(Art source unknown)
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 12
The deaths of fire
The Sonsy Maid felt a bit chillier and sadly, emptier, than on a good day.
Lady Thaliel sat across her friends’ table, wiping her tired, shaking hands with a towel doused in alchemical solution. It had the sharp smell of strong alcohol and only used when one treated open wounds. Blood all over, the lady’s grayish apron was nigh dark-red, an empty medicine baggie slung over the backrest of her chair.
“Half my people... gone.” – said the elven lady, watery cracks creeping down her otherwise stoic facade – “All three of my boys lay wounded too.”
“Captain Brelain reports that twelve of his knights lay slain in the aftermath of this stakeout. Even I, with my many dwarven Turns, remember no such failure of late.” – replied Joel after one short, rather nasty coughing fit.
The Marrite cracked his aching neck, one hand holing the other under the table, so his friends wouldn’t see that it shook. They did, yet spoke only with looks full of tired worry. Even Rolan, who would’ve otherwise laughed and shrugged off his own wounds and pain, gave the priestly dwarf a somber smile.
Studying one of his crossbow bolts for damage, the bounty hunter grumbled – “You know that things are falling from the walls when people die in droves, even with all your cautious preparations. What I really like to know right now is—how close are the city guards to snatching that orkish sorceress?”
Dalen played with the mechanic parts of another crossbow, one which the Red Hood quartermaster of Lady Thaliel had loaned him. Right eye twitching, the bounty hunter grumbled one ancient saying under his nose, how a warrior shouldn’t count the crooked arrows of a gifted bow.
“I do hope they find something.” – said Rolan, casting an odd glance at the wooden comb which Dalen placed on the table – “Because, believe you me... I do not think that there is an obvious connection between these floating madmen and that orkish lass.”
The wizard had been rummaging through the contents of a small, reinforced potion box. Murmuring and mumbling in two different sorcerous languages, talking in alchemical formulae, Rolan had so far picked three of the twelve phials. These he was now looking at and with a glare so intense, his companions almost thought he’d drink the potions with a look alone.
“Rolan, that flying robed fool detonated and it was...” – Dalen interjected as he tested loading and unloading his gifted crossbow, but the wizard stopped him with a raised finger and an even somber smile – “No my friend, it wasn’t wild magic, but someone did try their very best to convince everyone that it was.”
“Husband, you think not all of this might be the work of that sorceress?” – asked Lady Thaliel with a sad sigh followed by Rolan fixing a strain of hair behind her long ear and he replied – “I’d wager good coin that those floating magelings are exploiting whatever the okrish woman has been planning, to satisfy their own demented pleasures.”
“Things are never simple in this city of ours.” – Joel canted his head, hand no longer quaking as he stroke his beard – “I had officially asked for the aid of our Paladins, Captain Brelain, and a trio of mage hunters.”
Rolan tore his gaze from Thaliel’s eyes and exclaimed with ill-concealed bile – “We need them Sveg sniffers like the sodding plague!”
The dwarf fought with another coughing fit before he could assure him – “I say, but if they can apprehend that sorceress without her causing another weird magic accident, that’ll be good. Besides, the captain promised them Sveg sniffers are going nowhere near us.”
“Good! You know what us wizards think of them.” – said the Castigator and stashed the three potions inside a reinforced leather container on his belt.
Dalen completed his maintenance of the crossbow and closed its forged from thin sheet metal quiver, all bolts accounted for. He proceeded to unsheathe his sword and clean it with an oiled rag he produced from his small weapon and armor maintenance bag.
“You know, they often say rather nasty things about wizards and sorcerers, them Sveg lovers.” – and the bounty hunter graced his companions with a gruff chortle – “Can’t say I agree with them, but... their very existence was made possible by the degenerate arcanists of old.”
“Yes, and that makes it even worse.” – Rolan hissed between his clenched teeth – “The sins of our ancestors sowed the seeds of today’s torment.”
“Bar discussing the users of Sveg, this magic slaying ore,” – said Joel with a shaky smirk and reached for the crude wooden comb – “what would you say our next move should be?”
“Go straight after that ork woman.” – sighed Lady Thaliel, her eyes tracing an odd blood stain on her apron – “The sooner Captain Brelain’s people tell us who that noble crest belongs to, the better. Let the mage hunters and guards go after her officially, out in the open. While they knock on her manor’s gates, we will go where my boys last investigated her. Slink through darkly wynds, unseen, unknown by her and these floating degenerates, and there be no escape from us!”
The lady slowly stood up and removed her apron. Fingers in her mouth, she whistled loudly, calling forth three of her maids. Dressed in their enchanted brigandine maid dresses and carrying two arcane revolvers each, these were her best, star pupils. Rolan and she had a short, but intense conversation by way of looks and body language only a husband and wife could speak.
“No one hurts my babies and breathes to boast about it.” – said the lady with a quiet, brutal smile and her husband acquiesced – “Then, dear wife, I shall don my prized set of armor.”
