicking her blade, she held it aloft, showing him the red steel. His eyes hardened as he recognized the oathsword and he retreated another step, still trying to dislodge the bindings.
“Before I kill you I want to know why,” she asked, closing the gap another step. “Why did you betray the guild?”
“We were mired by tradition,” the dwarf said. “And if we continued to follow your sister, we would have been as poor as the seventh circle of Herosian.”
“Better poor with honor than rich without.”
The dwarf sneered in disgust. “So says the rich. You and your sister hated killing, and I will never understand why Thaden named your sister as his replacement.”
“Because she was better than all of you,” Lorica growled.
“Yet Gendor defeated her.”
She continued to stalk forward, and her blade trembled in her hand. “His victory will be short lived.”
“The assassins have evolved,” Thorg said. “And you are a relic. In a year, the people will live in terror of Bloodsworn blades, of the mark we will leave on a target set to be killed. Kings will obey our commands, and all will scatter at the mention of our name.”
“And the Order?”
“We are the hand of the Order,” he said. “And the time has come for us to take our rightful place.”
“Not if you are dead.”
The dwarf came to a halt and held up his bound hands. “You think to kill me bound and helpless? You are indeed a fool.”
He reached up to his beard and withdrew a small silver blade hidden within. Lorica’s eyes widened and she darted in, but the dwarf caught the knife and stabbed the shackles. A piercing whine erupted in the dining hall and the shackles disintegrated.
Chapter 20: The Dark Dwarf
Lorica drove her sword towards his chest, but the blade struck a wall of stone rising from the floor. She reached for the top and leapt over, but Thorg had sprinted away. She dived to the table and rolled across, just as a shard of stone pierced the table. Like a sharp tooth, it rent the table and cut her side. Dishes shattered on the floor.
She rolled to her feet and spread the wings of her cloak, sprinting up the painting and kicking off the Raven’s face. She banked to the side, narrowly avoiding a spear of fire that plunged into the painting. Flames licked at Lady Dentis, spreading away from the spear.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Thorg said.
She angled her sweep and spotted him standing near the door. He raised a hand and the stones of the floor ground together, shaping into a giant hand that reached up for her. She folded her wings and twirled through the fingers of the stone hand. She slipped through the hand and spread her wings, diving at the dwarf.
He cast a whip of fire and snapped it, burning through her armor and sending fires scorching her clothing. She dropped, collapsing her wings so she could roll across the floor, into Thorg’s reach.
Her sword sliced across his shoulder as he ducked and drew his axe. The searing blade swung low, grazing her leg before swiping back, catching her on her side, her armor saving her life.
She stepped in and caught him by the beard, yanking his skull into her knee. He cried out as his nose broke and he reared back, bellowing at her. She swung her sword, but he leaned down and struck the floor, sending a wall of fire billowing outward.
She dived under the table as the flames rippled across the chamber, melting gold and burning wood, the expensive table igniting. The Raven looked pitiful, everything above the waist now burned except for a portion of one eye and an ear. Lord Dentis had lost the lower half of his painting, the flames climbing upward.
Thorg’s giant stone hand came down on the table like he was trying to swat a fly, crushing the wood and the chairs beneath, the other end swinging upward. Narrowly missing being crushed, Lorica rolled out from under the table and leapt to the tooth of stone sticking through the middle of the table. Crafted from the stonework of the floor, the surface was far from smooth, and she caught a grip near the top, using it to swing herself into the air.
Thorg was on his knees, clenching his nose and shouting. He spotted her diving at him and opened the floor, dropping from sight. Lorica folded her wings, passing through the narrowing hole and landing in the cellar.
Pools of water were everywhere, and the shattered beams, crates, and barrels bore testament to Shadow’s skill. All had departed in pursuit of Shadow, and the demolished cellar lay empty. Lorica only had eyes for her adversary, and she landed hard, driving her blade for the dwarf.
He rolled aside, her sword glancing off the stones. Then he used the momentum to come to his feet and hack at her arm, the axe blade leaving a gash. Hot pain lanced up her arm but she snarled and darted in, deflecting his next blow and kicking him in the chest, knocking the dwarf into a barrel that had miraculously survived. Thorg bounced off it and
rolled across the ground.
