144: Wrath (24 page)

CHAPTER FORTY

Vor had split one of his aggressors open at the clavicle and was busy prying his axe from the man’s limp body when the last two assassins sprang on him. One went high, grabbed Vor by his horns, and jammed a dagger into his shoulder blade. The other went low, tackled him around the knees, and knocked him backwards. As Vor dropped, he freed his axe, swung it straight up, and cleaved the man above him between the legs. The assassin’s hip shattered, and he fell away, writhing in agony.

The final assassin released Vor’s knees and stood on his chest. He pulled out a short-sword and held it to Vor’s throat. The Dorokti King reached out, grabbed the man’s shins, and squeezed. The Thieves’ Guild sellsword screamed and fell to his knees as his bones turned to shards, but he held fast to the sword. He lifted the blade overhead preparing to end Vor’s life.

Before the blade could drop, the man gurgled and lurched forward, eyes wide with shock. Kiff stood behind him, his sickle lodged in the back of the man’s skull. As the assassin collapsed, Kiff’s hand shot out, snatched the sword from his grasp, and held it in place over Vor’s throat. The two combatants stared at each other for an eternal moment.

"Now isn’t this amusing," said the Undlander.

Casually, he tossed the sword aside and offered Vor his hand.

"Could have killed you just then, you know."

Vor bristled. "Could kill you right now, assassin. Your mercy proves nothing."

The sounds of battle from the end of the alley stopped, and Xandra’s heart lurched. She was too late. As she leaped over a stack of boxes, she uttered a quick prayer that the right side had won, that Master Kas Dorian was still alive, and if Vor had caught Kiff, the Dorokti King had shown mercy.

She raced forward only to stumble over the hewn corpse of a Thieves’ Guild assassin. She steadied herself on the side of a hovel and looked up to see Kiff and Vor standing in front of an old fountain.

"Kiff, are you alright?" She put her hands on her head to help catch her breath.

"We’re fine," Kiff said. "Nothing the two of us couldn’t handle."

Vor snorted and pulled a knife from his shoulder.

Huffing and puffing along, Flint emerged from the alley at a brisk trot. "I’m not one to complain," he said between wheezes, "but we Faldred are not natural born runners. It would have been better if we could have stayed together, Xandra."

"I’m fine, Master," Xandra replied with a reassuring smile. "Besides, they may have needed my help."

Flint made his way over to the fountain and sat on its edge. He was sweating heavily and greedily gulped down each breath. Vor followed him, and they began to converse in hushed tones.

Xandra was tired, but spirited after her own battle. Her hair was coming undone, and spots of blood dotted her white garb. She wrapped the braid around her neck; it would have to wait. She licked a patch of loose cloth and rubbed it against one of the bloodstains, but made little headway.

Kiff walked over to her and pulled a small vial out of his pack. "I have something for those spots," he said. "You’ve got to get them quick or they’ll never come out."

He poured a bit of the solvent onto his gloved hand and applied it to a spot on Xandra’s arm. She felt her resolution to hate him fading until her gaze drifted up and behind him to Reyce’s corpse. She brushed Kiff aside and ran to the edge of the fountain.

"What happened?" she asked.

Vor nodded toward Kiff. "Ask the pup."

Kiff threw his hands up defensively. "Wait a second. I can explain."

Xandra turned to face the Undlander, and Vor stood.

"When Vor got here, Reyce was already dead because I'd never lose to some dry-blooded, hidebound, House of Suns crony."

They waited for the Undlander to continue, but he turned his attention to cleaning his own leathers.

"That’s it?" Xandra said. "That’s your explanation?"

"Look, I know the House of Suns really well. A little too well in fact," Kiff said with a slump in his shoulders. "People who get marked by them are always under compulsions. Nothing they can do about it. It’s the price of the ink. So long as they’re alive, they’re at the beckon call of the Thieves’ Guild."

Flint stood, his composure finally returning. "But Reyce wasn’t alive. He’d been dead for a millennium."

"Okay, maybe I didn’t think that one through so well. But by the same token, you can’t be mad at me for killing him since he was already dead."

Xandra felt like her world had been flipped again. Her cheeks burned red, and her eyes narrowed as she stormed across the courtyard, stopped mere inches in front the lying Undlander, and poked him repeatedly in the chest. "That hardly justifies --"

"You know," Polas said from the shadowy alleyway, "for people trying to keep a low profile, you sure do leave an easy trail to follow."

He carried the bodies of two House of Stars’ assassins over his shoulders.