As the two climbed the stairs to their room, Joel pointed his head at the maids and asked Dalen – “Did you know?”
“No,” – the bounty hunter was quick to say – “but I suspected.”
One of the battle maids patted her revolvers and said – “Lady Thaliel can shoot the drool off a sewer rat from thirty paces.”
Crossbow slung over his shoulder, sword and dagger clean and sheathed, the bounty hunter addressed the maids – “I don’t know how good you are with these flashy guns. Best be careful and when you shoot, shoot to kill... for there is another so well armed and he does not miss.”
“We’ve made our choice and we’ll do our duty.” – replied one maid and her friends nodded, grim smiles on their faces.
/–|–\
A darkly shop at the very end of Trades’ Street, it was one among many. Rarely inspected by city guards since it did look quite indistinguishable from the rest and operated under the law. However, unbeknownst to its original owners, their store was utilized for entirely another purpose (or purposes) during the dead of night. The hour of the wail; a time of craven cowards, when the most debased denizens of Krart crawled out of their vile holes.
Just as promised, Lady Thaliel, Rolan, Joel, Dalen, and her three battle maids did indeed slink unseen by normal eye from a long-forgotten wynd. While the girls covered their back, the four companions approached said store. Of course, their main goal was to corner that orkish sorceress while she was denied her small army of ensorcelled, and put her down for good with either blade, crossbow bolt, or spell. At the very least, exploring the shop during illegal hours, they’d find more clues.
Covered under a dome of superior invisibility, maintained by Rolan, and quieted by a cloud of silence from one of Lady Thaliel’s rings, they did reach a well-hidden backdoor. There, Dalen made sure to search for traps mundane, disarmed one simple tripwire which would’ve otherwise caused a bundle of glass bottles and jars to shatter, and let the wizard manipulate its lock.
“Wait,” – Lady Thaliel informed them by use of hand signs – “this one has a mechanical lock too.”
Ready to do battle, the elven lady donned her own brigandine maid dress, a single alchemical revolver paired with a long dagger sheathed in her belt. Colored dark-blue, with long, chainmail reinforced gloves and comfortable combat boots, her long hair was now braided and ended, just like the braids of her pupils, with a razor sharp “ribbon”. One which, she’d explained to Dalen and Jolan earlier, they could employ as a deadly weapon in close combat.
From one of her main dress pockets, she produced a bundle of skeleton keys and, as they made every effort to watch their surroundings, tried them until one finally fit. Sure that there weren’t any guards hiding behind said door and following a swift enchantment against poisons by Rolan, the four beckoned their reinforcement to join them. Slipping inside a dim backroom full of crates, bales, and chests small and big, they first explored.
Dalen, eager to escape another meeting with debased watchers, floating or otherwise, made extra sure to poke every corner. Sure that they were all alone and leaving the three battle maids behind to secure their exit, he formulated a basic battle plan, while Lady Thaliel made sure the bigger chests weren’t hiding another small army of ensorcelled.
These were full of a bunch of personal items, very much like the wooden comb Dalen still kept and the four exchanged confused looks.
“No weird magic on any of these, I am sure of it.” – Rolan communicated via signs even though he could use a spell, just in case they needed it later.
“Why even hoard these, I do not understand!” – signed his confusion Jolan.
The bounty hunter checked the locked door which led inside the store for traps and finding none, used sharp hand signs because of his armored gloves to say – “I hope that noblesse tells us, because none of this makes any sense to me.”
Lady Thaliel proceeded to try one skeleton key after another until once more, she found a fit and quietly opened the door. Since her ring of silence operated only one way, the four could still hear sounds made by others. For a little bit over one minute, the elven lady snooped around that door, but when Thaliel beckoned her companions to follow, she gave them a sign of warning:
“Beware, I can hear seven people whispering there.”
Sneaking in the dark, invisible and soundless, they proceeded to enter the back of the main shopping room. Behind one of the tall counters, opening and closing the door went unseen and unheard by the seven who quietly sat around a table, their weapons ready to do battle.
Her ears unmistaken, Lady Thaliel motioned the rest to remain peaceful, so she could further listen to their whisperings. Indeed, though quite silent, due to her training and elven blood, the good lady was able and soon began to sign her friends a conversation most disturbing. One of the seven, shifty-looking human men and women, he appeared to be their leader and was currently explaining a gig most vile:
“Didn’t I tell you everything was all fine an’ good-eh?! Coin is good an’ we haff a pick of dem nicest places when Frost comes. Rough play all night and day till Warmth is near, then dispose of them flesh-toys and rob their house. Bring onleh the handmade stuffs to ‘er, sell all da rest. Even git paid a fat bonus when we guard the goods during night time. What was not to like-eh?”