“You think you can betray the guild without consequence?” Her raspy voice echoed in the confines of the cellar, harsh and brimming with fury. Lorica lunged and swung her blade. He managed to block, but the force of the blow knocked him into the wall. “You think to kill my sister without consequence?”
Lorica again grabbed him by the beard and hurled him sideways, sending him spinning towards the burning cage. The dwarf rolled to his feet and stumbled backward, raising a wall of stone between them. But Lorica leapt off the body of a dakorian and flared her wings, soaring over the wall to kick the dwarf in the cheek. He flew backward and struck a pair of burning bars extending from the floor, crying out as the flames touched his skin. She leveled her sword at him, the blade trembling at his nose.
“I am the Angel of Death! The sword of justice. But today I bring only vengeance, and I deem you unworthy of your life.”
He brought his axe up, striking at her sword before calling on the flames of the bars. They formed a soldier of fire, the entity stepping between Thorg and Lorica. With an enormous greatsword in his hands, he swung, the blade coming for her head.
She ducked and rotated inside the entity’s guard, and then drove her sword through the fire entity’s stomach, and into Thorg’s body. He cried out in pain, and the soldier crumbled around the blade, smoke and sparks dissipating to reveal Thorg’s features twisted in shock.
Lorica gazed with unflinching eyes on the dwarf that had betrayed the guild. His jaw worked in disbelief, and he looked down at the end of the oathsword in his chest. He tried to speak but his strength abandoned him, and he dropped to his knees.
“You cannot stop the Order,” he groaned.
“I don’t care about the Order,” she spat the words at him. “I’m here to claim the price of your betrayal.”
“By killing me you’ve chosen a side.” He coughed and grimaced. “You’ve sealed your fate and that of everyone you care about.”
She leaned in until they were inches apart. “I don’t have anyone left.”
Thorg’s eyes closed and he slumped, and she pulled her sword free. Flicking the blood from the blade, she sheathed it and stared at the assassin’s body. Her fury faded, allowing the pain of her wounds to the fore.
Turning away from the body, she ascended the steps out of the cellar, quickening her pace when she heard shouting. She stepped into the hall, and at the same moment a dozen guards appeared at the opposite end. One spotted her and bellowed an order, and soldiers burst into view.
She turned away from the guards and sprinted up the nearby stairs, weaving her way down a corridor and up a second set of stairs. There she entered a corridor so dark she could barely make out the struggling bodies on the floor and walls. There was even a woman bound to the ceiling, her face furious as she fought the gag on her mouth.
Lorica stared in bewilderment until a shriek came from above, followed by the crashing and splintering of wood. Lights appeared at the opposite end of the corridor, rising to illuminate the stairwell. Two fearsome cats of pure light bounded down the stairs, followed by the Raven herself. The sudden brilliance caused the shadow bonds to disintegrate, and bodies fell.
A woman cried out as she was set free and crashed into the head of a guard below, the others thumping off each other to land on the floor. The Raven stared, her mouth agape as her guards rained down from the ceiling, and then spotted Lorica at the opposite end of the hall. Trapped between the dozen guards behind and the sudden army in front, Lorica drew her sword.
“Shadow,” Lorica spit the word like a curse.
With no other option, she leapt a thief struggling to rise and then launched herself over a pair of guards reaching for their swords. Holding her momentum, she sidestepped a hasty lunge and elbowed him in the back, knocking him into another.
“Kill her,” the Raven barked, and the cats burst into motion.
The two felines streaked through the guards, the leader lunging for Lorica, its claws scraping her armor. She twisted to avoid the first cat and then ducked the swipe from the second cat—but caught its tail. She drew a knife from her side and slammed the blade through the tail, embedding the steel into the floor and momentarily pinning the threat.
She leapt back as the cat spun, but the dagger held, and the claws stopped short of removing Lorica’s face. The second cat skidded to a halt and charged again, driving for Lorica, its body low to the ground.
Lorica flared her wings, curving one to block the cat’s view. Then she sidestepped and plunged her sword into the floor. The cat moved with her, swerving and diving through the wing—into the embedded sword. Its sheer momentum split the creature from whiskers to tail, and the two sides disintegrated to either side of Lorica, bursting into sparks of light. All present shielded their eyes as the blinding light filled the hallway, and when it dissipated the corridor was empty. An open door led to guest quarters, and the window beyond.