"Master Kas Dorian," Xandra said. Had she been yelling? He was probably disappointed in her. She made an apologetic bow and tried not to let her shame show. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Polas ignored her and dropped the corpses among the others scattered about the area. The scene was dreadful. Bodies lay along the street, some in several pieces. Blood stained the sides of houses and soaked into the dirt turning it a deep black.

"Clean this up," Polas ordered. "Take the bodies outside the city and burn them. Any weapons left in the street, get rid of them. When you’re done here, we’ll meet back at the Sigil House… or what’s left of it. Kiff, you’re coming with me."

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Matthew the Blue stared at the elaborate ceiling high above him. It was an intricate mosaic of white and cream tiles, arranged to create a subtle sweeping effect that drew the eyes toward the symbol of Leindul at the front of the great auditorium. The entire cathedral was shimmering white from the floor to the walls to the pews that held the Faldred congregation. The chapel, Leindul’s Sanctuary, was the pride of the Hollow Mountains. Once Matthew stepped into the room, he immediately forgot that he was far underground, and the dark clouds that shrouded his future felt somehow brighter.

His burden had grown larger over the past few days. Decades ago when he had first laid plans for what he would do if Kas Dorian actually did return in this lifetime, he never imagined his road to be so lonely. His idealism was a bit of a curse at times. He had hoped rallying the forces of light would be as easy in this era as it had been for the Sigil in Kas Dorian’s time.

In those days, Exandercrast was a constant threat, and the world overcame its fear and marched into battle out of either desperation or desire to free their children from the same shadows. In recent history, the God of Fear was much more subtle in his machinations, and when he did make an overt threat or destroy a population, it was always someplace most of the world had never been, so that the truth gave birth to fearful whispers and rumors instead of outright defiance.

It had only been a few months since Matthew’s last trip to Leindul’s Sanctuary. He liked to visit as often as he was able, for he found his days spent in the hallowed halls to be uplifting and invigorating. He felt a sense of warming and of closeness here even though the floor was cold, white marble, and each step he took echoed throughout the vast chamber. He made his way past row after row of Faldred men and was saddened that he only recognized a few faces and none that he knew well enough to remember their names. His friends must have been on journeys of their own, no doubt working on their next dissertations.

A priest stood at the front of the grand cathedral, wearing opulent robes of white garnished in golden inlays. Large rings adorned his finger, and he wore a jeweled circlet on his brow.

"Greetings, Matthew the Blue," said the Faldred. "I am Elder Deris. Welcome to Leindul’s Sanctuary and to the Hollow Mountains. I trust you are here to pray with us for the journey ahead of General Kas Dorian, Flint the White-Handed, and the Daughter of Hope."

"Actually, no," Matthew said as he made his way up the steps to the altar. "I’m here to speak to you and your congregation."

The priest was taken aback, and whispers spread throughout those gathered.

"You are an esteemed scholar, historian, and a well-respected friend of the Faldred people," Deris said. "Your words of wisdom and inspiration are always welcome amongst our people."

Matthew bowed. "Thank you."

The priest motioned for one of the altar boys to bring a stool for Matthew’s use.

Matthew climbed up where he and still had to strain to see over the podium. "Wise Faldred of the Hollow Mountains, your strength and fervor is needed. In a matter of weeks, I, that is to say myself and others, will lead an army to the shores of Waysmale. We will strike at the city of Firevers. We will put an end to the reign of Exandercrast! Polas Kas Dorian has returned, and he takes his sword to the very heart of the God of Fear! Join us and help put an end to the Dark One’s tyranny!"

Matthew’s voice returned to him from the back of the chamber, and he heard a single cough. He blinked twice, not sure if he was dreaming. Certainly he had experienced this in a nightmare before.

"Matthew," Deris said as he patted the Cairtol on top of the head. "You are very brave to attempt such a thing, but that is not the will of destiny."

"Not the will of destiny?" Matthew asked with a puzzled look on his face. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, searching the congregation for anything other than apathy.

"We cannot simply rise up and go to war," said the priest. "It is our duty to stay here and pray for the ones whom destiny has set apart."

All around the auditorium, heads nodded, and several Faldred shouted an eager, "Amen."

Matthew was dumbstruck. He had been certain that the Faldred would be completely behind him in this endeavor. In fact, he had thought this to be the easiest of the tasks before him.

"Come. Sit," Deris said. He motioned toward a seat on the front row. "I will send for a scrying scale so that we can check on destiny’s progress."

Matthew obeyed wordlessly. As he sat, he almost wondered if he had made a mistake and teleported to the wrong Temple of Leindul deep in the Hollow Mountains. Surely, this had to be some clever illusion. But the cold of the marble bench on his legs was too real to blame on deceptive magic.