“But it was way, waaaay too good to be true! I thought it a city guard or red hood ploy to lure us into the open. And, lemme tell ya boss, I loves cutting them kiddies too much to dance the lantern gigue.” – whispered back a nasty-looking woman, slender, she appeared to have a disturbing tick and, from time to time, licked the blade of her long dagger.
“How many Frosts did you... I mean... was it much the coin? Always wanted to spend a long, warm Frost with someone’s wife... slurp... if ya know wut I mean.” – quietly slobbered another “man”, tall and a bit on the plump side, armed with a vicious-looking, curved shortsword.
“Look, ya do wut ya like and all Frost if ya want, but make sure to grab everything she wants, got it?” – instructed another woman, who quietly sniffed something from a tiny paper package, nervously clutching onto a loaded crossbow.
“These are literal crap stuff, not valuable-like. What gives-eh?” – interjected another of the scum, holding a pair of homemade baby booties with his two fingers as if these had the plague – “The babe no, but her shoes... yes?”
“Are ye dumb?” – hissed the leader and threatened his underling with the back of his armored hand – “Leave it alone or there be no bonus for any of us!”
“Sorry boss, but...” – and the booties found their place in a small chest beside the table – “I been wiff ye for six Turns and I still don’t understand.”
“Ye are not paid to know, but to do.” – explained the boss and waggled an armored finger in his face – “Wut moar can ye want? Heaps of coin, a safe house, months of free pleasur evan!”
“Now shut them gobs. I swear, ye’s gon’ make me lose faith in banditry! Git sum rest ye three, ‘cos ye haff heaps of work on the morrow.” – Their leader whispering his piece and ordering them to rest stifled all conversation and Lady Thaliel, angry beyond measure from all the vile declarations she had to translate, reached for her revolver.
Dalen found a niche which usually had a bunch of candy jars, and carefully examined the seven goons while Joel and Rolan readied their weapons. The wizard pointed at the small chest next to the table – “Faint trace of weird magics there. Don’t touch it!”
“We’ve got to snatch at least two of these monsters!” – signed Joel and winced in the dark, as if simply looking at the seven criminals dirtied his very soul – “Their boss we need most certainly and, mayhap nab the knife-licking woma... thing?”
“It won’t be breathing soon.” – and Lady Thaliel motioned at the table with her cocked revolver – “Choose another.”
Slowly, the bounty hunter leveled and aimed his crossbow using the empty shelf, straight at the neck of that fat, ax-carrying “man”. He pointed the creep who dangled the baby booties and signed – “This one then. Six Turns of pillage, rape, and murder! It has to know a lot...”
“I can spell the mess away, but keep damage to a minimum. Leave that wannabe baby seller to me, I’ll hug him proper!” – signed Rolan and prepared to leap over the counter Zweihänder at the ready.
Joel, his Deliverer drawn, yet magics not activated, readied to chant a prayer – “I’ll weaken the boss, Dalen, you snatch him.”
Her ring of silence turned, its magics dissipated in a few moments. That, however, was time long enough for them to attack and surprise was on their side for a chance.
First, a silent crossbow bolt punctured the fat one’s neck, its tip severing the spine and ending him instantly. Rolan leapt and then swung his long blade with such swiftness, the one he aimed to vanquish never even realized that his head was cleaved clean off his shoulders. Silence efficiently murdered, the gasps of terror-stricken goons echoed across the now horrid-to-behold gory shop floor.
For more, they simply had no time since Lady Thaliel pulled the trigger.
Hand over the hammer and one leg on the counter, the she-elf proceeded to blast her first target dead. Cast from enchanted bronze, the bullet handily disintegrated the knife-licking woman’s head as she was just about to do it again. Parts of said blade, now shattered, hit one of her buddies, yet she still had no time to wallow for Lady Thaliel shot at her next.
Finger aimed at the vile leader of the bunch, once more did the priestly dwarf chant – “Feablithe!”
Bodies fell crushing chairs and snapping two of the table’s four legs, as Dalen tackled the leader and Rolan, true to his word, hugged the last survivor tight. This one attempted to squeal and the Castigator graced him with a soft headbutt, breaking his nose and possibly, a bunch of his teeth. Limp, he shouldered the captive and watched how the bounty hunter proceeded to twist the leader’s hands with one arm, knee on his neck, as he shackled him.
“Riasteouratoma...” – chanted Rolan and chairs and broken table all became once more as they were, gory floor now pristine and clean.
Joel grabbed the small chest, but only after he closed it shut – “We have what we need! Now let us be gone from here.”
Greenish flame, tall and vile, formed a circle around them. The air became chill, ice crept over their garments as if Frost itself was in their presence. Even their lifeblood, it ran slower and slower, heavier than lead!
“Gone?” – sneered somebody immaterial – “I think not!”
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
[MWF] — The greatest magical wrestling federation ever!
Ooh, I love that ending!
The clif hanger of all clif hangers. I am so glad the baby seller met his doom. And I would like that spell that cleaned the floor. This was so much fun to read. I know I say that everytime. But th e y all are very good