The Raven picked her way to the window and stared into the rain. “Find them,” she barked to the guards behind her. “Or it’s you I’ll feed to the cat.”
“Yes, my lady,” a man said.
The man barked an order and the other guards scurried from the room. In their absence the cat approached, pressing its flank against her leg. She struck it on the head, and the enchantment whined like a real feline before shrinking back to the size of a house cat. Then it plodded away, leaving the Raven to glare at the rain.
From the roof above, Lorica retreated. She crossed to a far edge of the roof, careful of the wet tiles, and then dropped off the edge. As guards streamed out of the front entrance, she soared over the back wall and into the storm, allowing it to swallow her.
Rain pummeled her wings and battered her frame, and lightning appeared in the heavens, the thunder rumbling across her. Flying in a storm was a risk, but she wanted to find Shadow. To punish him.
She curved over the city, scanning rooftops until she spotted Shadow with his two companions. Then Lorica dropped into an alley and folded her wings behind her, waiting for Shadow to appear. She paced in the alley, her triumph over Thorg replaced by a simmering anger. Shadow had lied to her. He’d said he would but she’d still trusted him, a choice she now regretted.
She pulled out a strip of cloth and methodically bound her wounds, grimacing as the bandage tightened on the raw flesh, her anger continuing to mount. She’d followed Shadow to Keese, trusted him when her instincts said otherwise, and then he’d lied to her. She’d managed to kill Thorg, a death she’d wanted, but not until she’d fulfilled her oath to kill Gendor.
She watched Shadow drop from the roof into an alley and stride in her direction. With not even a scratch to mar his body, he strode towards her with the same arrogant lilt to his lips. When Shadow turned to her, she stepped into the open, and palmed the hilt of her oathsword . . .
Chapter 21: A Game of Truth
“Is that it?” Shadow asked when Lorica finished. “What’s with the blade on my throat?”
“You lied to me,” she snapped.
“I said I would,” he replied, and grinned. “And you did say the first was free.”
Her eyes darkened, and her sword trembled in her hand. He wondered if he’d gone too far, and then she tightened her grip and leaned forward, her voice hardening, a cold reminder of her occupation.
“I didn’t say it was free.”
Shadow grimaced as the blade slid along his neck, splitting skin, spilling blood. The cut was deep enough to sting, not enough to kill, but her gaze made it clear it could have. When the blade withdrew, Shadow reached up to the wound, his anger rising.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“I said I’d give you a scar,” she said.
“I didn’t think you meant it,” he said. He pulled back his hand to reveal the blood. “Are you mad? I handed you Gendor on a silver plate.”
“He wasn’t there,” she said, stabbing her sword toward the manor. “And you knew it.”
Despi
te his obvious lie, he hadn’t thought she’d actually cut him. He’d survived the battle in the Raven’s manor unscathed, only to be cut by one he thought an ally. He held up the blood on his hand as if it would prove his point.
“You’re a hunter of men,” he said. “Gendor may not have been inside, but Thorg was, and he would know how to find him. Did you make him talk before you killed him?”
She opened her mouth, but no answer escaped her lips. Shadow saw the failure in her expression and stabbed a finger at her. “You failed? I thought you were supposed to be good. The Angel of Death, the sword of justice.”
“I am good,” she said. “I killed Thorg, and he said Gendor was in the north with Relgor.”
“That’s it?” Shadow pointed that direction, his voice dripping with scorn. “You didn’t ask for more detail?”
“Did you learn anything?” she asked.
“I learned Relgor is looking for a particular ore in the dwarven kingdom,” Shadow said. “I can only assume Gendor is with him, since you killed your source.”
She scowled. “I wasn’t here to kill Thorg.”
“Then why are you here?” he challenged.
She held the sword up so he could see the blade. “Do you even know what this sword is? An oathsword is meant for revenge, to claim a single life. I swore over the body of my sister that the next life I took would be Gendor’s—and you made me break my oath.”
“You could have told me that,” Shadow said.
“You could have told the truth,” she spat.
“I never tell the truth,” he said, sweeping his hands wide. “I get the job done. That’s what I do, and I try to have fun while doing it.”
She closed the gap, bringing her face inches from his. “This isn’t a game to me.”
“It’s always a game.”
“Says the one that just put his brother’s life at risk.”
